#wrong whumpee

[painsandconfusion]

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Prompts and starters A collaboration with @wormwriting

[Prompt Masterpost]

“How much did you hear?”

Whumpee crouched and trying to stay quiet until they can slip away. Then the cool barrel of a gun pressing against the back of their head. Bonus for ~click~

“You know what happens now, right?”

Whumpee stumbling home, breath ragged and body in shock still. They stare at the liquor bottle - and without thinking, uncap it and start downing as much fire as they can stand. They don’t want to remember what they just saw. For everyone’s sake. 

Whumper shoving a bottle against Whumpee’s chest. “You’re going to want to forget that. I’ll check back in tomorrow to make sure you did.” 

Walked into the wrong bar at the wrong time - now they’re a vampire’s lunch.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who fucked up everything. Now I need to clean up your mess.”

The shaky hand Whumpee presses to their mouth to try to stifle their echoing breaths. Eyes squeezed shut so hard that they might press the memory of what they saw out of their mind.

“How’s about you and me go for a little walk, hm?”

“Sorry kid - boss said no loose ends.”

Whumpee stepping around the corner to see people and blood and heads slowly turning toward them. Seeing them seeing what just happened. Seeing the blood. Seeing them seeing the blood. Whumpee slooooooowwwwwly steps back, eyes stricken with horror-

“Can’t talk without a tongue, right?”

Whumpee driving in the middle of nowhere - how were they supposed to know it would be fifty miles to the nearest gas station? At least they can cal-......they don’t have signal either…

Whumpee flinching at each echoing footstep, tucking further back into their hiding spot. “I know you’re theeeeerrreeeee~ Come out come ouuuut~”

“You know this isn’t personal, right?”

And escaped whumpee bumping into Whumper completely randomly years later. The  s t a r e. Aaaaaaand run-

“What are you so scared for? I don’t gotta kill you~”

“Wh-y me?” “You were the easiest to grab.”

Stepping into a bear trap. 

Whumpee getting mistaken for a target. Tortured in their place while pleading all the while that they got the wrong mark. Of course, no one believes them.

“Know what you are? A liability.”

The random guy the villain shoots in a bar just to make a point. 

“Don’t. Move.”

[Prompt Masterpost]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @whumpsday @sonder35)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

(a few of these arent working so if wibbly-wobbly-whump or hold-back-on-the-comfort changed their blogs please lmk <3

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

i know the whump community hates women characters or whatever but the lesbian in me is dying for bloody femininity please

let them have thicc thighs and bazoinkas and wear dresses with the hem ripped to shreds so they can run faster. have them sprint in heels. have them use their stilettos as weapons when they jam it into a person's eye. girls kissing girls. beautifully manicured nails chipped and broken away or idly tracing the length of a blade. fishnets and stockings with runs gouged in them. low cut blouses that leave their collarbones exposed to be traced with the tip of a weapon. tight dresses that hug every curve to distract wandering eyes while they spike a drink. girls kissing girls. long silky hair to be wrapped around a hand and pulled. messy curls. a sultry villainess or a vixen in distress. smeared lipstick and mascara running down their cheeks. jewelry ripped from their necks and earrings torn from their lobes. clawing their way out of the carnage to emerge victorious, drenched in blood, beautiful in their madness. being upset that their hair was forcibly cut or their favorite bra was snapped or missing their skincare routine. girls kissing girls. feeling icky when they've been stripped of their womanhood. being empowered when they reclaim what's rightfully theirs through any means necessary. using their sweet face and lilting voice to draw a false sense of security in their victims. feminine rage and revenge. being underestimated because what could such a pretty little thing like her do? girls kissing girls. ultra femme cottagecore babe drenched in red. black leather dommy mommy being the gentlest caretaker. sisterhood. to be kind and nurturing or cold and cruel. did i mention the girls kissing girls.

[whump-galaxy]

The whumpee struggling not to laugh with their broken ribs. They hold their chest tight, wheezing and coughing through manic laughter. The caretaker thinks they’ve gone crazy, how could they be laughing after almost dying? But that’s why they’re laughing. They can feel the pain in their ribs. The blood soaking through their fingers. The ringing in their ears.

