A trope I absolutely love: forcing Whumpee unconscious. There’s so many different ways you can go about it.
Whumpee receiving a blow to the head that knocks them out almost instantly. Their eyes roll back and their body goes limp as they crumple to the floor.
Whumper shoots Whumpee with a tranquilizer dart. Maybe it’s to knock them out in order to kidnap them, or maybe it’s in retaliation to an escaping Whumpee. A Whumpee who can see safety, it’s just barely out of their reach. When suddenly they feel a pinch in their back/shoulder/etc, and their body begins betraying them. Their legs stumble and buckle, safety still in sight as their eyes flutter close.
Whumpee is tied down as Whumper injects them with a sedative. Their eyes stare fearfully at the tube in their arm, watching as the liquid flows through. They struggle against their restraints, fighting against the drug with every fiber of their being. Whumper shushes them, telling them to rest.
Alternatively, the sedative is being injected by medical professionals, a last resort to help calm an uncooperative Whumpee who desperately needs medical attention but is too riled up to realize it.
Caretaker crushing and putting sleeping pills in Whumpee’s food/drink. They know Whumpee is gonna hate them for it, but they’re exhausted and have been refusing to sleep or rest. “It’s for their own good,” Caretaker tells themselves. They go through with it, and the guilt for breaking Whumpee’s trust eats at them.
The strong character shielding the weak one with their body until they pass out halfway through the ordeal and it turns into the weak one just desperately cradling their limp form until it's over
Your gaze hadn’t left Cassandra’s face since you’d gotten here. Your eyes had found Cass’ face and stayed stuck. The batfamily had made space and then, you were holding her hand, sitting by her side; waiting and watching for her colours to change.
The colours around you were murky - grey’s and blue’s and other shades and tones of distress. It had choked you; you hadn’t dared ask.
You and the batfamily stood around Cass, everyone’s gaze focused on either you or Cass ; even the one’s, not hovering in the immediate vicinity.
Slowly, so slowly, that you thought you were imagining it, her colours started darkening.
“Knocked on her head” Jason said. You don’t know what had given you away, but perhaps nothing had - the batfamily weren’t experts on microexpressions for nothing.
You nodded.
“Lucky, if she won’t have amnesia” Dick said, testing you.
You made a small sound of distress, but your eyes never left Cass’ face. Jason shot Dick a dirty look.
Neither of them said anything after that; assured you weren’t keeping secrets or lying.
Gradually, her colours came alive with fear.
You shushed her and caressed her hair, murmuring “It’s just us, darling. Just us. We’re here. You’re okay. It’s okay. We’re all okay.”
You kept murmuring assurances and shushing her and caressing her short, filthy hair as exclamations, sighs and groans burst around you.
She was awake - that’s all anyone could’ve hoped for; it’s what all of you had hoped for.
Slowly, quietly, her colours changed again and she was dreaming; a happy dream, you knew.
“Get something to eat” Batman said; quiet as a reverent father.
You shook your head. You’d stay here till she woke up.
Batman huffed and told Jason to get you a sandwich - which set off a new cacophony of banter between the whole family.
But you were fed and hydrated and watched over as you watched over your Cass.
Because the batfamily took care of their own. And you were just that - one of their own.
an F1 RPF Landoscar Omegaverse whump collection by papayabrain
For Whumptober 2025
No.29: Fainting/Broken Dishes
Summary: Lando’s just come out of heat and he’s feeling good. Until he faints on the kitchen floor…
Rating: T
Word count: 1.8k
Warnings: Fainting, blood, and injury.
Read on AO3 | or read below 👇🏼
~
He woke surrounded by warmth, the fresh sheets wrapping him up in a therapeutic mix of lavender detergent and lingering chocolate.
As he stirred further, he found he was alone in the nest. Not uncommon for his heat breaks. His alpha would be busy replenishing snacks and hydration packs, washing sheets and cleaning up.
Lando took a quick assessment – he was lucid, well-rested, and satiated. It had been enough days now for his heat to be over. The lingering aftereffects of general fatigue and low-grade fever would leave him over the coming hours.
As he rolled over to search for his phone, a new enticing smell summoned him.
Osc must have been cooking a full meal. His body thrummed with pleasure, chirping in content knowing his alpha was taking perfect care of him.
Slipping out of the nest, he grabbed one of Oscar’s zip hoodies from the edge, as well as a clean pair of boxers from his drawers. He used the bathroom, foregoing brushing his teeth if they were going to be eating soon, before exiting the room and padding down the hallway. The food smelled ten times better out here, and he sighed with a smile as he made his way to the kitchen.
He braced himself against the doorway as he watched Osc work his magic. They were in their London flat, not far from Max’s and Harrods, and the layout meant he could stand here unnoticed as his alpha had his back to him. In Monaco, he’d have the side view from the door, and Osc would notice him immediately.
