Is there any like, office whump? Does that make sense? Not like crazy Belko Experiment or anything, although that was good too, but like an employee or multiple employees being kind of tormented by superiors or other coworkers.
Whumpee super excited on their first few days of a new job
Boss Whumper finds a weird infatuation with Whumpee whether it’s a creepy intimate way or just gravitating towards their innocence and wonder towards the world
Holds private meetings with them or maybe even invites them outside of work. Like team bonding events only it’s just the two of them
Whumpee takes it as, maybe they’re doing really good and Whumper must be super impressed by their work already
Only for it to start slowly spiraling down as Whumper gets a bit meaner, rougher, insensitive, forward and dangerous
If Whumpee gets one small error wrong then that’s a snack with a heavy paper weight.
Don’t want to go out for a bonding dinner? Grabs the scissors/stapler/whole goddamn keyboard
Whumpee tries to speak up about Whumper being “slightly” abusive, whether it’s only towards them or others too.
That was the last time they ever brought it up. Whumper showing them exactly what they can do to them in the office during working hours with everyone being non-the-wiser
Whumpee feels like they can’t tell anyone because this is the best job they’ve ever had and if they left, they knew Whumper would make it imposible for them to get a new job even close to this one
Whumpee also cant tell his other coworkers because Whumper threatens to start doing the same things to the people they tell
Or threatens to fire them and do worse things outside of work because it CAN get worse
Maybe Whumper has way too much fun with Whumpee and decides to take them home and keep them there
Little firing, little kidnapping, little captive Whumpee to play and torment with for their own entertainment and as a stress relief from the work environment
It’s like… a stress ball at your desk. Except a perfect little Whumpee ready to be picked apart and destroyed.
“There you go,” Whumper cooed as Whumpee finally gave in and let themself be cuddled. “Isn’t that so much better?”
All Whumpee could manage in response was a quiet sob, their mind too frazzled to put any of their thoughts into words. They knew Whumper wasn’t a good person. They knew they were the source of all their misery.
And yet, at the end of the day, Whumper was the one to bandage their wounds and sing them to sleep. Whumper was the one making them home-cooked meals and bringing them gifts from a world they weren’t allowed to be a part of anymore.
So they cuddled up to them and cried. They wept for themself, so broken down and conditioned that they were actually willing to seek solace from the one keeping them captive.
But Whumper was right. This was better than being beaten and choked against the bed. This was almost peaceful.
“We can spend every day like this,” they went on, gently petting Whumpee’s hair. “As long as you behave, there doesn’t need to be pain.”
Whumpee hesitated. A flicker of defiance flashed in his eyes before being smothered by the weight of exhaustion.
He’d already lost once today. It wasn’t worth the fight.
Kneeling at Whumper’s knees, Whumpee reluctantly parted his lips.
“Good.” The tall man said approvingly. His eyes glinted as he took a drag from his cigarette, leaning forward for a better look at his rarely behaved captive. “Good. Now wider.”
Humiliated, Whumpee forced his lips apart with all the strength he could muster. The burning flush of shame spread across his cheeks.
His gaze lingered on Whumpee’s parted lips, watching curiously as his tightened muscles began to quiver.
Pungent smoke billowed from Whumper’s smile, filling the room with its suffocating haze.
Whumpee’s tongue started twitching from holding his mouth open for so long. His eyes darted away when he noticed Whumper lean even closer towards him, flinching as the man’s shadow crossed his face.
Pinched between two fingers, Whumper dangled his cigarette directly above Whumpee’s open mouth.
When enough soot gathered at the tip, he flicked the ash onto the Whumpee’s tongue.
“No. Don’t swallow.” Whumper commanded softly. “Keep your mouth open.”
The bitter taste of ash coated Whumpee’s tongue, burning against the back of his throat. His jaw trembled from the strain of forcing his mouth open, every muscle aching as he fought the urge to spit the disgusting mouthful at Whumper’s feet. Humiliation seethed through him, burning hotter than the ember of the cigarette.
He hated this. His survival depended on it, but he fucking hated it. With a forceful breath, Whumpee lifted his eyes, refusing to meet Whumper’s smug gaze.
Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between Whumper’s fingers as he relished the spectacle of Whumpee’s silent submission.
“Good.” Whumper purred, voice slick with satisfaction. “Stay just like that.”
It was then that I realised that he didn't want me to succeed. That it wasn't about me being good. I don't know how it took me so long, but that was the moment that I understood -- there was no way to satisfy him, and there never would be. I would never be good enough.
That was the moment when I stopped craving his approval. I finally saw him for what he was. Not better than me, not more deserving. Just petty, and cruel.
And in that moment, all of my shame and my guilt evaporated, like desert dew under the blaze of the rising sun. And all that I felt was anger, as bright and hot as a forge-flame, transforming me into something sharp and new.
CWs: non-human whumpee, isolation, claustrophobia, darkness, restrained, captivity, panic attack, fear of death
Lazrin shivers.
The cell he's locked in is dark and dank, chilling him to the bone. His wrists are rubbed raw by the rope that's bound them for hours as he shivers and pulls against them.
He can't breathe.
The cell is so small, Lazrin bashes into the bars and walls every time he so much as twitches, and he can't breathe, the walls are too close, they're closing in, they're going to crush him, there isn't enough room–
He gasps in a breath. Just one, offering him stale, sickly-smelling oxygen, and then something crushes his chest again, stopping his breath. He can see just enough of his surroundings to see how close it all is, how the bars warp and the walls get closer and they're going to crush him.
The air is stale, sticky, thin. It shouldn't be so thin this far underground. He takes shallow breaths, unable to breathe deeper with the thin air and ever-encroaching bars.
He closes his eyes, trying to pretend he's somewhere else, in the wide, starlit outdoors, but it doesn't work. It's all going to crush him and there's nothing he can do.
There's nothing he can do.
Everything's closing in. It's too much, it's too much, not enough space, everything's closing in. He bumps into one wall and then another, the bars, there's no free space, it's too little. He's going to die. He'll be crushed to death and there's nothing he can do.
