@whumpshots / whumpshots.tumblr.com
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Thank ye for visiting my wee little whump blog! I gathered the majority of my writing in this master post, so if ye are interested in reading some whumpy shite, feel free to open the list under the cut!
The lists include: Whump Snippet Saturday, Whump ABC, BTHB, and Whumptober(s)!
[ID: A circular badge with a black frame and grey background. The top text says Whumptober and the bottom text says Completionist. The year 2024 is in the middle. Behind the year is a red background shaped like a drop of blood. /End ID]
Another year, another Whumptober of wonderful prompts. Thanks to everyone who stopped by to read or who even took the time to like and reblog - it makes me so happy to know that ye enjoyed me wee offerings of writing.
Prompt list under the cut!
Just wanted to say I'm so glad to see your writings again❤️ I've checked your page every month or so waiting to see a new post and hoped you'll come back👀
Of course it's really ok to take a break! But just know you were missed 🙏 thank you for your beautiful writing ☺️
hiya!
so sorry for the late response, but also: thank ye so much for yer kind words! this year was... it was a lot, to say the least, but whumptober made it easier for me to finally start writing/posting again.
I cannae promise anything, but I'll try to be more active here again. Yer words are much appreciated, it's so nice to know that ye enjoy my writing 🖤
cheers!
Trope of the day: asking for help
_
Caretaker looks up from their book when Whumpee enters the living room in the middle of the night. Sure, they are awake themselves, but Whumpee went to bed hours ago, already looking like a walking corpse.
They somehow look even worse now.
Whumpee’s quiet steps stop in front of the couch, Caretaker puts away their reading glasses and book, patting their lap. As if they waited for this okay, Whumpee almost collapses on the couch, resting their head on Caretaker’s legs.
“I can’t sleep,” they mutter. “Can you help?”
Their voice is almost too quiet to understand, but Caretaker heard them. They heard them well, although they are very surprised. Whumpee never asks … seems like they really need this right now. Of course, Caretaker obliges and starts playing with the other’s hair.
“Should I tell you something?”, Caretaker asks.
Whumpee’s head moves in a nodding manner on their lap, so Caretaker starts talking softly, telling them about the book they are reading. It helps them fall asleep to read, so maybe telling the story helps Whumpee.
Trope of the day: holding back tears
_
Their day went well. At least this is what Whumpee keeps repeating in their head every other minute because since they came home, they can feel their mask crumbling. But they can’t break, not yet.
Caretaker has been home earlier than expected, they rummage through the kitchen, making dinner while humming to the music that is playing. And of course they ask the dreaded question.
“Is everything okay?”
Whumpee grits their teeth, trying to keep their nose from tickling, eyes from burning with tears. It’s hard to swallow as a tight knot forms in their throat.
But Whumpee nods, blurred vision from tears betraying them of their composure. They breathe out shakily, body tense. They won’t cry, not yet. Not yet, dammit.
Caretaker has them crumbling when they reach out to make them look up.
Trope of the day: burnout
_
Whumpee’s head is full. Too full with everything. But they cannot take breaks, they just don’t have the time. They know Caretaker has been talking to them for a few minutes now, only noise reaches their ears, no words.
Answering feels hard. Caretaker apparently asked them a question, but Whumpee can just shake their head, not even able to verbalise that they just can’t.
They don’t sleep.
No matter how much they toss and turn, their brain keeps running in circles. Keeps messing up the next day by not being able to concentrate at all. Now they are just tired, oh so tired.
They don’t eat.
Deciding on what to eat makes them feel like they are confronted with an impossible task. Are they hungry? Whumpee has no idea.
They just want to rest.
But they can’t.
Trope of the day: denial
_
Whumpee stares out of the window. The night soothes them, everything is quiet and peaceful. Holding their pillow to their chest, they listen to their own breathing, sometimes hitched or fast. Some sobs can be heard as well.
They don’t even realise that Caretaker is with them, only when the other sits down next to them does their brain register the other. But Whumpee doesn’t look at them. They will start the same topic … over and over again.
But Whumpee is fine.
“There is nothing to talk about.” They don’t even realise that they just said something, but they meant it.
“Whumpee … you can’t keep ignoring what happened. You have to talk about-“
“About what?”, they interrupt, still not looking at Caretaker. “Nothing happened that needs talking. Nothing.” If they say it often enough, maybe it will be true one day.
Whumpee is not ready. They are not ready yet, they cannot grasp what happened, so they try and ignore it. Denying that it even happened.
