#medical gaslighting whump

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Redwood Pyschiatric Institute - Part 6

MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5

CWs: mention of ECT, mental hospital whump, mental health gaslighting, force used against patient (electric shock baton), forced psychiatric care

Matthew Cooper pulled up in front of a small house on the end of the street, pulling out his phone to send a quick text that read 'I'm here.'

On the screen were a series of previous, unanswered and unread messages he had sent to his friend Rowan.

'Hey Rowan. Just checking in.'

'Rowan, it's me. What's up bud?'

'Where are you?'

'PICK UP ROWAN'

'Fine. If you won't talk to me, I'm not going to try anymore'

Then, from today. 'Rowan, I'm coming over.'

Matt sighed as he dropped his phone into his pocket and clambered out of the car. He walked up to the front door, and rang the doorbell. He waited a moment, and when there was no answer, he rapped on the door with his knuckles. Still, nothing. The whole house seemed to be silent and still. He pressed his face to the one of the windows, attempting to peer through.

"Rowan!" He called.

No answer.

"Crap." Matt murmured. "Where the hell are you.."

He strode around the back of the house, searching for any signs of life from his friend. Finally, he spotted a back door, slightly ajar. It struck Mathew as strange. Rowan was not a careless person - in fact, quite the opposite, he could be rather paranoid, in Mathew's opinion. So it was completly out of the ordinary for his friend to leave a door unlocked, and Mathew also had no idea how long it had been open or if Rowan was even in the house still.

Cautiously, Matthew entered through the door, calling Rowan's name as he went. There were no traces of recent life - everything was put away neatly as Mathew would expect of Rowan, until he reached his friend's bedroom. This room was a mess - papers were scattered everywhere, on the bed, on the floor, on the desk.. Rowan's laptop was also still there, but Mathew wasn't keen to go trying to break into that. He pick up a paper sitting on the desk, and scanned through it. It was a newspaper article.

'Redwood Asylum patients claim gross mistreatment'.  The headline read. The article was dated 1964. The next article, from 1970, announced the closing-down of the Institute. The outdated facility had claimed around 1000 lives by the time of its closure, almost a hundred years since it opened.

All the other papers and articles were about the institute, why puzzled Mathew further. Why was Rowan so obssessed with this place? And more importantly, where was Rowan?

Mathew did a quick google of the place, finding that it had since been reopened and claimed to now be running as a more modern psychiatric hospital. Matthew was all out of options - his only remaining option was right in front of him. He hit the phone number listed on the web page, drew a deep breath, and hit the call button.

"Hello, you've reached Redwood Psychiatric Institute. You're speaking to Carol, how can I help you?"

"Uh, hi Carol, my name's Mathew Cooper. I was wondering if you recently had a visitor by the name of Rowan Murdock?"

"I'm sorry but we can't disclose information on our visitors. We have, however, got a patient by that name. There's a note on his file saying he can't have visitors, are you family?"

"Oh, uh.. no, I'm a long-time friend of his though. I was just wondering if I could get some more information on what happened." Mathew stammered, shocked at the news. Rowan was a patient?

"I can arrange for you to meet his doctor, in that case. Doctor Wilson. I'm sure he'd be willing to discuss Rowan's - well, yes. Rowan's recent weeks with us."

Mathew arranged a time for the meeting and then hung up the phone. He began to head out the room, when he turned back, picked up one of the articles on the psychiatric institute, and then continued on his way out of the house.

------

"Mathew Cooper, I'm here to talk to Doctor Wilson." Matthew announced to the woman at the front desk.

"Sign here, and then take this visitor pass, and it'll be the third door on your left." She smiled, a friendly but tired, 'I've been here all day and I'm just trying to be friendly to you but I could care less' kind of smile.

"Thanks." Mathew smiled back as he followed her instructions and then headed down the hall.

Inside the office, the doctor sat behind the desk, looking comfortable but composed.

"Hello Mathew, take a seat. My name is Doctor Wilson." The doctor smiled from behind his glasses.

Mathew sat in the chair across from the doctor, and extended his hand to the doctor, who took it and shook it firmly.

"Thank you for coming, Mathew."  Doctor Wilson greeted. "I understand these circumstances must be.. rather confusing, and I appreciate your willingness to discuss this in person."

"Thank you for meeting with me, Doctor Wilson. I understand you must be very busy." Mathew acknowledged.

"Indeed. Now, allow us to get right into it. Now, when did you last see your friend?" The doctor asked.

"Well, I must have seen him last a few weeks ago." Mathew answered.

"I see. Well, he came here as a voluntary self-admission on September 13th. He was incredibly unstable, and we immediately began his treatment. When we admitted him, we looked into his medical records and his personal records. Now, while I'm afraid I have some hard news to digest, there is no other way to say this - his name isn't Rowan Murdock. His real name is James Lawton."

"What- you mean, he's been lying to me this whole time about who he is?"

"No, not at all. James is a very mentally ill young man, not a pathological liar. We discovered symptoms of schizophrenia throughout the last few years of his life, but it was not yet diagnosed or treated. It has just since accumulated and worsened. He has been in dire need of treatment for years, but when he came to us, he was at the height of a schizophrenic breakdown, believing he was Rowan Murdock, a profilic journalist investigating the asylum before deciding to admit himself.  We've been treating him with medications and ECT. He has been doing better the last few weeks, however,  we are worried that a visit with you, an old friend of 'Rowan's may cause another setback." The doctor sighed.

"Oh..." Mathew's heart sank at the explanation. He couldn't comprehend the whole story, it was not anything he could have imagined. Of course, he had accepted there was some horrible series of events that had led to Rowan- or, James - being here, but not like this. "I.. I'll do anything you need, I'll say anything, I just- I need to see him, I need to talk to him."

"Alright, I'll arrange a visit." Doctor Wilson conceded. "But you mustn't encourage any of his delusions relating to 'Rowan Murdock'."

"Understood, Doctor. Thank you very much."

------

"James, I have a visitor for you." Doctor Wilson stood in the doorway, ushering Matt ahead of him.

Matt entered the room hesitantly, his eyes scanning around until they landed on a small figure, hunched up in white in the corner of the small room.

"James?"

The figure Matt had once known as Rowan did not acknowledge the presence of anyone in the room. He simply muttered something under his breath.

"James. I've brought you a visitor." Doctor Wilson repeated, mild annoyance already in his voice as he approached James and bent down, waving at his patient to try and gain his attention.

James blinked, several times, slow and sluggish, as if drawing himself out of a trance. He glanced around the room, eyes landing eventually on Mathew.

"Who.. whoareyouu-" James slurred softly, as Doctor Wilson grasped him by the arm and helped him onto his feet, bringing him over to the small bed in the centre of the room.

"He's on a lot of medication right now. He may be suffering some short-term memory loss right now, so remember that this will pass. Just remind him who you are." Doctor Wilson said to Mathew.

Mathew nodded and approached the bed, kneeling in front of his old friend. Rowa- James, he reminded himself, looked pale, and his usually-thin frame looked even thinner than usual, or maybe that was the ill-fitting hospital gown. The circles under his eyes were dark, and his face was pinched and gaunt.

"Hey, James. It's me, your old friend Mathew." He said softly, reaching out a hand.

James didn't take the hand, instead, he sat there, staring blankly at it as Matt continued talking.

"We've known each other since university. You used to come and 'study' at my house. I'd steal your notes, and then we'd play video games together until 3am, even if we had class the next morning at 9." Mathew chuckled slightly at the memory, his heart aching a little to see his friend of five years in this situation. They'd been very close through university, but in the last two years they'd drifted apart slightly as both adjusted to their adult lives. Still, he cared for his friend.

Matt drew himself out of his own thoughts and looked up to see James staring at him with an.. odd expression.

"James, are you alright?" Matthew asked gently.

"That's.. not my name." James said flatly.

Shit.. He'd triggered James. His friend began to cry - no, more like tears were slipping down from expressionless eyes.

James suddenly stood and lunged at Mathew, knocking him to the ground as he began to scream at Matt.

"HELP!"James screamed as he shook his friend. "THEY'RE TORTURING ME, LET ME OUT YOU HAVE TO LET ME OUTYOUHAVETOYOUHAVETOYOUHAVETO-"

Mathew was so shocked, he couldn't react. James screamed himself hoarse until suddenly, he gave a suprised shout, and collapsed onto his back, convulsing in agony at the hands of orderlies who had appeared in the room.

"Are you alright?" Doctor Wilson asked as he extended a hand and helped Mathew to his feet, pulling him away as the orderlies descended upon James' form, brandishing a syringe. Quickly, Doctor Wilson escorted Mathew out of the room, away from James' dreaful shrieking protests.

They returned to the doctor's office, where Wilson handed Mathew a glass of water. Matt graciously accepted it, ignoring the odd drop spilling out from how badly his hands shook. He downed the glass, wiped his face, and finally spoke. "What- what will happen now?"

"We will have to change his medication, and I'm going to perscribe another course of ECT." The doctor replied, calm but with a hint of frustration.

Mathew realised that clearly, James' treatment had been quite a difficult process that was now far from over.

"Shock therapy?" he asked.

"While that is the outdated term for it.. yes. It is now quite safe, and often used in quite severe cases of mental illness. Clearly, his schizophrenic hallucinations and paranoia are not yet treated. We will have to increase our efforts to stop these delusions that he is being trapped here."

"Will I be able to return and visit him again, Doctor?"

"Maybe after the next round of ECT. Thank you for coming, Mathew."

As Mathew drove away from the Redwood hospital, he wondered what fate he was leaving his friend to.

Tags:

@jazatronasmr @onthishamsterwheel @bumpthumpwhump @bloodsweatandpotato @whatiswhump @jancameforthewhump @dream-whump @ratking-whump @inkstainsonmyhands12 @halstead-shaw13 @sparrowsage @sowhumpful @whatwhumpcomments @caspersdelusion

[whumpy-daydreams]

Give your whumpees anxiety about old injuries!

