CW: captivity whump, bound and gagged, implied drugging
Whumpee strained against the chains bolted to the wall, holding their hands behind their back, ignoring how their shoulders screamed in protest. Their bare feet slid against the floor, unable to find a stable footing, and they fell to their knees again. They’d lost track of how many times they’d tried, and failed, to dislodge the chains from the wall. They couldn’t get the leverage they needed with a slippery floor.
They groaned in frustration through the heavy gag, several layers of tape and cloth culminating in a thick bandana that had covered both their nose and mouth, making it harder to breathe. A lump formed in their throat as they thought of how utterly trapped they were, tears pricking at the corners of their eyes. Were they really this pathetic? There had to be a way out.
Their knees. Even if they couldn’t get the full power of their thighs, their pants could perhaps work for traction. They sat back on their haunches and strained against the chain, grunting through their gag. They heard a weak link in the chain begin to creak, and they shouted as they finally broke free. They tumbled forwards, hands still chained behind them and mouth still heavily gagged, but no longer anchored in place. Their breathing was heavy and labored as they stepped backwards over their chained wrists
Finally, they thought, reaching for their gag and yanking the bandana off. They took a deep breath as they felt around the edges of the tape, trying to find the end so they could pull it off. They were so focused on removing their gag that they didn’t hear footsteps heading towards them.
The cell door opened, revealing whumper on the other side, looking down at them with their arms crossed.
“Whumpee, I’m so disappointed,” whumper cooed. “So disobedient. I’ll have to secure you better, won’t I?”
“Mmmmnnnff!” Whumpee glared up at their captor, before lunging for them. Whumper dodged their attack easily and grabbed the collar of their shirt before slamming them into the wall face first. Whumpee shrieked and squirmed, but was helpless against their grip.
“And you were so close too,” whumper continued. “I hope you’re happy with yourself.”
A small prick jabbed into whumpee’s neck, and reality began to melt around them. Their eyes fluttered as they tried to remain conscious, but they couldn’t focus. Reality shifted and swirled, and they felt so many hands grabbing at their arms and neck and legs…
When they finally came to, whumper was sitting in front of them cross-legged, a large grin across their face. Whumpee’s neck was sore, as was their shoulders, which had been wrenched even further behind them than before, their elbows and wrists bound tight and duct tape binding their hands into useless balls. Several chains criss-crossed over their torso now, locking them securely to the wall. Their clothes had been cut away as well, leaving them in their undergarments. A thick leather muzzle had been locked over their face, squishing down their heavy gag even more.
“Mm… mmmmph!” Whumpee’s eyes had widened as they struggled against their much sturdier restraints, unable to find any leeway with them.
“I’m not done with you,” Whumper said. “You’re still very important to my plans, and I can’t have you escaping. So you’re staying right there until I need you again, comprende?”
“Mmmnnn… nnnnnn!!!” They wiggled, but were ultimately unsuccessful.
“Be good!” Whumper blew them a kiss before walking out and slamming the door behind them.
The lock clicked with finality, leaving Whumpee alone and trapped
Caretaker accidentally touching Whumpee a certain way that sets them off. They’re cuddling and Caretaker is absentmindedly caressing Whumpee’s cheek with the back of their hand, their hand slips a little lower, Caretaker's fingers brushing Whumpee’s neck.
Whumpee recoils, shrinking back instinctively, their eyes widening.
“I— fuck, I’m- I’m sorry, Whumpee.” Caretaker raises their hands in the air.
Whumpee touches their own neck. Looks back at Caretaker, trying to control their breathing.
I’m not in danger. I’m fine. It’s just Caretaker.
Whumpee slowly crawls back to Caretaker’s arms, tentatively, hoping Caretaker would still want them, longing for that closeness again.
Relief settles over them as Caretaker welcomes them back, arms wrapping gently around Whumpee.
“I’m so—“
“No need to apologize.” Whumpee said. “…you’re the best. Y-you know what I need… and you keep me safe.”
