#lab whump cw

[whumpbump]

A Danger to Yourself and Others

Cw: needle, injection, drugged whumpee, lab setting, medical whump

“P-plea-ease, I-I-I didn’t m-mean to,” Whumpee had snot bubbling at their nose, drooling from the effort of crying so hard.

The doctor clucked their tongue in disapproval of the waterworks as they slid a needle into Whumpee’s arm.

“You should know better by now than to look out the windows. It gets your hopes up. And then we have the questions ‘when will I get to go outside?’ ‘when can I go home?’ well you can’t. And you know this. And you work yourself up into a tizzy every time. I’m literally wasting medication on you because you can’t calm down enough for me to work.”

“Buh- *gasp* -but why can’t I go home?”

“I told you. You’re a danger to yourself and others. You don’t know how to control yourself.”

Pulling the needle out with little care of discomfort, the doctor stood impatiently over Whumpee as their crying quieted and eyes fluttered closed.

“‘m zarry.”

“Go to sleep. I have ultrasounds to do.”

[the-bar-sinister]

The former STARS captain turned bio-terrorist had a sadistic smirk twisted on his lips, his black glasses reflecting Chris’ bound form, his hands tied behind him in the chair he was strapped to.

AO3 link

posted previously to old blog

[sufrimientilia]

“You’ll feel all better soon.”

amputation | degloving | vivisection @augusnippets Day 4

cw: medical whump, vague gore, see above

The light above came down in a warm golden beam. Almost like sunlight.

He hadn’t felt sunlight in ages.

Everything was heavy, indistinct. Numb and throbbing in a way that wasn’t really there but distinctly was. Like pressure too vague to distinguish and pain too faraway to register.

Metal clinked together with gentle clicks. Murmuring came from somewhere above below or around him.

“H… h-hey…” His tongue barely moved, his eyes so heavy. Whatever sounds he made came muffled and soft behind plastic. “Wh… wha’s going on?”

The little metal clicks continued. Whoever was there wasn’t listening, not to him. The pressure shifted around and something became lighter— something about him, something visceral and deep just lifting away.

“The intestines are slippery. Be cautious when you hang them aside.” Something tugged hard. “Note the coloration of the liver here; quite a healthy subject.”

He tried to lift his head. There were restraints at every point across his body, but he also couldn’t move. Like his brain was cut off from everything else. All he could see was white, blank faces with clean masks, and an overabundance of red in the reflections of their glasses and goggles. “S-st.. stop…”

“Subject displaying signs of awareness.”

“Don't worry. The paralytic hasn’t worn off.” The pervasive sensation deep in his midsection shifted higher. “Do you feel that, Subject?”

"Mhh..." He wasn’t sure. Something felt heavy, tight. Like maybe he couldn’t breathe. He heard a squish and the feeling intensified. Darkness crowded the edge of his vision.

“That’s your heart. Right there in my hand. I can give it a gentle massage to calm you down.”

“Hurts…” He tried. Even that was distant and hazy.

“No it doesn’t.”

Maybe if he thought too hard about moving, the abstract feeling of pain would creep in. Pain and agony and suffering crashing through every synapse, ripping fire down to his core, pulling him apart into pieces. But right now he only felt like he was floating. Intangible and weightless despite all his bare naked flesh, body pulled spread-eagle, limbs and skin all pinned aside to display him down to his core. He blinked as the ceiling blurred and distorted.

“What does it feel like, Subject?”

Dark spots scattered, thickened into blots. “Wrong…”

“Just relax. You’ll feel all better soon.”

[redd956]

Whump Prompt List: NMA Edition

Based off of my NMA worldbuilding line

AKA Whump that @demondamage would like. AKA: nonhuman whumpees, experiment whump, medical whump, lab whump

CW: Violence, Hospital Whump, Experiment Whump, Nonhuman whumpees, Death Mention, Needles

Draining whumpee's blood in order to centrifuge a special resource from it

Hooking whumpee up to an IV that contains some form of sedative, paralytic, or similar formula inside of it

A physically powerful whumpee needing to be held down by a group, as a sedative is forcefully entered into their system

Whumpee watching their blood exit their veins through a tube, knowing theirs nothing they can do, slowly realizing that they're taking too much

Whumpee getting their blood drained, not knowing if their captors are going to stop before it's too late, or if they plan to get rid of whumpee this way after all

Filing down whumpee's sharp teeth, their pointed claws, sawing off their horns, tying down their tail. Whatever needs to be done to keep the nonhuman whumpee from having an advantage.

