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echoingalaxies · 1 month

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cw: hospital/medical stuff mentions, unspecified illness or injury

“You wanna pick up some food on the way?” Caretaker asked, steering her car out of the parking garage and to the intersection.

Whumpee, sitting under a blanket on the passenger seat, watched the hospital disappear as they drove away on the mostly empty highway. He rubbed the pit of his elbow where a small bandage remained to stop the slight bleeding from a cannula.

It had been a long day. New bottles of medicine rattled in the pockets of his jacket when he shifted into a more comfortable position and leaned their head against the headrest. They had sat in the waiting room the whole evening before finally being admitted, and discharged only a couple of hours after. Caretaker hadn’t even tried to argue with the staff anymore. It always ended like this. Not enough beds and not enough people to take care of the ones lying on them.

Whumpee knew he was lucky. He knew he’d be safe going home with Caretaker. But it didn’t mean he didn’t keep dreaming about the day he’d be taken seriously. He’d receive proper care. Otherwise he’d just have to keep going back, over and over again. More pills, more bills, more wasted hours.

“Hello?”

“Oh, uh,” Whumpee blinked, realizing he hadn’t actually given Caretaker a response. “No, I… we should just head home. You’ve got work in the morning, and it’s already way past midnight.”

His stomach let out a loud rumbling sound just then, and Caretaker gave him a quiet look, which Whumpee pretended to not see. He could fix himself a bowl of yogurt at home. Caretaker needed sleep. She deserved it, after putting aside her own responsibilities just to stay with him again.

“What if I told you I already took tomorrow off?”

"What?" Whumpee turned to her, shaking his head. “Caretaker, no. You shouldn’t have.”

Caretaker shrugged. “It’s Friday, we get to have a head start for the weekend. Won’t that be fun?” Her smile faltered slightly and her voice shifted lower, to more serious. “The nurse said someone should keep an eye on you — and I wouldn’t want to leave you, anyway. You still need help.”

Whumpee knew that. He looked down, fidgeting with the hospital wristband. If he’d kept every one of those he’d got even during the past year, he could probably sew them together to make full sleeves for both arms. Money was already tight, as Caretaker worked to support the both of them, and Caretaker missing work because of Whumpee’s various appointments and frequent trips to the ER had had their effect on their income.

“Yes, but…” he said, the familiar tearing feeling of shame finding its place. “I thought we would call Friend or Sibling to stay with me while you’re at work. We have before.”

“Now we don’t have to.” Caretaker glanced at him, frowning. “Do you not… want me to stay?”

“Didn’t they say you can’t keep doing this anymore if you plan to keep your position?” Whumpee asked. “You like your job. I don’t want you to risk losing it because of me.”

“They will understand. I told them it is a family matter.”

Whumpee’s cheeks got hot and he moved his focus away from Caretaker again, watching out of the window instead. They were passing by shops, parks, and pubs, taking many turns in the little streets of their labyrinth of a hometown. Whumpee hadn’t even noticed they had left the main road, but he definitely recognised where Caretaker was heading.

“You didn’t have to lie because of me,” he mumbled, as Caretaker pulled into the parking lot of a local, 24-hour barbeque restaurant they both loved. “About it being a… a family thing.”

Caretaker turned to Whumpee, finally being able to give him her undivided attention as she turned off the engine, smiling softly.

“I didn’t.”

#i... wrote... something?#you have no idea how much my not fluent speaker ass struggled with vocabulary for a thing this short #gentle caretaker #caretaking #sick whump #comfort whump #medical whump #caretaker x whumpee #whump writing #whump scenarios #whump fic #caretaker #whumpee #whump #whumpblr #my writing

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justbreakonme · 1 year

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“M-Master?”

Whumpees soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts and into reality, where Whumpee was peeking around the corner to the office.

“Yes? Need something?” He tried to make his voice light, friendly, but noticed all too late the tear tracks down Whumpee’s face.

“May- May I ask for an indulgence, sir?”

“Of course,” he turned fully, now laser focused, a yes already waiting on his lips, “What would you like?”

“If-if you please, may I request a- an hour of-of-“ their voice faltered, tears starting again.

“It’s okay, sweet, it’s okay, you’re not going to be in trouble,” he coaxed, desperate for them to finish their request, “Take a deep breath, and just ask for whatever you like.”

They swallowed, nodding, and tried again.

“Master, may I request 1 hour without punishment?”

“Without- What?”

He had never punished Whumpee, ever. What did they mean?

“I-I know that you have been merciful- you have not punished me yet- I- I am sorry, I should not have asked, I am sorry Master, please forgive me-“

“You’re okay, hey, you’re fine, I just want to know what’s going on, alright?” he soothed, “So, you want a set time, without punishment? But- Whumpee, did something happen? Something that you think deserves to be punished?”

Whumpee frantically shook their head, crying harder now.

“Please, speak. You won’t be in trouble, I just want to understand, okay?”

“I-I know that- that I will fail you. I will always strive to meet your standards, but I know I will fall short and need to be punished,” Whumpee took a deep, shuddering breath, “But I haven’t yet learned all your rules, preferences, and standards… I- I have not been able to sleep for days, Master.”

He could tell that their courage was failing, and he couldn’t imagine how brave they were being to face him now… He was so proud of them…

“Oh…” it all made sense now, “You just want some time where you don’t have to watch your every move, right?”

Whumpee nodded, crying too hard to speak, and now he could see the deep circles under their eyes.

“Of course, sweet, of course…” he wasn’t going to punish Whumpee at all, he’d told them that already, but clearly they had a hard time believing that, “How about this? You go take a nap, and you’ll have no obligations or expectations till tomorrow at 10 am. No punishment, no worries, nothing. Just make sure you eat something, anything, for dinner and drink plenty of water, and get some sleep, okay? That’s all that I ask.”

He watched their face, hoping to have hit all the right notes, and for a sickening moment, they only sobbed harder.

“Th-thank you Master, thank you, yes sir, thank you-“ they managed, bowing deeply, their shoulders slumping in relief like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Okay,” he secretly breathed a sigh of relief, “Good. And thank you for coming to ask me, I’m very proud of you. You did a good job.”

Following the conditioning was also not ideal, but clearly ideal wasn’t an option at the moment.

Whumpee seemed to light up at the praise, a few breathless thank yous escaping but then they were gone, dashing away hopefully in search of food and water before a well deserved night of peaceful sleep.

After all, that was all they were asking for. A night of peace…

He sunk into his chair and let his head rest on the desk for a few minutes, before pulling himself together and writing down every detail of their exchange.

This might be the way to help them.

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #whump prompt #whump scenario #pet whump #conditioning #conditioned whumpee #deconditioning #sleep deprivation #walking on eggshells

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tianablackwell · 1 month

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Part 2

Whumpee woke up not to their alarm but to a text on their phone, as well as a stuffy nose.

“You have 2 days. If you’re not out by then I’ll have the police drag you out.”

Whumpee began to type something back but before they could come up with another excuse, a new message popped up.

“You can expect to be billed for the cleaning fee and all the damages.”

More tears sprung from Whumpee’s eyes when they desperately logged into their bank account, trying to figure out if their next paycheck could cover their rent fees.

“I can pay you half of the rent this week and the other half next week, and I’ll make up for the rest within the month I swear.”

They waited impatiently, shutting off their alarm when it began to scream at them.

“No, you can’t and you won’t. And even if you were I’ve already made up my mind. Either move out tomorrow or be thrown out the day after. No more excuses.”

They wanted to scream. It was 7:38 am and everything hurt and they could smell all of the damn laundry stinking up their one bedroom apartment and they just wanted to scream.

Instead, they put on their final “clean” piece of clothing and walked out the door, hoping they would be able to catch the subwayso they wouldn’t be late. Again.

They did their best to brush their hair with their fingers in the elevator as it slowly crawled its way down. The station was a relatively short walk, but it felt like forever as their legs didn’t work like they wanted and their head pounded loudly in their ears. It pulled out just as they ran in, desperately yelling for it to wait just a fucking second. The cries were only heard by a disapproving mother and an old man just being startled awake in the corner.

Whumpee trudged over to the bench, pulled their knees up to their chest, and sobbed.

Why couldn’t they do anything right? If it was only one thing, that would be a different story. But no. They couldn’t pay their rent, or their countless bills, or eat breakfast, or wash the dishes or even do a load of laundry. That wasn’t even to mention the junk that had piled up over the past months when they downsized to save money. Their job was sitting on the line, which they weren’t even that depressed about with the absurd hours they’d been forced to take, and now they were going to be late again for the 3rd time that week and -

“Whumpee!!”

Their eyes snapped open to the familiar voice. Caretaker smiled and ran over to them, but his smile quickly turned into a frown when he sat down next to them.

Whumpee didn’t even want to think about how bad they must have looked, much less smelled.

“Hey, you okay?”

More tears spilled down their cheeks.

Caretaker’s eyes widened in concern and he pulled whumpee in, hissing when his hand brushed their forehead.

“Oh shit, you have a fever. You must be sick…why are you out here?! You need to be resting…”

Caretaker fretted over them, bundling them up in a down jacket when he easily lifted them up in their arms.

Was whumpee this light before?

“Cancel my meeting, and get us to the penthouse as soon as possible.”

The driver nodded in the window seat and quickly turned back into the road.

“You’ll be okay, Whumpee, I promise.”

Caretaker felt a sharp pain in his heart when the only reply he received was a broken whimper from whumpee in his arms.

#whump #whump ideas #whump writing #writing prompt #whump scenario #whump tropes #whumpee #emotional whump

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em-writes-stuff · 2 months

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too weak to move

day 18 of @febuwhump

whumper, villain, whumpee

711 words

warnings: captive whumpee, tied up, implied torture, torturing for information

part one here

“Villain,” someone says, drawing out her name. “It’s time to wake up.”

She blinks awake, bright lights assault her eyes and she tucks her chin to her shoulder, trying to block it out. She can feel something digging into her wrists and ankles; she's tied to a chair. She mumbles, trying to say something, but the words don’t come.

“Oh, no need for words right now, dear. Just open your eyes for me.” they say, voice smooth as honey.

Villain forces her eyes open and she sees Whumper standing over her, their face inches from hers. She tries to pull away, to get away from their hot breath on her face, but she can’t.

Whumper chuckles, “Good job, just like that.”

They back away from her, hands clasped behind their back. Villain looks around the room, trying to gather information. “What’s-”

“Shhh,” Whumper says, putting their finger to their lips. “No talking. You’ll wake him up.” they gesture to a sleeping Whumpee on the other side of the room.

“Oh god,” Villain breathes. “What did you do to him?”

Whumpee hangs from the ceiling, wrists high above his head. They’re nearly purple from lack of circulation. His chest looks…lumpy and is covered in bruises, the rest of him looks similar. His feet barely touch a stool, supporting a small amount of his weight.

Whumper sighs, “I wanted to have a chat with him, but he wasn’t very cooperative. Decided to persuade him a little bit. Maybe now that you’re awake I can get what I want to know, huh?”

