#crate whump

[stagelightwhump]

Does it have to be a blorbo from my shows or can it be MY blorbo? Because I kind of want to know what they'd do to Mal https://www.tumblr.com/distracted-obsessions/750327129941639170/knock-knock-mal-groaned-at-the-knock-at-the

You can absolutely submit home-made blorbos! And I must say, this one is very interesting!

First of all, the ears would need to be stretched and molded into shape, which, thankfully, is rather easy, as ears are made of cartilage. Next, even though no tails are mentioned in the story, a retractable cord tail is still installed, so that the Unit can be charged. If requested, a wolf tail cover can be added.

Next, barring the presence of something like pawpads on the hands or feet (in which case, depending on how divergent it is from the human bauplan, they would either be fatty silicone implants, or the hands or feet would be replaced entirely), the Chip is then installed, and memories of the source timeline are implanted, as well as a weaving program.

Finally, in order to avoid issues with improper or unregulated voltage, a shock collar is installed directly and permanently onto the neck, integrated with the C6 vertebrae. This is to ensure that any voltage administered is low enough not to damage either the organic system, or the electronics within the Unit's repaired systems. For higher voltages, the Chip manually simulates the damages instead, resulting in the same mental effects and physical pain as a normal shock collar, without causing unnecessary damage or stress to the internals.

Once the Unit is fully repaired and functional, it is placed back into the crate it arrived in (or given a new one, if the crate is somehow missing or damaged), secured in place, and shut down until delivered to the purchaser.

Thank you so much for the ask! I love doing these :D

[abhainnwhump]

Pet Whumpee has been so good for their dear Whumper, that they get a warm blanket and can sleep on the couch, as long as their head is laying on Whumper and they don't refuse any touch.

[caribbean1989]

Stage Fright - a Baby Lasagna fanfiction

Who: Marko Purisic / Baby Lasagna Request: maybe smt where you work for esc and marko has a panic attack before going on the stage and your there for him calming him down and stuff. just angsty with lots of comfort. Requested by: anonymous. Word count: 2010 Warnings: contains descriptions of panic attack / anxiety / stage fright. Lots of angst, but also some comfort 😇

A/N: I usually write footballer imagines and fandom whump, so writing something like this is quite new to me. Hope you'll like it, let me know what you think of it 😇 If you want me to write more like this, you can always make a request through my Asks 😉

This story can also be found on my AO3 account, here. For more information on my Baby Lasagna fanfics, see this masterpost.

At your job working backstage at concerts and events, you were one of the people making sure everything went smoothly backstage, and that the performers had all they needed. This month you would be working at the Eurovision Song Contest. 

Today was the biggest day of all: the final.  You felt confident. Everything had been rehearsed endlessly, the semi-finals had already gone well, and you had built up a good relationship with most of the performers and their entourages. 

It was a nice group of artists this year, but one still was your personal favourite: Baby Lasagna. At first you were drawn to the Croatian candidate because of the rather unusual name, but you quickly learned he went by Marko off-stage, and was somewhat different from the other participants. He was a flamboyant personality on-stage, which proved to be the complete opposite of how his personality was off-stage. 

You didn’t need long to see Marko was actually rather shy, could be very insecure, and was humble and polite. There was a cheeky side to him as well once you got to know him better. You liked that about him, and, without actively trying to, you already formed a rather close friendship with him in only this short time of working together. 

That was why you immediately knew something was wrong when you found Marko sitting alone on the day of the final, huddled away from everything and everyone.  He sat amongst crates of sound equipment, on the floor, in a dark corner of the backstage maze, hugging his knees. His hands were clamped so tightly around his legs that his fingers had turned white, and he trembled like a leaf in the wind.  Marko had chosen a spot far from the foot traffic from and to the stage, hidden even from his own entourage, and it was a small miracle that you stumbled upon him like you had. 

"Marko?" You lowered yourself onto your haunches in front of him, but mindful to keep enough distance between yourselves so not to frighten him or make him feel more uncomfortable.

He looked disheveled, only vaguely aware of his surroundings, and surely not in control of his emotions.  In this moment he was not the extroverted Baby Lasagna, he was introverted Marko. The eccentric costume he wore on stage was replaced by regular jeans and a black hoodie. The make-up wasn’t applied yet, which might be a good thing, because you saw the tears on his face. The haunted look in his eyes scared you, worrying you even more about his well-being. 

Suddenly your mind went to a line from the song he was performing with here this week. 

My anxiety attacks.

Whilst Rim Tim Tagi Dim had people dancing all over the world, you couldn’t help but notice its darker meaning, too. And it clicked into place for you now. That line about anxiety wasn’t just a line. It actually held truth for Marko, and the proof of that was right in front of your eyes with him having a serious panic attack. 

"Marko?" You repeated softly.  His gaze flickered to you, but he didn’t acknowledge your presence in any other way.  "I need you to talk to me," you nudged carefully.  Marko swallowed hard. He made every effort to get himself to speak, but couldn’t. The words he meant to say got involuntarily silenced on their way to his mouth, and, finally, he just sadly shook his head. Fresh tears fell as he rested his forehead on his knees, shrinking even more into himself. 

Your heart broke for him. It was hard to believe you only met him a week and a half ago, with how much you already cared for him. 

Marko shivered in his hoodie. His breaths became even more rapid and shallow, accompanied by the occasional wheeze or whimper. He was losing more and more control over himself with every heartbeat of his racing pulse. Where first maybe only his hands had shook, there now wasn’t a muscle in his body that wasn’t shaking. He raised his head and looked up at you again, this time really seeing you. 

Marko’s lower lip trembled, and it took effort, but finally he got some words out. "Help me…" "I’m trying," you answered helplessly. You wanted nothing more than to help him, take him out of this panic attack, but you really had no idea where to begin. "Do you need me to bring someone from your team over?" "No!" Marko nearly jumped a foot into the air at the mere idea of that. "They don’t need to see me like this. I’m a mess, I…" "Calm down, calm down," you tried to ease. "We can do this. You and I, we can get you through this."

Having suffered from panic attacks yourself, you suddenly remembered what your sister used to do for you to get you to calm down. "Marko." You got his attention. "I want to try something to help you calm down. Are you okay with me touching you?" He still was in the height of his panic attack, with fear wild in his eyes, but he still nodded his head. He wasn’t sure what you had in mind, but he trusted you.

You scooted closer to him, fully sitting down on the floor by his side. Marko trembled heavier than ever and he was truly hyperventilating now. Tears sparkled in his eyes, but he gave in to you. He wanted for you to offer comfort and take him out of this anxiety. 

"Close your eyes," you said softly.  Marko hesitated for just a second, but slowly closed his eyes. He didn’t know you for that long, yet you felt secure and safe to him. "Whenever you’re no longer comfortable with anything I’m doing, you need to tell me," you insisted, "and I’ll stop immediately." Marko gave you a strained nod, but he surrendered to you. 

You moved slowly, making sure not to make any unexpected movements which would cause Marko any more fright.  You placed one of your hands flat on his chest. Only now you realised how heavy this panic attack actually was for him. His chest heaved and trembled under your hand, and now that you were closer to him, you heard the whimpers that were hidden in the wheezes of his breathing.  With your other hand you picked up his wrist, gently pressing two fingers against the pulse point. As you had expected, his heart was racing. 

"I need you to focus on my hand on your chest." You kept your voice as calm and serene as possible. Marko dipped his head once, eyes still firmly pressed shut.  "Whenever I press into your chest, I need you to breathe in through your nose, and try and press my hand away with your chest," you instructed, "when I release the pressure, you exhale slowly through your mouth." Marko wanted to speak, show you he had understood, but he found his words once again stolen from him by the panic attack. Instead, he dipped his head once again, but it was all the confirmation you needed. 

You slowly and gently pressed the palm of your hand a little firmer into his chest.  Marko took a shaky breath. He did his best to get his lungs to fill properly and get his chest to give counter-pressure against your hand, but couldn’t quite manage.  "It’s alright," you eased him, "take your time. Just focus on the rhythm of the pressure of my hand and try to breathe with that." You felt how Marko was really trying to, but also how he wasn’t succeeding yet. His inhales were broken by shudders, and his exhales disrupted by sudden and involuntary gulps.  "That’s it," you encouraged anyway, "easy does it."

Your hand never left his chest as you gently applied pressure and released it, with Marko doing his utmost best to get his breathing to fall in sync with it. You spoke soft encouragements, yet the silent moments in between were filled with Marko’s quiet whimpers.  It didn’t matter to you how long it would take, you would help Marko through this. 

