#teen whumpee

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw for minor whump

Adoption Whump

Think a teenaged character in an orphanage or foster care. They’d always had a relatively good life; despite being orphaned their home was always filled with lots of other kids like them and they were happy. But, they’d heard horror stories of the horrible lives kids lived after adoption. Lives of abuse, of fear, of pain. They’d be put through endless torment, used, thrown around and beaten up, degraded simply because they were helpless, without a family, without a way to call for help. They shuddered at the thought, but surely, those stories were just that right? Stories. They were satisfied with their comfortable life, and if they ever got adopted, well, they were sure it couldn’t be that bad.

They were right on one front.

It wasn’t bad.

It was worse than they could have ever imagined.

The home seemed nice from the outside, a beautiful exterior, lush greenery, fountains sprawled over the grounds. Everything appeared to be perfect. To the average onlooker it would seem like a luxurious place for anyone to reside. It only made the reality of the situation ten times worse. Once inside, though still littered with decoration, the atmosphere was different. A threatening and frightening energy lingered in the air and the teen turned slowly toward their new owner. And that’s when it began.

The pain.

If asked, the teen couldn’t tell you what their daily life there was like. It was all jumbled together and fuzzy, their thoughts incoherent, clouded by suffering. There was only one thing that remained stable the whole time.

Hurt. Beatings. Pain. Anger. Hands. Kicks. Punches. Pain.

Each day was filled with impossible loads of tasks to accomplish.

Clean every inch of the house and do the laundry. Cook dinner and take care of my kids. Go out to buy groceries and entertain the guests. And I want this done before I get back.

They didn't talk to anyone except to be reprimanded for things out of their control. Every word said to them was meant to beat down, to crush. And when, not if, they didn't complete the overwhelming amount of work...well, they didn't like to talk about what happened then.

They went through life with eyes glazed over and a mind that constantly wished to be away, away from life, away from reality. The only thing they wanted was to leave.

Then, they were adopted by a rich person.

When they heard the news, they grew even more draw in and frighteningly quiet. Their old foster parent was overjoyed to get rid of them which only made them more fearful for what was to come, terrified of what their new parent owner would do to them.

They arrived at the new house and were in awe of how grand it was. Every crevice of the exterior was fully decorated to display their wealth. But, the only thing it could make the teen think of was how much worse they would be hurt here.

They heard footsteps approaching and immediately directed their head downward, trying to radiate submission and not wanting to anger their new owner.

The footsteps got closer and they hunched in further as their heart rate sped up, until finally two feet stopped in front of them. They held their breath for a moment, waiting for something to happen, a word, and order, a sigh, a kick or a slap even. A hand suddenly came into their view and they held back a flinch, but it just slowly rose until it gently met their cheek.

"Hi." A soft voice said.

Their heart jumped and they widened their eyes. That voice was smoother than anything they'd heard before.

"Can I see your face?"

The teen blinked dumbly for a moment, then registered they were being spoken to, not spoken at and had to hold back a jump at the unfamiliarity of the question. Why would they ask me-

"What's your name, love?"

The teen realized too late that they'd taken too long to respond, lost in their own worries and thoughts. They quivered slightly at the consequences of ignoring their owner and being reproached already, but..

'Love...'

"W-Whumpee..." The teen whispered quietly, lowering their eyes and wishing they could curl in on themself and become smaller. They couldn't ignore a direct question, but were terrified knowing talking was a sure way to get into trouble. But the hand that was still on their face wasn't letting them escape.

Against their expectations, they weren't scorned or spit at for saying their name. Instead they heard a light response.

"Hello, Whumpee," They could almost hear the smile (smile?) in the voice, "My name is Caretaker."

"Would you look at me, dear?"

Their breath caught and their eyes darted around as their brain hastened to find the right thing to say. They couldn't in good conscience look their owner in the eye but the certainly couldn't disobey an order. Amidst their wrestling, they must have absently nodded their head because, to their terror, the hand on their cheek started raising their face.

Their breathing picked up but there was nothing they could do except let it happen until they were finally face to face with the person who would control their fate for the foreseeable future. They expected to see a harsh, stony face to match their status, but instead were met with overwhelming calm, a warm aura, and a tender charm that made them want to melt. Caretaker oozed control and confidence, and the teen could tell they held a lot of power; they held themself high, were dressed in sophisticated clothing, and Whumpee had to crane their neck to meet their gaze. And yet, there was a soft feeling about them and their face was filled with kindness.

"Thank you." Caretaker smiled with squinty eyes that reminded them of the little kids at the orphan home.

The teen had never been more confused, afraid, and in the presence of such serenity all at once.

[clickerflight]

Whump week: Do you trust me?

@week-of-whump

Masterlist

Part 5

If you're confused about how all these bits fit together, uhhhh, it would take too long to explain :) I got carried away with this one. It was super fun!

Content: Teen whumpee, character being called 'slow', caught, retrained, gun pointed at a minor, mentions of child abuse, immortal adult taking a gunshot to the throat, car crash, broken leg, road rash

...........................................

Ryan and Souka ran. Souka, despite his diminutive height, stayed ahead of Ryan because he was immune to glass and stones stabbing into the soles of his bare feet while Ryan was not. 

Ryan and Souka had been wading through a pond together, finally taking some time to properly get to know each other now that Ryan wasn’t sick anymore and while they were waiting for the case against Ryan’s mother to go through. Ryan had felt like a child again. Souka was quiet, but he seemed to know exactly what to do to show Ryan how to be young, to forget about the past for just a day. 

And then two men had showed up at the shore of the pond, watching them closely. Sure, it was a public pond, but the two had grown uncomfortable, especially since the two seemed to be guarding their shoes. 

Then Ryan had recognized one of the men as his uncle. His mother’s favorite brother. Souka seemed to pick up on the situation in an instant. The younger teen had grabbed Ryan’s arm and they ran. Ryan recognized the streets they ran on as they raced to get back to Souka’s house, the place Ryan had been staying at to get away from his mother’s house. 

