its-my-whump

[its-my-whump]

Aaaahhh 🤯, this is so mind-blowing for me. Thank you so much, all of you!

And thank you @bad-guy-sauron , you brought me over the finish line.

Honestly, just 😵😵😵😵😵

#250 reblogs #tumblr milestone #thank you #whump community

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 25

Brace yourself

@whumpril

Tw: wounded in combat

It was an ambush. His guts had been right from the start. And now he had 2 wounded men, he could only blame himself for.

Johnny got a round through his right shoulder, his gun hand rendered useless. But at least he could still walk.

The kid got 2 rounds. One, that was ment for himself and a second, that was ment for Billy, when he pushed him out of the way.

The first went through the young one's tight, an ugly mess, but a through and through. The other ripped a hole in his upper belly, at least 2 ribs involved.

He had lost too much blood already. Billy, and the others did what they could to stop the bloodloss and get him stable. But he was bearly hanging onto consciousness as it was.

Roger stepped to the leaders side. "Airlift is 2 klicks from our position. We need to move right now." The man in charge threw another sad glance to his wounded men. Bandages above and under their clothes soaked bloody. "Yeah."

He got down on his hunches and his hand went on his man's shoulder to get his attention. "Kiddo?" Eyes prayed open, they were glaced over. His face almost translucent. Time was running out much too fast.

"We're going to get you home! You're not going to die in this shithole! Promise!" The younger man weakly blinked and his head made a tiny nod. His own bloody right hand lifted and the team leader grapped it strongly. "You're going to be okay. But for now. Brace yourself."

He started to pull the youngest of the team into a sitting position, Billy and Roger by their side making him sit up. A guttural, bloodcurling scream came over the wounded man's lips.

Roger, an instant crack in his heart, put his hand over the kids mouth to silence him. "I'm fucking sorry!"

Big tears of agonising pain trailed down the kids face, that seemed to have lost even more color. The weak body almost dipped forward as soon as it was vertical. Roger felt tears rolling down his hands, head sunken forward, the smaller body was losing tension alarmingly fast.

"No no no. Stay with us, Kiddo." He whispered, pulling his hand away from the drowling mouth to let him breathe. He was hardly conscious, but another undeniable tiny nod let his head move. Exhausted and almost unresponsive, he was leaning against the team leaders back, his eyes only half open.

They let him breathe for a moment, to get his bearings, but they had no time to make him comfortable.

"Okay?" The leader asked, even though it was stupid and unnecessary. "N...o." A weak huff, almost like a laught slipped through his lips.

Together they lifted the almost tensionsless body on the team leaders back, while he came up into a standing position. A deeply painful grunt turned into a weak moan. He pulled quick shallow breaths in, to keep quiet, but a tiny scream dislodged from his throat. Then the bleeding man went silent and slack.

The last tension gone, the leader only had dead weight on his shoulders. He intensived his grip around the kid, that was limply laying over his shoulders.

Warm blood already started to soak through the leaders shirt and the smell of his man's blood hit him like a truck, manifesting itself in his nose and made him sick.

The team silently started moving towards home.

My masterlist

#whumpril2024 #whumpril #whumprilday25 #brace yourself #whump #writing #whump writing

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 6

Dizziness

@whumpril

Tw: unconsciousness

Every step felt more exhausting and threatened to get impossible. He kept stumpling forward, but his legs felt heavy, like being made of concrete. His feet wouldn't lift properly anymore. Unfortunate on the uneven forest ground. He was cold. His vision was blurry and honestly he didn't see where they were going anymore. He just followed the bunch of moving bloobs. The distant between him and them was getting bigger though.

He had long tuned out of the conversation, but now he couldn't hear anything but static noise rushing through his ears anymore.

His chest felt tight, his lungs kind of constricted, his head was in a thick unpenetratable stupor. The additional weight of his backpack was trying to pull him to the ground. The last two times he stumbled over a branch, he hardly managed to find his footing again.

But now he just couldn't take a step anymore. The bloobs were too far away, fading out of his field of vision. Everything was fading out slowly as his world turned grey from the edges.

He wanted to make himself known. But the attempted shout kept stuck in his throat. A pathetic hardly audible squeak was the only thing he could produce.

He had fought to lift his arm and find some hold on the tree to his left. His sweaty palm brushed over the bark for a moment.

It wasn't a conscious movement to lean in, his vision just turned black and his legs gave out. The arm went slack and the contact between hand and bark was gone.

His limp body brushed alongside the trunk. If he had been conscious, his whole body weight stopped by his knees hitting on the ground, would have been utterly painful. But he was out long before.

The pack on his back was pushing his upper body forward and he landed face first in the next bush.

Not even a chance to get his arms up, he looked like a ragdoll, someone just threw away, arms by his sides and the soles of his shoes looking upwards.

Voices shouting and heavy steps on the soft forestfloor. The bloobs came running back, which were no bloobs, but actual people.

"Ey buddy, what's wrong?" A futile attempt, before he even realised, that the man on the ground was out like a lamp.

3 pairs of hands pulled him out of the bush, got rid of his backpack and carefully rolled him on his back. "Damn, he's burning up. Ey buddy, can you open your eyes for us?"

The backpack went under his lower legs to elevate them slightly.

Light slaps to the ghostly pale cheek covered in a sheen of sweat. Eyes started to move under closed lids and a shudder went through the body. He stired and very slowly opened his eyes. A little movement, that looked so exhausting, threatening to pull him under at any moment.

My masterlist

#whumpril2024 #whumpril #whumprilday6 #dizziness #whump #writing #whump writing

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 9

Self-doubt

@whumpril

Tw: some disturbing mental shit, real/unreal suicide attempt, not what it seems, mental issus, hospitalisation

It's disturbing, I'm not sure, what just happened, it wrote itself

'I'm sorry, I'm no fun tonight.' Face sad, head sunken, words clear, but thick with pain.