---

Eventually, you sat with Marko like that for well over 30 minutes. There was no reason to rush anything. Soundchecks for the grand finale of tonight wouldn’t be starting for another few hours, so you gave him all the time he needed to pull himself out of this panic attack.

Marko’s pulse had returned to a regular, calm rhythm, as had his breathing. His trembling had subsided, but he sat beside you looking worn out from everything he had just gone through. 

You gently let your hand fall away from Marko’s chest for the first time again. You kept a close eye on him, but he was able to keep his breaths calm by himself now. "Open your eyes," you said softly. Marko slowly did so. Even though the area where you sat was dimly lit, he still squinted at the light. He ran slightly trembling fingers through his silvery hair, before he finally looked up at you sitting next to him. 

"I’m sorry about that." Marko sounded tired. "No need to apologise." You shook your head. "May I ask what happened?" "This happened." Marko chuckled wryly, motioning his hands to the area around you. "I’ve never performed at an event of this magnitude before. And… well, my stage fright took the better of me, I guess. It does that sometimes."

The airiness with which he spoke of his stage fright was pitiful, almost like it was the most common thing in the world for him. "But it doesn’t often get this bad, I reckon," you said sympathetically.  "No." Marko sighed heavily, running his fingers through his hair once more. "It doesn’t usually lead to a full-blown panic attack, and certainly not like this one, but, apparently, big stages lead to big anxiety." A dark chuckle followed. "That’s not even remotely funny," you scoffed. Marko gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I’m used to it by now."

He shifted his body, grunting softly as he stretched his cramped legs out in front of him. He leaned his head back against one of the crates behind him and glanced up at the ceiling for a moment. 

"But what you did really helped me." He spoke after a few seconds of silence. "I’m not quite sure I would have gotten through this one on my own, so I’m really grateful." You shrugged. "I’ve got a bit of experience with panic attacks as well, I’m afraid. So I know how bad they can get."

Marko’s gaze slowly shifted back to you. "Yourself or helping someone deal with it?" "Myself, unfortunately." You sat back into a more comfortable position, too. "Some events in life leave more scars than you can imagine," you added darkly.  "I’m sorry." Marko shortly rested a hand on your arm in support.  "What I just did with you, my sister used to do that for me whenever my anxiety flared up," you explained, "it always helped me through it, so…" You let your voice trail off.  "Well, tell her it’s a good technique." Marko winked lazily. "And I’m glad you’re the one who found me just now. Thank you." The sincere thankfulness was in his voice and in every fibre of his being. 

The two of you talked for a while longer, before Marko slowly hoisted himself back onto his feet. He looked steady again, ready to go, and a glimpse of the extroverted Baby Lasagna shone through the cracks again. 

"Will you be alright?" You stood back up, too.  "Yes." Marko nodded confidently. "I know it sounds strange, especially after what you’ve seen just now, but it feels like I needed to get this out of my system in order to be ready for tonight." You chuckled, glad to see the sparkle of joy back in his eyes, instead of the sparkle of tears and panic. "Come see me if anything threatens to overwhelm you again." Marko nodded gratefully. "I sure will."

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Merry Whump of May 2024 Prompts

Event tags: #mwm2024 #themerrywhumpofmay #mwmday[X]

Thank you everyone for your patience in waiting for this post. We can't wait to see what you create this year! Have fun!

Image text under the cut-

Transcription:

ABOUT THE EVENT

The Merry Whump of May is an event run by @wormwriting and @painsandconfusion. There are 31 days of prompts to be completed each day of May. Feel free to do as much or as little as you’d like. 

Prompts can be filled in prose, poetry, art, or any other medium you resonate with. 

There will be participation and completionist medals in downloadable pdf format.

Prompts

01 - Breathless “Get back in there” | Ring box | Cliff

02 - Scorching “Don’t you dare.” | Glasses | Storage Shed

03 - Lost “See what happens.” | Screwdriver | Club

04  - Forgettable “Who are you?” | Lamp | Alleyway

05 - Strained “Put that down.” | Electrical wires | Plane

06 - Suspicious “You thought you could get away with this?” | Barbed wire | Riverside

07 - Fallen “Forget about them.” | Piano | Edge of town

08 - Pitch black “I’m fine.” | White-hot blade | Passenger seat

09 - Frostbitten “You’re nothing” | Blanket | Parking lot

10 - Jaded  “Revenge is a dish best served.” | Mask | Rooftop

11 - Numb “Pretty little thing.” | Bracelet | Stairwell

12- Known “Let me hear you.” | Garrotte | Desert

13 - Restless “Tell me how it feels.” | Needle | Trail

14 - Punchable “I just want you.” | Rock | Closet

15 - Stone-cold “Let me hold you.” | Candle | Cellar

16 - Naive  “Say aaaaa-” | Whip | Library

17 - Hungry “Wait, are you afraid of me?” | Fork | Lake

18 - Conditioned “Why do you love them?” | Record player | Ballroom

19 - Distracted “Rot in hell.” | Soup | crate

20 - Alone “Don’t tell me you forgot about me.” | Lipstick | Training grounds

21 - Charismatic “Sit.” | Vial | Balcony

22 - Charred “It’s been too long.” | Straps | Rafters

23 - Overthrown “Close your eyes.” | Rock | Truck

24 - Shadowed “Break a leg!” | Plants | Cave

25 - Practical “I’ve always loved the rain.” | Bottle | Shop

26 - Resilient “Get in.” | Pocket | Marsh

27 - Mistrusted “You’re trembling.” | Dagger | Couch

28 - Loyal “Smile.” | Water | Workshop

29 - Reflective “Chin up.” | Trap | Office

30 - Tenacious “Did you have a bad dream?” | Paper clip | Doorway

31 - Broken “Last one.” | Key | Under the bed

Alternate Prompts

Hidden

Waking

Betrayed

Garish

Garden

Theater

Docks

Street corner

“Lean on me.”

“I don’t have regrets.”

“Take me.”

Shoe

Ribbon

Corset

Crown

[whumpsoda]

Seeing Me in You - Unboxing

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, institutionalized slavery, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee

——————

Ever so anxiously fearful, he had safely arrived to his new home. After so long of training and treatment, he had been prepared to perfection for his purpose. He was going to finally be put to use.

His trip to delivery had proved painful, even if he was used to dealing with common afflictions. Such a tight cage was unfavorable for his hulking frame, and the constant, numerous shakes and bumps of the truck formed noticeable bruises over his skin, and a sour throbbing in his head.

Thankfully, 374629 wasn’t meant to look presentable. Especially not pretty. He knew he wasn’t, having been utterly made sure of it. Not average looking, even, but he was never meant to be. He certainly was not a romantic, nothing anyone would purchase depending on his level of attraction.

Once set to the ground below his master’s doorstep, he made a point not to listen into the muffled conversation mushing together like cotton clouds above him. Reducing it to a buzz in the back of his mind, he kept his brain nice and blank. His belly still whirled in a mixture of terror and excitement to be inches away from his owner, and minutes from finally being introduced to them.

He could clearly hear as the employees transporting him finally left, leaving him alone with his owner. Leaving him to begin his new life.

374629 froze rigid as light began cracking and seeping into his crate, flooding his face with warmth and blinding brightness. On instinct his eyes shut and wound tight, body curling into itself further.

He hoped his master would be a good master. Didn’t everyone? Every master would be good of course, he had to be grateful to have any master at all. He was lucky. Maybe they would be just like his handlers in the facility. He couldn’t help but wish they were. As much as he was in no place to have preferences, he would have liked the familiarity.

But as his master ever so carefully opened his box, revealing more and more of his face, 374629 couldn’t help but on instinct catch a tiny look. And his master was frowning.

It was obvious he was attempting to hide it, lips curling up ever so slightly, almost unnoticeably so. The fake, half smile failed to meet his solemn, moistening eyes that glittered in the light. Not only was he obviously unhappy with his delivery, but his master was crying.

As 374629 turned back away, he could only hope it was his pet’s unsavory predicament that he found so foul.

Covered in his own grime, tears and sweat, boxers shriveled and dirty, his burly figure was contorted every which way inside of his box. His collar wasn’t even a nice leather, rather cheap and itching raw, red marks over his neck.

Maybe his master had never ordered a boxie before. Maybe he didn’t realize his pet would arrive so disheveled.

“S- sorry,” the man sniveled, wiping his eyes with clammy knuckles, “This is just… a lot. More so for you, of course.” 374629 could sense the slightest of a soft smile in his voice, pulsing warmth through his pet’s butterfly-filled belly. 