Villain shakes her head, “No, just…let him go. He doesn’t know anything.”

Whumper rolls their eyes and looks at her, “I know he doesn’t know anything. I also know that you’re not going to turn on Supervillain if I try to get it out of you the typical way. The only way I can think to get the information I need is to use him to get to you.”

Villain shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to block everything out. “You’re insane.”

They wrinkle their nose at her and walk over to Whumpee. “Oh, Whumpee. It’s time to wake up.”

They kick the stool out from under him and he jolts awake.

He cries out, writhing weakly. “Please…”

Whumper frowns and shakes their head, “We’ve barely started! Don’t start whining yet.”

“Stop it,” Villain says, pulling against her binds. “What do you want to know?”

Whumper smiles and turns to her. “Something small to start, I think. How well does Supervillain know Whumpee?”

“He- he doesn’t. I mean, I’ve talked about him, but they haven’t met yet.” She stammers.

Whumper frowns and sighs. “I guess I’ll have to get him here using you then.”

She forces a laugh. “He won’t care.”

Whumper tilts their head, “Of course he does. You’re his little pet project. He took you in, trained you, and got you to work for him. He won’t just let you stay here and rot. He’s put too much time and energy into you.”

She shakes her head, trying to put on a brave face. “I betrayed him. He knows it. As soon as he saw the computer when he woke up, he knew. I’m dead to him.”

Whumper clicks their tongue and takes a step closer to her. “We’ll have to find out, I guess.”

Whumpee tries to say something, to pull their attention to him for just a second, but he’s too tired. Even if he could manage a few words, he wouldn’t be able to do anything.

Whumper waves him off, “Remember, it’s time to be quiet, Whumpee.”

Whumper takes their phone out of their pocket and turns it on, “Ok, Villain. Big smile now, I’m going to send it to Supervillain.”

She looks down at the ground, ignoring them.

“Villain…” Whumper warns. “It’s in your best interest to look at the camera right now.”

After another few seconds of her ignoring them, they grab a fistful of her hair and pull it, forcing her to look up. They snap the picture, the flash blinding her for a second.

“There, was that so hard?” they chide, sending the picture to Supervillain. “And now…we wait. I suppose we could have a little fun though, couldn’t we?”

#too weak to move #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday19 #captive whumpee #villain whump #villain whumpee #whumpee #captivity whump #em writes #em writes stuff #my writing #whump #whump fic #whump writing #whumper

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serickswrites · 9 months

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you don't need to answer this but I just found your blog and started reading Roadtrip and so far I ADORE it, omg, every chapter makes me clench my teeth in anticipation, like I KNOW what's coming because of the tags and I'm still on the edge of my seat

I'll be off to read the rest of your stuff once I'm done omg you deserve a whump crown

Oh my goodness, anon, you are so sweet! I am so glad you enjoyed Roadtrip, it was my first series! (Which is wild to think about now, lol). I am so glad you are enjoying it and I am blushing at your compliments. You are far too kind.

Please enjoy a little Drabble for stopping by!

Warnings: kidnapping, restraints, gag, drugging, yandere? Whumper

Whumper waited until Whumpee was asleep to make their move. They had been waiting for this moment for days. They had everything they needed, everything planned to a T. They had waited for Caretaker to be out of town. Waited for Whumpee to be alone. Waited for Whumpee to be their most vulnerable.

And now their time had come.

Whumper unlocked the back door and disabled the alarm—Whumpee was too predictable for Whumper to not be able to guess the code. They crept silently through Whumpee’s house until they reached Whumpee’s bedroom. Whumpee slept peacefully on their side, curled around a pillow where Caretaker usually slept. Pathetic.

In a flash, Whumper straddled Whumpee pinning Whumpee to the bed, had their hand over Whumpee’s mouth, and a syringe full of sedative pressed to Whumpee’s neck. Whumpee’s eyes jolted open as they thrashed trying to get away. “Forget about escaping, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed as they depressed the plunger on the syringe, “you have no chance. I’ve made a plan for anything. You’re mine now.”

Whumpee’s thrashing became weaker and weaker as the drugs took effect. They glared up at Whumper as their eyes grew hazy. It was only when they finally went limp did Whumper loosen their hold on Whumpee’s mouth. Quickly they slipped the gag into Whumpee’s mouth, taking care to tie it as tightly as possible while leaving Whumpee’s nose free—it wouldn’t do to suffocate Whumpee just yet. Not before they had their fun.

They rolled Whumpee on their side and bound Whumpee’s hands tightly behind their back, taking care to ensure there was no way for Whumpee to slip the ropes. They bound Whumpee’s ankles just as tightly as well. They stepped back to admire their work. Weeks of planning led up to this. And now they were going to have their fun.

Whumper lifted Whumpee roughly, dropping them on the ground with great relish. They dragged Whumpee along towards the door once more. They didn’t care if Whumpee was banged up before they got to their cabin. That didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they had Whumpee. They lifted Whumpee once more, taking a moment to admire how well their plan went as they stared down at Whumpee’s face. Whumpee was theirs now. And they were going to have their fun.

They tossed Whumpee into the trunk of the car, banging Whumpee’s head on the tail light accidentally. “Whoops,” Whumper chuckled, “though I guess a few bumps on the head won’t matter much.” They arranged Whumpee such that they would fit in the trunk, but it would be painful once Whumpee woke. If Whumpee woke during the journey. Whumper was fairly certain they had dosed Whumpee sufficiently that they wouldn’t wake up until after they got to the cabin. But they could always dose Whumpee again.

Whumper hummed as they slammed the trunk closed. They walked to the front of the car with a little pep in their step. They were going to have so much fun.

#serickswrites #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw gags #tw drugging #tw manhandling #tw kidnapping #yandere? whumper #requests #queue

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clickerflight · 9 months

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Burned at the stake: Part 4

Masterlist

Part 3

One more part after this one. I'm so excited about this story, my goodness. Also, I have, like, four more vampire whump ideas and I can't stop thinking about them all and the worldbuilding for the world this all takes place in.

Content: Vampire whumpee, carewhumper turned just whumper, silver burns, toe and finger whump, dragged by the hair, talk of vampire trafficking, it as a pronoun, dehumanization

..................................................

"Kyle! Wait! I need you, I can't speak to it!"

“I won’t have any part in this, Joanna,” Kyle hissed, turning on her and using his extra inch to try and intimidate her. “You need to give him to someone who can take care of him! You can’t keep him here!”

She began to look uncomfortable, but she bared her own teeth right back. “No! The vampire was there for the first age! The first dynasty! Who knows what it could tell us! You know we don’t have much in the way of records from that time.”

“Oh for the love of-he was a Hippo hunter!? What do you want to know? How to kill a hippo?”

“It knows something! It knew who the kings were. Even the smallest details it thinks doesn’t matter could make all the difference! We could be-”

“Rich?” he snapped, shutting her up. “Joanna, you and I have been friends for a long time, and that’s why I’m giving you a chance here. Give him over to the authorities and leave him be. You’re no better than those stupid black market treasure hunters right now. He’s not dangerous and he shouldn’t be kept in your shed.”

He stared at her for a moment and she opened her mouth, still at a loss for words.

With that, Kyle left and Joanna let him. She stood in her yard, turning to stare at the shed. She could hear the vampire moving inside, presumably trying to escape. She went to the shed only to lock the door and then went into the house to plan her next move.

………………………

In the morning, Joanna woke up with a plan in mind. She hadn’t really been able to sleep as she turned the problem over, but everything seemed to resolve itself. She would just have to teach the Vampire english. It was a vampire, a creature of strange magic, so it should learn fast enough.

As for Kyle.

She dialed his number and she was unsurprisingly sent to voicemail. “Hey, Kyle,” she said in a docile tone. “Sorry about yesterday. You were right. I’m calling some people to take it-him. Anyways, I wanted to apologize. Maybe we should take a break while I sort this all out and I’ll talk to you in a couple of weeks, yeah? Kay. Bye.”

That should take care of it. She knew Kyle and he wouldn’t be eager to see her again until his temper cooled. This sort of thing had happened in the past and they were used to having to take breaks in their friendship when they had an argument. This one would probably be longer than the ones that they’d been through in the past, but that suited Joanna just fine. She had a vampire to occupy her time with.

………………………….

The woman was back. Esial had forgotten to ask Kyle what her name was and now he was too afraid to try and get her to tell him through pantomime. She stared at him for a long moment, before taking a slow breath. She bent down and pointed to something on the floor, saying a word in her strange language. She pointed to another object and made the same sound.

“Silveer,” Esial repeated. That was the metal that would hurt him, then. She nodded and pointed to another object, speaking another word for him to learn.

The entire hour was spent like that as she pointed at things and named them. He was wearing something called a towel, though it’s purpose must not be for clothing because none of the things she was wearing was called that. There was a shirt and pants and hair and eyes and coins and shed. That was the name of the room he was in. He wondered what its purpose was when it wasn’t used to keep ‘vampires’ trapped. She had called him that and he tried to correct her that his name was Esial but she repeated the word until he understood. She seemed a bit annoyed with him by the end and left soon enough. He repeated the words in his mind for the next few hours of loneliness. He had nothing to do and he didn’t want to annoy her. He hoped she would feed him soon. He was starving.

So, he practiced the words in his head hoping to get to the point where he would tell her what she wanted and beg her to let him go.

She kept coming back and teaching him words of her strange language and he couldn’t understand the rules. The words made no sense and a horrifying feeling began to creep over him as he realized he’d just have to memorize everything. She was growing more impatient with him every time she came out, and grew even more annoyed when she saw him scratching at the cuff around his ankle. He shivered on the table, fidgeting with the now fraying towel and tried to repeat everything, but she was going too fast and none of this made sense. She didn’t explain the meanings of all of these words and he still didn’t know what a towel was for.

At the end of another session after a long period when she had been away, which only made it harder for him to remember all of the words and how they fit together, he hesitantly asked, “Towel?”

She looked up from her book full of little squiggles, annoyed.

He cleared his throat and asked. “Towel what for?”

She stared at him and a deep rage filled her eyes. She started speaking quickly, too fast for him to understand more than the occasional word. She was annoyed, though. He wasn’t learning fast enough and she was.. Running out of time? She said that a couple of times and Esial grasped the meaning of it. Running out of time for what?

“Time? How… long for…. Esial free?” he found himself asking.

The woman turned her ire directly on him and he shrank back even farther on the table, nearly falling off the other side.

“You. Are. Mine.” she said pointedly. “I saved you. I healed you. You stay until I am done.”

He lifted an arm, half sure she was about to strike him, but when he looked back, she had gone back to her book, muttering to herself.

Esial wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. There were worse things, he supposed. He wasn’t entirely bored, sure he was hungry, but he wasn’t hurting either. He picked at his nails glumly, waiting for the ‘English’ lesson to continue.

…………………………………

The vampire was becoming less willing to participate. Joanna should have seen it coming, but after it realized it wouldn’t be getting out anytime soon, it just gave up. It had only given the bare minimum to her and stopped flinching now when she yelled at it, but now it stopped caring entirely. It did not listen, it refused to repeat words, and all it said when she asked any questions was “Esial want out.” It even ignored her when she tried to correct its grammar.

