i'm always looking for new prompts to fill! i'm in the market for
recovery stuff
living weapon whump
platonic whumpee x caretaker
addiction whump
bad caretaker
lady whump
hero villain whump
please no pet whump atm!
i don't do nsfw!
no plushie whump!
you can always send me others' prompts! if you'd like me to continue a drabble, the best way to let me know is not through a comment but through an ask, or @ me!
my queue is very long if you send me stuff and i don't answer right away i am not ignoring you! (inbox: 5)
i'm gonna run a (hopefully annual?) lady whump event over at @ladywhumpdiaries, check that out if you want to know more!
send me a five sentence fic starter!
my five sentence fics aren't tagged or trigger warned, so if you don't want to see them, block #five sentence fics
Silence (my book!!!) (SSBA nominee)
Rayan has always wanted a pet. Not the fluffy kind, but the kind that looks deceptively human. When the creature he’s been feeding out behind the dumpster turns out to be a pet, he can’t stop himself from taking it in. But Sil is a runaway for a reason. As secrets come to life and the Pet Protection Agency closes in, Rayan will be forced to question everything he thought he knew.
Masterpost
Drabbles
Prompts
oneshots/short series taglist: @whumpsday @jumpywhumpywriter
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what are your favorite drabbles you've written? i love aaaaaaaall of them!
anon i'm gonna be so real as soon as i write them they're out of sight out of mind. and because i schedule one month in advance by the time they come out i don't remember them at all, and then i can have an authentic reader experience by skimming them and being like oooooo yeahhhh i didn't even remember this......
so i don't have favourites. usually if i like one a lot i'll self rb, but not recently because i'm a little self conscious about self rbing at the moment
whumpee gets rescued and istraumatized/unwell they just physically can't sleep for days. maybe they eventually ask for medication or fall asleep on caretaker (or both.)
#389
content: past trauma, aftermath of whump, sleep deprivation, rocky recovery, recovery fic, comfort
Whumpee wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed — they didn't have a medicine-related degree, they had never worked in the field, they just flat out had no idea what was happening to their body. But ever since The Incident and subsequent rescue, they just couldn't fall asleep. It had been 3 days since then, and though they walked around like some undead freak, always teetering on the edge of falling asleep, they could never actually go over the threshold. It was driving them mad. They just wanted a good night's sleep.
"Whumpee?"
They slowly raised their head. They had been trying to fall asleep in the armchair, and Caretaker found them curled up like a cat. "Help me," they begged.
"Help you with…?"
"To fall asleep. I can't. I can't do this anymore. I don't know if it's leftover adrenaline, or what, but I can't fall asleep. It's been 3 days. Please. Don't you have something? A sleeping pill? A sedative? Anything?"
"Well, I have my prescription sleeping medication…"
"Give it to me!"
"One isn't really supposed to give away their prescribed meds… Why don't I make you some chamomile tea, with some honey, maybe—"
"I've drunk so much tea in the past 3 days that I've been going to the bathroom every ten minutes. It doesn't work. I need something stronger. And if you're not giving me the meds, I'm gonna go into your liquor cabinet and drink myself to sleep."
"Okay," Caretaker said quickly, throwing up their hands in defeat. "Okay. You can have one pill."
Whumpee got up from the armchair and followed Caretaker into the kitchen, where they opened a cabinet and took out a box. They waited eagerly as Caretaker popped out a pill into their palm and handed it to them.
"One pill. That's all. You don't get more, and if it doesn't work, I'll simply take you to a—"
Whumpee wasn't paying attention to the rest of the monologue. They immediately downed the pill and went to lie back down in their bed. To them, this was the magic potion, this was the thing that would finally end their waking nightmare.
They snuggled up in the guest bedroom bed with their several pillows and closed blinds, closed their eyes and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Nothing was happening. They were half-asleep, but not really asleep. They heard when Caretaker opened their door to check on them — maybe to see if their breathing had stopped from the pill. "I'm awake," they mumbled into a pillow.
"Oh," Caretaker said quietly. "So it's not working?"
