#Sedated whumpee

[starryybrained]

JuneofDoom Day 15 - Rescue

Content: Manhandling, restraints, gags, sedation, female whumpee, pet whump, conditioned whumpee

When she was taken, she resisted as hard as she could. She thrashed, she bit, she kicked, she screamed. Even when they tied her down, she reared her head back, slamming it into her kidnappers’ chins. She would not be taken that easily.

“Let me go!” Her voice was shrill and piercing, a combination between a yell, a shriek, and a cry. They gagged her, and still she screamed, muffled shouts and guttural cries, calling out for help.

“Mngh! Mghng!!”

She kicked the ground, kicked the ones who were taking her away, she thrashed and moved wildly.

They pinned her to the ground. Still, she bucked and squirmed, even as she was held down by the weight of their bodies.

“We have her.” One said into a walkie-talkie. “Over.”

Something pricked her shoulder, and she jerked, but it was too late, whatever they had injected into her was already in her veins now.

Still muffled, she screamed bloody murder, cursing and wailing, getting slower and slower until she could no longer move or scream. She was dizzy and weak now.

She moaned, sniffling when they hoisted her up by her armpits, marching her to their vehicle.

They laid her in the backseat, buckling her in. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. We’re here to help you. You’re safe now.”

As they drove away, all she could do was feel pitiful for failing her master.

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Whump drabble - Sedative

Whumpee wakes up in a room full of beeping equipment and unfamiliar faces partially covered by masks. Terrified and confused, they begin to thrash around on the bed, desperately trying to rip out their IV. The faceless people begin yelling.

"Calm down!"

"Stop that, it's okay!"

They don't stop, and continue thrashing against the grip of the nurses trying to pin their arms to their side.

"Sedate them!"

A nurse approches holding a syringe.

"No!" Whumpee screams.

They bite the nearest nurse, who lets go of their grip on Whumpee, swearing.

"Hurry, do it now!"

And then, a new voice. "STOP!"

Caretaker pushes the nurses aside. "It's okay, you don't need that. I can calm them down."

The nurses, irritated, look at each other doubtfully.

"Just, let me at least try first." Caretaker says.

The syringe is put out of sight in a pocket of the nurses' scrubs - for now.

"Hey, Whumpee. It's me." Caretaker says softly as they approach.

Whumpee can hear the beeping of their heart rate, still just as fast.

"Remember me?" Caretaker asks. They sit on the edge of the bed, smiling softly. "I know it's scary. But you're okay, it's alright." They place a hand on Whumpee's shoulder.

And Whumpee screams. Their hands shoot out, shoving Caretaker backwards with enough force to send them tumbling to hospital machinery and equipment. Tools clatter to the floor.

Instantly, the nurses leap on Whumpee.

"NO! LET ME GO!!" They scream so hard their voice cracks.

"SEDATE THEM, NOW!" A nurse yells.

The syringe is coming closer and closer, but Whumpee isn't able to move out of the way. The nurses' grip is too tight, and they watch in terror as the syringe is driven straight into their thigh. They scream, one last, long and terrified animalistic scream as the contents are injected into the muscle. The syringe is pulled out, and the nurses, slowly and hesitantly let go of Whumpee. Whumpee pants and heaves, their vision blurring. They can just barely see Caretaker being helped to their feet by the nurses.

And then their eyes roll back in their head, and their head lolls to the side as the sedative pulls them into unconsciousness.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

June of Doom day 11

“Somebody had to do it” (firearm/backseat/self defense)

As Hero drove down the long, dark roads, they only felt their determination harden. Somebody had to do it, somebody had to stop the insanity, and so Hero had decided to handle it. 

And insanity was the right word. It was insanity, utterly mind boggling, to think that Villain could change. Hero didn't care what sob story they made up, what empty promises they made about changing for the better, about wanting to help the very people they’d been trying to kill. It was disgusting to see Villain in their training room, with their team, pretending that they were somehow an ally after all they’d done. Even worse was the fact that it’d been working. Hero didn’t know how the others could fall for such a stupid, blatant trick. It was foolish, it was beyond foolish. Had they forgotten who Villain was, what they’d done?

