#favorite emotional whumps

[the-broken-pen]

“I don’t need you.”

It sounded less grounded than the villain had wanted it to. It sounded like something someone had told them to say, and they were just repeating it with half hearted determination. They said it again, “I don’t need you.”

“No,” the hero agreed. They were grinning. “You don’t.”

The villain floundered. They, in all honesty, wanted a fight. To prove something, they supposed. That they really didn’t need the hero. That they weren’t in the wrong, here. “What?”

“I said,” the hero said slowly, and the beginnings of a grin curled at the edges of their mouth. “You don’t need me.”

“I don’t need you,” the villain repeated, and the hero nodded encouragingly. It just made the villain want to hit them.

The hero lounged against the doorframe, halfway in and halfway out of their apartment. And truly, that was the worst bit of it all—the hero wasn’t showing up outside the villain’s house, or driving by the villain’s work to see if they truly looked happier without them. But the villain was.

They wanted to scream, and kick, and throw plates onto the ground.

‘Leave me alone.’

But they couldn’t say that, because the hero had. They had cut contact and blocked numbers and ignored the villain’s car as it went by. Still, the villain felt haunted. As if they would never be clean of the hero, parts of their soul forever dirtied by it all.

The hero’s smile, and the way their voice sounded when they knew the villain would cave to their wishes.

They just wanted the hero to—

“Leave me alone.” It slipped out against their better judgement. From the way the hero’s grin widened, they knew it had been the worst thing they could have said.

“Darling, I have,” the hero said, their tone saccharine. Pitying. “You’re the one outside of my apartment.”

It felt like being burned alive, the frustration of it. The way it rose in their chest but had nowhere to go, leaving them shaking with nothing and everything trapped under their tongue.

“That’s not what I meant and you know that—“

“What, you miss me that bad? I thought you—“

“Shut up,” the villain snapped. The hero raised an eyebrow.

“It’s eating you alive, isn’t it?” They sounded pleased.

“It’s not,” the villain protested.

“I told you, you don’t need me.”

“I know,” the villain grit out.

“But you want me.”

Something in the villain’s brain stalled.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t need me. You never have,” the hero said it like it was a fact. “You want me, though. Even as the sound of my name burns you, and the memory of me rots in your mouth, you’re going to want me.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” The hero’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You can go out to every bar in this city, kiss a hundred people who look like me and get just drunk enough to forget you’re not mine anymore—but you’re never going to stop missing me.”

The hero knew, of course they did, how hard the villain had tried to forget it entirely. The disaster they had become trying to be clean again.

“No matter how many shots you take to block out the memory of me, you’ll always be mine.”

“You’re insane,” the villain finally managed. The hero simply tipped their head to the side in acknowledgement. “That’s not-what’s wrong with you—“

“You’re the one who misses me.”

It stung, deep in the villain’s stomach. It took them too long to remember how to breathe—too long after that to think of what to say.

“If I’m lucky, I won’t ever have to see you again,” their voice quivered, slightly. “But knowing us, the next time we meet it will be in hell.”

The hero laughed and closed the door in their face.

The villain blocked them. Avoided the side of town the worked in. Moved three cities over.

It didn’t matter.

The villain could still feel the hero under their skin.

Later, whenever someone would ask, “Have you ever been haunted?”

The villain would think back to the hero.

And say, “Yes.”

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

Huge huge huge fan of this very niche trope that I don't see NEARLY enough of! When the whumpee has the ability to reincarnate/revive to a state of perfect health, but no healing abilities, and so - when things come to a head and whumpee is mortally wounded, they're resigned to the fact that it would just be easier to die and come back. But - but don't you see??? How devastating would it be for their teammates to be desperately doing everything they can to keep whumpee alive? How traumatizing it would be for them when whumpee pries their bloodied hands off so they will hurry up and die, so the pain will stop? How sickening it would be when whumpee tells them that everything's fine, to let them go? How awful would it be for whumpee if their team refuses to let them go without trying everything in their power, which just prolongs whumpee's suffering?

Yeah? Got that in your brain?

Now imagine that again, but their teammates don't have any idea that whumpee can come back.

[federaliszt]

whumpee behind bars or in chains, screaming "get me out of here!" at their teammates and being soundly ignored because their rescue is not part of the plan.

[bellysoupset]

"Penny for your thoughts?" Luke asked, falling on the bed next to Bella. She didn't look up from her phone, but opened a small smile as she felt her husband squeeze her calf and press a kiss to her naked thigh.

"Wendy isn't answering," she said and Luke stopped kneading on her leg as if he was a cat, raising his eyebrows.

"Uhm-"

"We've been back for two days now. I've texted, I've called... They should be back from Doveport by now, no?" Bella looked away from her phone and Luke nodded, cringing.

He hadn't been texting Vince, out of sheer heartbreak, and now he regretted it, "I could call Vin...?"

"No," Bella shook her head, sitting up straight on the bed, "I'm calling Jon. Maybe Wendy just doesn't wanna talk with me."

"Why wouldn't she?" Luke frowned, noticing the slight waver to Bell's voice. Wendy was clearly very important to her, a development he hadn't predicted and that he wasn't entirely sure when it had happened, but she was.

"I don't know, but something... Something isn't right," Bella decided, getting up from the bed and pacing the bedroom, holding the phone to her ear.

He watched as she chewed on her nails, waiting for Jon to pick up and the way her voice went up a note as he did so, nerves clearly fried from overthinking.

"And she hasn't answered any of your texts either?" Bella said, walking straight to the wardrobe. She pulled out her leggings, squeezing the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she put the pants on, "I'm worried Jon, I'm going over to her place... Yeah, no, I know she's probably still down in Doveport with Vin, but I just- I'll let you know," Bell agreed, gesturing for Lucas to get her snow boots, "yeah, I'll text if she's there... Or if I need help- I'm taking Luke as well-"

Lucas raised his eyebrows, he wasn't aware he'd be going anywhere, but clearly Bell had made up her mind without telling him.

