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seasons-beatings · 30 days ago

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Happy holidays, @whumpy-wyrms!

From your gifter: Author's Note: This was such a fun little piece to write! Thanks for letting me borrow your miserable men. I hope you enjoy <3

Summary: After Dew gets his wings (literally), Anton wonders if the transformation caused any other side effects. Despite Dew protestations, he must find out.

Contains: Lab whump, noncon drugging, medical whump, graphic depictions of surgery, carewhumper, mild gore, test subject whumpee, needles, mentions of past noncon body modification, winged whumpee

Science Doesn’t Sleep, But Test Subjects Do

Anton smiled to himself as he knocked on the door to Dew's room, giving his test subject a bit of warning before he pushed the door open. He couldn't help but smile as stepped inside to see Dew curled up on the bed, blanket covering his lower and half, and wings-those luscious, marvelous, miracle wings-curled around his torso protectively.

Seeing them made his heart sing, and Anton didn't think that would ever change. The experiment had gone so beautifully well. A part of him couldn't believe that it had worked at all, but the evidence was impossible to ignore. Dew had grown wings. His life's work was coming to fruition.

Quietly, he approached the bed, crouching down by Dew's head. He knew the hour was early, possibly obscenely so, though it was always difficult to tell where the line was, but the procedure he had in mind for today needed to take place before Dew had eaten, and the results would probably take him some time to interpret. He reached out, patting Dew's shoulder. "Hey, buddy, you awake?"

After a moment, Dew groaned, lazily opening an eye. He groaned again, louder, when he realized it was Anton who had disturbed him. "Whaddaya want.." He mumbled as he buried his face in the mattress.

Anton tutted, turning the lights in his room all the way up. "We've got a few tests to get through this morning. Nothing difficult, all you have to do is lay there."

Dew shook his head, lifting the pillow to hide underneath it, wings curling in even more.

"C'mon sleepy head, none of that." He frowned as he pulled the pillow away, leaning it up against the headboard.

Slowly, Dew opened his eyes, squirting at Anton."Can't it wait until a more decent time?"

"Science waits for no man," Anton smiled, patting him on the shoulder and offering him a bouffant cap. "After this you can have a big breakfast, okay? Maybe the chocolate chip pancakes?"

Dew looked up at him, eyes wide and brimmed with tears as he nodded. His voice was quiet when he spoke. "Okay."

Anton was pleasantly surprised with Dew's compliance as he got his subject situated on the operating table at the center of his lab. When he was first constructing the space, he hadn't been so sure about about investing in the table and the overhead lights for it, along with everything else, but he was now more than getting his money's worth. Being strapped down to it always made Dew's eyes go wide, but he hoped that would fade with time.

"I'm going to give you your sedative first, okay Dewey?" He reached back for a pair of gloves and his IV access tray. Dew had great veins, adding just another reason to why he was such a wonderful subject. With some ketamine in him, he was nearly perfect.

Unfortunately, Dew didn't seem to appreciate that as much as he did. When Anton started to wipe his hand off with an alcohol wipe so he could place the cannula, Dew sobbed, sniffling.

"What're you even gonna do to me?"

Anton couldn't help but smile as he sunk the needle in. "I'm so glad you asked." He ignored the way Dew groaned quietly in the background. "Today, we're going to do a quick little kidney biopsy."

Dew flinched at that, blinking the tears out of his eyes. "Wha? Why?"

He hummed, tapping down the IV to the top of his hand. "Well, as I explained previously, the serum I gave you that stimulated your wing development" -they were really such wonderful wings, he would never be over that-- "used portions of bird DNA as a template." He flushed the line, and Dew shivered when the cold saline entered his veins. "Now, little known fact, bird kidneys contain both mammalian and reptilian nephrons. I'm curious to see if you've started to develop these traits internally."

Dew whimpered quietly as he drew up the sedative, double checking the dosage calculations in his mind. His subject's hands were already kneeling against the thin padding of the operating table pulling at the piped edges. The poor thing always got himself so worked up.

"I know it sounds scary," he said, keeping his voice gentle as he flicked the syringe. "But it's very important that l investigate this. Making sure any mutations stay contained is vital to my research." He screwed the syringe into place. "You know I wouldn't put in any more pain than was ever strictly, scientifically necessary."

His subject sniffled again, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath.

"What was that?" Anton asked, thumb lightly resting on the syringe's plunger. Dew just glared at him, eyes watering, and he shook his head. "It's okay. Let's calm down now, yeah Dewey?"

He slowly depressed the plunger, pushing the medication into Dew's blood stream. As it took effect, he watched a blissful expression slide over his face, and his eyelids started to droop.

Much better. Much better indeed.

***

Now that Dew was much more relaxed, Anton found preparing for the procedure to be much easier. He could finally focus on all the minute details, as he preferred to do. A procedure like this was meticulous, and Anton wouldn't have had it any other way.

First, he pulled Dew's gown off and attached him to the monitors. Just in case, he looped an oxygen mask around Dew's face, so he wouldn't have to worry if his oxygen suddenly took a dip while he was working, and started him on a liter of fluids, to keep his pressure up. Then, he carefully positioned Dew on his side, placing supports under his downward shoulder, head, and behind his back, and then holding up his top arm with two pillows. He looked a little silly, but it would save him quite a bit of soreness when he woke up.

Next, he moved on to setting up his instruments. He'd spent a while planning a kit that worked perfectly for him. For this procedure, he had two basic surgical sets, of which he unwrapped the outer drape of, careful not to contaminate it, then deposited extra surgical swabs, suction tips, electrocutery pens, and sample collection dishes. Next came the pack of drapes, which he easily tore open, but didn't unfold. Because he was operating alone, draping could be difficult, but he'd manage it when he was sterile. Before he went to do just that, he opened the sterile pack containing his gown, and peeled open the sterile, size seven point five glove package and dropped them in as well.

