Tea

Let them eat crumbs! ConcentforTea's whump blog (18+)

[hurtfortea]

Heya, I'm Tea! I post whump prompts and the occasional drabble. Most of the stuff you will find on this blog will be 18+ and some of it contains NSFW content. Feel free to interact, I'd love to hear what you think of my stuff or if you want to see more of something!

(Note: if you see a really obvious grammar or spelling mistake in one of my posts feel free to point it out! Thanks in advance :D)

Things I've written:

One-shot Masterlist

Series Masterlist

[hurtfortea]

Rain Song

Contains: tiny whump, nonhuman whumpee, non human caretaker, injury, harm, fantasy whump, environmental whump

It’s pitch black. The light she emits only goes out a few inches in front of her. But it doesn’t matter. She can see the light of his hut. It’s not far now. A raindrop falls an inch from her wing, and for a moment- she stops. If you get caught in a rainstorm, keep your wings in tight. The child's lullaby sounds in her head, a gentle whisper in the panic of her mind.

Then a drop slams into her back. Her wings can’t support her own weight on top of the pound of water, and her hands are a blur in front of her as she falls, reaching out for nothing at all. She hits the ground with a thud. A sharp pain carries through her ribs, and the gasp of air she pulls in is punctuated by sharp, biting pain. Her arms shake as she pushes herself up to her feet. When you fly, stay low, or else become the night. 

The tune carries on in her head as she limps, clutching her abdomen, towards the tree where his hut is. Do not stop, do not pause, remember they hit like a brick. The grass provides some safety as the rain pours down. A droplet hits a blade near her, and it bursts, sending a spray over her face. If you get caught in a rainstorm…“hope it’s over quick,” she whispers, focusing on the tune instead of the throbbing pain throughout her entire body. She’s shivering, which exacerbates the feeling, but there’s nothing she can do about it. That droplet soaked her to the bone. Her clothes are drenched, clinging heavily to her frame as she walks. 

That’s when she spots it. A tiny, shimmery blue light. A wisp. She looks up. Rain drop. She throws herself forward, rolling when she hits the ground. A spray of water hits her back, and then she’s running. Every pounding step sends another shock of agony through her. The wisp trails just in front of her, always out of reach, fading and growing. Then it’s gone.

She stops running. There aren’t any more raindrops coming down around her. She can hear them back where she came from, but here…she looks up. The canopy of the tree hangs over her. A shaky breath of relief escapes her lips and she whispers a thanks to the dead. She climbs the roots of the tree and begins the climb up the rope ladder leading to his hut. The latter shakes under her, and her wings flutter nervously the higher she goes on foot. By the time she reaches the top, her entire body is shaking from the exertion and the pain. Pulling herself onto his deck, she collapses with a sigh.

“Shay!” She yells, despite her ribs screaming in protest. “It’s Pairr!”

It only takes seconds for the door to open. Not a surprise. He never sleeps when it rains. “Pairr! What are you doing here?” He sounds panicked.

“I have to tell you something.”

“It couldn’t wait?” He snaps, grabbing her by the arm to hoist her up. When she winces, his approach gentles, and he wraps an arm around her waist to help her inside. “What happened to you? What’s hurt?”

“It’s not obvious?” She asks, laughing slightly and starts to cough.

“It must be internal.” He says, almost to himself, as he escorts her to the kitchen. “Shirt, off.”

“I’m fine.” She says, pulling her shirt over her head- her wings disappearing to compensate. He sorts through one of his drawers, pulling out a glow stick. Then he begins circling her, pressing lightly on specific spots and asking her if it hurts. Every spot does.

“Damn it, Pairr,” he says, “what was so urgent you had to do this to yourself?”

“It’s the monarchs.” She says, jerking when he presses a finger into a particularly painful spot. “I heard they’re pulling all of the doctors back to the capitol.”

“Wings,” he says. She spreads them, glancing back to look at his expression. All of his focus is reserved for her wings. He puts the glow stick behind them to illuminate the subtle lines of their form. He sighs angrily. “They’re stressed. You shouldn’t use them for a couple of days.” He looks up at her. “You see how the lines are shimmering? That isn’t good.”

“Did you not hear me?” She demands, turning on him. “Forget my damn wings, they’re going to expect you to get to the capitol!”

“I already knew.”

She stops, wings falling. “What?”

“I’ve already made preparations. Now, come on. You need to get changed. Luckily, you left some clothes last time you visited.”

