hello!!! my name is shavit, and I'm a whump blog! I use they/she/star pronouns, and I am 18!!
a fun fact about me: my name, shavit, is pronounced sha like shush and vit like bit (down), but the B is a V
things I hope to be known for: being an interactive fan, having unnecessarily intricate character designs, and having good takes (I rlly hope I have good takes, I am trying)
whump tropes I like:
conditioning (both the process and the result. I think the main reason I'm into whump (other than just sadism towards fictional characters bjkbbidb) is the fascination I find in storytelling where characters are broken and reshaped), whipping, stress positions (very illustrative!), begging, fantasy whump/magic whump, magical exhaustion and magical euphoria, institutionalized whump + living weapon whump, bad caretaking, carewhumping, branding, secretly defiant whumpee/liar whumpee. I made this post about them and I'm really proud because a post of mine hasn't attracted attention since I was like... 12 and made a gacha life series
Masterlist of things ig?? its 9 pm and Im already tired cause Im sick
dragging him to bake smt. if anyone asks it's enrichment so that he doesn't go insane from constantly being in an infirmary 👍 he gets to pick what is baked
I'm so sorry it took me so long to answer 😔 I put it on my draft and it got drowned by a dozen of posts aaa-
Couldn't figure out if I wanted this as a interactive ask or not... but the answer is always yes. There's no way this could happen, but shhh, I can give my boy something nice.
This was sent right after the interactive scene where Oli ate a marshmallow out of the floor.
"... Bake? I'm not actually a– I don't think there are kitchen UGs. Are you sure–"
Needless to say, Oli was reluctant. A lot.
Awful things happen when you're singled out and taken away from others.
But in the end he never has the right or safety to say no, so he follows you. And is surprised by your "bake something" apparently does mean to bake something.
... Alright?
"What would you like help making, mx?" He asks while looking around the unfamiliar kitchen. He's never really allowed here, doesn't think any UG is.
When told that he is the one to choose, he raises his eyebrow. "... Alright. Uh..." This could still be a trap, this could be so many things-
"We're doing it off the top of our head? Uhm, I think I remember how to do cookies?" Cookies were easy, he didn't need to use knifes, so less of a reason to get 'punished' or whatever, and there are many flavours so there must be one you'd enjoy.
During the process of baking, Oli slowly relaxes. So bake something actually meant to bake something, huh, weird. Why the hell would something single out an UG to bake?
It feels nice to do something new... He's usually scheduled for work hours in camp infirmaries or in the hospital department.
Granted, he did do different things; whenever it was his healing rotation or he was on "full energy", or when the handler just decided so, he was taken to heal, and otherwise he was put on cleaning duty inside the department, cleaning stuff, taking out the trash, helping with inventory replenishment, or whatever the hospital staff needed.
But still, everything is within the hospital department, or the camp infirmaries.
There's UGs who can't even do daily work hours. Who can't even eat in the UG cafeteria. There's UGs who can't leave at all, who stay enclosured the whole fucking day.
He would actually go insane if he was in their places. With no small amount of shame, he is relieved he is not in their places.
Oli doesn't protest when, once the cookies are done, you tell him he can eat them. Even if this will come with a cost, the cost would undoubtedly be higher if he refused, and- c'mon. It's cookies. Yes, of-fucking-course he wants them. He can pay the price just fine, whatever the price is.
It's hard to be grateful for something he should be free to do, but he tries. Feeding into resentment too much can really fuck you up, especially if fed at the wrong time.
Oli knows he's one of the lucky ones, and he reaps what he sows. He's not one to cry over his own situation.
At least the cookies are tasty, and it will give him a good boost of energy.
good lord. HUSTLED to get this out before midnight.
day 3 of @ladywhumpdiaries - living weapon
this was written as a roleswap AU to destroyer but can be read as a standalone
(Content: living weapon whumpee, female whumpee, lab whump, dehumanization, restraints, collar, muzzle, needles, noncon drugging, mass death, magical exhaustion, carewhumper, fainting, bleeding, brief emeto mention, begging, parental death mention, alchemy???)
