#hallucinating whumpee

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[angstingantlers]

(Not) Real

Featuring: Finsterl Tyto & Hemlock [OCs]

Whump: post-abuse, past psychological abuse, flashbacks, paranoia, hallucinations of an abuser, verbal degradation, manipulative language. Nonhuman characters & fantasy setting.

-

Finsterl realised his brain rot was probably significantly worse than he thought when he started hearing the branches tapping at his window.

There were no trees outside. He was always careful to make sure there were no trees near his safe places, and especially not his home. A quick glance outside was more than enough to verify that no saplings had spontaneously sprouted since he last looked; nothing was near his window, no plants or animals in sight.

He still heard it. Insistent. Nagging. Even as he stared at the glass and saw nothing, he heard it there.

... It wasn't real. He knew that. Perhaps that's why he didn't immediately scramble for his gun when he heard the gentle giggle from the corner.

He thought it was the corner, at least. When he swung around, the sound only moved with him, staying behind him no matter which way he turned. His darting eyes stared wide and frantic into the empty room.

Finsterl shivered.

Still, he took a slow, deep breath and tried to shake the tension from his shoulders, turning back to his desk. Focus on work. Ignore the coiling shadows and the creak of wood and that fucking laughter dancing in the corners.

But no matter what -- he could never hope to ignore her voice.

Having fun, Finnie?

Sterl froze.

Get your gun. It's here. Get your gun get your gun get your--

"You're not real," he stated aloud. It was quiet, a shake under the words -- but it was full of conviction.

When he received nothing but silence in return for several minutes, that was almost enough to help his racing thoughts settle. Sometimes that was all he needed. Sometimes the real sound and weight of his voice could ground him well enough.

Foolish thing.

Do you really think you could do any of this without me?

Finsterl grit his jaw, his feathers slowly lifting as he fought to keep his breathing level. He knew he should just ignore it. It wasn't real anyway.

He still muttered to the empty room, "I can. I do not need you."

You will watch your research crumble to nothing and your mind right alongside it. Pathetic, ungrateful creature.

His claws tapped furiously on the desk. He reached for his coffee mug, cold and almost empty though it was -- raised it to his beak and inhaled, long and slow. The smell was weak and distant.

Her voice continued to croon gently.

Your weak little soul will never survive alone. Just look at you. You're broken. That you still believe you will ever save him is laughable. You can't even save yourself.

Useless.

"... If I am so damn useless, then what fucking good am I to you?"

It didn't reply to his question. Obviously. Because it wasn't real, and he knew that, just like he knew he should stop entertaining this.

But he listened to her words anyway, just like he always did.

Do you know how much work I put in to keep other Eldritch away from you? To prevent them taking advantage of your episodes and vulnerability? Such a fragile naïve mind, with such a powerful domain... Without me to shield you, they'll come from miles around to claim you for themselves.

"You invited them to me, you bastard," he hissed, voice cracking. "They only ever found me at all because of you."

They will come. And they will eat you alive. So many have already had a taste of your despair, and with a monster as pitiful as you... they won't be able to resist going for the full meal.

Just imagine what horrors they'll be able to commit with your hands, dear. You've already seen what they're capable of.

"... That isn't--"

Red pools swam in his vision, covered his desk and hands, his clothes, his feathers. Every breath tasted of iron.

Finsterl shook his head and blinked it all rapidly away, pointedly not looking to the shadowed corners of the room and the countless eyes watching him.

It wasn't real. She wasn't there. There was nothing there.

... I do wonder. Can you really keep all the Eldritch legions at bay with that little trick of yours alone? It may fought me off once, but does it even still function? Can you be so sure it's still enough to keep you out of their grasp?

"Shut up." It was barely above a whisper, half-choked by the panic gripping his throat and chest, bloody claws gouging at his desk. "Just shut up."

... Oh.

That damn giggling. Dripping with pity. Laced with fake concern.

Are you scared, dear?

Sterl whipped around and hurled the mug at the corner. It shattered against the wall, leaving nothing but a dark stain on the wood and scattered ceramic on the floor.

The spray of liquid almost looked like woven branches.

Finsterl tore his eyes away from it as his shoulders heaved, his fists clenched. It took him far longer than he would have liked to untense his muscles and finally sink back down into his chair. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't quite get his feathers to flatten.

It was all in his head. He knew it was. It always was.

Knowing never made it feel any less real.

[thatgenderfluidmonstrosity]

In honor of Halloween, The 31st, Spooky Seasons Finale!

I have a list of Torture Habits for Whump! Obviously you can find longer lists, but these are just my favorites! Thought I’d share!

Breaking/Dislocating Bones

Suffocation

Starvation

Burning

Shaving Head

Withdrawing Food and Sleep (Can eat and sleep moderately)

-Withdrawing Food (Moderately)

-Withdrawing Sleep (Moderately)

Withdrawing Food and Sleep (Can eat and sleep rarely/almost never)

-Withdrawing Food (Almost Always)

-Withdrawing Sleep (Almost Always)

Noise Blaring/Loud Alarms

Shock Collars

Hunting Game [Ask for more details ;)]

Calling Themselves Stupid/Worthless (@marvelouswhump)

Beating

Whipping

Water Boarding

Forced Nudity

Extreme Temperatures

-Extreme Cold

-Extreme Heat

Threatened/Practiced Execution

Acting as a Servant

Ice Bath

Drowning

Slowing Time

Hallucinations

Torturing SO

Chained up

Full Body Electrocution

Memory Loss

Branding

Forced Information

Pulse Play

Escapes Successfully from Whumper

Failed Escape from Whumper

Is Freed/Saved by Caretaker

Ask me if you have any questions on any of these, or what they mean, or maybe some examples?

[mischefous]

Saw you wanted whump-y LU requests, and I wanted to suggest maybe a piece of either Wild or Twilight being sick, and hallucinating that the other isn’t there, when they actually are? Or something along those lines?

Hope you have a wonderful day!

I really enjoyed drawing the expressions on this one! poor Wild is super sick and delirious to the point where he is hallucinating that everyone is gone 😭

Thank you for your lovely request @four-eyed-nerd! I hope you have a wonderful day too💙

HSAJFJSHKW- LOVE IT WHEN I DRAW HANDS AND THEY LOOK LIKE PROPER HANDS

[whumppromptoftheday]

"What are you doing here?" Whumpee asks the hallucination. "There's nothi-" they cut themselves off. "Oh, I get it now."

The hallucination smiles sadly, "I didn't want you to be alone for this."

[a-living-canvas]

Reeks of Someone Else

It's a warm, rainy night. Whumpee slept comfortably on their bed, blanket wrapped around their figures. Warm and fluffy. Warm and drowsy. Warm and—

A finger slowly, gently, traced the palm of their hand. Drawing circular motion around it as Whumpee shifted on their position. The touch felt awfully familiar. Was it Caretaker? Or was it…

Whumper.

Whumpee opened their eyes wide as they sat up and backed away to the wall, hiding their face behind the pillow. Their body were trembling as tears slid down their cheeks. It must be Whumper, wanting to take them away again. They could feel their presence, slowly climbing up on the bed. 

"Please…please…don't take me away, please!" Whumpee pleaded. They couldn't bear the thought of living with Whumper again. They couldn't handle the constant pain anymore. Please…please…have some mercy on me…

"Whumpee?"

Caretaker put a hand on Whumpee's shoulder, making them flinch.

"No! No! Please!"

Caretaker grabbed Whumpee's arms, turning their body to them. 

"Whumpee, calm down!".

Whumpee's eyes filled with tears as they looked back at Caretaker. "C-caretaker…"

"Yes, it's me…" they stroked Whumpee's hair gently. Whumpee finally calmed down a little, but then they spoke with a serious tone.

"Caretaker, I think…I think Whumper is here…"

Caretaker tilted their head, "Whumper is here?"

Whumpee nodded, wrapping their hands around Caretaker's. "Yes, he…he must be hiding somewhere. He traced my palm just now…he…he always liked to do that…!"

Caretaker shook their heads, "Nobody's here, Whumpee. It's just me."

"You traced my palm earlier?"

"Well, no but—"

"Then who?!" 

Caretaker flinched. "I…I don't know…it might be your mind playing tricks on you."

Whumpee stared at Caretaker with a disappointed gaze before walking towards every corner of the room. They opened the closet, throwing all the clothes to the floor before moving to searching under the bed.