Ryan looked back over his shoulder and yelped when he saw the men running after them. They were catching up quickly, though Souka didn’t seem to care as his eyes were set on the end of the street. 

Ryan picked up his pace, despite the pain in his feet and shins. He couldn’t breathe. His newly healthy lungs were trying to give out on him and the skin on his arms burned with memories and fear, the smell of cigarette smoke cloying the air around him. 

Souka dragged him to the side, dashing through a yard and the soft grass under Ryan’s feet brought him back to the present. 

“Sorry,” he gasped, though Souka didn’t respond. He was too focused on finding a way out of the situation. 

Souka slowed as they reached a fence, sliding in through a gap with the same ease as an escaping cat, though when he pulled Ryan in to follow him, Ryan got caught on the wood, unable to fit through the same gap that Souka could. Souka turned, eyes wide with panic as he realized what happened. A large hand grabbed the back of Ryan’s shirt, pulling him out roughly enough that skin came off on the wood. Another hand darted through the gap, grabbing Souka’s wrist as the boy tried to pull Ryan back. 

Souka growled, a harsh whispery thing before he bit into the man’s hand. The attacker yelped, though the grip on Souka’s wrist didn’t loosen.

The man who had grabbed Ryan was Tyler, the other having to be Leon, his mum’s cousin in law. Tyler shook Ryan, making the teen wrap his arms around his head to protect himself as Tyler growled, “You’re mom raised you for 15 years, and this is how you repay her, huh? Runnin’ off and getting police involved!? You’re lucky she wants to deal with you herself.”

“No, please,” Ryan gasped, eyes closed and protected behind his arm. 

“Shuddup,” Leon said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed Souka in a headlock, the small teenager unable to free himself from it despite his scrambling. He sounded exactly like a trapped animal with nowhere else to turn. “Kids these days. Don’t any of you grow up with a backbone?”

“I’ll go with you,” Ryan said quickly. “Just let him go. He had nothing to do with this!”

“He bit me!”

Ryan looked at Souka, hoping his eyes got across the message he needed to convey. ‘Trust me. I’m not doing this to hurt you.’

“He’s not right in the head and he’s mute. He won’t tell and he’s not worth the trouble of keeping him.”

Tyler and Leon shared a look, before looking down at Souka, who was valiantly playing the part that Ryan knew would get him out of this. 

“Tch, fine.” Leon released Souka, kicking him in the back of the legs to send him to the ground. Souka scrambled up and ran through the fence, not even looking back. 

Ryan tugged at his shirt, hoping desperately that Souka was going to get help. 

"Now, as for you," Tyler said, tucking Ryan tightly under his arm. "You're gonna have a little chat with your mom and we're going to get the police off her back, and then you're gonna go back to work. I'm sure not gonna support her when she has a perfectly healthy kid to do that for her."

Ryan walked silently, his heart pounding. His mom was going to kill him. She was actually going to kill him. She had come so close last time. Last time when he set up a hidden camera  to capture his death so she wouldn’t be able to get away with it, like she had gotten away with everything else. 

He didn't die that night, but he had some spectacular footage of the beating he took. Maybe being dragged back to the house wouldn't be so bad. He could grab the card with the video on it and escape again. He'd find Souka and the Adventurers and could hand over the evidence and it would go against her in court too. 

Leon jogged on ahead, presumably to get whatever car they came in as Tyler walked with Ryan under his arm. 

"No need for the dramatics," Tyler said, rolling his eyes. "Your shivering isn't going to get any sympathy from me."

Ryan didn't reply, playing out the situation in his mind. He would be taken back to the house, deal with whatever verbal tirade his mom had planned, probably take a beating after he told the cops he'd 'lied,' then he'd be locked in his room where he'd grab the card and find some way to escape. His mom wanted him to work so she'd have money for drugs and cigarettes so it wasn't like she was planning on keeping him inside forever. He'd get to leave eventually, and he'd use that moment to strike. 

Or..... he could trust that Souka would bring help much sooner than that, but Ryan couldn't quite bring himself to dare to think that someone would care for him that much. Despite knowing that Matsu had never left his bedside, stroking his sweat soaked hair as his fever broke. 

A car drove down the road and stopped beside them. Tyler opened the back door and shoved Ryan in, following him in after. Ryan curled in on himself as Leon started driving down the roads. 

Ryan picked at his nails in silence when he felt something vibrating in his pocket. He stared at his lap for a moment, realizing that he was getting a call on the charm Matsu had given him. He shifted to look out the window, hoping his movement would keep Tyler from hearing the vibration. 

The vibration stopped quickly enough and Ryan continued staring out the window. There was a sound of a motorcycle and he twisted to see Matsu riding on Laurance’s motorcycle, focused on the car with the look of a hunter about him. 

Relief and fear exploded inside of him, and without thinking he rolled down the window, moving to dive out through the window. 

"MATSU!" he shrieked as Tyler yelled and grabbed his legs, dragging him back. "HELP!"

"I'm coming!" Matsu called, speeding up as Leon slammed his foot down on the gas to get away. 

Tyler dragged Ryan back into the car, pinning him to the seat as he reached over to roll up the window. 

"You got The Adventurers on us!?" Leon screamed back from the front. "I'm going to kill you myself when we get out of here!"

"No! Let me GO!" Ryan screamed, struggling to get away from Tyler. 

Tyler growled, scooping up a roll of duct tape from the floor and grabbing Ryan's wrists and forcing them together. 

Ryan fought and kicked, but Tyler duct taped his wrists with ease. 

"Tyler! We have cops on our tail!"

Tyler growled, pulling a gun and pressing it to Ryan's jaw. "They seem attached to the kid, we have leverage. Keep going, Leon."

Ryan could feel his pulse against the gun as Leon took the car hard around the corners. 

Ryan had no idea how this was supposed to end, his entire life sitting at the base of his jaw where gunmetal was warming up to his skin. 

There was the sound of something crashing outside and a thump on the roof. 

"No way," Leon muttered. "No way, there is no possible way."

