#deaf whumpee

[sunshiline-writes]

A Rose Amidst Thorns #7: Anger Arrives

Oh boy, this chapter is ROUGH. PLEASE HEED WARNINGS THAT I POST BC THIS IS A WILD ONE. -- Miguel finishes his punishment and Solomon stands up to Xavier after seeing what has been made of his ward. CW: Whumper POV, deaf whumpee, defiant whumpee, ableist language, suggestive comments and actions but nothing super sexual actually happens, broken bones, nailed to the wall, removing nails from hands, Xavier being a CREEP, sadistic whumper, intimate whumper, threats, fingerfucking a hand hole (I am so sorry), whumpee is referred to as a kid but is an adult, dissassociation, blink and you miss it mention of disordered eating, Xavier doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself, uhhhh I think that's it.. but like... let me know if I missed anything -- Previous | Masterlist | Next

Xavier was not one to stay angry for very long. He released his anger once and it was done. This time however, he’d been holding onto the anger for a long time. Three years against Miguel, against Henrietta. It festered and bubbled and destroyed him. Now he would destroy them from the bottom of their souls, break them up, and then put them back together again. Xavier loved putting people back together. Molding them, shaping them. Humans were so malleable once they were broken down to their core functions. 

Lately it seemed though, that Miguel was constantly needing to be broken down, shapened, and broken down again. Miguel was someone who took a little more finesse than what he was used to. Perhaps it was because he started young. Or perhaps it was because Miguel was just that stubborn. Whatever the case, it made Xavier’s blood boil. 

When he made his way back into the barn, the anger was still there. Xavier walked directly up to the boy and sighed, taking in the sight. Blood ran down his arms, dripping from his elbows. His white undershirt was soaked in blood and covered in dirt. Every muscle in his body was wound tightly. He was still on the tips of his toes, trying not to hang from the nails in his hands, his calves shaking. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face. It was his hands though, they looked the worst. His right one, the one he had broken, was swollen, purple and misshapen. It was so swollen he almost couldn’t see where the nail had been embedded in the middle of his hand. Xavier smiled to himself, admitting that he admired his handiwork. Miguel’s head rested on the harsh wood, the bridle still in his mouth, teeth clenched down on it. A good distraction, Xavier assumed, from the pain of everywhere else. 

Slowly, he ran a hand over the bit, halfway in his mouth, pressing a finger against his tongue, this caused Miguel to open his eyes, breathing hitching. His eyes were cloudy with pain. Xavier pressed down harder on Miguel's tongue, just to see him squirm before retreating his hand. Miguel dipped his head low, staring at his boots.  

Xavier watched him. An old memory of when he first met the boy flashed in his mind. Scared and hiding behind his father, having to be dragged away kicking and screaming from his family. It didn’t matter. Fighting never got him anywhere. Another memory of the boy holding the gun, pointed straight at him. Xavier wasn’t afraid then, but the anger flashed hot in his stomach now. The kid had always been a pain. 

Reaching out, Xavier wrapped a hand around Miguel's throat, forcing Miguel's head up, grinning from ear to ear. The boy looked up at him. He was met not with pain or even a blank expression like Xavier had originally suspected. Instead he was met with an icy glare. A smile tugged at the corner of Xavier’s lips. 

“Do you hate me Miguel?” he asked, enunciating, speaking slowly so he could read. 

Miguel’s glare faded and he gritted his teeth on the metal bit in his mouth, the sound vibrating through the boy's throat and Xavier laughed. Pressing his head against Miguels forehead. The boy winced as he pressed his head farther into the wall behind him trying to get away. But he couldn’t get away. There was nowhere to go. His family was gone and no one wanted a defective person working for them. Xavier didn’t want him at first. But after the first time that the boy pointed a gun at him, Xavier knew that breaking him would be a fight well earned. It had been fun and interesting to see what broke the boy down, slowly, bit by bit. Sometimes it was successful, other times less so. 

This was one of those times that it was a strange mix of the two. Xavier gave Miguels throat a little squeeze. “I asked a question..” he said, stepping back slightly. 

Miguel nodded his head slightly, movement restricted by the bridle. 

“Oh Miguel.. You don’t have to lie. I saw the way you looked at me. You don’t hate me, you fear me.” Miguel’s eyes were wide, tears starting to stream down his face. “I like you like this. Afraid, in pain, you’re so much less of a problem like this,” a choked sob came from the boy beneath him. Miguel shook his head and closed his eyes. Xavier could hear the way Miguel’s teeth grinded against the metal in his mouth. His grin widened. It was like hearing a real horse chew on the bit. The thought amused him. 

Xavier squeezed again, a choking sound came from the boy but he still didn’t open his eyes. Stubborn mule. His hand retreated from his throat and instead went to his back pocket where the bandana hung loosely. He took it out. It was annoying how much he fought him. Fought what was about to happen, as if he could stop it. Well, if he wasn’t going to open his eyes to listen to him, he didn’t need them right now anyway. Xavier had thought about it before, permanently blinding Miguel, but always decided against it. There was no use in keeping around a blind and deaf person, not unless they wanted what was an equivalent to a corpse stumbling around. The blindfold usually did the job anyway. 

Instead his palm connected with Miguel’s face, the slap loud but not nearly enough to make a lasting mark. However, it was enough for Miguel to open his eyes with a groan as he slipped and hung by the nails in his hands for a second. Another whimper escaped him and Xavier grinned. 

“If you won’t look at me, if you won’t listen, I think you deserve the blindfold,” he stated simply. Dangling the blindfold in front of Miguels face, who was now breathing more heavily than before and shaking harder. He could almost see how he normally responded, the index and middle finger pressing onto the thumb. The simple ‘no’ sign. It was the first sign he ever learned. The first word he saw Miguel speak to his parents. “Shhhh,” he cooed, starting to wrap the black bandana around his eyes, tighter than he assumed was comfortable, and tied it around the back of his head, the knot tangling in his hair. It wasn’t about his comfort anyway, he ignored the way his stomach dropped at the way Miguel whimpered and shifted his stance slightly. Scared and unable to  guage his surroundings. It was his favorite punishment for Miguel at times. It happened less often now. But he always loved the way his body tensed and he strained to understand what was happening to him. The stress of not knowing what was happening, it was exhausting to Miguel. Made his light go out faster. It was why it was a favorite of Xaviers. It was also the fact that Miguel just looked so good blindfolded and shaking like this. He trailed his fingers up Miguels Adams apple, pressing into the soft flesh under his jaw. Xavier dragged his fingers up to the side of his jaw and traced the outline of it. Cupping the boy's cheek, he kissed his forehead again. Sighing softly. “I’ll take you down now. Just a few more things..” he whispered, he knew that the boy could not hear him, couldn’t even tell that he was talking, but sometimes talking outloud helped with the thought process. Xavier left for a moment to grab the hammer. He thought for a moment about hitting his broken hand again with it, but at the look of it, it did not need to be more broken. It would be hard enough dealing with it the way it was. 

It was hard to find where the nail had gone in, the hand was so swollen. But he found the area quickly and with an amount of gentleness that surprised himself, he used the claw of the hammer to pry the nail out. Miguel screamed as the nail left his hand and it was left dangling by the cuff Xavier had put on earlier. The boy groaned and shuddered lightly as he used the claw to pull the nail from his other hand. Then he let the boy hang from the cuffs. 

Miguel was sobbing, barely holding himself up, head bowed. Xavier stared at him, just watching for a moment. How sad it was, that the boy had been reduced to this sobbing, whimpering thing. When he had first arrived at the ranch, he was all fire and all bite. Now he was a good little dog, hanging by broken hands. He took the boy down from the nails on the wall, positioning him on the floor. 

“Good, good, you’re so good for me Miguel,” he cooed gently, running a hand in his hair as the man beneath him withered on the ground. He took a deep breath and pressed his forehead against Miguels, kissing the tip of his nose. Pulling back, smiling at the thing below him. That is, until he was hit with a sudden wetness on his cheek. Did he just.. spit on him? 

“What the fuck?” He wiped the wetness off his cheek, looking down at the smiling expression on Miguel. “You never learn do you? Never. Fucking. Learn.” Every word was punctuated by Xavier forcing his hands above his head, straddling him, and then panting. “I give you clothes, shelter, a job. I make you fucking useful, and you still never learn. You’ll never learn. I should really just kill you. It would be a load off my mind. But..” one of his hands that held onto Miguels wrists, let it go, his other hand still held firm. With his free hand, he pressed a finger into the hole in the hand that wasn’t broken. The one that he could still hurt. “Does this hurt Miguel?” Miguel opened his mouth and the bit was pressed further into his mouth, making him choke. Xavier pressed his finger deeper in and finally, he heard what he wanted to hear as Miguel screamed again, choking on air. Coughing and sputtering on his own spit. Xavier pressed harder into the wound, slick with blood, now he was so deep into his hand that he couldn’t see his first knuckle. Still he pressed harder and further, until he could feel the dirt on the other side of his hand and he stopped when his second knuckle disappeared into the wound. He marveled that Miguel was even still awake. But he was kicking and screaming under him. Miguels knee slammed into Xavier’s back slightly and that only made Xavier angrier. His finger curled into the wound and he pulled slightly, feeling bone and tendons shift. There was a certain giddiness that he felt over it. Miguels hand clenched and he turned his face, screaming again. 

