#and I like that entire type of whumper VERY much

[whump-kitty]

There's just something about the word remade being used in a whumpy way to me- like "I'm going to remake you" or "I remade you"...there's just something so amazingly permanent about it, something about how the whumper shows, with this, that the whumpee won't be the same ever again, no matter what they do and how much they heal, or whether or not they get rescued... that they'll always be defined by the pain they experience there, whether they like it or not

[whumpshaped]

you‘ve absolutely re-awakened my love for drugged whumpees! what about a whumpee drugging themselves as a bad coping mechanism? maybe even specifically with a feel-good drug (because i loved those drabbles)! but this time a friend is there to take care of them and make sure they are safe, maybe they got some concerning messages from whumpee and went to visit them.

also because i am afraid of you and your angst (/positiv) please let this be comfy i am always in need of comfort

tw drugs, addiction, past trauma, alcohol mention

i love you sooo much

ive never had such a good friwnd u know that?

ur fucking awesome and we shuld hang out more

As touched as Caretaker was reading the messages, they didn’t sound like Whumpee in their usual state. They rarely ever got sappy like this, and they never resorted to the abbreviations unless they were too drunk to see the keyboard. There was something going on, and Caretaker hoped it was just a couple shots of vodka — despite it being 10 am.

“Hey, Whumpee?” They knocked on the door again, louder this time. “Can we hang out, like, right now? I brought some food.”

That was a bit of a stretch, but the door opened soon after they’d mentioned it. “That’s awesome,” they slurred, their excited grin faltering when they saw no bags in Caretaker’s hands. “Where’s it…?”

“I lied,” they said easily, gently guiding Whumpee back inside. “But I brought myself, and I can make you some food in a bit. Before that, though… Drinking in the morning again, are we?”

Whumpee gave them a sheepish smile, the promised free meal entirely forgotten. “Y’know how it is,” they said, giggling a little. “Some days y’just gotta… feel alive…”

Caretaker frowned. This felt different from when Whumpee was drunk. “What did you have?”

“Ah, just… just a bit of this and that…”

They stepped closer and cupped Whumpee’s face, taking a good look at their eyes. That didn’t look very promising. “Whumpee, did you take something?”

“Noooooo…” Whumpee tried to swat their hands away, with little success due to how uncoordinated their movements were. “No, you’re– you’re misunderstanding, ’m just… just happy to see you. Your pupils dilate when you look at someone you looove...”

Caretaker sighed. “I would like you to honestly tell me what you’ve taken. Please. I won’t judge, I won’t be mad, all I want is to stay here and take care of you, okay?”

It was like Whumpee didn’t even hear them. They kept nuzzling against Caretaker’s hands, almost purring as they did so. “You’re so warm…”

“Sure am.” They poked their cheek. “Whumpee, listen to me.”

“Would you ever kiss me?” they asked abruptly, unfocused eyes now fixed on Caretaker’s lips. “‘cause I really wanna kiss right now… Just once…”

Well, that wasn’t a direct answer to their previous questions, but it might as well have been. There was one drug they knew of that made Whumpee act like this, one they’d said they had quit months ago.

The one Whumper had gotten them hooked on.

“You wanna kiss me, specifically?” Caretaker knew well that Whumpee didn’t see them as anything other than a friend, and they weren’t the type to be going around kissing people platonically.

“Mmm, yeah… You’re a good kisser, I’m sure… I can tell stuff like that…”

Yeah, they’d definitely taken Whumper’s drugs. Fantastic. Apparently there was still someone out there who was supplying Whumpee, but that was a problem for another day.

“Tell you what,” they started gently. “Instead of kissing, we’ll go to the kitchen and I’ll make you some of your favourite food.”

Whumpee lit up instantly. “Deal!”

Caretaker kissed them on the forehead and led them to one of the chairs, making sure they were comfortable before walking over to the cupboards. They were going to have to keep Whumpee talking, so they could track their movements inside the house; they were prone to wandering whenever they were high, and they couldn’t keep staring at them while cooking.

In all honesty, there was not much Caretaker could do now that Whumpee had already taken the thing. They couldn’t even do much about the addiction itself that seemed to be ruining any semblance of a chance of a full recovery. But there was one thing they could do, and that was supervising their friend whenever the need arose.

[sound-of-the-cosmos]

𝕎𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕡 𝕎𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕚𝕡𝕤 #𝟙.𝟝: 𝔻𝕣𝕦𝕘𝕤 ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟚, 𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕔 𝕓𝕠𝕠𝕘𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕠

Alright; since a lot of you really liked Part one, I figured it was high time to do a part 2!

As a nurse, my information and knowledge has increased and what better way to celebrate by sharing with the rest of you? Totally not because I love this shit too-

This is MUCH more in depth (because my dudes I know WAY too much)

Drugs have many categories, some of which I have touched on before. These included sedatives, hypnotics, addictive drugs, insulin, hallucinogenics, and anesthesia.

Other drugs that are underutilized include:

𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘹𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴

These are fun! Not for the whumpee of course, but regardless--

𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚜:

antispasmodics 

antispastics

Yes they are different

Why

idfk

they just are ok

𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜/𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚜

Commonly, these cause drowsiness / fatigue

Nausea / vomiting, dizziness, headache, dry mouth--

Decreased Blood pressure (which can be used in MANY things here)

Hallucinations!!

Seizures

Time for the dancey dance on the floor!

Respiratory depression (Breathing is much less).

Coma!! night night!

Cardiac arrest :(

𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

Cholergenics!! It's a type of muscle stimulant, which does try to reverse these effects. It's not always 100% effective, but it's better!

𝘖𝘱𝘪𝘰𝘥𝘴

Pain killers; HIGHLY addictive, great for fucking with the whumpee mentally. Getting tortured, but can't feel the pain? Oh go D- Good soup!

𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚜:

Agonists

Partial Agonists

Antagonists

𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜/𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚜

Obviously, pain is yeeted! Maybe not entirely, but it's MUCH better than what it would've been.

With this comes mental distress at knowing what's happening, even if they can't quite feel it.

GOD the possibilities

Unhealthy crunch--

Sedation is a common side effect, but so is delirium and dizziness.

Nausea and vomiting is pretty damn common too

Tolerance builds after a while... and so does dependance >:)

Oopsie withdrawal go brr!

Respiratory depression!! Breathing doesn't go brr right.

𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

The antagonists help reverse the effects. naloxone, or Narcan, is a SUPER common one used. But be wary... pain is comin' back and it's comin' back HARD.

𝘈𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 (𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘴)

These are great if you have high blood pressure! However, what happens if you give them to someone with regular blood pressure?

𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚜:

Calcium channel blockers

Thiazide / loop diuretics

Beta-blockers

ACE inhibitors

(there are many more but these are common)

𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜/𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚜

Note: I haven't experienced this but I have taken care of someone who has had this happen.

Ofc, their blood pressure is going to TANK. This is knows as bottoming out (NOT THE SEXUAL KIND).

This shows with diaphoresis (sweaty as FUCK), extreme shakiness, pallor, and extreme dizziness.

Trying to take their BP usually results with not being able to find it (at first). Takes MANY tries.

Usually very weak, this can lead to falls or other concerns similar to that.

Good soup

Can kill if not rectified.

𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

Can be treated with IV fluids, raising the feet, and emergency antidotes (this is determined by the class of antihypertensive taken).

Whumper will prolly not do these--

IVs are a PAIN to put in because-- the pressure is yoinked, so the veins are basically FLAT.

𝘈𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴

Not too surprisingly, if you take antidepressants when they aren't prescribed it doesn't end well.

𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚜:

SSRIs (Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors)

SNRIs (Serotonin norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors)

MAOIs (Don't take anything else 14 days after discontinuing -- BP go U P and can kill)

Tricyclic antidepressants

(antipsychotics are a part of this, but I want to do a section on it's own)

𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜/𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚜

Obviously it makes anything that was there worse more than likely-- there are certain meds that do not vibe with people (Wellbutrin for me) and it gives BAD side effects

It varies with each drug, but the normal s/s tend to be nausea / vomiting, insomnia, drowsiness, headaches, decreased alertness, sexual changes (increased or decreased libido), GI bleeding, anxiety, anorexia, increased appetite, seizures, fever, irregular heartbeat

Fucking SJS (Stevens Johnsons Syndrome) and TEN (Toxic Epidermal Necrolysis) is on BASICALLY EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE

SJS starts off as a rash. If there's no reason determined, it's this. Fucking stop the meds.

TEN is similar. Both can lead to Sepsis, and death.

Bad lime.

Listen ODing on these is NOT hard if you don't know SHIT about it-- and the withdrawal can be awful too

Giving a whumpee a 'way out' but it's just enough to give them awful side effects??

Best Soup.

𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

Benadryl can be useful, as can tapering the dose over time (ofc the whumper prolly won't do either).

𝘈𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘴 / 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘳𝘴

Holy shit dude these are a bad time-- a VERY bad time-- if you don't need them.

𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚜:

Typical antipsychotics (older, much worse side effects)

Atypical Antipsychotics (Newer, less side effects)

Anticonvulsants

𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜/𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚜

Things used as mood stabilizers (Such as Risperdal, Haldol, Zyprexa, Seroquel) can cause mania if used in those w/o manic disorders.

Mania is a TRIP.

#god mode

nothing can hurt me

fucking try me bitch

I'll end you

Energy energy energy

You can't stop me

Anygay

It can also cause MASSIVE depression spikes.

Something tells me a lot of you know how to do that bit

Psychosis can occur!

whoops you get to see, hear, smell, feel, and taste things that don't exist!

Pseudoparkinsonian side effects are common-- super shaky, your gait (walking) is fucked (more of a shuffle than step).

Tardive Dyskinesia is BAD. No control of facial movements, drooling, many facial tics.

Hallucinations :D

Neuroleptic Malignant Syndrome.

This one is DEADLY.

Shows as muscle stiffness, fever, and delirium, fucked mental and autonomic functions.

Anxiety, yeeted periods, blurred vision, fluid retention (heehoo swelling), diabetes, dry mouth, hypersomnia / insomnia, loss of appetite / thirst, possibly even death

oops ur ded now

I highly recommend you research this, drugs.com is a good resource

𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

fluid and nutrition (uh whumper says no)

muscle relaxants (which can lead to MORE whump-- just different kind)

antiparkinsonian drugs (to reverse the bad!)

𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘤

Did u kno too much Tylenol (acetaminophen) can kill u?? It's a common ODed med-- if not then holy shit ur liver is FUCKED

Oops too much cough syrup leads to codeine OD-- I'm not making this shit up

Alcohol is a given but I wasn't sure where else to put it-- fuck yeah nonexistent cognition and impaired decision making!

Street drugs are dangerous. These can be laced with things such as Ketamine, Fentanyl, and god knows what else. (Whumper just gets their shit wherever they can).

You can get high off of Epsom salts.

That's right, I said it

If they give you ANY of these, along with herbal substances, it can make the effects much worse.

Don't fuckin use St. John's Wort for ANYTHING or WITH anything.

There are SO many more! If you have any requests or ideas, let me know!

I can also help when it comes to care for wounds, certain disease processes, or anything similar!