'Verse: Resistance , co-author @whump-sprite
Alt: Ari forced to whip Alex
Plans and History
[First | Prev | Next]
“No?” Taryn echoes, disbelieving. “Daniel, he saved Alex’s life. We owe him. I owe him.”
“I know.” Daniel’s voice is infuriatingly level. “I understand that. But we’re stretched too thin right now. I can’t spare anyone without putting more lives at risk.”
“So Alex and Ariadne were, what, compromised Resistance assets to you? He’s not, so fuck him?”
“You know I would save everyone if I could. Alex and Ariadne are our people.”
“He saved Alex.”
“Taryn –”
“I’ll go alone, then. You don’t have to spare anyone.”
“Absolutely not,” says Daniel. “I can’t let you do that.”
“You won’t let me!?” Taryn explodes. “How are you going to stop me?”
“Taryn –”
“Are you going to come over here and lock me up? I thought you couldn’t spare the time.”
“Taryn, please listen to me.”
She wants to throw her phone. Her grip on it is white-knuckled.
“Alex needs you, Taryn.”
“I know.”
“You can’t leave him like this. In his condition –”
“I’m not leaving right now. After he’s healed –”
“He’s still going to need you for a lot longer than that. He needs to not be alone.”
“I won’t be leaving him for long. Daniel, it needs to be soon, while they’re still scrambling to fix what Vex broke. They won’t expect it.”
“I can’t risk your life right now, Taryn.”
“You can’t? It’s my life to risk!”
“No, Taryn. You’re too important.”
“This is important – to me, Daniel.”
“I’m sorry.” Of course the appeal to emotion doesn’t work. Daniel is too practical for that. “We need to lay low and consolidate. Alex needs you safe and he needs you to stay with him.”
Taryn’s magic is in her fingertips. If she isn’t careful, she’s going to break her phone.
“Don’t go anywhere, Taryn,” Daniel says. “That’s an order.”
An order. Taryn’s blood boils. “Fine,” she spits frostily.
She’s expecting Daniel to call her on the lie. Instead, he says, “Good.” And, “I am sorry.”
Taryn hangs up. She drops her phone before she can give in to the impulse to do worse to it.
Good.
Maybe he doesn’t really know her at all. Maybe he never did.
She stays out on the hidden balcony for a long time after the call is over, breathing in the cool predawn air. She needs to rein in her anger before she can go back inside. Neither Alex or Ariadne could cope with it right now. She has to be calm for their sakes. She is too old for temper tantrums.
It’s a long time before she’s confident they won’t see the anger in her. The sun is almost over the horizon.
Ari’s not on the sofa anymore. Taryn’s heart sinks. She should have thought to put up a sound barrier. She didn’t know she was going to be yelling. She shouldn’t have raised her voice without thinking.
She knows where to find her. In the kitchen again, curled up into the spot between the end of the counter and the wall. She has her head down on her knees, but it jerks up when Taryn enters. Her fingertips dig into her calves.
“Hey,” Taryn says, as gently as she can. “I’m sorry, did you hear me yelling at Daniel?”
“I’m sorry,” Ari mumbles.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Didn’ mean to, mh, listen.”
“I know.” Watching carefully for flinches, Taryn invites herself further into the kitchen. “I don’t mind what you hear, it’s not a problem. I’m just sorry if I scared you.”
“Oh.” Ari’s gaze wanders briefly. “... sorry.”
She’s not really there, Taryn realises. She was probably asleep, and Taryn woke her. It can’t be a good way to wake up.
Ariadne is Alex’s nightmare, and Taryn is Ariadne’s. How is she supposed to start to untangle this knot of misery and fear? They were doing so well, things were good, until the feds –
If she thinks too much about the feds, she’s going to get mad again, and Ari picks up on the slightest hint of it so easily.
“It’s okay,” she promises. “I’m not mad at you. And I wouldn’t hurt you if I was. You’re safe, it’s alright.”
Ari nods. Her fingers are still digging divots into the fabric of her sweatpants. “I’m okay,” she promises back.
“Why don’t you have some water?”
“Okay.”
The daze clears from her eyes slowly as she drinks. She runs a bit more water for herself, and uses it to wipe the crust from her eyes.
She flinches when Taryn moves.
Taryn itches to get back to Alex, but… Ariadne needs her too.
“Come back to the couch?” she suggests.
“Yes, s- Taryn.”
She almost offers Ari a hand. She doesn’t think she’d take it.
Ari trails behind her, still holding her water glass, and when Taryn sits down, she follows her example. Her knuckles are white on the glass.
“Ari, look at me?” Ari’s head jerks up, and Taryn winces. She looks at Taryn, but her eyes are dull and haunted and Taryn isn’t totally sure if she’s seeing her.
“Is there anything you need?”
“No.” The denial is too fast, full of bitter emotion. It feels like she has something more to say, so Taryn waits, watching her turn it around in her mouth.
“Don’t waste time on me,” she blurts out at last. “Don’t – I don’t want you to take care of me. I don’t belong here.”
“Ari. It’s not your fault. It’s really, really not your fault. You said it yourself, they were going to kill him if you didn’t do it.”
Ari’s fingers work furtively, nails digging semicircles into the skin of her own arm, then releasing, then gathering another patch of skin and digging in again. She isn’t pressing hard enough to break the skin, so Taryn lets it be, for now.
“You were doing what you could to protect him. They didn’t give you any good options. It’s not your fault.”
“Maybe they… wouldn’t’ve done it.” Ari’s gaze slides away from Taryn, guilty and miserable. “Maybe they’d… ‘ve tried me instead.”
“Or maybe they’d have killed him. You couldn’t know.”
“Maybe…” her voice is cracking now, faltering, barely more than a whisper. “... maybe I should’ve le-et them.”
“No, Ari. He’s going to make it. He’s going to get better.” Taryn is fighting back tears too, now. “He is so strong, Ari. He’s going to get better and he’s going to get that chance because you kept him alive long enough to get out.”
She’s trying not to think of how unfair it is that he’s had to put himself back together over, and over, and over.
She’s especially trying not to think about how last time it was Ari’s fault. If he hadn’t had to go through that too, would he be better able to recover now?
