"Do you have ANY IDEA how close you came to... t-to..."
"Nothing, sorry, I just... thought you were getting better..."
"The meds make you loopy for a reason, sweetheart. Just let it happen, it's okay."
"Who the fuck did this to you?"
"Wow, you... really downplayed this over the phone."
*Bursts through the door, out of breath* "I came as soon as I heard!!"
"You know what the doctors told me while you were still unconscious? They said that if I hadn't found you and called an ambulance, you wouldn't have made it through the night."
"I know you think hospitalization was unnecessary, but you weren't the one who had to find their [partner/best friend] passed out on the ground in a pool of their own blood/vomit."
"God, your poor face..."
"That cough still doesn't sound good."
"Don't think you're going right back to work once you're out of here. You won't be walking on that injury for a while, I'll be spoiling you rotten~"
"You can go back to sleep if you want, I'm not going anywhere."
The thing about a good character flaw is that it has to be the same thing as their greatest strength just turned up too high. the person who loves deeply and therefore controls. the person who sees everything and therefore trusts nothing. the person who is so loyal they lose themselves. there are no clean villains and no clean heroes and once you understand that in fiction you can't unsee it in people. everyone is just their best quality at the wrong volume.
An injured character has a sudden spasm of pain and can only gasp, freeze, and clutch at the nearest object as they ride it out, body curled and tense against the surge of pain washing through them, hands clenched and clinging to whatever's closest for an anchor until the pain subsides.
Character who is being visited by family or friends in prison, who knows they can’t reveal how they’re being hurt and mistreated, either for fear of reprisal or not wanting to upset their loved ones, smiling and nodding and saying it’s alright they’ll be out soon (even if they know they won’t)
Recipient of a third-degree burn in front of witnesses. IE, "I won't take that shit from a man dressed like a ghostbuster"= "Gostbuster" or "Buster"
A distinctive personal feature or quirk. IE, "Have you noticed how that new guy is always eating bell peppers?" = "Peppers", or "That chick has a massive forehead" = "Forehead".
An embarrassing thing you said or did. IE, "Did you seriously call Dale "Dad"?" = "Junior", "Baby boy", "Sport"
A game of name-mutation telephone. IE, "Donny Clyde" = "Bonnie 'n' Clyde" = "Bonnie" = "Bon-bon".
Irony. IE, calling a tall person "short stack" or a particularly dour person "sunshine".
A 'wrong place wrong time' one-off incident. IE, "He spilled oil on his pants and had to borrow a pair that were way too big and Jim saw him with the waistband pulled up to his nipples and called him 'Parachute'"
A batman-style origin story but not in a cool way: "One time she hit a deer with the company car and when she called the boss to tell her she was crying so hard we thought she was dying" = "Bambi"
The incredibly rare 'admiration' nickname, bourne only once a millennia under the light of the blood moon: "We saw him lift a truck once so now we call him 'iron man'"
Extremely juicy scenario: Whumper who is currently holding Whumpee captive sees Caretaker out in public, just by coincidence. Caretaker is exhausted, wretched, losing it over Whumpee being missing.....but has no idea that Whumper is the one that has them.
Whumper, meanwhile, knows exactly who Caretaker is and decides to play with them a bit. Knowing that Caretaker sees them as just another stranger, they needle them: "You look tired. Rough week?"
this is such a delicious question to me, recovery is the best part of whump to me. i love a lot of parts of whump, but recovery - the hard recovery, the rocky recovery, the up and down recovery, the early fragile recovery, the painful recovery - is where it is at for me.
some assorted bits and bobs that i enjoy in a variety of circumstances :)
whumpee's injuries are healing slowly but surely and whumpee is impatient - trying to do things too fast, too carelessly. they hurt themself, make things worse, and they're so ashamed when they just end up needing more help.
shame in general. shame in recovery, shame for the trauma they experienced, especially if it was abuse or sexual violence based. shame for needing other people. shame for other people knowing. for being pathetic, and needy, and weak. dirty. ruined.
touch. touch, touch, touch. the necessary touch - doctors, medical professionals, their friends when they need their injuries treated and are too weak to move and care for themselves. and the other kinds of touch. caring touch. soothing touch, comforting touch. i love every manifestation of it. whether whumpee struggles to accept it or is desperate to cling to it like it's air. i'm always all about touch. especially touch starvation, when it's so acute and powerful they feel just sick with it, and sick at getting it - at needing it, and getting what they need.