'Bitch fucked me over. Feels like I handed my heart on a tray. And despite my better judgement, I was trusting this person so deeply, that I simulatiously handed a wooden peg, begging to do anything, but use it against me. My guts told me all along, that there wouldn't,

NO!

couldn't

be a happy ending. There wasn't, cause this person didn't even have the decency to sharpen the plug, but drove it through my heart,

dull and thick as it was, ripping it apart. The healing process seems impossible now.

How could I be so blind? Why haven't I learned my lesson till now? I'm wandering this world for decades by now, but yet I'm still lost.

But this person made me see a path. I knew, we weren't ever going to go it together. Still, I naively hoped for a, if not loving, at least friendly pad on the back, for a goodbye. All I got was a painful hole in my heart and the realisation, that I all did this to myself by trusting, yet I knew, I couldn't, I shouldn't.

I'm just not meant to be happy. I just don't deserve it!!!

Words were swimming before her eyes. Partly from ink desolving from her tears, partly from booze and pills slowly desolving inside her body, entering the bloodstream.

It was a cowardly way to go, but who cares.

Life had no meaning anymore. It even only had for a brief moment, where this person made it sparkle. But it was merely an imagination, a ly to oneself. Life wouldn't hand out presents. Bitch never did!

Hands shaking. It was the stress and emotional pain. Once the pills unfolded the desired effect, it would finally be okay.

Eyelids were getting heavier. The pen was gone, whatever. Arms and legs had stopped shaking, numbness started to spread, slowly. A good feeling. Surrender. Willingly. Embracing it and the spreading darkness. Finally, life had brought her to her knees. Finally bitch won. Let her! She was fighting unfair all the time, she had earned this.

And so had she!

Eyes closed and a peaceful light silence took her into a loving, warm embrace.

×××

He felt heavy, depleted. Eyes prayed open agonisingly slowly. His body was disconnected from himself. There was a constant beep. Brightly light was blinding him, even after he had closed his eyes again.

Trying to move, his arms weight a ton and he could merely lift them a few inches, being stopped.

'Not again!"

Thick leader cuffs bound him to the bed. A beared face was looking down at him. He moaned, as the doctor waved his penlight above every eye.

"Again?" His voice raw and his mouth dry, tongue too heavy.

"Unfortunately, kid." The man's voice sympathic, almost a bit sad.

"How long?" He weakly asked, pressing his eyes close, trying to deal with the pouding headache and the tiredness of his body.

He had an episode again. Remembering it getting harder by the second. Felt like he lived a whole life as a desperate woman being left and wanting, no actually killing herself. His head was spinning.

Every episode was different. But every feeling, he was experiencing was so overly real.

Roaming around in the desolving memories and the heaviness of what his mind just went through, his eyes were just staring ahead.

"Had to sedate you again. You were out for 2 whole days." The doctor stated, trying to lock with his eyes. A desperate huff came through his nose and he pressed his eyes close in desperation again.

"Where have you been this time?" The man in scrubs wrote down some notes on his patient sheet, when he forced himself to open his eyes again looking up from the bed.

"Bad place." He wispered, not willing to give more information right now. The doctor kept silent, watching him patiently over the rim of his glasses.

"What did I do in real life, then?" He asked, his forehead in a fearful wrinkle, his voice even more defented, but he forced himself to look up, his face paled.

"Attacked 3 nurses and went rough in the community area."

He pulled the blanket over his head, as a muted "Fuuuck." came through the fabric.

The shaking, that overtook his body brought back the feeling and memory of 'last night, writing a suicide note' living a life, that wasn't his own. It made him silently plea, he had the chance to end all this for real. He didn't know, who he was, what was real and what was happening around him, when his mind was lost in the void.

The doctor's calm voice pulled him out of his depressing thoughs, when he started to speak again.

"It's only light collateral damage. Not more than a bloody nose and some bruises. Mr. Wilson and Mr. Peters. They are not holding a grudge. Shackles are mandatory, though. Sorry, kid." A momemt of silence followed.

The doctor pulled the blanket down, revealing his patient's eyes. "We have to adjust your medication again. I'm sorry."

My masterlist

#whumpril2024 #whumpril #whumprilday9 #self-doubt #self doubt #mental shit #btw I'm a freak #whump #writing #whump writing #not sure what's wrong with me

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 22

Stoicism breaks

@whumpril

Tw: gore and fight

He was a calm person, nice, a man of little words. He kept to himself, but not in an unsympathic overly pride way. It more seemed, that he was fine with himself, not needing to prove anything, nor to himself, neither to the world around.

He was a tall young man, normally build, even though, one could only guess, under his casual, but professional clothes. His long brown hair usually in a ponytail. Even though his boss didn't like it, he had kindy denied to every cut it or speak about this topic ever again. Their normally chatty boss was muzzled, probably for the first time in his career.

He was treating everybody with kindness and respect, he was a calm person, people liked to be around, mostly in silence.

But some days his knuckles were slightly red, not only his female colleagues recognised. The rumours were going from an allergy to bathing himself in bleach. They repeatedly came to the point, that this even-tempered man was working here for 2 years and yet they knew nothing about his personal life.

Stories, situations and impressions were compared. So someone had seen him vanish in the restroom with a sudden nosebleed, another one had too. Maybe he was fatally ill, but he usually looked too healthy. One or both ears looked slightly swallon some days. Those few days, he was wearing his hair open. The frontdesk lady had added, that his nose must have been broken. Somedays his smooth movements seemed a bit sore. Maybe despite the hours, he was probably working one or more other jobs, people discussed. His clothes were fitting for his job, but nothing fancy. Maybe he had a family or was devorced or needed to pay a loan shark or had a bunch for children.

