generic-whumperz

[generic-whumperz]

Hannigram shitpost inspired by this tweet I saw vv

comms open - info pinned

[generic-whumperz]

"are you normal about-" no I'm an insane pervert

[generic-whumperz]

whumpee who doesn't need to be chained up in a basement. whumpee who's hidden in plain sight. whumpee who hides their own bruises and smiles when strangers ask them how they're doing.

[generic-whumperz]

[generic-whumperz]

Gucci Mane’s line in Both —

“Hoe pull your panties up, cause you fuck like a granny fuck, you’re just an amateur”

—has never made sense to me on account on the fact that—if we’re measuring proficiency in the sex by active years—a granny is a seasoned veteran, not some wet-behind-the-ears rookie who just unlocked tier one missionary on the skill tree.

[generic-whumperz]

Third Time’s the Charm: Rediscovering Hobbies

<prev next>

Cade's turn with Khaled again, since Vik and Eric have had plenty of one-on-one moments with him so far

Thank you beta reading team @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz

TW/CW: none? Okay, cool. I mean, there are some tense moments and some emotional strain due to whump aftermath/recovery stuff, but nothing too terribly triggering, I think.

Cade slipped through the door on an early spring morning, closing it to the cold while toeing off his sneakers. He hung up his coat in the closet, then upturned his shirt collar. Finally, he let his loose hair fall over his shoulders to cover the hickeys his date gave him last night. He smelled pancakes–burnt pancakes, maybe, but nonetheless a sign that at least one of the guys was already up, and he did not need any juvenile teasing about his hickeys this morning.

Cade’s mouth began salivating at the idea of a plate of pancakes with a couple vegan sausage patties. He hoped whoever was up so early was willing to share.

He rounded the corner to find Khaled, standing at the stove, silently cursing as he chucked something resembling a carbonized hockey puck into the trash. Pancake batter encrusted the stove. The fumigation hood hummed, its fan cranked to max. Cade shook his head fondly.

“I hope you didn’t go through all that trouble on my account!” he commented.

Khaled whipped around, then, once he saw it was Cade, let his defensive posture deflate. “Thought I’d try making pancakes,” he sighed.

Cade reached for the hair tie at his wrist, hickeys be damned. “Need any help?” he asked, already tying back his hair.

“No, it’s fine,” Khaled said.

This reminded Cade of that story Vikash told him of the last time Khaled tried to make breakfast in secret. “Seriously, I could even just clean up as you go?” he offered helpfully.

“It’s okay, really!” Khaled insisted.

Cade reminded himself of what Vikash and Eric had told him. “Wait…” He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter as he looked at Khaled questioningly. “You’re not doing this to ‘earn your keep’ or anything like that, right?”

Khaled’s eyes drifted down to his spatula. “…no…”

“Because, you don’t have to, you know.” Cade thought maybe offering a concrete example would help make his point. He rubbed awkwardly at his neck, readying himself to confess a detail from his personal life. “Not like our situations are similar in any way,” he acknowledged, “but when I first moved in here, I felt like I had to repay Eric and Vik’s hospitality, too–”

“Yeah, well, it’s like you said, our situations aren’t similar in any way! Maybe you got over your obligation to repay their favor, but I’m never going to, because this is all I know how to do, and I don’t know how to stop!” Khaled snapped. An acrid smell wafted between the two. The butter in the pan had burnt. “Why am I like this?!” Khaled groaned. He took the pan off the heat and tossed it in the sink to cool.

“Hey, calm down, calm down,” Cade said soothingly, reaching over to turn off the burner. “You’re okay. Really. Now, what do you mean you don’t know how to stop?” he asked.

Khaled leaned on the counter on the other side of the stove, turning his head to look at Cade. “I mean, part of it is the feeling that I can never ever hope to make it up to you guys for what you’ve done for me. The other part is that, honestly, I don’t have anything else to do,” Khaled confessed. “No job, no school, no friends to visit. I wake up, I eat breakfast and dinner with you guys, Vik maybe takes me to the gym if I’m up on time, and you or Eric take me to therapy. Aside from that?” Khaled shrugged. “It’s either doing random shit around the house like I was trained to do, or slowly going crazy as I wait for you to come home.”

Cade furrowed his brow. “Don’t you have any hobbies or something? Any fun ways to pass the time?” He remembered what Eric had told him when he intercepted Khaled cleaning the stove. “And bleaching the grout in our shower does not count,” he clarified.

Khaled took an uncomfortably long time to respond. Cade was worried he wouldn’t respond at all, until he mutely shook his head.

Cade gawked at him. No hobbies? As a man who was involved in several hobbies and the communities that surrounded them (music, aquariums, crystal collecting, marijuana), he could not imagine such a bleak existence without the little things that bring a person joy.

Although, maybe Khaled did have hobbies like that, before everything that happened to him. Cade scrunched his brows and narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. Yeah, Khaled probably had hobbies before, hobbies that were lost, and that could be regained, if we just found the right stimuli...

“Okay!” he said decisively. Khaled cocked his head to the side, confused by this random outburst. Cade stooped over to open the refrigerator and got out a carton of oat milk. “Once we finish breakfast, I’m taking you to Paragon!”

“Para-where?”

“Paragon! It’s the coolest strip mall around, cause it’s all niche shops that cater to different hobbies! I’ll take you!”

Khaled raised his hands. “Oh, no, you don’t have to–” he said.

“I want to! Besides, I have to go and buy new guitar strings anyway, the only difference is you’re coming with me,” Cade rationalized. He got on his tiptoes to reach the box of cereal on top of the fridge, then walked to the cupboard to get two bowls. “Come get us some spoons and join me,” he invited. Khaled glanced briefly at the abandoned pancake project, then fetched the spoons.