The boy would not stop screaming. That didn’t bother Xavier, not really, it was what he wanted. There was a point after Xavier pulled his finger back and then pushed back in that Miguel stopped screaming. Instead opting to groan and sob quietly. Yes.. yes he was getting it now. The silence that Xavier often asked for. He was so close to being good again for him. He pulled his finger out so only the tip of it rested against the wound, then plunged it back in, curling it again. 

“This is different from what I usually do. I think the difference is welcome though,” he said with a laugh. Then he continued to finger the wound, still not satisfied as the boy eventually stopped groaning and the only sound that came from him were quiet whimpers. Too weak to even try to fight back. Even Xavier was panting by the time he even thought about retracting his finger. He curled and pulled at the wound, widening the hole slightly, one last time before he looked up. 

“What are you.. doing?” Solomon asked, voice tense, expression hard. 

“Having a little fun,” Xavier responded cooly, despite the cold shiver that went down his spine. The anger that radiated off Solomon could be felt throughout the barn. It was thick in the air. 

“You’re done now,” Solomon said, it was not a request. He was telling him that he was done.

“I am now?” 

“Yes, you are. Uncuff him, take that bridle off and get your damn finger out of his wound. You’re going to cause an infection.” 

Xavier sat there for a moment longer before licking his lips. He did follow the orders from Solomon though, retracting the finger and uncuffing the boy. Then he removed the blindfold and the horse bit. The boy was panting under him, eyes closed still and face stained with tears. Xavier gently stroked his face, tapping his eyelid gently. 

When Miguel opened his eyes, his expression was different. Good that was exactly what he wanted. His eyes were full of pain and of fear. “Good. You did good,” and when Xavier kissed his forehead one more time, Miguel did not flinch. Then he stood up, using the bandana that was damp with tears to wipe the blood from his hands. “All yours Solomon,” he said to the man with a smirk. 

*** Solomon was not an angry man. Not usually. But at the moment, it wouldn’t take much for him to snap Xavier’s neck in two. Especially after that smirk. It was the smirk that made him see red. He clenched his fists, clenched his teeth and waited for Xavier to pass him and leave the barn before he rushed to Miguel.

Gently he picked up the boys torso and held the limp body close. “You’re okay Miguel. You’re okay. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered softly, taking the boy's hands, covered in blood and grime. He looked them over. Purple, red, swollen. It was awful. He’d seen worse, but his right hand was something that he could never repair wholly. There was a chance that Miguel would lose all feeling in that hand alone. His left hand had a hole through it that would have  “Oh god,” he whispered. Solomon shook his head and gently looked at the boy's face, he seemed to be staring far away. Not even registering Solomon's appearance, or the fact that Xavier had left.

“Miguel, look at me. You have to look at me,” he said to him, gently cupping his cheek and moving his face so that he looked at him. If Solomon didn’t know better, he would have guessed that the boy was dead. But he was still breathing. He blinked at him slowly and tears came to his eyes again. “There you are. You’re safe. You’re safe..” 

Then Miguel was sobbing, curling into Solomon's chest, hands unmoving. He buried his face into Solomon's shirt, in the space between his shoulder and chest. “Shhh.. Shhh,” he begged quietly, one hand holding Miguel's head for support. Miguel pulled his face away, eyes glazed with pain. Hands twitching. “No no… don’t try to move them. I have to carry you now okay?” Solomon told him, the hand on the back of his head slid to his back, and his other arm cradling Miguel's knees. Then he lifted, staggering to his feet. 

Miguel was surprisingly light and Solomon made a mental note that after he gave the morphine, he’d make Miguel eat something. Miguel cried out when his hands shifted onto his stomach, curling tighter. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” As he walked to the house, Solomon thought of Henrietta. He wanted to blame her. It would be so easy too. But blame never did anyone any good. The only blame that was deserved was Xaviers. He was the one that hurt them, he was the one that threatened them all into compliance, hurt them when they didn’t abide. It was all his fault. Every single piece of this was his fault. Solomon glanced down at Miguel who’s eyes were closed, his body was trembling. 

Miguel was going to need a splint, antibiotics, pain control.. There was so much that Miguel needed right now. Solomon couldn’t possibly do everything all at once. Or maybe he could. If he could get the morphine at just the right dose to let him fall asleep… Yes that was what he would start with. The morphine. 

Solomon walked up the steps of the house, walking through the open door. Then he immediately took Miguel to his room. Solomon’s room was small, only a bed, dresser and bed stand was in it. He never saw a reason to add anything else. He laid Miguel into the bed, letting Miguel curl in on himself for the moment. While Miguel made himself comfortable, Solomon grabbed his medical bag under the bed. Shuffling through it for a moment, he grabbed the morphine bottle and the needle he needed. He filled it to what he thought was sufficient enough, and he didn’t tell Miguel when he injected the needle into his shoulder. He just did so, stroking his hair until Miguel's breathing evened out and he stopped trembling. 

“Will he be okay?” came the voice from the doorway as Solomon manuevered Miguel to lay on his back as gently as possible.

“Leave,” Solomon said, gently taking Miguel’s hands in his. “Now.” 

“You’re in a mood right now so I'll let that go..” Xavier said, leaning against the doorway. “It was a simple question.” “No. He is not okay. You took his hands,” Solomon said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. From Xavier’s smirk, he wasn’t doing a very good job at that. 

“So?” 

“So, he can’t..” Solomon almost said communicate but that wouldn’t prove anything to Xavier. In fact, Xavier would probably laugh at that. Solomon could hear the snarky comment about how Miguel didn’t talk anyway. He didn’t need to communicate to work. All things he’d said before. So instead he tried a different route, “he can’t work. You destroyed his hands and he can’t work for the foreseeable future. He can’t grab the saddles or the leads for the horses. Let alone carry things with these hands for months at the very least.” As he spoke, Solomon cleaned out the wounds, disinfecting them with care so he didn’t cause so much pain as to wake the sleeping figure on the bed. “You put him out of commission as your saddle boy,” Solomon finished. Glancing up at Xavier. Xavier seemed to be contemplating his words for a moment, expression pensive, before it warped into a grin. “He has other uses.” 

“No,” came the automatic reply. 

Xavier let out a snort. “Get your mind out of the mud Solomon. I was going to suggest simple house work.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Solomon said, returning his attention to Miguel’s hand as he set up the splint. Every touch of the boy's right hand made Miguel whimper and groan in his sleep. Pain shot through Solomon's chest and he shoved it down. He could deal with that later. He could try and understand this later. For now he had to focus on the here and now. Like right now, there was a new tension in the room. Xavier pushed himself from leaning against the doorframe. “Watch your words Solomon. I never had to hurt you before, don’t give me a reason to do so now. I know plenty of ways to hurt you without rendering you unable to do your job.” 

Solomon finished the splint, gently placing Miguel’s hand down on the bed. Then he stood from his chair and stood up looking Xavier in the eye. “Here is what is going to happen. I don’t want you or Jesse touching him until I say. He needs to heal and if you or Jesse slow down that progress I will do unspeakable things. I am a doctor but I will not hesitate to use my knowledge to cause pain, instead of relieving it,” he watched Xaviers blank expression shift slightly, “do you understand me Xavier?” 

The silence felt like it was eating him inside, but he did not falter before Xavier smiled again. “Ah, so you didn’t lose that backbone I admired so much back in the day.” 

“Do you understand me Xavier?” 

Xavier waved his hand in a dismissive fashion and glanced back at Miguel on the bed. “Yeah yeah. I understand you. No touching until he’s all healed up right?” 

“Correct.”

“Understood doctor.” Xavier said with a chuckle, “he’ll have to make up for all the work he missed later. But it’ll never get this bad again. He took the punishment well and I’m sure you and Etta will make up for it too, yes?”

Solomon thought for a moment before nodding. “Yes. We can do that.”

“Good, good. Very good Solomon. I’ll let you continue your work then,” Xavier grabbed one of Solomon's braids and gave it a playful tug. It made Solomon's skin crawl. Like he had just touched a part of his soul. Which he technically did, but.. Solomon tried hard not to think about it. Xavier grinned, letting go of his hair, turning around and leaving. 

Solomon collapsed into the chair next to the bed. 

“I’m so sorry Miguel. I’ll get you out of here soon. I promise,” he said to the sleeping figure, rubbing a thumb along Miguel's forearm. 

This time, this time he meant it. 

This would be a promise that he was going to keep. Even if it killed him. Even if he had to sacrifice everything. Miguel and Henrietta deserved better than this. They deserved freedom. Solomon was going to do everything in his power to get them there. He just had to be patient and not let the anger in. 

But the anger was already here. No, he just had to control it now. 

He could do that. 

Solomon had to do that. 

For them. __

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@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @for-the-love-of-angst @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghettii @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @whumpifi

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[whump-softie]

When they captured the Siren, the world lost its sound. Everywhere the King looked, everything he heard or commanded, was grey and boring and dull.

But the only way to truly capture the Siren’s voice, their unexplainable gift to command, to demand, was to ensure there was a contingency plan. A person incapable of falling victim, of succumbing, of listening.

When they forced the strongest soldier down, the King had his hand over the Siren’s mouth, knife to their throat. When they tortured the strongest soldier, over and over, forced into submission, took away their voice, took away their hearing, stole their world’s sound, the King only waited patiently.

The only way to ensure the Siren could not speak ill upon the King, could not demand someone to free them, kill them, kill the King, was to deafen someone strong enough to stop them.