The speculations were piling up, so that colleagues started to throw him hidden looks and paint their own little colorful picture of who this man really was.

Little did they know.

×××

On a fridaynight Freddy went out with his buddy for some beers and watching an event, his friend kept quiet about. It was a tiny door in some backstreet, even going there felt spooky and kind of illegal. Through a hallway and under the critical eyes of a security guy in front of another door, they entered. It was a large room, bright light in the middle, the audiance was gathering around, the rest only dimly lighted. It must have been a few hundred people, happily cheering and chatting. Everything smelled like beer and smoke. Freddy was a bit smaller than the average, so he needed to pass the crowd to see, what was going on and were his buddy had dragged him. Parts of the audiance were shouting, what sounded like encouragement or disappointment.

"What is this?" Freddy asked his buddy, while a beer was put into his hand. The other man just smiled and started to make their way towards the middle of the room. Freddy followed.

×××

The fist had landed between his ribs and pressed all air out of him with a huff, but he was fast enough to tense his abs, so his opponent's fist must hurt like hell too. Blood was rushing in his ears, his head was spinning a bit, being tightly pressed together by the headguard, but couldn't take all the brunt from the hits he had already caught.

He blocked the next swing to his face by raising his left arm. Sweaty skin and tense muscles of both hit hard against each other. His arm felt numb for a brief second. A second too long and the opponent's other fist smacked against the cushion above his jaw right into his right cheek.

The punch hit hard and fast, it felt like his teeth came lose, when his head was painfully smacked to the side. The impact swiped him of his feet. The bloody taste in his mouth was newly refreshed, as he bite down more on the biting piece.

During his fall, he managed to kick away the other man's shin and both ended up on the matt. His shoulder bumped into the ground and disloged a painful grunt. But the motion of the fall gave him enough to roll to his side and take his rival into a chokehold, wrapping his legs around the bigger man's body. The skin above his shin, where he kicked out the man's leg was dark red already. Both were grunting and struggling. Entangled, they wiggled on the floor for a bit.

Usually, his eyes didn't leave the cage during a fight, but the pair of eyes, that was staring at him from the other side of the fency in fear and disbelive got his attention. They were almost at eyelevel.

×××

Freddy's buddy had dragged him right in front of the brightly enlightened cage in the middle of the room. Every step closer, he started to realise, what kind of an event his friend had lead him to. They found a spot right in front of the fence. "THIS! Is bloodsports!" His buddy happily called out, opening his arms and swinging his beer in a gesture to present the picture in front of them.

Two tall man fighting an ugly sport in a cage. He could only see them from the side. One was a bit more muscular, older, his nose bloody. Red in his face and on his naked chest. Both bodys covered in sweat, he could see tense muscles moving under skin. The bigger guy landed a decent punch between the other one's ribs. Freddy almost jackknifed more than the thinner fighter did. Air audibly left the man's lungs and the grunt was carried over the cheering crowd. The following left block, forearm against forearm looked as if both of those arms should have been broken instantly. But they didn't, the impact only made a strong, hurtful sounding 'thud' and they went on.

The next punch to the thinner, defently a bit younger man, made Freddy actually close his eyes refexively. That definitely hurt, his stomach flipped, but he prayed his eyes open again, just to see them both bump painfully hard into the ground.

How did he do that?

This man's ears must be ringing and he must be seeing starts by that strong hit to his face and yet he made the other one fall as well. The matt on the floor didn't look like it was very comfortable at all, or that it could do more, than to stop their fall, as would do the naked floor.

He was sure the smaller fighter was done, when that big fist made his head snap to the side. But now, there on the floor, he got the upper hand again and wrapped his long legs around the guy, that had at least 15 lbs more muscle than him.

Freddy's reservation and fear were pulled back by curiousety and astonishment. Suddenly he realised something familar in the man's face. The headguard was making it hard to see.

Hah, maybe his colleague had a twin-brother, his head joked silently. This man really looked like him, but never could this fighter and this calm, silent, well-balanced man from work.... their eyes met through wire-mesh.

The recognition in the other man's eyes was all what he needed to confirm. Freddy just stared into Andrew's eyes, not believing that this fighter, covered in blood and sweat, holding an even bigger man in a chockhold on the ground, could ever be his colleague from work, professionally dressed, kindly refusing to participate in a lunchbreak with the others. Never!

Andrew's eyes lit up and his lips parted a bit, revealing a bloody biting piece and an disturbingly happy and confident smile as he saw Freddy.

"Holy fucking hell!" Freddy yelled out, as his head finally pitched it together. "RIGHT! He's a beast, isn't he!" His buddy laught at Freddy.

"Yeah and an account."

My masterlist

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday22 #stoicism breaks #whump #writing #whump writing #whump community #not sure what's wrong with me #though #whumpril

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 24

No time to rest

@whumpril

Tw: exhaustion, stress, accident, gore, family issues, language

A twelf hour shift was no fun on a regular day, but the last week had taken all his energy.

Melissa had left him, openly advertising, that she had been having an affair for months. How couldn't he have seen? Maybe, because he was working all the time to pay their bills and finance her luxurious lifestyle?

His mother had reconnected. Naively, he had thought she had changed and maybe even wanted to make amends. All she wanted, was money for her next fix. And she kept calling, kept asking, begging, till she got high or frustrated and started insulting again.

Connor had broken his leg and had actually asked under tears, if whumpee could help him move. There was booze involved, when he did, still whumpee wasn't going to let him down and the time to organise was scarce.

So, his days just hadn't had enough hours and at some point, he hadn't had enough energy to keep up.

The result was, getting only so much sleep, that his body was hardly functioning and his mind just partly attending.