They’re alive. They lived.

[tender-traps]

GOD i am such a sucker for cinderella whump

all the possibilities for an awful home life. forced to work, vilified, beaten, starved, locked in isolation, you name it. and of course being denied a blanket and having to huddle close to the fire in winter.

then they're free for just one night, or maybe three. just a short little step into a world where all of it goes away.

and then there’s the stranger. god this perfect stranger, beautiful and kind, who sees something worthwhile in whumpee. when they catch whumpee looking sad, they actually care.

and then they go back. and that taste of freedom makes it all the more painful. and when they think of the rest of their miserable life their spirit starts to break.

but the stranger!!!!! dropping everything, maybe making a personal sacrifice of their own, just to find their missing friend, because they CARE. someone finally cares enough to make it stop. and they do.

and that's where the story ends a lot of the time but we don't do that here. the aftermath. the scars, all of the toxic shit whumpee believes about themself, the feeling of being indebted to their savior. i'll take all of it thank you <3

[foundfamilywhump]

see like the thing with 'carewhumpers' as a concept to me is it just like... i know this is prrrrobably not really how it's meant but something skeeves me out about the idea that kindness or caretaking mixed in with hurting someone can somehow meaningfully complicate or dilute the harm done to the point of making that character no longer a 'whumper' whereas someone doing the same 'bad' things but not ever being gentle or caring for them would just be a straight-out whumper. when like... that's how 90% of irl abuse dynamics work? so i just... don't really get the point, i guess. like to me it implies something about the 'care' provided somehow mitigating or combating the harm done that. i just do not personally appreciate or enjoy.

[letitbehurt]

Caretaker accidentally locking Whumpee out of the house at night. Whumpee resolved to sleeping outside, sure that they’re being punished for something.

[acer-whumpstuff]

When a whumpee who’s usually always laughing and joking can’t laugh or joke at THIS.

Everyone thinks whumpee can handle any pain because they always laugh or joke through it, looking on the bright side, keeping everyone else in good moods.

Whumpee who finally experiences the horrors and can’t laugh at it. Or a team who experiences a huge loss and turns to Whumpee to make them feel better and they just have… nothing. No jokes, no hope.

Hard to tell who’s more freaked out in that moment, Whumpee, or Whumpee’s friends

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Sticky Situation- Part 8

Part 7

@laffy-taffy-creations I'm tagging you because you're gonna wanna read this!

-------

"I'm in," Hero said, "what now?"

"Take a left at the end of this hallway," Assistant's voice crackled in Hero's earpiece.

Hero did as they were told. They crept through Organization's maze of corridors while Assistant instructed them from their makeshift computer setup in their car.

"You should be reaching the central cortex," Assistant said, "do you see a pair of doors with a keypad?"

Hero saw them, along with two long shadows. They ducked behind a wall as two henchmen passed. They waited until their footsteps faded, then approached the doors.

“Yep,” Hero said.

“Okay,” Assistant continued, “punch in code 4-4-8-3.”

Hero did that, and the doors slid open with a whooshing sound. Hero entered the central cortex.

“Now what, Assistant?”

Hero was only greeted by crackling and static.

“Assistant?”

Hero put a finger to their earpiece.

“Assistant, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t think they can hear you.”

Hero’s blood ran cold- colder than usual. They turned to see Supervillain approaching them as two henchmen closed the double doors, locking them inside.

“You did very well,” Supervillain praised, “you reached the central cortex much faster than I thought you would.”

Before Hero could move, they felt a pinch in their neck. A numbness began to spread throughout their entire body. The two henchmen caught Hero before they could crumple to the ground. They deposited them in a chair covered in restraints. The henchmen started strapping Hero in, though it really wasn’t necessary, as whatever Hero had just been darted with made them unable to move at all.

“Now that I have your attention, Hero, I have a question for you,” Supervillain said, “how much do you know about beekeeping?”

Hero blinked. That… was the last thing they were expecting to hear.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Hero asked.

“Just answer the question.”

Hero knew by now not to test Supervillain.

