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whumpy-wyrms · 5 months

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The Last Lab Rat #12: Fever Dream

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content: lab whump, captivity, fever, drugging, comfort, electrocution, parent death mention, winged test subject whumpee, scientist carewhumper

—

Dew was getting closer and closer to escape, and he couldn’t be more terrified.

The past week, he had been planning a real escape with his little snake friend. He and Sasha had been crawling through the vents every night, mentally mapping out every twist and turn, every exit and entrance, every dead end. It was hard without a flashlight, but they would make do. The two of them decided to take it slow; no use rushing something and risk being caught, having the entire plan ruined.

They weren’t in a hurry. They knew Dew’s escape plan had to be absolutely flawless, with no possible way of getting caught. So even if it took weeks, they would take it slow.

But after everything, lying to the scientist was taking a toll. Dew had accidentally constructed an intricate web of lies he had to constantly keep track of. If Anton confronted him on just one hole in his stories, Dew would be done for. He’d crumble, too scared for what would happen if he kept lying.

So Dew tried to avoid his captor growing suspicious at all costs with the only way he knew how. Dew hated talking to Anton like a friend, having friendly conversations with the scientist after experiments, talking about his life, laughing, smiling. But gaining Anton’s trust was a priority. Besides, if Dew did get caught in this web of lies, maybe his captor would go easy on him because of this.

It was about a week after he met Sasha, and Dew found himself with a terrible headache, right after waking up. The lights were off, so it must’ve been early in the morning. He rolled over and held his head in his hands, feeling the heat radiating off of him. His stomach felt like shit too. No. Was he getting sick? He supposed that made sense, considering how long he’d been here. But this certainly wouldn’t help things.

Dew laid there for hours, unable to fall back to sleep. Eventually, the lights clicked on, making him wince and squeeze his eyes shut. A little bit after that, he heard the sound of footsteps walking up to his room.

“...Dewey? Are you okay?” Anton asked, walking into Dew’s room and putting the tray of food on his nightstand. The truth was, Dew looked like absolute shit. He was racked with sniffles and coughs, with piles of used tissues littered around him. Oh. Anton’s lab rat must be coming down with something.

Dew only mumbled an incomprehensible response, curling into himself and moving deeper under the warm blankets, as if searching for a false sense of security. Anton walked closer, now noticing that Dew’s wings were trembling.

“Hey, Dewey? What’s wrong?” Anton’s voice came out soft, quiet, as if he didn’t want to scare the little guy more than he already was. “Are you sick?”

“What does it look like?” Dew hissed, but his voice came out groggy and strained. He sounded absolutely miserable. He looked miserable. “I’m sick, Anton, obviously. I probably have a fever or something.” The scientist tilted his head and reached out his arm to Dew’s forehead, trying to feel his temperature.

“Don’t touch me.” Dew flinched back and swatted Anton’s hand away with his wing. He turned his body to the other side and buried his face into his pillow. “Just leave me–” Alone. Dew shuddered. He didn’t want that either. His voice softened. “I mean… Can you um- j-just get me some water? Please? The stuff in the bathroom sink is gross.”

Anton stepped back, giving Dew space. “Uh, Sure.” When the scientist left, Dew had a sudden spurt of coughs and sneezes. He groaned into his pillow, wishing he didn’t feel like this.

“Here you go, Dewey.” Anton smiled and handed him the water.

“My name’s not Dewey,” Dew complained into his pillow.

Anton smirked. “What was that, Dewey? Your voice is all muffled.”

Dew immediately sat up and shot Anton a glare, then groaned in pain and held a hand to his head. Too fast. He sat up too fast and now the room was spinning and his headache was worse.

“Gimme the water,” Dew said, sniffling.

“Pfft, rude.” But Anton handed it to him anyway.

Dew flopped back down onto the bed when he was done, and rolled over. “My head hurts,” Dew said weakly. “Can you um, dim the lights a little more? It’s hurting my eyes.”

“Oh. Okay.” Anton turned the lights down until he saw Dew visibly relax.

“Thanks,” Dew said.

“Don’t mention it. But, Dewey. You can’t just stay in bed all day.”

Dew turned to look at him incredulously. “I… I have a fever I think. I’m sick. A-Anton, I can’t- I don’t feel good.”

“Well, yeah, but I can just–”

Dew squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He didn’t want to deal with Anton’s antics right now, whatever that man was planning. Dew took a deep breath and opened his eyes, looking away. His eyes widened at something new. “...Wait, what is that?” He asked, surprised. He sat up and pointed to a bag that he noticed was sitting on the floor next to the wall.

“Oh,” Anton said as he picked it up. “It’s the night-light you asked for.”

Dew looked at him with a puzzled expression. “...Really?”

“Yeah, you wanted one, remember? I don’t understand all your silly fears, but whatever.” Anton tossed a strange object to Dew, and he scrambled to catch it.

The night-light in question was a little, round, white cartoonish ghost, made out of plastic with small LED lights in the middle. There were two little black dots for eyes and a small smile printed on its face. Dew turned the light on, and quickly squeezed his eyes shut at how bright it was. He turned it off, and rotated it around in his hands. It was cute, a bit silly, sure. But it was bright enough to light up the vents. It was perfect.

“Um, thanks,” Dew said. “I like it.”

“Cool. Oh! I got something else for you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.” Anton smiled and pulled something out of the bag. Dew looked up, right as a blur of something fluffy and white was being thrown at him. He scrambled to catch it and get a look at whatever it was. Anton snickered, standing awkwardly next to his bed. “I saw it at the store and immediately thought of you.”

Dew looked down, and in his arms was a large, very fluffy and soft… chicken plushie? “What…”

“You both have wings! You’re like a giant chicken.”

“I’m not a chicken!” Dew said angrily, clutching his plushie in his arms anyway. He had to admit, it was really soft. He had a lot of plushies back home, and he missed snuggling with them. “What is this, um, for anyway?”

“I just thought you needed a friend. I suppose it gets lonely down here without me.”

“...Yeah,” Dew said quietly. “It does.”

Anton figited and walked closer, voice turning serious. “...Dew, how are you feeling?”

“Not good. I just wanna rest. …Please.”

“Hmm,” Anton hummed. Dew broke out in a burst of coughs. “I have an idea.”

“W-what kind of idea?” Dew asked miserably. “Can I just have some headache medicine or something?”

“Yeah yeah, hold on.” Anton waved him off while fishing something out of his pocket, seemingly not paying attention to what Dew was saying at all. The scientist pulled out a tape recorder, and clicked it on. “Alright,” Anton said. “The date is Saturday, October 12, 7:32am. Test subject seems to be sick with a fever. I’ll do some tests, and then–”

“Tests?” Dew asked miserably.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t feel good, Anton. Ca-can we just take a break? For one day?”

“You’ve had a lot of breaks recently, Dew. I wanna have some fun.”

“So do I.”

Anton shrugged. “The experiments are fun.”

“They are not! They’re– They’re painful and traumatizing!” Dew wrapped his wings around himself and curled deeper into a ball.

“...What’s fun for you then?”

Dew furrowed his brows. Was Anton really asking what Dew liked to do for fun? Why did he care? “Um,” Dew began. “Playing video games, drawing, going outside, flying. Anything that, you know, doesn’t hurt.”

“Hm.” Anton sighed. He looked deep in thought, which never ended well. “There is this one thing I’ve been wanting to try out.”

“...Does it hurt?”

“It shouldn’t,” Anton shrugged. “If you behave.”

“Mmm,” Dew hummed anxiously, considering his lack of options. “O-okay.”

Anton smiled wide and ruffled Dew’s hair, who in turn, tried not to shy away from it. Behaving meant accepting Anton’s kind gestures, right?

“Okay, so I guess you wanna be healed from your fever, huh?”

“What? You can…?”

Anton rolled his eyes. “Of course I can.” He pulled out a flask of glowing fluid from behind his back, and held it out to him. “Drink this. You should go back to normal. In fact, you’ll probably even feel better than you did before.”

Dew eyed the flask warrily. It was no different from the other strange fluids the scientist makes him drink, but this gave Dew a weird feeling. It was a dark purple, with rivers of red and colorful specks flowing through it. It looked thick, with bubbles popping and floating upwards. Just looking at it made Dew more nauseous, the opposite effect it was supposed to have, Dew thought.

But he reached out to grab it anyway, like Anton said. But as he was about to grab the flask, Anton pulled it out of reach.

“Dew, your hands are shaking. I don’t want you to spill it.”

Dew glared at him. “What even is it anyway?”

“Medecine.” Not helpful. “I can’t let any spill and go to waste. This stuff is hard to make.”

The “medicine” became more and more unappealing the longer Dew looked at it. But whatever, he’d rather just get this whole thing over with. “Fine.”

Anton grabbed Dew’s chin gently, and brought the flask towards his mouth. “Open.”

Dew opened his mouth and allowed Anton to bring the flask to his lips. Dew drank it; downed it all in one go, despite the disgusting taste. Anton let go of his chin and blacked away, now looking bored.

Dew felt… wrong. The second he was done drinking it, he was hit with a wave of dizziness, and leaned back against the wall for support. His eyelids were growing heavy, and it was hard to stay upright.

“What’s… happening?” Dew asked worriedly, voice breaking.

“Shh,” Anton cooed. “Just relax. When you wake up, you’ll be back to normal.”

Dew blinked heavily and tried sitting up, but Anton firmly pushed him back down. “What–”

“Go to sleep, Dew.”

Dew shook his head lightly, trying to stay awake. But once his head hit the soft pillow, and he was wrapped up in cozy blankets, his eyes finally fluttered shut. Everything went black, and Dew drifted off into a short, peaceful sleep.

Anton stepped back and looked around the room. “Holy shit this place is a mess.”

. . .

Dew woke up to see Anton leaning over him, with his usual smirk on his face. Dew’s face scrunched up in fear and he turned his head away. He wanted nothing more than to disappear into this warm bed forever.

“How’re you feeling?” Anton asked.

Dew glared at him, but after thinking about it, Dew realized he felt better.

“Woah,” he breathed. “I feel… great.” Great as in, Dew wasn’t tired anymore. He didn’t feel sleep deprived at all, quite the opposite really. Of course, he wasn’t sick anymore either. His headache was gone and his temperature was normal. Besides the obvious, stagnant feeling of fear and dread that came with being kept captive, Dew felt okay.

“Told you.” Anton teased.

“Thanks for… helping me. Really. I felt like complete shit earlier.”

“Yeah yeah,” Anton waved him off as if it didn’t matter. “I need to keep you healthy, remember? And it’s no fun when you’re… down in the dumps.” Anton trailed off. “Just eat your food.”

Dew looked at the tray. Waffles again, an apple, and a banana. As he ate, the scientist watched him.

“So…” Dew thought about what Anton said earlier, giving the empty tray to him when he was done. “What are we gonna do now?”

“Follow me.”

They headed out of the lab and up the stairs, Dew following closely behind. The scientist said nothing as they walked, allowing tension to rise in the air.