“You can’t just drop this on me and act like it’s not a big deal!” She says, following him through the living room and into the laundry room. “I flew through the rain to tell you!”

“And it was a mistake,” he says.

“I wouldn’t have done it if you’d told me! How long did you know? Why did you hide it from me?”

He grabs a set of pajamas and hands them to her. His silence only serves to anger her more. “Answer me, Shay!”

“I don’t know, alright?” He shouts. “Just get changed. I’ll go prepare the paint.” With that, he leaves her alone. She strips herself completely and dries herself as best she can before putting the pajamas on. She’s been looking for this pair for a while. 

Minutes later, she’s sitting on the floor of the living room, shirt discarded again, as Shay draws sigils in paint on her ribs, leg and back. 

“It’s good to have a doctor for a friend,” she jokes.

“You’re going to have to be more careful when I’m gone.” He says.

Her jaw ticks. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.” He replies as he finishes up the last drawing. Slowly, the paint begins to seep into her skin. She can feel things shifting inside her, painfully and with slow precision, setting things right.

“How are you even going to get there? You can’t fly.”

“I don’t know. I’m sure the enforcers will come get me at some point.”

The silence stretches for a long moment, and she slips her shirt back on.

“Did I miss anything?” He asks as she gets up. She stretches, leaning left and right, twisting, even doing a handstand.

“Nope.” She decides once she’s upright again and in no pain.

“Good. Don’t ever do that again.”

“You know I will.” She says, and he sighs.

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

[ieatratsyummy]

They could never make me hate you, complex female character whose reaction to trauma was not pretty and digestible like how people think it should be.

[hurtfortea]

Day Four - touch starvation

Contains: comfort

-previous-

There’s sunlight seeping through the tiny cracks of the boards over the window. It must be midday, and yet Samson hasn’t been able to sleep. He can only think. Play back what he should have done differently. It’s been weeks since he was recaptured.

Weeks since Carter closed him off so completely they barely talk or even look at each other. And it’s starting to really get to Samson. The feeling of being alone, isolated, only serves to make him feel more guilty. This had to be how Carter felt after Samson abandoned him. His hand wanders to the seal over the bite in his neck. The wound aches and itches. It always does. He’s tired. Carter has to be too. Which is why he feels particularly scummy when he climbs out of bed to nudge Carter awake.

“What? What is it?” Carter mumbles, his eyes peeking open just a centimeter before shutting again. “It’s still daytime, leave me alone.”

Samson almost does. He wants to, wants to be able to. Instead he stays where he is and asks the most damning question.

“Can I sleep with you?”

There’s a long pause, and Samson is half convinced Carter won’t answer. “There’s no room.” He replies gruffly.

“On the floor, like before?” Samson lifts the blankets in his hands. “I grabbed my bedding.”

Carter sighs. His lips twitch downwards. But it’s still better than an outright no. Maybe, maybe, if Samson is lucky, he wants this too. When Carter gets up, pulling his blankets along with him, Samson can’t help but smile. They arrange a pallet on the floor and set down their pillows before lying down. Carter rolls away from him, giving him his back. That’s fine. Samson does the same, scooting so that their backs are touching. The warmth from Carter’s body and the slow rise and fall of his breath quickly turns Samson’s brain sluggish. He sleeps uninterrupted throughout the day. Even though they’re on the floor, it’s the most comfortable he’s been in a while.

[hurtfortea]

Day Two - caught in an explosion - alternate prompt

Warning: mild gore (or at least discussion of it), referenced death

Contains: immortal whumpee, magic whump

“You can’t keep me here,” he says, the cuffs attaching him to the patient bed rattling as he pulls on them. “Someone will find me.”

“They don’t know there’s anything to find, sweetheart.” She murmurs.

“No. No, they’ll know. A body can’t just go missing without anyone noticing-”

“What body? You were left in so many little bits, there was nothing to recover.”

He swallows against nothing, his mind reeling backwards like a fish caught in a hook. The deafening sound of the bomb explodes in his ears, his vision is filled with light so bright his head is in instant agony. There’s a flash of pain and then…he shudders, the movement rippling up his spine and sending goosebumps over his skin.

“This isn’t fucking possible,” he says, his voice breaking. “I didn’t…I couldn’t have…”

“Oh, honey…” She coos, pushing her hand through his hair, her nails scraping lightly at his scalp. “It’s okay. You don’t have to accept it yet. But you did die.”

“How?” He demands. “How am I alive?”

“I threaded you back together.” She says, smiling. “Very carefully.” Her fingers linger under his chin, prompting him to look into her pale green eyes. “If you experience any strange pains, let me know. It could be your body unraveling.”