~
In nature, diamonds are created miles beneath the planet’s surface. Extreme heat and pressure applied over billions of years results in the formation of the hardest known natural substance.
Diamonds can only be brought closer to the surface through deep, volcanic eruptions.
Lorelai laid flat on her back on the medical bench, listening to the tape drone on. It was decades old by now, the audio recording of the same textbook she remembered reading as a child. One of the residents had put it on for her in the background, maybe to help her relax. Or so that maybe the inoculation would not be so jarring when the tinned voice suddenly changed from explanations to commands.
“Hand.” The real voice spoke for now. Doing her best not to look at him directly, she shifted her forearm out to the side, exposing the veins there. She held still as Dr.Martino tied her wrist to the rail of the bed, tight enough to prevent even rotation. Nobody wanted the needle to break off inside her.
A gloved hand entangled in the hair by her scalp, pressing her head into back the cushion and opening up her windpipe.
“Keep from biting this time and we won’t need to use the muzzle.” The doctor’s voice held the same clinical tone that he loved to use while making threats. The grip tightened, and she realized he was waiting for a verbal response, that he wouldn’t let her go until then.
“Yes, sir.” She winced.
~
She did try to bite, and she did get the muzzle for it, and it was still locked onto her face for hours after the drugs had worn off. Both of her wrists were tied down now. She’d thrashed too much when she was under, probably tried to claw her own face off again, so she could not blame them for having done it in the first place.
But Lorelai was herself again now. She tried to keep her eyes open, alert enough to any stimulus to signal that she was lucid. The bit of the muzzle forced into her mouth prevented her from even pleading. The students talked over her head, and gave no indication as to when she’d be released.
She was still strung like that when the prince came, and the simmering discomfort gave way to acute humiliation. She bowed her head slightly, half out of reflex, and half out of a sincere desire to not be seen by him.
Her eyes flickered up briefly afterwards, with the thought to plea with him if nobody else would pay attention. But he didn’t look at her either.
Lorelai went back to studying the pattern of her own hospital gown, listening in to the conversation that was going on behind her. It wasn’t so harder; the prince spoke loudly, louder still when agitated. Which he was now. Obviously.
“How much longer is this going to be? She’s sober, right?” Nails tapping on the table.
“…We’re still running diagnostics and she’s still coming down. Your presence isn’t needed at the moment.”
“Don’t try and dismiss me on my own fucking ship.”
“It’s your ship, but it’s my lab.”
“And it’s my weapon. Are we done? I can do this all day.”
“Do you need something?”
“Yes. Deadline moved up, I want to launch again tonight.”
Lorelai’s ears perked up.
“Forget it,” Martino dismissed outright. “She won’t be stable by then. I won’t authorize.”
“The window is closing and I wasn’t asking.”
“I’m telling you it’s not possible. I told you in advance what days I needed her for testing so that you could plan around them. She can’t do it.”
The briefest silence. Lorelai tensed a bit, but didn’t have the energy left in her to jump at the sound of footsteps. He was fast enough that there was hardly time to, anyway.
His Highness Paris of Thales appeared at her bedside. His left hand moved by the rail, at the point of restraint. The right hand touched the underside of the muzzle and tilted her chin up to look at him.
“You got it in you?”
Lorelai flinched from the touch, but not from the gaze. She stared back, with what was probably too much intensity.
“Take the muzzle off,” he ordered.
Thank god. With visible irritation, Martino undid the lock at the back of her head. Her hair snagged in the mechanism, but it was relief enough to be rid of the metal’s weight.
“I can do it,” Lorelai managed. She flexed her jaw, trying to ease the stiffness that had overtaken the muscles from having been locked in place so long. The rest of her body was no better. They’d have to untie her, at least for a moment, if they wanted her to work.
~
It was no question at all, really. Paris had the final say over what happened to her, and it would have taken real resistance from either of her handlers to override his will. But it seemed important to be acquiescent, either way. She needed him to like her. And she needed him to win.
