#whumpay day 1

[holidayinhell]

Whumpay: Operating Table

Will post one excerpt per theme bc I simply do not have The Time!!

Characters: sadistic Whumper and coward Whumpee. TWs: nonsexual nudity, extreme fear, restraints, male whump, implied organ harvesting

Whumpee found himself at a loss as the metal door creaked open.

The cold tiled room held only one powerful light, its brilliance bounced across a gleaming metallic surface positioned in the center of the room. As a whole it was empty, containing only one chair, a cooler box, and two rolling cabinets on either side of the operating table.

“No... no way.” 

The captor's gloved, heavy hands rested on both of Whumpee’s shoulders. 

“Are you surprised?” Whumper said almost directly into Whumpee's ear. He cocked an eyebrow. “You know how this works.”

The words rang in Whumpee’s ears. Of course he knew. Whumpee was all too familiar with the chop shop he’d been detained in for the past few weeks. He had suffered countless sleepless nights filled with the shrieks and pleas of the misfortunate souls who’d been sacrificed to the Operating Room.

But Whumpee had lasted longer than any of the other captives ever had. They had an expiration date of maybe two weeks maximum, whereas he’d been held here for over four months. And while he didn’t understand the exact reason he was treated so well, he never questioned it, and was always pleasant to the man who had decided to keep him around so long. Whumpee got along well with Whumper.

“Are you- what is this?” Whumpee asked incredulously.

“Ah. You’re kidding around, huh?” He turned to face the larger man behind him. He feigned a weak smile.

“No.”

His smile dropped and his palms became sticky with sweat. He knew what happened in this room. Well, he didn’t know exactly, but he knew the people Whumper ushered in never came out. 

But then again, Whumper also had a playful side—playful in a kind of horrible, sadistic way— this could be his version of a joke. Yes, surely this was just a cruel joke.

“…what is this?

“This is exactly what it looks like.”

“You’re messing with me.”

“You still think so?” Whumper half smiled.

“Ha-ha.” Whumpee said weakly.  His heart was pounding in his ears. “For a second there you had me.”

“Haven’t had you yet. Soon, though.”

The captive froze. He could feel the hungry gaze of Whumper's eyes locked on him, studying his every tremor of fear with cold fascination. Whumpee's head fell, confidence shattered.

“Not this.”  He half-whispered to the tiles on the ground. “Not like this. Please.”

He stole a glance back at Whumper to see if making a run for it was a viable option. It wasn’t. 

Sensing the his urge to flee, Whumper side-stepped to block the entryway.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

Whumpee’s knees gave out and he crumbled forward. There was no escaping this.

“I can’t, I can’t. I can’t do it.. Please. Please!” he wailed. “I’ll do anything! Anything anything…” Saliva strings fell from his gaping, moaning mouth, tears and mucus ran down his face.

“Well apparently not.”

“But-but, I’ve been good, I-I thought I was doing good, I don’t, I don’t— I don’t wanna die!”

“You have been good.” Whumper reassured him with a sigh. He stooped down to wipe the muck from Whumpee’s face off with the scratchy arm of his sleeve. “So keep it up, mkay?”

Sobs wrenched in Whumpee's throat, urging him to scream, but he swallowed hard, doing his best to suppress the sound, fearing it might enrage Whumper before he had the chance to reason with him. He knew crying wouldn’t help, and begging would only take him as far as Whumper allowed before caving his head in.

Whumpee couldn’t hold it back any longer. “You’re gonna, you’re gonna kill me aren’t you...” He let out a terrified shriek. “You’re going to kill me!”

“Oh, hell. Shut up. It’s not personal. Just part of the job, gotta keep bread on the table and all.”

“I can get you money!” The captive scrambled nervously, “I, I have a friend--a really rich, wealthy friend in the city— he’ll pay you however much you need. I know he will, I just need to get--”

“That’s good to know.” The larger man interrupted. Whumper roughly nudged the terrified man through the doorway, shoving him to the cold tile floor. “Come on, Whumpee.”

“Wait! Wait wait wait, wait a minute just wait--” He hyperventilated as he was urged forward. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might explode. He fell to his knees.

Whumper sighed, hooking the frantic man under the shoulder and launching him deeper into the room. He pulled the large iron door closed, secured the heavy latch, and pulled his black latex gloves up.

“D-do-don’t do this to m-m-me.”

Whumper sighed again. Begging grated his nerves more than anything. He’d listened to each of them recite the identical lines countless times, offering up drugs, money, sex— anything in exchange for their freedom. For some reason he’d hoped it would be different with Whumpee. He was such an obedient captive, and Whumper treated him like goddamned royalty. He thought he would approach the table and offer himself up willingly.

But no, Whumpee was performing an identical version of the same pleas for mercy as the rest of them. It was boring, and frankly, a little depressing.

“Stop it.” Whumper warned. “Get up.” 

The shivering man stood.

 “Take off your clothes.”

“Wh-wha? Why??”

“Aghhhh! Just take off your fuckin’ clothes!” Whumper sighed.

The boy shifted awkwardly on his feet, holding out hope that this sick routine was only a prelude to one of Whumper’s sick jokes. Surely this was the punchline. He’d already accomplished his goal of scaring the shit out of Whumpee. Surely it was over. Surely he’d end things here.

“Now.”

Whumpee’s fingers fumbled to find the hem of his filthy, formerly blue t-shirt, his arms weakly lifted the thin fabric over his head to reveal his ashen torso. It was the only barrier he had between his body and Whumper’s scalpel. The shirt fell to the floor.

Whumper took in the sight of Whumpee’s nearly perfect complexion. His skin was creamy white from the lack of sun exposure, pale folks were rare to stumble across in the desert wasteland. He was a slim man, athletic and lean, he bore no telltale signs of abuse. Whumper provided him with two mostly edible meals a day, clean clothes and the occasional hot shower.

“Go on. Take off all of it.”

The small man's cheeks burned with shame. Whumper’s hungry eyes shone with intrigue.

Whumpee laced his fingers around the elastic band of his pants clinging to his narrow hips. In one quick motion he dropped his pants and boxers down his legs, his hands swiftly rushed to cup his exposed genitals.

“How modest.” Whumper chuckled. Let him hide, Whumper thought. He’d have nothing to hide behind once he splayed his lean body across the table.

“Aight, now come here and open up.” Whumper produced a ball gag from his pocket.

Whumpee’s body quaked from a pang of terror so violent it threw his body off balance. A warm sensation trickled down the inside of his thigh.

Whumpee looked down at the pool of warmth he was standing in, and--fuck, oh fuck-- he’d pissed himself.

“For fuck’s sake, Whumpee. The hell is wrong with you today?!”

Wide-eyed and cowering, Whumpee collapsed to the floor and scrambled backwards. “I’msorryimsorryimso so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--!” He stammered frantically. “I didn’t mean--”

Whumper threw Whumpee’s discarded pants over the puddle of urine. Surprisingly, he tossed Whumpee’s shirt back to him. 

“Hush. Clean yourself off.”

He cleared his throat and a few heavy tear drops plopped on the fabric in his lap. “I am sorry. I-I didn’t mean to do that.” He almost managed to say it without his voice quavering. He wiped the inside of his legs down using the filthy shirt and threw it aside. A powerful wave of numbness began supplanting his overwhelming terror.

“It’s okay, I’ve seen a lot worse.” A crooked smile returned to Whumper’s face. “Get over here. Right fuckin’ now.”

Whumpee swallowed his pride. His fear. His will to live. And he faced his fate head on.

“Good. Climb on the table.” 

Whumpee got on the table.

Whumper secured his prey by locking his wrists and ankles to the operating table with a short length of chain. This was it. There was no going back now. Whumper looked down at Whumpee with ravenous eyes. He had him where he wanted him, after all of these months, finally.

He pulled on his surgical mask, rolled up his sleeves, and adjusted the light above his victim. A gloved index finger traced down the length of Whumpee’s bare body, imitating the blade's path. He truly had magnificent skin.

Before Whumper managed to make his first cut, his cellphone rang.

“You couldn’t have called at a worse time, you sonuvabitch. Call later. He’s on the table right now.” Whumper barked into the phone.

-Pause. Whumpee faintly heard the person on the line chuckle.-

“No shit? Who?”

-A longer pause.-

“I dunno. It sounds like one hell of a deal. Don't worry, this one's not goin' anywhere. Run it past the boss and get back to me. ”

-Pause-

"Heh, I should really kick your ass for this one," Whumper said wryly. "I've been nursing the best pair of virgin kidneys and liver you've ever fuckin' seen."

-Pause-

"Mhm. Roger that. Bye." Whumper tucked his phone in his pocket and pulled his surgical mask down.

“Whumpee. Your wealthy friend in the city--” 

Whumper rested the scalpel on Whumpee’s stomach.

“--is his name Caretaker?”

[whumpay]

babe wake up new whumpay prompts dropped. like last year, im posting early for more time to prepare

Welcome to Whumpay 2024! Up above you will see the basic prompt list and down below the cut you will see it written out in a list, as well as three mini challenges (and by extension, the extreme edition)

Rules are the same as usual

You only have to use one (Or two, if you’re doing the extreme edition.) prompt a day! But you’re welcome to use multiple if you want to, and it still counts for both.

I know the description of the blog says it’s a writing event, but if you want to draw or make other kinds of content, that’s cool too.

Have fun, tag content warnings (such as noncon, graphic violence, etc) and try not to be crushed by the mortifying ordeal of posting your writing.