Dew also remained silent, but his mind wandered. Whatever Anton wanted to do involved going outside again, which Dew was always thankful for. Although this time, his captor hadn’t put any restraints on his wings yet, like he always did when they went outside to keep him from flying away.

Dew looked at the scientist incredulously. What was going on? Did he forget? Was this all some test to see if Dew wouldn’t try to fly away and escape? Why?

Dew kept walking by Anton’s side, too afraid to question anything. Maybe Anton just forgot. That’d be unlikely, but still possible.

Once they entered the cabin and Dew got sight out of the window, his wings started flapping lightly, excitedly, apprehensively. He wanted to fly– he needed to fly. His captor was taunting him with this. He had to be.

“A-Anton?” Dew squeaked. He didn’t want to point out the obvious, but he’d rather Anton do something about it now, rather than find out when Dew inevitably tried to escape while out there. Because Dew already knew that he couldn’t escape with Anton around, not without being so easily mind-controlled. “You um, you for-forgot something–” He hated himself for this, but Dew already had an escape plan. This could destroy it.

“I didn’t forget anything, Dew,” Anton said smoothly. “Come on, let’s go outside.”

Dew stood, glued to his spot. “I’m not stupid, Anton,” He hissed. “The second I go outside, I-I won’t be able to resist flying away, you know this! I don’t want you to hurt me for trying to escape again! I don’t want to be mind-controlled or poked with a needle o-or never be allowed outside again, or worse, just because of a stupid mistake!” I don’t want this to interfere with the plan I already have.

“Woah, jeeze,” Anton laughed. “Relax. This isn’t a trick—”

“That’s what you always say!”

“Dew,” Anton grabbed his shoulders, making eye contact. “I can assure you, this will be fun for you. As long as you behave. You can do that right?”

“Y-yeah, I can.” But he really didn’t want to.

“I know you can.” Dew flinched when Anton patted him on the head, and then they walked outside.

When they hit the fresh, cool autumn air, Dew’s wings stretched out to feel the wind in his feathers. He wanted nothing more than to jump in the air and disappear into the trees, but he had to control himself. His wings fluttered lightly in the air, basking in the sun and savoring this new sensation of a fake freedom.

This was okay. As long as Dew focused on his sensations now, he could deal with being stuck to the ground. He could gain Anton’s trust, he could stick to the plan.

Dew followed Anton a few steps away from the front door, and then off of the porch and into the grass.

“Fly.”

The word hit his ears like a truck. It was as if the entire world stopped, and all Dew could hear was his rapidly beating heart.

“W-what?”

Anton laughed, stepping away from his test subject. “You heard me, Dewey. Fly!”

“You said this– this wasn’t a trick.”

“Not a trick,” Anton snickered. “I can assure you.”

The scientist motioned with his arms, a big grin on his face. “Go ahead, fly.”

Dew glared at him, but he didn’t waste a second. He flew. He jumped up into the air and flapped his wings rapidly, never taking his eyes off Anton and the sickeningly sweet smile on his face. Dew blinked back tears, knowing freedom was right there, in his grasp. The scientist was allowing him to fly outside unrestrained, but still, Anton would never let him go. Dew didn’t know what his game was, but he knew it wouldn’t end well for him. He knew he would lose.

Dew swallowed thickly, flying just a bit higher, expecting to be shot down by tranquilizer darts or told to stop like last time— those words flowing into his brain and controlling his movements as if he was nothing but a puppet. His heart sped up when that didn’t happen, and he flew higher. His captor wasn’t doing anything besides standing there and watching him, his figure getting smaller and smaller the higher Dew went.

Dew couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He couldn’t resist freedom being closer than it had ever been before. His wings flapped into the air with a hope that was almost too much to bear. Was he really doing this? Was this it? He reached the top of the trees, and was about to fly above the forest and into the clouds when he suddenly felt a sharp pain all over his body.

A faint “It worked!” could be heard from the ground, but that hardly mattered.

Dew screamed, his voice a shattering shriek. He grabbed at his neck– his arms– his head– but the feeling of every fiber in his body being on fire wouldn’t go away. His eyes widened as he felt himself falling, trying and failing to flap his wings and catch himself. His wings had stopped working, going limp in the air while he cried. He couldn’t fly. He flailed his arms as he plummeted to the ground, down and down and down.

Dew landed roughly on a large tree branch, getting the wind knocked out of him and scraping his arms while trying to hang on. His body stinged, splinters digging into his hands and panic rising in his gut. Dew’s grip loosened and he tumbled to the ground, with no way to soften the landing.

He laid there for a few moments, his head pounding with a terrible ringing in his ears. His wings twitched as his muscles gained control over them and his body again. Dew’s hands curled into the dirt and he scrunched up in a ball, not caring that his hair was getting tangled in the autumn leaves. He didn’t move from the spot.

“Shit.” Dew heard the scientist curse as he ran towards him. Lying there would do nothing, Dew realized. He felt his blood boil, this time in anger as he turned his head to face him.

“Wh-what did you think was gonna happen?” Dew spat, still struggling on the ground, trying to sit up.

“I didn’t think you would try flying away, since I specifically told you not to,” Anton sneered.

Dew felt venom rise in his throat. “How could I resist? You told me to fly! Why the fuck wouldn’t I try to leave?!”

“Because you should have known I’m smarter than just letting you go like that. And because you should know you’re never leaving.” Anton sighed. “Come here, I’ll help you.”

“No.” Dew blinked back tears. His arm that he landed on hurt, bad. He needed help. But fuck, he was angry. Dew huffed in frustration and crawled towards Anton, letting the scientist help him stand. Dew leaned against him as they walked towards the cabin.

“W-what even happened up there?” Dew’s voice wobbled as he spoke. “What did you do to me?”

“Oh,” Anton took out the device he used for mind-controlling him. “If you fly too far away, there’s an invisible barrier that sends a shock through your nervous system to stop you from leaving.” Anton spoke as if that wasn’t completely earth-shattering news to his little lab rat. He set Dew down on the stairs, and took out a first aid kit.

“A-Anton,” Dew began, voice wavering. “Please, p-please tell me there’s a way to turn that off.”

“There is,” Anton replied simply. “But we’ll never need to use it.” Anton started looking over Dew’s wounds. He had a lot of cuts and scrapes from falling through the trees, but nothing that couldn’t be easily patched up. “I just thought it’d be fun for you to fly outside for once, safely, without risking you escaping.”

Dew ignored what the scientist was doing and stared at him, eyes burning with hatred. He could grab the pen from his pocket and stab it into the scientist’s eye and take the device that controlled his body. He could destroy it and fly away before his captor could catch him. He could be free. Right. Now.

Dew shook those thoughts away. It was the worst idea he had ever had, and he knew it would never work. He tried to calm his racing heart, and stop the fire rising in his throat. The scientist was just toying with him. He needed to calm down before he made things worse.

He hissed back a whine as his wounds were tended to. Anton didn’t seem to care about his pain, and held Dew firmly in place.

He looked at the sky, needing a distraction. But the sun was so bright and it hurt his eyes, so he looked away. He caught a glimpse of Sasha through the cabin window, and Dew tilted his head. They were watching him. Of course, Anton had allowed Sasha free reign of his house, probably even the outside too. The two of them stared at each other. Sasha knew what he was thinking, and the snake slowly shook their head “no.” Dew knew what they meant. Don't try escaping. It’s not your time. Stick to the plan.

Despite his friend only trying to help, Dew felt himself deflate, all the hope and fiery spark of adrenaline leaving him. His only option really was to comply for now, despite being so close to freedom. It would be hard; Dew would have to force himself to fly into the cool air while not going too far away. Whatever that meant.

“What now?” Dew asked begrudgingly.

“You and Sasha done with your staring contest?”

“Uh– yeah?”

“Then keep flying out here.” Anton shrugged and sat down on the porch stairs. “It’s what you always wanted to do, isn’t it?”

“W-well yeah, but—”

“I’m not letting you go. This is the closest thing you’ll ever get.”

Dew didn’t waste his time, he jumped into the air. He hovered in front of Anton for a few seconds, before darted away into the trees. Anton smirked and leaned back against the porch railing.

Dew flew over the cabin and landed on the roof. His heart pounded through his skull and he felt like it would explode. He wanted so badly to leave, fly away and never turn back. But he knew what would happen, so he would play Anton’s game. For now.

Dew sat perched up there for a few moments, looking around him. What were the limits? Dew questioned. Despite still being trapped, he wanted to make the most of this new development. How far could he fly without his entire body being electrocuted and cause his wings to momentarily stop working? Dew shuddered even thinking about it.

He wondered what his captor was up to. Dew slowly crawled across the roof and peaked over the edge directly above the scientist. Anton looked up, Dew scurred backwards.

…There always was the possibility of Dew being able to snatch that device away from him so he couldn’t be controlled anymore. He shuddered thinking about it. The chip in his brain that allowed himself to be mind-controlled, now shocked him whenever he went too far away. It was honestly impressive how much Anton could do to him now, just to keep him his.

But Dew knew that trying to escape would be futile now. He had a plan and needed to stick to it. But… Now there was a hole in their plan. Dew couldn’t actually leave. Shit.

He would have to tell Sasha about this new development later, and fit, “stealing the device connected to Dew’s brain chip from Anton,” into their escape plan.

So for now, Dew took advantage of his free time outside. He stood on top of the roof and spread his wings out, cherishing how relaxing and satisfying it felt to finally not have them restrained outdoors. He started flying again, careful to not go too high or far and hurt himself again.

He looked down to see Anton, nothing but a fleck of dust to him at this height. It felt so surreal, like a dream. Dew had dreamed a lot about days of flying freely, finally escaping the clutches of captivity and being kept as a test subject. This felt like those dreams, this felt too good to be true, even if he was still trapped. But it also felt so real.

…Because it was. Anton simply wanted to let Dew have fun for once.

“I’m going for a walk!” Anton called from below.

Dew stared at him, and then slowly made his way to the ground. He stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

“You can come with me, you know.”

Dew looked at Anton, then back at the cabin. “But–”

“The barrier isn't surrounding the house, it's around me. As long as you’re by me, you’ll be fine.”

Oh.

Dew walked up to him. “Same, uh, distance?” He asked.

Anton nodded. “Same distance.”

With that, Dew darted up into the trees, out of his captor’s sight. Anton walked the same trail they always had, but instead of walking, Dew was hopping from tree to tree, taking the high ground. It was oddly satisfying watching the scientist from above, like he was nothing but a bug that could be easily stomped on.

As Anton kept walking, Dew kept following from above, sometimes gliding in a circle above the scientist, like a crow surrounding a decaying carcass. Anton paid him no mind, just kept walking at a leisurely pace, letting Dew explore the woods around him.

Then Dew sat, perched on a tree branch, when a squirrel scurried up to him. He went ridgid, expecting it to run away. But it sat there with him on that tree branch, doing its own thing. Dew stared, confused, but content. He and the squirrel were both just… existing. At the same time, in the same space, doing the same thing, but in far different circumstances neither of them could try to comprehend from each other. And that was okay. Dew liked existing with this little squirrel.

