little whump stories

I'm Hydra! | she/herI write little whump stories. :)

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee had hunted down the whumper, just to make them feel the same pain they had been forced to endure, and they didn’t feel bad about watching the whumper suffer as they had. What the whumpee hadn’t expected was to be caught by the caretaker.

[raineandsky]

#72

tw: illness

The villain is goddamn embarrassed to be here. They shouldn’t be here, really, but damn if curiosity didn’t kill the cat.

The hero has a window open, because all heroes are, of course, dumb as bricks and have no sense of self-preservation. The villain hefts themself up onto the windowsill, glancing inside and thanking god for its emptiness.

The hero’s been gone for almost a week. The villain’s not worried, god no—can you imagine? No, this is curiosity. Maybe boredom. They could find the hero dead on the floor and they’d consider themself satisfied just knowing that that’s where they’ve been.

The office is freezing with that window open; the villain quickly slips it shut behind them before quietly letting themself into the hall. It’s dark, too, with all of the lights turned off. There’s light leaking out from a room at the end of the hallway. This couldn’t feel more set up, but the villain follows it anyway, slightly on edge as they slowly swing the door inward.

Said light is spilling out from an ornate side lamp—and in its golden glow, like an actor spotlighted on stage, is the hero, face down at the kitchen table.

Well, the villain expected this. Kind of. It doesn’t make it any less surprising to find. They approach warily, like the hero will pop up on them. They seem very dead, so that’s improbable, but precaution never hurts.

A half finished sudoku is in the hero’s lazy clutch. The villain notices, with an air of amusement, that most of the numbers are in the wrong places. They hold a hand in front of the hero’s face, almost disappointed to feel the warm breath against their palm. It’s fast, though—no normal person breathes this fast in their sleep.

They give the hero a nudge, slightly startled to feel the heat radiating off of them. The hero stirs slightly at the contact, barely conscious and clearly not all there.

“[Hero].” The villain knows they probably shouldn’t announce themself in the hero’s home, but from the way their gaze turns up to them unseeingly, they don’t think they have to worry too much. “You’re burning up.”

They say it like a statement. They’re not entirely sure why. The hero stares at them with glazed-over eyes. “Wha…?”

“Good god.” The villain bends down slightly to them, brushing the hair away to get a hand to their forehead. The hero’s skin is wet with sweat, and they lean thoughtlessly into the villain’s touch with a pleased hum. “Are you contagious?”

“Iduno,” is the incoherent answer. "Yur hands nice n' cool."

The villain pulls their hand away, and the hero frowns disappointedly as they almost face plant the table again. The villain quickly shoves them back by the shoulders before they give themself a concussion.

Don’t engage. “God, fine. Let’s get you to bed, at least.” Godddamnit.

They lug the hero to their feet, almost toppling over when they stagger into the villain with the effort. Getting them to the bedroom is a nightmare; the hero manages to walk into every single piece of furniture they own. “Ow,” to the kitchen chair. “Oh,” to the coffee table. “Eugh,” to the doorway. The villain’s trying to guide them but it’s like the hero’s magnetised to everything.

Getting them to the bed is a relief, to say the least. The villain only just pulls the covers back before the hero flops into it with a muffled “oufh.”

The villain manages to dig out some face cloths from the bathroom, running them under the cold tap before more or less slapping them onto the hero’s face. The hero, too delirious to worry about why they’re getting slapped at all, accepts the cool fabric with a relieved sigh.

The villain rolls the cloth up so it’s sitting on their forehead. They’re not that cruel.

The hero distantly watches as they make themself busy settling down next to the bed. Then, like the prospect of the villain hanging around is agonising, the hero bursts into tears.

The villain positively jolts. God, please don’t make me handle emotions as well. “[Hero], what’s wrong?”

“I– You—” They don’t even have the energy to wipe at the tears trailing down their face. “Yur bein sonice tome.”

It’s tragic to watch, frankly. The villain doesn’t like being reminded that they have a heart. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” they say softly. “You’re ill. You can’t handle all this on your own.”

They lean forwards to carefully wipe some of the tears from the hero’s face—that’s just as wet and sticky as the rest of them. The villain makes a mental note to wash them up as soon as possible. Their thumb brushes over the hero’s cheek, and a new flood of sobs wracks through their throat.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry,” the villain says quickly. Their hand retracts lightning fast.

“Noh,” the hero cries. Their hands move under the covers, too weak to get them where they want to gesture to. “Iss nice. Plese.”

The villain leans forward again, slightly apprehensive, and continues brushing the tear stains from the hero’s face. They let out a slightly choked sob again, but they assume that’s a good thing.

“Surry,” the hero says after a quiet moment. They snivel dejectedly, and the villain would’ve loved this blackmail if they hadn’t felt so awful seeing it. “Idunt meen to belik zis.”

The hero’s chest heaves miserably. The villain wishes they cared less. “It’s okay,” they repeat. “Just focus on getting better, okay?”

The hero nods, kind of. “Yeh.”

It’s incredibly easy to get a feverish person to sleep, apparently—an idle hand on their face and thirty seconds is all it takes for the hero’s despondent crying to go quiet.

The villain is so mad at themself. Of course they had to be nosy. Now here they are, looking after a sick hero. God, if the supervillain could see them now.

They pick up the book on the bedside table idly, mentally preparing to settle in. The hero will probably need a few days to recover from this state.