"I dunno… I'm woozy… But I'm not sleeping…"
"Maybe this is a weird idea, but—"
"Can you lie down with me?"
The straightforwardness of the request probably surprised both of them. Whumpee wasn't this direct of a person when they weren't running on fumes. And Caretaker was basically a stranger… And yet.
"Yeah. I was about to suggest something similar."
Caretaker walked further into the room and lay down next to Whumpee. They weren't touching, but Whumpee remedied that pretty quickly. They turned over and cuddled up to Caretaker, like Caretaker was just another pillow, but warmer. They told themself it was in pursuit of sleep, so it was fine.
Deep down, they were starved for human contact that didn't hurt.
"Uh, Whumpee—"
"Just don't say anything to ruin it," they pleaded. "I just want to sleep. Please."
Caretaker tentatively put an arm around Whumpee, holding them. "Okay."
Maybe it was the tea. Or the medication. Or… it was embarrassing enough to admit in their head, let alone out loud, but maybe it was Caretaker's presence. But Whumpee finally, finally dozed off.
content: second person pov, living weapon whump, living weapon whumpee, conditioned whumpee, lady whumper mention, implied minor whump, child whumpee mention, rocky recovery
You stare at the sandwich in front of you intently, like you're trying to memorise every single little white spot on the salami. There's no way you can tell her.
"I'm sorry, did I—"
"You did nothing wrong," you hurry to assure her.
"Still, if you don't want to share..."
"I..."
More staring. More stammering. You can't bear to look at Freddie. But she's asking so sincerely, there's no way you can deny her. She has a right to know, anyway. She's in danger.
But how can you tell her without telling on everyone in the facility?
"Back at home," you start slowly, carefully, "I had a sort of... mother-figure." Okay, not bad. Believable. True, in a way. "She was... strict. She didn't want me wandering outside, or making friends, or..."
"Not a very good mother-figure," Freddie interjects.
"She was! She was. She had her reasons. Anyway, in the dream, she... found out you took me in. And she wasn't happy."
"Mmm."
You risk a glance up at her. She seems to be deep in thought.
"So... Okay, so... Hm. Your name is #064. You don't seem to be mentioning a real mother, but a mother-figure. And I'm fairly sure you just confirmed you lived in that awful facility."
Have you really given away so much already? Oh dear. Oh no. "No, home, home is a different place—" you try, you fumble, but she sees right through you.
"It's okay," she says. She smiles. "I'm not judging."
She definitely is.
But that's not the worst part. You are giving away the game. You are giving away vital secrets of the organisation. You are being a traitor.
"Why are you even so interested in the facility?" you ask quietly. She never told you why. She just showed up, started asking questions, bribed you with a salami sandwich and a warm bed, and now you are here. Telling her about the facility. Like an idiot.
She takes a bite of her sandwich. You don't touch yours. Your appetite is long gone, replaced by anxiety.
"One time, I saw them kidnap a child," she says easily.
But that's... not right. The facility doesn't kidnap people. They take in orphans. Give them three meals a day and a bed, and to repay that kindness, you and the others try to be good at what the facility teaches you. #065 and the others, they were all orphans. No family. No name. No nothing. Your handler has told you the story several times: you were abandoned in the hospital, your mother never claiming you. You've never heard of anyone being kidnapped.
"That's not... That's absurd."
"Unmarked van, two women in all-black clothing, snatched up the kid like it was nothing. I called the police — they were wildly unhelpful. I ran after the van as long as I could, to see where they'd take the kid. I only had to run two streets down. Van passed through a gate to the back of the facility."
"That can't be right."
She takes another bite. Still so nonchalant. Like this doesn't even faze her. Even if it were true— no, especially if it were true, she should be freaking out about it.
"Saw it with my own two eyes," she says, not bothered by you not believing her.
"Why are you so calm, if you think there's a facility in town that kidnaps children and trains them to be—"
You cut yourself off. Idiot. Stupid. You almost said it out loud.
"Trains them to be what?"
