#terrified whumpee

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating fear (III)

Instant Regret

Part One here // Continued from here // Masterpost

*~*~*~*~*

Kit jerked awake suddenly, letting out a sharp cry as he moved, the motion pulling on his arms without mercy. His feet almost slipped at the movement, but he caught himself before he fell. A shiver ran down his spine as his eyes met the concrete wall in front of him.

He didn’t even get a moment of blissful ignorance, couldn’t even pretend maybe this was all some bad dream and he’d wake up in his bed safe and sound.

The feeling of his power buzzing under his skin wasn’t even a familiar comfort. It was there, he could use it. If he needed to, he could use it. But, if he wanted to stay awake and alert, he couldn’t. He didn’t exactly enjoy frying himself with his own electricity.

It was cruel.

It would have been kinder if Omen had just put him in power dampeners. At least then he could pretend that he couldn’t do anything to save himself.

Kit shook his head. No. He refused to be defeated. He’d get out of here. Get away from Omen, somehow. Starting with the fucking water he was standing in.

Kit looked down to assess his situation while he had a moment of peace. His feet were fully submerged in the clear water up to his ankles. It was just a normal basin. Kit should be able to kick it over. Kit did just that. He kicked the edge of the basin, but it didn’t budge. Kit tried again. All it did was splash some water out. Kit frowned, leaned forward to get a better look then winced as his arms groaned in the chains.

The edges of the basin were bolted down into the ground, or, no, not the ground, some other heavy thing, like a wooden platform.

Fine. The water wasn’t going anywhere but that doesn’t mean Kit had to stay in it.

Kit looked down, lifted a foot, balancing it on the edge of the basin and tested putting weight on it. It slipped down the edges into the water with a weak thunk.

Alright. New plan.

Kit lifted his other foot and ran it down his rolled-up trousers, drying it off slightly before trying again. He got his foot up on the ledge and nearly cried as the weight in his arms lessened.

Okay. Okay. Now the other foot.

He could do this, Kit nodded to himself, bracing his shoulders as he held his weight on his arms above his head and lifted the other foot out of the water.

He got the second foot on the side of the basin, balancing on the first and the pressure on his arms felt as light as a feather.

Kit just stayed there, panting, still as a statue. Oh god that feels so good, he just needed to enjoy it. He was okay. This he could deal with. Kit closed his eyes and took deep breaths.

Slowly in through the nose, long and deep, expanding his chest and filling his lungs with sweet, stress-free air.

Holding it there for a moment.

Then a drawn-out exhale until his entire body deflated like a balloon.

And again.

And again.

He repeated this for another while before finally risking a glance up at his arms to see exactly how they were strung above his head. The metal cuffs were padlocked to a chain that ran up to a hook in the ceiling. The hook curved in and around and it was far too high for Kit to even think about trying to get the chain free.

So his arms were still stuck above his head. Okay. That’s okay… Kit felt the familiar flare of panic rear it’s mighty head in his gut, but he pushed it back down.

He was trapped. There was nothing he could do. Panicking right now wouldn’t help him. He just needed to pause and breathe…

Kit looked down to his feet again. He risked stepping a foot down onto the platform the basin was attached to but it stretched his arms awkwardly, so he stood on the side of the basin again and let out a quiet whine.

“I like that sound,” Omen purred behind them. Kit flinched but thankfully his balance kept him up on the side of the basin, arms relaxing slightly above him, still numb. “Make it for me again.”

“Let me go,” Kit said instead, his voice sounding even more pathetic than his whine.

“Hmm,” is all Omen replied. The sound of his shoes clacking against the concrete was the only thing Kit was focused on at that moment in time. The footsteps and how he got closer and closer, winding Kit’s nerves tighter and tighter until the footsteps stopped.

Kit’s breath hitched.

A hand bunched into the back of his shirt and Kit could barely let out a cry of protest before he was yanked backwards, his feet splashing into the water and his arms felt like they were ripped from his body.

“That sound was even better,” Omen said, a smile in his voice as he walked around to Kit’s front, so Kit could witness Omen in all his horrifying glory.

His face looked paler in the dim lighting, as if he were never touched by sunlight. His raven hair was half tied back so strands didn’t fall around his face, hiding all the sharp edges of Omen, his cheek bones, his jaw, the razor-sharp curve of his smile. He wore a black button up shirt today, the top button undone, no tie or suit jacket. He reached a hand up to Kit’s cheek and Kit flinched back, cursing himself silently for it.