And when the villain inevitably catches it, the hero can return the favour.

[jordanstrophe]

"Where have you been?!" Caretaker hollered.

Whumpee walked through the front door a disaster. They blinked like they had just woken up, their hair was disheveled with dark rings under their eyes, their clothes were twisted like they had been sleeping in them.

"Places..." Whumpee grumbled.

Caretaker was about to snap once more, but after giving them a long hard look up and down, they sighed and relaxed their shoulders.

"Do you need a moment?" Caretaker asked lightly. Whumpee nodded and looked to the floor with tears brimming in their eyes.

"Off to bed then, we'll talk tomorrow, alright?"

Whumpee sniffed and nodded again, dropping their bag near the door and went to collapse in bed.

Caretaker took their bag away from the door and put their things away. They poured a glass of water and set it on whumpee's nightstand. Whumpee had fallen asleep in that time, even asleep they looked exhausted. Caretaker ran their fingers through their hair as a way of checking for a fever.

"I don't know if you follow trouble, or if trouble follows you." 

[fevers-and-emeto-oh-my]

Because disastrously sick men wearing suits is one of my favorite things, and stranger caretakers is another one of my favorite things, have this scenario:

Character A is attending a meeting for a department on a different floor of the building he works in. It’s a sizable company, so it’s not possible to know everyone. Once the meeting is over/breaks for lunch, A stops in one of the bathrooms to take a piss, wash his hands, freshen up a bit. The bathroom is silent and A is positive he’s the only one there as he relieves himself and then washes his hands and messes with his hair in the mirror.

Then there’s an absolutely ear-splitting retch, the kind that sounds like it’s been pulled right out of the pit of your guts and grates your throat in a way that’s sure to make it sore later. A freezes, staring at himself in the mirror for a minute as he tries to decide what to do.

Then there’s a second equally-rough retch, a heavy splattering of liquid against liquid, and a very sick-sounding belch. A turns around to find that the farthest stall door is shut, and when he steps closer he can see the soles of dress shoes and the ankles of gray slacks of whoever’s kneeling on the floor.

“Are you…alright?” A asks hesitantly. He has no idea who it is that’s hurling–it could be anyone from the meeting he was just in, or it could be someone from elsewhere on the floor or the building.

There’s a burp and a short splash in response, and then Character B clears his throat. “Fine. Got it handled.”

The terse tone of his voice is ruined by how hoarse and thready it is, underscored by panting breaths and a grating gag. A doesn’t recognize the voice. He’s hovering near the stall, not quite sure if he should say anything else, when there’s the sound of B blowing his nose and the toilet flushing, and then the door swings open and they come face to face with one another.

A and B both recognize each other just from seeing one another around the building during work, but they don’t know each other’s names. A can’t help wincing, because B looks terrible. There’s a ring of sweat around the collar of his dress shirt, and his tie and jacket are both askew. His face is ashen pale, covered in a clammy sheen, and his eyes are the glossy bright of a fever. He’s glaring at A like his life depends on it, but it’s undermined by his visible trembling.

“Can I help you?” B asks with a voice that sounds totally wrecked by stomach acid.

A feels his ears go red, but his voice gets caught for a minute, taken aback by B’s surly attitude. “You sound rough. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to keel over.”

“I don’t know you,” B says shortly, heading for the sinks and washing his hands as if nothing’s happened. “The concern is appreciated, but not necessary.”

A can’t help but scoff at that. B somehow has gotten even paler, holding onto the sides of the sink with both hands and bowing his head. 

“You must be fun to work with if you have this much of a stick up your ass even when sick,” A comments. “I was just trying-”

A cuts himself off with a yelp, because B’s knees seem to buckle. A grabs him under the shoulders, but B’s head lolls and to A’s utter horror and dismay, he passes out completely and his dead weight nearly topples them both to the floor.

B’s out for less than a minute, coming around with a groan, head rolling against A’s shoulder. He bats A’s hands away, and they scowl at each other.

Does A drive B home himself, after finding out from his boss where he lives? Does he take B back to his own office, or to A’s to rest a little? Does B give up the attitude for long enough to let A be helpful?

I do also like thinking about this scenario in a scat or both ends scenario, but I’m not sure what the climate is on that so decided to just do the emeto for now XDD 

(PS. If you write something using this, tag me not even for credit but just because I’d be dying to read it XD.)

[five-sided-dice]

Found a prompt and I just had to.

It hit. My attack hit, and she fell down, yet she didn't get back up. The battle stopped, everyone waited for something to happen, someone to say something, is it over? They thought.

"Get. Up," I said. "You've suffered bigger wounds. And if you don't get up, I'll destroy anything that's left of this world."

She still laid motionless. And her allies stood the same, staring at her body on the ground. I did the same. Why isn't she getting up? This isn't the worst she's suffered, I know it isn't, I've seen the worst, she's told me of it.

I took a breath. "Please," I said. "Please get up. Please don't die on me."

I took shaky steps towards her, and she didn't move. She stayed there. Even when I reached her body, nothing had changed. Blood flowed from the wound on her chest, and trickled out of her mouth.

My fault.

I grasped her gentle frame, her allies didn't try to stop me. Strange. Her head lolled back, but she didn't even twitch at my touch when she would normally reciprocate it.

I shook her, gently, then haphazardly, then desperately, and finally drew a cough out of her. She's alive.

