Gratuitous Pain

(side blog for drakatzen) age: 26

[pvtashby]

I really like when Whumpee has unique or interesting reactions to their trauma. Like they get some junk in the mail and it reminds them of their trauma. They rip it up but aren’t really sure why. They just know it feels good to do it. They’re not even conscious of the anger they’re feeling until it’s over and the bin is full of shreds.

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #23

Trope of the day: “How’d I get to this place?”

_

A groan escapes their lips when Whumpee finally manages to open their eyes. Their lids feel heavy, almost as if they are glued to the eyes.

Painless.

Why don’t they feel pain?

Their heartbeat quickens as they fight against the tiredness. Against their body that is still begging for rest. Whumpee grunts when they try to move, but a hand pushes them back.

Back on the mattress.

Mattress … How long since they have had the luxury of one of these?

“How’d I get to this place?”, Whumpee manages to croak, tongue heavy and mouth dry. Their sight is blurred, lids falling close again.

The voice that answers is weirdly familiar, weirdly calming. Although they can’t even decipher what they are saying.

Whumpee loses consciousness, their body relaxing.

[marshmellowtea]

he's beautiful i literally need to put him under extreme psychological stress. i need to put him in extreme physical pain. i need him curling up in someone's arms for the feelings of safety and comfort he hasn't received in ages

[sleepy-lump-of-moss]

One of my favorite recovery things in whump: Whumpee finally feeling at home again, or maybe for the first time.

They’re sitting on a couch/other furniture, their friends/loved ones are talking and laughing around them. They took a warm shower earlier, and now they’re wearing soft, comfortable clothes. They just had a delicious dinner, and their once starved belly is now full and content. They’re sleepy, and know that here in a little bit they’ll head upstairs to their room, where they’ll get to sleep peacefully in their soft, warm bed. They look around the room, really taking in the faces of the people around them. Everyone looks so happy to be there, and Whumpee knows that they all truly care about them. They smile, maybe even tearing up a little. One of their friends notices, asking if they’re ok since they’ve started crying. Whumpee responds that they’ve never been better. They finally feel safe, and they finally feel at home.

[comfort-questing]

alt 10. flu

"it's just a cold," Hollin said, sniffling into the upturned collar of her coat. "people get colds all the time and are all right, Fayde."

winter had come to the tumbledown streets of the Nodderlin slums, on the edge of the great city's ruins; snow lay white on the eaves and dirty gray in the gutters, trodden underfoot in the streets. smoke rose from chimneys and makeshift vents in boarded-up windowframes. Fayde had the bag in her gloved hands from their day's bartering at the market, her Affinity-treated metal scrap fetching enough to get them oatmeal and a few pressed bars of dried vegetables for the week. eggs had gone up again. maybe the chickens, their locations a jealously guarded secret of their merchant intermediaries, didn't like the winter either.

if Hollin was getting sick, Fayde was half a mind to go back to the market and try to wheedle out another can of meat on credit. they were still paying off the last one and being conspicuous wasn't safe but - she had gotten very watchful of the color in her friend's cheeks and the shadows under her eyes over these last months, by necessity.

she watched Hollin pick her way along between the snowdrifts, slowly, hands fisted in her pockets, wind ruffling her dark hair now grown out almost to her chin. in the early dark the lights were beginning to glow behind window-curtains, blue-white of flickerlight, red of fire or gold of candles.

"well, I'm going to worry about you anyway, just so you know."

Hollin raised her head, a quick flash of a smile pale in the dimness.

"yeah, I know."

--

"it's just a cold," Hollin was still insisting hoarsely, the next morning, in the thin early sunlight in their attic room. she flexed her scarred fingers over the woodstove, wincing, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders as she shivered.

Fayde measured the oatmeal, precisely, trying not to let herself think too much about her friend's congested breaths and occasional coughs keeping her up last night from the other side of the bed. the memories of another time - another close room - another reason for waking and listening to Hollin's breathing - were far too recent still, far too alarming to consider.

"fine, but how about you stay in while I go see what's at the scrapperies today?"

"I can help you carry stuff, you sure?" Hollin bit her lip, uncertain.

"if there's a whole engine or something I'll let you know, just keep your stone up." and tell me if you feel worse she wanted to say, but didn't; she wasn't sure if it would do any good.

