#tw recovery whump

[whumpberry-cookie]

I know your voice

Whumpee finds Caretaker after a loong time apart and hopes to reunite. Whumpee got strongly attached but neither of them expressed something over regular politeness before.

When Whumpee's coming up to say hi to Caretaker, they hear (C:) "I'm sorry, but... would you mind introducing yourself?"

Caretaker doesn't remember? Of course not. Whumpee was just one of many people Caretaker treated and helped. Why would Caretaker remember a random patient after so much time passed?

So Whumpee just brushes it off "Oh, I'm... I'm no one, actually. I'm just- you helped to heal my wounds some years ago. I came to say thanks"

"You're very welcome then. But I'd still like to know a name of the person thanking me"

At this point Whumpee just wants to leave. They let themselves have high hopes. They let themselves believe that Caretaker would actually miss them just as much.

Whumpee gives his name and notices a sudden change in Caretaker's facial expression. From serene indifference to shock.

"Whumpee... Dear goodness! How did you find me? It's been so long," they embrace Whumpee in a strong hearty hug. "I knew you sounded familar!"

Caretaker couldn't regonise faces. They just didn't have an occasion to mention it before.

------------------

#whump prompt #caretaker #whump #reunion scene #I tried to make a research on prosopagnosia but ngl i'm still nervous i got something wrong. #If I did please feel more than welcome to let me know! #prosopagnosia #whumpee #writing #whumpee x caretaker #emotional whump #tw recovery whump #whump recovery #whump aftermath #writing comfort #whump prompts #whump angst #angst #angst whump

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee woke with a sobbing shout. They quivered and panted, memories hit them as if they were still on the floor at whumper's feet. They felt arms wrap around them and beeping heard overhead; the sound worsened the pounding already in their head. 

"Hey hey hey! It's okay. You got a lot of injuries, you've got to take it slow." Caretaker touched whumpees forehead and put them back against the pillow. They tightly gripped whumpee's hand and the other rested on their chest.

"Wh-where am I? How did I get here?" Whumpee panicked. 

"You're in a hospital. I'm here with you, everything's okay. You're going to be fine..." Caretaker sadly smiled. Whumpee stared up at them with wide eyes, breathing like a wounded animal, gripping the back of caretakers hand with every ounce of strength, which was hardly holding them at all.

Despite caretaker's calm demeanor, whumpee could feel caretaker's hand shaking as much as their own.

"You-" Whumpee breathed, trying to raise their hand to them, but they couldn't.

"Yeah, it's me," Caretaker smiled, collecting their collapsed hand in their own. "I'm here, I'm taking good care of you. You can keep resting, okay?"

Whumpee shook their head no, their body still in fight or flight mode, wanting nothing more but to jump up and assess their surroundings. Caretaker could see their legs twitching and slowly inching off the bed as they sighed and scooted on the bed with them, pushing their legs back to the center.

"No hon, it's too early to be doing that." Caretaker soothed, laying whumpee's head on their shoulder.

It was almost as if as soon as whumeee's cheek settled, they relaxed and their heart rate slowly returned to normal beat by beat. Caretaker looked up at their monitor and sighed with relief watching the numbers stabilize. 

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #caretaking #whump drabble #whump writing #hospital whump #hurt/comfort #comfort whump #injured whumpee #recovery whump #panicked whumpee #whump scenario #whump angst #stern caretaker #tw hospital

[echoingalaxies]

"Close your eyes."

Said Caretaker to dying whumpee, caressing their hair, trying to make their last moments as peaceful and comfortable as possible.

Said Caretaker to scared Whumpee, holding a knife to Whumper's throat, about to make sure they never lay their hand on Whumpee again but wanting to spare Whumpee from witnessing any more violence.

Said Caretaker to injured Whumpee, cupping their chin and guiding their head up, not letting Whumpee look at the wounds covering their body.

Said Caretaker to sleepy Whumpee, who fears falling asleep because of all the traumatic nightmares they know they'll have, but with Caretaker by their side, whispering all kinds of reassurements, they might be okay.

#tw death mention #tw implied death #whump #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #caretaker x whumpee #whump prompts #whump prompt #whump tropes #whump ideas #whump scenario #whumpblr #whump dialogue #dialogue prompt #writing prompts #story prompts #injury #recovery whump #rescue whump

[generic-whumperz]

Oh buddy just you wait

*cue the night terrors

#whump #whumpblr #whump blog #whumpee #escaped whumpee #free whumpee #traumatized whumpee #whump aftermath #trauma recovery #recovering whumpee #cptsd recovery #tw truama #tw ptsd #tw cptsd #whump rescue #recovery whump #whump recovery #whump drabble #whump memes #emotional whump #physical whump #just whumpy tings

[whump-about-it]

Constant Pain

@febuwhump Day 5: Rope Burns.