Dew sat there for a while, forgetting that Anton was still walking. After a few minutes, Dew realized that he’d get shocked again if he didn’t keep following along Anton. But he didn’t want to leave his new friend. He’d never see them ever again after this.

“A-Anton,” Dew said quietly, not wanting to spook away the squirrel that had curled up against his leg. The scientist was far up ahead of him, down the trail, probably assuming Dew would be keeping up. There was no way for Anton to hear what Dew was saying. He sighed, and called out a little louder this time. “Anton!”

That got his attention. Anton turned, looking around in confusion on where Dew’s voice was coming from, until he spotted him very high up in a tree.

“What?” Anton asked.

Dew gestured to the squirrel. “I, I wanna sit here for a little bit. With, uh, with the squirrel.”

Anton stared. “You do that then!” He called.

“...Thanks!”

Dew sat up there for a long time, unable to tell if it was minutes or hours. But by the sun setting and turning the sky into bright hues of pink and orange, Dew realized that Anton had let him spend all day out there. He realized he didn’t remember the last time he watched the sunset with anyone. And now here he was, sitting on a tree branch looking over the forest, with his squirrel friend still by his side.

But he was getting hungry. Obviously, it must be around 6pm now. The days had been getting shorter as the weather got colder, but it wasn’t like that mattered in the lab.

Dew said goodbye to the squirrel once it became too dark to see it. He landed softly on the ground, and found Anton sitting in some grass under the tree.

Dew choked back a laugh. “What are those?” He asked.

“Night vision goggles?” Anton crossed his arms. “I don’t want to lose sight of you out here.”

“They look so stupid.” Dew snickered.

“Shut up,” Anton said.

The two of them walked back towards the cabin, and Dew realized how cold it had gotten outside. Obviously, it was the middle of autumn. Dew shivered as he walked, socks getting wet from the dewy grass.

He walked inside without a fuss, wanting to warm up. As Anton kicked his shoes off, Dew took a look around his cabin, having never actually been inside this place much before.

And before Anton could escort him to the lab, Dew spoke up. “Where’s Sasha?”

“In their room.”

“Where’s that?”

Anton pointed to a door, “Over there.”

Dew nodded awkwardly and shuffled his way towards it.

“Woah, hey!” Anton stopped him from moving. “Why are you shivering?”

“...I’m cold?”

Anton rolled his eyes and stepped around the corner. He came back with a blanket and draped it around Dew’s shoulders. “You should’ve told me you were cold. I don’t want you getting sick again.”

“Oh. Okay. Can I go see Sasha?”

“I don’t see why not.”

The two of them spent the rest of their free day hanging out with Sasha in their enclosure. Anton had built a large enclosure, almost resembling a mini rainforest, inside one of the rooms in his cabin. It was a perfect habitat for his snake friend; their own little world to themselves. The scientist still gave Sasha free reign of the house, it was their home too, after all.

The three of them sat in a circle and talked for a bit. After a while, they sat in comfortable silence. It was peaceful, somehow. Dew felt safe.

. . .

It was getting late, and it was hard to believe that Dew had spent the entire day above the lab, without attempting any real escapes. It made Dew feel incredibly guilty, but he knew he had to wait it out. He had to gain Anton’s trust, and he had to wait for his plan.

Eventually, Anton took Dew back down the stairs. He said goodnight to Sasha, and walked down willingly. It was hard. Dew distracted himself by thinking of what’d it be like finally escaping this place, flying freely outside for real.

Soon, he thought. He’d get out of this place soon.

The lab was dark when they opened the door. As they were walking to Dew’s room, Anton spoke up.

“So, today was… fun. I suppose. I’m proud of you for not running.”

Dew’s heart sped up. “Um, y-yeah. Thanks.”

“I wouldn’t mind having one day of the week as a free day. As long as you keep behaving, I don’t see why not. I prefer to just always work on my experiments, but your needs need to be met as well, since you’ll be here forever. How does every Saturday sound?”

“G-good. Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Great.” Anton smiled. They arrived at Dew's room, and Anton opened the door for his test subject. Dew walked inside timidly, eyes downcast. He really was getting used to this routine.

“Goodnight, Dew.”

“...Night.” The lights flickered off and Anton was gone. Faint sounds of the scientist's footsteps could be heard walking through the lab and out the exit.

Dew sighed and laid down in bed. It was so quiet. Dew missed the sounds of the birds chirping, of leaves rustling in the wind. Dew missed existing in the same space with others in a way that felt safe. Dew missed flying outside. Holy shit, that was the best thing that had ever happened to him, despite falling to the ground and getting hurt.

It was surreal, the whole day. It would almost feel like a dream. His captor had not only agreed to give him one day a week free for him to do whatever he wanted, free from experimentation and pain, but allowed him to fly outside. Sure, there was now the threat of… being electrocuted every time Dew left the area around Anton’s cabin. That was bad. But it was progress. Flying outside was something Dew had always wanted to do since he got his wings, and he did it, just like that!

The only thing that would make it better was to fly freely. He’d get there, of course, once he escapes.

Speaking of escape, Dew sat up in bed when he heard the familiar rustle of the vents above his head, signifying Sasha was there. They were a better escape artist than he was, having already found a way down here from up there. Dew supposed that made sense; snakes were escape artists in nature.

“Hey!” Sasha said, opening the latch with their tail.

“Hi,” Dew said. He grabbed his new night-light and held it up to them. “Look what Anton got me. It’s a little ghost light.”

“That’s cool. What’s a ghost?”

“I guess you wouldn’t know, huh? Okay… Ghosts are spirits. Like, like the soul of a dead person, they don’t exist in the physical plane. Nobody can see or hear them, but they can haunt people. And they’re not real– obviously. I used to believe in ghosts and then… then my parents died. And uh, if ghosts were real, my parents would have probably found a way to contact me. But they’re gone. But that doesn’t matter!”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just hope I can get outta here before Halloween. This little ghost would be perfect for that.”

“You’ll get out in no time, Dew.”

“Yeah.” Dew turned the light on, surprising them both with the brightness of it. “And look! It’s really bright so it’ll be perfect for mapping things out up there. You might have a good sense of direction, but I don’t.”

“Good idea!”

“Let’s go, it’s kinda chilly in here.”

Dew and his escape artist friend hopped up into the vents, using his night-light to make a windy and swirly map that was somewhat beginning to make sense. Their goal was to find the quickest possible route to the surface and map out a real exit. The steps after that, well… Dew just hoped he could finally get out of this torment, mostly unscathed.

Not to mention, they now had to find a way to get that device away from Anton. Escaping the cabin is useless when Dew can’t even leave without being shocked.

But they were sure they could do it, if they kept working together. Exploring the vents had been fun with Sasha. Sometimes Dew would bring his blanket up there and they would use his night-light to tell stories. Dew was thankful to finally have someone he could trust here, to finally have a friend he could talk to.

And that filled him with more hope, knowing that he’d finally be out of here soon. He would finally talk to his friends again, and spend time with his pets. He would finally sleep in his own bed and wear his own clothes. He would do whatever he wanted. He would fly, truly free.

Dew was getting closer and closer to escape, and he couldn’t be more excited.

—

This is Dew’s ghost light btw

taglist: @whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long @whump321 @fuckcapitalismasshole @sorry-i-spaced @theelvishcowgirl @catnykit @tettlod @delicateprincepaper @rejectedbytheempty @mijajaj @anothertawogsideblog @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox @parasitebunny @bottlecapreader @thecareandkeepingofwhumpees

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ccieatchildren · 1 year

Text

Bedridden

TW: Noncon Kissing

Whumper paced across the floor, his muttering filling the room. “I made sure to only make shallow cuts… how did they… the blood loss should’ve been minimal… where did they get it…” Whumpee’s eyes followed the way his curled finger tapped against his bottom lip.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Their mind was in a haze, the fever taking its toll on their body. All their limbs were sore, their throat was scratchy, and their wounds stung, creating an uncomfortable blend of symptoms that left Whumpee bedridden and exhausted.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Whumper had been waiting for their daily torture session, but Whumpee collapsed before he could even begin. They had been feeling queasy and more tired than usual throughout the week, but they had simply assumed it was the many hours spent in pain catching up to them. Whumper had also noticed, though didn’t say much, almost excited about something. It pissed them off how much enjoyment he got from their misery. He wouldn’t stop grinning at them when the early signs of sickness sprung forth. Though Whumper didn’t seem as happy now, the fever obviously was not what he had thought it was.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

They coughed weakly, jostling their still healing cuts, releasing a groan of pain. Whumper snapped his gaze to them, quickly walking over and resting the back of his hand on their forehead.

“I didn’t realize you were actually sick darling, I had thought that you…” he cut himself off before moving his hand to their cheek. “I promise to take care of you, hero. You’ll get better soon, and then we can continue our little games.” He moved, bringing Whumpee closer to him, resting against his body.

His words were comforting. Normally the mention of their torture sessions would send their heart racing and anxiety spiking, but, right now all they wanted was to get better, Whumpee didn’t care about the after.

Whumper’s cold hand was a nice offset to their burning skin. His gentle caresses reminded Whumpee of their mother’s care when they were sick. The way he held them to him, however, brought back the memory of Caretaker when they had gotten the flu after one of their winter missions.

They had spent the night staking out an illegal weapon trading ring, and though they had gotten what they were there for, Whumpee ended up sick after being out too long in the chilly air. They had mentally prepared themself to spend the next few days alone in their home, trying to make themself get better as quickly as possible. However, Caretaker showed up with homemade chicken noodle soup, planning to stay at Whumpee’s home to take care of them. Whumpee was initially reluctant, but Caretaker’s insistence of wanting to help prevented them from turning the other away.

Caretaker had spent the next three days at Whumpee’s apartment, cooking for them, giving them medicine, and soothing them to sleep. Whumpee had spent multiple nights curled up against her body, Caretaker’s fingers through their hair and gentle humming a comforting sensation. Caretaker had almost gotten sick herself, emphasizing the guilt Whumpee felt, but she brushed them off saying it was worth it. Whumpee was back to work quicker than they ever were when they were alone, and was much healthier. They guessed that’s when they truly fell in love with Caretaker. Her unwavering commitment to them, and desire to see them get better just from the kindness in her heart made Whumpee smitten with Caretaker.

It was almost like they was with her again.

Whumpee leaned into the touch, “Caretaker…”

The hand on their cheek stilled and Whumpee looked up in confusion before their face was roughly grabbed from both sides. Lips crashed down onto theirs, teeth knocking, and a tongue slipped into their mouth at their gasp of shock. Whumpee’s addled brain couldn’t keep up with the sudden change, their body even more sore from the sudden jerk.

What is happening?

The hands on their face fiercely tightened, almost clawing into their skin, refusing to let them go. The tongue exploring their mouth didn’t stop, sucking up all the air in their lungs. Whumpee’s arms moved to the chest in front of them, trying to push it off, when they finally registered where they were, and who they were with.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck!