Fayde kept the trip quick that day, only going to a few of the usual haunts, circling close to home and not trying to bargain. junk bits only, the rusted screws and the crumpled metal that nobody wanted, the pieces of a fallen city brought back by scrappers. still it was two hours at least before she was back climbing the stairs of the tenement house, nervousness clutching at her stomach.

she didn't see Hollin at first as she opened the door. then she recognized the bundle of blankets on the hearth, next to the smoldering fire, and her heart sank a little.

"Hol!"

she knelt next to her. Hollin raised her head a fraction from the floor, flushed and shivering.

"I cannot get warm," said Hollin, and her face was burning under Fayde's hand.

--

"it is just the flu and people also get the flu and - and are all right, Fayde," said Hollin, "remember?"

"back in Rim. people get the flu back in Rim where we have doctors and medicine and the hospital." Fayde tucked the blanket in again at the foot of the bed, fiercely, not because it needed tucking in but because she had to do something. "here people get the flu and anything can happen."

"we got the flu when we were kids and just stayed in the dorms and drank ginger water." Hollin coughed, then grimaced, swallowing against her dry throat. "you remember. we were - twelve or something, right? a little while after - I found you. and Zach was there too."

she didn't want to think about home, about being a kid, about those days when she still thought the bad times were ended forever and they would all grow up to be heroes of Rim and go to war on Starbridge and conquer evil to raise the banner of freedom over the ruins. desperately, she pressed a hand to her stinging eyes.

"that was - a long time ago," she managed.

and now they were exiles and she'd nearly lost Hollin to the Starbridge prisons, and watched her struggle back from the edge of death from torture and deprivation. nothing was the same now, not even the flu.

the kettle whistled softly, and Fayde turned to cross the creaky floorboards, wishing she had some ginger. the last of the old dried mint would have to do in its stead, and a scrape of their sugar from the little tin on the high shelf.

in the bed, Hollin coughed again, sharp and dreadful.

--

two days now and Hollin's fever had climbed unsteadily the whole time, with brief reprieves now and again in the morning or after a respite of sleep but then returning in force, the scars on her face standing out sharply against her flushed skin, sweat soaking the pillow and the sheets beneath her. she flinched at Fayde's touch half the time, old aches mixing with new pain, huddling in on herself in a vain attempt to stifle the chills.

Fayde had gone to Kitty and gotten some dark, sticky, foul-smelling fever reducer, in exchange for mending the hinges on their street door; Butterfly had watched the whole thing with great and impertinent interest. Hollin didn't even have the strength to protest the medicine, or at least, no more than she protested the water that Fayde kept pressing on her in a desperate attempt to keep her hydrated. each dose won her some unbroken sleep for a few hours at a stretch, which was a small victory.

"it's - all right," Hollin told her, as Fayde helped her back to bed from the washroom after one of these wakings. she sat crosslegged on the floor just inside the door, breathing hard, leaning into the damp rag Fayde was wiping the sweat from her face with. "you can rest, I'm - going to be fine."

"I've been resting. don't worry about me. you're the one that's sick."

Hollin's stiff fingers tightened on her free hand, fumbling, fever-hot. "I know - you're scared - I'm sorry."

Fayde swallowed hard, even in that moment still listening closely, trying to discern if the congestion in Hollin's throat had crawled deeper since last time she'd spoken.

"it's all right. it isn't your fault." she dipped the cloth in the basin again, wringing it out, sponging down Hollin's neck and then up her bony ribcage, over the mess of scars tangled across her skin like briars. "I - I always wanted to have you - more than I wanted things to be easy."

Hollin didn't speak, just breathed in and out, slowly, wincing a little at the chill until Fayde rubbed her dry with another rag and put a clean shirt around her shoulders. she was still shivering, but slower now.

"all right. back to bed."

no use washing the sheets. just hang them up by the stove for later, and put the spare one down, dried from its turn. Hollin burrowed into the blankets and warm sheets gladly, her hair frowsy around her sallow face, eyes sunken in bruise-dark sockets.

next to her Fayde thought of a dim room and a cloud-filled sky through the window, of rasping breaths slowing fractionally by the hour, of listening for a knock at the door and praying wordlessly that it would not come too late.

she's all right Fayde told herself stoutly. she'll live. she's fine. it's not like then. it's just - it's just the flu.

God, please, let it just be the flu.