Whumpee being kept sedated or out of it, until they are needed for their magic

Muzzled and/or restrained whumpee lashing out at the doctors analyzing

Whumpee's every nonhuman aspect being analyzed, their privacy completely invaded, as doctors poke and prod, crooning over their find

A group of whumpees are captures, and they all fear the worse. However after one is found to be more rare than the others, they quickly discover that for one of them, it's going to be much much worse.

Multiple whumpees getting separated based off of the research that needs to be conducted on them

A limp whumpee, kept down for research, needing to be moved or treated as a comatose patient since the doctors dealing with them are too scared of their abilities

Testing to see what whumpee reacts painfully too, how they heal from the different things tested on them, watching them slowly grow terrified of the scientist opening their door

Taking a marker to whumpee's skin and going to town, preparing for the next set of plans

Forcing whumpee to use their magic or nonhuman abilities far past their limit

Whumpee growing more and more tired as they loose their magic/blood, watching the world darken and the noise of life muffle

Doctors taunting and teasing a heavily restrained whumpee. Whumpee, who is normally such a dangerous creature, can do nothing as they pull on their tail or forcibly spread out their wings

Hands latching onto whumpee's face, moving their head into the position they need to

Whumpee waking to the feeling of fingers prodding for the perfect injection spot

Strapping whumpee down to a table, the doctor admiring their work, thinking they'd never see a nonhuman of this type to work on

Whumpee being returned to a cell full of other nonhuman whumpees after a finish experiment, being plopped down unceremoniously in front of the others, before the doctor looks up to pick the next one

Tattooing whumpee to know what experiment group they belong to

Holding an oxygen mask to whumpee's face, watching as the mist of a sedative kicks in

[onlythegoodpretzels]

Gift

"Rejoice. Few outside us druids receive the gift of the Empress' work more than once. She will not waste you."

__________________________________________________

For @augustofwhump's Day 30 prompt: gift. Just barely got it before the end of the month!

My Shiro has already been experimented on by Haggar at this point. I've drawn the first one here (linked post has a mature filter for nudity), where he got his crest implanted.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Wesgoesbrr: The Game

previous //// next

You take your time setting up your camera, ensuring the lense is able to catch a full view of the man---who's still tugging fruitlessly against the table's restraints. Once satisfied with the camera's placement, you grab a set of medical shears and begin to cut off his clothes, exposing his torso.

He doesn't say a word throughout the process; his breaths are short and rapid, and he seems like he's on the verge of hyperventilating. You roll your eyes as you tuck the shears away and prepare a syringe.

"Shut up," you mutter as you depress the plunger. "This stuff will keep you alive while I'm working." You pat his face with a nitrile-gloved hand. "You want to stay alive, don't you?"

He doesn't answer, his jaw so tightly clenched you can see the muscles twitching. You shake your head, depositing the expended syringe in a sharps box and reaching for your tools.

Tag list:

@whumpsday , @turn-the-tables-on-them , @onlywhump , @whumpyauthortm , @whump-in-the-closet , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpterful-beeeeee , @apokolyps , @whumpedydump , @isntthisblank , @sodacreampuff , @what-if-i-just-did , @whimpity-whumpity , @ladyjaye13 , @shywhumpauthor ,

[cutwhipburn]

Mistake (Chapter One)

WARNINGS: Mental Fuckery, Dehumanization, WRU/Box-Boy Universe Themes, Medical Torture, Mental Torture, Human Expirementation, Dissociation, Alluding to Food Withholding, Fake News and the Spread of False Information, Illiteracy/Illiterate Whumpee

Mistake’s legs burned. It felt like millions of fire ants were biting into their legs-no, like a million fire ants were burrowing into their legs, biting and crawling through their skin and deep into their muscles. Into their bones, even. The latest of their mother’s inventions was proving to be a success, unfortunately for Mistake. 

It was a shot, one that Shannon planned to have used on boxies who failed escape attempts. Mistake could confirm that it would undoubtedly be very effective. Just two needles, one in each leg, and that boxie would likely never want to run again. Mistake didn’t think it would even be able to stand for at least a few hours afterwards, let alone walking or god forbid running.