There was. Matsu, who must have jumped onto the car, leaned down over the windshield, a small tool held between his fingers. He slapped his palm into the windshield and webbed cracks spread across the glass. Leon yelped as Matsu slammed his hand to the glass again, this time shattering a part of the window. 

"OI! STAY OUT OF THERE OR I'LL SHOOT!" Tyler yelled, but Matsu couldn't hear, reaching over, grabbing the wheel, and tugging it hard to the side. 

Ryan felt the shock through the car when they hit a barrier, and panicked when he felt the car start rolling. Tyler, who was screaming and distracted, loosened his grip enough for Ryan to roll to the floor of the car, curling up as he slid to the door, just barely avoiding getting crushed by Tyler. 

He was up as soon as the car was still, climbing over the driver's seat and past the airbags that pinned Leon down. 

Someone grabbed his foot and he slammed it back, catching Tyler in the side of his head. He threw himself through the fully shattered windshield and hit the ground, square bits of glass pressing into his arms where he caught himself. He looked around to see police getting out of their cars and rushing over and a form laying the pavement nearby, twitching. 

Matsu lifted his head, the road burn on his face healing as Ryan watched. He crawled over, dragging a broken leg behind himself. By the time he reached Ryan, the leg was nearly healed and he gathered Ryan into his arms, pressing a kiss to his head. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Matsu asked breathlessly as the police reached the car, trying to figure out how to get the men out of the car. 

Ryan just whined and pressed his face into Matsu’s chest, his bound hands clutching at Matsu’s shirt. 

“GET DOWN! HE HAS A GUN!” an officer yelled and Matsu whirled Ryan away, putting himself in between the car and Ryan as a gunshot rang through the air. 

Matsu grunted, but got up, carrying Ryan away. Blood dripped down from the gunshot wound in his throat, but it was already healing. 

Matsu got back on the ground when they were behind a police car and held Ryan close.

He finally peeled Ryan off himself to look him over. 

“Here, let’s get that off of you,” Matsu said, pulling a knife from his pocket and cutting carefully into the duct tape. Ryan sat and shivered. He was so relieved he could barely breathe. 

“Thank you. For coming to get me.”

“Of course,” Matsu said softly, getting a bottle from his bag and using water to loosen the adhesive to keep it from hurting as he peeled the tape away. “I’ll always come get you as long as you want me to.”

Ryan nodded and, for the first time in years, let himself cry like the child he was meant to be.

Part 7

@whumpsday

[justbreakonme]

Whumpee hiding under the bed and getting dragged out, whether by whumper or a gruff caretaker, either way. *chefs kiss*

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump Day 17: Hostage

Content warning: young whumpee/caretaker. They're not meant to be minors, but could easily be read as such

This is a sequel to THIS. This could work as a standalone however.

Whumper had been doing their job long enough to learn that going for the mark directly was a waste of time. It was like trying to catch a fish by hand. A massive, frustrating waste of time, because a fish in the water would always outspeed a clumsy human.

Any catch worth Whumper’s time would be protected. The secret lovers of celebrities, the children of millionaires, the loved ones of people in power—they were always surrounded by fencing and people who fretted over them. It was nearly impossible to catch them truly alone, and odds were even if they were alone, they were surrounded by so many cameras that it wouldn’t be worth the risk.

Whumper never went for the mark directly, cause it wasn’t worth it. Not when they could go for the bait.

Now the bait was easy to get a hold of. It wasn’t that nobody cared about the bait–if nobody cared, it wouldn’t be worth going after–but it was that nobody thought the bait was in danger. Why would they be? The friend of a friend, someone who fell under the radar, unremarkable beyond a few key relationships that gave them value. A useful nobody, one that could vanish for hours before anyone got worried.

It’s hard to force a mark out of the safety built around them. But to give them a reason to leave, to hand them the chance to be a hero?

They’ll slip themselves out of their protection and walk straight into a trap, armed with nothing but their parent’s money and a pocket knife. It was almost cute.

Whumper turned the corner, a lazy grip on the driver wheel, as they finally pulled into their latest base. It was more of a shack, really. A derelict hobble, forgotten, nestled in between unused forest land and a garbage dump. The sort of place that went weeks without being seen by a human. It’d be easy to burn and abandon, once they got the money from Caretaker’s parents.

Whumper glanced down at the hostage in question.

The kid was practically curled into a ball. Legs tucked to their chest, back pressed so hard against the door that it was like they were trying to push it open. They wouldn’t lift their eyes to look at Whumper, but they didn’t turn away either, as if they were torn between being too afraid to look and too afraid to look away.

The only restraints Whumper had put on them was to tie their hands together. It wasn’t to stop them from escaping– Whumper knew they wouldn’t run, not when they knew Whumpee was so close– but more to make sure they didn’t forget their situation. Whumper liked to keep catches scared.

Whumper parked the car. They heard Caretaker’s breath hitch as they came to a stop.

Caretaker didn’t move as Whumper got out. They sat, paralyzed with fear, as Whumper released the look to the passenger seat with the press of a button. When Whumper opened the door, Caretaker flinched back, half crawling into the driver’s seat.

Whumper gestured for them to get out. “Let’s get this over with, yeah? I might even feed you after if you’re good.”

Slowly, Caretaker untangled themselves, leaving the car with shaking legs. They pressed their back into the door, shutting it. They stayed pressed there. Whumper grabbed them by the shoulder and pushed them forward.

They guided Caretaker into the building.

The smell of mold and rot hit them like a truck as they opened the door. The whole place was beginning to rot away. Whumper resisted the urge to gag as the taste of rotting wood filled their mouth.

They’d put together their set up before they’d left. The living room was empty besides a few set items. A tall lamp, the only source of light in the room, was illuminating a single, rusted, metal chair. Finally, a camera, the only thing that looked worth any sort of money, stood ready to catch every moment.

It was a basic set up, rudimentary even, and that’s how Whumper wanted it. Whumper found that people feared the amateur more than the professional

Whumper gestured towards the chair, and Caretaker’s eyes flicked towards it anxiously.