“...Unraveling?”

She smiles sweetly. “Dying.”

[hurtfortea]

Day Three - suicide attempt

Warnings: attempted suicide, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization, guns

Contains: BBU, guard dog, living weapon whump

He stares down at the gun. It feels strange in his hand. Both heavy and light. This is the first time he’s needed a weapon for a job. They’ve always trusted his appearance to be enough to scare off any issues, and if that failed, a small display of force. A fist to fist fight, if necessary. Never this. He’s never had the power to kill someone so easily. He could, of course. He knows all of the ways to kill a person with his bare hands. But this. This isn’t a method that allows him time to change his mind, to switch tactics, to think.

“You’re not made to think.” His handler growls in his mind. “You are to obey and protect, understand, 830?”

His hand flexes around the grip. The metal flashes in the dim light from the window. One second. That would be all it took. His finger slips to the trigger. In the center of the room, his ward sleeps in the bed, snoring. One second. He could do it, and no one would be able to stop him. Unlike every other time, the odds are in his favor.

So he lifts the gun to his temple and- blinding pain spears his head. His grip fails; the gun falls to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. When his vision clears, he’s on the ground. He steadies himself with his hands, staring at the strands of beige fabric that peek out between his gnarled fingers. A wave of nausea comes over him and he swallows back the bile that comes up his throat. 

“You do not harm the property of your owners.” He mutters to himself. With that, he gets up, putting the gun back in its holster at his hip. His ward hasn’t so much as stirred.

[hurtfortea]

Day One - PTSD

Warning: referenced death, (mild gore?), violence and war- flashbacks

He’s walking down the street when a car passes by. They aren’t common in these parts, although this one looks as cheap as the houses. Every couple of seconds it pops as the ignition backfires. It comes down the broken road in hiccups and shudders. He turns his gaze back to the sidewalk ahead of him, stepping over a piece of it that juts up from the ground, when a bang rings out from behind him.

He turns, and the head of the man beside him explodes. His ears ring as he drops into the mud of the trench, covering his head. His eyes squeeze shut, his body so tense his muscles ache and tremble. 

But no more shots come. His eyes open to the sidewalk. Slowly, the sound of his gasping and crying comes into focus. His knees ache and burn. As he pushes himself up, he sees there’s blood seeping through the denim of his jeans. He forces himself to take deeper breaths as his lung strains to fill.

“It’s okay,” he breathes, “I’m okay.” His eyes turn to watch the offending car disappear around a corner.

[hurtfortea]

Which One?

“Please help me.” (whispered)

“Please help me!” (screamed)

“P-Please help me…” (said through tears)

“Please…help me…” (said just before going unconscious)

“Please, help me.” (said calmly but sincerely)

“Please- help- me-“ (said while gasping and panting)

Voting ended onMay 5

[whumpshaped]

#15

inspo from distractible

content: immortal whumpee, medical whump, major character death, asphyxiation whump, frostbite whump, gore

It was so lonely. It had been for quite a while.

Whumpee used to be a social person, despite the… challenges they’d faced due to their… particular quirk. It wasn’t a simple bad habit they could’ve eliminated. See, it was a thing that was inherent to them. They were… immortal.

At first, they didn’t know. When they stopped aging, it wasn’t that noticeable. It was only when their friend group was beginning to step into their forties that it became painfully obvious that they were the same twenty year old from decades ago. They bounced when the discrepancy was starting to raise alarms.

Their next friend group, they tried to fit in again. They knew they would have to leave them eventually, but it was so nice while it lasted. They wanted to make it count. On the side, they were experimenting with their own immortality like one does with any attribute they have. They tried to see how far they could push it without permanent consequences. 

The real test came around the time communication underwent a revolution. It was their fifth friend group, and the secret was found out by one of them. They immediately posted about it on their socials, and Whumpee soon realised that bouncing around the same area only brought more attention to them. They had to leave countries, cross borders. Anything to get away.

They learned new languages. Integrated into new cultures. Their fame always caught up with them.

Soon, it wasn’t them pushing their own boundaries anymore. They’d never forget the day the police kicked down the door of their motel room and brought them in for questioning. Before long, they were smuggled off into a government facility. Their new ‘friend group’ were a bunch of scientist in pristine, white lab coats, running tests on them and seeing where the limits of this ‘immortality’ were.

What they found out was that there were no limits. Whumpee was indestructible. They always survived, they always came back, and they always regenerated. 

