a whump collection

a collection of all my favorite whump pieces and blogs

[friendsandfoood]

Caretaker holding Whumpee after a night terror. Whumpee's body is trembling in their arms violently, their breaths wobbling with the motion. Caretaker holding back their cries of pain as Whumpee claws desperately at their arms. Tears soaking Caretaker's shirt, some of them dripping down their collarbones. Whumpee's wails of panic and despair tearing Caretaker in two.

Meanwhile, Caretaker themselves are trying not to cry themselves. They think they're holding it together well, but there's still a small, perceivable wobble in their voice as they reassure Whumpee that they're okay and they're home, remember?

[seth-whumps]

Numbed for the one word?

hey guys bad caretakers coming up

--

"We're gonna have to do it without anesthetic," Medic mumbles, face turned away to the rest of the team.

Whumpee rolls their eyes. Honestly. "I can hear you. It's my leg, not my ears, you know?"

They ignore Whumpee, which is par for the course, really. It's not their fault. No one mentioned bear traps, so why would they be looking? It's midnight, there's no trail, they're not in the wrong here.

So maybe the blatant ignorance is getting to them. Or it could be the metal teeth digging deeper into their calf the longer they hunch agaist the tree, doing their best to stay conscious to a not-very-captive audience.

If anyone's a captive, it's Whumpee. They glare at the trap.

"Okay," Medic says, finally turning. "We either risk getting caught by rushing you to a hospital, trap and all, or we try to do this ourselves."

"Can't get caught," Whumpee grunts. "Not this far in, that'd--be suicide."

"Exactly. So. We're pulling you out."

Whumpee's eyes widen involuntarily. "But--we're not--the mission--?"

"We're tourniquetting you," Medic says briskly. "Then we're hoisting you on a makeshift stretcher and dragging you to base."

"Just get it off, I don't need to be numbed--"

"You'll bleed out," they respond, looking them in the eye with something just barely to the left of annoyance. It really is their fault. If only they'd been smarter, more on guard--

"I'll hold them," Brawn volunteers.

Medic lifts a scrap of fabric. "You'll be gagged. We can't risk the attention."

Whumpee feels their stomach drop to the bloody grass beneath their feet. "Wait. Hold on, I didn't--"

"--think about your actions?" Medic says, tilting their head. "No, you didn't."

"At least knock me out first," Whumpee pleads. The pain is already so much, what are they gonna do to them?

"No can do," Brawn says, locking firm arms around their chest and tightening their grip. "You're already losing the leg. A concussion is no good."

"You wanna live?" Medic asks, tone just as harsh before.

Whumpee doesn't say anything.

All they can hope for is to pass out when it gets too much.

--

the game is over. thanks for playing, and i hope you enjoyed!

[deerslayer14]

Caretaker picks Whumpee up from the ground, (or just lifts them in seating position). Whumpee is so weak that they can't hold their head, it drops forwards, or backwards.

The imagery of Whumpee's neck outline, open and vulnerable. Their throat. Or the back of the neck. Just something about the neck... Oh my heart.

[seth-whumps]

characters raised to be tools

Weapons. Trained, tested, forged in steel and fire. Failure is an inevitability that ends in death. Pain should not be felt--it should be recognized, familiar, and inconsequential

Martyrs. In the form of servants and princes, of leaders and underdogs. If blood is necessary, the martyr will lift their hands and offer it all

Shields. Like tempering a sword, but only to bear and not to lash out. Wounds are medals--not symbols of pride, but symbols of worth. A pretty shield is useless; scars mean a job well done

Experiments. Raised on the cold comfort of a lab table. Restraints are only necessary when they're not in their right mind. Is it honorable, to be twisted beyond recognition? Or is it just a necessary evil?

Monsters. Cruelty, caution, and regarding one as a creature beyond reasonable thought is tempering in its own right. But if you keep a leash at the right length, perhaps the massecre won't reach you. One can hope.

Idols. Pretty face, pretty name, pretty hands around their shoulders and throat. There to seduce, manipulate, force any feeling to come to the surface and twist it to their favor. Any genuinity stays locked behind the guilded cage that surrounds their pretty little heart

Trophies. Status and wealth and the traditions that keep someone at their heels, on their knees, to display and serve and decorate one's ballroom.