"He must be here…! Hiding anywhere. I bet he put cameras around my room…" Whumpee muttered, looking at every inch, every corner of their room.

Caretaker watched Whumpee in worry. "Whumpee, can't you just calm down please?"

"No! You don't understand." Whumpee continued searching. Frustration mixed with fear, they pushed all the stuff on the table to the ground before sitting on the edge of the bed. Burying their face in their palms, they muttered softly,

"I can't live like this anymore…"

Caretaker rubbed their back up and down gently. "Shh…it's okay…"

~

He kept haunting them, without stopping.

Whumpee walked downstairs late at night. It's 2 AM. Their throat felt dry as they rubbed their fingers around it. Yawning, they made their way to the kitchen before stopping. 

What is that?

A faint sound of a knife being sharpened could be heard from the sink. Whumpee saw a figure, standing with his back on them. He was humming softly to himself while sharpening the knife, a sadistic chuckle suddenly echoing through the kitchen.

Whumpee froze on their position. Those broad shoulders…those familiar hands on their skin. 

"Whumpee?"

That's it. Just hearing their name with that voice was enough to make them slowly kneel on the floor. Their fingers trembling, tears streamed down their faces without warning. 

"Y-yes, Master…?"

He went silent before calling out their name again. "Whumpee?"

"Yes, master…?" 

Again. "Whumpee?"

Whumpee bite their bottom lip. "Yes master? What is it? Tell me…" 

"Whumpee?"

Whumpee pressed their forehead on the floor. They knew Whumper was mad at them for escaping. They just wanted it to hurt a little less later.

"Yes, master! Tell me! Order me..! I'll be good! I'll be good, I promise..!" 

"Whumpee! What are you doing..?"

The sound of Caretaker's voice snapped them from their mind. Whumpee lifted their heads, looking up at Caretaker who stared at them with worry. "You were hallucinating again."

Whumpee shifted their gaze away from Caretaker. They were in the kitchen, alone, and all the kitchen utensils were in their right place.

"Y-you think it's just hallucinations…?"

"Yes." Caretaker crouched down in front of Whumpee, looking at them with a serious expression. "If this keeps happening, we will go to the hospital to check your condition."

Whumpee chuckled in disbelief, "You don't think I'm crazy right? You know I'm not spitting nonsense."

"Whumpee, I–" Caretaker sighed. "I checked the CCTV and nobody was there in your room or anywhere in our house. So please, stop this."

Caretaker stood up, leaving Whumpee alone in the kitchen.

~

"It's not hallucinations…" Whumpee muttered, burying their faces on the pillow as they laid on their stomach. "I know what I see. And I saw him…close to me."

Whumper sighed. They closed their eyes, trying to sleep even though their mind was still racing. Full with Whumper and his—

Touch.

A pair of arms wrapped around their waist. Hands trailing their back. Another caressing their hair. What is happening? They could feel Whumper's touch, all over their body. Marking his ownership, claiming his property again. 

"Careta—"

No. They will think that Whumpee's crazy again and send them to the hospital. They were not a fan of hospitals, all those medicines and doctors only reminded them of Whumper.

"Stay quiet…stay quiet…"

Whumpee whispered softly. They buried their faces deeper on the pillow, trying to ignore those wandering hands around their body. They let out a slight whimper when their sides were being stroked.

"Stop it…stop it…please…"

The soft caresses suddenly turned into tight grips. The hand around their neck choking them, while the other hand was pulling their head back from the pillow. 

Whumpee let out a breathless gasp. "H…help! Please…stop it…!"

They brought their hands to their neck, trying to grab the hand choking them but they found nothing. 

"Oh, God! Stop…please! Please!"

Whumpee's face turned red from the lack of air. They could see the black dots filling their vision. "Caretaker— mmhh…!" 

Their mouths clamped shut by the other hand. Whumpee gave in to their slumber, closing their eyes as their consciousness fading.

~

Whumpee stirred awake from their sleep. They could hear the monitor beeped beside their bed.

It's all white. White bed sheet, white blanket and white ceilings. Oh, a hospital.

Whumpee let out a soft groan as they tried to sit up on the bed. Gentle hands guiding them back to the mattress, caressing their hair softly. "Don't move too much, Whumpee." Caretaker said, pushing a strand of hair behind Whumpee's ear. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Caretaker spoke again.

"You were choking yourself."

…What?

"Huh?"

"You were screaming and when I entered your room, you were choking yourself."

Whumpee blinked their eyes a few times. They touched the side of their neck, remembering the tight grip around it. Whumper's grip. "N-no…that's…that's not me. It's—"

Caretaker pressed their index finger against Whumpee's lips. "It's not Whumper, dear. It's you. It's always have been you."

Caretaker stood up, squeezing Whumpee's hand. "You need to rest."

Whumpee watched as Caretaker walked out of the door before closing it. They sealed their eyes shut, sighing. 

Half an hour passed, Whumpee stared at the ceiling while fiddling with their fingers when a doctor entered the room wearing a white coat and mask on his face. He walked towards Whumpee and they couldn't help but flinch when a few buttons on their shirt were being opened, revealing their skin.

The doctor chuckled, "Relax, I just want to check your heartbeat."

The cold surface of the stethoscope hitting against Whumpee's skin. They felt shivers running down their spine at the doctor's cold gaze.

"All good?" They asked.

"All good."

He pulled his hand away, buttoning Whumpee's shirt back as he picked up a syringe, removing the air bubbles with their fingers before turning back to Whumpee again. "Close your eyes." He ordered.

Whumpee hesitated for a moment. "Um, what's that for?" 

The doctor smiled through his eyes, although Whumpee wasn't sure whether it's the reassuring or malicious ones. "Just to ease your pain." He said.

Whumpee pondered for a few seconds before they nodded and closed their eyes. The doctor applied alcohol on a cotton-wool ball before wiping it across Whumpee's inner elbow. Whumpee could feel the sharp pain coursed through their body from the injection. 

Their body going limp and heavy, their head pounding with drowsiness. They opened their eyes. Their half lidded gaze met his and in the middle of passing out, the doctor pulled down his mask, revealing his toothy grin and sadistic smile that made Whumpee's stomach churned at the sight.

"Sleep tight, doll."

~

Part 2

[the-bar-sinister]

Whumpee seems to be watching their own body in a distant haze as the claws dig into their belly and rip the flesh of it open.

There is pain– oh god there is pain, whumpee watches their own body shudder and spasm as it happens– but that pain is distant and divorced, like a memory, or a rumor they once heard.

The blood and viscera spill out across the floor, like a dark pool spreading around a tangle of squirming snakes, and they watch as the jolting movement of their body slows, and the light in their own terrified, wide eyes starts to dim.

Suddenly they are somewhere else– they are in their body again, and there is no pain. But there is panic. With shaking hands whumpee puts their fingers gingerly down to touch their belly, expecting to find wet blood and pulsing organs.

There is nothing but tender, undamaged flesh, and the memory of being torn apart. Disoriented and afraid, whumpee's whole body trembles as they try to heave themselves up to their feet to keep going a little longer.

[sleepyiswhumping]

New Medicine

They flooded the room, their flashy, flawless, bedazzled outfits glimmering in the countless, blinding lights. Avery wanted to scream, tear out his eyes, curl up, wrap his wings around him, something, anything, to block out the lights. His head felt like it was being ripped in two, streaks and spots of light flashing in his vision as daggers stabbed themselves through his skull, slicing his mind to ribbons. Yet he didn’t die. Somehow, he didn’t die. No matter how much he wished he was, it seemed impossible. Incomprehensible agony as—no, no, no, don’t TOUCH ME DON’T PLEASE STAY AWAY— 

[fallenwhumpee]

Worth it.

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Blood, magic whump, hypothermia, stranger caretaker, hallucination(?)

Leader always believed that their worth was defined by the people willing to help them when they were in their lowest. They always believed having people back them up was the real tresure.

Judging themselves by their own thoughts, Leader was worthless.

Trembling in the water, Leader tried to stay still. They were floating on their back, their blood oozing around and their thoughts as blurry as their vision. They had no strength to get themselves to the shore. Hell, they had no idea where the shore was.

Leader should have been panicking by now. But there was no point in trashing. Waste of their precious time and strength. They were probably not going to make it, and they could only hope the blood loss would rock them to sleep before hypothermia could.

When they eliminated panic, only an odd feeling left. The magic showed them another death. A lot more merciful one. A good ending, at least, even if getting there was torture.

