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Part 12 HxCxV (Hero x Caretaker x Villain; referring to it as the other way from now on)

Alright, I posted this 15 hours ago, or at least tried. So here we are again. Be prepared, it’s quite adorable :)

Part 11 here

@silverwhisperer1 @whump-me-all-night-long @whatwhumpcomments


It was obvious that Hero was nervous. Her fingers twitched the entire car ride. She darted her eyes between road, sky, electric line, building, road, bird, road; Hero had no focus. Her breathing was heavy, and her chest rose with such ferocity that Villain was surprised nothing was busting out, like her heart or her entire ribcage.

On another hand, these things were also signs of Hero’s excitement. The only time she’d ever left Villain’s home was when he forced her into the garden, which was something he heavily regretted doing.

But it was okay because Villain was working on things. He was taking her to the cafe, wasn’t he? And he’d given Hero over a week before even trying to talk to her. Maybe he shouldn’t have talked to her at all, but he felt bad forgetting to give her the little ghosts from her apartment.

They were in the city now, buildings on either side of the road. Most were reflective and Villain watched as Hero watched the sky on said reflective panes. She smiled, just barely, with one side of her mouth- that Villain could see- lifted and tucked beneath a somewhat chubby cheek. Hero was kind of cute, he realized. He’d seen her smile before, but not so closely before. Not so genuine or sincere either.

The car pulled up beside the sidewalk and the driver eyed Villain in the rear view mirror. “What time is your shift over?”

He had to think about it. “There’s a song that helps me remember that…”

“9 to 5?” Villain turned his gaze on Hero who was smiling a little more than before. She looked like she could laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it,” Villain said, then sang rather terribly, “Workin’ nine to five.” He had to stop a smile from forming on his own face. “Shift is over at five.”

“I’ll see you at five, then,” the driver said.

Hero opened the door, being the one closest to the sidewalk. She slid out and Villain followed, sliding across the entirety of the back seats before getting out of the car as well, shutting the car door behind him.

Hero waited, seemingly unsure what to do with herself. Villain was simply surprised she wasn’t trying to run away already. He wasn’t sure what he would do if she did start to run. He knew he wouldn’t use his powers to stop her, not as his powers were growing more and more untameable. Villain would never do anything that could potentially harm her again- not physically, that is, as physical harm was the only thing he could control. He wasn’t so great at maintaining a healthy mental state of Hero.

Waving goodbye to his driver, Villain walked to the entrance of The Milk Bowl, pulling the door open and stepping aside as he gestured for Hero to walk through. She did, tucking away a small smirk.

It wasn’t often that Villain was a gentleman, holding a door open for her. She still hated him, still despised his lying and harmful self. But, he didn’t have to hold the door open. And he certainly didn’t have to take her to the cafe. She was still shocked he agreed to take her to begin with. He would probably be afraid the whole time they were out that she’d run, but she didn’t plan on it. Hero couldn’t say exactly why she didn’t want to run. She only assumed it was because she knew she’d be caught again.

“So you really work here,” Hero said, turning to look at the villain who wore an apron instead of a cape. Not that he ever wore a cape, but that was at least more imaginable than the apron he wore now.

“For over a month now,” he replied, now fiddling with the strings behind his back trying to tie them. “Um. I doubt they’ll let you behind the counter, but no one’s gonna mind if you take a seat somewhere in the rest of the cafe.” He finished knotting the strings.

Before they fully departed for the next eight hours- minus Villain’s break time- Hero said, “You look different in this setting.”

“How’s that?”

“Just different, that’s all.”

Without another word, Hero strolled away to a corner table, one by the windows so that she could see the mirrored buildings outside. She always loved them, loved the way it gave a new perspective to the sky. Somehow the sky always looked more realistic through a reflection than in normal eyes; it was sharper in a mirror, more defined- even if it was stretched.

The opposite applied for Villain, who’d become human in the cafe’s atmosphere. He was as Hero said; he was different. He- well, he was always human, but he seemed more so now. Villain had a job. He worked behind a counter and he made teas and- and coffees. He handed out muffins and limited time cake pops. Villain was human. Not just a criminal or a captor- a kidnapper. He was human.

A piece of Hero despised him for it. How dare he provide her with a gentle image of himself? How dare he allow her to see a side of him that wasn’t evil when that’s all she wished to see of him? Then again, it was either Villain be kind and take her to the cafe with him, or keep her trapped in the house for the next eight hours. Hero thought she preferred the first, though she wasn’t one-hundred percent positive.

Even having not been sat for very long, Hero stood from her two person table and walked to the register where Villain stood looking bored out of his mind. He stared vacantly at nothing until Hero approached. It was then that he smiled, or at least hinted at one.