whumpee finally decides to tell someone. not someone who found out without their decision, someone who interrupted the whump while it was happening or was told by someone else. whumpee decides to with their own voice, of their own choice, tell someone.
struggling with sleep. whumpee who can't sleep in their bed for some reason - remembering being assaulted, remembering being chained down, just not feeling safe. they get up and they walk, all hours of the night. they explore the city. they work out. they run. they sit, quietly, in the dark. they show up at a friend's place and can't explain what they're doing there, they just collapse in relief when offered a place to sleep beside another person.
whumpee needing to talk about it. they need to talk about what happened to them. they just- it's hard. it's really, really hard. but it's easier in the dark. it's such a specific concept, but i love a scene where whumpee is able to talk to someone they trust because it's dark - outside, in a room with the lights off, in the car at night. something about not being able to see each other just makes it easier. it makes it possible to talk.
whumpee who has to become a caretaker because of circumstances
whumpee who has to look after a fellow whumpee because the other has it so much worse
whumpee who has to look after an injured whumper because "you don't get to fucking die before I drag your sorry ass to a courtroom"
whumpee who has to look after themselves, shaking and quietly whispering to themselves that they're okay, they're so brave, they're not gonna let anything else happen...
whumpee who is tasked to care for other whumpees by whumper so whumper doesn't have to replace them, under threat of injury
whumpee who's been out of the dangerous situation for years and suddenly finds out another whumpee has just emerged from a similar situation, and they do everything in their power to make things hurt less for this new whumpee
whumpee who underwent highly specific circumstances (eg: poisoning with a rare poison) and is the only one who knows how to treat it, and so it's their obligation to help out others who are suffering in the same way
whumpee who decides to look after an injured/traumatised whumpee because the whumper used them as bait / they feel guilty about the situation the other whumpee is in
multiple whumpees in recovery taking it in turns to care for each other because no one else understands
defiant whumpee taking care of / covering for compliant whumpee or vice versa ..
when the sick character is begging and pleading and calling for their companion, who's right there beside them trying to shush and soothe and reassure them, but they're too out of it to register their presence or recognise them even when the companion is clutching the fevered character's hand and stroking their hair and talking softly to them
This was one of the first whump tropes that really got to me as a little baby whumper back in the day XD
It's the pure helplessness of someone begging and calling out for someone else and desperately needing them in whatever fears they're fighting in their head...meanwhile that person is Right There and feeling equally helpless that they can be so close yet so unable to console their friend </3 </3
Whumpee, eyes on anything trying to find a distraction from the men surrounding them and the guns pointed at them, had found solace in this incredible temple they were brought to. Their eyes flicked about, to the statues, the art on the walls and ceilings, the scrolls, the history of this place.
But they flinched out of their trance at the mention of their title. They clutched their bag tight against their chest, almost hoping like it could be a shield, trying to calm themself down. They looked around to see if maybe, hopefully, he was speaking to someone else, but all eyes were on them. Reluctantly, they brought themself back to the situation at hand. “Wh- what? Me?”
“Don’t space out please, it’s time to put that brain to work.” Whumper extended a hand. “I’m going to need your help.”
Whumpee glanced up to their team members flanking them, shooting silent pleas for help. But their hands were tied. Literally. All they could do was give them an exhausted nod and a wry smile, telling them that it was okay. But it wasn’t.
Deep breaths. And a cautious step forward. They ignored the extended hand.
Whumper grinned, raised his arm and watched Whumpee flinch a little, but merely draped that arm around their shoulders, lightly pulling them along to the center of the room.
“If you hurt them, Whumper, I swear—” Caretaker started with a growl.
Whumper merely gave a patronizing smile and squeezed Whumpee’s shoulder, making them spring up.
“I’m sure they won’t give me a reason to hurt them.” Then he turned to Whumpee and whispered, “Will you?”
“No,” Whumpee immediately said.
“Good! Because all I need from you is a translation of this ancient text. After all, that little niche is your expertise, now isn’t it?”
“Oh…” Whumpee stuttered. “I—I don’t know who told you that. I think that’s highly exaggerated…”
Whumper laughed and slapped them on the shoulder. “Now now, professor, no need for false modesty here. After all…” His voice dropped a tone. “You promised not to give me a reason to hurt you.”
Whumpee made a soft little squeaking sound. They stopped in front of a wall with strange glyphs etched all over. “Oh!” they said again, voice unnaturally high. “Oh, you mean this language. Well, yes,” they chuckled awkwardly. “Yes, that is my expertise, yes.”