I completely tore my ACL (literally 100%) when I was 9 and the literature at the time said not to do reconstruction because I hadn't finished growing and it might fuck up the growth plate in my leg, plus lots of people can manage fine with just their muscles to compensate (especially since I wasn't sporty anyway)

HOWEVER. I ended up getting a locked knee if I squated/knelt on my knee. Resulting in me screaming in pain for 6 hours while I tried to straighten it back out (and when my mum called the paramedic they said I could only have paracetamol and ibuprofen 👍 helpful)

I had an arthroscopy when I was 11 to try and solve the locking but it didn't help. Finally, 4 years after the injury, I got a reconstruction and the problem went away (sort of, it would dislocate occasionally but that's stopped now)

Those 4 years of not being able to fully bend my knee because it would lock completely changed my psychology. It took 2 more years before I even tried sitting cross legged on the floor, and only in the last few years have I gotten more comfortable kneeling.

I still can't put all my weight on my knee when kneeling because of the fear. Every time i feel something unexpected I panic (not pain, more like a movement inside my knee?)

I've dislocated my shoulder a bunch, as well as my hip (yay hypermobility) but nothing can send terror down my spine like my knee slipping or giving way.

So anyway, whumpees who won't do certain movements or get scared when a particular thing feels wrong

[truths33k3r4]

The Strength in Weakness Masterpost

Have you ever wondered why you were made the way you are? Why you were designed with nervous ticks, bad habits you can't break, or even.. a body you never wanted?

These are questions that plague the minds of 5 teenage mutant turtles.

" Why can't I be normal?? " " Why do I have unique physical limitations that no one else has to deal with? "

" .... WHY AM I LIKE THIS? "

Follow Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Lotus as they learn how to help each other through their quirks, trauma, and especially - their WEAKNESSES.

To God be the glory!!

How the story came to be~ 2023 TMNT Whumptober Art!

Bonus Sillies XD

~ CHAPTERS ~

~ BOOK ONE ~

A Stranger in Our Home

Always There to Catch You

Awake and CONFUSED

'Signs' of Life

Raph's Bad Student

The 'Subject' at Hand

Leo's Promise

Hidden Scars

Melodious Mirth

A Dangerous Game

A Steady Hand and a Racing Heart

Trying

A Prick and a Pull

Ghost of Her Past

A Leader's Nightmare

Facing Faults and Facts

IQ vs EQ

The Fight He Can't Win

Silent Connections

Concealed Concern

Lost Control

Make Him Make Sense

Laughter Doeth Good

Hard Words to Swallow

Grieving Cadence

Blurs and Pixels

Specter

An Un-Sound Mind

Beginning of Their Nightmares

A Chance

~ BOOK TWO COMING SOON!! ~

BREATHE

The Weight of Silence

Useless Protector

The Vibrance of Hope

The Stain of Guilt

[weirdstrangeandawful]

TW: medical, medical gaslighting, possible character death

"Do something!" A yells panickedly to anyone nearby, clutching B's limp hand.

"A, you need to calm down. Both of you need to calm down," the nearest nurse snaps.

"Calm down?! What do you mean they need to calm down?! They passed out! How much calmer do you want them to be?!"

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1104

“It’s just stress.”

“You’ve just got a lot going on.”

“Just take a day off.”

“Everyone feels this way.”

“Have a bath or something, drink some tea.”

Your whumpee could scream.

It’s so, so much more than that.

[painsandconfusion]

The Call

Waking Dreamer - Part Fourteen

(tw: doctors call, bad news, emotional whump, sickness, gaslighting/manipulation mention)

[Previous | Masterlist | Next]

“You don’t think he sounds a bit…controlling..?”

Aaron frowned over at Jeremiah, going back to his cleaning. Running an extra cycle through the espresso machine - he didn’t think he did it well enough last night. He scrubs at the grounds of black that linger above the portafilter. “You sound like Jessie.”

“I’m serious,” Jeremiah’s voice dipped - hands distracted by filling the pastry case with a fresh batch of blueberry lemon scones. “I don’t know I just…isn’t it odd to you that both me and Jessie think Everett is a little…off?” 

Aaron took in a deep breath, flushing the system through. Letting out the breath as hot water washed away all remnants of cleaner. “I don’t think you know him. He’s a good guy - he takes care of me. I’ve been…wrong lately. I’m a handful- no, don’t contradict that, it’s a fact - point is, I’ve been stressed and not sleeping and waking the poor guy up at all hours of the night, and he’s being so sweet.” 

Jeremiah sighed, closing up the case. “...sure.”

Aaron frowned, turning back to Jeremiah. His mouth opened to retort, but all thoughts were cut off by a buzzing at his pocket. 

A text. He’d ignore it.

Mind moving to try t-

Another buzz. 

…a call, then?

Aaron sighed, pulling the phone from his pocket. 

His mind froze as he saw the caller id. Center Hospital. 

Jeremiah was staring at the phone, too. “..you gonna answer that?” He looked..anxious. 

It was making Aaron anxious.

“I’ll keep opening.”

Aaron nodded, silently stepping away and into the storeroom. He answered the call, bringing the phone up to his ear. “Hello?”

A soft but professional voice came onto the line. “Hello - is this Aaron Visser?”

Somehow that just deepened his frown. A little curl of dread pulled into his stomach. “It is, yes. Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Tara with Center Hospital. I’m calling this morning because you’re the listed emergency contact for Jessie Morales. Does that sound correct?”

Aaaaaaand yup. Dread. That was definitely dread twisting cold through his blood. 

“...sir?”

Oh- He needed to respond - right -

“S-orry - yeah. Yeah, that…should be right. Is he okay??”

“He was admitted this morning. He was working and collapsed - evidently he’s been in pain a few days now and it spiked last night.”

Aaron could feel the blood draining from his face. 

Jessie was hurting last night and Aaron wasn’t even there. He picked Everett. He…oh no…ohhhhh no no no that’s guilt. Sick, twisting guilt clawing up his throat. 

His voice came out a little more strained than before. “..wh-at kind of pain..??”

“Severe. The doctor is running some tests now. Can you come in?”

“I-I mean yeah- yeah, of course. I’ll…I’ll find someone to cover my shift.”

“Perfect. Stop by the front desk and they’ll direct you.”

“..thank you.”

“My pleasure. Drive safe.”

“Thanks..-” He didn’t even remember to say goodbye or return any kind of well wishes before his thumb numbly poked the end call button.

He stepped back into the kitchen, mouth opening. Closing.

Jeremiah just nodded. “Go on. I’ll figure it out.”

Aaron melted a little inside at not having to explain. He just nodded, swiping his keys form under the counter, and heading out the front door. 

[Previous | Masterlist | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @mabledonut @whumpawink  @happy-little-sadist  @paleassprince  @distinctlywhumpthing  @wormwriting  @villainsvictim  @thecitythatdoesntsleep  @whumpworld  @siren-of-agony @bandages-andobsessions  @deltaxxk  @pinkieglitterheart @whumpasaurus101  @warm-my-whumpee-heart @hold-back-on-the-comfort @halloiambored @snakebites-and-ink)

Just ask to be added/ removed from taglists! I havent updated this one in a WHILE so I might be missing some people. Just yell at me in the commentssss <3

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

16 is so Primeboys coded omg

oh, they’re all c!primeboys coded bc I made this list after getting frustrated that all the whumpy/angsty prompt lists were too /r coded and i wasn’t able to use any for c!prime. also the wittebanes.

(if u want some more super c!prime coded ones check out dialogue 1, 2, 9, 20, and 25, and other 5, 12, 14, 19, and 20)

Anyway… been thinking bout seer au a lot so here it is.

TW: Abuse, dehumanisation, kidnapping, isolation, blinding, mutilation, what's essentially glorified slavery in a fantasy context (mages are forced to work for the king in this case), possessive behaviour, manipulation, severe codependency, referenced torture, referenced restraints, gaslighting, and forced medication/drugging. Yeah, the Seer AU is a doozy.

——

There were ways of telling people apart without sight- or Sight, for that matter- and ever since he'd been blinded, Tommy had gotten very good at them.

For example, Dream's strides were long and loud, and he tended to stay as close to Tommy as possible. It’s not like anyone else would be allowed to enter his chambers, of course. That'd have been a risk to the Kings property, after all. That’s all mages were, according to law, according to traditions. According to stupid bullshit, more like. But it was something Tommy could do to keep his mind sharp.

“Fuck off.” Tommy groaned, burying his face in the soft pillows.

“C'mon, Tommy, that’s no way to speak to your king.” Dream's voice was light, like this was still some kind of silly, joking situation. Like nothing was wrong.

“I'm not kidding around, prick. Leave me alone. Haven’t you already done enough?”

Dream sighed. “Tommy, are you having one of your moods again? I'm just here to bring you some food. Would you rather starve to death while you're healing?”

“Healing from you gouging my fucking eyes out.”

Dream paused. “I mean, yeah? I was helping you with your Sight. You didn’t want to wear the blindfold, so I thought that'd be more comfortable. Really, you should be thanking me.”

“You're unbelievable, man. Just, you’re so fucking… I don’t know.” It was how Dream always got- crueller than ever whenever he tried, ineptly, to be better, and then expecting some sort of reward for fucking Tommy's life up. It was as infuriating as it was painful.

It had happened after the enforcers dragged him away from his home on the street, with Tubbo, and Dream expected him to be all grateful for providing him with food and shelter even though he was a glorified- slave, really, no matter how much Dream pretended to be civilised. It had happened after he'd given Tommy a cane so he could walk when he fucked up his legs bad enough as a sick punishment for an escape attempt he couldn’t walk without one. It had happened a million more times than Tommy could name, and now it was happening after he took his fucking eyesight for his own selfish gain.

Tommy didn’t even fucking want his Sight. He never wanted to be a mage- the stories he heard, even dripped in propaganda, sickened him. Life in a gilded cage as the King's attack dog, never allowed to make a decision of their own and treated more like some sort of mythical animal than a person, sounded like a worse hell than the one he'd run from in the first place. At least Father never pretended to be anything but a cruel, drunken bastard mad that his favourite punching bag had died and taking it out on the child with her golden hair.