Whumpee froze, letting him have his way, claiming their mouth for his own. How could they have been so stupid, to drift off and think of her when they were stuck here with him. Whumpee had already learned this lesson, had convinced him he was all they needed, and now all that went down the drain. One step forward, two steps back.

Whumpee reached up to wrap their arms around his neck hoping to placate him, but he pushed them away. Their lips were connected for a second longer until Whumper pulled his mouth from theirs, biting their bottom lip as one last marker. When Whumpee finally looked up at him, his eyes were dark, betrayal and fury shining through them. His fingers moved down to their neck,

“I will make sure you never forget who you’re with again, dearie.”

#intimate whumper #obsessive whumper #whump #possessive whumper #whumper x whumpee #☡#W #my writing #whumper #whumpee #hero x villain #hero #villian

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whumpy-whump-fanfics · 9 months

Text

Doomy Zoomies

Cw: Passing out, yep- that’s about it 🤷🏽

Whumpee woke up feeling exhausted, mainly because they decided to pull an all-nighter on the phone with Friend. But they sadly forgot that it was Sunday night and that they’d have to go to work early the next morning.

Whumpee shuffled themselves from their bed, yawning as they rubbed their tired eyes. They looked at their bright ass phone screen, blinding them for a good second or two, as they squinted their eyes at the screen they saw a text from Caretaker.

“Remember we have a meeting today! :)” It read.

Whumpee groaned, not even feeling in the mood to be standing at the moment. They looked at their apartment, rent was coming up. They needed the money. They sighed and got dressed, throwing on a green shirt and some jeans. They stumbled out the door, hopping on their bike and riding to work, aka a coffee shop. On their way, they noticed a corner store, they decided to stop by and grab something to drink and eat. As they walked in and the cold air hit their face, their eyes happened to catch a energy drink sitting in one of the many refrigerators lined up next to each other.

Whumpee shrugged, deciding to grab one..Well, actually three. They walked out the store, putting the bag on their bike handle and riding off to work, the fatigue of having only 2 hours of sleep was getting to them. So they grabbed one of the energy drinks, taking a quick sip.

And as soon as they did, they felt their vision buzz for a second, and after they felt energized, completely focused, like the effect of coffee tripled. They walked into the meeting, sitting across from caretake at the tables. Shortly after slurping down the first can of market brand battery acid, Boss walked in. Talking about how customers have been running low, and they would need something to draw them in. One of Whumpee’s coworkers commented, saying they could put out an ad, but Boss dismissed it, saying how no one listens to advertisements these days or something along those lines.

Whumpee pitched in, saying they could have someone spin a sign outside down the street. Boss, (for some dumbass reason) actually liked this idea, giving a thumbs up.

“Nice thinking Whumpee, but who’s gonna spin a sign when it’s 89° outside?”

“I can do it.”

Whumpee replied, still very jittery from the battery a— I mean energy drink. After the meeting ended, Boss handed Whumpee a sign shaped as an arrow, showing him how to spin it properly. After a few minutes of observing, Whumpee caught on, and headed outside, walking down the street a bit. Once finding a spot not too far away and by a main road, they started to spin the sign, doing a few flips with it as well just for the hell of it.

Although this did bring customers in, after standing in the heat for about an hour, Whumpee began to feel the fatigue and exhaustion creeping up their back once more. They reached into their bag, which rested besides them and grabbed the second energy drink, they pulled the tab on it, taking a few sips before continuing to sign spin, feeling energized and a bit..Hmm, shaky? But they didn’t mind it.

But when their lunch break came along..

Whumpee stumbled through the back door of the shop, where Caretaker was also having their lunch, Caretaker went to greet Whumpee but immediately noticed something was wrong. Whumpee was shaking rather violently, barely able to grip the doorknob without it rattling. Whumpee felt sick to their stomach, not only that, they had been standing outside only chugging energy drinks, no water. And they’ve been sweating profusely, causing them to be severely dehydrated.

Caretaker, walked over to them, looking at their pale face, “You alright there Whumpee?”.

Whumpee responded with a quick nod as they stood, they swore they felt their brain tingle in a way as they trudged over to a seat. But then had to stand again to get their bag, which had their lunch.

As Whumpee stood, they immediately felt dizzy, the room swaying as their legs turned to jelly, their knuckles turned white as they gripped the chair to keep from falling.

“Whumpee. Sit.”

Caretaker said while pushing them into their seat with some force. Caretaker felt for a fever, which Whumpee luckily didn’t have, Caretaker looked to Whumpee’s hands, which were shaking like loose leaves.

“Whumpee, what’s going on? Are you feeling alright?”

Whumpee couldn’t respond, each word they mustered ended up being a series of stutters and mumbles, Whumpee was seriously regretting even walking into that corner store. Whumpee felt their stomach growl, clawing at them for food, without even thinking, Whumpee tried to stand again. Caretaker helping them.

“Whumpee? Can you hear me?”

Whumpee nodded as the sudden loss of adrenaline made it nearly impossible to walk properly, they stumbled and tripped to their bag, gripping onto the wall. They felt so..So..Buzzed? It felt like their brain was numb and their vision was static.

“Whumpee. Whumpee list—e-n Wh—Ee—?”

Caretakers words began to fade out as Whumpee’s vision started to get consumed by a dark void, Whumpee felt their arms and legs go numb and then the rest of their body as they hit the floor with a thud.

“Wh—u—Ee?! Ar—y-“

Caretaker’s voice completely faded out as Whumpee let the warm embrace of sleep grasp them, holding them tightly.

#DONT DRINK ENERGY DRINKS AT SCHOOL KIDS #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump #whumpblr #whumpee #caretaker #whump writing #whump community #whump tropes #overworked

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whumpcloud · 1 year

Note

Restrained and sleep for baby boy Vincent

game here!

content: vampire whumpee, lady whumper, sadistic whumper, sleep deprivation, restraints (hooks through skin), stress positions, begging

Vincent's eyes roll wildly as he's thrown back down. He wants to say something, maybe not again or please stop or no no no but he just whimpers and his face crashes into the floor.

"Any sleep that time?" Leigh-Ann asks, and her sharp little grin betrays how much fun she's really having at his expense.

Can he even remember when he last slept? It's just up and down. It isn't even chains anymore. Hooks through his wrists and a violent hoist up to the ceiling for however long it is, until his joints start to ache and his ligaments start to stretch and he's sure his arms will dislocate but they never do. The hunters keep coming down on rotation, and it's all blurring together so badly that Vincent wouldn't be surprised whether they told him it had been three hours or thirty.

"S-Sleep, pl'se..." Vincent slurs, screaming as Leigh-Ann adjusts the hooks in his skin. "N-N-N-No, pl'se, 'm so tired, nnh, nnh, pl'se, pl'se..."

Leigh-Ann tips his chin up. "Keep begging and I'll stick a hook through your jaw too."

A pathetic sob rips through Vincent's throat, but he listens. Of course he listens.

Vincent closes his eyes, desperate for just two minutes of sleep. It won't last. He curls up tightly despite all the pain.

"Aw, adorable," Leigh-Ann laughs, giving him a mocking pat on the head. "You're so tired, huh? It's only been a day. Is it taking so much out of you?"

A day. A day. He used to last longer than this.

"How m'ch... more?" Vincent chokes, seeking any definitive answer at all. No matter how long. He just needs to know it will end.

Leigh-Ann shrugs. "Whenever someone decides they're bored."

"Please," Vincent begs. "J'st... a time, an... anyth'ng..."

He screams again as she pulls him back up to hang from the ceiling. The hooks tear through his tendons.

"Night-night!" Leigh-Ann calls.

He's not coming down until tomorrow, is he?

Maybe Vincent is just getting used to it. But he falls asleep like that, body jerking and swinging until he crashes into the floor and it all starts again.

#polly's prose #things end | people change #vincent maddox #bad time for he <3 #whump words game

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shywhumpauthor · 11 months

Note

In between spy whumpee’s torture, can we get some of their backstory?

I really want Kaden to save them at the end in the canon storyline(only if you’re okay with it ofc)

We’re just going to pretend that this ask isn’t from January-

Kaden saving them? A crossover? Psh

Training With Clay

Surveillance Masterlist

Cw: abuse in the name of “training”, starvation, overworking, over exhaustion, dehydration, normalized abuse, blood, collapsing, preparations for self-sacrifice, accepting death as inevitable (even though it very much is avoidable), normalized no self worth, disregard for the value of life, all that fun stuff. Noah’s spy training was just really fucked up.

Stay still.

Stay silent. Stay still.

Sweat beaded on the back of Noah’s neck, cold and anxious. Saliva pooled beneath his tongue, but he didn’t even dare swallow, knowing what consequences even the slightest movement would bring.

Silent. Noah couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken. More than a few days, he knew, but he didn’t know if it had yet to pass a week point. Or two. In the Chamber, time was a privilege, one that only the higher ranking were permitted to exploit. It could have been months, and he would have been none the wiser.

Days were indistinguishable from the rest, blended together through the broken breaks of sleep and meals. The lights went off and back on. The silence rarely parted. He used to be able to tell the time, to some extent, by the ache in his bones, but that had faded long ago, the exhaustion from each day bleeding into the next with no noticeable improvement from rest.

At least today was an easier day. He had known that when instead of being ripped away from his cot, dragged to the floor by an arm or the back of his shirt, or jolted awake as a pail of ice water was dumped over him, he had woken up to the ear-splitting morning alarm in the training center.

It was Clay’s day, which Noah was beyond grateful for. Clay only worked with the informer recruits for one day a week, though those hours passed much too quickly. Clay wasn’t a saint by any means, sometimes they could be a real dick, but for the most part they were fine. Rude, a bit annoying at points, but they weren’t nearly as mean as some of the other instructors. They worked them to the point of failure, but not past. Encouraged to test their limits, but accepting of the failure. Displeased with it, obviously, but accepting.

With them, it wasn’t physical strain, not in the manner like it was with Aaron. He was the worst, by far. Bitter memories of running, sprinting on a treadmill in line with five others until Noah’s legs gave out, that couldn’t have been more than a week ago. Strength training wasn’t as important for informers as it would be for, say, soldiers, where brute force was a necessity in missions, just another form of practiced endurance. They weren’t really soldiers, none of these operations were connected to the military, but that’s just how they were referred. The job any given recruit in the room wished they had been assigned to rather than this. Noah wished he had been assigned to the technical division. It’s why he had applied for this entirely. He wasn’t amazing with computers, but compared to the other branches of recruits it seemed the most interesting.

Really, he had been most interested by a smaller branch within the tech division. He had wanted to become a coordinator, to put together the very missions he was now stuck preparing for now. Tech, technicalities. He had wanted to work with the logistics of the assignments and approaches, but instead he was the one following those orders. He hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t wanted to be here. But he wasn’t given much of a choice, so here he was.

Noah’s class, as the supervisors called it, wasn’t that large. Twenty at the beginning of the program, dropped down to eighteen after the first two weeks. Noah wasn’t sure what had happened to them, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. All he knew was that they had failed.