Hero glanced up from the road long enough to peek at their mirror. Villain sat slumped in their backseat, cuffs tight around their arms and legs. They were unconscious and, if Hero has measured the dosage correctly, would continue to be for quite some time. It seemed that Villain had gotten sloppy, had become so confident that their trick had worked that they’d forgotten to keep their guard up. It’d been too easy to slip something into Villain’s drink, to wait until they stumbled to their room before dragging them off. Nobody had seen Hero do it and, since Hero was supposed to be gone on vacation, nobody would suspect them either. 

Hero smirked. If nothing else, they were thankful for the chance to give Villain the justice they deserved. They would make Villain regret everything. Every innocent they’d injured, every item they’d stolen, every lie they told. Villain would pay for each wrongdoing in blood. Then maybe, maybe they’d have a chance at redemption.

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Sedate your whumpees. Do it whether they want to be sedated or not.

Perhaps they're trying to fight against the doctors who are attempting to help them because they don't understand what's going on, and all caretaker can do is stand back and tearily watch the needle slip in and whumpee's consciousness slowly slip away. Their limp arm is placed back down on the sheets beside them and the doctors now have no resistance to their treatment plan.

Or maybe whumpee is in so much pain/discomfort that they're begging to be sedated. All they want is to be unconscious so they don't have to be aware of all that they're suffering through. The feeling of going under is terrifying to them, but it's worth it. Caretaker sits beside the bed holding their hand, watching the glaze enter their eyes as they start to blink slowly, then drift off.

In either situation, the result is that the whumpee looks peaceful at last. Whether they're actually peaceful within is a whole other thing

[oliversrarebooks]

lay down on the operating table

TW: forced sedation, experimentation, restraints, struggling

Lay down on the operating table for us. I know you're upset about being experimented on and brainwashed, but it's for the greater good. You'll feel much better about it once we've sedated you. These restraints are for your own safety. Just put your arm down, and -- there we go, all secured. Just relax. There's no point in fighting. You should know that by now.

That's right, soon you'll be trapped inside a body that's too heavy and too drowsy to move, completely relaxed, unable to focus on anything but how much you want to sleep. Every fiber of your body will be relaxed. Your eyelids will become too heavy to keep open. The sedation will slowly overwhelm you until you can't fight it any more. 

And once you're asleep, no matter what is done to you, you will not resist. You won't even be aware of what is happening. You'll be completely at our mercy, sleeping so peacefully. Once the sedative starts to kick in, you won't even remember a thing.

Here, let me put the mask on you and secure it. It's only oxygen. Now breath in deeply. One deep relaxing breath for me. In and out. That's it. Another deep breath. In and out. Good.

Now I am going to start the drug that will put you to sleep. It'll take a few minutes to work, but soon it's going to make you very, very relaxed, and very, very sleepy. No use holding your breath. Just breath normally. There you go.

That's it. Relax and let the sedative work its magic on you. You'll start to feel drowsy and floaty as the drug enters your system. Your eyes will become heavy, and you'll let them drift shut. Your mind will blank, leaving you so relaxed. Do you feel it yet?

You're starting to look a bit dazed. The sedation is beginning to work, I think. You're feeling nice and relaxed, aren't you? And so sleepy. I can see your eyes blinking so slowly. No, no, it's no use to struggle against the restraints. Eventually, you'll stop fighting it and go to sleep. 

Your body is becoming heavy and your mind is growing hazy. Just lie back on the table, yes, that's good. Take another deep breath. Is that a yawn? Is the gas making you drowsy? You're starting to feel it affecting you, aren't you? Lying there, staring up at the ceiling, fighting those heavy eyelids.

I bet you feel so calm and peaceful. Like you want to let yourself drift off to sleep, right?

Your body and mind are relaxing and becoming more sedated, and there's so little you can do about it. Your eyelids want to drift shut. That tiredness is spreading all throughout your body. Is it starting to get hard to keep your eyes open? Is your head starting to feel heavy? Do you feel like you could fall asleep at any moment if you wanted to?