Joanna was getting desperate. She had put off school and work and everything. She had everything hinging on the paper this stupid vampire was supposed to help her write and now it just glared at her when she entered the shed and refused to say anything! Her life hinged on this now! She was relying on that paper and here she sat with a useless waste of space and blood and she was going to lose her mind.

So, today, after a week of the creature’s silence, she walked into the room and continued right across the silver on the floor. The vampire realized the intent in her steps, but didn’t move quickly enough as she grabbed it by the hair, pulling its head back hard. It yelped, hand grabbing onto her wrist.

In front of her, in her mind, was not a man, but a monster that her career depended on. She didn’t care anymore. At this point, he would either speak to her, or she would sell him to someone who would actually get some use out of him.

“You will speak to me,” she said slowly. “Do you understand?”

Shakily, the vampire licked its lips, eyes darting around the room before it said, “Esial want free.”

Red hot anger licked through her and she moved, easily dragging the vampire off the table. It landed hard on the silver and screamed, writhing as it tried to shove silver away from it to keep from burning. She overturned the table, leaving nothing for it to scramble onto and left, locking the door behind her.

………………………

Esial sat hunched on a bare patch of floor. His back and sides were littered with burns, his fingers and toes peeling where he’d pushed the silver back. Dry sobs heaved through his body, the chain rattling with each movement.

The woman caused him pain. She’d hurt him because he wanted to leave and he didn’t want to play her games anymore. Maybe that had been stupid of him, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted out.

He wasn’t healing. It had been weeks without blood right after a tough regeneration and the blood had run out as his body used it slowly as energy. He was starving and all he wanted to do was go home to his little mud shack and wait till he was strong enough to kill some birds. He wanted to wrestle with hippos and see his favorite crocodiles. He wanted his Maman back.

He started rocking, sobbing and whispering for his Maman. He knew she was dead. He knew that his crocodiles were dead. Who knew how much time had passed. He got the sense that it was an enormous amount of time, and that only made him cry all the harder. He wanted to go home but he hadn’t even had a home when he had been taken and chained to that stake.

And then the door opened.

………………………………

Kyle had got a call from Mary, Joanna’s neighbor, her voice looping in his head.

Something was screaming. I know it was. She’s your friend. Check on her please.

Mary had bad blood with police in the past, and Kyle wasn’t going to bring them to her door if he could help it, but he didn’t think it would come to it. He wondered if the vampire had come back and killed Joanna. Or if Joanna kept the thing and it was screaming for help.

He took a stake with him, just in case.

He reached Joanna’s house in the evening just in time to see her get in her car and drive off. He idled in the street, surprised. It seemed like she hadn’t noticed him, though, and she looked perfectly fine if not incredibly angry.

He had a strange feeling in his gut as he parked in the street in front of her house. He took the stake out and trudged through the dew stained grass to the shed. The lock had been left open and he felt rather sick as he slowly opened the door.

The table was overturned, the chain of the ankle cuff caught under it as the vampire sat curled over his knees. There were painful looking burns covering his back and arms, his one visible hand red and blistered from clearing somewhere to safely sit. He slowly lifted his head and looked at the figure in the doorway, his eyes lingering on the stake in Kyle’s hand. There was no fear in his eyes when he saw it, and Kyle realized it was because he didn’t know what it was.

Kyle tossed the stake out and walked carefully over the silver, kicking away some of the closer objects to the vampire. He was only wearing that towel Joanna had given him in the beginning, the edges of it unraveled. He was covered in sores and blisters, and all of those looked recent, but as he uncurled a little to see Kyle better, the researcher could see every single one of his ribs and his hollowed stomach. Vampires didn’t bloat during starvation the way humans did.

Kyle crouched down and Esial stared at him.

“Esial want free,” the vampire whispered heavily.

“Yeah…. Yeah, I can do that for ya, buddy,” Kyle sighed, reaching up to run a hand down the back of Esial’s head. “I’ll find something to cut the chain. I’ll be right back.”

Kyle left the shed and crept around the yard until he found where Joanna had hidden all of her garden supplies. There was a branch cutter that looked like it might work so he picked it up and went back.

Esial looked up again as Kyle got the cutters around the chain. He strained to try and get them through the chain, and while he dented the link, it didn't do much more than that.

He instead turned to where the chain was connected. it was wrapped around a wooden support between the leg and the bottom of the tabletop. He opened the cutter as wide as it would go and bit the metal down into the wood. It gave a little, then splintered. He nearly fell over as the wood gave since he had been leaning his weight into the cutters.

He dropped it on the floor and fished the chain out from under the table, gathering it up in his arms. There wasn't too much of it, but certainly enough to trip the already damaged vampire.

Kyle held out his hand for Esial to take and the vampire did so, accepting the help up.

Kyle carried the chains and shuffled his feet to clear a path for Esial, who followed along after him.

As they stepped outside, Esial took a deep breath, looking up at the stars in confusion for a moment before he was distracted by something else.

"Blood," he whimpered, looking to a lonely corner of the garden. Kyle could faintly see something black coating the plants there and could smell the faint scent of rot.

"We'll buy you some later," Kyle promised. "We have to go."

Esial seemed to understand that and followed along to Kyle's car. Kyle opened the passenger seat door, dumping the chain onto the floor and stepping back. "Sit here," Kyle said, pointing to the chair.

Esial gave him a confused stare. "Sit? But we to go?"

"Yes. You will see. Trust me. Sit."

Esial slowly did and Kyle gently closed the door for him, which had the vampire scrambling at the door in a panic, trying to find the way out. Kyle ran to the other side and got in, leaning over to take Esial's hands. "It's okay," Kyle promised. "You're not going to be stuck here."

Esial's wide muddy eyes seemed to bleed out panic and Kyle reached into his pocket. He kept a fidget toy there for when he was reading lengthy papers so he wouldn't chew his nails down so much.

He gave the cube to Esial, showing him how some of the things moved and clicked and Esial took it, frowning at it as Kyle closed his door and started the car.

Esial jumped at that, eyeing the lights that started up on the dashboard while messing with the cube.

Kyle started driving and Esial stared out the window, eyes wide with shock as the world passed him by. Kyle wondered if he should avoid the highway, but he wanted to get home as quickly as possible, so as he got up to speed Esial gripped the cube like it was the only thing keeping him alive as he went faster than he'd gone in his entire life.

"It's going to be okay," Kyle said softly as they drove and Esial looked down at the cube in his hands, turning it over and over.

Kyle turned off into the small town he rented an apartment in. Joanna inherited her house from her grandparents, but he did not have that for himself. Still, he'd found a nice place to live and he had a guest bedroom. It had been used by a girlfriend he had at the time, but had been empty for months, and he was glad for it now.

He parked his car and pulled his jacket off, reaching over and coaxing Esial's arms through the sleeves and zipping it up.

"No one should be awake right now, but I want to be careful here," Kyle said before getting out and going around to open Esial's door.

The vampire looked around as he stepped out onto the pavement, eyes wide as he took in every detail. It had to be so alien to him, considering how long it had been since he had been conscious. Kyle almost felt bad that he couldn't explain everything to him right now. Instead, he grabbed the chains, put an arm over the vampire to try and hide him more, and went up to the house. It was a building with four apartments and Kyle lived on the top floor.

He got his key out, unlocked the door, and took Esial inside. He closed the door just as quickly and looked around. The apartment had not changed since he left of course, but he felt like he was seeing it with new eyes, imagining that he didn't have a single clue what anything in this room was.

Kyle gently took Esial's arm. "Over here. Let's get you set up."

Esial went with Kyle to the guest bedroom and stood awkwardly, looking around at everything. The room was a little cluttered becoming Kyle's storage room when Jocelyn left, so there were books and totes lined against the walls.

"Here," Kyle said, patting the bed. "For you to sleep."

Esial stepped over curiously, pressing his hands down onto the bed, eyes wide with surprise.

With the vampire distracted, Kyle steeled himself up to feed him. Everyone got lessons in how to safely feed a vampire these days in case of emergencies, so he knew what to do, but he had to steel himself to actually do it. He pulled back his sleeve and went to the adjoining bathroom to wash his arm off, which got Esial's attention immediately.

The vampire came to see what the sound was and stared in awe at the water pouring out of the sink.

Kyle shook his arm to get most of the water off before turning and lifting his arm to Esial. The Vampire stared at it before looking at Kyle in confusion.

"Blood. To eat," Kyle said, a lump in his throat as he said it.

Esial frowned. "Blood? Blood is to Kyle. Not Esial."

"It's a gift. To you."

Esial gave him a skeptical look. "Safe?"

"Yeah?"

Esial went back to looking at the arm and frowned again. "Esial.... doesn't know."

"No, it's fine, you can have it. It's yours."

Esial shook his head. "Esial doesn't know-" the vampire mimicked something that Kyle didn't catch. "Esial hurt Kyle. Not know."

Kyle was still confused so he switched to the ancient Egyptian language Esial knew.

"You do not know what?"

Esial's eyes lit up, like he had forgotten that Kyle spoke something he knew a bit better. "I do not know how to drink from a living thing. I only drank blood taken from animals. I do not want to kill you."

“Oh…” Kyle said, back in English. “I don’t really have a needle…. Can I feed you tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Esial replied, still in Egyptian which worked for Kyle since the Vampire seemed to understand him mostly fine though struggled with speaking the language.

“Alright, you get some sleep here. You can use the blankets. We’ll figure everything else out tomorrow.”

“Alright.”

Esial's Rescue Art

Esial: @whumpsday @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblue @hyrules-sleepiest-knight

Part 5

#vampire whumpee #carewhumper turned just whumper #silver burns #toe and finger whump #dragged by the hair #vampire trafficking #it as a pronoun #dehumanization #I love this story #And I'm very attached to the world this all takes place in #in future whump bits in this world #I have plans for the worldbuilding and it's going to be epic #burned at the stake #part 4

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toyybox · 3 months

Text

Spiderwebs #24: Heather Performs A Lobotomy

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, immortal whumpee, organ stuff, drugging, needles/injections

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Heather knew he was asleep, one afternoon, barely moving to breathe and curled up tightly under the blanket. She shook him, but he didn’t stir. She had given him the drug a few minutes earlier under the guise of another painkiller. When she shone a light in his eyes, he did not react at all, and she was certain she could proceed with her work.

Keeping him awake, while effective in sending a message, was inconvenient for dissections she actually needed to have done. Heather had mostly worked on cadavers during her education. Cadavers did not plead or beg and, most importantly, they kept perfectly still. For this, she wanted to be precise.

She placed him on the dining table, with a tarp underneath, then tied her hair back and pulled on her gloves. She was curious to see what was under that skull of his—the brain, that is. It would be a difficult procedure to enact. Permanent damage was possible, of course, and she simply didn’t know how to go about it. Saw through bone or dig through the back of the eye? It would be good to have samples of brain tissue, but cutting through a skull was much more complicated than simply pushing under the soft parts of the face. And, anyways, it was better to start with something small before she got ahead of herself.