Sacrifices. Drenched in honorable clothes, prepared and adored and cleansed. The gift of hope at the cost of one's life. Is it taken with no fight? How can you escape the ropes you were born in?

[whumpwillow]

Hazeshift Masterlist

Here from a reblog? Find the most current version here

Description: a villain named Haze is rescued after having been held captive by a vigilante, but the heroes that find him aren’t exactly forgiving of his past crimes…

Content: villain whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, conflicted caretaker, reluctant caretaker, whumper turned caretaker, ANGST, hero whumpers, hero x villain

warnings for the series: captivity, conditioned whumpee, past torture, individual warnings listed at the beginning of each chapter

—

continuous storyline:

Part 1: Rescued

Part 2: Brought to the heroes base 

Part 3: Salt in wounds

Part 4: Wounds properly treated

Part 5: Freezing

Part 6: A misunderstanding

Part 7: Sick

Part 8: Fever dream

Part 9: Medbay

Part 10: Stitches 

Part 11: Electrocution

Part 12: Cuddles

Part 13: Disguise

Part 14: Memories

—

asides: 

wake up, happy, 

—

picrews:

Haze, Davian, Amani, Lisle, Cali

—

moodboards: 

Haze, 

—

art:

curled up and crying, hugging a pillow, 

will update as the series progresses…if i remember to…

[robins-whump]

The whumpee casually referencing torture and abuse. When the caregiver goes sets down a plate of food, the whumpee off-handedly mentions how they were only allowed to eat once a day. It takes the caregiver a few weeks to notice that the whumpee never uses hot water when they’re by themselves, because they’re “not allowed.” The caregiver is horrified as more details come to light, crying themselves to sleep because they don’t know how to make it better.

[grovegrocer]

The details are small at first. The way Jules casually speaks them, as though discussing a trip to the store to get milk, is offhanded, as though he doesn’t recognize it as something out of the ordinary. The first time it happens, Will is taken aback because Jules has only choked out the bare bone details of what happened at night in between strangled sobs as he struggled to free himself from the night terrors. 

“He put hot sauce in my eyes once.” 

Will stills from where he’s forking fajitas onto his plate and feels the blood drain from his face as he turns slowly to find Jules thoughtfully watching hot sauce drip from the bottle and onto his food. The thing that takes Will most aback is that he doesn’t seem upset in the least despite the sympathetic tears pricking the back of Will’s eyes. He could have mentioned that he said hello to the neighbor this morning for all his body language was giving away. 

“He was doing an experiment to see if I’d go blind. I’m glad I didn’t.”

Jules doesn’t notice Will’s horrified expression so he turns back to the stove, putting back the forkful as he suddenly finds his stomach far too tight to even consider food.

They come gradually. Each one makes Will’s skin feel too tight. It wasn’t as though Jules was utterly unaffected save for these outbursts. He screamed his way through nightmares and cried and shook when seemingly small things upset him. That was expected though. The thoughtless way these facts spilled from him was almost worse than what was being said. As though they were nothing. As though the torture he’d endured and survived was nothing. 

They’re watching TV, an innocent show about raising puppies, when the next comes. 

“I had a collar like that sometimes but the spikes were on the inside. Yeah, like that.” Jules nods agreeably as a choke collar, a horrible metal thing with long, dull spikes meant to penetrate a dog’s thick fur and press into their neck to encourage obedience, is demonstrated on screen. 

Jules must have felt his arms tense around him because he looks up and asks, “Everything alright?” 

“Yeah… Yeah, sorry sweetheart. I was just thinking I’d go make some popcorn.” 

“That sounds great.” Jules smiles up at him trustingly as Will stands, making his stomach lurch as he zeroes in with new focus on the pinprick dots circling his darling boy’s neck. 

Will all but throws the popcorn in the microwave and sinks to the cold tile, head between his knees. Jules. His beloved, gentle Julian. Wearing a choke collar. 

If Jules notices that the microwave beeped well past its standard allowance, he doesn’t mention it. Will handed off the full bowl to Jules as he sat back down and resumed his former position, wrapping back around his boyfriend and tightening his embrace, willing away the scars that seemed to glow around his neck. Will heard little more than a lulling buzz from the narrator on the show as his thoughts dwelled on his boy. 

