Gen V

whumptober, day fifteen: lies | new scars | breathing through pain

part of the kennel. masterlist here.

content warnings for: dehumanization, pet whump, captivity, aftermath of whipping, forced nudity (non-sexual), restraints, light med whump, stockholm syndrome, negative self-talk, adult language

part nine, in pieces

Will doesn’t know how to process what he’s feeling. 

Okay, so there’s the physical. And that’s bad. Like, really bad. He thought it was bad while it was happening–and Jesus, it was–but it’s worse now. It feels like someone beat him half-to-death with a tree branch and then dragged him naked over rough carpet. It’s–well, it’s not a great feeling. It’s maybe the worst pain he’s ever been in. Physically, anyway. He can’t move, can’t fucking breathe without feeling every stroke Doc laid on his back.

Lüge

For @whumptober 2022, Day 3: Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled

CW: Blood, torture, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, guns, implied noncon, intimate whumper

Death Valley

-

Somewhere near Highland Peak in California, 2003

Kent Reyes pulled up out front of the little motel as the sun began to rise, throwing some pretty gorgeous oranges and pinks around as it made itself known. He’d been driving with the windows down, breathing in fresh air crisp with the night’s chill and scented like the forest around him. 

It was an hour’s drive from his little town down the winding highway that led to the unassuming motel, but the salary didn’t suck. The salary ruled, actually. Plus two weeks of vacation each year, week of sick time, decent health insurance? Really, he had it made.

Plus, the owner of the motel got him free passes to basically anywhere he wanted to hike. The whole motel thing was some kind of vanity project, the owner was the grandson of the original guy who built the place, and he liked keeping it open and running for nostalgia. 

It had to cost Reston a pretty damn penny, but a rich dude like that - Charles Reston ran some company his father had started with an old college buddy and somebody else they knew that had really exploded and made them all literal billionaires - could afford to throw money around like confetti. 

And Kent wanted to be one of the people standing under the money-shower as it landed.

He sat in his parking spot for a while, just breathing in the day as he straightened his button-up shirt and clip-on tie, ran fingers back through his shaggy brown hair to get it back, more or less into place, scanned the little parking lot in front of the couple dozen motel rooms to check for guests.

About the same as when he’d left. Couple of Toyotas, a beat-up Camry and a somehow even worse-for-wear Corolla stubbornly refusing to be anything but useful, a couple of family minivans with carseats and window clings announcing to everyone that the people who owned them had reproduced, as if anyone particularly needed to know. Couple of smallish pickups, one he recognized as a regular who more or less lived permanently in the corner room at the end.

He did see a new truck, though, that hadn’t been there the night before. Kent frowned, making a note of it. Not that it was unusual for somebody to show up after he’d already gone for the day, but he tried to get a good look at everyone’s vehicles. He had a good memory for them, helped him with remembering their faces while they stayed, too.

The scent of bitter, cheap coffee smacked him in the face as soon as he entered, and he sighed happily as he stopped by the little table next to the door and poured himself a cup, dumped in too much milk from the little carton they kept in the minifridge behind the desk, and took a drink so hot it nearly burned his mouth. 

Kent was a creature of routine, and his workday always started with bad coffee.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” He said, voice painfully bright and cheerful, to the night manager.

Melinda Payne, a forty-something woman with three bad marriages in the rearview mirror, two grown sons, and no remaining patience for the bullshit of men simply gave him the middle finger by way of greeting and stood up to gather her things. 

“You know what I love about working with you?” Kent took her seat once she was up, feeling the instinctive vague discomfort that always came from sitting down somewhere that had already been warmed by someone else’s ass. “How you’re just so full of sunshine every single morning. I love it.”

“That’s me,” Melinda drawled, voice dry. “Barrel of laughs, day in and day out. We had a fresh one last night.”

“Yeah, saw his truck. Name?”