"What's talking them so long?" Caretaker was nervously looking at the time on their phone. They were starting to get worried. Whumpee should have arrived at the party by now.
"Waiting for someone?" Whumper had approached Caretaker from behind without them noticing.
Caretaker turned around and looked at Whumper with wide eyes, speechlessly. They knew Whumper. Not well, but they knew Whumpee didn't like them. Knew what they did to their friend.
Before Caretaker could respond Whumper reacted to the music changing in the background with a smile. "Oh, isn't that Whumpees favorite song? A shame they they're not here yet."
Caretaker assumed the worst. "What did you do to them?"
"Nothing... yet. How about we dance to pass the time while we wait?"
Before Caretaker had the chance to react Whumper had already grabbed them by the wrist and started dragging them towards the dance floor. "Let me go!" They tried to pull away.
Whumper only pulled them closer. "Play along now. We don't want anyone to get hurt, now do we?"
Whumper started moving along to the sound of the music dragging Caretaker along with them who was too afraid to fight back afraid of what Whumper might do to them if they tried or worse what they might do to Whumpee. As the two of them kept dancing along to the music they drew more and attention to themselves until pretty much everyone at the party was looking at them.
As the song started to get to an end Whumper decided on a move for the grand finale. They pulled Caretaker in close and in awe of everyone present forced a long drawn out kiss on Caretakers lips.
Whumpee had just arrived at the party. Their bike had broken down on the way there and they had to walk the rest of the way. They were worried Caretaker would be mad at them for being late so they hurried to find them. As they moved past the other party attendees they could make out murmurs about Caretakers activities on the dance floor with..
..Whumper!?
What was going on? Whumpee rushed to the dance floor as fast as they could. Only to arrive just in time to see Caretaker, their best friend who was there for them in their darkest times and whomst they would blindly trust with their life, embracing and 'passionately' making out with Whumper, their worst nightmare who had tormented them for all those years. Whumpee could barely hold back their tears. How could Caretaker do this to them? Why would Caretaker do this to them?
When Whumper finally let go of Caretaker Whumpee had already left.
Day 14 of Whumplover's Whumpmonth. Click here to see all of my entries!
Prompts used: Shared trauma | Prison cell | "I didn't know where else to go." | Alt: Painful transformation
Song: "Now That You're Gone", the Raconteurs
CW: pretty much just what the prompts say!
Dread settled heavily on Leader's heart, a painful smothering as it pitifully kept beating along. They had kept their face perfectly blank and emotionless as they received the news, as though the second-hand guilt wasn't going to be the death of them. They could hear the clamor of other prisoners as they were lead back towards a holding cell. The prison had never seemed so dark before—surely it hadn't been this dark before? The idea of the team's former sunshine being here only seemed to accentuate the pervasiveness of the dimly lit corners.
Their eyes finally landed on the person they were here for. "I've got it from here." They waved off the escort, unable to look away from Whumpee slumped against the wall asleep. What a painful transformation. The light and soul of the team, the one to keep all of them going… it was like everything that they were made of had gone on and died without them, leaving an empty shell that didn't know how to stop the momentum of a downward spiral. Leader's throat tightened, lips thinning as they took a deep breath and finally approached. Waking them up would cross a threshold, one they wished they could linger at longer before stepping through into whatever horrors this conversation was going to bring. "Whumpee."
The mess of a person jerked awake, a sharp gasp escaping their lips as their eyes jumped over their surroundings. Leader could almost swear that shame flashed across Whumpee's face as they realized who was looking at them through the bars, but it was quickly replaced with a haunting replica of Whumpee's usual smile. If Leader didn't know them so well, they might have bought it but there was a new fragility to it, like anything as jarring as kindness would be enough to shatter the facade. "Come to check out my new barracks? The camaraderie in here is kind of ass, but I'm sure they're just hazing me. I just know I'm gonna break through and they're gonna love me. Hey, maybe—"
Leader interrupted, determined not to let Whumpee drag the conversation down. "What the hell are you doing?"