"Ah..." You scramble for a word. "Self-sufficient."
She gives you a sceptical look, but doesn't press you on it. "Because I finally have someone who can help me bring the whole thing down," she says.
Oh.
Is that supposed to be... you? You're the thing that'll bring the facility down?
"But you're wrong," you insist. "They wouldn't kidnap people."
"How did you end up in there?"
"I'm an orphan. They took me in. That's what they do."
"So it's an orphanage. Why didn't they give you a name?"
You shouldn't have told her your name.
"#064 is my name."
"What's up with the prosthetics?"
"Ah..."
"And why did they kick you out with injuries that would make a grown man bed-bound for a week?"
You can't answer all these questions. Your head hurts. Freddie seemed so happy-go-lucky at first, so soft, so affable, but now she's staring you down like you really are her golden ticket.
"I... I..." You don't know what to say.
"Oh, look at the time. I'm gonna be late." She gives you another smile, like nothing happened. "Finish your breakfast. I'll be back by five." She stands and puts her plate in the sink. "Make yourself at home while I'm not here!"
With that, she leaves.
Your head is still spinning.
This is bad. Bad bad bad bad. You need to leave. Now.
Were you really taken in as an orphan? Her story makes you question your reality
Just finish breakfast. One step at a time.
Nothing is safe. Run back to your room and spend the day under the covers.
content: second person pov, living weapon whump, living weapon whumpee, conditioned whumpee, lady whumper mention, implied minor whump, child whumpee mention, rocky recovery
You stare at the sandwich in front of you intently, like you're trying to memorise every single little white spot on the salami. There's no way you can tell her.
"I'm sorry, did I—"
"You did nothing wrong," you hurry to assure her.
"Still, if you don't want to share..."
"I..."
More staring. More stammering. You can't bear to look at Freddie. But she's asking so sincerely, there's no way you can deny her. She has a right to know, anyway. She's in danger.
But how can you tell her without telling on everyone in the facility?
"Back at home," you start slowly, carefully, "I had a sort of... mother-figure." Okay, not bad. Believable. True, in a way. "She was... strict. She didn't want me wandering outside, or making friends, or..."
"Not a very good mother-figure," Freddie interjects.
"She was! She was. She had her reasons. Anyway, in the dream, she... found out you took me in. And she wasn't happy."
"Mmm."
You risk a glance up at her. She seems to be deep in thought.
"So... Okay, so... Hm. Your name is #064. You don't seem to be mentioning a real mother, but a mother-figure. And I'm fairly sure you just confirmed you lived in that awful facility."
Have you really given away so much already? Oh dear. Oh no. "No, home, home is a different place—" you try, you fumble, but she sees right through you.
"It's okay," she says. She smiles. "I'm not judging."
She definitely is.
But that's not the worst part. You are giving away the game. You are giving away vital secrets of the organisation. You are being a traitor.
"Why are you even so interested in the facility?" you ask quietly. She never told you why. She just showed up, started asking questions, bribed you with a salami sandwich and a warm bed, and now you are here. Telling her about the facility. Like an idiot.
She takes a bite of her sandwich. You don't touch yours. Your appetite is long gone, replaced by anxiety.
"One time, I saw them kidnap a child," she says easily.
But that's... not right. The facility doesn't kidnap people. They take in orphans. Give them three meals a day and a bed, and to repay that kindness, you and the others try to be good at what the facility teaches you. #065 and the others, they were all orphans. No family. No name. No nothing. Your handler has told you the story several times: you were abandoned in the hospital, your mother never claiming you. You've never heard of anyone being kidnapped.
"That's not... That's absurd."
"Unmarked van, two women in all-black clothing, snatched up the kid like it was nothing. I called the police — they were wildly unhelpful. I ran after the van as long as I could, to see where they'd take the kid. I only had to run two streets down. Van passed through a gate to the back of the facility."
"That can't be right."
She takes another bite. Still so nonchalant. Like this doesn't even faze her. Even if it were true— no, especially if it were true, she should be freaking out about it.