She's alive.

[timetravelinghydra]

Sicktember2023 - No.27 - Uncooperative Patient

Caretaker watched Hero carefully. They were in bed and prone to escaping. It's an important job, protecting others, but protecting yourself first is also pretty important.

Reaching over, Caretaker attempted to stroke Hero's arm, or at least what they thought was their arm.

They pushed down just a little too hard and Hero's arm flattened into the bed. Caretaker jumped up, afraid they had just squashed Hero's arm. A moment later, they ripped the blanket off the bed to reveal pillows where Hero should've been.

Sighing, they went out to the living room to wait for their return.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hero was walking among the streets, watching the glimmering shop lights above them. They were exhausted, but foregoing the nightly patrol would only make it easier for a villain, even if Hero was having to walk particularly slowly.

They turned the corner, watching the opposite sidewalk and preparing, as best as they could in their condition, to grab their knife from their pocket at any moment.

A shadow leaped across the ground in front of them.

Hero flinched at the movement, causing a sharp intake of breath that immediately needed to be countered with another breath.

Villain's figure appeared in front of Hero.

"Hero, Hero, Hero," Villain started. "Here with another attempt to try and stop me from my 'heinous crimes'?"

Hero moved towards Villain, shifting their weight carefully. "Of course. I have to protect this city from you, you're too dangerous."

Villain eyed them carefully. "I take that as a compliment." At that moment a small knife was pushed in Hero's direction, who made to move back but only managed to stumble backwards. Hero's knees were having trouble supporting their body accordingly.

With the knife at Hero's throat, Villain relaxed their posture. "Give it up, Hero. You can't play the savior when you can't even walk properly." They removed the knife and backed up to give Hero room.

Hero gritted their teeth. "I'm fine, I don't know what you're talking about. They had their own knife at Villain's throat in a second. Unfortunately for them, this was close enough for Villain to hear their labored breathing.

"You're not fine."

"You're being awfully nonchalant for someone with a knife at their throat."

Villain punched Hero in the stomach. Doubling over in pain, Hero gritted out, "Fuck you." They were fighting to keep their breath steady. "Since when do you care?"

"I don't."

And with that, Villain walked away into the darkness of the road.

Hero fell to the ground, grunting as their knees hit the concrete. It was going to be an incredibly long walk home, if they could even still move. Sighing, they braced to stand up but only managed to stumble a bit before collapsing onto the ground, unconscious.

[timetravelinghydra]

Sicktember2023 - No.19 - Curled up With a Pet

The sun reflected brightly off the fresh snow. The first snow had always been very important to Liam, making it very important to Carrie. It was late evening and the air was becoming colder, but that didn't stop them.

Liam stopped on the sidewalk and stuck his tongue out to catch a snowflake. His childlike wonder never ceased to amaze Carrie, especially given that what he's been forced to endure would age anyone twenty years.

They never talked about it, but Carrie always blamed herself. It's a weight on her shoulders she's been carrying around almost her whole life.

Liam and Carrie rounded a corner and met a small white dog staring back at them. The dog let out a happy bark at seeing people.

Liam reached down and picked up the dog, getting licked in the face in the process. Carrie's mouth began to open to tell Liam he can't keep the dog, but she saw the joy on his face when he turned around and couldn't say no. Instead, she said, "I'll stop by the pet store later to pick up dog food and dog supplies, if we're planning on keeping him."

The happy expression on Liam's face was worth having an extra mouth to feed and look after. "We can keep him?!" he said excitedly. "I'm going to name him Ginger!"

Liam put Ginger down, who was more than happy to trot alongside them back to their house.

Once back at the house, Liam was trying to decide which dishes looked like something a dog would like. Giving up, "What should I use for the food and water bowls?" Liam asked, promptly sneezing afterwards. "The soup bowls should be fine," Carrie replied. Liam retrieved the bowls and filled them to the brim for Ginger.

"Now for some food for us." And with that, Carrie began preparing dinner. Once the food was done, Liam sat down and began pushing his food around his plate.

"Don't like it?" Carrie asked. "No.. It tastes.. Alright. It just hurts my throat." Liam replied, sneezing again.

"You can't actually taste it, can you?"

"No.."

Frowning, Carrie reached across the table to feel his forehead. "I think you may have a cold." She sighed. "I should've never let you go outside when it was that cold. You're officially on bedrest until you're back to full health."

Liam crawled into bed and Carrie tucked him in.

Carrie and Ginger had something in common: they both cared a lot for Liam. The difference between them was that Carrie already had a bed while Ginger did not.

Liam woke up in the middle of the night to find Carrie in a chair by his bed and Ginger curled up against him, both asleep.

The corners of Liam's lips turned down. He didn't need a nurse to keep an eye on him, it was just a cold. He sighed and went back to sleep. Whatever helped Carrie to lift the weight off her shoulders.

[whump-all-the-way]

whumper that is just as much of a whumpee as the person they keep locked in a cell. whumpee was confused at first, whumper seemed to turn green when they first drew a blade across their skin, whumpee is sure they heard the sound of vomiting once they were back in their cell. they’re still frightened, still shake and fight back whenever whumper comes with their new toys, but there’s something- something about whumper that whumpee just can’t understand.

it starts to make sense when whumper stretches to remove whumpee’s chains, bandages peaking out from under their shirt. there are days where whumpee seems more frightened than whumpee, when they step into their cell with a black eye and bruised hands they know didn’t come from their last session.

