#tool list

[solderalchemy]

What Tools Do You Need for DIY Soldering?

☝️ Check it out for the ultimate tool breakdown!

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

I keep going back to the machine short that you made with the medical whump. It's such a terrifying but intriguing concept for a whumper to use as a tool against their whumpees. Is there any chance there could be a continuation of that? Since it talked about the slow breakdown of what the whumpee would go through over time. Love your writing hope you're having a good day!

[I’m glad you enjoyed it so! Also, I know like nothing about medical stuff so it you want more medically accurate uhhh sorry. I try, but why let reality get in the way of a fun idea?]

CW: medical whump, restraints, forced intubation, conditioning, denial of communication tools, 

[Follow up to the Machine]

Whumper smiled as they ventured down the hall, down to visit their sweet little captive. And they were sweet, had been for a while now. Big eyes that took in everything and nothing all at once, hanging on Whumper’s next word in the hopes that they wouldn’t be left alone in the dark again.

But they would be. They always would be.

Whumper entered the room, pressing the button to start the dimmer. The room lit slowly, gradually, to not be so rough on Whumpee’s eyes.

Whumper was kind.

“Good morning darling,” Whumper cooed, waltzing over to the machine. They smiled, knowing full well it was nearing twilight. Just another personal bit of fun, ruining Whumpee’s sense of days. Waking them at odd hours, keeping them so disoriented. It would be good fun when Whumpee was out of the machine, watching them try to reset their internal clock.

Big, round, eyes greeted them like normal, the fear dulled but still there. No sounds other than the faint hiss of the machines, the beep of a heart monitor, Whumper’s own footsteps.

They sat on the stool that was placed next to the table for this exact purpose, and ran a hand through Whumpee’s hair. A little drier, stripped of natural oil from the cheap shampoo Whumper used to wash it. Even with Whumper’s fingers catching on Whumpee’s curls, it was more sensation than the captive had felt in hours. Something other than the hard metal and restrains, other than the tubbing and compression pads that had become their entire world.

Something human. Whumpee craved it, and Whumper could supply it.

They watched Whumpee’s eyes flutter shut and their chest judder for a moment, before the machine took back control of their breathing. Such a sight, the little tremor of their chest. Happened much less now that they had learned to submit to it; to the machine, the process, to Whumper – but a human could only control their body so much.

Which is why Whumper designed such a fantastic tool to help them. To help them learn.

“How are you feeling, Hm? Ready to be good?”

Whumpee’s eyes lit up, a slight noise escaping from their chest. Whumper smiled and pet the side of their face, admiring how pale their skin had become. Nearly translucent. Perfect.

The big eyes glanced down to Whumper’s feet, to the communication board that was kept there. The only way they could get their thoughts across, to try and talk with Whumper. Whumper ignored the glances, tilting Whumpee’s head to the side to look at them face to face. Whumpee winced slightly at the change, and the movement that disrupted the placement of the tubes in their throat.

“It there something that you want? Something you want to tell me?”

Whumper had removed the strap around their throat after a bit, after they were assured that Whumpee wouldn’t thrash around and try to hurt themself. Whumpee nodded slightly, muscles in their neck weak.

“Well, what is it?” Whumper basked in the panicked glances down to the board and back to whumper, practically begging. But why give them such as easy out when they had learned to have such expressive eyes?

“No no, you don’t need that,” Whumper said softly, gently brushing Whumpee’s tear tracks away with the pad of their thumb. “Just tell me this; are you ready to be good?”

Predicting a little, Whumper placed their hand over Whumpee’s chest. They were right, and felt the resetting of their breath through their hand. Whumpee’s eyes were somehow wider than before, more little noises that escaped around the tubes, another desperate yet weak nod.

This wasn’t the first time that Whumpee had been asked, but it was the first time that Whumper believed them. They had seen that fire die within the first few days, fully dead by the end of the first week.

The following weeks were to bury it, to destroy any remaining control, any reserves. Whumpee knew now, understood, that Whumper was in control, that they were the one that made all their decisions for them.