With the exception of the actual operation itself, the scrub had to be Anton's favorite part.

He lathered on the bright orange antimicrobial soap, starting at his fingers and methodically working his way down, all the way to his elbows. Afterwards, he went as his fingernails, as well trimmed as they were, carefully removing every trace of contamination from underneath them. He washed for another two minutes, using the brush side of the sponge on his fingertips, before using the softer side to wipe the rest of his hands and arms down.

From there, he moved over to the table, thoroughly drying each of his hands with the towels that were packaged with his gown. After they were dry, he pulled the gown up off the packaging, letting it unfurl downwards, before stretching his arms inside it and pulling it on. This was the part that an assistant would've been helpful for, and it hurt him dearly as he fastened the velcro behind his head, careful not to brush his mask, cap, or the exposed skin of his neck, and making sure to only touch the outside of the gown. It hurt his soul, but it needed to be done. His experiment had to stay secret. An assistant was too much of a risk. Sighing to himself, he moved on to the gloves, pulling them down over the cuffs of his gown.

He finished the rest of the preparations that needed to be done while he was sterile, moving efficiently as he laid out the collections of forceps, clamps, and retractor,s and scissors, scalpels and needles, sutures and syringes and anything else he could possibly need, organizing them along with the sponges and swabs. Next, he set up his suction and diathermy, which he'd modified to all be controllable with a series of various foot petals. He thought it was pretty ingenious, though, of course, it wasn't exactly like he could share it with anyone.

Next came the prepping and draping. Anton thoroughly scrubbed Dew's back with a chlorhexidine solution, before starting to drape him. Once again, because he only had one person, his draping wasn't exactly perfect technique, and he found himself wincing behind his mask.

Luckily, it was over soon enough, and then he could move on to the main event. He'd gone for the right kidney, since the literature seemed to say that it would be easiest to access. Before he cut, he carefully palpated Dew's spine, finding the edge of his rib and following it along to his mid-axillary line. After quickly numbing the area with a syringe of lidocaine, he plucked a scalpel off the table and made the first incision.

Smiling to himself, he sliced through the layers of Dew's skin, then used his fingers to tear apart the muscle until he got down into the perineum. He suctioned and cauterized as necessary, cursing himself for not installing a better ventilation system. If he was being honest, the singed flesh smelled absolutely god awful.

There was a tired, slightly pained groan from the table as he worked. "It's okay, Dewey.

You'll be just fine," Anton said softly, doing his best to comfort. Though, that was really the point of the ketamine. Dew wouldn't remember any of this.

He hummed, smiling slightly as he got down into the retroperitoneum. One of Anton's big concerns had been that Dew's kidney would be difficult to locate, but once he'd started cutting, he'd found that this wasn't going to be a problem at all. His right kidney was very superficial, easily identifiable without any trocar placement at all. Just one more way the Dew really was the perfect subject.

Using a pair of forceps and a pad, he pushed open the fat pad, revealing the flesh of Dew's kidney. He couldn't help but poke at the organ, feeling the warmth through his gloved finger. There was another wide grin on his face again. It was beautiful.

Dew whimpered again, breath hitching, and Anton pulled his hand away. He needed to get on with the actual procedure. Dew didn't need his abdominal cavity open any longer than was strictly necessary. Refocusing, he pushed the Trucut needle in and collected the biopsy sample, then repeated it with a second needle. He'd gotten what he came for.

"That's the worst of it," he hummed as he withdrew the second needle, setting it to the side so he could close.

He used the diathermy forceps to stop any of the bleeding from the biopsy site on the kidney, then started to close, neatly suturing up Dew's skin layer by layer. His subject was still whimpering quietly, Anton wished he could lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but his words would just have to do.

"You're all done," he said as he numbed the site generously, hoping that it would make waking more comfortable, before bandaging the surgical site. "See, that wasn't so bad, hun? Just like

Satisfied with his work, he pulled his gown and gloves off, then took down his mask. Dew was still distant, but his eyes still flickered up towards Anton as he squatted down so he was at face level. "You did so well for me, Dewey." He reached a hand out, petting his subject's hair. "So, so

Dew just mumbled in response, and Anton smiled sadly. If only Dew could be this pliant and relaxed all of the time, then they would really be unstoppable.

#season’s beatings gift #whump #whump writing #season’s beatings

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seasons-beatings · 30 days ago

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Happy holidays, @newbornwhumperfly!

Content: broken bones, concussion, whipping

Handsome face, charming smile. What more could anyone ask for, really? It was easy to prey on the smaller man, being tall meant somethings came naturally easy. Somethings that may or may not inculde towering over grovelling slaves. That was all part of Jorah's job description, anyway.

The slave being put in place, in question, was Morja. A shorter man, with dark brown eyes that held the world. Heart of gold and black hair to boot.

Morja soon learned that life wasn't about living anymore, it was about surviving. And that is a very scary thing in itself. However, it's got to get done, and that fueled the fire that burned dimly in Morja's heart. It puttered and flickered softly, pushing him to achieve usefulness and goodness.

It went without saying, he needed "correction". He needed "guidance" and "purpose". And Jorah gave that to him. Their relationship tended to teeter on whether or not Morja complied. Which, he always did.

"Morja." Jorah said, clapping in his face. Morja snapped to, straightening his positioning.

"Didn't you hear me?" Jorah asked, eyes flashing in annoyance.