"Alright, bye, love you," Bella said it all in one breath, hanging up and planting her hands on her waist, "get dressed, we're going to Wen's building."

"What did Jonah say?" Lucas asked, obeying without questioning. Bella looked worried and he didn't like it one bit.

"She hasn't answered any of his texts either, since Christmas."

"Well, it's only the twenty nine..." Luke said, throwing Bell her scarf and putting on his socks, "I'm sure everything is fine, baby. They're probably still in Doveport-"

"Uhum," Bella hummed, clearly not buying his reassurances, planting a beanie over her wild curls, "I'm gonna try calling her again."

It was to no avail, so they were in the car not ten minutes later and it was another fifteen before they stopped in front of Wendy's building. Unlike Jonah's, Wen's building only required a password to get inside the building, something Luke thought was terribly unsafe as he followed Bell inside.

She was bouncing on her feet on the elevator ride and he placed a hand over his wife's shoulder, "breathe, baby."

"Stay in the hallway," Bell answered, instead, continuing to nibble on her thumb, ready to draw blood.

For a moment, as Bella knocked on Wendy's door loudly, Luke was convinced the other woman wasn't home. It was the best case scenario, that Vin and Wendy were still down in Doveport, having the time of their lives and they were worrying for nothing-

And then the door opened and Lucas cringed, seeing Bella visibly flinch at the sight.

Wendy was wearing sweatpants and a big sweater from Penn University, her brown hair lying limply around her face and it looked like she hadn't slept in days. Her face was milky white and she was a mess.

"What?"

"I- You're home!" Bella's voice cracked, unsure of how to approach this, "and you're not picking up your phone and I'm worried and- Well, you look terrible, Wen-"

Wendy raised her eyebrows at that, arms crossed to her chest, "maybe I'm not picking up my phone because I want to be alone, has that crossed your mind?"

Bella and Luke were both taken back by the sharp tone, but while Luke was reeling, Bell recovered faster.

Her voice dropped, "Wen, what's going on?"

"Vince dumped me, what do you think happened?" Wendy leaned against the threshold of her house, still refusing to let them inside, "don't bother faking the surprise, you all knew already. I know you knew-"

"Vince dumped- What!?" Bella cut her off, confused, "no, he didn't, he wouldn't-"

Luke cringed at Bella's denial, catching Wendy's bloodshot gaze. Clearly she had been going through the ringer and all by herself. He was familiar with that feeling, specially when it was a direct consequence of loving Vince, which felt very unfair to even think of his best friend... but was also the truth.

"So apparently my boyfriend, forgive me, my ex-boyfriend wants to move back with mom and dad," Wendy's voice was terribly cold, "and he gave me a super sweet ultimatum at Christmas. Move with him or get dumped."

"That doesn't- What the fuck, Wendy?" Bella recovered from her denial, "are you okay? Why didn't you say anything, Wen?" she stepped closer, all well meaning and Lucas stuffed his hands on his pockets, standing across the hall as he correctly predicted Wendy jumping back and out of Bell's hug.

"You knew," Wendy's voice was dripping venom, "so spare me the sentimentality-"

"Knew? I didn't know-" Bella shook her head, misinterpreting Wendy's words, confused.

"You absolutely knew!" Wendy exclaimed, "you knew, because you-" she pointed at Luke, who flinched as he caught her bloodshot, heartbroken eyes, "you knew. Of course he told you, he tells you everything. And Jonah knew and Leo fucking knew- Do you have any idea how utterly humiliating was to find out Vince was ready to leave me, while I was in his parents house, and that everyone knew but me? Everyone, every single one of my friends and you guys still let me-"

"Wendy, I didn't-" Bella shook her head, frantically, "I didn't know that. I knew- I knew what Luke told me, that Vince was thinking of moving, that's all. I swear, that's all we knew and that-"

"You could have told me," Wendy scoffed, her voice wavering and breaking, "you should have told me."

"I swear I didn't know," Bella's voice got all squeezy, trying to push past the lump in her throat, "I swear, Wen, I didn't- I didn't think he'd-"

"Dump me?" Wendy said sourly, "well, he did."

There was a second of heavy silence, Wendy's chest heaving as she panted for air as if she had just ran a marathon and Bella too stunned to say anything...

"Come here," Bella scoffed, stepping closer and fighting Wendy off when the shorter girl tried to push her away, "stop, stop- Stop fighting me, let me fucking hug you!"

"I don't want a fucking hug-" Wendy's voice came out muffled, as she was fully wrapped into Bell's arms... And then the sobs followed. Big, horrible sobs as she melted into the hug and wrapped her arms around the ginger's waist, "I just- I just can't believe he'd-"

"Shhhh..." Bella squeezed her a little tighter, gesturing over her shoulder for Luke to leave. While this was an emergency, it wasn't the type of issue he could be any help on.

She didn't wait to see if her husband had gotten the memo or not, pulling them inside the room and shutting the door behind them, rubbing Wendy's back up and down as the sobs continued to wreck her.

The place was a mess, like a tornado had gone through it. Bella could easily tell Wendy had spent the previous days curled up in the couch and sobbing, the bottles of wine and the bunch of tissuesthat never made it to the overly full trashcan evidence enough.

They fell sat on it and Wendy didn't let go. For all the anger and attitude she was sporting a minute earlier, the sadness was twice as big.