“I, uh, beekeepers take care of the bees?”

“Honeybees to be specific.” Supervillain amended, “Apis mellifera Linnaeus, or, the honeybee, is a remarkable little insect. Like humans, they are a eusocial species. Unlike humans, however, honeybees are known to have swarm intelligence, also known as a hive mind. This collective mentality allows the colony to thrive and keep the hive running. The most important bee is of course, the queen bee. She has the power to determine every action of the hive, via pheromones that only she can secrete. It’s the beekeeper’s job to make sure that the hive has a good queen.”

Supervillain paused, smiling to themselves.

“The bees crave subjugation you see. Much like humans. Without a leader, the colony would die. Without control, the colony would cease to operate. This would of course cause environmental collapse and the ramifications of that would likely be irreversible. Therefore, control is life-sustaining, but resistance is unequivocally destructive.”

Hero glared; they weren’t sure what Supervillain was getting at, but they were definitely sure that it wasn’t good.

“The only issue is… humans don’t know what they crave. They keep trying to find what’s missing, all the while resisting what would satisfy them. That’s where you come in.”

Supervillain turned to the giant computers in front of them. They typed in a code, pulling up the plans to create an army of cryogenically enhanced super-soldiers.

“I am the beekeeper, you see, and you, Hero, are the queen I have chosen. With your powers, I will send my worker bees to assimilate the rest of the world into the hive.”

Hero’s eyes went wide. This is why Supervillain wanted them the whole time.

“Get them ready,” Supervillain said, “and bring Assistant. We’ll need to start human trials soon after all.”

Another dart was injected into their neck, and Hero’s world went dark.

Part 9

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm

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[echo-goes-mmm]

So we all the love the whumpee-thinks-caretaker-is-their-new-master trope but what if it's true

Caretaker who did buy whumpee, and who does wholeheartedly believes and acts like whumpee belongs to them

But damn it they take great care of their possessions. After all, cats and dogs get spoiled with treats and comfy beds and vet visits when they're sick and cuddles and a form of love

Why should a slave be any different? Especially because caretaker bought whumpee for companionship

Plus whumpee can tidy up, cook for themselves, hold a conversation, and even play games like cards or board games, and can go everywhere caretaker can

That's infinitely better than a cat or dog.

It's just such a shame their old owner was so terrible. Whumpee is so timid now, and nearly skin and bone. But that's nothing a good owner can't fix, right? The poor thing needs some proper structure and attention that's all. It's a good thing whumpee is human. It would be a lot harder to rehabilitate a rescue who can't comprehend speech.

And whumpee doesn't want to leave. Fetching files from a desk and playing checkers and occasionally cleaning the kitchen while master chatters about work is far better than being locked in a cold basement and getting beaten every day

Their new master doesn't lay a hand on them, their version of punishment is no music while doing chores, or no dessert

After all, you wouldn't hit your dog. Caretaker's new pet deserves at least that

[shywhumpauthor]

Ahah fun idea here, tie your Whumpee to a fence post or something indirect sunlight. Make sure it’s a really hot, bright day outside. Cut away their shirt, make sure they’re tied to the fence face-first so their back gets the worst of the burns.

Bring them inside when the sun starts to set, then have your Whumper whip them with a belt.

[snakebites-and-ink]

Obsessed with living weapon whumpees who are dehumanized specifically in the "you are a machine" way rather than the "you are an attack dog" way.

[paingoes]

Destroyer

Trigger Discipline

(Masterlist)

this is pre-series, set in the first year delta was given to the emperor. delta and paris are both around 13 here.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, child abuse, dehumanization, power imbalances, minor bullying, slavery, emotional whump, mass death implied)

==============

It was fall break, one of the few times Paris was allowed back into Castle Thales. He dragged the suitcase behind him. There was barely enough time to set it down before the attendants swept him into the dressing room. It was hard to play the handheld with his head up straight, but he’d gotten good at it — in the same way the maids had gotten good at working around him.

His leg bouncing annoyed them enough that they let him take recess. It was only then that he first saw his father, out in the empty hallway, against the backdrop of the purple banners. The Emperor grabbed at Paris’s wrist. He pulled it up to examine the bruises on his knuckles that the makeup hadn’t covered. No hello.

