#emotional whump

[spinzolliii]

Caretaker falling apart over what might’ve happened to Whumpee, but deciding to respect Whumpee’s privacy. They have to stop themselves from prying or asking certain questions, knowing full well that there’s a darker, painful, intimate story behind Whumpee’s condition.

Alternatively, Whumpee’s history is eating away at them, and they’re dying to tell Caretaker everything. They decide to repress themselves for one reason or another. Maybe they’re afraid of disturbing Caretaker. Maybe they’re doubting their own recollection of what happened. Maybe they’ve been conditioned to view vulnerability as weakness.

Either way, there’s something preventing these two people from sharing the whole truth about a painful situation.

[defectivehero]

warnings: suicidal ideation, conversations about death and morality, blood & violence

The hero looks out into the faces of strangers gathered around the coffin and takes a deep breath. The effort isn't easy, and it takes a few moments for them to calm their racing heart rate. This is all an act, they remind themself. It's all just an act—a farce, a trick, whatever one wants to call it.

When the agency had offered an olive branch to the villain, the hero's enemy, the hero didn't know what to think. They thought their agency was misguided—or, more likely, desperate—to attempt a truce with the villain. The hero knew their enemy well enough to know that a promise of peace wouldn't be sufficient enough to guarantee the city's safety.

Yet here they are, standing over their enemy's elegant black coffin. The agency had spared no expense in maintaining the act, it seemed. Beside the coffin is a photograph of the villain—one from their civilian life. And next to it stands the hero, who was chosen to speak at the funeral—to pose as a grieving friend. They initially opposed the idea, but eventually agreed upon realizing the charade was necessary to maintain the façade.

For this fake funeral to work, the hero had to learn about the villain. They learned more than they would have ever hoped to know—everything from the villain's upbringing to the circumstances behind their second job. The hero had studied up on Jordan: the person behind the villainous mask. Yet, as the hero stands over the villain's coffin, they can't help but think that they didn't prepare enough.

"Jordan was a close friend," the hero begins. The air is silent around them and the weary afternoon sun casts shadows across the malnourished grass. "A sibling to some, a coworker to others." The hero adds. They're doing well so far, they think. Out of the corner of their eyes, as they continue speaking, they can see nods of agreement.

The hero can't quite register what they're saying, as the words begin to escape them. They launch into a fake anecdote of sorts and their focus slips elsewhere. Their fists are clenched at their sides and their eyes refuse to leave the ornate coffin marring the center of their vision with a blackened smudge. They come back to themself at the end of the anecdote, recognizing that they need to find some way to wrap it all up neatly. (They need some way to finish this, please-)

"I can't imagine what my life would have been like without them," the hero realizes aloud. Indeed, their life would be very different if they had never met the villain. The hero glances at the coffin and a shiver runs down their spine. "And now that they're gone..." Their voice cracks at the end of that statement. Their eyes are unwittingly drawn to to the tree in the distance—where they know the villain to be hiding. Their enemy has enhanced hearing, and the hero knows they will be listening with rapt attention. The hero tries to focus on something else, but their thoughts continue to spiral.

The hero sees the villain's dead body sprawled across the pavement... They see dried blood stains sinking into the cement, the only sign of their enemy's existence... They see an empty glaze to the villain's normally bright eyes...

The hero sees themself waking up in the middle of the night and moving to the sink mechanically to wash the unseen blood from their hands, as they grow accustomed to nightmares where the villain revisits them... The hero sees themself slowly fading away into obscurity, their morality teetering on the precipice of something darker...

Someone in the crowd coughs, jerking the hero from their thoughts. They remember themself. "Now that they're gone..." The hero resumes, "...I don't know what to do with myself." Their throat is burning. They turn their head to the side and blink tears from their eyes, before taking a deep breath. With a shaky breath, they step away from the coffin and walk away from the funeral.

The hero would have walked straight past the villain, if not for the sudden grip on their arm. The villain tugs them off their predestined path and pulls them behind the cover of the conveniently large tree.

"Bravo," the villain says. It's only then that the hero allows themself to look up from the ground and meet their enemy's gaze. They're surprised to find the amused glimmer in the villain's eyes, the playful smile on their face. "That was rather convincing. Perhaps you should pursue acting."

"I-" I don't think I was acting, the hero thinks to themself. Imagining life without you genuinely made me feel... empty. "Ha, yeah." Their voice sounds off and the villain raises an eyebrow. There are a few moments of silence, but their enemy mercifully does not poke or prod at the subject any further.

"So," the villain drawls, burrowing their hands in their jacket pockets. The hero envies their collectedness and composure in this moment, but also worries for how unaffected they are despite it all. "I'm dead now."

"You're not dead," the hero feels the need to say. They're not sure who exactly that remark is meant for, but they have a feeling they uttered it to remind themself of the truth.