Melinda leaned over his shoulder and pointed down at the small guestbook, still written out by hand. They had a computer, and Kent usually spent some time inputting all the handwriting into the spreadsheet that was the half-assed attempt at digital recordkeeping, but he and Melinda both felt better having that handwritten backup. “Jeremiah Lȕge. Two little dots, right there, he wrote it himself.”

“Lie,” Kent muttered, frowning and tipping his head to one side.

“What?”

“Lȕge. Means lie in German.”

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Bo, meet the garage

part 1/ part 2

cw: captivity, wounds, open wounds, bruises, touch-starved, caretaker knows whumpers, and is working with the whumpers, dubious caretaker figure, sympathetic whumper could be another title for nick. Bo is sweet.

Bo was in a small space, not much bigger than most walk-in closets. His new captor put him there. He also gave him a small paper cup filled with peanut m&m’s and put a hand in his hair before he left. The latter made Bo’s heart pound in well-learned fear, but he found himself thinking of it for half an hour afterwards, a hollow ache in his chest.

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Whump Drabble #15

Inspired by @ziptiewhump's test subject prompts.

@forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumping-to-conclusions @whumping-out-of-time @thehopelessopus @brutal-nemesis

CW: lab whump, inhuman/minor whumpee, blood, needles, strapped down, experimentation, muzzled

The muzzle strapped to Victor’s face is tight, too tight, making it difficult to breathe. He sits perched on the edge of his cot, gripping the edge with white knuckles. They thought he was dangerous. They thought he might bite them with his unusually sharp teeth, so they muzzled him. But he’s not a monster. He’s just a boy.

The door unlocks and swings open, revealing the white-coated figure of the scientist himself. They’ve never dealt with a faerie before, even a half one, so the scientist makes it a point to deal with Victor personally. The eager smile stretching his mouth makes Victor suddenly feel sick.

“Come with me, Number Seven. We need to take some blood samples.” He motions for Victor to follow, already turning back into the hallway. The boy gets up slowly, afraid. What does the man mean, blood samples? Are they…is he going to take Victor’s blood somehow? His legs shake as he trails behind, all the way to the main laboratory. The same room where his skin burned for the first time at the touch of iron. The scars are still fresh on the boy’s arms and torso.

The scientist gestures at a gurney, studded on the sides with straps. “Lie down, boy, and hurry. We have a lot to do in the next hour.”

A lot to do. Victor shivers. This room is always cold, and his fear only makes it worse.

He climbs up obediently, hating himself even as he lies back on the cold metal. He doesn’t have to do it. He doesn’t have to do what they want. He doesn’t have to—

The scientist straps him down before he can react.

“You need to keep still now, Seven,” he says, securing the boy’s ankles. “No moving around when the needle’s in.”

Needle? What’s a needle got to do with—

Victor’s breath snags as a sharp pinch drives into the crook of his elbow. He shifts his head to the side. A thin tube extends from a small vial on a tray to the needle piercing his own flesh.

He’s never had blood drawn before. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like seeing his own blood leaving his body. And the muzzle just makes it worse. He can’t open his mouth, can’t get quite enough air, can’t speak.

“That’s it, very good.” The man switches the full vial out for an empty one and the boy's blood continues to flow. The minutes pass by in silence, and Victor lies still in his restraints, trembling just a little, listening to his own heartbeat. His head feels funny.

“Faerie blood,” the scientist mutters, sounding pleased. “So many possibilities…such a find…”

A find. Victor realizes with a start that the scientist is referring to him. But then the thought fizzles out in his head and he can’t think straight anymore. It’s too cold, and his body feels weak.

After what feels like hours, the scientist finally removes the needle and presses a piece of gauze over the bead of red that swells in its wake. The half-fae boy blinks back into consciousness and immediately squeezes his eyes shut again. Too bright. The lights are too bright, the air icy in his nostrils.

“All right, we’re done, Number Seven. Wait here while I take care of these vials.”

He’s distracted, focused on the faerie blood he holds in his gloved hands. Of course Victor will wait. He can’t move. He wouldn’t, even if the straps weren’t holding him down. His body feels too strange.