"Saw it with my own two eyes," she says, not bothered by you not believing her.
"Why are you so calm, if you think there's a facility in town that kidnaps children and trains them to be—"
You cut yourself off. Idiot. Stupid. You almost said it out loud.
"Trains them to be what?"
"Ah..." You scramble for a word. "Self-sufficient."
She gives you a sceptical look, but doesn't press you on it. "Because I finally have someone who can help me bring the whole thing down," she says.
Oh.
Is that supposed to be... you? You're the thing that'll bring the facility down?
"But you're wrong," you insist. "They wouldn't kidnap people."
"How did you end up in there?"
"I'm an orphan. They took me in. That's what they do."
"So it's an orphanage. Why didn't they give you a name?"
You shouldn't have told her your name.
"#064 is my name."
"What's up with the prosthetics?"
"Ah..."
"And why did they kick you out with injuries that would make a grown man bed-bound for a week?"
You can't answer all these questions. Your head hurts. Freddie seemed so happy-go-lucky at first, so soft, so affable, but now she's staring you down like you really are her golden ticket.
"I... I..." You don't know what to say.
"Oh, look at the time. I'm gonna be late." She gives you another smile, like nothing happened. "Finish your breakfast. I'll be back by five." She stands and puts her plate in the sink. "Make yourself at home while I'm not here!"
With that, she leaves.
Your head is still spinning.
This is bad. Bad bad bad bad. You need to leave. Now.
Were you really taken in as an orphan? Her story makes you question your reality
Just finish breakfast. One step at a time.
Nothing is safe. Run back to your room and spend the day under the covers.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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content: bad caretaker, disordered eating, aftermath of whump, past trauma
"You're really eating all that?"
Whumpee froze with the fork lifted halfway to their mouth. They... were going to. They wanted to. But now they weren't so sure.
They slowly put down the fork.
"No," they said, forced out more like, because truth was, they were starving. But if Caretaker thought it was too much, if Caretaker thought them undeserving, then they wouldn't eat at all.
"Not in a mean way," Caretaker added. "You just... never used to eat so much."
Memories of Whumper beating them senseless for taking an extra apple popped into their head.
They had to stay thin.
"No, you're right. I'm not hungry." They pushed the plate away.
"Come on, eat some. Just... maybe not all of it."
Whumpee stood up from the table. "I'll be in my room." Trying to convince myself that my stomach eating itself is good, that it's proof of my success.
content: second person pov, living weapon whump, living weapon whumpee, conditioned whumpee, lady whumper mention, implied minor whump, child whumpee mention, rocky recovery
You stare at the sandwich in front of you intently, like you're trying to memorise every single little white spot on the salami. There's no way you can tell her.
"I'm sorry, did I—"
"You did nothing wrong," you hurry to assure her.
"Still, if you don't want to share..."
"I..."
More staring. More stammering. You can't bear to look at Freddie. But she's asking so sincerely, there's no way you can deny her. She has a right to know, anyway. She's in danger.
But how can you tell her without telling on everyone in the facility?
"Back at home," you start slowly, carefully, "I had a sort of... mother-figure." Okay, not bad. Believable. True, in a way. "She was... strict. She didn't want me wandering outside, or making friends, or..."
"Not a very good mother-figure," Freddie interjects.
"She was! She was. She had her reasons. Anyway, in the dream, she... found out you took me in. And she wasn't happy."
"Mmm."
You risk a glance up at her. She seems to be deep in thought.
"So... Okay, so... Hm. Your name is #064. You don't seem to be mentioning a real mother, but a mother-figure. And I'm fairly sure you just confirmed you lived in that awful facility."
Have you really given away so much already? Oh dear. Oh no. "No, home, home is a different place—" you try, you fumble, but she sees right through you.
"It's okay," she says. She smiles. "I'm not judging."
She definitely is.
But that's not the worst part. You are giving away the game. You are giving away vital secrets of the organisation. You are being a traitor.
"Why are you even so interested in the facility?" you ask quietly. She never told you why. She just showed up, started asking questions, bribed you with a salami sandwich and a warm bed, and now you are here. Telling her about the facility. Like an idiot.