Will’s stomach rolled as Jules leaned away to set the empty bowl on the coffee table, having singlehandedly wolfed down the entire bag even before the next commercial break. What once might have been a negligable bit of hunger leftover after dinner now only served to remind Will that, “I learned how to eat fast since I didn’t know if it’d be taken from me.”

It all crescendoed into catastrophe about a week later when Jules sat gingerly, wincing as he settled into bed. Ever watchful, Will’s brow furrowed in concern as he hurried around the bed, gently asking, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I can do it.” Jules reassured, waving away Will’s offered hand as he slowly picked up his legs one by one to maneuver and lay on the bed. “My hip hurts when I’m cold; it never really healed. I think maybe the break would have been alright but not after I hung on it.” 

Will’s heart stopped. “Hung?”

“Yeah.” Jules winced as he pulled his other leg up but the momentary pain seemed to pass, leaving him drowsy and peaceful as he readied for bed. “I’d been bad… Doctor Bowen broke my leg- or maybe my hip I’m not sure which- but he hung me from it to test…” Jules squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall. “I don’t really remember anything after that, I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart.” Will said faintly, suddenly overcome with lightheadedness. “I’m just gonna finish up in the bathroom and then I’ll come to bed.” Will’s stomach lurched at Jules’ sweet smile and he forced himself to walk calmly to the bathroom and shut the door before throwing on the tap at full capacity just as his vision blurred and he heaved his stomach contents into the toilet. 

The moment he finished, Will pressed his forearm tightly against his mouth, biting down and forcing away the scream that threatened to crawl up his throat. He lurched to the side, leaning against the cabinet as the initial abject horror began to pass and he threw his hand up without looking to flush. 

He realized tears were streaming down his face as he struggled to catch his breath, suddenly feeling as though he’d run for miles as images of Jules, screaming, unconscious, sobbing Jules strung up by a broken leg flew through his mind. His dark brown curls that Will took so much comfort from carding his fingers through hanging limply from his head as his face turned red with exertion and blood, begging to be let down. Unconscious and too still. Screaming. Just screaming, able to do nothing more. 

Will sobbed into his hand, muffling the noise. He couldn’t fall apart, not when Jules was right there somehow asleep after revealing the information that was shattering Will. He couldn’t fall apart when he wasn’t the one who lived it. 

Worse. He was the cause. He’d introduced him to Doctor Bowen after all. 

[whump-tr0pes]

Oh my

[writerwhostayedupallnight]

Whumpee finally awakes from a fever that left them so delirious they didn't even know where they were most of the time. The past few hours/days are a blur in their mind, and all they can be sure of is that Caretaker was there looking after them.

And then they see the bruises in the shape of handprints on Caretaker's arms, the scratches across Caretaker's face, the beginnings of a black eye that Caretaker is trying and failing to hide. And they realize that a lot of other things happened while they were sick.

[justbreakonme]

Whumpee throwing themselves at Leader’s feet after being rescued, apologizing for being caught, for cracking under torture, for being so weak and useless and-

Leader just drops to their knees to pull Whumpee into a hug, telling them the only thing they cared about was that they were alive, that they were back, nothing else mattered.

[dark-red-writing-hood]

Blood was seeping through their bandages, the hero realised. Earlier hours of saving the city rushed back into their mind. Suddenly, sitting on the floor of their bathroom at 2:49am didn't look so bad. She shivered and recalled the cut they'd taken, when they saved the injured child. The man in the mask had rushed over at the child with a knife, the hero had taken it just in time, it split their forearm and the back of their palm, but the child was alright, the cut wasn't deep enough to require surgery. They picked up a clean towel, cut it into neat rectangles, and applied it on their soaked bandages.

They shivered. Turned the bright light of the bathroom down. With just their phone's flashlight illuminating the bathroom, the hero slowly sank down into their bathtub, it was halfway filled with warm water. They slung their injured arm overthe edge, making sure it didn't get wet. They recalled the blood donation they'd given just a week past, and looking at their bloody forearm now, they couldn't help but softly cry, stroking their arm softly with their good hand, then up the shoulder, squeezing, and up to their nape, softly scratching. Comforting. The hero hummed a tune as their thumbs rubbed their cold skin. The water level reached their collarbone, they sat up for a single second and shut the tap, and laid back down. They'd just closed their eyes when—

"You are so, horribly pathetic, you know that?"