When the King held his first meeting since the capture of the Siren, the room was silent. For the King, the people hushed their whispers and bowed their heads. For the Siren, they tiptoed like ghosts and stared like reflections.

For the soldier, who couldn’t hear a single thing, who couldn’t voice their thoughts, the room was quiet and still. For the soldier, throat still bandaged, ears still throbbing, the room would always be silent.

#siren whumpee #soldier whumpee #soldier whumper #royal whumper #royal whump #whump #whumpee #Whumper #whump drabble #whump idea #deaf whumpee #deaf whumper #king whumper

[kim-poce]

Deaf Whumpee 2

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Masterlist

CW: deaf whumpee, pet whump, caretaker new master, reformed criminal caretaker, fear of punishment.

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They arrived at the house, it didn’t look around, the grayish tiles on the floor was all it was allowed to see, Owner was taking out some things from the trunk, maybe toys if they were kind, maybe punishment tools if they weren't. If they are just a normal owner it was most likely both.

It knows it decided to be bad but… New Owner was just SO BIG, and it couldn’t bring itself to disobey, which doesn’t mean it gave up on this plan, it can obey and still fail at every given task. Owner will know just how useless it is and give it back, unless…

Unless there will be no tasks, unless it’ll become just a disposable punch bag, unless for the rest of its life it will be beaten and beaten again without earning any punishment.

It felt tears streaming down from its eyes. It was bad, if Owner sees they will think it didn’t want to be brought —it didn’t— they will think it is scared and ungrateful —it is—. They need to stop crying, they need to, they have to, they truly should be quiet.

Owner’s shoes came into view. Were they angry? it couldn’t know, it couldn’t look up. They crouched down, and it did what it should know better but not do; it closed its eyes.

It can only use two ways to communicate, either seeing or feeling it on their skin. Closing its eyes meant that if Owner wanted to pass on an order they would need to touch it, maybe force it through pain, it was a bad decision not to look, and yet… yet its eyes just didn’t open anyway.

It felt a light tug on its leash, and it shakinly changed from kneeling to all fours. It was still crying, it was still refusing to see anything, but at least it managed to crawl along while its owner pulled the leash. Owner wasn’t hurting it yet, it was weird, it was so much easier to hurt it than pulling it painlessly.

It crawled until the floor changed from cold title to… something soft, like a pet bed, maybe it was truly a pet bed because its Owner stopped and uncliped the leash, it was probably an unspoken order to stay there. It told itself that it was just fine, it is used to being locked in a small space all the time, it won’t leave that little space it swears it won’t.

Still, it was too scared to be good, so it lay down even when no one said it could, and curled up into a ball, it was being so ill behaved, it was going to be punished so harshly as soon as its owner decided.

It waited there, its eyes were still closed so it couldn’t know if Owner was there or not. Maybe they were there right this moment, uncoiling a whip, or taking off their belt or just getting ready to hurt it. Pain could come at any second now and it still didn’t look, it only froze there and waited.

It waited for a long time, it waited for anything, it waited and waited and, after a long time, it very slowly opened its eyes and saw… nothing, it was alone inside a small room, there was a glass of water and a folded blanket on its reach (both too clean to be its), there was a small note on a yellow post, which it didn’t waste time trying to decipher, it was not like it knew letters.

It knew better than to touch things that weren’t its, Owner probably left the water and the blanket there to test it. It wasn’t its first rodeo, it was far from a naive fresh pet and such tricks don’t work anymore.

It was allowed to stay on the pet bed, and that’s it, that’s all it can do. It was exhausted, it, of course, wasn’t allowed to sleep, and even if it was it was too anxious to actually manage to, so it just curled up again, pretending it was still in the too small cage back in the shelter, and pretending it wasn’t terrified at what would happen now.

=-=

@extemporary-username @cupcakes-and-pain

#whump #pet whump #caretaker new master #whump fic #deaf whumpee #caretaker new whumper #reformed criminal caretaker #fear of punishment #my writing #A Brand New Life

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 14 - Querencia

This is the next chapter of Querencia, following Whumptober Day 1!

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @inky-whump , @painful-pooch , @pigeonwhumps (thank you for beta reading!), @bookworm2107

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No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.” | Water Inhalation

Contains: dude whump, electrocution, water whump, Deaf whumpee, captivity, restraints, revenge, death mention, noncon drugging, needles, superpowers

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Quinn jolts awake in an unfamiliar room, still half-expecting to be in charge of steering an out-of-control vehicle. Instead, he finds himself in what looks like a warehouse, but definitely not the one they converted into their home. This one is dingy and in sore need of a good cleaning. The events of the evening come back to him in flashes - the park, the drive home…the spike strips in the road and his inability to avoid them or prevent the crash afterward. 

This was planned, whatever it is. And now he’s alone, without his team, and he can only hope they’re all alright.

He doesn’t remain alone for long. The trio that enters the room looks vaguely familiar, but with his head still swirling from unconsciousness he can’t quite place them. Besides, his thoughts are more caught on the fact that none of them are wearing masks or anything else to conceal their identities. Kidnappers without masks generally don’t plan to allow their victims to leave alive.

“The great Electric Eagle himself,” the woman begins, strolling closer. “Right here in our grasp, isn’t it exciting, boys?”

The bigger man circles him where he sits. “Somehow he doesn’t seem quite as intimidating without the whole superhero getup.”

“That could also have to do with the handcuffs,” the second man laughs. 

“True!”

“Where is the rest of my team?” Quinn asks, careful to keep his expression and voice steady. They normally wouldn’t seem very intimidating, but they’ve already proven themselves rather capable of causing trouble. At the moment, though, any fear in him is for his team, not himself. 

“Oh, he’s British! Did you know he was British?” The woman puts a hand to her heart, looking at the other two. They shrug, unimpressed. “I do love me a British accent. But sorry to tell you, honey, it isn’t going to keep me from making you pay.”

“And…what, exactly, is it that I’m paying for?” He knows these three from somewhere, it’s driving him mad that he can’t place where.

“He doesn’t remember.” The bigger man crouches down and grabs a fistful of Quinn’s shirt, yanking him in close to his face. “What, we weren’t important enough for you to think about, once you’d ruined our lives and moved on with yours?”

“You got us arrested, that’s what. None of us even had records until you and your cutesy little team of superheroes came along and ruined it all. We lost all the money we’d gotten, lost our jobs, can’t get hired anywhere else, Greg’s wife left him…”

Oh. Now he remembers them. Criminals, of course, as he’d assumed, but more specifically a gang of three bank robbers that they’d worked together to stop. Which means that it shouldn’t be just him that they have a complaint against.

“Where…is…my team?”

The bigger man, Tommy Lewis, shoves him backwards so that he sprawls on the floor, hands trapped behind his back. “They’ll get their turns! But you’re the leader, so you get first go at paying up, how does that sound?”

He has no idea what they have in mind, but no doubt that it will be unpleasant. Maybe by the time they’re done with him, the others will have come up with some kind of escape plan and will be able to avoid having to go through whatever it is, themselves. If anyone is going to get hurt here, it should be him. 

Greg Sanders, the other man, comes closer, and Quinn’s eyes immediately go to a syringe in his hand. “What’s that, then?”

“Sheila may have lost her job at the lab, but she didn’t lose all of the formulas she was working on in her spare time.” He smirks, waving the syringe a bit. “You all will get to try out a couple of different specialties of hers while you’re here!”

He comes at him with the syringe, and Quinn kicks out with his restrained feet, trying to knock it from his hands. If it’s just something she’s been working on at home, there’s probably a limited supply. He doesn’t know what could possibly be in it, but being poisoned isn’t high on his list of fun activities for himself or his team. 

Greg dodges the kick, and before Quinn can try to roll further out of the way Tommy is on top of him, sitting on his legs and pinning his upper half to the floor. With his hands beneath him he can’t summon any lightning, and the man is too heavy to fight off without leverage. The needle sinks into his arm.

The three criminals step back and stare at him as he scrambles to at least sit upright. He takes it that something visible is supposed to happen, then. His heart is pounding in anticipation, waiting to start feeling excruciating pain or to grow an extra limb or whatever horrible, drastic thing they have planned. 

Then lightning crackles in his palm, without his permission. 

“Aha!” Sheila screeches. “It’s starting to work!”

Quinn swallows hard. If this is something that affects his powers, it could be much worse than he’d feared. As if in response to his thoughts, another bolt arcs from one hand to the other. The trio starts donning long rubber gloves.

“If my powers go out of control, you’re going to need a lot more than rubber gloves and soles to keep you safe.” He’s imagining the whole room filling with streaks of lightning, taking out the lights and the people and charring the walls and floor. 

Meanwhile, electricity snakes up to his wrist and hits the handcuffs, and for the first time since he was just learning to use his power, Quinn actually feels the effects of it himself. He jolts and grunts in utter surprise as it buzzes through his skin. There’s a reason why he and Nari have to be careful to keep their abilities separate. Metal and electricity do not mix well. 

Greg smirks. “We’re not really worried about it.”

Distracted by getting shocked, he doesn’t notice the hose in Sheila’s hand until a blast of cold water hits him in the chest. “Let’s speed this up a little bit, shall we?”

“This is a bad ide-” He gets a faceful of water before he can finish the sentence, leaving him sputtering. 

“Oh, I think it’s the best idea we’ve had in a while! This is going to be fun.”