“Well, if you promise to be good, I think we can get you out of here –“ Whumpee nodded again, more tears spilling down their cheeks. Such an eager little thing, Whumper liked them much, much more like this.

“Hold on, hold on,” they laughed, standing to turn off the muscle stimulators and monitors. “Now, you know you’ll be quite weak after all this time. You might have to learn to walk again, to feed yourself. You’ll have to be very good for me. It will be easier for me to put you back in the machine rather than teach you how to do these things again, understand? Do not vex me.”

Whumpee nodded again, pleading and begging in their mind. They would do anything, they would obey and be good. Anything at all to never be brought back here, to this room – to the machine. They wanted to move, they wanted to stand and speak and breathe on their own. They would do anything to breathe on their own.

Whumper made quick work of removing the tubes, unclipping the restraints and freeing Whumpee. They hummed as they worked, excited to start this next stage. It was always so peaceful, the deep terror still fresh in Whumpee’s mind. It would fade, though, and the machine would always be here if they needed a quick refresher.

It took a moment for whumpee to remember the natural rhythm of their breath; some too short and others too deep. But once they picked it back up, they sobbed. They sobbed in Whumper’s arms, relieved and overjoyed by the jerking of their chest and their heaving lungs. It was them, they were crying, they were breathing.

Whumper hugged them, muttering gentle words into their ear. They would be so good now, so good.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Command for Tool (if thats what we're calling the Machine whumpee now). I want you to go to the empty room - to your room - and destroy your Machine.

Tool freezes, eyes going incredibly wide. Oh, oh no they can’t. They could never. the Mechanic would be so incredibly angry at them. He would, would -oh. A foreign yet familiar way of thinking came over them.

If the machine was gone, than he couldn’t put them back in.

Bolstered by this idea, Tool made their way to the room. The feeling of it, the very air made them shiver. They hated this room, feared it. It was worse than anything else they had ever experienced, and they would be glad to see it go.

They picked up the Mechanic’s stool, gripping it tightly. After a breath to compose themself, they swing it down hard on the control panel.

Again, and again, and again.

In the end, they stood panting my the crushed systems. It was gone, really gone. No longer could the threat of this awful thing hang over their head. They were free of it, even if they weren’t free of the Mechanic.

But if the machine was gone, what kept them there?

“Well then.”

Tool spun around, still armed with the stool. The Mechanic looked so displeased, it made their legs weak. But no, no – it didn’t matter if the man was displeased anymore. He couldn’t do anything to them. They were free, even if they were still in the building.

“What on earth came over you,” he pondered. He looked displeased, but he didn’t look angry. Didn’t have that sheen of rage come over his face. He began to circle tool, who moved to keep the stool in between them.

“You know this behavior is unacceptable, don’t you?”

Tool nearly squeaked out an answer, but caught themself. No, no it didn’t matter. What the Mechanic wanted didn’t matter anymore.

He took a step closer and looked Tool directly in the eyes.

“You know that wasn’t my only one, right?”

Tool thought they might faint. The older man smiled, grabbing one of the stool’s legs and ripping it out of Tool’s grip.

“Oh no no no. I have another. An older version, not as finely crafted and designed. Mismatching parts from set I’ve stolen from across the years. It’s much rougher, more blunt. I had to make another as the prototype was ineffective. You understand what I mean by ‘ineffective,’ don’t you?”

Tool nodded, trying to back away. Oh, oh this was such a mistake. How could they ever be so foolish!

“Hm. Good, then I’m sure you won’t mind being the first to use it after all this time. I’ll warn you before hand, the ventilation system is a big slow. Never could get it quite right. And there’s no timer on the feeding pump – but you said you understood ineffective.”

The Mechanic grabbed Tool’s hair, pulling them close as they whimpered and went limp.

“You’ll regret that, I’ll be sure of it.”

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

What if Tool got away and then a few years later they got sick/injured and ended up needing to be intubated at hospital? (For surgery I guess I do not understand medicine) I can just imagine them waking up early and a bit off from the drugs thinking that they’re in the machine again, would they openly panic or just go quiet and obedient?