She watched him through the corner of her eye as she kneeled there on the floor. He was with her in the jet now, anxiously pacing within the small space. Paris had been seventeen only a few months ago and his father had been alive. But now the two of them were the same age, and equally orphaned.
The collar buzzed on her neck, and she pictured the imperial emblem on it almost glowing with bloodlust.
The emperor had died, and Paris had taken her with him. However she felt about him, she at least felt confident that he would not scrap her for parts. His demands would only go so far.
The target came into sight. Lorelai sat up a little straighter, waiting for the order to stand. She was prickling with energy. The physical effects of the drugs had not totally worn off, nor had the strain of having been tied up for so long. She was not as her best, but she rarely was anymore. It didn’t matter. If she didn’t push through, she’d be punished anyway. Nothing would stop on account of her pain, she definitely knew that.
“Look alive.” Paris’s fingers snapped by her face. She repressed the urge to bite them off.
“Yes, Your Highness,” she answered instead.
Simon — her primary handler, who she privately thought of as her technician — was gathering up his papers, putting finishing touches on his notes. As he showed her the diagram he’d drawn up, she thought of him privately as Coach.She nodded along in understanding. Under the collar, her powers were just an hungry and restless as the rest of them. Probably even more.
Lorelai stood up unsteadily, approaching the best vista she could find of the settlement below. There was a lot of bustling, vehicles and people alike moving frolicking building to building. The ship was flying close enough to the ground to make out the finer details. The ship was moving very fast.
“They know we’re here,” Lorelai said to nobody.
“So fire,” Paris barked back.
The collar came undone and dozens of stars exploded against her vision. Fuck, it had been eager. Blood was pouring from her nose before she’d even done anything, and she could feell her fever forming in real time. Simon squeezed her wrist a little to keep her grounded, placed her hand up on the glass for her. Her head was melting, she was sure of it. It took all her effort to concentrate the fire, to zone in on what sje was actually meant to change.
Well, she was meant to change everything, really. She knew better ways to paralyze the opposition, ones that would hurt her less, but those weren’t her orders.
Glass-making is an ancient art. The sand that is used to create glass is compromised of small quartz crystals, commonly known as silica. When heated at high temperatures, the sand will melt, losing its crystalline structure. The glass that is created exists in a liminal state known as an amorphous solid. No matter how much glass cools afterwards, it will never again exist as a crystalline solid.
Not unless you are the greatest alchemist who ever lived.
They didn’t always ask her to kill outright. Sometimes it was just a matter of turning the river to blood or their weapons to clay. Organics were another matter entirely.
All the bodies to dust then, and dust to sand. Sand to burning, endless heat. Her fingers burned, and the blood in her capillaries began to boil with the effort. Boiling sands, boiling earth, a boiling sky. To nothing. To glass. To glass.
A massive, beautiful crystalline structure haunted the countryside. Everything living and everything dead, and everything that had never been either, all existed together as gleaming, uniform, unfeeling glass.
~
She didn’t faint, though she wished for something half as merciful. It was only her body that collapsed, not her mind. She remained fully conscious as the collar clicked on and she crashed to the floor, a literal puddle of sweat forming on the ground beneath her. It was disgusting.
Paris knelt behind her, gathering the soaked hair from her neck and tying it back. She welcomed the draft against her skin, and though she first cringed at the ice they pressed against her nape and her temples, she came to welcome that too. She was pretty sure she was going to throw up.
“Easy,” Paris soothed. Her vision was so spotty she could barely see him. “Easy. You’re okay.”
The joke was on her. She was going straight back to the lab after this, no two ways about it. Then, she doubted she’d have been able to do this even in optimal condition. She’d have been knocked flat either way. It was just the compounding of separate pains, each disparate sensation coming together to make for an experience that was unbelievably miserable.