Mistake winced, crying out in pain as her mother prodded them, writing notes in her inventions notebook. They wished it’s mother would let them be finished for the day, preferably sending them to their father so they could curl up in a ball and let him hug it until the pain passed. But they knew that was wishful thinking. They had been in pain for so long they’d cried out all the tears they had, had screamed themself near hoarse. 

Shannon would keep them through to the very end of the pain, and probably still have critiques on their reactions after. But Mistake didn’t know what else to do. They were hurting so much.

Time dragged on like molasses, until eventually the throbbing pain died down enough for them to stop silently crying, and they were able to curl up into a ball on the floor.

“Can I see papa now?” Mistake mumbled into their legs, their body shaking in exhausted pain. Their legs still occasionally jolted with aftershocks.

“If you can get up and walk there on your own.” Shannon allowed with a nod, turning to her assistant. “Lets get this to the lab. I need to test the effects on a few of the boxies, see if it differs based on age, weight, and gender. Pick out some troublemakers for me.” The assistant nodded, turning quickly on their heel and speeding from the room.

Mistake started to slowly drag their body across the floor, it’s body aching too much to even try standing. They supposed they would maybe feel embarrassed, if they weren’t so used to the humiliating feeling of needing to get out of the lab, now.

They found its father Norman, predictably as ever, standing in Shannon’s enormous kitchen, spaced out and distant. Mistake felt cold sweat down their back, leaning against the cool cabinet and tiles.

“Papa, I’m here,” Mistake said, childishly quiet. “Mama let me be done now.” They tuck their head behind their curls. “I'm tired.”

“Missy?” Norman snapped out of his daze, hurriedly bending down to lift them off the floor. “You’re shaking.”

“Mama tested a new shot,” Mistake mumbled, curling into their father’s chest. “Supposed to punish bad runaways.” They were careful with their words, softly methodical and clear. “Made my legs hurt for a while.”

He carried them into the living room, laying them down on the couch. “Want to watch cartoons, love? Do you want something to eat? I-I can make something as soon as I ask your mother if you’re allowed.”

“Not hungry,” Mistake said quietly, curling up in a ball and shaking their head. “Just wanted to be with you.” They latched onto him again like a small koala bear. “I feel better when I’m with you.”

Norman looked like he was about to be sick. “Oh-Okay, but I have to sit on the floor, remember. I’ll just sit by you, okay?”

Norman wasn’t allowed on the couch. 

Mistake whined softly, sliding themself onto the floor next to him and nestling into his side. “Wanna be with you,” they mumbled stubbornly. The carpet was plush at least. Mistake was used to sitting on it with their father, though even the plushest carpet starts to hurt when you’re ordered to kneel on it in complete stillness for half a day.

“Missy, please, the couch.” Norman begged, but his voice wavered, already used to loosing any argument he dared have. “I’m sure it feels a lot more comfortable, and you’re in pain.”

“I want you, not couch,” it insisted quietly.

Norman was silent for a moment. “Cartoons?” He asked again, his voice dulled. The only cartoons Shannon allowed them to watch were the ones with a silly little box-boy constantly getting into trouble, usually with the reminder at the end that staying indoors and with your owner was the only safe places to be. Or there would be the episodes where the box-boy’s owner would randomly shout out a command for the boxies watching, just to make sure that even when relaxing a boxie should be ready to obey their owner and listen to their authority.

“No thank you,” Mistake mumbled. “Too tired. Just wanna rest.” Norman wrapped his arms around them, gently playing with their hair. Mistake drifted asleep in his comforting arms, only awaking to the sound of Shannon’s return. It was not quiet or pleasant, but it rarely ever was.

“Norman, get dinner started!” Shannon called from the front door as she took off her coat. “We have company coming. Get Mistake upstairs and into a nice outfit when you’re done.” Mistake rubbed its’ eyes as Norman gently removed them from his lap, placing them back on the couch and hurriedly going to do as he was ordered.

Mistake could feel the pain subsiding more from their legs, lightly dangling them over the edge of the couch. It wasn’t so painless they could walk yet, pressure still sent an electric pain running up its’ legs, but they could tell it almost was the case. They fidgeted with its  hands, waiting patiently for their father to return and hoping their mother left it be for now.

Shannon, thankfully, didn’t even seem to notice them as she breezed past the living room, going upstairs to change herself, most likely. It was after a long time of silence before their father joined Mistake again, carefully lifting it back up and going upstairs to the attic.

Mistake had exactly two nice dresses. A black one and a dark blue one. Still, Norman rifled through the two in its’ small closet, pulling them out and holding them up as if it was a big decision. “Which one do you want tonight Missy?”