No, he was born with a gift that was more like a curse. The Sight hurt his head, dizzied his senses, and being forced into using it again and again by Dream until he passed out wasn’t exactly Tommy's idea of a good time. Neither was being dressed in fancy robes, having his hair scrubbed throughly with soaps that stung at his eyes and tied up painfully tight to be, essentially, shown off as a pretty tool in court, people oohing and aweing at his every movement while he was forced to do petty predictions for the entertainment of the rich fuckers who'd have kicked him while he was sleeping in alleyways, and now looked at him like some sort of show dog, pulling and prodding when they thought Dream wasn’t looking.

It was Tommy's own personal Hell.

The sound of Dream punching the wall in frustration didn’t even make Tommy flinch anymore. “It’s- I don’t fucking understand, Tommy! I give you a home, shelter, luxuries second only to myself. I give you the freedom to roam the grounds as you wish, and I spend hours each day talking to you, bearing my deepest secrets. I love you as if you were a brother of my own, not merely a servant useful to me, yet this is how you treat me?.”

Laughter bubbled in Tommy's chest and spilled out without meaning, harsh and bitter without any humour. “You love me? You love possessing me, you mean. You love having someone you can force to serve as your own personal spy. You love having someone to beat and torture on some made up punishment bullshit whenever you please. You love having something to show off to boost your own oversized ego. You love having someone you can make serve as your confidant, your own personal fucking therapist, because they have no way to tell anyone all your fucked up secrets. But me?” 

Tommy raised his arms in the air, in a way that probably looked incredibly awkward considering he was sitting propped up awkwardly in a bed too big for him, but he didn’t fucking care anymore. “You don’t care about me, do you? If you did, you’d let me go, let me see my friends, you wouldn’t literally lock me in chains and tear out my eyes, would you? No, what you care about is Tommy the seer, Tommy the punching bag, Tommy the emotional support prisoner. Not Tommy the person.” His voice had turned scratchy, like he was crying, but no tears came out. “But you’re right, I guess. You don’t treat me like a servant. You treat me like a slave. A pet. Anything but a human fucking being.”

An awkward silence descended on the room, and Tommy just felt too angry to even flinch away from the hit that was almost certainly coming, if not being dragged into one of the interrogation chambers again for more serious punishment. Instead, he felt annoyed, impatient, at Dream dragging out the certain punishment to come. Instead, though, Dream pulled him into a warm hug, and Tommy couldn’t help but lean into its comfort. It reminded him of Mama, in the scant few years he had with her, and fuck, at this point he'd take that no matter how much it hurt.

“Oh, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy…” Dream's voice was infuriatingly calm. “You poor thing, so confused and angry. It’s my fault, really. I didn’t consider how it must seem to you, alone all your life and used to being used. No one ever cared about you until I did, right?”

“Shut up,” Tommy half-sobbed. “Shut up. You'll never be Mama, or Tubbo. You're like Father. I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

“No you don’t, do you? You’re just scared, and you must be in pain. I must have not given you enough medicine this morning.” Dream absently ruffled a hand through his hair, and Tommy bit his tongue and pretended it was Mama. “You'll feel better soon, and it’ll all go back to normal, I promise.”

“I don’t want it to.” Tommy's voice was barely even audible at that point, so rough and tired. He didn’t want to continue to exist in this tailor-made torment, and he didn’t want to keep playing happy families with the man who ruined his life, and he especially didn’t want to take any more of the sickeningly sweet medicine Dream made him take, even though it made the burning in his eyes die down. It made his head so fuzzy and wrong, like his thoughts were all flooded by swamp water and he couldn’t understand anything and he hated it. “I'd rather die.”

“Oh,” Dream's voice had slipped into that inappropriately playful tone that sent shivers up Tommy's spine again, “You're far too valuable alive to me to have that choice.”

[augusnippets]

Prompts are out!

plain text and "rules" under the cut

path of hurt:

day 1: gaslighting/hypnosis/brainwashing

day 4: amputation/degloving/vivisection

day 7: waterboarding/drowning/choking

day 10: execution/fake execution/begging for mercy

day 13: drugging/poisoning/cannibalism

day 16: humiliation/dehumanisation/conditioning

day 19: collared/branded/chipped

day 22: captivity/recapture/tearful goodbye

day 25: intimate whumper/sadistic whumper/reluctant whumper

day 28: mind control/body control/betrayal

bonus prompts: forced to watch/whipping/stalked

path of comfort:

day 2: platonic bathing/hair care/make-up

day 5: drunk caretaking/concussed caretaking/feverish caretaking

day 8: reunion/found family/friends

day 11: escape/breaking the conditioning/safe and sound

day 14: toys/gifts/celebration

day 17: forgiveness/grace/resolving a misunderstanding

day 20: homemade meal/quenched thirst/favourite treat

day 23: massage/wiping away tears/gentle touch

day 26: nightmare/warm blanket/snuggling

day 29: singing/first words/inside jokes

bonus prompts: tending to nonhuman whumpee's nonhuman parts/protective caretaker/whumpee wearing caretaker's clothes

secret third path — whumperless whump:

day 3: thunderstorm/blizzard/heat wave

day 6: car accident/plane crash/ship wreck

day 9: hypothermia/overheating/dehydration

day 12: lost/trapped/avalanche

day 15: food poisoning/starvation/throwing up

day 18: apocalypse/infection/self administered medicine

day 21: delirium/vertigo/hallucinations

day 24: animal attack/bear trap/land mine

day 27: migraines/chronic pain/phantom pains

day 30: self-harm/addiction/overdose

bonus prompts: flashbacks/relapse/medical complications

day 31 — bonus day :) write whatever you feel like writing today or have a nice day of rest

AuguSnippets is an event that encourages the short and sweet of the whump genre. Ideally, your drabbles would be under 500 or even under 100 words, maybe even just a dialogue prompt. This, however, does not mean I won't reblog longer prompt fills! Don't stress too much on that limit. I just think it's sometimes nice to challenge yourself to write shorter drabbles, and it can also work as a very good exercise to write daily or semi-daily, and it doesn't need a lot of prep.

As for tagging your work, please use the appropriate trigger warnings. This is so everyone can stay safe and avoid potentially triggering topics while participating. Also, if your work is nsfw, please don't forget to tag it as mature content! If your work is not tagged properly, I won't be able to reblog it! Thank you!

Our special tag will be "#augusnippets day [x]". On the first day that would be "#augusnippets day 1". This is so I and others can find your work easier! You can also tag the blog, that's an even more surefire way to get me to notice your prompt fill :)

Is this a writing only event?

Yeah, this one is exclusively writing focused.

Do I have to use the special tag or tag this blog?

Not if you don't want to get featured on this blog :) It's just so I can find your work easier and reblog it here! If that's not something you're interested in, just scribble away without it.

Is the "under 500" a hard limit for the word count?

No, but I encourage everyone to try and keep to it in the spirit of this event.

Can I submit nsfw works?

Yes! Just please tag it properly :)

Can I mix and match the prompts from different paths?

Yes! Have fun!

What do I need to do to get the completionist badge?

Either you need to complete one whole path, or complete 10 prompt fills altogether while mixing and matching. Those who complete all 30 days (and maybe even the bonus day) will get something extra special!

Can I write fandom related things?

Yes! This event is both for original characters and fandom related writing.

Will there be an AO3 collection?

Yes! Here

[howlsofbloodhounds]

TW: medical/revenge whump. Abuse of authority/power. Torture. Reprogramming/reconditioning under the guise of “therapy” and “helping.” Abuse, gaslighting, manipulating, mentioned starvation and murder. Dehumanization, drugging, withholding medication.

Whumper(s) want revenge/justice, and at least one believes they’re “helping” and justified.

So I was thinking more about killer and revenge/medical whump. And a dark turn on how he asked Color to “teach him how to be a good person.”

And I was thinking about his Good Ending, and how staying in the Omega Timeline (with Color) requires him getting some actual therapeutic services and support.

Some medical intervention, possibly even needing to get his levels of DT checked or monitored.

Support for any blindness, chronic pain & fatigue, possibly even any dissociative/psychogenic nonepileptic seizures (PNES), he could struggle with. Deconditioning and deprogramming. CBT.

Medication. Any communication and food therapists.

And like this leaves him in a very vulnerable position, and puts strangers he doesn’t know or trust—who do know and have every reason to hate him—in a position of power over him.

So I’d imagine he’d be put in a highly guarded cell. They say it’s for his own protection but no one’s ever really protected him before. He thinks they’re trying to protect the staff and other patients from him.

A part of him is pleased to know that. Another is ashamed.

It changes with a certain member of the staff, however. They have a lot of power and authority in this facility, and they are someone Killer has hurt very, very badly before.

Yet he doesn’t recognize them, or if he does, it’s only as something vague like “an Undyne” or “a Toriel.” He doesn’t remember what exactly he did or said to them, how he wronged them—which only makes this person’s anger worse.

Maybe Killer doesn’t even notice anything up at first until he notices a change in his body’s reaction to medication, certain looks and comments they send his way.

But he doesn’t deny any of this person’s accusations—he fully heartedly believes he’s completely capable of whatever atrocities they said he did. He doesn’t trust himself that much. He doesn’t need much proof.

And I don’t know. Maybe this person was initially just planning to confront it, or kill it, or just torture it.

But maybe they see genuine remorse and guilt in Stage 1, and decide that they will help decondition it.

They see now that it was a tool, a machine, and machine’s can be fixed. Even one taught to do bad things can be good, they just need to show it how. And it wants to be good, it wants this. So they’ll be a better teacher than the one’s who had it before.

And like, maybe Killer’s Stage 1 self fully buys into it eventually. He doesn’t tell anyone what’s happening because he believes he deserves it, and it’s only fair. And that he’ll come away fixed and better again.

If he’s ever allowed into Stage 2 for very long to attempt to escape the pain—which is something the teacher discourages, because good things don’t run away from their crimes and selfishly numb out their guilt—he still doesn’t tell anyone anything. Believing it doesn’t matter.

He’s once again clinging to Color’s visits for any sense of hope, and doesn’t really believe it’s possible for him to live without pain or be free anymore.