[monarchthefirst]

Whump prompts I can’t get enough of:

1. The shifty and embarrassed look in a stoic leader’s eyes as they finally are forced to reveal an injury to their friends, reluctantly allowing themselves to be treated for the first time. The awkwardness as they strip, and/or lay down to be examined. The subtle fighting to maintain some choice or control ( would rather sit up, “I can do that myself thanks”) and so on.

2. The limp warmth of a Whumpee’s sleeping body as they are treated in the middle of the night. The change in their breathing as the covers are gently pulled back. The clumsiness of their movements as they flit in and out of sleep, sudden gasps or flinching as their wounds are tended. The caretaker’s whispers of comfort, hushing them back to sleep.

3. Whumpee lashing out in sudden rage at some petty action of another, before collapsing and breaking down in sobs. Everyone standing around awkwardly in shock, before caretaker goes in to grab whumpee in a crushing embrace, trying to calm their shaking.

4. Stoic whumpee being humiliated by Whumper. Orders like: ‘strip’, ‘face the wall’, ‘kneel’, ‘down on your hands and knees’, etc etc.

5. Slightly delusional whumpee being tied/held down for some potentially lifesaving procedure and quietly begging caretaker to stop, please please stop. Then more loudly, desperately, until they are crying out and fighting in a panic. Caretaker meanwhile is (1)staring at them in stoic silence while their heart is wrung with pity, or (2) they are quietly reassuring them, telling them it’s going to be alright.

Feel free to use as you like.

[comfortingcatharsis]

An injured character struggling to stand but they over-correct for their weakness and are unsteady enough on their feet that the momentum sends them pitching forward, only saved from falling on their face by their companion catching them with a hand spread wide in the middle of their chest and tilting them back upright.

[esidvince]

we all know and love vampire whumpees but we really need more of vampire caretakers

their wounds heal much faster than in humans, so when there’s danger, they shield whumpee with their own body, taking all the hits and bullets. “you’re hurt!” “what matters is that you aren’t”

they’re up at night, so when whumpee’s sick or injured, they keep vigil, making sure they’re safe and resting. and imagine caretaker-turned-whumpee: at day, whumpee returns the favour, watching over them

they have whumpee’s trust, and whumpee lets them feed from them. and then they have to deal with the aftermaths: headaches, dizziness, chills, fainting spells… a caring vampire’s exactly who they need to help them recover, until next time

and when the vampire feeds, they might use some agent in their saliva that stops the bleeding when they’re done; i mean, they wouldn’t want their prey whumpee to die, would they? now that comes in handy when whumpee’s bleeding. want extra spice and intimacy? kissing their cuts/wounds

your vampire has wings? imagine how safe and protected and cozy whumpee would feel wrapped in them. nothing can hurt them in that embrace. caretaker’s hand runs through whumpee’s hair, and gentle thumps of their heart sound so very close, so very comforting

[whump-all-night]

character who, when left alone to deal with their injuries, fights tears for just a moment before the motions of needing to look after themself physically take over and they fall into mechanical habit and the emotional reaction is washed away via years of repression <3 character who sees reacting to repeated trauma much the same as crying over spilled milk: it’s gonna happen occasionally when things are overwhelming, but you still have to make food every day. you can hardly be upset every time.

[solarattackgoose]

Just Alex getting thrown around like a ragdoll

[gauntlyt]

this one goes out to all the panting & pain sounds enjoyers <3

[gauntlyt]

an important detail to note: gisborne is using robin's own bow to prod him here

[comfort-questing]

26. relapse

"not bed."

"yes, bed," he said, patiently, matching his steps on the staircase to adjust to their tentative shaky pace. "you know. the flat thing with blankets, and pillows, that's good for lying down on."

there were already drops of sweat on their forehead, matting their pale hair at their temples, and a flush creeping across their cheekbones. they seemed to consider a response, but focused on the next few stairs instead, determinedly hanging onto the banister and avoiding his guarding arm behind them.