374629 didn’t know if he was meant to respond. He knew his rules well, repeating one specifically like a mantra in his mind. Do not speak unless spoken to, he told himself, over and over again like the handlers had. But he’d never had someone, let alone a person, apologize to him. Apologize! How could he possibly know what to do?

“Ye- yes, sir.” He squeaked out, meek and shaky. He winced, expecting a quick and burning shock to the throat for his misbehavior - hesitating and stuttering - but, while no longer wearing his training collar, such a punishment never came. 

Eyes peeking open once again, 374629 fixated his vision on the wood paneling of his crate. Pets are never allowed to look their master in the face, he told himself, both reminding him of the rules and silently chastising himself for having the urge to do so a second time. He hoped his owner had noticed his previous mistake of doing so, so that he could receive needed discipline for such unacceptable behavior.

“Hmmm… how about we get you up and out of your box, okay?” His master commanded, although spoken strangely. As if it wasn’t a command, rather a question, but 374629 knew very well that it was. Commands were one thing he was good at knowing. “Unless you feel more comfortable in there, then-,”

Before his master could continue, 374629 swiftly and clumsily stumbled from the confines of his box, plopping to his knees beside it. Again he fixed his gaze somewhere beside his master, this time the concrete floor of the hallway, as much as he wished he could look to the man for approval.

“Oh.” 

The pet tensed. Did he do something wrong? He failed to discern an emotion from his master’s lack thereof, causing his stomach to quease with uneasiness. 

“That’s okay. That’s good, yeah.” The pet could have sighed in relief. “Now, can I ask you a question?”

374629 tensed once again. Another question. He was so terribly confused. Why was his master asking him? Permission, even? It had to be a trick. A test, to see how well he’d been trained, an easy on at that. 

“A master does anything they so desire.” He neatly recited, a smile nearly tugging at his lips. 

He was being such a good boy. Back at training he would have received a quick and concise good by his handler, and the thought of praise, no matter how little and insignificant, could have him practically drooling.

For a moment, his master paused.

“I guess I should’ve expected that.” He whispered, more so to himself than his pet. His tone almost shone disappointment to his words, a realization that could have brought rich bile flooding his pet’s mouth. “I just wanna know, um, what’s your designation?”

He didn’t even need to think to formulate a reply. “WRU, facility 034, Guard Dog 374629.” He recited on the instant, words rolling off his tongue with perfected memorization. His designation was beat to memory, coming completely and entirely natural to him. In the whole interaction, that was one thing he was sure of.

He heard his master swallow, thick with saliva that danced down his throat. “Guard dog?”

“Yes, sir.” He responded, without falter, and utilizing his deep, low chords.

“Me too.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @3-2-whump @taterswhump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[shywhumpauthor]

“Gentle” Pet Whump

“Whump” isn’t really the right word for what I’m referencing but I can’t think of anything else.

I want a Whumper who bought their Whumpee because they just wanted a companion. Someone else in the house, someone to help with the chores, someone they can just chill and watch a movie with, someone to sit at the table with them while they eat.

All the centered stories I see with tropes kinda like this are always recovery centered, like a second hand pet bought from some shady dealer who is insanely traumatized both physically and mentally. And their owner is always like some sort of radical caretaker, encouraging them to find their humanity again and whatnot.

They still have to be a Whumper, but they don’t have to be *bad*. Just let both them and Whumpee be content with their dynamics.

Whumpee has to wear a collar, but Whumper doesn’t care that much if they have it off in the house—just be sure to have it on whenever they go out or have company over.

The rules aren’t strict, and neither are the consequences if they break them, but there’s still repercussions. They break something? Just a slap on the wrist, a warning or whatever. They enter a room they were told not to? Go to the corner, you can bring a rug over to kneel on, just stay there until Whumper says they can move. Dinner isn’t done by the time Whumper gets home from work? Well then, they can have the leftovers tomorrow morning, but tonight they don’t get to eat. If they don’t finish their chores in time, or if they forget to switch the laundry from the wash to the drier, they might earn themself a slap and a yelling at, but Whumper will move off it quickly and make up for it with a cup of hot cocoa after Whumpee finishes their task.

Whumpee gets a crate, of course, but Whumper doesn’t really lock it anymore. Sometimes Whumpee will sleep on a little cushioned mat in the corner of Whumper’s room, sometimes on the couch in the living room, sometimes curled in Whumper’s bed tucked under the warm covers. They’re allowed on the couch, or they can kneel by the coffee table, whatever.

Whumper doesn’t have a dungeon in their basement. They don’t have a collection of terribly sharp knives or beaded whips or spiked restraints. They have the shock collar they were given with Whumpee’s purchase, and the cuffs, but those were both tucked away in a box somewhere in the attic. Whumper never even bothered to put batteries into the remote.

Just give me casual pet/owner dynamics. Not all pet owners have to be cookie cutter whumpers or caretakers. Have them border that line, away to either side but never quite cross it.

[kybercrystals94]

Embroidered Skulls

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 20 | Prompt 20: Truth Serum

Rated: G | Words: 1092 | A slight mishap leads to some honest answers. [Character Focus: Tech, Hunter, Echo, Crosshair, Wrecker]

I am steeling my little heart for season 3…so light hearted whump is being served here today ^_^

“Ah, you’re back,” Tech says, glancing up when Hunter and Echo clamber up the ramp of the ship. “Wrecker and Crosshair should be returning in short order as well.”

Hunter and Echo exchange glances, wordless communication flashing between them in microexpressions Tech cannot read.

“Did the extraction go according to plan? Were there any issues?” Tech asks.

Echo stiffens at the question, and Hunter turns away to drop the small crate of serum on one of the crash seats.

“It…went. It was fine,” Hunter says, his back still to Tech. “We’re fine.”

“We’re fine,” Echo agrees with a sharp nod.

Tech narrows his gaze.

“I mean…” Echo continues, looking uncomfortable. “We’re not injured. But there was a mishap.”

“Echo,” Hunter groans.

“A mishap?” Tech presses. “What sort of mishap?”

Echo shifts from one artificial leg to the other. “Well…”

Hunter spins around, pushing Echo aside. “We lost one of the vials. That’s all. It was destroyed.”

“One of the truth serum vials?” Tech keeps himself carefully composed. “Were either of you exposed?”

Hunter huffs, crossing his arms. “Were you exposed?”

“That is not a logical response,” Tech says, deadpan.

“Yeah, well,” Hunter sputters, “Why aren’t you answering the question?”

Tech rolls his eyes. “No. I was not exposed because I wasn’t there. I’m going to assume that you both were exposed which explains why you are behaving erratically.”

“You can’t tell Wrecker or Crosshair,” Echo pleads.

“Echo! Stop talking,” Hunter cries.

“You stop talking,” Echo shoots back. “You’re the one asking Tech if he was exposed to the serum you dropped half a klick away!”

“That’s because someone didn’t make sure the second latch on the crate was secure!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“Yes!”

“At least we now know that the serum is effective,” Tech sighs, picking up the crate of drugs to stow away before Wrecker inadvertently causes more mayhem.

“Tech,” Hunter cries, trailing after him, “is there an antidote?”

“The effects should wear off on their own with no detriment to your health.”

“But Tech…”

Tech locks up the crate and turns to his brother. “Hunter, do you honestly think I have an antidote to a newly discovered truth serum just lying around in the med kit?”

Hunter hesitates. “Yes?”

“That was a rhetorical question, but I appreciate your honesty,” Tech says with a barely concealed grin as he brushes past Hunter back into the main hold.

“Tech, this isn’t funny!”

“That entirely depends on which side of the argument you’re on,” Tech says. “And I’m sure that Wrecker and Crosshair will be on my side.”

“You can’t tell them!”

“I won’t tell them anything. The two of you on the other hand…”

“Maker, Tech, you have to help us,” Echo says.

A distinct voice bellows outside the ship, “We’re back! Did you miss us?”

Hunter and Echo give Tech an beseeching look, and he almost pities them.

Almost.

Wrecker comes bounding into the ship followed by the much more sedate sniper. Crosshair hits the control to close the door before turning on the group still crowded in the hull. “Is something wrong?” he asks, taking off his helmet.

“Why would something be wrong? Nothing’s wrong,” Hunter says quickly.

Too quickly.

Crosshair smirks. “What did you do?”

Hunter’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Crosshair’s gaze slides to Echo. “What did he do?”

“Hunter broke a vial of the truth serum,” Echo says.

Crosshair’s face goes slack with surprise for a moment before a wicked grin curls across his face. “Did he now? That’s unfortunate.”

“What does that mean?” Wrecker asks, looking concerned as he glances between the color drained faces of Echo and Hunter.