He tries to scoot himself backwards, away from the persistent stream of icy water, but they just follow, laughing at him, soaking his whole front. They haven’t managed to get his hearing aids yet, thankfully, but he imagines at this point it’s only a matter of time. 

He’s trying to come up with some other way to dissuade them or a way out of this situation when his power activates again. This time it crawls all the way up his arm, hitting both metal and sopping wet fabric. From there it takes on a life of its own. Quinn’s body jerks backwards, his head slamming into the concrete block wall he’d moved up against, before uncontrollable shaking sends him to the floor. Everything burns like there’s fire inside his veins. He’s fairly certain he screams at some point, without meaning to. He knows for sure he bit his tongue, because his mouth is full of the bitter taste of blood when he can finally breathe and see straight again.

The trio is laughing at him some more. He can see that, though he can’t hear it, which means his hearing aids are fried. Fantastic. At least he doesn’t have to listen to their annoying voices anymore. 

Before he’s fully caught his breath, it’s happening again. And again. And again. It seems to be getting worse the longer the drug is in his system, and of course the more they soak him down with the hose. Sometimes he screams, sometimes it gets trapped somewhere inside and feels like it’s ripping through his throat. He doesn’t bother trying to pick himself up after each round. He’s too exhausted, and everything hurts. 

After a while, they must get bored with that method, because Tommy comes over and yanks him up off the ground with gloved hands. He’s saying something… “new game,” Quinn’s pretty sure is in there somewhere, but his lips are a bit of a blur. 

He can’t walk, not with his ankles chained together, so he gets dragged across the room and deposited on his knees…in front of a bucket full of water. He can already see where this is going without needing to hear whatever taunting they’re doing. 

Sure enough, a hand grabs onto his curls and shoves his head down into the water. Instinctively, he pushes against it, struggling to get up while holding onto what air he was able to gulp in. 

He can’t let them kill him. The team needs him, he has to help them get out of here. They can’t go through this. Just the thought of it makes him sick to his stomach. 

His head feels like it’s going to explode. A burst of bubbles escape his lips, relieving a little of the pressure, but now his lungs are aching instead. He needs to breathe, he needs to breathe…

He’s jerked up out of the water by his hair. Rivulets run down his face, over his eyes and into his open mouth as he gasps loudly for precious air. Greg and Sheila are across from him, big grins on their faces. 

One last gasp - not nearly enough - and he’s back down again. This time, though, his power comes to life, shooting up through his body with a force that makes his back arch. His lungs spasm involuntarily, and then he’s choking, coughing, taking in more water, until mercifully the bucket tips over with his erratic movements and he hits the floor, water spilling across him as he continues to shake and cough. 

He can see open air but he can’t breathe. Water rattles in his throat and chest. The lightning stops, but he still kicks and squirms, trying desperately to draw something in or expel something out, anything. 

Someone flips him over onto his side and kicks him hard in the back, and he’s finally able to spew out the last of the water, coughing until his ribs ache and his throat is on fire. 

He’s not even aware of anyone that’s around him until another needle pricks his arm. No, please, no more… They’re talking amongst themselves or maybe even to him, but he doesn’t know what their plans are anymore. If his power goes even more haywire, though, he’s not going to survive it. They’re going to kill him. 

Minutes pass, though, and the only lightning that happens is small, more like the first few times. Enough to make him jolt, but not writhe. It seems to be calming down, much to his immense relief. 

His ankles are released and someone pulls him to his feet. His legs feel leaden, but he stumbles along beside them as they lead him out the door and down a hall, eventually unlocking another door and shoving him inside. 

Immediately he drops to sit on the ground, no strength left. It’s only then that he sees Liliana sitting there, staring at him wide-eyed and fearful. He forces himself to turn, and there are the others, too. Safe.

Everyone’s lips are moving, probably asking a million questions, but he’s too tired to try and comprehend. He just shakes his head. “Aids got fried.” He hates talking out loud when he doesn’t have them in, but signing isn’t exactly an option when his hands are still cuffed and Liliana still doesn’t know much sign, anyway.

Nari’s face is etched with concern, her eyes darting to his ears, then across his soaking wet body once more. “What did they do to you?” Her mouth moves, but she also signs it as best she can with one wrist cuffed to the wall. “We were so worried!”

Quinn’s eyes drift shut, and he shakes his head again. “I don’t…want to talk about it. Not yet.” He'll have to, eventually. He has to prepare them for what they might face. 

They have to figure out a way out of here before that happens. 

#whumptober2023 #no.14 #lyric #feed me poison fill me 'till i drown #water inhalation #original content #fic #electrocution tw #water torture tw #needles tw #noncon drugging tw #captivity tw #restraints tw #death mention tw #querencia #quinn the leader #dude whump #deaf whumpee #superpowers #superhero oc #hero whumpee #villain whumper #heroes and villains #whump series

[weirdstrangeandawful]

Musician Whumpee who knows and recognises the signs of hearing loss and has everyone they know telling them to take it easy, take a break, give it up… but no one around them knows why they got into music in the first place: to drag them painstakingly out of the darkest of dark places.

Musician Whumpee who pulls a bloody Beethoven because they would rather play a silent symphony than end up back where they were.

#whump #whump prompt #deaf whumpee #hoh whumpee #disabled whumpee #music whump #hearing loss

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Deaf and mute whumpee who has gotten terribly sick need something but don't know how to get caretaker's attention, so they weakly stumble out of bed and just made it to where caretaker is before they passed out and later wake up back on their bed and caretaker putting a cool washcloth on their forehead, checking their temperature, and giving them water.

Extra fluff please, thanks.

Hi Anon! Thanks for requesting this, I’ll give it a go! (Disclaimer: I’ve never written for deaf and mute characters before so I hope I do alright!)

Whumpee turned over in bed and reached for another tissue. Their hand gripped empty space and fell on the nightstand. Whumpee looked up to see that the tissue box was empty. Whumpee groaned internally. That was the third box in two days. Ever since Whumpee had gotten sick, they couldn’t breathe through their nose for more than a couple of seconds before having to blow it again, not to mention that their throat was killing them and they felt dizzy all the time. Caretaker had instructed them to come to them with anything they needed, which was great, except that Caretaker wasn’t in the room right now. Whumpee would have to venture out of bed if they wanted more tissues, and in their current state, that would be a challenge all on its own.

Whumpee pulled the covers off with great effort and swung their legs over the side of the bed. They shakily stood up and stumbled out of their room to look for Caretaker. They managed to make it to the kitchen, where they saw Caretaker busying themselves with making a pot of soup. Whumpee went to tug on Caretaker’s sleeve, but they had barely made it three steps when the world tilted on its axis. Whumpee fell to the ground with what must have been a loud thud, because the last thing they saw was Caretaker whip around before dark spots filled their vision and their eyes fluttered closed.

…

Whumpee stirred on a soft surface. They opened their eyes to the familiar ceiling of their room. There was something cold on their forehead. Whumpee reached up to feel it, but was stopped by a hand gently grabbing theirs and setting it back down on the bed. They turned their head to the side and saw Caretaker, worry etched into their features.

“What happened back there?” Caretaker signed.

“I don’t know,” Whumpee signed back, “I was looking for you. I ran out of tissues.”

“I noticed,” Caretaker signed; they then pointed to a fresh box of tissues on Whumpee’s nightstand.

“Thank you,” Whumpee signed.

“You’re welcome,” Caretaker signed.

Caretaker reached for a thermometer on the nightstand and held it up to Whumpee’s mouth.

“Open up,” Caretaker said.

Whumpee read Caretaker’s lips and obliged. After a few minutes, the thermometer must have beeped, because Caretaker pulled it out and read the number with a frown.

“What is it?” Whumpee signed.

“Not good,” Caretaker signed, “you have a fever. Let me get you some medicine. Don’t leave the bed.”

Caretaker left the room and came back shortly with two small pills and a glass of water. They helped Whumpee sit up, then handed them the pills. Whumpee took them with a grimace, then washed them down with the water.

“Here, take this,” Caretaker signed.

Caretaker pulled out a small bell from their pocket and handed it to Whumpee.

“What for?” Whumpee signed.

“Ring it if you need me,” Caretaker signed, “I’ll hear it and come to you. I don’t want you out of bed until your fever has gone down.”

Whumpee nodded.

“Thank you, Caretaker,” Whumpee signed.

Caretaker smiled.

“You’re welcome, Whumpee,” they signed back.

“Can you stay with me?” Whumpee signed, “just for a little bit?”

“Of course, I’m not going anywhere,” Caretaker signed.

Caretaker stayed with Whumpee until they succumbed to their exhaustion and fell asleep. Whenever Whumpee would stir, Caretaker would stroke their hair until they slipped back into slumber. It would take days for Whumpee to recover, and until then, Caretaker would be at their beck and call, ready to help their friend in any way they could.

#whumpee x caretaker #caretaker x whumpee #sickfic #whump #hurt/comfort #as requested #whump snippet #whump drabble #snippet #drabble #fainting #unconscious whumpee #mute whumpee #deaf whumpee #sick whumpee #soft whump #whump fluff

[pigeonwhumps]

Registration

Sanctuary masterlist

Whumptober masterlist

Alt 5: ambushed

Thanks to @haro-whumps for the list of box boy positions (and position 5 in particular)!

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages

Anita takes Theo to be re-registered as her pet at the WRU.