Use these as you will.. WITH WRITING. NOT IN PERSON. PLEASE.

I WILL FIND YOU AND I WILL EAT YOU.

-Sage <3

[sideblogformindtrash]

Here's a test drabble I suppose.

Cw: whipping, multiple whumpers, threat of noncon, defiant whumpee, threat of murder, cheating

For a moment, there's only the sound of panting, the chains rattling on the rhythm of Crows breathing. 

His arms are spread open, his knees on the cold floor, already bruising, jaw aching as he grits his teeth, trying not to scream. 

It's not the first time he's been in such pain, but it's been a while. Although battle wounds are nasty, you don't quite feel them in the heat of the moment.

"Come on, Raine. Isn't that enough?" Wolf's voice sounds muffled, rough behind the bone mask. He's panting too, sweat dripping down his bare chest, the whip hanging from his hands. Crow would find that exciting in the right situation, but this ain't it. 

"Don't call me that during work, Wolfie!" When he talks, the Lamb throws his voice a pitch higher than it should be, curls his tongue, and wiggles his body around, a little pout in his face, almost childlike "Besides, what type of ruler would I be if I made empty treats??"

"Hard to he worse than you already are" Crow tries to laugh, but it hurts him badly, and throws him in a cough fit. The chains rattle widely, and the movement shakes the cuts upon his back. He spits blood. 

The Lamb just stares, wiggling around, hands behind his back, his little fluffy tail shaking. He looks innocent and adorable, and Crow hates him for it."

"You are too coward to hurt me yourself" Crows stares, hoping his eyes show how angry he feels. 

"Guiltyyyyyyy~" The Lamb sings and dwells into a giggle "But you were warned. So you don't you don't get to complain now"

"Baby… you are right… but… he's so hurt already" the Wolf says, his expression might be hidden under the mask, but the concern leaks through his voice. 

"Oh wolfie" the Lamb curls forward, swinging back and forth on his heels, thar same undisturbed smile "Do you really think that or are you worried cause you sleep with him behind my back?"

Crow does his best to stay neutral, but he's exhausted,  and his expression betrays him. Not that it matters, the Lamb isn't looking at him.

The Wolf has his mask and yet, Lamb reads him perfectly - the tensing up of his shoulders, the harder grip on the whip, slowly forming drops of sweat. 

"Did you reaaaallly think you could hide that from me, Wolfie?" 

The wolf takes a tiny step back, trying to calm himself. 

"I- Lamb I- you always said it was okay if-" 

Lamb silences him with a gesture. He leans against Wolf's chest, tracing it with his fingertips, exploring the little scars on his chest. 

"Yeah yeah of course~ you have needs, that's so so okay" he purrs, nuzzling "But you shouldn't sleep with someone who wants me dead"

"What, no no no. Come on, it's not like that- he doesn't wish you harm"

"...I very much do" Crow says. He knows it isn't helping but, its ridiculous to even try and deny it in this situation. 

"Is he really that good?" Lamb pouts, crossing his arms and staring at the mask "Maybe I should fuck him too??"

"I'll bite your fucking dick off" Crow growls, the idea of being Lambs plaything making him sick. 

"You'd have a hard time doing that I'm afraid"

The Wolf tossed the mask aside. It's pointless now, messy hair drenched in sweat, gripping around his face. 

He takes Lambs hand, makes him spin, so they are facing. Nuzzles, rubs his teeth around his neck. 

"I'd never let them hurt. Or anyone for that matter. Not even yourself" he kisses his neck just slightly, Lamb shivering and losing some of his posture. 

"Are you really trying to protect me… or are you protecting him, Wolfie?" For the first time, Crow notices the pain. 

Sometimes, when Lamb's posture cracks just a little… there's so much pain there. An entire ocean, inside a fragile shell

Crow would feel bad for him, in different circumstances. But the world was kind to no one and they were all rotten inside, no one in this room was worthy of pity or mercy. 

"Alright" Lamb finally says, after the tense silence. He lets Wolf have the key "Drop him at the border. And, you, Crow. Stay out of my fucking business. Next time I catch you snooping, I'll feed you to the generator"

He was preparing a snarky comeback, but he kicks Crow, making him curl up and in turn, tug at the wounds again. The only sound is a little grasp of pain. 

The Lamb disappears into the spiral staircase, and he's left with the Wolf. 

"I'm sorry- Crow I-"

"Shut the fuck up. Just get me home" he yelps through the pain, and the Wolf gives him this cold resigned look, as he opens the shackles. 

Crow falls, blood returning to his arms and making them hurt worse than his back. He moans, curling up, as Wolf helps him back to his feet. 

"...Do you hate me?" Wolf whispers, taking him out of the stupid dungeon. 

"There's not enough hours in a day to hate every motherfucker who wronged me in this town" Crow says, giggling bitter. Wolf seems to find that comforting. 

[whumpfish]

Do you have a favorite/much loved whump movie/tv show/book/etc?

Aaaaaaaaa

Okay, I am rewatching Invisible now (basically the Japanese version of The Blacklist) and it has some of my favorite kinds of whump in it:

The Feral Wolf With A Heart Of Gold: that one character who will go to absolutely any lengths for their friends and their values, who will (and does) endure any type or level of whump. The character who, if they think the situation warrants it, will (and does), inflict... not any type of whump, but a significant level of whump nonetheless... on anyone who poses a threat to those friends and values, or stands in the way of their efforts to save those things if they are in jeopardy.

A very specific team whump trope that I die for every time, any time: when a whumper has a weapon trained on team member A and one on a hostage/innocent, and demands that B (or the rest of the team as a unit) choose which one to save, because the other will be killed once the choice is made. And B/the team is horrified and anguished and wavering and can't decide or think of a way to save them both--and then A makes the decision for them. That unspoken communication, that look of an entire life's worth of caring like they're paying up their balance before they leave and that small, serene smile of permission, just... 💯💯💯

So much electric shock whump that even the characters comment on its frequency. And accurate portrayals of getting up after taking a significant charge, where they stumble and trip and fall several times because the nerves are still scrambled and their limbs don't work quite right at first. A lot of times, it's just bzz-plop-boingg!! and they're off. It's so rare to see the floundering, and it's such good whump.

Poison whump, complete with being strapped into a chair while it's administered, fraught moments when ally/ies demand antidotes with panic in their voices

Nail guns! I can't believe I had to add this in an edit. This show was my introduction to nail gun whump, and I can say with confidence that I am hooked for life

Multiple kidnap/forced to watch/forced to choose moments, including one whumper who puts people in a poor man's Saw traps

Escapes both successful and failed, abandonment, grief/emotional whump, human shield whump, PTSD, raging vendettas.... Even on this, my 3rd watch, I'm in awe of how much top shelf whump they crammed into just 10 episodes!

My favorite movie for whump is Dario Argento's Opera. By far and away the best forced to watch I've ever seen (needles taped to the face to hold her eyes open and make sure she can't squeeze them shut to block out the horror the whumper wants her to witness,) just... augh I love it so much!

I feel like The X-Files has a lot of good whump, too. Lots of good restraints of various types and degrees, The X-Files was awesome at restraints. (Whumpee bound to a makeshift table with chicken wire? Yes, please!)

Books, I like Darren Shan's Cirque du Freak series and the prequel Saga of Larten Crepsley. Vampires, freak shows, hedge witches, eldritch beings with apocalypse fetishes, and all the physical and emotional whump that implies (do not get attached to innocent bystanders.) Also the Aubrey/Maturin series by Patrick O'Brian. Sailing ship whump, abduction, fever and adjacent illnesses, it's 20.5 novels long, just about anything you want within the late 1700/early 1800s, it's there.

I do have another favorite whump series but the Scorpion quartet is 18+ so I'll make a post on @femalewhumper701 later for those old enough who are interested. (It's actually where the blog name comes from >.>)

Thank you for the ask!!

@stalecabbage

[badluck990]

Febuwhump24 - Helpless

TW: Angels and Devils(Devil Whumpee/Angel Whumper), collar and chains, alludes to past & future torture

Let me know if I forgot to add anything

“Hi, welcome to the RMRA. How can I help you?” Cedric was working the front desk that day as he didn't have any clients at the moment.

Andre started to explain their predicament only to instantly begin fumbling with their words. “Uh- Hello. My doctor recommended this place to me. I- I’m having some control issues…um, with my horns.” 

He nodded along whilst pulling out paperwork, “Can you tell me more?”

“Well um. I had to have my horns…amputated but my magic didn’t…reset for lack of a better word, with the small horn size.”

“And now without enough horn for the magic to go into, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to cast without causing harm to yourself or the area.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘increasingly’, but yeah.” Do they really see cases like this that often?

“Alright well I think pairing you up with Lynn Woodfeild would be a good idea.” He typed some stuff out before continuing, “she’s our resident angel and control specialist.”

“Th-that’s a thing?” He asked trying to focus on ‘control specialist' and not start internally panicking over hearing they were an angel. It was irrational, he knew that. Yet his chest insisted on being tight and his brain playing the memories of the serial killer's torture on loop.

“Are you alright sir?” 

Andre forced himself to nod, not wanting to spill his trauma to the poor desk clerk, plus the anxiety kicked in and decided that he’d look like an ass for denying help at this point.

The paperwork was drawn up and the first appointment was scheduled for the following week.

Time flew as nightmares made him dread the appointment

“You know you can request another person, right?” Aloka his younger sister asked, “you've dealt with some serious shit in that theater, having an anxiety attack based on hearing something that reminds you of that doesn’t make you a bad person. Just- if they are professionals then they won’t have a problem with you requesting…Someone else.”

“I can’t avoid an entire species, Aloka.”

“Still. I’m worried about you. And so it Atlas I don’t want you to have just woken up from a coma just to end up dying from stress!” She sighed, “Anyway, what time are you gonna be home after the appointment?”

“Not sure, they gave me a start time, not so much how long I’d be spreading with her each appointment.”

“That’s an important thing to forget to ask,” she grumbled.

“I was still trying to stop thinking about her.” 

“Mom’s gonna worry.”

“I should be back before too long.”

But he wasn’t. Cause he’d be gone for much longer than he bargained for.

~ Lynn Woodfield: Control Specialist~

It’s fine, I can do this.

“You must be Andre, right on time!” Lynn’s small wings fluttered as she finished braiding her hair.

“Uh, yes Miss Woodfeild.”

“Well aren’t you cute sweet. You’re very lucky you know.”

“What do you mean,”

“Well I typical only take one client at a time. I just got finished with a last one.”

“Oh, uh why? Do you only take one at a time I mean,” He added, after a pause.

“Simple.” She flipped the lights off and tackled him he should have been able to see and yet everything was pitch dark, “so there’s no one to warn the next.” As the lights turned on and his vision returned, he found chains binding his wrists to the floor. 

“What in the light's heaven?!” 

“Shh, my sweet. It’s temporary, just until I have the chance to get the rest of my supplies.”

Shadows harm, what’s she’s gonna do

His magic sparked in his hand, only one way out.

“You sure that’s a good idea? Shadow spike me and it could go through the ceiling and hurt someone upstairs. Or a create a shadow ball, with the issues you described you’d probably engulf the room and kill us both.”

