#pathetic whumpee

[rizzoto-whump]

I really enjoy the dynamics of size difference in whump, especially when there's a smaller whumpee and a larger whumper. The contrast of a small and fragile whumpee, easily overpowered or defeated by a larger whumper—like a pathetic, sad wet cat they are.

[whump-queen]

I need a whumpee who’s straight up pathetic. a whumpee who hates themselves. give me a man with negative self esteem. a man with so much guilt, so much constant anxiety— someone who feels like they’ve messed everything up so horribly and they’re still currently messing everything up. give me a whumpee who has no time to correct for their past mistakes because life just keeps throwing more shit at them. give me sad, pathetic, irredeemable whumpees.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Eden

TW: kidnapping, captivity, creepy/intimate whumper, pet whumpee, referenced drugging, referenced stalking, emotional manipulation, referenced depression

As he roused from a deep sleep, Ezra found himself curled up on the sofa in his living room.

He racked his brain as his senses slowly reaserted themselves, but found no recollection of where he had been the previous night, or how he had gotten home.

The cloying smell of lavender perfume overwhelmed him. Ezra didn't wear perfume.

As more sensations flooded his body, he realized his head way laying on someone's lap.

Someone who was running their fingers through his hair.

None of his friends were this affectionate. They all knew him to be severely touch averse. They wouldn't try something like this.

Trying to sit up, he found his arms to be bound behind him with soft, but tight strips of fabric.

This finally spiraled Ezra into panic. He thrashed, struggling to get away from whoever was with him, putting his full strength into breaking his bindings.

Despite his best efforts, his sluggish body couldn't move enough to fall off the stranger's lap, let alone escape.

The stranger had no problem pushing Ezra down by the shoulders and holding him in place.

"No," they said in a deep voice, firm but gentle. "Stay still."

Ezra scanned the room. The clean beige carpet, new looking brown sofa, and sea scape paintings certainly weren't his.

"Where am I?"

Ezra's heart raced, fuelled with fear and andrenaline, pounding against his ribcage in a mockery of a ceremonial drum.

"I didn't give you permission to speak," his captor said.

Ezra stayed silent. The humiliation of being treated like a lap dog wasn't enough to render him stupid.

His captor could have a gun or some other sort of weapon. Fighting back simply wasn't worth the risk.

Ezra needed answers before he could decide what to do. There wasn't any point in getting himself killed.

Music played softly in the backround, the melody much too pleasant for such an occasion. A woman sang softly from the spinning record, but was not loudly enough for Ezra to make out her words.

Turning his head slightly, Ezra got a look at his captor. He looked to be in his thirties, fair skinned with mousy brown hair, wearing wire framed glasses and a small smile.

He tucked a lock of hair behind his captive's ear, before leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.

Ezra flinched and tried to pull away.

"Tsk tsk," his captor said. "That is no way to treat your master. I'm just being friendly."

Ezra opened his mouth to retort, but swallowed his complaint before it could escape his lips.

"You're being such a good pet," his captor continued, petting Ezra's curly hair. "Now, if you had something you wanted to ask me, you may. So long as you're respectful about it."

"Where am I?"

"Call me sir."

"No way in-" he broke off, remembering his position. "Yes, sir."

He tried his best to sound vaguely ticked off, but still compliant. Judging by the look on his supposed master's face, he succeeded in only the second part.

"You may ask that again."

"Where am I, sir?"

"My home. You are still in the United States, but I took you over state lines."

None of this was helpful in the slightest, but Ezra figured it was the best he was going to get.

He lived near enough to the borders of Idaho, Oregon, and even Montana that he could have easily been taken to any of them.

"Why am I here, sir?"

"Because I thought you would make a good pet."

Ezra's stomach dropped.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. It isn't anything horrid. I'm not going to hurt you, unless you harm me or attempt escape. You should be grateful, really. I'm a lot kinder than most of the masters you could have gotten stuck with."

The term human trafficking sprung to Ezra's mind. He had never thought to worry about such a thing happening to him. It always seemed so removed from his normal suburban life.

"Can you tell me what happened, sir?"

Sir. How he loathed that word. It was meant to refer to a person he respected, and his captor sure as hell didn't qualify.

But he needed information. And he needed a plan. Faked respect was his best bet, and he would use it to its fullest extent.

"Well, let me see..." His captor considered for a moment how best to explain. "I saw you at that shopping mall. Do you remember?"

Of course he remembered. Ezra hung out in that concrete, capitalistic place of congregation every week.

It had always seemed so...pleasant.

Graphic t-shirts, warm pretzels, loose change jangling in pockets, luke warm carbonated drinks, bad hair dye, and casual socialization.

Sure, it was only a way to cope with the dreaded outside world. Spend five bucks on a drink to pretend you aren't in credit card debt, buy a fun piece of clothing to make yourself feel better, avoid becoming an alcoholic by gorging on salty pretzels that only ever seemed to make you hungrier.

The mall was routine. It seemed safe.

What he didn't remember was being kidnapped.

"I don't remember you," he said. "I mean sir," he hastily added. "The last thing I remember was feeling ill from a bit of food poisoning in the food court and walking out to the parking lot."

"It wasn't food poisoning. I drugged you. It was so easy too. You kept leaving your drink unattended. I noticed that habit in you for weeks."

This remark set off a phantom cascade of crushed ice falling under Ezra's shirt collar and sliding down his back.

"You always seemed like such a sweet thing. Tipping cashiers and complimenting every other person. Such a sunny disposition too. I am very surprised that I was the first person to sink my teeth into you, so to speak."

Was that it then? He had seemed "sweet," so some stranger decided to drug and kidnap him? Had every good deed only brought him closer to this insane fate?

No. This was not going to be his fate. He was going to cooperate, and then, when his captor finally trusted him enough to let his gaurd down, he would make his escape.

There was no point in rushing, not if his captor wasn't going to hurt him. He just had to bide his time.

"And you're so pretty too," his captor continued. "I know a few men who would wear your face as a mask sooner than saying hello. No, no, you're much better off with me. I'll take care of that pretty face of yours."

He trailed his fingers down his captive's cheek.

"I've admired your smile from afar for much too long. Waiting for my golden opportunity was simply torturous."

Ezra wasn't smiling.

"I was so paranoid that someone else would find you. I considered taking you from your bed, of course. But I didn't want to leave any evidence. So many people go to the mall, a few of my stray hairs won't mean anything to an investigation. And I didn't take you until you were already in the parking lot. No security footage. I checked."