“Black, please,” Maddie said, reaching out to grab the dress themself. In truth, they rather wished they had more colors of clothes, and maybe even some nice outfit to wear that wasn’t a dress. But they couldn’t be ungrateful. These dresses were nice, a great privilege. “Thank you papa.”

“Remember not to talk at dinner unless anyone sitting at the table speaks directly to you. Ask if you want to speak otherwise. Eat what’s on your plate but don’t ask for seconds if you want them. If you do, find me afterwards and I can get them to you when no one's paying attention.” Norman prattled off, all the rules long memorized. Mistake nodded their head carefully to each one as they slipped the dress over their head, wriggling out of their dirty lab clothes. Norman gently finished it off with a bow in their hair, slightly shabby but not too noticeable,

“I understand, papa,” Mistake said softly and clearly. “I’ll do what you said, promise. I’ll be good.”

“And if Shannon tells you to go to bed, you have to come right up, brush your teeth and change, and go to sleep.” This one Norman seemed nervous, almost on edge about. He always did. He said it was the most important rule Mistake had to worry about. “I mean it Missy, right to sleep. No book. No window.”

Mistake pouted softly. They rather liked their book, staring at the pictures and the stories they’d made up to go along with them. Ignoring the black squiggles on the page that it would never be able to read. That they’d never be allowed to learn. They liked the window just as much. It was nice, a way to imagine a world where Mistake wasn’t a mistake, but a normal child with a normal life and two whole parents who loved them very much. But they knew how important this was to their father, so they still nodded.

“Okay, papa.” They folded its’ hands on their lap. “I will.”

“When whoever she’s expecting gets here, remember to say hello ma’am or sir and then-” Norman mimed zipping his lips. “I have to get the food out of the oven. Can you please set the table? Remember to ask your mother how many plates you need to set out.”

Mistake pushed off the bed, standing on unsteady, wobbling legs and nodded its  head. “Yes papa,” They brushed off the dust from their dress, walking unsteadily down the stairs and hesitantly hovering outside their mother’s office. “Mother? How many plates should I set out on the table?”

“Three on the table set out nicely, four in the center.” Shannon said, not even looking up to acknowledge Mistake’s presence. Mistake tried not to wilt at the lack of attention, nodding their head.

“Alright, mother. Thank you.” Mistake ducked their head and hurried down to the kitchen to grab the appropriate table settings.

They set the table with a clean precision their father had taught them well, not a thing angled or out of place, before sitting down.

On the floor.

The dining room floor was wood. It hurt their knees more, but Mistake had a little pillow to sit on while they ate. That helped a little bit, even if it was only for a little while.

Their father didn’t take long in the kitchen, carefully bringing out the food so none would drop on the floor, and arranging it nicely on the table. Mistake watched him closely, taking care to mind his actions. They were to learn from their father as much as possible, their mother had insisted.

They noticed him pause briefly, eyes moving over the table. He was counting the plates. His face fell at the number, uncomfortable and tense.

“What’s wrong, papa?” Mistake asked softly, careful not to speak too loudly and have their mother overhear.

“It’s just…I think it’s Evelyn coming over.” Norman admitted. “If there’s three plates out on the table and four that will go to the floor.”

Mistake felt themself cringe inward. They didn’t like Evelyn much. Her daughter, yes. Her daughter seemed kind, and curious, and interesting and Mistake  longed to speak with her as though they were equals. But Evelyn, Mistake hated.

Anytime Evelyn came over, Mistake got into extra trouble and was punished. And besides, Cyrus frightened them. He was rather big, rather scary, and not quite nice. Papa said that was his job, since he was a designated Guarddog boxie. He was the only one Mistake had ever met.

The doorbell rang, echoing throughout the house. Norman hurriedly helped Mistake to their feet, muttering his own rules under his breath as the two walked towards the door.

The idea behind a Box-Boy cartoon was inspired by: @ashintheairlikesnow Post here:

[whump-card]

Threat

@angst-after-dark

[nolas-barf]

NOT MY CHARACTER !!

I drew my friends character 🫶😩

Shes like a zombie girl idk lolll

[ash-isnt-writing]

Floral Flesh - Part 1(?)

Based off of an idea from my mutual, @p-3-t-r-1-ch-0-r / @whumpy-written-works

Characters used/Mentioned: Dr. Maven Heltrine (OC), TS-0019 Valerian Andersen (OC), other unnamed OCs.