Caretaker stays with them, even when the grip around the pillow gets more forceful. Even when the first tears roll down their chin.
Trope of the day: voiceless
_
They couldn’t even scream if they wanted to.
Whumpee feels their head spin when they open their heavy lids, which feel like they are glued to their eyeballs. Their mouth is dry, throat as well—a croak is everything that leaves them as they breathe in the cold air.
How long they have been here, they don’t know, but Whumper made sure that they won’t forget that they won’t be able to leave anytime soon. If at all.
The days of pleading have ended quickly, screams have subsided. It still hurts. Everything Whumper does to them hurts them, but Whumpee cannot muster the strength to scream, their body won’t even let them.
A croak is everything that leaves them when they hear footsteps.
Every day they imagine that it’s finally Caretaker. Caretaker whom they couldn’t even greet.
Trope of the day: nightmares
_
A noise wakes Whumpee up. They fell asleep, finally. While their body is still aching, exhaustion took over and made them take the rest they need. At least to some extent.
The noise repeats and Whumpee is sure that it is a voice. A familiar voice.
Caretaker is talking in the other room, they sound … they sound scared. While their mind and heart race, Whumpee’s body is slow to move. They stumble into the next room, knees weak and body sweaty.
“Caretaker?,” Whumpee asks as they open the door, holding onto the frame to not fall over. The other is on their bed, tossing and turning, talking to themselves. They are dreaming … having nightmares.
Whumpee carefully comes closer, sitting down on the edge of bed because their body feels too weak to stand. But they reach out and put a hand on Caretaker’s sweaty forehead.
Their eyes snap open, Caretaker sits up in one swift movement, grabbing Whumpee by their collar, almost pushing them away.
“It’s me,” Whumpee says and puts their hands on Caretaker’s, which finally loosens around the fabric. “I won’t ask what your nightmare was about. Just let me give you some company,” they add, their eyes finally meeting, Caretaker taking a shaky breath.
But they nod.
Whumpee moves their hurting body to lie down next to Caretaker.
Trope of the day: stitches
_
Whumpee’s wounds are cleaned up and ready to be sewn. Their body lies limp and unmoving on the bed Caretaker prepared, blood still clinging to their skin. But they are breathing … and that is the most important part.
Caretaker needs to close the wounds before cleaning the rest of the other’s body, so they get everything ready. Their hands are still as they start stitching up the wounds, something they have done so many times by now.
Not only for Whumpee, but others before them. This is how they spent their days for years.
Stitches can be sloppy, theirs were exactly that when they first started. But now they are nearly perfect, the wounds neatly shut as they patch up the rest and start cleaning the rest of the blood. Washing away the last signs of Whumpee’s near death.
The wounds will heal, scars will stay and maybe fade. But every time Caretaker stitches wounds, they feel reassured. Stitching and patching up means that Whumpee survived.
Trope of the day: collapsed building
_
Caretaker cannot remember the last time they have felt such panic. They are in pitch darkness, their body hurts, and it feels like their lungs can’t take in enough oxygen.
How hurt are they?
Are they bleeding?
Caretaker cannot see, they cannot check for themselves, cannot see if anyone else is there with them. Whumpee … they must be somewhere. They were with them when everything turned to shit.
But where are they?
A grunt escapes them as they try to move under the rubble, their leg sending a sharp impulse up their body. They are stuck.
Despite not seeing anything, everything feels like it’s spinning. Caretaker can hear a faint voice as they lose consciousness.
Trope of the day: “I’m doing this for you”
_
Caretaker has had enough. Again, Whumpee comes back injured, again the team just tosses them on the bed and tell Caretaker to patch them up.
Whumpee doesn’t seem to mind, apparently used to getting injured and the aftermath of it. But this cannot be the normal routine. This cannot be how it’s going to work out every time.
“Hold still,” Caretaker mutters as they clean a nasty looking cut on their abdomen. Whumpee grits their teeth, trying to comply. “What happened this time?”
Not that they ever get told what exactly happens when the team is out …
Whumpee bites their bottom-lip, sighing. “Went in too fast, I didn’t see that there were more than we thought,” they explain and watch Caretaker sew the wound shut.
“Why didn’t they tell you to wait? Or why didn't you all wait together? Why are you always the one to rush in first?”, Caretaker snaps, not looking up from what they are doing.
“I’m doing this for you,” Whumpee mutters after a few seconds of silence. “I’m doing this because otherwise you needed to come with us. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Their eyes meet, Whumpee softly nods, then shrugs their shoulders.