“It means that loose lips crash starships, Wrecker,” Crosshair says.

Wrecker looks puzzled for a moment before it clicks, and he smiles broadly. “Ah, I get it.”

“There’s nothing to get,” Hunter snaps. “Tech, get us out of here. We have a mission to complete.”

Tech nods and heads for the cockpit, Echo following closely behind him.

“If you think I’m going to help you not inadvertently answer incessant questions, you are mistaken,” Tech says, settling into the pilot’s chair and flicking switches for the startup sequence.

“How long will it take for this to get out of our systems?” Echo asks.

Tech sighs. “I may know many things, Echo, but even I have my limits. I would need access to the research and chemical makeup of the drug to accurately answer your question.”

“Give me your best guess.”

“You will not like it.”

“Tech!”

“I would estimate that you and Hunter will experience the effects of the drug for approximately one standard week.”

“No! You’re lying!”

Tech smiles. “At least one of us can.”

Echo drops into the copilot’s chair with a growl. “You’re the worst.”

Tech gets them situated in a hyperspace lane before a tangle of cajoling voices approach the cockpit, and Hunter enters followed by Wrecker and Crosshair. Hunter sits down, and turns his chair away from his siblings.

“C’mon, Hunter,” Wrecker says, “Don’t you want to tell us?”

“No!”

Crosshair chuckles. “He’s telling the truth.”

“Shut up, Cross.”

“But really, Hunter, we need to know…where’d you learn how to embroider skulls onto your bandanas? Or do you have them done somewhere? And if that’s the case, then where?”

Hunter decidedly keeps his jaw locked shut.

“It would be more effective if you asked the questions individually,” Tech offers. The look of utter betrayal Hunter shoots him is heartbreaking, but the engineer simply shrugs. “This is a research opportunity I am unwilling to pass up.”

Echo chuckles, drawing Crosshair’s attention. “You know something about this, don’t you?” he asks, pointing at the cyborg accusingly.

Hunter’s eyes widen, and Echo swallows.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking,” Echo says, evading the question carefully.

“Where does Hunter keep his art projects?”

Echo scoffs. “Hunter doesn’t do art projects,” he says, looking relieved. A fatal mistake.

“Where does Hunter keep his embroidery kit?” Tech specifies.

“In a box under the nav computer. There’s a hollow behind the main hard drive,” Echo says.

“Echo!” Hunter gasps.

Crosshair and Wrecker exchange thrilled glances before racing out of the cockpit. Hunter goes after them, ordering them to leave his stuff alone.

“How did you find out about Hunter’s sewing project?” Tech asks wryly.

“Eh, I found it one day when I was doing repairs.”

The two are quite a moment while they listen to the indistinct squabbling and laughter behind them.

“But really, Tech, how long until this stuff wears off?”

END

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!✨

Taglist: @amorfista @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @arctrooper69 @proteatook @the-little-moment @nagyanna424 @groguandthebadbatch @mooncommlink @merkitty49

[staydandy]

The First Responders Season 2 (2023) - 소방서 옆 경찰서 그리고 국과수 - Whump List

List by StayDandy Synopsis : The season continues to follow the joint operations of the police force, fire department, and paramedics. The three stations jointly respond to fierce scenes between crime, disasters and emergencies, showcasing their bravery and teamwork in the face of danger. (MDL) AKA : The Police Station Next to the Fire Station and National Forensic Service | The First Responders 2

Whumpee : Jin Ho Gae [detective] played by Kim Rae Won • Bong Do Jin [firefighter] played by Son Ho Jun • Kang Do Ha [NFS] played by Oh Eui Shik • Gong Myung Pil [detective, Ho Gae’s partner] played by Kang Gi Doong

Country : 🇰🇷 South Korea Genres : Action, Thriller, Mystery, Drama, Crime, Bromance

Notes : This is a Full Whump List • Autopsy scenes are vivid. Be wary if you're squeamish. • Uh, yeah, I had a few rather emotional responses to some eps, you'll see a few of my thoughts in blue • TW : Animal Cruelty, Child Abuse

Related List : The First Responders Season 1 (2022) - Full List

Episodes on List : 11 Total Episodes : 12

*Spoilers below*

left to right : Ho Gae, Do Jin, Do Ha, Myung Pil

01 : Jin Ho Gae falls several feet, connected to Bong Do Jin by a security rope, who's supporting him, hanging, suspended, unconscious … Ho Gae & Do Jin ditch their helmets & oxygen tanks, Ho Gae coughing from smoke … hand burned, treated

02 : (near end) Do Jin falls through a collapsed floor to the floor below, knocked out briefly

03 : (This episode hurts so much 😭 - literally in tears here 😭) Dead … [flashback] Hurt from the fall, trapped, surrounded by fire

04 : (near end) tw: animal cruelty

05 : (A new face appears; Kang Do Ha .. i don't trust u yet (ᓀ_ᓀ)) Kang Do Ha trips over himself & pushed off balance (comedic)

06 : (near end) tw:child abuse

07 : Blown back by an explosion, hits his head, knocked out briefly … (near end) Ho Gae swallows a handcuff key, retching

08 : … continued from previous ep. ... Do Ha has nosebleed, also leaking cerebrospinal fluid (protective brain fluid) from concussion … head pain, blurry vision, collapses … Ho Gae punched

10 : (near end) Gong Myung Pil blown back & severely burned from explosion.. painful treatment

11 : … continued from previous ep. ... Ambulance transport, hyperventilating from pain … [flashback] Ho Gae stabbed with a needle, drugged, passes out … [present] kidnapped, unconscious & transported in a coffin-like box … wakes, bleeding from a stitched incision behind his ear.. dizzy, blurry vision, collapses.. [flashback] surgery of microchip imbedded.. [present] electric shock from imbedded chip, pain, collapses … Myung Pil hospitalized … Ho Gae shocked with electricity from chip, falls off moped … chip removed on the field with no pain meds … forced to vomit (not shown) … dead (?? FUKIN EXCUSE ME?! WTF?? HOW DO U KILL OFF HO GAE?!?!) … Myung Pil wakes in hospital, collapses off bed … collapses in grief

12 : (@ 36:30 NOT DEAD, thank fuckin god! - that's right! fuk him up Ho Gae!) Ho Gae in fight; stabbed in leg, wounds stepped on, crate broken over his head.. Myung Pil & Do Ha blown back by explosion & collapsing wall … treated by paramedics … Ho Gae, Myung Pil, & Do Ha hospitalized (aw, they get to share a room 😆) … [flashback] walking with a crutch … [present] walking with a crutch

[befuddled-calico-whump]

no setting the scene this time, just some refs for the next time you wanna dangle a whumpee (feat. me being a drama queen at the crossfit gym)

more under the cut!

more whump art refs:

pet crate | basement | white shirt | gut spill

[erathene]

A Fool's Hope

Summary: Aragorn has returned to Helm's Deep, which is rushing to prepare for the arrival of Isengard's Uruk army. Unfortunately, recent events take a heavy toll on the future king of Gondor, and you struggle with your own doubts as you try to pick up the pieces.

Word count: 2.3k

Pairing: Aragorn & GN!Reader 

Warnings: Whump, loss of consciousness, nausea, Aragorn is Not A Well Man™.

Author's note: It has been years since I've written anything, and real life has been extra busy as I'm now a mum to my 16 month old son. Now I'm starting to get some time back for my own hobbies I've started writing a few fics. Enjoy! 😚

..........................

Thirty sacks of grain, check.

Fifteen barrels of mead, check. 

Ten crates of carrots and twelve of cabbages, check.

Eight bushels of apples, check. 

The scratch of your quill against parchment could scarcely be heard over the hubbub of activity that was swelling through Helm's Deep. The fortress was in full preparation mode, readying for the battle that was to come. It seemed that every citizen had their own duty to fulfil; whether that be sharpening weapons at the grindstone, filling quivers with arrows or reinforcing the main gate.

Things were a little calmer here amongst the supplies and foodstuffs that had been amassed in recent weeks from the many arrivals to the fortress. Crates were neatly stacked one on top of the other whilst large oak barrels lined the thick stone wall. King Théoden had tasked you with tallying all of the rations that had been gathered together and ensuring their safe delivery to the Glittering Caves beyond the keep. To some, it may have appeared a simple task, with no true impact or merit. However, as Keeper of the Granary in Edoras, you knew all too well how plans for a siege could go disastrously awry should there not be adequate supplies to keep the troops fed and watered. The king himself would want to know the exact figures of every product stored, and most importantly how it could be stretched to cover the longest amount of time possible without his soldiers going hungry. It was a crucial part of the battle plans.