The lab was where they met Caretaker. Thinking of them still made them teary-eyed, despite the fact they could barely remember anything about them. Not their face, not their voice; only the memories and emotions. Caretaker was an idealist, a new scientist introduced to the lab. They were the only one that saw them as somewhat human. A person, even. They were the one who helped them escape.

The following years were not peaceful, but they were the best Whumpee had ever had, not counting the years of blissful ignorance before their curse kicked in. Caretaker was gentle with them, washing them of dirt and grime after they’d made their escape. They really wished they could remember their face. They really wished they had some sort of tangible memory. But everything had been destroyed.

Caretaker brought them ice cream and boba tea. They crocheted them a blanket to keep them warm, and they bought shirts with silly custom words on the front. Whumpee could never leave their cellar for fear of being discovered, nor could they talk in anything but hushed tones, but it was nice. It was intimate. Cosy. 

Then Caretaker grew old and frail. Their visits went from daily to every two days, then three, then weekly. They could barely traverse the steep steps that led down into the cellar, and towards the end, Whumpee offered to walk upstairs instead. 

“They’ll catch you if you make the faintest noise,” Caretaker would say then. “You must stay down here, for your own good. You understand that, right? I’m not saying this to be antagonistic.”

“But you can barely walk, and I’m so lonely down here,” they would plead more than once. “You need to be taken care of, too. I could do that. I could take care of you.”

“No, Whumpee. I’m sorry. I just want to protect you, you know that. Let me.”

So Whumpee stayed in the cellar. The visits grew even rarer. Some days, Whumpee wondered if Caretaker even remembered that they were down there. 

One day, the visits stopped entirely.

It took the stench of rotting flesh to reach the cellar for Whumpee to muster up the courage to go upstairs. They found nothing but a decomposing corpse in Caretaker’s bed. It was the first time they ever stuck around long enough to see what awaited mortal humans at the end of their lifespan, and as jarring as it had been at the time, now they couldn’t remember that either. They’d called the hearse and left, trying to evade the government on their own.

Years passed. Decades passed. Centuries. Millenia. Whumpee saw humanity rise and fall. They couldn’t exactly pinpoint the time the last human died, but when they hadn’t seen one in decades, they kind of assumed they were all gone. The brightly shining sun exploded and turned into a red giant before collapsing in on itself and becoming a white dwarf. It had been cold ever since. Cold and dark. 

Whumpee curled up a little tighter, trying to stop the chattering of their teeth. They hadn’t breathed oxygen in billions of years. Their body was used to a constant state of asphyxiation now.

Would there ever be a new civilization? Something akin to humans? And if there would, would they treat them all the same? Or even worse? Or would there be a new Caretaker? 

They were kind of glad there was little to no light. What they could see of their body had turned pitch black from constant frostbite. Some days their fingers fell off, some days a whole leg got detached. They didn’t want to see any of that happen.

So they went back to waiting. Waiting for another billion years for someone, anyone to spot them in a dark corner of the universe; waiting for another crocheted blanket and some boba tea.

[hurtfortea]

Decided to have some fun designing a different method of delivering these prompts!

For any eight days you choose- or random unconnected days ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ whatever works best for you! As long as you’re writing, it’s a win!

Prompts:

Day One: freezing / can’t breathe / “help me”

Day Two: “you’re safe” / flames / false kindness

Day Three: being watched / dark / exhausted

Day Four: anger / “I’m sorry” / shaking

Day Five: comfort / intimate / distrust

Day Six: violence / guilt / begging

Day Seven: hurt / quiet / jumpy

Day Eight: crying / infection / abandoned

Alternates:

Bleeding

Drowning

“This is the last time.”

Far away

“I can’t.”

Holding on

Bruises

Drug use

Also, if you’d like to share whatever you make with me, use the tag #whumptraumacarespecialist; I’ll do my best to leave a like and a comment on every one I see!

[tracingthetapestry]

whumpee who knows that there's no one out there looking for them. they doubt they even made it to a local daily's columns, not even wedged in a tiny gap between the large spread of commercials. people like them go missing all the time, after all. their employee probably fired them after the first two shifts they missed, and their landlord has already been threatening to evict them for a while now. they have no family to lose. no friend or coworker who remembers them beyond their name.

so they take it. they become the perfect canvas for their whumper who inflicts pain like paint on their skin and in their psyche. any humiliation that the whumper conjures up does not compare to the idea of being dead with no one to remember them. and they know that even to the whumper they are just a passing fancy: someone who takes it and takes it well. after all, the whumper did not even bother asking for their name. whumpee knows that there is no one coming for them, and their whumper makes sure to twist that knife in properly. they make sure to remind them that there is no point in escaping, because what is there to escape to? and the whumpee believes it, utterly and completely, terrified and grief-stricken.