-

They took two buses to Paragon Plaza, the unique strip mall full of niche shops Cade had mentioned. The musician made his first stop for guitar strings, but took his time browsing the guitar straps and shiny new picks. Whenever he’d occasionally glance at Khaled, the man didn’t seem interested in anything at the music store.

The next store didn’t seem to grab his attention either, as Khaled aimlessly wandered the rows upon rows of boxed mini figures and tiny bottles of expensive paint. Nor did he seem interested in the next store, with its colorful beads and glittering gems hanging from strings on a wall. At least the paper goods store seemed to interest him a little, Cade noticed. He spotted Khaled going through roll upon roll of patterned washi tape, presumably for his dream journal.

They’d spend an hour and a half at almost all the stores at Paragon, and Cade was about to call it quits on discovering Khaled’s hobby. He noticed his friend break away from his side as they were about to head to the bus stop. He followed him to a large window display modeling tennis rackets, volleyballs, soccer cleats, and other sports paraphernalia underneath a banner that read ‘SPRING IS HERE!’ He followed Khaled’s eyes to the soccer cleats, noticing something akin to mournful longing in the man’s deep dark eyes. “See something you like?” he asked.

“I… um, I used to play soccer,” Khaled said quietly, staring longingly into the window display.

“Would you like to come in?” Cade suggested. “We’ve got plenty of time!” And no other store seems to have grabbed your attention like this one, he noticed.

While Cade himself was not a sporty person (anymore, that is), he did find some of the things in the store familiar, and felt similar waves of nostalgia and mourning as they walked through the store. He wholeheartedly encouraged Khaled to buy some cleats and a soccer ball. At the register was a flyer advertising adult leagues, saying that they looking for new players for the season and that auditions were next weekend. It didn’t take much needling to convince Khaled to go and give it a try, although the concept that he could leave the house without one of them had yet to sink in.

“And if I make the team, I can leave for practice whenever?” Khaled asked again on the bus ride home.

“Oh my god, dude, yes!” Cade laughed, answering yet again. “Look, you’re not a prisoner in our house or anything, I promise!  When you make the team, you can come and go as you like.”

Khaled hugged the soccer ball in his lap. “Okay.” He looked down at the cleats in the bag in his hand. “Thank you,” he murmured shyly.

“Any time.” He fished around for his pockets and popped out his Bluetooth headphones. He offered one to Khaled, who took it gratefully with a small smile. “Here’s this song I’m trying to learn,” Cade introduced as he opened his music app. “It doesn’t sound too hard, but it still sounds really good…” The two friends listened to the acoustic guitar cover of Pearl Jam’s “Even Flow” the rest of the ride home.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear @whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis

[generic-whumperz]

Who's a Good Boy?

Chapter 20 of The Professionals with @knivestothroats

Tommy struggles to understand that Fletcher doesn't want the person he has been forced to be.

tags: long term captivity, "cooperative" whumpee, post traumatic stress disorder, collared whumpee, behavioral conditioning

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The crops in Fletcher’s garden ripened in stages across the seasons. Even as winter descended, the apple trees still held some fruit, sweet as candy when the first frosts turned the starches to sugar. 

In spite of this thoughtful design, there was no way to avoid the fact that the bulk of the crops came ready to harvest around the same time. It could mean some long days harvesting, and more pickling. Or jarring, baking, ricing, trimming, cleaning, pitting, juicing, washing, spiralizing, mashing, boiling, peeling, plucking, salting, candying, frying, drying, dancer, prancer, donner, vixen…

It was hard for Tommy to muscle through the harder physical labor, his body already a perpetual state of bruised and sore, but he could appreciate the process. He liked working with his hands; tasks that created tangible rewards, rather than just another grueling endurance of punishment. Jars lined neatly in rows, filling the root cellar shelves with salsas and jams and preserves. Greens that he had tended to with a fastidious hand made bright, fresh salads that tasted buttery and delicious only moments from field to plate. It was lively and gloriously satisfying, especially after a long day’s work.

Fletcher wasn’t teaching today, and they’d worked together since early in the morning. It had actually been kinda fun, and Tommy had a chance to study Fletcher working. The way they handled themself, the way they moved. Relaxed, confident in their work without feeling any need to show off. 

He stole glances when he could, watching Fletcher stand and straighten their back with a grimace. They put their hands on their hips to stretch back, before wiping the sweat from their brow with the back of their forearm. Loose strands of their dark hair had pulled free from their ponytail, falling around their face in darts. He admired their bronzed and freckled skin, their tank top revealing scars and tattoos. 

This is who I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.

How can I make this work? How can I be a good companion? How do I give them what they want?

The satisfaction he felt from the work and some pretty amicable time with Fletcher made him want to show them he would try. That he could be their good boy, and then maybe they wouldn’t make it all hurt so much. 

It was a long day, but they were finally finishing up and heading inside. 

“Hey, good work today,” Fletcher said, bumping their fist against Tommy’s shoulder.

“Oh! Thank you,” He beamed, managing a tired grin. He rubbed his shoulder after their hand left him, replacing it with his own for a moment before dropping it. 

Fletcher stood washing their hands in the sink, and they had their back turned to him. With effort, Tommy tried for his best casual tone. 

“Hey, I uh, I feel like this has been a pretty good, pretty good week. For us. Yeah...?” Stop stammering, goddamnit.

“Uh… yeah, I guess,” Fletcher agreed. They looked at him over their shoulder and added in a light tone, “You haven’t done anything to piss me off lately.”

“So, that’s- yeah, that’s a good sign.” He drew in a nervous breath. “I want to be a good boy.”

Fletcher quirked an eyebrow and gave an awkward chuckle before turning back to the sink to wash their hands. “Uh huh. That’s good.”

“Yeah, I mean…” He rubbed his arm. “Am I..?” 

Fletcher looked back at him over their shoulder again. They waited for him to finish his sentence with their eyebrows raised expectantly.

Tommy swallowed nervously, though he maintained a casual posture. He forced his eyes up to meet their gaze, and asked hopefully, “Am I a good boy?”