Yes, that's how the sedative is supposed to make you feel -- calm, relaxed, heavy, sleepy. You're fighting your body's natural urges to go to sleep. You'll lose that battle. You are going to go to sleep. 

Did you realize that you've stopped struggling against the restraints? It looks like you can barely keep your eyes open. Slowly and surely, the sedative is putting you to sleep, and there's nothing you can do about it. It's no use fighting those heavy, tired eyelids. They're shutting all on their own.

That's right, you're completely unable to fight the sedation. It's strong and powerful. It will make you feel floaty and drowsy and oh so blissful. It will override your desire to stay awake. It was all over the second we started the drug, and you knew that.

The sedation is conquering your body and soon it will conquer your mind. Your body will fall asleep soon. Let yourself stop fighting, let sleep claim your helpless body. Let sleep take you. Let the sedation claim you. Let your eyelids close. 

You're becoming drowsy, drowsier and sleepier. Soon your eyelids will close, and you will give in to the sedation, and you will be so docile and pliant and entirely at my mercy. Are you ready for that? The moment when your eyelids close will be the point of no return. A fleeting moment when you are not yet asleep and not quite awake. A moment where you know you've lost the fight, where you feel utterly helpless.

There we go. Shut those sleepy eyes for me. Don't open them again. Let the sedative put you fast asleep. There we go, fall asleep. Go to sleep, deep asleep. So deeply asleep. It feels so good to stop fighting and go to sleep. And now that you've fallen asleep, we can do whatever experiments we please.

Now, we can get to work.

[worldboywhump]

Home and Away: Ep 6844 (He has 2 seizures)

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee hadn’t even registered the fact that he’d been rescued, they were too dazed and confused because of the cocktail of sedatives the whumper gave them on a regular basis. It takes a very long time for the whumpee to realize what’s going on, and even then, they think it might just all be a dream.

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpee being drugged or poisoned, but not by force. Even though they don't want to, they take whatever it is Whumper gives them willingly, because they know if they don't, Whumper will do something much worse to them.

[nopainnowhump]

Cracks in the Glass Pt.6

(TW): forced hygiene care, non-consensual touch in a medical context, sedative use, physical restraint, crying, emotional distress.

Thomas stepped out of the cell block, the heavy door sealing shut behind him with a quiet hiss. He paused, running a hand down his face, before heading toward the nurses’ station. The past few days had been... manageable. She was taking her pills without a fight now, eating her meals as long as there was something in it for her—a reward system that worked well enough for now.

But something nagged at him. He hadn’t noticed it at first, too focused on stopping the screaming and glass-banging, but today it was glaringly obvious.

“She hasn’t showered,” he said as he reached the station, setting his laptop down on the counter.

Anna glanced up from her clipboard, her usual warm smile slipping into a look of mild concern. “Since she got here?”

“Not once,” Thomas replied, leaning against the counter. “Her clothes are filthy, her hair’s a mess, and she just looks... rough. I know that incision sites almost healed, but I’m worried it’s gonna get infected with the way she’s acting”

Anna sighed, setting her clipboard aside. “We’ve been giving her space to adjust. I guess we all assumed she’d take care of it when she was ready.”

“She hasn’t,” Thomas said firmly. “And I don’t think she will, not unless we step in.”

Anna nodded, grabbing a fresh set of clothes and towels from the nearby shelf. “Alright. Do you want me to talk to her about it? Maybe she’d respond better to me.”

Thomas shook his head. “No. She tolerates me—barely—but that’s more than she gives anyone else. I’ll tell her. If she’s willing to cooperate, great. If not…” He trailed off, glancing at the towels in Anna’s hands.

“If not, you’ll need help,” Anna finished softly.

Thomas approached her cell again, this time with a stack of clean clothes and towels in hand. He’d left only minutes ago, but this was something he couldn’t put off any longer.

Through the glass, he saw her sitting cross-legged on the bed, her chin propped in her hand. She looked bored, her other hand idly tracing invisible shapes on the blanket.

He knocked lightly on the glass, and her head snapped up, her expression shifting instantly to irritation. She stared at him, her brows pulling together as her eyes flicked down to the bundle in his hand.