“The school called. Do you think this behavior is acceptable?” His voice was calm, always calm. Paris pulled his hand back protectively.

“They started it,” he insisted.

“Don’t talk back to me, Paris. This is beneath you.”

“I got all As. Four point seven with APs. Did the school call to tell you that too?” He didn’t hide the ire in his voice. That school was out to fucking get him. None of the other students ever got in trouble for fighting. It wasn’t like he could do it by himself.

The look his father gave him killed that argument before it could start. He wilted. The old man paid him no further mind, sending him straight back into the changing room. He spent the remainder of it in terse silence, not even arguing when they placed the crown on his head, the heavy one that always gave him migraines. He never wore it during the school year. He never wore it if he could avoid it. The weight of it felt all wrong.

Nobody mentioned there was going to be a showcase that night. (They might’ve, actually. He never checked his email back then.) Even if he’d known, he still would not have been prepared for the little off-worlder kneeling on the opposite side of the old man’s throne. Dark blue skin, even darker hair. Bright, bright eyes. The Emperor’s new toy. 

Paris realized with a start that they were the same age.

He settled into the throne. The old man hadn’t come in yet; it was weird to share the dais. He watched the other boy try his best to stay invisible, like he wasn’t even there. They’d clearly had different media training. He slipped the handheld back out of his pocket while he waited for the event to start.

He sat through most of the ball unbelievably bored by the whole thing. They’d ceased to be impressive by the time he was seven years old. He never could fix his face; he was sure the discontent was obvious upon it. He didn’t understand how anyone else could manage to be polite about it or why they bothered to. The old man was good at many things, but true spectacle was not among them. That part desperately needed work. 

Still, he was intrigued by the motion to his left-hand side, the noise as they unchained the boy from where he was kneeling and led him into the center of the room. 

The lights dimmed — and his colors burned. He did not fully grasp the technical significance of the display; he doubted most people there did. The handler explained it as a kind of microscopic manipulation of the light, some supreme physical achievement. What it manifested as was the holographic appearance of the scale dragon right over their heads, its shimmering form reflected in all the small particles of air. The mirage was impressive. Paris still did not understand what it had to do with statecraft.

He saw the boy swoon like he might faint, then steady himself. He really was fresh out of the box. His eyes flitted nervously from side to side, trying to take it all in. He flinched at any loud sound — and there were many. He wasn’t used to it yet. When they led him back to the side of the throne, he seemed more grateful to be out of the spotlight than he was upset at being chained. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

It took a while before Paris could get him alone, without the old man watching. He had to wait until after the showcase was over and only the ball remained.

“How did you do that?” Paris asked. He leaned against the leftmost beam of the dais, partially obscured by the curtain. The boy was still kneeling there, still chained to the empty throne’s base.

He turned his head slowly. His glowing blue eyes studied Paris carefully; for a moment, he was afraid of the intensity behind them. Paris could not read his expression, did not appreciate the creeping silence he commanded.

“I know you heard me.” A certain defensiveness crept into Paris’s voice. The boy looked at him apologetically, raising a finger to his lips.

“Oh,” Paris’s eyes widened with the realization. “You’re not allowed to talk?”

He nodded his head so subtlety that Paris guessed he wasn’t even allowed to move. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised. 

The boy seemed unconvinced, his eyes passing over the crown in Paris’s hair. Fuckin’ thing. He took it off.

The old man barked his name so loudly that the boy jumped, as if it was his own. Paris just rolled his eyes, replaced the crown, and stepped away from the dais.

“It isn’t your friend,” His father warned him, “Just because you can’t keep your own doesn’t mean I’m buying you new ones.”

His face burned. 

Paris stayed up until the party was over, even when it ran well into the next morning. As the last of the guests trickled out, he sat down on the stairs of the dais. The boy’s handler came to untether him, pulling him roughly to his feet.

“Did it talk to you?” The man asked. It took Paris a second to realize the question was addressed to him. 