"Legally, I am," the villain points out. They cross their arms over their chest. "It's kind of freeing, in a way. Maybe I should pursue death as a long-term solution to all of my problems."

The hero's stomach lurches and everything around them seems to fall to silence. "Stop." They don't realize they've spoken until they see the villain's mask shudder around them, their eyes momentarily widening before returning to an expression of uncaring. "Stop it," the hero repeats, "I- Don't joke about something like that."

The villain regards them with interest. "Who says I'm joking?" They ask, nothing but sincerity in their voice. The hero is hit with a wave of nausea.

"That's- Please just- It's not funny. It never was." The words are crawling from their lips entirely of their own volition.

"I wasn't trying to be funny," the villain says softly, their voice almost a whisper. They're telling the truth, the hero realizes. And something in the hero just breaks. The frail string they had been hanging from simply... snaps.

"I don't want you to die," the hero finally chokes out. "Okay?" Is that what you wanted to hear—what you were trying to coax out of me? Well, I've said it. How fucking pathetic I must be, for caring."

"I wasn't acting. It was all real—real to me. I tried to imagine my life without you and I couldn't.

"I'm sorry," the hero spits, their hands shaking now. Tears are falling down their face now, blurring their vision. They feel deeply humiliated and embarrassed, especially in the wake of the villain's callous and uncaring gaze.

When they turn to leave, they don't expect a hand to fall onto their shoulder—and the hero certainly doesn't expect to be pulled into an embrace. The villain's arms wrap around them and the hero instinctively returns the gesture. Even if this is a trick, or some convoluted way to make them feel even more ashamed, they take comfort in the visceral feeling of the villain's touch and the physical confirmation that they're still alive.

"Don't apologize," the villain says, placing a hand on the nape of the hero's neck and hugging them tighter. The hero closes their eyes and leans into their enemy's shoulder. "I... I'm sorry for being so morbid." They say, an uncharacteristic depth of emotion present in their voice.

"I don't want you to die," the hero whispers into the villain's shoulder. It's a remark meant for only themself, yet their enemy hears it anyway. The villain stiffens for a moment, their shoulders tightening, before they grasp the hero with dueling tenderness and strength. Suddenly, the villain's hands are on their cheeks as the hero is pulled back to look at their enemy. The villain's gaze is determined and entirely honest.

"Then I won't die," the villain asserts. "Simple as that."

The hero knows it's illogical, knows that the villain will have to die some day—as everyone does. But the conviction in their enemy's voice is enough to dissuade them. The villain's grip is reassuring enough, real enough for the hero to breathe again.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. reblogs are appreciated, just please don't steal my writing or share outside of Tumblr.

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[whumperer-86]

Unconscious and got carried in

Live Surgery Room ep22

[hurt-and-comfort-me-please]

Be Original, at Least

"You're such a piece of shit, you know that?"

The Ex-Villain took their sweet time taking a drag of their cigarette, their expression completely blank.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Ex-Villain said, almost laughing, "That was only the thirty-thousandth time I've heard that."

Hero didn't say anything, glaring at Ex-Villain,

"Y'know, I know what you're thinking. 'How rude', right? How dare I say anything other than 'sorry' to you, but you know what? I've been here for three fucking years now, three years!" Ex-Villain stood up, pacing around in front of Hero,

"I know what you all think of me! I'm so sick of hearing it!" Ex-Villain groaned, "And it's always the same shit. 'You're a piece of shit', 'You should be ashamed of yourself', blah blah blah."

"They're in the right to!" Hero rebutted,

"Well if they want it to actually hurt me instead of just boring me to tears they could at least come up with something original."

Hero almost chuckled. "The average person needs 674 pounds of oxygen a year, that's over 2,000 pounds of oxygen wasted on you since you've gotten here. Meaning you'd need to plant over 2,300 trees just to justify the air you've taken up."

"Ya see? So much better. I'll be crying about it all night."

[whumpderella]

Bokura no Shokutaku [Our Dining Table] (Episode 06)

[whumpypepsigal]

Avatar: The Last Airbender (2024) s01e04 “Everything I need is on this boat.”

[whumper-whimsy]

drugged ex-prince whumpee being used as an example/trophy at the parties that Whumper— who had recently overthrown the king— throws...

[aceofwhump]

The Fourteenth Doctor going through it in Doctor Who 60th Anniversary Special "The Star Beast"

[echoingalaxies]

Whumpee is dying, nothing can stop it anymore. Instead of a goodbye - when Whumpee closes their eyes for the last time, when they take their final breaths, when their hand in Caretaker's goes limp - Caretaker whispers "good night."