The spies were made to look as inconspicuous as possible. Everyone in the room, there were little distinguishing factors between the recruits. They were all around the same height and the same build, hair cut neatly once but tangled with sweat and knots. Nothing more than average. It had been those features that ended him up in this division. They all wore the same uniform, once folded neatly and pressed shirts and shorts, now wrinkled and dirty. Even with Clay, it had been a long day. And it still wasn’t over.

“You weren’t chosen to fight. You were chosen to endure. Bear it.” Clay spoke, their voice ringing loudly through the empty room, over the shallow, exhausted breaths of the recruits. Bear it.

They weren’t chosen to fight. Or to plan. The only thing they needed to do was listen. Observe. Record, keep their cover. Stay silent upon capture, take the torture until death. Don’t give anything away.

That’s all this training was. Preparations for torture later on, not if but when. When they were sent on their mission. When they were captured. When.

Three months of hell. Three months of abuse of all kinds, preparing them for anything and everything that could happen. Exposing them to the pain they would face, building up their tolerance. After those three months were over, though, things would be better. Hell with a reprieve. After three months, and the Initiation—which anyone had yet to tell the recruits what that really was—they’d all get a break. A long time to rest, recover. To join the rest of the workers in the company, interact with people outside of their class until they were called for their mission.

Noah’s knees hurt. The idea was cruel, and he could only imagine what the bruises would look like the following morning, but it wasn’t half as bad as some of the other exposure. Every bone in his body ached from having to hold the position for hours on end, the grains of uncooked rice embedding deep into his shins. But it would go away, eventually. The bruises and the indents would fade, and there wouldn’t be any evidence of this trial. Of any of them. That was a big part of their tactics. Scars meant suspicion, and suspicion ruined the whole goal of going unnoticed.

Next to him, a recruit let out a trembling groan, their entire body shuddering in the corner of Noah’s vision, but he didn’t dare turn his head to look. Their pain was irrelevant to him. All that mattered was that he focused.

Focused on staying still and silent.

The recruit collapsed, falling forwards to the hard floor.

They were the fourth so far, and from what Noah could tell from around the room, they weren’t going to be the last.

Resourcefulness was another virtue they were taught, the most important as Clay had explained during their very first lesson. Anticipate what will happen. Don’t hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Use everything to your advantage.

That morning, after the recruits had all woken up, Noah had realized what day it was. With Clay, there were two breaks. One after the first exercise, then one at the very end of the day. During the first one, Noah had slipped away to the bathroom, where he had hunched over the sink and drank as much water from the tap as he could without getting sick. Dehydration was probably the worst and the most common factor that meddled with training. Some days they were given free water breaks, whenever they needed they were allowed to step away to get some. Other days they weren’t. He was prepared, unlike some of the others.

His mind was clouded with exhaustion and pain, but he wasn’t going delirious. That was always a good thing. Just focus on the good things. That’s all he could do.

Break them down.

Strip everything away until the canvas was bare.

Build them back up. Piece by piece.

Shatter the glass then melt the fragments back together to form a new pane.

Another recruit gave in, a defeated slump. Noah didn’t even notice. He kept his sight locked on a single grain of rice, fighting the exhaustion that tugged down on his eyelids.

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Noah blinked it out of his eye.

…

“Settle.”

The command came like an answered prayer, a ray of golden sunlight breaking through a swirling mass of dark clouds. It took Noah a moment to process it, and another few to finally move. He had to think about it for a second, the resounding ache in his legs making it clear he wouldn’t be able to stand right away. So instead he shifted to the side, brushing the scattered rice away before lowering himself from his knees to sit. For the first time in hours, he looked across the the training hall.

There were only a handful of recruits still standing. Well, kneeling. Now sitting. The ones who had failed, probably eleven out of the eighteen of them, sat against the wall with their gaze downwards.

Noah grit his teeth, wincing as the weight was finally lifted off his knees. There were grains of rice embedded in his knees, small trickles of blood dripping down the skin from where he had moved too much. He bit down on his lip, gingerly brushing away the grains, having to pick the really deep ones away with his nails. It stung like hell, but it was nothing compared to what he had faced before. His legs screamed in both protest and relief as he stretched them for the first time in hours, cramped muscles twitching as he let himself rest from the rigid posture he held for much too long.

“Alright boys, showers and dinner.” Clay clapped their hands a single time, and the line of recruits against the wall quickly stood and began to shuffle out in a clump. Noah moved to follow them, unable to contain the groan as he attempted to get his legs underneath him, but Clay held out a hand, drawing the attention of those on the floor and shaking their head.

“Rest for another few minutes,” they said, the commanding tone dropping from their voice. Once the others had left, Clay spoke again. “You all did well today. Once the others finish in the bathroom, I’ll turn on the warm water and you can have an extra ten minutes. Sit for now.”

A prick of confusion invaded Noah’s mind, but he wasn’t about to question.

Clay’s cold eyes shifted to him, and Noah couldn’t drop his gaze before they made eye contact. The instructor was walking over to him, not giving Noah time to lapse into a mental panic before they were standing in front of him.

“You did better today, Noah,” They spoke quietly, adjusting their voice so the other recruits wouldn’t overhear as Clay crouched down not too far from him. They crossed their arms, gaze dropping to Noah’s bleeding knees. “Your progress hasn’t gone unnoticed along the supervisors. Come see me after you get cleaned up if you need some bandages or Motrin, alright?”

Clay waited for him to nod, voice lost as he was taken aback. Not just by the direct interaction from an instructor—which was rarely a good thing, but the offer. He didn’t know Clay knew his name even. Here, to instructors, recruits didn’t have names. He was eight, the number of the bunk he was assigned to.

By the time he broke out of the exhaustion laced stupor the interaction had caught him in, Clay had already moved on, walking down to the next recruit and stopping just in front of them. They remained standing.

He could just hear them say, “not bad, fourteen. Watch your breathing, you can let your posture ease more. That should help.”

——————————————————

Tag list: @pickleking8 @blood-enthusiast @t0rture-me @sparrowsage @enigmawritesstuff @whump-me

This was fun to write. I plan to do a lot of Noah in the next couple days so if there’s anything you want to see pleaseeee let me know

Anything at all.

Please.

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echoingalaxies · 10 months

Text

Content/CW: branding, injury and blood, past torture, medical whump, team whump, post rescue

Words: 2608

This isn’t a chapter of anything. It’s more like a scene from the middle of a (mostly) non-existent story. Since I don’t introduce the characters properly here, have a little guide:

Josephine: head medic / Otto: caretaker / Laurent: whumpee / Frankie: field medic / Riina: team leader / other mentioned names less relevant

-----

“Are you sure?” Josephine looked hesitant. She had her arms folded across her chest. “It won’t be pretty. Maybe we should wait until morning, when the others get here.”

Otto ignored her question.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from the sleeping boy behind her, his body moving slowly with deep, steady breaths. It was slightly assuring to see him be so calm, momentarily unaware of all the agony he must’ve been put through, but Otto couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling caused by Josephine’s secretiveness.

Laurent’s broken fingers were now in a cast. The wounds on his arms had been bandaged. His previously long, beautiful hair had been buzzed nearly as short as Otto’s. The rest of him was covered under a light blue blanket.

That was what Josephine was preparing him for. To reveal whatever horrors were hidden underneath.

Otto had been the first one to inspect Laurent’s condition during the car ride home, but hadn’t had the opportunity to see under his clothes. They’d been glued to his skin by dried blood, but Frankie had assured him Laurent wouldn’t bleed out on them during the half an hour it took for them to safely return home.

Not a second went by Otto wouldn’t have praised the angel that Josephine was in his mind, for she had been there waiting for them when they’d brought Laurent in, dressed in scrubs and ready for action. Otto had spent the following hours sitting in the hallway right behind the hospital room door, his mind replaying images of Laurent’s beaten face like a never-ending slideshow. He had gotten himself through two panic attacks. Frankie, Hayden, and even Riina had stopped by every couple of hours to see if he had been let in yet, staying for a minute to console him each time, offering him food and water.

Otto had denied. Nothing mattered to him until he’d know Laurent was okay.

Whatever was under that blanket, whatever Josephine tried to protect him from, he had considered during those past hours.

“Otto.”

“Just… just let me see, Jo.”

Josephine gave him a look, disapproving his demanding tone, but stepped back to stand right next to Laurent’s bed, and with a final nod of confirmation from Otto, pulled aside the blanket.

Otto had experienced a fair share of pain in his life. The tendon on his calf had once been sliced, he’d been stabbed, yet neither of those things had been as efficient to bring him to his knees than the sight currently in front of him. His knees hit the tiled floor with a hard thud, but he instantly scrambled back on his feet, trying to get away, take back everything he’d thought about how he could take it.

He had noted Laurent lying on his side, and assumed there must have been injuries on his back. The guess had been accurate, but the specifics of what those injuries could have been like was where he’d been gravely mistaken. He’d assumed scars similar to the ones on Laurent’s arms. Bruises or stab wounds.

But this…

Rows upon rows of identical burn marks covered Laurent’s back like a pattern printed on a fabric, all the way from his neck to his pelvis, shaped like a coat of arms with something pointy in the middle. The skin surrounding the burns glowed fiercely red from infections.

Otto didn’t need to take another look to know what it was. He’d know the symbol from anywhere.

After Laurent had been taken three months ago, the team had received an anonymous letter, only containing this very same symbol, pressed on the paper in blood. The laboratory had confirmed the blood belonged to Laurent.

Riina hadn’t talked for four days after that, and anyone who had tried to talk to her had had a knife thrown at them. Everybody else had expressed their devastation in slightly healthier ways.

They had fought these people enough times. They had lost team members to them. Now, once again.

Otto’s skin crawled.

The Crowns, and their family crest, forever burned deep into Laurent’s skin, dozens of times.

“Otto?”

Otto’s vision was blurred by fury. He squeezed his trembling hands into fists, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. He took a reluctant glance at Laurent again, and noticed Josephine had pulled the blanket over his shoulders once more.

Good. Never let those repulsive marks see daylight ever again.

“Otto, I need you to breathe.” Josephine’s voice was coming from somewhere afar, and when there was a sudden touch on his forearm, though likely intended to be comforting, Otto flinched away. The initial shock was now rapidly making room for rage unlike he had ever known.

“Breathe?” He must have been yelling, because Josephine was shushing him, but Otto couldn’t contain it. Had there been something within reach he could just grab and break – there were supplies on Josephine’s medical cart, but no one was allowed to touch them if they wished to walk out alive – he would’ve smashed it to the ground.

He had no idea where to put all this anger.

Otto pointed at Laurent’s covered back. “Look at him! There’s… there’s like a hundred of them! He looks like a fucking Louis Vuitton bag!”

“It’s terrible, I know, but you have to lower your voice,” Josephine said. If she was feeling any distress about the situation, she didn’t show it. “If you need to lash out, by all means, I understand, but do it anywhere but here.”