There’s a muffled, choked sound as Ari tries to swallow back a sob. Taryn’s heart is tearing in two. Ari’s like a sister to her. Ari can’t ever take back the things she did.
“I should’ve, made them kill me, then they – couldn’t’ve ma-ade me–”
“Then they’d have tortured him themselves. There wasn’t a right choice, Ari. They love to do this to us.”
Did Ariadne force prisoners to hurt each other? Did she ever understand the pain she caused?
She understands now. She’s more than paid, Taryn keeps telling herself that. And it’s not like Taryn’s hands are clean.
Ari closes her eyes. Taryn can see her fighting back tears, taking shallow, measured breaths and holding them. Her fingers worry at her arm, nails digging in and releasing. She’s leaving pale semi-circles of scuffed skin, now. Taryn reaches out carefully to touch her arm, to distract her from clawing at herself. She jumps back like she was burned, wide-eyed.
“Sorry,” they both say at once.
“I won’t touch you if you don’t want, I didn’t mean,”
“S’fine, I just – jumped, I’m sorry.
“It’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
Ari makes a small, bitter sound of disbelief, and then she’s crying. She puts her hands over her face, then draws her knees up to her chest to hide in them.
Taryn doesn’t know what to do. Ari is afraid of her. But… holding her seems to have helped so far. Very cautiously, she slides closer. When Ari doesn’t move away, she puts an arm around her back. When Taryn pulls her close, Ari flops bonelessly into her arms.
Taryn can only hope that that means it’s welcome, and not just that Ariadne’s trying to go along with whatever Taryn wants.
For a little while, she just holds her while Ari cries, and tries to stifle it, and apologises for crying.
“You know, they once made one of Anders’ best friends beat his bad knee with a hammer. And keep going after it broke. It wasn’t his fault either. Anders didn’t blame him, and neither do I.”
Ari says nothing, but she nods slightly against Taryn’s shoulder.
“Alex will pull through.” He has to. “And so will you.”
A little disgusted sound. “They didn’ even hurt me.”
It’s about what Taryn expects to hear, but the words still hit like a kick in the stomach.
“You wish they had,” she observes softly. “It would have been easier. You wish you could have protected him by taking the pain for him. But they never let you.”
Jerkily, Ari nods, knocking her cheekbone against Taryn’s collarbone. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out again. “I would’ve. I would.”
“I know. I know you would.” Taryn swallows.
“They never really hurt me either,” she confesses. Not enough to be worth counting. “When he was kept as a healer. We were kept together. They threatened me to control him and he always took the beatings and I never got the chance to do the same for him. I would have in a heartbeat.”
“M’sorry,” Ari repeats.
“I know you’d have done anything to protect him if you could.” And she does. She doesn’t doubt that for a second.
Ari shudders in her arms.
“They put you through hell too,” Taryn tells her softly. “Even if they didn’t hurt you. Of course you deserve to be looked after. Of course you belong here. And – I’m sorry I let that happen. To both of you.”
Ari snivels, and wipes her nose on her sleeve. After a minute, she very carefully snakes her arms around Taryn’s waist. Taryn squeezes her, and Ari squeezes back.
“I’m going to need to leave you for a couple of hours,” Taryn tells her carefully. “Daniel says there might still be healers at Ocelot. Can you give Alex his painkillers while I’m gone?”
She feels Ari stiffen at the thought of going near Alex.
“You shouldn’t need to do anything else. I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay,” Ari acknowledges in a small voice.
“Try to eat some more? There’s packets in the cupboards if you can’t stomach more pizza.”
“Okay.”
“We’re going to get through this like we get through everything else. Just stick it out with me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
It sounds a lot like yes sir.
If that keeps Ari from doing anything stupid, maybe it’s not the worst thing.
I need to talk about this chapter. My mind is filled with thoughts about Ariadne and I need to put them in the world. Don't mind me.
“Then they’d have tortured him themselves. There wasn’t a right choice, Ari. They love to do this to us.”
Did Ariadne force prisoners to hurt each other? Did she ever understand the pain she caused?
Since the first time Taryn said to Ari that the feds love to make them hurt each other, my first thought was "Ari did that too, Ari was a fed too". And to read Taryn actually thinking about it, is- Oh.
She understands now. She’s more than paid, Taryn keeps telling herself that. And it’s not like Taryn’s hands are clean.
There is always that point. Paid? Is all the pain Ari caused actually paid? Is there even a way to pay for so, so much pain and death? Should she pay for it? It's such a grey area.
We've seen people Ari tortured talking about her, and she is still one of their worst nightmares. Some people only don't have nightmares about her because she killed them. How many didn't even have the information she wanted? How many were just trying to protect their loved ones?
When Ari is blaming herself and doubting if Alex can ever heal... how many of the people she hurt never healed? How many also wished to be dead? How many blamed themselves about what happened to their friends?
I remember a guy saying she took a eletrical drill on him, and that he begged her, and she liked him begging, but she still didn't stop. She now regrets all of it, but is the guilt of the agressor really equal to the pain of the victim?
Once a witch ealled her child-killer and Taryn asked herself if that was true, but decided not to ask. Because what if the answer is yes? What if she did kill children? And even if she didn't; how many people were tortured to death to protect information that would put children at risk? How many information Ari tortured out of someone actually caused children's death?
So much pain, scars on people's minds and bodies that can never be healed or forgotten.
But Ari also suffered so much. From the first time Taryn almost killed her, to the kidnappings, to the encounters with her old victims, to that person that beated her without Taryn knowing, to seeing all of Alex's suffering... She knows all she did, and she'll regret it for the rest of her life, knowing she caused all that suffering to so many others.
In the end, there is still no answer. Because "paying" is such a grey concept that relies on vengeance, and vengeance relies on emotions, and emotions aren't reliable. It isn't an exact math.
Ari probably will never pay for all she did, because how can you pay for something so complex as that? But also because she shouldn't be trying to pay for it; vengence will not undo all the damage she did. She can only try her best to help as many people as she can, or just be the best version she can.
She doesn't need to pay for all she did to be a good character to read. She is complex, and the collision of all she did with all she is trying to do is always interesting to see. The victims will either be like Alex, forgiving, or like the drill guy, forever wanting vengence, no matter how much she "pays" for it.