She takes a bite of her sandwich. You don't touch yours. Your appetite is long gone, replaced by anxiety.
"One time, I saw them kidnap a child," she says easily.
But that's... not right. The facility doesn't kidnap people. They take in orphans. Give them three meals a day and a bed, and to repay that kindness, you and the others try to be good at what the facility teaches you. #065 and the others, they were all orphans. No family. No name. No nothing. Your handler has told you the story several times: you were abandoned in the hospital, your mother never claiming you. You've never heard of anyone being kidnapped.
"That's not... That's absurd."
"Unmarked van, two women in all-black clothing, snatched up the kid like it was nothing. I called the police — they were wildly unhelpful. I ran after the van as long as I could, to see where they'd take the kid. I only had to run two streets down. Van passed through a gate to the back of the facility."
"That can't be right."
She takes another bite. Still so nonchalant. Like this doesn't even faze her. Even if it were true— no, especially if it were true, she should be freaking out about it.
"Saw it with my own two eyes," she says, not bothered by you not believing her.
"Why are you so calm, if you think there's a facility in town that kidnaps children and trains them to be—"
You cut yourself off. Idiot. Stupid. You almost said it out loud.
"Trains them to be what?"
"Ah..." You scramble for a word. "Self-sufficient."
She gives you a sceptical look, but doesn't press you on it. "Because I finally have someone who can help me bring the whole thing down," she says.
Oh.
Is that supposed to be... you? You're the thing that'll bring the facility down?
"But you're wrong," you insist. "They wouldn't kidnap people."
"How did you end up in there?"
"I'm an orphan. They took me in. That's what they do."
"So it's an orphanage. Why didn't they give you a name?"
You shouldn't have told her your name.
"#064 is my name."
"What's up with the prosthetics?"
"Ah..."
"And why did they kick you out with injuries that would make a grown man bed-bound for a week?"
You can't answer all these questions. Your head hurts. Freddie seemed so happy-go-lucky at first, so soft, so affable, but now she's staring you down like you really are her golden ticket.
"I... I..." You don't know what to say.
"Oh, look at the time. I'm gonna be late." She gives you another smile, like nothing happened. "Finish your breakfast. I'll be back by five." She stands and puts her plate in the sink. "Make yourself at home while I'm not here!"
With that, she leaves.
Your head is still spinning.
This is bad. Bad bad bad bad. You need to leave. Now.
Were you really taken in as an orphan? Her story makes you question your reality
Just finish breakfast. One step at a time.
Nothing is safe. Run back to your room and spend the day under the covers.
content: bad caretaker (unintentional), hero villain whump, villain whumpee, hero caretaker, whumper turned whumpee, uhhh whumper turned caretaker?? there was some mutual whumping before this, i don't know man
"I can't help you if you don't want to be helped," Hero said. Villain scoffed.
"What, are we a team now?"
"A team? We? No, definitely not. But you're bleeding, I have some first-aid training, and out of the two of us, I don't like to see others die."
Villain glanced down at their wound. Blood was seeping through their fingers. Their nervous — they were trying to hide it, but they were definitely nervous — eyes finding Hero's again. "Fine," they spat, like it physically hurt them. "Take a look at it, doc."
"If you think I'm doing this for fun—" they started, but when Villain actually took their hand away, and they got a look at the wound, their whole trajectory changed. "Holy shit!"
"You did this!"
"No, I— I did? I didn't mean to, I—" they stammered. Had they really injured Villain so badly? This looked... lethal.
"What, you suddenly don't want to help anymore?"
"Don't act like you weren't trying to prevent me from helping two seconds ago!"
"Can you do anything about it or no?"
Hero's eyes were flicking between the wound and Villain's face. "I can try?"
Villain let out a humourless laugh. "Oh, that's very reassuring. I definitely won't die today."
