Its A Whumperful World 🤠

Thank you for your concern :)

———

Whumpee’s arms wrapped around their frame, trying to keep themself as small as they could in the little storage closet.

They weren’t sure how long ago they’d been taken, Whumper’s constant experimentation keeping them in between consciousness.

The only constant in all of Whumpee’s hell was the room they were tested in, the only place they’d been since their abduction, and the oxygen mask that remained strapped to their face.

It was easy to grow sick of. The white room burning of antiseptic, a constant reminder of their suffering, and the thick plastic that rested heavily on their face, something they were desperate to take off, just once.

It was a miracle of some kind that Whumper had slipped up, too excited to jot down their notes and discoveries to properly replace the bonds.

They’d left, but it wouldn’t be for long. It was an opportunity and Whumpee knew it. A small part of them wanted to relish in the relief of the mask being gone, if just for a moment.

They didn’t make it very far before their absence had been noticed, and an alarm was raised, and they found themself ducking into the first empty room they could find.

Throat tickling, chest heaving from the running, they waited.

One minute passed.

Then a second.

As time slowly went on, the pain in Whumpee’s chest and throat only grew, and to their horror, a small cough escaped.

It seemed to have a butterfly effect. One small cough turned into another, and then another, until Whumpee had doubled over to their hands and knees, hacking up little splatters of blood.

Any little amount of oxygen they’d managed to inhale was quickly dispelled, overused by their spasming lungs.

Somewhere in the back of their mind, they’d noticed the closet door opening up, white light flooding in the small space.

Just when they assumed they were going to pass out from a lack of oxygen, there was a small prick in their thigh.

They expected to feel the pain amplify, or for them to be knocked out, but definetly not the sudden relief of the coughing fit easing up significantly.

As they laid on the tiled floor of the closet, panting heavily, their eyes met Whumper’s, standing at the doorframe, syringe held between two fingers and a thumb.

Whumper smiled happily at them, showing no signs of anger or cruelty, or even mockery for that matter.

Handing off the syringe, they picked Whumpee up with surprisingly gentle hands.

“Sweetheart,” they cooed, “This is why you can’t take off your mask. You’ll kill yourself.”

At Whumpee’s weak groan, Whumper inspected their face, before their face lit up. They started walking down the hall, in a different direction then Whumpee’s original room.

-Tw for self-harm mention, needles, injections, sickness, medicine, and general bullshittary at this point-

———-

Y’all, sorry for the inactivity, I was going to do some posting over the break after my finals were over, then I got nerfed with Covid.

Okay? I thought it would be like the cold. It wasn’t. My ass was bedridden for almost, living off a ton of medications because there’s a Covid to pneumonia pipeline for whatever fucking reason, and I might get it.

So my mom, a nurse, has to give me a shot to keep my fucking lungs open, and if I wasn’t stressed out about having to get a steroid shot, I realized I’ve got old ‘barcodes’ on my legs. (The shot is in the ‘upper thigh’, for context)

😀

Sobs

Anxiety gives you bad stomach cramps

Whumpee thought it was a panic attack at first. Something standard and familiar, one that brought them clutching their chest all the way to their bedroom, waiting for the hyperventilating to start.

It never did. Weirdly enough, they were calm, shaking hands at a minimum, but they still couldn’t breathe. (Why couldn’t they breathe?)

They tried one of their most common breathing exersises, in for four, hold, out for four, hold, so on and so forth, waiting for the familiar pressure that came with it.

When they didn’t feel it, they repeated it again and again, anxiety thrumming harshly through their body at every failed attempt, until it was cut off with a panicked sob. Nose and throat filled with mucus, unshed tears brimming uncomfortably in their eyes.

Clutching tightly at their chest once more, Whumpee’s mouth fell open, lungs forgetting their primary task. They couldn’t breathe, they couldn’t breathe, they couldn’t- a choked cry reactivated their body, labored breaths fighting frantically to the top.

Tears and bile threatened their way out, though neither of them made an appearance. That wasn’t how it generally happened, they wanted to scream.

Something was wrong.

“My lungs aren’t working,” they choked out, halfway between hysteria and and a disordered calm. “My lungs aren’t working, my lungs aren’t-“ something was wrong.

——————

A deep rooted discomfort formed from Whumper’s sudden… attraction to them, but they ignored it in favor of the nestled rage in their gut.

Whumpee’s worried and confused gaze had played in on repeat in Caretaker’s head, even as they were dragged out of the cell, feeling as if something was viciously wrong.

Sure, Whumpee mentioned once or twice how Whumper acted, but they neglected to point out how…intimate they were. Not that they blaming them, of course, because if Whumpee’s reaction was anything to gauge, they figured it was a surprise to them too.

They struggled in the chains, shaking and snarling and making it as inconvenient as possible for Whumper’s guards to bring them down the hall. It wouldn’t stop it, but it would rile them up, possibly enough to slip.

They’d been dragged into a white-walled room, the first thing they noticed being the sterile smell of sanitized metal hitting their nose.