The hero jerked at the sound, snapping awake instantly, their forearm cracked against the tub when they flinched at the voice. Villian. Their villian.

It came again. They couldn't see anyone however. The voice sounded oddly close. The dim light of their bathroom didn't help. The main switch was way too far. They had no energy left to get up and turn it on.

It came again. "Self soothing is your favourite thing in the world isn't it? Last time it was you, standing in the bathroom massaging your nape, almost agressively, as you talked yourself in the mirror through the panic attack. Today it's stroking and singing to a bleeding arm. Like I said, you are pathetic."

The hero didn't respond.

"Are you going to allow me to look at that? You wrapped a fucking towel around your arm. For god's sake. Let me see."

The hero exhaled deep. The warm water brought back fire into their aching muscles. They then responded a tiny, "Not arm, villian. Forearm. Can't you see?" They whipped their head around, trying to capture where their rival was in the bathroom, but nothing.

They hummed once again. Now rubbing the skin on their bicep softly. There was a mini cut there, it stung agaisnt the warm water. The hero rubbed it, in a way, acknowledging the ache.

They leaned back, exhaling. They didn't realise when an arm pulled over and went around their shoulders, underneath their head. When they felt it, they leaned their head back agaisnt the clothed sleeve. They sighed in relief. "You know. I missed you so, so much. It's been three months, you realise? Since I saw you?" They took their bandaged forearm and wrapped it around the villains waist, they couldn't place when the villian came and stood beside them. Invisibility and blending in with the shadows must be a fun superpower.

The villian immediately held their wrist and softly, so softly, held it in their hand. Their other arm left heros shoulder from where it rest a minute. Minute? Half a minute? Hero couldn't place. The villian held their injured left forearm and shut their eyes. With a sigh, they started healing the area, a soft white glow seemed to come from their palms. It was cool, and so, so soothing.

The hero fell asleep once again in the tub, the water had started going cold. The villian's palm stroked back their damp hair, leaning down they said "Wake up. Get out of here. I've bought some food, eat it and sleep. Your forearm isn't totally healed, I've stopped the bleeding and any possible infection but it's still raw. Get up. I know you can hear me. I know you are. Up, hero. Up."

The hero opened their eyes and blinked at the villian. Once. Twice. They shut their eyes for a final minute before standing up, the moment they stood, the villian pulled them over into themselves, with their arms wrapped a cotton bedsheet around the hero. They scoffed, "bedsheet?" The villian just muttered a "you keep cutting up towels. very convenient for everyone" and lifted them up, out the tub and helped them stand on the floor. They led the hero back into their bedroom, closing the bathroom door behind them with just their shadow. They laid the hero in their bed, walked over and turned on the electric heater. From a leather bag they pulled out a lidded bowl. Rice. Tossed it over to the hero who took it. It came with a mini spoon on its lid, the hero opened the lid to find in it steaming hot risotto.

They wept when they took their first bite. Lemon, sundried tomato risotto. Very simple. The hero looked up the villian, who was sitting across from them on an armchair, very interested in the hero's bookshelf. They reached an arm out to them, the villian glanced, but didn't take it. Averted their attention back at the bookshelf, moving their fingers across spines, picking up any which had golden foil on them.

The hero sighed after they finished their meal and kept the bowl on the nightstand. "Villian. Thank you." They said, all they were rewarded with a nod. They'd picked up one of hero's many books, they couldn't read which one, but villain looked lost in it. The only light in the room came from the nightlight beside the hero's bed. The hero turned over and shut it. Plunging the room into darkness. They counted seconds. It took villian 44 seconds to sigh. 68 seconds to stand up, keep the book back. 84 seconds to shed their coat and boots. 104 to lay down beside them.

It took the hero 106 seconds to pass out.

[writersisland]

can you please give some angsty dialogue post-battle? like he's full of regret because she saved his life, and now she's ended up unconscious in the hospital

Angsty Post-Battle Dialogue

after one took a hit for the other.

“You idiot. Why would you do that?”

“Medic! Hey, we need a medic over here!”

“Don’t close your eyes, I need to yell at you later!”

“I’m so much more resilient than you are!”

“Need a medic?”

“Never do that again. Never. You understand?” “But—” “Never.”

“Let me take a look at that.”

“If they die… I’m going to kill everyone who had a hand in this.”