[meltyphos]

just a caretaker cradling a crying, hyperventilating whumpee in their arms. whispering reassuring things and hushes in whumpees ear as they rock them in their embrace, letting whumpee know that they're safe

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

cw captive whumpee, injury, betrayal, tortured for information, intimate whumper 

After hours of torture, of beatings, of sleep deprivation, Whumpee finally gives in. Coughing up a mouthful of blood onto the ground at Whumper’s feet, they beg, “S-stop, please. No more, I can’t—I'll tell you, I-I'll tell you everything.” 

“You lasted longer than I thought.” Whumper crouches down in front of them, taking Whumpee’s chin in their hand and tilting their head up. Their expression is almost sympathetic as they take in Whumpee’s teary eyes and bruised face. “But it’s okay. It’ll all be over if you give me the information I need. And then, just think how nice it will be to finally rest. You can sleep in a real bed while your injuries heal.” 

Whumpee doesn’t need any more convincing. They choke out the information through sobs, clinging to Whumper, and each heave of their chest sends pain shooting through their broken ribs. But it will be over soon—Whumpee doesn’t know why they even held out this long if they were just going to break anyway. 

Whumper strokes their hair gently as they give up the secrets they were trained to die for. Endangering their team’s entire operation and perhaps their lives. But then again, it’s not like Whumpee’s team came to rescue them—as Whumper had reminded them countless times. And they were right. 

“Good…that’s perfect, Whumpee,” Whumper praises after they’ve finished spilling every bit of information that had been requested, and then some. “Thanks to you, your team won’t stand a chance against me, now.” 

A sense of relief washes over Whumpee. It's done—the suffering is finally over with. They want to sleep until the pain no longer clings to their bones and laces every movement. However, their relief is quickly replaced by a fresh bout of fear at the realization of what they’ve just done. “They’ll know it was me,” Whumpee whispers brokenly.  

“Of course they will,” Whumper says, matter-of-fact. “And they will go looking for you. And if they find you, they will kill you.” 

Whumpee shakes their head. “Worse,” they correct. “They’ll do so much worse than just kill me.” 

A sharp pain shoots through their side and they groan, clutching at one of their wounds. Whumper gathers them into their arms before they collapse completely, and assures Whumpee, “That’s why you will be staying with me. In exchange for giving up the information I needed, you will be under my protection.” 

Whumpee can’t possibly have heard them right. They must be delirious from the pain. “W-what?” they stammer. Everything is growing fuzzy, and now that they’re being held in Whumper’s arms, they just want to let their eyes fall shut and surrender to sleep. 

The gentle fingers brushing back Whumpee’s hair lull them further into unconsciousness as Whumper murmurs, “I can’t just give you up now, sweetheart. I think you’d make a valuable addition to my team.” 

Whumpee hums in agreement, not quite sure what they’re agreeing to, but if it means an end to the pain, they’ll do just about anything. 

“You were never cut out for this line of work, were you?” Whumper says teasingly. They lift Whumpee in their arms and begin carrying them somewhere, but the gentle rocking motion of their steps eases Whumpee into sleep long before they find out where they’re being taken. 

[spinzolliii]

Whumpee being unable to lie down comfortably for whatever reason. Maybe they’re traveling or are wounded in a way that doesn’t allow them to them recline. Maybe they have a lung infection that requires them to sit upright.

Imagine Caretaker sitting beside them with a folded rag or cushion on their shoulder that they let Whumpee rest their head on. Whumpee is finally able to fall asleep leaning against Caretaker.

[whumppppp]

Silent scream

[whumperer-86]

The scare in his voice calling his best friend

[hurt-and-comfort-me-please]

We need more vain/egotistical whumpees, please

Whumpees who won't allow anyone to see them cry, no matter how much they need the support, they can't take any more blows to their ego

Whumpees who refuse pain medication because they think it makes them look weak

Whumpees who act mean or cold to those who try to help them because it's the only thing that keeps others away from them

Whumpees that are encouraged to ask for help, but think that others would be impressed if they didn't ever need it

Whumpees that cannot, under any circumstance, allow others to know what has happened to them, even if it allows Whumper to get away with it, because what would the others think of me if they knew how weak and helpless I was? Or that it actually left a lasting impact on me?

Whumpees who obsessively cover up their scars with makeup

Whumpees who isolate themselves whenever the people around them get too 'invasive' by asking basic questions about Whumpee's mental state

Whumpees who are offended at the mere mention that they may have actually been traumatized, because they're too strong/tough/resilient for anything to actually affect them, and claiming anything else amounts to a personal insult

Whumpees who will not tell anyone if they're sick or injured because they don't want anyone to see them hurting, until they collapse and have to be dragged to a doctor

Whumpees who think that they're better than others because they were strong enough to survive nevermind the debilitating trauma

[drawing-dinos82]

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