Heather steadied the needle over his face, as she pried his eyelids open with her other hand. She wasn’t exactly sure how quickly an injury like this would heal. He had recovered nearly instantly from the bullets. He didn’t seem to change much after burning to death, either.

The needle slid easily behind the curve of the eye. She remembered the way her psychology professor had described it: severing a connection of nerves, and therefore severing some part of the self that acted and was able to feel. It blunted a part of the soul. Although this was not the time to be superstitious; such theological concepts would be of no use to her. She was getting distracted.

She hesitated, then pushed the needle in.

Something gave way underneath it. She winced. I definitely hit something… Something wet and yielding had been punctured. Or cut. And that was all she needed to do. She slid the needle out, watching as a thin line of blood pulled off its underside like spit from teeth. To ensure the effect would last, she pushed the needle into his other eye.

Jackie shifted. She nearly dropped the needle.

He was tensing up, moving, waking up. I must have given an incorrect dosage. It was always a risk, when some drugs did nothing at all for him, and others would only work in lethal amounts. He opened his other eye. His gaze moved slowly, unfocused as it passed over her.

She pried the needle out. A bit of blood speckled his face, but he didn’t react.

“I have a headache,” he said, slurring the words.

“How much does it hurt? One to ten.”

He shrugged. He tried to get up from the table.

She clicked her tongue and gently pressed him onto his back. “No. Stay there. There’s something I need to do. You won’t move, right?”

He didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t move either.

Luckily, she had guessed this might happen, so she had already prepared lidocaine to administer local anaesthesia. It wouldn’t put him to sleep, but it would numb him. She placed the injection above the side of his neck, below the jaw.

“What’s your favourite colour?” she asked as she pressed down on the injection.

“I don’t have one.”

“Really? I thought you would.” She removed the injection. He’s coherent, she thought, and he’s answering my questions, but he doesn’t seem to be reacting appropriately to the situation. Jackie usually didn’t like the idea of surgery. Either it was the drugs, or she truly had damaged some part of his brain. That’s still a minor cut, though. I want to see how a fatal injury would heal.

While the anaesthetic took effect, she prepared her scalpel, the drill, and the electrical bone saw. Jackie stayed quiet and still for his part, which she was happy to see. When she cut the skin open and drilled through the skull, eventually cutting it away, he didn’t even wince.

She reached into the inward valley of his skull and inserted the saw into the centre of the frontal lobe. It was incredibly difficult to cut out. The knotted pink flesh healed almost immediately. Nevertheless, she managed with some time and a lot of splattered blood, after which she placed the halved organ into a large glass jar.

Even cut out of him, pressed against the glass, it was reforming, albeit not as well as it should have been—becoming misshapen against the walls of its container, running out of space to mold with and soon slowing down its growth. She set the jar down on the kitchen counter and shook her wrist out. Her arm felt sore already.

The tarp shifted and crackled behind her.

Heather spun around to see Jackie sitting upright, touching his newly-healed head and glancing at his unbloodied palm with mild curiosity.

“Don’t—” She marched over and seized both his hands. “You’re a terrible patient. I told you to stay still.”

“Sorry. You shoulda tied me down, doc.” He still seemed to be mostly out of it. It was a fairly powerful concoction of drugs, after all. He gave her a loopy, puppy-dog grin, smiling despite the severe head wound like the big idiot he was…

She smiled back—then she immediately turned away from him. I can’t give him the wrong idea! Ruining my work the first chance he gets. He thinks he’s hilarious, doesn’t he? “I was being nice by forgoing the restraints, but I’ll keep that in mind for the next experiment.”

“What’s that jar on the counter?” he asked, leaning forwards. “Wait, I’ll guess—”

“It's none of your concern.” She picked up her notebook and pen and wrote a few things down. “Now, Jackie, I know you might not be in your right senses after all that. I need you to listen to me carefully and answer my questions to the best of your ability. I cut out a significant part of your frontal lobe. In a typical human being, this would result in death, or at least unconsciousness.”

“But I’m special.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. We don’t know if the damage is permanent yet. I’ll start with testing your memory and such. What’s your last name?”

“What’s a last name?” he asked innocently.

“Don’t play games with me.”

He batted his eyelashes.

She sighed. “If you behave, I’ll give you a lollipop.”

“My name is Jackie Rockwell,” he said. “Twenty-one, born and raised in the States, about five-foot-seven. There are eighteen groups in the periodic table. The smallest land animal is the Etruscan shrew. Level, racecar, and radar are all examples of common palindromes.”

“Smartass.”

“Chienne.”

“Cabrón.”

“I’m still waiting for my lollipop, doc.”

Pequeña comadreja. Silently, she pulled out a lollipop from her pocket and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, tearing the plastic off. “You were saying?”

“Right. As I was saying, I think it’s safe to assume the removal of brain matter did not affect your memory or speech. Your nervous system doesn’t change when it heals. I was afraid—” She stopped herself. Heather knew he would be fine. He always recovered. She had already set him on fire, and he had survived even that unscathed. It was just a shallow worry, nothing worth putting words to. “In any case, I’m glad that went over without any complications.”

“And what if something went wrong? Would you not care?”

“Nothing would…” She glanced at him. He had stopped smiling. This wasn’t a joke, apparently. “You don’t seriously think I would have let that happen, right?”

He shook his head, and his voice was sunny again. “No, you’re right. You’re completely incapable of making mistakes. I should have known. Why did I even bother to ask?” He sat up and got off the table. “What’s the time?”

“It’s half-past eight.”

“Well, I’m exhausted from doing nothing all day.” He held the lollipop like a cigarette between his teeth. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll take you to your room.”

Still, she was a little put-off by his sudden distrust towards her. There was something almost caustic in his cheerfulness. Maybe she was overthinking that. He was probably just acting out to get attention, the same as always. She decided to push it out of her mind and focus on other, more immediate issues.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

@yassifiedinformation

#whump #lab whump #whump writing #my writing #Spiderwebs toyybox #immortal whumpee #I have been seeing a lot of lobotomy-related things lately and I was inspired #yayyyy #🧠#for context Heather speaks Spanish but Jackie doesn't #Jackie speaks French but Heather doesn't #benefits of being bilingual I guess ?#I wanted to write something more lighthearted but the next chapter will be a lot more plot heavy #I'm sure they will be fine haha don't worry about it

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meraki24601 · 1 year

Note

Ideas on Whumpee who lost their initially empathic and selfless nature? They’ve changed and not for the better. Caretaker can’t recognize them anymore, even if Whumpee still adores Caretaker like a madman(romantically/platonically), so the only thing’s left to do is to try to get their kind Whumpee side back😭

Ooooooo that's good! Also, surprisingly hard for me to write. I hope you like it anyway!

---*-***-*---

Changed

You win, Mentor.

I told you they would be fine and I wouldn’t need to keep records of how they had changed, but you were right. Guess I should have listened. Again.

Whumpee has always been so kind though. I guess, I thought that was one thing that would never change. They used to care about other people. About me. But not anymore. I don’t know what Whumper did to them, but Whumpee isn’t the same.

They yelled at me, you know? That’s never happened before. Whumpee was taking a snack in the living room and I bumped into them coming around the corner. Their sandwich fell on the floor. I had just cleaned the floor several hours earlier, but it didn’t seem to matter. They were shaking as I picked up their sandwich. They didn’t yell immediately, but there was something in their voice. Something in the way they looked at me.

Honestly, with what they told me at that moment, I couldn’t really blame them for their reaction. Did you know Whumper fed them on the floor? Just dumped food in front of them, sometimes just out of reach. Whumpee was finally able to eat from a plate, and I knocked their food on the ground.

Yet, my mistake was asking if they wanted me to make them a new sandwich.

I won’t repeat some of the things they said. Let's just leave it at they called me a fool for wasting food. Told me I would regret it when I ran out and couldn’t get more. I knew they didn’t mean it. I could tell they were dissociating by the way they looked right through me. I don’t think Whumpee remembers what happened.

Most of the time they just sit there ignoring the world around them. Yeah, it’s kind of selfish, but I wish they would mess around like they used to. They don’t laugh at my jokes or make fun of me when I do something stupid.

Don’t judge me for this. I tested them the other day. Whumpee was sitting in the living room watching some old black-and-white horror movie, and I faked an injury. I know. I know it could have triggered them, but I needed to know how they would react. I faked a burn on my hand while I was cooking. They didn’t even look back when I yelled in pretend pain. When I asked Whumpee if they knew where the bandages were, they looked at it and told me not to bother. That my “injury” wasn’t worth using up some of the bandages.

Mentor, they never would have said that before. They used to throw bandages on my toe when I bumped it on a chair. I feel like I don’t even know them anymore. They’re kind of starting to scare me.

I’m not sure if I should tell you about this. Whumpee would probably be hurt if they found out I told you. Please, don’t tell them you know.

Remember back a year ago when Whumpee hit a squirrel with their car? I think they named it Maurice, held a funeral and buried it with a tiny grave marker? We hit a deer yesterday. Whumpee was driving with me on one of the back roads to get used to driving again. It didn’t hurt us. The damage to the car was surprisingly low, but the deer hit just right so that it broke its back.

Whumpee pulled over immediately after it happened with a quiet curse. I jumped out and rushed to the deer to make sure it wasn’t going to trigger Whumpee with a bunch of blood. When I turned around to tell them the deer wasn’t going to make it, Whumpee was looking over the damage to the front of the car. They didn’t even glance at the deer till I called their name.

They asked if it was dead. I told them no, but it was dying. Whumpee walked over, agreed with my conclusion, then broke the deer’s neck and killed it. They didn’t even hesitate. Whumpee asked me to help move it to the side of the road and went back to the car for hand sanitizer.

I asked them why. All they said was it was better than waiting for it to die slowly or risking someone else hitting it. They weren’t sad. Didn’t regret killing the deer. When I asked them about how they were feeling this morning, it took them a while to remember what I was talking about.

What should I do, Mentor? They haven’t done anything wrong, but it is wrong. They’re not acting like Whumpee. Obviously, I can’t tell them that. It would break their heart. Or worse, it wouldn’t mean anything at all.

I’m not giving up on them. I can’t give up. I’ll never give up, but I need help.

Please, Mentor, can you help us?

Part 2

#whump fic #whump scenario #whumpee #caretaker #whump writing #whump ideas #whump tropes #past torture #personality change #I wrote this like a letter for some reason #light angst #emotional whump

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year

Text

Hurt

(Vee asked for a continuation of this piece I had requested of Taron helping homeless AU! Jameson after he was badly injured)

CW: Description of wounds, runaway whumpee, reluctant caretaker, defiant/angry whumpee, some pet whump references

He'd made it to the alley near the guy's restaurant, figuring he could ask for some bandages or something - there's a good first aid kit, there. The guy's helped patch him up before.