He hated that she was right, magic wouldn’t them out of this. At least not safely. 

A dark curtain they hadn’t noticed fell and revealed blades, tools, whips, more chains, all complete with a drain in the center of the floor. The cuffs were switches for a heavy metal collar, no hinge, no lock and key, no way of getting it off.

How did she even get it on in the first place?

He was stuck against the wall, gagged and hidden anytime she left. 

What had she told his family to keep them away?

She had fun with him, similar to how his last captor had, only Lynn made sure not to kill him. Plus the last mess had been a day. Here? If he was keeping count correctly, a week and a half and counting.

The only good part was she was careful with his horns, but it was a small mercy compared to the knives in his leg and nails in his arm. Plus that stupid name she called him.

“Cotton Candy, or C.C. for short.” She’d giggled while patting his poofy pink hair.

It had been for Aloka, the first thing they did together when got out of the hospital. She loved dying her hair fun colors and he had promised her when graduated med-school he’d join her. But after nearly dying they agreed it was best not to wait. She’d gotten her done all white contract her own horns.

Andre got pink. It had always been his favorite.

Now it was another reminder of how trapped he was.

@wolfeyedwitch @kim-poce @cupcakes-and-pain

@febuwhump

[whump-queen]

8, 9, and 10 for the writer!!!

(from this ask game)

Tysm for the ask @kira-the-whump-enthusiast​ !! <3 I had to do bullet lists cuz I just have wayy too many thoughts about this— 8. Favourite kind of Whumpee?

I equally love defiant and broken whumpees, bonus points if we get to see the process they go through from defiant to broken…

Insane!whumpees, whumpees who slowly lose their minds, their sense of time and reality, their whole identity over time (love mind control/psychological manipulation tropes for this)

Any pathetic little meow-meow-esque guy getting his shit absolutely fucked up.

Masochistic whumpees — especially if they’re desperately trying very hard to hide their— *ahem*—complicated relationship with pain, but it gets exposed anyway… cue lots of humiliation. 

(I rarely see this trope, it’s highly underutilized imo, but when I see it i’m hooked — I love Alec & Raina by @suspicious-whumping-egg for this trope)

9. Favourite kind of whumper?

Sadistic/insane/cruel whumpers —throw a lil bit of creepy whumper in there and we got ourselves a five star dish,,

Give me a whumper who will finger-paint their victim’s skin with the victim’s own blood :)) (lookin at you, SIlas)

I love whumpers who are unstable and unpredictable (hi Raiza) just as much as the cold, calculated types. 

Whumpers who gaslight gatekeep and girlboss their victim into insanity. (oh look it’s Seth @whumpshaped​ ) Give me manipulative whumpers whose mission is to make their victim lose their entire sense of reality and identity. 

Can’t forget the classic whumper turned whumpee & villain whump — Give me a really evil guy and turn him into a crying, flinching mess :) (shoutout Kane obv @whumpsday )

10. Favourite kind of caretaker?

Bad caretaker, caretaker turned whumper, cruel/sadistic caretaker my beloved!! 

These tropes are so underrated to me like, give me the recovery arc gone horribly wrong—give me the sense of fleeting hope and the heartbreak when it crumbles—give me the abuse, the neglect, give me the unexpected power trip that results in caretaker ending up as bad as or even worse than whumper.

Because with a caretaker or rescuer, the whumpee is emotionally invested this time, primed to trust them, in a physically/emotionally vulnerable position, and will be that much more hurt and confused when their rescuer suddenly turns on them, not to mention so much easier to gaslight and manipulate when the abuse comes from a person they’re supposed to trust

I’m writing a story for this trope :) some of you have read drabbles already—we love a recovery arc gone terribly wrong :)

[comfortember]

Hi! After reading the FAQ I have a couple of questions:

1. What is the rating that our fics are allowed to be? As in, general, teen and up, mature to explicit.

2. If we make a whump scenario out of the prompt, how explicit can it be? A few example I can think of: can we write our character recovering from heavy bleeding, serious injuries, or traumatic things? And can we write the hurting part?

3. Are stories that aren't that wholesome, with a whumper doing the comforting act, for example, allowed?

3. Can you specify what do you mean with "not gross"? That's a vague statement that varies from one person to another and I'm not comfortable participating in this event unless I know the actual meaning of it, besides stories with incest and/or underage of course.

Thank you very much!

Hallo!! 1. All ratings are allowed! 2. Sure! Some of the stuff I made last year had a lot of hurt in them before the comfort, and dealt with trauma :D 3. I don't entirely understand what you mean by this one honestly. It's probably my brain scrambling the words but it isn't making sense. Overall There's isn't a lot of rules the event is supposed to be fun and about comfort so I wouldn't worry about it too much :D 4. Just generally illegal stuff! Like underage and incest, I can't think of anything else off the top of my head but just generally referring to those types of highly illegal, traumatizing relationships! side note that LGBTIA+ stuff is illegal in some places and we're both ace so can assure you that we don't mean that at all! All that is fully allowed :D - HD

[shywhumpauthor]

My Old Writing Masterlist

(Good luck. You’ll need it.)

Assorted Prompts

Free with credit!

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

X X  X X X X X X X X  X X X X X X

Snippets

1, continued- Caretaker finds themself with a non-human whumpee in their possession

2- Injured and starving Villain does not want Hero’s help

3- A spy heard something they weren’t supposed to, and Whumper wants to know exactly how much they know

4- Whumper discovers their best soldier is not who they said they were

5- Whumpee fell in battle, but they don’t want to die.

6- Hero may be a bit too rough when it comes to sidekick’s training

7- Leader flips out when the team’s newest member messes up on a mission

8- Leader is very tough on their team, but Whumpee is used to that type of treatment

9- Whumpee’s kidnapper is a bit too… kind for their liking

10- Sidekick doesn’t have much control over what they say when in pain, and lets something slip when talking to Villain.

11- Hero would rather die than surrender to Supervillain

continued

12- Hero discovers that Teammate was not who they said they were

13- Caretaker’s job was exactly what they signed up for

14- A… concerning guest arrives at Caretaker’s little diner.

15- A very sarcastic whumpee got captured by enemy forces.

16- Just a Whumper enforcing a bedtime

17- Leader falls in battle and Whumpee is left to defend themself against the enemy troops

18- Sidekick is too stubborn for their own good

19- Sidekick takes a shortcut through Villain’s territory

20- Sidekick’s performance in their training is downright unacceptable

21- Whumpee just wants to get out of the rain but there’s a stranger in their car

22- Whumpee is sick of rude awakenings

23- Caretaker is just a manipulative piece of shit

24- Some lab whump and stuff

25- Whumper is caught red handed

26- Sidekick doesn’t know where Superhero came from, but they want them gone

27- Hero’s team abandoned them in their time of need

28- Hero’s team isn’t answering their distress call… but Supervillain is

29- Civilian is out late at night… so is Supervillain

Other Series (forgotten)

Hot Cocoa

Bram thought they could entrust Hugh with their deepest secret. Bram thought he could bear the weight of their most prized possession along with their best friend. But when they showed Hugh the beaten, bloody shell of a person in their basement, the one who’s bruises Bram had worked so hard to create, Hugh snaps.

Rune’s Story

Rune didn’t remember much of their life before they were captured. The last memory they had was running. Running away from a group of people. The people were laughing, taunting them. They had guns.

A Dozen Eggs

Oakley's entire purpose is to serve. To serve their master, and his family. That's the reason they were alive. The scars that crossed their back mere reminders of the times they tried to defy their purpose. I have a lot more written, drop an ask if interested but I’m not gonna post any more otherwise

Squirrel’s Story

I wrote like two parts, got distracted by whumptober, never looked back.

Whumpmas 2021

Just don’t. It’s a shitshow

Ask Game Fills Masterlist

Exactly what it says. A bunch of short pieces from an ask game.

Bad Memories Masterlist

Abused hero x protective possessive villain. I still have the next part to this in my drafts

The Vampire’s Little Plaything

Like three chapters of vampire Whumper shit. No actual whump. Lost interest in it

•••

And just take this in case anything breaks idk where else to put it. Old drabble masterpost

[supersilversleuth]

Your Words Aren’t Real (So Why Do They Hurt So Much?) by SuperSilverSpy

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Fandoms: DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Dick Grayson & Batfamily members, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson & Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick Grayson Whump, Whump, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I seem to be doing a lot of that these days…, Whumptober 2021, Mind Control, fear toxin, Hallucinations, anyway, Angst, SuperSilverSpy, SilverGrayson, SilverWhump, Taunting, Insults, ”who did this to you?”

Summary:

“Sometimes I wish you were my father, but I know you could never be. Bruce will always be my real father. You were just an inadequate stand-in.”

Dick choked, barely noticing the swift kick to his ribs before he was already stumbling back, ducking around Steph’s fist as he fought to regain his balance.

“You were a terrible brother,” said the voices of Jason and Tim. “All you ever did with me was make mistakes.”

OR Mind Control with a heaping of Angst

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT… taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?”

Series:

Part 3 of 2021 Most Whumperful Time of the Year - Dick Grayson-centric

Language: English Words: 1,645 Chapters: 1/1

Nightwing awoke in a warehouse, surrounded by Batman, Red Hood, Robin, Spoiler, and Red Robin. They were all passed out on the ground, strange devices wrapped around their heads. They seemed relatively unharmed, not a bruise or laceration or twisted limb in sight.  He sighed in relief.

Looking around, Dick noted the absence of visible hostiles. He turned to Robin, who was closest to him and inspected the device around boy’s head; whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.  He felt along the smooth metal, searching (or feeling) for a way to remove it.

A moment later, several ding! sounds echoed in the warehouse, emitting from the head devices. Damian’s eyes opened, glowing a vibrant yellow. Dick backed up as the rest of his family began to rise around him. He knew mind control when he saw it, though that didn’t stop him from asking, “Uh…guys? You still in there?”

Their faces remained  expressionless as they turned threateningly towards him.

“Guess not,” he answered himself. “Looks like it’s just another exciting day in the life of the great and eternally stressed out Nightwing.”

He’d probably have to come up with yet another insightful and compelling speech to snap them out of it, par for the course for him at this point. Oh but how he wished it wasn’t. Every single time somebody in his family got brainwashed, or mind-controlled, or possessed (all of which happened way more often than it should), he was pretty much always the one to talk them down, or get beaten up and nearly killed for his efforts. It had reached a point where he wondered if Bruce was actively trying to get one of Dick’s siblings to accidentally kill him.

Well, at least one thing was different this time—he was facing off against five family members at once, instead of one, or two, or his entire f***ing team. But that was a story for another day.

Maybe, he could actually fight close to his full capability against them, without too much fear of hurting them. He didn’t have to knock them out or sedate them after all, he just needed to damage those device things around their heads.

Hood lunged at him first, guns drawn. Dick dodged, wrenching one of the man’s guns away with a grunt. He threw it across the room, knowing it did nothing for him in close quarters combat wherein he was attempting not to hurt, kill, or maim any of his would-be killers. There was no time for him to contemplate Jason’s likely reaction to the discovery of his ruined gun that would surely come later. Batman was already springing into action, fists swinging through the air in an unnaturally aimed-to-kill way.

