#facility whump

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🔪 for Chris!

🔪 Awake surgery

CW: Referenced hand whump, blood, sadism, reluctant whumper, facility whump, BBU

"You have got to be joking." The doctor dried his hands off on the single-use towel he held, watching through the one-way window as the trainee inside sat, shaking his head at a nurse who was speaking to him in a low voice. He shook it less like he was saying no and more like he was simply denying that she was speaking at all. "Him again? What the fuck is Petrus doing to this kid? It's only been, what, four days since I got him out of the clinic in the first place!"

"I mean, you know what he does to him, he's one of the little sluts." The handler rolls his eyes. "Petrus fucks him stupid, not that any of them have brains to begin with. But this time 223499 dropped a glass during his Mixology class. Can't pin it this one on Petrus, it's all on 499 being a little bitch again. His Mixology instructor says he's a clumsy little shit."

"Great. Okay." Dr. Ross has a headache already. He hates this place, hates the crude, aggressive handlers and the way they talk about - and to - the trainees. He hates sewing the injured trainees up only to see them again, with new wounds needing dressed and new terror in their eyes. He hates everything about this job except the paycheck.

He can't wait to get another job and get the hell out of here.

The Facility gets to him - it works its way down under his skin, seeing the haunted, nervous way the trainees looked around all the time, trying to guess where pain would come from next. Trying to curry favor, to avoid the torture constantly forced on them anyway. He's been seeing their frightened faces and hearing them beg in his dreams far too often. "So he's here because..."

"It's a deep cut." The handler shrugs. "He needs stitches."

Dr. Ross looks back at the trainee. 223499 is holding perfectly still while the nurse turns his hand over. His palm is a mess of blood, darker than the new-penny shine of his hair. The trainee's stained fingers twitch nervously.

He's just a kid.

The same kid who'd automatically gone to his knees just a week ago, ready to do whatever he was commanded to, thoughtless obedience making the doctor's stomach turn.

He has to get out of here.

Dr. Ross swallows, feeling like there's a lump in his throat he just can't quite get rid of it. "Fine. I'll prep something to numb his hand, we'll give him a little bit of-"

"Nah." The handler shrugs, looking bored. "His primary's got a note on his file, didn't you see it? No painkillers for three weeks. Not even topical."

Dr. Ross watches 223499 flinch away from the nurse, who slaps him, making him cry out. The sound is muffled through the one-way window. As is the apology the boy provides immediately, stammering through it, only to be slapped again. This time, he doesn't cry out. He only cringes back, hunching into himself, and keeps his eyes down.

It makes Dr. Ross feel sick.

"... fine," He says, realizing the silence is drawing out too long. "I'll get him sewn up. He can go back to his room once it's done. Tell Petrus to leave him alone for one night, at least?"

The handler snorts with dry humor. "Yeah, good luck on that. But I'll tell him you said so. You want me to help you strap him down?"

Dr. Ross doesn't let himself look at the trainee again. "Yeah. Come in and strap him down while I prep."

"You got it, Doc." The handler gives him a lazy salute.

The kid doesn't fight being strapped down, but it doesn't matter. Once the work begins, the kid's back arches, he screams and thrashes wordlessly, then... even worse, he makes noises after like he's dying, low moaning sounds that seem barely human. He's shuddering, whispering apologies when all he'd done was drop a glass and try to clean it up too fast.

Dr. Ross goes home that night with the trainee's screaming in his ears. He hears the sounds the kid makes once the needle goes into his skin all weekend in his nightmares.

On Monday, he emails his resignation, effective immediately.

He's smart enough to have a one-way ticket booked for a country WRU isn't operating in before anyone reads it.

#chris the strawberry blond romantic #223499 #facility whump #bbu #box boy #box boy whump #box boy universe #referenced hand whump #sadistic whumper #reluctant whumper

[serene-cinders]

Just imagining a whumper with an (in)human weapon whumpee. Maybe the Whumpee was born in a time of war, and the whumper was tasked with helping Whumpee harness their powers for ‘good’.

The Whumpee is maladjusted and uneducated (unless you count military propaganda as ‘education’). The Whumpee is provided for… but is deeply unhappy. They need somebody to ‘understand’ and help them learn who they are. To be taught their purpose in this time of need. A vulnerable, fragile individual.

Maybe the Whumper has lost a lot in this war. Maybe they’ve retired from active duty, and brought into this experiment because of their expertise and hands-on experience with the enemy. Maybe they’re kinder to Whumpee as a result. Just a lost little creature, in a world of much bigger fish. Who can’t relate to that? (carewhumper vibes?)

Or maybe the Whumper is a higher up, with a much bigger vision than the Whumpee could ever imagine. Somebody with uncompromising expectations. Who will see what makes this weapon tick, and how to crush the enemy with them. This ball of nerves and untapped potential brought before them, like a lamb to the slaughter, and what an important slaughter it will be.

#whump #whump drabble #whump prompt #whump writing #human weapon whump #facility whump #carewhumper #grooming cw #only if you really squint #shitty people doing shitty things is what whump’s all about #war whump #military whump #I really like this one #authoritative whumper #trauma #angst

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Sam on the drip.

#whump #whump art #whump animation #pet whump #pet whumpee #facility whump #box boy whump #boxboy whump #boxboy #boxboys #box boy #box boys #box boy universe #boxboy universe #bbu #sam the medic #look at the fancy camera movement #so fancy

[justplainwhump]

Prep Protocol

In the hands of his former colleagues at the facility, Tyler's day is getting even worse.

[Way over his head | Masterpost]

Content / warning: BBU setting, facility whump, multiple whumpers, whumper turned whumpee (ig?), interrogation, shock collar, strapped to a table, threat of noncon, noncon kiss, implied future noncon, intimate whumper, creepy whumper. Yeah this is just me throwing you little bits, but hey, it's Tyler.

Tyler only noticed the plastic wrap around his wrist, when Handler Grimm ran his fingers over it, and Tyler cringed from a sudden, stinging pain. 

A piece of cling wrap peeked out under the leather strap that fixated his arm to the table. The skin underneath was red and slightly swollen, sensitive to touch.

Grimm chuckled.

Tyler felt like all air had been sucked from his lungs.

Under the plastic, thin black bars contrasted against the red.

"Mh. Yeah," Grimm said cheerfully. "002243. That's going to be you, Parker. 002244, your girlfriend. We've got both your admission files ready. Signatures and all. Just a little bit of pre-work we need to do with you." He patted Tyler's wrist. "You'll beg us to get on the Drip, 243, but you'll have to work for that mercy."

243. Just five more than 238. Despair tilted over into hysteric amusement. He could've laughed out. He really hadn't been cut out for that job, had he now?