A/N: Actually may make this into a series as well. Unsure as of right now.

STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

The lab boys, as the majority of staff called them, came up with a new ‘prototype’ yet again, under a theory if their newest subject was able to produce and sustain flora.

Dr. Heltrine was the one that had the ‘pleasure’ of testing the prototype. Of course the thought of strapping someone down and injecting them with a serum as unstable as their security system wasn’t a pleasant one, it was his job as the head of the prototype department, and he enjoyed it.

Valerian wasn’t as keen about the idea, rightfully so.

He wasn’t just gonna let this happen. Kicking, struggling, and screaming, he tried everything to get away from this. However, the moment he saw a duo of Handlers enter, he lost his spirit, eventually giving in as he was strapped down to the exam bench.

“Now, here’s how this is gonna go” Dr. Heltrine explained, preparing a needle with the swirling green and brown serum of god knows what. “We’re gonna inject you with this prototype, and leave you here for a week. Th-“

“Wait- wait, what?” Valerian interrupted, angrily. “A week?! That’s not fair-!”

“QUIET!” Heltrine snapped, hushing Valerian immediately. “..As I was saying; Then, we’ll return, and see the effects, and adjust accordingly. The goal is to see if your… biology, is able to support plant life.”

“This- this is insane-“ Valerian stuttered out, even though he knew anything he said would be immediately brushed off.

“No, ‘19” Heltrine grinned, flicking the needle as he pressed a thumb to his wrist, found his pulse, and then aligned the needle accordingly. He had to admit, feeling the other’s pulse increase under his thumb was exhilarating, especially of something so inhuman. “It’s science.”

Valerian let out a choked cry as the needle sunk into his skin, a burning rushing through his body.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

[painonthebrain]

What did they do to me?

CWs: Lab whump, experiment whumpee, masc whumpee, body horror, body modification (past), emeto/vomit, detailed descriptions of vomit (the whole fic basically centers around vomit and vomiting so please read with caution)

The newly-made modifications to Saul’s body cause him great pain.

———

Saul’s body aches. It aches and itches and it crawls with the flesh of something, something he doesn’t know anything about, and he tears at his “uniform,” clawing at his chest in the hopes that it’ll rip and he can tear apart whatever this is that eats away at his body.

The material refuses to give way.

He groans, hugging his sides and rocking back and forth. The shit they put in him is writhing underneath his skin, crawling into his veins and lungs and reaching out, tearing him apart from the inside — Saul opens his mouth in a silent scream, taking giant, gaping breaths.

This is hell. And these people did this to him — making them evil incarnate.

None of them even bother to help with this pain.

Not even her.

Saul should be angry, he knows he should — but his insides twist and turn and he forgets to be.

Bile rises up his throat and at first he refuses, resists the urge to throw up because like hell he’s spewing his guts in this damn place, where everyone is watching, already seeing him vulnerable every waking moment of his life from the day they kidnapped him — but soon it becomes clear that there’s no choice, and he chokes on his own vomit, snorting as his insides contract and reject whatever slop they fed him earlier. It spills onto the ground and the acrid taste coats his mouth and throat. It burns.

It looks like tar or oil… mixed with whatever he ate.

And when he looks at it more closely, it almost seems like it’s moving, wriggling in the puddles of bodily fluid. Like it’s alive.

Saul’s head spins. His insides squeeze again.

More comes.

He coughs, shaking.

Please.

He can’t do this anymore.

[whumpbump]

Quarantined

Cw: lab whump, sick whump, injections

Whumpee didn’t remember anything before the lab. They knew that must have had some kind of life because they were sure they didn’t grow up there. When they tried to think of what life was before, they drew a blank. Their mother’s face was just blurry enough that they couldn’t quite put it together. Their dad, was he even there?

Waking from their dream and shaking off the melancholy, they prepared for the day. They waited for their gruel to be pushed through the small window and awaited next directions.

“7.6.G it is time for daily assessments.” The tinny loudspeaker crackled to life.

‘7.6.G, that’s my name here, but, what was it before this?’ Whumpee wondered as they sat back in their facility-issued safety chair, bolted to the floor.

Someone in a white hazmat suit entered the room with a mirrored lens on covering their face so Whumpee couldn’t identify anyone.

“How are you feeling today, 7.6.G?” The suit asked.

“Fine.” Whumpee knew not to speak further lest they be punished. Do not speak unless spoken to, and make it short.