This is a pretty chill event so you can start posting whenever but I’ll be reblogging posts made to the #Whumpay2024 tag throughout May. For real this time.

These all also apply to these three special mini challenges, consisting of a 7 day, a 10 day, and a 14 day prompt list.

EXTREME EDITION: This year's extreme edition doesn't have its own prompt list, but instead, youll be taking all three mini challenges in order along with the main prompt list. Some of these fit pretty well, others less so.

1 - Mad Science:

Day 1: Strapped To An Operating Table

Day 2: Paralytic Drug

Day 3: Made A Lab Rat

Day 4: Vivisection

Day 5: Truth Potion/Serum/Spell

Day 6: Russian Roulette

1 - Attacks, Mental & Physical:   

Day 7: Heart Attack

Day 8:  Asthma Attack

Day 9: Animal Attack

Day 10: Panic Attack

3 - Ineffective Medical Care:

Day 11: Medical Torture

Day 12: Withholding Medical Treatment

Day 13: Medication Tampering

Day 14: Injury Brushed Off

Day 15: No Anesthetic

4: Mindfuck

Day 16: Presumed Dead

Day 17: Memory Loss

Day 18: Stockholm Syndrome

Day 19: Phantom Pains

Day 20: Love Potion/Spell

Day 21: Role Reversal 

5. Nature's Revenge

Day 22: Slowly Running Out Of Air

Day 23: Natural Disaster 

Day 24: Struck By Lightning

Day 25: Snowed In

Day 26: Heatstroke

6. Traps & Trauma

Day 27: Caught In A Net

Day 28: Traumatic Touch Aversion

Day 29: Used As Bait

Day 30:  Flashbacks

Day 31: Choose Who Lives

Mini challenge #1: Torture

#1: Tortured For Information

#2: Whipping

#3: Branding

#4: Begging To Be Killed

#5: Recorded/Broadcast Torture

#6: False Execution

#7: Shock Collar

Mini Challenge #2: Dialogue

#8: “Why are you doing this?”

#9: “Don’t look.”

#10: “You look awful.”

#11: “Who did this to you?”

#12: “No one is coming for you.”

#13: “No one cares about me.”

#14: “Don’t lie to me.”

#15: “Stay with me, please.”

#16: ”You’re scaring me!”

#17: “You’re a monster.”

Mini Challenge #3: Aftermath

#18: Fighting Against Caretaker 

#19: Seeking Revenge

#20: Taking The Blame

#21: Barely Conscious

#22: Disassociation

#23: Carried To Safety

#24: Scars

#25: Unhealthy Codependency 

#26: Infected Wound

#27: Survivor’s Guilt

#28: Touch Starvation

#29: Abandonment Issues

#30: Cradled In Someone’s Arms

#31: Adrenaline Crash

Alt Prompts:

Death Game

Came Back Wrong

Attack The Injury

Healing Malfunction

Left For Dead 

Mistaken Identity

Dazed

Trapped Under Rubble

Drowning

Disowned By Family

Hostage Situation

Have fun everybody!

[fallenwhumpee]

Meal

Part 1 • Part 2 • Masterlist •

Whumpay Day 11: Intimate Whumper

Warnings: Intimate whumper, vampire whumper, bloodbag whumpee, poisoning

Whumpee tried to get smaller in the blanket Whumper had given to them. They were so cold, and they had no strength to lift themselves from wherever they collapsed.

"We have to get you into an actual bed, dear one." Whumper said, their teeth still painted with Whumpee's blood.

Whumpee made agreeing noises, but they had to stop to focus on again. They felt cold sweats run through their back over their now boiling skin, and they tried to keep breathing steadily as they let go of the blanket.

They were seeing everything in doubles, and headache wasn't helping.

"Did I go too for now, sweetie? I should've stopped before draining my best meal." Whumper reached to them with their cold hands.

"You're too thin. Didn't I feed you enough? I should've had someone check on you." Whumper pulled them to their feet, but Whumpee couldn't stand by themselves, and leaned on Whumper as they felt the ground shake under their feet.

"Easy, now. Let's go out to a fancy restaurant. I bet you'll look stunning in one of the clothes I brought you. "

Whumpee did nothing to resist as they were dragged to one of the guest rooms in mansion and given nice clothes. They dressed as best as they could, their arms hard to move and shaking. They slowly made their way to the entrance, a pair of new shoes waiting for them.

"You look as pale as me, dearie." Whumper fixed a part of their clothes and offered their arm. "We will look well together."

Whumpee took the offer, and they really went to a fancy restaurant with elegant guests. Though, Whumpee noticed how thin and pale one of every couple eating looked. Fellow bloodbags.

Whumpee really didn't mind, Whumper was nice enough to stop whenever they noticed Whumpee wasn't able to go on anymore. They were fed and taken out to the gardens for every meal they could provide for Whumper. They were given a warm bed, and Whumper was never too mean to them, Whumpee could even go far and tell they cared. So, Whumpee assumed others were also like them and didn't care the other as well as they were good enough to go out after being drained.

Whumper ordered them a nice meal, enough to keep them full for the week. But halfway through their meal, they started to feel worse, and this was not supposed to happen. They never felt this dizzy and weak—

Whumper growled as they caught Whumpee falling from their chair.

"Who had done this?!"

[zoeywhumps]

whumpay day 1: "strapped to an operating table"

tws: restraints, scalpel cuts, medical themes

@whumpay

phoebe woke up unable to move, her wrists and ankles strapped down to a cold table. the woman looked up with a start to see another woman, around her height but fair-skinned with a smily face mask on.

"wow, cliche much?" she said to hide the fear building inside her.

"you know... i've always liked fish out of water. you've always been the one to fix people up... but you've never been the one who needs fixing. the doctor strapped to the operating table, completely helpless." the woman's voice was like a purr.

"fuck off," phoebe said, her panic shining in her eyes as she started to struggle.

"i'm afraid i won't be doing that. i'm much too excited to see how a medic handles the sight of her own blood."

she turned her head away, closing her eyes as a scalpel cut through her arm like butter. she refused to give this bitch the satisfaction, but despite her best efforts, a pained groan escaped her as the blade dug deeper inside her.

"hmm... you're hardier than i thought. maybe i should just leave you here... see how long you hold out." the woman dropped the scalpel, and phoebe jerked her head up.

"you just cut me open! are you crazy? i thought you people wanted me alive?" she yelled after her, her movements sluggish as she began to lose blood.

[ccieatchildren]

Whumpay 24 Day 1: Strapped to an Operating Table

TW: Experimentation, Eye Gouging , Noncon Drug Use

Whumpee jolted awake.

He tried moving his arms, but found them, and his other limbs, clamped down. Cold metal pressed against his back, and Whumpee still felt groggy from whatever sedatives they were injected with before. He pulled and pulled at the restraints, but they wouldn’t budge. 

A hand knocks on the table next to his head, startling out of his panic. A person moves from behind him to another Whumpee notices standing in the corner, craning his head to watch them. 

They begin to talk, and though he couldn’t hear what they were saying– he never could– but Whumpee had become adept at lip reading. Hyper-focussing on the researchers’ lips he tried deciphering what was said, but the shapes they made were unfamiliar. 

He wished his brother was here. 

Not only was he hearing, but he also understood English. Tears pooled in Whumpee’s eyes at the thought of their brother. 

Shifting in his restraints, Whumpee drew the attention of the people once again. They argued with each other for a few seconds before the taller one grabbed a scalpel. The other hurried to a metal cart covered with various other medical tools and drugs, pushing it near him. 

The one with the knife approached their metal bed, muttering a few words until they realized he couldn’t understand them. Seemingly done with trying to communicate with him, the scientist sighed, turning to their partner and nodding. 

Whumpee did understand this. 

He screamed, tugging at the clamps, trying in vain to break the solid metal. The main one barked some sort of order at the other, who sped to retrieve a syringe. They both held his arm down, despite his incoherent yelling, putting the needle through his skin. 

Immediately Whumpee could feel his limbs slacken, brain becoming foggy. They tried pulling away once more, but nothing happened. His head and arms felt as if made from foam, somehow soft but immovable. They tried blinking the sensation away, but even his lids did not reciprocate. 

He had lost sight of the researchers in his panic, but Whumpee was returned to his situation by the scalpel appearing much too close to his eye. He attempted to turn or scream again, but he laid still and nothing but quiet gurgles came out. 

He could do nothing as the blade pressed against the edge of his optic organ. Could do nothing as they slowly scooped out the ball, and still couldn’t do anything as they carefully severed its long tail. Whatever gods were out there were merciful enough to make it painless. 

After they took the first one, then went the second. Both carelessly thrown onto a tray. The organization had no use for his eyes, powerless and inhospitable. 

Unlike his brother’s. If only the rest of his body could withstand the calamity.

Now Whumpee was the recipient of the twisted experimentation instead. 

The uncomfortable sensation of something he needed being torn from him was horrifying. But, much worse, was right before the nerve was split, when he could still see. In a different situation, when he wasn’t being forever altered and his brother were still alive, he would’ve thought it cool. Looking around the room without being confined to his head. Not staring at the bleach white ceiling and unsmiling scientist, but perhaps behind him, or around the corner. The possibilities endless. 

Not now however. One gone, and his vision halves. It is disorienting how quick it is. As if a light turns off one only one side, before the other endeavors to compensate. Second gone, and he sees nothing no more. Stuck in a black noiseless room. Only touch, but even that was muddled by the slowly dissolving sedative. 