As if on cue, Laurent let out a small whine, and Otto fell silent in an instant. He held his breath until Josephine, who was by Laurent’s side in a second, gave him a thumbs up signalling Laurent hadn’t woken up. She marched back to Otto and grabbed his arm, this time with way more force, and dragged him out of the room.

The hallway was empty, but despite it being late at night, Otto could hear noises from elsewhere in the building. He could vaguely make out Riina’s voice from her office two stories above, screaming at someone. He could hear Frankie and Hayden from their bedroom at the end of the hallway.

He was envious of all of them. He wanted to shout. He wanted to be the one in bed with his lover instead of witnessing his suffering.

“I swear I’m going to kill them,” Otto spat the second Josephine closed the door behind her. “I’m going to rip them apart, all of them.”

“Yeah, you’re not going to make it to the next mission’s team with that attitude.” Josephine leaned her back to the door. She had dark circles under her eyes, and Otto realised how exhausted she must be, having worked relentlessly to treat Laurent, for hours in the middle of the night, mostly alone. Frankie might have been helping her for a moment at some point. “Riina has asked to see him as soon as he wakes up to gather information about the captors before creating a plan.”

“But we already know who did this,” Otto said. He let out a hollow laugh. “They’ve literally put it all over him. We’ve known it was them even before.”

“Sure, but Laurent might’ve heard a lot of valuable things we need to take into consideration before going after them.”

“I wanna go.”

Josephine looked at him almost pitifully. “You’re too close to this, love. Riina barely let you join the rescue crew, so she won’t let you join the searches. And not that I have a say in it, but I think that’s for the best. Laurent’s going to need someone around when he wakes up.”

“He’ll have you –”

“Someone he knows,” Josephine said. “I joined after he was taken. He’s never met me. He’s going to want a familiar face around. Someone to calm him down as I have to poke at his injuries. We’re short on anaesthetics and won’t get a new supply until the end of the week, so you better be there to hold his hand through all the pain we won’t be able to help him with.” She paused, eyes fixating on Otto’s poorly bandaged shoulder peeking from under his torn shirt. “You need any? I’ll gladly give you some since we’ve still got some.”

Otto shook his head. He had completely forgotten about his own injury. The pain in his body was secondary to the one in his mind. It couldn’t compare to a single thing Laurent had been through. “It’s fine. Save it for him.”

Josephine didn’t look pleased. “Can I at least take a look?”

“You should go help Laurent inste–”

“For heaven’s sake, Otto,” Josephine groaned. She straightened her back, suddenly standing almost as tall as Otto did. She took a keychain out of the pocket of her scrubs and began to unlock the door opposite to the hospital room. “I’m not asking anymore. Let me fix you before you die from an infection, because if you always keep acting like this, some day you will. In you go.”

She pushed the door open and pointed inside. Otto stood still, glancing between her and the hospital room door.

“Laurie –”

“Is asleep and will manage a moment alone.”

Josephine crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows. Otto still wanted to refuse, but he knew if he did, Josephine would likely sneak into his room to stitch him up in his sleep. As kind-hearted as she was, she’d rather tie her patient to a chair to finish a procedure than let anyone walk away from her hurt.

“Be quick then.”

He had been to Josephine’s office a few times before. It was where she stored extra medical supplies, and performed minor procedures that didn’t require space for the patient to lie down.

“Why on earth didn’t Frankie take care of that?” Josephine asked as Otto sat down on the stool. Otto glanced down. He had bled through his shirt and the bandages he had quickly wrapped around his shoulder and upper arm while still on field. It had been a dumb, avoidable injury. They hadn’t come across a single soul while rescuing Laurent – Otto had managed to cut himself on the rusty, crooked fence around the mansion.

“I didn’t let her.”

Josephine let out a long sigh. She flicked her hair over her shoulders and tied it on a low ponytail, and ordered Otto to take off his shirt while she washed her hands. Moving his arm up and down, Otto realised how much in pain he actually was. He bit his cheeks to stop himself from gasping.

“You’re going to kill yourself at this rate,” Josephine said, starting to peel the bloodsoaked bandages off Otto’s skin. “This is deep. You have to let people take care of you next time.”

Otto felt a pang of shame. Josephine was clearly worried, and he hadn’t meant to stress her out any more than she already was.

“Thank you,” he said quietly as Josephine began cleaning the wound. “And… Thank you for helping him.”

From the corner of his eye he could see how Josephine half-smiled.

“Do you only ever think everything through him? Did anyone ever tell you you’re allowed to think about yourself once in a while?”

Otto didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to for Josephine to know the answer. Her face turned serious again, and she slightly shook her head.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “Patching up someone unconscious is easy. I can’t tell what he’ll be like when he wakes up. I pray they haven’t broken his soul like they did to his body, but either way he’s been through hell on Earth.”

Otto thought back to the dungeon they had found Laurent in, hazy but conscious, shackled to the ground. The memory of Laurent crawling away from the team like he didn’t know them, like he was afraid, hurt like a knife. Laurent had passed out almost as soon as he’d been carried to the car. From fear, pain, or exhaustion, or possibly a combination of any, Otto didn’t know. His cries and pleads to not hurt him still echoed in his head.

“It isn’t over yet,” he said in a lifeless voice. A wave of exhaustion washed over him. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep next to Laurent, his lively and loving Laurent. He wanted him to be okay.

Josephine frowned, taking notice of Otto’s tone. “This isn’t your fault. You know that?”

Otto shook his head. He shut his eyes, trying to breathe through the guilt.

Josephine gave up cleaning his shoulder and kneeled in front of him, squeezing his hands.

“Look at me,” she said, waiting patiently until Otto’s eyes found hers. Her hands felt cold against his skin, and he could feel her steady pulse from her fingertips. “Those Crown people – they’re to blame. That Michael guy I replaced, he is to blame. Not you. You didn’t know.”

Otto winced at the mention of the old medic’s name.

Josephine tried to be sweet, but she was wrong. She was new, only been with them for two months, and she didn’t know everything. It had been all his fault. He’d trusted the wrong person. He’d made enemies, he’d been their target, and Laurent had sacrificed himself to protect him.

Otto sniffled, hanging his head. “I trusted Michael.”

“I’m sure all the others did too.”

Josephine held his hands until his breathing evened out and he managed to give him a convincing enough smile affirming he was okay. He let Josephine finish patching him up without protesting. He even accepted a pill, not stopping to ask what it was.

Half an hour later, he flicked on the lights to his room. His and Laurent’s room.

He had tried to plead with Josephine to get to sleep in the bed next to Laurent’s in the hospital room, but Josephine had been unbending. Deep down Otto understood her reasoning, but as he lay down on their bed, alone for yet another night, he gravely considered sneaking in to sit beside Laurent until morning and deal with the consequences later.

The alarm would wake him up in a few hours. The team would have an early meeting regarding the previous day’s operation, then assemble a crew of a few of them who would go and seek out the people responsible for what had been done to Laurent.

Laurent would wake up and be heard.

The crew would prepare.

Otto would not.

Josephine had been right. He needed rest. He needed to be there for Laurent. The medicine Josephine had given him had been a great help in calming the storm inside of him, and with most of the rage gone, staying behind and getting to take care of Laurent had started to sound like the best possible thing. Isn’t that what he’d been praying for months? To be with him again? Why had he been so eager to leave his side at the first given chance?

Otto hugged Laurent’s pillow against his chest. It had been so long since they had been together. He just had to wait for a bit more, until morning, when they would finally get to talk again. Otto would hold his hand. He would never let him out of his sight.

Yet before all of that, there was one more night to tackle, undoubtedly either entirely sleepless or full of nightmares.

The Crown crest might have been permanently burned on Laurent’s skin, but Otto felt like it’d also been carved on the insides of his eyelids, because it was all he could see when he closed his eyes.

#branding #injury #blood #medical whump #team whump #aftermath #post rescue #past torture #whump #whump writing #caretaker x whumpee #whumpee x caretaker #whump fic #whumpblr #writing #writeblr

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whumpndump · 1 year

Text

Sleep Tight

CW: Needles, Injections, Medical Equipment, Non-con Touching (Nonsexual), Restraints, Mentions of Death

This is kinda weird but like... most of my stuff is tbh.

======

It had been days since Whumper had last let Whumpee sleep. When not being tortured for his owner's amusement, Whumpee was kept tied in stress positions, his limbs straining against the chafing rope as he tried his hardest to close his eyes and relax. It was futile though, as any perceived attempts to sleep would be punished with a sharp slap to the face. He was beginning to think that perhaps he would never sleep again, and Whumper would just keep him awake until he eventually died from the strain on his body. Today, however, would be different.

At the point in the day when Whumper would normally tie Whumpee up, the man instead crouched to his cowering victim's eye-level, a look of dark and twisted compassion in his eyes.

"Whumpee, you seem very tired. Would you like to sleep?" He asked gently, stroking the other man's face with a surprising softness. In any other situation alarm bells would be ringing in Whumpee's head, but he was so incredibly tired he just nodded with a choked back sob.

Whumper picked the trembling form up with strong arms, and carried him into a room Whumpee had never seen before. There, he lay him down on possibly the softest bed he had ever felt, strapping him in place with multiple leather buckles, before covering him up with a thick, warm quilt. Whumper appeared to continue moving around, as if preparing something, but Whumpee was so very tired that he simply slipped into sleep as soon as his eyes fell shut.

Several hours later Whumpee's eyes fluttered open, feeling refreshed and comfortable, if a little sore. Waking up properly, he scanned his surroundings, noticing an IV drip attached to his arm, and a tube coming from …between his legs, into a bag hung at the end of the bed. Strange.

Looking to the side of him he was a little startled to see Whumper hovering nearby, a look of faux concern plastered on his face.

"Oh dear, are you awake already? Well that just won't do, you were so very tired earlier, that cant have been enough rest! Go back to sleep darling." Whumper cooed, saccharine sweet. Whumpee thought to protest, to ask why this monster suddenly seemed to care about his well being, or to say he didn't need to sleep anymore, but before the words could form he felt a sharp prick in his arm. Suddenly his surroundings started to grow dark, and the last thing he saw before falling into unconsciousness once again was Whumper, holding an empty syringe and smiling.

He wasn't sure how long he spent in his dreamless sleep, but eventually Whumpee awoke once more. As he sluggishly remembered his situation he became frantic, thrashing against his bonds and trying to escape. Against his better judgment, he began to yell and scream for help, thinking perhaps someone could hear him from this new room.

All the chaos caused Whumper to burst in, cold eyes locking onto Whumpee, quickly filling with that faux warmth he had come to despise so very much. The man ignored Whumpee's thrashing and crying, calmly striding over to a table in the room where he filled a fresh needle with some unknown sedative. Tapping the implement gently to remove any air bubbles, Whumper encroached upon his panicking victim.

"What are you doing up?" He smiled, "I told you to get some rest." Quick as a flash he held down Whumpee's arm and injected him, sending him to sleep once again.