“No?” He said. The boy looked at him gratefully, like he’d covered up for him, when he was just telling the truth. The doctor looked somewhat disappointed by this answer. His irritation switched targets.

“You shouldn’t speak Common in the palace. It’s unbecoming.”

Every adult swore they had a right to tell him how to act. Even this total stranger.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Paris snapped. 

The fight drained out of him as his father re-entered the hall. All noise died but for his voice.

“I’ll take it,” his father said, extending one hand out in an almost chivalrous motion. The boy, now unchained at the neck, quickly jogged down the stairs to meet him. Paris watched as his father slid his hand onto the boy’s shoulder, leading him gently out of the hall. He watched as one ringed hand brushed a strand of black hair out of the boy’s face. The boy flinched — ungrateful.

========

The Emperor did the same thing over spring break, the next time Paris returned to Thales. He had to watch the same routine, watch the old man carefully soothe out the folds of Delta’s clothing, run a thumb over his cheek. He’d been given free reign at this one, apparently. Even though he kneeled by the dais again, he wasn’t chained to it. It seemed like he was allowed to take breaks.

“It’s an object,” the Emperor would insist whenever Paris tried to get close. “What use do you have for it? I won’t tell you again.”

He still paid it more attention than he ever spared him. So publicly, as if he wanted him to see. Paris bit into the flesh of his own hand, leaving teethmarks. His father smacked him on the back of the head; he withdrew his hand back to his side, wiping the blood and saliva along his pants.

He could only corner Delta when the night was closing in, when all the adults were too drunk to notice. Paris caught him just outside of the dining room. He flicked at the silver tiara placed into his — its? — hair. It fell a few inches out of place. Wordlessly, Delta readjusted it. He kept his head bowed, his hands at his side, not speaking. Totally resigned to the treatment. 

“He doesn’t actually like you, you know.” Paris said. There wasn’t much certainty behind the statement. 

It got a reaction, but not the one he had hoped. Delta looked up a bit, the side of his mouth quirked up into a disbelieving grin. He thought it was funny. He was fucking laughing at him.

Paris was temporarily too mad to even see. Delta seemed to recognize the danger and immediately became expressionless again.

“Sorry.” There was still a bit of humor in his voice. “Um. Yeah. I know.”

Like he didn’t even care. It didn’t mean to him what it meant to Paris. 

His hands curled into fists. Delta noticed, stepping back a little.

“Your Highness,” He added the honorific on quickly, as if that was the problem. 

“Forget it,” Paris waved him off. 

He walked away before Delta could even respond, retreating to his room. He’d be reprimanded for it later, but there was no way he could go back to the party now. There was something hollow in him that would not let him sleep.

===========

Delta moved the pawn forward, his claws clicking delicately against the piece. The whole board shook from the turbulence of the ship. 

Even in summer, it seemed like they were making a concentrated effort to keep Parks out of his own house.  He saw his dad more, though. It was tour season; he was obligated to tag along. It meant that his schooling never truly ended throughout the year, but he didn’t mind so much. Everyone said he was a natural.

Delta was the only person even close to his age on the tours. As much as he’d been discouraged from interacting with him, they saw each other constantly, the only ones at each other’s eye level. He would’ve sworn the kid sought him out on purpose. 

He didn’t talk much, but he was good at listening, which Paris cared more about. They broke off from the main group in the downtime, descending deeper into the ship. There was an old chess set laying around in the crew’s lounge. Paris had climbed up to the top shelf to get it, letting it clatter loudly against the coffee table. Delta knew how to play; it was weird, the things he knew and didn’t know. The things he was good at. Paris got the sense that Delta was letting him win. 

They were halfway through the second game when the doors opened up, entirely too many personnel for the situation at hand. The Emperor was among them. Paris shrank back.

He startled as Delta’s handler abruptly backhanded the boy, knocking him out of his seat and onto the floor. He heard Delta take a sharp inhale of breath, but remain silent otherwise. 

“Apologize.” The doctor’s hand was in a vice grip against the back of the boy’s neck, nearly pressing his head to the ground in the forced bow.