Whumpee was used to being a sense behind others, not having the privilege many others had. However, it was all he had ever known, and he never much minded. He did not need sound as the others did, content in his world. 

But having something he had always had a grasp of cruelly taken from him… it will stay with him for evermore. 

Feeling begins to return to his body, and along with it comes the pain. The pits in his sockets irritate from the air, exposed to an element they never should have. 

Nothing else happens in the dark silent void. Nothing else can happen but to wait.

Soon rubber probes around the holes. It is violating in a way he can not explain, and he hopes he never experiences it again. His thick tongue garbles out a protest. He thinks… There is no way to tell anymore.

The prodding gets more aggressive, the touch turning into burning. He can feel his vocal cords vibrate with the scream.

A tug. The string coming out of his eye is yanked, jerking his head with it, and Whumpee whimpers. 

The room gets slightly hotter, close to his yarn. He wails. 

Whumpee’s vision returns. It is once again outside of himself, literally seeing himself from an angle he never will again. 

The researchers watch him, faces blank, focussed only on their work, uncaring of him.

The new orb is shoved back into his skull. It does not fit correctly, unnatural and clearly not meant for him. It knocks against the top of the socket, lids not able to fully close over it, moving flesh in his skull to make space for itself. Fitting a triangle into a square.

He may have his sight back but not his eyes.

The second follows in a similar way, but he has to suffer more, the drug leaving his system. It is agonizing, forcing an item that does not belong, and he screeches and shrieks throughout the whole process. The shorter one is put off by his reaction, steadying his legs. The taller one seems accustomed to his suffering. 

The feeling of needles poking holes behind his eyes will never leave him. But it is finally done.

They hold up the mirror in front of his face, reminiscent of his mother after she cut his hair. But this is much worse. Much, much worse. Because of what stares back at Whumpee, widened in fear and grief.

His brother’s eyes. 

[whumpers-monthly]

Whump calendar 2023

Attention: I will delete the prompts in all the months except December next month to make room for next year. If you want to save the whump calendar 2023 you should do it now. Also check out my new blog @whumpcalendar where I will post the calendar from now on.

So I made a calendar and @thewhumpyprintingpress made a checklist for all whump events. Let us know if you're hosting an event so that we can add you.

All events under the cut.

So far we've got:

Whumpers-monthly by @whumpers-monthly One prompt every month.

2023 Year of Whump by @soheavyaburden A prompt can either be filled each week or each month, runs the whole year.

January: Whumpuary by @whumpuary 10 sets of prompts

February: Febuwhump by @febuwhump

March: March Trope-A-Thon by @amonthofwhump 7 days of prompts

April: Whumpril by @whumpril

May: Whumpay by @whumpay Mediwhump May by @mediwhumpmay

July: Whumpmas in July by @whumpmasinjuly

September: Whumptember by @whumptember Sicktember by @sicktember

October: AI-less whumptober by @ailesswhumptober Angstober by @angstober Whumptober by @whumptober

November: Comfortember by @comfortember

December: Whumpcember by @whumpcember 12 Days of Whumpmas by @whumpmas 12 sets of prompts Winter Whumperland by @amonthofwhump 1 - 12 of December Hurtcember by @hurtcember Merry Whumpmas by @whumpishprompts

We will add all the other blogs as soon as the promptlists are available.

[sticks-and-stones-are-great]

Whumpay - Day 1

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Strapped To An Operating Table Mini Challenge 1 - Torture - Tortured For Information Fandom - The Man from UNCLE (2015)

When the two telephone calls came, one after another with a twelve second pause in between them, Solo shrugged into his coat. Then sat back down in the armchair and looked up to the clock. Three o’clock. He would have to wait until nightfall, roughly three more hours.

Coat on, knee bouncing, and barely reading his paperback book, Solo waited the three requisite hours.

When the distant cathedral bell began to ring out six o’clock, Solo was out of his chair at the first toll, and out of the front door by the third toll.

When he stepped out into the chilly night air he forced himself to slow down, lit a cigarette, and begin a slow and circuitous route towards the dead drop.

Finally, he wandered into the abandoned brickyard. The city was quiet around him.

Ears pricked, Solo flicked his cigarette away, and crouched by a low, crumbling wall. He pulled out the specific brick. It grated pleasantly against its brothers. Solo retrieved the small package from the hollow and replaced the brick.

It was done. He straightened up.

Then the world exploded.

Bright light.

A blow to his nose. Another to a kidney.

Solo found his face pressed into the gravel of the ground. He could taste the brick dust. And the blood gushing from his nose and down his throat.

“Tie his hands.” Someone hissed.

Solo was grabbed and pulled to his feet.

The searing light was shone into his eyes again and Solo groaned. He panted around a mouthful of blood. His hands were roughly tied. Then, with a firm grip on each arm, he was frog-marched to a nearby car and shoved into the trunk.

The door was slammed shut. Complete darkness.

Moments later, the engine roared to life.

Solo caught his breath. He only had a few minutes to puzzle through this. The first order of business was to untie his hands. This was easy enough. They had made the mistake in tying them in front instead of behind his back.

As soon as his hands were free, he blindly reached out and explored the trunk’s locking mechanism as best as he could. The back of his head throbbed in time with his racing heart. The jolting car ride caused wave after wave of nausea and dizziness.

He vomited. His skull rang out, hot with agony.

Solo spat, groaned, and with shaky hands got back to work on the lock. They must have hit him pretty hard.

After a few minutes, and with the help of a lockpick he had in the lining of his coat, Solo popped open the trunk. He was careful not to open the trunk fully and eyed his surroundings. They were bouncing down an old dirt road with only trees on either side. Lovely. The middle of nowhere.

Well, no time like the present.

Solo thrust the trunk door open fully and jumped.

The guidance of 'tuck and roll' felt more like wishful thinking at that moment.

It was a whirlwind of pain.

Finally he found himself flat on his back, looking at the night sky. So many stars.

Solo rolled over and retched again but nothing came up. His head, obviously, was still very painful. He gasped for air, keening with every inhale.

The sound of screeching brakes and slamming care doors.

Shit.

The sound of boots pounding the dirt road. Towards him.

Solo tried to get his legs under him but fell, pain lancing up his left leg. He hit the ground, hard. As rough hands grabbed him again, he saw that his foot stuck out at an odd angle. Broken.

Time dilated. Solo could only focus on breathing. At one moment, he found himself in the backseat of a car, held upright between two men. The next, he was being pulled from the car, foot dragging on the ground. He screamed. And retched. His skull felt as though it would explode. Solo blacked out.

It was the grating agony of his ankle and foot that woke him. Blackness. Until Solo cracked his eyes. A dim room. He could not move.

A moment later he was a little more awake.

He was bound tightly to a table, the ceiling and it’s lone light-bulb looming over him.

The door at the far end of the room opened and two men stepped through; one was older with gray hair and rolled up shirt sleeves and the other was younger, fair-haired, and tall.

And then the questions began.

The haze of his broken ankle and throbbing skull covered Solo like a pall. He could not keep up. As soon as he understood what they were asking him, they were on to the next question. And when they did not get answers quick enough, they cut off his clothes and resorted to other methods of persuasion.

Why were you at that brickyard after dark?

They pulled a cloth over his head and drowned him in cold water.

Who planted the information you retrieved?

They put out their cigarettes on his bare skin.

Who do you work for?

They pressed hard upon his broken ankle and made him scream. They ground the bones against each other. His left lower leg was swollen and almost black with bruises.

Solo did not talk.

He fell into a stupor and woke only to pain. He wished for death. Anything but this.

Hours passed. Maybe even days. He lost track. He did not care. It was eternity either way.

So when he felt the shackles around his wrists removed and someone beginning to work on the shackles about his ankles, he lay there quietly and let them do as they wished.

He gasped when the band about his broken ankle fell off and the blood began to flow again under the bruised flesh.

A warm hand was pressed to his cheek. Gently. That was odd.

“You are awake?” A soft voice.

Maybe he had gone insane. Or maybe this was a new way to torture him.

Solo opened his eyes and saw the blurry face of Illya hovering there.

He certainly hadn’t expected that.

Solo licked his cracked, dry lips. “It’s difficult to tell.” He rasped. In the harsh light from above, Solo could see the lines about Illya’s mouth tighten.

“Come.” Illya began the process of helping Solo off the operating table. “We must go. Where are your clothes?”

Solo had begun to violently shake, his muscles cramping hard, as he tried to stand. He could not speak through the shivering and only shook his head.

Another frown from Illya.

Solo became afraid. The shivering made him ache. The room spun about him. If he was not helpful, would Illya leave him behind? If he was too slow, would Illya decide he was just too much trouble to rescue?

Solo swallowed hard against a dry throat.

Then he straightened up. He tried to still his shaking. And he only leaned on Illya for a little support. Finally, he was able to speak. “They cut them off me. They’re gone.”

Solo felt rather than saw Illya nod. “I have a blanket in the car.”

“Let’s go.” Solo hissed.

Solo had one arm across Illya’s shoulders, while Illya held Solo close to him with a warm grip on his waist. Illya’s hand on his bare, bruised skin was so warm. And gentle. Together, they limped slowly out.

Solo stared only at the floor was they went, focusing on keeping his balance and moving as fast as he could.

He didn’t want to be left behind.

The cold night air hit him and Solo suppressed another bout of violent shivers, groaning with the effort to stay upright.

“Nearly there.” Illya murmured softy, his voice rumbling against Solo’s bruised chest.