Consequently, every note you made on your parchment sheet was checked and re-checked, before the containers were carried off to the caves. The gravity and significance of the task at hand also kept your mind from dwelling on the thought of the thousands of Uruks which would soon be on the doorstep. You were no fighter, and had you not been kept busy with this charge, you might have found yourself completely overwhelmed with the anxiety of the battle ahead. 

"Those three sacks there can go next," you indicated to one of the youths who had been placed under your command for this task. "And ensure they are stored off the ground; we don't want spoiled grain on our hands." You watched as the boy nodded at your instructions and heaved a sack over his shoulder.

You turned back to your parchment paper, studying the values you had written. A few more calculations and you would be ready to present your findings back to the king and his war council, who were due to meet shortly for the final time. Presenting information to all the lords of Edoras may have intimidated some, but to you it seemed wholly insignificant compared to your apprehension of the conflict to come. 

Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and you glanced up quickly. Standing before you was Lord Aragorn, his gaze passing over the various containers that were held in the small area you were working in.

"My lord," you said as you bowed your head respectfully. "Is there something I can do for you?"

This was a paltry suggestion, for the man looked more than worse for wear. You had heard other folk speak of how he had been dragged off the cliff by one of the wolves of Isengard, and how he had ridden day and night to warn Théoden's people of the doom that was marching towards them. Yet nobody had spoken of his impairment. His complexion was pale beneath the dirt and grime of the skirmish and subsequent journey here, which also extended to his hair and clothing. A torn strip of cloth was tied around his upper arm, the crude bandage failing to fully cover an abrasion that was still red and raw underneath. His posture was irregular, likely caused by bruising beneath his garments and a cracked rib or two, and he gripped the hilt of his weapon as an old man would cling to a walking stick. As you took in his appearance, you found yourself morbidly surprised that he was still standing. 

"How are our supplies looking, Grainkeeper?" Aragorn asked, referring to you in the Common Tongue translation of your Rohirric title.

"Satisfactory, my lord," you replied quickly. "We won't be living in luxury, but I believe with careful management of our food stocks, we'll be able to see ourselves through at least a month of war or longer. The majority of the supplies have already been taken to the caves and stored securely. As you can see, we are about to move the final items," you gestured to the remaining crates of legumes and bushels of apples. You reported your findings to him as you would to King Théoden, taking the opportunity to see how the results would be received. 

"Good," he nodded. "That is good."

It didn't escape your attention how his grey eyes became glassy and unmoving as you gave your report, how his hand gripped the pommel of his sword with greater tension than before. "My lord, are you quite well?" you asked tentatively.

Aragorn blinked, returning from his reverie. "Well enough," he nodded with a forced smile. 

You felt less than convinced by his response. Nevertheless, he was a grown man, and it was not your place to fuss over him. With a pretence of curiosity to cover your underlying fears, you asked him about the preparations for the defence of the keep. Truth be told, you had been far too preoccupied in the makeshift open-air storeroom to take much notice of these activities.

"The reservists are being drawn behind the main wall, and archers will be positioned to support the keep," Aragorn said in a monotonous tone, as though he had repeated the battle plans over and over many times already. "King Théoden has sent his scouts to..." His sentence trailed off as he began to blink rapidly, reaching out to steady himself on one of the barrels of mead. Any remaining colour drained from his face as his breath came short and sharp.

Worry surged in your stomach for the man as he swayed dangerously on the spot. "My lord, you really should sit down. Here," you offered kindly, upturning an empty crate for him to use as a makeshift seat. "I'll fetch you some water." 

No sooner had you turned your back, there was an almighty crash as something went tumbling into the awaiting crates and barrels. You spun around on the spot and saw Aragorn sprawled on the floor, surrounded by upturned containers and stray carrots. A few apples rolled past the prone man whose limbs were haphazardly crumpled beneath him. Rushing to his side, you lifted back the mop of dark hair that lined his face; his eyes were half-lidded and his lips parted, as if he were trying to speak but his body was completely betraying him. You called his name, but there was no reaction. Pressing your fingers to his neck, you felt his racing heartbeat echoing in his veins beneath skin that was clammy to the touch. 

You called out to him again, the panic becoming evident in your voice. "Lord Aragorn, can you hear me?" You shook his shoulder vigorously in the hope of rousing him. Just as you were about to dash off to find help, you were rewarded when he let out a low, guttural moan.

"My lord?" 

You could just about make out the "M' fine," he mumbled into the floor. His fists clenched as began to push himself up to sitting, his hair falling over his facial features as he moved.

"Come, rest against the wall here." You gestured a few feet away where there was a gap between the mead barrels and crates. None of the colour had returned to his cheeks yet, and you fretted inwardly about whether he would lose consciousness again as you aided him. Soon enough, however, the man was resting against the cool stone, taking in deep and shaking breaths with his eyes firmly shut. 

You rushed to fill a spare flagon with water from a nearby jug, the liquid sloshing as you hurried back to Aragorn. The man opened one eye as you handed him the cup. "I'm fine," he repeated, seeing the concern etched on your face.

"I'm sure you are, my lord," you said grimly. "But it would lessen my worry to see you drink." 

Aragorn extended his hand towards the flagon, but seeing how he shook uncontrollably, you brought the cup to his lips instead. Slowly, he took a few small sips as the flagon tilted.

"Better?" you asked quietly.

"Aye. Thank you," he said. You helped him take a few more sips from the flagon, satisfied by the colouring that was slowly returning to his cheeks. 

Suddenly, another voice called over the barrels. "Lord Aragorn?"

You stood quickly, and saw the voice belonged to the captain of the king's guard, Háma. He looked slightly taken aback by your sudden appearance from behind several barrels. "Captain Háma, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I am looking for Lord Aragorn. King Théoden wishes to see him immediately."

You briefly looked down at Aragorn, who was still slumped behind the barrels. At first he caught your gaze with pleading grey eyes, before his eyelids fell and his head shifted lightly from side to side to convey his refusal. You understood; he wasn't ready, not yet. 

You feigned reaching for your parchment which had been abandoned on top of a nearby barrel, hoping Háma would not be suspicious of your downward glance. "I'm afraid I have not seen him, sir. Perhaps he has gone to the armoury?"

Háma's stern gaze was fixed on you for several moments, before he frowned with disappointment. "I have already looked there, but perhaps we missed each other. As you were, Grainkeeper." He departed the area, his armour and chainmail ringing as he walked.

As soon as the captain rounded the corner, you bent back down behind the storage containers to level with Aragorn.

"Thank you," he breathed. "I am not sure I could have faced the king right now. Not while I have no strength left in me." 

"That's quite alright, Lord Aragorn. Here," you gave him a polite smile before reaching out and offering one of the apples that had been thrown in his fall. 

Aragorn blanched at the sight of the fruit. "I'm not hungry," he grunted through gritted teeth. 

"You said it yourself, you are lacking strength." From your pocket you pulled a small knife, and holding the fruit in your palm you began to slowly remove the apple skin with the edge of the blade. "This should help you recover somewhat." You cut the skinned apple into pieces in your hand, handing the man a wedge. 

Aragorn took the apple piece, but paused for a good minute or two before it entered his mouth. He chewed slowly, grinding the fruit down into a pulp, before he swallowed with a grimace. He looked like he was trying very hard not to vomit. 

You searched for a topic of conversation to draw his focus away from his churning stomach. Unfortunately, the only subject brimming the surface of your thoughts was the feeling of impending doom waiting for the siege to begin; the same feeling you had largely ignored whilst you had been occupied by your work.

You blurted out a question that had been rattling around your mind before you could even consider whether it would be appropriate to ask. "Is it true? There are really ten thousand Uruks marching on us?" 

Aragorn nodded slowly. "I'm afraid so. From the numbers I saw, Isengard is likely to be deserted."

You sighed, unable to mask your pessimism. "Ten thousand against three hundred. So there truly is no hope for us.."

"I disagree," said Aragorn quietly. "We still have hope." 

"Are we not fools to hope at all? Knowing what we are up against?"

"Nay," said Aragorn. "To hope is not foolish. We have a choice; to choose hope over fear. Choosing hope means choosing to believe that there are better days to come, if one has the courage to fight for it. That is not foolish in the slightest."

"No, I suppose not," you said, slightly surprised by the wisdom he demonstrated seemingly beyond his years. 

You suddenly heard your name being called from beyond the barrels. Rising to your feet once more, you saw the young man who had carried a sack of grain to the caves had returned. He stood obediently awaiting his next instructions, but you saw how his eyes curiously travelled around the chaos of upturned crates and loose vegetables that had appeared in his absence. "Never mind the mess now, boy," you shooed him away as soon as he held a crate of cabbages in his arms.  