Leader didn't think magic could be mistaken, or the future could be changed. They didn't think they would be dropped off in the middle of water just because of fear, after being ambushed by their own. If they had only listened Leader... that future could happen.

But maybe it wasn't the magic that showed Leader those. Maybe it was just what they wanted to see, and the truth just came to spit on their face. There was no way that they could explain how they didn't break any rules yet cast such powerful spell after fighting all day.

Leader felt their will crumbe as if it was frozen with the cold and someone was hammering it. Not for the first time, they felt the line between dark magic and the forbidden magic blur into each other. Sure, Leader was willing to sacrifice their emotions or give up some of their strength, but they weren't desperate enough to sacrifice something else.

Why not just give in? They could save themselves.

Leader trembled again, pushing the poisonous thought away. They didn't want to become a mindless puppet, and they were stronger than the temptation.

But did it really matter? When they were slowly fading away?

Leader breathed, their lungs screaking for some air. Those were dangerous thoughts, and they didn't belong to Leader.

A cough shook their body. They had to turn to expell some of the water from their lungs. Their head was barely above the water as they coughed their lungs out, their control over their body slipping.

Leader forced themselves to turn on their back again, not able to keep themselves afloat. They ignored how much water they swallowed in the progress and how it made their stomsch turn. They were too drained to care about it.

Leader’s vision blurred, the sky above merging with the depths below. The cold seeped deeper into their bones, numbing their limbs until they could barely tell where the water ended and their body began. They tried to take another breath, but their chest tightened, and a sharp pain shot through their ribs. The taste of salt and iron filled their mouth, darkness taking over their other senses momentarily.

A wave rolled over them, pulling them underwater for a brief, terrifying moment. When they resurfaced, Leader’s body barely responded to their will. Their wet clothes were sticking on them, the howling wind freezing their skin through the thick and wet layers.

They were so, so tired.

Deprived of their magic and strength, they didn't want anything else than closing their eyes. They doubted they would wake up, but at least they weren't in pain. Breathing slowly, they let their thoughts focused on only one thing.

Cold.

All they could feel eas cold. Reasonably, Leader thought. But it didn’t feel right. They had passed the point they were supposed to feel cold. They tried to move, but they didn't feel the swaying feeling of the waves. They were... still. Their back ached on the solid ground, their heavy body slumped on the floor.

Barely able to crack their eyes, Leader met with darkness. Soon, it became a thick, suffocating sight, as if it was wrapped against their throat and pressing their chest. Were they sinking? Was all of this just a last cry of help from their body to wake up their mind?

"You suffered too much," a voice whispered, gentle and soft. Leader struggled as they tried to remember if they had ever heard that voice before, but their mind failed to progress.

Slowly, it got easier to think. They could feel warmth embracing them, giving them a break from the constant shivering.

"You know you don't have to," the warmth burned their cheeks, the voice feeling closer to their ear. "You have the strength to make it stop."

Leader wanted to argue, but their body wouldn’t move, their voice trapped in their throat. The heat held them captive, and all they could do was listen as they felt their skin burn.

"You tried so hard," the voice murmured. "To be strong, to lead, to protect. Only to die alone, bleeding and broken. The people you cared never cared about you. But I won't let this injustice go on any longer."

Leader clenched their fists, nails digging into their palms as they struggled against the crushing weight on their chest. "No," they managed to whisper, the word barely audible. There was nothing to do within their strength to save themselves.

Leader’s heart pounded in their chest as they tried to move again. "No," they muttered again. They tried to open their eyes. Their body seized with pain as they found themselves on a softer ground, the world spinning around them. They were still cold and hot at the same time, still weak, but they were alive. Every part of them hurt, from the deep wound at their side to the biting cold that clung to their skin. The remnants of the dream (hallucination? nightmare? they weren't sure) clung to them, and for a moment, they almost wished they had given in—at least then, they wouldn’t be in this agony.

It took several long moments before Leader realized they weren’t alone. Someone must have pulled them from the water and wrapped them in a blanket. Not that they weren't grateful, but it did very little to chase away the cold.

Blinking through their blurry vision, Leader noticed a figure kneeling beside them.

Leader’s heart pounded in their chest. They flinched away from the person, their body too weak to do much more than that.

The figure said something softly, holding up their hands to show they meant no harm. Leader didn't understand one word from the stranger, and even though the gesture was clear, Leader wasn't buying it.

Leader tried to push themselves up to get away or at least seem intimidating, but their limbs were uncooperative, trembling violently with the effort. They barely managed to prop themselves up on one elbow before collapsing back, their breath coming in ragged gasps as a coughing fit took over.

The figure panicked, helping Leader back down with more words Leader couldn’t understand.

Leader’s vision swam as they stared up at the stranger, every instinct telling them not to trust, not to let their guard down. But they were too weak to fight, too drained to argue or make a point. They gritted their teed with frustration as they realized just how helpless they were.

The stranger mumbled, their voice soothing, almost hypnotic in its calmness. A magic circle with light colors glowed over them, but Leader couldn't summon the strength to break through it.

Leader’s eyes fluttered closed despite their efforts to stay awake, exhaustion - or the spell, they couldn’t tell - winning over. The last thing they felt before sleep claimed them was the gentle touch of the stranger’s hand on their forehead, cool and reassuring over their warm skin, even if it failed to ease the alarms taking over their fading consciousness.

Leader drifted in and out for a frustratingly long time, their mind a haze of pain and fevered dreams. The warmth that surrounded them was a far cry from the icy grip of the lake, but it was no less disorienting. Every breath was a struggle, their chest tight and burning, each inhale rattling painfully in their lungs.

But alongside that pain was something else—something softer, warmer. A hand, perhaps, carefully dabbing at their forehead with a damp cloth, or the feeling of a thick, scratchy blanket tucked securely around them.

When they finally managed to crack their eyes open, Leader found themselves in a small, dimly lit room. A fire crackled softly somewhere nearby, filling the air with warmth and the faint smell of burning wood. For a moment, Leader wondered if their mind finally pitied them and gave a calm dream, but the pain in their chest and the wet, rasping cough wasn't something they could make up.

The stranger was sitting on a stool beside the bed, busy with something Leader couldn’t see. When they noticed Leader’s eyes on them, they turned, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Leader tried to sit up, but their body refused to cooperate, a wave of dizziness forcing them to stay down. The stranger made a soft sound—something between a shushing noise and a hum—before gently pressing Leader back against the pillow.

The stranger patted the bed with a frown, pressing their hand to Leader's forehead.

Leader whined, frustration bubbling up inside them. They needed to know where they were, who this person was, and most importantly, why they had saved them. But when they tried to speak, their throat burned, and all that came out was a hoarse, unintelligible croak. They couldn't even raise their hand to push the stranger away.

The stranger sat next to them. They gestured to themselves, placing a hand on their chest. “Caretaker,” they said slowly, enunciating the word as if trying to make it easier for Leader to grasp.

“Caretaker…” Leader murmured, the name foreign on their tongue. They tried to repeat the gesture, but their hand barely lifted from the bed before falling back, too weak to complete the motion. Caretaker smiled again, this time with a hint of sadness, and placed their hand over Leader’s, giving it a gentle squeeze.

For a while, there was silence. Leader’s eyes drifted shut again, but they fought to keep them open, determined not to slip back into the void. Caretaker seemed to notice and began speaking softly, their voice low and melodic, though Leader couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter; the sound was comforting, a lifeline in Leader’s confusion and pain.

Leader tried to get a hold of themselves, and they did, even though they noticed Caretaker was gone by the time they regained awareness. Leader felt the loneliness crush them again, the emotions they supressed for the sake of staying calm surfacing. But they couldn't have that. They weren't ready to deal with any of those. So, they did the only thing they knew with those. Used them to cast a spell.

They knew how pathetic it sounded, but they were desperate to save their team, and it left them absolutely drained. Now they were feeling even worse. They had to relieve some of the pain to keep their sanity.

Leader weakly moved their hand to their chest, curling their fingers. They murmured the spell and let the dark circles surround their body like a blanket, their pain fading to the depts of their mind temporarily just like their feelings.

Leader flinched when they heard a gasp, the spell breaking with their concentration. Usually, such things wouldn't affect them, but they were too weak to keep the spell under check without focusing on it.

Leader turned their head to where the sound came, only to see Caretaker frozen in their place. Then suddenly, Caretaker began checking their plants with panic.

"Hey," Leader rasped. They tried again when Caretaker ignored them, but a coughing fit took over. Caretaker hesitantly came over, unsure if they want to help.