“Come on, don’t get cold feet now,” They pulled a folded piece of paper from their pocket, their own handwriting scribbled onto it. They’d make sure to burn it once the video was done. “All you gotta do is read the paper.”

Caretaker didn’t move. They stood like a deer in the headlights, trembling. Their jaw trembled, and for a long moment, Whumper thought they were finally going to dissolve into sobs.

Instead they spoke.

“Wait. I…I wanna see Whumpee first.” Their voice was frail, trembling, like they’d lose the will to speak at any moment. And yet some of their old bravado seemed to have resurfaced.

Whumper raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you do. And?”

They hunched their shoulders, shrinking into themselves. And yet they continued. “I mean–You want me to uh, r-record a ransom video. And you said Whumpee would be safe if I listened,”They stood straighter, just barely. “It’s only fair if you…–if you let me see Whumpee, before I start. Please.”

They stood in place, eyes cast downward, fingers tangled together anxiously at their waist. And yet they were still holding their ground.

Whumer stared for a moment, considering. “You really think you’re in a position to be making demands?” They asked, voice low.

They let the question hang in the air. Caretaker froze, eyes widening like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. Their lips began to tremble, and when they took a stumbling step away from Whumper, they nearly tripped over the chair.

Caretaker’s mouth cracked open, an apology already on their tongue, when Whumper let their expression lighten. Whumper chuckled, deep and rumbling.

“I don’t know if you’re stupid, or brave as hell. Probably both,” Whumper shrugged, watching as Caretaker’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I respect it. Let’s visit the bait.”

Whumper turned, heading towards the dark, barren hallway that led deeper into the house. Caretaker followed them like a lost duckling.

They stopped at the door at the end of the hall. It wasn’t anything special, just a normal door they’d fitted with a single padlock. Both with no windows and only one exit, the spare room made an effective holding cell.

Whumper pulled the keys from their pocket, opening the door. They stepped aside to give Caretaker a clear view.

Whumpee was right where they’d left them. Their arms and legs were bound with duct tape. The blood on their face had long dried, staining the once white collar of their school uniform a rusty brown. The gag was still firmly in place.

Their eyes bulged when they saw Caretaker. Whumpee screamed, a wordless plea, and lurched their body forward. All they managed to do was tip themselves over, helpless and prone on the floor.

“Whumpee-!” Caretaker took a step to move forward, but a firm hand on their shoulder stopped them. Still, that didn’t stop them from leaning towards their friend as much as Whumper’s hold would allow. “Shit, you’re okay! You’re okay! Just wait and I–I’m going to get us both out–I promise!”

Whumpee only sobbed behind their gag.

Whumper knew better than to let things go on much longer. They squeezed Caretaker’s shoulder, drawing their attention. “You’ll get them out by doing what I say, remember? They stay safe as long as you follow directions.”

Caretaker finally tore their eyes from Whumpee. They met Whumper’s gaze, eyes wide and pleading. There was too much determination in that stare for Whumper’s liking. They knew they’d have to put an end to that.

“Please, just let them go! You–you want me, right? They don’t have anything to do with this!”

“Hey,” they let their tone sharpen, and every inch of Caretaker froze. Whumpee fell silent. “You already got one favor from me. You’re testing your luck.”

Caretaker’s face paled. They stammered, seemingly remembering the situation they were in. “I–I’m sorry. But please–,”

Caretaker gasped as they were yanked back, pulled out of the open doorway. Whumper slammed them against the wall, drawing a scream from their lips. Whumpee let out a muffled shout.

Whumper loomed over Caretaker, shadows darkening their features. Caretaker stared up at them with tearfilled eyes

“Do you know why Whumpee’s still alive?”

“I–”

“Because I decided to keep them alive. Because I’ve been in a good mood. And as long as I stay in a good mood, they get to stay in one piece.”

Caretaker looked ready to faint. Their breath hitched, a panicked sob tearing its way from their throat.

“And you know what puts me in a bad mood?” they leaned forward, drawing a panicked whine from Caretaker. Caretaker pressed themselves flat against the wall. “When brats think they’ve got any bargaining power with me. You understand?”

“Y-yes! Yes sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–I’m sorry–,”

Whumper pulled away. They kicked the door to Whumpee’s room shut, quickly returning the lock. When they turned back to look at Caretaker, they were still pressed against the wall. Eyes wide, staring, shoulders shaking with their silent sobs.

It was a good start. Whumper knew from experience that they’d drop the hero act within a week.

Whumper grinned. “Good. Then you have something to read, don’t you?”

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Teen Wolf 6x13 | Scott Impaled

[just-an-enby-lemon]

I had whumpt prompt idea.

Before being accused of betraying The System and being taken to The Facility and becoming Whumper's pet, Whumpee was a single father.

When Whumper gets tired of him and gifts him to the younger prodigy and secretly rebel Caretaker he has dificulty breaking the condition and understanding that Caretaker truly sees him as a human. Except Caretaker is a teenager, the same age Whumpee's son was when Whumpee was taken. So when Whumpee sees Caretaker underage drinking for a second he forgets the programming and enters Dad Mode and is all "what are you thinking".

Finally after a lot of fussing Whumpee looks at Caretaker in the eye and says "you are grounded give me your phone" and Caretaker looks at him with shock and teen anger and Whumpee finally remembers that this is his "master" and starts to kneel and present himself for punishment when Caretaker (who never had a positive parental figure before) handles him his phone and asks in a whinny teen voice "how long till I can get it back?"

[0meatloaf0]

Now that the authors have been revealed, I can finally post the art I made for Silver's WLC Multimedia Gift Exchange! Wooo!

This is @chromations 's OC—freshly abandoned and now a homeless teen, succumbing to hypothermia as winter sets in and she lacks adequate shelter. Very cheerful! (Did I get that lore right? :3c)

Maya Klein © chromations: and i feel fear for the very last time.