Fletcher gave him a pitying grimace before turning back to face the sink.

“Have a little dignity, dude.”

That cut deep. It him him hard enough he gasped, “Oh!”, and covered his mouth with his hand. Sucking a few shaky breaths in, he shrank back a bit from his place against the counter. 

“Look,” Fletcher said, turning back and wiping their hands on a towel. “You’re fine. Just… you don’t have to act like a dog. Or a child. You did a good job. That’s all. Okay? I told you that you did good, I’m acknowledging it, we don’t have to make it weird.”

Tommy nodded, his eyes huge and horrified. Pink to the tips of his ear, he nodded jerkily, his composure crushed. He pressed his fist tightly to his mouth, trembling. 

“Alright, just go… take a shower. You can take it easy for the rest of the night. Got it?”

He nodded again and ducked his head, quick to retreat to his room. Locking himself in the bathroom for a bit sounded just fine to him. When he went to take his collar off, he remembered with a start that he had asked Fletcher if he could sleep with them tonight. Fletcher had hemmed and hawed, but said they would think about it.

At lunch, they’d said yes. Usually they didn’t say yes until he asked again right before bed. 

Great. The one day they don’t draw it out the whole time, and the one day he wished they had. 

His stomach clenched with anxiety. He wanted more than anything to hide, but he couldn’t imagine telling Fletcher that – what? He changed his mind? They might not let him sleep next to them anymore. 

And he…did want to sleep next to them. If he faked falling asleep long enough, Fletcher would hold him, and it felt so nice to be touched without pain. When they pressed against him, their warmth helped soothe his aches, and he could finally fall asleep… he couldn’t lose that, couldn’t even risk it.

He sighed and leaned forwards towards the mirror, his fists clenched on the bathroom counter. He looked at himself for minutes, forcing his own eye contact to punish himself as he let the shame eat him alive. 

~

Tommy was unusually distant in bed that night. He clung to the edge of the bed away from Fletcher, and he was pointedly looking at his bear when Fletcher turned the lights off.

“Goodnight,” was all he whispered, and he lied eerily still in the dark. His posture was taut, forced. Fletcher knew they had run him down to utter exhaustion today; they were worn out themself. In spite of their tense companion, Fletcher started to fall asleep exceptionally early – a mere forty-five minutes after laying down.

They woke up to a trembling of the bed. It was only so lightly; a slight shiver in the dense foam of the mattress. Fletcher immediately looked for Tommy, to find he was twitching and shuddering on his side. Only then did they register the sound of gasping, muffled sobs, and they realized he was crying.

Fletcher listened for a moment, the way they listened for the thunder in the storms or the patter of the rain on the roof. They knew he had tried his best to hold off. He had his part of the blanket bunched up to his face, sobbing into the folds to dampen himself. After a few minutes, they reached over and felt his shoulder. Jerking violently on the bed, Tommy curled away from their touch. He shuddered in a few short gasps before hiccuping out,

“I don’t- hic- know- hic- why- hic- I’mlikethis!”

Fletcher leaned over and patted him, unsure of what to say.

“It’s…fine. You know, just…not my thing.”

Tommy sobbed harder. He had to struggle to collect his words for a minute.

“He - he got inside my head.” 

Tommy’s harsh gasp sounded pained.

“He made me like this. And then he just…threw me away. I don’t know what’s left of me at all.”

Fletcher didn’t know what to do. After a moment, they scooted forwards, and wrapped their arms around him. A little awkward, neither quite sure what to do.

“It’s okay,” Fletcher’s dark voice sounded almost emotionless, but Tommy could sense their honesty.

“Look,” Fletcher said. “You did what you had to do to survive. Survival isn’t pretty. You were there for five years, and you’ve only been here a few months. It’s not realistic to expect you to adjust immediately.”

“I just…” Tommy choked back another sob. “I don’t know what you want from me sometimes.”

Fletcher thought in silence for so long Tommy assumed they wouldn’t answer. When they finally spoke up, they told him, “I want you to be a person, who follows orders. When you have a job you still have to do what your boss says, but you don’t have to…”

They sighed, trailing off.

“I know it’s different, because I can hurt you and you can’t leave. But in the… the downtime, you can act normal. I know that this is different for you, but you were a person for 25 years before Caius. You just have to remember how to do it again.”

“That person…” Tommy spoke in a small voice. “I don’t think he exists anymore.”

“Then be a new one.”

“I just…” Tommy curled his bear tighter to his chest. “I just want to make you happy. So you don’t hurt me. As much, I mean, I know - I know - I know you can hurt me, wh-whenever you want to or-or feel like it, but… I knew how to make Caius happy, sometimes, so… things could be easier. So things could kinda be okay. I don’t… I don’t know how to make you happy.”

Fletcher rested their hand on his arm. 

“Listen. I will tell you when I want you to do something. Outside of that, you can do what you want, and if I don’t like what you’re doing, I will let you know. You don’t have to be tripping over yourself to anticipate what I want you to do; I will tell you. If you don’t have any assignments you can watch TV or braid a daisy chain or cook yourself food or whatever. You can speak freely, just be respectful. If you’re saying something that’s going to make me angry, I will let you know before you dig yourself into a hole. I want you to have a personality, T-Bird. You can have a personality and still take orders.”

Tommy was quiet for a long moment. Talking about it was helping him calm down, and he wasn’t shaking as much. He took a few long, labored breaths. 

“How do you find that?” Tommy asked.

He swallowed painfully against his dry throat. 

“I know it’s just…supposed to be natural. It was, before – before him. But… I don’t know. He broke me. I don’t know how to function outside the house anymore.” He sniffled sadly, but he was finally starting to relax.

“It’s just gonna take time.” Fletcher yawned.