The result was, getting told off by his boss for the 3rd time this week. The man was usually a half decent asshole, but recently he was also pissed.

The result was, that whumpee almost fell down the stairs, packed with boxes, repeatedly. His right ankle get bend so bad the one time, he was almost sure, it got really damaged. Every step hurt like hell now.

He got a monster headache and an upset stomach. He had it. And today, he needed to make overtime, undo the shit he just messed up at work.

At 9 pm, the headache was so bad, he was sure, he was going to start puking any second, so he left work, even though, his mess wasn't cleaned up all the way.

A brief stop at the supermarket to get some groceries for Connor and then he could finally call it a day. Awaiting an unpleasend briefing with his boss in the morning, meaning, so probably even less sleep tonight.

A bag of groceries in his left arm, he was fishing for his ringing phone in his poket, while he exited the store. Too exhausted to think about it, he answered. It was Angelica, the woman, he used to call Mom a very long time ago. A muted fuck slipped over his lips, as her torn voice appeared in his head, letting the headache spike instantly. "Whatever you want. NO!" He had nothing left to fight with her. He cursed himself, that he still hadn't blocked her number. She tried to argue, he couldn't take it, his frustration spiking. "For fuck's sake, just shut up and go to hell." He pulled the phone from his ear and ended the call.

As his eyes lifted from his phone, he instantly realised, that he hadn't noticed, where he was going. It apparently wasn't the way to his car. The moment he saw, that he was standing in the middle of the road, lights were already blinding him. The honking horn yelling in his aching head and suddenly his feet were swept from under him.

The pain in his legs and the blaring in his brain ended instantly as his head smashed into the hood. The bag of groceries left his lifeless hand. Unconscious on the spot his limp body was thrown through the air like a ragdoll. Bloodcurling sounds of a bunchload of bones inside his body breaking, he cartwheeled over the car and after a brief second in the air his tensionsless form came down on unyielding pavement with a moist thud.

My masterlist

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday24 #no time to rest #whump #writing #whump writing #whump community #whumpril

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 5

Reckless

@whumpril

Tw: accident, unconsciousness and blood

"Yeeehaaa!" A joyful scream echoed over the field. Pete was smiling.

Sam really did make that jump with his dirtbike. It was reckless, much too dangerous, but he couldn't have talked him out of it, even though, he tried, for days. All that he did, was prolonge the fear for his friend, the longer he did try.

But Sam did it anyway and he managed and it looked awesome, how he flew through the air. He had done it before, but not here, not like this. Peter had to confess, it looked really amazing and he was impressed.

He lifted his fist in the air and answered with a loud "Yes man!" just as enthusiatic as his friend.

A moment later his joy fell into fearful silence as the dirtbike vanished behind the next tip and the undeniable sounds of a crash were carried over that hill.

Pete's eyes widened in fear, as his feet already were in motion. The ground was muddy and he almost slipped on his way up the hill.

The picture, he came too, let his heart skip a beat. Sam was laying half on top his bike, back wheel still spinning. He was face down in the mud, body limp.

'No no no no no...' Pete's head screamed all the way running down to him. He fell to his knees, pants instantly covered in mud. "You stupid idiot!" It was more a fearful phrase, instead of an accusation. Carefully he touched Sam's shoulder, but his friend didn't stir one bit.

"Hey man. Are you with me?" Pete slightly shook his shoulder. "Sammy boy? ... Fuck!"

A moan muffed into his helmet. A shudder, weak, but clearly visible, went through the crumpled form on top of the bike. The wheel had stopped turning. Another moan, louder, more aware this time.

Sam tried to move and grunted. "Easy, easy. Don't move." Peter had his phone in hand, already dialing 911. As usual, Sam didn't listen and under strained noises, managed to roll from his bike. His back hit the mud with a slight splash and a painful huff.

His clothes were muddy all over, his face too, for having no viser, his nose bloody and his eyes closed.

A tight wrinkle on his forehead, lips pressed to a thin line. He didn't move, after he made it to his back. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, as the adrenaline was rushing through his body. Gloved hands trying to fist the mud underneath from the agony, that was slowly hijacking his whole body with every second, he got more aware again.

His lips trembled, trying to part. An undeiceiferable sound, a moan and a painful grunt "Don't try to talk. Helps on the way, Sammy." Peter reasoned with him.

But Sam made another attempt to talk. "H... how'd I d...do?"

Pete needed a momemt to understand, his face distored in disbelieve. Another moment later, he realised, that he actually wasn't surprised at all and a wave of relief overcame him. "Great, just fucking great, you stupid reckless bastard!"

The painful wrinkel still on the pale face under the helmet. Glazy eyes looked up at the big guy and yet Sam's lips parted into a bloody smile. "See. Told ya!"

Peter couldn't help himself, but needed to huff a small laugh. Sam's smile was more visible in his eyes, than in his mud covered face. But all of a sudden, those glazy orbs started to roll back in his head and the last tension left his body. Head and helmet started to dip to the side. "No no no. You don't!" Pete gently tapped his cheek inside the cushing, while stopping his neck from turning and holding his helmet in position.

"Ey, stay with me. You, at least, need to wait for you fans, Sammy. I just called them." His friend's eyes fluttered open again, but his look was unfocused. "m'kay"

Relief and fear fought a tough battle inside Peter. The later clearly on the winning side, but the first right behind, as sirens approached from a distance.

Sam's eyes threatened to close again. "Ey, no checking out now! Can't you hear them already cheering for you, Sammy?"

My masterlist

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday5 #reckless #whump #writing #whump writing #whumpril

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 14

Urgent care

@whumpril

Tw: gore, unconsciousness

He stumbled into the ER, not knowing, how he actually made it here. Honestly, he didn't really know, where here was. There was this green and red sign guiding him to where he wanted, where he needed to go. Why? He didn't know.