But sometime before he could knock on the back door, he'd stopped being able to get back up when he fell down. The cold of the gravel and broken pavement in the alley had felt good against overheated skin, and he'd stopped trying to stand.

Then there had been a touch, and some sound, but Jameson hadn't been able to track it. He slipped in and out, bright flashes of pain, the sting of something over his stomach that made him flinch, murmured curses or apologies. In and out, dark and light. At some point he coughed and the pain was so bad he stopped remembering how to breathe.

There'd been some water sipped through a straw, he thinks now. There's a light somewhere above him, shining through his closed eyelids. A warm blanket.

And voices.

"Well, he's stitched up," He hears one voice say. A woman. He can't find the energy to open his eyes to see who it is. "I'll give Dr. Masood a ride back home. He'll live, Taron, but I can't take him."

"You can't?"

"No, and I'm so sorry. I know you're attached to this one, but I'm just not able to right now."

"Nat, I really need-... you're sure you can't, at least for a while? I don't know what to do. I can't keep him."

Jameson doesn't dare move even enough that they might realize he's awake. The disappointment in the man's voice, how he sounds genuinely depressed that whoever this woman is won't just take the inconveniently hurt little runaway off his hands... that... that hurts. Jameson didn't realize he could still be hurt that way, by someone not wanting him.

Huh.

That's... that fucking sucks. That hurts in a way he doesn't have a ready defense for. He'd thought the guy maybe kind of got along with him, a little.

"Nat, please. Please."

Jesus, he's begging someone to take Jameson off his hands? Tough strong scarred motherfucker so tired of dealing with Jameson's shit that he'll beg someone just to cart him away?

Jameson's teeth grind together. His side aches, where the knife had slid in when they took his warm coat, when he fought them trying to keep it.

His eyes burn.

Don't cry, he thinks. You don't cry anymore. You won't cry ever again. This is what people are like. Shouldn't have ever kept coming here. What, you think a runaway pet gets to make a fucking friend? Stupid piece of shit cotton-brained motherfucker, dry the fucking waterworks and get up off the fucking cot.

But his body won't move.

"I... Look. I just. I'll ask around and see who can maybe take him on. Do you have any idea who he was before? Designation?"

There's a pause. "Does that matter? For what you-... what you do?"

"Not for me, but... some of the others only take certain types. It's... it's a fight I'll never stop having. But if you have any idea, that might help?"

"No, I don't-... that's. No, I don't know. He just needs somewhere to go... and it just. It can't keep being here."

Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry-

They walk away, out of earshot. Jameson lays there, breathing as carefully and evenly as he can. Eventually, he finds his legs answer him when he wants them to move. He can still hear their voices, but farther away. They're not between him and that back door back into the alley.

Clinking of ceramic tells him someone's drinking coffee. It gives him cover to swing his legs over to the side and slowly force himself to sit up. Fuck, it hurts like hell. His side is a line of bright fire burning over the stitched-up wound. There's a shirt, one of the guy's. It's way too big but Jameson pulls it on anyway, drowning in the fabric. LIke wearing Nanda's old shirts sometimes, just so he could smell him when his master was away.

No.

He won't go down that road. Not now.

Getting pants on is harder, but he manages it. His own pants, stiff with dried blood, but fuck it. Fuck it all the fuck to hell. If Taron wants to get rid of him so badly, he'll make it easy for everyone involved and fuck right off on his own two feet.

Granted, his feet don't want to hold him. He has to balance against the wall, while his knees buckle and the world swims and the pains takes his breath so far away his lungs are screaming before he can inhale again.

But it's just one step after another. One hand on the wall, one foot maybe dragging a little, but he's been in pain since Brute, and he can keep being in pain forever if he has to. He was made to take the pain, after all, right from the start. Not pain like this, but... but he can handle it. He can take it.

And maybe this time he'll fucking learn his lesson. No one wants a scarred-up piece of shit runaway slut around. He's been bumming shit off this guy for too long already. This is just his sign that he's worn out his welcome.

He has to learn to stop wanting to be... wanted.

It's the hardest bit of his training to lose.

Everyone's just a different kind of shit, in the end. Everyone will hurt you, unless you learn how to stop being hurt. Stop being anything but a wall so thick that nothing can break through it, no one can break it down.

Pain rolling up his side, nauseating and throbbing, he turns the doorknob as quietly as he can. And still he hears the guy's voice say, "Wait a second-"

He tells himself not to pause.

But he does.

"If you don't want me around," He says without looking at him, voice rougher than usual and thready-thin from the pain, "Just fucking tell me, man. No hard feelings, yeah? See you around."

"What-"

Jameson nearly falls right down the steps, but somehow keeps himself balanced until he's walking as fast as he can with a limp down the alley, wondering how far he can get before his legs give out beneath him.

He grinds his teeth so hard his jaw aches.

“Wait!”

Just keep walking.

Don't look back.

Don't let it hurt.

Don't you dare fucking cry.

Not this time.

Not again.

#jameson bb #jameson au #homeless whumpee #runaway whumpee #stabbed #stab wounds #wounded whumpee #bbu #natalie yoder: here to help the rescues #broken trust #angry whumpee #scarred whumpee #jameson kind of made me cry a little with this one #defiant whumpee #aftermath of stabbing #angst #all hurt no comf

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 7 months

Text

A Cut

Summary: Written for AI-less Whumptober 2023 Day 14. Set during RttE’s King of Dragons, Part 1. Hiccup almost avoids being hit by the harpoon aimed for the Titantwing Dramillion

Warning: Some violence

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Fishlegs, Meatlug, Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Spitelout

Pairing: /

Words: 1 243

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: Bleeding through the bandages, field medicine, no anesthesia

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: I could've written something really heavy, but I decided to keep it light for this one.

Enjoy!

@ailesswhumptober

XOXOX

Hiccup saw the harpoon coming and made the split second decision to dodge out of the way. His left cheekbone burns intensely after. His heart pounding, unwilling to comprehend how close he's just come with death, he follows the direction it's going. Toothless’ gaze is only on him, having feared for a headless rider. The harpoon strikes the Titanwing Dramilion and it falls.

All he can do is shriek "no!" and give chase, but he and Toothless fail to keep the injured dragon from falling into enemy hands.

Watching as Johann and the Flyers flee the scene with the Dramillion, Hiccup barely notices the blood quickly seeping from his wound. Though Toothless can certainly smell the metallic tang in the air. One peek at his Rider and he's off to find Fishlegs.

-XOXOX-

Most of the Dragon Riders and Spitelout watch in strange fascination as Fishlegs tries his best to stop the bleeding. Hiccup sits on a rock as his friend holds his face. One hand cups his uninjured cheek, the other holds cloth to the cut. Toothless spaces from his one side to the other, keeping a close and worried eye on him.

"Do you guys really have nothing better to do?" He glares at his friends. "Like finding that Dramilion?!"

He’s in a bad mood for obvious reasons. He’s angry that they couldn’t save the Dramillion and that they’re forced to waste time treating his injuries instead of chasing after the Flyers. Fishlegs has a cloth pressed against his cheek, but it just keeps getting redder from all the blood he’s losing. It has already run down his throat and soaked through his tunic. That certainly doesn’t help either.

"Astrid's got it covered," Ruffnut speaks up.

"Yeah, and she's got it covered alone!" Hiccup protests. Another reason to be in a bad mood.

"Except she's not alone, she has Stormfly with her," she reasons. As if one dragon will matter to a fleet and the Flyers.

He can’t help but express his annoyance.

“Hiccup, don’t move!” Fishlegs protests, pulling his friend back. “This cut is very deep, I won’t be surprised if it’s gone down to the bone!”

“Man, your face is half off!” Snotlout remarks in disturbed fascination.

“Snotlout, my face is not “half off!” Hiccup sighs.

“You came close to losing yer face, boy-o. That harpoon almost took your head clean off!” Spitlout says, bellowing with laughter. Without a doubt, it’s going to be a good story to tell around the fire.

“That’s going to be such a cool scar,” Tuffnut helpfully states.

“You mean hot,” his sister argues.

Hiccup averts his gaze away from his friends, looking up at Fishlegs and patting Toothless’ nose. He hates being here when Astrid is all alone out there and when the Titanwing Dramilion- possibly the King of Dragons- is in danger. If they can somehow harness its mind controling powers… that would be disastrous.

Fishlegs' gaze meets his and there's an understanding between the two.

"Hey guys, can you go find me some medicinal herbs? I won't be able to stop this bleeding without them," he requests his friends.

"What? No, you don't," Snotlout crosses his arms.

"Come on, guys, I really need those herbs and Hurry! Hiccup is bleeding through everything I'm using!" He exaggerates.

"Actively dying here!" Hiccup ups the drama.

"No, he-" but before Snotlout can finish his complaint, Hookfang grabs his rider by the scruff and hauls him away. Meanwhile, Ruff and Tuff mount Barf and Belch and exclaim something about a quest before leaving. After Spitelout leaves the four of them have some peace.

A moment passes.

"Thanks, I really needed some peace and quiet," Hiccup thanks his friend.

"Oh, it's not a big deal," Fishlegs pulls the cloth away to see a fresh stream gust out of the cut. "But that cut is bleeding a lot, though."

"Don't most facial injuries?" Hiccup asks, remembering being told as such by the man in front of him.

Fishlegs regards him for a moment. He's right, but this one happens to be very deep. He presses a cleaner part of the cloth to his friend’s face, but it immediately colors a deep red. His hands are stained with it, too.

He sighs. He fears it might only stop bleeding when he stitches it.

“Meatlug,” he calls for his dragon and the Gronckle steps closer. Hiccup takes the cloth over from him to hold against his cheek as he rummages through his saddlebag looking for supplies.

-XOXOX-

“And… done!” Fishlegs remarks as he cuts the thread. The wound has been stitched and the bleeding has stopped.

Hiccup releases a breath, relieved that it's over. Just because his face was already burning as if on fire it doesn't mean that he didn't feel every sting of the needle pushed methodically into his skin or didn't feel his skin being pulled back together again.

"I'm okay, Bud," he tells his dragon. Toothless takes his paw back, he'd given it for Hiccup to take and squeeze in his lap. He licks the back of his hand. "Thanks."

"And thank you, Fishlegs. Both for stitching me up and for giving me some peace, I really needed it," he thanks him. The other Dragon Riders and Spitelout have yet to return from their mission to find botanical help.

He pats Toothless' nose.

"Oh, it's no problem, Hiccup. Really!" Fishlegs smiles at him. It's an expression Hiccup returns to the best of his ability, but it doesn't last long.

"Now we should probably find the others, catch up with Astrid before she catches up with the fleet," Hiccup says.

“Wait, right now? Hiccup, I just finished stitching you up, don’t you want to rest first?” Fishlegs asks and Toothless, too, seems to protest. He wants to chase after Astrid, too, but he would rather do it without risking his human.

“Fishlegs, it’s just a cut.”

“And it almost went down to the bone! You’re lucky you didn’t lose an eye! Or your life!” Fishlegs is exasperated. Of course, Hiccup wants to get right back up on his dragon and get to work.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

At that, Toothless all but roars in Hiccup’s face. He sits up right, paws using the human’s knees for support. He glares at him while the other stares up at him in surprise.