They laid in silence. Tommy’s breathing was starting to even out, his crying giving way to exhaustion. It was the first time Fletcher could actually see him respond to being held, and it had a calming effect on him. They supposed they should not be surprised – he calmed from his nightmares when Fletcher held him close at night, pulled from their shallow sleep by the sounds he made in his. 

“Can you…be patient with me?” Tommy asked softly. 

Fletcher was no longer interested in forcing their eyes back open in the dark. 

“Hmm…” they murmured. “No. But we’ll figure it out.”

Tommy actually chuckled. Strange kid. But it had broken Tommy’s fever, and they fell asleep in a companionable silence.

~

~

~

Taglist:

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr @technicallydeliciousdeer

@notactuallyluska

[generic-whumperz]

if you're writing and find yourself thinking 'this is too weird/gross/offputting/esoteric/ambitious/catered to my specific interests + sure to push away a broader audience' that is the devil speaking and it is a lie. you are already firmly on the right path and you need to double down

[generic-whumperz]

春に孵る

[generic-whumperz]

Dream Journal

<prev next>

This chapter is a short one, formatted a little differently than the rest. Thanks beta readers for looking this one over ❤️

TW/CW: graphic nightmares featuring noncon/the fear of noncon, emotional angst, insomnia, aftermath of whump, brief description of dead whumper (with broken bones and blood). IDK, I think I got all the revelant bits tagged, but kindly lmk if I did not!

Khaled stared at the blank page in the notebook in front of him. The easiest way to begin was to, well, begin, but honestly, he felt silly for it. Nobody else would read it, not even Marcie, his new therapist, if he didn’t want her to, so what was the point in keeping a dream journal?

Because it’s 12:30 at night, and you’re afraid to go to sleep still awake, he told himself. He took up the pencil with a shaking hand and scrawled the first words into the empty page.

‘So I guess this is my dream journal now. Hi.’

He blinked once or twice at the new words, black graphite on the white page. He hated that introduction, almost enough to flip the pencil around and erase it from the page, but then he remembered he could write whatever he wanted. So, that’s what he did.

‘I had that dream again, where I am in the morgue, and I see Master’s body on that table, and he reaches out to grab me. He used to miss, barely grazing my arm with his cold and broken fingers, but lately he’s been able to grab a hold of me, and just last night, he pulled me weakly toward the autopsy table. I guess I’m still awake because I don’t know how far he’s gonna go tonight, how far he’ll be able to go.’

Inexplicably, Khaled felt a bit lighter, like the knots of anxiety and dread that came with the feelings of drowsiness were slowly unwinding. He freely scribbled more into the journal, alternating between fragmented sentences and doodles in the margins of the page. He wrote and drew until he felt tired, and this time when he took his meds and laid down that evening, he didn’t dread going to sleep quite as much as before.

-

‘Had that nightmare again.’

‘Why did I think the dreams would stop if I started writing them down? I feel so stupid, he was all over me last night, staining me with his blood, kissing me, crushing me…’

‘But I still write it down because it feels better than keeping it all bottled up inside. When I write it down, it’s like transferring my burden somewhere else, lightening the weight of the fear that sits on my shoulders.’

-

‘I had a dream about sailing, in a small boat on an endless sea. I was by myself, and there were birds and seals, and the fish spoke in the voices of my family as they flopped into my boat. It was weird, but not bad. I hope to have more dreams like that.’

-

‘I was lying on the couch on top of him. He stroked my hair under the midsummer sun as it came through the windows. It was just like our quiet moments together used to be, except I couldn’t hear his heart.’

-

‘I used to dream of flying when I was his slave. In my dreams, I would fly on midnight wings through volcanic vents and crimson skies. Then, I would wake up, still tethered to the ground.’

‘The flying dreams have stopped, but now I feel as though I’m sinking.’

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear

@whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis @borp0

[generic-whumperz]

Go Dark

Chapter 36 of Professional//Victim

Tommy gets to go outside, but Caius has a way of ruining everything.

Tags: Long term captive, Caius and Sam's relationship, chemical restraints, noncon drugging, bondage, gags, mouth soaping, helplessness, noncon nudity, sensory deprivation, psychological torture, panic attacks, a hysterical breakdown resulting in a vision of Clippy the paperclip

_____________________________________________________________

Tommy ground his teeth deeper into the soap when Sam joined them. Caius shut the shower off, leaving him dripping and exposed. He wished he didn’t care anymore, but the hot hand of shame squeezed the back of his neck. 

He shivered as Caius approached him, putting a foot up on the edge of the tub and leaning in to stare him down. Tommy tried to pull back, lowering his head further to avoid his gaze. 

“Do you want to go outside, Tommy?”

Tommy stared at the drain, and wished he could dissolve away with the water. Create a new life in the sewer. Wait, hold that thought, I could explore that later…there’s meat on those bones, that’s something I could think about for…a little while, at least an hour or two. Just to pass the time. Escape through the sewer…No, don’t get distracted. Focus. 

If he answered yes, Caius might read it as him doubling down on his ultimatum. Which…would be true, but he hoped he might appear chastised enough that Caius wouldn’t start the cold water again. 

If he answered no, Caius might think he was backing off. Which could mean losing his chance for time outside. But Caius could say he was obviously lying - also true - and turn the water on again. 

Or I could - well, maybe I… fuck, he was taking too long. 

He nodded his head, unsure. 

Caius smiled, as sweet as he was fake, like splenda. “Sam is going to give you something, and then we can go upstairs, okay?”

Tommy nodded slowly, eyes flitting around Caius’s so he only made direct contact for brief moments. He nodded again. 

Caius raised a hand and slammed it down as a fist on the crown of Tommy’s head. 

The jarring impact felt like a sudden explosion of pain in his head, effectively rendering him dazed. Caius fisted a handful of his wet hair, holding his head steady as Sam held up-

TSSSCHCHHHHCT! Something was sprayed right into his eyes, and another spritz for good measure when he snapped them closed. It surprised him so badly that he jerked back, immediately stopped by the painful hand in his hair. If he didn’t have a bar of soap stuffed up his gob he probably would have screamed a similar sentiment to WHAT THE FUCK?!