Yeah, he kinda knew. His body was telling him... something. His body was weak, he actually stumbled. His feet not really making decent steps anymore. A hand went to the edge of the door, that just slided open. He wasn't able to make it over the treshhold.

Bright light was hurting his eyes, even though everything was just blurry. His world was grey, turning darker by the second.

An angle, all in white, was approaching. That couldn't be. He was the last to ever make it to heaven. But he felt like dying. The pain, that had been searing through his body, had turned into cold numbness some time ago. Whatever time ment.

The angle had stopped right infront of him. "Oh my god!" Her voice soft, but far away. He didn't understand, maybe a disturbing joke... of heaven?

His body had lost all awareness. He wasn't feeling anything anymore. It was almost a bliss, if there wasn't a brief second of fear to lose control. But he slumbed before it could settle in his mind.

The little white angle was a nurse and she was a step too far away to intercept his fall.

The young man, that just bearly stumbled into the ER was covered in blood. A gushing wound on the left side of his head, gore all over his face. His left hand was limply hanging to his side. His struggle to walk clearly worsend by a bad limb. His pantleg also covered in blood, fabric torn. He actually looked like being hit by a bus. He looked like, he shouldn't be on his feet at all, or that he actually could.

And then he you slumped over. His steading hand on the sliding door not enough to keep him upright.

Blood instandly tainted the floor, where he had fallen. "Gurney!" The nurse barked loudly, already on her hunches to feel for a pulse.

A handful of people were by her side moments later. The stretcher stopped alongside the unconscious young man. A male nurse grapped the patient under his armpits, while the first nurse went for his legs. 2 other female nurses took a hold of the man's denim and together they lifted him up and onto the stretcher. "Bay 4." The male announced, already pushing the head of the stretcher into the right direction.

The hectic of the moment ebbed away, as soon as the little brigade of hospital staff rounded the corner to bay 4.

The double door slowly slided close, sepearting the puddle of blood on the floor,  revealing a bloody handprint on the glass.

My masterlist

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday14 #urgent care #whump #writing #whump writing #whumpril

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 23

Presumed dead

@whumpril

Tw: gunshot, blood and desperation

She had seen, how the bullet ripped through him. She had seen, how his blood splattered the wall and workbench behind him. She had seen, how his legs gave out and his face distored. She had seen, how Sam was just ripped from this world right in front of her eyes.

What she hadn't seen, was his slight nod towards Peter right before the bloodcurling sound ripped through the room. The unspoken plea to get her out of here, or how his lips silently formed a single word. 'Run!'

So the moment Sam's limp body hit the ground, Peter had already taken a hold of Tonya's hand and pulled, making her run away from the danger. Sam's almost astonished huff, was swallowed by a second bullet hitting the wall beside her head and showered them with powdered concrete and little debris. And then another explosion from the gun, clearly aimed opposite their direction, clearly aimed at the crumbled body on the floor.

Her feet were running all by themselves, away from the danger, away from Sam.

Their footsteps thundered up the stairs, out of the basement and through the livingroom. Her heart hammered in her ears and her breath burned in her lungs. Hot tears made the world, rushing around them, blurry. Peter was pulling her with, his friends wish to keep her save in his mind, but the picture of his blood covering bench, tools and wall behind still burning itself in his vision. The third shot had constricted his windpipe and brought the bitter taste of bile to his mouth. This bastard had shot him again, close proximity to a defenceless body on the floor. Peter had to swallow hard against the lump in his throat.

He pulled the frontdoor open, almost ripping it out of it's frame, when it smashed against the wall. He dragged her down the few steps from the porch and they ran. Frantic footsteps against the pavement, crossing a street, turning the next left, the next right, heading for the mall, for people, for help.

Someone must have heard the gunshots, someone must have called it in by now. Peter desperately hoped, wished. Yet, he also believed all help for his friend would be too late, anyway.

...

Help came. A team of law enforcement stormed the house through the wide open door, but the perpetrator was gone.

Two officers secured the basement and found an enormous puddle of blood and a limp body face down in it.

"Shit!" One of them exhaled, as he grabbed for his radio. The other one on his hunches, two fingers against the side of the victims neck.

The radio crackled. "We've got one casualty down here, male..."

"...with a weak pulse!" His partner interrupted harsh, while rolling the limp form to his back.

"Send EMTs asap!" The first one let go of his radio, got on his knees and instantly pressed his hands onto the gapping hole in the kids chest, trying to slow the bloodloss. His partner had his face sideways right above the victims mouth and nose, watching the bloody chest faintly rise and fall.

The other officer's hands already covered in thick red right inside his vision as EMTs hurried down the stairs to the basement.

My masterlist

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday23 #presumed dead #gunshot #whump #writing #whump writing #whumpril

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 21

Just hold on

@whumpril

Tw: medical whump, blood, surgery, cpr, unknown fate, absolutely no medical accuracy, sorry!

"Just hold on." Was the last thing he heard before everything turned black.

The words echoed in his mind. 'Just hold on.' Like a bodyless voice was encouraging him to keep fighting. The hectic beeping of his struggling heart was filling the room. The rhythm chaotic and too fast, about to break.

He just woke up during surgery. Pain and panic had him captured, before his mind even got a chance to realise what happened, than everything exploded into white searing agony.

Strong gloved hands on his shoulders, as his body went from completely slack, to instand muscle tension and into a spasm. Every muscle constricting and releaving over and over. His eyes fluttered and hands and feet started bouncing uncontrollably on the metal surface. Blood was pumped out of the wounds in his shaking body in waves.

"Diazepam. Now!" The head surgeon yelled. A nurse already emptying the syringe into the port in his arm, while another nurse was pressing it down.