"I'm sorry, Sir... I- I didn't." Morja said, stiffening. He was in an inspection pose, that of his arms being on his head whilst his legs were shoulder width apart.

"You are such a disappointment, you useless bitch." Jorah growled out, his temper flaring.

Morja whimpered softly, just barely audible. His positioning faltered breifly. The ends of Jorah's mouth turned upwards, exhaling a cocky "that's right dumbass" bit of air. It was clear by Morja's fragile state that Jorah could do just about anything to the poor dear.

In a flash, Jorah wrapped his hand around Morja's hair, tugging very sharply. With his head stinging pins and needles, he whispered out, "So-sorry. I'm so sorry, please let me do good Sir, please." Jorah smiled at that. The fun was no where near done, though.

Slamming Morja to the ground, Jorah ground his foot against Morja's back. Pressing harshly, a good bit of air was forced out of Morja's lungs, rasping for breath with every passing second. It took a moment to register what exactly just happened to Morja.

"What do you have to say about your pathetic state? Hm? You are absolutely not worthy of grace. You know exactly what you did. Don't you?" Jorah spit with every sharp vowel.

"Sir, ple-please. I don.. I don't know." Morja wheezed out. His raspy breathing quickened immensely, brain processing.

"What was that pretty boy?" Jorah smirked, grinding his heel into Morja's back. Morja's fingers curled, sharp grunts and whimpers escaped his gaping mouth.

Peering down at the trembling slave, Jorah stomped with all his might. Eyes wide and panicked, Morja could feel something snap. Perhaps a rib or two. That couldn't be good

The piercing, stabbing pain blossomed immediately, a sharp scream ripping his throat raw and burned. Curling into himself, Morja couldn't properly describe the pain that followed.

As soon as his breathing caught up, faster than belief, he coughed. Bile rose in his throat, and he could feel his ribs bustling with agonizing sharpness.

Jorah tugged Morja's head up, who's cheeks had a steady stream of tears pouring from his puffy eyes.

"S-Sir... Please" Morja whispered out, clenching his chest. His heart pounded and throbbed in his ears. A good bit of ringing bounced around his head. God, every single word hit his ribs like a brick, grating against the pain.

"Remember your place, bitch." Jorah snarled, inches away from Morja's face. Morja was miserable, head swimming in pain and drowning in fear.

Slamming Morja's head against the wall, he stood. Wiping his hands free of Morja, Jorah looked disgusted.

Pain flowered immediately, a flash of light running through his field of vision. Static appeared, the ringing in his ears was deafining. The room swam, disoriented and dazed.

"Now, what did we learn? Hmm? Come now love, speak up." Jorah said, smiling a bit when Morja coughed, spitting up bile.

"S-sir.... Forgive me, I- I'm sorry." Morja said, wincing with every word. Jorah snapped and pointed at his feet.

"Go on then, where you belong. Chop chop." Jorah said, with a hint of eagerness. Morja army crawled over, breathing sparse. Grunts and all matter of pained noises came garbled out of Morja.

After a great deal of struggling, Morja finally reached Jorah's feet. Collapsing on the floor, he screamed when Jorah kicked harshly.

"Ple-please Sir, please. I'm sorry. So so-sorry. Please.” Morja hissed out, hands flashing to protect his ribs.

"What makes you think I'll give you mercy? You know exactly what you did. I'm simply keeping you in your place." Jorah mused, staring at the trembling slave.

Wheezing, Morja could barely catch his breath between the kicking. His head swam, trying to center himself. Eyes wide and terrified, all Morja could do was gasp for much needed air.

"...Y-yes Sir." Morja whispered out, praying the kicks would cease soon. Unsatisfied with Morja's response, Jorah slammed Morja's back against the wall, pinning him.

Jorah's nails dug in Morja's arms so hard that little beads of blood soon started to form. Tipping Morja's chin up with the end of his whip, he started intently into the withering eyes of Morja.

Streams of hopeless tears formed, racing down his cheek. Morja racked his dizzy brain for anything he might've done wrong. Did he possibly get too comfortable with his new life? Was this really because he was laxing on his standards? The more Morja thought, the more he believed it.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, goddamn it. I am your superior. You listen to me. I don't know how many times I have to drill it into your brain how much of a worthless soldier you are." Jorah barked out.

Morja's gaze moved upwards. Through all the blurry tears he could barely see Jorah, whimpering.

The fun was just beginning, for Jorah had somehow turned Morja around, and tied Morja's hands above him through a lowered beam in the rafters.

Things were, unfortunately heating up. Jorah took the whip and slammed it against Morja's back, his scream echoing in the loney chamber.

Handsome face, charming smile. What more could anyone ask for, really?

#season’s beatings gift #whump #whump writing #whump art #season’s beatings

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seasons-beatings · 30 days ago

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Happy holidays, @loonybun!

#season’s beatings gift #whump #whump art #season’s beatings

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seasons-beatings · 30 days ago

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Happy holidays, @southstardrabbles!

Am I ready?

For some people nightfall and rain sounds magically. Just imagine raindrops searching for a way down the window, the last bit of the sunlight reflecting in them before the nightfall is completed. The rain falling against the window, creating his own symphony. That's what most people would think when they hear these two words. But in this world Rain is nothing like that. She is a sadistic meanness. She likes to emotionally manipulate Nightfall and uses him as a dangerous weapon.

Nevertheless his name describes him pretty good. At the first glance you only see something dark and frightening coming at you but what you don't see is the beauty in the dark. Rain tries anything to rip these beauty out of him but will she be successful?