So he just tries to enjoy what little he has left, even as They snap at him to stop pretending he is something that can care about anyone or anything. They say he is manipulating Color, trying to trick his “friend” into helping him escape and run back to Nightmare to be evil again. They say that good people are honest.

Eventually Killer just stops seeing Color or responding to any letters. He can’t be around him without wanting to hide in Stage 2, but he cannot do that anymore. It’s bad.

Anytime he acts on previous conditioned behaviors or beliefs, he’s punished for it—such as taking away basic necessities, solitary confinement, restraining him either with a straight jacket or with chains.

If the new teacher is an AU of a Chara, there’s a possibility Stage 4 would just be relieved that They haven’t left it and fall back on its old habits.

Only to get increasingly confused and hurt when They keep treating it harshly —no praise and pleasure when it shows its devotion and loyalty, no reward for fulfilling tasks.

Only pain and pain and pain. It can’t figure out why They aren’t happy with it and why everything it does seems to upset Them. Why They suddenly seem to not want it to exist anymore.

Rather than being convinced to be ‘good,’ Stage 4 will just become more and more convinced that its being bad and attempt to keep doing what always used to make Them happy when They were angry. Like offering dead animals it somehow found, kneeling, somehow handing Them a fork it wasn’t aware it wasn’t supposed to have so They could discipline it.

Offering Them its SOUL.

So between all the Stages; 1 would probably be crying and constantly begging for forgiveness, a lot of panic attacks and moments of falling mute due to overwhelming fear and stress and guilt (selective mutism.) He’ll be punished for for behaving childish and being disruptive.

Stage 3 is completely nonverbal, and likely always snapping and snarling and tugging against the chains or jacket. Trying to attack and run.

Like quietly curling up in a corner whenever finally left alone, uncontrollable twitching and harsh stimming behavior; such as smacking his skull against the wall repeatedly. Unlikely to whimper regardless of how much he wants to. Curl up in such a way to protect his stomach and SOUL, and unlikely to sleep.

He’s punished for not speaking, for behaving like an animal, punished if he doesn’t use his words. For hoarding food and eating with his hands too fast. For biting and scratching, and for twitching/hurting himself “for attention.” For being ungrateful and not sleeping.

The more Stage 4’s desperation for Their approval increases the more and more Killer becomes unstable. It’s punished for punishing itself after every failure, every expression of emotion.

It’s punished for becoming so desperate for things to make sense that it starts basically becoming even more Determined to prove its loyalty the only way it knows how—by trying to kill, kill, kill.

Stage 4’s entire world will be flipped on its head simply because it will not think to do the things that this Chara deems “good.” Because it was taught differently, that killing is good, that’s its purpose, it must. It does not know the concept of mercy or kindness and would never think to offer any to “lines of codes.”

It will try to adapt, because it wants to please Them, but They refer to it as if it is a person. They get mad at it when it does not react to death or pain. They call it words when it brings Them offerings.

If They constantly give it punishment after punishment it and it doesn��t understand why, and no rewards or being rewarded for doing the ‘bad’ things it’ll only feel like a test.

It won’t understand why not killing is being rewarded—it should not be, it has been bad. It has been ungrateful and disobedient.

It won’t accept food as rewards because that is not what it’s supposed to do. It accepts food only at certain times every week.

It won’t make choices, express autonomy, or display any moral judgment—it will not accept positive reinforcement for disobedient behavior such as trying to be led to believe it is a person or capable of making any choice. It will resist any attempts to be humanized.

If the new teacher is an AU of Chara, it will rapidly oscillate between instinctive, reverent obedience and resistance—falling more and more into confusion and cognitive dissonance. A rising sense of betrayal because They never did this before and Where is the real Them? and have They abandoned it?

Stage 4 will likely suffer a lot of breakdowns and shutdowns trying to be taught how to be a “good person,” because it fundamentally does not view itself as a person.

But if the new teacher is not an AU of a Chara or doesn’t have “Their heart,” (the locket), Stage 4 is likely to be extremely dismissive of them. “This one is not a person. Do not pretend as if it is.” or “They have no use for your kind of goodness.”

Likely to either straight up ignore or dismiss any attempts to change it, dismissing the words as a part of this particular code’s script. Mock any attempts to convince it to participate.

Will likely not accept any form of punishment from anyone who isn’t Them or allowed by Them, fighting back against punishment and not accepting reward. More likely to plan a way to kill this particular code to reaffirm its devotion to Them.

Meanwhile Stage 2 would be apathetic, playing along when it benefits him; pretending he’s “learning.”

He’d passively take any punishment or reward without any genuine care, regardless of how he pretends or any sarcastic comments. This is very likely the Stage planning the escape/revenge, if he cares at all.

(The way to get him to comply is likely to get him to doubt his memory and experiences.

Convince him that everything that happened with Nightmare and after Nightmare never really happened, was all just a dream or—if the new teacher is an AU of Chara—that there’s been another Reset.

And instead he’s still in his timeline, and either Chara is teaching him something new or he got help from the rest of the Underground after killing them. Reinforces the message that he “wants this.”)

If the new teacher is an au of Chara, Stage 4 would be too far caught up in Their presence and just wouldn’t want to leave—would never think of it. If the teacher isn’t an AU of Chara, it’d just be thinking of ways to slaughter them and escape to return to Them.

Stage 1 would believe he deserves it, and the teacher is only teaching him how to be better. Whereas Stage 3 lives in the moment, resisting any attempts to be changed for any reason whatsoever and fighting back with every punishment.

Killer will likely have to be heavily sedated just to be able to properly “work with” him without hurting himself or anyone else—likely often either dehumanized or infantilized heavily. He will attempt to regain some margin of control, even if it’s as simple as biting the hands that literally feed him or spitting in their faces.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom 2024 Event Masterpost

@juneofdoom

Prompts List

"Help me." | Failed Escape (CW: running, caught in a net, attempted escape, captivity)

"It didn't have to be this way." | Scream (CW: mentioned death, gunshot wounds, deception, fire powers, swearing, revenge, death, whumper turned whumpee)

"Well, well, well...." | Ambushed (CW: kidnapping, attempted rescue, recklessness, breaking in, stealth, blood, chained by wrists, injury, gun, gunshots, threats)

"Does that hurt?" / Impalement / Punishment (CW: captivity whump, chains, team whump, multiple whumpees, caretaker turned whumpee, impalement, blood, magic whump, healing whump, magical healing, screams, separation, implied death)

"It's not as bad as it looks." / Swelling (CW: deception, sabotage, arguing, bruises, swelling)

"They don't care about you." / Flinch / Abandonment (CW: PTSD, breaking and entering, sabotage, self-deprecation, swearing, harsh words, denial, mentioned injury, crying)

Nightmare / Isolation / Stumbling (CW: nightmare, isolation, darkness referenced captivity, chains, hallucinations, panic attack, stumbling, questioning reality)

"This is your last chance." / Chair (CW: stealth, arguing, mentioned dissection, torture, rescue, passing out, chains, threats, pistol-whipping, implied drugging)

Alt: Whip (CW: captivity, gun mention, handcuffs, torture, caretaker turned whumpee, whipping, stress position, mentioned wounds, blood, blood loss, passing out, oxygen mask, ambulance)

"Can you hear me?" / Fear / Smoke (CW: fire, collapsing building, fatigue, magic exhaustion (in the superpowers sense), burns, dizziness, fear, adrenaline, cryokinesis, trapped, crying, guilt, resignation)

Bleeding Out / Collapse (CW: blood loss, collapse, blood, stitches, bullet wound, passing out)

"I can't stand seeing you like this." / Dehydration / Coma (CW: hospital room, coma, car crash mention, death mention, worry, mild dehydration, guilt)

"Wait!" / Sacrifice / Cornered (CW: attempted escape, chased, running, cornered, trapped, self-sacrifice, guilt)

"What were you thinking?" / Outmatched (CW: deception, thievery, being watched, monster, scratches, claw wounds, stress position, explosion, fire, book burning, arson, swearing)

Rescue / Presumed Dead (CW: swearing, death threats, referenced injury, secrets, collapsed building, paranoia, gun, unconsciousness, burns, handcuffs, ambushed)

"At least it can't get any worse." / Stranded / Setback (CW: car trouble, swearing, smoke, implied ambush, implied magic)

"You don't want to do that." / Struggle (CW: unconsciousness, imprisoned, headache, net, stress position, captured, multiple whumpees, blood, knife, reckless behavior, swearing, implied starvation)

"I'm fine." / Headache (CW: headache, stress position, nets, knives, rescue, starvation, captured, escape attempt)

"This can't be happening!" / Sobbing / Disassociation (CW: panic attack, crying, denial, manhandling, threats, power suppression cuffs, pistol-whipping, concussion, blood, PTSD, disassociation, captivity, separated)

"I can handle it." / Scrape / Neglect (CW: scrape, blood, anger, yelling, past abuse, past neglect, crying)

Trapdoor (CW: prison escape, starvation, thirst, knives, headache, nausea, pushing through the pain, frustration, swearing)

"What's the bad news?" / Cauterization (CW: naval battle, arrow wounds, leg injury, cauterization, fire powers, blood, screaming, medical whump, caretaker POV)

"You're doing great." / Trembling / Gaslighting (CW: captivity whump, concussion, blood, swearing, gaslighting, shouting, referenced torture, referenced abuse, helplessness, superpower whump, torture)

Blankets / Stitches / Bandages (CW: angst, nightmare mention, insomnia, captivity mention, scars, loneliness, PTSD, crying)

"I should have listened to you." / Guilt / Failure (CW: anger, fear, guilt, swearing, deception, choking, paranoia, last resort)

"Don't lie to me." / Rage (CW: reckless behavior, breaking and entering, hostage situation, knife, threats, swearing)

Defiance / Display / Last Resort (CW: choking, swearing, captivity whump, power suppression cuffs, scream, weapon, electrocution, unconsciousness, assumed death, shock, referenced injuries

"Say something." / Gag (CW: parting words regret, referenced argument, stubbed toe, darkness, bound and gagged, bruises, used as bait)

Alt: "I'm not okay." (CW: concussion, captivity whump, referenced injuries, delirious, swearing, bridal carry)

Shock (CW: shock, bullet wound, dizziness, stumbling, implied/referenced death, 911 call, passing out)

[whumplump]

Augusnippets works Masterlist

Doing this just to be organized.