"Smiling, Parker? Wonder what that's about." Grimm clicked his tongue. "But you know what I wonder about more? I bet you do know." He leaned in on his chair, almost casual, if his hand hadn't been playing with the remote to the shock collar. "Where's your girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?" Tyler all but giggled. As if this job allowed any of them a private life. "Who? 238? You know she actually could've been, in another-"

White pain surged through him, swallowed him for what felt like an eternity.

His muscles were screaming, everywhere, his whole body on fire and crushed under the weight of the world at the same time.

"-fucking idiot," Grimm's voice took shape in the whiteness, came in waves with the pain. "Tara McKenzie. Where is she?" 

"G-gone," Tyler said hoarsely. His voice was cracking strangely in his own ears. Had he screamed? He didn't remember. Had 238's voice felt the same to her, after he'd shocked her?

"Gone where?"

"Don't know. She hates me," Tyler croaked, and couldn't even tell, why he added, "Everyone hates handlers."

Grimm leaned in over him, eyes squinted as he looked deeply into Tyler's eyes. "Is he still high?", he asked someone else in the room, not even bothering to shock Tyler again. "What did you give him?"

"Sedated him to get him here", someone said. "Should have worn off by now."

"Well. Not enough. Can't work with him like this. At least not for an interrogation." Grimm sighed. "Let's switch to preparation protocol instead. Soften him up. Gonna help us one way or another."

Tyler swallowed. He didn't know what preparation protocol was, he realized. He'd only ever come in after the Drip. All he knew was, he'd lost already. Whatever they were going to do, he had no reason to give up Tara. He wouldn't.

Next to him, Grimm patted his shoulder. "There's really no reason for relief right now." He nodded towards the one way mirror. "There's a bunch of people here, who take what you did very personal. You've sabotaged the company, Parker. You may have heard those urban legends about maintenance pets? That's what happens to the idiot sort of handlers who fail at their work. Snitches, though? Whole different cup of tea." Grimm reached out, and Tyler could only flinch before the handlers warm hand rested on his bare stomach, stroking his skin, wandering up to his chest. Tyler's heart raced, all of a sudden. "Snitches with a body like yours, Parker? Intimate knowledge of full Romantic training specifications?" Grimm's voice dropped to a whisper. "You know what you're going to be. And prep protocol? Means to get your body acquainted with being used for one thing only. Had some of your colleagues come in, just for that. It's more fun, when it's personal. And you know, Parker, your secrets about Tara will sit very loose once you've understood that the mercy of the Drip is your only way out."

Grimm's breath was hot on Tyler's skin, suddenly, and then the other man's lips grazed along his ear. "You're going to love this, soon enough. But as long as you hate it, remember - you can end it." He pressed a kiss on Tyler's neck and Tyler's whole body stiffened under the touch. "I'm going to my office, follow up on that mess you've thrown us into, Parker, but I will enjoy knowing you in Handler Thompson's capable hands."

Tyler's breath caught.

"Hey T." Carly stepped in at his side, a hard grin on her face. "Love the look."

Grimm retreated, chuckling without any humor. "Let me know when he's ready to talk. Have fun. You can book this as overtime."

Carly reached out and grabbed a handful of Tyler's hair, jerked his head up to make him meet her gaze. "Will do, Sir," she said to Grimm, and then, pulling Tyler even closer, she whispered into his ear, "Going to make this last a long, long while." 

#facility whump #bbu #tylers story #tyler parker #carly thompson #jared grimm #nfswhump #noncon cw #mostly for the buildup though #shock collar #multiple whumpers #interrogation #intimate whumper #creepy whumper

[gottawhump]

The Nameless Boy

115

CW/TW: minor whumpee, implied noncon of minor whumpee, Facility whump, pet whump, BBU/WRU. Also cursing/bad language.

The nameless boy shivers in the cold white room. When the door opens, he tries not to flinch.

“Good morning, Handler.” He doesn’t know if it’s morning or night. The bright white light never goes off. But he knows, now, what he’s supposed to say.

“Look at me, trainee.”

He lifts up his head, a dark curl falling over one eye. The man moves it aside. The nameless boy can’t stop his flinch at the touch, or his whimper, anticipating the punishing shock. Lean in, trainee, not away.

“Is this some kind of fucking joke?” The man grabs his arm, hard, and turns over his left wrist to see the barcode. “Fuck. How old are you, trainee?”

The nameless boy can’t always remember his number, but he knows the answer to this question. “I am of legal and consenting age.”

“Yeah, that’s the company line, but how old are you?”

“I-I-“ His mind is as blank as the white walls. “I don’t know.”

All Pets are of legal and consenting age, and you’re a Pet now, 115.

You signed up for this.

You want this.

You want this.

“Please,” the nameless boy whispers. He tries to blink away the the tears threatening to spill, and they catch on his lashes.

“Christ, you’re pretty. But you’re just a child.” The big handler moves away from him, his hands balling into angry fists. “Go lie down. Take a nap or something.”

Under the cold unrelenting light, a nameless boy drifts in and out of consciousness.

#minor whumpee #implied noncon of a minor #pet whump #facility whump #bbu/wru #115

[bbu-on-the-side]

RP starters for BBU crossover settings: Facility

These are for everyone with BBU (or BBU AU) characters. You can probably use them for your own stories, but these are specifically designed for crossovers between player A and player B

Content - BBU, including BBU romantics. All sfw (unless you want to make it otherwise).

Facility / handlers and trainees 

F1 - Handler A gets an important assignment and asks handler B to watch over their trainee A for the night.

F2 - Handler A asks their buddy, handler B, for help dealing with particularly stubborn trainee A.

F3 - Handler A finds a random, “unimportant” trainee B to take out their aggressions on.

F4 - Handler A tries to relieve trainee B from their sadistic handler for a short while. 

F5 - Handler A is meant to transport trainee B to a secondary location, when the car breaks down.

F6 - Handler A is on the phone getting highly emotional, personal news. When they hang up they realize trainee B has heard everything. 

F7 - Handler A is meant to assess handler B’s work and thus has to test out trainee B’s progress.

F8 - Handler A finds a sobbing trainee B hiding in one of the maintenance cupboards.

Facility / trainees

T1 - Romantic trainees A and B are forced to train together under the scrutinizing gaze of their handlers.

T2 - Guard dog trainees A and B are sparring.

T3 - For a night of fun and games, their handlers let two guard dog trainees A and B fight each other. 

T4 - Platonic trainee A learns to apply make up, trainee B has to sit as their model (alternatives: A does their hair, A gives them a massage, ...)

T5 - Romantic trainees A and B are at the same dancing lessons.

T6 - As part of their training, guard dog trainee A is meant to perform punishment on trainee B

T7 - Platonic trainee A treats trainee B’s wounds.

T8 - During lunch, Trainee A sneaks some food to trainee B. They get punished together.

#bbu #whump #bbu au #bbu prompts #bbu rp #bbu rp starters #whump rp starters #whump rp #facility whump

[avvail-whumps]

‘the facility’ — the breakout 1/?