It immediately started to sting and he cried out, trying to shake it off as his eyes filled with searing pain. Caius’s hand held his head up as he spluttered, foamy rivulets of chemical tears streaming down his face. It burned in his nose with a shockingly acrid odor. 

Caius dropped him and he struggled at the end of his chain, but the sting ended after only moments. He blinked the last of the pain out of his eyes and it was a blessed relief. 

He blinked again, slower. Slower….Was he blinking? He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel his eyelids touch…did he usually feel that? What did it usually feel like?

Auras sprouted in his vision, then eclipsed by overlapping spots that reminded him of staring too long at the sun. The little halos left in his vision after looking into a bright light, they popped like bubbles and took his vision with it. 

He blinked hard, harder, mashing his eyes down as hard as he could but he couldn’t feel a thing. He couldn’t see a thing either, it was like the connection had been lost. He’d get just as much information from trying to look out of his elbow. It was just black. Not like a blindfold, but the impossible black that fills spots in your vision.

“Tommy, can you see?”

It snapped him back to himself. The ache in his shoulder and the pain radiating up to the tips of his fingers. How cold he was, the droplets running down his skin ebbing away his life in tiny rivulets. Then Caius and Sam were…just watching him struggle and then still, blinking hard and looking around confused.

“Can you see? Nod your head if you can see me.” Tommy’s breathing slowed, his brain stalling. Slowly, he shook his head side to side. 

“Can you see anything?”

He shook his head again dumbly. 

“Very good.” 

Tommy felt the tips of fingers touch under his chin. He automatically opened his jaw and spit the soap into Caius’s hand. I’m the world’s shittiest Pez dispenser.

“Are you going to be respectful?”

Tommy searched for his eyes but couldn’t find him. 

Sometimes he felt like his brain was overloaded. Too much to process, he couldn’t handle it. But he wasn’t allowed to shut down. 

He remembered microsoft word on his dad’s boxy computer as a kid. The little paperclip guy that would make helpful suggestions. Clip. No. Clippy. Hi! I’m Clippy, your office assistant. Would you like any assistance today?  He could change the icon too, there was a little wizard….wasn’t there a cat one or something? 

Grey eyes and long blond hair and clear glasses, an adorable little Caius in the corner of his brain. 

Hello there! I see you’re about to lose your shit. How would you like to shut the fuck up and get down from the chain instead?

….okay. How do I do that?

Would you like some assistance?

Tommy groaned out loud, swaying on his feet.

Yes. Please.

The question was, “Are you going to be respectful?” Try saying, “Yes Sir”. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Grand,” Caius answered, and he sounded pleased. Tommy startled when he heard the water turn on again, but it gushed out of the tub faucet instead. He felt it just starting to pool at his feet when a palmfull of cool water was pressed over his mouth, followed by a wet washcloth that dabbed at his chin. 

“I like that. I think we should bring back Sir for the evening. Hmm?”

Tommy chewed his lip. His mouth tasted like soap’s asshole. “Yes Ca– Yes, Sir.” 

Caius had bouts where he preferred to be addressed as Sir, but he liked Tommy saying his name. The training was radically inconsistent, but of course, it wasn’t Caius who had to pay the price. 

He could sense, somehow, Caius moving slightly away. Fussing at the tap, splashing as the flow of water was interrupted. Caius swung back up, closer; Tommy flinched away, unsure of how close. 

“Open.” 

He opened. Mostly soap free water was wrung out of the washcloth and into his mouth.

“You know the drill. Swish and spit.” He did know the drill. It had been a while since he got his mouth soaped. No matter what, he never got used to the taste. He swished the scant mouthful around and then dropped his head, hesitating to spit when he couldn’t see where it would land. 

“You can spit.”

Caius gave him one more taste of mostly soapless water to rinse before he was unchained. He lowered his aching arms as slowly as he could, moving in increments to try to keep the pain to a minimum, but his muscles were sore and weak from struggling. He dropped them to his sides too quickly, and fresh pain burned in his shoulders like acid in his veins. He shuddered, reaching down with humiliation to tuck his penis between his legs, away from unseen eyes. His hands retreated to fold over his chest against the cold, rubbing them up and down to soothe himself.

“S-Sir, did…am I blind? What…” A lump formed in his throat that stopped him from spewing it. 

What’s happening to me?!

A hand cupped his jaw again and he winced, expecting a hit. None came, his head was just tilted slightly to one side, and then the other. 

“Wait, do the left again.” Sam spoke up, after being silent through Tommy’s treatment. Do what to my left?? His head was tilted again, and nothing worse came. 

“No pupil reaction at all. He can’t see a thing.”

“Baby, can you see the light?” His hair was released and then smoothed back gently, petting him with a sudden tenderness.

“N-no, no Sir,” Tommy whimpered. “Is this - am I blind now?! Oh god, oh god, no, please! Please fix me!!” He raised his sore arms to reach out for Caius desperately. When he felt the cloth of his shirt, he dragged himself closer, clinging to him for comfort. 

“Ugh, no, you’re all wet!” Caius shoved him back. Tommy stumbled, and his wet feet slid from under him as his stomach gave a sickening lurch. Without the usual sense of space his sight afforded him, he gave an uncoordinated flail and failed to right himself. Kicking out to find his balance only succeeded in slamming his toes. He jammed his tailbone into the porcelain lip against the back of the tub, and fell on his butt with his legs folded over the side.

He sat there, blind and humiliated, cold and naked in front of his master and his boyfriend, and it all abruptly became far too much. His face got terribly hot, and a deep sob hiccuped out of him before he could stop it. 