"Okay, let's not act like the wound is undeserved—"
Villain suddenly hissed in pain. "Fuck," they said emphatically. "Just do something! It fucking hurts!"
content: no holds barred beatdown, broken bones, emotional whump, dissociation whump, loss of consciousness, torture, emeto, dehumanisation (of self)
Whumpee felt like they were floating. It — their body that wasn't really theirs anymore — was in pain, but the pain was numbed, dull, a constant, low buzz that didn't reach their brain anymore. Whumper was wailing on them, they knew that, distantly, and it took the beating, but they were far, far away.
Pop.
A bone broke.
It wasn't withstanding the blows quite right.
Whumpee thought of home. They thought of Caretaker. Back then, when it belonged to them still, they would make pancakes together on Sunday mornings. Only on Sunday mornings. It was their special pancake day.
They thought of their parents. Their siblings. What would they have said, if they knew it didn't belong to them anymore? Would they be horrified? Whumpee had been, when they first realised. The horror was gone by now. It was just a faraway extension of their faraway mind, thrown around and broken in more ways than Whumpee could count.
Whumper was screaming at it. Only it, because their mind was far from the basement. It didn't respond. Whumper only got angrier.
For a moment, Whumpee was it again. Back in their body. The pain was unbearable.
And there they went, floating away again, probably losing consciousness for a time.
When they next came to, they were alone. It hurt, just like it always did, but it was nothing but a low hum. A bit of background noise to the real deal: their thoughts. They thought of Caretaker again. Did they go on to make pancakes every Sunday, even after their kidnapping? Or did they leave the habit behind? Whumpee wondered which they would've preferred.
It stirred. Their treacherous body. It ached and screamed, but Whumpee wasn't there, they told themself they had no right to it anymore, no right even to the pain. It stirred again. It retched.
Whumpee knew that Whumper would be angry. They tried to rein it in, but the damage was already done. So they let their thoughts wander instead, leaving it to deal with its own filth. It had become so easy to let themself go, to allow themself the privilege of retreating into a far corner of their mind, only ever coming back up for air when it was absolutely necessary.
The door opened and closed, and it was beaten again for making a mess.
They thought of nothing but the smell of blueberry pancakes.
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content: bad caretaker, aftermath of whump, emotional whump
"Can you shut up already?" Caretaker snapped.
Whumpee immediately recoiled. Caretaker sounded genuinely angry. They had never heard them angry. They, in their stupid head, had decided Caretaker wasn't even capable of being angry. But clearly, they had been wrong.
"S-Sorry," they stammered.
"Caretaker this, Caretaker that, do this, say that, I'm tired. Why can't you just shut up, like in the earlier days?"
The... earlier days? When they were a scared, shaking mess in the corner of their bedroom, afraid to utter a word, lest they be beaten for it?
Caretaker preferred that?
"What do you mean?" they asked quietly, hoping Caretaker would clarify. But they doubled down instead.
"You were so quiet, so agreeable, I didn't have to listen to you blabber on and on about stupid shit. Now all you do is talk and talk and talk. Shut up."
Whumpee felt like they had been punched. Repeatedly. In the face.
They had been getting better, that was why they talked more. They felt safe around Caretaker. They hadn't even considered that Caretaker was that fed up with them.
They didn't respond. They just stood up and went back to their room, to be alone, to not disturb anybody.
They could be quiet again. They could go back to being well-behaved.
Whumper had been right. They had made Whumpee better by 'training them'.
content: bad caretaker, panic attack whump, aftermath of whump, flashbacks
"Are you done?"
Whumpee looked up, tears and snot still dripping down their face. They'd just had a violent panic attack that left them shaken, disoriented, and scared. The flashback of Whumper coming back, of taking them back... they might've been a little too loud in their fear. They might've yelled some stuff.
But that reaction from Caretaker... They weren't... that insufferable, were they?
"I..." They sniffled. "Yes. I'm sorry."
"Look, I know I offered that you can stay with me until you feel well enough to stay on your own, but this is becoming a chore. Like, a big one. You keep breaking down at every little thing — heck, sometimes you don't even need a trigger. You just break down bawling. This isn't sustainable."