Whumper put the needle to one side, hovering over Whumpee's prone form. He stroked sweat slick hair from his forehead, relishing in the slight whimper the touch elicited from him. He pulled up a chair beside the bed and simply sat and watched, taking in how vulnerable his captive was like this, and how much control he had over him. Before, when he was keeping Whumpee awake for as long as possible, he knew that the game would have to end eventually, whether via sleep or death. However, this new game could last for a long, long time.

Perhaps while Whumpee slept he'd add more straps and gag him, considering how noisy and erratic his reaction was this time. That was sure to bring the man to a whole new level of panic. Whumper let his imagination spiral as he thought of all the things he could do to Whumpee as he slept, giving him only a moment to process what was happening, before leaving him unconscious and vulnerable once again. For now though, he simply watched his new toy's chest rise and fall beneath the blankets.

#whump #whumpdumps #whumpblr #whump scenario #captive whump #creepy whumper #sleep whump #manipulative whumper

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kira-the-whump-enthusiast · 11 months

Text

Day 6 - Deprived

Synopsis: Direct sequel to Day 3 - Stitches and Bandages! Isaac doesn't get a break! He gets to be interrogated on his past crimes with a piece of glass stuck inside him :)

Content: Stress position, hanging by wrists, dislocation, I don't know if there's like a term for this but there is a glass shard literally embedded in Isaac, also there is gore here, organs go outside the body, immortal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, implied past murder and cannibalism, past vivisection, very informal interrogation, delirious whumpee, sleep deprivation, some rough like wound stitching

Tagging: @whump-in-the-closet @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @eric-the-bmo @befuddled-calico-whump

—

The blanket sat crumpled in the corner, unused and abandoned.

Not that Isaac wanted to leave it that way. It was just a little hard to use it when he was hanging by his wrists from the ceiling.

He couldn't feel his hands. His muscles ached, and his shoulders had dislocated… when? He couldn't tell how long it'd been.

He was so goddamn tired.

And yet he couldn't even fall into blissful unconsciousness, on account of the shard of glass lodged in his abdomen. The smallest movement pushed it deeper into his liver or his stomach, overtaking his world with bright pain. Isaac wanted to scream, but he had no energy left for that.

He hadn't got a moment of sleep since he was strung up.

So he was awake when Kasumi sauntered into the cell with that smile Isaac had come to despise. He wanted to do something, anything, to make her feel even a fraction of the pain he was feeling right now—but he was the one chained to the ceiling, and she was the one with the key.

And he needed to convince her to let him down. Let him rest.

He'd kill for an hour of sleep.

“Please… I’m sorry…" Isaac croaked in despair. "What did I do wrong?”

Kasumi stroked his cheek with a patronizing smile and he flinched away as far as he could muster.

“Well, where to start…?” She mused.

“Hm. That ring. The one I found on you. There was something engraved inside.” She stared at him straight in the eyes like she was expecting an answer. Isaac was… confused, to say the least.

Getting closer, so close he could hear her breath, she asked him, “So what does the name Marcelina mean to you?”

Isaac winced. There went his hopes of ever being let down.

This isn’t going to end well.

“Just a friend I had,” he quickly lied.

She grabbed his jaw and gripped it tightly. “Oh, really?” She breathed into his ear.

Isaac strained to get away. “Yes,” he whispered in a small voice.

A punch landed on his chest, sudden and violent, right where the shard of glass was lodged in his torso. His world exploded into pain, bright colors flashing, obscuring his vision, and he screamed until it turned into sobs.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Kasumi whispered.

Isaac nodded frantically, breaths ragged and torn.

A finger pressed into the skin above the glass, not enough to really hurt, but enough to send a jolt of vibrant fear through his body. He couldn’t stop shaking, his muscles were giving out, he couldn’t—

“So,” Kasumi started, and Isaac was listening.

“Who was Marcelina, and what did you do to her?” Her smile was gone, her eyes cold and grave.

Isaac tried his best to not remember the nights before he woke up in this latest basement cell. Because in the darkness lurked endless amounts of guilt. Guilt over what he’d done and the blood he spilled. And horror that, despite everything, he’d do it all again.

Marcelina was a wonderful memory, one now tainted by whips and shock collars and endless starvation.

He still remembered what it felt like to rip and tear and devour and eat. And it felt good, it felt right, like everything was falling into place. And he wanted to do it again.

He couldn’t bring himself to admit that to the one person who’d destroy him for what he’d done.

Fingers brushed his throat, gripped, and started to squeeze. Isaac bit back a scream—he couldn’t waste air—and stared at Kasumi with a pleading look and tears in his eyes. I’m sorry. Don’t do this.

Kasumi returned his gaze, unrelenting. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

Isaac nodded and closed his eyes.

"Desecrated her body too, hm?"

He nodded again, more slowly this time.

“And that’s why I do this.” She let go, and Isaac only had a moment to breathe before she kicked him in the ribs.

He swung from his wrists and he cried, desperate and broken, as the shard of glass inside him jolted and cut through his stomach.

She turned to leave, and Isaac’s mind overfilled with blank panic.

“Wait, wait—please! I’m so tired—please, I’m sorry, let me down, please—”

Tears blurred his vision and it was getting hard to breathe. “I can’t, I can’t take it anymore, just take the glass out at least?”

Kasumi stopped in her tracks, and Isaac breathed a silent sigh of relief.

It shattered as soon as he saw her smile, cold and hungry like a predator catching easy prey.

“Oh, well, if you insist.”

She unsheathed a knife, one that glinted and shined in the bright fluorescent lights.

—

His thoughts had long since melted away, dripping to the ground like the blood pouring from his chest.

Kasumi cut the shard out.

She didn't bother to sew him back together.

His guts were spilling to the floor—god, that was fucking disgusting—and he wanted to vomit but he had nothing in his stomach to throw up.

Isaac coughed violently, and his vision turned white for a second, his broken ribs crying in pain.

He just wanted to sleep, but this? This just felt like dying.

He was sweating from the warmth, yet paradoxically he felt much too cold. Vaguely, Isaac remembered the blanket in the corner.

All this for a stupid fucking piece of fabric.

He should have never tried to get it back in the first place.

—

Isaac was released from the chains eventually—he knew because he crumpled to the floor the moment they were loosened and hit his head on the concrete. The world was blurry, all the sound drowned out by the pounding in his head. And he didn't know what was happening—frankly, he was surprised he ever was let down at all.

Someone—Kasumi, he supposed—was sewing him up. Little pricks in his skin, pulling it back together.

It felt too much like when he was on that table, and he squirmed and tried to get away—but a hand roughly pushed him to the floor, adding another bruise to his skull. He managed a weak cry of pain. Stop it. Please.

She hummed as she worked, ignoring Isaac's muffled whimpers and fever-hot temperature.

Eventually, she tied off the last stitch, and Isaac wanted to cry in relief. He didn't get any chance to. She forced his arms back into their sockets, quickly and brutally, disregarding his screams.

Leaving him on the floor, she exited the cell without a word. He relaxed the smallest bit. A break. That was all he wanted.

He could finally breathe a little easier.

The abandoned blanket laid in the corner of his gaze, and with what little strength he had, Isaac reached for it. He had no energy to drape it over himself, instead hugging it tightly to his chest.

He gave everything to have it.

And it wasn't worth it. Not at all. But as he drifted off to sleep for the first time in ages, he realized just how much he had missed its warmth.

—

AN: I love being mean and evil to Isaac and oh man this isn't even the worst thing that's happened to him in this plotline

#whump #whump writing #immortal whumpee #stress position #gore #tw gore #whumper turned whumpee #wij23day6 #whumpmasinjuly2023 #oc isaac #oc kasumi #my ocs <2 #my writing

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just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 2 years

Note

Belated prompt: Whumper drugs whumpee to make them pliant and stop their resisting. It's whumpee's first time going under drugs like this.

Is this a prequel to this? I don't know maybe?

TW: Drugging (mostly talking about it. Whumper talks a lot lol)

"Do you know what this will do to you, little one?"

Whumpee shook their head quickly, trying to huddle farther into their closet. The beat of their heart in their throat was choking them, the tears pooling in the lines of their eyes blurring their vision until Whumper was nothing more than an indistinct shape looming above them.

Looming and grinning wildly.

"This wonderful little pill," Whumper began, holding the small pale blue pill between their thumb and pointer finger, "was specially made for me. I got to pick exactly what it does, even chose the color. It's a nice color, isn't it Whumpee?"

When Whumpee didn't respond, eyes still locked on the pale blue cylinder being presented to them, Whumper reached forward, delicately holding onto their jaw to force their head into a nod.

Taking this as their answer, Whumper continued. "Yes, I made it specially for this, specially for all my little toys like you."

"Don't you want to know what it does? How it feels - how you're about to feel?"

Tears made their way freely down Whumpee's face, not really registering until they slid down Whumpee's chin and neck. They we colder there, somehow unwelcome.

"What does it do, Whumper?" They asked, sounding far more devoid of feeling than they really were.

Whumper was beaming.

"First you'll feel sluggish and tired. A bit confused, a bit disconnected from the world at large. So when your heart rate spikes and begins to pound in your chest, you'll find yourself not even coordinated enough to raise your arm."

They reached out a hand to their little pet, stroking their cheek and tucking a strand of hair behind their ear.

"You'll be sick with panic, little one, but wholly unable to do anything about it. And I'm sure this conversation isn't helping, is it?"

Whumpee shook their head slowly, already barely clinging onto consciousness. Their whole body felt numb, like they were nothing but a large expensive doll come to life.

"Those effects will last for oh, a few hours. A little enhancer is thrown in there as well, lighting your nerves up until the slightest scratch will feel like a sadistic surgeon's blade."

"Just imagine the things I could do to you like that. What it would feel like - how helpless and defenseless you'd be." Whumper had leaned closer, voice purring, almost salivating at just the thought.

"Excuse me, how helpless and defenseless you will be."

Whumpee's eyes were getting a little too glassy for Whumper's liking, prompting them to massage the nape Whumpee's head and slowly guide them back to the present. Only when Whumpee was relatively calm and aware enough to tremble did they continue.

"And to top it off? The come down is terrible," they boasted. "My toys are always the sweetest little things when they're sick, so pitiful when they're too weak to rise from bed. So perfect to bundle close yo your chest to let them sleep the nausea off."

After a final moment Whumper lifted Whumpee's chin with a single finger delicately under their jaw. "So, are you ready?"

Their world was only barely real anymore, only barely related to them. In the end they couldn't quite remember if they nodded, only Whumper's grin and soft command.

When the small pale blue pill was placed on their tongue, Whumpee, wasn't sure if they were real at all.

One thing they were sure of, however -

They were about to wish they weren't.

#whump #whump drabble #noncon drugging tw #whumper #whumpee #yes it's been 2 nights but night writing is going well!!#imma try to keep it up

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actress4him · 8 months

Text

Whumptober 2023 - Day 3 - Querencia

This takes place during Lili's facility days, somewhere in the midst of chapter 3.