Dick flipped around, dodging attacks from the two. He needed to bide his time, wait for the right opportunity to strike. He tried to electrocute them to short-circuit their metal head-band device things, but it didn’t really seem to do anything. He did, however, manage to get in a good hit to Jason’s head, which disoriented the man—and likely the person in control of him. Bruce went down next, Dick slipping the man’s belt out from around his waist in a move no one else in the world knew, and throwing a flash bomb in his face.

Pocketting what he could from the belt before tossing that too away (the emergency beacon didn’t work), he turned to face his new opponents. Spoiler and Robin, the short little duo wreaking havoc to his right, with Bruce and Jason getting back up on his left.

Whoever was controlling his family wasn’t the best at it, though forcing them to attempt murder against their own instincts was a feat in itself.

“You failed me,” said two very familiar voices in unison. It was Bruce and Damian.

Dick was so startled he almost didn’t manage to dodge the sneak attack Red Robin was attempting from behind.

“You failed the mission, our mission, you’ve failed the family I’ve given you, and the city I put in your responsibility.” It was just Bruce now, speaking blankly, words flowing out with no restraint.

Dick swallowed, but forced himself to ignore the man, ignore the words. It was probably just a program to detect negative emotion associated with thoughts of Nightwing and force the mind-controlled victim to...to say the thoughts out loud. Logically, he knew this.

Logic couldn’t prepare him for what came next.

“Sometimes I wish you were my father, but I know you could never be. Bruce will always be my real father. You were just an inadequate stand-in.”

Dick choked, barely noticing the swift kick to his ribs before he was already stumbling back, ducking around Steph’s fist as he fought to regain his balance.

“You were a terrible brother,” said the voices of Jason and Tim. “All you ever did with me was make mistakes.”

His vision had blurred at some point in time, he wasn’t sure when. A fist slammed into his jaw, a bow staff swiped at his feet. Purple flashed in the corner of his vision as his wrist was brutally snapped. Dick opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“They say never meet your heroes. I guess they were right then, hmmm? Except you were never my hero, and yet you still managed to disappoint me anyway.” Steph’s tone was sharp and biting as she jammed a shuriken into his shoulder.

Dick pushed her away, doing a messy backflip to land on Bruce, using what little momentum he had to push off towards Jason, tackling him for the umpteenth time.

“You were unfit to be a mentor, just look at you now. And the students become the masters…” said the scathing voices of Dami, Steph, and Tim. Laughter echoed in his ears, sounding cruelly amused. No, this wasn’t them, they would never say such things…

“Oh it’s all true,” said a voice from behind him, Jay’s voice. “What is it, Goldie, can’t handle the pressure?”

Dick tried in vain to block the voices out, focusing just long enough to knock the device around Tim’s head askew.

The boy fell to the ground, reality mixing with fantasy as Tim’s eyes looked up at him, cold and lifeless, as blood pooled around Tim’s twisted body, as if he’d fallen… Corpse-pale lips parted, harsh words spilling out onto unforgiving ground, “You think I’m just like you, but you’re wrong. I’m better. You couldn’t beat me if you tried. I’m too pure, somehow untainted by your doomed soul, even after all this time.”

Crazed laughter echoed in Dick’s ears, even as he blinked and saw Tim as he actually was, lying unconscious—and alive, on the ground.

“Look at that, failing to protect those you love most? You’re worthless to them, and to me. I should never have taken you in.” The words were growled in a familiar deep register, and yet...the tone was unusually cruel—

Dick found himself sprawled on the ground, back still smarting from where he’d been kicked. He struggled to his good hand and knees, only to hear the sound of a gun cocking. He looked up. Jason stood above him, Steph and Damian on either side.

“Tt, Grayson, always so pathetic.” For a moment, Dami seemed to be wearing an older version of his uniform, from when he was still Dick’s Robin…

Steph tossed her hair back, giggling, and Dick saw her in a different costume, that of Robin, and then it changed to Batgirl. Gah, he was so confused.

She wasn’t. “You’re not going to make it this time around. How does it feel knowing we’d all be glad? You’ve hurt us more than helped us, Dick. It’s time you’ve faced that fact.”

Jason smirked down at him. “Any last words? We all know you don’t deserve them, but, well,” he smirked, “I’m feeling charitable today.”

Dick lunged upward, body tensed as if to tackle, arms outstretched as if to hug. Dick himself wasn’t quite sure what it was meant to be, what he wanted anymore…

Bang!

The gun went off, bullet burying itself in Dick’s side.

Three pairs of feet began to kick at his prone body from all sides. He curled in on himself, clutching desperately at the bullet wound, mind hazy with blood loss and something...else… A scraping noise, close to his ear. Dick barely registered it through the pain of the systematic blows raining down. Another pair of feet entered his vision, Bruce’s Batman boots. Dick panicked, using one hand to staunch the blood flow while the other went to his neck, to where he instinctively knew the real problem was. There was a device, attached to his neck, like a mini version of what the others had, but missing a few parts. He yanked it off, and immediately, he heard the thumps of his hopefully just unconscious family members falling to the ground.

Dick squinted at the device, as he felt himself joining them in the land of darkness. A familiar scarecrow label stared back at him, Jervis Tetch craftsmanship was practically written all over the thing as well…

—

Jason woke, groggy and disoriented. He found himself amongst other bats, all lying on the floor in a circle like some kind of crazy sorcerer spell gone wrong. The others were slowly waking, blinking and shaking their heads as if to clear the fog away. And in the middle of it all, at the center of their little coming-back-to-the-land-of-the-living circle, lay Dick Grayson, covered in blood, close to passing out.

The guy was nearly unrecognizable, but Jason would recognize that ridiculous hairstyle anywhere. Scrambling over to his brother’s side, Jason ignored the way the room spun, placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder and looking down at the man, brow pinched in concern.

“Dickie?” he asked, “Who did this to you?”

[whumpingcrow]

A little blast from the past Gio whump for your day :)

CW: bbu and everything in relation to that, injury description, blood, degrading languages and themes, description of physical abuse, noncon mention (vague), starvation mention, death/murder mention, intimate/creepy whumper (let me know if i missed anything!)

"Stay still."

The voice was angry and hard, there wasn't even an inkling of compassion or tenderness hidden behind it. There was no amount of begging, no amount of desperation, that would make this better or easier or less painful. And yet, the small, trembling boy on his knees on the dark red mahogany floor was trying with everything he had to ease some of the torture.

"Please, s-sir," he sobbed, shaking in his voice just as much as he was in his poor, bruised up arms that he held falteringly out in front of him, "I'm sorry, sir, I re-really am-"

"Shut the fuck up. Stop moving or it's only going to be worse."

He was right, and the boy knew that, he'd been through some version of this time and time again, but he couldn't force himself to be still, couldn't force himself to stop crying. It hurt, the red welts spreading up and down his forearms were stinging and throbbing and he just wanted to curl up into a little ball and cry and cry and cry until it stopped hurting. But he couldn't, he was in trouble, and if he kept moving it would make it worse.

When the metal rod came down on his arms again, he howled in pain. His arms failed him, he was horrified in himself when he pulled them reflexively towards his body.

"No more!" He shrieked. "Please, please please no more!"

Even more frightening than the mans furious voice that he had been using before was the exasperated chuckle he let out after the boys begging. He let the iron fire poker scrape menacingly against the ground as he circled around the boys pathetic, trembling frame. He was small, even more so in the past week because of the most recent neglectful nature of his punishment. No food, no water, no sleep. He was exhausted and miserable, and it was showing.

"I'm getting real fucking tired of hearing you're incessant whining," he sighed. He was behind the boy now, watching his shoulders heave with each retched sob. "It isn't cute. It's incredibly irritating, really. You hear yourself, don't you? You hear how ridiculously annoying you sound?"

The boy whimpered, he caved in on himself a little further. He still didn't stop blubbering. "I-I-I...I'm s-sorry."

"No. No you aren't." He lifted the poker and placed it between the boys shoulder blades, pressing in just a little. He could feel the way he was shaking through the metal like electricity pulsing through a conductor. "That's the problem, you idiot. If you were sorry, you would stop."

"But I a-am! I'm sorry-" He wasn't allowed to finish, a blinding white pain spreading from the center of his back all the way to the front of his ribs from being whacked hard with the much too solid, much too real iron rod. He found himself wishing he had just kept his arms in front of him and taken that pain instead. Then there was a shoe digging right into the already bruising skin above his spine, pushing and pushing until he was flat on the ground.

"What's it gonna take to get you to shut up, you little brat? Huh?"

"S-Sir-"

"I didn't ask you to speak." His ribs creaked and ground into each other and against the hard floor when the shoe pressed harder into him. He writhed against the pressure, it was too much, he was going to break, he couldn't handle any more, he really, really couldn't take it. "Maybe I should just go ahead and crush your vocal chords. Then I could do whatever I want to you without the headache. Without the fucking....noise..."

The boy couldn't even breathe anymore, he felt like he was being positively crushed, he was just an insect under this mans foot, and soon all of his guts would just explode right out of him. He was terrified. "Please..." he managed in a wheeze. "Ple...please, si-agh!"

The shoe raised up for a split second, and the momentary relief was diminished to nothing when it stomped back down hard before leaving completely. And it didn't stop there, the fire poker came back, raining down hit after brutal hit against him. The boy was trying to crawl away in his pure, very human fear, fingernails clawing desperately at the wooden floors like his life depended on it. That was annoying, too, how he always acted like he was going to be murdered.

Finally, he dropped the poker to the ground with a loud clang, and he watched the boy crawl forward a few more inches until he reached the end of the bed and pressed himself miserably against the frame. He was hyperventilating, entire body jolting with each raw gasp. His eyes were glassed over, unseeing and far away, as the tall man approached him. He crouched down in front of him, grabbing a fistful of his hair. It was soft, it almost made him feel bad for hurting him so bad. Almost. The boy didn't make any noise now, apart from his quick breathing, and it earned him a minuscule smile.

"Oh, so you do know how to be quiet. Look at that." He turned the boys head side to side, drinking in all the barely readable signs of fear and discomfort, a twitch of the eyebrows, a trembling in his bottom lip, eyes blinking away the tears that he knew might get him in trouble. He was cute like that, the man had always thought, ever since the first time he'd been hurt. It was just a little punishment that time, a slap on the wrist in comparison to what had been done to him more recently. With a pleased hum, the man let go of his hair and trailed his thumb over the boys lips, tilting his head in amusement when his breathing picked up even more. "I love how you look when you're scared of me. It's the only time I don't want to bash your skull in."

The words sparked even more hysteria in the pitiful thing, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to lean away from his torturer, but he was trapped. He tried not to make any sounds, but once the man closed in on him and pressed bruising lips against his own, he couldn't help the fearful squeak he let out. He knew where that would lead, and his body was so battered and broken already he didn't think he'd be able to live through it. Thankfully, the man let the small noise go unnoticed, instead turning his focus onto the boys neck, leaving a different type of bruise there. There was nothing but hunger and twisted lust behind the action. And he knew from experience that it was only going to get worse from there.