A familiar feeling is surrounding Nightfall. Hunger. 3 days without any food. Maybe Rain forgot him. No...she'd never do that...would she? No. Rain wouldn't forget it, she does it on purpose. He doesn't know why. The last few days went great. When you consider how great a day with Rain can be. "What did I do?" Nightfall sits on the ground with his head between his legs. Clueless and frightened.

Nightfall's thoughts are circling around in his head. It can't go on like this. He needs to do something. Something that Rain would want to see. Killing. With his bare hands. But who? Rain? Noo STOP. She helped me so much but she also destroyed me. It's finally time to take revenge.

Nightfalls ears catch a familiar sound. The key searching his way through the lock. It's time. She's coming. Nightfall goes into position. Ready to attack.

Rain grabs the doorknob from the big steel door and turns it. To her surprise Nightfall isn't standing infront of her. Normally he would stand there like a soldier does. Not today. "ON YOUR FEET" no reaction. Rain apruptly switches to a soft "Nightfall? U good?"

Don't fall for it, don't fall for it, don't fall for it. Nightfall has done a lot of things since he knows Rain but this may be the hardest thing he has ever done. He is using her. Usually it's the other way round.

Nightfall is standing in a dark corner. "Nightfall. If you don't come he-"

Rain has no chance to bring her sentence to an end. It looks like a big shadow is jumping at her but it's no shadow...it's Nightfall. He thought he was smarter and stronger than Rain but he was wrong. At first he didn't even realize what happened. Nightfall just looked into Rains eyes and a cold breeze went through him. He has seen a lot of evil in person but never something like this. It felt like the devil is standing in front of him. Little wrinkles formed around Rains mouth. A smile. She is smiling. Her eyes locked Nightfall in.

"Wha- What did you do?" Just know Nightfall pulls out the syringe from his arm. If he thinks about it he didn't even feel something. His feet are getting weak. He starts to stumble.

Rain takes over the situation. "Did you really thought that you could overpower me? I trained you and I'm still doing so. So see this as an act of kindness. I just showed you that you are not ready to be out there. You are nothing without me. Just look at you. You can't hunt. You are alone, dumb and right now you can't even talk or move."

Nightfall has to accept his fate. He didn't even feel the impact on the floor. His eyesight is slowly fading away. He just sees Rains silhouette. Big like never before. Alarming. The only thing that is working are his thoughts. "Why did I do this? I should've known this. I'm not ready. She is right...I'm nothing. I- I am a useless monster. I'll never get out of here. But there needs to be way. There has to be."

His breathing slows and shortly after he is united with darkness. Not knowing what he will wake up to.

#season’s beatings gift #whump #whump writing #season’s beatings

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seasons-beatings · 30 days ago

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Happy holidays, @thatsgonnaleaveamark!

“I lost my locket. Will you help me find it?”

The woman had been following Ben for almost half an hour, and he was losing hope that she would lose interest. He stopped and turned to face her. Even though she was somewhat hazy, as many ghosts were, he could see she was soaked to the bone. Ben shivered at the sight, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets. A gust of freezing wind blew past. It was cold, and it was going to get dark soon. He should just keep walking and deal with her tailing him for however long it took for her to give up.

But on the other hand, if he could satisfy her with a quick look it could save him from who knows how much of her pestering him. It would be worth it. Just thirty minutes of the same line again and again and he was already getting pissed. He’d take a look. Five minutes.

“I’ll help–”

“Thank you, I’ve been asking for ages and no one will listen to me,” She approached Ben as if for a hug. He stepped back and she faltered.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t get you all wet… I dropped it somewhere by the bridge, and I can’t see it in the dark. Thank you so much for helping me,” She took another step back, looking to the side towards where a bridge used to be. It had been closed a few years ago, and partially demolished before the work was suspended due to lack of funds.

“Lead the way,” Ben gestured in the direction she was indicating. Maybe he’d get lucky, and she’d walk through a building on the way there and lose track of him.

Lucky he did not get. A minute or so of walking and the two were at what was left of the bridge. Ben didn’t expect to find anything. The locket must have been lost before the bridge was closed, and it had to have been buried or taken by now. Regardless, he took out his phone for the flashlight and started to scan the street, looking for any sign of metal catching the light. Nothing made itself obvious. Shocking. He was about to tell her he didn’t see anything, and that he had to get going now when she spoke again.

“I might have dropped it closer to the water,” Ben jumped. She was right over his shoulder. When did she get so close? Ghosts could be so quiet if they wanted to be. “Could you check the riverbank? Please?”

“Sure,”

He walked closer to the steep slope that led to the water. If she did drop it there, it might actually still be there. If she expected him to climb down there to get it he hoped that she would take his refusal well.

The best angle he could get was from the remains of the bridge. It was never a good sign when you had to duck under caution tape to get somewhere, but the first few feet of bridge looked stable enough. The wooden boards that weren’t removed had rotted long ago, but the metal supports still rested on solid concrete blocks. There used to be a metal railing lining either side of the bridge, but that had been uprooted early in the demolition, so on his hands and knees he went, shining his light over the edge and onto the plant covered slope.

Again, nothing made itself immediately obvious. As the sun started to set it became clearer how weak the flashlight on his phone was, the light barely stretching to the closest parts of the riverbank.

“I think I see it!” The woman leaned over his shoulder, pointing low on the riverbank.

Ben couldn’t tell if there was actually anything there. Against his better judgement, he moved slightly closer to the edge, holding his phone as low as he could reach to push the light as close as he could to the spot hse was pointing to. To his surprise, there was something there. Caught between two rocks was a delicate metal chain coated in rust. He never would have spotted it if she hadn’t pointed it out.