"I can't take any more days away this winter. Emlis needs me at the Conservatory. there's a backlog of artifacts coming in from the investigation out east - "

"Emlis understands perfectly well they're lucky to have you back at all." there was no use using the master of the Conservatory Arcane as an excuse; they'd been the one to send his housemate home today early with an escort of awestruck and worried museum volunteers. "c'mon, almost there."

they paused at the light-filled turn of the stairs, hanging onto the banister post with one hand, squinting up into the gleam through the foyer window. the fractured sunlight picked out the foil threads on their jacket, small traceries of sparks in the dark velvet. their shoulders heaved a little with each breath, and they coughed, dry and sharp. "I don't want to go back to bed, Kev. I thought - I thought - "

he didn't know how to explain to them properly how many times he'd been up and down that staircase in the last months, letting in the doctors and the healer mages and the occasional relative or neighbor, gathering supplies from the kitchen downstairs, fetching water, or just trying to manufacture a need in the small hours of the night to give him something to listen to besides their ragged breathing on the other side of the wall, and the helpless attempts of the others to soothe it. and the fear of someday coming back up the stairs to silence, utter silence, and someone closing the door of the front bedroom behind them and telling him news he did not ever want to hear.

he didn't think he could find words for it yet, maybe later, maybe never.

"I know you don't want to," he said, instead, as gently as he could, "but it looks like you're running a fever again, and trying to push through it is just going to make you feel worse."

they made a face. "you're sounding like my grandmother."

well, someone had to around here, it seemed like. but when he reached out towards them they started walking again, step by step up the last few stairs, leaning on the rail.

the front bedroom hadn't really been properly cleaned out yet and was a haphazard uneasy muddle of medical paraphernalia and their books and gear, curios and books on magic sitting side by side with empty bottles and discarded basins and rags, the breath meter from the doctor upside-down among the bright enameled pens in the jar on the desk blotter. he made up the bed properly from its disorder while they stumbled into the washroom, and dug up several more pillows from the bottom of the wardrobe. they returned without their heavy Conservatory robes and with their face washed and hair splashed and tousled, a suddenly smaller figure in their tunic and pants without the velvet and braids, to sit down heavily in defeat on the side of the bed and cough several times into their elbow.

he sat down next to them and put a hand to their forehead; they shivered, then leaned into the touch, resting their head on his shoulder. the sharp heat of their skin bled through his shirt.

"I am so tired." their voice was a low murmur. "I was feeling so wretched today, I was hoping no one would notice. I - I thought if I just stayed at my desk it would be fine. but they've all been watching me like a cat at a mousehole - "

of course. only a week back, after two months out, and with a face like one of the Conservatory's rare exhumed artifacts into the bargain. he cupped a hand over the top of their head, smoothing through the wild cornsilk of their hair.

"get some rest," he said. "I'll bring you some food up later, all right?"

they sighed. "and if I sleep well tonight, maybe I'll wake up fine and go back to work in the morning" - dully. it sounded like a question somehow. a hopeless request to the universe.

this close to them, he could hear the rustle in their lungs again, softly ominous. he didn't answer - they didn't seem to expect an answer - but pulled up the covers over them as they lay back on the pillows, and sat at the foot of the bed until their breaths lengthened into sleep and he could go downstairs again and start supper.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: Intimate whumper.

"Oh, honey..." Whumper murmured, gently rubbing Whumpee's back as they cried into their shirt. "Five minutes ago, you were telling me how much you hated me, weren't you?"

"I'm sorry," Whumpee sobbed. They clung helplessly to Whumper, arms trembling out of sheer fear. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"I know you are. It's okay."

[pyrepostings]

"I held out under torture once and you saw where it got me. Do you really think I'd do so again?"

[comfort-questing]

very tired caretaker or teammate finding the most mindless task possible to do, possibly badly, to distract themselves from anxiety over whumpee's condition; spinning thread too uneven for any use, adding up a column in the account book that comes up different every time, re-organizing the entire storage room by dragging crates and boxes out into the hallway and back incomprehensibly. maybe someone catches them and actually sets them to something useful, or maybe it's better to just let them work their worry out, better anyway than having to watch them wait by whumpee's bedside powerless and uncertain.

[salomeslashes]

It's so funny to me that the term "whump" can easily mean anything from "this character has a cold 😦 but here's another character taking care of him 🙂" all the way over to "this character is being viciously tortured to death" and sometimes those two creators are following each other.

[chlebyagoda]

Oh to see a whumpee laying on someone's lap, un- or barely conscious, visibly distressed, but unable to articulate what's happening or what they feel. Maybe they're even trying to, but fail miserably, only getting out incoherent moans and wobbly gestures as caretaker desperately tries to make out what actually happened/ is happening...