“You know, if I’m going to be here the whole eight hours…” She raised a brow, one corner of her mouth lifting with it. “You should at least treat me to a drink.” She took a look at the chalkboard menu behind Villain’s body.

“Ah,” he scolded. “No need to look at the menu. I already know what you’ll order.”

Before Hero could ask how he would know what she wanted, he said, “A cappuccino with whipped cream just brimming the edge of the cup, a chocolate ring on the whip.”

Hero’s mouth opened in an inaudible ‘Wow’.

Villain reminded her, “I was working as a barista before I was fighting you as a villain.” He added, “And I’ve been the one making your drink most of the time. And every Monday…” he trailed off, grabbing cups and tins and pulling levers, pushing buttons- overall dancing across the space behind his counter.

He owned the space behind the counter right now. Eventually, he stopped his twirling and astronaut-fashioned button-pushing. Villain walked to the pick-up counter, where Hero naturally walked to, waiting for him to finish her drink. For a minute she wondered if he wasn’t playing a trick, and that he might not drink it himself in front of her.

“Every Monday,” he said again, “I add rainbow sprinkles.” Villain gently set the cup down on the hard counter and pushed it softly towards Hero. A part of her expected him to say this next part, but it still shocked her nonetheless- “What better way to start the week than-” “-rainbow sprinkles.” They said it at the same time.

Hero took a shuddering breath.

In the next moment, the bell to the cafe door rang. Hero saw Villain’s face drop first. Then, as she turned, she watched Caretaker step in with his best friend. Her heart thundered and dropped at the same time.


I debated on whether or not to leave you guys on a cliff hanger. I decided I liked to live on this edge for a little bit, especially after such a cute scene :)

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Whumptober 2020 No. 31 — Experiment 

Word count: ~1330
Universe: Breath of the Wild; sequel to “No. 30 — Wound Reveal”
Pairings: Zelink
Rating: K
Themes: Fate, blindness, amnesia

Zelda’s powers came to her softly on a warm autumn day.

Link didn’t even notice when it happened. She was always warm and bright. It didn’t strike him as odd in the slightest that she felt a little warmer, a little brighter. And of course the sword didn’t react. It had been expecting it from the first.

She had been nestled in his arms, reclining with him against the lonely tree that overlooked Lake Hylia, and he had been terribly close to drifting off, his face turned into her hair and drawing deeper and deeper into peace with every breath. When she wriggled her hand out from between them and then sat up with a gasp, all he could think at first was that she was disturbing an incredibly nice catnap.

But then she’d thrown her arms around his neck and burst into tears. He’d held her, soothed her, until she finally managed to tell him why. The sword thrummed something soft and contented where he had left it beside his shield, a gentle warmth in the undercurrent. It felt like coming home.

“I was thinking of you,” she wept, half overcome, half giddy. “I was thinking of you, and nothing else.”

Gods, but he wished he could have seen her.

What a sight the pair of them must have been. A blind swordsman and a princess that glowed like the sun. The people said they were like something out of legend.

They couldn’t have known how wrong they were.

Keep reading

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When the whumpee is in terrible pain, and it’s extremely hard for them to hold still, but they have to or they’ll make everything so much worse. The caretaker holding them down while they wait for help to come, and whispering reassurances as they try to keep the whumpee still. The whumpee simultaneously hating the caretaker holding them down, and being grateful for it, because they know even though they’re already in agony, and being held down makes it hurt worse, it’s nothing compared to the pain they’d be in if the caretaker let them move. 

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i have a serious case of “grinch grin” when whump is on TV and the fact that nobody picked that on is actually astonishing

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CONTENT WARNING: Extremely spooky content, 2spooky4u, read at your own risk, I am not legally responsible for any heart problems caused by reading this post

  • Broken Bones
  • Old creaky joints
  • Introverted skeleton whumpee dying in a plague and being thrown in a mass grave with lots of other skeletons who won’t shut the Fuck Up
  • Boneitis, for all your skeleton sickfics
  • Having your bones rattled
  • Losing your bones
  • Accidentally drinking Bone Hurting Juice
  • Being taken apart and getting put back together with your bones in the wrong place
  • Not being able to enjoy your favorite foods because they just fall through your hollow skeletal throat
  • Asshole clerics using Turn Undead on you
  • Bigger asshole clerics using Command/Rebuke Undead
  • Not being invited to parties because you’re 2spooky
  • Being born in a disgusting skin-suit that you’re forced to wear for 70+ years.
  • Trying to play your trumpet but remembering you have no lungs
  • Losing your head and stumbling around blindly trying to find it but kicking it around like a soccer ball.
  • Laughing at how you’re immune to slashing damage, then getting horribly maimed when some smartass points out that they can just cut through the bones instead of their sword harmlessly passing between them.
  • Developing severe PTSD (Postmortem Traumatized Skeleton Disorder) while fighting in the Skeleton Wars
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@whumptober2020 Day 31: Today’s Special, Torture / Alt 7 Found Family.