2.8k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, collar, dehumanisation, 'it' as a pronoun for dehumanising, muzzle, Theo's fucky headspace, non-con nudity (non-sexual), caning, conditioning

Anita plucks the coat off the hook in the hallway and turns to Theo, who’s kneeling, eyes on the floor, grey beanie pulled down past his ears. It’s slightly too large but she hopes it’ll stop anyone else recognising him. They can buy a new one that fits today.

She bends down in front of him until he can see her, then reaches out and drapes the coat over his shoulders. He takes the hint and shrugs his arms into it, his eyes still confused – he’s very clearly unused to being kept warm, and she hates that. Hates everything she’s been able to gather about Theo’s treatment by his former owners. She glances down at the WRU sign language booklet, reminding herself of the signs – some for pets, some for owners. There’s some she’ll certainly never use.

“Comfortable?” she signs, and he nods. Not that he’d tell her if he wasn’t. “Good boy.” She strokes a hand through his hair once, which he leans into, and then stands, shouting in Tamil. “Paati! I’m going out now!”

“Good luck! And don’t forget the shopping.”

“I have a list!” she replies indignantly.

“Well don’t lose the list then! I know what you’re like.”

Anita rolls her eyes and turns to Theo, signing, “Come.” Her paati’s always worrying, but they need to leave if they’re to make their appointment at the WRU.

Once outside Theo seems somewhat uncertain, clutching his teddy close, jumping as a car passes close to the kerb. She takes his hand, keeping him by her side instead of slipping behind her as he seems to be attempting to do. It’s only a short walk to the bus stop, and Anita spends most of it avoiding the curious gazes of her neighbours, feeling ashamed despite herself. Clearly they now think her the sort of person to own someone willingly. She wishes for a moment that Theo hadn’t been dropped off at her shelter.

Then she looks at the pet walking beside her, head down, shoulders hunched, and feels a pang of guilt. It’s not his fault.

When they reach the bus stop he kneels in front of her and she reluctantly pulls a leash out of her pocket, Theo bowing to allow her to attach it to his collar. She needs to buy him a more comfortable collar while they’re out today. Pets aren’t allowed out without a collar, so he really needs a more comfortable one than the plastic one he was delivered in. Besides, Theo won’t let Anita take his collar off, even at home.

Anita stands with Theo on the bus, keeping a hand on his arm to hold him steady. His eyes are focused on the floor so Anita can’t see his expression, but he’s trembling. Scared. Anita strokes his hair while the bus is stopped at a red light.

When they exit the bus in the town centre they make their way to the council building, Anita holding Theo’s leash loosely, both their hands covering it. Anita stops in the courtyard just outside.

“It’s okay,” she signs, unsure what other reassurance to give, and mouths slowly, “we’ll be quick.”

“Yes, mistress,” replies Theo quietly.

They enter the building together. The WRU offices are on the top floor, of course, and the lifts are both broken, of course. They make their way upstairs, Anita cursing her luck, pausing frequently so Theo can catch his breath. Finally they make it to the fifth floor.

There’s a receptionist at the desk and Anita and Theo walk up to her. She looks up from her computer as they stop in front of her, Theo immediately kneeling at Anita’s side.

“Welcome to the WRU, how can I help?” the woman asks in a bored voice.

“I’ve come to re-register my pet. I have an appointment at 11 o’clock?”

“What’s your name?”

“Anita Ranjit.”

The woman clicks on her computer a couple of times. “Ah yes. Do you have the paperwork with you?”

Anita swings her rucksack off her back and pulls out the thick stack of forms she’d been given by the shelter Theo had been supposed to go to. “Er, here. This should be everything.”

The woman on the desk flips through the paperwork, and Anita strokes Theo’s hair, trying to calm him. She still doesn’t understand why he needs to be here.

“This all seems to be in order. If you could just leave your pet here, someone will be along to collect it shortly.”

Anita starts, a well of panic opening up inside her. “What do you mean, he has to stay here? Why? How long for?”

“Just half an hour, madam. We need to run through some checks.”

“What for? What happens if I refuse?”

“It’s company policy. Either you consent to the check-up or you don’t see your pet again.”

Anita grits her teeth, looking helplessly at the pet kneeling beside her. “Fine. Just give me a minute to explain.” The woman nods curtly and she crouches down in front of Theo, who watches her closely.

“Stay here for half an hour,” she signs, saying clearly afterwards, “I’ll be back.” His eyes widen and he looks heartbroken. She hates this. He was only abandoned two weeks ago, and for her to leave him, now, in this place... she doesn’t know what he must think.

“It can’t take anything in,” says the receptionist suddenly, as if she’s just remembered.

“Right.” She enunciates clearly to Theo now, accompanying her words with gestures. “I need to take that for now.” Theo hands his bear over with slight reluctance, pleading with his eyes, and she signs an apology, swallowing back more reassurances because everything isn’t okay, he’s not safe, she doesn’t know what’s going to happen in there. All she can promise is that she’ll be back. Instead, she squeezes his hand and runs her other hand through his hair.

Footsteps approach and Anita looks up to see a stony-faced man in a WRU uniform. “We need to take it now.”

Anita pets Theo’s head one last time and stands. “You know he’s profoundly deaf, right? I don’t want him getting in trouble for not listening or anything.”

“Of course not, madam. We have its records.”

“Good.” She forces herself to hand over the leash and clenches her fists, digging her nails into her palm so she doesn’t snatch him back, run after them as they lead him away.

It’s only half an hour. Just half an hour.

“Shouldn’t have filed the paperwork at the WRU if you didn’t want a check-up,” the receptionist says, not entirely without sympathy.

“Wait. I didn’t have to do this?”

“No, dear. You think everyone who takes part in a private sale registers with us? We’d have queues around the block. You can update the details online.” She takes in Anita’s stricken expression. “Someone told you you had to?”

Anita nods. “The shelter. He was delivered to the wrong place, and when I contacted them they said I could have him for free, provided I registered him officially with the WRU within the next few weeks using the paperwork they provided. I didn’t realise that there’d be check-ups.”

“It’s mandatory for shelters. If they’re adopting out a pet they have to check their condition first, for insurance purposes. People sue. Inflict an injury themselves and then claim it was there already, that they were mis-sold. Used to be pretty common.”

“That’s sick.”

“Mm-hmm. I’ll print you out a leaflet about the WRU check-ups if you want to read it.”

“Thanks.” She hovers around the desk awkwardly as the woman clicks a few things, and the printer starts up behind her.

“That your first pet, then?”

“Yes.”

“We have lots of resources on our website, if you need anything. Here.” She hands over the leaflet and gestures towards a set of chairs in the corner. “Take a seat. You can always leave and come back for your pet later, but you don’t seem the type.”

“No. Thank you.” Anita sits down and starts reading the leaflet through carefully.

Most of it is the usual polished WRU spiel, but certain phrases jump out at her. Full physical and behavioural examination... owner details updated... free muzzle for those on our shelter partnership program.

Dear god.

What kind of a world does she live in, Anita wonders, where these things are just an accepted part of everyday life?

_

Theo follows the handler down the corridor, eyes down, hands behind his back. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen but Mistress said she’d be back. He has to believe that. He has to believe that he can continue being Theo, despite the uniform this man is wearing.

The handler leads him into a white-panelled room lit by bright lights with a computer in the corner and drops his leash. He signs for Theo to strip, and once Theo’s divested himself of everything but his collar, the handler attaches his leash to a hook on the wall.

“Position 1,” the handler signs, and Theo spreads his legs so his feet are directly below his hips, back straight, arms held out at 45° angles to his body. The handler nods in approval.

Theo stands perfectly still as the handler examines him, taking photos of his scars and tattoos with a small camera. He tenses when the man’s out of sight, each touch to his back almost making him jump. Then the handler gestures for him to open his mouth.

He has a chipped canine and another tooth missing, and the handler snaps on a pair of nylon gloves, forcing his mouth open wide enough to take photos. Theo doesn’t understand what they’re for, but then, he’s just a dumb pet, he doesn’t need to understand.

Once the examination’s complete, the handler commands Theo through his 25 taught poses, then through the rest of his signs and learned spoken phrases, testing his obedience. Then he signs for him to get into position five.

Theo gets onto his knees, face pressed to the floor, palms resting either side of his head. In this position he has no idea what’s going on, and although he doesn’t need to, it’s up to his owner and handlers what he knows, it still makes his heart pound faster, and he starts trembling, his body defying every attempt to stop it. He didn’t used to tremble, he knows, it started sometime with his previous owners. He hopes that doesn’t stop him going back to Mistress. She probably wants a perfect pet, and he’s picked up many habits over the years that mean he’s not.

Stupid pet. Thinking again. He shouldn’t think, he shouldn’t hope, he just needs to obey. It’s what he was made for. This is why nobody wants him.

A sudden pain hits his back, a sharpness fading quickly to a dull burn. It throbs when Theo’s pulled back to his feet, back straightening as he gets into position 1. It’s a cane stripe, he’s sure of it. It won’t scar, but it’ll hurt for a while.

As it should.

Theo stands perfectly still, watching the handler pick up a handheld scanner and pull his arm out towards him, holding the scanner over the barcode for a few seconds.

He watches as the handler types something into the computer. He’s not sure what, and he’s certainly not curious. Bad pet. What’s that phrase? Curiosity killed the pet. His old Master was fond of it. So he’s certainly not curious.

It’s cold in this room. Colder than he’s been for over a week, but not quite the bone-deep cold he used to feel sometimes, while being punished in his old Master and Mistress’ garage.