And then someone screams, and glass shatters outside the room.

Only Temporary: Sebastian Tate

Hello. I was completely blown away by the positive response I got on the first piece of Jaime’s story (title under construction). Thank you to everyone who had a kind word to say about it! You made me really happy I made the mildly frightening choice to post.

In the interest of acclimating to the no-rules, freedom-to-post-out-of-order structure of this community, I wanted to introduce a new piece of the puzzle this time, with a new character that will come into play later.

Also, this piece goes into a little bit of the details, but for frame of reference on the BBU-adjacent thing: this story takes place in a not-so-distant future of the BBU, where WRU has undergone some changes. I look forward to exploring this world building more as I go.

Anyway, I’m rambling again. Thanks for reading. Here it is:

WARNINGS: General BBU warnings, talk of institutionalized slavery, classism, and general terribleness of large corporations. Referenced past homophobia and rough parental relationships, briefly implied/referenced non-con.

When Sebastian reflects on the day he graduated from med school, a sort of emptiness is the memory that first bobs to the surface. Among the cheers and camera flashes in the crowd, white coats and proud smiles, what Sebastian recalls most vividly from that day is looking out into the sea of parents and families and people there to support their loved ones on one of the biggest days of their lives, and not seeing a single person that had come for him.

What should have been one of the happiest moments of his life had been quickly overshadowed by the sinking feeling that none of it mattered as much as it would have if he had someone to share it with. Like there was something so fundamentally wrong with his life, that even something as objectively good and right and decent as becoming a doctor could be dulled over into a feeling of nothingness.

Perhaps, he thinks in hindsight, that moment had been foreshadowing for the following months ahead of him.

OH, another thing— I meant to add that if you are interested in being part of a tag list of some sort for this story, I am happy to make one! Just let me know :)

I would love to be added to a tag list for this!!

Doll Maker, 2

Part 1, kidnapping

CW: Kidnapping, gagged and restrained, syringe, forceful blood draw, creepy whumper. 

The trunk swung open, revealing a pair of cold eyes that stared down at their bound victim. Sweat beamed on Whumpee’s brow, they glared up with both anger and fear painted on their face.

The man’s lips tsked as he thumbed off the sweat and tears from Whumpee’s cheeks, who huffed angrily and cranked their head away. Whumper’s hand instantly wrapped around their jaw, slamming their head to the trunk floor.

“Behave… Little Doll.” The man hissed. He released his grasp slowly, watching for any signs of defiance. Whumpee huffed quickly through their nose, but didn’t dare move again.

His fingers turned soft, tenderly caressing their damp hair back. Wordlessly, they grabbed the duck tape around Whumpee’s wrists and hoisted them over his shoulder.

“Mmph!?” Whumpee muffled through the gag, trying to worm out of his hold.

 Whumper wound one arm behind their knees, the other arm reached up grabbing the back of Whumpee’s jeans to keep their hips from struggling. 

Keep reading

day three. | bad things happen bingo, #4.

desc: Torsten loses control of himself for a while.

prompt: "delirium", bthb

cw: sleep deprivation, alcohol use (brief), substance use (implied), hallucinations, delusions (paranoid/religious), broken bones, hospitals (brief)

wc: 2,635

tags: @whumpervescence , @whumpasaurus101

Yay Gagged and kidnapped whumpee!!! >:D

CW: bound and gagged, kidnapped, stepped on, manhandling, pet whump, human trafficking (pet whump), dehumanizing language

In the Trunk

The thumping from the trunk only got louder as the car came to a halt. The passenger rubbing a hand over their face, looking annoyed and exhausted from the trip. They had been listening to the captive kick at the inside if the trunk for the last two hours.

New Picrew!

Use this link :)

For some reason the link keeps changing despite me saving it correctly. To use it, just delete the “https :// href. li /?” part. (I had to split it up otherwise it links it haha.)

If anyone can find good male picrews, please send them to me, thanks!