CW: angst, description of injuries, dissociation.

"Whumpee, those are never going to heal if you don't stop touching them."

Whumpee startled out of their mindless stupor to find Caretaker leaning on the door frame watching them with an expression of concern. Their eyes were flickering between Whumpee's sallow face and their hands, which they had in their lap, each picking absently at the scabbed rope burns on the opposite wrists.

"Sorry," Whumpee murmured and moved their hands to either side of their legs. This wasn't the first time Caretaker had caught them picking at the scabs, or the first time they had cautioned them about re-opening the wounds. "They just..."

Whumpee let their voice trail off. They couldn't tell Caretaker the rope burns still hurt. They couldn't explain why they hurt so much. Whumpee had so many other injuries that reasonably should have bothered them more. They couldn't put weight on one of their legs. There was a six inch gash in the back of their head that had required being stapled. Their were bruises around their neck had made breathing so uncomfortable that they had developed a chest infection by the time they were rescued. The welts on their back hadn't healed yet, and they couldn't move to much for fear of ripping the multitude of stitches all over their body. Yet, despite all of that, the rope burns, the most innocuous of their injuries, hurt the most.

Actually, that all made sense to Whumpee. When they had been rescued, Caretaker had told them Whumper had held them for a little over month. But it had felt like a year. Every day had been different. New pain. New torture. New fear. Nothing had remained the same day to day. Nothing Whumpee could look forward to or dreed. Not even food or water. In that whole time the only constant had been the rope. Their hands had been tied the whole time.

The rope burns had been Whumpee's first injuries. Their oldest and deepest. And the ones that they had cried over the most, hopelessly trying to wriggle their way out of their bonds and watching blood trickle into their useless hands. Of course those wounds hurt the most. But how were they supposed to say that? How were they supposed to explain in?

Whumpee nearly jumped out of their skin when Caretaker brushed their uninjured knee. They were now kneeling in front of Whumpee, looking even more concerned than they had before. Whumpee hadn't noticed they were dissociating again.

"Is everything okay?" Caretaker asked gently.

"Yes." Whumpee lied. "They itch. My wrists. They itch and I keep forgetting not to touch them."

"I know."

They both knew Caretaker was lying too.

#whump #febuwhump #febuwhumpday5 #rope burns #tw injuries #recovery whump #angst #whumpee x caretaker #whumblr #whump drabble

[serickswrites]

hello I've been reading your blog for a while now and I really love your writing!!

I was wondering if you could write something with a whumpee pushing themselves too far, like they're very weak but still get out of bed just to try to prove to caretaker they're not useless, even though they're on the verge of passing out

that's it bye!! you're amazing :D

Hello, anon! Happy to write this for you, no problem at all! Please enjoy!

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, referenced hospital, wounds, hurt/comfort, hurt/recovery, hurt/aftermath, unconsciousness

Whumpee rose on shaking legs. It had taken the better part of an hour to sit up and stand. The healing wound in their gut protested with each movement. But they couldn't stay in bed any longer. They had to get up and do something.

They didn't care that they had only been released from the hospital two days ago. They didn't care that they had almost bled out in Whumper's compound. They didn't care that they had survived weeks of torture. All they cared about was not being a burden to Caretaker.

And so they had to get up.

As the room began to swim as they took a few stumbling steps forward, Whumpee wondered for a moment if they had overdone it. If they should turn around and go back to bed. But they had made it this far. They had to show Caretaker they weren't a complete invalid.

Slowly, painfully slow, Whumpee made their way out into the hall. Once there, they clutched onto the wall for dear life with each step. One had on their belly, keeping sure their stitches were still in place, and the other on the wall, Whumpee made their way to the living room where they knew Caretaker would be.

Black spots filled their vision as they walked. Sweat poured down their back. But still, Whumpee kept going. They had to.

"Whumpee!" Caretaker shouted as they started at the sight of Whumpee. "Good lord, sit down. You look terrible."

Whumpee felt terrible. Their whole body shook with the effort to remain upright. But they had to keep going. "'mmmmm fffffinnnnnne," they said as they stumbled.

The ground swam up to meet Whumpee, but hands kept them from falling. "I've got you. I've got you. Let's get you back to bed."