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: prison whump, medical whump, captivity, imprisonment, prisoners of war, mass prison breakout, minor character deaths, blood, gun and knife violence, murder, manhandling

Noah’s wide eyes flickered desperately around him, as if trying to make sense of the deadly warning that had just rang out. As though it was some cruel, unfathomable joke, the automated voice spoke again.

“Code: Black.” 

The personnel that had been speaking to him slapped their hands over their mouth, backing up with staggering footsteps. They gave Noah a wide eyed stare, before they were racing out of the laboratory with panicked speed. 

Soon, everyone else followed. 

“Code: Black,” the voice crackled. “Level Nine. All staff make their way to…gency…Code—” 

Over the blaring sound of the alarm and the dark red tinge concealed over his vision, Noah just barely felt his new assigned Apoid grab his shoulder, and start tugging him out of the laboratory with intense urgency. Once he’d managed to unstick the abhorrent terror in him, the blood boiling panic spurred him on. This was the stuff of nightmares. 

Code Black was only meant to be purely theorectical. The Facility was built to withstand multiple breakouts at the same time, but it must have devolved into something much more serious. If Level Nine was on a Code Black, that meant there was a mass breakout, and lots of angry prisoners would be on the loose. 

The Apoid kept a tight grip of him as they raced down the corridors, filled with scrambling Personnel and scientists and even Apoids, their guns raised in case a threat came racing down the corridor. Noah’s throat was parched, each step foreign on his own two feet. 

He could only think about one thing. Where was Fionn? In a situation like this, Apoids were the last to make it to the emergency elevators. They were expected to execute and contain as many prisoners as they could to buy time for an escape for everybody else, and the last thing he had said to him was not to come near him. 

As the alarms continued to screech, the defeaning sound of gunfire suddenly pierced through the air. The staff that had been racing down the corridor screeched to a sudden halt, a burly prisoner rounding the corner with an Apoid’s rifle in his hand. 

Noah’s eyes widened in shock, and the Apoid threw him behind cover just as he started firing into the crowd. 

He heard a sickening thud next to him, uncurling his arms from around his head, just to meet the wide, bloodshot eyes of a dead scienist. Noah’s own filled with stinging tears at the sickening sight.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he wheezed, flinching violently when there were more gunshots and blood curdling screams. The Apoid wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hurled him in a different direction, staggering over his own two feet when bullets sprayed against the corner of the wall, just missing the top of his head. 

He struggled to catch his breath.

Dead bodies were sprawled along the ground, patterns of fresh blood, streaks, puddles, hand prints, all surrounding them.

He resisted the urge to throw up as they dashed past, swallowing down the sting of bile in his throat. Noah ducked behind the Apoid as they came to a crossing, raising his rifle and gunning down a prisoner that had been careering towards them. They covulsed and crumbled to the floor, and Noah was glad they were going in the opposite direction. 

The emergency elevators weren’t far from here. As long as they got them and to a safer, higher level that wasn’t in the same situation, everything would be okay. 

Noah was suddenly shoved forward by his Apoid, who didn’t raise his gun time before a huge prisoner had grabbed him by the skull, and slammed his helmet into the wall. The Apoid stuttered from the sheer force, and even as Noah whipped around in shock, he could see he was dazed from the attack. Before he could shoot him, the prisoner had ripped his rifle from his very hands, and cracked his skull back against the wall. 

Noah had to surpress a scream when the prisoner ripped the knife from his belt, and jabbed it straight into his neck. The Apoid went all tense and his legs buckled, but the prisoner was relentless. The knife jerked in and out of his flesh until his throat was mangled, blood even visible against the blackness of the uniform. 

His foot slipped on a puddle of blood when he tried to make a getaway, his chin colliding with the solid ground with a painful crash. His heart was in his throat and his blood was burning in his own ears as he desperately scrambled forward, eager not to meet the same fate. 

Before he could get up, he felt something roughly seize the back of his jacket, and jerk him back. 

“No!” Noah screamed, desperately flailing in the prisoner’s grasp as he wrangled him onto his back, his blood soaked hands slipping against the floor as he frantically tried to squirm away. “Please, please, oh my god.” 

The prisoner’s hard glare looked him over, fingers twisting into his jacket to get a look at his nametag. Noah’s vision was spinning, his head overflowing with thoughts of how brutally he was going to kill him with that knife, that his guts were going to be hanging all over the walls and he would never get to see his family again, and—

The prisoner let out a snort. 

Noah flinched violently when his rough hands wiped away his streaming tears, smudging coppery blood all over his cheeks. The prisoner abruptly let go of him, and he scrambled backwards in sheer panic. 

“You’re gonna wish I had killed you, little man,” he sneered, gripping the Apoid’s rifle in his hands with a smirk. “Better get running before he finds you.” 

He watched with wide, unblinking eyes as he turned away and disappeared down the corridor, as if he expected him to change his mind and finish the job. His eyes couldn’t help but drift to the Apoid’s dead corspe, still convulsing as if he was alive, and Noah let out a harrowing sob. He wrenched away, heaving, before realising he was still sitting in a puddle of someone’s blood. 

Disgust wriggled into his skin, and he forced himself onto his wavering feet, biting back his terrified sobs. 

This was a nightmare. It had to be. 

Just a cruel nightmare. One that he would wake up from, and he’d be okay. 

But then something the prisoner said resonated with him. Better get running before he finds you. Noah didn’t want to think about the obvious implications of that warning; the easy deduction of who he was. It made him wonder if other prisoners knew, if Cash had told them to save Noah for himself. Because that was what he had told him, hadn’t he, when his arm had been wound tightly around his throat?

He staggered, shoulder hitting the wall with a thud. The sobs wracked through his body, constricting the air from his lungs, and it made it hard to even stand upright. Like this terrible weakness was plaguing his limbs. 

Distant gunfire and shrill screams, ones of agony and pain, spurred him onwards. His vision swam at each dead body he came across, stumbling over bloated, bloody corpses, but he knew he needed to get to the emergency elevators - somehow.

The sound of raging gunfire got louder, and Noah sank behind cover before peering down the long corridor. Scientists were cramming themselves into elevators, bloody handprints smeared along the doors. There must have been dozens of bodies on the ground, all sprawled haphazardly ontop of each other, and Noah’s breath caught in his throat when he met wide, bloodshot eyes.

It was a massacre. Scientists and Personnel of all kinds were scrambling to get inside, most gunned down before they even made it, their bodies convulsing and hitting the ground with a thud. 

One elevator, packed with Scientists, had been about to close, before a prisoner with access to an Apoid’s gun stepped inside. There was the uproar of frightened screams, and when the doors slid shut, Noah could hear the distant sound of muffled gunfire. He slapped a bloodied hand over his mouth, his knees buckling. 

It was practically slaughter. 