The suit hummed with efficiency as they took Whumpee’s blood pressure and oxygen saturation levels.

“Today is a special day! We are moving forward with testing on the project you’re involved in! This is good news!”

Whumpee smiled back at their reflection in the suit’s lens. The smile didn’t look genuine, Whumpee hoped it would fool the suit anyway. Whumpee had no idea whether it was good news or not in their case.

The suit left and after a while, Whumpee received a similar signal to sit in their chair for treatment.

‘Treatment? I don’t know if that sounds good to me..’

But ever so obedient, Whumpee sat and waited for this treatment. Two suits came in this time. Definitely not the one from the morning, they seemed very serious and carried a special cooler case with them.

“Identify yourself.” The taller suit barked at Whumpee.

“Uh, 7.6.G?”

The one holding the cooler case set it on the table next to Whumpee. Opening the case showed the interior was entirely covered in a packing foam to keep a small vial of clear liquid safe.

The tall one kept Whumpee’s attention as they asked them about how they were feeling and if they had generally good health, Whumpee wasn’t sure what this had to do with anything, and they didn’t really remember anyhow.

“We will go ahead with experiment XY70. You may begin.”

The second suit cleaned Whumpee’s arm with an alcohol pad and inserted a needle into Whumpee’s deltoid muscle. As the contents were pushed in, Whumpee yelped.

“Ow! It stings!”

“Sit STILL!”

Whumpee immediately quieted. They had misbehaved.

The tall one loomed over Whumpee.

“You had better hope you didn’t just ruin this experiment. You are the test subject. The throw away. I could easily find another and get rid of you just as easily. Do you understand? Do you understand that you’re expendable? Do you realize that I have chosen you out of hundreds of others and I have housed and fed you out of my own pocket? I just injected you with 1 million dollars worth of science. And you are still expendable to me. So stop talking. We will be back in an hour to check your vitals.”

The suits left and the tall one slammed the door to Whumpee’s room.

‘Well, I guess they’re in charge.’

As Whumpee’s heart rate slowed from their panic of being in trouble, Whumpee felt their eyelids starting to droop. Whumpee stood up to walk over to their bed and the room began to spin. Stumbling, Whumpee made it to their bed and practically fell into the spongy mattress.

Shivering, Whumpee pulled the thin blanket on top of them and curled into themselves to keep warm. The loudspeaker crackled to life. “Take your seat for the 1 hour inspection.”

Whumpee cracked open their eyes. That couldn’t have been an hour. Did they.. fall asleep? They wanted to get up. They had to. But they just couldn’t will themselves to do it. They felt exhausted. Any slight movement sent waves of pain that shocked them to their core.

The door opened and the two suits re-emerged from wherever the door led to.

“Why are you still in bed?” The tall one started, “The loudspeaker gave you an ORDER.”

“I- *cough* -I-I’m sorry, I- *cough* -I can’t get up.”

The tall one paused as the shorter one pulled the blanket back gently.

“Elaborate.” The tall one commanded as the shorter one listened to Whumpee’s heart and lungs.

“I can’t brea-breathe very w-well and I - *cough* I’m so c-cold,” Whumpee’s teeth chattered. “Any- *wheeze* -anytime I try to move, it f-feels like I’ve be-been hit by a train.”

The tall one recorded this in a notebook and their body language seemed positive.

“Well,” the tall one snapped their book shut, “it looks like you’re worth something to me after all. Congratulations. We will be monitoring you as the illness progresses.”

[i-eat-worlds]

The Subject 7

sorry for being late! Enjoy a really screwed up flashback. CW: Pet whump, medical whump, lab whump, emeto, forced consumption of bodily waste (vomit), verbal abuse (referring to human as a rat), suffocation, it pronouns used to dehumanize, intentional wound infection, hospital setting, non-con touch (ns), non-con nudity (ns), dead dove do not eat

B127 had been strapped to the table for what seemed like days, leash wrapped around the hook, though she hadn’t made him wear the gag in a while, when Dr. Glassener had returned. She had recovered from the previous weeks marathon research session. Her hair was no longer piled into a messy ponytail, it was once again held in a slicked back bun. Her old, wrinkled scrubs had been replaced by new crisp ones, and she wore a freshly laundered white coat, her initials embroidered above the pocket. Most importantly, however, the dangerous glint had returned to her eyes oncemore. B127 knew this glint all too well, and it also was aware of what it meant. Dr. Glassener had an idea.