Hot tears pricked the corners of Ezra's eyes. Despite all his pragmatic reasoning, he still found himself overwhelmed by the enormity of his situation.

He didn't know where he was. There wasn't any evidence of kidnapping. He had ghosted his friends all too often, mostly out of depression. They wouldn't be concerned by him not responding to their messages.

In short, he was completely screwed over by a demented stalker and his own poor social skills.

"Oh, don't cry." His kidnapper pulled Ezra's head up, so that it was resting on his chest.

Despite Ezra's best efforts, hot tears continued to roll down his cheeks. He hated not being able to move his hands and wipe them away.

"Angel," his captor whispered. "I should have realized that this would be too much for you. Oh, I tried so very hard to be kind. To make waking up as easy for you as I could. These first few days are going to be rough. I know that. But you'll learn to be happy with me, just give it time."

Ezra sobbed and melted into his captor's warm embrace, allowing his lavender perfume to smother him.

Despite its obvious falseness, the comfort was pure bliss. He wanted to ignore his troubles for a few hours and cry himself asleep in his captor's arms.

His captor began undoing the knot holding Ezra's arms behind him, pull the strips of fabric off, and drop them on the living room floor.

To his relief, Ezra's sore muscles were finally allowed to move. He fought the urge to run, knowing that it would only cause him more suffering.

Instead, he hugged his captor, still an uncontrollable sobbing mess.

A familar, detached sense of pain overcame him. This all was a dream. It had to be.

But still he wept, unable to bring himself to do anything else.

His captor held him close.

"I love you," he whispered soothingly. "I want you to know that. You will be happy here. I'll keep you clothed, clean, and fed. You won't have to worry about anything. No twenty-four hour news cycle. No war, famine, and disease. No abuse and neglect. I will treat you with all the kindness, affection, and care you have always deserved. And I'm only sorry that I didn't give you the chance to come willingly. I was so afraid of scaring you off."

That sounded like hell and heaven all rolled into one. It reminded Ezra of the best promises weaved by fascism, while it went about ignoring its bloody history.

His captor didn't love him. He couldn't delude himself on that point. All his captor had was obsession and mental health problems. What he needed was serious help, not a human pet.

But it was tempting to stay like this forever. Warm and comfortable. Letting his captor keep his promises. Not having debt and the constant risk of homelessness. Living somewhere his toxic friendships and familial connections could never bother him again.

Ezra felt truly pathetic. Had his depression and anxiety really gotten bad enough that he was considering becoming a pet to his kidnapper? And for what, cuddling and empty promises?

He took control of his breathing and was, at long last, able to wipe the tears from his face with his long sleeve.

"Please," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"Please what?" his captor asked, his voice drenched with sympathy.

"Please let me go...sir. I know that you mean well. But I can't stay here. I have to leave."

Another sob choked him, and sent him collapsing into his captor's open arms. The act betrayed a nonexistant lie.

"Oh, darling. I'm afraid not." He squeezed his new pet in another suffocating embrace. "I can't lose you. Not after everything I've been through to get this far. You're far too perfect to be damaged and discarded by the outside world. I'm not doing this out of cruelty. I'm doing this because I love you. Just give me time. That's all I want."

"Well, I want to go home."

Ezra's body didn't match his words, clinging desperately to his captor, seeking any semblance of comfort from this torment.

God, maybe he would make a good pet, needy and compliant. Sitting on his master's lap, cradled in his arms.

No. He wasn't going to give up. It would be absolute insanity. He had to stay strong internally, even if he showed his captor every sign of weakness.

"I'll give you everything you need," his captor promised. "Our own little Eden."

Ezra's mind felt like it was stuffed with barbed wire, every wicked point concealed by a cotton ball.

His friends would report him missing eventually, even if it took them a few months to realize he wasn't intentionally ghosting them.

Patience, he simply needed patience.

@elim-flower @thedarkmongoose @devourerofcheesecake

If you want to be added to or removed from the taglist, ask me.

[whumpanini]

"You've disappointed me, whumpee."

Whumper sneers as they tighten their grip around the whumpee's jaw, fingers pressing in painfully to their cheeks.

"You couldn't even kill those weak, pathetic excuses for humans."

Whumpee's eyes well up with tears as they clutch desperately to whumper's arm and wrist. "I can do better, I swear it. I can learn!"

"I should just cut my losses and end you right here. Then you wouldn't prove to be such a stain on our kind."

Whumper tilts their head, observing whumpee curiously. "But there is a desperation in your eyes that I could kindle into a fire. Perhaps I'm not done with you just yet."

"Thank you! Thank you, whumper!"

"Don't thank me just yet. You'll be remade completely anew.

Don't disappoint me this time."

[the-three-whumpeteers]

There were no search parties, no worried people looking for the whumpee- and the whumper didn’t know what to think about it all. The whumper had been hesitant to hurt the whumpee in the first place- it was their job, but it wasn’t a job they enjoyed. Slowly but surely, the whumper began to care for the whumpee, giving them more food, giving them warm blankets- they didn’t want to hurt someone that had been so hurt already.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

If you celebrate the winter holidays , maybe uriah wrapped up in ribbon on someone’s doorstep , as a gift?

If you don’t celebrate them , maybe Uriah left in the snow?

2pm vs 2am

[avvail-whumps]

‘guns for hire’ — wants and desires #24

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: mentioned multiple whumpers, intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, non-con touching (not really sexual), non-con kissing (on the cheeks), fear and discussion of non-con (not explicit), past torture, past injuries, recovery

Leo was quick to close the door behind him. 

The quiet click caused a pang of relief to steady his beating heart, keeping the furious Bran separated from him for now. His eyes flickered back to Roy, who was standing by the window and ruffling a hand through his hair. 

It reminded him of the first time he saw him. 

In Jacob’s office, firm stance and gun trained at his head. It was all because he’d been stupid enough to corner himself at his desk, instead of hightailing it out of there. Perhaps if he’d ran, or even hidden somewhere the man wouldn’t have been able to find him, he would have never found himself in this horrible predicament. 

He wouldn’t have trained mercenaries inflicting torturous pain onto him everyday. He wouldn’t have to deal with the mental strain and the emotional rollercoasters he’d find himself riding on. 

He could have been home right now. Calling his father, playing the violin, curling up under his blanket on the couch. Reading trashy newspaper articles and watering his plants. 

Leo miserably pressed himself against the door, trying to make himself small. He had seen Roy mad, like the horrible night he’d been caught attempting to escape, but there was something different about his eyes and the tone of voice he’d taken. It shook his nerves, reigniting everything he’d felt when he woke up in the chair in the basement. 