Illya sounded almost like he was trying to comfort him.

Solo heard a car door open and he was lifted inside, laid across the backseat. The door closed. Then the other back door opened, another gust of cold wind, and Illya slipped in beside Solo.

“The blanket.” Illya whispered as he laid something warm over Solo’s bare limbs.

Maybe Illya said something else. Solo wasn’t sure. His ears were ringing. And he was sinking. He was falling. He felt the warm hand on his face again. Then nothing.

[riderofblackdragons]

Day 1: Strapped to a Table

So, thanks to @crimsonlyinglilly for encouraging me to do whumpay this year, i make no guarentees that i'll do all 30 days but im going to try my best anyways.

This au is called Experiments in Blood

People could often find their worst impulses when they felt they had nothing to fear. In fact, Kol had used this many times, compelling people to remove their fears so he could watch them do all kinds of insane and entertaining things. He could remember Elijah, for one, disapproving, but his older brother had never done anything more than be disapproving towards it. It was worse than if he’d physically stopped him, sure, but Kol still did it from time to time when Elijah wasn’t around, still feeling guilt for going against him when he did.

Of course, he didn’t appreciate this philosophy when it was used against him. Never his siblings, their ‘always and forever’ vow preventing them from it, but the humans Kol was currently with - well, they clearly had no one to fear.

It was evident, by the way they’d strapped him (amongst others) to their metal table, pulling all sorts of experiments on their captives. Kol, personally, had had his teeth ripped out, his blood drained, been set on fire by both the sun, a UV light, and fire-starter. There were other experiments, too many to remember them all, but those had special significance in his mind. Namely, they were the most painful ones.

Kol was a Mikaelson, one of the oldest vampires alive, an Original for gods’ sake! And yet these little humans put their hands on him, strapped him down and opened him up, without any worry for if anyone was going to come for him.

And why would they be worried? He’d been down here for over a decade. He’d seen other vampires, other test subjects, come and go, as they were inevitably killed by the scientists trying to recreate their tests. He’d been alone, with their meagre half-cups of blood delivered non-consistently, for what felt like centuries, without any of his family coming for him.

In the beginning, he’d held out hope. Maybe Elijah would come, maybe Rebekah would realise that something wasn’t right, maybe Klaus would find out about the kidnapped vampires and decide it was worthwhile checking it out, just in case. Hell, maybe even Finn would notice what was going on, and come to find him. Kol knew he was out there, it wasn’t out of the possibility.

But no one had came, and with every new vampire arriving, and the years they relayed that he had missed, his hope started waning. If he was younger, Kol thought he might have started forgetting his name, with the seemingly endless torture. Some of the younger ones did, those who hadn’t been turned for very long before they were captured and brought here.

But Kol was nine hundred years old, and had been a vampire for the majority of them. He remembered. And at some point, he started helping the others with theirs, the ones who could still reach out to him.

Not that he was getting attached, not in the beginning. He was just calling their names to them, letting them know that he was there. Letting them know that they weren’t alone, not like he was. And for a while, it seemed as though it was working.

And then the influx of vampires stopped, and it was just him.

He didn’t know how long it was just him for, but he knew it was more than a day. More than a week, maybe, but Kol had no sense of time in this place. All he knew was that for a while, it was just him, being pulled from his cell and dragged to the operating room, experimented on, and then dumped back into the lonely darkness.

But then, after one such time, he wasn’t alone anymore. There was a young vampire, obviously barely turned before his capture, in the cell opposite him. And Kol found his new cellmate to be chatty, like they weren’t now stuck here together.

Still, he played along with the vampire. Lorenzo, he’d said, although they agreed to shorten it to Enzo. Kol was right, he barely knew what a vampire was, let alone how to fend for himself, or how to stay hidden.

If they got out, Kol swore to himself, he’d teach him. Baby vampires shouldn’t be left alone for too long, he remembered someone saying once in his hearing (one of his siblings? Some days he couldn’t remember their faces, even). And Enzo was definitely a baby vampire.

Besides, Kol thought, feeling himself cheer up by it, Elijah’s always encouraging me to make friends!

Never mind that this was clearly not what his older brother had meant. He’d told Kol he needed more friends, even if it was just to help keep him safer, and Kol was getting more friends! Elijah would need to help with rehabilitation into vampiric life, of course, but well… Elijah should’ve thought of that before he gave him such an open-ended order (it was a request, Kol knew it, Elijah knew it, it was obvious. But sometimes it had felt like an order.)

“When we get out,” He told the new vampire. It was good to keep a sense of hope in the young one, he felt, even if he’d since lost his own. “I’ll teach you how to hunt, and I’ll introduce you to my big brother. He’ll help us with revenge, too, if he doesn’t take it for us. But it’ll all be okay, when we get out”

Silently, Kol prayed that it would be soon. Before this vampire’s soul got crushed, too.

[astaldis]

@whumpay @witchermonstermayhem

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Characters: The Hansa | Geralt's Company Members (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Jaskier | Dandelion, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, Maria Barring | Milva

Additional Tags: Witcher Monster MAYhem 2024, Spiders, Giant Spiders, creepy crawlies, Angst with a Happy Ending, caught in a net, Whumpay 2024, Hairy legs, spider web, Animal Attack, Paralyzed, The Hansa | Geralt's Company (The Witcher)

Words: 2,582; Chapters: 1/2

Summary:

Forced off the main road south by advancing Nilfgaardian troops, Geralt and his weird company find themselves inside a dark, eerie forest, and night is falling soon. Inspired by the Whumpay prompts #9 "Animal Attack", #27 "Caught in a net" and the Witcher Monster MAYhem prompts "Paralysed", "Vampire", "Too Many Limbs", "Creepy Crawlies", "Hairy Legs", "Bat out of Hell", "Day gives way to night" (from the song prompt "Tiny Monsters" by Puscifer) and the Day 4 Picture prompt.

He never wanted to take this route. Not that he has been here before, but he has heard rumours, and they do not bode well. Neither does the almost darkness between the tall trees, nor the stuffy air smelling of rot and decay, or the absolute silence ...

Read on A3:

Not A Good Place To Stay The Night ...

[cold1dead1eyes]

1. heatstroke - whumpay 2023

the heat of the desert beat down against whumpee's back. their skin was dry against hot sand. they struggled to move forward, one leg after another, just one more step, one more step, you're almost there.

they had been wandering the desert for what felt like days. the horizon showed nothing but dunes as far as the eye could see. they were so screwed. they were going to die out here like this, and after so long stumbling through the desert, they just wanted it to be over.

"'s not fair. not fair. 's not fair..." whumpee muttered to themselves. they had escaped. they had made it out of whumper's clutches so why, why were they not saved?

there was a faraway thrum at the back of whumpee's skull. their head ached something fierce; vicious pounding that beat away incessantly at their temples. their trembling hands swam in their vision. raw and aching, feverish and inflamed, entire body flushed red. they looked up and saw nothing but white.

heatstroke. whumpee almost laughed as they doubled over onto their hands and knees, delirious. they retched, shaking with nausea, but nothing came up. nothing until they saw the red splash of blood fall onto the hot sand. heatstroke. they had escaped whumper, made it out of their clutches, and now they were going to die to something as inconsequential as heatstroke.

"whumpee!" the distant sounds of their teammates rushing out of a helicopter pierced whumpee's ears. they saw nothing but white, white, white. hands on their shoulders. one last retch, and whumpee passed out on the hot sand like a ton of bricks.

[veryrealimagination]

Whumpay Attempt, Prompts 1-4

This is me attempting some Whumpay prompts. I took the first four days and mashed them.

If you're reading the Murdoch Mysteries Portia AU, spoilers for what I have planned for last act of the first story

Watts groaned as his consciousness came back. The last thing he remembered was a meal from the Round Table. It had been almost empty, sad really as he enjoyed talking to several Portians. The waiter he didn’t recognize gave him his meal along with the tea. It had tasted wrong, but he didn’t like criticizing Fei’s things. Sometimes, people just have off days. It was making him a little sick, though, and just outside the Round Table, he had almost crashed into the ground if someone hadn’t helped him get back to his feet.

Expecting to be in the Clinic, or his room at the Workshop, he instead woke up in a cell. The walls were straight stone with no cracks or breaks to allow someone to work on destroying them. The door was metal, with a small window that was currently closed with a small door for slipping small things through.

He was viscerally reminded of his time with Duvos.

The only difference currently was that he hadn’t been left on the floor. They hadn’t given him anything to sleep on while he was captured. He supposed, that if he had given them the weapons they wanted, they would have given him things in return. More food, a blanket or a pillow. Whoever kidnapped him had set up a metal bedframe and a thin mattress. That told him it wasn’t Duvos. It was a sad fact.

Sitting up was a struggle, with his body uncooperative and unable to move decently. Once he did manage to get himself up, he had to use the wall behind him to keep up.

Nothing really changed with the move, until he saw that there was a strange red light in one of the corners. It was positioned over a small set up of a toilet and sink. Even that was more than what Duvos gave him. Now he was worried, and curious, as to who had set this up.

His stomach wasn’t happy. Whatever he had been drugged with was still in his system, which was making him a bit nauseous. A part of him was also hungry. The meal had only been half-eaten, and it felt as if he had gone beyond his normal wake up and starting time for the Workshop and the chores needed. His body wanted food, but it wanted something made by someone he knew. The chicken soup that Aunt Margy made or the pancakes on the winter’s morning before the hotpot.