“Good morning, B127'' Dr. Glassener chirped as she opened one of the cabinets and started rifling through it. “I had the most wonderful idea over the weekend. It took me a moment to secure some of the more exotic materials that I would need, but I did!”

B127 watched as she organized everything on the tray. There were just four instruments on the table this time-a scalpel and three sort of spoon-looking things that he had never seen before, as well as a couple of antiseptic wipes. It was very dierent from the rst time it had been strapped to the table, when Dr. Glassener had used almost every tool she owned, and spent the better part of a morning poking, prodding, and examining it. An excited grin spread across the doctor's face as she took something out of the microwave-like device that she called an incubator. She set three Petri dishes down on the tray. “Here are my new friends!” She pointed at each dish in turn. “This is Enterococci, this is Pseudomonas Aeruginosa, and my favorite, Streptococcus pyogenes!” The doctor continued her lecture as she pulled on her gloves, “We’re going to be looking into wound infections, isn’t that cool?” She ripped open an alcohol wipe.

The pungent smell of alcohol filled its nostrils as Dr. Glassener cleaned its thighs, the wipe cold against its skin. It was made of something soft, the softest thing that it had felt in a long time. However, the sensation was gone too soon, and all that was left was the alcohol as it slowly evaporated, taking any of the warmth it had left with it. Once his thigh was clean, Dr. Glassener picked up the scalpel, her gloved fingers delicately perched on the handle. The doctor rarely warned before she cut, and B127 braced itself as the knife pressed into its skin.

Dr. Glassener made three cuts on B127’s leg. They weren’t even particularly deep-the knife stopped before its muscle, only slicing through what little fat that was left. Blood pooled in the wound, threatening to send scarlet drops rolling down its thigh. It certainly wasn’t pleasant, but compared to the other things that Dr. Glassener had done, this was minor. “Okay, cuts have been made! Now it’s time for you to meet our friends.”

Dr. Glassener lifted the lid off the first petri dish and plucked one of the spoons from the tray. The jelly made a swishing noise as the doctor wielded the spoon, scoping a sliver of the jelly. She pried one of the wounds on B127’s thigh open with two fingers then jammed the spoon in, depositing the jelly inside the wound. When that was done dropped the spoon in the trash can, then she repeated the process again two more times, her hands moving swiftly.

The cold jelly burned inside of B127 like an ice cube on bare skin. It was a sickly feeling, and it wanted to claw the little slices of jelly out of its wound. Dr. Glassener started to peel her gloves o. “You know the rules-no moving, not even a little bit-I don’t want to disturb the test sites.” She pressed her sweaty, latex-smelling hand to its face, stroking its cheek. “No crying or whimpering or puking, but you know that. You’re a good, pliant little pet.” She scratched behind his ear a little bit, then went o to her desk to complete some of the paperwork that she often complained about, keeping B127 in sight.

About an hour later, things started to take a turn for the worse. The warmth that Dr. Glassener’s praise had given it had gone, and it was replaced by pain. Fire poured from the cuts into his veins, spreading throughout his body. With them, they carried waves of nausea and misery.

******

Everything about it was scorching drops of sweat dripping down its face, neck, and back. Its stomach churned, threatening to send the half-decent meal that it had been fed back up. B127 pleaded with its body to stop, to calm down, but it was too late. The vomit came pouring out and B127 belched all over itself.

Dr. Glassener’s head snapped up at the noise, and the look on her face turned instantly displeased. “Useless rat!” She yelled as she angrily rose from her chair, grabbing a pair of gloves and throwing them on as quickly as she could, then running over to the table where B127 was strapped down. “Stop vomiting!”

Try as it might, it couldn’t stop. There wasn’t even any food left, it was just bile, and as much as B127 tried to swallow it down, it just wouldn’t. It watched in fear as Dr. Glassener fervently unblocked the strap that held its shoulders down to the table “I said stop!” Picking it up by the neck, she slammed its head into the table. “Stop vomiting, rat!” Its head hit the table again. “Fine!” She clamped her gloved hands over B127's mouth and nose, suocating it. “As long as you keep vomiting, you don’t get to breathe! You don’t get to unless I say you get to!”