“Ever heard of personal space?” Kit bit out with a huff. Omen smiled. He just kept smiling and Kit wanted so badly to just rip it from his face. Just once, to see it slip, but that would leave Kit in a worse off predicament. His body still ached from the last time Omen had got too close.

“Yeah, I know about personal space. I’m just not a fan of it with you. You know, it’s hard for me— this,” Omen said, gesturing between the two of them, grin getting wider. His bottomless black eyes were even smiling. “I’m not used to not using my powers on people. Y’know, knowing exactly what they’re thinking. It’s strange.”

Kit scoffed, “right. So, when you can’t invade somebody’s brain against their consent, you’ll just invade their personal space instead?”

“Hmm,” Ambrose hummed as he placed a hand on Kit’s throat and squeezed until Kit’s feet were splashing up water, and his face turned red. He finally let go and stepped back, his heels hitting the basin’s edge – gasping in air greedily, swallowing oxygen like it was a limited resource.

Well, with Omen’s mood swings it was.

“You put it very succinctly. I just need to know, need to see your fear you’re so desperately trying to hide from me. Need to feel it, do you know what I mean?”

“No, sorry,” Kit said, and even Omen raised a suspicious brow at Kit’s seemingly empathetic tone. “I’m not a sociopath so I recognise normal human emotion without having to be weird about it.”

Omen shrugged, unbothered. He began unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt and rolling up his sleeves slowly, black eyes focused on Kit’s the whole time.

“I imagine it’s not unlike your weirdness, Kit,” Ambrose said, his voice like liquid silver, charming and smooth. Kit understood the term silver tongue when Omen spoke. It’s like you wanted to hear everything he said, hang onto every word. Even without Omen using his power on Kit, his voice still affected him to some extent.

“Us heroes and villains, we’re all where we are today because we didn’t fit into the normal life. We didn’t get powers to squander them and sit in an office all day drinking coffee with normal humans. We’re all weird, even you and your sensitivity to electricity,” Omen said, unbuttoning his second cuff and starting on his other sleeve. He levelled Kit with his black eyes. “My guess is you can feel the electric currents in the environment around you. Am I right? In the air, in the water, in our bodies?”

Kit didn’t say anything, just stared at Omen as he spoke. “Static electricity doesn’t affect you? No?”

Kit must have given something away because Omen smiled.

“Hah, you’re lucky. It can be a real bitch, but I respect you want to keep your power private. My point is, that normal people are affected by static electricity, and you have a resistance to it. That little spark show you exhibited yesterday told me you don’t have full immunity, but a normal person would be dead if they had that much electricity coursing through their body.”

“What’s your point?” Kit snapped, tired with Omen’s villain monologue. He stepped up to Kit, grabbed Kit by the collar of his shirt and yanked him down, causing Kit to cry out.

“What did I say about being nice to me? Didn’t I say I could make things uncomfortable for you?”

Kit’s screams faded into loud groans of pain as he bit down on his tongue, but Ambrose pulled him down harder and Kit couldn’t bear the strain as he cried out.

He reacted on instinct.

He hadn’t meant to do it.

It just happened on reflex.

The strain on his arms, it felt like he was going to pop, and Kit just needed Omen to let go of them, to just stop—

His legs shot up and kicked Omen back. His foot planting squarely on Omen’s chest and knocking him back a couple steps. Omen’s dark eyes went wide with surprise, and he let go of Kit. Kit’s foot landed on the edge of the basin giving Kit some relief from the strain on his arms.

Nothing moved between them.

Not even a breath.

Kit was too scared to dare breathe, to blink, to do anything other than stare at Omen with wide eyes, too stunned to do anything.

Omen’s face cracked. A shocked laughter escaped him, filling the silence of the room. He clapped his hands wordlessly as his melodic laugh filled the air and the dread in Kit’s gut only increased when he should have been reassured.

Omen finally composed himself, and stood up taller than before, delight shining on his face. “You— are just full of surprises, Kit. Here I thought you were deathly afraid of me, and yet, if there was someone I was deathly afraid of… I know I wouldn’t have kicked them of all things.”

“No, no, Omen,” Kit pleaded as Omen advanced on Kit. “Please, I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did, Kit,” Omen said, putting a hand on Kit’s shoulder, and shushing him as Kit flinched. “Ssh, Sssh, sweet Malyn, look at me…”

Kit was shaking his head, his eyes closed. “Look at me,” Ambrose commanded, and Kit opened his eyes, still shaking his head at the villain.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” Omen told Kit, putting a finger under Kit’s chin, stopping Kit from shaking his head. Kit couldn’t fight the shiver that ran under his skin at how close Omen was. What he could do to Kit… without touching him. He didn’t even need to touch Kit for his power, he could do it from across the room. He just wanted to show Kit that he could do whatever he wanted, and Kit would just have to deal with it. The fear came back with a jolt and Kit fought back tears at the overwhelming helplessness of his situation.