“Exactly what I was thinking, Toothless,” Fishlegs crosses his arms. Neither of them will be letting Hiccup leave.

The man must be in a lot of pain, because he sighs in defeat and concedes. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea to go flying with his face pounding like this.

“Fine,” he says. “But we have to catch up with Astrid.”

“I’ll find the others, we’ll go after Astrid and come back for you. I promise,” Fishlegs tells him and Meatlug approaches to let him mount up. She warbles at Hiccup, who pats her nose.

“Okay… If Snotlout and the twins give you trouble, just tell them that they’ll be doing patrol for a month if they don’t do what you say,” Hiccup tells him and he nods before Meatlug takes off. They leave Hiccup and Toothless behind.

The latter curls up around the former, his head ending up on his lap. Hiccup lays his arms on top of him and his chin follows slowly.

It stays quiet between them and a part of Hiccup is glad to stay behind with his Bud.

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whumpcereal · 2 years

Note

Jack & Joe after the bath; eating dinner together, trying to figure out where to sleep. Once again, Jack’s anxieties of what Joe will do to him that night or inevitably the next morning. Jack getting real clothes again, thinking he has to earn all these new kindnesses

Hello, anon! I think this kind of addresses what you were looking for?

Masterlist here; immediately follows these the bath discussed here and here.

content warnings for: conditioned whumpee, past noncon, brief emeto mentions, general fucky thought processes, and adult language

Jack stares at the table. It’s smaller than their old one, and it has folding leaves on its ends. It must be new, like this apartment. Except that neither the apartment nor the table is new. The apartment reminds him of the halfway-house he lived in after juvie, all shag carpet and cigarette smoke, the sort of place that wasn’t nice even when it was brand new. The table is scratched.

But there are two plates, two sets of silverware, two glasses. Two chairs. Like Joe intends to stay. But Jack knows better. No matter what Joe wants to make him think, he won’t fall for it. The other chair isn’t for him. He has to earn it, and he hasn’t. Not yet.

Joe won’t let him.

He ignored Jack’s offer in the bath. Jack was ready, and still it didn’t matter. Joe barely touched him. Sure, he washed the sick from Jack’s chest, but then, he pulled away. He left Jack alone in the tub and told him to take his time. He didn’t even stay in the room.

Jack sat in the tub until the water went cold. Joe was upset when he came back, but he didn’t yell. He only wrapped Jack in a towel, careful not to let his hands touch Jack’s bare skin.

“I brought you clothes,” he said.

And he did. Sweats. A sweatshirt.. Socks, too.

But Jack didn’t put them on. He wasn’t sure that he should. Joe didn’t tell him that he should.

“I’m just going to get dinner started, okay? Come out when you’re ready.”

Joe is in the passthrough kitchen, his back to the dining area, when Jack comes out of the bathroom. He doesn’t seem to notice Jack is there. Which is fine. It is. Good boys, sweet boys, are seen and not heard. And Jack doesn’t want to fuck up. He knows if Joe is unhappy with him, things will be worse.

He kneels next to the scratched table, the carpet prickly against his bare knees. He will earn what Joe is willing to give. He has to.

“Jackie?” Joe calls, throwing his voice toward the bathroom. “Dinner’s ready, baby.”

Jackie. Baby. Jack stares at the floor, and he lets his knees spread wider. He doesn’t answer, and Joe still doesn’t see him.

Joe waits for a moment, and then Jack hears him sigh. “Okay. You just come whenever you’re ready.”

Joe’s feet move closer, and suddenly, they stop.

“Oh,” he says, his voice sort of strangled and low.

Jack’s cheeks burn, but he doesn’t look up. He waits to feel Joe’s fingers in his hair, to hear the zipper drop, to taste Joe on his tongue. He wants to show Joe what he’s learned, to give Joe what he wants. What he’s always deserved and Jack has never been able to give him. Not until now.

“Jackie?”

Jack’s gut clenches.

“Jackie, will you look at me, please?”

Jack wavers, just for a moment, in the absence of a real command. Then, he looks up. Joe’s eyes are red with tears.

Shit.

“Why didn’t you–” Joe cuts himself off, and his head turns sharply. He takes a deep breath. “Jack. Please go put on the clothes I left in the bathroom, okay?” He hesitates, and then looks back at Jack. “And when you come back, sit–I mean, would you–please, uh, please just–please sit at the table with me.”

Jack cannot disobey a direct order. No, he will not. He wants to do what Joe says. It’s the only thing he can want.

“Yes, sir,” Jack murmurs to the carpet

“Joe.”

Jack winces. He should have remembered. “Joe.”

He pushes off of the carpet, the scratchy fibers digging into the heels of his palms. Joe doesn’t follow him, but Jack can feel Joe’s eyes on his back as he walks the short distance to the bathroom. The clothes are still folded on the counter.

Jack pulls on the sweatpants with shaking hands. They’re soft, and somewhere, he realizes that they are his. They aren’t new like everything else. He used to wear these pants all the time. There’s even a dried patch of white paint from when they redid the living room. But he doesn’t even know where that living room is now or if he’ll ever see it again. He cinches the drawstring at his waist, tighter than he used to.

The sweatshirt is next. It’s his too. A purple NYU crew neck that he’d barely worn before–well, before. Joe bought it for Jack to celebrate his graduate assistant position. It’s too big now; the sleeves hang so low that only his fingertips peek out.

He catches his own eyes in the mirror. He doesn’t look the way he remembers. His eyes are too big for his face. He’s lost inside the clothes Joe left. His throat is raw where his collar should be. His hair is still wet from the bath, but he can see that it’s too long, too thin. Maybe that’s why–why Joe–

Jack forces his eyes to the sink.

He doesn’t understand. Ivan said that Joe wanted him, that Joe would be happy with what Jack’s become. But Joe doesn’t seem happy at all. He doesn’t want Jack. At least, Jack doesn’t think so. Distantly, Jack knows that he used to recognize what Joe was feeling; he doesn’t anymore. But still, he knows that Joe’s upset, even if he doesn’t know why.

Or maybe he does know, and he just doesn’t want to admit it to himself.

Jack shakes himself and sits back on the toilet to slip on the socks Joe left. Those are new. Thick and white. Warm. He hates them. He feels like his body has been swallowed whole.

He isn’t supposed to think. Not about this; not about anything. It isn’t his place. And it’s better this way. It is. He doesn’t have to think. He only has to listen. Obey. Relax.

But he can’t help but think that none of this is right.

It doesn’t matter, though. Joe is waiting, even if neither of them knows what he’s waiting for.

Jack keeps his eyes on his socks and goes back to the table on heavy legs. It takes everything he has to sit in the empty chair. It doesn’t feel right–he belongs on his knees–but he does what he’s told. It’s all he can do.

Sitting in front of him is a plateful of glossy orange noodles and sliced hotdog. There’s so much food on the plate that it makes Jack feel a little queasy. Ivan never feeds him like this.

But Ivan doesn’t feed him anymore.

“I–I made your favorite,” Joe says softly.

Is it his favorite? Jack can’t remember. And it doesn’t matter anyway. There’s only one appropriate response.

“Thank you, s–Joe.”

“You’re welcome.”

The silence hangs between them for a moment until Joe’s fork scrapes against his plate. Jack doesn’t move. Joe hasn’t told him he can eat, and even if he had, Jack hasn’t fed himself in months.

“Is it too much? Like, too heavy?” Joe asks. “I know–I know you might not be up for it. You’ve had a long day.”

Jack should want to laugh. A long day. How about a long year? A long fucking life. But he just stares at the macaroni and keeps silent.

“Jackie?” Joe sets down his fork. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“Joe.”

“Joe,” Jack whispers. He wishes that it sounded the way it used to.

“Aren’t you hungry, baby?” Joe pushes. “Go ahead. I made it for you. Eat.”

Jack’s fingers curl hesitantly around his fork. It’s an order. He knows how to follow orders. But his grip feels unpracticed and strange.

“It’s okay,” Joe insists. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Jack closes his eyes. Joe can’t mean that. It’s another test.

“It’s only that I wanted to do something to welcome you home.”

But this isn’t home. If Jack could want anything, he’d want to scream it from the top of his lungs. He doesn’t know where home is anymore.

He shovels the fork’s tines under some noodles. Joe watches too intently.

“I’m–I’m glad you’re home, Jack,” he says. “You don’t know how glad.”

Jack stifles any answer he could make with a mouthful of macaroni and cheese, knocking the fork against his teeth.

Joe isn’t glad. Jack isn’t what Joe wants him to be. Even after everything he’s done–everything he let Ivan do–Jack isn’t enough. How could he be?

Jack can’t seem to make himself chew. He’s not really used to it anymore. Everything Ivan gave him to eat was soft and easy to swallow; his jaw couldn’t handle anything else. And besides, a good boy doesn’t use his teeth if he wants to keep them.

Jesus, he’s going to be sick again. Jack drops the fork and brings his hand to his mouth.

“Oh. Oh, shit, baby, I’m sorry.”

Joe scrambles from his chair and swipes the napkin from Jack’s place setting. He cups the paper in front of Jack’s mouth, his other hand heavy on the back of Jack’s neck. The touch makes heat pool in Jack’s belly even though he aches to pull away.

“It’s okay. Just spit it out,” Joe murmurs. Gentle fingers stroke what’s meant to be a soothing line down Jack’s skin.

Jack complies. But it’s not okay. He knows better than to reject what he’s been given.

Joe wads the napkin up and throws it on the plate. He grabs his own napkin and dabs at Jack’s lips.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I just wanted to make you happy,” Joe babbles. He drops the napkin and falls back on his heels. “I guess—maybe that’s—I mean, after today—I didn’t—I’m sorry, baby. I’ll get you whatever you want, okay? What do you want?”

Jack shakes his head. The question tears at the sinew in his chest. He doesn’t want anything. He can’t. Why is Joe doing this? Can’t he see that Jack is a good boy? Or, at least, that he’s trying to be?

“Jack?”

Joe’s still touching him. His hand is on Jack’s knee. Jack feels the familiar weight between his legs, and he tenses.

Joe ducks his head to find Jack’s eyes. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

There’s only one right answer, given what Jack’s just done. He swallows, and it tastes like sick.

“Punish me. Please.”

Joe recoils. “What?”

“I was bad,” Jack says. “And I want to be good for you. Please, sir. Joe.”

“You weren’t bad,” Joe says immediately. He raises his hand like he’s going to touch Jack again and then stops himself. “Never. It was my fault. I should have known that you—no, Jackie. You—I won’t do that. You’re safe. I won’t hurt you, remember?”

Jack’s eyes sting. How can he make things right if Joe won’t let him? Jack has to learn. So he won’t be bad again. If Joe punishes him, maybe it will make Joe feel good. Maybe he will want more from Jack once Jack’s shown him what his body can handle. What it’s made for. Joe might use him then. Maybe then it will be okay.