He couldn’t forget that Roy was more dangerous than he might ever know. 

The man finally let his gaze tear away from the window, and it landed on Leo’s pale, grimacing face instead. He didn’t smile like he’d often been doing. 

“Go sit on the bed, lion,” he spoke coldly, and the secretary winced at the command. 

He obeyed without question, shuffling over to the other side of the room and setting himself down on the edge of the mattress. The fluffy blanket was soft under his fingertips, gripping the edge and staring at him expectedly, like he was awaiting his next order. Roy approached him slowly, and Leo felt this ominous dread stir under his skin. 

The man’s hand came to rest on top of his head, and Leo couldn’t suppress the stiffening of his body and violent flinch. When his fingers began softly threading through his hair, he begrudgingly started to relax. 

“I don’t know anymore, lion,” Roy drawled, a disheartened sigh falling from his lips. His eyes were flickering over every little detail of his face. Every new cut, every faded bruise, the washed out paleness and the distinct bags under his eyes. Leo sometimes caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he knew he didn’t look good. 

Still, he remained quiet. Roy’s hand shifted under his chin, gently rubbing it with his thumb. 

“I don’t think I like it if it isn’t me,” he whispered quietly. Leo tried not to move from his spot, rigid and tense as he glanced up at him through his eyelashes. 

“What do you mean?” 

His fingers gently traced the assortment of injuries on his skin, smoothing over them with a gentle delicacy.

“All of these,” he hummed, tilting his head. His fingers trailed down his neck, touching the prominent bruises still there. “They’re not from me. So I don’t think I like it.” 

Leo felt his hands slipping under his jacket, peeling the fabric off of him smoothly. The action made him jolt, hands twisting into the blanket with a soft gasp. 

“Stop, please—” 

“Shhh, baby,” the mercenary whispered quietly. His hand pressed against his mouth. “Just be quiet.” 

His hand slipped into the collar of his shirt, gently tugging it down to expose his shoulders. Leo shivered under his delicate touch, Roy’s thumb circling the small, rounded scar from the cigarette Joey had put out on him. His skin jumped under each caress and each stroke of his body, his soft little whimpers muffled by Roy’s hand. 

Leo endured the painstaking act for each minute, before Roy’s hand shifted and clenched his jaw tightly instead, fingers digging into the flesh. He tugged him forward abruptly, causing him to throw his hands out to catch himself against his chest. 

“I like seeing you in pain,” he hummed, his brows furrowing subtly. His fingers squashed his cheeks, forcibly pursing his lips. “But what’s the point if it’s not me?” 

Leo felt tears running down his cheeks before he could stop himself. A scared keening sound choked in his throat as his trembling fingers gripped Roy’s shirt, the position craning his neck and pulling the sensitive, bruised skin taut. The mercenary made a soft cooing sound, and released the bruising grip on his jaw. Leo sucked in a shaking breath, shuddering on quiet sobs. He didn’t fight when Roy’s hands cupped the sides of his head, and leaned forward to kiss the tears away. 

“I-I wanna go home,” Leo pleaded, shivering at the absence of the jacket and the provocative way his shirt was hanging off his shoulders. The man’s lips fluttering across his face as his fingers tangled in his hair. 

“None of that, lion,” he warned against his skin, the puffs of air making Leo shudder. “But, fuck. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.” 

Leo’s stomach sank when he was shoved onto the bed, pinned down by Roy’s hand pressing down on his chest. His recovering ribs almost screamed out at the pressure, somewhat relieved that the mattress was soft enough to support his head. His hands skittered against his chest as the man followed, one knee supporting his weight on the bed and the other remaining planted on the ground, but trapping Leo’s own. 

A terrified thought entered his mind. 

“No,” he whispered frantically, his hands surging forwards and attaching themselves to his shoulders in a vice grip. “No, no, no, please.” 

“Why?” Roy hummed under his breath. His voice reached those low baritones that were swimming with all kinds of implications Leo didn’t even want to think about. There was a devilish smirk on his face. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

Roy had said he wouldn’t do that. He said that he didn’t have to worry about it, but the moment his hands wrapped around his thin wrists and slid them above his head, Leo was stricken by panic. His legs were pinned underneath Roy’s own, but that didn’t stop him from kicking and thrashing and throwing himself into pleading screams and shouts. 

“Please, Roy, please!” He sobbed, twisting his wrists under his scrutinizing grasp. It did nothing to deter his strength; Leo hadn’t even been able to fight him off when he was healthy, so rationally, he knew it would be useless to even try like this. Unfortunately, that rationality was out of the question.

“Please?” Roy hummed coyly.

Leo frantically shook his head from side to side, ignoring the crushing pain keeping him pinned to the bed, too worked up to care. He choked on a violent sob, wriggling desperately.

“Y-You said you didn’t want to, please…” 

“No, lion,” he drawled. His eyes seemed to glimmer. “I do want to. But not like this. I just wanted to see you squirm again.” 

He let go of his wrists, and climbed off the bed. Leo scrambled backwards until his back hit the wall, biting back a pained hiss. He tried to calm down the panicked stutter of his breath, but it was impossible over the shuddering, uncontrollable sobs seizing in his chest. He was probably a pretty picture to paint with his clothes hanging off his body and his disheveled hair, but he couldn’t care. Roy seemed to be in a better mood than he did after dealing with Bran’s accident. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or not. 

“Go and clean yourself up for the night, lion,” the man ordered, amused smile dancing on his lips. “And don’t let anybody see you like that.” 

His petrified eyes watched him go like a hawk, only sinking back against the wall when the door closed shut behind him, and he was left alone in his room. He pressed his hands into his face and felt the tears trickling down his cheeks, curling up in himself in a shivering ball. All of those horrible memories resurfaced, making the hairs on this skin prick up. 

Leo raked his nails along his scalp, burying his face into his knees. He didn’t know how long he could endure this for. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go home. He just wanted to feel safe again, hating himself for being so torn towards Roy’s plethora of different personalities. He didn’t want him to be like the other mercenaries. He preferred it when he was nice, and he was kind, and he held him contently instead of when he was kicking and screaming. He wanted to have a normal conversation with Roy again, because when was the last time he’d had anything of the sort?

Leo pulled the blanket over his head, tucking himself pathetically in the corner of the bed against the wall. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to dream of blue skies and clouds again. 

In the morning, he hobbled into the bathroom to have a shower. The bathrooms were the only places he could freely go that had a lock, so he slid it quickly into place and released a shuddering sigh once he was finally alone. 