“Omen—”

“Hush. Let me bask in your fear, I haven’t seen it all day. It’s like nicotine, it makes the day a bit better, makes the air you breathe a bit cleaner. You’re practically shaking! Look at you, I have one question for you. Are you paying attention?”

Kit nodded because he couldn’t trust his voice.

“Good,” Ambrose praised, “very good. Now, tell me why you fear me so much.”

The chains above Kit were shaking, his teeth rattling in his skull. It was a cold fear that washed over him at the question, at what Omen could do to him.

What Omen could do to him…

And Kit was powerless to stop them, he had no chance.

“Omen… please,” Kit sniffed, fighting the tears back, but the villain heard his voice crack.

Omen sighed and stepped back, removing his hands from Kit. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.

“You know, I really do hate to do this to you,” Omen said. That was all he said. He let Kit’s mind conjure up the rest. Then he felt the icy chill of Omen’s power tugging at his mind and Kit jerked forward in his chains.

Tears streaming freely now.

“No Omen! Omen! No, wait! Wait!”

“You’re just going to go for a little nap for me. Maybe you’ll be more agreeable when you wake.”

“Wait, no! Please!” Kit called into the darkness as Omen blocked Kit’s sight first. He struggled in his chains, trying to gain purchase on anything but he couldn’t hear Omen around him. He couldn’t hear.

Kit’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, blood rushing through like a tsunami’s unforgiving tide.

“Omen, wait!” Kit cried and gasped when he felt Omen’s hand on his hair, yanking his head back harshly.

This time when Omen spoke it was in Kit’s mind.

Nighty night, little Kit.

The last terrifying thought paralysed him as Kit was dragged into unconsciousness, kicking and screaming: how does he know my name?

Kit went still in his chains. Omen double checked his mind to make sure Kit was unconscious then he stepped back away from the hero, walking around to face him. He rubbed his chest from Kit’s kick, still stunned at him for having the audacity to try something like that.

Ambrose smiled to think of it.

He was right for taking Kit.

He was going to be so much fun to break.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Tag-list: @princess-bubble-blossom @nameless-beanie (lmk if you wanna be added or removed)

[jordanstrophe]

A whumpee who is afraid of loud noises so caretaker needs to have soft voice even when they are accustomed to be loud

OOoo! I love these tropes, especially caretakers that already have a tough persona and it takes effort to dial it down.

Caretaker has slip-ups and whumpee sees their tone as anger. Caretaker only remembers what they did wrong when they flinch, cower, or do what they do best. Run

Caretaker talks to themselves in a mirror practicing their tone. They're rather shy about it and close all the doors and curtains like they're hiding a deep dark secret. (much to whumpees suspicion)

Not only do they want to talk calmly, they want to walk it, too. Maybe they have loud boots and their steps boom throughout the halls. They're not too keen on it, but those slippers collecting dust in the closet would finally be useful. Hopefully it's not the bright crazy colored ones- Oh. Oh no.

[lydiagrimborn1117]

for the bad things happen bruno,i choose the human shield,caldor tries to stab viggo,but ryker uses himself as a human shield to protect his younger brother

Prompt: Human Shield

Summary: While Caldor tries to manage and attack Viggo, Ryker won't let it happen so easily even if it means Caldor must take his life.

Characters: Viggo Grimborn/Ryker Grimborn/Caldor Hawthorne

Whumpee: Viggo Grimborn/Ryker Grimborn

Caretaker: Ryker Grimborn

Whumper: Caldor Hawthorne

TW: BLOOD/VIOLENCE/KNIFE/ABUSE

Ryker held onto Viggo tightly as Caldor approached the two of them. The cell was filled with a musty aroma mixed with the smell of dried blood. Viggo had tucked himself into the corner of the wall to try and get as far away from Caldor as possible. Ryker was kneeling down in front of him with his left arm spread out in front of Viggo to shield him from Caldor. There was a large dagger in Caldor's right hand. It was beyond obviously clear he intended to torture Viggo with the blade, but as long as Ryker was here he wasn't going to allow that to happen.

"Move Ryker," hissed Caldor in a dangerous tone "All I want is Viggo and I would hate to have to take you out just to get my husband back."