Trope of the day: bleeding through bandages / reopening wounds
_
“Shit,” Whumpee hisses as they feel the warmth spread and soak their bandages. Their fingers come back wet with blood when they touch the bandages around their abdomen, feeling the same sensation on their arm.
Caretaker will rip their head off …
But Whumpee had no choice than to hurry and warn the others, phones are still dead and screaming would’ve made things worse.
Cold sweat is on their forehead as they hurry towards the other building, glad that they managed to put on some dark clothes so they cannot be seen so easily while being outside in the dark.
Only a few more steps …
Swallowing hard, they take small break when they are finally inside, feeling the pain throbbing as they pull their stitches walking up the stairs. Hopefully they are not bleeding too much, otherwise Whumper’s men only have to follow their blood trail.
“What the hell are you doing here?”, Caretaker says once Whumpee pushes open the door, out of breath, adrenaline leaving their body, making their knees weak. Reaching out for Caretaker, Whumpee is caught before they can collapse.
“They found us,” is all they have to say, Caretaker already pulling them into the other room to check their wounds.
Trope of the day: ‘Let the bedsheets soak up my tears’
_
When Whumpee wakes up, the lights are dimmed. Their head still hurts, eyes squint at the light above them. Mind and body are still not ready for reality, but they have to get up, have to keep going.
A grunt escapes them as they finally sit up, legs feeling heavy as they move them out of bed, bare feet touching the cold floor. Whumpee wiggles their toes to wake them up a bit better, slowly getting up to move into the bathroom.
They drag their feet.
The shower water hurts them, no matter how cold or warm they turn it.
Everything feels heavy, everything feels dark. Whumpee knows that they have had it worse, especially mentally, but they still feel unstable. Like the smallest thing will pull the rug from under their feet and they fall.
Keep falling and falling, rock bottom coming closer and closer.
Their soul doesn’t feel aligned with their body. An empty pit in their chest, making it hard to breathe. Hard to think and feel.
They stare at the wall before them, water running down their aching body.
They do know what hopelessness feels like, at least today is different from that. Maybe, just maybe, the pit will become smaller. Although they feel like this hope is washed away under the shower.
Trope of the day: “It's not your fault"
_
Caretaker holds Whumpee’s cold hand as they lie on the bed, unmoving. They stare at the ceiling, taking slow breaths. But they are breathing. They are alive.
Something Caretaker still cannot wrap their head around.
How are they alive? They couldn’t find them for almost three months.
Guilt. Caretaker feels guilty for everything that happened. Although they know that not everything is their fault.
Lost in their thoughts, Caretaker doesn’t even realise that Team leader already got into the room, watching the two for a few minutes. Only when their hand touches their shoulder does Caretaker realise someone is with them.
“It’s not your fault,” they mutter. Caretaker feels the words stab them in their chest.
They know. It still feels wrong to accept this. Whumpee is alive and breathing, Caretaker patched them up.
And yet, it feels like every single wound is their fault.
Trope of the day: blood trail
_
Caretaker looks around, finding an empty bed and old bandages on the floor. Whumpee finally woke up, but they seem to be a lot more mobile than Caretaker first thought—and now they are gone.
How panicked are they?
Do they even know where they are?
Taking a deep breath, Caretaker gets their equipment, searching for Whumpee as good as they can without starting to panic themselves. What if they ran away? But they are too injured for that …
The first few drops are too small to notice.
But then they see it—Blood. The drops get bigger. There is a trail that leads Caretaker to the backdoor, having them rush out into the cold. Red snow leads them towards the forest, where they finally find Whumpee slumped against a tree.
They are almost passed out.
“It’s me, kid,” Caretaker mutters as Whumpee grunts and tries to get away, a small puddle of blood already at their feet.
Trope of the day: revenge
_
Caretaker has never hurt anyone. They have never resorted to violence.
But now they are hunting. Hunting the person who did all those unspeakable things to Whumpee. Whumpee, who is only a broken shell by now.
Whumper is running from them, Caretaker almost saw the same panic in their eyes which they saw once they finally found Whumpee.
Only almost.
And that is not enough. They want them begging, screaming, and crying.
Caretaker is an animal, a predator. Whumper is their prey.
Nothing will stop them from hunting them, from getting their revenge. When they finally catch up to Whumper, there is no stopping. Their knuckles bleed, skin hurts. But they are not done.
They are not done yet.