He wiped away the sweat and tears that had built up on his face during the night with relaxing warm water, stripping himself down and hopping into a lukewarm shower. He didn’t stay in for long, fearing his injuries would grow worse when wet, and so dried himself off and found himself feeling somewhat calmer. 

He slipped into some new clothes and donned Roy’s jacket. Nobody was downstairs, so he quietly poured himself a bowl of oatmeal with some blueberries and raspberries scattered on the surface, before wordlessly gulping it down. His eyes lazily stared at the metallic spoon, clinking it softly against the bowl in a mindless rhythm. 

Leo was tired. He wanted to go home.

tag list – @unorganisedalienrubbish @d-cs @rabidrabidme @sordayciega @burningkittypoet @whumpawink @mannerofwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @whatwasmyprevioususername @crilex29 @firefly017 @dutifullykrispyland @wibbly-wobbly-whump @there-will-always-be-blood @anonintrovert @justawhumpjunkie @whumptastic-world @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @whumpterful-beeeeee @anonymous1235 @sonder35 @unforgiven235 @whumpasaurus101 @mj-or-say10 @professional-idiocy

[justbreakonme]

Me after my hermit was telling me about Cole from Dragon Age by saying “He’s a sad one. You’ll like him.”

[pixelatedraindrops]

sickly sopping wet cat trainee

🌡️💊😷

[serialmilipede]

WWX reincarnates as LWJ's son

tw grooming! inc*st, underage, sexual assault, dark!LWJ

In a universe where Wei Wuxian is never resurrected, Nie Huaisang still finds a way to expose Jin Guangyao's crimes. And with Lan Xichen in indefinite seclusion, the Lan elders force Lan Wangji to marry. There’s whispers. Fear of a sect without heirs, fear of a sect leader decaying in his own bed. 

So Lan Wangji marries a pretty disciple, only five years his junior, named Lan Meifang. On their wedding night he can’t get it up. He lies about having erectile dysfunction, but maybe in a way that’s what being a cutsleeve to the extent of being sexually repulsed by women is. They figure it out together, eventually. He needs to be totally blindfolded and at maximum arousal prior to her getting anywhere near him. It’s weird. So weird. Lan Meifang definitely knows other couples are not having sex like this. 

But it’s fine. This is a practical relationship and they both know it. All business. They just need two or three kids out of it and it can all be over. Then, the only thing worse than Wei Wuxian coming back to life happens. He reincarnates as Lan Wangji’s first son. 

In isolation none of the things that led Lan Wangji to believe his son is Wei Wuxian are particularly striking. A beauty mark on his chin. Piercing grey eyes that neither of his parents have. (Lan Meifang says her grandfather used to have them.) Laughter like a tinkling bell. Wild black hair that cannot be tamed. The way Lan Wangji’s uncle looks at him when they name the boy “Lan Ying” is so repulsed it’s almost funny. Regular, ordinary coincidences. Not to worry over. 

By ten months the boy is on his feet, waddling around yelling “Baba! Baba!”. He shows Lan Wangji everything. A ladybug he found, a leaf he thinks is interesting, a stray chive in his congee that he refuses to eat. It’s impossibly endearing and Lan Wangji becomes pliable in his little boy’s hands. Anything Lan Ying wants, Lan Ying gets. He’s the only person Lan Wangji spares a glance or smiles at. Lan Sizhui silently watches himself get sidelined in favour of the real son. Lan Wangji’s blood. 

As Lan Ying grows it becomes increasingly obvious that the closeness between them will not abate. The child really is the splitting image of Wei Wuxian, down to the way his eyelashes curl and his hair grows lighter at the edges. Although the boy is eight now Lan Wangji still lets him sit on his lap, spoon-feeds him, waits on him hand and foot, baths him. Lan Ying is a chatterbox, and cannot adhere to the prescribed Lan silence. Another coincidence. Very normal and regular. The elders worry he’ll never grow a backbone and it enrages Lan Wangji so much he blindfolds and straps himself to the bed, telling Lan Meifang not to stop until he’s cum successfully. 

It bears fruit, another boy. Lan Wangji never grows close to him. However, the plan works and the elders stop pestering Lan Wangji about Lan Ying so much. With age Lan Ying grows rowdier, more and more like Wei Ying. At the first discussion conference they take him to Jiang Wanyin freezes and has to take a double take at the new heir to the Lan sect. Briefly, Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin make eye contact. With horror, they both realise the other definitely knows. 

Of course, Lan Ying doesn’t suspect a thing and continues causing trouble, to the point that he has to be sent to his room for misbehaving and embarrassing the sect. He never attends another because the staring from the Jiang sect leader makes the entire Lan delegation uncomfortable. Lan Meifang and Lan Wangji give Lan Ying the courtesy name “Fenghong” meaning great phoenix. It is an incredibly thinly veiled reference to Lan Wangji’s belief in Wei Ying’s reincarnation. 

When he receives his blade at twelve the sword he’s given is crafted of fine silver, and engraved beautifully. Lan Wangji stops pretending to care for anyone but his child. With age the child grows… prettier. Soft, curvy features. Gorgeous eyes, pink lips and a wicked smirk. Lan Wangji never pushes him to train more than he needs to, read more than he wants. The boy spends most of his time reading pornography, which Lan Wangji happily supplies upon his son’s request. Lan Ying requests help with homework, help with folding his clothes, help with making his bed, and where anyone else tries to provide it, or scold him for being incompetent, Lan Wangji is there to guard the task of keeping his child well-kept and safe. No rules apply to Lan Ying. There’s a joke amongst the teenagers that the Lan sect would allow murder if the victim was killed by Lan Ying. 

As he enters his teenage years his father’s coddling gives way to bullying from his peers. Lan Ying is teased relentlessly for being unable to perform basic tasks, for being too pretty, “like a girl,” and for clinging to his father. His cultivation is lower than expected, especially with his parentage in mind and Lan Qiren advises his nephew to enrol his son in some kind of private training with a stronger disciple - like Lan Sizhui. Lan Wangji reassures his uncle that he’ll resolve the issue himself but Lan Ying cries so bitterly at having to train that he makes little progress. The physical inferiority of the Lan Sect’s first heir is made apparent in duels, and Lan Ying is moved down a class to avoid further humiliation. It also allows the bullies more authority over him, causing their altercations to become physical. 