After a while, the handler comes back to Theo and unhooks his leash from the wall, signing for him to dress. He does so with relief. He’s being allowed to dress fully again. That means... maybe Mistress wants him back? She wouldn’t want to lose her clothes.

The handler is holding a black leather muzzle and Theo gulps. No. No no no. This is why he doesn’t speak, this is what it gets him, and he’d taken a liberty speaking around Mistress earlier, she clearly doesn’t like it. Bad, stupid pet, nobody likes him speaking and he knows that. He opens his mouth for the smooth, silicon bit, and the strap is fastened behind his head, leather strips just touching his cheek. The handler checks the fit, sliding two fingers under the strap at the back of his head, and even though it obviously isn’t too tight it feels it, claustrophobic and smelly and he’s struggling to breathe. He takes as deep breaths as he can, and isn’t fully aware of his surroundings as he feels a harsh tug on his leash, following it obediently. He realises vaguely that he’s being led back towards the reception area, and although his eyes are cast down he still recognises his Mistress’ boots, kneeling down beside her.

He can stay with her then. He feels a great sense of relief as she hands him back his teddy. He’s not being abandoned today.

_

Anita thought she was prepared to see Theo in a muzzle.

She was wrong. Oh, so very wrong.

After what feels like an eternity, Theo’s led back into the reception by his leash, a thick black muzzle obscuring the lower half of his face. He kneels down beside her and she presses his teddy into his hands, giving him a quick once-over. He doesn’t look physically injured, but he is trembling. It’s probably best to get him out of here first and then take the muzzle off.

She swallows a sob and nods in thanks as the man hands her the paperwork. Oh, god, he looks trapped behind that. Trapped and scared and, as she bends down in front of him and sees his eyes, so damn hopeful, if a little glazed. How he can be hopeful she really doesn’t know, but it makes her feel incredibly guilty.

She signs for him to follow her and holds his leash loosely between their joined hands as he stands, walking with her out of the WRU office and down the stairs. Once they’re outside she leads him around the side of the building to a patch of grass by the river. It’s too small to be called a park, really, but it’ll do, and she sits down, gesturing for Theo to join her. He kneels down in front of her.

“I’m going to take your muzzle off now, sweetheart, is that okay?”

Theo takes a minute to process her words, but then he nods, and she reaches forward, unclasping the thick leather straps behind his head. The muzzle falls off into her hand, and she drops it quickly, noting the thick, spit-covered silicon bit with disgust.

He barely speaks as it is, and he certainly doesn’t bite. Even if you were cruel enough to want to put a pet in a muzzle, why use a bit? It’s just senseless cruelty.

Theo’s eyes are filled with tears as they gradually become more aware. Anita feels a tickle on her own cheek and brushes it, her finger coming away wet. It’s just– it’s so unfair. Theo’s a person, and to treat him the way the WRU do is abhorrent.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,” she says, signing the apology haltingly too so Theo definitely understands it, as he trembles on his knees in front of her. “I didn’t realise they’d do that.” Theo twitches slightly towards her. “Hug?”

Theo nods, and she wraps her arms around him, careful that he can still see her if he looks up, keeping her hands on his back, where he can feel them. She feels her hoodie dampen as he leans against her chest.

She’s prepared to sit there for as long as he needs. Paati won’t mind if they’re a little later home with the shopping than planned.

How’s she supposed to take Theo to the Pet shop to buy a new collar after this, though? Will he be able to stand it?

Or will he think she’s going to muzzle him again? She has no idea what’s available to buy there, but it can’t be good, and Theo would think the worst even if he wasn’t so shaken.

She’ll sit here as long as he needs, though. As long as it takes for him to calm down. It’s all she can do, now. Maybe if she’d known about the check-up earlier, she could’ve found an alternative, or at least prepared him. Maybe if she was smarter about this, if she’d actually researched pet ownership properly after she got Theo...

Maybe, maybe, maybe. She shakes her head. Theo has no use for maybes now.

#whump #whump writing #sanctuary pigeonwhumps #anita oc #theo oc #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #pet whump #whumpee and caretaker #whumpee and whumper #dehumanisation #non con nudity #deaf whumpee #whumptober2022

[the-whumper-takes-it-all]

~ Prompt 37 ~

Deaf Whumpee gets kidnapped by Whumper who wants to torture them for information. Whumpee tries to show them over and over again that they are deaf, but Whumper doesn't believe them and therefore torture them even more. Will Whumper eventually see that Whumpee doesn't understand them? Does Whumper even care? You decide.

#whump #whump prompt #whump writing #whumpee #whumper #deaf whumpee #torture

[mj-iza-writer]

Deaf Whump... I've been watching a lot of YouTube shorts from the deaf community lately. I love exclusivity in my writing and making my characters human. Please do forgive any errors I've made in representing the deaf community in this story, I also have two others in the works. I am not hearing impaired, but I support awareness for the deaf community. I hope you enjoy. -MJ

It started with frustration.

Whumper had found out their hearing loss was progressively getting worse. They had months before hearing would be next to impossible unless something was done.

"Hearing aids", Whumper sighed, "and those may not even help."

Whumper wanted to punch someone, hit something. Maybe that would help.

They drove past a clearly homeless person.

"That could work, they won't be missed", Whumper turned around. Without a second thought the person was in Whumper's trunk.

Once home, Whumper left the person in a spare room and got ready.

Whumper walked into the room they could partially hear them yelling... the person was..... signing.

"Shit are you deaf?", Whumper signed as they turned pale.

"Yes" the person fearfully signed, "are you?"

"Almost", Whumper looked down in defeat, all fight left them.

"My name is Whumpee", the person signed, still panicked, "please don't hurt me."

"I'm sorry, I'm Whumper. Please forgive me. I've made a terrible mistake", Whumper looked up tearfully, "I'm so sorry."

Whumper learned that Whumpee's expenses for their hearing loss were what landed them on the streets.

"If you're okay with it, you can stay here", Whumper offered, "it's unfair that we have to pay for our disability, but I'll help as much as I can."

That was a few years ago, and boy did Whumpee liked to poke fun at Whumper with that reminder. They now loved bickering back and forth like it was a game.

"Whumper can you....", Whumpee spoke and signed.

Whumper grinned as they reached for their hearing aids.

"Don't you dare", Whumpee signed frantically.

Whumper pulled their hearing aids out and set them on their lap.

"I don't want to hear you right now", they grumbled.

Whumpee frowned, "then look at me", they signed.

Whumper pulled out their phone and completely ignored Whumpee.

Whumpee picked up a tennis ball and threw it at Whumper.

Whumper just laughed as it bounced off their leg.

"Watch out for my hearing aids", they signed with a smirk.

Whumpee rubbed their temples out of frustration and left the room.

Whumper watched them leave and chuckled to themself.

Whumpee came back after a few minutes carrying a spray bottle.

"Don't you dare", Whumper signed as they watched Whumpee inch closer.

"Put those aids in or sign to me then", Whumpee threatened.

"Fine", Whumper sighed as they placed the aids back in their ear, "what do you need?", Whumper signed.

"I need to go to the store or have a few things ordered", Whumpee signed.

"Okay, well, I need to go to the store anyways", Whumper stood with a sigh, "let's go", they signed.

At the store Whumpee grabbed the few things they needed before they dragged Whumper into clothing.

"You don't need any clothing", Whumper signed.

"Yes I do", Whumpee grinned as they looked.

Their eyes got big as they noticed a display for deaf awareness.

"Look, look", they signed happily.

"Okay, that's cool", Whumper looked over some of the display, "pick out a few things."

A few people walked by and pointed out the display.

"They'll celebrate anything nowadays", someone commented.

Whumpee was too busy to read their lips, but Whumper unfortunately heard the comment.

Whumper tapped Whumpee's shoulder and started signing. Whumper glared at the group as they watched them turn and quickly walk away.

Whumpee looked at them confused, "why are you telling me about a dog driving to the ocean?", Whumpee signed.

Whumper laughed not realizing what they were actually signing, then told Whumpee what had happened.

"Morons", Whumpee signed.

Whumper nodded, "I'm taking a hearing break", they signed, "let's use signing for right now."

Whumpee picked out two ASL (American Sign Language) hoodies, then their was a small statue that they had to have.

Later as they were leaving the store, they saw the group again.

Whumper and Whumpee both glared at the group.

The group held their head low trying to ignore the glare.

Whumper turned up their hearing aids.

"Hey", Whumper called, "keep in mind awareness is important for many groups. What you said was extremely rude and hurtful, and I hope you've learned your lesson."

One person from the group turned and apologized while the rest kept walking.

"That's why we need awareness", Whumper called again, "because some of you just don't get it."

Whumpee nodded.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

#whump community #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whump #whumpee #whumper #whump scenario #caretaking #oc #carewhumper #deaf whump

[reallyprofoundkryptonite]

sneak peek hehe

#httyd #krogan #httyd rtte #krogan rtte #krogan httyd #rtte #httyd fanart #httyd fandom #httyd au #deaf!krogan #httyd Krogan #rtte krogan #viggo grimborn #whump #Krogan whump #whumpee!krogan #how to train your dragon au #how to train your dragon krogan #how to train your dragon #fanfic #httyd fanfiction #rtte fanfiction #rtte fanart

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

we need more language barriers in whump because it's so fucking good no matter if you use it for whumper and whumpee or whumpee and caretaker or especially carewhumper and whumpee or any combination!!!!