Path of HURT:

Day 1 - Gaslighting

Day 4 - Vivisection

Day 7 - Drowning

Day 10 - Execution / begging for mercy

Day 13 - Drugging, poisoning

Day 16 - Humiliation, conditioning

Day 19 - Collared, branded

Day 22 - Captivity, recapture

Day 25 - Intimate whumper, stalked

Day 28 - Mind control, body control

Path of COMFORT:

Day 2 - Platonic bathing

Day 5 - Drunk caretaking, feverish caretaking

Day 8 - Reunion / found family / friends

Day 11 - Escape / safe and sound

Day 14 - Toys, gifts, celebration

Day 17 - Forgiveness, resolving a misunderstanding

Day 20 - Homemade meal

Day 23 - Gentle touch, protective caretaker

Day 26 (1) - Warm blanket, snuggling

Day 26 (2) - Tending to non-human Whumpee's non-human parts, phantom pains

Day 29 - First words

Path of WHUMPERLESS WHUMP:

Day 3 - Blizzard

Day 6 - Car accident / plane crash / shipwreck

Day 9 - Hypothermia, dehydration

Day 12 - Lost

Day 15 - Food poisoning / starvation / throwing up

Day 18 - Infection / self administered medicine

Day 21 - Delirium, hallucinations

Day 24 - Medical complications

Day 27 - Chronic pain

Day 30 - Self harm, addiction

Day 31 (bonus day)

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Redwood Psychiatric Institute - Part 1

MASTERLIST

Edit: Not me accidentally giving the dr two names - I originally had him as Morgan but changed it to Wilson later. I must have left a Morgan in there. Sorry for the confusion!!

Note: This was going to be in two parts, but I thought it would make more sense to combine them and put them in one post. So if you've already read the 1st bit, please keep reading!

Also, Happy New Year! I wanted to kick off 2023 with some whump writing that I'm proud of.

CWs: noncon drugging, forcedsedation, medical restraints, medical gaslighting, forced 'mental illness' treatment

"The psychiatric hospital stands tall with three story buildings, a sprawling lawn, and 6 foot fences enclosing the entire property." The figure narrated from the edge of the grounds. “In the moonlight, it’s an eerie sight to behold.”

He paused the recording temporarily to fiddle with the settings on the microphone, and snap another photo on his camera. ‘Low battery!’ warned the camera. 

“Damn..” He muttered under his breath. 

He turned back to look up at the building, and suddenly heard a twig snap behind him. He froze in place. It was just his mind playing tricks on him, he reasoned. He was alone. He didn’t speak again - just in case. The wind howled through the trees off in the distance. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. 

“Who’s there?” He breathed. 

No response. The woods stood silently swaying in the breeze. 

WHAM!

Something slammed into his back, knocking him to the ground. The camera and recorder were sent flying, the air was shoved out of his lungs from the impact. He didn’t even get the chance to scream, before something sharp pricked his neck. The world dissolved into darkness.

----------------------------------------------------

His eyes flew open to find that he was lying on a bed.

'It was just a dream, Rowan. Take a breath. You’re home. You’re safe.'

He looked around. Except, he wasn’t home. He was in a vast, empty room with pristine white walls and white linoleum flooring. Definitively not-home. 

'Where am I?'

The door cracked open. 

'Finally, someone to explain what’s going on,' Rowan thought. 

Three men stepped in. The first, a middle-aged, medium build man with small round glasses, a clean-shaven face and wearing a doctor’s coat. The other two were well built, tall, and wore white nurses’ scrubs. One had a scar below his left eye, with thick, dark curly hair on his head, and the other had blonde cropped hair and a mean-looking jaw. Blondie also had a nasty black eye.

These were not exactly the people Rowan was expecting. 

The doctor gestured for the two nurses to stand in front of the door, and then he slowly approached Rowan’s bed.

“Hello again. Glad to see you’re awake.” The man had a calm, quiet manner of speaking as he sat on the end of Rowan’s bed.

“Uh.. hi.” Rowan said slowly.

“Ah, I’m sorry.. one moment.” The doctor pulled a small penlight from the pocket of his coat, and shine it in each of Rowan’s eyes. “Hm..”

“Am I in hospital?” Rowan asked as the doctor put away the light.

The man glanced at the two in front of the door, before turning back to Rowan. “You don’t remember?” He asked, his cool tone giving nothing away. 

“No. I was.. what..” Rowan sighed, furrowing his brow as he tried to remember how he’d gotten in this room. 

Oh! The article!

“Well, I was conducting an.. article on a mental hospital.” He said, trying to mimic the doctor’s cool tone. Technically, he wasn’t lying. But he couldn’t let on the full truth, either.

“I see.”

“And then.. and then…”

'I can’t remember. What happened between the woods outside, and here?'

“Can you tell me your name?” The Doctor asked, pulling Rowan out of his thoughts.

“Rowan Murdock.”

“I see, Rowan..” The man glanced at the two nurses again.

“I’m a journalist for The Daily Press, maybe you’ve heard of me?”

The man looked back at Rowan. “Ah.”

“Look, am I in a hospital?” Rowan asked.

The man sighs softly. “What I’m about to say might be very hard to hear. I want you to stay calm, or those two orderlies will have to give me a hand, alright?” He asked, pointing with his chin at the two men in front of the door.

“Okay…” Rowan murmured. “Just, tell me.”

“Yes. You are in a hospital. But... Your name isn’t Rowan Murdock. It’s James Lawton. And you’re in a psychiatric hospital.”

Breathe, Rowan. Just breathe. Stay calm.

“But- that can’t be right. The last thing I remember was walking through the forest. On the outside of Redwood Psychiatric."

"Well, at least you remember the name of this place. You're a patient here - this is Redwood." The Doctor explained, gesturing around the room.

"But I'm not. That's what I'm trying to tell you! There's been some kind of mistake." Rowan pressed, fighting to keep his voice level. "My name is Rowan Murdock, and I'm a journalist. Not a crazy person."

"Listen, James. Take a deep breath. You're in good hands here. Of course you aren't crazy. That's a very outdated and harmful term. You just need help. There's nothing wrong with that." The Doctor placated. "And you've clearly lost your memory after the relapse caused by your escape attempt. So let me refresh your memory. My name is Doctor Wilson. You voluntarily placed yourself in the care of this hospital four months ago, after an increase in hallucinations, paranoia and violent behaviour. The most accurate diagnosis for your symptoms is schizophrenia. I'd like to continue working on your treatment with you, James."

"My name isn't James. If you found my camera, or looked in my-" he'd started to reach for his pant pocket as he spoke, only to realise that the clothes he had been wearing had been replaced by a thin white hospital gown. "-pocket… Well you must have, then. You'd have found my ID, with my name on it. Rowan Murdock."

"We didn't find any camera or ID, James."

"Stop calling me that."  Rowan protested.

"As your Doctor, it is not my place to play along with your hallucinations. I will only set back your recovery further."

"But I'm not your patient! You can't do this!" Rowan fought back tears.

"Take a deep breath, James. You voluntarily committed yourself to our care, meaning that you gave your permission to be here. We can even show you the paperwork if you like. We can keep you here for as long as we think necessary to treat you, because you legally gave us permission to do so." The Doctor tried in a soothing voice. "In a moment, Nurse Dean will bring your meds. You're going to take them for me, and you're going to calm down, okay?"

Rowan stared at the wall, refusing to meet the Doctor's gaze. A knock sounded at the door, and the two orderlies stepped aside to open the door. A man entered, wearing nurse's scrubs and carrying a tray with a dozen small wax paper cups, each with names printed on them. 

"Hello, James." The man said as he stepped up to the bed, handing the tray to the orderlies and picking up a cup with James Lawton on it. "Glad to see you're back with us. Here's your meds." He held the cup out to Rowan.

Rowan reached out and took it, holding up the small cup to inspect the half a dozen pills of different colours and sizes. "What are all of these for?"

“James, you might not remember, but I have told you this before - I can’t tell you, or any of the other patients’, that. You’d only try to avoid certain medications to avoid their effects.” Nurse Dean said firmly. He pushed the tablets closer to James. “Come on, take them. You know the drill, if you don’t take them, we have to inject the medication anyway. So you choose - easy way or hard way.”

Rowan stared into the cup for a moment longer, then slowly tipped the pills back into his mouth. And proceeded to subtly tuck them under his tongue. 

“Open wide.” Nurse Dean pulled out a tongue depressor, and used it to check in Rowan’s cheeks, and then lifted the patient’s tongue. When he found the tablets, he sighed. “James….” 

The nurse lifted the pills onto the wooden stick, then deposited them all at the back of his throat. Then, he placed his hand on Rowan’s throat and massaged firmly, forcing him to swallow the assortment of drugs. Rowan’s throat hurt from the large mass being shoved down his gullet all at once. He coughed, and the Doctor picked up a paper cup from the bedside table, and handed it to Rowan, who took it gratefully and swallowed several mouthfuls of water from the cup.

“I’m sorry. But that one’s on you.” Nurse Dean took back the tray of pill cups from the orderly, and turned to leave. “See you, James. Behave for Doctor Wilson.”

Rowan didn’t say a word as the nurse left, cataloguing the doctor’s name away - information that he was likely supposed to already have, but he didn’t want to add fuel to the Doctor’s claims that he had lost it. He balled the bedsheet in his fists for a few minutes in silence, until he realised Doctor Wilson was talking to him.

“-I’m very disappointed in you, James. You’re going to have to try better than that.” Doctor Wilson said, brow furrowed. 

“Ma nerm.. isen J-” Rowan stopped, realising his tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth, and words and syllables weren’t coming out properly. “Wh-”

The fluorescent lights were blurring above his head. He couldn’t hear, the world had been submerged in water. Where was he again? 

'The article. Something to do with the article. He said-'

'I didn’t-'

'Where am I?'

'Why is everything moving. It hurts.' 