"I just... I don't get it," Wendy whispered, after a handful of minutes had passed. She was curled up on Bell's side, still shaking with silent sobs, "we are- We were happy. Hell, I was so sure he was going to move in with me and then-" she sniffled, wiping angrily at a new batch of tears, "I feel like an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," Bella squeezed her arm, combing her fingers through Wendy's greasy hair, "you're not crazy either. I thought it too, everyone did, that's why- That's why I didn't tell you, Wen. Yeah, I should have, but it was Vin's business and I didn't think, even for a second, he was going to break your heart, otherwise I'd have said something."

"Would you?" Wendy looked up, all pitiful and green eyes welled up with tears, "I don't... I kept thinking of the fact you knew and Jon knew and none of you- I thought I was - I am so. lonely."

"Please don't say that," Bella's voice broke and she moved on the couch, cupping Wendy's face, "hey, look at me. You're not alone, okay? You're not- Don't say that. You have us, you have me- I'm sorry I didn't-"

Wendy nodded, holding a hand in front of her mouth as new tears sprung up and shaking her head as if to shut up her friend. She grabbed a tissue, blowing her nose - which was red and irritated from doing it so many times - and hugged her knees, curling up on a tiny ball.

"He didn't... He didn't break up with me," she said in a little voice, refusing to look at Bella, "well, he did. But he didn't."

Bella frowned, scooting even closer and planting a hand on Wendy's back, "what do you mean?"

"Well, he hid it from me, for starters. And lied, because I asked - Fuck, I asked so many times if something was wrong in the past weeks, when he was looking terrible," Wendy let out a bitter chuckle, deepening her voice to mimic Vin, "no, honey, it's just stress over graduating," she scoffed, "and then he didn't even have the decency of telling me. I had to find it out- He asked me to move there with him."

Bell reeled back, confused, "I don't understand... Then why-"

"He was so fucking- As if I was going to set foot in a fucking conservative town, with a worse residency than the one I have here, just to follow him? As if I haven't spent the last ten years of my life building a life for myself that doesn't make me wanna jump of a bridge?" Wendy shook her head, picking angrily at her nails, "for a man?"

"A man you love," Bella pointed out gently and Wendy glared at her, continuing to pick at her cuticles, some of her fingers already bloodied by all the picking.

"Doesn't matter," she shook her head vehemently, "I'm not moving to some hellscape little town for a guy who doesn't even- Who doesn't even love me," the last part was said in a small strangled tone and Wendy buried her face in her arms, wrapped around her knees, shoulders shaking as she started to cry again.

"Wen, baby, I don't think-" Bella pulled her into a one sided hug, "I know he was an idiot, I know, and you're right he hid things and lied, but I don't think he doesn't love you, Wendy. Vince lights up when you're around-"

"Shut up," Wendy's sobbed, "please stop."

Bella snapped her mouth shut, rubbing her friend's back and trying to figure what to do. She didn't think, even for a second that Vince didn't love Wendy. Clearly he was an idiot, but she had seen the way he looked at the other woman, as if she had invented the lamp. Those dumb, boyish smiles that only a man who's head over heels can produce.

However, Wendy wasn't dumb and Bell had no delusion that she was. If she didn't want to hear it, then she didn't want to hear it.

"What do you need?" Bella pressed a kiss to her friend's head, squeezing her closer, "talk with me, Wen."

"I need-" Wendy sniffled, voice thick with tears, "I need you to have my back and not let me ruin my life because I'm in love with him- I need you to be on my corner, because- Because I'm really not and it's breaking my heart to try and be-be mature and ra-rational... I need you to tell me I'm doing the right thing, Bella, because if I give in I'm going to be unhappy, but that's all I wanna do right now."

Finally making some sense of the situation, Bella nodded, pulling Wendy into a tight hug, "hey," she cupped Wendy's face, "if it's meant to be, it's going to be, okay? I'm not gonna let you ruin your life."

Wendy nodded, whole face scrunching up as she fought a sob and threw herself on Bella, "it really feels like I am, right now."

[newbornwhumperfly]

whumpmas in july day 19: fav whump blogs

aghhhh, i've been so excited for this day because i get to celebrate this beautiful, talented community!!! 💖😍💖😍💖 rubs my little gay hands together gleefully...

@much-ado-about-whumping because they can settle into a character's headspace like its his home, building the beautiful furniture of reaction, justification, trauma, interests, and calculations around that space until each hurt feels like watching the hammers being taken to the boards of a beautiful house. his compassion for his characters is what makes them full, rich, and realized, in all of their crystals and cobwebs, their windows and cellars, and the gift they give to their readers is the ability to feel how they feel and what they feel as surely as if you lived in that house. 💖

@whump-tr0pes because every character they write is jagged and flawed with broken edges, no easy answers or clean lines, where most all of them have hurt and been hurt, they still can get better. when their stories, as langston hughes says, “cuts the world in two to see what worms are eating at the rind”, there are also seeds and despite the worms, maybe even because of the worms, a new tree is planted. their stories say that love and hope and trying are never ever wasted, no matter how ugly or cruel people get or the world becomes. even with worms, nothing is worthless or unable to grow and change. 💖

@haro-whumps because their stories often bear a sharp edge of dark camp, pulpy and vivid, the absurd in the nature of horror itself which, through all of their macabre delights, reveals so often a person just trying to carve out a pocket of stability. the effort reveals the world they live in as absurd. through forging relationships with fellow sufferers, through dutifulness, through healing or maintaining dignity or helping others, there is always a trying at the heart of their characters to make the impossible possible. their villains and victims, whether it’s “i’m a god” or “i’m just a slave”, are all just people at the end of the day, stupid and messy and layered, a thing that horror at its best employs to make its subjects more lovable and more hateable. 💖