“Oh god, here we go,” Caius mused with an emphasized exasperation. Tommy’s heart was pounding so hard and so fast in his chest it hurt. It was happening. Suddenly he was drenched in sweat and shaking violently, wailing into his trembling hands. His eyes were so numb he couldn’t feel the tears forming, just realized they were falling when he felt them run down his cheeks. A dull, dizzy ache in his brain was interrupted every other moment with the urgent pounding of his head, and he sucked in tiny gasps of breaths as fast as the footfalls of a racehorse. He curled in on himself, rolling into a ball in the bottom of the tub.

Caius sighed loudly and bent over to pull his hands away from his face. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph – you need to calm the fuck down. It’s only for a few hours, it’ll come back.”

Tommy stuttered out painful sobs and let his hands be pulled from his face, reaching out instead to seek comfort from Caius. He wrapped his arms around his waist and mashed his face into his chest to cry.

“Great, he’s having a fuckin’ panic attack,” Sam spat. Tommy swore he could sense Caius rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, it doesn’t take a fucking fake doctor to see that,” Caius cut back, and Sam huffed. He lowered his voice, more gentle, searching. 

“Come on Cai, we talked about this. Please.”

“Whatever. Fine. You’re right, I’m wrong. Growth.” Caius patted Tommy’s head awkwardly, as if he didn’t know how to hold him. It was an awkward position, on his knees reaching so far up. Tommy felt like he couldn’t control himself, couldn’t even comprehend what he was doing. 

“Sam, give him his panic kit, he’s gonna pass out.”

There was some rustling for it, but when Caius pushed him back and he heard a cork pop, he froze. He was still vibrating, but was able to keep still enough when the popper bottle was shoved under his nose. Struggling against his hyperventilation, he still managed to get a whiff. It popped his brain like a bubble in a sudden rush, and his breathing started to open up as it was followed with a nasal spray. 

“Inhale,” Sam coaxed, and far more of the inhaler was shoved into his mouth than necessary. He managed to wheeze in a lungful before violently coughing it out. His lungs burned with soreness, lactic acid seeping in. He remembered the next treatment step when the syringe was pushed into his neck, and he got a sudden tang of something metallic in his mouth just as his brain started to melt, his body relaxing to the point of weakness. It forced his panting to finally slow, his breathing laborious. 

“Much better,” Caius soothed, and a towel was draped around his shoulders. His hair was tousled dry and then the damp towel was wound and folded tightly around him, almost swaddling him. Tommy drooped, forced maddeningly calm by his chemical restraints. It didn’t feel good to panic. It didn’t feel good to be denied it either. 

“There we go, come on.” Caius took the brunt of his weight to help him out of the tub, guiding him back into his room to sit on his bed. 

“I thought we were just going to chill today,” Sam complained. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a cigar.”

“We are, we will, he’s not going to be an issue. I just need him in something more than his collar, give me a sec.” Caius’s voice changed as he walked away, his voice dipping when he bent over in the bathroom, and returned having collected Tommy’s clothes. The bundle was pressed into his hands and Caius addressed him again.

“Just put on your little boxers and your socks and we can go upstairs.”

“I’m going up and you can meet me out back when you’re ready.” Sam sounded irritated beyond measure. “...Unless you need help,” He begrudgingly tacked on, softening his posturing to come across as less confrontational. Tommy recognized the tactic well, one he’d used to try to save face with Caius a million times. 

“Yeah yeah, go ahead. I’ll make tea.” Caius dismissed him absentmindedly as his hand snaked around Tommy’s ankle hanging off the edge of the bed, positioning his foot to start rolling one of his socks back on. Tommy could hear the door open, but Sam didn’t bother to close it behind him. Not like he could make a dash for it anyways. 

He felt tiny as Caius guided his legs into the holes of his underwear and helped slide it up his thighs, tucking his more sensitive parts in under his waistband. He was grateful for even that minimal amount of cover, though he longed for the dignity and the warmth of pants and a shirt.

He felt the mattress dip as Caius joined him on the bed, circling around to his back. Practiced hands worked a product into his drying hair, and he closed his blinded eyes to focus on the feeling of that gentleness. He wanted to soak it all up, but inevitably, t ended too quickly. Two of Caius’s fingertips traced down his spine in a way that made him shiver. He knew his sensitivity pleased his handler, but it failed to prevent the cuffs from securing around his wrists again, rendering them useless bound behind his back. 

Something cold pressed to his lips. Hard, cool, a metallic clink accompanying its movement, a hint of leather in his nose — he knew what it was. When that metal was pressed to his lips, he made a soft sound of dismay. 

Don’t give him any more reason to think you need retraining. 

He opened his mouth and accepted the bit. He could feel himself sinking into a darker state, his resistance crumbling under the stress. 

I have to please him. He knew that was the voice of survival speaking, the one that told him to do dark things to save himself. 

He didn’t know what to do about the other part, the inflamed sliver deep down inside of him, that took a sick pleasure in being good for him. 

The metal bit was forced between his teeth, and a new swell of panic was crushed under the merciless weight of the drugs before it could even begin. The bridle that held the gag in place hung limply from his face, and he heard the clicking and creak of plastic for a moment until headphones were forced over his ears. He startled internally, but his body was too slow and dumb to react. 

No, please, he wanted to beg, but he didn’t dare dislodge the gag to voice it. He had sunk too deep, weighed down by the bootstraps with whatever chemical restraints Sam had pumped into him. Caius fastened the leather straps around his head with a strict tightness, locking the headphones down over his ears. He paused only to pull his hair out the binding’s hold with a sudden tenderness.  Tommy knew he was done when he was stood up and urged forwards with a reassuring pat on the ass. 

Muted, blinded, and deafened, Tommy felt overwhelmingly vulnerable. When Caius took his shoulder to guide him, he curled in towards him and nuzzled into his shirt. He could feel him heave a sigh under his face, but arms encircled him for a moment nonetheless. Warm lips pressed to his forehead and he leaned in shamelessly, humming a note of need. For his troubles, all he earned was the weight of a leash clipping to his collar.