More helping hands on his trembling legs. The surgeon's eyes darting from the heart monitor to the pale face coated in blood and the gapping hole in his stomach, his own bloody gloves, still holding his instruments, risen from the convulsing body.

"Come on! You can do it!"

Tense seconds passed, the seizure slowed and than stopped completely, the body on the operation table limp again, despite his chest, slightly shaken by the struggling heartbeat.

The choatic pounding overturned 200pbm. The man in charge, hands free again, leaned forward, arms straigthened and began a round of compressions. "Get the aed ready." He barked. His gloves slick from fresh blood. The rips of his patient carved in almost violently and hands and feet started to leave the table again. This time in the rhythm of the surgeon bending the young man's rip cage in. Something shifted under his interlocked fingers and a rip broke, but he kept going, face expressionless and professional.

After about 20 compressions the nurse to his right, announced the aed as ready. "Status?" Bloody gloves risen into the air again.

"He's in v-fib." The same nurse stated, already handing the paddles over. Blood was smeared all over the handles, when the surgeon took them. "Clear?" He merely waited a second as his staff got away from the patient. "Shocking!"

The lifeless body flopped, arms and legs leaving the surface again for a moment just to fall back limply.

Bloody paddles risen above the body and given back to the nurse. The surgeon pressed two fingers against the young man's neck, as everybody else had their eyes on the monitor.

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#whumpril2024 #whumprilday21 #just hold on #whump #writing #whump writing #cpr #medical whump #whumpril

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 20

Touch starved

@whumpril

The last time someone had touched him was when those two strong hands laid themselves heavily onto his shoulders. Warmth radiated from them and through his shirt. It was intimidating and soothing at the same time, after he had puked his guts out from a spiked drink. He was a heap on the floor, praising the god of pottery.

He was cold and shivering, the heaviness on his sunken shoulders grounded him, but he was too weak and dizzy to realise the danger behind this action.

Next thing he could remember, was being dragged out of the booth. Those big paws under his armpits lifting him like he weight nothing.

No, it wasn't the last time he was touched actually. The firm stinging slap to wake him up again, dangling from the ceiling of what could only be called a torture shamber. Naked feed hardly touched the cold ground underneath, arms stretched and bind to the hook above.

It felt like ages ago. He was so desperate longing for those warm and heavy hands on his shoulders. He was longing to feel the warmth and life of another human being. Skin touching skin, reminding him, that he was actually a human being too. But the man never even brought his hands somewhere near his skin. After that slap, he was woken with a cattle prod, when his body and mind were too exhausted to stay in the present. A blade repeatedly touched his skin, cold, angry, devestating.

A whip had torn his back, a pron had shattered his leg. Cold, lifeless instruments touched him over and over.

He didn't know, how long ago, he had consciously touched another human being, ran his fingers over the soft skin of a woman. It felt like a lifetime.

Now, he was a broken pile of raw meat, longing for eternal darkness. He was laying in the corner of his personal hell, his bloody back near the wall, just like he was left from his tormentor. He was even too weak to pull his broken leg into a more comfortable position, breathing was too hard. He was shivering and cold. The naked floor taking away his last little bodyheat.

His eyes were closed, too heavy to open them to the horrors of his little world anymore.

He didn't hear the door had opened. He didn't recognise the presence of his captor or that he was on his hunches, studing the half-conscious bloody broken form before him.

He was actually drifting off, towards a better place, without pain, with warmth and peace, with human touch.

Gently fingers ruffled through his hair, hesitantly. They started to brush along his forehead. His cold sweat forgotten. A little tingle ran down his spin. The hand, so warm and soothing, fingers trailing down the side of his cheek. The warm palm gently cuppng his face, bringing a barricade between his skin and the cold floor.

Even though, he was merely conscious, he slowly leaned into the touch, trying to cherish the feeling, after being alone for so long. It was a dream, he kind of knew and it would be over sooner than later.

The other hand had laid itself on his other cheek, so warm, so comforting. He felt save. For the first time in ... forever

"My love." The words hardly made it through to his muffed brain, but the voice was gentle, as the touch was.

"You're so pretty like this." The loosened tension in his muscles partly returned. That wasn't right. His eyes flew open. He wanted to lift his head, turn away out of reflex, but those strong warm hands prevented him.

Every cut, bruise, welt, broken bone, torn muscle, craked rip protested and pain exploded in his body. His fight was over before it even began. All tension left his body again and he fell limp in the man's hands, his face cupped in an vice-like grip, only half-conscious again. His cry in agony had turned into a weak whimper, nothing left to fight.

The hands were intimidating and soothing at the same time, just like that day he was taken. Just before he lost consciousness he let his longing body betray him and leaned into that touch, it felt so save.

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#whumpril2024 #touch starved #whump #writing #whump writing #whump community #whumprilday20 #whumpril

[its-my-whump]

It's already been a year? Wow!

Thank you so much for your support and every single like. I'm so happy, I stumbled in here. It changed my life. Thank you!

#1 year tumblrversary #tumblr milestone #whump writing #whump

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 18

Broken Glass

@whumpril

TW: ATTENTION: SUICIDE ATTEMPT, PLEASE DO NOT READ, WHEN YOU'RE FEELING DEPRESSED. Watch out for yourself and please don't drink to cope with emotional pain. IF YOU EVER FEEL LIKE GOING DOWN THE DEEP END, PLEASE SEEK HELP!

more TWs: blood, emotional whump, unknown fate

The blood was warm, not yet sticky, more like sirup. It was running through his fingers, like someone was emptying a big bottle of warm juice above his arm.

There was this thick and heavy smell of copper in his nose, almost a taste on his tongue.

But it wasn't juice flowing down his arm, it was blood tainting his skin, thickly spreading and running over his palm.