“See, I knew we got the right person. I trust you can make a correct translation. And I know you to be a straightforward and honest person, am I right?" he continued in an upbeat tone. "So…” He spun Whumpee towards him, away from admiring the etched wall and saw the excited glint leave their eyes and be replaced with dull fear when he forced them to look at him.
“Don’t lie to me. Hm?”
-
General whump tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @treasureguardingdragon @morning-star-whump @jumpywhumpywriter @stars-hide-our-fires @whumplicity @whumpasaurus101 @theloveofwhump @turquoise-peach
i will ensure you stay alive above all else. even if what i do to make it happen is horrendous. even if it violates all your wishes or moral principles. even if you can never look at me the same way again, even if you hate me for it. because at least if you hate me it means youre alive
"You don't have to do this." Caretaker urged as they followed Whumpee down the hall towards the holding cells. Leader tried to give them a death glare without Whumpee catching on But they saw the flash of Leader's hardening expression in their periphery anyway.
It didn't matter. Leader had given them the option too, when they had called them to their office earlier that day.
"We caught someone." They had said sullenly. "From Whumper's organization. But we can't identify them. It's none of Whumper's known henchmen and they won't talk to us no matter how we ask them to."
Whumpee was under no illusion about how Leader had been "asking" the prisoner to identify themselves. But it was hard to feel bad when the mention of Whumper's name still sent chills of fear throughout their whole body. Even all these years later.
"Some of their equipment is old. From around the time we rescued you. Would you be willing to take a look? See if you know them?"
This guy must have been bad. Leader was grasping at straws asking Whumpee to try and identify them. They knew how scared Whumpee still got of Whumper. How knowing they had been dealing with them, or captured one of their henchmen never failed to send Whumpee into a spiral of nightmares and panic attacks for days, sometimes weeks. They were usually so careful to keep Whumpee out of that end of the business. And anyway, Whumpee had already given them the names of all the people in Whumper's organization that they knew about. Names, descriptions, everything they would need to identify someone. This couldn't have been someone Whumpee encountered in those days. They would have figured out who they were already.
But Whumpee agreed anyway. Maybe it was an attempt to face their fears. To try and heal something still left broken inside their mind from all those years as Whumper's lab rat. Maybe they were scared that if they didn't Leader would loose their patience and start "asking questions" the way they did with their prisoners (Caretaker wouldn't let that happen. Caretaker would kill Leader before they let Whumpee get hurt again. But still, the fear was always there). There was something inside Whumpee that just told them they needed to do this.
"It's fine." Whumpee lied as they all came to a stop outside the room where the prisoner was being held.
There was no way Caretaker and Leader couldn't see the way Whumpee's hands were shaking. Or the sweat beading on their forehead and the back of their neck. Leader chose to ignore the signs that Whumpee wasn't as okay with this as they claimed, but Caretaker looked them up and down with a concerned expression. They opened their mouth to speak but Whumpee continued before they could.
"Let's get this over with."
The interrogation room was purposefully warm. With obnoxiously flickering florescent lights. There was a square of bars in the center of the room, coming up from the floor and disappearing into the ceiling only an inch or two apart. Too close together for someone to squeeze through. They surrounded a heavy, metal table with two chairs on either side. All three were bolted to the floor.
Whumpee hadn't been in one of these rooms in years. They reminded them too much of some of the rooms Whumper used to keep them in, and that only made their hands shake more as they entered.
The figures in the room made their hands shake too. Two heavily armed guards standing on either side of what appeared to be a humanoid shaped bruise sitting in one of the chairs. The bruise's ankles were locked to the chair legs with heavy rings, and its wrists to the table with the same contraptions. Its head was resting on the table top obscuring their face and showing only tufts of hair so matted with dried blood you couldn't tell the color. If it weren't for audible, ragged breathing emitting from the thing at the table, Whumpee would have thought it was dead.
Whumpee had been in similar situations to that thing before. Imprisioned. Tied down. Barely alive. Broken. Whumper had done that too them. Sometimes with their own hands. Sometimes through ordering their henchmen to. Henchmen like the thing in the chair.
Whumpee clung onto that thought to keep themselves from feeling sympathy for the thing. It was in Whumpee's place now. A place it had put Whumpee. It was broken, and scared, and couldn't hurt anyone.