"Then go right on ahead," stated Ryker "From what I understand it's clear you abuse and take advantage of Viggo. You've tortured and beaten him for the last three years and forced him into marrying you, and all he's gotten out of it is the fear of messing up whatever sick and twisted thing you tell him to do while you get off on it. I won't allow you get the pleasure of seeing him bleed again."

Caldor growled in fury as he stepped closer and thrusted the dagger toward the brothers. He was doing his best to aim for Viggo, but Ryker quickly turned around to guard Viggo's frail body as much as he possibly could. Ryker gritted his teeth as he felt the tip of the dagger pierce through his skin and embed itself deep into the back of his shoulder. He did his best to keep quiet letting only the sound of him wincing being heard rather than screaming. White, hot , searing pain shot throughout his entire body. The pain itself was nearly unbearable, but Ryker held himself together. The last thing he wanted was to frighten Viggo further and give Caldor the satisfaction of knowing he was in pain. If he stayed strong for Viggo then perhaps it would be enough to convince Viggo to stay strong as well. Poor Viggo was trembling uncontrollably underneath Ryker as he sobbed. Ryker could only imagine how many times he'd endured this torture without someone there to protect him or truly comfort him once it was over. Caldor backed away from the brothers as Ryker's blood slowly dripped onto the floor. He was livid to see how far Ryker was willing to go just to keep Viggo from getting hurt. There had to be something he could do to make Ryker give up. However that would take some time to think about. The brother's let out a sigh of relief as Caldor stomped out of the cell. They finally had the chance to to relax and calm down.

"Are you hurt any?" asked Ryker worryingly as he looked at Viggo and checked his body for any sort of injuries. Viggo shook his head and backed away slightly. He wasn't sobbing anymore with the exception of a few stray tears running down his cheeks.

"I-I'm f-fine," stuttered Viggo as he wiped his nose with his sleeve "W-what about y-you?'

Ryker nodded quickly and sat next to Viggo before offering his arm to his brother. Viggo shifted to lean on Ryker's chest with his arm wrapping around his shoulders.

"Nothing I can't handle," responded Ryker calmly. Viggo let out a shaky breath. Ryker kissed Viggo's forehead and buried his face into Viggo's hair. The brothers were fine. Both of them were fine.

[whump-blog]

Whump Art 10

Caretaker feeding pieces of apple to an injured tiny Whumpee.

[icamefromthepinterestscreenshots]

Whumpee who, when rescued, doesn't want anything bad to happen to whumper.

Whumper who's in prison, on death row or being tortured by whumpees team.

Whumpee who keeps begging for people to be nice to whumper, to not torture them, to not kill them, to just leave them alone in a cell.

Whumpee who is so scared that they'll do anything even slightly bad and become like whumper, or become the living weapon whumper had wanted them to be, that they'd rather nothing happen to the person that had tortured them for months.

Because if something bad happened to whumper, it would be whumpees fault. And they couldn't live with that.

[shywhumpauthor]

Whump aesthetic of the day: a Whumpee having a coughing fit, but it’s so bad they can’t manage to inhale which makes it so they can’t cough right which only makes them need to cough more so they’re stuck in this awful cycle of choking on their own spit and breath

[bltzgore]

@catnykit

.... why can't we have both? 😈

My favorite kind of caretaker, in fact. One with the guardian instinct, and then the raw POWER to back it up.

Some ideas:

- when whumpee is at the bottom of the food chain in a prison, or a lab, or gladiator ring. They get picked on by everyone. Broken bones on a weekly basis, and no where near enough food. Then they endear themselves to caretaker, and suddenly things change. One of whumpee's whumpers goes after them like usual and caretaker thrashes them immediately. Beats them half to death and announces to the rest of the occupants that they showed a good deal of restraint. Anyone to make a move against whumpee will face far worse.

- whumpee pleading with caretaker not to kill someone.

- whumpee being the only one who can calm caretaker down.

- "Lay a finger on them and I will take your arm off."

- "So whumpee, you've got yourself a dog."

- "What a monster."

- angst: whumpee comes sobbing to caretaker after being attacked and instead of stopping to comfort whumpee they rush off to go hunting for the perpetrator.

- coup de gras: the freeze of caretaker's blood when they hear whumpee scream (or scream their name.) And the storm that arrives when they reach them.

- caretaker's wrath makes the earth shake ♥️

Mood music

[letitbehurt]

I want to see more Whumpees who’ve stashed forgettable items, hoping it might eventually help them escape. Or, if Whumpee is no longer trying to escape, then to at least own something. To have the small comfort of belongings, even if they have to be kept a secret. 

I want Whumper to find those belongings, and to remind Whumpee that they don’t own anything.