@whumpzone because her sense of tenderness serves the underlying traumas in her stories. since most of the horror lies in the pasts of these characters, it is always mind-blowing how well the characters reactions and bodies tell a story about what happened to them, from how they react to the gentle efforts of their caretakers or a perceived harm, so often these boys will break your heart through how thoroughly beaten-down they are and how obvious it is when they don't expect to be safe anywhere. the utter humanity with which the whumpees are treated highlights their past dehumanization all the more and that linearity in storytelling is so damn effective. 💖

@ashintheairlikesnow because what is there to say about her that hasn't been said ad nauseam by writer after writer in this community, for every aspect of her writing? so what i will restrain my praise to the specifics and say that her world-building is a rare and beautiful talent. her worldbuilding serves the themes of her story at every single turn, the tapestry of horror that capitalism wrecks on the world and the shape of the tools trying to cut those threads. there is no corner unexplored in the halls of institutions - she shows us exactly how fucked things are and the manual for how its done. never stop writing because i am hard pressed to remember a dystopia that felt so immediate and so realized. 💖

there is so much talent on whumblr that i could name bloggers all day, these authors just happen to be at the top of my list. your brilliance awes and inspires me and pushes me to higher standards with every new read and reread 🥰🥰🥰

have a very merry @whumpmasinjuly everyone! 💖💖💖

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[anigst]

Jigokuraku - Ep 08 - Student and Master

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 13

CW: Carewhumper, non-con touching, referenced stalking/non-con bathing/nudity, gaslighting, panic attack

PART 12 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 14

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

All of this could be worse, Elliot had to constantly remind himself of this fact; so, so much worse.

At the very least he didn't find himself in the trunk of a Honda or a crack house bathroom, just the sparsely decorated home of Chris, being far more tidy than he'd like to give him credit for. Said man had disappeared a few minutes ago, leaving Elliot to stew in bewilderment. The spots where skin had met skin started to itch.

Focus, come on. Neither the lonely houseplant next to the TV nor the properly aligned armchair could help him; behind the bed he was placed in stood a dresser with a full ashtray on it. The sun that had so rudely woken him up before already moved on, but the window it entered through didn't budge an inch, letting the muffled sound of cars driving up and down the road flow through the glass. They were at least on the third floor.

Jump, a harsh force pulled at his stomach, now. What else would he break in the process?

The smell of vanilla and sugar let him come to a bit more, a sour taste gathering at the thought of what's next to come. Even though Elliot had no idea why he was taken again, the animal part of his brain prepared for the worst regardless; knowing this time could be dangerous in a whole different sort of way.

"Do you like pancakes?" Morris called out, looking back from the kitchen to check if this was still real, if Elliot was really with him now, "Of course you do."

Did he? Elliot wasn't so sure about it anymore, he couldn't get his next steps on track: a rescue he couldn't remember, the warm welcome, the fact that Amber was just old news - where did this suddenly come from? What do you call a joke nobody's laughing about?

Wrapped up in the hysteric circle of repetitive thoughts, his hands started to knead hills and valleys into the blanket and rewarded his already tense arm with a short sting of fire. Elliot usually avoided to, but looking down at his palms, he noticed the rough red lines of dark scab across them.

"Did I fall?" he whispered to nobody in particular.

"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, you were bleeding; your knees too. Don't you feel that?" The well-meaning hint fell on deaf ears.

Though Elliot did feel that. An all-too familiar burn started spreading its stinging tendrils out to reach his elbow first and if not appeased quickly enough, it would only grow further. On some days, it crawled up behind his eyes.

But not yet, there was still time. Finally ready to act, Elliot threw the heavy covers off his legs, which were not tied together despite the uneasy memories. He could work with that.

The cooked batter already built up bubbles, he could see it from where he was standing now, the kitchen also being the entrance area and final room to separate them from the outside world. After flipping it over to reveal a perfectly browned crust, Morris at last noticed him: "I thought of you, moving north into the wilderness to ride moose and become a park ranger or whatever. She got me good; upstate, my ass!"

Jesus Christ, what is he going on about? Elliot had read an article about brain damage some odd months ago: poor Morris probably had an aneurysm during the time they didn't see each other, and hopefully would be blessed with another one soon. This had to be it. He, for one, didn't act like a guy who got invested in a spontaneous religious awakening.

Elliot swallowed hard, interrupting the senseless yapping and looking into Morris' steam-covert face that only underlined his unsettling glassy expression: "I can't do this again. Please, I give you everything."

They faced each-other while still keeping a good distance, with the door to the hallway practically only a jump away. Elliot could make it.

"The bathroom is on your right," Morris said through a patient smile, "Freshen up a bit."

--------

Coward. Even a splash of cold water on his puffy eyes didn't soothe the lingering frustration; if this were the Olympics, he'd be awarded the golden medal for backpedaling, especially when it came to his own survival. You dumb fucking coward.

Elliot even lacked the guts to lock the bathroom door. When push comes to shove, one could bet Morris would just kick the hinges in.

Where had the time gone; the time he should have used to prepare, to take action against Morris? Not boxing, naturally, but something... anything meaningful. All that followed was well deserved, it seemed, the punishment for wasting away in his childhood bedroom and staring motionless at a wall for eight months.

The bathroom mirror gave a flash of relief as Elliot pressed his forehead against the cool glass. Think! 

For the first time in a long year, he looked at his reflection. A broken man glared back through empty eyes. Single beads of water ran down his chin to be soaked up into his shirt, already damp with the stench of fear and sweat.

The shirt he wore the whole night; a shirt he did not wear yesterday, one he did not even own, meaning that Morris had to- Oh god.

Maybe he should think less, before losing the last bit of sanity.

Not that it mattered, Elliot's only goal was clear: convince Chris to leave him alone, even when he had to bear his unorthodox signs of reparation. Smile and nod and play Crazy Eights until he opens the door: old habits and such. Nothing to lose this time, he could do it!