After taking a deep breathe, Whumpee indicated to Leader that they were ready to see the bruise's face. Leader nodded to the guards and one of them grabbed the bruise by the hair and yanked it's head back.
At first, Whumpee thought there was nothing to recognize. The face was too bruised and swollen to look like anything, much less someone Whumpee hadn't seen in years. And so bruised and hurt themselves when they had that they couldn't have focused on remembering. But then the thing in the chair let out a pained grunt in protest to their treatment, and was Whumpee crazy, or did it sound familiar? Then Whumpee noticed a cut trickling out of the bruise's hairline. Or was it already a scar? One Whumpee never thought they'd see again.
A chill ran down Whumpee's spine and their stomach twisted into an anxious knot. Despite themselves, they stepped forward and pressed their face against the bars to get a closer look. Over either of their shoulders both Leader and Caretaker made small noises of protest.
In the chair, the prisoner tried to blink one of their eyes open. They were only successful for a second but it was enough for Whumpee to see a flash of blue standing out against the blood shot sclera.
"Can I get a closer look?" They didn't expect their voice to be so steady given the circumstances. An anxious pit was forming in their stomach and they could feel an all too familiar sense of unreality poking at the edges of their thoughts. The kind they got when they woke up from their nightmares and couldn't quite convince themselves that they were awake, and all the good things that had happened to them actually had. Behind the bars. the bruised prisoner was turning towards the sound of their voice and trying to open their eye again.
"I don't think that would be a good idea," Leader said lowly. "they've already escaped their restraints twice. And -"
"I know," Whumpee cut Leader off with a certainty of their statement that they didn't even realize they felt until the words were out of their mouth. Leader was probably going to say that the prisoner had beat someone half to death when they escaped. Or maybe even killed someone. But they had turned their head in such a way that Whumpee could see that that cut on their head was definitely a scar. And they just couldn't believe it.
"I'll be okay."
Begrudgingly, Leader lowered a few of the bars so Whumpee could go to the table the prisoner was restrained at. Caretaker offered to go in with them, but Whumpee needed to do this on their own. The fear was waning, slowly, But their heartrate was increasing with every step they took. And the sense of unreality was threatening to engulf them.
The prisoner had finally managed to keep one of those blue eyes open. And followed Whumpee with it as they made their way to the table and sat across from them leaning all the way forward in the cold metal chair to get as close to them as they could. Both of the guards drew their hand guns. One pressed theirs to the back of the prisoner's head when they tried to slide their hands ever so slightly closer to Whumpee in their tight restraints. Blood oozed from underneath the rough metal. Neither Whumpee, nor the captive noticed the fresh blood, or the gun.
The captive managed to crack a smile. It was a terrifying expression. But that was just because the action had reopened a split in their lip, and their teeth were covered in blood. Probably from biting their cheek or breaking a molar during the ruthless beatings they'd endured over the past few hours. Miraculously, their canines were still intact though. They had prominent eye teeth. But it was the snaggled front two that made Whumpee's heart stutter to a stop for a few sinking seconds.
"I never... thought I'd see you again," Living Weapon rasped in a weak, labored voice. "You look good... safe."
The room thrummed with a nervous energy. Leader and Caretaker were whispering to each other on the other side of the bars. Now both the guards had their guns pressed to Living Weapon's head. Whumpee's heart had started to beat again. But they thought it was going to jump out of their chest. The unreality had washed over them completely now and they had to vigorously fight the urge to reach out and run their hands over the face to prove to themselves that they weren't dreaming. The scar on their hairline. The sad, watery blue eye. The toothy grin that rarely held any emotion in it now flashing with something almost like actual happiness.
guy with depression: it's so sad when they're doing the same thing over and over again insisting this time it'll be different. it sure would suck if time loops were real!
"I think we're safe for now," Whumpee said, turning away from the window and tucking away their weapon. "We can rest here until the Team comes to pick us up."
Caretaker's brow furrowed as they watched Whumpee cross the room. Something was off. Their movements, their tone, their breathing—something was wrong.
And there it was—the faintest hint of a wince as Whumpee turned to face Caretaker, the barest sign of discomfort as their hand made a minute movement towards their side.
Before Whumpee could blink, Caretaker was lunging at them, yanking up their shirt and exposing the blood-soaked, makeshift bandages on Whumpee's torso.
my love language is giving a character severe internal injuries and having them near death in a hospital bed while their loved one cries and strokes their hair