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

Okay okay okay so get this - I'm usually not much of a fan of whumpers, especially if it involves dehumanization, pet whump, humiliation, etc., but my brain supplied me with this little whump concept and I needed to share it with people who would enjoy such a thing.

So, the Whumpee has finally done it. They've escaped. Maybe it was an opportunistic escape or maybe it was carefully planned for weeks or even months. They're running. Perhaps they look horrible, perhaps they managed to scrounge clothes fit for escaping, or perhaps the Whumper liked to dress them in fine things.

They're running and - oh! A person!! A normal person! The Whumpee hurries over to them, no doubt startling the man who was walking his dog or carrying groceries into his house. They stumble over their words or perhaps recite a practiced line that they had drilled into themselves, but the man listens. His forehead wrinkles with concern and his jaw goes taut and soon he's nodding and ushering the near-panicked Whumpee inside his home because "Alright, alright. Everything's going to be fine. Let me make a call, okay?"

And he sits the Whumpee down in a nice, normal living room and gives them a nice, normal blanket before stepping away to do as he had promised. Minutes pass, and the Whumpee can't relax. After their time in captivity, they doubted that they would ever be able to relax again. The man's dog keeps them company, laying on the Whumpee's feet until they hear the front door open.

And - no. The Whumpee recognized that voice. They barely manage to stand before the man enters the living room, leading the Whumper inside and laughing at a shared joke. The Whumper is smiling as they approach, but their eyes are dangerous. The Whumpee instinctively freezes, visibly paling as the betrayal sinks in.

The Whumper takes the Whumpee by the arm and tows them to their feet. "I really am so sorry to inconvenience you. I'm still training them."

"Oh, don't I know that feeling." The man laughs, and that's when the Whumpee spots them. Another person had entered the room, obediently standing next to the man as he pulled them into a side-hug. Silent. Eyes empty. Another one, like the Whumpee.

"I'll see you for dinner on Thursday, same time?"

Oh no.

"Of course! Bring your friend, if you want. And Diane is coming, too."

This was much, much bigger than the Whumpee had realized.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (VII)

The Great Escape

Part one here

Continued from this part here

*~*~*~*~*

Kit tied Ambrose up with duct tape. It wasn’t the best thing to restrain Ambrose with, if he really wanted to secure Ambrose the only thing to do would be to tie up his mind. Or use power dampeners.

And as it happened Kit wasn’t able to do either of those.

So he tied Ambrose’s hands behind his back, and duct taped his mouth but Kit was pretty sure Ambrose could use his powers with eye contact alone so he wrapped a long sleeve t-shirt over Ambrose’s eyes and went to his phone.

If Superhero got here by the time Ambrose woke up, he could sort it. He’d have power dampeners and Kit would finally be free of him. Once and for all.

Kit saw his red eyes flash up at him from his phones black screen, and felt nausea climb up his throat at the sight.

It will go away with time, Kit reassured himself, just like the blue does.

Time was of the essence now; he could worry about his fucking eyes later.

Kit unlocked his phone and went to his contact list again. He glanced at Superhero’s name and clicked it. Sure, enough Ambrose’s phone started ringing, bad moon rising echoing around the house again and Kit hung up.

That’s okay.

Ambrose doesn’t know Superhero’s civilian identity, so he was fine.

Kit scrolled down to Superhero’s real name and clicked the green call button.

Bad Moon Rising.

Kit froze in his home. There’s… there’s no way Ambrose knows— there’s no way he forced Kit to tell him was there?

No. Kit was just being paranoid. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.

He knows he wouldn’t. He could never betray Superhero like that…

Kit went down to Other Hero’s name and pressed call and Bad moon rising started playing again.

Fucking FUCK!

It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything’s okay. Come on. The Agency’s number is online he could get that, and call and he would be fine.

Kit opened his browser and tapped the search bar. The screen dimmed and a parental control password came up.

A six-digit code.

Kit glared over at the unconscious Ambrose and wanted so badly to kick him in the face. He couldn’t just leave Ambrose here, could he? What if he woke up and got out and used some innocent civilian as his own puppet?

It wasn’t very heroic of him, but Kit honestly didn’t care.

He just wanted to get to Superhero.

Superhero would know what to do. He always knows what to do.

Decision made, Kit grabbed his jacket and keys and left his useless phone and walked out the door.

Or he would have.

If the second he walked out the door he didn’t get an eardrum shattering headache that made white flash behind his eyes and brought him to his knees. Kit cried out, backing up and once he was back in the house the pain stopped and Kit could breathe again.