He’d been sent home from work five days ago, his heat symptoms hitting during a simulator session. Jon had taken him for tests, and Max had looked after him until Oscar could fly over to be here with him. They hadn’t had much of a chance to figure out why he’d gone into heat outside of summer or winter break. However, they were lucky that it was during their impromptu month free with two races cancelled.
Bodies were weird, so maybe it just knew. Oscar’s rut hadn’t triggered yet, though, so they’d have to see if they’d be staying here longer.
Osc turned from retrieving a can from the cupboard, placed it down once he saw him and immediately headed over. One hand to his forehead, the other against his hip, possessive but gentle. He gave a soft rumble as the omega purred.
“Didn’t think you’d be awake yet, darling. You should still be resting.”
Lando kissed him before they scented each other, his mating bite on his neck throbbing deliciously. “I’m fine, babe. I wanna help you finish. Smells fucking mint.”
“Thought we could have something more substantial. You smell like you’re close to being out of it.”
“Mm-hm. Reckon we might already be done. See how I feel later on.”
Oscar kissed him before heading back to the stove. “Jon’ll wanna clear you before you’re allowed back at the MTC.”
“Urghhhh,” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Can’t believe that happened at work. Could you imagine if it was at a freaking race? I’d never live it down.” He pouted, trudging into the kitchen.
There was an array of boards across the counter, Osc chopping vegetables to add to whatever he was making. He took a gander at the stove, which had a pan full of seasoned sweet potatoes. A bag of rice sat on the counter next to it.
“Vegan chilli, okay? We’re out of meat, and I didn’t wanna leave you alone or bring anyone here with some. I found a recipe that uses avocados.”
Lando melted, wrapping his arms around his alpha as he chirped again. “You’re the best!” Once he let go, he washed his hands at the sink, drying them on a tea towel. “Right, what am I doing first?”
They worked in tandem, Lando chopping up the rest of the veg, Osc manning the stove. Music blasted from the speakers, and they fried and stirred and talked and laughed while they assembled the meal. He was glad his cramps were gone, replaced by growls of hunger. His alpha made him drink water, and he purred, exchanging sips for kisses.
They were almost done, Lando going to retrieve the plates for dishing up, when Oscar hugged him from behind, kissing his neck. He smelled divine, and he shivered.
“I have a surprise for you,” he whispered.
Lando rubbed his eyes, relaxing back into his hold. “Mmm, what more could you possibly spoil me with? It’s not even either of our birthdays!”
“Call it a heat finish treat then, I don’t know! Trust me, you’ll love it.”
“Best alpha ever, you romantic sap,” Lando grinned as he turned around to kiss him.
Osc left the kitchen, and Lando got out the plates. He must have stood up too fast, though, as he instantly felt…weird. Black spots erupted in his vision. He clung to the counter for dear life, whispering his alpha’s name.
The music muffled.
His legs buckled.
The room spun.
The last thing he remembered was trying not to touch the plates.
And then nothing.
~
Oscar was in the bedroom, digging out the box from their chest of drawers, when he heard it.
Something shattering. A loud clatter, and a crash.
“Lando? Everything alright?” he yelled out, waiting for the stream of apologies or maybe for his omega to burst into tears. There was something sharp in the air, like something was wrong. And when he didn’t get an immediate answer, he was sprinting back to the kitchen, box still in hand.
It was empty.
“Lan?”
Silence other than the music.
Leaving the box on the nearest counter, he took a step before something hit his nose. Metallic. Unmistakable.
Blood.
His legs moved before his brain caught up, his alpha instincts taking over to protect his omega. Rounding the side of the island, his stomach dropped as he gazed upon Lando’s limp body. His eyes were closed, pieces of shattered plates lying all around him. And the blood. He was hurt. He’d passed out. He was bleeding.
Grabbing the phone, he switched off the hobs and the music to immediately call emergency services, grabbing any dry tea towels and even using his own t-shirt to stem the flow of blood from one of his legs.
He relayed the information. Lando was just about coming out of his heat cycle. He’d felt and seemed fine, perfectly normal. Right now, though, he was unconscious but breathing, with three lacerations to his bare legs from taking the dishes with him. Nothing was stuck in him, but Oscar was alone stemming the bleeding.
Lando gasped and whimpered when he’d been on the phone for just under forty-five seconds. He wept in relief, gently hushing him and letting him know help was on the way. When he tried to move, Oscar placed a blood-covered hand on his chest, alpha rumbling in some effort to comfort him.
“You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart. Does your head hurt?”
“Dunno,” he muttered. He reached a clumsy, shaking hand up to his head and gingerly probed at it. When he whined as he touched his left side, Oscar relayed it to the dispatcher, who instructed him to keep Lando awake and calm and that he was doing a great job.