It was a difficult journey, up the stairs and through the house. He wasn’t sure if he would be let out, but he knew when they stepped past the threshold of the back door.

His first step out found purchase on a stone path that Caius led him down, the surface warmed by the sun. Tommy’s heart fluttered when he felt the welcome warmth on his skin, could smell the fresh air rich with grass and dirt and the last traces of smoke from the construction. 

He felt the sun on his face, and turned up to meet it. His eyes searched desperately for it, the beautiful source of life that he had been denied for so long. 

His blind eyes roved and searched and strained, but all Tommy could see was the unrelenting black. Agonizingly close to the light, Tommy still could not escape the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @knivestothroats @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @whumpinggrounds @galactic-worm @hellodecisionparalysis

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH AND WELCOME HELLODECISIONPARALYSIS!!!!

[generic-whumperz]

I Will be Fine

<prev

I had a whole other page specifically of Khaled trashing his room. Did I include it? No 🙃 but here are the aftereffects of his emotional breakdown

Series tag list under the cut

@kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear

@whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis @borp0

[generic-whumperz]

Yet Another Morning at the Gym

<prev

Every day, my baby grows stronger 💪🏽

Series Tag List under the cut

@kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear

@whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis

[generic-whumperz]

Side Effects

<prev

Khaled finally gets the psychiatric help (and the sleeping pills), but the new meds come with interesting side effects…

For some unknown reason, I made this a manga format? Idk why I did this, like what was I thinking??? Anyway, read right to left, and I apologize in advance not only to my readers, but most of all to myself 🙃

TW/CW: self harm, emotional whump, recovery whump, aftermath of whump

Series Tag List under cut

@kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear

@whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis @borp0

[generic-whumperz]

I will employ the word “hot” with the custom definition of “desirable traits in an antagonist.” These traits, for me—and as some others have already so astutely stated in their reblogs—do not correlate to physical attractiveness in the traditional sense, but to the kind of dickhead who plunges a blade down the fourth wall and beckons you to keep watching with a wink. I am weak to the compellingly depraved. The shittier and more dubious, the better, I say. 

There have been fantastic displays of hotness already (32, I lit up with frenetic delight reading every line of yours–yes, yes, yes!), so I’ll do my best not to repeat what’s already been said, though I VERY MUCH AGREE (and there will likely be some overlap so give me some goddamn slack). That said, sadism is actually my number one, but I will omit it from this list for the sake of variety (though really, these are all just flavors of sadism, if I’m being honest). Wealth, high status, and power are preferable, while age gaps and height differences are a must–no, a requirement. 

The Whumper BF/GF/Partner package: 

Witty/funny – Nothing hits harder than a well-landed punchline that hurts the ribs–before they poke you gut-deep and tear you open from the inside out.

Sociable — They will take you out. On dates, around town, maybe to the local docks where they’ll put a gun to your head and (very kindly) insist you step inside that shipping container. 

Possessive—I mean “protective” – Trackers, trackers, trackers! They just want to know where you are, you know… in case anything bad happens to you. It’s for your safety, obviously.   

Put together – Clean, good-smelling, and perfectly moisturized. No one likes a dingy bitch with dry, flakey skin that reeks like dirty socks and ball sweat. 

A Giver – As in, gives you bubble baths and back rubs… after they beat you unconscious, dress you in pajamas, and tie you to their bed. :)

The Whumper captive:

Intimately Parodical: They know what affection should look like—so they mimic, though it’s always devoid of genuine intent, that human touch. They’re never here to comfort, but to unsettle and disturb. Backhanded compliments, caresses purposefully degrading, nicknames meant to humiliate and make you blush–their faux gesture of “tenderness” always seeped in five flavors of cruelty. Their curated gentleness is a weaponized farce to disengage your every defense. 

Unpredictable (though readable): You can see the shifts—the twitch of their tooth-grinding jaw, the measured pause before they speak, the stormclouds thundering in their eyes—but it does you no good. Their tells are fraudulent bait since their moods change faster than you can track, as does their accompanying tone. They’re a mirror maze, a labyrinth of changing reflections that never reveal truth, but lead to their next trap you unknowingly amble towards. 

Attentive (/s): They’re never content with simply hurting you—they want to learn from it through methodical trial-and-error. They want to see what happens when they degrade you, corner you, bleed you down to shifting depths and changing methods. Catalog every goosebump prickling your skin as they trail a knife’s tip down your middle. Your every reaction is precious data: every scream a study, every whimper a footnote, every flinch a religiose cross-reference. They’re not just vicious for hobby sport (though maybe it started as that)—they’re invested in a career-defining magnum opus. You are the subject of a biography of page-turning suffering, and they its meticulous author. They sign their name with a fountain pen dipped in an inkwell of your blood for pre-orders. 

Obsessed: They don’t love you—you're sure they don’t even know what selfless love is. What they do is fixate and rebrand it as “destiny.” Unhinged feels like an understatement. To them you aren’t a person, you’re a possession of imposed meaning: be you a muse, a scapegoat, a plaything—whatever suits their latest delusion. Their need for you metastasizes into control, and their attention corrodes every inch of you it swarms. They memorize your mannerisms as easily as they rewrite your words in their head and twist your smallest tells into sensational betrayals, rewoven truths that demand swift reprimand and even swifter punishment. They are your sun; they’d rather destroy you than let you drift outside their gravitational pull. To be needed by them is to be hunted without end, chained to the mercy of their iron fist and crushed under their steel-toed boot.