@lonesome–hunter, @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektricwhump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @eatyourdamnpears

TW: blood loss, aggravated injuries, referenced gore, mention of stitches.

It was her own duvet from her own bed, and her pillows. Cat curled on the floor, head resting against her curled hand, and tried not to move.

Lindsey had bandaged and sutured her wounds. I don’t want you to die, Cat. She’d even offered painkillers. She made dinner and brought it down on the nice plates, the eggshell blue ones with the cerulean rims. She made Cat a cup of tea.

She was trying, in her own haphazard way, to condition. To be bad cop and good cop, to provide tentative comfort after hours of torture. She was trying to make Cat feel better.

Cat was refusing to give her anything at all.

Pain didn’t work. Comfort didn’t work. Conversation received nothing but a blank stare. The only things that left her mouth were slow exhalations. Cat wasn’t interested in giving Lindsey any kind of reaction, even for behaviour she would normally want to encourage.

You get nothing.

Keep reading

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Extra Halloween prompt because spookday

The whumpee had been terrified of going outside when there were any major holydays, most of the time any decorations would be too bright and the crowding too loud. The caretaker slowly tries to help thought and finally convinces them to go outside on Halloween night. The whumpee surprises themselves by not being scared of some of the more realistic costumes so they slowly come out of their shell during the night. In the end they had fun walking around the area and the whumpee decides that going outside again might not be so bad.

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Whumptober 2020 (Belated) Day 20 Altprompt #3: Comfort

The ring, the ring. He can get through anything for Martel.

While I was working I started to wonder whether that’s even the correct hand for an engagement ring, because in Germany it would be but in the US it wouldn’t? And in Japan the wedding ring is worn left (afaik) and I guess that means the engagement ring is on the right then?? Maybe?? And also, is it even HIS his ring and not Martel’s he kept and it wouldn’t fit his finger and–

And then I was done and shrugged it off because I guess it’s clear enough what I’m TRYING to communicate her ok. Everything is too complicated for me. =‘)

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Whumptober 2020
Day 30 - Wound Reveal

Many different kinds of wounds revealed~

TWs: mentioned/referenced domestic abuse, blood

The teen ran his teeth nervously over the lip ring as he stared at the lit windows in consideration. Should he turn back? It felt wrong to stand outside Sami’s house like this. He was late, first of all. Would Sami even want to see him again? It might also be like barging in. There were only occasional people outside anymore, and those few gave him odd looks in the passing. He must have looked creepy.

But he didn’t want to stay outside. And going back home…it didn’t seem like such a good idea. Uncannily his left hand tended to reach behind his back but every time he hesitated. His fingers curled back up just as they reached the pulsating throbbing and he pulled his hand away with a shudder of dismissal.

Maybe…maybe he should tell Sami? Maybe he should tell someone.

He sighed deep. He didn’t even notice he’d started to play with the lip ring. Once he did, he forced himself to halt. Sami said it made his lip look like he got his ass kicked. Swollen and red. 

He sauntered across the street, towards the beautiful wooden house with an apple tree reaching over the fence and over the sidewalk. The wooden sign hung onto the tall gate read Järvelä in neat lettering. He pushed it open and stepped into a small garden in between houses. A couple more fruit-bearing trees paved the small walk around to the front door on the backyard’s side.

His hand froze a few inches from the buzzer and he looked away. He was so late! His face fell as he imagined how frustrated Sami must be. Maybe he should just stay away?

Swallowing hard, he pressed on the bell, leaving his finger there for a long noise and pressed down a nodge harder before taking his hand back swiftly. Maybe it didn’t make a spit difference for real, but he liked to think the ending to sound sterner like that. It was their code.

The door was opened by a woman in her mid-forties, gingery blond bobby hair and a polka dot apron swung over her casual red dress. “Oh? Hey.”

“Hi, Mari.”

“It’s good to see you. How’s your father been, after what happened?”

His eyes drifted to the side briefly. “Uh, good. Is Sami in?”

“Of course. Come on in.” She stepped back inside, trusting him to close the door. “Sami! Tarko’s here!” she called up the stairs starting from next to the entrance hall. A distant ‘alright’ in Sami’s voice answered, and steps pounded the ceiling boards somewhere above Tarko.