Whumpee not being able to know what the fuck is going on no matter how many times they ask, only being manhandled into various situations because they don't understand how to comply with whatever is being told to them (gently or not is up to you >:3c)

Having to rely on tones and facial expressions to get a vague sense of what the other person is trying to get across, despite all the repetition of sounds and slow pronunciations and childish gesturing

Those little moments where a word just finally clicks for someone, the one piece of common ground, even if they can't fully repeat it back due to an accent that maybe earns them an amused chuckle or a scowl

Endless frustration and exploding so many pent up feelings for a rant that falls on deaf ears, because why is this so hard to comprehend, why can't you just understand my words, why do I feel like such a fucking idiot??? And what do they get in return? Silence...or more foreign gibberish.

Not bothering to keep quiet about their thoughts, agreeable or otherwise, vulgar or polite -- what does it matter? No one is going to understand a lick of it, they can say whatever the hell they want (unless maybe someone does catch a couple words or phrases hmmm)

Whumpers using sweet coos and nice smiles while saying the most awful shit. Caretakers being endlessly patient in trying to foster some kind of trust and feasible communication. Carewhumpers being stern and hands on because there's no time to waste in getting Whumpee to grasp what they need from them.

The longer they're in each others company, the more quirks and micro expressions they start to pick up, long before they ever fully understand a word of what's being said, including when someone is lying or when a nerve has been struck

Realizing which words mean "bad thing" and which words mean "good thing"

#whump #whump community #whump scenario #whumpee #whumper #whump ideas #implied whump #whump prompt #caretaker #carewhumper #language barrier

[ghost-whump]

Roulette

CW: guns, russian roulette-type game, kidnapping (implied), (let me know if I missed anything!)

Shink.

Into the chamber.

Whirrr.

Spinning around.

…Click.

Into place.

“How many rounds do you think it’ll take?” Whumper smiles, “Till you die, that is. You’ll become concussed rather quickly.”

Whumpee kept their head down. They watched Whumper load each blank in one by one, torturously gentle with each cartridge. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

“Maybe just the first one, if I fire too close. Depending on the distance, it could be a few shots before you even pass out.” Whumper spun the chamber again, absentmindedly fiddling with the revolvers hammer. They spoke casually, as if discussing the weather.

Perched on the table with their legs crossed, Whumper picked up another box of bullets, flipping it over to read the back. “Blanks are really interesting bullets, you know? A lot of people think they’re harmless because they’re not real bullets, but no one knows how dangerous they actually are!”

Whumpee trembled, their handcuffs making a horrible rattling sound from behind their back.

“Sorry, I totally got off track! Anyway, you’ll go deaf nearly immediately,” Whumper continued, putting the box back down, “I wouldn’t expect your hearing to heal. For argument’s sake, obviously. You won’t have the chance, after all.”

They stood, casually stretching their arms above their head. The gun was tossed carelessly from hand to hand, then positioned steadily — point blank at Whumpee’s temple.

Pulling the hammer back, “So, I’m guessing three shots — how about you?”

General Tag: @morning-star-whump

#my stuff #whump #whump tropes #whump community #whump scenario #whumpblr #casual whumper #is that a tag?? #gun whump #gun tw #russian roulette #roulette

[kim-poce]

4. A Brand New Life: Chaos

Previous

Masterlist

CW: pet whump, deaf whumpee, fear of punishment, caretaker new master, reformed criminal caretaker, killing briefly being referred to as ‘put down’, it/its pronouns in a dehumanizing way.

=-=

Many many people had owned it, and it went back to the facility too many times to be able to remember all of them. No owner —in the memories it can recall— was as big as this one. This new one wasn’t only toweringly taller than it, he was also so strong, it was sure that he could kill it with a kick if he wanted. It tried not to think about it, this is the biggest but many others were cruel. Crueler it dared to hope. It needed to hope because it had to, somehow, anger this owner enough to be sent back but not enough to be put down.

Trying to plan something so delicate was hard for its dumb pet, and it was getting harder and harder as time passed, exhaustion came without a word of warning, like a sudden storm breaking everything in its way. And just like with a storm, it can't do much to fight the sleepiness. It wasn't that much of a stupid pet to stop trying to force itself awake, though. The comfortable dog bed was just like the clean water; a trap. And it knew so much better than falling into the first trap in a new home.

There was a time that the knowledge of the punishment to come was enough to keep it up. When it had enough control over its body to stay awake days and days in a row unless ordered otherwise. Back then wouldn't close its eyes to blink just to open them too many hours later with the big scary-looking new owner looking down at it. There was such a time. But that was too long ago.

It shivered. What else could it even do but shiver, look down and wait for the pain? It guessed it could, maybe, look up. It could show that it is sorry and it will do anything to make up for it. But the instinct to cower away far predated its need to look up to understand orders. And in the fear, all that's left is instinct and flashes of painful memories.

Its eyes closed shut when, through its eyelashes, it saw the new owner's hand raising. It was almost grateful, both for knowing what the first hit was going to be and for it to be a slap instead of a punch, a kick, or a baseball bat. It would all come later but at last not at the start. It would be fully grateful for that if the new owner wasn't so very big, and if it wasn't so small and skinny.

The pain didn't come, though. Just a touch. An odd touch. Dry, rough skin in a soft touch. The hand was slow, it slid down from its cheek to its chin. Causing the shiver to increase so very much. The hand, new owner's hand, the one who can hurt it as much as it wants, slowly —always slowly— lift its head.

It was still scared. In truth, scared isn't the right word. After all, even people can feel scared, and what it felt was so much deeper than that. Deeper enough, it was sure, to earn a whole new word. Dread was closer to the feeling, although it felt it wasn’t enough. But there will never be a word for it, it was a pet kind of feeling, and no one bother about what these lesser things feel.

It opened its eyes. The ‘dread’ was still there, but isn't it always? Eating it alive way faster than any torture could. But maybe its ever-presence made it not strong enough to freeze forever. Almost but not enough. Not anymore, anyway.

New owner mouthed something, it didn't try to read it, not truly read. It could be any word, that was way too many words to and it didn't want to pick the wrong one. So it stared, trying to match the word with one of the normal usual orders. It wasn't ‘kneel’ (although it should be kneeling, it hadn't even noticed it was still laying down), it wasn't ‘get up,’ ‘fetch,’ or ‘look down.’ It wasn't even a curse. Just when all the memorized words had failed to match the mouthed one it tried to read properly.

“...th… brea…the… breathe,” new owner mouthed slowly.

Breath? Oh. It wasn’t breathing, was it? Just then it realized that its lung was begging for air for quite a while now, it took a deep desperate breath and flinched, sure it had been loud, it tried to read its owner again. He was still mouthing the same word. So maybe it wasn’t loud after all. It felt weaker all of a sudden. Oh. It wasn’t breathing again.

“Breathe in… breath out. Good boy,” Owner said, it was an undeserved praise, it was anything but good. “breath in… breath out… breath in…”

It obeyed. At the very least, it knew how to breathe, it wasn’t that useless of a pet.

At some point, new owner was holding the (trap) water glass close to its lips, helping it drink water slowly, it noticed that he was doing everything very very slowly. Good. It’s so lucky that he has patience.

No! it thought-screamed to itself. It isn’t luck, you need to make him angry so you can go back to the shelter!

New owner mouthed something again, but it was too many words, and it couldn’t follow even simple orders, so it looked down, there was no reason to try if it’ll fail anyway, and maybe this way new owner labels it ‘too fucking useless’ and sent it back. It didn’t work, it only made the hand come back to its chin, gent- gently? Nothing is ever gentle, the hand slowly lifted its head back up.

“It’s okay,” new owner said, and if it was any less scared or any more defiant it would laugh right then.

‘It’s okay.’ That’s not even a real thing. Not that it mattered anyway, it was lightheaded, maybe it wasn’t breathing right again, or it was dreaming and this all was a nightmare, or it was dehydrated enough to hallucinate again. Maybe it wasn’t even alive anymore. It just knew it was scared, and it was so very tired. It wanted to go back, it wanted caretaker. It doesn’t like it here.

“Hey, hey,” new owner said after making sure it was looking up. “.... don’t cry… here… okay?”

It is not okay. It’s not okay. It is not-

The hand was wiping its tears away now. Oh! It thought. So it is a dream, there is no way an owner would do it.

It relaxed, as long as it is silent no one ever punished it for dreaming of comfort. It leaned on the hand like it had learned to so long ago, and it cried, it was fine because it wasn’t real. Owner won’t be angry about things he doesn’t know, about things that didn’t even actually happen. It knows it was not allowed to sleep yet, so it shouldn’t be dreaming at all. But wasn’t it trying to be bad anyway? It doesn’t know, its thought seems to be crashing against each other, waving at every change of its feeling. It doesn’t care anymore, at least it doesn’t care right this moment.

Dream Owner was still big, still scared, but he was also very careful, his touch was soft, so all it focused on was his soft and warm skin against its.

———

The pet’s reaction was chaos. First, fear of me, then despair for air, then fear of me again, and despair for water. He cried after this, I think it was for fear at first (unsurprisingly), but for relief right after. I just… don’t understand him at all.

I almost pulled my hand away when he leaned on it, it caught me completely off guard, he was suddenly comfortable, as if he seeing someone else instead of me. Not that I am complaining, rather than that I was glad that he could relax a bit, even if for a while. So I caressed him as gently as I could, I wasn’t used to being gentle but I know it’s never too late to learn.