Jack reminds himself that he can beg. That he’s supposed to. “Please.”

“Please what, baby? What is it?”

“I need to-to be taught a lesson, sir. So I can be better for you.”

Jack looks up, and it’s Joe who looks like he’s going to be sick now.

“No. You don’t.”

Jack doesn’t scream, even though he wants to. His hands stay folded in his lap. He stares at the plate of macaroni and cheese, and he tries not to cry.

He does need it. He needs to be hurt. He needs Joe to take control. He doesn’t want to be tested anymore. It’s too hard.

Distantly, he knows that Joe has never hurt him before. Joe promised he would never. Joe has always been gentle with him, been the arms in which Jack found his escape. The tiniest part of Jack wants that now. Needs it, maybe. He missed Joe. Missed this. He did.

But it doesn’t mean he deserves it. Joe would never have sent him away if he did.

Jack can’t make sense of any of it. He should know better than to try. He isn’t meant to. He’s meant to be filled, and just now, he is empty.

“Please,” he says again. He doesn’t look at Joe. He doesn’t deserve to.

“You’re tired, Jackie,” Joe says. “You must be tired.”

Jack’s head pops up. Maybe Joe will take him to bed. Punish him there. And then, maybe he will lighten Jack’s burden, just a little. He’ll use Jack the way he’s meant to be used. Jack will show him what he’s learned.

“Can you–do me a favor, okay? Drink all your water. We’ll figure out something else for you to eat in the morning, but you need the water. And then we’ll get ready for bed.”

Jack reaches for the waterglass. He drinks. Joe nods his approval, but his face is tight. When Jack sets the glass down again, his skin is practically tingling. Maybe he’s a little bit afraid too, but that doesn’t matter. How Jack feels doesn’t matter. What matters is pleasing Joe.

“Okay, baby. That was good,” Joe says, stuffing his hands in the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie. “Follow me.”

Jack follows Joe down the squat hallway. There are three doors. One goes to the bathroom; the other two are bedrooms. Joe stops at the first one and swings his body wide so that Jack can go inside.

Jack doesn’t recognize any of the furniture, but the bed looks comfortable. He can handle this. He’s handled far worse. He sits on the bed, but he doesn’t move to take off his clothes. He’ll let Joe do that; Joe doesn’t seem to like it when Jack handles it on his own.

“I, uh, I know this place is a shithole, but I thought it might be better–I don’t–after what you’ve been through–”

Joe presses his mouth into a thin line, pink creeping into his cheeks. He’s embarrassed. The old Jack would have laughed and told Joe to spit it out. Jack does neither. His forehead wrinkles, and he waits for Joe to finish.

“I just–I picked this place because there’s two bedrooms. Plenty of room so that I won’t–so that you can be comfortable. I wasn’t sure what–you know, that–just, I thought–you can even have your own bed, Jackie. I won’t touch you.”

Joe smiles, and Jack crumbles. He wants to ask why, but he knows he isn’t allowed.

“Jackie?” Joe sinks to his knees in front of Jack. He almost reaches for Jack’s hands but then seems to think better of it. “I thought you’d be happy.”

Jack is happy. He’s happy to follow Joe’s orders. He should be happy that Joe isn’t going to hurt him, even if he does deserve it.

Except that he isn't. Except that he feels like he’s drowning. What was any of it for, if Joe isn’t going to touch him?

“Jack.” Joe’s voice is urgent. “Jack, I need you to breathe, okay?”

Joe touches him then, his hands wrapping around Jack’s. Jack can’t help it; he sobs and hunches over his knees. He can feel in Joe’s touch that he wants to pull away, but this time he doesn’t.

“Jack. It’s me. It’s your Joe.”

It isn’t. Jack’s Joe is gone, just like Jack is gone. He doesn’t know who he is now. He doesn’t know how to do this.

“Breathe.”

Jack forces himself to do as he’s told. His lungs burn, and he feels dizzy, like he did in the box.

“Again,” Joe says. “Take another breath, baby.”

Jack does.

“Keep breathing, Jackie,” Joe says gently. His thumbs move absently over Jack’s knuckles. “I know he hurt you. I know he made you believe that I wanted him to. But I didn’t. Jack. Please believe me. I never wanted any of this to happen.”

I never wanted this. I never wanted you. That’s what Jack hears. He bites down on his bottom lip until he tastes blood, but he keeps breathing because Joe told him to.

Joe’s sigh is heavy. “I would never hurt you. I–even if you can’t–I–baby, I know who you are. And I’m going to help you remember.”

But Jack remembers already. He forgot before. Ivan helped him remember. This is who he’s always been, who he was meant to be. He doesn’t understand. Of course Joe asked for this. Why would he let it happen if he didn’t?

“I want you to feel safe,” Joe says, voice creaking. “Always. You know that, don’t you?”

Jack doesn’t know it, but he nods anyway.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–I–I know you’re tired. Maybe you’ll feel a little bit better in the morning.”

Jack nods again. He won’t feel better in the morning. He can’t. Joe’s hands are still wrapped around his, and Jack’s body is waiting for something it will not receive.

Then, Joe lets Jack’s hands go. He turns down the bed and gestures for Jack to crawl under the covers. It isn’t an order, but Jack does it anyway. He slips beneath the comforter and lays himself out on the mattress and lets Joe cover him up. Because that’s how Joe wants him. Separate. Covered. Alone.

“I love you, baby. I’m so glad you’re home.”

Jack closes his eyes, but he does not sleep.

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy-s, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @no-terms-and-conditions-apply, @reflected-pain, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-pleasem @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keep-beach-city-werid, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things, @hold-him-down, @peachy-panic, @shimae-writes-whump, @whumpyblogthing

#behavior modification #tw past noncon #jack kenyon oc #joe prescott oc #first night home #and there's a lot that's not going well #everyone needs a hug and a vacation #and carl's not even there to help

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hurtthemgently · 2 years

Text

Pt 6

Masterlist

Cw: intimate whumper, restraints, non con touching and kissing, whipping, non con drugging, vampire whumper, faerie whumpee.

As the initial prickly feeling of the venom faded, they tried to move their limbs. After a few minutes of straining against the numbness, they only managed to shift their weight a couple inches

All the while they thought about the choice Ceran had given them. They couldn’t give up their name. It was their only protection, with it their captor would be able to control even their movement. He’d already abducted them and often kept them under the effects of his venom.

They could take some hits with the crop. Couldn’t they? Their mind went back to the welt on their side. It burned, and they were growing less sure by the second.

Ceran hummed to himself, replacing the panel on the hot tub. The cloud cover filtered the sunlight enough that he wasn’t weakened, and he was easily able to do the repairs necessary. Maybe he could install a glass or mesh cover. Both to filter the sunlight and to let his faerie have some time outside. But he’d have to make sure they didn’t bother anyone he hired to install it.

To do that he’d need their name.

It was about time to check wether they’d give it or not.

They sat with their arms chained above them, just where they were when he left. Their head lifted when he opened the door, but they couldn’t move enough to turn and look.

He circled in front of them and lifted their head in his hand.

“Ready to decide?” He wiped a tear from their cheek and cupped the side of their face.

They looked up, their eyes sparkling with tears, and a sob wracked through their shoulders. Their terrified cries were muffled by the gag.

Ceran pressed a gentle kiss to their nose and untied the gag. “So what’ll it be? Just a few simple words, and we can get you out of these bindings.”

He moved closer, breath warm against their ear. “Or, I can beat you until you can’t scream anymore.”

“Please- I- I won’t.. I’ll do anything, anything you tell me. Just-”

“So give me your name.”

“I-” They lowered their head, shaking. “not that. I can’t d- can’t do that”

“Well since you’re not giving me your name, I guess it’s the other option then.” Ceran picked up the crop, and held the end under their chin.

The first strike went just above their knee, and they let out a sound halfway between a scream and a gasp. More strikes, up and down their legs, stopping at the hem of their shorts.

Another on their forearm. By the time Ceran got to ten, they were trembling. They gasped, quick and shallow breaths that didn’t give them any reprieve.

“Do you want a break?” They weakly nodded, and Ceran ran a hand through their hair, ruffling the curls.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting. It’s not too late to change your mind. Pick the other option.”

After a moment they were able to steady their breathing somewhat, and they looked back up at Ceran. “Please s—” they sobbed “please stop”

“You know exactly what to do to get me to stop. The pain is your choice”

“I— I won’t” they took a deep breath, trying to steady their shaking. “I swear, I’m not going to give you my name.”

They put what little power they could use into their voice, and Ceran heard it. They wouldn’t be able to break this vow for as long as the power they stored in it lasts.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” He stood and held back the crop, his amusement completely gone, replaced with frustration.

They flinched as the crop hit right on their cheek, and, despite their best efforts, they started sobbing anew.

#whump #intimate whumper #whump writing #captivity whump #vampire whumper #fae whumpee #drug whump #whipping tw #restraints tw #non con drugging #non con touching tw #non con kiss

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kim-poce · 2 years

Text

Full House 30 - “Garden”

Previous | Next

Masterlist

This came out a bit more bittersweet than I planned

CW: Pet whump, multiple whumpees, caretaker new master, force-feeding mention.

=-=

There were two bromeliads on the youngest's window, as he did not join the others in the garden. Between the bromeliads was one of Beige’s aloe vera, so it was like —Beige liked to think— a small part of the outside inside the room.

Purple and Pink put their in the living room, it was —Purple was sure— bad behavior, but the opportunity of putting green things around the room he is in the most is too good to let pass.

Night put his outside, in a spot he can always watch when on guard, and Day's was inside his room by the window.

The pets weren't sure where Master's was, maybe in his room? Must be since no one could see it around.

Master Eri said that they could use the garden —a small, stair-like thing with three "steps", each one was in truth a wooden box full of black earth— as they wished, and that he would plant his other one later.

“So…” Day started, he was talking really often lately, not only the whispers to Night from time to time, not only the little warning of what he heard to Beige so he could do something about it, he was truly talking.

Night —as always— had a theory of the reason, he said the pets always used every little time they could to talk to each other, to warn each other, because they needed to in order to survive, and now every time they are alone and out of the earshot of Master they talked, he also said —while putting a lot of emphasis in how this must be a trap and how bad Master is— that there are less warning now, less perceived dangers, and more time together, so the pets still talk, but now they can talk about things other than a way to stay alive.

“Where is he now?” Day asked in a low voice, carefully digging a small hole in the soft soil, taking way more time than needed.

“W-w-with the boy,” Pink told, Master had entered the bedroom right after he left, which was scary but fast.

“Doing what?” Night asked, not caring about hiding the anger in his voice at first, but being more careful after Pink flinched. He had planted his snake plant in a couple of seconds as soon as he arrived and was now stabbing the soil with a plastic shovel, “We shouldn’t let Sir Eri stay with him.”

“We are pets, we can’t tell Master what to do,” Purple said, his voice trained but with a drop of warning.

“We can if we try, people are idiots anyway.”

“Night,” Day scolded, looking from one side to another, “Enough.”