“i’m so sorry.” whumper says one day, bruised hand shaking as they grab their pliers.

[whumpitisthen]

I am Obsessed

[wicked-whump]

Let's Talk

For @/soheavyaburden's 2023 Year of Whump event, March: Denial

1.3k words

A/N: This is a shorter one, but I think I like how it turned out.

-

It’s a bit of a dreary day. The sky is dark and overcast, and clouds threaten to pour down rain at any minute. The air outside is thick with moisture, a cloud of fog having settled over the town. Perhaps the perfect weather for the conversation they’re about to have.

Emmett sits with Jess at the dining table in her house, awaiting Sebastian’s arrival. This discussion has been a long time coming, and he wishes they’d had it sooner than this.

But as they say, the best time to start was yesterday, and the next best time is now.

They sit in silence listening to the clock tick, having already discussed the things they want to say a dozen times over. All that’s left to do is wait.

Not soon enough, or maybe too soon, Emmett can’t tell, the door clicks open and Sebastian makes his way into the dining room.

“Sorry I’m late, I was–” he stops short, and an almost imperceptible hardness comes to his eyes as he spots them sitting there.

“Okay. What’s going on?”

Emmett takes a deep breath. “Come, sit down.”

Sebastian heistates a moment, eyes sweeping the room from left to right. Emmett is about to say something again when he finally moves towards the table and pulls out a chair, slowly sitting down in it.

Now it’s Jess’s turn to breathe deep. “We know these past months have been hard on you, and–”

“I’m not doing this.” Sebastian moves to stand, leaving Jess to sit there with her mouth hanging open.

“Seb, wait,” Emmett says. “Please hear us out. You don’t have to say anything, just listen to us for a second.”

Sebastian pauses, and a muscle in his jaw twitches.

“Just for a second. You don’t have to say anything.” he says again.

Sebastian closes his eyes for a moment and lets go of a sigh, sitting back down with crossed arms and angling a surly look at them.

Jess glances at Emmett, then tries again. “We know these past months have been hard on you, and we want to help.”

Emmett jumps in. “You’ve been in a really irritable mood lately, you’re jumpy, you’re not eating, you’re barely sleeping, and when you do, you have nightmares.”

“Gee, thanks.” Sebastian monotones.

“We’re not trying to insult you.” Jess says.

Emmett nods. “We want to understand. We want to help. You–”

“Please tell us what’s going on so we know how to.” Jess cuts him off, and Emmett shoots a look at her. That was not part of the plan.

Sebastian sneers at the table and is about to say something when Emmett interjects. “Actually, I was going to say you don’t have to tell us what’s going on.” he shoots another pointed look at Jess, and she glances down at the table in shame. “Just know that we know you’re having a hard time, and we’re here for you.”

There’s a beat of silence before Sebastian asks, “Is that it?”

Emmett and Jess glance at each other. There was some other stuff they were going to mention, like how Sebastian keeps lashing out and hurting them, but saying that now seems like a bad move. And he doesn’t want to guilt Sebastian by saying how it pains them to see him like this. Besides, they already said they were here to help, and that’s the main point of this conversation, right?

“That’s it.” Emmett nods.

Sebastian’s lip curls again. “So you dragged me down here to say what you could’ve said over a text?”

“We thought–”

Sebastian leans forward on the table. “Nothing’s going on. You know what you can do to help? Stop looking for things that aren’t there.” he says, voice rising. But Emmett thinks he detects a little waver towards the end.

Okay, Emmett knows that Sebastian knows that they know something is wrong, otherwise he would have pretended to be oblivious instead of refusing to hear them out at first. So what’s the point in continuing to deny it? Emmett already said he doesn’t have to tell them what’s happening, so why does he feel like he can’t audibly admit anything is wrong? Because he’s sure transmitted that message through his actions.

Sadness and sympathy flare in his chest. Whatever he’s going through is far, far from easy, that much is obvious. Why on Earth does he feel the need to keep the secret so tightly wrapped? Why doesn’t he feel like he can tell them anything? Did they do anything to make him feel that way?

Emmett is about to ask this question when Jess speaks first. “Sebastian, it is painfully obvious that you’re going through something.” her voice is tense, like she’s trying to reign in her frustration. “Please let us in. There’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you, we’re just trying to help.” She leans forward and moves to place her hand over Sebastian’s, but he draws away before she can.

“There’s nothing to help.” he says, standing abruptly.

Jess seems like she’s about to say something again, and Emmett braces himself for the fallout, but instead she takes a deep breath and sighs. “Okay.” she says, seeming resigned.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving to go ruminate over the many issues you seem to think I have.” with that, he exits the house, slamming the door on his way out.

A beat of silence. “Well. That could’ve gone better.” Emmett says.

Jess sighs again. “I’m sorry I went and asked him what happened. I’m just– dying to know what’s upsetting him so much.”

“I know. I am too, but we can’t force it from him. We have to let him come to us on his own time.”

“Yea, I know. I regretted it as soon as I said it.”

They sit in silence, then.

Emmett understands Jess’s curiosity. He does, he wants to know what’s going on too. But that shouldn’t be the priority. The priority needs to be doing what they can to make things easier for Sebastian. And so far Jess seems to have been preoccupied with why Sebastian is behaving this way, rather than how they can help.