Prisoners were swarming everywhere on the Level, and everything was spinning out of control. These sorts of emergencies were supposed to be purely hypothetical - never in the history of the Facility had a Code Black ever been announced on those speakers. 

Something twisted in his hair, jerking his head back, and Noah gave a sharp gasp as someone wrangled him onto the ground. A gangly prisoner was ontop of him in seconds, causing Noah to thrash out in panic, sinking a knee into his boney stomach. 

The sight of the knife was enough to spur him into action. 

The prisoner’s fingers were digging into his skin, stinging the flesh, yanking Noah along with him. His heart leapt into his throat when the knife almost slashed across his chest, forcing him to scramble, grabbing the prisoner’s wrist in a tight, desperate grasp. They let out a teeth bared hiss, attempting to violently buck Noah off. They succeeded, for just a moment, and Noah felt their leg shove him off, his back slamming into the wall. 

When they came at him again, he threw himself out of range, boot smacking into their head. 

It was with enough adrenaline fueled force that the prisoner flew back, the knife slipping from their fingertips. Gunfire rained over the top of them, and Noah pressed himself close to the ground, choking on hard pants. He met the prisoner’s eyes, just for a moment, before they both leapt for the knife. 

By some miracle, Noah seized it first, gripping it tight in his hand. 

The prisoner barrelled into him, knocking the wind out of his lungs, their nails scratching at his face and only narrowing avoiding his eyes. The skin tore, beading with little spots of blood, and Noah’s fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife when the pain made his eyes water. A desperate rush smashed into him. He might have told himself that he wasn’t thinking clearly, but he was. He wanted the prisoner to get off of him, no matter what. 

Noah grit his teeth together, jabbing the knife into the prisoner’s neck. It was shocking how easily it went in, straight down to the hilt, and they made a garbled, pained noise, eyes bulging. Noah rolled them over abruptly, the air rushing back to his lungs, before he forced the knife out. A spray of blood erupted from the wound, feeling it drench his hands, and the prisoner’s body violently convulsed, jerking and stuttering, drowning on the fresh liquid. 

Noah forced himself onto his feet, almost tripping over their corpse. The strength had completely lost him, the knife clattering to the ground, tearing his eyes away from the still convulsing body. 

His legs carried him in the direction of the elevators. They were closed, taking Scientists and Personnel to safety, and Noah prayed to whatever was out there, that that could be him. 

He screeched to a halt, hairs pricking on edge when a group of armed prisoners came around the corner, blocking his path to the elevators. Noah felt the world around him spin when their guns tilted in his direction, and he dove into a doorway just as they started firing. He swore he felt it shave the hairs on his head. 

He held back a sob, kicking the door to the room shut behind him, before slamming his still bloody hands on the lock, sticky against the pad. 

Loud bangs reverbated from outside, the prisoners shouting and attempting to force the door open. Noah’s wide eyes were glued onto it, crumbling to his knees, the tears sliding down his cheeks freely. It stung the scratches on his face, but he didn’t even have it in him to wince, numbed by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

When the banging stopped, Noah deflated. He lifted his shaking hands, staring at the sticky redness painting every inch of skin, filling his senses with tangy copper. Noah’s face wrinkled, and he let out a harrowing sob. He tried to scrub the blood off, frantically wiping it against the ground, the tears dripping from his chin like a downpour. 

He backed himself up into the corner of the room, curling himself up so he was as small as he felt. The blaring alarm rang through his mind like a cruel mantra, sobbing until his throat went raw. 

This was a nightmare. Just a nightmare - it had to be. Nothing like this could ever happen to him. 

Noah choked on a startled breath, trying not to flinch at the assortment of sounds outside of the room. The crackling of gunfire, the screaming, the huge thuds and bangs. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately burying himself into his arms. He wasn’t sure how long he had spent huddled in the corner of the room, his head buried between his knees and desperately trying to breathe. 

It didn’t come easy for him, with all of the blazing noises outside, with all of the memories of the dead bodies, Scientists, Apoids and Personnel alike, left as mangled corpses in a pool of their own blood. Noah’s chest stuttered, lungs fluttering, caked in tears, sweat and blood of both his own, and other people. 

He wondered if hiding in here was the best option. 

If the Facility was under lockdown, they would eventually send reinforcements to control the situation. No prisoner would ever leave, unless it was dead. But then Noah thought about Cash, and those dreaded warnings he had got, and he wondered if a door was enough between them to keep the vengeful prisoner far away from him. 

It couldn’t be. 

His puffy eyes squinted, lifting his head up. He wondered what Fionn would say to him. What he was doing right now. Any one of those lifeless Apoid corpses could have been him, and Noah would have never known. His heart squeezed painfully at the thought. 

Above all, he prayed that Fionn was safe. Even though, out of the two of them, he stood a better chance at surviving this nightmare with his training and his weapons, Fynn still couldn’t be sure if that would be enough to make it out of here alive. It hadn’t been for his second assigned Apoid, who he had known for no more than ten minutes. 

Slowly lifting himself onto his feet, Noah numbly stepped over to the door, ever so slowly. 

Hiding wouldn’t work forever - the emergency elevators were his best chance to get to safety. The breakout could have extended to Level Eight or Level Seven, so he couldn’t delay a chance. Ever since the first disruption of chaos, the noise by the elevators had seemed to die down. Noah saw the mounts of bodies, and the amount of prisoners that had been slaughtering them. The initial scramble for safety will have quietened down by now. 

He hoped. 

His heart was pounding against his ribcage like a jackhammer, swarming up to his ears. He counted the agonising seconds that he stood there, staring at the door, not even daring to move. It was as though one breath would give him away. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake the blurriness encroaching the edges of his vision. With a firm push, Noah slid open the door. He was met with the same blood soaked hallways, and flinched back when a body slumped unceromomiously by his feet. Another Apoid. He released a shuddering breath, tearing his eyes away. 

With a pounding heart, he checked the corridor. Some shouting prisoners caused him to duck back, but they passed the elevators only after a few moments. The blood rushed to his head. One of them was open - empty and awaiting him, like some sort of enticing treat. 

He had to move now. 

Giving the corridors one final glance, his shaking legs managed to step over the dead body, bracing against the wall. Each little step was as though lead weights were melded into his skin, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling on edge. With each second that dragged on, Noah’s desperation increased. It was like he could taste freedom and safety on the tip of his tongue, and his pace quickened just a bit. 

He didn’t even dare look behind him, blocking out the rips of gunfire in the distance and the ear piercing screams. 

There was a sudden breakout of footsteps behind him, and something hard barrelled into the side of his body. It sent him smacking into the hard ground, almost clipping his chin in an awkward way. He sucked in a sharp, pained gasp, head snapping up to find another scientist making a beeline for the elevator. There was blood dripping down his face, from what he could see, and Noah’s head snapped around in the direction he had come from. 

His heart sank to his boots.