Whumpee sniffled again, wiping their face. "I'm sorry. I'll— I'll do better."
"No, Whumpee. I think this is it. You need to move back into your own place."
They froze. "What?"
"I can't keep doing this every day. I'm tired. You need to move."
"But I— I—"
"I'm sure it's scary right now, but it'll be better for you in the long run. Better for everyone."
Better for you, they thought bitterly.
"So you're... kicking me out."
"Don't say it like that. I'm encouraging your independence."
Whumpee stood on shaky legs and walked back to their room. "I'll... pack, then."
Caretaker followed them. "Don't act like a kicked puppy. You'll make me feel bad."
So they weren't even allowed to feel bitter. "Okay," they said quietly.
"I'll come visit you."
"You don't have to."
"It's what friends do."
"How is any of this friendly?" Whumpee snapped. "I'm just— I'm sick, Caretaker! I have severe PTSD from that stupid— that stupid—"
"Let's not get into all the diagnoses. We're still friends, I just can't house you."
Whumpee felt like they were going to break down again. "Please get out while I pack."
Caretaker sighed. "Fine, if you want there to be bad blood."
"I— I don't, I'm just... I'm angry. I'm scared. But you don't care about that, do you?"
"I do. But again: this isn't sustainable. The fear will subside."
caretaker is keeping watch beside sick whumpee. whumpee hasn't stirred in a while. caretaker maybe even dozes off — it's been so long since they've slept in anything but an armchair by whumpee's side. when they awake, whumpee is in the same position as when they fell asleep. it's... weird. "whumpee?" they call. no response. whumpee is motionless. the steady rise and fall of their chest isn't there anymore. "whumpee!" caretaker leaps to their feet and rushes over, pressing two fingers to whumpee's neck. no pulse.
whumpee who's the opposite of stoic. they have a lot of leftover pain from what whumper did to them, every movement hurts, and they keep crying out in pain. at first, the team is sympathetic. then, they start to get annoyed.
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content: past trauma, broken bones, starvation, torture, noncon mention, aftermath of whump, betrayal, team whump, bad caretaker, emotional whump
"I found it," Leader said solemnly. Whumpee had no idea what they were talking about.
"Found what?"
"The journal."
Oh.
Whumpee squirmed in their seat. Whumper had written everything they did to them down in a journal. Whumpee knew it existed, but they never got the chance to read it. Never got the chance to read the things they'd gone through from Whumper's sick perspective.
"Did you read it?" they asked quietly.
Leader shook their head. "The team agreed to leave it untouched."
"Can… Can I read it?"
Leader raised an eyebrow. "You must know what's in there. And wouldn't it trigger you?"
"I want to read it. If that's possible."
"I mean…"
"Please."
Leader sighed. "It's your prerogative." They took out a key from their pocket and unlocked the bottom drawer, pulling out a beat-up looking notebook. They handed it to Whumpee. "Just be careful."
"I will be. Thank you."
Monday, June 8th
I broke Whumpee's arm today. The sound was almost comical, the little pop as it gave way. It sounded like the way I would've imagined a bone breaking to sound. Whumpee was hysterical about it, talking about how it wouldn't heal right and how they wouldn't be able to go back to their duties once they finally escaped or were rescued. They don't know I've hidden them well-enough not to be rescued by the team. Do they think I don't know others are looking for them?
Tuesday, June 9th
Whumpee keeps crying about their arm. I gave them extra rations today to shut them up, but it didn't work. Sometimes they can be such a whiny bitch. But I picked my target right. They're a pretty crier. And useless without their team.
Wednesday, June 10th
The urge to rape them is ever-increasing. I can't do anything about it, they just look so pretty on my basement floor, all black and blue…
Whumpee shut the journal. They were breathing heavily, panting almost, like they'd run a marathon. Whumper never raped them. They had no idea the sick piece of crap even had these thoughts. Sure, their gaze might've lingered on Whumpee's starved form for a little longer than was comfortable, but with everything going on, Whumpee didn't even consider…
It was fine. They were out. Whumper was gone. And the team would never read this journal.