A short laugh cracked out of Whumpee. "I didn't know where else to go. You know they'll give you three square meals a day and they don't even judge if you're fucked up?"
"You could have come to me. I could have gotten you help," Leader tried, deciding to ignore the jab. "We went through that together, you know. I understand what you're feeling."
Whumpee stood up, approaching the bars with jerky, unsettling movements giving the impression they didn't care where their limbs were or what they were doing. They grabbed the heat-sucking metal, pressing their face into the bars and making direct eye contact with Leader. Leader couldn't tell what was going on in those eyes, except for perhaps a warning that what was about to come next wouldn't be pretty. "You understand? You know, I think that carnage was too ugly for you to sit with. I think you tidied up in your head and swept it all out. If you hadn't, you'd be right in here with me. You can't even stand what you're looking at right now," they hissed as Leader finally broke eye contact and looked away, shame flushing their cheeks. "You can't even let yourself feel the emotions of seeing me as anything but perfect. You hate that I'm not handling it well and that my outside finally matches how I feel inside. Helping would mean getting your hands dirty, and that's beyond you and your perfect control."
Leader had stood and taken the verbal assault, breathing deeply. That felt… uncalled for. "It's called healthy coping mechanisms. You should try them sometime. You know where to find me if you do," they said firmly, making a split second decision to turn their back and start walking away.
2024 Whumptober 01: Race Against the Clock | Search Party | Panic Attack | “If only we could hold on”
With each step Washington feels his knees threaten to buckle beneath him, feels his chest burn with every breath. He staggers forward through the thick woods. The cool air clings to his frame and despite his size, his heavy cloak, he is chilled to the bone. An hour ago Washington might have believed the fever had broken at last, but every sign now surges back and steals strength. Every breath. Every step.
But Alexander. His boy’s life depends on him. Taken, captured for trying to protect him. His brilliant, stubborn, reckless boy. Washington has to get to him.
The moon casts the faintest light to guide a path. It’s not enough and yet it has to be. His waning strength isn’t enough. And it has to be.
“Alexander…”
Washington coughs violently and barely catches himself against the trunk of a tree. His lungs heave for air, not enough air. His vision blurs and for a moment he fears he will lose consciousness. But then a flash. Alexander- his boy bound, helpless in the enemy’s hands.
I cannot fail him, not now. He has never failed me.
He straightens himself and continues on. He must.
Washington is not sure how long he walks before he spots lights, and the edge of a small encampment. This must be it. A small campfire, an outline of a tent. A tiny outpost hastily put together after the skirmish gone so wrong. It’s temporary before these men will move back to the main army and take Alexander with them.
He has no plan. Not an idea other than to get to Alexander and get away. Washington knows it’s a risk, but his usual sharp discipline or a shred of military forethought have melted into this brutal fever.
Three tents. Alexander is inside one of them, he must be. He will save his boy or die trying.
Washington waits near the tree line, wheezing behind his cloak to quiet his breath. His heart races, not the exertion of his illness but a budding fear. What if he is too late? What if something unthinkable…
No. He cannot think like that. Not while he still draws breath.
He observes the guards rotate after several minutes, and it gives him an opening. He moves swiftly, silently, clinging to the shadows. His body protests. Heat and pain strain every muscle. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword. Washington knows he will not fare well in a fight right now. He might not even survive. But the familiar weight of the metal provides a comfort, even if he barely has the strength to hold it.
There, at the far edge of the camp, he sees the largest tent, to guards outside. He creeps closer, ducks behind the tent. He hears it.
A small, choked cough.
Alexander.
The sound is barely there, but the way it strikes Washington it might as well be a shout. He tightens the grip on his sword and peers around the tent. He catches a faint glimpse through a tear in the side.
His boy is there, slouched forward, hair loose and coat tattered. He moves, grunts. It’s a sound of pain but to Washington it’s a relief. He’s alive.