Cash was going at a calm, leisurely pace as he crossed the intersection, those intense eyes finding Noah’s immediately. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, as if he hadn’t been the one chasing the frightened scientists. 

He heard the shrill beep of the elevator, and his heart leapt into his throat. The scared scientist was jabbing frantically at the button, tears slipping down his cheeks, and by the time Noah realised what was happening, the doors were already beginning to slide closed. 

“Hold it!” He screamed, staggering to his feet frantically as he burst forward with a newfound shock of adrenaline. The scientist backed away from the buttons, bumping into the rail, his wide eyes flickering towards Noah. The doors continued to slide close. “Please! Please, hold it!” 

He desperately threw himself at them, but it was too late. Noah pounded his fists desperately against them, a rush of anger and terror making his throat burn. 

“Motherfucker!” Noah sobbed, banging so hard he was sure his hands had gone numb. “Motherfucker! Open the door!” 

Instead, he was met with strong fingers twisting in his hair, and Noah only caught a glimpse of Cash’s face, before he slammed his head into the elevator door. He was out cold instantly.

tag list – @suspicious-whumping-egg @sunshiline-writes @rabidrabidme @whumpatize-me-captain @thegirlwholived1213 @reverie1234 @unforgiven235 @morning-star-whump @seaweed-is-cool @d-cs @whump-me-all-night-long @whump-me @gala1981 @pirefyrelight @whumpterful-beeeeee @miss-unicorn0907 @avidrambling @anoontjecanush @2in1whump @ha-ha-one @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @whatwhump @sowhumpful @whump321

#the facility #whump #whump writing #whump fic #whump series #whump scenario #whumpblr #whump community #prison whump #medical whump #breakout #whumper #whumpee #noah and fionn #noah and cash #writing #my writing #avvail whumps #i have no idea how many parts this will take #its planned but we'll see when its written #whenever that is

[ashintheairlikesnow]

No More No

CW: Dehumanizing language, medical abuse, medical whump, Facility whump, defiant whumpee, sadistic whumper, Some references to noncon

Nova’s pieces can be found in this masterlist

For @amonthofwhump, day 9: Medical abuse

-

"Here we go, little lady, time for round two. Just be a good girl and lay back for me, okay?"

"No! I don't want it, no, you can't make me, not again, not again, no!"

"Hey, now. You're not supposed to know that word-"

"No, no, not the needle, no no no-"

Her voice cut off when the asshole's hand smacked into her forehead, forcing her writhing body back against the padded bench. Some fucking doctor, she thought, kicking out and nearly succeeding before he ducked, the sides of his white coat flapping under the cold florescent lights. She felt her big toe just graze his brown hair and bared her teeth in a snarling hostile grin, her own thick, long black hair hanging in her face like a demon ready to drag him to the depths.

"What the fuck, did she not finish her first round?"

"No," The trainee's handler said, frowning more in confusion than anger. "She did. She was fine, coming along nicely, until she just lost her shit yesterday. She mentioned a cousin."

"They don't have cousins."

"Yeah, hence me signing her up for another round. Come on, Ninety-Seven, you know better than this. You've been my sweet soft girl for two weeks, what happened, huh?"

"Maybe I just got sick of eating you out-"

"Ninety-Seven! I can handle some rebellions, but crude language is subject to severe consequences for you!" Her primary handler grabbed her right wrist with gloved hands. She made quick work of jamming it up above her head and locking it into the restraints, the magnets catching with a strength 445097 couldn't fight, not at this angle. 

She yanked at her wrist anyway, just to hear the little chain rattle, and tried to throw a punch. "I'll use whatever fucking crude shitty language I want!"

Handler Abernathy pulled just out of reach, some wispy brown hair escaping her severe bun to frame her face. It made the trainer pause at the unexpected softness it gave to her handler's usual severity. 

"I don't want the needle," She said, plaintive now, trying for the soft puppy voice, I'll be good now sound that everyone seemed to like from her. She couldn’t make tears well up, but she could put the tremble of them into words. "Please… please, Handler, no."

Handler Abernathy softened, just a little. “Ninety-Seven-”

"Too bad." The stupid doctor grabbed at her other wrist and this time her heel caught his chin, sending him stumbling backwards, knocking over the tray of syringes and pale, faintly colored liquids lined up there. "Jesus Christ! That bitch-"

"Back off, Bill, let me get her handled," Handler Abernathy said, voice thin with effort as she managed to evade 444097's flailing legs and get her other wrist secured. "She does better for me anyway.  Don't you, babygirl?"

"Please, please, not the needle, I can train without it, I can learn-"

"Hey. Hey, sweetie." Abernathy's glove was cool where the leather touched her cheek. The trainee raised her chin and opened her mouth for the kiss, Abernathy's lips picking up the trainee's expertly applied lipstick. She lowered her eyelashes, heavy with mascara. Her breath came in pants that raised her chest up and down, just brushing the front of Abernathy's black WRU handler uniform. 

The oversized t-shirt meant she couldn't use it entirely to her advantage, but she tried. Sometimes a show of being overcome would soothe the handlers, calm them, get her what she wanted or just out of trouble. 

"There we go." Handler Abernathy dropped to a whisper, lips moving against the trainee's cheek. "You'll be good for Dr. Bill, right? It's just a little prick."

"Not that little," Dr. Bill said, a little affronted. 

"I meant the needle, dumbass." Abernathy groaned, closing her eyes in brief annoyance. "Just get it going, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah. She knocked all of it over, give me a second." Bill rifled through a cabinet in the small exam room while Abernathy turned back to the trainee and smiled. 

"Here we go, sweetie. Just give me that pretty little ankle… here we go…" The trainee swallowed, watching as Abernathy moved her foot into the stirrup and buckled her ankle in place, then did the same with her other leg. "There's my good girl. There she is. Much better, right?"

"Handler… I-I don't want the needle, please, I promise I don't remember anything, it was a mistake…" She jerked her left ankle but all it did was rattle in place. She tried to tear up, next, but she couldn't seem to make the tears come, no matter how her voice trembled. "I don't need it, I don't…"

"Ninety-Seven." Abernathy shook her head, tucking those stray little hairs the trainee had thought so pretty back behind one ear. "We all know you're lying right now. It's what your kind does. You start acting up with aberrant memories, we have to wipe them away again."

The trainee's eyebrows furrowed. "Handler." Her voice was a whimper, a whine. "Please, Handler, no…"

"There's that word again." Abernathy sighed, disappointed. "Bill, get her hooked up. Don't worry, babygirl. Just a couple of days should do it. Then… no more cousin, no more bad girl behavior, and no more no, huh?"

"Fuck you." She dropped the sad eyes and spat, watching with a thin thread of satisfaction as Handler Abernathy wiped the saliva from her cheek. 

The doctor snorted. "Better for you, huh? Doesn't seem like it."

"Oh, shut up."