He let out short, useless pants trying to ground himself and make sense of what just happened, even though he already knew.

Kit got to his feet again, and this time he ran out the door.

It was like a fire alarm going off in his brain, paralysing him. His breath stolen from his lungs and he couldn’t breathe, choking on air like a fish out of water.

Kit scrambled desperately back towards the house, his vision turning black at the corners of his eyes like a vignette as he dragged himself over the threshold of his apartment and collapsed, wheezing. Greedily gasping in gaping breathes and choking on them, his lungs screaming at him for depriving him of oxygen.

Kit started crying.

He sobbed, which didn’t really help the breathing matters, out of pure frustration. Ambrose had let him free. Given him hope that he could somehow win and the whole time, the whole time he knew it didn’t matter if Kit overpowered him, because Ambrose had already ensured that Kit could do nothing even if he was unconscious and incapacitated.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, crying, glaring at Ambrose, but eventually he got hungry, and made his way to the kitchen where Ambrose’s breakfast was waiting for him. Still a bit warm, Kit took some bacon and pudding and sat down with his back to his front door staring at Ambrose because he couldn’t do anything else.

Kit began eating.

*~*~*~*~*

Ambrose stirred within the hour. Groaning and shifting, trying to get comfortable. Then he mumbled something incoherent behind the tape on his mouth. Kit just watched him come to terms with his situation and wondered what kind of sick satisfaction Ambrose got from watching Kit struggle and try to get his bearings.

Ambrose inclined his head, staring directly at Kit even through his makeshift blindfold.

Is all this really necessary? Ambrose asked, voice in Kit’s head.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Kit.

“You’re a fucking bastard, Ambrose. How does it feel to be the one on the back foot?”

I don’t know, Kit. Tell me. How does it feel? Being free. Being so close to escape and yet so far?

Kit clenched his hands into fists and grit his teeth, leaning forward from his place on the ground and wrapping his hands around his knees.

“I guess we’re both stuck like this until you undo whatever you did to me.”

Ambrose relaxed in his stance.

I can sit like this all day.

Kit said nothing.

Or I could always make you untie me, Kit. You don’t want me to force you to free me, do you? Do you really want everyone you love to die by your hands?

“I think you’re threatening me because that’s all you can do. I got something right, didn’t I?” Kit said. “Covered your eyes, do you need your eyes to compel me to do something? Or your voice? Or your hands?”

I think you’ll go mad before you wait me out, Kit. I’m willing to wait, silent and restrained. Want to see how long you can go without speaking to someone? I don’t mind.

Against his better judgement, Kit stood and walked over to Ambrose and yanked the blindfold off. Ambrose stared up at him grinning, dark eyes smug. Kit didn’t waste time going gentle with Ambrose’s gag. He ripped it off and smiled as Ambrose winced, his lips even more red than usual.

“Thank you,” said Ambrose with a smile. “You can untie me now.”

“Untie yourself, you dick.”

“I made you breakfast Kit, come on now. Don’t you want to leave the house?”

Kit’s hands crackled blue sparks up his left arm to his shoulder, glaring down at Ambrose who grinned up at him. “Ooh. Careful, Sparkles. You might hurt yourself there. Your eyes are almost the same colour as your blood.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Kit yelled, feeling the currents run through his hair. Red sparks flew from his usual blue angry and pulsing and dangerous, the red wrapping tight around his fist like a force of its own just begging to let Kit use it to hurt Ambrose.

Just to wipe that stupid smirk off Ambrose’s face, it would be worth it…

“Scary. Go on, kill me,” Ambrose said, leaning forward, closer to the sparks than safety would grant. “Go on. You could do it. You could kill me, if you wanted to.”

Kit froze at that. Kit didn’t kill.

He didn’t kill.

He wasn’t a murderer he was a hero.

“I won’t sink to your level,” Kit said, his voice echoing static with the sound of the sparks flying. The electricity ran from his body in an instant, drained and dissipating. Kit stalked to the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the knife block before storming back and kicking Ambrose onto his stomach.

“Harder,” Ambrose said with a strained breath.

Kit dropped down to his knee, dropping his other knee onto Ambrose’s spine and smiled at the grunt of pain Ambrose let out. Then he cut the duct tape around his wrists and got off Ambrose, keeping the knife in his hand as he went and leaned against the door.

“Now get this fucking thing out of my head.”

Ambrose got his hands under him and got to his feet. “I never ate breakfast,” Ambrose said instead, taking the last of the duct tape off his wrists and heading to the kitchen. Casual as if being tied up is an everyday occurrence. “Do you want an egg?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Ambrose shrugged, grabbing the oil and pouring it into the frying pan. “That’s not an answer, but I’ll make two anyways.”