“You should have been more careful.”

“Are they going to be okay?”

“You idiot!” “You’re welcome.”

“Where are they!?”

“You fought like a beast out there.”

“It’s my fault. Had I been faster, you never would have felt the need to step in.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll wait with the yelling until you’re no longer concussed.”

“This is all my fault.”

“How could you do something so stupid?”

“I was trying to protect you.” “I don’t want you to risk yourself for me!”

“I’m still mad at you for endangering yourself.”

[justbreakonme]

Whumpee waking up in the hospital after being rescued with Caretaker holding their hand and reacting…oddly.

They ask Caretaker to look at them. Calmly, nothing like the crying reunion Caretaker expected, and Whumpees eyes rove over their face over and over. After a few minutes just looking, they tell Caretaker that they love them, that they miss them, that they know they’re looking for them, that they can’t wait to see them, and that’s when it clicks…

Whumpee had had this dream so many times before, and they did the same thing every time. The only difference now was that somehow Caretakers face seemed so much clearer than it usually was in their dreams, and they wanted to just, stare. Stare so they wouldn’t forget. Wanted to tell them all of these things just in case Caretaker could feel them somehow. In case Caretaker was having this same dream.

It takes a moment for Caretaker to realize, and another while they tried to speak through tears, squeezing Whumpee’s hand gently and shaking their head.

Whumpee doesn’t believe them, not yet. Not until the painkillers start wearing off, and doctors come in, and they’re poked and prodded and questioned but they’ve never been so happy to feel pain, to be unprepared for questions, because that had to be real. But still, after they’re sure, and all the doctors had left to let them rest, pain killers kicking back in, they still just lay staring at Caretaker’s face.

They never wanted to forget it.

[writerwhostayedupallnight]

"Is everyone okay?"

"Yes, everyone's fine."

"Good, because I'm not."

[lumpawhump]

Febuwhump Day 13: Again

@febuwhump Fandom: OCs (Cerrin of Pyrea) Content: Female whumpee, male whumper, male caretaker, used as bait, magic whump, shock collar, self-sacrifice Words: 1,164 Note: This is an immediate follow-up to this, but should stand on its own.

The Terranon harbor was abandoned in the late evening, most of the dockworkers away for the evening meal. The sky was dark and the shadows long as Cerrin approached. There ought to be guards, he thought, with ships owned by so many of the wealthy and powerful docked here, but he entered unchallenged and walked along the quays, counting the ships. Each one likely had a few crew on it, he knew his own did, but none of them were abovedeck at this time, and he trod quickly and quietly so as to not disturb any potential witnesses.

Gadric’s vessel was the furthest to the north, separated from the others by four empty quays -- no one wanted to be too close to the ship of the notorious Lord of the Grim Isle, though whether they feared more for their safety or their reputation was anyone’s guess. Cerrin approached slowly. He could see the silhouette of a man standing on the deck, and as he drew near, he recognized it; Gadric stood there, facing out to sea, arms crossed, waiting. Cerrin stepped up to the end of the gangplank and then stopped.

“Gadric!” he called softly. “I’m here.”

Gadric turned to face him, and Cerrin’s blood ran cold when he saw that he was smiling. “Your Majesty,” he said. “Predictable, as always.”

“Where is Leila?” Cerrin said.

Gadric clicked his tongue. “Are you sure you want to be making demands, Your Majesty?” he asked.

“I am not coming any nearer until you prove to me that you really have her, and she’s alive,” Cerrin said.

Gadric’s smile widened. He took a step back and uncrossed his arms, rapping on the wall of the ship’s main cabin. A moment later the door opened and a man in sailor’s cloth emerged, dragging Leila with him.

Cerrin had not expected to like what he saw, but he still swallowed a gasp. Leila was stumbling and unsteady on her feet, her hands were bound behind her, and there were bruises on her face. Her hair, normally immaculately pinned back, was loose and hanging in her eyes, which caught sight of him and widened in horror. She was gagged with a dirty cloth, and around her neck was a collar the sight of which drudged up horrible memories in Cerrin’s mind. The man shoved her to her knees and she landed hard, grunting from the impact.

“I’m afraid she’s not been a very cooperative guest,” said Gadric. “But she is alive. Why would I kill my leverage against you?”

“Let her go,” Cerrin said, “and I will go with you peacefully.”