There was nothing she could do - the trainee could only shake in the restraints as Bill came over, humming cheerfully with an IV bag on a roller full of a cloudy liquid. The trainee's eyes latched onto the sight of it as her heart started to race. 

"No, no please, please please please my name is my number I'm a pet not a person, I know, I know, I signed up for this all pets legally consent to giving up their former failed identities in exchange for a safe secure home and future I know what you want me to think, I know!"

"I know you do, baby, I know." Abernathy smiled, taking her chin in hand and turning her to look into her handler's sparkling eyes, drinking in her fear and helplessness as Bill wiped something cold and tingling along the crook of her elbow. "But, listen to me, honey. Listen. Say 'yes, Miss, I'm listening."

Now, the tears came. 

The trainee's lower lip trembled as she swallowed and then said, in a whisper, "I'm l-listening, M-Miss…"

"Good girl. I know you know all the right things to think, to say. But…"

The pinch of the needle made her flinch, and Abernathy leaned forward to kiss her. Her handler's lips were soft but pressed hard, swallowing her whimper as the needle was placed and the first rush of cold fluid raced through her blood toward her pounding heart. 

"We need to make sure," Handler Abernathy murmured, pressing one more quick kiss before pulling back, "that you don't remember any of the wrong things to think and say, either."

"Please… p-please, no, please don't make me do this again!"

Handler Abernathy turned and left the exam room, her boots clomping loudly across the floor. The tears came, now, and the trainee could barely see through them and her hair as the doctor grinned at her, staying behind to watch, for just a moment, as the trainee's muscles felt heavier by the second.

Once she slumped backwards, the doctor stepped up close. 

"Be a good girl and just chill here for a while, okay?" He patted the side of her face. Each soft touch felt like a blow. 

"Don't… don't leave me al, alone, please-"

"I'll come back once that perfect pretty head is so empty you can hear the wind blow right through it." He gave her hip a squeeze, then patted her thigh like the flank of a horse before he turned and walked out, too.

The door buzzed locked behind him.

Her eyes were already drifting closed, the Drip taking its terrible hold. The small sweet face she had been holding in her mind, of a cousin she had known, whoever she had been, was already fading. 

"Don't-... D-Don't leave me al, alone…"

There was no one left to listen.

-

@eatyourdamnpears @sableflynn @orchidscript @whump-tr0pes @burtlederp @arlinthesnep @finder-of-rings @hackles-up

#amow winter whumperland 2022 #whump #lady whump #lady whumper #lady whumpee #implied noncon #noncon kissing #box babe #box boy universe #bbu #pet whump #facility whump #medical whump #needles tw #noncon touch #noncon touching #nova bb #dehumanizing language #degrading language #sadistic whumper #defiant whumpee

[cepheusgalaxy]

Cepheus (me) on whumpblr

In my tumblr intro I say I'm into whump, so here is some of what you're getting into

If you don't like whump, please block the tags "whump", and "whump prompts" on my blog

I often forget to tag reblogs, but my whump posts are mostly tagged

If I ever forget of tagging any, please warn me

Content warnings are usually in the post too, before the read more

Not always tho

What kind of whump I'm into

Pet whump

Hurt/confort

Recovery whump

Conditioning

Fantasy whump

Winged whumpee

Hero whumpee

Some more I'm forgetting here

Sometimes BBU (box boy universe)

What kind of whump I'm not into

Team whump

Nature whump

T/g whump

Whumper-turned-whumpee

Whumper-turned-caretaker

Team whump

Body horror

There's nothing wrong with them they are just not my personal taste :)

I may make some exeptions tho

My favorite whump blogs

These are some of my favorite content creators in the whump community: mostly because their taste/writing aligns with my personal likes

@emmettland (he/him)

@whumpsday (he/they)

@livelaughwhump (they/them)

@echo-goes-mmm (he/it)

My whump tags

Whump

Whumpblr

Whump prompts

Whump writing

Whump

Whumpee

Whumper

Caretaker

Whump art

(Different trigger/content warnings depending of the post)

Whump community

(Some specific whump tropes depending of the post)

+ whenever tags/trigger warnings/content warnings were in the original post in case of reblogs

I also tag my self reblogs with the proper tw/cws

If you don't know what whump is and just got here, here are two posts explaining what is is: One from @/befuddled-calico-whump and other by me

Not everybody likes whump, but there is nothing wrong with liking it either: we are always trying to be inclusive and aware of any triggers a person might have to avoid anyone getting unconfortable; You don't have to check it out if you don't want to, but if you feel like taking a look into the community, feel free to start, and be well come! ❤

☃️

No transphobia, sexism, racism nor ableism, as well as any harmful behavior is allowed in the whump community and no prejudice towards people will be tolerated; take care of yourself and be mindful to others🔅

(No transphobia, sexism, racism nor ableism, as well as any harmful behavior is allowed in the whump community and no prejudice towards people will be tolerated; take care of yourself and be mindful to others 🔆)

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump fan #intro post #if you don't know the box boy universe (bbu) is a common setting in pet whump works #it consists basically in a very fucked up society with institutionalized slavery where some humans are treated like pets #and this slavery is often regulated by an organization called WRU #every whumpblr may have a slightly different take on this setting but that's what it basically is #also the pets (also called 'box boys' or 'boxies' - that's where the name cames from) are often divided into categories #romantics: 'intimate' servants #domestics: house servants #guard dogs: bodyguards #platonics: something like a boxie who's duty is to make company to you #many of the bbu whump pieces also take place in an 'WRU facility' where the whumpees are trained #so be aware #bbu #box boy universe #if you don't know #there is also a thing called 'nsfwhump' #you may want to block that #or maybe not #you may like it too 🤷🏾‍♂️ #long post #fairly

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Sam on the drip. (Sam signs pt. 2)

Taglist: @vickytokio @ashintheairlikesnow @thefancydoughnut @malcolmisthebrightestboy @redwingedwhump @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @finder-of-rings @orchidscript @hackles-up @generoushelpingofwhump @sad-boys-anonymous @whump-it @whumpsday

CW: weird wru fuckery, creepy handlers, nudity

Mister Wilson enters the tiny back office Sam finishes the paperwork in, a plate of pretzel rolls in one hand and a can of coke in the other. 

“Here, eat up little one.” 

Sam stops writing. The pen bleeds a tiny spot of blue ink into the cheap printer paper, right in the middle of a half finished word. 

Designation preference: Plat   Romant-

There is a spot of ink next to the brown flaky blood stain from early tonight. “I’m not hungry.”

Mister Wilson puts the plate down in front of him, right atop the questionnaire. “Trust me, little one. You’ll want to have something in your stomach when we start the drip. A wipe is no walk in the park.” 

“I thought- I-” Sam swallows, his throat suddenly sandpaper dry. “Will it, uhm, will it, like- hurt?”