As Elliot awkwardly stalked back to the kitchen, the stinging had already engulfed his whole left hand and throbbed with every horrid expectation. One favor Morris could do him, if this went south too, was to cut the damn thing off already. Turning around into the kitchen fully now, he was greeted by the same stupid grin that send him away. At least one of us is having fun.

Elliot was gently led to the table and forced to sit tight until the chef was gracious enough to join him; dragging his chair to position it opposite to his guest. A stack of warm pancakes was placed carefully in front of both; they didn't look half bad.

So this was the apology breakfast then.

"Here you go, Ell!"

The cutlery slid right next to the plate and with Chris closer than ever before, Elliot could feel his body heat on his face. By reflex, his head curled down to make himself as small as possible, as if mesmerized by the pancakes he was blankly staring at.

"Say when." A thin stream of sticky maple started to coat them: the apology syrup, surely.

He would have appreciated all the effort in a different context, but with his sweaty right clenched around the butter knife, any sense of domestic bliss was lost.

Elliot felt his mouth go dry in anticipation; bile already collecting further.

None of them had noticed how heavy their breathing went, so Morris decided to be more brisk and let the hand he had positioned so innocently on the backrest slip down the small of Elliot's neck.

This is the apology- the-the apology...

The touch of rough fingers against his sensitive skin made Elliot shudder violently and writhe away from the contact. Even though that wasn't a "when", the steady drizzle of syrup stopped in its flow.

Letting his hand wander even further down to dip under his collar and between his shoulder blades, Chris too was mesmerized. His skin felt pleasantly warm to the touch; stroking back and forth, up and down to soothe his boy who was nearly losing it again. So tense.

He knew it only got worse the longer this medicine he demanded was held back, so why not enjoy the last calm moments for a while. Brushing the peach fuzz at the base of his hairline awarded Chris a low whine. So pretty.

His left arm was sore by now and already cooking up a storm, Elliot could feel it.

Morris felt glad his guest was deadly focused on the meal he made them, otherwise his bright red face would only prove how excited he was getting.

He hadn't missed how much longer Elliot's hair had grown, still happy that he managed to wash it last night. Speaking of which, was he always this pale and skinny? He did look kinda rough, Chris determined with a frown, they hadn't taken good care of him, wherever he'd been before.

Not for much longer, of course.

Elliot too had learned from his mistakes, though he never expected to use his newfound knowledge. Enjoying a bite to wake up god-knows-where; no, thank you! It made little sense to take his meds and just drug him still, but he had to anticipate senseless acts from a senseless man.

Elliot wouldn't look up, hell no, that face just helped to make him throw up faster.

"Sorry, but I'm not eating this," Elliot murmured, unsure if there was a gentle way of teaching him that.

Morris looked sheepish: "Oh, is it burned? The first ones always get a little bit more...crispy."

He neither took silence nor no for an answer, but two could play that game.

"So, what do you want to do after this?", Morris asked. He hoped to get the best use out of their intimacy before the inevitable temporary mood killer.

"You talk a lot." Sadly, not one coherent sentence. So Elliot refused to give in to the chit-chat.

"I'm just excited," Morris admitted quietly while desperate to hide the red blotches on his face.

Excited about what?

He had to sound like a broken record by now: "Did I do something wrong? I didn't tell anyone, I swear!"

Morris sighed.

"No, no, I'm not angry with you, is that so hard to believe?" He couldn't stop playing with full, dark strands of hair. "I just said these things to buy more time."

Collecting what remained of his shaky words, Elliot failed to bite his tongue any longer. Sweet-talk me all you want.

"Y-you said, you'd kill my mother."

Morris would never, scout's honor! That woman was huge.

"Yeah, I didn't mean that, obviously!" came the annoyed huff.

Obviously, like Morris wasn't a dangerous man to be around. Obviously, like it was Elliot's fault for believing threats against their lives.

"Wouldn't make a difference if you had told them, either."

A difference for Elliot nonetheless, one could suppose, seeing how drenched in tears he suddenly was. In another life, one where he got to be less of a disappointment, he told his parents and doctors the truth to make peace with himself. 

At worse, new accusations only fast-tracked Morris tardy rendezvous with justice. Dragging an unconscious stranger through the streets perhaps did raise some eyebrows... Do you even know about the warrant? Maybe you like a spark of danger.

Unable to protest, free-flowing tears got thumbed away by a caring hand and unbeknownst to Elliot, Morris simply loved that he let himself cry freely.

In the open space behind them, a phone started humming anew. The unhappy musician was finally lucid enough to recognize the melody this time: Für Elise.

In case he had been smart enough to spend the last months growing a backbone, he would have spat Morris straight in the face. The sheer audacity made all tears ebb in an instant.

After what had been more than enough time with strange hair between his fingers, Morris took a seat and let his head drop into his hands: "I hope that doesn't bother you, I'm just gonna let it ring."

Actually, it did bother Elliot, but in a whole different way.

"Where's my phone?", he asked instead, because surly, whatever scenario he was dragged into, Morris considered him sympathetic enough to gift him one call. Like in the movies.

Bet he isn't dumb enough to let it lie around.

The response he got was a worthless shrug: "You didn't have one on you."

How well did that freak search me?

The only other explanation was him losing it during the fall, where and when this supposedly happened was a whole different mystery to him. Taking a hesitant forkful of batter into his mouth, Elliot hoped his good manners would earn him a blink of silence: time he needed to think about his next steps. For now, it only brought a satisfied grin onto himself.

After a few more minutes, the ringing died down.

--------

It became extremely clear that Elliot's plan would go up in flames. A chat with Chris, to smile and look pretty, forcing half a pancake down his tightening throat - he really put all into it. It wasn't enough.