Hearing sounds coming from the other side of the door, he sat up as straight as he could handle to face whomever was on the other side. The movement of metal on the other side alerted him to the locks that must have been in place. He wondered why it wasn’t a single one, as he heard multiple pops and clanks. *The place where a doorknob should be is already missing, as the person put a slab of metal that makes it almost impossible to open. That means the holes for locks is also gone. The window and the small delivery box is also unlikely near the locks. They don’t need that many.* He counted to three possible locks and hinges before the door opened.

James had dug up a photo of James Gillies, a week after they suspected. Watts had never seen him during his walks around the town. Not even anyone covered up unnaturally or in disguise. He had gotten good at that in Ethea with the other Builders and their help over there. The photo had not captured the intensity of his stare, or the hidden emotions that must have lurked when he had been in Portia the first couple of times.

Like the obsession he currently saw in the man right now.

He had a tray holding a bowl and a tea cup. Walking in, he sat it down on the far end. Right now, he knew that Watts wouldn’t be able to do anything to him. He was weak and it showed. “Llewellyn Watts,” he said, “I finally got you.”

It was hard to not plead to be let go. He didn’t know what the man wanted, but some of the horror stories were enough to give him bad dreams. The woman working with Duvos laughed at him when he started pleading from pain, after being whipped for the fourth or fifth time. James would have been of the same vein. “I don’t know if having me is such a great thing,” he pointed out, trying to keep a neutral and disinterested face up. It was challenging. “I was a nuisance to Duvos and have become a bit of a trouble magnet.”

He fake pondered that for a few seconds. “I don’t think it qualifies if I was behind chunks of your trouble,” he said. “Besides, it’s going to take them some time to figure out where I’ve set up this time. I would have to go out into Portia and manage to get one of the Corps members, or William and Pennie’s attention and they would have to follow me closely. And I right now have enough smuggled away to not need to go out for a season.”

That shook Llewellyn. He knew William and James would be smart enough to figure it out, especially once they find out he was missing again. There was likely clues left behind. But Gillies felt he had a good enough cover for his operations that they wouldn’t be able to find him until he went back out. His uncle would be tearing Portia apart trying to find him and he likely wouldn’t be able until Gillies popped his head up again.

The sickness in his stomach got worse the longer he thought about it.

“So, you and I are going to become much more acquainted,” he said, “And this is a peace offering. It’s your aunt Margaret’s soup.” Well, his wish of having food from someone around him came true. He didn’t like that fact that the man must have gone to his aunt to request and pick it up from her. They never told him what he tried to target his Aunt with. “Along with a lavender and chamomile tea. Something I dare say you picked up from William. Neither have been drugged, like what I did to your meal two nights ago.”

Two nights? How did the man manage to keep him sedated for two nights with a mere half a meal that had been drugged?! Either the man was lying about the time he had already been there, tearing into his slightly fragile mind, or what he had was severely dangerous. Quite possibly, not meant for human consumption and was meant for animals. Jack told him about medicines that were for horses and cows, that were stronger than the human counterparts.

Oh, it wasn’t Fei behind his meal, but somehow Gillies made it? Well, now he knew why the food wasn’t on par with the other man’s. Dare he think it, it sucked. The waiter that served it was too tall, so it wasn’t him that also served. *He has help? Oh, he might have help.* That could mean there was another person in the place where he was being held. If he managed, by a miracle, to get away while the man was incapacitated, then another person would be able to stop him.

He would only be able to get out with outside help. By Light, he wanted everyone bursting in to save him right now. He would feel embarrassed later on back home with a mug of cocoa while bundled up in a blanket leaning on either his Uncle or James.

Instead, he picked up the tea cup, noted that it was made of a light wood. That and the spoon and the bowl and the tray, were made from the same wood. Since it was light, he wouldn’t do much damage to Gillies if he tried to use it and bash it all on his skull. Planned most likely, along with something he couldn’t stab with. He slowly sipped the liquid. It was a bit more powerful than William’s, but it didn’t hurt his stomach.

“Excellent. I’ll be back in an hour to pick up the tray,” he said. “I don’t think you need any sort of warning about what could happen from keeping anything. Duvos likely did something to ensure you never tried anything.”

With a reminder of his last imprisonment, the man left through the door and locked it behind him. His next breath was a long and harsh one, trying not to cry and still letting out wetness. Watts would not let James Gillies break him. Duvos barely got there, and it took several weeks before he broke down crying from one of his torture sessions. His aunt’s soup tasted a little off, but he hoped that it hadn’t been drugged, instead just something being wrong with it.

Of course, he could have been lying about it being his Aunt’s soup. Watts wouldn’t be surprised if the man had all the ingredients and tried to make it himself. The tea would suggest that. It being stronger had him believing it wasn’t William’s specific blend.

When he was done with both, he stood up to carry the stuff over. Wobbling, it took him almost four minutes, having to stop before he collapsed before he got to the door. Once he placed the tray and everything in there, he was forced to close it before he could see who would be taking it. It would be interesting to see if it was Gillies or his current partner.

Then, there was shuffling back over to collapse on the bed. Not even much movement and he was already drained. *Likely done on purpose. He said he didn’t drug it, but I wouldn’t trust that man.* he laid down, unable to keep himself up even with the wall’s help. His sleep was troubled.

-

There had at least been one day. Not two, he hoped, before Gillies came back. “Come along, Watts, today, we start testing,” he announced. The man was entirely too cheerful. Llewellyn really hoped that the small amount of energy he had in him would be enough to get away.

When he got close to the man, he attempted to punch him. It was something he had watched Jackson do and he thought that there was enough force behind it. Which there was. Gillies had the foresight to move to the side when he attempted. Thrown off balance, he felt a hand wrap around his arm. Another worked through his hair and before he understood, his head was bashed into the wall. “Fighting me will not work in your favor,” he warned.

He got that now, as his head radiated pain and he had to hold back tears. The hand on his head disappeared and helped in capturing his arms. Being forced forward, his sight was a bit wonky, but he still managed to see some possible areas to ever explore if he got free.

The room he pushed him into was a quasi mash of medical and scientific. He recognized the setup for chemical mixings. Several areas of almost Builder related benches and tables. A sterilization area similar to the one that the Flying Pigs had in Orzu. Just off the center was a table, cleaned and polished metal, with restraints attached to it.

It was there that he was led. Gillies got his left arm down and bound. He couldn’t even try to undo it, the grips switched over to his right arm. Dragged onto it, he was tied down by his right as well. He sighed, “I should have made you take off your clothing in the cell.” That drew a terrified look out of him. There may have been some threats, but Duvos soldiers never touched him. “Oh, not for that. I need access to your leg.”

That didn’t help his terror. The man thought about his options for a minute before grabbing something off of a far away table. He pointed the gun on Watts’s head before undoing his left arm. “Take off your pants,” he directed, “I need to get to the location of the wound on your leg that my Jump Dancers attacked.”

Having it explained wasn’t quite as nice as it should have been. Reluctantly, he shuffled his pants down until they were over his knees and to the feet. The man ever so helpfully took off his shoes and pants before setting them aside. Then redid his arm to the table before strapping his legs down. The right one had an additional strap to make sure it didn’t move.

Gillies rolled over a table. From the small glints, he saw multiple types of medical equipment. The worse were scalpels, from the size of a nail to half a pointer finger. Two of the larger syringes weren’t the greatest either. “Let’s start with getting a good look at the area,” he muttered. A clipboard with a pen and paper were grabbed, as he inspected what was left of the wound. Prodding, measurements, pulling, he wrote all of his thoughts down on the paper. “I forget how good Julia is at dealing with wounds that should be fatal. She said it was something about Portia. I call that ridiculous. A simple place does not have abilities like this.”

After several minutes of simply recording observations with his eyes and fingers, he moved on. Bringing over a machine, he threw something over him except the wound area. It was quite heavy. He clicked it a couple of times, similar to a camera. Then, he was done and the thing was lifted. Sad, the weight was nice.

Something beeped and buzzed across the room. Gillies walked over and picked up what appeared to be pictures. Although they were odd, only in black and white and he couldn’t make out what they were. “Oh, how interesting. The areas of bone that were broken and shattered are quite visible. You’re healed, yes, but there’s notable build around the damage. It’s in one of their bite shapes.”

“I want to see it.”

Watts felt terror as something was shoved into his mouth and a strap wrapped around to keep in place. Even with the leg strapped down, he was able to move it. This annoyed Gillies. “Well, you will be trying out some of my new procedures. I need to be able to operate on living beings without issue while keeping them alive.”

Going over to the medical area, he shuffled through his chemical creations until he lifted something of a pale yellow. “First test of the paralysis serum,” he listed, explaining to his captive audience about what he had. To be fair, he hadn’t had an audience in ages, guests even less, and William didn’t appreciate it. Something about dark, inhumane, hurting his family and friends. Blah, blah, blah. He walked back over while talking.

“There were animals before the Dark Ages that had the ability to paralyze their prey by bite, by sting, before devouring them. Some of the journals, the animal guides, the medical research, survived. Held by those that understood that the knowledge had to be discovered again if any of those animals also emerged as humanity did from the darkness. I had access to them in Vega Five. It was part of my studies. I had plans about going into medical prescription. My Mother had such a fascination about the interactions of chemicals on humans. She helped people, bless her Light. Made medications that balanced a person’s brain chemicals, their organs, their skin. That one was due to me as a teen. Horrible acne.”