[splendidissimus]

September 1998 - Time Alone

((Content warning: depression, isolation, caretaker failure))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 3: Solitary Confinement ))

Genre: angst

Romance level: none

Angst level: 5/5

Draco's headspace: depressed / isolated

((words: ~700))

------------------------------------

From the beginning of the school term when Theo went back to Hogwarts, Draco was alone. He wasn't actually alone, of course — not technically. He had his mother, and of course he was still infinitely grateful for that. But it wasn't like she was someone he could actually talk to. He wasn't a little pre-school kid anymore who could follow her around blathering and making a nuisance of himself just because he wanted to be near her.

Now that she was relaxing a little about his health and trusted him to be out of her sight, she checked on him in the mid-mornings when she woke; he tried to force himself to maintain a reasonable schedule so that he was always presentable by then, but it slipped so that she would occasionally be waking him out of his dreams. Maybe they'd have breakfast together. After that, maybe they would cross paths once or twice. Then she'd check on him before she turned in for the night.

On Sundays, they ate dinner together, as was tradition, although it felt empty without his father there and uncomfortable around the table where they had gathered as Death Eaters. 

He was left to his own devices otherwise. Sometimes he spent mornings brewing potions he'd need, but there wasn't much he needed that he didn't already have and it was mindless, empty work that served only to keep his hands busy and fill time; other than that, he felt like a ghost wandering the manor. A restless spirit that passed through the world without having any effect on it. 

Nothing gave him anything to hold onto. His mind couldn't really focus on anything; it all seemed so small and distant. He'd sit for a while in the library, trying to keep his mind occupied, reading the same page of a book for an hour. He'd retire to his room or the drawing room with his school books and come away with half a page of notes for the day. He'd try to make attempts at simple spells without his wand that accomplished nothing and didn't even feel like using magic at all. 

A lot of his time he'd just end up in either the parlour window or the second floor landing, looking out at the gardens, not doing anything, not pretending to do anything — just looking at the world on the other side of the glass, where he couldn't even actually smell the flowers or hear the fountains or catch sight of the remaining peacock.

For a while, he'd take to spending his time in the drawing room so he would be around when she came and went, and she had a habit of touching his hair on her way past when she found him there, which he found reassuring in a way that simultaneously made him feel small for needing it. Occasionally, she would sit in there with him, reading or writing correspondence. He didn't know what she was doing; he supposed he could have asked. He could have done a lot of things. He could have asked about her and Father. He could have tried to tell her something — anything. He could have tried to just talk to her. But he didn't know how, and the more he didn't talk, the larger the words became, and the more he stayed silent. 

Either his mother started spending more time there, sitting with him quietly, or he became more aware of it. Over time, how much better it made him feel was more and more overshadowed by how much worse it made him feel to be making her do that. He didn't want her to have to, he didn't want to take her attention from what she needed or wanted to be doing, he shouldn't be making her worry, he shouldn't even be seen…

He managed to apologise, once, apropos of nothing. She asked what for, but he couldn't find the words, and she let it go.

Eventually even the polite small talk of "Good morning"s dried up; he'd answer questions, but the words for anything else were beyond his reach. 

[dungeons-and-dragons-and-whump]

anyone else accidentally make placeholder names into real characters. when I see posts talking about "whumpee" and "caretaker" and "whumper" I'm picturing the same three guys

[the-baby-storyteller]

CW: Teen Whumpee

"I'll just get back up!"

Vern shouted indignantly, scowl plastered on his face. He glared at Marc from where he lay, against his will mind you, on the bed and fought the urge to stick his tongue out. That would be a little too childish, even for him.

"You will do no such thing." Marc said, raising his eyebrow in the doorway, food tray in hand. "You will stay lying down and actually recover like you should have done last week. Your leg needs to heal. We're not having a conversation about this, Vern." Marc waltzed into the room with a peacefulness to rival Vern's burning agitation.

Why couldn't he understand that Vern just needed to move?

Marc walked over to the bedside table and dropped the tray onto it.

"Eat this and then go to sleep." Marc's eyes locked with purpose onto his own. "Lord knows you need to recover."

Vern scowled. "I'm not even that hurt! You're overexaggerating!"

"You are, in fact, the king overexaggerater in this apartment, Vern," Marc said rolling his eyes, "but it doesn't matter because you're going to listen to me," He narrowed his eyes, "eat your food, and stay in bed".

Vern averted his eyes obstinately. Marc huffed lightly and began walking away.

A tsk left Vern's lips. "You can't control me," He muttered under his breath, a puff of mischief present.

He pulled off the blankets and started to stand up-

"Vern Allen Haynes."

Vern jumped.

"Get back in bed, now."

He could feel Marc staring at him from the doorway. An unnamed jolt swept through him and he felt shame growing. He looked up and saw Marc's face and the sternness pervading through it. Vern winced involuntarily.

But he couldn't stop the onslaught of thoughts suddenly surging through his head.

Oh my gosh he just full-named me like my parent he actually just did that am I like his kid now? Does he think of me like that AAAAH-

A blush started creeping it's way up his face and he lowered his gaze in an attempt to hide it. Still, Marc hadn't let up with the hard look and he felt thoroughly chided.

He sputtered, trying to salvage his image. "I-I'm not gonna just-"

Marc shot him a glare.

Vern flushed violently. He was acting like Vern's dad.

Marc came over and freaking manhandled Vern back onto the bed, careful of his hurt leg, and Vern let him while he crossed his arms, trying to keep some semblance of defiance about him. The furious blush on his face over the fact that that interaction had just happened didn't really assist with his goal.

Once he was resituated on the bed Marc took a step back to mark him with with one last look to say stay. Though this time he couldn't quite keep up the front and Vern could tell he was holding back a smile.

"Eat the food and sleep, kiddo." Was the last thing Marc said to him, while smoothing his hair in a way that made Vern want to implode with screams because it was way too nonchalant, before walking out.

Vern let out an indignant sniffle.

"Fine."

He picked up the bowl.

Marc smirked.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@whumpster-dumpster for the lovely prompt

[ohanahoku-ao3]

Whumptober Day 5!