Leader pointed the plant in the corner, and weakly made a gesture like pulling it before shaking their head, hoping it meant no for Caretaker too. Then they pointed themselves and made a pulling motion towards up, magical energy forming for a moment before disappearing as Leader felt their strength fail.

Caretaker checked that plant. Leader knew what the other person thought, but they also believed they proved it wrong. Leader wasn't pulling life force from other things, which was the core of forbidden spells. There was nothing to be afraid of as long as Leader had their self-control.

Caretaker came back after making sure the plant was untouched. They took a paper and a pen, scribbling something. Leader recognised the basic healing spell, of course. The source came from the caster's magical energy, which Leader lacked. It was the reason of their lean towards dark magic— they used their emotions to make up their shortcomings.

Caretaker put the pen to Leader's hand. Leader wrote their own slowly, their hand trembling. Only a few symbols were different, but it must have satisfied Caretaker because Leader could see the relief in the other's eyes.

Leader closed their eyes as Caretaker looked at the spell more carefully. They were lucky that the magic came from the same runes. It proved Leader innocent.

With an excited smile, Caretaker tore the paper from Leader's hand— it didn't require much strength. They scribbled some spells and circled some symbols.

Safe, sleep, heal.

Caretaker looked at them proudly. Leader would laugh at the solution to their lack of communication if they had the energy. But they also knew if they laughed, they would start crying.

Did Leader deserve this? From a stranger? Perhaps not. But fate - and the stranger - decided they were worth it.

[letitbehurt]

When Whumpee is so sick that they’re crying in pain and frustration as they beg Whumper for medicine, but when Whumper finally gives them some, the “medicine” is actually a drug that will make the sickness much worse.

[blurryeyeswhump]

CW: non-con drugging, imagined body horror, hallucinations

Whumper looked over from the crate he was sitting on in front of his bound captive.

“Hm? What is it?” He sounded almost eager.

Whumpee had thought it strange that Whumper stuck around for so long, usually he did his business (read: torture) and then left. Today, he lurked and did so wordlessly. Whumpee was already uneasy but now something was wrong. Really wrong.

Their heart was slamming in their chest, blood running ice cold, spots and bulges and shadows swam in their vision whether their eyes were closed or open.

“What did you give me?” they asked shakily.

“You asked for a Tylenol,” Whumper replied, inching forward.

Whumpee breathed through a tremor.

“I think I’m dying,” they said, jerking at their restraints. Something was in the room. They couldn’t see it but they know it was there, in the dark or maybe just behind the light. It wasn’t Whumper. It was something else. Maybe it was inside themself. It might claw its way out. Maybe the hammering inside their chest wasn’t a heart at all but something trying to break out.

“I’m dying, I’m going to fucking die,” Whumpee repeated, louder this time.

“Why do you think that?” Whumper cocked his head to one side with his elbows resting just above his knees.

“Something’s-wr-something’s wrong,” tears started burning in Whumpee’s eyes. This was not a panic attack this was not even real it couldn’t be.

Whumpee could feel themself getting desperate but they shied away when Whumper stood up and moved closer.

Whumpee could swear his eyes went black for a moment and the shadows behind him all but reached out to grab at them.

“What did you give me?!” Whumpee was suddenly much louder but their own voice sounded muffled like they were screaming underwater.

“You asked for a Tylenol,” Whumper repeated.

“But what did you give me?” Whumpee clenched their eyes shut, breathing heavily, and feeling like they might faint or fucking explode into confetti and guts.

Whumper smiled.

“You know, I’m not really sure,” he said, “I threw a few things into a bag and picked one out. Let’s figure out which one I grabbed together, okay? How do you feel?”

Whumpee opened their eyes in time to see the room seem to grow impossibly big around them and Whumper’s elated eyes began to droop and melt down his cheeks and into his Cheshire Cat smile.

“What do you see?”

[whumpbug]

whumperless whump event day 18: i dont see it @whumperless-whump-event

hallucinations / fever dreams / “it's just a nightmare. you're safe.”

see this post for character information!

caretaker: Archie

whumpee: Simon

guys this is like my 2nd favorite fic i wrote for wwe its so silly

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Archie hadn’t heard from Simon in nearly three days.

He had been taking a break from patrol after a bad rib break left him laid up in bed for a few days. Simon vehemently stated that it was forbidden for Archie to do anything more physical than climbing the stairs to his apartment. 

Usually, Archie would have fought him on this, but he didn’t really want to this time. A break sounded nice, especially if he got to spend it with Simon.

Which is why the radio silence confused him.

Typically, when Archie is on house arrest for an injury, Simon texts him often to check up on him, and if not that, he comes over to see Archie in person.

Sure, rib fractures weren’t the most serious thing Archie could be recovering from, but it still didn’t explain why Simon wasn’t having him report his pain on a scale of 1-10 every four hours.

So, Archie did the only logical thing there was to do.

He broke into Simon’s apartment.

He really needed to get better locks on his window. Archie finally clicked it open, and slipped into the kitchen. He hissed a bit as the movement pulled at his still sore side.

“Simon?” Archie called out, his voice a bit quiet just in case Simon was sleeping.

There was no response.

He ventured further into the apartment, noticing that even the apartment looked like it hadn’t been tended to in a few days. There was old fruit on the counter and dishes piled up in the sink and papers strewn about everywhere. It was completely out of character for Simon, who was one of the most organized people Archie knew.

Archie started getting a weird feeling. Simon being kidnapped wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, so that was always a possibility, but it still didn’t feel quite right to Archie. There were no signs of struggle, no signs that any person had been here in a few days.

He took a few more steps into the small living room, intending to go check on Simon’s bedroom when he heard a creak.

He froze.

There was a whoosh sound, and before Archie even had time to react, someone was tackling him to the ground and pinning him there.

“Woah, what the hell?!” He shouted, easily dodging the clumsy punches thrown his way. 

“Get out'f my house!” The figure shouted.

In the slivers of street light coming from the window, Archie finally caught a glimpse of his attacker’s face and--

“Simon?!” He shrieked, ducking from another swing of his fist.

“Get out!” Simon slurred, nearly falling forward with a flair of his arm. 

Archie got a better look at him now, his vision finally adjusting. Simon was breathing erratically. There was a deep flush on his cheekbones, and his eyes were glassy and hazy. Even in his voice, Archie could tell he wasn’t all the way there.

That explained the absence, then.

“Simon, it’s me. It’s Archie. You need to calm down--”

A knee flew up to meet Archie’s middle. Right where his ribs were wrapped up. A strangled cry escaped him.

“You’re not g’nna take me again..” Simon panted, squinting down at Archie as he hissed in pain.

“Fuck, Simon..” Archie groaned, finally grabbing Simon’s wrists and pinning them to his side. Simon did not like this, and began squirming and thrashing in Archie’s grasp.

It was no secret that Simon was taller than Archie, but his strength didn’t begin to compare. Archie gritted his teeth and sat up, pulling Simon off of him while still keeping his arms restrained.

Simon weakly tried to wrench himself out of Archie’s grasp, but dizziness began washing over him rather intensely, and he just groaned.

“J-Just.. leave me alone,” He demanded, but it came out as a soft whimper.

Archie frowned, feeling Simon’s fevered skin beneath his grasp. He approached him once again, kneeling in front of him.

Simon looked utterly and completely out of it. He was blinking slowly, trying in vain to focus his eyes on something. Underneath his hostility, though, Archie could see he was terrified.

“Hey. Look at me. It’s just me, it’s Archie. No one is here to hurt you. You're safe. It’s just a nightmare,” He said, voice gentle. He reached up to cradle Simon’s cheek, but also to gauge the fever and.. yup. He was absolutely burning.

Simon blinked again at Archie, tilting his head like he was seeing him for the first time.

“..Archie?”

Archie breathed a laugh. “Yeah bud, it’s me. Somethin’ tells me you’re not feeling too good..”

Simon fluttered his eyes closed and shook his head. 

“M’cold..” He murmured, and as if to punctuate the statement, a brief shiver wracked his frame.

Archie frowned sympathetically and reached over to the coffee table to flick on a lamp.

He used this opportunity to get a better look at his friend. Simon was wearing an oversized t-shirt that looked suspiciously damp, and some pajama bottoms. His socks were mismatched, which isn’t that odd, but for Simon, completely out of character. He was also rocking a severe bedhead, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Knowing Simon, he probably hadn’t.