“Get this thing out of my head!”

Ambrose turned slowly. Dark black eyes settling heavy on Kit, cold and threatening.

“In the course of my nap, have you forgotten what I can do to you?” Ambrose asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. A piercing screech rang out in Kit’s mind, and he screamed, hands flying to cup his ears and stop the unmerciful ringing, pounding tight in his brain as if every blood vessel was being stretched and contorted and pulled and twisted, trying to get away from the sound.

The screech got louder the closer Ambrose got to Kit, and louder and louder until it was unbearable— white flashed behind his eyes and Kit was on his knees, screaming for relief, bent double and crying at the floor. It didn’t stop when Ambrose’s boots came within Kit’s sight line. A cold, lithe hand reached down and grabbed Kit’s chin tilting it up. The moment Ambrose’s cold hand made contact; the screeching stopped.

Kit was panting, brain and eyes still fuzzy from the aftereffects of the mental assault. Ambrose tilted Kit’s head all the way back, until he was sitting upright on his knees. Panting and shaking, exhausted. Brain caught between a frenzy of anxiety and a tired induced sloth, like trying to wade through a swamp.

“I could keep you on your knees like this forever, Kit. Like a pretty little statue, something to stare at, something that doesn’t speak or think. Just a dazed little angel, would you like that?”

Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and sniffed, his nose running from crying and screaming. In answer he reached a hand up, pulling at Ambrose’s hold but Ambrose grabbed his wrist before it made contact and bent it back on itself.

Kit hissed out a breath through his teeth, glaring through pained eyes at Ambrose who just smiled down at him.

“Let go of me!” Kit grumbled pulling his head back. Ambrose twisted his wrist more in reply and Kit cried out, trying to yank his hand free, jerking back. Ambrose’s grip didn’t relent, in fact, he tightened his grip on Kit’s face, pinching his cheeks together with one hand.

“Kit,” Ambrose sighed, stepping forward, forcing Kit’s body to bend back uncomfortably. Kit’s head moved with Ambrose’s hand and Ambrose put more force on bending Kit’s wrist back. “If I let go you have to promise to be good.”

Kit pinched his lips together, but Ambrose didn’t let him. He squeezed Kit’s cheeks until his mouth formed a crude ‘o’ shape.

“Uhck-you agh!” Kit cried as Ambrose twisted his wrist further, tightening his grip until it turned bruising. Kit struggled and tried to back up, but his head hit the wall and he was trapped between Ambrose’s body and the wall.

“Oh-kay,” Kit managed, furious, embarrassment flooding his cheeks.

Ambrose smiled, said, “good,” and true to his word Ambrose released him.

Kit’s head bobbed forward immediately, wrapping a hand around his wrist and rubbing it soothingly. Ambrose just went back to the kitchen, whistling, not even entertaining Kit’s glare following him. Kit got to his feet, the world tilting slightly as he stood but he ignored it going to the bathroom and slamming the door.

Angry red eyes found Kit’s in the bathroom mirror. Kit’s hand went out quick, too quick to think and the next thing he knew his fist had shattered the reflective glass. Broken shards fell onto the sink and the tile with a glimmering tinkle, so Kit punched the mirror again, and again.

He would have done it again, if he could, if it wasn’t for the cold rinse of Ambrose’s power flooding through his arm stopping his fist from punching the mirror until he broke his hand. Instead, Kit turned and opened the bathroom door against his will, stepping out into the living room to see Ambrose setting up Kit’s first aid on the table.

Kit’s feet dragged him to the table and forced him to sit and hold out his hand for Ambrose to inspect.

“I hate you,” Kit declared, a furious childish part of him wanted Ambrose to know that.

“I know Kit,” said Ambrose, taking his wrist delicately, the same wrist he had tried to fold in on itself not two minutes ago. “Seven years bad luck to break a mirror.”

“Fuck you,” Kit replied emotion colouring his voice. Ambrose’s touch was tender on his hand as he inspected it for damage. Shards of glass were sticking out of his hand that was steadily streaming blood onto the table.

“I’m going to have to take the glass out to bandage your hand,” said Ambrose, dark eyes dragging up to Kit’s face. Ambrose’s expression twisted into one of pity, as if he could actually feel human emotion and it somehow made Kit feel worse. Kit’s heart hammered against his throat as Ambrose reached over and wiped fresh tears from Kit’s cheeks. “It’s okay, Kit. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt.”