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @inky-whump , @painful-pooch , @pigeonwhumps , @bookworm2107

Masterlist

No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Contains: minor whumpee (16-17) but it's only angst not physical whump, lady whump, implied imprisonment, insomnia

The moon is bright tonight. It must be full, or close to it. Liliana can’t tell for sure, she can’t ever get the right angle up through the small window at the ceiling to actually see it, but the way it’s lighting up the foot of her bed definitely makes it seem like a full moon.

She sits up, curling her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, staring up at the window. It’s probably been at least an hour since the lights turned out and all the doors were locked - by her best guess, she doesn’t have a clock - but she can’t sleep. That’s not unusual. She has a hard time falling asleep most nights, or she’ll wake up randomly in the middle of the night and not be able to go back to sleep. She doesn’t have the option to turn on a lamp or the overhead light to do anything like read, though, so she just stays in bed and stares at the ceiling or the wall…or the dark expanse outside the window.

Tonight, the moonlight spilling across her bed reminds her of being a child. She was always fascinated by the moon. Normally, when she was really young, she’d be tucked into bed before it was dark enough to really see the moon, but sometimes she’d stay awake as long as she could so that she could peek out her curtains and catch a glimpse of it. Her Mamà taught her the little poem one night, when they were coming home from somewhere late and Liliana was enamored by the moon ‘following’ the car. “I see the moon, and the moon sees me…”

Even when she got a bit older, she would sometimes pretend that the moonlight would keep her safe from harm. Whenever the soft white light would come peeking through the blinds onto her bed, she’d crawl to the other end and curl up, letting the lines fall across her face and imagining she could feel its warmth.

Slowly, quietly, she does the same thing now. The battered metal frame of the bed squeaks as her weight transfers. She wiggles around until she can wrap the thin, scratchy sheet around herself in this new position, then settles into place and blinks up at the window once more.

She can just see the bottom portion of the moon. She’s bathed in its light, much more so than when it was shining through her blinds, but…she doesn’t feel anything.

There’s no warmth. There’s no protection. The moon isn’t magical, it’s just a cold, unfeeling light, looking down at her struggles and heartache with apathy. Back when she was a child, pretending it was something more, she was already safe. She had nothing to worry about. She was lying in her cozy bed on top of soft blankets, surrounded by her beloved plushies with a family who loved her just down the hall.

But the moon didn’t keep her safe, and neither did anything else. And trying to bring back a little bit of that lost childhood while lying on a rock hard mattress in a cold room locked from the outside feels completely ridiculous.

Sitting up abruptly, Liliana moves back to her pillow, curling on her side with the sheet pulled up to her chin and her back facing the window.

#whumptober2023 #no.3 #lyric #like crying out in empty rooms with no-one there except the moon #original content #fic #minor whumpee tw #imprisonment tw #querencia #liliana the healer #lady whump #lady whumpee #urban fantasy #whump series

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redd956 · 2 years

Text

Prompt 11/Written Piece

This includes: Whump prompt, physical affection

CW: pet whump...... (which basically implies and slavery and whatnot), this is kinda long

Whumper’s rickety vintage coocoo clock ticked obnoxiously as the seconds passed by. Whumper boredly stared at a black screen littered with the credits of their favorite movie, yet a simplistic satisfied smile remained on their face. One hand fondled the remote. The other gently brushed against the back of Whumpee’s head.

Whumpee lay sprawled across the couch, their head planted above Whumper’s thighs. They idly hummed. Whumper was the best. They were better than all the others Whumpee once belonged to. They were nice, pampering, and affectionate.

For the longest time Whumpee pondered over why they were chosen. The first year they refused Whumper’s attention, for they didn’t deserve all the praise and spoils. Whumpee was scrawny, sickly, and poorly “trained” back then; but they had long forgotten about all of that. Whumpee never thought over it anymore, because Whumper was all they needed.

They were Whumper’s precious, Whumper’s perfect, Whumper’s prized crown jewel. When people come over Whumper flaunts them endlessly. However their overbearing affection doesn’t end behind closed doors, or within private quarters. Whumpee sometimes argues it increases.

Whumpee could do anything they wanted. Whumper would never get mad at them. There was only one rule. Never open the black door on the first floor. Whumpee first thought it was a basement, but they’ve been there, watching Whumper build teensy wooden crafts.

“Are you sleeping?”, Whumper almost quietly cooed.

Whumpee rolled over onto their back. They instantly became absorbed in Whumper’s face, which was ridden with pure unbridled pride. Whumpee responded playfully, “Of course not.”

They slowly wriggled off of Whumper. Now that they mentioned sleep, Whumpee couldn’t stop thinking of it. Whumper noticed the sleepiness suddenly imprint itself onto Whumpee. As they got up they half-heartedly commanded, “Go to bed. You are going to wear yourself out.”

There was no hesitation in listening to Whumper. They cleaned up the remains of their movie night, as Whumper sauntered out of the room to attend his final daily task. Whumpee then went to head upstairs, the images of their expensive large and overly fluffy calling out like a sickening siren. Though as Whumpee reached the bottom of the stairs, a different and strong instinctive calling sung out.

Glancing over they watched Whumper walk up to the black door, his favored necklace in hand, that just so happened to be decorated with a key. After a few moments of slight jingling Whumper got the door open. They perks upright, and slowly turned around to see Whumpee staring out into space at them.

They pressured before entering, “Go on. And don’t forget you are my precious. I would never do anything that would hurt you.”. Like that they vanished behind the door.

Whumpee knew what this song was. He knew it was dangerous and risky. It was called curiosity. Every night Whumper went in there. It was only for a handful of minutes. Then they marched upstairs themselves, and went to bed. No one talked about it.

How shameful would it be for Whumpee to break the only rule? Then again with Whumper holding so much pride in their heart how mad could they possibly be if they found out? They wouldn’t find out if Whumpee did it one time, would they?

Their hand naturally raised to the collar around their neck, a golden two dangling from the center. Listening to Whumper, they wandered upstairs, but the thought wouldn’t leave their mind. The melody grew louder as Whumper’s foot steps went past Whumpee’s room moments. The bass thumped along with Whumpee’s bored loud heartbeat. They needed to silence their curiosity.

They waited until the hour Whumper always fell asleep around. Whumpee was for sure that they were asleep, no need to bother to double-check. Creeping in and out of Whumper’s bedroom, a key necklace was clutched loosely in their hand. Whumpee snuck down the stairs, eyes set on the prize.

Keys were much more difficult to use then Whumpee realized. Finally though, the satisfying click sounded from the lock. They pushed open the door slowly, praying that it didn’t creak. Whumpee glimpsed behind them. No sight of Whumper. Now is my chance. Just a little peek.

There were no stairs descending downwards on the other side. Instead a large dark room awaited. Whumpee squinted through the pitch black, but nothing came to their eyes. Stumbling around they searched for the light switch. Whumpee’s foot found itself bumping into an old metal table, which clattered loudly, allowing some of its contents to fall to the floor. More metallic objects clinked and rattled as they did so.

Whumpee jumped at the sound, but breathed a sigh of relief when they finally stopped. Their hand discovered the switch. They flicked it on, disappointed over the dinky cheap overhead lamp that attempted to fill the room with dim light. That dimness would be too much.

Whumpee froze still facing the table, the switch, the oddly thick walls. A low purr behind them quickly flared into a heavy growl. The growling was occasionally parted with snarling or heavy breathing. Whumpee gulped deciding to face the other entity in the room.

A much larger figure, almost kneeling, glared furiously at Whumpee. A large fluffy hat tried to cover its matted hair. The hats two flaps tightly traced its head tied against it by two worn leathery strings. It almost threw Whumpee off guard, not at all matching the heavy pitch black muzzle that fully encased the bottom half of the figure’s face. A few slits were notched into it, which angry huffs of breath escapes out of.

The only thing keeping it apart from Whumpee was the significantly sturdy metal collar around its neck. A thick chain lead behind it, attaching to the wall. Most of it was still sprawled in a heap behind the figure on the cold floor, messing up the formation of a thin smoothed out blanket. Whumpee backed up hoping that it couldn’t reach him fully extended.

Both of the figures hands were encased in incredibly worn oven mitts? Thick metal bands went over the mitts, one hand already pointlessly drawing itself across the floor. Whumpee failed to realize it was steadying itself, because their eyes were locked onto the small golden one that hung from the hefty metal collar.

The entity suddenly charged. Whumpee let out an embarrassing and pitiful scream of fright, as the flattened themselves against the wall. They nearly curled up, squinting their eyes as if the threat would vanish. A loud chink was made. One of the oven mitts grazed Whumpee.

When Whumpee only felt the repeated tickling of a thick fabric, they glanced upward to find themselves just out of reach. The figure continued to exhaust themselves, pulling at the chain, waving their mittened arms. They were breathing so hard that air was now coming out of the slits as high-pitched hisses, or they were genuinely making that noise. Whumpee could not tell.

Whumpee smiled for a moment, scooting sideways towards the door. This time a shink was made. Whumpee’s arm stung, they recoiled further away from the figure, one hand shooting over to the stinging spot. Blood seeped between their fingers. The figure waves an oven mitt almost wildly and triumphantly, sharp claws having pierced through the end.

Their eyes were feral with hatred. No they were feral in general. The chink of chains sounded louder this time. Flakes of rust pattered to the floor. Whumpee turned tail, and booked it towards the door. The third chink sounded. It was followed by a collection of chains hitting the floor. A small braid of the links fell down the figures back, and it broke into a sprint, free from the wall.

Whumpee raced past the doorway, slamming it into the feral thing’s face. One of those mittened arms forced their way between the closing door. They were much stronger then Whumpee, swinging the black forbidden first floor door open. Whumpee fell over, dramatic and sensitive to the slight throbbing that being hit with a door caused.

A deranged chuckle echoed out of the muzzle. The claw pierced mitt manage to attached itself to the muzzle. A little bit of determined work and that too was thrown aside to the floor. Whumpee was met with a large grin crowed with inhumanly sharp teeth.

Whumpee cowered as it loomed over them. Like an animal or young child investigating things full of the song of curiosity, with the safer oven mitt they forced Whumpee to face them directly, to analyze their appearance. The figure’s enraged eyes lit up with disbelief, almost replaced by anguish, when the golden two dangled back and forth. The figure stumbled off of Whumpee, letting out an ear piercing inhuman shriek.

They lunged upon Whumpee, scratching and hitting. Defending themselves, sharp teeth sank into Whumpee’s forearm. They only let go when Whumper came rushing down the stairs. Whumpee didn’t pay attention to what happened next. They cowered into a ball on the floor as Whumper encounter the creature of the black door.

They conjured up the hundreds of ways they would thank or apologize to Whumper, watching their blood stain their own clothes. The black door was slammed shut, loud obnoxious scream-cries continued behind it. There was nothing to say to Whumper when the came over, because their face was devoid of pride. It wasn’t even disappointment. It was something attuned to disgust, hatred, and maliciousness.

“What did I tell you? You want to be like the first don’t you? You just want sweet little Whumper to break into pieces inside, don’t you? You want to watch Whumper be forced to hurt his precious, his love, his second! DON’T YOU?!”

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