He shouldn’t assume this, though. He knows Jess is just as worried as he is, and there’s no way to know precisely what’s going through her head. But her behavior has been speaking volumes.

He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what to do. Sebastian won’t accept their help. He supposes that’s his prerogative, but why?

He’s been spending an awful lot of time in his apartment, more than usual. That can’t be healthy, but what if forcing him out does more harm than good?

What if he’s avoiding something? Or someone? Does he have a– a bully, or something? When Emmett thinks of bullies, he usually thinks of middle and high school kids shoving others into lockers, and they left those people behind years ago. Besides, what kind of bully would have Sebastian reacting this severely?

He discards the idea. It’s got to be something more. Some family issues, maybe? Is it possible he’s gotten into drugs? Did he step in something that he can’t step out of? But what?

Look at him. Now he’s worrying more about the why’s instead of helping. What a hypocrite.

The fact stands though that there’s not much they can do if Sebastian won’t let them. And he seems pretty intent on not letting them. But that doesn’t make it any easier to just stand by and watch him suffer. And that seems to be all they can do right now.

Right?

-

If you’ve read this far and enjoyed what I’ve written, please consider reblogging! It means a lot to artists :)

[acwhump]

Imagine putting your whumpee in an ordinarily fatal situation that they're immune to... alongside a loved one who isn't.

A whumpee who can breathe underwater, trapped in a tank with someone who can't. A whumpee invulnerable to cold, locked in a freezer with someone who's not. You get my gist. Have them watch their loved one succumb, while the danger doesn't even touch them.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: [Mentioned] near death experience, asphyxiation, whumpee-turned-whumper, whumper-turned-whumpee, broken bones, vengeful whumpee.

"Whumpee, I think you're taking this a bit too far."

"Oh, really?" Whumpee sneered, tightening the cord that was tied around Whumper's neck as they stared directly into Caretaker's concerned eyes. They could hardly hide the venom practically dripping from their voice. "How come no one ever said that to them when they nearly beat me to death? How come no one ever told them that they were going to far when they shattered my wrists for fighting back? Why do they get to do all that to me without a single person uttering a word about it, but when I do it, suddenly i'm 'going too far'?"

To that, Caretaker had nothing to say. They attempted to speak, but whatever they wanted to say clearly didn't sound right. So, they shut their mouth again.

"Go wait outside if you don't wanna watch."

Whumper tried begging Caretaker for help. They tried reaching out and sobbing out a small, pathetic 'don't let me die', but Whumpee had a hand around their mouth before they could get too far into their pleas. They leaned in close and kept a tight grip on the cord, waiting until Caretaker had left the room before whispering bitterly into the former whumper's ear.

"Now you know how it feels."

[hotchocolatewriting]

You felt that, didn’t you?

When Hero woke up the room was still dark. Everything, except for the one candle burning at the other side of the iron bars. A soft orange glow filled the dark room and provided the only bit of light during the night. It had something cosy to it, even though everything else about the situation was not something you would call ideal. Hero had no idea what time it was and with Villain taking away their phone and smartwatch they wouldn’t be able to know either. They sighed and turned around pulling the blanket over their pounding head to keep the cold air away. They could feel their body shiver, their teeth clattering, but they didn’t give it too much attention. Villain somehow never really kept it warm in here, but then why would they? Hero was their prisoner and had been for weeks. There was no way out. Not one that Hero had managed to find at least and so the days passed by slowly but surely. Villain would visit them daily. Coming downstairs to give them the food they needed and bring them clean clothes. Sometimes Villain let them go upstairs to take a bath or a shower, but every single time they would be put back in the cell again. Escaping was impossible, even during those moments, because even though Villain would give them all the time and freedom in the world for their bath, they would wait outside and make sure there was nothing Hero could use.

Keep reading

[creweemmaeec11]

A Serrated Cage Key

TW: Captivity, Talk of Suicide.

Guys I wrote whump I did it!

The hero tried not to flinch at the sound of the small metal capsule that hit the floor of their cell.

It was a cell. No matter how many times the villain tried to call it "their room," it was their cell. The hardwood floor, wallpaper, comfy bed littered with plush pillows, full bookcase, and other nonsense didn't make it any less of a cage.

"Happy Birthday," the villain said, but their tone held no joy, not even their normal attempt at friendly civility or faked happiness. It sounded tired if nothing else.

"It's not my-" the hero bit their tongue, eying the villain up and down. Something was off, different.

The criminal had spent the past 3 months trying to be friendly, to convince the hero to just sit down and accept this. Claiming they needed the hero out of their way, and this was the only way around killing them.

As if that was supposed to make the hero grateful!?

They seemed to go to such lengths to make the hero comfortable, asking what the hero's favourite foods were, hobbies, promising they'd provide any and all that they could. As if that would make up for holding them against their will.

The villain even went as far as seeming exasperated when the hero continued to be "hostile"!!!

But the hero would never just sit and accept this, ever. They had family. They had friends. They had a job to do! They weren't going to just give it all up!

They couldn't...

God... they missed them so much...

They missed the way their best friend annoyingly ruffled their hair, and the way their mom called every time she saw them on the news to congratulate them. The hero even missed their voices.

The only voice they ever heard now was villains.

It had been a few days since the villain had visited, which was strange, considering they usually came by at least once a day.