With a scrape of table legs over the linoleum floor, Wilson sits down, eyebrows raised in a comical customer service smile. “All the products wru uses in training are tried, tested and one hundred percent cruelty free. Is what I’m supposed to tell you, but to be honest kid- I have no bloody idea. The only thing I do know is that your body will fight it. No matter how bad you wanna get rid of your past, turns out the subconscious is a little bitch latching onto existence, no matter what.”

“Hey there, little one, don’t cry. Tell you what, no matter how rough it gets, once you wake up you won’t remember a thing of it. We will have a great time training together and then it goes straight to your new life. Destination happiness with no pit stops, alright?”  

Sam rubs at his eyes furiously enough an eyelash comes loose and sticks to his thumb. 

“I’m not crying.” he sniffs and adds, hesitating, “Do you promise? That it’ll be alright, after.”

He feels stupid, like when he was small and stuck in summer camp, too afraid to join the night hike so a counselor had to comfort him, holding his hand during the entire hike. 

“Pinky promise.” Mister Wilson beams and taps the pretzel roll plate. “But now, eat up.”

When Sam reaches for the plate he notices the eyelash. Face growing hot with embarrassment he closes his eyes, purses his lips and makes a wish.

Please let me be happy.

When his eyes flutter open, Mister Wilson's face is so close to Sam’s,  his breath tickles the tip of Sam’s nose. 

“Good, you’re adorable.” 

Flushing a deeper shade of red, Sam grabs a pretzel roll and stuffs it into his mouth, choking on the too large bite. 

“M not.”

Tossing his head back, Mister Wilson erupts in warm rich laughter that does nothing to help calm Sam’s nerves. “Let me decide what you are.”

Guess, that's the idea here. Sam stuffs his face with another pretzel roll, flushing his meal down with the coke. After the last crumb is dutifully eaten, Mister Wilson puts the contract down in front of him. 

“Sign here and we can get going.” 

Barely looking Sam scrawls his signature onto the dotted line and gets up. A shaky inhale. “Kay. Let's do this.” 

They have to switch elevators twice until they finally reach the ground level, where the training rooms are. The hallways are a winding maze of white walls and cold air. Every step they take echoes, Sam’s sneakers a soft pat next to the harsh click of Mister Wilson's boots. 

More clicking comes from behind a corner. Another handler emerges, grinning at the sight of Sam.

“Wilson. You got another trainee?”

“Sure do.”

Halting in front of them, the handler smiles down at Sam: “Number and designation?”

“Uhm.” Sam falters and sees the smile slip from the handler's face.

“He doesn’t have a number yet.” Wilson interjects. “We’re just on our way to the wipe.” 

“Oh, well that explains the clothes.” The handler yawns. “My bad, shorty. Guess my brain’s still half asleep. Have fun.”

“Ah, uhm, thank you?”  

Chuckling, Wilson tells Sam not to mind his colleague while they make their way down the hall. When they enter the room where Sam will be erased for good, his heart beats so fast he fears to pass out. 

It’s oddly warm in the near empty room. The entire thing is tiled in white ceramic, glittering under the fluorescent lights. There are some cabinets on one wall, and a small freezer.  In its center stands a padded stretcher, restraints dangling from it to fix someone's feet and hands in place. Next to it, the drip. Mister Wilsons hits the power button on it and gestures to a bench near the entrance. 

“Strip and put your clothes there. I’ll give you a uniform in a sec.”

Sam does as he’s told, hands shaking as they pull his cat shirt up over his head. The kitty's face in its center is weirdly deformed, staring up at him one eyed from where he tossed it on the bench.  Everything had happened so fast after that fight, Sam had really run to WRU still wearing his pajama shirt. Headless, panicked. He hadn’t thought this through at all. 

Behind him, Wilson pulled a bag from a freezer, hooked it up to the Iv-machine. 

Sam really just signed his life away in a frumpy, fucking cat pajama. A hysterical laugh bubbles up his throat but all that comes out is a sob. 

Tears roll down his eyes as he yanks down his shorts and tosses them on the bench. 

Mister Wilson looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Do you want a sedative to take the edge off?”

Fists shaking at his sides, Sam nods, earning a humoring smile from Mister Wilson. It doesn’t escape Sam how Wilsons eyes linger on his crotch. 

“What?”Sam hisses, shame and rage and panic chasing each other in circles inside his head until the room spins around him. He flops down on the bench, knees pressed together to hide from Wilsons curious eyes.

“I’m only surprised you have a dick and a-”

“I’m inter.” Sam snaps, curling up on the bench, protecting his naked body from Mister Wilson's eyes. Boots click click click over the tile floor and a warm hand finds its way into Sam’s hair, down behind his ear, where it starts to gently rub over soft skin.

Sam blinks up, new tears falling.

“Hey now. It’s a really great surprise, if that's any relief.”

A watery laugh escapes Sam upon the absurdity of it all. 

“I’ve never trained an inter pet, but I’m looking forward to it. What makes you tick,” his hand brushes over Sam’s cheek nearly touching his lips, wanders further up, gently tugging a curl behind his ear. “What makes you feel good.”

Breath catches in Sam’s throat.

Smiling, Wilson hands Sam a pair of black shorts. They are soft under Sam’s fingertips as he slips into them hastily. He eats a tiny white pill from Wilsons fingertips and the harsh white world of WRU’s training facility grows fuzzy around the edges. His thoughts slow down, flashes of fear and anger getting lost in the fog. 

A warm rough hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him forward. Climbing onto the stretcher is difficult with his limbs hanging by his sides like heavy noodles but with Mister Wilson's help, he manages. 

When Wilson grabs one of the Mitts with a rattle of chains, Sam whimpers and pulls his hands under his chin.  

Wilson smiles. “These are only to protect you from hurting yourself when the drug hits.”

Another whimper. Wilson grabs one of Sam’s hands, gentle but steady and forces them into the Mitt. 

“Don’t forget little one, you signed up for this.”

Head lulling Sam mumbles: “Though’ forgettin’ s the point of t’is.”

Grabbing Sam’s other hand, Wilson grins. “I can’t wait to start our training.”

With his feet buckled in tightly and his arm cleaned, the preparations are done. The needle glints in Wilsons now gloved hands. Sam turns his head, eyes shutting so tight stars dance behind them.

His arm is grabbed, hands squeezing in gentle affection. “Ready?”

A shaky nod. A quiet whimper. 

Steel breaks his skin, the needle slides home. 

A heartbeat, freezing liquid floods his veins. Another, his brain melts into weeping white. 

No past.

No future.

No dreams. 

No self.

White noise. 

#whump writing #whump #pet whump #facility whump #box boy whump #box boys #drugs #drugged whumpee #boxboy universe #box boy universe #sam the medic #pet whumpee #medical whump #wru #bbu #Mister Wilson

[littletrash1027]

The second a crack from the leather whip snapped through the cell was when he realized; he couldn't run, he couldn't hide. The only thing he could do was let instincts overtake his body, and feel the panic seize him.