3 for 1 – Mentally Unstable, Emotionally Volatile & Chemically Dependent: 1) They’re spiraling from a break buried deep behind the eyes—one no one can patch—and that radioactive damage leeches into everything within their immediate radius. Unlucky for you, you’re the only one around. Will you become the filter through which they experience the world in manageable doses… or the outlet bearing all their bottled-up, unprocessed fury?  2) They’ll scream, laugh, cry, and kiss you all in the same breath. Affection, attention in any form, is a silent threat. Is their rage really starting to feel like love… or are you losing it too? And their laughter, like an out-of-tune cello string snapping mid-performance. A performance you’re still expected to applaud, with believable merriment–a joke you must laugh at, even when it’s made at your expense. Everything is tangled, bleeding together and breaking in half—you lost your sense of up and down long ago, yet you’re expected to keep up. Follow North, your life depends on it. 3) They’re never–or rarely–sober, whether it’s pipe, pills, powder, drink, or a combination. They mistake self-destruction for epic poetry, insisting their struggle and substance reliance makes them deep and wounded, like a tragic Homeric hero. But you know it’s a crock of shit, they’re not a tortured soul, they’re just an asshole with Mommy and Daddy issues. One who’ll take you down to take you up with them for the ride, even as you beg them no. 

If you’ve made it this far and survived the journey, Pikachu, I tag you!

New tag game! I want you 🫵 to name the five hottest things a whumper can be. I'll go first. In no particular order:

soft spoken

medically proficient, can bandage up your wounds themself

good at spotting the exact thing that terrifies you most, and loves threatening you with it. they love to see the way your face lights up with genuine Fear

much bigger than you. there's no way you're getting free if they pin you down or manhandle you

gentle most of the time, until they very suddenly aren't

Tell me your version!

Tagging (with zero pressure): @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @brutal-nemesis @whumpsical @softmutt444 @whump-queen and an open tag to anyone who wants to jump in!

[generic-whumperz]

Why the fuck am I only now discovering The Path—the Hulu show where Aaron Paul and Hugh Dancy are cult leaders?! This show feels tailor-made for me, truly. Only on season 1 episode 2, but I’m intrigued so far.

[generic-whumperz]

My Life is a Joke (and I’m Not Laughing)

This is for Élias ( @watermelons-don’t-grow-on-trees) for his request from this list

I got you 👍🏼 Canonically this short story would occur between here and here. I hope you and the rest of the readers enjoy!

TW/CW: intimate whumper, embarrassed whumpee, public humiliation. I think I kept it pretty tame, considering the era in which this occurs.

What is this thing? Why is it so small? And so…blue?

Khaled stared at the tiny, brand-new, ultramarine speedo he retrieved from the gift bag, turning it over and over in his hands, as if it would magically gain more surface area the longer he toyed with it, even though he knew it wouldn’t. Seriously, he had underwear that covered more than this flimsy little swimsuit! Why couldn’t his master have given him something baggy and modest, something black or teal or anything but this intense shade of blue?!

The eighteen-year-old put it down and blinked its searing color out of his eyes. On the bed, next to it, was an ivory white cover-up that ended just above the knees. It vaguely resembled a kurta, if kurtas were made of loosely knitted and see-through material, thus defeating the purpose of ‘covering up.’

Does Master seriously expect me to walk out in this? he wondered, even though he knew. His face flushed in heat at the thought of walking out in broad daylight practically naked, save for the mesh cover-up and the speedo so ‘fuck you’ blue that it would naturally draw people’s eyes to his butt and crotch. And there would be people; even though they were renting the Donato summer cottage on a privately-owned beach, the early heat wave harkening summer’s approach guaranteed that the cottage’s neighbors would drive over from the city to get away and relax. There would be people, and they would see.

A loud, insistent knock rang on the bedroom door, making Khaled jump. “Put it on and let’s go!” Thomas ordered. “We only have this place for the weekend, so let’s make the most of it and get out there!” There was a hint of impatience underneath his stern tone that reminded Khaled of a child begging their parent (or older brother) to hurry up and play already. He sighed and began to strip. My life is a joke, he thought as he finally kicked off his boxers. With great reluctance, he picked up the blue speedo and drew his legs through the holes.

It’s tight, Khaled noticed, as he just barely got it past his thighs and over his genitals. He wondered if it was a size too small. The elastic of the waistband cut into his hips. The bulge at the front was comically exaggerated. When he walked, he couldn’t go more than three paces without reaching behind himself to readjust. His cheeks flushed red again. I can’t go out like this!

“Khaled, let’s go!”

He threw the cover-up over his head, yanked it down his torso, and paced to the door to open it. He pouted as his eyes swept over his master’s appearance. Shirtless, with knee-length, baggy, black and teal swim trunks, and a towel slung over his shoulders. Lucky bastard always wears the less revealing clothes.

His master beamed down at him. “You look adorable!”

“I feel squished…” Khaled said sullenly, although Thomas didn’t ask for his opinion. He never asked.

“Would you rather have it too loose? Would you rather lose your swimsuit to a rip tide like last year?” Thomas asked rhetorically.

Khaled averted his eyes at the mortifying memory. He quickly shook his head.

“That’s what I thought,” the man said confidently. “Squished balls are a small price to pay for not flashing them at the beach again.”

“But I didn’t–” That’s not what happened. He had met some teens around his age last year. They were playing out in the water with him when it happened. One of the boys offered to let him borrow his swim trunks; he never flashed anyone!

What were the chances that same group of teenagers would be at the beach again this year, this weekend, even? Would they remember him? Would they want to play volleyball with him again? Would he even want to, dressed like this?

Khaled decided he didn’t want them to see him like this–it was too humiliating–, so he spent the afternoon at the beach glued to the boss’ side, sunbathing on a matching beach towel right next to his, burying his face in his arms so he couldn’t see anything at all. His exposed back baked in the sun, scars and that horrendous tattoo visible for anyone to see.

A flick of plastic sunglasses being pushed up his master’s forehead preceded his offhanded comment to “flip over and do your other side, you’re about to burn.” And, with everything else in his life so far, Khaled reluctantly obeyed.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear

@whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis @borp0