Only about twenty minutes to spare, but it's still the fifth! Enjoy reading! @whumptober

The Pack's Savior

     “Good morning, Stiles Stilinski.” A voice said as Stiles woke up, the voice crackling with static over a speaker somewhere overhead.

     He froze when he heard it, eyes opening to find himself in a nondescript room, lying on an uncomfortable cot low to the floor. Surprisingly, he wasn’t strapped down, though. He sat up slowly, noting a chair in front of a large screen on the far wall. “Where am I?” He asked, glancing around as he moved off the bed, noting a few cameras stationed around the room.

     “You will find out in due time. Please, have a seat.”

     Stiles peered suspiciously at the chair but did as asked, wondering where the others were. The last thing he remembered was walking through the preserve with Scott, Malia, and Lydia before there was a bright light, and he woke in the room.

     “I’m sure you’ve realized that I have your friends now too.” The voice told him, and Stiles flinched a little at the amusement creeping into its tone. “In fact, that’s why you are here.”

     “What do you mean that’s why I’m here?” Stiles asked. He didn’t get a direct answer, but the screen in from of him turned on.

     Cold fear settled into his stomach as the large screen showed him three separate video feeds. In one, Lydia was tied to a chair, looking listless as she hung her head. The second showed Malia, the werecoyote’s eyes glowing blue as her chest heaved and sweat poured down her face. And the third showed him Scott, the alpha howling in pain as a gloved hand cut into his stomach with a sharp dagger. Blood covered his stomach, but Stiles could see other, smaller cuts in his skin that were already healing.

     “You’re here to save them, Stiles.”

     “How? How do I save them?”

     “Ah, the question is not how, but who. Who do you save first?” The voice asked, and the video feed flickered to show only one screen at once. “Do you first save Lydia, the banshee who’s running out of air? Malia, the werecoyote trapped in a room with the temperature steadily rising? Or Scott, the true alpha, who can’t heal fast enough to prevent himself from bleeding out? You can save all three, Stiles. But only if you save them in the right order.”

     Stiles frowned as he watched the videos switch from one to the next, his mind already spinning through the possibilities and statistics of saving them all. “Okay. I’m guessing you have rules as well.”

     “You are the smart one, Stiles. There is only one rule, however. You must do this alone. No friends, no police. If you have anyone help you, I’ll kill them all immediately. Do you understand?”

     “I understand,” Stiles said, nodding his head.

     “Very well, then. Your door is unlocked. You will find a piece of paper with the locations of each of your friends taped to it. Good luck, Stiles.”

     Stiles was at the door and out of the room before the voice could even finish.

☪

     Malia panted as the heat in the room grew even hotter, her muscles aching in response to the never-ending rising of the temperature. She’d stopped sweating at this point, her skin dry and her mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. She desperately needed a drink. Even a single sip of water would be a relief at this point.

     The heat had gotten to the point where she didn’t even care about the cameras anymore and had stripped her clothes off. It helped a little to cool her down, but only for a minute or two before the heat rose, and her entire body felt like it was drying out like sundried jerky. The cot beneath her, which had soaked up the sweat from her skin, was now dry as well, the material of the sheets stiff and uncomfortable beneath her.

     She felt dizzy, and the walls seemed to bend in and out of proportion as she watched them. Her eyes flickered between glowing and their normal blue. Was she dying? It felt like she was dying.

☪

     Malia was the first stop. She was the one placed furthest away from him, and by the time he reached her, he knew that she’d be entering a delirious state, having seen the excessive sweat and muscle spasms she was having in the video feed. She wouldn’t have long before the heat reached a point where it started to cause brain damage.

     It took some doing to pick the lock of the door separating them, and the sight he saw when he entered the room was enough to make his blood boil. Malia was lying on a cot, her clothes thrown to the floor, and her head rolling slowly to stare at him, no sign of recognition in her glowing eyes.

     “I swear, I’m going to kill whoever’s behind this.” He murmured as he stalked into the hot room, already sweating profusely in response to the intense temperature.

     With gentle hands, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the room. He placed her in the back of his jeep and covered her with a long overcoat of Lydia’s that the banshee had left in his car. “You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

☪

     Lydia’s head ached as she sat tied to a chair, her chest heaving slowly as it tried to drag in enough oxygen to sustain her body. Her heart was pounding away in her ears, and she wished she could just scream her way out of this. But she’d tried that when she first woke up, screaming and screaming at the wall she was facing. But she was only wasting oxygen, and the thick stone wall was too strong, and her efforts barely made a crack in it. The other walls were too far away for her screams to work, and she couldn’t turn around enough to try for the door behind her.

     She felt cold and was sure that her lips and fingertips would be blue if she could see them. Her headache was moving into migraine territory, and she could hardly keep herself awake at this point. She almost wanted to give in and drift off…

☪

      When Stiles reached Lydia, who had to be next because the size of the room he’d seen her in wouldn’t hold enough oxygen for her by now, the door wasn’t even locked. It was sealed, but easy enough to open, and a rush of oxygen flowed into the room with him. “Lydia!” He rushed forward, gripping her head in his hands. She was unconscious, and her lips were a frigid blue. But she was breathing, and as he untied her, her breathing steadied.

     “I’ve got you, Lydia. I’m getting you out of here.” He whispered, picking her up like he’d done with Malia and carrying her to the jeep. She was placed in the passenger seat and buckled in by his hands, which were starting to shake with nerves. He had one last person to save, and he could only hope he wasn’t too late.

☪

     Scott whimpered in pain as the masked man standing over him cut into his wounds once again, reopening them to let more blood out before they could fully heal. His head was spinning, he felt lightheaded, and he knew that he should know what was going on, his thoughts felt slow like molasses, and he only got more confused as he tried to think about it.

     His heart felt like it was racing in his chest, but it felt slow at the same time, like a marathon runner trying to run with a limp. He just wanted to sleep, but the pain in his stomach prevented him from doing so. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop.

☪

     Scott was the last one on Stiles’ list to save, and it was only because of the single rule that had been given him that he had chosen him for the final rescue. Because Scott had been the closest one to his location from the very start but had Stiles chosen to save him first, the alpha would have helped regardless of their captor’s warning, and the lives of the others would be forfeit.