Simon was swaying slightly where he sat, looking positively miserable. Archie sighed and pressed a hand to his forehead, smiling softly when Simon melted into the touch.

“How long have you been feeling sick?” He asked, threading a hand through Simon’s sweaty hair.

Simon shrugged. “Since.. Tuesday?”

“Simon, it’s Friday.”

“...Oh.”

Archie sighed softly and wrapped his arms around Simon’s trembling form. He peppered kisses across his warm face and carded a hand through his hair once again.

“How about we get you all cleaned up and into bed?” He offered, standing with a sharp wince.

Simon nodded before noticing Archie’s hiss. He squinted at him in confusion.

“Wait.. your ribs.. how’s the pain?” He questioned softly.

Archie smiled sheepishly. “Well, they were getting better until uh.. well, y’know..”

Simon suddenly remembered what he had been dreaming of previously, and blanched. 

“Oh.. shit, Archie, m'so sorry..I thought..” He trailed off, covering his mouth with a hand.

“Ah, it’s fine. You didn’t mean it! Let’s just get you into the shower, alright?” Archie’s voice had a hint of mirth.

Simon nodded, still feeling his ears burn red with embarrassment.

“I will, however, have you look at them when you’re feeling better. You’re surprisingly strong, even when dying of the plague.”

Simon mumbled more apologies as Archie led him into the bathroom, hiding his face in his hand.

Archie huffed a small laugh. He was never going to let Simon live this down.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[jordanstrophe]

Hi! Would you write some comfort whump? The prompt is that Whumpee’s sick and very delirious, imagining *things* that aren’t true and recalling past traumas. Surely, Caretaker’s there to help them to get through the tiny episode of madness…

Hello there! You had me at ･ﾟ:✧comfort✧:･ﾟ

CW: Blood, injuries, hallucinations, fever, hurt/comfort, splashed with some soft caretaking

Whumpee stood in front of the steamed bathroom mirror clutching the sides of the sink.

After being captured, they brought home a fever that was stubborn to shake. Caretaker was worried sick about it, checking their temperature nearly every hour.

With the side of their hand, they wiped a streak of steam from the mirror. Their eyes suddenly widened and they stepped back from their own reflection.

Staring back was not what they are; but what they were once before - Hallow soulless eyes, dark rims telling days of restless nights, bruises on their lip, cheek and brow. Blood splatter across their face; their own blood.

They recoiled and tried to wipe it, but nothing seemed to want to come off. Their eyes grew more frantic as they whimpered, scrubbing their face harder and harder until the bridge of their nose turned red and the bruising turned black.

Their ears rang and they swore they could hear whumper's voice behind it. They could hear their blood splattering, their heart pounding in their head, pain from every wound like they were being torn open-

The ringing came to a halt when a gentle knock rattled on the door.

"Whumpee? You've been in there for awhile. No rush! I'm just checking to see if you're alright." Their voice rang.

"I can't get it off!" Whumpee sobbed, crumpling to the floor on their knees. "I keep trying and it's not coming off! Why won't it come off!?" Whumpee sobbed.

The door immediately burst with almost brute force. Whumpee felt themselves be scooped into caretaker's arms and their face get cupped by either side of their jaw. Whumpee was practically clawing at their face, still desperate to wash the blood off.

"Whumpee it's okay, I'm here, look at me," Caretaker pushed the panic to the back of their throat and pulled whumpee's hands away from their face. Whumpee held their breath and squeezed their eyes shut. They violently trembled and gasped for air.

"Whumpee, sweetheart..." Caretaker quietly muttered, their voice full of sadness. "You're alright. Hey, hey look at me, you're alright. Deep breaths." Caretaker cupped their face more comfortingly, their fear morphing into concern.

"Wh-what?" Whumpee blinked their eyes open. It was only then did they realize they were on their knees shaking on the floor. They quickly wiped sweat off their forehead and let Caretaker pull them to their feet.

"Look." Caretaker nodded to the mirror. Whumpee glanced at caretaker nervously, before hesitantly approaching the mirror afraid of what was in it.

Inside the streak was their face, maybe a bit red and feverish still, but not a drop of blood, not a single bruise (although there were a few smalls ones to form soon) and a healthy-nourished complexion thanks to caretaker nursing them with breakfast every morning and dinner every night.

They swayed on their feet as caretaker stood behind them and clutched the back of their arms. "Easy, you're still healing... Are you in pain?" They asked.

"N-... No." Whumpee breathed, touching their face with their fingertips. "No, not at all..." They repeated, sounding more confused than relieved.

"Why don't we go back to bed and I'll bring you a tea, okay?" Caretaker coaxed, already pulling them away from their reflection without waiting for an answer. Whumpee nodded and let themself be led and tucked into bed. Caretaker checked their temperature and sighed.

"Ah, that explains it, your fever went up again. I'll get you some medicine and an icepack." They spoke matter-of-factly. They were about to rush off before they were stopped by whumpee grabbing their hand.

"Caretaker?" Whumpee tried to speak up, but their voice came out weak. Caretaker looked back with a flash of worry.

"Thank you..." They spoke with a small genuine smile.

Caretaker gave them a watery smile and squeezed their hand back.

"Of course, of course." They responded, like they would do it again a thousand times.

 The drabble group- @lave-whump @amethysts-sideblog  @whump-it-like-its-hot  @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @yet-another-heathen @whatwhumpcomments  @hamiltonwhumpdump   @as-a-matter-of-whump @lonesome–hunter @digitalart-dwa @mabledonut   @melancholy-in-the-morning @anonintrovert  @sunflower1000  @shywhumpauthor  @dont-touch-my-soup @batfacedliar-yetagain  @uvanuva @princessofonwardsworld  @bluesoulpeace  @whumpkitty  @veyroswin

[written-by-jayy]

Prompt #7

Carbon Monoxide Poisoning

Masterlist

••••••••••••••••••••••••

I don't think I've ever seen Carbon Monoxide poisoning in whump...

I mean, there's just so much potential!

Characters falling ill with some mysterious sickness, everyone in the house having similar, if not the same symptoms.

Maybe it's just dizziness, fatigue, headaches, muscle aches, and nausea. All things that are inconvenient, and after a certain point, become worrisome and quite concerning but not life threatening and some might just brush off. Maybe if they live alone they think they're over-dramatic or that their age or past experiences are finally getting to them. If they have roommates, maybe they chock it up to food poisoning or seasonal allergies being extra bad or maybe it's all the studying, work, and/or parties. Some could even think it's a virus of some kind.

But it continues to get worse. With things like seizures, hallucinations, and disorientation making a character who lives alone think they're going completely insane or maybe they finally go to the hospital because y'know. Seizures. If they're roommates, then wow, that's some bad food poisoning. Or they've been having some awful trips lately.

Anyway, eventually if nothings done about it, it can leave a character or two comatose or even eventually dead.

Just seems quite whumpy and with a ton of potential. Whether it's a sickfic, environmental whump, etc.

Not to mention; what about a recovering whumpee? What or who are they hallucinating? This sure would make physical and mental recovery a hell of a lot harder. Especially when the caretaker is extremely ill and experiencing similar symptoms as the whumpee.

Would be a shame if this happened to your poor recovering blorbos :(

[whump-about-it]

Sponge bath/ Infection/ “Lets get you cleaned up”

@whumpril day 22

CW: infections, passing out, mild hallucinations, fever. 

The room seemed to be wavering around Whumpee. The floor kept shifting and tilting at odd angles, and the walls didn’t appear to be shifting with it. Instead they kept elongating and shrinking at random intervals. Whumpee couldn’t look at anything straight on or else the constant movement of the room was going to make them nauseous. When they tried to take a step they stumbled on the moving floor and had to grab onto the chair next to them to keep their knees from buckling. 

Their mouth was dry, and their ears were beginning to ring. Whumpee tried to grip the chair harder to ground themselves. Get a control on their body and the shaking room. They knew they should know what was going on, but their brain was moving so sluggishly they couldn’t think of what had happened. 

“Whumpee?” A voice broke through the ringing in Whumpee’s ears, and they could feel someone putting a hand on their shoulder. Whumpee turned towards the voice, and the hand, and managed to focus on Caretaker’s concerned face for a split second before it began to twist and contort like they were a painting someone was smudging over. 

It was all to much for Whumpee’s brain, and their world quickly faded to grey, and then to black. 