The damage is done, and she can only blame herself for it and decide what to do with the guilt.
This was way longer than I expected to be- I just needed this thoughts to be out in the world.
This is the thesis, really. You can't "pay" or "make up" for past wrongs. Doing a good thing doesn't erase a bad thing you did. It's still worthwhile. Becoming a good person doesn't erase the bad things you did. It's still worthwhile. Enduring pain certainly doesn't make up for anything, it just adds more suffering to the world.
Good and bad coexist. Very few people are only ever one or the other.
This is the philosophy the Resistance would like to champion. But they too are mired in a world where revenge is normal.
Anders believes this stuff in theory. He tries to teach Ariadne. She tries to learn. But she isn't blind to the fact that he also respects her more when she suffers and takes it stoically. He gives mixed messages.
Taryn has been taught to think that way too, but she has so much anger. When she's stressed, when she's emotional, when she's trying to counter her own emotions, she still thinks in terms of paid.
There will always be people who don't forgive Ari. She doesn't deserve their forgiveness, in that nobody is obligated to forgive her. She also doesn't deserve to be tortured, because no one deserves that.
Even Alex isn't immune to muddied thinking on the matter. He gets angry sometimes. He has wished hurt on people who hurt him. He has too much empathy and compassion to really truly want to see it followed through, but he isn't immune to the feeling.
And more than that, he isn't immune to idolising suffering, treating it as something that makes someone nobler and more deserving. It's a very pervasive attitude in the Resistance, because they suffer so much. Treating it as a noble, heroic thing gives them courage, and gives some dignity back to victims.
Alex measures his worth in how much he is able to sacrifice for others And when he wants to justify Ari's existence to others, or his love for her, he usually reaches first for how much she has been hurt. Look, she is one of us. She has paid.
As for Ari herself, she is trying to learn to believe the philosophy Anders espouses, the viewpoint Alex offers her, even if they themselves don't adhere perfectly to it. It's a way to continue to exist without drowning in her self loathing. The notion of payback, of penance, of revenge is very deeply ingrained in her, and it's an uphill battle.
But she's not only healthier and happier when she can let go of it, she's also more able to actually help others. She doesn't forgive herself and she probably never will, but she puts more good into the world when she's able to move forwards than when she's stuck wallowing in guilt.
A snapshot of the first day Jen/Peaches/357 spends at WRU. Tagging @paingoes, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!
This isn’t right. 552357 isn’t sure what isn’t right, but the feeling of wrongness is overwhelming, like a siren blasting. She’s cold, and when she tries to sit up her muscles ache. Her arms and legs are spotted with dark bruises and there’s something dark on her wrist. She squints, bringing her wrist close to her face.
It’s a barcode with a number underneath. A tattoo, says a quiet voice in her head, only she doesn’t know how she knows what a tattoo or a barcode even is. She squeezes her eyes shut, and remembers the taste of cheap beer, neon lights, the buzz of a needle, and then something stabs her behind her right eye. The memory fades, but the wrongness intensifies. Something is missing. She looks at her right forearm again, and for a moment her brain projects a vine wrapping around her arm, but there’s nothing but unblemished skin. The pain in her head intensifies, and she squeezes her eyes shut, burying her head in her hands. Something thick and heavy is around her neck, and it’s too tight, she feels like she can’t breathe.
This isn’t right.
The door opens.
__
Handler Wells is damn good at her job. That being said, she’s surprised that she’s the one handling 552357. It’s only her second year as a fully fledged handler, and the facility has much more experienced Romantic handlers. She wasn’t expecting to get something this high-caliber for at least another two years. For whatever reason, though, this opportunity has fallen into her lap, and now she has the chance to skyrocket to the top, instead of the long, grueling crawl she was expected. It’s a dream come true.
552357 is curled up in the corner of the white room, in the standard-issue white shirt and black shorts. She nervously looks up at Handler Wells when she walks in.
“Stand up.”
The girl scrambles to her feet, her skinny legs shaking. Between that and her big brown eyes, she reminds Handler Wells of a fawn. “Where am I?”
“You’re at WRU facility 044. Romantic division.”
357 tilts her head to the side, confused. “What does that mean?”
Handler Wells explains, watching 357’s sweet face. As Handler Wells talks, her delicate eyebrows furrow for a moment and her hands clench into fists. It’s quick, but Handler Wells notices. She can sense the chaotic whirl of thoughts in the girl’s head, as loudly as if she was projecting them into the air. 357 still thinks she can run. She still thinks she's in control. No problem, it just means she needs to learn otherwise.
“Do you have any questions, 357?” The girl shakes her head. Handler Wells tries not to laugh. “All right. Why don’t we get you something to eat?” 357 nods, her jaw clenching.
It’s standard practice to cuff new pets, but Handler Wells doesn’t bother, guiding the girl with a hand on the back of her neck. They step out into the hallway. 357’s eyes dart around, and Handler Wells can feel her pulse in her throat.
She picked out this wing for 357 for several reasons. First, it’s nearby her favorite break room, the one that always has the good coffee. And second, there’s a door at the end of the hallway with a glowing red exit sign. It can’t be opened without a keycard and a passcode, but 357 doesn’t know that.
On cue, Handler Lorenz pushes the door open.
“Wells! We’ve got a problem.” Their voice is wooden—they’ve never been a great actor, but they’re Handler Wells’s best friend and the only one she’d trust to do this with her.
Handler Wells casually takes her hand off 357’s neck to wave back. “This better not be about that twink you were telling me about this morning.”
On cue, 357 drives her elbow into her stomach. It barely glances off, but Handler Wells grunts and staggers back like it’s hurt her. 357 is fast, to her credit, but she’s a mouse in a room full of cats. Handler Wells lets her hope build for a moment, and then jabs a button on the controller for the shock collar.
357 screams and convulses just inches from the door, collapsing into a heap on the ground. Handler Wells holds down the button for almost a minute, slowly walking over to the writhing girl.
“That was a very stupid move, 357.”