The last time they'd visited, the criminal brought a guitar and a book with them, suggesting perhaps the hero would like to learn a new skill. The hero had faked being interested, saying they'd always wanted to learn to play the guitar, before hurling it with all their might right back at the villain with a shout.

It made them sick, the genuine light that had found the villain's eyes when they faked being interested. Like they really cared.

The criminal had finally snapped, losing their facade of kindness. They told the hero they were tired of this, and they were trying their best to make the hero comfortable but that they weren't exactly helping!

The hero fully lost it, then. They yelled every single profanity they could think of, and told the villain they could stick that guitar where the sun didn't shine. They told the criminal they were sick, and that they would never ever be comfortable being held captive! They said they would rather be dead than this.

By the end of their montage, they realized they were crying, but weren't sure when they'd started.

"I would rather be dead," they reiterated through tears, "gods just-"

They wanted this to be over. They just wanted to get out.

"If you think you're tired, imagine how I feel," the hero cried wiping angrily at their tears that wouldn't seem to stop. "I hate you! I hate this! I miss my family! I miss my friends! I miss the great view of my bedroom window and my mom's cooking. I miss..." they choked a bit, realizing what had started as them screaming had slowly grown quieter in volume, "my sister's boyfriend was planning to propose. I'll never know if she said yes. I won't get to see her wedding. I missed my mother's 50th birthday. I-" They sunk down onto their bed, hugging their knees to their chest, "I wish you would have just killed me. It would have been kinder than this,"

The villain had stayed frozen in the doorway for a few minutes, then without another word, they turned around and locked the door behind themselves, leaving the hero crying in their room alone.

Which brought them to now.

"What is it?" The hero asked bitterly, eyeing the capsule on the ground warily, "Because I swear if it's another attempt to-"

"Nope," Villain cut them off, "No, I'm done. I think you made your feelings on the matter quite clear,"

"Then what is it?" the hero replied sharply.

"It's what you wanted," they replied, gesturing at it with one of their hands before crossing their arms and leaning against the doorframe.

The hero squinted suspiciously, slowly getting up to pick up the small metal cylinder. The outside was blank, so the hero popped the lid off, and tipped the item into their hand. They weren't expecting two large pills to fall out into their palm. They looked up at the other in confusion.

"Cyanide Pills," the villain stated plainly.

The hero's eyes widened, "What..."

The villain made a shrugging gesture with their shoulders, "You told me yesterday you would rather be dead than trapped in here, so. If that's what you truly want..." they hesitated for a moment, "Those should be painless..."

The hero clenched their fist around the pills in their hand, "You're a bastard," They sneered, "Do you think I don't realize exactly what this is? What you're doing?"

The criminal tilted their head questioningly.

"This is you're way of keeping your hands clean!" The hero shouted, anger rising, "If I take these, I didn't die by your hand; it was my own. You can keep your filthy conscious a little cleaner. Then if I don't take them, you can frame it like it was my choice. Like I chose to be in here! But then you can say at least you gave me the option, right!?"

The villain gave a half-hearted shrug again, "Now you've got the choice. I did tell you I'd get anything you wanted that I could. If this is what you want, then..."

The hero started laughing out of sheer disbelief, "I'm sorry, are you trying to frame this as you doing something nice?"

"No," the villain replied, "I'm not trying to frame it as anything, period. It is what it is,"

"What it is, is ridiculous," the hero replied, "If you make a prisoner choice between the electric chair or a life sentence, you are still sending them to death, just at different speeds. You don't to get to feel good. At least in prison, it was their own actions that got them there. If I do take these, then my hand was forced by yours,"

"I warned you that you would force me to take you off the battlefield if you didn't stop. It was your actions-" the villain tried.

"Oh, screw off with that bull!" hero snapped, "Your actions forced me to act in the first place!"

"I'm a villain," they snapped, "My men also have families to feed, and every time you screw up one of our plans, there are kids that go hungry. I put my own first,"

They turned to walk out, but something stopped them, and they slowly turned back around with a sigh, "By the way... your sister said yes,"

The hero's eyes went wide, "What!?"

"She said yes the day before I kidnapped you. She planned to tell the whole family over your mother's birthday dinner, but there was no celebration because they are stressed about your disappearance. She told a friend last night over text that she won't start planning the wedding until they find you,"

Hero's heart instantly felt like it broke. They didn't even have the energy to scold the villain for hacking into their sister's phone. They just stared, a devasted look on their face while an emptiness bottomed out their gut.

The villain took a deep breath, before sighing, "so..."

With that, they turned around to leave again, opening the door, but before they could step through, the hero called out.

"Wait!'

Villain froze in the doorway, back still to the hero, but their head turned to listen.

"If... if I did take these. Would you at least... tell my family? That I'm..." the hero muttered.

Villain's entire body seemed to stiffen for a moment, before they let out a breath, "Yes," they said in a way that sounded absolute, "if that's what you want,"

Then, they were gone, before the hero could say anything else. There was a click of the lock, then the room fell to silence.

The hero put the pills back in the capsule, collapsing back onto their bed.

They spent the rest of the night torn between sleeping or giving their sister that spring wedding she'd always wanted.

[writing-prompt-s]

You’re a regular high school student, and every day people are breaking out into spontaneous, yet elaborate, song and dance. You just want to know- why is it always around the same 3 people, and where is everyone getting these lyrics from?