“I’m sorry,” He wasn’t. “But I don’t think I can get it from here. You can probably find someone better equipped in the morning.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure there’s something around here we could reach it with,” The woman looked around somewhat desperately.

“I need to get going anyway, at least you know where it is now, yeah?”

Ben sat back on his knees and turned off his phone’s flashlight, putting it back in his pocket so both his hands were free. He looked up at the woman, who was standing six inches above the beams he was kneeling on. He didn’t want to walk through her. There was only one direction he could go other than that, so he got up. Even after a minute or two his knees and shins hurt from kneeling and crawling on the freezing metal. He stepped to the side, towards the middle of the bridge, and immediately slipped.

It might have been ice, or just a badly placed step, but it didn’t matter. The supports that were fine with him crawling and walking were less fine with him falling on them. Something old and rusty snapped nearby, and the beams he had fallen onto tilted violently, sending him rolling off of them and directly into the water.

Ben’s jeans were soaked immediately. Every muscle in his legs tightened to the point of cramping, and he gasped just as he went under. Even just a foot from shore he couldn’t touch bottom. He kicked desperately. The water was slowly soaking through his wind-proof jacket, little pockets of ice blooming against his skin as it reached his shirt.

Ben surfaced soon enough and an eternity later. He floundered in the water, coughing until his breath settled into ragged gasps. Whatever current he had fallen into had already pushed him a good distance from shore. He knew he had to start swimming, but between the heavy jacket and boots he was wearing he could barely move. Steeling himself, he tried anyway.

As his jacket saturated with water it began to feel like a lead vest. For every stroke he made it seemed like he was pushed back twice as far. Even the little progress he could make started to wane as he began shivering harder. Between how hard it was to move in the freezing water and how hard he was shaking, he was forced to focus on just keeping his head above the surface. Just that much was becoming harder by the second.

Harder soon became too hard. His stroke faltered, and he briefly dipped below the surface, getting a breath of mostly water. Ben flailed back to the surface desperately, coughing, gasping partial breaths just to cough them back out. The panic was complete. His lungs burned from the freezing water. He couldn’t breathe. Every part of him was tight and unresponsive in the cold. He couldn’t breathe. His hands and feet were completely numb, and every other part of him was getting there. He couldn’t breathe.

When he eventually stopped coughing Ben’s breath came in forced gasps, unable to breathe any deeper through his whole body shaking. He couldn’t get enough air to shout. The old bridge was no longer in sight. At some point he had managed to start floating on his back, but with how heavy his clothes had gotten he wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up. He was exhausted. His body protested every move with burning warnings. Too much work. Not enough air. Just the shivering was enough to drain him further. Drifting in the water, he focused on conserving energy. Doing the bare minimum to stay floating and hoping that he’d wash up against something at some point.

He stayed like this for a while, until he could no longer feel the fabric of his clothing rubbing against his skin.

“Let me get you out of here, son,”

Ben opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to see a weather-beaten man with unkempt hair and a wild beard. The man was extending a hand to him, and he appeared to be standing above Ben somehow, able to ignore that they were in the middle of a river. Without thinking about it, Ben reached up to take the man’s hand and just as he processed that he would just pass right through he made contact and it became clear how the ghost planned to help him out of the river.

The familiar sensation of his whole consciousness being put to the side told him the man planned to possess him. He wasn’t sure he could stop it if he wanted to, and at the moment he didn’t. He could stop trying so hard and simply observe as the stranger piloted him to shore like a tow truck hauling a broken down car. The sensation of his tight muscles and frozen joints being manipulated should have been painful, but some through some combination of how numb he had gotten and his distance from his body he couldn’t really feel it.

He must have zoned out, because the next thing Ben knew he was lying on his side, back in the drivers seat, next to an improvised fire pit under an overpass. The man was sitting across from him, holding his hands to the fire despite being unable to feel it.

“...Whose fire is this?” Ben’s words were spaced between shudders as his body caught up and started shivering again. He sat up, cringing as his body filed its complaints at being forced to endure the swim to shore and the crawl to the overpass. It wasn’t too bad now, but as he shifted his weight he could tell he wouldn’t be moving very much tomorrow.

“There were some people, but everyone scattered when you crawled up. Ya look like a dead man walking, kid,”

“I feel like a dead man walking,” Ben shuffled as close to the fire as he thought he could, and then closer since he was soaked and unlikely to catch fire. His shaking hands were white with cold.

“You should get inside, somewhere you can get those clothes off. You’re not gonna get much warmer until you do,” The man looked around. “I think there’s a library somewhere around here. Ya got someone to call?”

“Oh fuck.” Ben dug his phone out of his dripping pocket. There was no way it would work. The screen wasn’t responsive, so he pressed the power button and held it.

There was a moment of quiet. The fire snapped and crackled.

The phone screen brightened slightly, and after another moment the logo appeared. Ben would have sighed in relief if he could get a deep enough breath for a sigh. “Yeah, I have a neighbor who’ll understand. Which way is the library?”

“I’ll walk you there. I wouldn’t trust myself to remember directions if I were looking like you,”

The man got up. Even though the ghost made no noise, the way he moved Ben thought he could still hear his bones creak. The two of them made their way toward the sidewalk, Ben shedding his coat as they went.

#season’s beatings gift #whump #whump writing #season’s beatings

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seasons-beatings · 30 days ago

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Happy holidays, @whumperwithwings!

From your gifter: aah i had so much fun writing this ❤️ also just wanted to mention i totally forgot until halfway through that the ask said apartment but hopefully that wasn’t a big thing </3 anyways i hope you like it!!!

Nothing could have prepared Whumpee for the day ahead of him.

