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#mwmday19
serickswrites · 24 days
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Rot
Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, rescue, unclear character status, caretaker and whumpee
Caretaker had gone into a blind rage when they burst into the basement and seen Whumpee. Whumpee was slumped over, chains pulled tight on their wrists and throat, a pool of blood growing around them.
"C-C-Caret'errrrrrr," Whumpee rasped, weakly trying to lift their head.
The team, including medics, followed closely at Caretaker's heels. "Where is Whumper?" One had asked Caretaker.
But Caretaker didn't answer. They stared at the blood. Stared at the gaping hole in Whumpee's gut. Stared at the gurgling wound as the medics surged forward and surrounded Whumpee.
And their resolve broke. They turned on their heel and searched through the compound. Searched and searched until they found Whumper.
"It's you," Whumper sneered.
That was all it took for Caretaker to pounce on Whumper. They punched and kicked at Whumper, a wordless roar of anger ripping from their throat. Whumper fought back weakly, but they were quickly overwhelmed.
It was only when Whumper stopped moving beneath them that Caretaker stopped. Their fists were coated in blood and Whumper's face was a swollen ruin. Caretaker didn't care if Whumper was alive or dead. Or if they would live. "Rot in hell," they spat as they rose.
Caretaker could hear their name being called and their stomach dropped. Whumpee. They had run from Whumpee. They raced out into the hall and almost collided with one of the medics.
"Caretaker! Whumpee's asking for you. They.....you just better come."
Caretaker nodded, their mouth going dry at the medics words. "I'm coming, Whumpee. Hold on. Hold on," they muttered over and over as they made their way back to the basement.
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shywhumpauthor · 1 year
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The Merry Whump of May—Day 19
“Apples and oranges.”
Chainsaw | Surprise | Home Base
Masterlist
Cw: murder, graphic description of death, filmed torture, dehumanization, humiliation, restraints, gagging, vomiting
Hero reeled back as a fist smashed into the side of their face, sparks of white crackling across their vision. Heat radiated from their jaw, nose, cheeks, blood dripping from shallow scrapes as bruises welted deep under their skin.
A sob, raw and painful clawed from their throat, tears mingling with the blood and dirt that painted their face, but their cries were muffled by the duct tape, wound tightly over their mouth and around the back of their head. Pulled tight enough that it would undoubtedly leave an indent even after it was removed.
“Come on, Hero, smile,” the Villain taunted, shoving their phone camera close to Hero’s face, grabbing their hair when the other tried to cower away. “Show everyone how fucking pathetic you are.”
The alley was dark and deserted, lit only with the faint glow of streetlights towards the mouth, but Villain had their flashlight on, focusing its directly on them. The light sent daggers shooting back through Hero’s skull, and they squeezed their eyes shut.
Villain let out a cruel laugh, their free hand drawing back before punching Hero hard in the stomach, practically giggling as they doubled over, gagging.
Bile stung their throat, but Hero was forced to swallow it back, lest they wish to choke on their own sick. They doubted Villain would save them if they did. They’d fucking stand there and video, laughing to the livestream as Hero suffocated.
With their hands bound behind them to the rungs of a fire escape, duct tape wound dozens of times around their wrists and forearms, their legs secured at the ankles and knees, there was nothing Hero could do except tuck their chin and try to curl away to protect their face.
“And you call yourself a hero. You’re fucking pathetic, you little bitch, you hear me?” Villain stood straight, the camera swaying as they brought up their leg before stomping down hard on the hero’s bound ankle. The scream was guttural, but it was lost to the gag as Hero heaved, fighting to breathe through their nose while the air refused to enter their lungs.
They were going to suffocate. They were going to die choking on their own blood tainted saliva, while this fucking bastard streamed it for the world to see.
They were a sick, fucked up asshole, Villain. A snake. They hadn’t won shit of a victory. Hero had spent the entire day chasing and fighting OtherVillain, by the time Villain had cornered them, they were already limping and too exhausted to flee in time. It had been a fucking cheap move, lower than a villain. At least people like OtherVillain earned their own fucking success, not steal someone else’s.