[albino-whumpee]

It didn’t took you long enough to notice it.

If you had been a child, maybe it would’ve been easier to actually blend in, but you sprouted into life as a high school student with issues you knew about but had no recollection of ever actually happening to you until some unfortunate day. Was it that you gained consciousness? It felt like waking up from a dream. A long, long dream that tried to explain who you were and gave you no answers.

You kept on living and noticing this strange phenomena happen around you. The same three people moved around the place and on each step, people would awake and continue their life as normal. Well, singing was a part of this world as far as you were aware. Everyone knew the lyrics and dance moves inexplicably, and when the song was over and they were far enough from the same three people, they stopped moving. They stopped showing emotion.

Like puppets with cut strings, they stood there for a while. Completely still until for some reason the sound of vigor and life began to echo through the halls, through the streets and parks. Only then they would move. Even if just a few steps as if the signal of an electric wave wasn’t strong enough to reach them.

That’s when you understood you were alive in a world of puppets.

No parents at home, no hunger, no desires and not a body that aged as it should. The only difference between you and the world was that you were aware of it. If the three people who carried life into everywhere they went were in the room, you would try and tell the puppets the truth, but they would stay still and reply nonsense filler dialogues.

As if a play, you were an extra on somebody else’s life.

Was it possible then, you thought in a walk outside, that this world had edges too? Maybe a big curtain you had to lift to be an actual human?

You searched for it, but the world didn’t blur for miles. The world was kept as it was. The only conscious being in thousand of miles, being yourself alone.

There were entire towns full with puppets, some cars simulating traffic and actual livelihood, but none of them moved, breathed or closed their eyes.

The only three people on earth were those back there, having a musical on their own world.

Were they gods then? If that’s not the case, then, what are you?

Reaching to them was impossible. Or at least it seemed like it, when they only interacted between one another. You decided to research them. Watch the lives of those that were the closest to them and soon saw they were only moving when they were close.

Once they left them at school, the father in his car would stop moving, just a few streets down the road. The mother would stop moving once they left the house, and their brothers and sisters would stay inside the house unless they attended school too.

One of the three had an older sibling and a twin. But the twin was a puppet and so was the older sibling. The older sibling was a college student, but he would be downstairs, in a closet when he was gone and would go upstairs only when he was “back home”.

It was during your stay at that house that you noticed the twin was the most mobile puppet besides yourself. He was ill with some rare disease. Apparently out of the blue. He was always close to his sibling and until his diagnosis, he didn’t really leave their side. Somehow, with acted pain for a puppet, he began stumbling through the dances. Until he fell face first into the floor with a deafening silence.

Then, he was at home. But stubbornly kept trying to go out with his sibling. Using a cane at first and then a wheel chair. Was it coincidence or just luck it all happened during summer? Where the protagonists would be close to the house at all times.

They realized you were there, one night. Hiding in a closet too high up to get to, you watched and observed and took notes. You were a puppet. You didn’t need food. You were not like the three protagonists.

But the twin left you a sandwich right below the closet.

“Doesn’t it get lonely up there?” A note below it asked.

You kept the note in your hands for a long time before scurrying up into your hiding spot before they awoke, not forgetting to leave a reply.

You saw him come down and sit by the kitchen by themselves. The twin was always the first to awake, even while sick, stubborn as he was, his cane had become his third leg. You waited there, watched his surprised reaction to the sandwich being still there.

When he unfolded the paper below it his eyes widened and failing to conceal his curiosity he looked up at the closet where you were. His eyes had become cloudy and his skin was paler than the day before. You always wondered how that happened if it was artificial. Some pieces of your own skin laid discarded on the floor of the world you had once travelled through in search of another like you.

His smile faltered as he looked down after a second, taking a pen to scribble something by the table. Hidden well enough from others before he lifted himself to make the real people breakfast and taking his medications right when the mother and twin came down to eat.

Like a movie, he moved like an excellent actor. But when the siblings were gone, he fell asleep on the couch or in his room. Tightly holding his cane. As if he was afraid… was his illness something that he couldn’t survive?

You went down that night and read his message inside the closet.

“The story doesn’t care what we do when they’re not here. Wanna make your own story?”

You held the paper in your hands for a long long time, only starting your eyes from it when you heard the tap of his cane on the wooden floor.

“Have you made up your mind, little cupboard fairy?” He said with a smile. He looked weaker than the day before, somehow. He gripped tighter into his cane, putting a wide smile into his face when you opened the cupboard.

“When did you notice?” You asked crawling down.

He played with the empty coffee cup in his hand before looking up at you. “A long time ago”

A puppet with loose strings had developed something of a consciousness.

[mylittlewumperland]

( hero recklessly driving villain, who is in the backseat either bleeding or like something's wrong )

Hero's hands gripped the steering wheel. They kept anxiously glancing into the rearview mirror, then quickly looking back to the road before they swerved off.

" ughh... "

Villain mumbled in the backseat. They gripped their thigh tightly, eyes glowing hazy as blood dripped through their fingers.

" J-just hold on a bit longer ( villain ) alright?"

Hero mumbled, mostly to themselves. Hero jerked the steering wheel to the side, trying to avoid the trash on the road.

" HEY- " Villain groaned in the back, pain spiked up their leg as another sharp turn pushed them into the door.

" imsorryimsorryimsorry - "

" it's not like I'm in ANY PAIN BACK HERE! " Villain snapped back.