When the paramedics arrived, he almost growled at them despite knowing they were there to help. They didn’t seem fazed, however, especially as they knew Lando was at the end of his heat. He was being a good alpha by protecting him. It was their turn to take care of him. He should do that.
One of them took him aside and gently prompted him to wash up, put on some comfy clothes, and gather any supplies he and Lando would need for the next day or so. Glad for something to do, he washed his hands in the bathroom before retrieving a new t-shirt and changes of clothes for them both. He almost forgot to include some shoes.
Grabbing Lando’s phone from the bedside table, he sent off a quick message to his parents and Jon, letting them know where to meet them. He’d have called, but it would have been too distracting. He could do so later if he got any updates before they joined him.
As he packed the bag, he added some of Lando’s favourite snacks and his papaya dinosaur, before getting the box back from the kitchen. It was a new keyring for his backpack. Well, there were actually two in the box, as it meant they’d both have one and match.
He tried to ignore the guilt that gnawed at him as he shoved on his trainers. If he’d left the surprise until after dinner, he would’ve been in the kitchen and could have caught Lando, stopped him from being injured.
The woman paramedic who’d spoken to him earlier approached him again. Lando was strapped to the gurney ready to be taken to the ambulance. He was sitting up and awake, but he looked like he was struggling with the brightness of the flat. Oscar turned off the lights and delighted in hearing him purr.
“You did everything right. He’s in good hands.” She rubbed his back with a soft smile. “These things happen sometimes, alright? It’s nobody’s fault.”
He blinked back tears, nodding. “Thanks.”
Lando was asking for him, and he was fast by his side, squeezing his hand and kissing his forehead. “I’m coming too, baby, don’t worry.”
“What about my surprise? I ruined it!” He pouted, and Oscar couldn’t help but laugh.
He stroked a hand through his hair, on the good side so he didn’t touch the sore part. “It’s in my bag. It’s coming with us to the hospital. I’ll give it to you later, promise.”
As they moved him outside, Oscar did a quick sweep of the flat to check everything was off that needed to be off, dropping some kitchen roll on the floor to soak up the remnants of Lando’s blood, before making sure he had their keys and then leaving.
When he caught up with them, Lando was whining.
“Is he in pain?” Oscar demanded. “Can you give him something?”
The paramedic shook her head. “He wants something with your scent on it.”
They’d taken off the hoodie he’d been wearing, no doubt to make sure there were no more cuts from the broken dishes Oscar might have missed.
“Oh! Fuck, sorry, yes.” He rummaged inside his bag while they loaded him up into the ambulance. Finding what he was looking for, he joined them, sitting in one of the seats next to the gurney. Holding out the stuffed dinosaur, his alpha rumbled at seeing Lando’s eyes light up.
CHARACTERS: Daveed Anastas, Rook Rivera, Stara Emrys
MASTERPOST
Daveed doesn’t cry loudly.
There is no dramatic break, no shuddering collapse that announces itself. What comes instead is quieter and somehow worse—a tight, uneven sound dragged from his chest, like his body is still unsure it’s allowed to fall apart. His wings tremble once, feathers ruffling in a way that speaks of pain rather than threat, and then they go slack again, heavy with exhaustion.
Rook does not let go.
They shift carefully, easing Daveed more fully into their lap, one arm braced behind his shoulders, the other curled protectively over his ribs. Their grace hums low and steady, not flaring, not reaching upward—just present. A guardian’s warmth rather than Heaven’s glare.
“I’m here,” Rook repeats, not because Daveed needs reminding, but because repetition matters. Anchors are built from consistency. “You’re home.”
Home.
The word lands deep. Daveed’s empathic field stirs in response, fragile and aching, like a muscle unused to stretching. Pain flares briefly—too many emotions waking at once—but it doesn’t overwhelm him this time. It rolls outward instead, brushing against Rook’s awareness like a plea for permission.
Rook accepts it without hesitation.
They let themself feel him.
The aftershocks of Hell still cling to Daveed’s emotions—anger burned down to embers, humiliation wrapped tight around his spine, grief pressed so hard it aches. Underneath it all is a deep, bone-tired love that has nowhere to go, coiled and restrained for far too long.
Daveed inhales sharply, eyes still closed. “It hurts,” he admits hoarsely. “Everything feels too loud. Like… like I’m bleeding feelings.”
Stara clears her throat softly from where she stands near the window, arms folded, eyes sharp but not unkind. “That tracks. Your empathy’s coming back online without filters.” She tilts her head. “It’ll hurt less if you don’t fight it.”
Daveed huffs a weak, humorless breath. “That’s terrible advice.”
“It’s accurate advice,” she counters. “Terrible comes standard.”