As much as Whumpee wanted to reply, wanted to tell Caretaker everything was fine, Whumpee knew everything was not fine. As their grip on consciousness faded, Whumpee made a promise that the next time they were awake, they would show Caretaker that they were stronger, that they were healing. They had to keep going.

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw referenced captivity #tw referenced torture #tw referenced hopsital #tw wounds #hurt/comfort #hurt/recovery #hurt/aftermath #tw unconsciousness #caretaker and whumpee #requests #queue

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 22: "You weren't meant to be there." ♡

@febuwhump

Continuation of day 6.

Content: ptsd flashbacks, gun violence, bullet wounds, head wounds

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Stay here. Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me.

Those were the instructions Caretaker had given Whumpee before they ran out of the little supply closet they’d been hiding in. And Whumpee followed them for a little while.

But then the gunfire started.

It echoed loudly, the first one making Whumpee flinch hard and cover their ears. They tried their best to stay put as the sounds of a fight continued on outside, but despite their anger with Caretaker for letting Whumper into their only fucking safe space they didn’t want Caretaker to get shot.

Hands trembling, Whumpee unlocked the closet door and used the handle to pull themselves to their feet. They waited for a lull, for the gunfire to be not so loud and not so close, before they slipped out the door and into the hallway. The emergency lights were on, flashing red as alarms blared. It made Whumpee’s head pound and their vision swim. They had barely just recovered from the monstrous concussion Whumper had given them.

They wandered down the hall, drawn in by the sound of fighting. What were they even doing? They weren’t armed; weren’t any good in hand to hand combat. What did they think they would accomplish by walking into this?

They spotted Caretaker in the lobby, crouched behind a column and clutching their bleeding leg. Whumper must have had backup on hand in case things went south, because the lobby was full of armed people trading bullets with security and Whumpee’s skin crawled as they recognized their clothing-

Black gloved hands, pinning their arms behind their back. Staring into their own terrified eyes in the reflection of a mirrored helmet mask as they were bound so tight that the ropes cut into their wrists.

Shit. Not now. Whumpee clenched their fists, letting the sensation of their nails digging into their palms ground them. They had to get to Caretaker.

Caretaker’s eyes went wide when they saw Whumpee approaching. “Whumpee, no! What are you doing?”

Whumpee made it to their side, kneeling next to them. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”

Caretaker grunted as Whumpee pulled their hand away from the wound. “Get out of here, dumbass. I’ll be fine.”

“Not unless you come with me.”

“I’ll slow you down.”

“Come on.” Whumpee slung Caretaker’s arm over their shoulder, straining to pull them to their feet. Caretaker stumbled and the two almost went down but Whumpee just managed to keep their footing and start hobbling towards the hall they’d come from.

They almost made it.

Just as the pair was about to turn the corner, Whumpee’s shoulder exploded with pain. They were propelled forward a bit, just enough to get them in the safety of the hallway, but the damage had been done.

“Whumpee!”

Everything was fuzzy with pain. The sensation was so familiar it was almost nostalgic, and Whumpee greeted the agony with a tight smile and a stifled scream as Caretaker pressed their hands hard into Whumpee’s now bleeding shoulder blade.

“Damn it,” Caretaker muttered from above them. “You weren’t supposed to be there. Why don’t you ever fucking listen to me?”

“Sorry,” Whumpee slurred, the side of their face squished against the tile floor.

“Don’t- Just… God, Whumpee. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine. Just hold on.”

Whumpee’s vision started to darken around the corners, their hands going cold and prickly.

“Whumpee? Come on. Stay awake.”

…

“Whumpee!”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday22 #febuwhump day 22 #whump #whump tropes #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #whump scenario #whumpee #whump ideas #tw gun #tw blood #tw ptsd #whump prompt #recovery whump

[sugarsweetwriter]

୨୧┇So..... (cult) whump recovery? Gender neutral! Whumpee, Caretaker, and Whumper (who's referred to as The Leader/God)

"Do you remember what you were like before?" Caretaker asked gently. Too gently—and Whumpee hated it. Whumpee absolutely despised the softness, the kindness they always held in their voice as the sweetly coaxed Whumpee's secrets out of them, to, of course, use against them later—Whumpee thought. It was the same voice that The Leader would always use; Whumpee wondered why it scared, angered them so much to hear Caretaker take on the same tone. How could they dislike the same tone Their God would use? It all confused, and immensely bothered, Whumpee.