“Catch me” they slurred as their body went boneless. The last thing they remembered before they totally blacked out was Caretaker swearing as they tried to pull Whumpee into their arms before they hit the floor. 

The next thing Whumpee remembered, they were coming to propped up in someone’s bed. Their head was screaming, and their skin itched and ached. They felt like a clay pot cracking and preparing to fall apart in desert heat. Even so, Whumpee could feel something wet and freezing being pressed to their neck, just below their ear. The feeling disappeared but quickly came back an inch or so away. The sudden cold on their hot and aching skin made Whumpee wince even as their brain told them to stay still. 

“It’s just me” Caretaker murmured from somewhere very close to Whumpee. They continued to dab Whumpee’s neck with what they could now distinguish as a sponge for a minute until Whumpee managed enough control over themselves to crack their eyes open. 

They were in Caretaker’s room. The lights were out and the curtains were drawn only allowing dim sunlight to filter through. The room was spinning, but it at least was staying proportional now. And Caretaker’s face, mere inches from their own, was only contorting in the usual ways. 

Caretaker leaned away when they saw Whumpee’s eyes open and dipped the sponge in a bowl of water sitting on the bedside table. They rang it out and began to dab at the other side of Whumpee’s neck making them wince again. Caretaker’s face was a mixture of concern and displeasure and Whumpee tried not to stare at them and they continued to wipe the sweat off of their face and neck. 

“Is this your shirt?” They asked in a raspy voice after a moment. They had just noticed they weren’t in the same clothing they had been in when they passed out. 

“You sweat through your own” Caretaker told Whumpee in way of a response. “The cut on your arm has a nasty infection.” 

Whumpee glanced guiltily down at their left forearm. It was splayed out next to them on a seperate pillow. Caretaker had removed the bandage, but there was a warm compress over the deep cut Whumpee had been trying to hide. 

Right. That’s what had happened. They hadn’t told Caretaker about the injury. They didn’t want them to worry. The infection hadn’t been that bad the last time they had changed the bandage. They had cleaned out the puss and made sure to dry the wound before putting on a new bandage. Had they applied the antiseptic? They couldn’t remember. 

“Are you going to give me a lecture?” They rasped, glancing back at Caretaker, who surprisingly gave them a half smile. 

“Eventually” They said fondly “When your fever breaks. I want to make sure you  remember it.” 

Whumpee nodded and instantly regret the movement. They squeezed their eyes shut against the room that was beginning to spin again. Caretaker continued to brush the sponge down Whumpee’s arm while they stroked Whumpee’s sweaty head with their other hand, gently encouraging them to take deep breathes until Whumpee didn’t think they were going to pass out again. 

“I’m sorry” Whumpee rasped when they opened their eyes again “I should have told you about the cut.” 

“I told you, I’m saving the lecture for later.” Caretaker said. “For now lets get you cleaned up, and then I’m tracking down some antibiotics.”  

“Okay” Whumpee mumbled. They shut their eyes again and held as still as they could as Caretaker finished wiping them down with cool water and began to dress their wound, properly this time. 

[yet-another-heathen]

Fire on the Mountain - V

2,611 words. Original Work: The Jackal of An-Nadr.

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, worlds that are as vivid and alive as the characters, and the agonizing loss being dragged away from home into a life you never asked for.

<< | previous | next | >>

Chapter Warning | defiant whumpee, cauterization of an already agonizing wound, manhandling, non-con drugging (aphrodisiac, repurposed as a sedative), ancient medical practices, vivid hallucinations, staring up into your captor's eyes and begging with everything you have for them to stop, UNREALITY, xenophobia

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpsical @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump @whump-queen

The big ifrit had gone up to summon the others. Nadeem was left to try to pull himself back together. His head was a mess of that golden, swirling pleasure, and he couldn’t push it to the background no matter how he tried. 

He wanted so badly to get up, to run. But his dizziness left him clinging to the bed, barely able to move.

Something was happening to the room around him. As he lay there trying to breathe through the waves of sensation, the shadows began to move. 

Some very far-away part of his mind felt like it was being lit on fire. He watched it from the window above his sisters' beds, barely making out shapes in the night as the blue sky over the hills burned. He wanted to wipe the fog from his eyes, but when he tried all it did was blur the light.

Red light poured into the dark as far-distant embers glittered and shifted, swimming with such incredible radiance that he couldn't tear his eyes away. Everything was still. Everything was so still, and so quiet, and so soft.

"Fahime, Hasti," he gasped. "wait—”

He was slipping. Everything was slipping.

The sound of footsteps returning down the ladder. Dark hands. A careful touch. Someone lifted him from the bed, weightlessness making his head swim. He glanced down, Fahime gathering herself in his kurta as the moonlight played off her face. He pulled her closer, running a soothing hand over her hair.

“Nadi, are we safe?”

He didn't...this wasn't right…

What was happening to him?

"Of course we are," he reassured her, lifting her up so she could see, too. "Look. The wind is taking it away from the valley. See how it goes brighter near the top?”

"But won't it destroy the trees?”

His mouth twitched, blinking slowly toward the distance.

"Yes it will," he murmured, resting his cheek on her head. "But it will be alright, ukhti. Even when things are destroyed, with enough time they always grow again.”

---

He didn't know where they were taking him. Only that there were more hands on him than he could count, and that he was going whether he wanted to or not.

Tendrils of darkness and dreams were still tugging at his mind like mud at his feet, pulling him downward as if there were something waiting for him in the cold, black muck below. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

The bright light of day flickered and disappeared as he was taken below deck to a different part of the ship, feet barely touching the steps as he stumbled down the ladder.

Down into the mud, down into the shallows where the sunlight gleamed between wave crests. Water weeds blooming gold and green above him, casting columns of daylight through the silt.

The room they entered was like nothing he expected to see aboard a ship. One of the entire walls was lined with tall mosaic windows, arched at the tops into elegant points. They splintered and reformed in shapes Nadeem could swear were moving, casting white and lavender light throughout the room. The opposite wall towered with shelves, glittering with vials and dried bouquets of herbs. Rows of empty cots stretched onward toward the daylight pouring through the open space at the far side of the gallery. Pale blue sky could be seen just beyond. The air was soaked in smoke and the sweet, earthy perfume of decaying plants.

And then there was the table. A great, solid slab that looked as heavy and unmovable as the pillar it was pressed against. Metal instruments, the likes of which he had never before imagined or seen, were swaying gently where they lined in racks along that pillar. Though the discoloration around the hinges betrayed their age, there were so many sharp points gleaming in the light that it made him nearly crumble to his knees in panic. 

Blood smeared across the wood as his injured foot caught on uneven deck planks, though the jarring pain was not nearly enough to stop him from skidding along as he was dragged toward the massive table at the center of the room.

One of the ifrit from before, the one with the white turban, was busy directing the others about the space. His voice was sharp and clear, hands gesturing and digging about in narrow wooden cupboards as he spoke.

"G̶͇̔e̵̮͑ẗ̵͍́ ̶̹̎ẖ̶̎i̴̢͋m̴̼͌ ̷͉̽ő̵̧ñ̵͓ ̴̧͝t̶̟̋h̵̼̀e̵̼͒ ̷̖̾t̶̲̃a̶͇͘b̴̲͝l̴̘͝e̷̖̓.̶̳̓ ̸͔̔N̶̪͘e̷̲͠s̴̠͝a̵͛͜r̶̜͠ē̶̢,̶̪͘ ̵̦̃h̴͈͘a̷̻̒ņ̷̃ď̵̖ ̴̗͛m̷̗̈́e̴̺͌ ̵̘̈́t̷͌͜h̸̺͐ë̶̘́ ̶̮̇s̶͉̾i̶̼̓l̶̻͆k̸͖̃ ̵̝̅m̵̛̺ḯ̷͚n̶͔͆t̶̯̕,̸͇̇ ̵͔̋i̸̟͆n̴͉̓ ̵̛̭ẗ̵̝h̸̥͋ȇ̵̮ ̴̈́ͅl̶̗̽ë̴͙́f̶͎̀t̵̟̚ ̵̰̓c̵̥͛u̸͈͐p̶͊ͅb̶̨̈ō̶̮ä̵̺́r̴͇̒d̵̢͂—"

"Let go of me!" Nadeem snarled. He seethed and clawed into the arms of his captors, but could do nothing to stop them as they lifted him onto the table.

The world was still dark and morphing and swaying around him, and there were so many hands with so many unbreakable grips holding him down and moving him. He could barely tell up from down. 