"I can't..." he whimpered. "Please, sir. I will...I will do better. I'll b-be good, I promise, b-but I just...I c-can't...I can't..."

A groan against his skin told him that he'd really crossed the line, and then there were teeth in his skin, and then the man stood straight, towering over him. His hands were shaking in anger, and the boy started to cry again, but this time no sound came out.

When fists started buffeting against him, even more relentlessly than ever, he could barely hear his own shrieks and the mans cruel words. He caught some of what he said, heard him say "can't take this anymore," at some point he thought he heard "never want to see you again," and through all of the confusion and pain, he almost shot back, "yeah, right back at you!"

Right before the assault ended, when the boy was reduced to a bleeding, miserable lump on the ground, he heard one thing clear as day: "I can't do this. I've got to get rid of you before I fucking murder you myself."

The very next morning, the boy was back in a box in the back of a truck. He didn't know whether to be relieved he was away from the nightmare or be terrified of whatever it was that awaited him when the lid of the box was inevitably torn open again.

[whumpshaped]

For something soft, a whumper turned whumpee/ex villain type getting actual forgiveness and affection and care on top of it, their poor guilty little soul getting the support they need so bad finally and just /melting/ in their caretakers arms, filled with new and true determination to make things right

i strayed a little from the prompt sorry. but i think it turned out ok :)

tw bullying mention, past trauma, injuries, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker

Whumper was barely conscious as Caretaker gently cleaned their bloody face with a damp cloth. They couldn't keep their swollen eyes open, nor could they force their dried up tongue and chapped lips to form any words. Even a questioning hum proved to be too much, sending them into a coughing fit.

"Hush," Caretaker whispered. "We'll talk when you're better."

They couldn't feel the bite of the rope around their wrists and ankles, and they wondered whether their body was too numb to register the sensation. They attempted, experimentally, to move around a bit; nothing was stopping them.

Caretaker didn't comment on it.

They blinked a couple times before giving up entirely, letting their eyes rest. It only took a few moments before they fell asleep.

-

"You need to drink."

Whumper squinted in the direction of the voice, finding it once again to belong to Caretaker. They struggled to sit, even with assistance, but they managed to down a few sips.

As they lay back down, they fixed their saviour with a look of disbelief. Caretaker pretended not to notice, staring intently at the worn-out blanket they used to cover Whumper's body.

"You sent me away," Whumper rasped eventually.

It was true. They had sent gifts, money, anything Caretaker needed. They had tried their best to make it right. They had showed up in person, asking for their forgiveness like a fool. Caretaker had shut the door in their face, but only after yelling and threatening to call the police.

Hell, they had made peace with it. They had made peace with the fact that what they'd done was beyond fixing, they were beyond redemption, and all they could do was grovel until their days ran out. Maybe then, after their death, someone would look back at their life and acknowledge that they'd tried.

And yet, after all that, Caretaker was washing the blood off their face and helping them drink water.

"I know," Caretaker replied, as if Whumper had brought it up because they thought they'd forgotten.

There was nothing to fill the silence but their own, ragged breathing. It wasn't a very pleasant sound, and Whumper wished Caretaker would just go on and explain what was happening. They didn't.

"So why–" They began coughing again, and Caretaker helped them sit and drink more when it subsided.

"I heard you talking to that kid. That's why. Just stop making yourself choke over it."

Whumper furrowed their brows, not sure what that had to do with anything. Caretaker huffed out a breath.

"Isn't that why you got all beat up? Because you decided to go 'talk' to those big bullies? Don't act like that's not super out of character for you. Like I shouldn't even be surprised or anything." They looked away, shrugging a little. "'twas nice of you, is all. The kid saw the entire thing. Rushed to me and asked me to help you."

Ah. It wasn't about them. It was about the kid.

Whumper slowly nodded, debating whether to waste their remaining breath on 'thank you' or 'sorry'. They settled on showing their gratitude, since their apology had already been rejected enough times. Caretaker still just waved them off.

"I didn't think you'd actually changed, you know. Like, at all." They shrugged again. It was probably a nervous habit. "Well, I suppose your methods are still the same, and I still don't condone violence or anything... But there have been worse reasons for starting a fight than getting back a stuffed animal."

They continued fidgeting for a while, then just stood up and left the room without another word. Whumper didn't stop them. They couldn't have, even if they wanted to.

-

"You look a lot better today," Caretaker said carefully. Their tone was measured, never betraying too much of what they were actually thinking.

"Thanks," Whumper muttered. "And thanks for helping out. I can just... leave now."

Caretaker hummed. "Stay another day. You still look like a summer breeze could knock you over. Just... maybe a bit of a stronger breeze than yesterday."

"If I see the kid, I won't tell them you kicked me out or anything. I'm sure they just meant for you to call an ambulance anyway–"

"Do you think this is about the kid?" they asked, seemingly very confused. In turn, Whumper stared back at them with the same expression.

"It isn't?"

Caretaker sighed. "Look..."

Whumper waited patiently. They were definitely looking, but Caretaker couldn't find the right words to express what they wanted to. "Sorry," they blurted out when the pause was starting to become uncomfortably long. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"I know. That's... part of why you're in my room. Because– because the thing is, the old you wanted to put me on the spot all the time. And you'd never catch me dead housing the old you. But..." They hesitated, chewing on their bottom lip. "You changed. You really did change. It's just– you had no... well, unless this is a super elaborate plan, you had no idea I overheard the conversation. Or– or any incentive to go get beat up for a plushie. You couldn't have known any of it. And it just... made me think more about... last year, and how you tried to fix things..."

"You're not doing this out of guilt, are you?" Whumper's stomach churned at the thought. "I get why you didn't forgive me, it's fine, I'm a grown adult, I realise–"

"God, no!" Caretaker snapped. They shrank back right after, rubbing their arm nervously. "Sorry. Maybe– maybe a little. Well... well, it's like, I don't regret not forgiving you then. I didn't know whether you were lying. You could've been."

"I could've been," they echoed, attempting to reassure them.

"But you weren't. And I think I know that now. So I think I'll forgive you this time around."

Whumper's eyes widened when they processed the words. They were spoken so quickly, too quickly, like Caretaker was embarrassed to say them. "What?"

"I went to therapy, I read the self-help books, I know I should forgive you. That it'd make me feel better. Not in a hippie sort of way where we now hug and kiss, but like... sorry, I don't even know what I'm saying. It's not like I decided to forgive based on a book. God, I sound like such a weirdo."

"No," they cut in. "No, it's okay. You don't. You just sound nervous." Caretaker gave them a timid smile, the first they'd seen from them in ages. It was gone in a flash. "I... I don't even know what to say. I've imagined this so many times–" The tears came out of nowhere. They cut themself off abruptly so they could prevent a full on crying session, turning towards the window and blinking rapidly.

"Me too, I guess," Caretaker admitted sheepishly. "I didn't sound like a weirdo in my head."

"Stop saying that," they choked out, but it turned into a chuckle, which turned into a sob. They wanted to ask again and again, 'Do you really mean that? Do you honestly forgive me? Is this a joke?' But they restrained themself. It seemed hard enough to say once. "Thank you. I can't believe it. I really can't."

"Will you stay another day, then? We could talk a bit more and all that." Whumper nodded, and they were rewarded with another one of those elusive smiles. "Cool. I'll bring you a tissue."

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[whumpersdump]

Project Rebirth - CH1: The Speech

So, this is my first whump work (that I’m posting;). The word count’s close to 1400 words. Worth noting, English isn’t my first language.

This chapter is from the whumper’s POV.

[ Masterlist ] -- [ Next ]

TW: Restraints (like, very restrained. In a straitjacket) / muzzle / Implied past and future pet whump (institutionalized, like there is a ministry for it.) / implied torture / dehumanization (not with pronouns though)  / I think technically this also fits as lab whump, but it’s still implied.

This is the intro to my series, and doesn’t contain nearly as much whump as the next parts will. The Whumper is literally going to explain what the plot is. He’s very excited about it. He’s prepared his Project Rebirth for years. He’s prepared for anything.

Whumper straightened his back as he looked out on his audience. He hovered his hand over the remote he’d use for this slides, and corrected the position of his speech cards. “We live in a world that is on the brink of change.”

He opened the first slide. He’d picked it all out with the most care he could give it. This one featured headlines from the past few years. ‘An Epidemic of Defiance. How Can We End It?’. ‘More Pet Returns Than Ever Before’. ‘Interest In Re-Training Skyrockets’.

‘Pet Escapes a Record Thirty Times’.

He gave his audience a moment to take the headlines in, before continuing his speech. The last one in particular. His soon to be masterpiece.

“Throughout the past centuries, thousands of specialists have committed themselves to the task of training the pets we cherish so much. There are ones for every type. Those that breed defiance, or rather submission. Quiet pets, or loud ones. All tastes can be accounted for today. However, not for all pets.”

He gestured to the last headline. “No matter how hard we’ve tried, again and again, some pets never seem to learn. What then?”

He held his hands up as if waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question. “We keep them as examples, to teach the ones that will learn to know their place. Or in the most extreme cases, we have even considered resort to well… extreme measures. I’m here to tell you, I have the solution.”

“Project Rebirth will put an end to to our struggles. My program can turn any pet in the pet that you deserve. It can make them the submissive and obedient friend you require. It can also create that fiery defiance that makes them seem almost human.”

He took a breath as some faces in the audience grew a frown. “Without the risk that compels us to train it out of them.”

The audience calmed, their faces filled with curious anticipation. Right where he needed them to be.

“Defiance,” he began. “It’s not the only flaw in our pets that drives us to return them to their trainer’s doorstep or worse— leave them on the streets. However it is the most common problem we face today. Whether it is violence to themselves or others, failure to comply, or accept their place in our world, if you’re here today you’ve seen it.”

He pointed at his so coveted headline again. “Even if you’re not the proud owner of a pet of your own, I don’t think there’s many of us that haven’t seen this headline re-appear over the past years. Different numbers, of course.” That got a giggle from a businessman in the front row.

“The pet in question has never actually qualified for placement. This pet is the one that made us consider those extreme measures. They’ve escaped every institution that made the mistake to consider them just another pet. Not even the most renowned specialists have managed to break them, our greatest heroes included.”

He looked down, and basked in the eager anticipation that hung in the room. “With Project Rebirth, I can tame even them.”

Right on cue, his assistant Toby entered the stage. Obedient as ever. Toby’s owner had volunteered him to test the last stage, but passed away. The pet was left in Whumper’s care. Not too bright—like all pets—but among the smartest nonetheless. He was one of the rare ones that truly understood his place. Which was why he was the only pet allowed near the Project without going through it.

Toby pushed forward a hand truck Whumper had specifically designed for today’s purpose. To restrain the most dangerously defiant pet in decades, while making sure the entire audience would catch a glimpse of what would soon be called a miracle.

Muffled curses came out from under the muzzle, their muscles twitched even within the stark white straitjacket and countless restraints that kept them in place. They were as heavily sedated as they could be without them losing their spark. The few master trainers in the audience would know this was a fraction of the inferno their anger and fear could cause, but to everyone else this was spectacle enough.