He was sitting on his couch, bend over a bit, his left arm hanging loosely between his legs and blood was dripping onto the carpet under his feet. A lot of blood. But he didn't care. In fact it was almost a kind of relief. He didn't have to participate in this shitshow any longer. He was numb, didn't feel the pain of the sliced skin or opened artery anymore. Didn't recognise that the edges of that piece of glass still in his right hand was cutting deeper and deeper into his palm, letting more blood resurface.

For once, he was okay. For once he was at peace.

It wasn't a conscious decision. He was draining his emotional pain, the feeling of lonelyness, the failure of getting his life in order, his frustration in alcohol. And he was almost at the end of a bottle, he was almost done, but then that bottle fell, spilling the remains of his last lifeline to keep it together, on the floor.

He got so frustrated, that he grapped that damn bottle and smashed it at the edge of this solid coffeetable, at the metal bar on the side to be precise. It broke into a million pieces and showed everything in near proximity with a rain cloud of glass.

After this brief moment of anger, his soul fell back into the dark pit of despair and the feeling of being nothing more than a failure.

Remotely controlled his right went for a particular pointy shard. The edges buried themself in his palm. The instant pain was grounding, the flow of blood something relieving. But the feeling for salvation only spiked with the sharp sting in his hand. Finally he was in control. Finally he wasn't a puppet anymore, life could throw around to her sardistic liking. Finally, he said: Fuck you, bitch!

Even though, the shard was sharp it was still not a blade. The skin on his left forearm ripped apart in ugly lappets, the pain of it almost too much. But he knew, if he'd hesitate, he wouldn't go on. There was something pushing him. Like an inner force. If he weren't so drunk, it would have been frigthening.

After the first dark red drops appeared under the glass, he knew, the hard and blunt pain was what he needed. Maybe it was his punchment and salvation at once. The moment he opened his artery he just knew and a cloak of calmness wrapped him in blissful silence to the hectic and business of the world on the streets outside his window.

All he could hear was his own heartbeat. Even though, it was hammering away, it wasn't making him nervous. He felt as calm as he hadn't in ... years.

Faszinated he was looking at thick drops running down the sides of his forearm, feeling how they where summoning in his palm and at the back of his left hand, finding a way through his fingers. The dripping turned into a light stream. His hand looked like he had put it into a can of fresh red paint. Blood was mixing with the spilled wodka between his feet.

A soundless laugh, more like a huff came over his lips, as the thought appeared, that he was currantly mixing his own and very last bloody marie.

The sound of his heartbeat slowed, like a car would, when you take the foot from the gas. Maybe, that was it. Maybe, he just needed to stop.

His vision had started swimming. He couldn't feel his fingers on the left hand anymore. A heavyness had taken a hold of his whole body. He couldn't move his left arm anymore, he couldn't really move anymore.

Something had made him painfully slowly to lift his head, but he couldn't tell anymore, what it was. His head was too heavy all of a sudden and sank down again. His thoughts were slow and his brain muffed. His legs had started to tingle and like in slow motion he dipped from his bend over position forward. Like water his almost tensionless body slipped from the couch. He couldn't recall how he ended up on the flow a moment later. He didn't know, what was happening anymore. It felt like something was reguarding his attention. His heartbeat wasn't slowly at all, it was just his immagination, luring him into the false hope of a peaceful death.

He was laying on his right side, staring at the remains of the broken glass bottle, tainted with his blood. He was ready to let go, he wanted to let go. He was never ment to find love and happiness, so what was he doing here anyway?

But really, he didn't want to die, but he was too tired of it all. He was too exhausted to fight this fight. He was too tired of trying to fit into a world, that had no place for him. He just wished, that someone would give him a hug, a real hug and said, it was going to be okay.

He wished for once, that someone would save him. His blurry vision turned dark and tears were pressed out, when his heavy eye lids closed.

His pounding heart was still fighting, but he couldn't hear it anymore. As he couldn't hear the loud drumming against his front door, that had been there for the last 2 minutes.

Even though, he was done fighting, his subconsciousness wasn't. It was pulling together all resources to give him a chance, when the door flew open with a loud bang and wood splintered throughout the room.

He was deeply unconscious, one foot already over the edge, when emergency staff stormed his appartement and 2 big gloved hands wrapped around his bloody left arm.

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#whumpril #whumpril2024 #whumprilday18 #broken glass #whump writing

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 7

Hesitation (poem)

@whumpril

Tw: it's a poem and it's bloody disturbing, whumpers POV

He remembers a time, where there was so much hesitation.

Sometimes, he thinks about the past with calm contemplation.

He was young, naive and innocent.

He was a nice person, a real friend.

But bloodlust was always a silent dream.

Beating someone to hear them scream.

Longing to cut into a foreign vein,

Feast on his victim's searing pain.

He always wanted human flesh to look like raw meat.

He always wanted tissue to burn in glistening heat.

His victims shall crawl and wiggle in disgust.

He wants to torture, he needs to live his lust.

With bliss, he remembers his first cut.

How there just came more and more blood.

He thinks about the hesitation before, and the first victim, he tackled.

He smiles, remembering that day, his inner demon finally got unshackled.

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#whumpril2024 #whumprilday7 #hesitation #another bloody poem #whump writing #poem #writing

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 8

Bloodshot

@whumpril

Tw: language!, vomit, helplessness, implied beating, anger

The door bell rang for the 4th time. "Bloody hell." Caretaker mumbled to himself, paddling the blanket away and crawled out of his bed. The room was chilly and a quick look, showed a blurry 2:48 am on his alarm clock. He brushed a hand through his own hair and over his sleepy face to get his bearings, while coming up to his legs.

Shuffling towards the front door it rang again. "Yeah, coming." He half loud mumbled again, naked feet left prints on the cold floor making a path to the door.