Kit didn’t even realise he was crying until then. Frustrated, helpless tears were streaming sad and steady down his cheeks. “Please just let me go,” Kit whispered, half leaning it Ambrose’s hand. He couldn’t do this anymore. Ambrose sighed, rubbing his thumb soothingly over Kit’s cheeks.

“If you want, I can make you go to sleep while I do this?”

Kit sniffed, blubbering like an idiot. He didn’t want to be forced to sleep again, he hated that groggy feeling of waking up after it, completely unaware and vulnerable.

“No,” said Kit eventually. “No, I’ll stay awake.”

“Okay,” Ambrose cooed, drawing his hands back and going to the first aid kit to pull out tweezers and the disinfectant. “I’ll make sure you don’t feel a thing.”

True to his word, Kit didn’t feel anything as Ambrose worked. Not the disinfectant that would have stung. Not the glass being plucked out of his hand and onto the table. Not the bandage as it was tightened around his hand.

Ambrose moved with graceful fluidity, like this wasn’t his first time. Kit just watched him work in silence. If he imagined hard enough, he could be Superhero or Medic stitching him up after a fight with another villain. A friend looking after him telling Kit that he’s an idiot, and why did he punch a mirror. The thought made Kit’s heartache more than his hand would have.

“Okay,” said Ambrose with a smile, a genuine small happy smile. “You’re all done. How’s that feel?”

On Ambrose’s question, feeling flooded Kit’s body and he clenched his hand and opened it again. It was tight enough to hold and loose enough to have full range of motion.

“It feels good, thank you Ambrose.”

The words escaped Kit’s mouth before he registered what he said. Wide eyes went to Ambrose’s dark ones, but it wasn’t the smug pride he saw there. Ambrose smiled sympathetically at Kit and nodded.

“You’re welcome, Kit. How about you go get some sleep? I’ll clean all this up and we can go back to hating each other after.”

Kit nodded numbly. He was exhausted and deflated at his almost escape, he should have known Ambrose would have thought of everything Kit would do. The only way to defeat Ambrose properly would be to kill him and Kit knows he would never do that.

He couldn’t take someone’s life.

So, he stood and walked to his bedroom, shutting the door and collapsing onto his bed. Kit curled up under the covers and cried until he fell asleep.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

The Orphanage (plz lemme know if you want to be added or removed <;3) — @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whatwhumpcomments @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @princess-bubble-blossom @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @mj-or-say10

*~*~*~*~*

Hello, it’s orphan this is a sneaky PS that I am in the process of moving my work here to a new, primary account @patchworkorphan because I stupidly made this blog a secondary one

I am uploading my backlog of posts to that new blog, updated and edited shocking!

Okay thank you for reading, have a good day, watch the late late toy show! It’s officially Christmas!! okay bye!

[echo-goes-mmm]

Mob Boss Whumper with a pet Whumpee; a pretty little thing they slap around for fun

And then Mob Boss Caretaker finds out that Whumper is infringing on their territory...

Caretaker takes Whumper out, and every mafiso knows it.

Because Whumpee is sitting pretty on Caretaker's lap now, and looking much happier for it

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

Good carewhumper trope: A whumper who prides themself on being cold, strict, no nonsense when it comes to dealing with whumpee however they see fit, yet enemies and allies alike can see how soft whumper is when it comes to whumpee to the point it's so painfully obvious to everyone but whumper

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

Whumper makes whumpee hold a tape measure (and they have to hold it the whole time)

Whumper grabs the hook and pulls, taking their steps backwards slowly, until the blade is at max.

Release

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

tw for vomit and tooth whump

Apparently your teeth are kinda easy to erode? If you've never heard of "mountain dew teeth" it's when you drink too much mountain dew and even if you brush teeth really well, your teeth just start wearing away.

Anyway, this can also happen if you have bad acid reflux, or if you vomit a lot. This is because your stomach acid is pretty acidic and will literally wear away your bones if it comes up too much. (mt dew is also pretty acidic, and more common)

So yeah. Does your whumpee get access to the right quality of food? (Different types of food can affect acid reflux a lot. Frequent vomiting is a whole other problem.) And the right quality of dental care?

[icamefromthepinterestscreenshots]

Whumpee who when rescued gets handcuffed for their own safety. Sure, the people around them are simply trying to protect them, but they don’t know that.

[hurtthemgently]

Whumper is showing off how beautiful whumpee is. Whumpee stands as still as they can, shaking involuntarily. They flinch when whumper reaches to grab their chin, closing their eyes tightly. They let out a sob, tears falling. They try to steady their breathing, to hold still and behave.