“Now I’m sure you’re all familiar with at least several of the many names their different trainers have given them, but under my care, for the following months, they will be known as Subject One. After all, they will be the first pet to complete the entire Rebirth program.

“Of course we shouldn’t forget the people that have selflessly volunteered the most intelligent pets of the nation to test the stages separately.” He didn’t want to say this, but his PR manager assured him it would backfire on him if he didn’t. “It is because of them I can finally introduce Project Rebirth’s trial phase to you all.”

He flashed on an as genuine smile as he could muster, and clicked over to the next slide. “With Project Rebirth, any pet can be reborn in anyway you wish them to be. Our entire program is tailored to the pet’s past, and our client’s needs. As will be the program for our dear Subject One.”

As he stared into the pet’s frantic eyes, a frown curled so deep it almost folded over their muzzle. In just a few months, even they would be a sea of calmness. As the ministry desired.

“The ministry of pet management has turned Subject One over to my care in the hope that I could achieve what no one else could.” A few faces turned to others, soft whispers spread through the room. Some sighed. In the back, someone even got up.

It didn’t matter. He would blow their minds. “What if I told you, that within the same time it took for this pet to escape those 30 times, I can turn them into the pet you all wish your pets strive to be?” That got their attention back.

“In the past month me and countless professionals that work under Project Rebirth have evaluated and tested each and every part of this pet.” He clicked to the next slide. It featured a number of diagrams detailing everything from personality traits to behavioral patterns.

“We quite literally mapped their defiance. Starting tonight, Project Rebirth will uncover the treasure buried under the large X that marks all of their placement forms.”

The following slide showed pictures of the test subjects placed in different stages of the program. Pre-Birth, Infancy, and the Toddler stage, as some of the staff had dubbed it. Though, on the official notes they just numbered them.

“Project Rebirth consists of 8 stages. The first you’re all familiar with.” He put on a smile again as a few people predicted what he’d say. “That dreaded evaluation that tells you where you went wrong.” A soft laugh went through the room.

“The second is more for us rather than the pet, but rest assured they won’t be forgotten. In our second stage we take what we’ve learned and map not only their behavior, but also the program in accordance with said behavior.”

He held his hands up. “Now, the third and onward… those are a bit of a trade secret. Rest assured, should you decide to put your money—” he blinked, to ease the not-so subtle request— “and once our first trial is completed, your pets in out care, you won’t be disappointed.” He nodded, marking the end of his speech.

“Now my scientists will happily answer as much of your questions as they can, after which those of you who decide to support my goal will be given a small sneak peak into our second stage. Which I assure you, is just the tip of the iceberg.”

Applause erupted from the audience, as Subject One trashed against their restraints. Whumper smiled. He gave them one last bow, and turned the presentation back the headlines.

If he succeeded, his program could become the standard worldwide. All he had to do, was get all those people to throw enough money at him to make it possible on such a scale.

He turned off his microphone and addressed the assistant that had patiently waited beside the subject for his orders. “Toby, write down your last observations on the subject’s responses. I want a presentable report within two hours. And tell the staff to begin storage preparations. Tier 3, please.”

[hurting-fictional-people]

Betrayal story - part 4

Look, the story has a name (hopefully I’ll come up with a better one later)! And the characters do too!

Anyways, if someone hasn’t seen the picrews (it’s here if you want to), Whumpee is now Liam Beaumont, Caretaker is Chase Raymond and Whumper is Jonah Sharpe. If you have trouble remembering: Caretaker still starts with a C no I totally didn’t give him a name that starts with a C on purpose what are you talking about and I think you’ll get very different vibes from Liam and Jonah haha

CW: electric torture, forced to watch, whumpee held hostage, hurt no comfort (for now), restraints

tagging  @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot  @sunflower1000  @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove  @boxofsilence  @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince

Part one here, continued from here

-

Twelve messages wait for Chase when he picks up his phone. All from Jonah, all demanding him to work quicker, to give in new information faster. He purses his lips and takes a deep breath, clutching the new drive he was given to fill. 

After so many betrayals, he should be used to the sting that comes along with lying and deceiving. He’s done it before, felt that guilt, drowned in it – and yet he can’t help but hesitate. Liam’s pale lips, creased brows, shallow breaths, sparkle to life in his mind, a painful reminder of what is at stake if he annoys Jonah too much. Right beside Liam’s face, though, are the ones of Chase’s team, his friends, his family, all trusting smiles and loving gazes he cannot ignore. It’s enough for him to type a message and turn off the phone.

Working on it, Chase sends and hopes it is enough to keep the man quiet for at least another day as he turns his computer on and starts erasing from the drive the most meaningful information he’s stolen.

-

When Jonah bursts into his room, Liam is almost happy to see him. Five days have passed since he’s woken up in a room instead of the cell, and all he’s had since then is loneliness and echoing silence. With the only human interaction he was given being the occasional visit from a nurse who gave him a clinical once-over and refused to so much as look him in the eye, it was no real surprise when his thoughts spiraled out of control, swirling around and sinking down between Chase’s inevitable and yet somehow unexpected betrayal, and his new status as a hostage. 

“Doing better?” Jonah asks, leaning against the doorframe. Liam’s heart pounds both in relief and terror at the sound of a voice that isn’t his own.

“Do you care?”

“Getting some rest got your tongue loose, I see.”

“Why are you keeping me here?” That’s the question that’s been eating him alive, disrupting his sleep, watering his fear into a blossoming flower of dread that grows and suffocates any hope that tries to bloom beside it. Each answer Liam’s imagined sounds worst than the last, but if there is truth in any of them, he has to know. To prepare. 

“We talked about this already, didn’t we?”

Jonah’s eyes are as cold as he remembers from their few encounters, but this time something lurking there whispers stories of anger and pain to come, and that alone is enough to raise goosebumps along his entire body. 

“What do you want to let me go?” What could he have to give a man who is already filthy rich, when Liam has nothing to offer but a cramped apartment and a lot of resentment?

“Nothing you can offer, lovely,” Jonah chuckles. “Fair try, though.”

But nothing about this is fair, in any possible way. “So you are just going to keep me here because you don’t like Chase? I have nothing to do with him, please just let me the fuck go and I won’t even tell anyone, you–“

“Liam, honey, let us clear something up. There is nothing you can do to convince me to let you go. All you can do is comply, and maybe I’ll be merciful if you do, but you are mine for the time being, and there is no one here to help you but me.”

Liam’s reply dies on his tongue, killed by the unrestricted horror the words wash him over with. It doesn’t sound real. Sounds like something he’d watch in a movie, read in a book, hear about on the news. To hear them directed at him and feel the pulsating response from the healing stab wound in his gut, makes him hold his breath and pray to just wake up from this nightmare. When did his life turn into this? Was it when he met Chase? Was it before? 

“Now that that’s out of the way, come on, we have somewhere to go today.”

Liam’s stomach drops to the ground, farther, falling and falling to the center of the Earth as he clenches the sheets in his fists and hisses, “Last time you said that, you locked me up until I got an infection.”

“Ha, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Jonah says, raising a brow. Liam doesn’t even blink at the grin playing on his lips. “Don’t worry, love, I don’t make the same mistake twice. We’re having a different kind of fun today. Up now, or I’ll call my men to do it for you.”

Gritting his teeth, Liam pushes the sheets away and slowly stands up, holding his side and fighting a groan, but on his feet without help.

They walk in silence, and neither Jonah nor the guards say anything about how slow he is, or how terribly pitiful he looks stumbling through the hallways. A thousand words speed through his brain, pleading to be heard, but he doesn’t voice any of his questions. Doesn’t think he’d get an answer if he did, anyway.

He is led into a nearly barren room, with only a camera over a tripod standing in front of a wooden chair. A wooden chair surrounded by restraints.

He takes a step back before his brain catches up with the movement, straight against a guards’ chest. Jonah giggles and tuts softly. 

Two men grab his arms and drag him to the chair, and the panic suddenly becomes so deep, so all-encompassing, it swallows down his fight. He is pushed down on the chair, the restraints are buckled around him until all Liam can move is his head, and all the while he just sits there, hyperventilating and near to tears, as still as a statue. Watching but never moving, terrified but frozen in place, petrified, and he hates himself for it, even if he knows the feeling should be directed at Jonah and Jonah alone.

“Well, I didn’t know you’d be so pliable, sweetheart,” Jonah mocks, setting the camera up. “I would’ve played with you sooner had I known.”

He parts his lips, but the words refuse to form. Fear envelops each of them before Liam can push them through gritted teeth, and all he does is stare at the guards surrounding him, at the cold stickers being placed on his arms, his shoulders, his hands. Liam shivers, but there’s no air current here.

“Why, why, why are you doing this?” he chokes out. He knows what’s about to happen, has seen it on television enough times to recognize the electrodes, the box placed next to the chair. 

“Because Chase pissed me off today,” he shrugs, and a red light blinks to life in front of the camera. Jonah walks toward him, stops in front of the chair, and smiles. Liam’s eyes are blown wide as he stares up at the man. “Has Chase ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?”

The weight on his stomach is so huge that Liam can’t even find energy enough to feel outraged.

Jonah pulls out a linen scarf from his pocket as the guards plug wires to each sticker and wiggles it in front of Liam’s face. “Here, I’d bite down on this if I were you.” When he fails to open his mouth, the man rolls his eyes and grabs his cheeks, squeezing so suddenly and cruelly his mouth opens without command and the scarf is shoved inside, making him gag. “Not that well behaved, huh. No problem, we have time to get you obeying.”

When the guards take a step away, Liam finds himself wishing they didn’t. 

“Smile at the camera, love,” Jonah says, stepping to the side so Liam is the only one being recorded. He stares straight at the lens and tries to draw in a deep breath.

He knows it is coming. He prepares for it. And then Jonah flips a switch, and there’s no preparing for pain so big, for agony so deep.

The world shatters around him as electricity lights up his body, turns him inside out, upside down, and no breath could’ve ever made this any better. There’s no air to breathe, no room to writhe, no place to escape. There is only pain, boundless and searing, here and now, splitting him into thousands of shards he can never hope to piece back together.

And then it stops, and his throat is raw but he doesn’t remember screaming and his chest heaves as he fights for air and tears fall from his eyes to his chin to his chest but he doesn’t remember crying either.

“Beautiful,” Jonah sighs somewhere close. Liam coughs and chokes on his own tears, trying to beg or maybe cry out, but whatever his mouth forms gets caught on the gag before it reaches anyone’s ears.

Please please please stop, it hurts, hurts so much, so, so much, please, please–

“Let’s go again.”

Liam doesn’t have time to even be scared before his world dissolves into burning agony once more. All he can do is scream and silently plead for help he knows isn’t coming.

-

When Chase turns on the phone, his heart nearly stops at the video awaiting him.

Two hours have passed. After five days of trying to convince that despicable man to let him see Liam and failing miserably, barely sleeping, worry and guilt eating at his insides, he fell asleep. He forgot. For one hundred and twenty minutes he allowed himself to rest, and now he is paid with Liam’s frozen image staring at him, waiting on Jonah’s chat, along with one single line of text that chills him to the bone.