357 glares up at her through teary eyes. “This isn’t right. I didn’t want this.”
Handler Wells presses the button again, and 357 screams, her back arching beautifully.
“You signed the contract.”
“No. No, I wouldn’t have. Why can’t I remember anything?”
“You don’t get to ask questions. You signed up for this, and you've been a bad pet.” She drags 357 to her feet and cuffs her hands behind her back. “I was going to go easy on you for your first day. But now I have to show you what happens to bad pets.”
The girl spits at her. “Fuck you.” Handler Wells uses her baton this time, jabbing her in the ribs and watching her struggle as the current courses through her. Handler Lorenz gets her in the back just as she's catching her breath, and her scream is beautiful as it tears out of her throat, her lips stained with blood.
“All right, let’s get you back to your room. Lorenz, help me out.” Handler Lorenz opens the cell door. “Thanks, babe.” She pushes 357 back into the white room, slamming the door behind her.
Handler Lorenz laughs, clapping her on the back. “Nice job.”
“Thanks for helping me out.”
“Anytime. Do I still get first dibs?”
“Obviously.”
Her friend glances through the window at the girl. “How can you be so sure she’ll behave? She’s a feisty one.”
“Not after this.” Handler Wells pulls out her phone, swiping to bring up the room settings.
“What are you doing?”
“Watch.” She cues up the strobe lights and noise. Handler Lorenz makes an irritated noise and jerks back from the window.
“Warn me next time, asshole.”
“Sorry. Anyway, eight intermittent hours of this, then a second dose of the Drip, and then...” She pulls the vial out of her pocket triumphantly. “A special Romantic combo I mixed. She’s going to be so desperate she’ll be begging us to use her.”
Handler Lorenz whistles. “Not bad.”
“I’ve got to nail this.” She grits her teeth, staring in at 357. The girl’s nose is bloody. She can’t cover her eyes or her ears because her hands are cuffed behind her back, so all she can do is squeeze her eyes shut. There are already tears running down her pretty face. Handler Wells presses the button on the controller again, watching her writhe on the floor. “If I do, I’m set for life at WRU.”
Omg omg omg so I just binged lcj and I have to ask... how does Isabella/Jude get out? How does she get comfortable using her old name again? Where do she and Jamie go and what, if anything, happens to Mara once Jude leaves (again)?
Oh, I love this ask so much! LCJ was the first story I posted on Tumblr and it has a special place in my heart :)
You actually made me realize that I have two pieces of this story that I always assumed I had posted, and looking back, realized I had not! I may actually get around to cleaning them up and posting them for old times' sake. :)
Jude does get out! The series ends with her leaving with Jamie, and while it's not easy for her to leave and stay away, it does stick. She never goes back to her old full name (Juliet), but does use the nickname Jude, and picks her own brand new middle and last name.
She and Jamie move to a new city and lay as low as possible for a while, in case Mara is looking for them. Eventually, they start their own safehouse for other runaways. Before I kinda burned out my BBU writing inspiration, I even had a couple of their eventual rescues sketched out. If you're interested at all, the Boxies described in Parts, An Implement Used, Something That I Tell Myself I Need, Shut Up, and Valuables would have eventually wound up at a safehouse run by Jamie and Jude.
Mara is extremely angry and upset about the betrayal both from Jude/Isabella and Jamie. It's difficult for her to square how she treated Isabella with who she believes herself to be as a person, so she selectively remembers and edits the story and ultimately gets to a point where she genuinely believes that she was trying to care for Isabella and Jamie abducted her to continue treating her like a pet. ¯_(ツ)_/¯ She never owns another Boxie, but she does continue to be a deeply manipulative and abusive person to a string of friends and partners. Eventually, she exposes some of the fucked up practices going on at the WRU facility where she works, and is widely praised for being a whistleblower and a hero, particularly by other safehouse owners and workers. That is an extremely difficult time for Jamie and Jude.
Like I said, this story is near and dear to my heart still so it was really nice to get to talk about it again! Thank you for reading and for the ask :) I'm going to open that old Word doc for the first time in like a year and a half and see if I can get those two pieces posted for ya. Happy holidays, whatever you celebrate!
synopsis: Dew's relatively uneventful and ordinary life changed when he was kidnapped by a mad scientist named Anton, who planned to use Dew as his new human test subject for experiments. Dew, who is scared out of his mind, now has to try gaining his captor's trust while he slowly plans his escape, all while enduring experiments that make him not quite human anymore.
general content warnings: lab whump, captivity, experimentation, body mods, body horror, hurt/comfort, torture, mind control, immortality, mad scientists, clones, ghosts, shapeshifters, autistic & transgender winged whumpee, autistic & transgender carewhumper, ghost whumpee-turned-caretaker
(please read chronologically!)
Story:
Only The Beginning + art
Let Me Go
Surreal
Let’s Begin
Favorite Little Test Subject
A Change of Pace
No Control
Nightmare
Alone part 1
Alone part 2 + art
A New Friend
Fever Dream
Happy Birthday + art
Time Flies
Broken Dreams
So Small
Close Your Eyes
The Dark
Eye Spy… + art
Max
Art:
Anton reference sheet
Dew reference sheet (coming soon)
my art
fanart!! :D
picrews
old Dew and Anton refs
Other:
AU masterlist
asks
playlist
memes
Anton’s voice claim
character tags: Dew | Anton | Basil | Sasha | Hayden | Layla | Sawyer | Pierce | Max
Something a little different from my usual medwhump and lab whump prompts and thoughts....
Yup, that's right! Today we're talking about whump in the noir genre!
Noir settings are just ripe for whump! You've got your classic 1940's or 1950's setting. Or I'm particularly fond of a combination of noir and cyberpunk, in sci-fi stories. It's all really atmospheric and can really set the scene!
Noir is great for detective whump! Detective that gets in over their head with a case? Detective that is tricked into taking a case, by whumper, for some nefarious purpose? Endless possibilities!
Whumpee who has owes gambling debts to whumper... need I say more?
Femme fatales are just. Wonderful. Whumper, whumpee, or caretaker, they're just great. Though I'm particularly fond of them as whumpers.