When Lan Ying shows up to the Jingshi with a black eye Lan Wangji instantly abuses his position as head disciplinarian to enact revenge for his son. He prescribes one hundred lashes for each boy named, ten in total, and a year of copying the Lan Sect rules. The parents protest on the basis of unfair bias, and Lan Xichen comes out of seclusion in an attempt to desperately remedy the situation. Lan Wangji is quietly stripped of his title, and their punishments are lessened - 30 lashes each, 50 for the one who punched him. A standard month of copying the rules. 

When he passes the boys in the Cloud Recesses Hanguang-Jun seethes with barely concealed rage. Lan Xichen briefly considers addressing his brother’s possessive attitude towards his son but… feels it’s none of his business. He comments on it to Lan Meifang, but she shrugs it off as him being overly concerned. Fatherhood changes people. Lan Xichen wouldn’t know… After the incident, Lan Wangji convinces his son, makes him promise, never to keep anything from him ever again. Lan Ying can and must tell his father everything. 

So he does. Bullying, studying, his thoughts and feelings, crushes. Lan Wangji does a double take when Lan Ying brings up a girl he thinks is cute. He has her carefully removed from the cultivation pathway and transferred to a medical one. 

The same year Lan Wangji leaves the Cloud Recesses to attend an annual discussion conference. While there, a servant informs him that Lan Ying is unwell. Rather than enquire further about the severity of the illness Lan Wangji rushes back. He snatches his son from his mother’s quarters, where the boy is resting, and takes him back to the Jingshi. Laying him on his bed, Lan Wangji takes his temperature, brings him cold towels, feeds him, brings him medicine from the physicians, circulates spiritual energy through his body, and sleeps on the floor next to him until the boy is well again. He refuses to return to the conference, leave Lan Ying’s bedside, or let anyone see Lan Ying. 

Perhaps Lan Wangji is becoming delusional but Lan Ying’s spiritual energy mixing with his feels so right, it feels… like Wei Ying. Lan Wangji tries to swallow the thought. If this is Wei Ying’s reincarnation… he deserves as cushy and pampered a life as possible. As long as Lan Wangji doesn’t reveal his suspicions he can give Wei Ying the life he should have had the first time. (Privately, the physicians inform Lan Xichen it was nothing but a mild cold. Lan Wangji’s constant pampering is likely contributing to the severity of his fever, as Lan Ying’s immune system is poorly adjusted and kept weak). 

The next year, Lan Ying somehow gets sick again, this time when Lan Wangji is at attendance for a meeting about the Lotus Pier rebuilding effort. Despite being almost fully finished, the Sect is requesting material aid for some of the more symbolic or sentimental parts that were left unbuilt until stability was achieved. Wangji is supposed to survey the necessity of these areas, and whether or not the Lan Sect can provide sufficient materials. 

Lan Qiren orders servants not to inform any of the delegation in Lotus Pier of Lan Ying’s condition. Of course, he still gets well. It starts to look like the incident will blow over. A lie of omission, yes, but it’s very important that Lan Wangji doesn’t sabotage relations between the Lan and Jiang sect by prioritising his son’s mild case of illness. 

But of course… Lan Ying tells him. He promised his baba, and he won’t break it! Unable to take revenge for this lie, Lan Wangji silently rages. There’s a noticeable shift in how he regards the other members of his Sect. When the next conference comes around there is a great conundrum as the Lan Sect heir reappears in the public eye. 

The hair on everyone’s necks stands on end as a young boy, fifteen at most, skips into the hall in front of Lan Wangji, whistling and twirling his ponytail. Rumours begin to spread that a soul summoning ritual must have been performed. Something is not right - there’s no way the Lan heir and Wei Wuxian are coincidentally that similar! Lan Qiren almost spits blood at this new, frightening potential for diplomatic incident. He looks more and more like Wei Ying and it’s driving everyone, most of all his own father, entirely mad!

Lan Ying’s first night hunt without Lan Wangji is where it all goes wrong. Despite lagging behind his peers in his studies, at an entry level at sixteen, Lan Wangji insists the boy can manage. Lan Sizhui is leading. He has grown into an outstanding member of the sect, well on his way to either ascension or starting his own sect. Knowing Hanguang-Jun’s… close relationship with his son, Lan Sizhui pays careful attention to ensure his safety, but Lan Ying is simply too far behind for the task. 

He gets slashed across the thighs by a monster, and has to be carried back to the Cloud Recesses on a stretcher made of Lan Sizhui’s own robes, moaning and groaning desperately, crying out for his baba. As expected, Hanguang-Jun is absolutely hysterical. No one, not even Lan Ying’s bullies, have ever seen him look so terrifying. He stays by Lan Ying’s bedside looking positively manic as the physicians make light work of the wounds. After his wounds are tended to, Lan Wangji once again whisks Lan Ying away to the Jingshi and nurses him back to health. 

When the injury heals, Lan Ying stays. A second bed is installed, in the same room as Lan Wangji’s. Life goes on as normal. Except it doesn’t. It becomes impossible to suppress Lan Wangji’s notice of the similarities between Lan and Wei Ying. Having him in his room becomes hard to bear, but Lan Wangji refuses to let anyone else have him. On the nights Lan Ying crawls into his father’s bed with him Lan Wangji can only close his eyes with a grimace and try to still his stuttering heart. 

Lan Wangji becomes increasingly reclusive. Lan Ying frequently calls in sick to class. He doesn’t attend more often than he does. Instead, he spends his days lounging around the Jingshi, waiting for his dad to come home so he can talk to him about what he’s reading, painting, or thinking about in the hours he’s not with him. They hone their boardgames skills, and practise calligraphy together, Lan Ying perched in Lan Wangji’s lap as the elder’s hand guides his through strokes. Lan Wangji teaches the boy to brew the perfect teas, cook congee, clean different stubborn materials, plant flowers. He takes him to the field of bunnies often and Lan Ying likes that most of all. 

Lan Ying grows paler and prettier. More spindly with his lack of exercise. On days where he doesn’t leave the Jingshi he wears only his inner robe, scampering around scantily. It makes Lan Wangji wonder… growing into a young man, especially one so sickly, can’t be easy. Lan Wangji remembers it being impossibly difficult, and he was one of the strongest of his generation. While Lan Ying would definitely win in a looks competition, he had little stimulation outside of their walks in the evening, or visits to the library or rabbits. Once or twice a week, class time, but Lan Wangji knew he hated that. 

They eat dinner with the rest of the Sect, but all other meals are served directly to the Jingshi. Lan Meifang visits the Jingshi every few weeks, but she’s busy bringing up her other two children (who she slept with for the third one Lan Wangji may never know. He doesn’t really care). The whispers of townspeople insist that they’re far more confident than the sickly first master Lan. 