Night tsked his tongue, he kept stabbing the soil, but now with a slightly shivering hand.

“What if-” Beige started, tracing his fingers on his aloe vera, “He said he won’t- won’t hurt us so what if-”

“Nope,” Night cut, “He is human, so he is bad.”

“I… I don’t want to to badmouth him but please Beige, don’t… don’t create hope,” Day said, voice full of worry and sadness.

Beige glanced at the lapdogs, Pink shook his head and Purple swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact.

“Y-you… you must be right,” he said, heart racing, he didn’t want to say that he won’t be able to steal things with the way Master is organized, he didn't say he can't help the way he did anymore, it would make the others scared, and he certainly wouldn’t say what he thinks Master’s identity is, he wants to be sure before telling such scary news.

The “garden” —it was kinda hard to see the five plants in there as a garden— was all planted already, but Master had yet to come to plant his, which wasn’t too bad, it was the end of the afternoon, the area was shadowed and the day wasn’t hot.

The lapdogs appreciated the sunlight and outside air, most of the time they must stay pretty and kneel in the living room, looking down rather than out the window.

Beige also enjoyed the time out; an allowed time to rest, near most of the other pets. He felt less lonely, even if just for a while.

“I didn't talk to him yet,” Purple admitted when the talk moved back to Little One, “Master never said I could go there.”

He also didn't say you couldn't do it. Night thought, but he knew that permissions must be clearly stated. “You want to?”

“I don’t want him to think I don’t want to meet him,” Purple said, the only time he had seen him was when he was punished in The Room, back then, the boy was unconscious and Purple was too scared and in too much pain to really pay attention to him. “But… but I’m not allowed.”

The other pets silently agreed, it isn’t because everyone is being bad that Purple needs to misbehave too.

“Is he… eating?” Day asked, Beige just shook his head.

Pink swallowed hard before speaking, “What is… what is the problem with with food? I know he doesn’t- he can’t eat, but why?”

Beige, Day and Night glanced at each other uncomfortable, “It’s…” Night started when the other stayed in silence, “... there is this… this funnel and Day hold him and I… I force the the food down and…” he was looking down guiltily, “He used to to throw up so… so there was a gag, and he he couldn’t… anymore, but he tries so…”

“Sorry, I I shouldn’t asked I-”

They all kept silent for a long time after that, just looking down at the ground. The only sound was coming from Night still stabbing the soil with the shovel.

“Oh!” Beige said, “I I almost almost forgot to to tell, he doesn’t he doesn’t like touching he he hates it, since since always.”

Pink looked up, “T-this explains why he backs away when I touch the bed… thank you I’ll I’ll keep this in mind.”

They all wanted to ask how things would be from now, but neither of them would be able to answer, and talking about it would only scare them, so they tried to simply enjoy the little current piece instead of thinking about the uncertain future.

Master came after a while, he praised everyone, gave pets to everyone, and planted his small succulent in a corner, as if he didn’t want it to mix with the pet’s plants, “It’s getting late,” he said, “Let’s come back inside, I made dinner today.”

Beige glanced up, but before he could beg for forgiveness Master told him that it was okay, he patted him once more and they all came back inside. Master was nice once again, as all the days before that, and the pets were just actively killing any hope threatening to grow, and trying to keep these nice moments in their memory because they know it won’t last long.

=-=

Taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-blog, @wolfeyedwitch, @octopus-reactivated, @sufferfictionalcharacters, @rat-father, @badluck990, @onlybadendings, @inpainandsuffering, @mazeish, @neuro-whump, @freefallingup13, , @sideblogformindtrash, @extemporary-username, @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight, @melancholy-in-the-morning, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @neverthelass, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpfessional, @sinning-shipping-trash, @batfacedliar-yetagain, @scp-1296, @dont-touch-my-soup, @endlesscyclezz, @nicolepascaline, @rose-pinkie, @latenightcupsofcoffee, @theadorelocksly, @dyingisbadforyourhealth

#whump #Pet whump #multiple whumpees #caretaker new master #caretaker new whumper #force-feeding mention #institutionalized slavery tw #institutionalized slavery #Full House #Eri #Beige #Night #Day #Pink #Purple #my writing

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auroragehenna · 6 months

Text

"Torture, watching stuff, singing" X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*

CW/TW: Sui^ide attempt (briefly and failed), creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, creepy comfort, non-con drugging Word count: 1'393

Lyra wakes up laying on something…soft, something not stable. She tries to move and register that she’s tied up. Arms tied behind her back and legs are bound together. She start to tense up and shake, even though she’s trying her best to suppress it. Yeah, I’m doing a glorious job at that…, she thinks.

“Well, well, well. Looks who’s finally awake.”, says Adam’s voice as he come up to the edge of the pool and into Lyra’s field of vision. A triumphant smile lays on his face as they muster Lyra.

Lyra meanwhile cautiously attempts to get into a sitting position without capsizing the air mattress. Eventually, she succeed and met Adam’s gaze, head held high.

“So? How do you like it?” He asks, opening his arms to the room.

Lyra looks around, it looks like he brought her into an abandoned pool building. The windows are overgrown and only the lights in the pool are enlightened. The water is approximately her height, a bit more. “Very clever. Looks like you made the water slightly higher than I am tall. So should I end up in the water I would of course be able to swim or jump but not for long. Therefore, I can’t really do much.”

“Told you. And as I see you haven’t lost your know-how, how delightful.”

“Of course not, takes more than you to robme of my expertise.”

Adam grins, even though it resembles more bared teeth.

“That so? Well, I guess we’ll see about that won’t we.”

Lyra looks Adam in the eyes, exhales and drops to the side. Falling into the water but not even attempting to reach the surface again.

Adam’s eyes get wide, and he dives into the pool, grabs Lyra, and gets her to the edge of the pool. He shoves her up the edge and then climbs up themselves.

She coughs out water but doesn’t seem gravely injured.

Adam gets back on his feet and approaches Lyra, who immediately starts to shake. He walks up to her and then bends down to her tied-up form. Adam supports her while she coughs out the water. After a few moments the coughing stops, but not the shaking and Adam knows exactly that it doesn’t come from the temperature. He puts a hand behind Lyra’s neck to lift her into a more upright position.

“What was that, my dear?”

“I had two options. I chose the better one.”

Adam laughs dark. “Death was never an option for you. Or did you really think I would just let my plaything die? No…You’re not getting away from me that easily. We’re going to have so much fun together, don’t you think?” He shifts his hand a bit on her throat and then squeezes and after a few seconds her body goes limp and the fear-filled eyes close. Adam smiles as Lyra passes out, leaving herself completely vulnerable to him. He remove the bindings and prepares a new cloth with chemicals to put over her nose to prevent Lyra from waking up too fast. Afterwards, he went into the control room and drained the waterfrom the basin. While the pool was drying out, he removed the cloth from her face and as soon as she started to show signs of waking up, he picked her up and jumped into the now-emptied basin with her. He did remove all the stairs before all this started, what kind of prison would this pool be if Lyra could just climb out after all?

When Lyra wakes up she is completely disoriented. What’s going on? Where am I? Somebody’s talking to me, I know the voice, but I can’t classify it. I’m being held in somebody’s arms. “[Caretaker’s name]?“ Now somebody’s playing with my hair-She manage to smile-“I love you too, but can you please put me down, I’m feeling a little dizzy.”

“That’s a step in the right direction, sweetheart.”

Finally, Lyra’s brain can connect the voice to a certain emotion and the rush of adrenaline brings her back completely. She understands just how wrong she was. How very, very mistaken. She tries to get out of the Adam’s arms but fails to do so.

“Oh no, no, by all means, keep going. Your love is already a step in the right direction.” He gently strokes her hair “And so much more comfortable than your sacred defiance, isn’t it?”

Lyra shivers under Adam’s touch. Then she takes a deep breath and meets his gaze.

He just laughs: “How long…will it take for you to lose control? What will I be able to do to strip you of your self-control?”

Lyra angrily grinds her teeth, but then gave him a confident smile “You won’t find out.”

“Sure will.”, Adam replied, and then put her down and got up. He sticks his hand out to Lyra, offering to help her up.

She suspiciously inspects his hand and then gets up by herself.

“I’m terribly hurt.”, He jokes.

She visibly tries her best not to smile.

Suddenly Adam attacks her, but she jumps back and yanks her arms up in a defensive position.

“Pity, I was hoping your guard was down.”, He said with a mischievous grin.

“Because you cracked one joke?”, She said, croaking an eyebrow.

“Eh.”, he shrugged his shoulders. “Aren’t you hungry? I’m starving.”

Lyra stayed silent, obviously not trusting the situation.

He climbed out of the pool and returned with a basket after some time. Adam puts the basket in front of her and takes a few steps back.

She stares at the basket, then cautiously approaches it, and looks inside. It contains…Food.

“Is it poisoned? Drugged? Filled with sedatives? Rotten?”, she asks.

“It’s clean.”, he replies, “I can taste it before you if that helps.

“You could have consumed the antidote already.”

“Wow, aren’t I the one with the trust issues?”

Now Lyra does laugh: “Oh yeah, I’m terribly sorry. Should I rather be extremely oblivious, while literally being held captive?”

“I mean, it would be funnier.”, Adam smirks.

Her smile dries out and her eyes get serious again.

Adam chuckles but then also gets serious again. “No, but really, it’s just food.”

She sighs and sits in front of the basket. My manners tell me to give them my gratitude but damn I will. I remember a sentence from a book I read, «I’m not obligated to be polite to somebody who sees me as their (next) victim». She longs in the basket and takes out a closed bowl. She sees cut strawberries in a red-ish juice as I open it, just like we ate them at home. She stares at them in disbelief, then looks up at Adam. Tries to read into their face, what’s the catch? Where’s the trap? But he has put on a poker face that gives away nothing. He only hands her a plastic fork.

“After what you did in the beginning, I thought it’d be best to let you eat with plastic cutlery.”

“How thoughtful.”, she retorts sarcastically. She took the fork and yet still tested the sharpness of the points before piercing one of the strawberry pieces. She smelled it but then decided to eat it. Her whole face lightens up in pure enjoyment as she continues to eat the strawberries. Then she hesitates, looks up and asks: “Do you also want some?”

Adam, up to now standing a few steps away, watching her, comes closer and sits on the opposite side of the basket. He takes out something wrapped in aluminium and unwraps it, holds a sandwich with-what looks like meat. Showing Whumpee that they’re served. He watches the whole scenery with amusement. Whenever he makes a sudden movement Lyra looks ready to jump up and go fight or flight. Even if, of course, escape is impossible. The fear in her eyes and her expression is, although she tries to hide it, completely obvious to him. She looked so puzzled about the food, about being given the strawberries she loves so much and not dead rats or whatnot. No, no, no, can’t have my property die so fast, so for now there will be food, healthy food. She’ll find out the catch soon enough… Lyra finishes her strawberries and a banana, while Whumper eats one more sandwich. Then Adam disappears with the basket, leaving her alone again.

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt, @imnotamurdereripromise

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