“I’m sorry,” Delta responded immediately, without hesitation, even though it hadn’t been his fault. The doctor shook him a little, prompting a stronger reaction. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”

Paris had asked him to. It’d been his idea. But his father was standing right there. He couldn’t bring himself to admit to it, not after he’d already been warned. 

“It’s okay,” Paris said softly; the words felt sickly in his mouth.

As he caught the expression on the Emperor’s face, he could tell it hadn’t mattered. The old man hadn’t believed it for a second.

The doctor released his hold, pointing sharply back to the exit. Delta scrambled to his feet, practically running out of the door. He hadn’t been looking at Paris when he’d apologized and he didn’t look back at him when he left.

They all followed out onto the balcony for the show of force. With the handprint still across his face, Delta sat by the edge of the platform, his eyes closed in deep concentration. In the next moment, there was calamity. The large fortress walls all broke down beneath their own weight, sending the enemy castle tumbling down into the sea. All the residents had still been inside. The old man kept a tight grip on the back of Paris’s collar, making sure he saw all of it.

===========

The clipshow continued in the Emperor’s office, all the shades drawn and the lights dimmed. It was a supercut of the weapon’s military record, all the carnage, even the burnt bodies. Some of the shots were truly gratuitous. Paris wasn’t allowed to look away. 

“Twelve years in the making and you’re selfish enough to endanger it. You can’t be that desperate,” his father said.

“I wasn’t trying to endanger it.” Paris’s fist clenched and unclenched against the chair. “I didn’t…think it was a big deal.”

“And I assume you know more than the experts, like always.” It was still dark in the room. The clips were still playing silently.

Paris’s lip bled a little from where he bit it. He had matching cuts along his tongue. He shook his head.

“I don’t know how to make this more explicit to you, Paris. It is a weapon. It may look like a person, but its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.” The video showed a still-living hand reaching out from beneath the rubble. “It does not need you confusing it or meddling with its programming. When I tell you not to interact with it, I am doing it for your own good. Its reactions are unpredictable. The last thing I want is for you to become one of its casualties.”

Paris flinched as his father’s hands slammed down onto the desk. His voice still came out calm.

“It only exists to be commanded — and that command is not yours. You will not meddle with my property. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“This will not be a conversation next time,” the Emperor promised. Paris nodded. His throat was choked up.

He slinked out of the still-dark office, back down the hall to his room. He was glad summer was ending. He didn’t even want to be home anymore.

He was surprised to see Delta still pacing the halls with his handler, not yet placed back in his cell. He briefly made eye contact with Paris, then immediately cast his gaze back down to the floor, chastened.

……

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[federaliszt]

two for the price of one

cw: torture both physical and psychological

two captives tied or chained back to back, both of them being relentlessly interrogated for information, but only one of them receiving all the slaps, punches, kicks, stabs, scaldings, burnings, chokings, etc.

the one who's not being hurt is doing their best to act unbothered and aloof because they cannot under any circumstances give up the information their captors are looking for, but even so, they can feel their co-captive's shoulders shaking, their back trembling, their fingers spasming as they fight to hold on, the little sobs they barely catch back as the pain worsens, the hiccuping gasps for air as soon as they're allowed to breath again, even if just for a moment.

the one's been singled out for the torture is trying their best to stoically muffle their screams, biting down on their lower lip and screwing up their face, trying to hold in every small reaction so that at least their co-captive won't have to know how miserable this is, even as they start to lose consciousness and their body starts to shut down on them because they're in so much pain.

the interrogators taunting both captives, telling the unhurt one in exquisitely fine detail exactly what's going on with the hurt one, but never allowing them to actually look.

[foundfamilywhump]

whumpee slowly learning and internalizing that it’s not only okay to ask the people supporting and caring for them for help or for specific things, but that it’s something that their support system actively wants and is relieved and happy when they do. learning that it’s kind and good to the people around them to ask for help. that it makes them feel better too. noticing the relieved expressions, the smiles and relaxed body language whenever they ask for help, for support, for comfort. internalizing that it’s not only okay to ask, to let people help them, but it’s good.