Gadric laughed. “Why would I let go of my leverage against you?” he said. “I think you’ll come peacefully anyway. You do remember what this collar does, do you not?”

Cerrin did. Gods, he did. “All right,” he said. He held his hands out from his sides so Gadric could see they were empty. “I’m coming over.”

Leila shouted something, muffled by her gag. Gadric looked annoyed for a fleeting moment, and then he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

Cerrin flinched violently at the movement, but it was Leila who lost her balance and fell forward, a piteous keen coming through the gag, until she had to stop in order to take a shaking, laborious breath before continuing.

“Stop!” Cerrin practically shouted, rushing forwards as quick as he dared along the gangplank. Couldn’t anyone else hear this? Or did they dare not interfere? The other ships were far away, but Leila’s voice seemed so loud in his ears, even with the gag keeping it from being as loud as it might otherwise be. “Stop it!”

Gadric hadn’t even looked at Leila the whole time. He snapped his fingers, ending the spell. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he said. “She has yet to learn that she is only to speak when spoken to.” His eyes gleamed as he looked at Cerrin. “I trust I won’t have to impress the same lesson upon you again.”

“What do you want with me?” Cerrin said. He had only eyes for Leila, who was gasping for breath around the gag as she lay on the deck.

“Oh, it’s nothing personal, Your Majesty,” Gadric said. “Only rumors of your supposed escape from my prison does reflect rather poorly on my reputation. It’s just business.”

“I denied them,” Cerrin said. “I’ll deny them again, if you like. No one has any proof of anything.”

“It doesn’t matter if anyone believes them,” Gadric said, his voice condescending, as if this ought to be obvious. “It doesn’t even matter if they’re true or not. It’s reasonable doubt. Potential customers are no longer confident that I can keep a prisoner under control. They could all be lies and I would still have no choice but to make an example of you.”

“All right!” Cerrin said, stepping onto the deck of the ship. “Just -- just let her go, please.”

“We’ve been over this,” Gadric said. “I’m not going to throw away my leverage against you.” His eyes narrowed. “And if you weren’t lying yesterday, then it seems I need to find a new sorcerer to enchant my collars, doesn’t it?”

“She’s not going to do that for you,” Cerrin said.

“Oh, I think she will,” Gadric said darkly. He reached inside his coat and drew out a collar like the one Leila was wearing. Cerrin barely had a moment to process it before Gadric tossed it, and Cerrin instinctively caught it. The metal was cold in his hands. “Put it on,” he ordered.

Cerrin hesitated, every bone in his body screaming to throw the thing as far away from himself as he could, and then run. Gadric, seeing his hesitation, raised his hand and poised his fingers to snap, and Cerrin flinched so hard that the collar fell from his nerveless hands and hit the deck with a distinctive thump.

Leila let out a strangled scream, and thrashed desperately, straining against her restraints, her eyes rolling, unseeing, in her head. Cerrin dropped to his knees, feeling for the collar with one hand, the other outstretched in a desperate, pleading gesture.

“Stop!” he shouted. “Please, stop! I’m doing it!” His hand closed on the collar and with barely a second thought he opened it and looped it around his neck. It clicked shut with a cold finality, and he looked up to see Gadric smiling down at him cruelly. There was no escape now; he was once again a prisoner of the Lord of the Grim Isle, who slowly raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

Cerrin cringed in on himself, but there was no fiery pain through his veins. Instead, Leila suddenly lay still on the deck before him, gasping pitifully.

Gadric leaned down and grabbed Cerrin’s face in his hand, forcing him to look up at him. “It’s just business,” he repeated, “but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to it very much.”

[writerwhostayedupallnight]

Medic who runs themselves ragged making sure everyone is okay after a particularly rough battle.

Medic who doesn't stop until they're absolutely certain everyone else's injuries have been cared for and no one is in danger of dying.

Medic who finally collapses, either out of sheer exhaustion or because of the serious injury they've been hiding up until now.

[whump-collective]

Febuwhump day 7 prompt: forced to hurt another

"Why are you doing this, please stop"

'I'm sorry, i can't'

[grueraven]

Whumper has to hurt the whumpee as a public performance to make a point that they don't have feelings for whumpee. Think of a torture/interrogation scene or any other convenient narrative. Whumper is absolutely devastated to carry out the act.