"Yes, I do. I was sinful" Whumpee seethed. Their eyes darted around the room, before settling on the white, floral fabric, draped over their bruised thighs. The dress was apparently Caretaker's cousin's, and it was the only clean clothing they had when unexpectantly taking Whumpee in, only about a week ago. Since then, laundry had been done, but Whumpee seemed attached to the dress, and Caretaker wanted them to be as comfortable as possible. It was much prettier, silkier, than their previous, everyday-garment; a gray, modest dress which covered them from head to toe. It sat on them loosely, and was itchy at the shoulders, but that had never mattered.

Caretaker frowned at the response, but Whumpee hadn't dared to look up to see it.

"How were you sinful—if you're comfortable telling me?" Caretaker questioned—again, far too tenderly. Having sat at the foot of the bed for around 10 minutes now, Caretaker kept conversing with Whumpee—though it felt more like an interrogation for them.

Whumpee hesitated for a moment before answering:

"I.. I wasn't "holy" yet. I hadn't found The Leader yet—I hadn't found The God yet. I hadn't begun worshipping them- and, so, I couldn't have been-.. righteous," Whumpee paused briefly, then continued.

"I would've.. never been forgiven if I had continued like that, but-.. Now, I'm sure I'll never be forgiven again.. no matter how hard I could ever pray" Whumpee practically whispered the second half of the sentance, taking in a shaky breath before muttering the very last part—they sounded as if they were about to sob.

Caretaker sighed, sorrowfully, before slowly—very, very slowly—moving over towards Whumpee, to which Whumpee only stared at them for a moment before looking back down at their thighs. Hesitantly, Caretaker spoke:

"I know, I know it's scary—but none of that's.. true. Please.. know that you're safe. The Leader.." Caretaker hesitated, "God—can't hurt you, anymore. I promise. You're far away from them all now, and I won't ever let anybody from back there hurt you ever again. You're safe" they finished.

Caretaker, now sitting knee to knee with Whumpee, looked back into their eyes, only to be met with a small, scarred, terrified, baby deer. Their eyes, yet again, frantically searched for a focus of interest around the room as tears spilt freely now, quiet sobs racking through their chest as they attempted to mutter a defensive response—but to no avail, as they could only let out pitiful whimpers.

How could Caretaker challenge The Leader? How could Caretaker challenge The God—the only being who knew true virtue? It went against all that Whumpee had known for the past four years. And deeply, it both shook and absolutely terrified Whumpee.

Once more, Caretaker moved towards Whumpee, little by little, attempting to look back at Whumpee's face—failing, since Whumpee's head was now lowered and pressed against their thighs, still covered by soft fabric.

"Whumpee-.. Can I touch you?" Cautiously, Caretaker asked—unsure as to whether Whumpee could even heard them through their now, much louder, sobs. Though, even through Whumpee's hysteric sobs, Caretaker could've sworn they'd heard something among the lines of "Yes, okay". And so, steadily, they wrapped their arms around Whumpee, who quickly lifted their arms as well, almost instinctively, wrapping them shakily around Caretaker and burying their face in Caretaker's neck, breathing heavily and smearing their tears everywhere. Whumpee had been denied of touch for so long, it was only natural to crave it.

After the surprise of it all, Caretaker dotingly whispered sweet confirmations, holding Whumpee firmly yet tenderly, making sure to comfort Whumpee yet not trap them.

Words of "It's okay, it's all okay. I promise—you're safe. The Leader can't get to you here" are spoken, caringly.

Eventually, the cries died down, and Whumpee was left in Caretaker's arms, whimpering quietly, their arms now drooping down Caretaker's back.

"How... You're- you're wrong" Whumpee sniffled, well aware of how weak the defense was.

But they were so tired, and still, so scared. Desperately, they just wanted to believe Caretaker, wanted to believe that they were safe, and even that god- not The Leader- but god, either didn't care about them, or didn't even exist to begin with.

Still terribly unsure of whatever the real truth of it may be—they feared The Leader was right, it was what they'd been taught for so long anyway—they just hoped, so wholeheartedly, but exhaustedly, hoped that they'd be okay. That they'd be safe, that they wouldn't be punished—not for leaving, or for daring to doubt The Leader, and even god.

Though, for now, in Caretaker's warm arms, they did, indeed, feel safe—for the first time in a very, very long time.

In response to Whumpee's defense, Caretaker only hummed affectionately. Truthfully, Caretaker was proud, so proud, of Whumpee. For the first time in the week they'd been staying with Caretaker, instead of hiding in the closet, or just uncontrollably sobbing and praying while pushing them away, they accepted the touch, and the comfort, the help.