     Still, this meant hours of enduring torture and losing blood for Scott, and he could only hope that the alpha’s healing was up to the job of keeping him alive for so long.

     The thing he was most worried about, though, was the man who was torturing Scott. So, Stiles made one detour to his house before heading to his location.

     The door to Scott’s room was locked, and this time Stiles didn’t bother to pick the lock. He raised his recently acquired gun and shot the lock off, bursting into the room and raising his pistol again to shoot at the masked man standing over his best friend. He wasn’t sure where the bullet hit, but the man went down and stayed down, so Stiles got to work setting Scott free.

     “Stiles?” Scott murmured as he helped him off the table, seeming to regain a little awareness as he stared at his face. “How- The others? They okay?” He asked, leaning heavily on him as they moved towards the door, completely ignoring the body behind them.

     “Yeah, they’re okay, Scotty. Everyone’s going to be okay now.” Stiles reassured him.

     “Thanks to you, Stiles Stilinski.” That same voice from earlier came over the speakers in the room, and Stiles froze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for this to be an elaborate trap just to mess with them. “You chose correctly, so you are all free to go. But rest assured, we will meet again someday.”

     “Yeah, and when we do, you’ll pay for hurting them,” Stiles said, staring directly into one of the room’s cameras. He held his gaze there for a moment before pulling Scott’s arm more securely around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

☪

     By the time he got them back to Scott’s house where Melissa could tend to Scott’s slowly healing wounds and look the two girls over to make sure they would be okay, Stiles had called his father and placed an ‘anonymous’ tip about the man he’d shot at the last location.

     Later he would find out that the man was gone before they arrived, and whether he was dead or injured would be anybody’s guess. Later he would find out that any and all evidence of his friends’ torture had been erased. Later he would start searching for their captor, planning on how to take them down.

     But for now, Stiles would take care of his friends, helping them all to recover and withstanding their subsequent teasing as they started calling him the pack mom. He didn’t mind the moniker as much as he let on, though. Because just like a mother, he was there, dutifully caring for all their needs and ensuring that they came through this ordeal, hurt and healing, but safe and unbroken.

[justbreakonme]

Whumpee locked in a deep freezer as a punishment.

[kywaslost]

Hiya! I read your platonic shinsou fanfic and I was wondering if you could write a fanfic where y/n (fem please) is a pre-teen and gets adopted into the erasermic family but she has a fear of men, and she struggles to do things because she's worried she would look bad/they might do something. Thank you if you do xxx

You’re Safe Here - Shinsou Hitoshi

A/N: Now that I’ve written this entire thing, I’ve realized my dyslexic self read your request as mainly Shinsou. I feel stupid. I’m so sorry lol. If you’d like me to rewrite this I will. I was going to but I really like how this turned out. Please forgive me <3 I also used the prompts below that I found because I thought they’d fit the request.

Prompt/s Used: Lighting whumpee’s favorite candles, or listening to their favorite music, to tell whumpee that the space is theirs and that it will always be safe. / You don’t have to tell me. But if you do decide you want to. I’ll be here. / You don’t feel safe here, do you? 

After being tossed between foster homes for so long, you should be ecstatic to finally be adopted, right? Except you weren’t. You were petrified, to be honest. Usually, you’d meet your supposed new adoptive family and spend time with them while papers and forms were filed and signed, or at least that’s what you’d heard from other foster children throughout the years. But for some reason you were told to back your bags one day to meet your new family. And to top it all off, you were being adopted into a house consisting of only men.

It was a childish fear, to be afraid of almost every male on the planet, but it’s not like you can help it. Men from your past weren’t kind to you, resulting in an aversion to guys of almost every age. You avoided them when you could, fearing they would criticize you, or worse, use you. Being a young female in today’s society isn’t always easy, and you thought it would be safer to just avoid men as best you could.

You met your new fathers first. They were the ones to pick you up from the park where they agreed to meet you with your social worker. They seemed nice enough, but you couldn’t help but hide behind your social worker as they approached you.

“Excuse her,” your social worker smiled. “She’s a bit weary around men.”

“That’s alright!” The one with blonde hair smiled widely. “We understand!” The man was practically vibrating with excitement. So much so the man behind him had to place a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, Hizashi. You are going to overwhelm her.”

You shot the black haired one a grateful look, thankful for his calmness. You were overwhelmed with anxiety and fear, and you couldn’t help but fear the blonde.

“I’m Shouta. Shouta Aizawa,” the second man said, crouching down a few feet in front of you.

“And I’m Hizashi Yamada!” The blonde smiled brightly, standing beside Aizawa.

Shouta slowly extended a hand out towards you, offering a small smile. “I understand that this is very overwhelming for you. A lot of new changes and new scenery, and I understand you are a bit afraid. How you feel is valid, I promise you. We will be here every step of the way to help you through it.”

You looked between the two men, then to your social worker. She just smiled and nodded encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, you slowly reached out and took Aizawa’s hand. That’s when your social worker patted your shoulder, then voiced that she’d be taking her leave now that you were in the hands of your new caretakers. Your breathing hitched as you watched her leave, panic slowly taking over your body. You jerked your hand back from Aizawa, pulling it to your chest without any thought, too caught up in trying to suppress an oncoming anxiety attack. 

“That’s alright, you don’t have to touch me yet. That’s ok, take your time,” Aizawa said calmly. Both him and Hizashi started to notice your growing panic, glancing quickly at each other before Aizawa stood. 

“Hey, why don’t we sit, yeah?” Hizashi offered, worry clear in his eyes. You nodded sharply, slowly following Hizashi over to a bench. He let you sit down before asking, “Can I sit over here?” He motioned to the other end of the bench and you nodded. You pulled your knees up to your chest, closing your eyes to concentrate on your breathing. 

Eventually you evened out your breathing and calmed your nerves ever so slightly. Uncurling yourself, you stood as you took in one last deep breath. Aizawa was sitting in front of you again, watching you closely. So was Hizashi.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m ok now.” 