“You see, guys, this is what your fucking Hero is. Nothing but a crying coward,” Villain chuckled, their hand dropping to their belt, slipping into the small sheath that laid attached to it.
They weren’t even a fucking Villain. Barely. They hadn’t done crap—Hero had ended every single poorly planned scheme of theirs before it even started. This was just a matter of luck—or the fucking opposite—how they ended up in the same alley as the injured Hero.
Villain squatted down, the blade of their knife dragging down Hero’s chest, scraping the skin. Their uniform lay in less than tatters, the shredded, torn fabric barely hanging off their shoulders, the dark bruises that mottled Hero’s abdomen standing out starkly against the camera’s light.
“I say we leave them with a reminder, how ‘bout that. So they never forget this fucking moment,”
Hero sobbed, breath coming in short gasps through their nose that didn’t seem to draw in any oxygen. They turned their face away, digging their temple against the rungs of the ladder, the cold metal doing nothing to soothe their burning skin.
Villain brought their knife to Hero’s chest, setting the camera down for a second so they could saw away the last few threads of their shirt, leaving them bare and trembling. The night was cold, even colder with their sweating, flushed skin, and Hero let out a weak cry of protest as the knife touched just below their collarbone.
“Fucking watch me, Hero,” Villain demanded, twisting the camera to focus on Hero’s face. “Watch.”
Hero had been tortured before. Whipped and starved, left to hang and bend in the worst stress positions for hours. They’d been beaten and burned, denied water for days on end. They were no stranger to pain, but this, the humiliation adding a certain acid to the edge of the blade, was worse than anything. Blood poured down their chest, a waterfall of crimson opening down their front as Villain dragged the knife down, cutting deep into their skin. Hero couldn’t even scream as they continued, slowly and crudely carving away at their chest.
Fucking letters, Hero realized, the sickening truth dawning on them. Their vision was blurred with tears, distorted enough so they couldn’t even see Villain’s face, barely a foot from theirs. Villain split two jagged curves connecting to the first line, uneven with an intentional negligence behind their movements. They quickly split a second line next to the first, dragging it down nearly to Hero’s sternum.
Everything was spinning now, sensation lost to the terrible vertigo and nausea, world clouded with agony. Villain split two lines next, one vertical and the other horizontal, crossing against each other in the center of Hero’s chest.
The next letter was curved, Hero could feel as the blade slit their skin, and they knew exactly what it was being written in blood, the recording camera carving every humiliating, dehumanizing cut.
Villain didn’t have a chance to finish the fourth letter.
Their phone clattered to the ground, smacking loudly against the asphalt as they were yanked back by the collar of their shirt, thrown against the opposite wall with enough force to crack a skull.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” A low voice seethed. Hero blinked blearily, but they couldn’t get their vision to focus enough to make out more than two clouded figures in front of them.
“Wait- wait,” Villain gasped, every bit of arrogance fled their tone. “No- no stop, I didn’t mean- no-”
A sharp thud echoed around the alley accompanied by a mangled scream, closely followed by another thud, and then another.
A body dropped to the ground, and it was all quiet, except for Hero’s choking breaths.
“Oh, Hero,” The new arrival turned towards them, but Hero could make out nothing more than an outline as they stepped forwards and quickly knelt next to them, gloved hands raising to rip the tape away from their mouth. Strands of hair were wrenched along with it, skin stinging but Hero barely noticed as they gasped, straining for the first full breath, feeling the air rush through their lungs as if for the first time.
Something churned in their stomach, and they hunched to the side, and vomited.
They felt a hand against their back, pressing softly between their shoulder blades as another grabbed Villain’s discarded knife. Hero panicked for a second as they felt the metal, hot and slick with blood pressure to their wrists, but all the stranger did was slice away their bonds in one clean, sharp flick of their wrist, not even grazing skin.