Lan Wangji frets over everything to do with his son. His eating, sleeping, drinking, feelings. As he nears seventeen Lan Wangji frets for Lan Ying’s sexual health, as he remembers this being around the time his own sexuality developed. It starts innocently enough. They already tell each other everything, so Lan Wangji asks him simple questions about his interests. Boys or girls. Has he kissed anyone? Read porn? Touched himself. Lan Ying answers truthfully. Lan Wangji asks him if he’s touched himself in this room and gets so worked up by the embarrassed “yes” that not even the cold pond can calm his hard on. 

He jerks off on the bank before curling up in the water in shame. A brief scream under the water relieves him of any guilt. Something’s wrong with him, he feels like he’s going crazy. Why is his own son so… seductive?! His son… who is the reincarnation of the only man you’ve ever loved, his brain supplies helpfully. Lan Wangji groans into his hands. 

For his seventeenth birthday Lan Wangji takes Lan Ying to the market in Caiyi, where he selects a wooden dizi and a new set of grey robes for purchase. They eat rich food, and Lan Ying drinks wine. Late at night, Lan Wangji inconspicuously walks through the wards of the Cloud Recesses, carrying a (deniably) intoxicated Lan Ying back to the Jingshi. Lan Wangji slips three porn novels into the pile of new purchases. Dutifully, Lan Ying practises the dizi every day and Lan Wangji thrills at the nightly sessions where Lan Ying shows off what he’s learnt. It suits him so well. 

Lan Wangji also notices the spring books moving around shelf. Rearranged. Unmoved if you don’t look close enough, but it’s clear Lan Ying has been making… use of them. It makes Lan Wangji glad. He secretly jerks off in the bath tub. Life continues at this weird, jagged pace. 

Lan Xichen asks his brother if it is perhaps time for Lan Ying to rejoin his classmates in the dorms, but Lan Wangji insists the boy is far too unwell, and traumatised by his experience to reintegrate into cultivation like normal boys. After a brief, lying-by-omission style conversation with Lan Ying, the mantle of Sect Leader is finally given to his younger brother. The boy is ten by now, and a strong cultivator for his age. Ripe for the position, and malleable. Now Lan Wangji… truly has his Lan Ying all to himself. 

A few weeks later he finds Lan Ying masturbating. It’s an accident. He’s relieved of his duties around lunchtime as he finds himself without his advanced class, comprised of three students who are taking their guqin cultivation further, due to a small flu going around. Giddy, he almost skips back to the Jingshi. Any excuse to spend more time with his son is a plus. Not thinking to knock (they never do), he enters the room and locks eyes with Lan Ying, sitting on Lan Wangji’s bed with his hand round his dick and Lan Wangji’s pillow hugged to his chest. They freeze. 

One… two… three seconds. Lan Ying frantically springs into action, roughly pulling his pants back up and apologising profusely, but Lan Wangji raises a hand to stop him. He shuts the door. Locks it. Turns and approaches the bed. The mattress dips as he sits next to Lan Ying. It’s silent for a few moments more. 

“Why were you holding my pillow?” he asks, finally. Lan Ying turns even redder, almost purple.

“It’s… easier with your uh. Smell,” he says, covering his face with his hands. “I’m sorry Ba…” 

Lan Wangji shushes him gently, before patting his lap. 

“Sit,” Lan Wangji instructs. Lan Ying hesitates, but obeys. “Good boy.” 

Gently, Lan Wangji peels the boys pants down. Lan Ying inhales sharply. He’s only half hard now, but Lan Wangji remedies this with a few pumps - gently down, twisting on the upstroke. Lan Ying whimpers pitifully, melting into the touch.

“Here,” Lan Wangji says, tapping Lan Ying’s chin until the boy’s nose is settled in the crook of his father’s neck. “For the smell.” 

“Baba,” Lan Ying whines, writhing. 

Lan Wangji continues stroking his dick and Lan Ying’s breathing becomes increasingly erratic. He presses his face into his dad’s collarbones and neck and begins messily suckling at it. Drool spills from the sides of his mouth and his leg muscles twitch, backside pressing against Lan Wangji's hardening dick. Lan Ying cums with a soft cry, muffled in Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Silently, Lan Wangji cleans the boy up, putting his clothes in a separate bucket to be washed by Lan Wangji’s hands. No one can know Lan Ying like he does. 

After that it becomes horribly easier. Lan Ying doesn’t attend class. Lan Wangji says he’s sick. He makes Lan Ying promise not to tell anyone. Everything they do together is so Lan Ying can learn how to please his future partners. It’s all in the interest of education. Every night he touches him. When Lan Ying offers to reciprocate he’s tragically bad at it. He cries when Lan Wangji suggests he finish himself off, so the boy ends up kneeling on the floor with his mouth open while Lan Wangji jerks off into it. 

It escalates. Of course it does. They make rapid progress. Lan Wangji teaches Lan Ying how to use his mouth, his thighs, his feet, his hands, his ass. He gets to share everything, all these special things with his beautiful boy… they still eat meals with the rest of the Sect. It’s weird for everyone else but the two of them are only too content with each other’s presence. Lan Ying clings to his father like some kind of concubine. The righteous Hanguang-Jun hand-feeds him, and Lan Ying nuzzles his neck contentedly. He even stays in the room while his father makes brief conversation during the tea break between senior sect members, after the disciples have finished.

There’s a new joke going around. About Lan er-gongzi’s second wife. It’s vulgar, and Lan Qiren makes efforts to silence the whispers but Lan Wangji can’t find it in himself to get defensive. That would mean denying what he has with A-Ying… and he realises, with a strange mix of giddiness and horror, that he doesn’t want to hide it, deny that he loves his Lan Ying, his Wei Ying, more than anyone. Not even blood can keep them from each other. 

[justsomewhumpee]

2 am whump thoughts: whumpee that's seriously injured and deliriously begging for the plushie caretaker gave them as a gift forever ago.

"Please, I can't leave him back there.. I- I have to find him, he was a gift from caretaker... I can't find caretaker but Mr. Bear reminds me of them, Please-"

They continue to ramble and plead, not realizing that caretaker is the one who is currently holding whumpee, carrying them to safety. Tears begin to form in caretaker's eyes after hearing the desperation in their voice.

Even as they're about to bleed out, whumpee's main focus is still caretaker.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[hillsofuhhtennessee]

Velvet von Ragnar whump HCs going both ways because they’re cute in both roles.