" well MAYBE if you hadn't gotten STABBED in the first place-- "

" ( HERO ) WATCH THE ROAD!! "

" what? "

" THE ROAD!! "

" OH CRAP-- "

Hero jerked the car to the side, sending villain into another spasm of pain .

They started to breathe heavily. Villain glanced at the seat of the car, with each light that passed over the road, they saw more and more blood.

" ( HERO )??.. "

" WHAT ( VILLAIN )? "

" THERE'S A LOT OF FUDGING BLOOD BACK HERE! "

" WELL TRY AND STOP THE BLEEDING! HOW BOUT THAT?! "

Hero took another sharp turn, their tires leaving skidd marks on the tar of the road, earning them loud honks from the drivers around them.

" ( VILLAIN )? HOWS THE BLEEDING!? "

Hero waited for a answer.

" ( villain )?.. "

They reached their hand up and adjusted the mirror onto villain.

Villain lay their limp on the leather seats, their hand still weakly gripping the wound.

" ( VILLAIN )!? "

Hero floored the gas pedal, praying that they could hold on just a bit longer...

' ' please please please...hold on a bit longer... ' ' - hero desperately thought.

[timetravelinghydra]

Whumpee v Society

The whumpee's face turned red with genuine anger at the whumper, provoked by them.

The whumper laughed in response, "Oh, calm down already. You never act like this. You're a perfect, calm, little pet." The whumpee looked down.

"Just breath in and out, deep breaths." The whumper chuckled as they spoke.

The whumper was trying to placate them, once again, instead of fighting or trying to actually help them.

The whumpee wished it wasn't this way.

They thought back to all the times the whumper had gotten upset and had yelled at them, furious. The whumpee still wasn't allowed to fight back even then.

Various times the whumper had taken a knife and chased the whumpee into a corner. Despite their irritation, they would laugh at the scared little whumpee. The whumpee's wide eyes and whimpering were often things of joy for the whumper.

It was never enough for them though.

They would plunge the blade into the whumpee's soft, pale skin. This would go on until the whumpee was either unconscious or the whumper leaned back, calmed by their actions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The whumpee shouted at the hero, angry at their actions. However, they feared the hero would react the same way as the whumper had, but they had to release their negative emotions and feelings to the hero eventually.

The hero started to shout back, but all they did was belittle the whumpee, turning it around on them, making them feel bad.

The whumpee began to regret saying anything at all. It was as if no one actually listened to what they were saying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The whumpee, furious with the caretaker, shouted at them.

When the whumpee had finally finished yelling and a fearful expression had crossed over their face, the caretaker just watched. They didn't know what else to do. What were they so afraid of? If anything, the caretaker should be afraid of them after the display they just witnessed.

The whumpee became dejected, thinking the caretaker was also going to placate them or decided they weren't even worthy of putting up a fight.

It was as if they were shouting into the void.

They moved to walk away when the caretaker grabbed their hand, spinning them around to face them. The caretaker then pulled the whumpee into a tight hug.

"I hear you. You can tell me anything, what's going on?"

The whumpee's face brightened at hearing those words. Tears started to fall. No one had responded like this before.

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Prompt #6

TW: self-depreciation, obsessive thoughts

Villain slams Hero against the wall, only for them to counter with a sharp kick to the shins.

"That's low," they wince, aiming a punch to Hero's cheek.

"Well you sure as hell deserve it." Their nemesis grits their teeth and tries to block their punch.

Villain grabs hold of Hero's wrist, and twists it harshly with a resounding crack. The shock of the pain has them momentarily dazed which gives their enemy enough time to slam them into the wall and stare straight into their light brown eyes.

Villain grins savagely. "Let's find out what goes on in that mind of yours. Hm?"

The easiest thoughts to access are always the most common ones. If they can get through those, they might be able to delve deeper into Hero's mind and find out about their past, their deepest secrets, anything that might be of good use to them. Their resistance is strong, and Villain has to use all of their energy to be able to break through.

They were not prepared for what they saw.

For all of Hero's snark and what Villain had mistook for confidence, their mind consisted heavily of the cruelest self-hate they'd ever seem.

"Your eye colour is boring. Your face is ugly. Your figure is not good enough."

"You're stupid. You mess up all the time. Too many mistakes, and you're too dim-witted to stop making them."

"Your friends only stick around because they don't want to hurt your feelings. You bore them. You talk too much and they have better things to do than listen."

"You are weak. Villain probably doesn't respect you enough to be afraid. You will never be enough. Never."

Their mind was sadistic. Beating them up for every mistake with crushing guilt, forcing them to rethink every argument that could've gone better and pointing out every imperfection, physical or moral, that you would only notice if you were scouring for faults.

And the rare times that Hero felt good about themselves, they were almost always getting praised by others.

Hero needed praise to believe that their self-inflicted mental beatings were wrong. It finally made sense why they were always exhausting themselves. It was as if their whole life was a repentance for simply existing. They wanted perfection. Expected it of themselves even.

Villain left their mind, gasping for air. It felt like they were being drowned. "H-how do you live like this?"

"Like what?" Hero cocks a confused brow, playing the fool.

"Hating every single thing about yourself. It's torture!" Their eyes widen, and they find themselves unconsciously resting a hand on their enemy's shoulder.

Hero gives them a wry smile. "I'm used to it."