His face burned brightly now too, from fear or rising nerval misery was unclear, all he knew was that it hurt. Pearls of sweat slipped along his fingertips into his lap while Morris was too busy cleaning up the table: "I guess you're full for now, huh?"

The low coo only made him twitch in his seat. Elliot had to stop losing himself.

"How's your...the-the rabbit. You had one of those, right?" Chris asked, turning towards the sink to put the dishes in.

"Good," Elliot tried to say, but any effort to speak was cut off by a choking flare that shot up his neck. The ache hit him without warning throughout every muscle fiber and surged right back into its birthplace, over and over, until nothing but a hollow wheeze shook his body.

It hadn't been this bad in a long time; his skull threatened to split into pieces and if nobody was here to help, then Elliot was glad to take the job.

Fuck Chris and his absolution, if he didn't want to finish what he started, so be it.

This wasn't an abandoned crack house, he didn't need to leave the building, but just had to find someone who lived here too.

Move, the force demanded again, now; and this time Elliot listened.

Without second thought, he slid from the chair and leaped for the door, even closer to it than ever before.

One -two- three steps now and with the door latch just in reach, he-

A thick arm quickly wrapped around his waist to throw him unceremoniously against the nearest wall. His left hand was on fire.

"Let go!" Elliot gasped loudly; too close to screaming for Chris' liking, so a skilled grip around the neck made him shut it quite nicely.

"Calm down, it's alright. Just don't be loud." At least right now. Nobody minded him being noisy elsewhere...soon, he couldn't expect this right off the bat. "Look, I'll let go, but the door is locked anyway, so don't freak out again."

What Elliot tried didn't came as a surprise, but hurt him nonetheless. Morris was more disappointed than upset.

"I'm not doing anything to you, I'm just trying to help!"

Still pressed against the wood-chip wallpaper, one fist grabbing his left arm and one flat on his chest, Elliot could do nothing but take ragged breaths. He was going insane, without question.

"Then help me," he wailed, "nothing of this is alright, I want to leave!"

"You want your next fix, but I won't let that happen, sweetie," he replied sullenly, noticing how Elliot cringed at the pet name. There was enough time to find one that fit.

"I'm not a fucking junkie!" he tried now, his breaking voice didn't make this any more convincing, much less his mood.

"Then why so antsy, huh?"

"It hurts," Elliot mewled, trying to pull his hand free, "just stop!"

"Why? I'm not even holding on tight..."

What was this man going on about? Elliot wondered if he was that dumb; or maybe found it funny.

"You know why," he whispered baffled.

Morris' disappointment spread. He knew what that meant, an imminent truth he tried to sugarcoat for a while: the answer to the question of why Elliot didn't show up for the Oratorio, or any other show after that.

Loosening his grip on the arm, but still pressing Elliot closer against the wall, he took his time to inspect the damned hand in question, to really look at his past fuck-up.

It was clearly thinner and paler, even compared to the rest of Elliot, except for the gnarly red scar line that ran from his wrist all the way to the back of his pinky. Fresh new wounds aside, the weakly curled up pair of fingers, four and five respectively, refused to spread out, not held by force but lack of it.

Morris could feel the rigid metal wires under the dewy, paper-like skin. A few pins in there, or a plate at least. The noise when knife met bone played on loop in his ears: the moment once sharp crunch turned into soft smacks.

This wasn't supposed to happen, all of it was simply wrong.

"Why does it look like that, Ell?"

"You tell me, asshole!"

The tension between them rose high again, and with their faces just inches apart, Elliot prayed that he overheard his insult. Any more pressure and his fingers would just snap on impact.

Despite it all, the confused man didn't pay him any mind, too focused on the fruit of his labor: "That doesn't make sense, it should be back to normal by now."

Through the smoke of pain and leftover narcotics, Elliot wondered if he could be braver this time around, as he pulled the hand back to his side.

"Doesn't matter anymore. I want - I need to go home. I don't understand why you're doing this at all. You're so-"

Different, yes. His Elliot was on the best way to finally understand. Chris didn't want to confess yet, it would be too much at once.

"I missed you." The soothing tone was put on in good faith.

"Missed?" It was practically spat at him. Missed what? Beating me? "Didn't you do enough already?"

Craving revelation, though refusing to back down, both men clenched their jaw tight.

"You need to stop, Morris," Elliot had one last desperate offer to give in case Chris really was insane, not in the pop psychology sort of way, but by being a seriously sick man: "I-I can visit you, okay?!"

Why visit when you can just stay?

"Elliot, quit being so formal."

A buzz ripped them apart. Go to hell, Elise!

Gladly, Morris let go of his chest to stomp over to the kitchen counter.

"Fucking Belanger, I swear to god." With a swift motion, the call was ended. It was obvious that dear Chris tried to keep his facade alive, even with all nerves on edge.

"That's my - uh, that's not really my boss, he only annoys me sometimes."

Elliot nodded wordlessly, as if he could give a rat's ass about Morris and his little pusher friends running around town, playing UNO all night long and ruining other people's relationships.

"Just ignore that, he's from Quebec so," he rolled his eyes excessively, "y'know?!"

No, Elliot didn't know. Respectively, he knew nothing, even after spending all morning with him. The oh-so obvious reason for his stay was still a blank hole of ignorance for him.

He couldn't believe a single word coming from that bastard's mouth, he was a liar back then, and he would be one on every single day to come.

Elliot didn't even register how badly he was shivering.

"We just take it slowly," Morris offered, but struggled to cleanse the atmosphere, "only talk and spend some time together. Do you know Azul? The game with the little tiles?"

Elliot sensed how this would go, the bile in his mouth started having the horrible aftertaste of moonshine and ichor.

Oh god, I can't do this again.