Fear filled B127’s eyes as it finally gained enough control to swallow the rest of the vomit back down. Every time it tried to take a breath, it sucked in an impenetrable wall of latex. After what seemed like a small eternity, Dr. Glassener let go. It pulled as much air into its lungs as it could, seeking any oxygen it could get. The relief was dampened by the doctor’s hand slapping him across the face. “You’re a stupid, messy little thing. And you know what stupid messy little things have to do?” She shoved its face to the side, forcing it into the vomit. “It has to clean up its mess. C’mon rat, clean it up. Eat it up. It's yours, after all.” She watched as B127 helplessly tried to swallow the foul-smelling, even fouler tasting liquid.

“You deserve this, you worthless rat.”

“You. Deserve. This.”

Taglist: @stabby-nunchucks @rainbows-and-whumperflies @pigeonwhumps @wolfeyedwitch

[redd956]

Whump Prompt List: NMA Edition 2

Based off of my NMA Worldbuilding Line

Content: Robot Whumpee, Android Whumpee, Tech Whump

CW: Violence, Nonhuman Whumpee, Slavery, Torture, Death Mention, Lab Whump

Dumping a half-alive robot into a scrapyard or robot graveyard

Robots in a scrapyard fighting over spare parts, dying robots, and each other's succulent rare contraptions

An EMP knocking an electric running whumpee dead, until restarted

Human whumpee in a powersuit finds themselves trapped inside the metal casing after the suit malfunctions

Robotic whumpee being modified to fit their new family to serve, losing everything they thought they were again, and again, and again until they're scrapped

People walking past androids and robots in the windows of stores. Whumpee watches them walk past themself everyday, beginning to wonder if they'll ever be sold off

Robotic whumpee was manufactured with a similar system to touch. The sadistic creator just couldn't themself though, and programmed their robotic creations to have a sense of pain

Electric magic being used to sap a robot of all it's energy

A strong electric shock frying the wires and hardware inside a robot

Human whumpee gets caught by a band of vengeful robots while walking the street alone

Robots protesting alongside humans and magical entities, demanding their rights, even though they know most of their comrades in protest want them equally dead

Scientist experimenting on androids prototypes while trying to perfect their products, pushing them past their limits, testing thier personalities, seeing what it takes to break them

Robotic servants being left outside in the elements for extended periods of time, after never receiving their command to come back inside

Low battery whumpee having to travel miles, never knowing if they'll make it to a charging station

Human freezing to death comes across a robot with a heating ability. They robot graciously accepts the idea to help the human, holding them to their synthetic artificially warmed body

Robots being beaten and broken down for the fun of their owners

Electric magic being used to possess a robot, and forcibly move their every part in the bidding of the magic who decides to use them

Humans, magical creatures, and robots together suffering at each others side

Robot whumpee being torn limb from limb by a particularly strong magic, in the name of the magical gods

Robots being used as target practice for human technological weapons

Android whumpee needs to keep themselves disguised as either a human or magic just to live a thread of a safer life. One day their disguise is torn away from them

[bleeding-handprints]

Day 3: Experimentation (Alt)

Trying to fill all Febuwhump prompts with exactly 100 word drabbles.

Warnings: Captivity, restraints, implied lab whump

He couldn’t remember how it was to not feel pain in every part of his body. To open his eyes and not be blinded by painfully white light, so much colder than the sun. To breathe freely, to feel the earth instead of the shackles he was restrained with, biting into his skin as he struggled against them. It was hopeless. The foreign material didn’t give in, and his limbs were cramping from the position they had been in for days already.

Perhaps it was better that he couldn’t raise his head, couldn’t see what they had done to him.

[whumpinthepot]

👑 Who’s your fave? Why?

⛓️Which whumpee has been tortured the longest? Why won’t you let them GO??

Thx Red <333 from this

Im going to pick TSATS to talk about today

Whos my fave, thats a hard one…

My first thought it always Renay shes my main character and my precious baby ive had her for a really long time, but I love all of my TSATS cast pretty much… Ginger is close to my heart as well because lab rat baby, hes MY baby that is my child ive cried over his arc the most out of any character ive ever written so im going to have to say Gin is my fave.

Which whumpee has been tortured the longest

Coincidently enough its Ginger o-o my first thought is always zyan but only because what he went through was sadistically bad but in a short period of time. Gin was a more calculated drawn out slow burn kind of torture with Stockholm and brainwashing to the point that he didn’t see it that way. He’s a BORN lab rat, so he was put through it his whole life without even knowing the extent of how bad its been. He doesn’t know anything else, and comes off as eerily chipper… 😅