"I should help you tidy up," Aragorn said firmly. "This is my doing after all."

"Are you sure, my lord?" You worried whether or not he should be standing so soon after his blackout.

"Yes. I insist," he said, slowly rising to his feet.

"That would be appreciated, thank you."

Together, you gathered up the provisions that had been thrown when the man had taken his tumble, and the chaos was soon reorganised back into neatly stacked crates. You looked around to see where you had left your parchment of notes, only to see the man holding them in his outstretched hand. 

"Remember; choose hope over fear," he said, touching your shoulder before taking his leave of you. 

His comment seemed to lighten the very air around you, the weight of complete helplessness clearing from your mind. You turned back to your parchment paper, feeling more resolved than ever to be a part of this final stand against evil, even if it was with a fool's hope.

[lindsay00000008]

Flight Risk Pt. 2

[Previous part - Flight Risk Pt. 1]

Pet Whump Series - Carewhumpers

CW: systemic pet whump, dehumanization, brainwashed/drugged/conditioned whumpee, self/internal-conditioning, struggle with memory loss, speech impairment

Recap: Frank steps away and Honey's head raises to find him. But the room is getting a little fuzzy, and the lights are too bright. Arms find hers and prop her upright before pulling her to slide to the edge of the table.

"I get my cert in a few months, so we'll see if they still like me, yeah? I'll grab the cage."

Honey's limbs fold gracelessly as she's lowered into a padded cube by stiff hands. A more friendly hand lifts her chin and brushes her bangs out of her eyes, then rubs a finger on the bridge of her nose soothingly. The too-bright lights are doused when a lid goes over top and clicks.

"Wait," comes a voice, and the light flickers. Luce's scent envelops her as the flannel drops to cover her head and shoulders. Honey pulls it close and curls on her side, feeling the soft walls of the space give slightly as her knees press into it. She feels cocooned and safe.

She's jostled slightly, and the cube moves. Wheels, she thinks. She blinks open her eyes to see movement. The world floats by behind a metal grid, obscured slightly by the dangle of her collar and leash, coiled up and zip-tied to the grid beside a drip bottle. Hamsters, she thinks.

A lot of noises pass by. Beeping, whirring, shoes, doors, and finally a hollow metal clang. The cube jolts, tilts slightly, then levels out. The sound of castors on metal echoes. A slap over the top of the cube, clicks beneath, a tug. Finally everything stills. Footsteps lead away.

The light is dim. Honey is very drowsy. But it's hard to fall asleep with all the noises about - things hitting the walls of the small room, animals yapping and metal rattling, and people speaking loudly to one another about ratchet straps and ETAs. A large bang of doors closing, mechanical parts clanking.

After a while, everything is dark and calm. Sound comes in starts and stop, whirring loud then quiet. Honey's cube shifts slightly, jostled with the others in the room, but it doesn't feel unsteady. She lifts her face to peer through the gridlines.

Taking up most of the space are crates of fur-pets, stacked two-high and secured with a strap. A barking starts up as she watches, making her grimace.

Don't they know to be quiet? But it doesn't seem like any humans are in the space. Maybe it'll be ok.

Still, the sound makes her chew her lips nervously.

Along the opposite wall is a large cube. She assumes it's the same as hers. Inside is an ally-pet, draped in a stylish brown leather coat and matching knee-high boots. It sprawls - as much as it can sprawl in the small cage, it's body much bigger than hers- legs splayed apart and its spine hunched. Honey proper herself against the side of her cube to get a better look.

The other pet stares at Honey across the space with what she thinks might be malignant curiosity, but when the pet's head droops at a silly angle and its eyes blink slow and liquid she realizes it's just relaxed. Is that what she looks like, staring back at it? She giggles before she can stop herself, the sound foreign and reminding her too much of Luce. She smacks a lagging hand over her mouth, hitting her nose painfully. A pet shouldn't try to imitate their owner. That's bad.

Her eyes water. She misses Luce. And ever since that pinch on her neck - the needle, a syringe, it's called. Drugs in it. Drugged? No, they helped me, Frank helped me be calm. They helped me be calm, and being calm helps me be good - but she doesn't feel like she's being good. She's looking around too much, being loud. Making noises like Luce. She could hurt herself, pretending. Did hurt herself, smacking her face like that. She should put her head down and go to sleep.

But the room is loud now, so loud, all of the sudden, and it tilts, making Honey want to box out her limbs and press against the sides of the cube. The cage. She feels terror prickle beneath the syrupy weight infusing her body. Her stomach flips when the room shakes and seems to bend in on itself. Frank left his warm hand on her brain, smoothing away wrinkles and loose neurons. But his grip is unsteady. The fear seeps in.

She yelps before she can stop herself, the fingers of one hand slotting into the cool metal grid, the other gripping tight to Luce's flannel, as if a sudden wind might whip it away. The air is still. But it sounds so angry.

"Hu-Hey!" a shout from the other cube has her flinch. Are there humans in here? She should have been quiet. She's been bad, untrained, hopeless, just like they said.

"J-jus, ap-plan, play-een. P-plane." The other pet's eyes find her, its voice hoarse and loud over the whirring and barks. Plane, she repeats in her head. Plane. She knows what that is. Took one to Montana, before high school. Broke my foot on that trip, dad was angry...

The other pet is being bad. It could hurt itself. She should ignore it. But she finds its eyes across the space and she doesn't want to look away, even as her own lids flutter and her vision blurs. He has those sweet brown eyes... like that guy I dated in college.

That thought is so vivid, so distracting. She catches it and holds it, holds on so tight that by the time she realizes its gone, she has no trace of it. The pet across from her closes its eyes. She should do that too. She doesn't feel like she's in danger anymore. The cube sits level and still, the humming noise even and loud. Not angry now, she thinks. Sleep licks at her, drilling into her bones as the humming envelops her. Honey drags Luce's flannel over her eyes, puts her hands beneath her cheeks, and sleeps.

Taglist:

@octopus-reactivated, @3-2-whump, @paperprinxe, @whumpsoda, @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees, @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

Comment to be added/removed (not sure if y'all want to be added for all pet whump posts in this big series or just any future parts of Flight Risk, or both! Feel free to specify)

P.S.: I wanted a way to distinguish human from animal pets, while keeping the dehumanization aspect (so no "pet-person" or "human-pet"). I use Ally-pet = human, fur-pet = animal. Is there a tumblr term for these already?

[kabie-whump]

CYOA Whump Part 26

First | Previous

You chose: The door

Alrighty, y'all chose to risk it all and go get your man. Let's see how that goes!

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

You make the split-second decision to run for the door.

Onthyes was a reason you'd decided to keep fighting. You can't just leave him behind.

Slamming the cabin door behind you you look around the deck frantically. It's well into the middle of the night now, possibly even the early morning. You can hear the sound of crewmen working the night chatting nearby, but luckily none of them catch sight of you.

You don't know where exactly you'll find Onthyes, but you don't want to spend another second just standing outside the captain's cabin. You take a moment to push a nearby crate against the door, knowing that it will only stall Erxik for a few minutes at best if he wakes up.

You're moving quickly across the deck when you turn a sharp corner and run face first into a broad chest.

"Ventis! Thank the gods!" Onthyes whispers as he steadies you. He's still fully dressed, with a sword at his side and a bag slung over his shoulder. "I heard thunder and the night is clear and you were alone with Erxik so I figured you might be in danger." Then he studies your face closer in the dim light, tilting your chin up with a gentle hand. A dark look crosses his features. "He hurt you."

You glance away, not quite able to meet his eyes. "I am alright," you mutter, but your voice is strained and hoarse from being choked earlier.

"No you're not. I should have come for you sooner. I shouldn't have let him take you away."

"Onthyes," you say firmly.

Onthyes goes quiet, staring down at you with wide eyes.

Then, you get on your tip-toes and kiss him.

It's a short kiss. You don't have time to savor it, knowing that you have to get moving before Erxik escapes his cabin and comes for you.

When you pull away Onthyes's face is bright red and he's smiling like an idiot. "What was that for?" he asks breathlessly.

You just scoff and grab him by his arm, dragging him along with you as you make your way towards the boats. You almost miss being chained together.

You run up to the nearest dinghy and start untying its ropes. There are other pirates working within eyesight, but they don't seem to have caught on to your current situation.

"Help me," you bark at Onthyes as you prepare to swing it over the ship's edge. "Hurry."