After slogging through all my Whump Challenge posts, I thought you all deserved something nice. So here is the first of a 2-part series on pain. Enjoy!
Basics:
Pain is an unpleasant physical and emotional sensation caused by actual or perceived tissue damage. Under normal circumstances, pain indicates some kind of tissue damage. This damage can be from an injury, an infection, or a disease like arthritis. Very simply, when tissue is damaged, cells release certain chemicals. When the concentrations of these chemicals get high enough, nerve endings send a signal to the brain, which is interpreted as pain. Painkillers work by either blocking the formation of the chemicals, blocking how they interact with the nerve endings, or by blocking the transmission of the nerve impulses to the brain.
Pain Scale (intensity):
In healthcare settings, pain can be measured on a scale of 0-10. On this scale, 0 means no pain, and 10 means either the worst pain the patient has ever felt, or the worst pain the patient can imagine. Quantifying this for fiction purposes isn’t always easy, but think about it like this:
Pain score of 1: “Pain Threshold.” Where pain first begins to be felt. Barely noticeable and very easily ignored. Character likely would not express discomfort and may change positions, but not much more.
Pain score of 2: Character may voice discomfort, but may still not do anything about it.
Pain score of 3: “Pain Tolerance.” Pain becomes difficult to ignore and character finally begins to seek some form of relief.
Pain score of 4-5: Pain becomes nearly impossible to ignore completely, pain symptoms of tense muscles and a change in respiratory pattern develops. Irritability, nausea, and a change in vitals likely.
Pain score of 6-7: Pain is debilitating. Difficulty concentrating occurs, fine movements like writing are significantly impaired. Muscles are tense and hands are balled into fists.
Pain score of 8-9: Sleep is impossible, and pain is completely debilitating. Very difficult to read, think, speak or focus on anything that isn’t the pain. Change in vitals very pronounced.
Pain score of 10: Unconsciousness immanent. Worst pain character has ever felt. Incapable of thought, movement, or speech.
Pain is a very subjective, individual experience. One person’s 2 might be another person’s 6. Notice up there where it says “pain threshold” and “pain tolerance”? Pain threshold is basically how bad the pain needs to be to be felt at all. It’s the “1” on the pain scale. Pain tolerance is where the pain needs to be for the person to want to do something about it. It’s usually about a “3” on the pain scale.
Pain tolerance is different for everyone, and changes based on life experience (are they used to dealing with pain?), fatigue (being tired or chronically sleep-deprived may make pain feel worse), and emotional situation (being scared or sad may make pain feel worse). People’s perception of, and need of treatment for, the same pain may change day-to-day, or as they gather more experience.
Pain on this scale is also self-reported. People may exaggerate or minimize pain when reporting it depending on life experience (some people may be used to only getting treatment if they rate their pain at 10/10, and so routinely exaggerate in order to be taken seriously), culture (some cultures highly value stoicism, and may under-report pain so as not to appear weak), or religion (some religious groups view pain as penance, and so may under-report pain to avoid treatment). This is something to think about when building a character.
Describing Pain (quality):
Pain, while a universal concept, is not a universal feeling. Pain quality is what the patient reports the pain as “feeling like.” Different manifestations of pain can mean different things (see the list below for examples). Depending on the location or the reason for the pain, it can feel different. Here are some ways pain can be described/experienced (examples of related injury/illness in parentheses):
Any one of these and many others can manifest at any intensity.
Non-Verbal Signs of Pain and Pain Signature (newly added to post):
Writing for a character who doesn’t like to admit to being in pain? Rest assured, you still have something to write about. Non-verbal signs of pain obviously become very difficult to hide as pain increases, but even small amounts of pain may result in non-verbal expression of pain. Non-verbal signs of pain could be great for tipping other characters or audience off to pain.
Non-verbal signs of pain include:
Facial grimacing (especially the little crinkle between the eyebrows)
Increase in respiratory rate, heart rate, and blood pressure
Decrease in blood oxygen saturation (from breath holding)
Guarding of painful area
Decrease in physical activity and energy level
Loss of interest in surroundings
Difficulty keeping attention on task, may miss information
Restlessness
Constant shifting in position
Change in appetite
Repetitive movements, such as crinkling paper, wrapping fabric around hands, rubbing feet against bed
A “pain signature” is a person’s unique but consistent combination of the above signs. Even people who try to hide their pain often display a pain signature, though they may attempt to write it off (decrease in energy can sometimes be compensated for and change in appetite and restlessness can be caused by a lot of different things). If you know your character will be in pain, it might be a good idea to include their pain signature as part of character planning.
R E F E R E N C E S
Craven, R. F., & Hirnle, C. J. (2009). Fundamentals of nursing: Human health and function. Philadelphia: Wolters Kluwer Health/Lippincott Williams & Wilkins.
Lippincott, W. &. (2013). Brunner and suddarth’s textbook of medical -surgical nursing 12th ed. nursing diagnosis, .. Place of publication not identified: Wolters Kluwer Health.
synopsis: Dew's relatively uneventful and ordinary life changed when he was kidnapped by a mad scientist named Anton, who planned to use Dew as his new human test subject for experiments. Dew, who is scared out of his mind, now has to try gaining his captor's trust while he slowly plans his escape, all while enduring experiments that make him not quite human anymore.
general content warnings: lab whump, captivity, experimentation, body mods, body horror, hurt/comfort, torture, mind control, immortality, mad scientists, clones, ghosts, shapeshifters, autistic & transgender winged whumpee, autistic & transgender carewhumper, ghost whumpee-turned-caretaker
(please read chronologically!)
Story:
Only The Beginning + art
Let Me Go
Surreal
Let’s Begin
Favorite Little Test Subject
A Change of Pace
No Control
Nightmare
Alone part 1
Alone part 2 + art
A New Friend
Fever Dream
Happy Birthday + art
Time Flies
Broken Dreams
So Small
Close Your Eyes
The Dark
Eye Spy… + art
Max
Art:
Anton reference sheet
Dew reference sheet (coming soon)
my art
fanart!! :D
picrews
old Dew and Anton refs
Other:
AU masterlist
asks
playlist
memes
Anton’s voice claim
character tags: Dew | Anton | Basil | Sasha | Hayden | Layla | Sawyer | Pierce | Max
The first piece I've written in a long while, and a gift to @angst-after-dark. Thane and Dami are their characters.