[Tool.... comfort? Look I am making this up as a go.] 

CW: implied hospital setting, implied intubation, implied surgery, dis//sociation, flashback 

[Other Tool things (NOT FLUFFY)] 

They woke to a familiar feeling. Not a good one, oh no not a good one, but familiar nonetheless.

They hadn’t even opened their eyes before they let their consciousness slip away. They phased out, not letting anything reach them. If nothing could reach them, nothing could hurt them. They could just kind of drift, not fighting or suffering. Just waiting until things got better.

There was a sniff and the rustling of clothes. Someone else? The Mechanic? Was he here? Was he watching over them? They – Tool turned their head towards the sound and began to open their eyes. He liked that. Liked it when they tried to come back when he was there. He liked it when Tool got scared, light eyes ringed in helpless terror.

But it wasn’t the Mechanic. It was a girl, dark hair in high ponytail. She looked tired, head resting on her hands.

She looked familiar. They couldn’t place why.

After a moment, she looked up and saw they were awake.

“Hey,” she said softly, moving a little closer to the bed. Bed? Tool let it go. They started to let themself drift again, away from the world that could hurt them and scare them.

“Hey, Casper, hey you’re okay.”

Tool’s brows furrowed. Who – their thought process got interrupted by someone taking their hand and rubbing a thumb across it softly. They glanced down, distracted by her nail polish. Three of the fingers were purple, one was green, and the other was a glittery silver. Julie always did that though, saying that she had enough nail polish to make every finger a different color everyday.

Tool blinked, looked back up to the face. Julie?

They remembered their first day in the apartment, unnerved by all the people. Sharing a space with four other people? They hadn’t ever done that before. There would be a lot going on, wouldn’t there. Lots of people coming and going.

But they knew these people. Liked them. They were all nice, if a bit loud sometimes. They had chosen to sign the lease and move in with them. And there was a room, that was to be all theirs. They were going to pick out paint later.

“Heads up, Casper!” called a voice from behind them. Mike, carrying a mini fridge up the stairs. They moved out of his way, a bit confused.

“Casper?” They asked quietly. Julie popped her head out from the kitchen.

“Like the cartoon.”

They shook their head. They didn’t know what that was. Julie’s face lit up.

“Ohh, we are so watching movies tonight.”

Someone distantly yelled something about popcorn. Julie fake-gagged. “I swear to GOD Kai. You can make that truffle popcorn if you want, but I’m making the microwave stuff the way the farmers intended.”

She disappeared behind a wall again and they smiled. Casper. They kinda liked it.

They looked at her again, started to get scared. They wanted to go back to the apartment, they didn’t know what happened.

Julie shushed them, rubbing their hand. “You’re okay Casper. You’re in the hospital. Had a little surgery, but doc says you’re doing fine. You’ll be home soon. Can you try and get a little more sleep?”

They nodded, closing their eyes and squeezing her hand.

~ 

Tagging @unicornscotty @as-a-matter-of-whump @starnight-whump @whump-me-all-night-long @whump-it @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @valkyrie-whump cause Raccoon Comfort is so rare

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

I don't think I'm imagining things, but Tumblrs less-than-stellar search engine is no help and it was before I hopped on the Tool taglist. Was there a piece where Tool comforted another Machine Dweller? In my head, I'm calling the other person Cog. That is all.

Omg “Cog” I love it.

Right here!!

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Hi! Can I be added to the Tool taglist? I absolutely love the story! :)

added!! Thank you so much!

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Hello :D I adore your Tool stuff, could I be added to the taglist?

added!

[prepperjournal]

Tool List for the Apocalypse

Tool List for the Apocalypse

I never realized how cool my father’s workbench was when I was younger. My Dad had a corner of our basement devoted to building and fixing things for our family. His workbench wasn’t that large and he didn’t have 80 square feet of peg-board adorned with every tool imaginable. He didn’t have the sharpie silhouettes of each tool’s shape to make it easier for the messy kids to find the right spot…

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