This is for turning off the phone.

He clicks and feels a chasm opening in his gut when Liam fills the screen, strapped to a chair, scared eyes darting around a room Chase can’t see through the video, searching for an escape that is nowhere to be found, stopping on each electrode that is stuck to his body. The fear is clear as crystal on his face. It makes Chase’s heart squeeze until his chest is so tight he places a hand there, afraid to find it as hollow as he feels. Liam doesn’t talk, doesn’t scream, doesn’t beg. He simply blinks at the men towering over him and doesn’t ask for help, and that might be what truly undoes Chase.

And then Jonah turns on the switch, and Liam’s head snaps back, body contorting against restraints so tight there’s no room for him the thrash. Even through the gag, he screams, and Chase would scream as well if he wasn’t too busy gripping the phone as if his life depended on it, trying to steady his trembling hands.

When the shock stops, Liam’s face is tear-stained and exhausted, sobs wracking his body and ripping apart Chase’s soul. 

His fault.

It is his fault. After everything, after betraying Liam into not trusting anyone, after losing the boy who might’ve been the love of his life, after being responsible for his stabbing, his kidnapping, after everything–

The switch is turned on again, and this time when Liam screams, Chase’s eyes well up with tears he has no right to cry. A kind of rotten helplessness takes over his body, its clawed fingers wrapping around his arms, his legs, his heart and squeezing, whispering and shouting his failure, his guilt, his powerlessness. His eyes plead to close, but he needs to see this. It is his fault, his burden, and if Liam was forced through it, he has to at least watch it to the end. If anything, to know he’s still alive.

It lasts longer the second time. A life. His useless life. Liam convulses and cries and howls, and if Chase could only take the pain to himself, he would. He would switch places with Liam in the blink of an eye. He is the one who deserves that pain. He is the one who betrays and hurts and destroys anything he touches, and it should be him, not the boy who smiles at the sunrise and cries over books and dreams about changing the world. 

He stares unblinking at the screen and watches in silence as electricity courses again and again through that body he had once held and thought about spending a life beside, fogging those eyes that used to engulf him in love, twisting that face he once kissed and touched and loved into one of raw despair. Each time it stops, neither of them has time to catch their breath before it starts again. After the third time, Liam doesn’t cry out anymore. His voice breaks in a ragged wail until it dies down and all that’s left are silent sobs.

When the video ends, Chase is nearly numb. The last image shows Liam’s head hanging forward as he struggles to breathe, Jonah’s fingers casually carding through his sweaty hair.

Chase is out of his house before his brain even processes what he’s doing, inside his car, driving to Jonah’s building in a blur of hatred and desperation. When he parks in front of the tower, the phone buzzes and he doesn’t hesitate to read it. Not anymore. Never again.

You lost visit privileges. Leave the drive with the guard at the door and keep in touch. 

With Liam’s screams still ringing inside his mind, forever trapped there, he doesn’t dare do anything other than what he is told. He gives the guard the flash drive, and for the first time in years, he prays. Because if anyone notices the most important files missing… he can’t bear the thought of what could be done to Liam in retribution. 

(next)

[whump-me-all-night-long]

The Jewelry Box: Carnelian’s Undoing

my contribution to Spiral Day, started by @brutal-nemesis

Did I cry while writing this? Absolutely, it was like Niagara Falls over here. This is probably one of the most emotionally draining pieces I’ve ever written. It took me several different sessions, spread out over quite a few days, to get it completed. It’s also one of those where I feel like it’ll never be really and truly ready, so here it is anyways. I hope y’all enjoy it because this was one piece that I was extremely nervous to post and share.

Taglist: @newbornwhumperfly @unicornscotty @itsleighlove @whump-scribbles @getyourwhumphere @skunkandgrenade @penny-for-your-whump @lektric-whump @just-a-whump-lover @thelazywitchphotographer @restrainthenmaime @angstyachesplus @lilbitwhumpy @leaderofthebeanarmy @aquard-skaii @whumprincess @thatgaysnail @finaldreams1106 @reveriedeludesme @kemonoinuzuka @circlingravens @whumpasaurus101 @spicy-wendigo @femmewithadhd @wafflestakethecake @lonesome–hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: thoughts of death, like so many thoughts about death, that’s basically the entire piece, acceptance of death (not in a suicidal way, more in a “I’m okay with dying” type way), beating, painful wound cleanings, noncon touching (nonsexual), implied death (but no real death), referenced grief, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, pet whump, being sold, noncon drugging, please please please let me know if I missed anything, this is a rather heavy piece and I want to make sure everyone can read it as safely as possible!

Masterlist

-

He was laying there, unable to move, every single inch of his body aching, a pain he’d never experienced before. Distantly, as if from another life, he heard screams, sobs, pleas that went unanswered. He wanted to move, to get up and comfort the person that had become his entire world, but he was stuck; he couldn’t move a fraction of an inch, no matter how hard he tried.

Soon enough, the horrible sounds of grief and guilt and death were replaced by the shallow, near-silent rattle of his own breath and the pounding of blood in his ears. He knew there was something important that he needed to do, something that he knew his life depended on, but he couldn’t remember what.

So instead, he just stayed there, his broken body sprawled out on the hard floor, blood pooling out from under him like a halo of death.

-

There was movement around him, stirring him from the half-conscious daze he was in, delirious from pain and blood loss. He blinked slowly, vision so blurry he couldn’t make out a thing, surprised to find his eyelashes meeting something wet.

Am I crying? When did I start crying?

A hand in his hair pulled his head up, the part that had been pressed into the floor feeling damp and sticky. Dark eyes met his own glazed gaze, and he saw the flash of teeth. He would’ve flinched if he could, but he couldn’t. 

“Hey there, sugar,” a low, soft voice said. “You took your punishment so well. Played your part like a champ. Now my sweetheart’s breaking, all thanks to you. I knew you’d be absolutely perfect.”

For some reason, he started crying harder at that. No, he thought, I didn’t want to do this. You made me do this. He can’t break, not now. 

Not over me.

The other dropped his head back down, and he went back to drifting, letting all the thoughts fall out of his head.

-

He woke next to the tap tap tap of footsteps. Blinking groggily, he tried to sit up, tried to get up, but the pain lancing through his body prevented him from doing more than rolling over a couple inches. 

A shiny shoe resting on his cheek, pressing his head down, kept him from attempting it again. A face settled in his line of sight, and his lip curled.

The Jeweler stared at him for a moment, a pleasant smile on his face. “Hello, sugar,” he said, removing his foot and replacing it with his hand, which stroked his face in a way that made him want to push him off, but his body was still not responding to him.

He swallowed several times before cracking open his mouth. “What-” His voice was rough and hoarse, sending a cough through him. “What did you do to, to me? Where- where is he?” Panic started overwhelming him, crashing over him and pulling him down, drowning him.

He couldn’t remember anything. He had been in his cell, whispering with his world, and then there was nothingness, blankness, emptiness. Tears pricked in his eyes, and he took a shaky, shuddering breath that ended up sounding like a sob. 

The Jeweler moved his hand to comb through his hair, still softly smiling. “Shh, shh,” he soothed. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about any of that. You don’t need to remember any of this. What you need is to forget. You’re going someplace new, and you’re leaving all of this behind. Okay, sugar?”

He tried to shake his head, but it was barely more than a twitch. No, no I don’t want that. Please, don’t kill me, don’t make me leave, I can’t leave him, please.

The Jeweler laughed softly. “My silly sugar,” he said, voice dripping with condescension. “Just relax, okay?”

“Please,” he managed to whisper before his head was set back down.

The Jeweler stood, grabbing something out of his line of sight. When he did see what it was, the fat tears rolled down his face even harder. The large needle, filled with a menacing amber liquid, came close to his neck, piercing it easily with him weak and nearly paralyzed. His mouth opened to whine softly at the cold flooding into him, before it withdrew and was left alone again.

His eyes found the Jeweler and he sobbed, begging, “Please, not this, anything but this.” He just smiled.

-

He didn’t so much as wake up next as he did rise to consciousness, suddenly and roughly. Hands, too many hands, were touching him, grabbing him, manhandling him.

A low groan slipped out of him as he tried and failed to open his eyes and he heard a muttered curse. 

“It wasn’t supposed to wear off yet, was it?” someone asked in a hushed voice.

“Who cares?” someone else responded. “It’s not like it’ll remember any of this anyways.”

He whimpered and the hands resumed their work. He could feel them harshly cleaning out his wounds, bandaging them up. The people surrounding him were thorough, his gently throbbing muscles telling him that much, and it felt like an eternity before they were done.

He sighed as they set him back down, ready to slip back off to oblivion, but then they were back, pulling at his clothing, taking it off-

He yelped as the cold air hit his sensitive skin, struggling against the hands. Weak as he was, it barely affected them, but he still heard several more curses as flailing limbs knocked into them. A backhanded slap had him stilling, though, knocking all the fight out of him and leaving him even more dizzy and disoriented than he was before.

He let them pull new clothes onto him, although they felt less like clothes and more like scraps of cold, thin cloth that barely covered him. He shivered and whimpered, high in his throat, face burning, desperately wishing he was anywhere else in the world.

Another voice joined the fray, this one too painfully familiar. “Is he ready?”

A chorus of “yes, sir”s followed, and then hands grabbed at his arms, lifting him up and dragging him along. His head rolled wildly, completely out of his control.

After what felt like an eternity, he was dropped yet again onto cold floors, crumpled in a heap. He whimpered as his head knocked against the hard tile, eyes struggling to stay open. 

Distantly, he heard the Jeweler barking orders. He let the words wash over him, floating around him, unable to pierce his drug-induced bubble of semi-consciousness. 

Instead, he let his thoughts drift back to him. The him that had started all of this, that he’d known since day one, that had helped him and held him, guided him and encouraged him. The him that had loved him. The him that he had loved.

It took him several moments to realize that he was crying again, silent, salty tears dripping down his face, causing the small cuts littering his skin to burn faintly. He knew he was about to die. He wasn’t scared. Angry, yes. Sad, yes. But scared? No, he wasn’t scared of death at all.

He used to be scared of being stuck in this hell on earth for the rest of his life, of never escaping, always stuck in this stasis. Now, he was scared of leaving him behind, not knowing what was going to happen to the person he was about to die for. Wherever he went after this, he didn’t want him to follow very quickly.

No, he wanted him to escape, to forget, to live. He wanted him to find someone else, someone new, to make him happy, who understood and forgave. Maybe one day he’d tell this new person about the old one, the one who had been sacrificed to get him there. 

There was only one regret he had. The one thing they’d sworn never to say, he wished he had said. And he wished he had heard it in return.

I promise, if I make it out of this, the first thing I’ll do when I escape - when, not if - is find you and tell you that I lo-

He was yanked out of his thoughts by hands grabbing him, lifting him. One last tear rolled down his face, into his hairline. He took a deep breath, one of his last. He felt ready to die. He didn’t mind dying, not for this reason.

He wondered, vaguely, how he would go. Would it be a bullet? Fire? Knife? Poison?

It was none of those things. 