Onthyes rushes to help and soon you have the boat suspended over the dark water. He climbs in first and starts getting everything situated.

A strong hand clamps down on your shoulder before you can join Onthyes.

"What's going on here?"

You look up to find Tinny standing over you, her face set into a hard glare. Her voice catches the attention of the other pirates, some of whom drop their jobs and start to head over to you.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

CYOA whump taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed):

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @rainydaywhump

@whumperofworlds @hauntedroseart @3-2-whump @fleur-a-whump @whumpsday

@whumpisfun @whumper-whimsy @ghost-whump @fabled-whump @violets-whumperflies

@whumped-by-glitter @thewhumpening-thesequel @lumpofsand @whumpycries @unicornbeck

@gala1981 @a-formless-entity @ryahisbored @mentallyunwellautism @idontreallyexistyet

@aethernorwood @starfields08000 @yassifiedinformation @expressionless-fr @bloodredfountainpen

[katyawriteswhump]

The power of love, part 10 (steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near-death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 11 Part 12

Contains mild kink (under-negotiated and going slightly wrong—all for plotty purposes, honest!)

(also on AO3 here)

...

Steve POV continued

“You sure about this, Stevie?”

“What part of ‘let’s do this’ do you not get?” 

Steve unwinds himself from Eddie. He peels his sweater over his head then glances down at the bandages… Screw it, can’t think about it now.

“Damn,” breathes Eddie, apparently drooling too hard to care. “I totally dreamed about this, when I luuuuurved to hate you. Okay, hate is kinda overkill but—”

“Yeah, I was a douche. Blah, blah, blah.” Steve shivers lightly, pitches the sweater at Eddie, who totally fails to catch it. “If this is some freak show revenge kink—”

“Wasn’t like that—seriously, you have no idea. It was, uh…” Eddie ventures closer. Under the quivering beams of the flashlight, his dark eyes seem impossibly large and liquid. “I used to watch you in the pool—you were so disgustingly squeaky clean. I wanted to drag you into the deepest, darkest recesses of my dungeon-master mind and, ahem…”

“I needed bringing down a peg?” Steve gets right in Eddie’s face.

“Not even that.” Eddie’s deadly serious. “Just wanted you aaaaall for myself.”

Steve smirks—best way to disguise the candy-ass swirl of butterflies in his belly—then steps back and spreads his arms. “I’m all yours. Knock yourself out.”

Eddie gets some rope, hooks it over a high beam, and climbs on a crate to fasten it in place. He then plants a palm on Steve’s bare chest, backing him up against a wooden post. Steve smirks harder than ever, if only to distract himself—and Eddie—from the heart hammering insanely beneath Eddie’s hand. Jesus Christ, don’t think! Focus on the hotness.

Eddie reaches up to grab one end of the rope, loop it around one of Steve’s wrists. Steve tugs himself free: “You do know what you’re doing here, right?”

“Believe me, my uncle is worse than any overgrown boy-scout leader. Not sure he taught me knots and shit for exactly these purposes, but… anyhoo.”

“Okay. Got one condition. You get shirtless too.”

Eddie’s grin makes Steve ache in all sorts of fun places. “Guess I can indulge you, Babe.”

“Babe? I was a brat five minutes ago. Make yer mind up.”

Eddie flips the bird, turns away and strips. Steve lolls against the post, despite longing to drag his tongue over every salty inch of Eddie’s torso. Jesus, he never knew he had a shoulder and back kink, because… Gnnng! And those tats, stark against Eddie’s pale skin? As Eddie turns back, Steve drinks them all in. Even the goddamn bats, which should be scary as hell these days, are beyond intoxicating, and seem to dance and spin and…

“Ready now?” Eddie grabs the rope.

Steve fakes a yawn. “Getting old waiting, Munson.” 

“You really are a brat, you know that? C’mon, gimme your hand.”

Eddie ties Steve’s right wrist with a loopy, hitchy knot. He tugs another part of the rope, suspending Steve’s wrist in the air above him.

“How ya doing, big boy?” Eddie grazes his fingers, feather-light, down the light stubble on Steve’s cheek.

“Never better.” 

Steve swallows hard, offers Eddie his other hand. The exquisite concentration on Eddie’s face, the tip of pink tongue at the corner of his mouth, is hilarious. Eddie’s half-naked body is totally smokin’, and yet…

Steve’s eyes drift closed. Those butterflies in his stomach are fast transforming into a horde of angry wasps. He’s had his hands tied before, by the Soviets and… Dammit, is this really distracting him from anything? I DIED IN 1978. I DIED! His breaths come faster, shallower. Nevertheless, he bites his lip against asking Eddie to stop, to slow down even. Don’t spoil this, Harrington.

“Stevie, you sure you’re okay?”

As soon as his gaze meets Eddie’s, Steve’s anxiety fades a little, and he nods. He tugs lightly at Eddie’s handiwork, now complete, and a snigger he genuinely feels tugs the corner of his lips. While the ropes don’t dig in, he doesn’t think he could easily yank himself free.

Okay, this is definitely kinda hot. Like the channel of air between their bare chests, which honestly, steams like a sauna. He’s always been in control in sexual relationships, always taking the lead. Lately, yeah, it’s felt kinda dull almost, as if he’s been going through the motions. Now, his nerves still jangle, but simply losing himself again in Eddie’s soulful eyes, he’s getting a goddamn semi. He peeps down, and the strain at Eddie’s fly suggests he’s suffering the same.

“What you gonna do next, Munson?” he husks.

“Stevie, I… I…” Eddie steps back, plows all eight fingers deep into that lush hair. “Seriously, now I got you like this, I have no clue, other than I want to kiss you so bad.”

“I want that so bad too.” 

Eddie kisses his own knuckles, dusts them across Steve’s lips, setting Steve squirming, keening even. His heart and his every goddamn fibre strain madly toward Eddie. Then an unexpected rumbling noise clamps those same fibres super-tight.

“Fuck!” Eddie’s half-lidded eyes stretch wide. “More choppers?” 

“No… No. Sounds like a truck or something.”

“How?”

“Robin said there was a track, remember? Shit, shit, shit! Turn the flashlight off. Now.”

Eddie obeys. Pitch darkness slams down. “Fine,” says Steve, struggling to keep it together. “You gotta untie me, man.”

“Right. Yeah.”

Cold sweat carves rivulets down the back of Steve’s neck, soaking the hair as his nape, while Eddie fumbles at the rope. Eddie’s frantic, singsong voice unsettles Steve further: “Nooooo. Can’t see what I’m doing.”

“You tied the dumb things? How hard can it be!”

“Stop struggling. You’re making the knots tighter.” 

“Oh.” Steve hadn’t realized he was doing that. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Eddie switches the flashlight back on. 

“Are you insane?” hisses Steve.

“Not the expert I thought I was, okay? I’m gonna have to slice them. Don’t wanna slice you.” Eddie retrieves a flick-knife from his back pocket, starts hacking above Steve’s right wrist. “Aaaaargh! You blunted this thing slashing your way through that goddamn jungle.”

“Somebody had to carve a path for you two great wusses. Just… Don’t be a klutz.”

“Aaaaah, I suck at this, Stevie. I don’t like this. I don’t like this.”

Neither does Steve. An engine revs and grinds, waaaay too close. “Turn the stupid light off. Go! Warn Robin. She’s a heavy sleeper.”

“But—”

“DO IT!” Steve’s furious desperation hits home. Eddie kills the flashlight, leaving Steve tethered by the wrists. Totally helpless.

Calm down, calm down. Focus, Harrington. Free yourself and then you can help them.

He grits his teeth, tugs again at the ropes. They simply bite deeper into his flesh. Nevertheless, Eddie has sawed partially through the rope above his right wrist. He throws everything into that, shoulder and biceps burning, until…

Snap.

His right wrist flies free, and he slumps forward into the darkness. Which makes the bonds around his left wrist snare super-tight, like he was caught in an animal trap.

Ooow! Oh great, just great.

He staggers upright to slacken the remaining rope, gives it a single strenuous tug then pulls short, gasping. At this rate, he’s gonna squeeze his own goddamn hand off.

He hears murmured voices—Eddie? Robin? Two beams of dusky white light streak through the small windows of the cabin—headlamps!?! 

His increasingly feeble struggles dry up. Whoever is coming is nearly here, and he wants to punch something, to kick something. Anything! He’d do anything to protect Eddie and Robin. Anything… Anything.

Giddiness swirls through his body like a mist. He’s nearly bent double, before the wrench through his shoulder revives him. Ow, Jesus! He scrambles to find his footing, to lighten the burden on his shoulder socket, though he’s still light-headed, his chest tight and shuddering. Are the army here? Have Robin and Eddie been taken? Oh God, oh God!