It started like any other. He went to his classes, then back to the dorms to focus on some of the assignments he’d gotten. He was decent at keeping up with the work. It was easier when he stayed focused on that and that alone. He tried to still go out with his friends when he could, but with the amount of work he’d been getting, he’d been spending less and less time with them.

Whumpee looked down at his watch. He had time for a quick snack run. It wouldn’t take more than thirty minutes.

He threw on a hoodie and began walking down to the gas station down the street, arriving in a matter of minutes and immediately walking over to the coffee station. The winter air made him crave something a little warmer to hold on his way out, and the caffeine would keep him awake long enough to focus.

The sky was already so dark. It made everything look so much more ominous. The gas station was nearly empty this late in the afternoon, and the only other people he saw were a disgruntled employee, probably the same age as him, and a woman wearing glasses and a black face mask over her mouth, typing away on her phone.

After grabbing a few bags of chips and his coffee, Whumpee walked over to the cash register. The other woman soon joined in line behind him, holding nothing but a box of cigarettes. He left after paying, cold air instantly brushing his face, only combated by the coffee warming his hand.

He’s maybe fifty feet away from the door— Just past the end of the building and out of the light of the streetlamps— When something heavy collides with his back, sending him stumbling to the concrete.

Whumpee screams as the steaming hot coffee hisses against the skin of his arm, but any noise he makes is quickly muffled as a slender yet firm hand forces itself over his mouth, and another arm yanks him into the space between buildings.

This can’t be happening. This is a good neighborhood. I didn’t do anything wrong. I haven’t done anything wrong.

Whumpee’s mind swirled with thoughts, tears brimming in his eyes as he whimpered into the hand covering his mouth.

“Don’t scream or else I’ll fucking kill you.” A feminine voice hisses into his ear, making him go as silent as he possibly can.

The stranger slowly lifts her hand away from his mouth and into her pocket, still holding him down against his stomach. He expects a knife, or some weapon. Just something to keep him in place while she takes his wallet.

He closes his eyes and prepares for another threat, or the feeling of cold metal against his throat, soothing himself with the promise that he’d be back in his dorm soon. His panic kicks into overdrive when he feels a sharp prick in his arm, rough and unpracticed.

What was happening to him? What was going on?

Whumpee tried to open his eyes, but they were feeling heavier by the minute. The dull throbbing in his head from its collision with the ground made everything so much harder to focus on.

After only a few minutes, his shallow breaths deepen, and the rest of his senses shut down as he enters a restless state of unconscious limbo.

——————————————————————————

This isn’t the kind of job that she’d usually take. She’d done plenty of shit like this before, it wasn’t like it was above her, but it just seemed too… Strange.

Normally, she’d finish a job and she’d never have to see the face of a victim again. They were just another name on a missing poster. She never had to see the aftermath. But…

She looked back towards the trunk, then sighed and turned back to the wheel.

Once a day she had to come out and fix whatever mess this freak had left behind for her. That’s all she had to do. The client had made it abundantly clear that she wouldn’t be held responsible if they went a bit too far, and that the only scenario in which she wouldn’t be given her paycheck was if he bled out on her watch.

God. This was so fucking stupid.

In a month or so, it wouldn’t be any of her business, and she’d be a little richer. It was more than she’d ever been offered for a job before. That was the only reason she’d agreed to any of it. It was an easy job, all things considered. The victim really wasn’t anyone important. She wouldn’t have any targets on her back. All she had to do was keep him alive.

She checked the address, then looked at the house she’d pulled into the gravel driveway of. It wasn’t nearly as isolated as she’d like it to be. Sure, it wasn’t as populated as a regular suburban neighborhood, but the fact that she could still see a few other houses around wasn’t a good sign.

An expensive looking car pulled up next to hers. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to wait around for long.

——————————————————————————

Whumpee woke up to the sound of two people having a conversation. Even in his hazy state, he recognized one of them almost instantly.

The memories of what brought him here flooded in. Terror bloomed in his chest, and he did his best to scream, only to discover the cloth tightly wrapped around his mouth. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t see anything. Was he going to die? Why hadn’t he already?

The blindfold was ripped off of his face, and he was met by two figures. The first, he noticed, was the woman from the gas station. The second he didn’t recognize. It was a man— Maybe a bit older than him— with a muscular build and a giddy expression. Neither of them were making any effort to cover their faces now, which only frightened Whumpee further.

“…I still don’t think it’s a good idea to have him here. With everything you’ve told me so far, wouldn’t you prefer somewhere a little more… Y’know.” The woman acted as if Whumpee wasn’t even there.

“C’moon! You’re worrying too much about it. You really think he’s gonna be a problem? You don’t need to worry about the neighbors either. I mean, my dad owns most of the property around this area. The tenants aren't gonna say a thing.”

The man shot Whumpee an eager smile. Way too eager.

“You really know how to pick a good one. I mean, wow. Did you see his face? And he’s got the perfect ratio of everything too. Plenty to try. You’ve really outdone yourself!” He hummed, looking over Whumpee like a slab of meat in a butcher shop.

The woman leaned against the door and stared down at them. “Gee, I’m so glad…”

He rolled his eyes and faced Whumpee, eyes boring into his with uncomfortable intensity. “You can call me Whumper, okay? Ignore her, she’s just in a bad mood because she doesn’t like my preference in setting. She wanted to set you up in some cold, distant warehouse. Tied to a chair and all. This is a lot more domestic. What do you think?”

Whumpee hadn’t really bothered to take in the rest of everything. Upon closer inspection, he’d been shoved and tied up in a small coat closet. The floor had been covered in tarps and newspapers. He tried to squint to see if he could read some— Figure out how far away he was— But it was too dark to take in anything other than a few cheesy headlines.