He loaded up a syringe, one of the ones that he didn’t enjoy the sight. “I heard about venom, poison, being the basis for some of the most well used and useful chemicals for human consumption. A part of me was curious when I came to Portia the first time. Something has become different about humans since the Day of Calamity and the Age of Darkness. A great deal have higher tolerances to the poisons from snakes and Dancers.” Gillies mockingly looked down on his victim. “Well, most of us.” Choosing an area near where he wanted to cut, he grabbed another bottle, which held some brown substance on a cotton stick, and rubbed it all over. “Don’t want you getting infected.”

Injecting it, Watts groaned in pain. The syringe was not small, and the yellow serum burned where it went in. “Excellent,” he whispered, following the small amount of color through his skin as it seeped in. “I will have to watch you tonight. I don’t want to paralyze your lungs. Just your leg, I can’t have it moving when I’m playing with it.” Swabbing more of his leg, Watts realized that he was going to cut into the entire section where the Jump Dancer had bit.

“Quickest place,” he muttered, readjusting the straps. If the paralyzing serum didn’t completely work, he still needed the physical restraints. Sharp scalpel, steady hand covered with gloves, Gillies quickly cut into the skin. Watts screamed, trying to move away from the pain instinctively. His upper body, arms, and the left leg twitched. His right leg did not, a fact that pleased the man. Although the rest of the movement did hamper him a small bit as it still moved when the thigh moved. “Would you stop?”

He ignored struggling for a few more seconds. There was only a little bit of muscle and fat that he was carefully moving and tearing off before he got annoyed and used another strap. This time across the young man’s neck. When air started being cut off, he dropped back on the table with much whimpering. Gillies enjoyed that.

Once he got down to the bone, he finally managed to see the raised growth needed to cover the bite marks. “Incredible. Your body went over quite a bit to make sure that the breakage wouldn’t happen again. Read about it in a few books, but the people rarely donate their bodies for science anymore, and medical practitioners rarely look anymore. Much less record with photographs. I wish people would think about the science needs.” He ran his fingers over it. The feel was incredible. He did really wish that he could have seen these on people that had gone into the Light. Or the Dark, which ever way they lived their lives. He just wanted to see under their skins.

Finished with this curiosity over the leg, at least, he removed his fingers and quickly stitched up the wound. “I believe I’m going to have to think about how much blood comes out when doing this. Robert wasn’t a fan of this. He left me when I was expelled. I mean, he joined me for some of it. Then, got cold feet. He’s working for his Daddy’s company. What a loser. I can’t believe I liked him. But, I’m going to need someone to act as my nurse and help.”

Watts, who was incredibly tired from the amount of blood he lost, didn’t like the sound of that. Who in their right mind would help James Gillies torture him? *Someone from Duvos. Like the woman that whipped me.* The terror from that faded, adrenaline wearing off. There was more prodding of his leg, which he groaned and tried to move away from. There was a tiny bit. The paralyzing serum stopped him from moving, not feeling pain. “And the serum is already wearing off quickly,” he frowned. “You haven’t even been here a couple of years and you’re starting to acquire the Portian healing that I’ve heard about. It made my testing horrid when I dosed the citizens the first time I was here. You were much worse when my Dancers bit you. I thought I was going to kill you. The standard treatment just prolonged what should have happened before Julia figured out the filter.”

Cleaning up, he wet a few gauze pads before cleaning up blood on his skin before covering the wounds. “I’m going to have to use you to strengthen my work. And find some way of working on your arm next. Either I train Li-Pon or I’m going to need a robot.” Looking down at him, there was an internal debate over whether or not he should leave his victim on the table. Cleaning blood off was easier when it was wet. “The serum isn’t going to your chest. Li-Pon can carry you to the cell and let you rest.”

Watts was shifting in and out of consciousness. He didn’t even attempt to fight when the straps were removed and the gag was taken out. Something strange showed up when Gillies tapped a button and a bell rang out. A human with a mask covering half their face. The clothes were odd. “If you wouldn’t mind, please take him back to the cell. I need to clean up.” He flinched, but that didn’t stop Li-Pon from picking him up and carrying him back through the hallways.

-

James Gillies had a few shortcuts in getting Llewellyn healthier faster. Nothing he experienced with Doctor Ogden. Part of the trials he had planned were health tonics and serums. Things he designed to replenish blood faster, heal the skin quicker. They were nasty, leaving aftertastes for hours. He had to resist urges to puke over some of them. He did once and was hit for it. Wasn’t his fault, his body was rejecting it as soon as he drank it. The man had to give him a needle in his thigh when he couldn’t breathe. At least he didn’t get that one again. Something about an allergic reaction?

Four days after, he came back into his cell with a gun. “We’re going to do this again,” he said, “It’s going to be your arm this time. Shirt off, otherwise I will have to cut it.” He motioned with his gun with the afterthought. “And blood. It’ll be disgusting with what I plan on doing.”

After a minute of mental steadying, he pulled his shirt off and walked over to the door. The hand on his shoulder led to an instinctive jump, but it must not have been noted as he was pushed back down to the room again. The person Watts figured was Li-Pon was standing beside the table. He wasn’t dragged on this time, instead pushed with the gun and motioned. Strapped down, the one around his throat was tighter than last time to even stop the idea of struggling. His right arm was pulled out and bound to a board strutting out from the side.

The clipboard was up and notes were taken immediately. It went quicker than last time. “Let’s photograph the area and get some lovely pictures of what my Dancers did.” The heavy blanket was thrown over him again, now with it not covering his arm, and the strange contraption was brought out. This time, he heard electrical whirling from the device, and something else after the shutter clicked.

Again, he saw the strange pictures that came from it. This time, he could see more. *Is that my arm?* Watts thought that the picture was of his arm bone, which he didn’t believe possible. Although, there were medical instruments that they hadn’t been able to get information on from the Corrupt Ages. One was something that supposedly saw through skin and muscle.

If Gillies could do that, why did he cut him open?

“I think your arm healed smoother than your leg,” he commented, “I don’t see as much bone build. How peculiar.” Placing the clipboard off to the side, he wiped down an area of his arm before injecting the same yellow serum that he did previously. While that was taking effect, Watts was gagged again during a whine from the increased burning sensation. Once he tried to move his fingers and saw that they barely twitched, Gillies picked up a scalpel while he whimpered and turned away.

He didn’t know it if was because it was his arm, or the face it was closer to his mind, but the young man felt the cuts more as the man made into him. He wanted to clench his hand into a fist, but his fingers didn’t even twitch. Watts was terrified that one single wrong move would damage his ability to build when he finally escaped.

Li-Pon must have been taught how to play nurse, as the being patted sponges and used a small tube to vacuum his blood when it dripped too much. Eventually, he got down to the bone. “Much, much cleaner healing than your leg,” he cooed, “Oh, how fascinating. What caused the difference in such healing?”

He eyed Watts’s chest with such an intensity that the young man was worried he would be getting autopsied at that moment. Instead, with his physical examination done, he sewed up the arm and made sure everything was clean again. “And since it was only your arm, you can walk back to your room.”

Blood lost not withstanding, he wobbled his way back to the room with Li-Pon following. Once inside, the door was locked and he crashed on the floor before getting to the bed. “It’s only my arm, he said.” Wincing, he crawled the last bit of space before hoisting himself up. That wore him out quickly. “Could really use a pissed off Uncle coming through right now.”

-

James Gillies visited.

Most of the time, he was analyzing what he got from Llewellyn. Blood samples, those strange pictures, his medical chart that he copied a few times. The food was delivered and set with the gun pointing at him as a warning. When he didn’t take him, it was to talk. Or well, drawn out interrogations about what symptoms he experienced, the aftereffects, how William was doing, if there was talks of a wedding between him and Julia yet, if Pendrick figured out his subconscious wants and desires.

He wasn’t sure about answering the stuff about William and James. It was creepy.

When his arm completely healed, the fear in him grew. First was his leg. Then, it was his arm. The last thing for Gillies to cut and examine was his chest. He didn’t see a way for the man to cut him open and explore his ribcage and keep him alive.

Hearing the door opened, he wondered if today would be that day. Looking over, Li-Pon was standing there before laying something down and closing the door again. It was not food. Whatever it was was staring at him, curled up on the floor. “D-desert hopper,” he muttered. That was one of the animals that had been modified for heavier venom. It was over there and he was on the bed, so that shouldn’t be an issue at the moment.

Then, the thing started bouncing over to him. He didn’t move, figured that it wouldn’t make that much of a difference on where he would go. The creature was likely going to chase after him. Not moving would make it less likely it might ignore him, hopefully. Nope, it hopped onto the bed. He had to cut off a whimper and his flinching when it landed by his left side. His expectation of bites until losing consciousness did not match up to what the hopper actually did. Llewellyn watched as it slithered over his chest and legs to curl up on him.

No attacking. Which was a surprise.

*“Desert hoppers are the descendants of an animal known as a snake,”* a disembodied voiced lectured. Gillies had a speaker in his room as well. He hated that. *“They’re cold blooded, which is why you won’t find the outside of the desert without some sort of containment and a heating lamp. Likely the reason why that one didn’t bite you the way I wanted it to. You’re warm.”* There was a hard sigh. *“I wanted him to bite you.”*

*I figured that.* He was trying not to react to the information. The hopper was settling down. He made the mistake of looking down to see what it was not asleep. Yellow eyes started directly back at him. “That was a mistake,” he muttered. Now he couldn’t stop looking.

The door opened again and Li-Pon came through. Without worry, the person picked up the desert hopper. The creature turned and hissed at being separated from its heating source. They merely walked out while letting something else in.