“I’m okay,” she echoed back. Her head hurt so bad, and the lights were so bright. She needed to be somewhere dark. She clung to Paris’s wrist, like that enabled her to give him commands too. “Let me go back to my room. Please. I’m okay, I just need to lay down.”
“Thing is,” he said beneath his breath, to her alone. “I actually want you to live, Lorry.”
He pried her hand away, and she whimpered helplessly in response. Somewhere else in the room, what could have been miles away, his phone rang, and it pulled him away from her.
She kept waiting to fall unconscious, to be granted any kind of reprieve from the pain, but she remained fully aware as she was brought back into the lab, and as one wrist was chained down again.
~~~
authors note: i will probably continue this in a part two!!! i really wanted to complete day 3 on time so i rushed to get it out on schedule but i have a lot more i want to do w this setup lol stay tuned
What are the lore implications of @floral-comet in the Curse of Withering universe. Why is there this omnipresent deity throwing marshmallows at these people and what does it mean.
Poor thing has barely gotten any kindness in his life. What do you think, how long would it take for MerKev to start trusting someone and what would it take? Maybe someone leaves out fish for him regularly after witnessing him eating scraps. They aren't stupid enough to try and touch him at first (they want to keep their limbs intact thank you XD) but maybe, just maybe, MerKev would let them touch him after a while? In case he needs help with something (a splinter in his tailfin maybe that he can't pull out without help)
Hmmm... it would take a while, for sure, but it is possible. Food is definitely the right way to do it, if you're discreet enough he doesn't suspect you're trying to poison him at first.
The medical help is more sensitive, but can be step two. He can always bash the person to death if they try anything funny, after all, so he'd let them try.
Maybe it's really hot and dry outside, and one day he accepts the friendly human's offer to dip in their pool when he's all dehydrated. Days pass, trust slowly building, until they get to a point when he allows cuddles!
[ID. A manga-style drawing of a person wearing a large white shirt and having an ankle chained to the wall. They clutch the fabric of the shirt and are barefoot. Their face does not show in the image. End ID.]
EVERYONE LOOK AT THIS AWESOME COMMISSION @doumidas DREW FOR ME!!!! YAYYYYYYYYYYY
as of the time of me posting this his commissions are still open, please check the original post if you're from the future and/or on a reblog
walenty side content taglist (I nearly did the regular one but it's not main content): @inhurtandincomfort @sir-fenris @toyybox @loonybun @chiswhumpcorner @catnykit
Hiiiii <3 thank you for the ask. You know I always love interactive asks ☺️ And oh how I wanted to show a bit of my healer baby...
When it hits him, Oli is sure it is a cotton ball. An angry patient– or just any bored, or sadistic, or asshole patient– must have gotten a medical tray in their hands again.
Oli sighs. He can only hope no nurse or doctor or just anyone wanting to get him in trouble has seen that. Why is he always fucking blamed for wasting resources when he has nothing to do with this kind of thing?
He turns around, head dutifully bowed down so no handler could see him rolling his eyes– having no assigned handler never meant having no handler watching your every step–, and... huh?
Well, it does look like a cotton ball. But he doesn't recognize the type–
"What the fuck?" Oli breathes out, picking up the marshmallow.
Does the cafeteria even have marshmallows? Not that he would know for sure, but he doesn't remember anyone ever eating one in the hospital department...
Looking around, no one is. And no one is even looking at him really. Besides the handler now eyeing him with an impatient glare. Huh.
Oli gets off the ground and moves to the trashcan... but pushes it into his mouth sneakily. Whatever that came from, it's still food, and still sweet.
"Where is the damn- hey! Pink one, come here!"
Ah, fuck.
Oli can't open his mouth to say he's no longer one of the healers on shift, he was walking to the charged nurse to hopefully get checked out and go to fucking sleep-
He sighs again, and hopes it's not a tough healing this time. It's been so long since he got to talk to his cell instead of being dragged to it passed out. Today was supposed to be a calm night.
...
By the time he is done with the healing, the marshmallow is set on his stomach and he is set on the floor. Being dragged out to his cell.