—
"Whumpee, can we talk?" Caretaker asked the next day. Whumpee found it strange how jittery they were, but they agreed. They were best friends, after all.
"Sure, about what?"
Caretaker was hiding something behind their back, and Whumpee assumed it would be a small present or something. Like a welcome-home gift. But when Caretaker pulled the thing from behind their back, Whumpee felt their heart sink.
It was the journal.
The journal that was supposed to be under their mattress.
"I heard Leader say they gave it to you. And I had to know— I had to—"
Whumpee snatched it out of their hand, cradling it close to their chest. "What is wrong with you?" they whispered. This was their best friend. Had been, up until this point.
"I just had to know. Whumpee, I'm so sorry for what they did to—"
"I'm going now."
Caretaker moved to block the exit. "Whumpee, we need to talk about this."
"Get out of my way."
"You can't carry this burden alone."
"So you took it upon yourself to try and share it."
"I had to know!"
"No, you didn't have to!" Whumpee snapped. "You absolutely didn't have to! You all agreed not to read it, you didn't just go against me, you went against everybody! You should be kicked off the team for this! I— I hate you!"
Caretaker froze at the words. "You're just worked up right now," they tried.
"Yes I'm worked up! You read the journal! I hate you! I hate that you betrayed me like that! Get out of my way!" they shoved past Caretaker, journal still in hand, and went straight to Leader's room. Caretaker was following them closely. "Leader," they said, barging in without knocking. "Caretaker read it."
"I knew Whumpee would never talk about it if it were up to them!" Caretaker, who had followed them inside, said in their defence. "Surely, you didn't intend on just keeping the journal and never even reading a page!"
"You did what?" Leader asked, and Whumpee was quite satisfied with the level of rage in their voice.
"I had to know," Caretaker tried timidly, the same stupid excuse they'd given Whumpee.
"Get out. Right now."
"But Leader—"
"Get out."
Caretaker pursed their lips. They left without another word. Leader closed the door behind them. "Whumpee, I'm so sorry. If I'd known—"
"It's fine," they forced themself to say. "I didn't know Caretaker was this type of person either."
"I truly am sorry. You… can't really take that back."
Now they know.
"I want them kicked off the team," Whumpee said. The words felt like sand in their mouth.
"I understand you're upset—"
"I want them kicked off. Right now. Go after them and tell them they're not welcome here anymore."
"Whumpee, I'm upset as well. But let's sleep on this at least once."
"They read the journal."
"I understand. And I will take appropriate disciplinary actions—"
"I want them kicked off."
Leader sighed. "Whumpee… You would regret that tomorrow."
"It's either me or them. I can't work with them any longer. If you keep them, you lose me."
"You can't be serious."
"I am very serious."
Whumpee knew this was risky. They were still recovering from torture, had PTSD to boot, while Caretaker was a full, contributing member of the team, able to go on missions. By all accounts, if Leader was forced to choose like this, they should've chosen Caretaker. The rejection would hurt, but honestly… maybe Whumpee did want to get kicked off. After what had happened with Whumper, they'd come back, but they didn't really feel like… they could ever go on missions again.
"Whumpee, let's sleep on it," Leader tried again, and Whumpee made their choice then and there.
"So you choose them."
"No—"
"I'm leaving."
"Whumpee—"
"And I'm taking the journal." With that, they turned and walked out. They found Caretaker standing a few feet from the door, not strictly eavesdropping, but definitely a bit close for comfort. "What do you want?"
"I just wanted to apologise again—"
"Save it. I'm leaving."
Caretaker's eyes widened. "What?"
"I'm not working with you. And Leader chose you — be happy."
"Whumpee—"
"Save it."
"But—"
"A tip for when you have another tortured, traumatised teammate with a detailed journal on how they were tortured: maybe don't read the damn journal."
whumpee who hasn't had a hairwash in weeks being able to do that in caretaker's home. possibly aided by caretaker. having nice clean hair for the first time in weeks