Caretaker knew it'd take a long, long time to work with Whumpee and work towards recovery; Whumpee was still working on processing the very notion that it all, that all of the punishments could've been for nothing. It wasn't as if they had never considered it before. They did at the start, and later on they wondered if—regardless of whether The Leader, or any god was real—anything could've made all that they had been through worth it. Eventually though, they became far too fearful to ever even consider any of it ever again.

Yet here, they slowly fall asleep on Caretaker, their weak body slumping onto them, head awkwardly positioned at their neck; to which Caretaker gently—not too gently this time; without saying anything in fact—positioned Whumpee's body in a more comfortable position, and as Whumpee slept, safely, and warm, Caretaker was sure of it now; they will never give up on Whumpee.

୨୧┇A/N: First writing on here! Posting this before my intro as well... it's 3 am now but I just had the urge to write and came up with this (touch starved Whumpee my beloved)... I haven't seen any cult whump recovery drabbles before, so here's one! Hopefully someone enjoyed my writing! ^^

#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #conditioned whumpee #whump blog #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #cult whump #traumatized whumpee #recovery whump #rocky recovery #whump ideas #touch starved #touch starved whumpee #touch starved whump #caretaking #rescued whumpee #exhausted whumpee #whump drabble #whump scenario #whump tropes #hurt/comfort #comfort whump #whump aftermath #religious whump #tw cult #tw religious trauma

[ashintheairlikesnow]

ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

-

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

#whump #ptsd tw #alcholism tw #withdrawal tw #alcoholic whumpee #recovering whumpee #recovery whump #vincent shield is not a hero #erase to control #since kauri makes an appearance #jameson bb #box boy universe #drunk whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #briefly and not on purpose

[befuddled-calico-whump]

(remaining panels under the cut for gore + implied noncon)

Test Track AU (T$$ AU Masterlist)

previous /// next (cw: injection)

(suggested by anon! not adding the tag list to this one just in case)

#🥺🥺 #future emotional recovery is getting rougher by the day #t$$ sahota #t$$ test track au #i don't add the tag list to the heavy gore ones because I'm pretty sure it just jumps you straight to the post #past the cut #and with writing that's fine cause you can read the warnings first but it's harder with art ahaha #tw noncon #implied noncon #implied nudity #gore #whump art #torture #impaled #stabbed #blood #stress position #whumpy art

[whumpberry-cookie]

Some Caretaker's characteristics ideas

(cw: whump, field medicine, setting a bone, swearing)

---------------------------

They're a few years younger than Whumpee. So there's that strange dynamics of younger "sibling" that has life figured out and an older one that is complete mess and gets in trouble all the time.

Mimic wrinkles. Laugh lines, crow's feet, dark circles, stubble. They look older than how they actually are. Especially if Caretaker is a hardworking character that can't take a break.

Caretaker has absolutely no clue about first aid help and lowkey panicks. (C:) "Okay, just- hold on for a sec. Just lie down- I'll- I'll figure it out". They take out their phone and in a moment a voice comes from the speaker: "Welcome guys in the next medtube video! Today's tutorial: How to reset the bone fracture" (W:) "ARE YOU F##ING KIDDING ME?!"

-----------------------------

#swearing #setting a bone #field medicine #whump #whumpee #whump prompt #caretaker #writing #writing prompt #whumpee x caretaker #tw recovery whump #writing ideas #character writing #character concept

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee sat mindlessly in the hospital bed. They were restless and wanted to go home, but weren't allowed to leave until they told more about what happened under whumper's hand.

They seemed calm; not too many injuries, but enough to be concerned and no clue what caused them. No one had seen anything like it...

"Would it be okay if you told me? Just me. No one else in the room." Caretaker coaxed. Whumpee was silent for a while; you could see their eyes darting, their shoulders raised insecurely, their legs twitching closer to their body.

Then finally, a soft subtle nod.

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #caretaking #hospital whump #whump prompt #recovering whumpee #caretaking prompt #injured whumpee #hurt/comfort #comfort whump #comfort prompt #tw hospital #whump tropes #whump scenario #recovery whump

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1332

TW: Substance Abuse | Overdose

Anon asked:

Do you have some prompts for a whumpee struggling with substance abuse after some bad things happening in their life, and their friend / caretaker supporting them through it?