Content / warnings: two whumpees, BBU, recovery, recapture. Past conditioning. A tiny bit of choking. Sacrifice.
The day, on which Ira's fifth life ended, started like any other day.
Of course it did, she thought. It always came as a surprise. Mistress - Madeline - had had her picked up to be given to Ms Gemma after a beautiful holiday. Ms Gemma had locked her up in the bathroom and sold her, just when Ira had started really feeling at home with her. The police had raided Master Adam's apartment during their regular Saturday morning sex.
These had all been the ends to bad lives, though. This life, it had been good. Since the moment she'd met Dami, her days had become brighter, her world larger, her smiles real.
She wasn't ready for it to end. But she knew it did, when she stepped into their kitchen, a bit sweaty from her bike ride home in the summer's heat, backpack half slipped down from her shoulder to stow groceries into the fridge.
"So you're it," a soft male voice stated. "You're the one they settled for."
The backpack dropped to the floor, as she turned around.
The stranger was good looking, young, a bit older than herself. Probably Dami's age. Dark hair, high cheekbones, perfectly white teeth. He'd helped himself to a drink from their fridge, it seemed, as he carefully rested the can of coke on the kitchen counter and looked her down.
Sometimes, activists in the network had felt the need to teach her about how pets have the same worth as others. As people. That they weren't weaker or less human or in any way inferior to them.
The lectures had never been necessary. Ira had never thought they were. There was no difference between pets and regular people.
The difference, the divide, was between all of them and the owners. Between those who had to work and struggle and fight and give in their lives, and those who never did. Those who only existed to take.
The stranger in her kitchen was that. It was obvious from his stance, the twist of his lip, the cool disdain in his eyes.
He was an owner.
And he'd come to take.
She just stood still, met his gaze, waiting for him to make a move, to tell her what it was that he wanted.
And he did move, with long strides, as if this place, this small kitchen with the yellow sunflower curtains, that Dami and Ira had called theirs was his already. And maybe it was. Maybe she was, too.
The stranger reached out to grab her chin. She didn't flinch. Just let him touch her, inspect her, judge her.
Her white hair, her colorful clothes, her tattooed skin, the patterns of crisscrossing scars, the place on her wrist where a tattoo swallowed what remained of her bar code.
The man let go off her, shook his head with a scoff, before he gestured at the room around them. "This shithole of a place? A cheap runaway whore like you? That's the life they chose over what they had with me?"
"I love them," Ira said carefully, an odd sense of pride bristling under her skin. "And they love me."
He chuckled mildly. "We'll see about that," he murmured, and stepped in, settled his hand around her throat. "Would you even fight if I killed you?"
She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. "They love me," she repeated.
The man's fingers wrapped around her throat more tightly. "They're mine," he said. "They might've forgotten it somewhere between your long whore legs, but they'll remember. They-"
"Ira." It was all but a garbled breath behind her, followed by a word that made her shiver, cut to her bone. Dami's voice, horrified, sincere. Absolute. "Sir."
The man's other hand returned her, far enough for her to see them, to meet their gaze for the flicker of a moment, before they dropped to their knees.
She'd never seen them surrender.
Of course she knew they had. They'd been what she'd been, after all. Made to serve. Obey. Surrender. Made for an owner.
Made for this owner.
She wanted to whisper their name, but she kept silent under the man's hands.
"Please," Dami said, "Leave her out of it."
"You're mine," their owner replied.
"Yes. Yes, Sir."
"Then you'll come back with me."
"I will." Dami didn't look at her, just stared at the floor, the tips of the man's polished shoes.
"Good." The hold around Ira's neck loosened, as he stepped back and straightened his shirt. "Then let's go."
Dami scrambled to their feet. "Yes, Sir."
Ira didn't cry, or beg, or say goodbye. Dami was her world. There was no life without them. It wasn't even a question. She stepped forward, to their side, reached out to take their hand.
Their fingers interlaced with hers, natural, perfect, as they always had. They belonged together.
Behind her, she heard the man laugh. "What's that, whore? You want to come?"
"No," Dami whispered.
Ira swallowed, grabbed their hand more tightly and shook her head. This was her decision to make. Not theirs. And there was only one option. Not only her life had become better in freedom, side by side with them.
She knew she couldn't save Dami from going back. But she could keep them from going alone.
On the topic of realistic conditioning/deconditioning,
If the trigger is something whumpee wouldn't hear often when they're with caretaker but whumpee still wants to break it because they might hear it elsewhere (like kneel being taken as a command)
Would whumpee ask caretaker to casually trigger them so they have the opportunity to challenge it in their own head and in a safe place? Would this be a good idea for recovery?
And of course being there with the praise everytime whumpee makes just a little bit of progress, or comfort when they don't.
Heads up, anon: your ask was an EXCEPTIONALLY good one, and I ended up writing another mini TED talk (~3-4 min read) in response. Thank you so much for sending it in!
...on Conditioned Whumpees - Part 3
[ Part 1 - Part 2 ]
That is a very, very good idea! You're spot on with all of it, particularly operating in a safe environment where whumpee is ultimately calling the shots. Having that comfort/support readily available will make a huge difference in how well whumpee can tackle the matter. And while the process isn't fun, approaching desensitization with this much intent is much, much more likely to result in success.