Caregiver:

-Velvet can be an uncaring asshole who’ll sell you to satan for a corn chip, but if you’re useful and valuable to them they also definitely enjoy “playing mommy” to sick underlings

-You WILL be cuddled, kissed, stroked, and held close until you fall asleep on their lap.  Velvet is incredibly physically affectionate and will provide literally any kind of massage or touch desired.  

-probably the type to incessantly offer you food and make sure you eat

-If on the go, there’s a high chance of being wrapped in one of their huge coats 

-it’s probably harder to get them to leave you alone vs baby you because their parental instincts are shockingly strong if you manage to trigger them.  It can get downright obnoxious if you just want to be left alone but they’re humming and holding you and trying to get you to have another popsicle.  

-while generally very busy, in the off chance they do have free time they’re easily entertained and will curl up with you to watch TV or something

-has no actual medical training but honestly can be nice to have around if you have a cold or other minor ailment since they’re well-versed in home remedy/low tech things for that.  They’re also completely unfazed by gross things and bodily fluids LOL

-high likelihood of being wrapped up in one of their big coats or fluffy robes, especially if you’re smaller.  I like to think they value soft/smooth textures in fabric for linings and more casual clothes and a lot of their stuff is very heavy and cozy and be wrapped in.  Velvet is also probably fond of cute robes and jammies for lounging around in general which brings us to…

Whumpee

-Velvet is probably pretty durable if we extrapolate from Gene but does enough stupid crap that they inevitably will get hurt/sick.  They try so hard to hide real weakness or pain but if they’re really wiped it’s hard to hide it.  Probably leans on the side of “I’ll deal with it myself/it’ll resolve itself” vs getting medical help for most things unless it really goes south or is something acute like falling off a dam.  I think part of them does secretly enjoy being coddled if they feel safe enough around someone, though.  

-The main signs that something is wrong that they can’t hide are lethargy, avoiding touch, poor appetite, poor color, or looking thin/worn.  Velvet is naturally excitable, wiggly, and tactile, and is very warm-looking and full-bodied physically when in at least decent health.  When one of those is gone something is definitely wrong.  

-Physically injured, they can be a total ass to deal with.  Hyper without an outlet to burn it off, agitated that they can’t do things, incessantly flirting with literally any nurse (or antagonizing them), and often pissed at who/whatever hurt them (or whatever dumb thing they did)

-If genuinely exhausted or incapacitated though… that’s when they can be surprisingly calm and gentle.  When that tired, they’re more mentally stable, very comfort-seeking, and too wiped to lash out.  They’ll often be mostly nonverbal and just gesture and nod, especially if their throat hurts.  

-physical touch can calm and coax Velvet into doing a lot of things.  It’s comforting for a lot of milder ailments and a bribing them with a head scratch or cuddle will convince them to take their meds or eat.  Tummy rubs are also a secret cheat code for getting an angry/anxious/otherwise emotional Velvet to calm down because their moods and belly are SO closely linked and affect each other.

-If you become known as a free back/foot/etc rub dispenser in their mind they’ll start getting demanding FAST though

-In rarer cases where they really don’t want to be touched they’ll still seek pillows and blankets to curl up with.  

-They still hate feeling vulnerable.  They tend to treat caretakers more like teddy bears and want them to be the little spoon or sit on their lap still.  They’re pretty shameless about bodily fluids and being gross as long as it isn’t something humiliating or too much of a sign of weakness. 

-they love being bathed by others, but again, will usually end up trying to flirt with them unless REALLY tired.  Then they’ll just silently enjoy the tactile stimulation and lean into it

-Can be tough to coax into eating if they don’t want to, but once they get at least a nibble in of something they’ll definitely eat more than enough and aren’t picky at all with food.

-they have a lot of cute jammies and robes to lounge around in.  

-They get scruffy and scuzzy really fast when they don’t have the oomph to clean up every day and hate it.  If someone is willing to do it for them, they’ll probably cry.  

[whump-queen]

i just wanted to say i loved seeing you go through ashtrays story and reading your tags agkfhdjs hope your fever went down and you were able to rest :D

— @honeycollectswhump

OMG WAAHH HIHII!!

I don’t think we’ve talked before but !! ok we have @whumpsday and @whumpshaped to thank for this whump story matchmaking because

AND THEN I BINGEREAD IT THAT NIGHT.

i’m always thrilled and delighted that people are reading my unhinged tags, and that the author of the work (YOU BABE!!) sees my little spam and !! YAY!! I hope it makes you feel some of the good happy emotions I felt while reading your little ashtray story cuz it just made me so happy to read 🥰🥰🥰

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

DAY 9: Voice Loss

TW: implied torture, implied future torture

"Well, don't you have anything to say for yourself?" Whumper asked sharply.

Whumpee opened their mouth to respond, but found that they couldn't. Tears welled in their eyes from the effort, but they could only manage a tiny croak not resembling any human tongue.

"Then we will just have to continue," Whumper said, examining a gleaming surgical blade. "Until you learn to apologize."

[eleanor-amiss]

whump prompt #3

pathetic whumpers. whumpers who are touch-starved, who are so alone they can only rely on their whumpee for physical contact. grabbing and hugging and shoving them away whenever it's too much. whumpers who get sick often, who command their incredibly conditioned whumpee to help every time. whumpers who talk to their whumpee, not because they see them as people, not because they want a reply, but because they have no one else.

maybe whumpers who have one whumpee they've had for years. that whumpee is broken, willing to do anything. maybe whumpers who bring in another one. not as far in. not as conditioned. one who might want to fight back.

one who might take advantage of their vulnurabilities.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

AilessWhumptober 23 - 5 Hostage

Near Unbreakable 1/2

Summary: This badass lady is the Second-in-command of her beloved team. She can kick anyone’s ass and the tiny Whumper is obviously no match for her. So when she volunteers to stay with the guy for one day, nothing bad is gonna happen….right ?

badass whumpee/protective caretakers/pathetic whumper

tw: hostage, lady whump, torture (implied), death threats, locked in a small space

***

“You ? It’s you ?” burst out Leader to the grinning face of Whumper. “You’re the one who are supposed to meet us ? Oh, the deal is off. Let me offer this instead.”

He drew out his combat knife, his face grim.

“You give us what we want and I don’t gut you like a fish. On second thought, I might do it anyway.”

“Do that and see how this is going to work out for you,” purred the tiny man. “You promised to let a hostage for the day to my team, and I guarantee you that you won’t like what will happen if you don’t.”