But they are not out of danger, not yet. The two guards at the entrance exchange in quiet conversation. Washington listens. Neither seem particularly alert, and they are most certainly unprepared for an attack. Still, in his weakened state, it is a risk.
Washington cannot risk an all-out fight. He must be quick, silent, efficient.
With the deepest breath he can manage, Washington moves. His sword slices through the air with precision and the first guard crumples with barely a gurgle from his slit throat. Washington grunts and drops to one knee. The second soldier stares, frozen in shock and sparing Washington a precious few seconds for recovery. The soldier reaches for his own sword, but he is too slow.
Washington surges back to his full height, clamps a firm hand over the soldier’s mouth, and drives his blade into his side. There’s a brief moment of struggle, then nothing. The man drops to the ground and Washington stumbles, struggles to sheathe his sword. Black spots dance in front of his eyes and grow, threatening to drag him into darkness.
His body screams in protest. But he can’t stop now.
He forces himself on. He pulls back the flap of the tent and steps inside.
“Alexander,” Washington breathes the word with such relief. He rushes to his boy’s side.
“Sir?” Alexander’s head jerks up in disbelief. He stares at Washington like he’s not sure if he is dreaming or awake. The boy has taken a beating, exhaustion clinging to his features, face pale.
“I’m here,” Washington says softly. He drops to his knees, trying to ignore his trembling fingers as he works to free the ropes that bind Alexander’s hands. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“Y-you shouldn’t be here,” Alexander stammers. “You’re sick-”
“I am fine,” he lies smoothly. “Don’t worry about me.” A pause as Washington gives up trying to untie Alexander and draws his sword once more to cut through the ropes. Alexander gives a soft hiss of pain as he’s freed. His muscles must ache. “Can you stand?”
Alexander sways as he tries to get to his feet, but again Washington is there, pulling his boy close, supporting his weight. For the first time in days the warmth against his skin promises something other than fever and pain. Alexander, here and alive. They stand still for a few seconds in silence. Washington feels the aching, the fever, threatening all at once to pull him back into helpless delirium.
“Sir,” Alexander rasps. He tries to stand on his own but Washington holds firm, still supporting his weight. “I can’t let you do this for me. I can’t-”
“Quiet,” Washington cuts him off, soft and firm and commanding. “I am not leaving you here.”
They move together, slow and stumbling, back into the woods. They near the treeline and Washington’s vision swims, those black spots toying with the edges of his sight. His body protests the abuse he’s put it through tonight.
“You’re burning up,” Alexander says next to him. He sounds so close, but far away. There’s a strain in his voice betrayed by concern.
“I’m fine,” Washington lies. “It’s not much further.”
And then a shot rings out over their heads. Washington feels Alex’s knees almost give. And then so do his.
No. Not now.
Something takes hold. He scoops Alexander into his arms and runs with everything he has left. Every ounce of strength. He hears his boy saying something, but the words themselves are lost to the utter focus of survival.
He doesn’t know how long he runs, clinging to Alexander, but ultimately his body cannot take any more lingering punishment. Washington finally collapses, twisting in just enough time to avoid falling on top of Alexander. They hit the ground together with a grunt.
Washington chokes silently as all of the air rushes from his lungs. Next to him Alexander pushes to his knees, hurting and exhausted and frightened.
“Get up. General, you have to-”
“Go,” Washington barely manages the word. He is losing consciousness and this time he cannot stop it. He knows he can not get up, not now.
“You saved me, sir, I won’t leave you!”
“Alexander.”
“No!” His boy reaches out, palm resting against Washington’s forehead. He draws back and there’s a flicker of fear. Those eyes search Washington’s face, heavy with exhaustion, but realization settles in.
Washington feels the heat and aching overtake him and his eyes slip shut unbidden. His body twitches as he fights once more to get up, to get them back to safety.
A hand clings to his as consciousness begins to slip away. “I’ll get us out of here. Just hang on, Sir.”