[em-writes-stuff]

came back wrong

day 16 of @febuwhump

hero, villain, medic, and sidekick

746 words

warnings: captivity, successful CPR, strangulation, cursing

~

“Come on, Hero,” Sidekick mutters. “You can’t leave us now.” 

Medic straddles her, hands on her chest doing CPR. She counts with every beat, arms getting weaker by the second. 

“Medic, let me take over. You’re exhausted.” Sidekick says, nudging her with his toe. 

He shakes his head, “I’m fine.” 

Villain chuckles darkly from the back of the room. “You won’t be able to bring her back. There’s a reason I called you here after all these months I’ve had her. I would never let her leave here.” 

Sidekick’s face turns red and he storms over to him. “Shut up.” 

“Why should I? You’re already planning on killing me, nothing I do is going to change it. Might as well speak my mind.” he does his best to shrug in his restraints and he pouts his lip. “Oh, am I making you sad? Telling you that your hero isn’t going to make it?” 

“Sidekick,” Medic says before he can retort. “Come over here.” 

He runs over and kneels in front of Hero. “What’s happening?” 

“I’ve got a pulse.” Medic says, breathless. “She’s alive.”

“What?” Villain snaps from the other side of the room. “No, that’s…that’s impossible. She’s not-you’re lying!” 

They both ignore him. 

Hero’s eyes open and she stares at Medic, who clears her throat uncomfortably and crawls off of her. “Sorry.” 

Hero stands up, ignoring Sidekick and Medic and walking straight over to Villain. 

He cowers, shrinking into the corner of the room. 

“Oh,” she says, squatting in front of him. “You’re scared of me now? What changed? Is it because I’m untied? No…it’s because you know what you deserve.” 

Sidekick and Medic look at each other, unsure of what to do. 

Villain whimpers and shakes his head, “You’re not supposed to kill me. You’re supposed to turn me in and send me to jail. Remember, you said that you-”

“Shut up!” she shouts. She stands up and grabs a fist full of his hair. “Nothing from before matters because you…ruined me. And when you realized that you went too far you tried to kill me, but you fucked that up too. And now…I’m going to kill you. The right way.” 

She kicks him in the side and he falls, his head slamming against the floor. 

“Hero…” Sidekick says, inching closer to her. She stops him with one look. 

She kneels in front of Villain and wraps her hands around his throat, “Take a biiiiig breath for me?” 

He shakes his head, “Please don’t.” 

“Villain…” she warns. “Take a big breath.” 

He inhales deeply and she clamps down on his neck, knuckles turning white. He struggles underneath her, writhing in an attempt to break free from her. His eyes start to unfocus and his struggling gets weaker. Hero smiles and releases him. 

He sucks in a breath and his chest heaves. Hero tilts her head and almost laughs. “It’s so silly. You know you’re going to die, there’s no way you think you’ll be getting out of this. But you still try to fight me. There’s something in you that tries to fight. Let’s go again, no fighting this time, yeah?” 

“No,” Villain mutters, rolling over and facing the wall. “No, please. I…I’m sorry for what I did. I…shouldn’t have. Please…” 

Hero rolls her eyes and pulls him onto her lap, her arm wrapped around his neck. “Shhhh,” she says, mouth right next to his ear. “No talking. Now, big breath for me?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Now you’re just pissing me off.” she growls. She lifts her leg and slams her heel into his stomach, making him yowl in pain. He curls into himself and takes a deep breath in to refill his lungs from the scream. Before he can exhale, she clamps down on him with one arm and uses the other to lock it in place. 

Again, Villain fights against her and again, he gets weaker. His chest heaves, trying desperately to get oxygen into his lungs, but Hero doesn’t let up this time. 

Even after he stops struggling, after his eyes close and she can’t feel a pulse, she keeps her arm clamped down on his throat. It’s not until she looks up and sees Sidekick and Medic’s horrified faces that she lets him go. 

Medic starts to walk towards them, but she stops when Hero glares at her. 

“Don’t.” Hero whispers. She pushes Villain off of her and stands up, not looking back at him. “He deserved so much worse.”

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

A whumper/whumpers assuming their whumpee has a high pain tolerance because they’re non-human