[willa-whumps]

Hmmm tasty.

Pair this with a whumper who is or grows obsessed with whumpee.

Maybe whumpee runs when the opportunity arises because they want to feel the sun. Maybe whumper chases them down like a blood hound. Maybe whumper realizes they can never be without whumpee again.

[thatwasfunnypleaselaugh]

I need me a character who's dying and the only thing they do about it is try and comfort the person desperate to save them

[ziptiesnfries]

Affirmations

Based on @victimeyez 's pet whump prompts

Content warnings: BBU adjacent, pet whump, institutionalized whump, electrocution, biting, finger whump, blood

There’s nothing quite like the terror of waking up and being unable to remember a single thing about yourself, every strained attempt to remember only resulting in you smacking into the steel vault door that’s suddenly right where your cherished childhood memories used to be. Or, where they probably were, anyway. I wouldn’t have known, because I couldn’t fucking remember. All I could feel was this cold pit in my stomach, the sensation that I’d collapsed in on myself like a black hole, that I wasn’t anyone anymore.

Yep, there’s really nothing quite like it. Which is why there’s also the godforsaken sequel: being molded into someone—something—you’re absolutely certain you don’t want to be.

“Your pain is what makes you useful,” the trainer intoned. “Say it.”

“Fuck you—” The cattle prod jabbed into my stomach. My arms yanked at the manacles suspending me, instinct driving me to protect my torso. That was the only thing driving me, I thought numbly, my jaw clenched against the pain. Instinct. I didn’t have much else.

When it stopped, I sagged in my chains with my arms pulling at their sockets, and a bead of sweat ran down my nose and plopped to the tile floor, right in front of the trainer’s boots. The tip of her cattle prod, still warm, pushed up under my chin. I flinched upright. She let out a dry chuckle. “I could do this all day, pet. But I doubt you can.”

“Underestimate me again,” I muttered, “I dare y—”

A short, sharp zap to the sternum shut me up, at least for a second. “Your pain,” she repeated, seizing my chin in her hand, “is what makes you useful. Say it three times, and this session ends, alright? That’s a pretty clear win condition. You’d have to be stupid not to accept it.”

I loosened my jaw, made like I was going slack with defeat. “M … my …”

Her fingers slipped on my sweaty skin as her grip tightened. “Yeah?” she prompted.

I jerked my head to the side, and my teeth closed around flesh and bone. I tasted blood before she screeched, and before she had the presence of mind to electrocute me again. The prod drove deep into my stomach, but I clenched my jaw down harder against the pain, against the screaming in my ear. You’re gonna hurt with me, motherfucker.

Finally I couldn’t stand the electricity anymore. I released her mangled fingers, and her blood dripped down my chin. She reared back and didn’t waste a second in driving the cattle prod into my stomach, zapping me so long it began to burn. “You son of a bitch!” Her boot drove into my leg, and as it buckled, the prod dragged up my chest.

I was seeing stars by the time it ended, colors swirling in my vision like they were trying to brighten up the plain tile of my cell. The trainer hissed in pain, flexing her injured hand. I couldn’t see how good I’d gotten her, but I could still taste her blood, so I had to assume it was pretty goddamn good. I spit some of it out by her boots.

She just glared at me. “You don’t eat until you say your affirmations, you goddamn brat. Enjoy starving.” She hooked her cattle prod into her belt and left, slamming the door behind her.

I wiped my face on my shoulder and grinned after her. Facility: zero. Me: one.

[whumpay]

WHUMPAY 2026 - THE TIME HAS COME

Welcome to Whumpay 2026! Up above you will see the basic prompt list and down below the cut you will see it written out in a list as well the rules and the mini challenges/alternate prompts!

Rules are the same as usual -

You only have to use one prompt of the prompts for each day! But you’re welcome to use multiple if you want to. You can also combine days and it counts for both.

I know the description of the blog says it’s a writing event, but if you want to draw or make other kinds of content, that’s cool too.

Have fun, tag content warnings (such as noncon, graphic violence, etc) and try not to be crushed by the mortifying ordeal of posting your writing.

The mini challenges this year also function as your alternate prompts, you can replace a day with one of them if none of the prompts that day work for you.