Dizziness hit him from nowhere and took all leftover strength from his already drained body. Panting heavily, Elliot didn't remember how he ended up on the cold floor, just how he kept on shaking whilst staring at Morris through blurry eyes.

As if underwater, no words reached him.

He'd laugh at himself, how the thought of another game night made his already wild panic spike, if his lungs didn't trick him into believing he was drowning on land.

I can't do this again, I can't do this again.

"Hey!"

A weight was placed on his chest, wrapping around his ribs and holding him close - so, so close as if to press all the fear out of him. His mind was racing, partly happy the oncoming lightheadedness alleviated the pain being pumped into him with every fluttering heartbeat.

Inhaling was needles in his lungs, exhaling pointless. The air refused to leave against the source of the comforting pressure.

"-need my pills," was the last thing he could force out, before the rest of Chris' heavy body buried him in a tight embrace. Next to Elliot's ear, he shook his head and shushed him gently.

"You're good for me" he murmured, fighting to keep the clutch, "I'm sorry, we'll make this work."

Unable to help himself, Elliot gave in to the dark walls that were closing in around them, praying for unconsciousness to take him away quickly.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[wangxianficrecs]

💙the soft animal of your body by sysrae

💙 the soft animal of your body

by sysrae

T, 15k, Wangxian

Summary: “This is slightly embarrassing,” Lan Xichen says, “but I urgently need a pet-sitter."

Mojo's comments: In which wwx is at the end of his rope, coreless, homesless, hurt and hungry, when he gets an offer to pet-sit lxc's suddenly-acquired rabbit. And of course, once wwx is FINALLY somewhere warm and safe, he might just unburden himself of a few secrets, no matter how judgemental this bunny may seem.

Kay's comments: Ah, my heart breaks for Wei Wuxian in this story! It hurt, it hurt so good and I loved every moment of it. In which Wei Wuxian, who's been living in his car and is going through a rough time, receives a late-night call by Lan Xichen who asks him to be an emergency pet-sitter, because he leaves and somebody needs to watch his bunny. Wei Wuxian agrees and looks forward to sleeping on a bed and enjoying a hot shower for once and then he spends a week with the rabbit, who's lovely company, especially considering how lonely Wei Wuxian has been feeling. I loved the modern with cultivation aspect in this story, loved how Wangxian's relationship and misunderstandings were mirrored and how it all got resolved. Prepare for lots of angst and whump though!

Excerpt: “This is… Baozi,” says Lan Xichen, almost apologetically. “Baozi, Wei Ying is going to watch you while I’m away.” “Baozi!” says Wei Ying, sufficiently delighted that he forgets to be self-conscious. Who knew the First Jade of Lan owned an adorable, whimsically-named bunny! “Does he like to be picked up?” “We’re still establishing boundaries in that regard,” says Lan Xichen dryly. “Baozi is a… a new acquisition. He is generally very well-behaved –” he shoots the rabbit a look of fond exasperation which, being a rabbit, it is presumably incapable of interpreting, “– but I’m not sure how he’ll react to others.” Nodding, Wei Ying crouches down, wincing slightly at the pain in his hip, and extends his fingers for Baozi’s inspection. Despite its stern expression, the rabbit deigns to give him a single polite sniff. Wei Ying laughs and slowly pats him, head to haunch, marveling at the soft fur; he does this twice before Baozi shoots him an affronted look and hops pointedly out of reach, hiding beneath Lan Xichen’s bedside table. “Does he have a hutch?” Wei Ying asks, straightening. He doesn’t know much about rabbit ownership, but he has a nebulous idea that hay is involved somehow. “Ah,” says Lan Xichen, seeming slightly embarrassed. “That is – no.” He hesitates, then says, “Baozi is – was – the spiritual animal companion of my great-aunt, Lan Yi, who recently passed away. She lived a very long life, and Baozi was with her for most of it; with his master dead, his spiritual faculties are significantly diminished, but he’s far from being an ordinary rabbit.” His brow furrows. “Truthfully, we don’t know why he survived her death – as tightly bonded as they were, it doesn’t make any sense. And yet –” He gestures helplessly towards Baozi, whose ears are now laid flat.

pov wei wuxian, homelessness, modern setting, modern with magic, shapeshifting, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, animal transformation, golden core reveal, getting together, whump, confession, @fozmeadows

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[wardrobemoments]

Jane in s3e02, Cackle-Bladder Blood

[aceofwhump]

Leverage: Redemption - 2x06 "The Fractured Job

[whump-queen]

based off your art I posit that you have a Major Thing for sad anime boys

oh god

the meow meow effect

what can I say I’m a SIMP for a pretty boy whose soaking wet and suffering

my pretty anime meow meows… my little beloveds~~

i wanna put them all in a jar and shake it

[highcaliberstupidity]

Whumptober day 7 Radio Silence Rating General Cw's/Tags Farah has trust issues after Hadir, set between MW2 22 and Atomgrad Raid Characters Farah Karim Summary

One transmission had been made from the depths of the bunker, that it was more than expected. And Alex, the stupid, brave man he was, had chosen to delve deeper. And now he was MIA, missing in unknown and undocumented territory. They had no knowledge, no idea if any of the squad was even still alive. No count on hostiles, not even a hint to who it might be. But there was someone there, someone smart enough to circle back and cut Alex and his team off. And that left Farah with a call to make.

It's no surprise that COMs went dark. 

If it really was a nuclear fallout shelter, then the depth and miles of concrete alone would make it impossible to reach anything more than sightline communications. 

Not to mention whatever, or whoever might be under the earth with them. 

She knows Alex is smart enough to have set up a communications line, stringing his personnel along the way to ensure they could keep communication through the mission as well as having a direct link back to command, to Farah . 