The pet leaned on me and went back to sleep. Maybe he, just like myself, went to sleep too late the day before. I left his breakfast near the bed with another note. I forgot to ask if he could read back in the shelter, but it doesn’t hurt to try (even if the previous note didn’t work).

“Good night,” I said uselessly as I covered him with his blanket. “Sleep well.”

=-=

Taglist: @extemporary-whump, @cupcakes-and-pain, @d-cs, @hollowgast1, @inpainandsuffering, @pinkraindropsfell, @the-magpiesystem, @nicolepascaline, @dainluvr, @a-dead-tea, @fishtale88, @greenwhump, @pigeonwhumps, @wolfeyedwitch, @isntthisblank, @emcscared-whumps, @alienmashup, @neverthelass, @batfacedliar-yetagain, @sacredwrath, @blu-jay-2779, @rose-pinkie, @latenightcupsofcoffee, @espresso-depresso-system

#whump #pet whump #deaf whumpee #whump fic #caretaker new master #caretaker new whumper #fear of punishment #reformed criminal caretaker #institutionalized slavery #it as a pronoun #my writing #A Brand New Life

[chiharuuu22]

Past and Present

The only difference is when Whumpee is tormented by Whumper and when Whumpee is saved and safe with Caretaker.

In the past, Whumpee would wake up on a cold operating table or on a bare floor. Now, Whumpee woke up in bed with soft sheets, a comfortable pillow, and a warm blanket covering his body. Oh, Whumpee also felt that there were socks warming his feet.

In the past, Whumpee was always in a cold place. Now, Whumpee was also cold, but the warm blankets over his chests with electrodes, bruises, and bandages kept him warm.

In the past, Whumper tied Whumpee's hands with metal or rough rope directly touching his skin. This is done so that Whumpee stays in place and does not try to fight or run away. Now, Whumpee felt his hands being covered in a soft cloth before being tied to the bed. This time, Whumpee was tied up so he wouldn't remove the medical equipment attached to his body.

In the past, Whumpee always fought back when Whumper started putting a who-knows-what mask on his face. Now, Whumpee can't remove the oxygen mask from his face because he needs it to breathe, and surely Caretaker will stop Whumpee when his weak hands try to remove it.

In the past, Whumpee felt violence approaching his body—punches, kicks, whips, even hair-pulling. Now, Whumpee felt a gentle touch on his body, a warm handheld, a caress on his shoulder, cheek, or hair.

In the past, Whumpee couldn't sleep peacefully, and Whumper always had a way to jolt him awake. Now, Whumpee feels the comfort of sleeping without disturbance; he even hears the phrase, "Go back to sleep; you need rest; your body hasn't recovered yet."

In the past, Whumpee always hoped that he would no longer hear the monitor beeping, showing a graph of his heartbeat (because that meant Whumpee was dead and separated from Whumper). Now, Whumpee is thankful to hear his bedside monitor beeping steady (because that means he's alive and will be okay soon, hopefully).

In the past, Whumpee always felt deaf because he heard Whumper scream when he tortured them. Now, Whumpee felt calm because he heard the Caretaker's soft voice when Caretaker spoke to him.

In the past, Whumper would be very happy when he heard Whumpee's groans or screams of pain. Now, Caretakers will be very worried when they hear Whumpee groan, even if it's just a small "ouch" when a syringe is stuck into his hand.

In the past, Whumpee always felt anxious when sleeping. Now, Whumpee couldn't even hold back his consciousness when Caretaker's soft hands stroked his hair or hummed softly to lull him to sleep.

In the past, Whumpee never woke up in a good way. A Whumper scream, a splash of water, or even a punch or kick will start them opening their eyes. Now, Whumpee is always gently awakened by a touch, a caress on the hair and cheek, and a "Hello dear Whumpee. Did you sleep well? Sorry to wake you, but you must eat/take your medicine."

In the past, Whumpee never wore clean clothes or was not even given clothes at all. Now, Caretaker carefully dresses him in pajamas made of thin and soft material and even changes it every morning and evening so Whumpee is always clean.

In the past, Whumpee never ate well. Leftover food, spoiled food, or being forced to eat badly. Of course, it was very disgusting and cold. Now, the Whumpee eat very humane food—food that is easy for them to digest and keeps their bodies warm. In fact, Caretaker patiently fed. Oh, definitely eat three times a day.

In the past, Whumpee had difficulty getting water for his dry throat and dehydrated body. If Whumpee gets watered, he'll consider it a miracle because he can finally drink. Now, Whumpee is constantly reminded to drink enough water, even when tasting milk or juice. The IV in his hand also helps him keep his body hydrated.

In the past, Whumpee desperately hid the information he had from Whumper. Now, Whumpee leaks all the Whumper information he managed to gather to Caretaker.

In the past, Whumpee was always alone in his torture chamber. Now, Whumpee is always accompanied by Caretaker who faithfully sits beside his bed.

In the past, Whumper would come to make sure Whumpee was alive to continue torturing him for the information Whumpee had or because of Whumper's personal grudge. Of course, Whumper didn't care whether Whumpee was healthy or sick. Now, doctors and Caretakers are making sure Whumpee lives and returns to normal health.

Before: "You are worthless trash." "Keep your mouth shut, and I'll be your nightmare." "You won't be able to run away from me, Whumpee." "Die!" "You don't remember? Remember! Tell me now!" "How about these new wounds? Do you like them?"

Now: "You're precious to me, Whumpee." "It's okay, Whumpee; you're safe." "Nothing hurts you anymore, Whumpee." "It was just a nightmare; it's all over." "It's okay, Whumpee. There is no need to remember what Whumper did to you." "Don't force yourself to remember, Whumpee. Just say slowly what you know." "Wow, your wound is healing well. Look, I brought a good ointment. When your wound is completely dry, I'll rub it in so the scars won't be visible."

In the past, Whumpee thought that if he couldn't escape, then death was a good way out. Now, Whumpee is thankful he can still live and breathe.

#whumpee #whump #caretaker #caretaking #whumper #hospitalized #whump writing #whumpee x caretaker #caretaker x whumpee #whump scenario #recovery whump #whump comfort #whump dialogue #whump prompt

[a-living-canvas]

Comfortable Grief

"C'mere."

Whumpee crawled slowly to Whumper, kneeling on their feet before resting their chin on Whumper's lap. Whumper gently carding their fingers through Whumpee's hair. It was so soft, making Whumper felt a deep urge to grab it and yank it hard until Whumpee let out a scream. But, they were patient. Patient enough that Whumpee started purring under their touch.

"So adorable…" Whumper muttered.

Whumper moved their hand behind Whumpee's ear while the other on Whumpee's chin. They started scratched and rubbed those two spots together swiftly until Whumpee squirmed like a dog.

Whumper giggled, "Who's the good pet? Who's my favourite plaything, hm?"

Whumpee shivered at the sensation. "M-me…Master…"

Whumpee leaned closer to Whumper's touch, craving for any kind of comfort they could earn at the moment. But suddenly, Whumper stopped pampering them. Whumpee watched how Whumper took a newspaper that was placed on the table beside them before they started reading the material, ignoring Whumpee all of a sudden.

"M-master…?"

Silence.

Whumpee tried again, "Master—"

"Shut up, pet." 

Whumper said harshly. They began to feel annoyed by Whumpee clinging on to them like a damn leech. Whumpee looked down at the floor beneath them, still kneeling on Whumper's feet. Whumper sighed,

"Why are you still here? Can't you see I'm not in the mood to talk with you? Go do something useful for once."

Whumpee stayed silent. The command was too vague. What exactly should they do? What if Whumper got more annoyed and mad at them for doing things wrong? Whumpee felt conflicted, long enough to make Whumper shifted their attention back to the poor creature beneath them.

"Are you deaf? Get your pathetic ass out of here. What, are you that helpless that you can't do anything without being instructed to?"

Whumpee's lips quivered, their eyes started watering. That only made Whumper lose their patience even more. They leaned forward and grabbed Whumpee's face, squeezing their cheeks tightly. "Answer me, pet!"

Tears streamed down Whumpee's face. "I'm sorry…! I'm sorry, Master…I'm sorry…"

Whumper's eyes softened at the sight of Whumpee's trembling and terrified form in front of them. They wiped Whumpee's tears with their thumbs before kissing Whumpee's forehead lovingly. Whumper flashed them a warm smile as they patted the little one's head.

"There…there…"

Whumpee seemed to finally calm down a little from their breakdown. But before they could thank Whumper for the kind gesture, Whumper stood from their chair and walked past Whumpee while saying,

"No food for you tonight and I would double your punishment for being a crying mess in front of me. You think I'm your babysitter or something, stupid pet?"

The door slammed shut as Whumper left Whumpee alone in the living room. Whumpee swallowed hard before they started crying again, still on the same spot as they thought about the inevitable future that was waiting to unfold.

#whump #intimate whumper #whump community #whump writing

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Sign language in whump is one of my favourite things- your whumpee could be deaf, sure, but they could also be prone to non-verbal episodes (neurodivergent), asthma attacks (talking is pretty much impossible), or migraines (if they open their mouth, they're 99% sure they're going to throw up), etc etc

perhaps caretaker is the only one on the team who can interpret them- that could lead to frustration and upset when caretaker isn't there, and when caretaker is?

often all whumpee can sign is 'hurts', 'tired', or

'i love you'

#whump #sicknario #whump prompts #non verbal whump #sign language