Not a ton of options, but this one surprisingly captured my features very well. And the clothes are adorably hilarious. Hehe, worm shirt. Feel free to do OCs as well :D

@nightfrostshadow @creweemmaeec11 @akawrites000 @igotthesmellofbooks @kactus-loves-writing @sunflower1000​ and anyone else who would like to join!

Thank you for the tag! @amethystpath-writes :D <3

My hair is actually longer ahaha but the other hairstyle wasn’t looking good so ponytail it is :) 

Also the last time I had worn dungarees was ages ago when I was very young ahaha but the shirt kind of looked incomplete or too casual haha  

Tagging- @akawrites000 (again ahaha) , @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ , and anyone else who wants to! :)

No red hair but I’m naturally brunette so that works too.

Tagging @jordanstrophe @thehopelessopus and @as-a-matter-of-whump if you want!!

Late to the party but here we go!

I guess this is what my hair will look like in three weeks, it’s still too long 😅

Tagging: @jordanstrophe @happy-whumper @tears-and-lilies @brutal-nemesis @galaxywhump

Here’s me, doing this because picrews make me so very happy😌.

@happy-whumper @whumpasaurus101 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myst-in-the-mirror @fromtheo-withlove if u would like to, and anyone else who wants to:)

Thanks for tagging me Abbey!!!

This was very fun to do :)

Tagging @all-whumped-out (ur writing is amazing) @whumpervescence (love ur art) if u want to and anyone else!

aww thanks for tagging me @myst-in-the-mirror !!

this was fun & my first ever picrew! i’m not sure who to tag & i don’t want to bother anyone so... anyone go ahead!

Max & Vampire Pet

(for those of you who expressed interest in this little AU of my carlo series <3.  can be read as a stand alone without having read the original series)

cw: vampire whump, implied long term abuse, pet whump, neglect, starvation, filed teeth, muzzles, restraints, hurt/comfort, ‘it’ as a pronoun sometimes but not always

****

The first thing Max noticed was that the boy was bruised and filthy, curled in on himself as if expecting a blow. 

Later, he couldn’t believe he made the poor thing ride in the back of the truck on a cold winter night. But when he’d gone to put him in the passenger seat the men who’d sold him had howled laughing. A vampire riding shotgun? What an idea.

So, Max put him in the truck bed and drove all the way home from the valley, wondering as they climbed the sloping hills through the pitch dark woods if vampires got cold the way people did. If that boy was back there freezing.

He fireman-carried him into the house. It seemed crueler to ask him to walk. But when he lifted him out of the truck bed, he heard an unmistakable sound of pain. 

It sounded just like a human. Like a person. 

He carried the vampire into his kitchen and sat him at the marble-top island in the middle, helping him into a bar stool since he was both bound and muzzled.The boy flinched when he flicked on the lights, huge pupils shrinking to slits even in the low wattage.

“His fangs are blunted,” the man with the baseball cap had said to Max. “He can still bite but it ain’t gonna prick you. You got a file?“ He said it like fahle. “Coz you’re gonna want to keep them filed way the fuck down.”

If his fangs were blunted, and he could not successfully bite, why was he muzzled? He stared openly at the bruising on the thing’s face, the matted hair. It was wearing oversized clothes, something that would fit a person Max’s size— certainly not this hungry and forlorn sight. 

The muzzle was eating right into the sides of his face. It had been left on some time, most likely used as a lead by men with seventy pounds on this creature, yanking his head this way and that as they pleased. 

“Can I take that thing off your face?”

Okokok this was. Out of nowhere but holy shit I had fun with it. Some Bad Timeline content y’all, 100% Wren bullying

CW: Pet whump, dehumanization, noncon kiss, noncon touching (nonsexual), knife whump, branding (kind of), nightmares, strangulation mention

Eli sighed as he unlocked the door to his apartment, exhausted after a long day at work. He just wanted to go and collapse into bed, sleep until he had to get up and do it all again in the morning. He stepped inside and turned around to lock the door, but he froze in his tracks, his blood running cold when he heard a terribly familiar voice.

“Hello, Love.”