Part of him was drifting, untethered, even as his own heartbeat grew deafening in his ears. 

The woman from that night around the fire was leaning against one wall with all her arms crossed, watching them. Their eyes made brief, searing contact before his attention was torn away.

"Ṕ̵̱a̴͖͌s̴̤͐s̸̝̀ ̷̼͘m̷̜̕e̸͠ͅ ̷͚̈t̷̛ͅḣ̵͚a̸̹̔t̵͕͑ ̶̺̕s̶̳͌t̸̠̀r̸̭̐a̷̢̚p̸̢͝.̸̼͒ ̴̞͆W̸̬͊a̶͔͋t̵͎̓ċ̷̺h̸͝ͅ ̴̟̇h̵͚͊í̴̝s̶͚͋ ̷̱̑t̵̂ͅę̴̕ë̸͚́ţ̷́ĥ̷̳!̵̠̈".

Leather straps were cinched tight around his wrists and chest, the wide buckles tightening until he could hardly move. What was this? He wrenched and fought, gasping when someone grabbed his injured foot and strapped it down even harder than the rest of him.

Oh no. No no no no—

Someone shouted from the other side of the room where it stood open to the daylight on the opposite side of the instrument wall. Nadeem tried to turn and look, but two long hands pressed into either side of his head and turned his face back up. The big ifrit that had captured him was bowed over his head, keeping his face steady and forcing him to look away from what was happening. Making him meet its eyes.

It spoke quietly to him, low words tumbling from its lips as it watched his face.

"L̷̲̏o̸͕͝o̶͕͠ķ̴̿ ̵̢̈́a̶̰̍t̸̅͜ ̸̬̑m̵̦͊e̶͖̾.̸̲̎"

The world was spinning, this was all so wrong—

"Coenta help me, I'll curse your bloodline to oblivion!" He twisted in his restraints, what very little he could. "Get off!"

In the very corner of his vision he saw another ifrit, a burly older woman with hair like a halo, hand something long and straight to the one with the white turban. He tried to focus on it, to see what he was holding...

And his stomach dropped through his spine.

His entire body arced off the table in absolute panic, thrashing so hard the leather straps and their hardware creaked with strain.

"NO! No, nonono, DON'T!" he yelled, almost dislocating his shoulders in his effort to get away, thrashing so hard that several of the ifrit crowded closer to push him back down. "Keep it, no, keep it away from me—"

A long metal iron sent ripples out into the air around it, the tip glowing orange with heat. 

The ifrit circled around toward his foot, nodding once to his captor.

"Ľ̷̺o̵͙͑o̵͇̒k̶̪̈́ ̵͕̂ą̶͠t̴̯͑ ̷̇͜m̷̰̐e̶̝͆,̵͍̈́ ̷͔̇s̸̡̒w̴͍̓ĕ̶̬e̴̲̚t̷̲͝h̸̠͠e̵̟̿ä̴͇́r̴͈̀t̸̮̏," the ifrit above him tilted his face back up, obscuring his view of the iron. "T̵͕̀h̶̃ͅe̶̩͊r̸͈̓è̷̘.̵̨͆ ̸͖̃J̸̞̊u̶̘̒s̷̘͝t̶̰̃ ̷̢̓l̸͉͛o̸̩̍o̸͖͂k̷̦̈ ̶̝̋a̴̘̎t̶̛̳ ̵̻̽m̵̞͐e̴̦̓.̶͔̏"

"NO, no, not this! Oh gods please, I can't—" Nadeem felt the heat getting closer to him, and every attempt at hiding his terror crumbled. He stared up into its eyes as open fear poured across his face, stark and open beneath the ifrit's gaze. "No no no NO NO—"

His vision went white, heat spearing up his entire leg with agony like nothing he had never felt before. Everything was pain, so bright his mind couldn't truly process it. And Nadeem lost every ounce of control over his voice, and screamed.

And immediately the sound of metal clattered violently against wood. Every set of hands jerked away from his body at once.

He was sobbing through the darkness as the world swam back into existence, heat radiating up his foot like he was still being burnt. He was babbling at them to make it stop. The shocked eyes of every ifrit in the room fixed on him. The iron lay discarded on the wood behind his torturer, as though it had been flung violently out of his hand. Smoke was beginning to pour from the wood beneath it, smoldering and threatening to light.

The people around him were burning too. Smoke poured from their shoulders, their chests lit from within like embers surging to life with a change in the breeze. And every single one of them was staring at him.

The ifrit with the white turban was the first to break himself out of his shock. His fanged mouth snapped shut where he'd been gaping at Nadeem. He turned and scooped up the iron just before it could ignite.

"Y̵̖͐e̶̯̊ḙ̴͝z̶̯͂ǘ̴̦m̷̢̏ȏ̷̹n̵͇̅," he called. There was not a sound in all the room but his voice and Nadeem's crying. Then again when he didn't look up, "Y̷͈͒e̷͇̅e̷̯̅z̴̫͛ú̶ͅm̸̼̒ö̷͓n̶̗̂!̷̲́ ̵̫̃H̷̻͐o̵̭̎l̵͎̉d̷̾ͅ ̶̞̑h̷͍̒i̵̫̅m̶̠͝. T̵̲̓͝h̶̻͙̊́ë̴̟̪ ̷̜͇͋͑ȑ̵̗̼͋ȇ̶̲̦̚s̵͉̀t̵̫̫̑̋ ̷͉̘̾ọ̵̿̚f̵̙͒͑ ̶͎̺̈́y̶̰̲̆̀o̷̥͌u̷̒ͅ,̶͚́ ̶͕̯͗g̶̜̞͋̀ȇ̸̳͕́t̴̰͝ ̶̨̑̉ò̵͎̩ũ̶͈͒ṯ̵̤͝!̵̢̤̓̕"

His captor blinked, shook his head as if to clear it, then his hands returned to either side of Nadeem's head. Nadeem was still sobbing, every inch of him trembling with the violent aftershocks of the burn.

“D̸͖̑i̸̡̛d̶̗͝ ̷̻̒y̸̨̚o̵̼͂ú̵͓ ̶̡͝g̵͉͐ȅ̷̯t̴̢̑ ̸̢͂î̸͈ť̴̗?̵͎͗"

"N̷̰̈́ó̵͜,̷̛͜ ̴̙̂I̴̟̋.̴͎̓.̵̙͗.̶̢͐I̶͖͝'̸̧͛m̴̨̈ ̸̢̍g̶͓͐ö̷̩́ǐ̷̙ñ̶͖ǵ̷̜ ̸͙͐t̴̮͘o̴̠͌ ̴̜͛h̶͙͂a̶̙̋v̵͎̾e̸̬͆ ̷̥͊t̸̺̊ŏ̵͕ ̶̳͌d̸͉̑o̴̝̍ ̶͙̀i̶̭͘t̴̲̃ ̸̘̋á̶̫g̸̈́͜a̵͔͝i̷̳̎n̴̤̄,̸̡̈́ ̴̧͒Ĩ̵͇ ̷̜́d̴͚̃i̶̥͛d̵̪͝ṅ̸̡'̶̪̂t̶̩͑ ̸̤͑ĝ̷ͅe̷̖̕ţ̶̇ ̴̭̈́ę̵͐n̵̡͠o̵̜͒ǔ̴̙g̵̪̎h̸̖͠ ̴̳͆o̸̭̿f̶͖͑ ̶̖̃t̴̟͊h̷̞̽ȇ̴̤ ̶͈̐ẘ̸̤o̵͔̾u̸̬͋n̶̳͘d̶̜̒.̸͎͝ ̸̗̄P̸̦͊u̴̖̽t̸͈͗ ̴͈͛t̴̲́h̶͎͝i̸͉͝s̴̮̑ ̶͈̽i̵̝̍n̸̳̋ ̷̧̒h̸͍̏i̴͉͛ṡ̶͓ ̵͑ͅm̸̮̓o̶̭̐u̸̠͘t̶͖̄h̵͓̐.”

He didn't even have words to express his horror when the ifrit pried his mouth open and forced a leather bit between his teeth. A clawed hand clasped firmly over his mouth, muffling the horrified sobs and pleading cries that poured out of him behind it.

The ifrit raised the iron again, and there was nothing Nadeem could do but stare up into his captor's eyes as it was pressed into his wound all over again.

Everything after that was a blur of darkness and rippling, uncontrollable agony. He came to as he was being carried across the deck, clinging to the big ifrit's smoke-drenched chest and weeping as they descended back into the cabin.