His hand grapped for the door handle. The moment he pulled and some weight started to press onto the doorleaf from the outside, the thought jumped in, that at this time of night, it could easily be some buglars.

Surprised by the weight on the door, he had to hold it strongly, so it wouldn't push him away.

A step to the side. No burglars! His hand automatically let go of the handle and he stepped forward to catch the limp body.

The door flew open, his own body was almost pulled down, when he took a hold of the dead weight now in his arms. "Johnny? Fuck!"

He grapped his friend under his limp arms and pulled him completely inside the appartement. An elbow against the lightswitch and a hard kick to the open door. It fell shut with a bang, at 2:49 am in the morning.

Caretaker pulled Johnny to the couch and laid him down on the cushions. Getting to his hunches, a few light slaps to the pale cheek. "Ey, Johnny. Can you open your eyes for me, man?"

Half a minute passed, some more light flaps and the limp form stired on the couch. Eyelids fluttered open, it looked exhausting, just watching the attempt. His eyes bloodshot, some veins dark red in glazy white, his iris too small for the semi dark room. His left eye already swelling shut.

"The fuck, man! What happened?"

Some undeceiferable movement in his ghostly white face. Dry lips weakly parted, to reveal bloody teeth. "T..th...they got m..." His jaw visibly clenched. Caretaker, yet shocked by the forming bruise on his left side of his face, but still quickly thinking on his feet, grapped for the bowl of some rubbish from the coffeetable and emptied it.

Johnny was already retching and weakly leaning towards the edge of the sofa. The bowl went under his face and Caretaker turned away. More out of respect as of disgusted. He studied Johnny shaking body from his kneeling position.

His friends short hair was sweaty, spiking in all directions. Only now Caretaker saw the blood on the back of Johnnys head. Sweat was glistening on his pale, almost translucent face. A stream of blood had painted a red line down into the back of his collar. He was shivering all of a sudden and Caretakers hand took a hold of his shoulder. Johnny flinched, wiggled in pain and a moan slipped out. Caretaker pulled carefully on the collar of his friends shirt and took a glimpse of the purple bruise, that was creeping up his back.

Johnnys fingers were digging into the couch, knuckles white from strain, but bloody from fighting back.

"Fuck!" Caretaker exhaled, then he got angry. "I'm gonna kill these cowards."

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#whumpril #whumpril2024 #whumprilday8 #bloodshot #whump writing

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 4

Swaying

@whumpril

Tw: sickness and unconsciousness

Whumpee felt like shit, but he still made it to work. What else would he have done? There was no one at home to take care of him, so he joked to himself, that at least someone would notice, if he passed out at work.

Little did he know, that his prior joke was becoming more and more a real possibility.

His vision was becoming blurry now and again as he tried to focus on his work to spray paint onto the rear bumper of the Chevy with the air brush pistole. At first he thought it was his mask fogging from the inside, but it wasn't. This fact became obviously clear, when the headache, that already was a constant reminder for the last 2 days spiked to a vicious pounding all of a sudden. Additionally he had an upset stomach for the same amount of time. The bitter taste of bile slowly started to creep up his gullet, while the focus on his work swam away.

Whumpee had been working on his hunches, moving around the carpart bend over. He needed to get up and get out of the seemingly shrinking booth right now. As he straigthened his body, the world spun around him, his knees unsteady all of a sudden. The pistole slipped out of his hand and ceased it's own work spraying any paint.

A gloved hand reached for the wall. Fresh sprayed painted, that was hanging in the air and settled on the walls, smeared under his fingertips, leaving a trail to the door and fresh stains on the door handle.

He squeezed himself outside, while already ripping the mask from his face. The left filter got dented, when it also slipped out of his hand and fell to the concrete floor. His knees were about to buckle, but he managed to shuffle forward. Whumpee needed to get out of the warehouse and he needed to get some real fresh air. He was swaying dangerously, as he passed his blurry colleague. His footsteps were unsteady, but the urge was pushing him forward.

Alarmed by the thud, the mask made, when it hit the ground, caretaker came out of the office and could see whumpee just rounding the corner and leaving the warehouse through the open garage door.

His movements seemed wobbly. "Your buddy breathed in too much fumes again." Colleague laught at him.

Caretaker followed anyway. "Whumpee? You okay?"

The undeniable sounds of someone throwing up was echoning back from the metal walls of the big room. A gasp, a whimper inbetween the sounds of a revolting stomach, were getting louder as he approached the garage door.

Then nothing.

When caretaker stepped out of the garage, he was shocked for a moment, seeing whumpees slack form laying motionsless in the grass beside the building.

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#whumpril #whumpril2024 #whumprilday4 #swaying #whump writing

[its-my-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 3

Shame

@whumpril

'Shame?!' It used to be a big word for him. Shame about using the wrong words, shame about the wrong clothes, shame about the wrong time, the wrong purchase, the wrong look, the wrong answer, the wrong question. Literally about being wrong for all his life.

But now 'shame' was merely a word from a better past. Yes, a damn better past, where they only wipped him with words, where they only slices his pride with insults, where they merely punished him with ignorance.

He wished he could have his old life back. The one, where he was a loner, but all they did, was kick his soul with their feet, not also his body. A time, where he was ashamed, about the wrongly colored socks to the wrong shoes, but at least he had both of them. A time girls and boys equally laught at him, but at least they didn't try to beat him to death, laughing at him.

Now, he was regularly drugged, kicked, punched, slapped, slices, drowned and electricuted. He was too exhausted to feel shame anymore, not for his nakedness, not for his bruises, his scars, his dislocated toes, his broken nose. He wished, he could have his shame back. It would mean, he would be okay, he would be safe from all of this.

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#whumpril #whumpril2024 #whumprilday3 #shame #whump writing