'Let me sleep.'

----------------------------------------

James lay on the hospital bed, his head lolling around. He was blinking furiously, trying to stay with it, but they’d put him on such a high dosage that his efforts were futile.

Doctor Wilson stood and pulled the blanket off of his patient. He then turned to the orderlies. “Move him to the maximum security padded room, and restrain him.”

“Yes, Doctor Wilson.” 

The two orderlies approached the semi-conscious patient, picking him up from underneath his armpits, and began dragging him down the hallway.

“Excellent.” Doctor Wilson stepped out the room and closed it behind him.

He walked down the hall of the hospital, following closely behind the orderlies with James. He stepped in front of them, and opened the door with his thumbprint so that they could enter. 

The orderlies placed James on a small, frameless bed against one padded wall. The young man looked tiny as he curled into himself on the mattress, wispy strands of his short caramel hair hanging in his eyes. The orderly with the scar reached under the bed and pulled up padded cuffs that had straps attached to them, with the other ends of the straps sewn into the mattress. As the orderlies and Doctor Wilson held James down and started placing his arms and legs in the restraints, the patient tried to pull away, but he was too weak in his drugged state. With ease, the three men restrained him to the bed. 

Doctor Wilson and the orderlies left the room, closing the door behind them. Doctor Wilson knew that there would be a problem when his patient woke up, but he or the other staff would be watching from the cameras inside the room. 

“Martin, I need you to destroy that camera and ID.” Doctor Wilson said to the curly-haired orderly.

“Yes sir.”

~~~~~~~

PART 2

Taglist (there will be more parts so please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!): @whatiswhump and @jancameforthewhump

[bamber344]

Cracks In The Façade

prev/next

masterlist

posting this now because i can't be F'ed waiting till tomorrow morning tbh...

We've got a Steve and Vivienne double POV special! it was my first time inside both of their heads so I hope I've done them justice!

CWs: references to previous torture (beating, cutting), gun whump, minor medical whump, caretaker who is just doing her best fr fr, references to past gaslighting, living weapon whumpee

enjoy!

Cracks in the Façade

Detective Steve Matthews sighed, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling it away from his chest to allow some airflow. It was a blisteringly hot day, and he’d rather be anywhere other than where he was right at that moment; standing in the sun outside of a convenience store that just got held up. The perp didn’t get very far, thankfully. Seven had been patrolling nearby and took the man down before he could make it across the street. Now Steve was just here to take statements and collect evidence in the summer heat. Or, more like he was there to supervise the beat cops as they did all of those things under the direction of another detective while he just stood around sweating. As if Captain de Vygon would actually let him lead his own investigation.

At least he didn’t have it as bad as Seven did, though. It couldn’t have been cool in that intimidating black armour, and he knew that the captain was breathing down her neck just as hard as his – probably even harder. Ever since those SWAT officers were killed a week ago, Seven had been moving differently; almost gingerly, as though she was hurt, or so Steve had noticed in their few encounters. It rose warning flags in the back of his mind. Something just wasn’t right about that whole situation. Steve didn’t trust de Vygon’s integrity at the best of times; he wouldn’t put it past him to beat his volunteer superhero for a mistake, especially one so extreme. The real question was, why would Seven put up with it? It just didn’t sit right.

Well, what was he going to do about it, anyway? He wasn’t a hero. He was barely a cop. Seven was an adult woman and a borderline supersoldier. He’d seen her flip a grown man over her tiny 5’3” frame and break his arm with ease. If she had a problem with how things were going behind the scenes, she could get herself out of it. The Union would take her in no questions asked if she wanted. It was probably just in his head.

Right now, the woman was standing some distance away, seemingly spacing out while staring through the window at the mannequins on display in a woman’s clothing boutique. She seemed to have relaxed some now that she wasn’t on active duty, antsily twiddling her fingers together as she examined the clothes. Steve walked over to her. He had nothing better to do, after all.

“Thinking about buying something?” he asked.

Seven jumped a little before turning to him. “S-sorry?”

“Are you thinking about buying something from here? You seem pretty fascinated by what they got on display.”

Seven looked at him, and then back to the mannequins, wringing her hands nervously. “Um, I don’t have any money. I was just… looking.”

No money? That was odd. Though, perhaps she just meant she didn’t have any on her. It didn’t look like her armour had pockets, to be fair.

Steve shrugged. “Still, you work hard. You should treat yourself. Why not come back after your shift is done?”

Seven stared at him, and though he couldn’t see her face, he could sense the confusion in her body language. She looked back and forth between him and the boutique a few times. “Uh… O-okay…”

The more Steve interacted with her outside of combat scenarios or de Vygon’s presence, the more he felt like there was something seriously weird going on. Her apparent personality just didn’t match the front she put up whenever she was working. If he had to guess, he’d say she almost felt like… like a sheltered kid or something. Where the hell did de Vygon find this girl?

A memory flashed through his head, but he shook it off. He’d heard it enough from the precinct counsellor; it was just a hallucination induced by stress and a lack of sleep, nothing more.

The awkward silence stretched on. Steve sighed. “Well, whatever. Do what you want. I’m gonna head back to the scene; I think the boys are almost done with the evidence.”

He turned and started walking away, hearing Seven’s footsteps following along behind him. He approached her because she’d looked a little lonely, standing there staring at the store like a puppy with a toy it couldn’t have, but now he felt bad about interrupting her privacy and ruining her quiet moment.

They got back to the scene. Steve busied himself catching up on the evidence that had been logged, while Seven milled around, as she was wont to do at crime scenes. A few days after her first appearance, a couple of fleeing perps returned to a scene that she’d already left and ruined some evidence before the police could stop them. Ever since then, she’d made a habit of sticking around to ensure everything went smoothly, unless there was another pressing issue that required her attention.

It was a few minutes later that things went awry. A loud crack echoed across the street and Seven flew backwards. All of the officers dove for cover and Steve was no exception; throwing his car door open and hiding behind it. There was a shooter, and if they had managed to knock Seven off her feet, they had to be packing some serious heat.

Steve glanced around. Seven was on the floor, but she was still moving. According to de Vygon, that armour of hers was bullet-proof. He hoped for her sake that was correct. She lifted her head, trying to get up, but another shot ripped through the air and sparks flew from Seven’s helmet as she was forced straight back to the ground.

Steve drew his pistol, taking a deep breath. He peeked through the window of the open car door, looking up at the roof of the opposite building. The sky was blindingly bright, but he could just about make out a figure perched on the edge. Light glinted from the scope of the sniper rifle in their hands.

One of the other officers returned fire and the figure startled, backing up and taking their rifle with them. A huge pair of dark wings unfurled from their back and flapped, lifting them from the roof with improbable speed. Steve took aim and fired a few shots, but none of them met their mark. The figure was too fast, ducking and weaving through the air until they were gone from sight.

“Seven, are you alright?!” Steve asked, jumping out of his hiding spot to check on her.

Seven groaned, lifting her head again. The glass on the front of her visor was cracked, but it didn’t look like the bullet had gone through. Most likely, it ricocheted off the edge. He couldn’t tell where the first shot had impacted, but the woman didn’t seem that much worse for wear, if a little winded. “Y-yeah… I’m okay.”

“Come on, we might still be able to see them from the roof!”

Steve turned to the other officers. “Put out an APB! We’re looking for someone with huge black wings and a sniper rifle! They won’t be able to hide!”

The authority in his voice surprised even him, but it spurred the officers into action, scrambling to communicate with dispatch to organise a manhunt. With that out of the way, he turned back to the building the shooter was perched on, running towards it. Seven was back on her feet by now, right behind him.

She cleared the building in a single jump, disappearing over the edge of the roof. Steve wasn’t so blessed with augmented abilities, and as such had to painstakingly climb his way up the fire escape, activating muscles he probably hadn’t used in years. He was definitely going to be sore by tomorrow morning.

Finally, panting and gasping from exertion, he reached the roof, but it was too late. The winged person was nowhere to be seen. It was just their luck that their suspect would be able to fly. Still, they’d find them in time. There was no way someone with such an obvious power could hide themselves for long.

Seven was looking at the floor, where the shooter had been perched. Scattered around the area were a dozen long black feathers, no doubt left by their wings. Once again, Steve was hit by a memory he’d been trying to forget, of a night roughly eighteen months ago, where he’d seen an impossible sight that subsequently nose-dived his career.

~~~

It was a little past one in the morning on a cold winter’s night, and Steve Matthews was returning to precinct 23 to pick up some case files he needed to look over. It had been a long week, and exhaustion was clawing at him like a feral cat, trying to drag him to bed, but there was still work to be done. He promised himself that once he got back to his apartment, he would sleep and go over the files in the morning, and that assurance gave him the strength needed to keep going for these last few hours.

It was when he was just about to enter the precinct that it happened. The glass door flew open and Steve froze as he came face to face with the two girls running out. They froze in turn, staring him down. In the dim light from the street lamp, Steve could just about make out their appearances, and what he saw shook him to his core.

One girl was older; clearly an adult, and the other was probably in her early teens, if Steve had to guess. They were both dressed in identical black thermals and had shaved heads. The older one had a large pair of wings sprouting from her back, the feathers puffing up in anticipation. Both girls had the exact same face; one that should’ve belonged to a dead woman. The younger one’s eyes held a cocktail of fear, sorrow, and pain. In her older sister, there was only rage.