Still, the implications of everything were clear.

He was going to die here.

“Don’t look so glum! You’re gonna be fine… Well, hopefully. The idea here is to keep you alive as long as possible. Don’t want anything going to waste, after all…”

Whumper crawled a little closer. Uncomfortably close. He grinned.

“I was hoping we could start here,” He ran a finger just below Whumpee’s kneecap in a quick, cutting motion,

“Then work our way up to the thigh… Obviously repeat the same process for the other side. From there, I’m thinking we move up to here,”

A cut in the air over his wrist,

“here,” Elbow.

“—Aand finish here.” Shoulder. “It’ll probably be best to kill him then, but I’d like to try to keep him alive while we prepare some areas of the chest and pelvis. I know that’s probably where the extent of your skills probably taper off, though. I’d get someone a little more specialized with this kind of thing, but I figured the less people involved the better.”

The woman crossed her arms. “Got it.”

“Other than fixing him up after that, you’ve just gotta keep him fed. Simple enough, right?”

“Right.”

Whumpee’s head felt light, swimming with the influx of terrifying new information. They were planning on cutting him limb from limb, for fuck’s sake. Anything he could have imagined couldn’t have possibly been as bad as the awful reality. He might have preferred just a normal, quick death.

He was going to die slowly at the hands of two people who had enough experience to cover it up, but definitely not to make it any less agonizing.

Then again, maybe that was part of the appeal for them.

——————————————————————————

He had no idea how long it had been since he’d been kidnapped. It couldn’t have been more than a few weeks. He should be worrying about exams, not the suspense of being cut up into pieces.

Then again, if it really had been weeks, exams were probably over now. He wished he could afford to stress over it.

The woman, who’d provided no name or any details about herself, came by once a day— give or take— to feed him. That’s how it had been for the first few trips.

One day, he’d tried to bite her after she’d removed the gag. She cut her trips down after that. Not enough to let him starve, but enough to make it hurt.

The man’s visits weren’t much better. They were a lot less frequent though, which was a mercy in itself. Whumper had left a few bruises the first time he came by, but nothing that went any deeper. The pain was nothing in comparison to what Whumpee knew was coming.

——————————————————————————

“Well, today’s the day we see if you’re money well spent. Feeling excited? I know I am!” Whumper hummed as they strode over to the closet door and swung the door open.

Whumpee stared up at him weakly, trying to manage a plea through the gag. It only came out a muffled, whiney sound. Whumper just grinned in response.

He set a duffel bag in front of Whumpee and began pulling out a few tools. A meat cleaver, a bottle of pills, and a bonesaw. Whumpee just hoped they were painkillers.

“These’ll keep you conscious throughout the whooole thing. I don’t want you passing out on me during this. I want to hear every last scream. It’s a shame I have to keep that gag on you during this. I’ll loosen it a bit though, just since it’s a special occasion.”

The knot at the back of Whumpee’s head released for a brief second, letting him breathe in through his mouth for the first time in weeks. Every attempt at exhaling was followed by a pathetic sound he didn’t even know he was capable of making.

Whumper shook the bottle of pills, then unscrewed the lid. “Open up. If you faint from shock, I’ll do so much worse than taking off a little bit of your leg.”

The threat was more than enough to get him to obey.

Dread began pooling in Whumpee’s stomach when the pills were finally put away and the gag was fastened back around his head. Whumper’s attention had shifted over to the array of weapons, eyes ablaze with sick glee.

“I mean… We shouldn’t have to rush into this,” Whumper started, both of his hands on the cleaver. He ran a finger over the blade and looked up at Whumpee. “We should have a little fun with it. Meat’s no good unless you tenderize it first…”

He brought the cleaver close to Whumpee’s sternum, then moved it down to his leg, ghosting over it all without actually making a cut.

Whumpee shivered in horror, inching away from the blade whenever it got a bit too close to skin. With a low laugh, Whumper suddenly dug the dull end of the blade into his leg.

Whumpee gasped in shock, cutting off his own scream midway up his throat. The cold metal stung against his leg, but thankfully it only lingered for a moment before Whumper pulled it away.

“Geez, we haven’t even gotten into the main event and you’re already crying? You’re gonna want to save those tears for later.”

Whumpee had barely even noticed the hot tears streaming down his face. He’d been too focused on the terror of everything else. It wasn’t like it mattered anyways. He didn’t have to put on a brave face when there wasn’t anyone to do it for. Besides the monster holding a cleaver to his thigh.

He whimpered a last-ditch effort plea through the gag, but it only came out as garbled, incomprehensible noise. Whumper grinned at him and pulled away the cleaver.

It landed on Whumpee’s ribs a moment later, knocking him into the wall, sending him gasping for air. He could have sworn he heard something snap.

The second blow struck him in the hip. The pain was instant, branching and lingering across his leg. He screwed his eyes shut and groaned out in pain, but received no response.

The last was right where it had started. Somehow it felt even worse the second time around. When the cleaver connected with his leg, he couldn’t help but scream, sobs becoming even shakier than they already were. The lack of air felt so much more suffocating than it ever had before, an overwhelming and burning sensation that hardly even distracted from the rest of the pain.

Whumper grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged him back up into a sitting position, then brought his face level with Whumpee’s. A finger pressed into the poor man’s chest, tracing a deep circle around his heart.

“That got your blood pumping, huh? Thing’s going a million miles a minute. You’re not wheezing either, so probably no punctured lungs… Mm. Looks like you’re doing well then.” He hummed and took his hand away, eyeing Whumpee with a hungry gaze.