Brighter than its outdoor cousins, the flurpee immediately sought its target. Ice pelted Watts before he could even move. Wincing in pain, he made the decision to flip his bed to the side. The frame and mattress were poor shields. The force of the breath coming out was much harder than he thought was possible. The air was getting chilled fast.

*“Excellent.”*

He heard the patter of its footsteps trying to get closer. He saw the thing jumping to try and get at him. Sometimes, he felt ice pelt him a small bit. There wasn’t anything to use as a weapon. The bed wasn’t breakable. He tried.

His shield was yanked out of his hand, and the flurpee blasted him full on. Gasping for breath, the only thing he thought of was to kick. The creature squeaked when it bounced back. Shaking its head, it came back at him. Forcing himself up, he backed away and tried to stay out of range of its attack. With pain from the cold, Watts was slow moving. Rolling away from the blast of the ice breath made things worse.

The next time the creature got close enough, he took a chance and punched it along the side. It whined in pain and backed up, but came back over and slapped him a few times. It wouldn’t have hurt as much if he wasn’t suffering from freezer burn.

He barely noticed Li-Pon picking up the creature and carrying it out. The hands that started poking and prodding him after that he did. Gillies’s curiosity showed all over his face as he turned the new wounds around to see how much damage was actually done. “A good amount of burn,” he muttered, pushing in on one of the areas and earning a groan. Not to mention struggling from Watts to remove his limbs and curl in on himself. A squeeze on a painful area stopped it, temporarily. “Not as much as I was assuming, but clothing and the fact you defended yourself instead of taking the full onslaught shouldn’t be surprising. Strapping you to a wooden stand and unable to cover yourself would give me more information over the power of their breath.” Watts had a disturbing flash over how he was planning on his next experiment. When there wasn’t resistance, he pulled himself away and curled up against the wall.

Gillies merely walked out the door and locked it, muttering about what he could do later. Llewellyn gripped his legs tighter to stop his shaking.

-

When he was led out of the room again, Watts realized it was going to be for the last time. There was nothing he could try to stop it. Both Gillies and Li-Pon held weapons to make him walk ahead. The table was ready, and he had to be pushed to get on it. Strapped again, with his chest the main feature, something was placed over his mouth and nose. That was new.

“Once Pennie wakes up, the operation will begin,” he said, checking his tools.

Pennie? *They brought James here?* Shocked and terrified, he twisted around and found a chair occupied by one unconscious James Pendrick. “No,” he cried, fighting against the restraints. “No, no, don’t.”

“Quiet.”

“Don’t make him watch,” Llewellyn pleaded.

Gillies looked down at him with a cursed smile on his lips. “Aww, how quaint.” He patted his head before gripping some of the hair and pulling on it. “Pennie and William have been too happy lately. It’s time to install some fear and hopelessness back into them. Not everything has a good ending.” Walking over, he realized the older man was still unconscious.

He didn’t want to wait.

Smacking him, he smirked when Pendrick started groaning. “Wakey-wakey, Pennie,” he mocked.

“Fuck off, Gillies. Your manners haven’t gotten any better,” the man grumbled, immediately struggling with the restraints keeping him to the chair. During his movement, he managed to catch a glimpse of what he wanted to see. “Llewellyn!”

“James!”

The man tried to shout again before Gillies gagged him. “Now that the heartwarming moment is over, I want to start on what will be the crème of what I’ve been wanted to see.” Li-Pon turned the knob of some sort of tank filled with gas. Llewellyn didn’t know what was happening when he started breathing in whatever was coming in from the thing on his face. After a minute, his panic didn’t matter much as he slipped into unconsciousness.

“What my Dancers did to his chest.” He patted on Pendrick’s shoulder in mockery. “Too much interference, and I will kill him. Accidently or not, it will be unclear.” He glared at the villain, but realized getting the two of them out would be impossible if Gillies was planning on operating on Llewellyn.

Li-Pon was there with the new blood suction machine when he started his cutting. Instead of a nice single line that would have just gotten him in the area he needed, he decided on a y incision. It was something that he found out about from medical autopsy books. It would be a signal if Julia had to work on him on her tables.

Peeling back skin and muscle was much harder than it had been in the leg and arm. He was remembering the books that he read on the procedures to get to organs that needed operations. They understated what he would need to do. Gillies had to be careful about it. He was still thinking about using the boy much later. Not to the point of stopping himself in this experiment, but not carelessly enough to kill him out of spite.

When he finally removed enough to see the teeth marks on the ribs, he gasped. “Oh, this is even better than the ones on the leg.” He felt the edges made under his fingertips. “Still healing, and there’s a good amount of jagged edge.” It had been months since he had been attacked. He should have been healed by now. Unless the attack to his ribs had been worse. Or something else had happened in combination with the enhanced venom that hadn’t with the arm and leg. Perhaps since one couldn’t immobilize ribs as they could with the appendages and the consistant movement with the diaphram and his lungs have caused healing to be slower. “Oh, how interesting it would be to make it permanent. A testament to their abilities.” A low growling was heard from the chair. “Quiet, Pendrick.”

“You take that bloody scalpel and step away from my nephew, Gillies,” a voice commanded. Captain Brackenreid stepped out from the entryway of the room, with two of his team standing behind him. All three had weapons raised, but only Brackenreid was carrying a gun. “Or I’m gonna make sure you disappear on the way to the Knight’s Prison.”

He chuckled, looking at his intruders. “What are you going to do about that, Captain? I could always slice through one of his artieries now and leave him to die.”

While he was turned toward the Corps members, one of his tools embedded into his arm. The scalpel dropped, but not before being caught by Li-Pon. Staring in confusion, as they were the only one close enough, the variant took off their mask and showed an angry William Murdoch had actually been under there. “Oh, how did I miss that?”

George and Torva took the man and dragged him away, cuffing him. Murdoch ignored him while quickly slicing through the bonds holding James down. “Hart was one of the ones you brought, correct?”

The woman herself answered, striding in, “Made sure of it.” She quickly looked over Watts. The chest being open, the skin and muscles pulled back and still exposing the ribs, made her sick. “The best I can do is sew him up and stop the bleeding to get him back to the Clinic. I was trained for smaller injuries.”

James came over and looked at the machine that was being used to suck up the blood. “William, is this thing clean enough?” he demanded.

“I cleaned it before suiting up to replace whomever Gillies had for help.”

He nodded. “If there’s a way to manually warm up the blood, we can put it back into Llewellyn to help stabilze him for transport.” The man looked to the medic. “What else do we need to do?”

[whumpay]

WHUMPAY 2023

Well, this is earlier than usual… But, as a thanks for all y’all’s help getting prompts together, I’ve decided to release the list earlier! And, well… With the new ‘Extreme Edition’ addition, I figured a bit more prep time may be warranted.

Rules:

You only have to use one (Or two, if you’re doing the extreme edition.) prompt a day! But you’re welcome to use multiple if you want to, and it still counts for both.

I know the description of the blog says it’s a writing event, but if you want to draw or make other kinds of content, that’s cool too.

Have fun, tag content warnings (such as noncon, graphic violence, etc) and try not to be crushed by the mortifying ordeal of posting your writing.

This is a pretty chill event so you can start posting whenever but I’ll be reblogging posts made to the #Whumpay2023 tag throughout May.

EXTREME EDITION: Made to be used together with the normal prompt list, the extreme edition prompt list has 31 types of whumpees for you to use. This is entirely optional, and you don’t necessarily need to do them in order. I know it says bonus points, but it basically is just bragging rights.

(Prompt list under the cut.)

GROUP ONE: PHYSICAL WHUMP 

Day 1: Heatstroke

Day 2: Asphyxiation 

Day 3: Physical Torture

Day 4: Passing Out From Pain

Day 5: Near-Death Experience

GROUP TWO: MENTAL WHUMP

Day 6: Psychological Torture

Day 7: Betrayal

Day 8: Claustrophobia

Day 9: Lotus-Eater Machine

Day 10: Trapped In Own Body

GROUP THREE: WHUMPER TYPE

Day 11: Intimate Whumper

Day 12: Good Whumper / Bad Whumper

Day 13: Reluctant Whumper

Day 14: Vengeful Whumper

Day 15: Unintentional Whumper

GROUP FOUR: CARETAKER TYPE

Day 16: Bad Caretaker

Day 17: Parental Caretaker

Day 18: Reluctant Caretaker

Day 19: Carewhumper

Day 20: Enemy-To-Caretaker

GROUP FIVE: SICKFIC

Day 21: Working Through Illness

Day 22: Surgery

Day 23: Worse Than It Seems

Day 24: Allergic Reaction

Day 25: Deadly Illness

GROUP SIX: SICK FIC

Day 26: Scars

Day 27: “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Day 28: Self-Isolation

Day 29: “I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”

Day 30: Nightmares

Day 31: Forced Relaxation

ALTERNATE PROMPTS:

X. Sadistic Choice

X. Epistolary 

X. Dehydration

X. Anger Born Of Worry

X. Death Wish

X. Stress Position

X. Gore

X. Just Out Of Reach

X. Hurt/Comfort

X. Magical Whump

EXTREME EDITION:

Whumpee Type:

Day 1. Vampire

Day 2. Young

Day 3. Stoic

Day 4. Winged

Day 5. Whumper-To-Whumpee

Day 6. Immortal

Day 7. Defiant

Day 8. Demon

Day 9. Villain

Day 10. Possessed

Day 11. Multiple Whumpees

Day 12. Robot/AI

Day 13. Cowboy

Day 14. Team Leader

Day 15. Werewolf

Day 16. Team Outcast

Day 17. Mermaid

Day 18. Asshole

Day 19. Fairy

Day 20. Hero

Day 21. Healer

Day 22. Soft

Day 23. Comedian

Day 24. Compliant

Day 25. Monster

Day 26. Traumatized

Day 27. Touch-Starved

Day 28. Stockholm Syndrome-d.