I can offer a few pointers that can add another few layers of realism, as well as some other things to think about while tailoring it to your story:
if whumpee is actively working through their conditioning in this way, memories of their trauma will become closer to the surface. As a result, all of their other PTSD symptoms will be elevated during the course of their practice sessions, as well as for at least a few weeks after.
flashbacks are a very common experience during times like this. engaging with triggers like this is going to cause their flashbacks to become more frequent and intense.
during such flashbacks, it is almost a given that whumpee's mind and body will enter a similar state to the one it was in during the time when the flashback was taking place. By that I mean that the fear they felt in that moment, where it was physically located in their body, will echo into their body in the present moment. Same goes for other all other emotions, and sometimes even phantom aches surrounding any injuries they received at the time...
while the emotions tend to be identical to the ones felt during the trauma, in my experience, the pain comes out distorted in a similar way to the way it does in dreams: less intense, and more "blurry" and imprecise in location. When we say that someone having a flashback is "reliving the moment", we mean that their body literally feels as though they're in the same immediate danger that it was in back then.
this is true even though they'll be aware to at least some degree that they're presently with caretaker and safe.
the flashbacks don't always happen immediately after the conditioning trigger is used. Often they flare up hours or days later, sometimes without warning, sometimes as a result of encountering a different flashback trigger. The whumpee's thresholds for what counts as a trigger will drop, which is part of what causes the flashbacks to happen more often. Something they could normally ignore is going to affect them much more while they're like this.
your whumpee is more likely to experience severe mood swings while in this heightened state. Especially feelings like irritability, frustration, anger, loneliness, and grief. This stuff ain't pretty, folks. Even your sweet cinnamon bun is most likely going to lash out at someone as a result.
PTSD episodes are also exhausting. your whumpee is going to feel mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. And, to add insult to injury, being tired amplifies the emotions listed above.
Now all of this said, your whumpee may or may not know that this is to be expected. If they've worked on processing their trauma before this, they'll have figured out that one often leads to the other. They'll go into the deconditioning practice knowing this is coming, and will approach it carefully, but with a fairly level head. Knowing that it'll suck, but they'll come out the other side okay.
If not, they're in for a rather nasty surprise.
For the latter, they will feel at first that the deconditioning practice is making everything worse. They're suddenly struggling the way they did when the trauma was fresher, and it can be tempting to stop and refuse to touch it again because the mental/emotional pain gets so intense.
If they do give up at this stage, it will make trying again far more daunting in the future.
But the trauma being stirred up is actually a sign that it's helping. It means that the whumpee is starting to process what happened to them, which is a fundamental step in being able to heal.
Note: All throughout the process, crying is a very good thing. It lets them physically get rid of a lot of the brain chemicals associated with these surges of emotion. Letting themselves cry over things they couldn't cry about back then can actually help them let go of those feelings in a similar way to if they'd been able to process them in the moment. [Which is the basis for much of EMDR, a specialized tool used in trauma therapy.]
Okay. So now we know what other effects can cascade from the actual deconditioning practice, now we have some things to consider.
First off, what time parameters are whumpee and caretaker working within while deconditioning? There are three basic options:
they sit down together and practice repeatedly using the trigger for [X amount of time; usually <45m at once] back to back. Once that time is up, caretaker will no longer use the trigger at all, the excercise will end, and they'll get up to do something else.
whumpee sets a specific window of time [X number of hours] within which caretaker will use the trigger word at random points. Once that time has elapsed, the exercise is over.
over the course of days, caretaker uses the trigger word at random points without giving warning. the excercise only stops after being ended by whumpee.
Now why is that important? Because of something called hypervigilance. It is another symptom of PTSD which, to put it into the simplest words, is whumpee waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's a heightened state of tension and wariness in which whumpee is expecting that something bad is going to happen, and is constantly searching for any sign to indicate when it's coming.
It is beyond exhausting.
Imagine knowing that someone is about to slap you as hard as they can, and you have to sit there with your eyes closed, waiting for it. The breath-holding, the flinchiness, the rigid tension in your body as you strain to listen for when they're coming.
Only now, stretch that moment out into hours. Days. Weeks. That is hypervigilance.
A hypervigilant whumpee is not going to be able to relax. Or rest. Or decompress. Or readily trust much of anything around them. They're MUCH more likely to flinch at sudden movements/sounds. They might start biting their nails or showing other signs of nervousness and distress.
These methods above have a gradually increasing chance of setting off whumpee's hypervigilance. If they know exactly when the next trigger is coming, as in example 1, then their 'waiting for it' tension will be low. But the more uncertain they become of exactly when it's going to happen, as in examples 2 & 3, the worse the hypervigilance is going to get.
The trade off is that the later examples are more effective in desensitizing them toward the trigger. The more their practice mimics encountering an unexpected trigger in day-to-day life, the easier it will be to fall back on that desensitization when the time comes.
Therefore, it would be a very good idea for a whumpee who's new to this to start with number 1, then gradually progress to 2 & 3 as time goes on. They should be the one to decide when the next step is made, and if/when they need to dial it back.
Other questions to ask yourself while plotting:
how mentally prepared is whumpee for worsening symptoms? what about caretaker? did either of them know it was coming?
how much of this heightened PTSD stress can your whumpee take before it becomes too much? how do they react when they do hit that tipping point?
if caretaker feels that whumpee is getting too distressed during practice even though they're not tapping out, would they call it off themself? Or would they ultimately leave that decision to whumpee?
based on the answer, how would whumpee feel about caretaker's decision? Relieved? Belittled? Betrayed?
does whumpee have any grounding tools they can use while practicing?
how does caretaker handle the mood swings and instability that come with whumpee's heightened PTSD? You should consider both their internal and external reactions on the matter.
how does whumpee prefer to decompress after a practice session? what things would help them calm down and recover?
how long do they need (hours or days) before the next attempt?
Even with all I've just written, there's far more to the resulting hightened state of PTSD than flashbacks and hypervigilance. PTSD symptoms that they're most likely to encounter in the background while doing deconditioning practice include:
Yes, usually many of them at once, even those that contradict. Your whumpee is going to have a LOT going on at once, and it is not going to be a fun time. I recommend looking up any of the above symptoms you don't recognize, and looking for whump inspiration in what you learn.
(Because everyone experiences PTSD episodes differently, there's a lot of wiggle room in which ones whumpee will encounter. Don't feel pressured to use all of them, find what you want to write and have fun with it!)
Thanks again for the incredible ask, anon. And again, I want to congratulate you on how spot-on your original ask was. You nailed it. I know this was a lot more than you asked for, but I hope this provides helpful context for your whump! My inbox will always be open if you think of anything more <3
jimmyeatworldofficial
izzy806
amandla
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
kianamaiart
areudirty
gummygunk