After painting and renovating my basement for hours... and I mean hours... without food or water, enjoy this prompt:
Whumpee so focused on a task that they don't realize they are slowly creating a ticking time bomb for a crisis. Working themselves to the bone and not taking a break to nurture their breaking mind and body. Their work morphing from carefulness and fine tuning to uncaring and sloppy.
Caretaker coming in to see Whumpee slumped over or collapsed on the floor, scared out of their mind that someone hurt Whumpee. Wait until they find out that Whumpee caused it to themselves.
“What, you mean like taking the bus or walking home?” Xe asked back.
“No! I meant, like, dying… You know?”
“Fuck, what a morbid question!”
“You don’t need to answer!”
“Nah, you’re fine, I’ll answer. It’s not like we’re 80, dude, we’ve got time. Anyway, I think I want to go calmly. Like, laying down, warm, all that shit. And I want music to be playing; doesn’t matter what. Rock, metal, musicals, whatever. Just… music. And if you can, I’d love you to be there.”
“I’ll try.”
*
Two years later, and Whumpee was dragging xerself through the woods. Whumpee groaned, the gash on xer stomach leaving a pool of red around xer torso. Xe leaned against a tree.
I’m dying, said a voice in xer mind. Xe wasn’t scared, or hopeless. Just… numb. Xe knew what was going to happen. Xe couldn’t stop it. I’m dying, and I won’t get my music. Just my fucking breathing.
Xe took in a shuddering breath, and another, and one after that. Xe took each one wondering if it would be the last.
If I don’t get my music, I’ll at least get comfortable, xe decided. Xe contorted and maneuvered xer body as much as possible, each movement bringing stinging agony. Xer vision was blurring, and xer body felt farther and farther away. Xe didn’t cry. Xe didn’t know why, but all the why’s don’t matter when you’re dying anyway. Just the what’s. And the what here was simple: Whumpee was almost dead.
Xe hummed. Well, xe tried to hum. It was jagged, and xer voice cracked, but xe did it all the same. Humming the tune to a nursery rhyme xe had forgotten the lyrics to or when and where xe had learned it a long time ago. None of it mattered. Xe found solace in the nameless tune, and resigned xerself to the namelessness of a death found in nowhere.
Xe stopped humming.
One more shaking breath, pained and tight, once more out, and xe stopped moving.
No birds sang, no music played, and no friends were by xer side.
TW/CW: Hidden whump, in plain sight, reformed villain whumpee, electrocution, telepathy, macial whump, hero vs. villain, Superhero whumper, hero agency
Word count: 266
Reformed Villain walked through the halls, the big wollen sweater kept the sharp cold of the hallways away but they'd still rather freeze.
A group of hero's bumped into Villain and knocked them out of the way. Smugly they looked at them. "Move out of the way Villain.", they said derogatory.
Villain's eyes narrowed for just a second until their neck started burning and they cast their gaze down. "Excuse me, I'll watch my step.", they apologized. The burning on their neck stopped.
The group laughed and continued on their way.
Villain hurried away into a different sector of the Headquarters where less people roamed. They hated it, they hated the bullying and they hated the fact that they had to just take it. That's what they changed for? That was it? Their neck erupted in pain stronger now than before, they pulled the turtleneck down and claw at the magical collar tattoo. It looked so delicate and pretty, brightely blue. But it sent shocks of electricity through them at everything the agency deemed as a disobedience. Like right now.
Villain sat on the floor and dropped their head between their knees.
It wasn't fair...
"Villain? Where are you? I wanna speak to you.", Superhero asked telepathically in Villain's mind.
"Go to hell.", Villain thought. More sad and defiant. But they instantly regretted it as pain erupted in their mind. They could feel Superhero clawing inside their mind. Precise, mericless and brutal. Until they couldn't hold it in anymore and Superhero could tell where they were.
When Superhero's assistens came to collect them they didn't resist...