Day 29. Vengeful

Day 30. Ghost

Day 31. Alien

[fallenwhumpee]

Meal

Part 1 • Part 2 • Masterlist

Whumpay Day 19: Carewhumper

Warnings: Vampire whumper, bloodbag whumpee, poisoning, intimate whumper, carewhumper, violence.

Whumper was angry. Their thirst for blood was uncontrollable, fueled by their rage, shared by the other vampires as they descended on the only people who knew about the existence of the luxury diner.

All bloodbags were poisoned, but Whumper only cared about their sweet Whumpee, who was currently tucked in bed safely.

But hurt and alone.

Whumper didn't spend a second when corpses fell to their feet as they let go, too fixed on going back to their home as soon as possible.

They were relieved to find Whumpee still in bed. They resisted their thirst, despite being full after their little feast, the blood sweetened with poison smelt too good to ignore completely.

But they had to keep a hold on themselves. Whumpee was recovering and weak after the poisoning attempt.

They remembered humans had to eat, and the poor thing was lying with no motion for two days. Who forgot to feed them could start to write their will.

But then they remembered: Their all human servants were gone. Whumper had let them go as they had heard the attacks on other mansions, targeting the humans serving and living in instead of vampires.

But it caused a problem, Whumper didn't know a thing about looking after a hurt human.

They prepared some food, though they weren't sure if Whumpee could eat it while unconscious.

They tried a soup next, and it worked nicely. They also had to get Whumpee water. Humans needed too many things.

They called a physician later that day, and they were told Whumpee would have to get the poison in their blood themselves. Whumper had an idea about how to help. A delicious idea.

For the next days, they fed Whumpee and drank their blood little by little. Whumpee wasn't getting better, but they weren't going worse as the physician said they would either. It worried Whumper a bit, but Whumpee gained their colour back with time.

At the end of the week, when they came in with dinner in their hands, Whumpee was waiting for them awake.

"Missed our meals together, sweetie," Whumper chirped, smiling genuinely.

-•-

Hope you like this! (Love your writing btw<3)

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumpay 10 Days, 40 Words (five sentence fic mode) #1

“Why are you doing this?”

The masked stranger didn’t answer, just looked at Whumpee silently before turning their attention back to the tools. 

“Do you want money? Um, reputation? Whatever you want, I’m sure we could work something out!”

Still no response. Whumpee kept talking, trying whatever they could come up with, but in the end they got hurt just the same as if they’d let it all happen without a word of protest.

[justabookworm39]

Price of Knowledge (Whumpay fanfic)

@whumpay Day 4: Gore

Inscryption,  Luke Carder-centric

Warnings: EYE TRAUMA HOLY SHIT. Eye trauma, gross sensory stuff relating to eye trauma (bone scraping and squishy stuff, etc.), torture, sensory overload (mainly that Thing where you’re in so much pain you can’t talk or think), non-graphic vomiting at the end. Also spoilers for the main game of Inscryption.

Notes: The uh. Eyeball sequence in Act 1. That’s all I have to say.

(I haven’t started Kaycee’s Mod yet so don’t spoiler it I swear to god-)

---

Everything went red.

His body curled in around itself, as if trying to get away from the pain. He wasn’t even able to scream, just barely able to force himself to breathe. The smell of copper flooded his nose, the stream barely touching the side of his mouth and a few tiny disgusting drops crossing his lips. The hand clenching the knife trembled, and he faintly heard something hit the floor with a wet *plop*.

“Good.” The phantom shape of a person stood on the other side of the table, speaking to him with a calm and airy voice. “Now the other one.”

“…What?” He struggled to lift his head, could barely make his eye focus in the darkness.

“The other eye.”

For a long moment, he just stared up at her, trying to form a coherent response, or even a coherent thought, through the pain. This wasn’t right, he shouldn’t need to– where was he even, this wasn’t the cabin, what was going on–

“Mr. Carder, please don’t make this difficult.”

Something about hearing his own name jolted him awake, and he knew he wasn’t just trapped in the game, this was something else. The knife fell from his grip, clattering against the table. That seemed to draw her focus.

As it did, he swiped his hand, throwing the knife aside and forcing himself to his feet as fast as he could, even as it made his head spin. He stumbled backwards a step and a half before a hand grabbed at his scalp, nails digging into skin. Glaring at the figure leaning over the table, he just barely spat out, “Go fuck y–”

The side of his head slammed into the table, rattling the empty socket and making him bite his tongue. No matter how he pushed against the tabletop, he couldn’t pry himself from under her grip as she lifted the knife–it looked to be the same knife, which made no sense because she never bent down to get it–

It hurt so much worse the second time.

The first time, it hadn’t felt real. It had felt like when he’d gotten his wisdom teeth removed, where it was just the shifting movement and the pressure but none of the pain. The pain hadn’t kicked in until it was over, and at that point it was a simple all-encompassing pain.

This wasn’t like that.

He felt the blade being shoved past the skin and bone at the edge of his eye, scratching against the inside of his skull. It cut the eyeball itself as it did, slicing into the soft tissue by complete accident and sending another trickle of blood down his nose.

He felt the pressure as the knife made its way to the back and was pushed, attempting to pry the eyeball from the socket. The hand on the top of his head pressed down, holding his skull as still as it could.

(And again, he couldn’t scream. He could just gasp and whimper, one hand briefly clawing at the arm of his attacker and trying to throw it off of him.)

He felt the tugging. He hadn’t even noticed the nerve the first time, but he did now, felt the last thing connecting his eye and his face being pulled taut. The pressure on the eye and his head let up, but only long enough for a hand to reach for his face and–

He felt a slight squeeze on his eyeball. He felt the briefest cutting sensation.

His body was carelessly tossed to the floor. He let out a tiny yelp of pain, hands instinctively reaching to cover and protect the open sockets. The mix of blood and jelly-like fluid smeared on his palms, and his head being forced sideways meant that it now coated two-thirds of his face. Every time he tried to scream his throat seemed to close up, what little noise he made probably going unheard by the figure standing over him.

“Let that serve as a lesson.” Another *plop*, this one right next to his head, and he recoiled away from it. It was followed by the sound of metal hitting the floor, probably a few feet away. “Don’t go looking where you’re told not to.”

---

The feeling of cold metal on his forehead did little to ground him.

Luke heaved again, but nothing came out this time. His arms trembled as he braced himself against the bathroom counter, and he’d resorted to resting his head against the running faucet. He hadn’t been sleeping well for a few nights, and he didn’t really have waking up from a nightmare needing to puke in him.

One hand traveled up his face, gently pressing at the dark bag under his eye. He could still feel the curve of something round beneath the skin, something resisting the light pressure he put on it. It was still there. Not that he should’ve needed to check, it should’ve been pretty damn obvious if it was gone. But instinct was instinct, he supposed.

He really needed to quit digging into that game. It seemed to be messing with his head.

Luke finally raised his head and saw his own half-asleep reflection. He stared at it for a while, holding his breath. Then, he slammed one hand on the counter and screamed.

He screamed the way he’d tried to in the nightmare. He screamed to let out the stress of the past several days, of countless rabbit holes and dead ends. He screamed for everything that sat in his chest, every minor annoyance at his day job and every loose shred of grief that you could argue led him to this point.

When he was done–when it finally died in his chest–he slammed his hand against the counter a second time, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck… fuck.” He gagged, and he doubled over the sink again as he spat up a mouthful of bile. A cough rattled his chest, and he wiped his forehead.

He’d revisit this again in the morning. Maybe he’d throw that game out, maybe he’d decide that whatever this was would just continue until he reached the end. But for now, he needed to sleep.

[ccieatchildren]

Whumpay 23 Day 1: Heatstroke

TW: Vomiting

Whumpee leaned against the damp wall, hoping to alleviate any of the heat from the air. Whumper had been raising the temperature in the sauna for some time now, refusing to cool the stones with any water. He’d been starting to feel dizzy in the last few minutes, and each second he stayed there only seemed to make their symptoms worse.

The room was unbearably hot, it was all he could think about. Whumpee found himself wishing for the freezing cold of the forest. It may have bitten at their skin and may have almost killed him, but it was preferable to the nausea that continued to build up inside him. Whumpee ran a hand along his skin, only to find it dry and as hot as the surrounding area. 

Before Whumpee could even begin to worry about that problem, the bile in his throat made its way fully up. The vomit spread across the floor, staining it, and making the room even worse with its smell. Whumpee slapped a hand over his mouth, hoping to stop subsequent reactions. His head was spinning, and Whumpee found it harder and harder to focus on the area around him, harder to even know where he was, or what was going on. Whumpee just wanted to be out the stifling heat, he would take anything over it, even letting her have her way with him if he had to.

His eyes drooped, and Whumpee could barely keep himself awake. Moving back against the wall, he tried reciting poems under his breath to keep him occupied, but as he continued, he slowly forgot what he was doing. The sweet caress of sleep kept pulling at him, and he had less and less reason to deny it.

Before he passed out, Whumpee could make out the sound of high pitched giggling from behind the door.