A few:

Maybe the caretaker notices erratic behaviour and decides to address it gently. This could lead to a discussion, or even an argument if the whumpee tries to deny it despite the evidence being clear. (Why do they try to deny it? Are they ashamed? Embarrassed? Worried about what people are going to think?)

The caretaker could find out about the abuse when the whumpee hits rock bottom. They could get a call from the hospital/a concerned friend etc. Maybe they haven't heard from the whumpee in a few days, so decide to do a welfare check of sorts. They could get there just in time to witness the whumpee overdosing.

Does the whumpee relapse? Do the caretakers threaten to give up on them?

^ I like the idea of the caretaker saying that in private, but the whumpee accidentally overhears.

During recovery they celebrate small victories - a day sober, three days sober, a week sober etc etc. It becomes tradition to get a cake for every milestone. Maybe at a longer milestone - when the whumpee as gotten much better - it's not until late at night that they realise it's a milestone day. Their only option is to go to a gas station to find a cake, but their only choices are the questionable hotdogs, flowers, a chocolate bar, or even more questionable sushi.

At first the whumpee rejects professional help, but seeing the strain it puts on the caretakers, they decide to seek out a therapist.

Don't forget the withdrawal symptoms.

What kind of coping mechanisms do they put in place? Chewing gum? Knitting? Folding laundry?

On the emotional side - the whumpee has to work very hard to repair the relationships they damaged.

#whump #writing #prompts #angst #ideas #withdrawal #drugs tw #addiction tw #substance abuse tw #overdose tw #comfort #recovery #worry

[slippedtheknot]

"Shirt off,"

Whumper, telling Whumpee this for another round of torture.

Caretaker, telling Whumpee this to clean Whumpee's wound.

#caretaker #whumpee #whump things #whumper #whump community #whump prompt #whump writing #whump blog #whump stuff #recovery #stern caretaker #tw torture #torture #aftermath

[thesewingmachine]

whumpee feeling self conscious throughout their eating disorder recovery due to weight gain and their caretaker comforting them.

#whump #whumpblr #whumperflies #whump community #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump tropes #whump writing #whumpee #hurt/aftermath #hurt/angst #hurt/comfort #comfort #gaining weight on purpose #tw disordered eating #disordered eating thoughts #eating disoder trigger warning #tw eating issues #disordered eating mention #healthy eating #disordered eating cw #tw ed diet #tw ed but not sheeran #tw ed descussion #ed disorder #tw ed implied #tw ed trigger #cw ed #cw ed mention #cw ed recovery

[serickswrites]

idk if you write nsfwhump but if you do could you make something with whumpee and caretaker with comfort and fluff? like whumpee is crying because they're being intimate with someone and, for the first time, it doesn't hurt

Hello, Anon. I absolutely write nsfwhump (sometimes it's more vague than explicit), and I can definitely write you a comfort/fluffy piece :D

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced restraints, referenced/implied noncon, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, caretaker and whumpee, flashbacks, ptsd

Whumpee led Caretaker back to their bedroom. They were sure that they wanted Caretaker more than anything. And they were sure that Caretaker wanted them. But Caretaker had let Whumpee take the lead after everything.

The first time Whumpee tried to be intimate with Caretaker after they had gotten home, they had frozen and sobbed. They could feel the ropes Whumper used to bind them to the head board on their wrists, though the rope burns had long faded. They could feel Whumper's lips on their neck as Caretaker went to kiss them.

Caretaker had stopped instantly and held Whumpee as they sobbed. Whumpee sobbed because of the memories. They sobbed because of the flashbacks. But they mostly sobbed because they felt Whumper had completely ruined them. They loved Caretaker and now every time they went to show their love, they only thought of Whumper and what Whumper had done to them.

But tonight was different. After months of therapy, months of recovery, Whumpee felt tonight was the night. As they kissed Caretaker, they only thought of Caretaker. As Caretaker caressed their body, they only felt Caretaker's touch. And as they touched Caretaker's body and Caretaker touched them, Whumpee began to cry.

"Love, I'll stop. What's wrong?" Caretaker said as they started to pull away.

"No....don't. I'm just....I'm just so happy." Whumpee smiled through the tears streaming down their face. "I'm so happy because I feel only you. Think of only you. It's only you, Caretaker. I love you so much."

Caretaker smiled and kissed down Whumpee's neck. "And I love you. And only you."

#serickswrites #queue #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw referenced captivity #tw referenced restraints #tw referenced/implied noncon #hurt/aftermath #hurt/recovery #hurt/comfort #caretaker and whumpee #requests #tw flashbacks #tw ptsd