This is a pretty chill event so you can start posting whenever but I’ll be reblogging posts made to the #Whumpay2026 tag throughout May. 

If you have any questions or need ideas, send an ask!

If you use Ai I’ll hunt you for sport.

and an extra special thanks to everyone who suggested prompts.

MAIN PROMPT LIST:

Day One - Accidentally Hurting A Friend / “Nothing’s wrong, stop asking!.” / PTSD  

Day Two - Sole Survivor / “Please don’t leave me.” / Trapped Underground 

Day Three - Blackmail / “Don’t make me do this.” / Suicide Attempt

Day four - Stockholm Syndrome / “Stop fighting it.” / Touch Starvation

Day Five - Came Back Wrong / “What have you done to me?” / Body Horror

Day Six - Rescued Too Late / Unable To Speak / Mouth Sewn Shut

Day Seven - Gaslighting / “Why did you lie to me?” / Incest

Day Eight - Chemical Restraint / “It’s for your own good.” / Caretaker Burnout

Day Nine - Excessive Drinking / “You’re going to kill yourself doing this.” / Grief 

Day Ten - Hiding An Injury / “It’s not as bad as it looks.” / Reopened Wound

Day Eleven -  Protecting An Injury / “Look at me. Deep breaths.” / Internal Bleeding

Day Twelve - Whumper Turned Whumpee / “You thought I wouldn’t notice?” / Trauma Reveal

 Day Thirteen - Anger Born Of Worry / “Never do that again.” / Appendicitis 

Day Fourteen - Shared Pain / “This is all your fault!” / Broken Ribs 

Day Fifteen - Forced To Watch / “No one is coming to save you.” / Waterboarding

Day Sixteen - Crying Wolf / “Why won’t you believe me?” / Hallucinations

Day Seventeen - Self-Defense Killing / “Does it ever get easier?” / Adrenaline Crash

Day Eighteen - Fingers in Wound / “Wait, what are you—don’t—!” / Arterial Bleeding

Day Nineteen - Makeshift Weapon  / “Don’t come any closer!” / Backed Into A Corner

Day Twenty - Living Weapon / ‘I know you’re in there somewhere’ Fight /  Head Injury

Day Twenty-One - Sadistic Choice / “Please, I’ll do anything…” / Deathbed Confessions

Day Twenty-Two - Feed A Cold, Starve A Fever / “How long have you felt like this?” / Stress-Induced Illness

Day Twenty-Three - Last-Minute Rescue / “Oh god, that’s a lot of blood.” / Loss Of Extremity

Day Twenty-Four - Hurting To Help / “I swear, I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to.” / Bone Malunion 

Day Twenty-Five - Betrayal / Collapsing In The Middle Of A Sentence / Self-Surgery

Day Twenty-Six - Villain Whumpee / “Why are you doing this to me?” / Contrapasso

Day Twenty-Seven - Mental Breakdown  / “I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” / Withdrawal

Day Twenty-Eight -Forced Transformation / “This isn’t what I wanted.” /  Dehumanization

Day Twenty-Nine -  Field Medicine / Using Real Name For Impact / Barbed Wire 

Day Thirty - Enemy To Caretaker / “If anyone touches you, I’ll kill them.” / Failed Escape

Day Thirty-One - Time Loop / “I can’t do this anymore!”  / Character Death

MINI CHALLENGE #1 : FIVE DAYS

Day One - Hanahaki Disease 

Day Two - “I don’t remember the last time I saw you smile.”  

Day Three - Overworked

Day Four - Chronic Pain

Day Five - Fever-Induced Delirium 

MINI CHALLENGE #2 : NINE DAYS

Day One - Caught In An Explosion

Day Two - Passing Out From Pain

Day Three - Loss Of Sense(s)

Day Four - Coughing Up Blood

Day Five - “Why won’t you just leave me alone?!”

Day Six - Near Death Experience 

Day Seven - Hurt Caretaker

Day Eight - Medical Emergency

Day Nine - Nerve Damage

[hurtfortea]

Whumpee desperately trying not to forget the address they saw on the front of the house as they spend their days locked up in the basement.

[hurtfortea]

“My entire world was destroyed in one night.

And no one even noticed.”

[hurtfortea]

She is quiet as he wraps her hands in cloth from wrist to fingers tips.

“How are you feeling?” He asks. “Ready?”

She pulls back her hand as he finishes wrapping it, flexing her fingers. “No.”

“Then get that way.” He says, standing. “Because you’re getting on that mat in ten minutes, whether you’re ready or not.”