Leader's hand clenched on his weapon:

“I agreed because I thought you were fired and starving somewhere like you deserve.”

“Well, life is full of disappointment. I thought that after our little meeting, you would die of blood loss.”

Some teammates couldn’t help but glance at the right arm of their Leader – the one that missed a hand. The man had a small smile of contempt. His knife glinted.

“Come and see for yourself how helpless I am, coward.”

The Mediator, who was the diplomat of the team, squeezed his shoulder.

“I don’t think this will be necessary. In our negotiations, we have made very clear that if we found a single scratch on the hostage, we would retaliate once we were done. They agreed on this, they even proposed to give us the potential offender.”

“Oh, I see,” groaned the Leader. “So they were counting on the sadistic bastard to go berserk on one of my men so they could get rid of him by giving him to us, while keeping their hands clean ? It that what that means ?”

“I thought he was dead,” whispered Mediator. “We all thought he was. Am I calling them ?”

“There’s no time ! We need to do this today ! Let’s go back, team. We’ll find another way.”

He was going to turn around, but another hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked up, up and up to meet the eyes of his Second-in-command.

“You’ve just said it,” she softly said. “There is no time.”

“So ? ”

“Don’t sweat it, boss. I’m gonna stay with him. You don’t need me to finish the mission.”

“No. No way. Absolutely not. You are not doing this.”

“ Then what ? People are counting on us. We can’t fail. I can do this. Besides ” -she rubbed her thumb and her index together - “ I could snap him in two between my fingers.”

“Well great, you’ll do this after the mission, as a treat – come on.”

“It’s just for one day. I’m gonna be all right.”

Leader was going to retort, but he glanced at the scowling face of Whumper, who stared at the mountain of muscles that was his Second-in-command. He was still repulsed by the idea, but a small part of his mind was entertained by the idea of letting alone the tiny, slimy bastard with someone who could break coconuts with her bare hands. Besides, she was right. There was no time to lose, and doing what was planned was the quickest way to finish the mission.

“If I might interrupt,” sniveled Whumper, “that doesn’t seem quite logical to me. You have to admit, Leader, that Mediator has made a big mistake in negotiating. He did neglect my resurrection and I resent that. He should be the one to stay behind.”

His eyes examined the small, thin Mediator with something that looked way too much like hunger. Leader, Second-in-command, and other Teammates took a step forward.

“Come and take him”, they retorted at once.

Whumper recoiled, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“ Fine, fine. The huge lady it is.”

The Leader examined her, a worried expression in his face.

“ I don’t like it. I hate it. You sure about this ?”

She nodded, her eyes soft:

“Trust me.”

“Don’t get cocky. The bastard is rotten as hell. He will try to stab you in the back.”

“He won’t be able to. Rely on me, please. The stakes are too high.”

Leader narrowed his eyes at Whumper.

“One scratch”, he grunted. “One single scratch. And you’re done.”

He squeezed the arm of his Second-in-command:

“And you, toughie, we’re getting you back in one piece at sunset. This is a promise. And an order.”

“I got it, boss.”

He hugged her grumpily, and so did the other members of the team, promising they would be back for her as soon as they could, as if they were going for an easy stroll themselves instead of a dangerous journey. The Mediator hugged her the tightest of all.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in her ear.

She tapped his cheek playfully in answer, and soon after they were all gone. Whumper and Second-in-command were left alone, staring at each other.

“Nice home you have,” she said. “You play base ball ?”

“No, why ?”

“Oh, so you don’t need that bat on the grass, then.”

She picked it up. The wood creaked when she broke it on her knee. She threw the two parts away from her and stared at Whumper, who looked at her with wide eyes and took a step back.

“I get it lady, I get it – you’re scary. How about a non-aggression pact, uh ? You don’t touch me, I don’t touch you. On second thought, I don’t even want to be near you. Tell you what.”

He pointed at her at a cute little hexagonal structure on the garden, with transparent walls.

“ This is my winter pavilion, where I go to read sometimes. I put a lock on the outside because some kids kept stealing my gardening tools. How about you stay there for the day ?”

She shrugged:

“Fine. But first you’re calling your chief. And then you’re taking a picture of me and you send it to them.”

“Is that really necessary ?”

“Yes. I’m making sure they know we fulfilled our end of the deal. I’m not letting you lie and put my team in jeopardy.”

“You’re no fun,” sighed Whumper, “but as you wish.”

The call being made, she went to the little pavilion and allowed him to lock her in. He had taken care of putting away the gardening tools before, which had made her roll her eyes, so she had plenty of space for herself. She sat nearby a little pile of books, but there were all botanical guides, and none of these interested her. Soon enough, she rested her cheek on the hardcover and went to sleep. Dawn had barely broken.

She woke up with a throbbing headache. Grunting, she held out her hand, groping for her bag. (Whumper had tried to suggest she could do without, but she had given him A Look and he had not mentioned the subject anymore. She had already left her weapons behind but as far as she was concerned, she didn’t need them and it was the only compromise she was willing to make.) Pulling out her flask and taking a sip, she winced. The water was warm. She forced herself to drink a little, but her stomach growled in disagreement. Still, she drank. The Mediator was very adamant about making his teammates stay as hydrated and well-rested as possible. In fact, he was the only reason why her flask was full to begin with (and her bag much too full of snacks).

She stared wishfully at her phone, but she had no one to call. It would have been useless at best and dangerous at worst to distract her teammates or signal her presence in any way to anyone else. Besides, the reception here seemed not very good. She poured a little water on her hand and rubbed it on her temples and neck. That relieved her a bit. Since it was officially the morning now, she wondered if she should eat. At the thought, her stomach turned into a knot. The idea of eating anything solid made her wince. Frowning, she touched her forehead. It was burning. She clicked her tongue, her throat already dry, and watched outside.

Whumper’s garden was nothing to be proud of. There were some cacti here and here that seemed to do well - they looked even taller than her - but the rest of the plantations seemed wilted. Burnt, even. She glanced at the yellow grass, then at the sky. It was a magnificent blue, without a cloud on the horizon. Even inside, she felt the scorching of the sun, so she looked for a little shade. There was none. Every furniture had been taken away. There was only the pile of books. Grunting, she put a cap on. It was not optimal, but it was better than nothing. She accidentally touched the walls and recoiled. There were white-hot. On the other side, there were the gardening tools, and finally she realized something. A detail.

She wasn’t in a pavilion. She was in a greenhouse. And she was going to understand how an ant felt under a magnifying glass very soon.

The sequel (prompt Heat Stroke) is here.