Somewhere, that line had been cut. 

One transmission had been made from the depths of the bunker, that it was more than expected. And Alex, the stupid, brave man he was, had chosen to delve deeper. 

And now he was MIA, missing in unknown and undocumented territory. They had no knowledge, no idea if any of the squad was even still alive. No count on hostiles, not even a hint to who it might be. 

But there was someone there, someone smart enough to circle back and cut Alex and his team off. 

And that left Farah with a call to make. 

The right course of action would be to send another team with her allies to delve in and find them. The right choice, would be to trust this to Laswell, that she would find her people and bring them home. 

But trust did not come easy to Farah anymore. Not for a very, very long time. 

The blade of Hadri's betrayal still cut to this day, leaving the laceration deep and with ragged edges. To put her trust into someone else to find those so important to her was simply something she couldn't give. 

She barely even trusted herself with it. 

So she would take the road others would urge her away from, she would go herself, and trust the ULF to her commanders. Either way, she would be leaving her family unguarded somewhere, she only had to choose which.

But she trusted her brothers and sisters and cousins here, trusted them to care for themselves and those around them if not for her, then themselves. 

They would stand without her, and she would bring the others home. 

Or she would die trying.

[brightlotusmoon]

Turtle Pile of Nonsense - Chapter 15 - inkandstone - Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012) [Archive of Our Own]

This is a 2012 fic exploring the aftermath of Tokka Vs The Earth at the end of Season 4, the part where Michelangelo gets captured by government scientists and experimented on, which broke the number one rule of never get caught. Splinter cries. Everybody cries. I cried. Mikey will never completely recover. Life has forever changed. The acknowledgement the Mikey Fandom desperately needed. And right before Splinter dies forever!

Also, Mikey and Casey are dating and the shenanigans in the previous chapter are hilarious. It's why this chapter goes extra hard.

I'm going to throw this into the Mikey Fandom enrichment enclosure. Please. Eat. It's delicious.

[3-2-whump]

Songs to Whump To

Wait For You by Elliott Yamin

Emotional Angst Time!

[asidian]

Alright. It is time. Buckle up.

Why you should be watching Dead Boy Detectives: the targeted-specifically-at my-readers edition.

Meet the leads, our two ghost boys:

Edwin Payne: Fussy, repressed intellectual type from the Edwardian era. Exceedingly gay for his partner and best friend. Tortured in hell for seventy years on a technicality because he was ritually sacrificed as a prank gone wrong. Endearingly awful at people and dealing with emotions or his own wants.

Charles Rowland: Impulsive, people-pleasing wildcard from the 80s. Heart eyes 24/7 at his best friend but has zero self-awareness. Badly abused by his asshole of a father. Beaten to death because he saved a kid from bullies. Endearingly awful at sorting his own emotions or talking about his problems.

Some highlights:

/slaps hood you can fit so much trauma in these two

Both leads get sobbing breakdowns that happen on screen. The actors are incredible at crying

Both leads get much-needed hugs

The absolute devotion between the two of them. The shared history that lives in their dialogue and how they work together like people who have been each other's Most Important Person for literal decades

I mean, I'm talking in-canon Orpheus and Eurydice reference level of devotion here

The protective way Charles puts himself physically between Edwin and damn near every threat in the show

They're just fun together. Their interactions and banter and how they work as a team is a delight

Their shared plot arc literally involves them learning to talk to each other and communicate more so that they can be there for one another about their respective issues

The symbolism. God. They are metaphorically and literally one another's light in the darkness

But what about stuff that isn't the main duo? Just wait, there's more:

This show is unabashedly, unapologetically queer. It's there in the text and the subtext. The whole show lives and breathes it

So many good, complex, well-written female characters. The Bechdel test gets blown straight out of the water in episode one and they never look back. Headstrong amnesiac psychic learning to be a better person! Quirky meta commentary matchmaker! Cynical lesbian butcher! Delightfully sadistic witch! They are all amazing.

[audience voice] But I'm here for the hurt/comfort. How can I whump ghosts? Worry not, my friends. Canon has you covered. Not only are there ways, there are ways that happen on-screen. The hurt/comfort and rescue are also on-screen. Yes, it is amazing

Absolute chaos, really cool supernatural cases and creatures, a surprising amount of humor, charming writing, and a cast that absolutely nails it on the acting and chemistry

There is an extremely suggestive trickster type who is also the king of cats. He's a cat in human form. He hits on Edwin nonstop. Charles gets blisteringly jealous

All of the leads have well-thought-through, fully developed, emotional character arcs. They're all messy and flawed and sometimes lash out in their pain, but at turns can be incredibly supportive and kind and loyal

A character who is a crow who is also a boy, who is tortured by his witch/creator and also is crushing hard on one of the leads

There are so many incredible details in the setting, costume choices, prop decisions, etc. that you only catch after you know what it's laying the groundwork for. The level of care that went into this show is phenomenal

It's only eight episodes. The time investment barrier to entry could not possibly be lower

Anyway, tl;dr, if any of this sounds appealing to you, you should give this show a watch.

Dead Boy Detectives is well worth your time. It's easily my favorite show in years.

[mischefous]

OOGHHHH- man this fic, this fic I come back to very often to re-read. especially chapter 2. When FanJoyJuly was announced I was like this one. this is the fic I wanna draw for.

the whump, the emotion, the recovery was so painful but so rewarding. everything that was described was so tangible. I could feel everything Four was experiencing in such heart-wrenching detail. I felt the unbridled fear of the Chain when they were helping him through everything. this is one of my top favorite fics in my little hoard that I love coming back to.

just be mindful of the tags in this fic. but give it a read! IT'S SO FREAKING GOOD! thank you to @cluelessmoose for this amazing fic💙