Panic

#febuwhump #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday8 #whump #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #zavok #zavok the zeti #zeti #sonic zeti #also meet younger Zavok #under a human military facility to be used as a war weapon #but weapons need sharpening

[cryoexorcist]

trigger warnings: suicide mention, mental health issues

-

all things considered, the place looks fairly welcoming. it probably has to be, for all the guests and visitors to be happy, but that isn't stopping chongyun from feeling uncomfortable with the setting. the room is bright, with plenty of windows and sunlight coming in. there are color pictures and posters on the wall that give this room a cheery feel to it.

but the biggest damper is sitting across from chongyun and cyno, looking a little too calm. kami is wearing a serene smile that for once, reaches his eyes, and he's watching chongyun with his head tilted to the side, and his brows furrowed together, as if waiting for chongyun to say something. the confusion is understandable, chongyun hadn't been able to find anything to say for almost ten minutes now. instead, he's sitting there with sweaty palms and trembling hands, gripping cyno's hand with a grip so strong his knuckles are almost white.

"i'm not diseased," kami finally says. "if you wanted to say hi, i'm right here. if you want to go ahead and leave, you can." he leans forward, reaching an arm out, but pulling it back. chongyun jerks back in their seat, away from the gesture. they recognize the flicker of hurt on kami's face, but that's hidden behind that stupid serene smile too.

"how drugged are you?" chongyun finally forces out. the words feel empty, not quite right to their own ears. that's not what they wanted to ask!

the smile fades completely from kami's face, and it's his turn to lean back in his chair. his gaze flickers over to cyno as if asking for help, but when cyno doesn't respond, kami lets out a heavy sigh through pursed lips. "i'm not sedated. turns out if you cooperate and do what you're told, they let you off easy. i'm on anti-psychotics though. i don't know if you'd count that as drugged, but whatever."

"yeah." chongyun shrugs, looking out one of the windows. "whatever."

"are you mad at me?" kami asks. chongyun turns back to him, wanting see some sign of the old kami. they don't like this version of him, that's too calm and patient. he's not jumping to bizarre conclusions, he's not anxious or twitching. he seems... almost alien.

"yeah." chongyun clenches their teeth together before leaning forward again, moving both their hands (and cyno's one) onto the table. "i'm pissed, kami. you did something horrible to someone you're supposed to care about. you didn't let me say goodbye to you over text, and i have mandy in my texts-"

kami leans across the table to grip chongyun's wrist, holding onto it so chongyun can't pull away. they gasp, but the action shuts them up.

"i'm sorry," kami says, letting go after a warning glance from a supervising nurse. "chongyun, i am sorry. i said and did a lot of things i didn't mean that night. i was so out of my own head that killing myself sounded like the only option."

chongyun flinches over how candidly kami is admitting that. they jerk back, now wanting to leave. though at this point their legs feel too numb for them to stand up and walk out. the only option is to wait for feeling to return.

"i wasn't right for weeks, yun," kami continues, sounding disappointeed. "they diagnosed me with psychosis. i don't know whatever the fuck that means, but i apparently had a break from reality. something about delusions and paranoia caused by stress. and i get it now. i get it. the weird fear of ren, seeing my mom in my room, my feelings for katelyn, none of it made any sense to me. but it was my reality. i was so sure of everything i was experiencing. it was awful and i feel so sick over it. chongyun i was also really close to buying a plane ticket to wherever katelyn was because i couldn't handle my reality anymore."

psychosis. chongyun has no idea what any of that means. they've heard the term before, but had always brushed it off as someone else's problems, it would never happen to anyone they knew. but to hear that kami had been suffering from that for a long time, and can talk about it without it feeling so taboo, chongyun isn't sure whether or not to be proud of kami for getting help, or disgusted that they hadn't seen the signs earlier.

there's another pause in conversation. kami is clearly waiting for chongyun to say something, but instead, they pull their hand away from cyno's to wipe their palms dry. staring down at their lap, chongyun pulls out the cellphone they smuggled in.

"i kept your phone charged." chongyun sets it on the table. "you got a message from mandy." they nudge it forward. for a second, kami stares at the phone before glancing up and around. chongyun follows their gaze, but no one's really looking anymore.

kami then grabs the phone and flicks through it. there's a frown on his face, and chongyun can recognize the expression of defeat. that must be ren's message again. then, kami looks elated, and types something out. chongyun's own brow furrows in confusion. seconds later, the phone is being pushed back across the table and right back into chongyun's hands.

"what'd you do?" chongyun asks.

"for one, stop going through my phone and using it to talk to people. i wanted you to have it to hold onto, not to invade my privacy. second off, i sent a quick message to mandy." kami shrugs. "and if you know who wants to pull his head out of his ass long enough to talk to me, he's welcome to come find me. otherwise, i'm more than happy pretending we don't know each other."

"sorry." chongyun pockets the phone again. "i had to let him know somehow."

"my phone is not your toy," kami chides. "stay out of it." he pats the table. "look. i'm not going to keep you, i know you don't want to be here. but i'm sorry. i have more clarity than i have in weeks, months, whatever. the meds are helping, i'm finally sleeping without nightmares, and i'm going to do what ren asked me to do and talk to people in person when i get out."

"you can technically get out now."

"yeah, but i don't want to yet." kami leans forward. "just because i made progress doesn't mean i feel ready to leave. i want to know my options when i leave, what my medication and prescription will be like. if i need to talk to people some more. there's still a lot of shit i want squared away. give me another few days, and then you and i can have an actual conversation."

"...fine." chongyun grabs at cyno's hand again, giving it a squeeze. "i'm glad you're doing better."

"me too." kami grins again. "don't worry over me. let everyone else process their own shit. i'll deal with me, you deal with you." he turns to cyno next. "keep an eye on my baby brother, okay? don't let them spiral because of me."

he then makes a shooing motion. "get out of here. go enjoy the rest of your day. i'm going to go take a nap and enjoy the hell out of it. or go color some more. did you know they only let us use crayons? big L. "

"you're such a loser," chongyun snorts. "are we allowed to hug?"

"yeah, of course." kami gets to his feet and walks around the table. he doesn't wait for chongyun to stand up before wrapping his arms around him, giving him a reassuring squeeze. next, cyno gets a hug too. "it'll be okay. both of you, just breathe, this isn't the end of the world. i love you both, alright?"

"i love you too," chongyun says. they fall silent as they and cyno leave the facility. even if chongyun is still mad at kami, they're at least glad that they got to see what just a few days had done for him. and when kami finally gets out, he'll probably be doing even better than today.

#drabble #v. connected the dots ; didn't connect shit ( MODERN. ) #suicide mention #mental health talk #mental health facility #whump #mentioned characters: cyno (saru) mandy and ren