A goofy-looking boy of the same age appeared around the turn in the stairs and rested his hand on the wall. He was wearing orange-and-red striped long sleeve shirt, which really brought out the bright hair much like his mother’s. Freckles littered his nose and cheeks and concentrated on the left side of his chin. The other hand slipped into the pocket of worn-out jeans as he cocked his head to the side with a grin.

“You, sir, are late.”

“I know. Sorry. Something…came up,” Tarko looked away briefly before adding: 

“With mom.”

Sami gave him a once over but said nothing, just a 'hnh’. Then his expression brightened and he made a beckoning motion with his hand. “Well, the hell are you waiting for?! Come on in!”

“Ah, right.” Tarko went to open his jacket buttons when needles shoved into his shoulder. Wincing at the movement, he was too late to stop the gasp as his left arm fell back to his side.

'Oh no!’

His eyes shot up, and for a terrifying second the boys stared at each other, and Tarko thought he now knew exactly how the deer feels when the headlights rush right in when he watched realization dawn on Sami’s features.

Keep reading

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You know what’s good shit? Power dynamics.

A whumper in a powerful position (like a king or a nobleman or something) having a less powerful and privileged whumpee kiss their hand or a ring on their finger in a show of submission and loyalty. And the situation being such that the whumpee simply cannot refuse, cannot disobey, if they want to keep their life.

Oh, and preferably have this happen immediately after the whumper has hurt the whumpee in some way.

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Whumpee pushed themself up on shaking arms, their legs bent awkwardly away from them. They tried standing, getting up, moving, but it was as if something was blocking them from controlling their legs.

They stared up at Whumper in horror. “What did you do?” they rasped.

Whumper set the now-empty syringe down on the table before walking towards them, slowly and leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world. They smirked. “I just made sure you can never run again.”

Whumpee gaped at them. “W-what?” they stuttered.

Whumper crouched down in front of them, cupping their face gently. “I paralyzed you, dear. Permanently. You’ll never walk - or run - again.” The way they spoke - the tenderness, the compassion, the love in their voice - sent chills down Whumpee’s spine.

Whumpee tried pulling away but Whumper moved quicker. Their head had barely moved more than an inch before something sharp was pressing into their face, just below their eye. Freezing, they stared up at Whumper, their lips parting slightly as they exhaled.

Whumper smiled, then, a predator finally cornering their prey. “You better stay still now. Unless you want me to to take your pretty little eyes like I did your legs.”

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Let me write a thing for you okay


(Pt 1 if you ask for more)

Cw: knife to throat, female whumpee, “creepy whumper” (capturer speaks calmly and guides the whumpee). Let me know if I need to add more.

Fun fact: Lory is aroace and has ADHD (like me!). I just wanted you to know that. This is my OC and I LOVE HER.


There was suddenly a knife at my throat. The flat side of the blade was pressed against my skin. It was smooth, and the coolness seeped into my skin. A stark contrast to the hot breath on the back of my neck.

He spoke quietly, each word a shaky whispers and sending hot, human air onto my neck.

“I’m don’t want to hurt you, Lory. I promise,” he said. “I just need you to cooperate. That’s the only way I can help you. I just need you to cooperate.”

He pressed his body against my backside, the heat of his skin starting to seep through my clothes and making me sweat.

“Did you hear me, Lory? We need to communicate or this isn’t going to work this time.”

My mouth was open a bit bottom lip quivered before I spoke.


“Okay, that’s good. Did you miss anything?”

I fell silent.

“Lory, I just need you to do one thing for me right now. We’ll just take this one step at a time, okay?”

I paused. My lip was shaking. It’s not that I was scared. I should’ve been, maybe, after what I had just witnessed.

My tone was flat when I finally answered.


“Okay, so I need you to do one little thing for me right now. Can you do this one little thing for me?”

“Okay,” I repeated.

“Okay, when I tell you to, I need you to slowly put your hands on your head. Only when I tell you to. So we’re not doing that yet.”

My arms hung limp at my sides, useless. He left them outside of his grip for some reason when he overtook me, slipping his other arm underneath them and holding me close to him.

My cool skin leeched the heat from his and formed a layer of mositure between us. When I say he was hot, I don’t mean sexy.

My mouth, of it’s own accord, said again: “Okay.” It seemed to be the only word I was capable of, save for that one “Yes.”

He took slowed, labored breaths for a few moments.

“Now, slowly put your hands on your head.”

And I did as I was told.


Oh I am so proud of myself for writing this!

Will continue upon request.



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