The whumper later secretly meets and comforts the whumpee.

[justbreakonme]

“Fuck you.”

Caretaker didn’t look up from what she was working on, just nodded absently.

Whumpee swallowed hard, heart pounding in his ears. “What, got nothing to say?”

She still didn’t look up. “No, not really- oh, if you want, there’s some cookies left in the kitchen, they’re on top of the microwave.”

She gestured vaguely towards the kitchen, and if he had had anything he could throw, he would have.

He knew this act would wear off and the sooner it did, the better.

“I don’t want any fucking cookies.”

Her mouth twitched, and even he realized he sounded like a foul mouthed toddler.

He was on his feet before he could stop himself, and she finally looked up, but her face was still nothing but kind, concerned, placid. It’s all just a mask, it’s all fake, nothing about her is real-

“You don’t have to have any-“

The slap startled both of them.

She put a hand up to her face, mouth open as a tear streaked down her other cheek.

He stood frozen, waiting, waiting for her to break character, for the mask to slip.

But…

She closed her mouth, looking down and taking a deep breath before wiping her eyes.

“Please don’t hit me. I haven’t hit you, and I’m not going to.”

Her voice shook, and suddenly he couldn’t look at her. He took a step back, then turned, taking the few steps to “his room” at almost a run.

He shut the door behind him and sank down against it, pressing his hands to his face.

It had to be fake, it had to be.

He couldn’t get his hopes up, couldn’t let his guard down. But she-

He couldn’t believe he’d hit her. He stared down at his hand like it was someone else’s, sick to his stomach.

And she hadn’t hit him back.

One kick to his still healing ankle or an elbow to his bruised ribs would have had him on the ground, no question. He would have deserved it, honestly.

The jump from anger to shock to guilt and confusion and everything else that was jumbling around was unpleasant to say the least, and, more than anything, he wished he could just- stop.

He listened with his ear against the door for a moment or two, but heard nothing.

Slowly, carefully, he dragged himself up off the floor, and let himself fall into bed.

He pulled one of the many blankets up over him, and stared up at the ceiling. The tears that dripped from the outer corners of his eyes into his hair felt strange, and he wanted them to stop but there was nothing he could do.

Eventually, he slipped into a half doze, his thoughts disjointed and wandering.

The sound of the door creaking open drew him back to consciousness, but he kept his eyes closed.

“Whumpee?”

He didn’t answer, just tried to keep his breathing slow and even.

This is it, she’s gonna crack..

She sighed, taking a few steps towards the bed. He braced not to flinch.

“It’s gonna be okay…” he couldn’t tell if she was talking to him or herself, “just gotta give it a bit of time.”

Her hands gently pulled another blanket over top of the first one, and-

Her lips pressed against his temple, her fingers gently smoothing a lock of hair back from his forehead. “Just gotta give it time.”

Then she was gone, and the door creaked shut behind her.

His chest ached as he opened his eyes, tears spilling out once more.

What if she really was telling the truth?

He realized he didn’t know what it would take for him to believe it. What could she do to prove that it wasn’t an act, that wouldn’t look like keeping up the act?

He would have to believe her, or pretend to, to really trust that it was safe to.

He wiped his eyes, sighing.

What a mess…

He tried to go back to sleep, tried to stop his mind from wandering down every potential path it could find, but too soon, the sun was rising, and his burning eyes were still fixed on the ceiling.

Only when he heard her footsteps and the sound of the coffee maker humming to life, did he dare to get up.

His feet hit the cold floor, and he rubbed both hands over his face, hating how obvious it must look that he had been crying.

But regardless, he slipped out into the hallway, making his way towards the noise of cabinets opening and closing and coffee mugs clinking.

Her back was to him when he entered the kitchen, and she jumped when she turned around. The guilt was like a bowling ball had dropped into his stomach, his face growing hot seeing the faint bruise on her cheek in the shape of his hand.

“G-good morning,” she still looked kind and concerned, “I’m making some eggs, do you want some?”

His mouth was suddenly very dry, and his eyes very wet. He tried to swallow, to blink back the tears but it wasn’t working.

“I-“ He took a deep breath, he knew what he needed to say, what he wanted to say, he just had to make his mouth work.

“I’m sorry,” his voice came out broken, but it worked, “I’m so sorry…”