Rook’s mouth twitches despite the tension. They adjust their grip slightly, careful of Daveed’s wings. “You don’t have to take it all at once,” they murmur. “You can lean on me.”
Daveed hesitates.
That hesitation is loud to Rook’s senses—not fear of closeness, but fear of burdening. The reflex runs deep, carved into him by centuries of being useful only when he gives and gives and gives.
Rook tightens their hold just a fraction. “Daveed,” they say, gentle but firm. “Guardians exist to carry weight. Let me.”
Something in him finally gives.
Daveed nods once, barely perceptible, and allows his empathy to bleed outward instead of inward. The pressure eases almost immediately, emotions redistributing between them. Pain shared becomes pain survivable.
His breathing evens.
“There,” Stara murmurs. “That’s better.”
Daveed opens his eyes at last. They’re unfocused at first, pupils blown wide with sensory overload, but they settle quickly on Rook’s face. Recognition floods him, followed by something softer—relief edged with awe, as if he still can’t quite believe Rook stayed.
“You didn’t leave,” he whispers.
Rook’s brows knit. “Why would I?”
“Because I’m… like this.” Daveed gestures weakly at himself. “Because Hell keeps pulling me apart. Because Heaven’s watching you. Because—”
“Stop,” Rook interrupts, not harshly, but decisively. “None of that makes you disposable.”
Daveed swallows. Tears sting again, but this time they don’t fall.
Stara steps closer, crouching to Daveed’s level. “You’re going to need rest,” she says. “Real rest. Emotional rest. No feeding. No Hell assignments. No heroic self-sacrifice.”
Daveed winces. “I’m terrible at that.”
“I know,” she says flatly. “That’s why I’m saying it.”
Rook lifts their gaze to her. “How long?”
Stara considers. “Days. Maybe longer. Empathic burnout this severe isn’t linear.”
Rook nods. “Then he won’t be alone.”
Something unreadable flickers across Stara’s face—respect, maybe. Or concern. She straightens, wings rustling. “I’ll check in tomorrow. Call me if he spikes again. Or if Heaven does something stupid.”
“When,” Daveed mutters.
Stara snorts. “Fair.”
She pauses at the door, glancing back once. “You’re not broken,” she adds quietly. “You’re injured. There’s a difference.”
Then she’s gone, the apartment settling into a hush that feels earned.
Daveed sags further into Rook’s hold now that the tension of being observed has lifted. His head tucks instinctively beneath Rook’s chin, seeking shelter the way his body always seems to know before his mind does.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” he admits, voice muffled. “When Hell summoned me… I felt Heaven tugging at you. Like a hook.”
Rook stiffens slightly. “I felt it too.”
That gets his attention. Daveed lifts his head just enough to look at them. “Did they say anything?”
“Not yet,” Rook replies. “But it wasn’t a request.”
Daveed’s jaw tightens, anger sparking briefly through the fatigue. “They don’t get to take you.”
Rook meets his gaze steadily. “They don’t own me.”
The words are quiet, but resolute. Daveed feels their truth resonate through him, grounding and fierce. It steadies something inside his chest that Hell tried very hard to break.
He exhales slowly. “You’re still a guardian,” he says, half-question, half-reverence.
“Yes,” Rook answers. “And I’m choosing to guard you.”
Daveed’s breath catches.
He laughs once, wet and shaky. “Heaven’s going to hate that.”
Daveed lets his eyes fall shut again, exhaustion reclaiming him now that it’s safe. His empathic field hums softly, painful but no longer suffocating, held steady by Rook’s presence.
As sleep takes him, his fingers curl weakly into the fabric of Rook’s shirt, clinging.
Rook stays perfectly still.
Outside, the city moves on. Heaven watches. Hell plots.
Inside the apartment, a guardian angel keeps vigil over an incubus who feels too much—and refuses, finally, to face it alone.
A living organism consists of a physical body and life. Life here doesn't refer to a concept but an actual entity.
Humans possessing identical temperaments or brains do not possess identical cognitive prowess. This is likely due to some sort of variation in life. A good brain cannot be used effectively by weak life.
Life is only it. It doesn't possess the ability to store memories, for instance; it doesn't possess the ability to interact with the physical world directly. Thus it uses the brain to understand everything — including itself. It uses the brain to use the physical body and interact with the physical world.
Life cannot do anything if it doesn't possess a physical body. The physical body is corpse without life.
If this holds true then atleast the life of a living organism is immortal. But not their identity.
*You* only get to live once.
## Hypothesis B
The difference between the living and the non-living is not that one possess life while the other does not. The actual difference lies in different mechanisms.
A system cannot work without mechanisms. And mechanisms bring constraints. Constraints limit freedom, but they also make it possible. No constraints equals no identity.
Identity = dynamically maintained pattern in matter.
Immortality of matter persists but without the person. Because a person is nothing more than mortal neurons.