A small twitch of her feathers was all the warning he got before the older one was wrapping her arms around the teen, beating her wings against the cold air and disappearing into the dark sky, leaving Steve alone to contemplate the impossible thing he’d just witnessed.

~~~

Steve remembered how hard Captain de Vygon had tried to convince him what he’d seen wasn’t real. He remembered all of the counselling sessions he’d been forced to go to, all the cases he’d been forced to drop because of his supposed ‘unstable mental state.’ According to de Vygon, of course it had been a hallucination! Why else would both girls have had the face of a dead superhero? Rosalyn Garcia-Holmes was one of the most famous superheroes Tombguard had ever seen, and Steve had even met her a handful of times before her death thanks to his niece. It made sense that his brain would pick out her face to put on the actors in its mysterious play. It was all just in his head. Steve had even started to believe it himself. Now, however…

Steve looked over at Seven. She came from precinct 23, just like those two mystery girls. What face hid underneath that visor of hers? Why was everything about her so weird? Just what exactly was de Vygon doing underneath the precinct?

Seven was still staring at those feathers. A thought occurred to him; a pit opening in his stomach. If those girls had all come from the same place, there was every possibility that they knew each other. And now, one of them had just shot Seven with clear intent to kill. Regardless of what else was going on behind the scenes, that had to sting.

“Did… Did you know who that was?” he asked carefully.

Seven hesitated, but ultimately shook her head. “N-no. Captain de Vygon has spoken of a girl with wings before, but I don’t know who she is.”

Her voice was slurring a little. Steve frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I-”

—

“Did you hear that?” Brianna asked, craning her head around despite the fact that she wouldn’t be able to see anything, anyway.

“Hear what?” Viv replied. They were sitting together on a rooftop, enjoying a lunch break from their patrol. Not that there was really much to be patrolling for, especially not for a support hero and rescue hero, but it was a good excuse for both of them to get out of studying for a while, and enjoy the warm summer’s day. That reminded Vivienne that Maddie was probably about due to be dragged out of the house again, as well. Rosie would kill her if she let her wife rot inside all summer, and they hadn’t really done anything since Rosie’s death anniversary aside from hang out and play video games together.

Brea frowned. “Sounded like gunshots. Over in that direction.” She nodded her head down the street, her shoulder-length braids swishing back and forth with the movement.

“Should we go check it out?”

Brea shrugged. “If you wanna. I’m not too keen to get caught up in a fight or something, though.”

“We’ll just have a look from a distance,” Viv said. “If it’s something we can help with, maybe we can step in, but we’ll see.”

“Alrighty then, sounds good.”

The two of them stood up and Viv took Brianna’s hand. In an instant, the scenery changed and they were about two kilometres down the street. Brea shuddered - she still wasn’t very used to teleportation - as Viv looked around. There were a few police cars parked a ways away, and she could just about make out two people on a rooftop nearby.

“So?” Brea asked. “Anything interesting?”

Vivienne squinted. “A couple of cop cars, and… I think that’s my uncle? And that new hero that works with the police, too. They’re on a roof. Doesn’t look like anything dangerous is going on anymore.”

“Y’know, I’ve been wondering what that new hero’s deal is. I’ve heard a lot of weird rumours on the radio. What’s her name again? Seven?”

“Yeah. Maddie and I met her a couple weeks ago. We didn’t really get to chat though, because de Vygon showed up and swooped her away. Wanna see if we can say hi?”

“Might as well. Not like we’ve got much better to do. Just… warn me before we teleport next time, please? I know I can’t actually see that we’ve moved, but something about the way the air pressure pops just throws me off.”

“Sure, sorry about that.” She took Brianna’s hand again. “You ready?”

Brea took a deep breath and nodded. Vivienne focused on the empty space a few feet away from her uncle. She did a countdown for Brea’s benefit and as soon as she reached zero, Viv flipped the switch in her brain and the space that she was focusing on appeared under her feet. She turned her good cheer up to eleven and announced herself to the two police officers.

“Hey guys! What’s-”

Seven whipped around and a wave of darkness spilled from the seams in her armour, barrelling towards the two of them. Viv stumbled backwards, waving her hands.

“Wait, wait! Friendly!”

The wall of shadow stopped inches from her face, dissipating into the air. Seven didn’t drop her combat stance though, watching them through her visor like a hawk. Speaking of which, her visor looked seriously messed up. The opaque glass was spiderwebbed with cracks, coalescing at a point near her temple. Also, it sort of looked like there was a hole in her armour, right above her heart. What the heck happened here?

“I-it’s just me! You know, Vivienne? We met one time? Oh yeah, and this is Brianna, she’s my friend. Hi, uncle Steve!”

“Yo,” Brea said.

Steve sighed. “Hello Vivienne. This is a crime scene, you can’t be here.”

They must have startled Seven something fierce. Her whole body was shaking. Viv frowned, ignoring her uncle.

“Are you okay? You don’t look well.”

The woman finally dropped the combat stance, putting a hand on her chest. “D-detective… I… I think the first shot pierced my armour…”

Steve whirled around. “What?! You said you were okay!”

“I- I thought… The shock must’ve… It… It hurts.” Her voice cracked into something almost like a sob at the end. Vivienne’s gut wrenched.

“Uncle! There’s a first-aid kit in your car, right?”

Steve blinked, taken aback. “Y-yes, but-”

“Brea, get her to lay down. I’ll be back soon!”

“You got it,” Brea replied.

Viv turned to Seven. “You can trust us, alright? I know first-aid; I’m studying to be a nurse right now. It’s going to be okay. We’re gonna fix you right up. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Seven nodded shakily. “O-okay…”

Vivienne jumped into action, grabbing her uncle’s wrist and teleporting him down to where the police cars were milling. He barked some orders at the other officers as they made their way to his car, relaying the situation and telling them to inform Captain de Vygon while Viv opened the trunk and grabbed the first-aid kit. She wasted no time teleporting them back to the roof-top, pleased to find Seven already lying on her back. Brea was holding her hand, speaking softly to her.

“Do you want to take your helmet off?” she asked. “You might be able to breathe a little easier without it.”

Seven shook her head. “Not allowed to let anyone see my face…”

“Well, I’m blind, so I won’t be able to see it anyway. If you’re more comfortable with it on, that’s fine.”

Seven reached a hand up, and for a moment Viv thought that she would get to see the face under the mask, but all she removed was her mouthpiece. Her lips were chapped and dry, and the surrounding skin was discoloured with fading bruises. Her bottom lip looked like it had been split recently. She and Steve shared a look. Clearly, he was thinking similar thoughts.

If Seven never took her helmet off when she was out, where had she taken those hits?

Viv tried to ignore it. That wasn’t important right now. She knelt down at Seven’s side, examining her abdomen.

“We’re gonna have to remove your chestplate to get a good look, Seven,” she explained. “Don’t worry, help is on the way. We’re just gonna make sure you’re as well as you can be until they get here.”

“Latches ‘re under the armpits,” Seven replied, slurring slightly. Without the electronics in the mask obscuring it, her voice was soft. It had a rough sort of cadence that reminded Viv a little bit of Rosie, only without the hispanic accent.

Viv followed her instructions, finding the latches and pulling the chestplate off. If the state of what little she could see of Seven’s face had shocked her, then she definitely wasn’t prepared for the state of her bare torso. She sucked in a breath, and heard her uncle curse quietly.

Below her armour, Seven was wearing nothing but a sports bra, leaving very little to the imagination and filling Vivienne with some very conflicted emotions. On one hand, Seven was fucking sculpted. She looked like a goddamn greek statue, and the sight of those sweaty planes of muscled, tanned skin were leaving Viv a little breathless. On the other hand, it looked like someone had used her abdomen as a punching bag, leaving a tapestry of colourful bruising across every inch of aforementioned skin. What was even more concerning than that, however, were the two sloppily stitched-up cuts intersecting each other on the upper-left side of her belly. They were too clean to be anything other than intentionally made, and clearly the patch-up was far from a professional job. Vivienne didn’t know what to think about any of this, but it was giving her a distinctly bad feeling.

She pushed all of those thoughts down. Now wasn’t the time. Seven was her patient, and right now all that mattered was finding and assessing the damage from the bullet she was presumably shot with. Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find at all. A large patch of blood had saturated the cotton of her bra right above her sternum, surrounding a very obvious hole.

The fact that she was still conscious and alive meant that the bullet had most likely been slowed down enough by her armour to be stopped by her sternum, but Viv doubted that the bone remained entirely intact in the process. It was a marvel that she was still able to move about in the way she had. Either Seven was very used to pain, or she was still bursting at the seams with adrenaline. Based on the state of her body, it was probably a mix of both. The only certainty was that she needed a hospital. Until professionals arrived, Viv and Brea would just have to do their best for her.

Step one was to find the bullet. If it was deeply embedded in the bone, there wouldn’t be anything they could do for her now aside from slowing the bleeding, but they might be able to remove it themselves if it just impacted the surface. There weren’t any major blood vessels in that area, so they could probably do most of the patch-up work on site.

“Brea, can you check how deep the bullet is?” Viv asked.

Brianna nodded, moving her hand closer to Seven’s chest. Two of her fingers disappeared, turning into thin wisps of smoke that then drifted daintily down onto Seven’s body. The smoke wafted around searchingly until it found the hole, sinking into it and examining the interior painlessly.

“It seems like it’s just below the surface of her skin. Doesn’t feel like it’s fragmented or anything. We shouldn’t have any problems removing it here.”

“Cool,” Viv replied, pulling on some gloves from the first-aid kit and searching for a pair of tweezers.

“Don’t worry,” Seven muttered. “I’ve got it.”

Vivienne was about to protest when blackness began to seep across Seven’s skin from the shadowed edges of her armour. It travelled like a liquid, remaining flush with her body as it slipped under her bra and amassed in the bullet hole. Seven tensed up, balling her fists and clenching her teeth, clearly trying to power through the pain of whatever she was doing. Viv was a little too distracted by the mouth-watering sight of her tensed abs to question it. After a few seconds, Seven relaxed, her body deflating with a sigh as a flattened, gore-covered bullet rose from the hole, lifted by a pillar of shadow, before being discarded and rolling away down the side of her chest, leaving a trail of red on the cotton in its wake.

Viv blinked. “Where the hell did you learn how to do that?”

“‘s not the first time I’ve had to pull shrapnel out of myself,” Seven replied.

Well then. Just another thing to file away under the ‘weird and concerning things about this new superhero’ tab in her brain.

Vivienne took a second to get her brain back in order. This next part was important.