Furious shouts were being exchanged by what sounded like a dozen ifrit, their argument being cut off only when the deck hatch closed above them.

His keeper sat on the edge of the cot, cradling him in its arms.

"I̴̯̍ṯ̷̄'̸͓͛s̶͔͋ ̵͕͠o̴̝͘ṽ̴̤e̶̙͐r̵̺̐ ̵̦͒n̶̖̎ŏ̵̰w̸̛ͅ,̵̧̈́ ̸͓͐l̸̳̉í̶̭t̵͍͗t̵͇̏l̵͎̋e̷̅͜ ̵̢̎o̴̖͂n̶̛̝e̴͉̅.̶͈͐ ̷̪͌Ȉ̴̞t̶̳̉'̴͇̈́s̵̝̓ o̸̳̿ṿ̸͘ę̴̈r̸̹͋."

Nadeem's fingers were locked so tightly in the ifrit's sash that he couldn't figure out how to let go. He just buried his face against the fabric, trying to muffle the sound of his sobs now that he knew he couldn't stop. His jaw was chattering uncontrollably.

Its chest rumbled with its words as it spoke to him, those strange sounds that could almost been hushing.

A few minutes later the deck hatch opened again, and the white-turbaned ifrit descended into the small space. Nadeem sank further into his captor's arms, trying to get as far away as he could.

"Don't ccome any c-loser—" he choked out, his voice reedy and thin.

But there was none of the expected malice in the ifrit's features. Only indiscernible worry, and a glance toward his captor that Nadeem had no way of reading.

When he reached for Nadeem's injured foot he yanked it away so fast he nearly knocked the breath out of his own lungs, tucking it under himself to keep it away.

His captor wrapped another arm around him, hushing him before looking to the other ifrit. "Ĥ̸͓a̴̺͠b̷͓̀ỉ̶͇b̵̀ͅi̷̥̊,̷̤͌ ̵̦̚ ̸̭̓g̴͈̾ì̵̗v̶͚͑e̵͖̕ ̶̰͒h̷̠̊i̸̡͑m̷̟͑ ̵̣̂a̵͔̓ ̴̜͛m̶͚̽o̸̦͒m̸̻͛ĕ̴̬n̸͉̿ț̵̀."

Nadeem nearly crumbled with relief when the other ifrit hesitated, then backed away.

Hands continued running up and down his back as he tried to get his breathing under control, sobs still tearing out of him with every fresh wave of pain. Had part of the iron poker been left in his foot? It felt like it was still burning him, so much deeper inside his body than it could have possibly gone.

The weight of a blanket settled carefully over his shoulders, tucked close to him. His entire body was shivering violently from head to toe.

"Ḥ̵͋ȇ̶̳'̶̟̈́s̸̩͠ g̷̫͒o̵̺̎i̶̤͐n̸̻͌g̷͖̕ ̵̢͂u̵̫̅n̸̥̉d̴͈̑ḛ̷͝r̶̩̀,” the other ifrit murmured, scrubbing a hand down his face. "...ā̵̰ñ̴͔d̵͎̈́ ̶̮͂Ị̶̀ ̵̬͗ṫ̶̲h̵̲̋i̷̲̐n̴̛͎k̴͖̓ ̴͍̂Ȉ̶̲ ̶̗͠m̴̹̏i̶̥͋g̷̩̎h̷̲̍t̴̙̓ ̵̰̕b̴̻͋e̴̢͠,̷͎̆ ̷̳̄t̶̙̔ȯ̷̝ȍ̷͜.̴̱͆ ̷̭͌Ÿ̴̡́è̴̫e̸̻͗ẕ̸̿ŭ̷͎m̵̪̄o̶̳̅n̸̦͆,̸̟̌ ̴̱̚t̶̫͐h̶͕͗į̸̛š̴̡ ̶̩̀ḯ̸̙s̶̹̊n̷̼̏'̴̧̉t̴̳̓ ̴̯͗ș̷́a̸̚͜f̷̖̔e̶͚̓, w̴͖̐͛e̸͕͂̏ ̶̝͠h̸̲̀̐ä̴̮͘v̶̛͍̟̄e̸̯̦̒̆ ̸̖̋t̵͖́̅ó̸͚—"

"Ṅ̶͔o̶̡̾t̴̛̟ ̵̙̉n̴̰̈ó̸ͅw̶̯͘." Then, softer, "N̴̰̎o̵̰͌t̸̡͝ ̴̼̉n̸̗̍o̸͇̚w̶͖͑,̷̞̅ ̶͔͂h̸͕̿ä̴̹́b̷̬͗i̵̳͠b̷̭̀ỉ̶̭.̷͕̒ Ȉ̴̘ ̴͉̆ċ̷̗ã̷͚n̶͚̎'̷̠̀t̶̖̀…I̶͈̾ ̸̖͌c̸̛͈a̸̱͌ṉ̶̈'̴̞̉t̵̳́ ̴̲̌ľ̴̜e̷̮̾a̷̱̎v̷̜͋e̴̝̍ ̶͈͌i̶͔̍t̷̳̓ ̸̫̚ ̴͙̄l̷̈́͜i̸͇̇k̴̩̃e̶̻͊ ̷̖̍ṱ̷̃ẖ̶͝ȋ̸̢ş̸̊.̴͈͝."

It looked down where Nadeem had tucked his face against its chest, too sick with pain to care who or what he was clinging to.

"W̵̕ͅè̴̜'̷̮͝l̷̮̓l̵̦̈́ ̴̘̔f̵͙̋ḁ̷̉c̶̯̅e̴͍̋ ̴͝ͅĀ̵̻d̶͎̃r̸͎̎s̷̳̀i̶̛ͅa̵̡͂e̸͈͛ ̵͈̋ẉ̶̆h̷̩̒e̷̫͘n̶͚̾ ̷̫̉t̵̛̙h̸͇̀e̸̖̍ ̸͇̇t̵͚̚ì̷̜m̸̪̉ë̶͕́ ̸͇̀c̵̨͆ọ̴̉m̴͙̓ẻ̸̜s̷̹̕," he said, his body shifting against Nadeem's as he reached a hand out for the other ifrit's. "B̶̰̒u̵̙͗t̵̢͗ ̷̯͠n̶͖̕o̶̙̒t̷͍̃ ̸̘̔n̶͖̏ỏ̷̢ẁ̴͈."

The edges of reality had once more begun to blur. Dark, waking dreams spun through the shallows of his thoughts, pain spearing up through his foot as he limped out into the reeds.

Gods, he was losing it. But the water had to be safer than this.

He was still trembling a few minutes later when both ifrit coaxed his foot back out from underneath him. He had to bite back the whines of pain that pressed up his throat and against the back of his teeth, tears gathering uselessly in his eyes as he watched the ifrit turn his foot over and inspect it.

A moment before it began probing into the wound, a long hand clasped over his mouth. It was only just in time to suffocate the whine of pain that flooded out of him. The ifrit lifted a shallow bowl full of thick, white paste and began pressing the mixture into the wound. His nails dug into its skin, head going fuzzy and dark as black waves of agony rolled through his whole body. No matter how he struggled he couldn't pry his foot out of its grasp. He just sank down in its hands, while the big ifrit purred against his temple.

He'd never felt so hollow with exhaustion before in his life. He was still only one day past dying. Was this torture all that lay in store for him, now that he'd lost his chance to get away?

He wasn't going to survive. Not if this was what was waiting for him.

The ifrit was quick to bandage his foot, and then released him and let him once more hide his injury out of sight beneath his robes.

An uncaring part of his mind realized he'd sunk into the heat of its skin, eyes barely staying open as the adrenaline in his system crashed and whatever they had drugged him with took back over.

Ripples spread out around him at waist-height, opaque under the cold moonlight. The reeds stirred, wind caressing the nape of his neck.

He couldn't walk. There was no way he was getting away, even if he somehow got off the ship. He was helpless. He was stranded. The realization hit him like a sandstorm, dragging at his clothes and peppering his skin with pain.

They had burned him. He was alone. And he wasn't going to be able to get away.

The crickets sung in the reeds, nothing disturbing the water but him. All around him, for miles and miles, the dark spread silent and cold across the landscape.

He was alone.

He was alone.

He was never going to see his family again.

Nadeem fell to his knees, and plunged beneath the surface of the water.

next | >>

Like this chapter? Please remember it can only be seen by other people if you reblog!