The two men also stood. “Don’t apologize,” Aizawa said softly. “Take as much time as you need. We can sit here longer if you’d like?” You shook your head.

“You’re sure?” Hizashi asked and you nodded in response.

“Let’s get you home then.” 

You followed them to their car, freezing as Hizashi opened the door for you. You began to shake slightly again. Getting into the car encloses you with two men whom you barely knew. Needless to say, you were uncomfortable.

“Would you feel more comfortable if we walked?” Aizawa offered from the driver’s side of the car. “We aren’t too terribly far, it shouldn’t take too long. Would you feel safer if we walked?”

After thinking about it, you mumbled a quiet, “Can we?”

Hizashi responded, “Of course!” He turned to his husband. “I can come get the car later after patrol.”

You met their son later that night once dinner was served. It took a while to get used to the thought that you had a family now, and you spent several hours on the couch in the living room trying to grasp the fact that you were now living with three men. It calms your nerves to know that Aizawa and Hizashi were pro-heros, and their son was a hero-in-training, but that didn’t mean you were still on edge. You knew very little about your new family, and until then you would hypothetically sleep with one eye open.

Shinsou seemed nice enough, and he even watched whatever you wanted while your new fathers got ready for patrol. You assured them that you would be alright staying behind with Shinsou, and they apologized profusely for not being able to get out of work for the night. 

Once they had left, it was just you and Shinsou sitting in the living room. You were curled up on one end of the couch, and he was at the other end, giving you your space. You couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of your eye, afraid he may make a move when you weren’t looking. The purple-haired boy noticed your staring, then turned his gaze from the tv to you.

“You don’t feel safe here, do you?” He asked. His question caught you off guard, and you didn’t answer. “Dad and Pa told me that you may be on edge for a while, that you had an aversion to males. I can only assume it has to do with childhood trauma? You don’t have to tell me. But if you do decide you want to. I’ll be here. I’m a good listener, and I don’t know, I always find it easier to talk to people closer to my age. And if there’s anything I can do to help this transition be smoother for you, please tell me.”

Tears brimmed your eyes as you looked away, nodding. “I think I’m going to go take a shower,” you said as you stood, hugging yourself tightly.

Shinsou nodded, eyes softening. “Ok. Do you remember where the bathroom is?” He helped you find everything you needed, even offering you a pair of his sweatpants and an old shirt to change into.

You took your time in the shower, even taking a moment to sit and cry. It had been a long and tiring day. You were so excited to have a permanent home, but still nervous given the situation. Once you had composed yourself, you stepped out of the shower and got dressed.

The house was silent as you stepped out of the bathroom, just as it was before. You could hear the TV in the living room where you assumed Shinsou still sat on the couch. Except when you entered the hallway, you could hear music coming from further down the hall. You made your way to your new room, not thinking much of it. Shinsou’s room was across the hall, so it could have been him.

You pushed your door open, standing still in the doorway when you took in the room. Your stuff was still sitting on the end of your bed, except now there was a lit candle on your night stand. And the music was coming from your room. A laptop sat open on the small desk in your room, spotify open and playing your favorite music artist. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Hitoshi said behind you. You turned around to see him standing in the hallway. “Dad and Pa had a list of things you like, so I looked at it.” He smiled softly, putting his hands in his pockets. “I-I wanted you to know that this is your space. You’re safe here. So,” he chuckled, “the candle is, uh, it’s (fav. scent). And I made that playlist while you were in the shower.”

Your eyes welled with tears again. You couldn’t believe how thoughtful Hitoshi was.

“I’m adopted, too, and it was difficult for me at first. And dad did something similar for me. It helped me so I thought it’d help you.”

Shinsou froze as you dove into him, hugging him tightly. He snapped out of it quickly, though, and hugged you back just as tight.

“Thank you,” you cried into his shirt. “Thank you, Hitoshi.”

He smiled, so proud of you hugging him despite your fear. “Of course. Anything for my new sister.”

[demondamage]

Whumpee could only be described as colorful. Long multicolor hair. Bright pops of makeup. Enough piercings to end up on any 14 year old emo teens pinterest board.

With only scars peppering their face where gems once were, head shaved bald and skin sterilely cleaned; Whumpee barely recognized their own reflection in the tile walls. All they have to distinguish themselves is a red medical band, with blood type, an ID number, and the name of their new owner.

[whump-side]

✧ Commissions are finally open ! ✧ Here are some additional informations : ✧The DOs and DON'Ts✧ I have a very large gallery of whump art in my blog that showcase the type of whump I am most comfortable with drawing. The following list of what I can do or I cannot draw is not set in stone. Even if your idea falls in the "DON'Ts" category, but you feel like based on the content you saw on my blog, this is something I'd be willing to draw, please contact me to discuss it. ✧ DOs - OC - Fictional characters - Monster/hybrid characters - Whumpee and Caretaker scenarios - Partial nudity (topless) - Maximim 2 characters ✧ DONTs - Gore - Non-con - Pet whump - Furry ✧Contact✧ There are 3 ways to contact me to request a commission : - Tumblr DM - Ko-Fi DM - Email cerumoce@gmail.com (please mention "Whump-Side Commission" in the mail subject) ✧Payment✧ Upon agreeing on your idea, I'll give you an estimate for the commission. Payment will be done though Ko-Fi which allows you to pay via Paypal or credit card https://ko-fi.com/whumpside/commissions ✧Commission TOS✧ https://ko-fi.com/post/COMMISSION-TOS-K3K4P6W0D If you have any question, don't hesitate to contact me or send an ask

FAQ & Commission exemples after the cut

✧FAQ✧ ✧Is Lady Whump okay for commissions ? It's alright as long as it doesn't mix with the "Don'ts" I've listed ✧What age range is acceptable for the characters? Minimum would be teens (15+) as long as they don't look like kids. You can check my art on my blog to get an idea of the age range I usually draw ✧Sketch commission samples✧

Detailed sketch samples