He was doing anything but well. Everything about this, from the bruising blossoming down his side to the tears and snot mingling on his face was beyond awful. Whumpee hoped there would be a small break in between the torment, a chance for him to catch his breath, but as he saw the man in front of him, the thrilled way he was already reaching for the cleaver again, he knew better than to beg.

Whumper flipped the knife in his hand, the sleek, sharpened side now directed towards his captive, who was actively trying to make himself seem as small as possible, curled into a fetal position.

With a harsh yank to Whumpee’s legs, he’d unwinded him completely. No more collapsing back into himself.

“You know… Maybe it’s not a good idea to do this without giving you anything to bite down on. I’m aiming for the leg, not your tongue.” Whumper sighed and cautiously undid the gag, then shoved the cloth into his mouth.

“Don’t spit that out. For your sake.”

He wasted no more time with pleasantries and grabbed the weapon once more. Somehow, even to Whumpee, it was obvious he didn’t know what he was doing. He was moving the blade around as if he wasn’t completely sure where to start cutting in.

This wouldn’t be quick. He’d probably just hack away until he reached the bottom.

The metal made contact with Whumpee’s skin, grazing the top layer. It gave way to the blade even with the minimal pressure, and little red droplets began to form and pool at the site of the cut.

Whumpee winced as the blade cut deeper into his leg, slicing past flesh and fat. When Whumper raised the cleaver out of the wound, the cold air surrounding them rushed in, sending a dizzying wave of pained nausea up his throat.

He glanced over at Whumper, eyes pleading with him, searching for any trace of empathy or regret. He just wanted this to stop. This was insane. He had to realize that, didn’t he?

When Whumper finally noticed, his expression was devoid of anything he could cling to. The only thing there for him to find was pure, unfiltered joy.

“I can’t wait to see how you’ll taste. If that part is even a tenth as fun as this, then it’ll be worth it. Maybe I’ll even share a bit with you!” He didn’t try to hide the elation in his voice. His breathing was almost as quick as Whumpee’s by this point, for all the wrong reasons.

Before Whumpee could even recognize it, Whumper swung the blade down on his leg, ripping his tendons apart with horrifying ease. A line of yellow fat bubbled up at the entrance and dribbled down his leg, smearing together with blood and viscera.

The blade left his leg with resistance now, followed by a wet, suctioned noise. His screams, which he was sure even the gag couldn’t fully cover, bounced off of the walls of the closet, ringing back into his own ears in some sick twist of fate.

To his absolute horror, Whumper poked at the wound, dipping his finger into the cut until the first digit was completely gone. The pain of his skin pulling even further apart was enough to make him see stars.

His throat was raspy and swollen, but all he could do was scream and kick and flail. The rope around his legs tightened with every movement, but with all the rest of the pain it just seemed like a futile addition.

Whumper stared at him for a moment, taking in the primal fear and pain in his eyes.

Without a word, he removed his blood soaked finger from the wound, licked it, and moved back over to his array of weapons to get the bonesaw.

He looked back up at Whumpee and smiled. “We’ll need to salt that later… Just wanted a small sample, but I probably should’ve just taken some from the cleaver, huh?”

Whumpee was too shocked to even react, temporarily stunned in absolute terror. Petrified. Everything Whumper said left his head the minute he’d even spoken. When he finally mustered up the energy to respond, he just sobbed.

The bonesaw wasn’t any better than the cleaver. The back and forth motion was predictable, at the very least, but every movement made him cry out and flinch. The pain was unbearable. If it wasn’t for the pill keeping his systems ablaze, he would have gone out ages ago. His vision had gone red and white, swirling and unable to focus on anything at all.

The other party seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, sawing through his tibia as if it were a piece of stubborn plywood. When it eventually snapped and cracked apart completely, he grinned, face shiny with Whumpee’s fresh blood.

Thankfully, the rest of his leg came apart with ease, now that the only parts still holding it together were the more squishy bits. Whumper’s work definitely hadn’t been clean. Every cut he’d made had been uneven and jagged, and the stump that was finally left over looked like someone had to go at it from ten different angles.

He ripped the leg away from Whumpee and set it aside, then took out a flip phone and dialed a number into it. Whumpee couldn’t focus on the conversation. Everything around him blurred and slogged together.

Even with the medicine in his bloodstream, he felt himself fading in and out of consciousness. Did he even want to stay awake for whatever happened next?

Was he going to die like this?

Time spun and warped. He wasn’t sure how long it had been. The woman had joined them now. They were both working to clean and patch up the area where his leg had been chopped off. They were talking to each other, but the ringing in his ears was too loud to focus on anything else.

Then, a bright light from the window. A wailing sound. A chance to sleep.

——————————————————————————

When Whumpee opened his eyes again, he was in a bright room, lit by fluorescents. The ropes around his wrists were absent, as well as any sort of gag. He blinked, then sat up, feeling the soft cot beneath him.

He was safe.

He looked over to his leg, and a jolt of panic shot through his system when he saw the bandages. That same dizzy feeling from before hit in waves. It felt as though it was still in the process of being torn apart.

His whole body was sore. Bruises covered his entire side, then crept over to his stomach and chest.

But he was safe.

A little while later, a nurse came in and explained to him that someone had heard screaming from the house and called the police. His two captors had been arrested. His leg, however, hadn’t been recovered.

Even if it had been, they’d explained, they probably couldn’t have done much to save it.

Everything constantly played back in his mind any minute he was left alone. A terrible horror movie he couldn’t shut off, him as the star. How long would they be in jail? Would they come after him once they were out? Would someone else?

For now, he was safe.

Even if it didn’t feel that way.

#season’s beatings gift #whump #whump writing #season’s beatings

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