“Alright, well… Are you okay with me lifting your bra so we can patch up the wound?”

Seven waved a hand that flopped limply back to the ground. That wasn’t a great sign. “Go right ahead.”

Viv took a breath and ripped the metaphorical band-aid off, lifting the garment and looking only at the bloody wound on her chest, refusing to let her eyes drift anywhere else. Time to do her thing.

“I know I said we’d do our best for you here, but you should really go to a hospital just to be safe. The risk of infection here is pretty high,” Vivienne explained as she gently rubbed the wound down with an iodine wipe. Brea kept hold of Seven’s hand, whispering comforting nothings to her to distract her focus away from the pain Viv was no-doubt causing.

Seven shook her head. “N… No hospital. Not allowed.”

Oh boy. It just got worse and worse with this one, didn’t it?

“Do you at least have some sort of medical facility you can go to?”

Seven nodded, so at least that was one less thing for Vivienne to lose sleep about. She pulled out a bandage and placed it over the wound, deciding it was safer not to stitch it up here in case she missed anything that the actual doctors would need access to treat. With that done, she pulled Seven’s bra back down into its place.

“Well, that’s about all I can do for that right now. Is there anything else I can help you with?” Viv asked.

Seven let out what was probably supposed to be a considering hum, but it ended up sounding more like a groan. “Mm, I dunno… Thanks for your help, though. You guys’re nice. And you’re really pretty, too.”

Brianna barked out a laugh as Viv’s insides got caught in a vice. “O-oh. Um, thank you.” She could feel her face burning with an obvious blush. Stupid redhead genes. 

“What about me?” Brea asked, smirking.

“Yah, I meant you, too,” Seven clarified. Her voice was slurring a lot now. “I really like your… your face. ‘s nice.”

Brea was trying to act cool, but Viv could still see her dark complexion deepening from the blush on her cheeks, too. 

Steve - who had walked away once Viv removed Seven’s bra for the sake of her modesty - made his way back over to them. “Seven, do you have a concussion? You’ve been acting a little strange.”

“Oh, uh… Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Viv groaned. “Of course you do. How do you even know?”

“My visor can check for it… That bullet hit me in the head pretty hard, so the first thing I did was get it to check.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” Steve asked.

“A lil’ bump‘s no reason to stop working.”

“We should take your helmet off to check. It might be pretty serious,” Viv said.

Seven shook her head again. “Not allowed.”

“Seven, I’m not kidding! You could be in real danger and we’ve had no idea this whole time!”

Steve sighed. “It’s fine, Vivienne. You’ve done good. Her medical team will take care of the rest. Speaking of which…” he trailed off, glancing over the edge of the building. “Looks like the cavalry’s here.”

Everything moved quickly from thereon. A group of people ascended up the fire escape with a stretcher and carefully laid Seven out on top of it. They were about to make the painstaking journey down when Viv just offered to teleport them. It would be dangerous taking her down the fire escape, and the quicker Seven got some proper medical attention for her head, the better. It wasn’t long before she was bundled into the armoured van and driven away to wherever her supposed ‘medical centre’ was, leaving Vivienne, Brianna, and Steve alone on the roof.

“Yeesh,” Brianna said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “That girl has issues.”

Steve shook his head. “Everything about her is just… giving me a bad feeling.”

“I’ll say,” Viv replied. “Did you see the state of her torso? Those bruises were awful! Not to mention the cuts…”

“I’d suspected something like that. The way she’s been moving recently, it was obvious that she was in pain. And I’d bet good money that Andreas de Vygon had something to do with it. He practically has her on a leash.”

The name made Vivienne’s blood boil. That man was truly scum. He’d tormented the Union for years, harassing and slandering her and her friends. Why any superhero would choose to join him was beyond her. That being said, the more she learned about the mysterious woman, the more it seemed like it might not have been a choice after all. 

“There’s gotta be something we can do, right?” Brea asked, voicing Viv’s thoughts. “If de Vygon’s mistreating her, surely there’s someone we can tell about it to get her out of his hands?”

“He would just cover it up,” Steve said. He let out a breath, rubbing his face with weary exhaustion. “Look, the only thing I know for sure is that that woman is strong enough to take down the entire precinct if she wanted. If she had a problem with how she was being treated, she could get herself out of it. De Vygon might have influence, but he’s just a normal man when it comes to power. Seven could easily kill him if he angered her. We’re probably just looking too much into it. Those injuries could easily just be from combat training or something.”

Vivienne sighed, looking out over the city in the direction Seven’s medical team had left in. “I hope you’re right, uncle. I really, really do.”

Taglist: @steelandblood @sapphicwhump @urnumber1star @alsolucakairomi @idkwhattodowiththisaltiamsorry

@iamheretohurt @anoyedartist @dontyoubleedoutonme @seastarblue

Even in the midst of a concussion and a broken sternum, Jordyn can't help but be a hopeless lesbian

Viv didn't really get as much introspection into her character as I would've liked but that's just because she was so focused on Jordyn that there was no time for that. Chapter was ballooning a lot as is. I'm sure she'll get more later :)

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought! Comments and reblogs very appreciated :)

[the-whumpening]

Tigerverse | Masterpost

Context Post

All fics involving Ash, his party, and Ozmund. These fics often feature intense whump, so please read content warnings carefully.

Ash's party originated from a Dungeons and Dragons game I'm a part of, and I have permission from those involved to write about their characters. The Caged Tiger was written specifically to explain what happened to Ash while I was playing a different character for a while. The canon here is a little complicated, so I'll try to keep it as simple as possible:

The Caged Tiger: 100% canon, both here on the blog and in the DnD game. The bonus chapter is not game canon, but canon to the blog.

The Pet Tiger: 100% NOT canon. An AU of The Caged Tiger.

The Freed Tiger: Mostly not canon to the DnD game. Call it "blog canon" for now. In future chapters, I intend to reunite it with the game canon (or as close as possible without dumping extra unnecessary exposition).

Extras: All of the extra fics so far are from the original game canon except for Part 6. That part is also not blog canon, so it's labeled "not canon." Anything new will be labeled accordingly.

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The Caged Tiger | Original (DnD Canon) Story | around 9k words total | Finished Contains: captivity, torture, gaslighting and mental abuse, dehumanization, medical/lab rat whumpee, violence and gore Ash, a were-tiger barbarian, is captured by a powerful wizard with a grudge against him. He just has to hold out until his friends rescue him, right? It won't be too long . . . right? Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 (Final) | Bonus [Ash's Rescue] (not canon) Read on Ao3

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The Freed Tiger | Recovery Arc (Blog Canon) | currently around 8.3k words | Ongoing Contains: recovery whump, descriptions of past whump, emotional/mental distress, flashbacks and hallucinations Ash has finally been rescued by his friends and is returning home. But how free is he really, with Ozmund's conditioning still permeating his every thought? Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | ... | Read on Ao3

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The Pet Tiger | NSFWhump AU | currently about 14k words | Ongoing Contains: dehumanization, pet whump, intimate whumper, explicit noncon/dubcon (in later chapters), emotional abuse, captivity, humiliation Ash expected anger from Ozmund; he expected to be killed, frankly. But Ozmund had other ideas in mind. If he couldn't have Evius, he'd just have to have the next best thing. Prologue/Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | ... Read on Ao3

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Extras | Other fics from before Ash's capture or in a different canon | Parts marked with * contain sexual content.

DnD Canon Extras:

Dating Uma: Part 1 | Part 2* | Part 6* (not canon) Relationship with Evius: Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5*

Blog Canon Extras:

TBD

Read on Ao3

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[weirdstrangeandawful]

TW: food, disordered eating, discussion of weight

How do I get doctors to take my inability to eat properly? I used to be able to eat enough to at least sustain myself and my nutrition but my body is starting to fuck me over because it thinks I'm starving. I am starving but it's not my fault. My body is starving itself. Doctors aren't taking it seriously. They just keep telling me to push through the nausea and that even if I throw up, it's okay. just keep trying. I can't do that. I physically cannot do that. I can't push through the nausea! And it's not just nausea and vomiting! If I eat I can't regulate my heart rate or my temperature or my breathing and my head hurts and I can't stand. I can't push through it!

I was misdiagnosed with an eating disorder when I was a child because my white doctor didn't understand that Indian people are smaller and lighter in general. I got taken to so many doctors for that. And yet when I'm actually suffering and my body is not working because I can't eat, doctors don't care because I'm finally at a normal BMI (probably because my body is panicking over the lack of food).

It's got to the point where I'm tempted to intentionally starve myself further so they'll take me seriously but I know they won't then either. I can't function. I can't even stay awake at work even half a day at a time because I'm running on zero nutrition.

[montammil]

Whump - clinical trials

TW: Medical whump, doctor whumper, drug trials, surgical trials, psychological trials, gaslighting, manipulation, carewhumper doctor (for surgical trial part), creepy Whumper

Whumpee is in a desperate financial situation, so they decide to volunteer for some clinical/medical trials. The riskier and longer, the more money, so they think it’s worth it, only to realize they’re wrong too late.

BUT what kind of clinical trials would they do?

Imagine drug trials. Whumper intentionally giving them too many, hurting them, threatening them, teasing them, because no one will believe Whumpee, it’s just the drugs. And Whumper will often make it clear Whumpee is too delirious to go home, but they so kindly offer to keep watch of them for the night, much to Whumpee’s horror.

Imagine behavioral/psychological trials. But it’s much darker than it is in reality. Whumpee thinks everything will be fine, just some psychotherapy and behavioral interventions, but it’s anything but that. They didn’t read over the contract, and basically just volunteered to be put through various methods of psychological torture.

Imagine surgical trials. Maybe Whumpee has some kind of condition that has no known cure and it’s a last resort, or maybe Whumpee isn’t even human and is volunteering to be a guinea pig for the large amounts of money. Whumper ends up taking a liking to Whumpee, and Whumpee also fails to read through the entire contract. So Whumper purposefully makes the surgeries more painful and invasive, loving the dependence Whumpee has on them.

And Whumpee is none the wiser, thinking Whumper is just a good person trying to help them out. When Whumper makes up more reasons why surgeries need to be preformed, Whumpee doesn’t question it. When Whumper makes Whumpee’s state worse than when they came in, Whumpee believes it’s all part of the process.

...and when Whumpee starts questioning everything, Whumper decides it’s time to move onto more permanent surgeries, not wanting to risk losing their dependence on them.