Something that feels like a mini lightning-storm consumes his brain, echoed by a deafening clap of thunder, and then…

Nothing.

…

Eddie POV

Eddie dips around the wavering beams of the slowly approaching headlights. He dashes into the bunkroom, where Robin is asleep.

In the gloom, he grabs her shoulder, shakes her. “Robin!” 

“Mind the kittens… Huh? Shit, sorry, dreaming. What the—”

Eddie flattens his hand over her mouth. “Someone’s coming,” he hisses.

“Shit-birds, what do we…” Robin sits up, slides to her feet. Her attention swings to Steve’s empty bunk. “Where is he?”

“Long story. Listen, you gotta run. Now. Hide.”

“Where? There’s only one way out.” Her arms flap everywhere. “Where’s Steve, Eddie?” 

“Gonna get him. Come on!”

They sidle out of the bunkroom, keeping tight to the cabin and the shadows. The revs from the vehicle are hard-by. “Hide in the trees,” says Eddie. “Go.”

“Not without Steve! Where is… Oh my God, oh my God.” 

Two headlight beams dazzle, as the vehicle enters the camp. A few fleeting heartbeats later, lightning forks across the sky, echoed by a deafening thunderclap. As Eddie and Robin charge deeper into the shadows, the heavens literally crack apart and a wall of rain slams down. Eddie sprints for the cabin where he left Steve, already soaked to the skin, no idea if Robin followed.

“Steve?” he whispers. “Steve! Shit! Shiiiiit!” Blundering in the dark, he discovers Steve’s completely out of it, dangling limply from one wrist. Eddie’s clumsily bracing his weight, when a flashlight sets him squinting, and a large figure blocks the doorway.

It’s all over.

Somebody roars, “What the hell is going on?” 

It sounds like Chief Hopper.

Eddie’s so stunned that he almost lets Steve drop. Fortunately, Hopper is already there—or, at least, some tall, lean, mean-looking dude that resembles him. Whoever he is, he gets his arms around Steve, while elbowing Eddie out of the way.

“Eddie? What? Why? What did you do to him? How could you? HOW COULD YOU?” Robin, holding the light, sounds ten times angrier than the thunder.

“It… uh, it wasn’t like that.” Eddie wrings his sopping hair. “I can explain?”

“Save it, Munson,” mutters the Hopper-look-alike, who’s already produced a vicious-looking blade and is hacking Steve free. Then he scoops one arm under Steve’s knees, and with a grunt, he picks him up.

“You got beds somewhere?” asks Hopper. Robin nods, before leading the way out into the easing rain.

Part 11

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 11

[painsandconfusion]

Breathless

Merry Whump of May - Day 1

[“Get back in there” | Ring box | Cliff] (tw: claustrophobia, panic attack, phobia, death threat, failed escape attempt, punishment, self inflicted injury (panic), splinters under nails, manhandling)

[Merry Whump of May Masterpost] [Phobia Whumper Masterpost]

Whumpee’s eyes were burning and blurring over as they gripped at Whumper’s fingers. “N-noonononno please no-”

“Shut up already and get back in there-” Whumper shoved them further into the crate. It had started off as a large shipping crate and now felt like an apple crate, bruising in at their shoulders and knees and ankles as they tried to twist and curl to stash themself tighter into the space. As it closed in on them. Sucked their breath and whisked it away to an unknown darkness that pervaded their mind and dripped cold through their white-hot flesh.

“PLEASE- Pelas e I w-won’t d o it again pl-ease-pplease-!”

Whumper shoved the lid on the box, latching it into place. “Try to pick that lock, you little pest.”

The air in the quickly-heating space stuck at their lungs and slammed in and out of their throat in choppy, uneven bursts. They gasped and shoved and clawed, only distantly aware of the bruises pressing at their bones and the shards of wood wriggling up under their nails. The panic was too thick. Too stifling. 

Forget the apple crate. This felt like a bread box now. A ring box, even. Impossibly small and crushing their bones under its infinitely shrinking horror. 

Pleas and screams kept exploding from them, sucking what little air they had into worthless desperation. “PL-EASE PL LEASE WH HUMPER PLLLEASE- LE T ME OUT O-OPEN TH- SSSTOP-STOP STOP-PLEASE-”

The boards over and around them creaked slightly as Whumper settled their weight onto the crate. Whumpee froze, dreading for a moment the thought of Whumper’s weight cracking through the box and crushing them only to realize that would mean the box was broken and they would be better able to wriggle out or at least get some fresh air inside. They pushed against the spot. 

Whumper mused as they sat there, “I could do anything right now, you know… Couldddddd…..toss you in a lake. Off a cliff. Bury you in the garden..”

Whumpee’s sobs started fresh, thrashing gaining new strength. Their heart twisted and stabbed. They couldn’t breathe- “Nn--onp plp-lease-ep-pleas-”

“We don’t have to do that, though, do we? Because you’re not gonna pick any more locks.”

“Y-ees-y– nn-n-omore-!” Just desperately agreeing to anything that had even the vaguest promise of getting out. Nothing else held their attention as darkness grew and their head weighed more on their aching shoulders.

“Good. I’ll leave you in here tonight to let you really think that over before we try again.”

tagging isn't sparking joy today, i am so sorry-

[nat-1-whump]

🌊 Whump for mermaids

Fantasy whump ideas no. 3

(Both because it's Mermay and to celebrate finally finishing AP exams. I'm using the word mermaid as gender neutral here.)

Mermaid Whumpee gets caught in nets or garbage. Maybe they got captured, maybe they just got tangled up in something floating around, but either way, they're stuck. It restricts their movement so they sink, pinning their tail against itself. They become more vulnerable to Whumper. They panic and start desperately thrashing, but they can't get out, possibly injuring themselves in the process. The thing they're trapped in can cut them, block circulation, suffocate them, etc. Caretaker tries to free them, but they might end up making it worse.

Continuing with nets, getting captured by sailors and getting pulled up onto their boat. Maybe one of the sailors is kind to them and tries to help, but the others treat them like a prisoner, excited to show off their rare catch when they get to shore. Mermaid Whumpee is mistreated horribly, locked in a tiny crate of stale water, fed nothing but whatever scraps the sailors don't want.

Underwater dangers. Mermaid Whumpee can get bit by a shark, scraped on underwater rocks, stung by venomous jellyfish, and more! Since they can't go onto the land to get help, they're stuck trying to treat themselves in the water. Their hands shake as they try to wrap seaweed around their injuries.

Or, if they somehow do end up getting help on land, medical whump (TW for blood). Caretaker tries their best, but they have no idea how to treat a mermaid. Mermaid Whumpee ends up in a little tub of water with barely enough room to move. Blood leaks through the soggy bandages and stains the water red.

Getting beached or washed up on the rocks, struggling to breathe as they frantically try to scramble back towards the water.

Tanks. They get put in a tank that is much too small and gives them no space to hide, putting them on display for Whumper. Whumper taunts them by getting them one of those little fish houses that is much too small. They try to escape by jumping or climbing out, but soon they find that they can't open the door to the room Whumper is keeping them in, and time is running out.

Scales. Mermaid Whumpee's tail is covered in beautiful scales, which Whumper occasionally plucks out to torture them. Their scales might also make them a target for sailors, other mermaids, etc.

Freezing. Since Mermaid Whumpee is pretty much always in water, it's not super hard to freeze them solid. Maybe someone else accidentally turns them into an ice cube while using some ice-related magic too close to the water, or maybe Whumper freezes them in there on purpose. (Look I just really like cold whump okay.)

Actually, just temperature whump in general. Some types of fish need super specific temperatures and can die if the water is too hot or too cold. Whumper can use this to their advantage, threatening to dial up the heat or drop ice into the water depending on which would hurt Mermaid Whumpee more.

(Feel free to add on! Mermaids are more whumpable than I expected lol.)

[delicateprincepaper]

lab whump

being treated as less than by everybody, dragged kicking and screaming down the hallway as everybody continues on their day.

Being expandable, useful only as a tool. Covered in scars and given the bare minimum to survive.

on the other hand being treated as a valued weapon to be taken care of. Given a big soft crate, a special diet made just for you, lots of health checks and when restraints are necessary, soft leather ones.

You’re still a tool but a very valued one that receives lots of attention. Being given your own little pet to take care of to keep you happy. Whether this pet is human or animal is your choice.

imagine if the treasured lab whumpee was given the abused beaten down whumpee as a gift.