“You’re alright, it’s alright, love,” the voice soothed softly, hand moving from their back to their face, cold fingers cupping their bruised cheek. Deep and calm, it was familiar, but Hero couldn’t make out their face yet. “Breathe, Hero. Deep breaths, you’ll be alright.”
Hero wasn’t comprehending the words, but between the gentle tone and the light touch, their heaving sobs settled back into gasps, then to shaking breaths. They blinked hard, vision clearing just enough so they could recognize the stranger.
When they did, their heart nearly stopped cold in their chest.
“That’s it, that’s right, Hero, you’re alright.” Supervillain murmured, their thumb brushing over Hero’s bruised cheekbone.
They weren’t. They weren’t alright. But their voice was so soothing, so compelling.
Once they had quieted, eyes barely managing to stay open, something thick and warm was draped over them. They barely had time to register what it was—a cape, made of fine, rich material—before they were picked up, an arm hooking beneath their knees and around their back, lifting them like nothing. Before they straightened fully, Supervillain grabbed something with their hand. They turned the phone’s camera, pointing it straight at the body crumpled across the alley, zooming in and pressing the screen to focus.
Villain was dead. Clearly dead. The back of their skull smashed in and split open, blood leaking from their nose and lips, eyes bulging slightly from their sockets. Dead.
“They’re not going to hurt you again,” Supervillain whispered to Hero, before letting the phone drop from their hands, crushing the screen beneath their boot. “No one is ever going to hurt you again.”
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@themerrywhumpofmay
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“Rot in hell.”
Contains: restraints, arrest, recapture, police/soldiers, taunting, physical violence
He felt her fiancé’s eyes on him, although one side of his face was crushed against the cold cellar floor and all he could see was a sea of polished boots.
“Thought you could run forever, huh?” a soldier asked. “Cocky idiot.”
Nearly, he thought. Would have. Could have.
“Planned to rob the house, did you?” The soldier aimed a kick into his side.
“Bastard,” her fiancé crowed, smug. “Not that smart, though, were you, in the end?”
Sudden rage burned his tongue. “Rot in hell,” he spat through gritted teeth.
A kick to the head turned his vision pitch-dark.
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autobot2001 · 1 year
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We Are Family
@mediwhumpmay: Emergency room @themerrywhumpofmay: Home base
A soldier and his wife worry about their two-year-old daughter. Certain her 102° temperature is a concern for children her age, but also worry they'll look like those parents that worry for nothing. They decide to go to the E.R. when their daughter cries while in bed and doesn't like being picked up.
The ride to the hospital is unpleasant for the toddler. The worried parents hope it's not going to be a long wait. "Her pediatrician isn't in today, and there is no room for appointments today," the worried mother sighs.
An hour passes, and the soldier decides to go to the cafeteria to get coffee for himself and his wife. For now, their daughter sleeps while being held.
Ratchet walks into the hospital, seeing the always full emergency room waiting room. He can't help when there are not enough rooms in the department to take patients in, but he does see one patient he can help.
"You know you are allowed to take her to my medbay," he tells the worried mother after being told why they're at the emergency room. They wait for her husband to return to head to the base.
By the time they reach the medbay, the little girl is awake and not liking how she still feels unwell. Ratchet knows how to be gentle with the unhappy toddler.
"The flu and ear infection in both ears," Ratchet concludes, "she can stay here until the medications kicks in."
The toddler is not pleased to be carried to another room and sat up to take medicine. "Shh, don't tell Ratchet, but I got you a lollypop," Jasmine whispers "I'm right here," Ratchet comments. The little girl smiles and lets out s little laugh. The toddler is comfortable watching T.V. on their tablet while the adults leave the room.
"I know this is a military base, but it's also the Autobots' home, and we have become more like a family with the soldiers who chose to live here. I know you don't live here, but you can visit the medbay if necessary. I will send my file to your daughter's pediatrician." "Thank you, Ratchet," the soldier replies. "This can be like a second home to you," Jasmine smiles. The parents take their child home once she's asleep, thinking about considering the base a second home base.
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