He was placed inside a large wooden box. His hands were easily tied behind his back with what felt like silky ropes, and his ankles were forced together with the same material. A cloth gag was placed in his mouth, securely fastened around his head. He blinked slowly, confusion evident on his face. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

Somewhere above him, the Jeweler stood, seen through flashes of dark hair and pale skin, sparkling teeth and bright eyes. He reached down into the box to cup his cheek, stroking a smooth thumb over his skin, pressing lightly into a blooming bruise there.

“Just a bit beat up, right, sugar?” he said, almost.. gently? “By the time you get there, you’ll be nearly back to full health, I dare say.” There? Where was there? “Just close your eyes now, and stay calm, alright? You’re doing such a good job here, making me a wonderful sum along with a new business associate. You’ve really been the perfect Jewel for me, sugar.”

The hand withdrew, and he almost found himself missing the warmth of it when the light above him was cut off, something large being placed over the top of the box. It wasn’t until a painfully loud whirring sound started that he realized that it was the lid, and it was being drilled down, secure and unable to be broken.

Then the box was being lifted into the air and he went rolling as much as he could, unable to stop himself due to his restrained limbs. There was a hard thump and he banged his head against the side of the box, immediately losing consciousness.

-

When he woke up next, he was still in the box. It seemed like it was in some sort of plane, gliding smoothly through the air, occasionally tilting to one side or the other. He breathed in a ragged breath, most of his memories coming back to him. As he struggled to pull himself up into somewhat of a sitting position, he remembered three things, three very important things:

One. His name was Carnelian. He’d all but forgotten the name he had before that. The name that mattered was Carnelian.

Two. He was supposed to be dead, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was being sold, shipped off to God knows where, to God knows who.

Three. He had to get back to Sapphire. He had to find the love of his life again, rescue him and tell him that he loved him.

[sideblogformindtrash]

please write a follow up with haru!! 🤩🤩🤩

This one is very heavy but also has an aggressive tonal shift in the end because apparently Whumper ! Orfeu is as much of a dumbass as regular one. Idk I just feel like this sort of stupid shit happens far too much.

Anyway the rest of it is pretty heavy.

CW: explicit no-con, nsfw; Stress position;  choking;  biting; blood; bloodplay; threatening to cut someone’s Achilles tendon, breaking bones; dehumanization; pet whump

At least Blue had gotten a ‘light’ punishment for it. He whimpered, crying as he watched his friend getting beaten… Hating himself for being happy that he decided to stay.

His feet were bleeding. The walk home had been painful, without their shoes, and Haru’s feet were already sensible, all were covered in scar tissue from… From the burns he got last time. Burns and pulled out nails. It wouldn’t be worse than this, would it? It couldn’t be. He had phantom pains from that, even now.

….He was placed on Master’s bed. He’d prefer if it had been the floor, but Master made a point of punishing him on them, ever since he realized Haru was scared of staying in one.

He whimpered softly as Master tied his hands back and pulled them up, his grinding his teeth, forcing him to bend forward. This was one of the worst stress positions to be in, uncomfortably pulling at his back, shoulders and arms. At least he wasn’t tied too high… Although the pain would be unbearable soon enough.

Master lay on the bed in front of him, his head resting on Haru’s knees. He ran a hand through Haru’s cheek, making sure to scratch him.

“Oh dear… Look at you. If only you hadn’t been so bad… We could be cuddling, right now. Having a good time, you know?”

Haru tries to control his tears, because they’ll fall over Master’s face. He really tries. But he can’t. It’s all too much, the fear, the anxiety, sheer hate he feels for himself, for being so stupid and putting him and Blue in this situation. A few drops fall on Master’s cheek… And he smiled.

“Oh, no, no. No crying, baby. We’re not even started yet”

Master started to rub his neck, first just circles on the back of it, but eventually pressing on the base of his throat. Back in his old house, he was only ever drown on water, because they were afraid of ruining his throat. But truth is… they didn’t really have to. Master’s grip wasn’t strong at all. Wouldn’t make bruises or hurt him permanently. It was just enough pressure that he couldn’t breathe. And that was even worse, because it felt like he should be strong enough to do it, to get rid of that pressure, it should be easy.

But it wasn’t. He hated this, hated this, hated this. He had to breathe. He needed to breathe but he couldn’t, and his face was turning purple and he felt like he was about to pass out –

Master released the pressure… He took in as much air as he could, thinking Master would choke him again… But he didn’t. Instead, Master turned around and sank his teeth on the side of Haru’s hip.

He screamed. Probably the loudest he had in ages.

Master took the bite away, licked the blood clean, kissed the mark he left… And made another one, right on the side of the first, as Haru trembled and whimpered, trying to pull away as much as he could without hurting his arms more. By now, they were starting to burn,  tightened on that painful position.

He left a whole trail of bite marks from his hip to his crotch, till he was at Haru’s dick. He whimpered, terrified that he would bite that, too. But he didn’t. He started to lick and kiss it, teasingly. Haru closed his eyes. He didn’t want this…. But it was what it was. Pain and pleasure where always deeply entangled on his life.

“…Cute. You are so easy to turn on, dear” Master said, jokingly “…But this is a punishment. If you come today, I won’t let you do it for months”

Haru whimpered. That was a whole new torment, all on its own. He hated when Orfeu kept him like that, just teasing, toying with him and fucking him, but never letting him get off… ‘so you will be cute and desperate for me’. Worst part is it worked. It always got him to act like a dog in heat.

He closed his eyes and just tried to take his mind off the situation, as Master swallowed his cock, but it was very hard to ignore. He was fucking good at that.

When Master got satisfied – and Haru a whimpering, moaning mess, face flushed red, blood dripping from the bites, arms and back sore… He positioned himself behind him.

“I don’t think you deserve any lube, you know?” He whispered near his ear “But…”

Blood. He was using the blood from the fresh wounds, getting it on his hand and his own cock. Of course he didn’t get fingered first or any type of preparation. He had to do that himself, normally, and this time, he was tied up. He wouldn’t dare beg for it. He would need to ask for mercy later.

He whimpered when Master entered him, not really giving him time to adjust before starting to move. He just tried to stay still, not to hurt himself more. Master shoved fingers in his mouth – still coated with his blood – and Haru knew well enough to suck them. His other hand slid to his cock, stroking it.

“You are mine, Haru” Orfeu whispered on his ear “You will never leave. You are mine, and the sooner you accept that, the better”

…He would never leave. He was stupid for trying.

He grunted, and cried, and tried to ignore the mix of sensations. So much fucking pain everywhere …and then Master stroking his cock and moving inside him. It hurt. It really fucking hurt. But somehow it was still stimulating him, bringing him close to the edge and then… just stopping.

…He was bit again, on the crook of his neck. Master loved to bite that spot. It was his favorite place to mark, always visible, like a sign of ownership. His. Haru was his.

He wasn’t sure how long that lasted. It couldn’t have been too long, he was sure, but he was trembling, exhausted, in pain, and very very sensitive as Master pulled out.

Master just sat there for a moment, watching him. Haru didn’t like the smile he had. He reached for his butt again, pressing on old bruises and marks, sliding until he was touching his asshole again. Master shoved a pair of fingers inside him.

It was bad enough that it was sensitive now but…

Nails. The reason why he had to prepare himself every time.

Master’s nails were long and sharp and the edges cut his insides. He held back a scream, as Master scratched his ass, blood starting to drip out of him and down his legs. He couldn’t anymore. Now it was the time to beg. If he could manage, that is.

“P-p-p-p-ple-a-s…”

“Shhh, baby boy” Master sounded amused, as he kept slowly moving his fingers, opening cuts “We’re not done yet. I wanna make sure you learned your lesson”

“Le-lear… P-please…Not… again… W-w-will n---“ He choked on the words, turning into incoherent sobbing. Useless. Useless to even beg.

“…I don’t know about that. I was thinking about cutting off that little tendon on your feet..”

No. No. No,  no no, no. Not that. Please. Not that.

“P-ple…a…”

“If you expected mercy” Master leaned closer and kissed his cheeks “You shouldn’t have run from me. I can forgive mistakes, but that wasn’t it. You disrespected me.  That was not a ‘mistake’. That was one calculated little plan…”

And Master finally took his fingers out of him, and ran them through Haru’s hair, staining the white curls in blood. The pain didn’t stop. It was nearly worse.

“But maybe… Maybe if you are really, really good the next few days, if you show you have learned I’ll only break-“ He stopped, fingers on Haru’s face “…OH no”

Haru gulped, trying to look back and see why Master’s tone changed so aggressively. He looked pale…

Haru let out a loud sob as Master shoved his fingers inside him again, this time way less deliberate, almost clumsy.  It was a few minutes of this, until Master… Released him, hands still tied on his back but at least now they weren’t stretched. It was a second of intense pain… and then some relief, so much he shivered. But this was off. He was expecting to be left like that for a least a couple of hours.

Master pulled his ass up, he’d be on fours if not tied. He closed his eyes, trying to not think of the pain, not think of the threat – if Master really did that… Haru would never walk again.

He heard an annoyed sigh, and Master sitting back against the pillows, finally stopping touching him.

Slowly, very slowly, he dared to go back on his knees and face Master, thinking of ways to show his submission. He knew now that trying to run had been a stupid whim of his. He belonged here. He wouldn’t defy Master again. Master who was staring blankly at the ceiling…

“…Come, I’ll help you take a shower” He sighed, getting up, much to Haru’s confusion. He pulled the pet closer, lifting him from the bed and carrying him to the bathroom, pulling him on the bathtub.

He closed his eyes. Breathe. He couldn’t panic now, he had to be good. If Master decided to drown him… so be it. At least his arms were free and resting now, and he wasn’t talking about cutting his tendon anymore.

Still, the water on his wounds hurt like hell. Moving hurt like hell, and sitting on the bathtub was torture. His insides were torn to shreds. Master started to clean him with a sponge. Gentle. He was being so damn gentle…

“M-mas…ter?” He dared.

“I’m not going to drown you now. You deserve it, but…I need to clean you up so we can go to the hospital”

…Hospital? So he was going to really cut his tendon?  Haru started to panic, he tried to beg again, but no voice came out, just a strangled breath, his chest was tight, he couldn’t breathe, he-

“I’m not going to hurt you any more today, that is, if you behave”

He needed a moment to take those words in, as Master rubbed some shampoo on his hair. He would have appreciated this if… if it wasn’t for the entire rest of the situation.

‘Why?’ he gestured. Master hadn’t given him permission to but… he dared just that one.

“Because I’m an idiot”

Master lift his hand. Haru flinched and closed his eyes, waiting for the slap but that didn’t happen.

He peeked. Master was just holding his hand in the air. One of his acrylic nails was missing, those black sharp awful things. They’d always fall out after a month, maybe two, and he would re-do them. Except he had them all before... Oh.

Master sighed, pulled his head closer and slapped a kiss on his forehead.

“…That’s going to get infected” He whispered “And I can’t get it out myself, so… I’ll get to you the hospital. Maybe you need stitches, too”

Haru looked around the soapy water. Master actually cared about them… At least a little bit. He bit back a smile.