“Back so soon?” her glare seemed to say, though she didn’t speak or move from her spot.

Thomas held her gaze, unfazed by the unspoken challenge. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

Her eyes narrowed, flicking toward the towels and clothes before locking back on him. Suspicion was written all over her face.

“It’s been a few days now,” Thomas continued, choosing his words carefully, “and there’s something that needs to be addressed.”

She tilted her head slightly, her attention piqued despite herself.

“You're gonna have to take a shower”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The shower room is cold, the chill of the air hitting me as soon as they shove me inside. My feet slip on the wet tile, and I stumble forward, catching myself with a hand against the freezing floor.

“Watch your step,” Kyle’s voice cuts through the room, smooth and mocking. “Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself before the fun even starts.”

They rip my clothes away, and the cold rushes over me like a second assault. I thrash weakly, but the guards only laugh under their breath, shoving me toward the center of the room.

The water hits me before I can prepare—a powerful blast of icy cold that steals the air from my lungs. I gasp, choking as it sprays directly into my face. The freezing pressure stings against my skin, pounding into me without mercy.

“Oh, come on,” Kyle drawls from the corner, his arms crossed as he watches. “You’re not going to cry about a little water, are you? I thought you were tougher than that.”

I try to turn away, but the water follows me, soaking every inch of my trembling body. My wounds sting as the icy spray tears into them, reopening scabs and sending fresh rivulets of blood down my arms and legs.

The tiles beneath me are slick, and I fall hard onto my knees. My hands slap against the floor, but the water doesn’t let up. It hammers down on my back, driving me further into the freezing puddles gathering around me.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Kyle says, his voice light but sharp enough to cut. “Cooperate, and maybe we’ll even let you dry off when this is over.”

I cough violently as the water hits my face again, forcing its way into my nose and mouth. I gag, doubling over as I try to catch my breath, but the spray keeps coming, relentless. My whole body shakes, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.

The water cuts off abruptly, leaving me trembling on the slick floor. My skin burns from the cold, my wounds throbbing, but the silence is worse. It leaves space for his voice to fill the room completely.

Kyle crouches down just out of my reach, his expression calm but laced with venom. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 My screams tear through the present, raw and guttural as I slam my fists into the glass. The sting radiates up my arms, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

Through the blur of my tears, I see him standing there—calm, steady, infuriatingly unmoving.

“Listen,” Thomas says, his voice low and firm, cutting through the chaos. “You can do this on your own, or we’ll help you. But one way or another, it’s happening.”

The words twist in my head, feeding the fire in my chest. I scream again, slamming my fists harder, until my whole body shakes with the effort.

The door hisses open, and I whirl around, my back hitting the wall as I brace myself. My breath comes in sharp, jagged bursts, my tears hot against my skin.

Thomas steps into the cell, his hands raised slightly. His tone is steady but not harsh. “You’re overwhelmed. I get that. But this doesn’t have to go like this. You can let us help you, or—”

I lunge at him, cutting him off with another scream as I swing wildly.

He catches my arms easily, his grip firm but controlled. “Hey,” he says, holding me steady as I thrash and kick. “I know you don’t want this, but you need to calm down. This isn’t about hurting you.”

I twist harder, but he doesn’t let go. My screams turn into sobs, raw and broken, as Anna steps into the room behind him. The sight of the needle in her hand sends a fresh wave of panic surging through me.

I kick out again, harder this time, but Thomas shifts his stance, keeping me in place. His voice drops, softer now but unrelenting. “This is to help you settle. You're gonna be ok. Just breathe.”

Anna moves quickly, murmuring something I can’t hear over the pounding in my head. I feel the sharp sting of the needle in my arm and cry out, tears spilling faster as the cold burn spreads.

My movements slow, my body betraying me as the sedative pulls at my limbs. My kicks weaken, my thrashing turning into trembling.

Thomas lowers me gently to the floor, keeping his grip steady as I collapse against the cold tile. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, ok? I want you to calm down for a minute,” he says, his voice steady.

They leave quietly, the door hissing shut behind them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door hisses open again, and I jerk awake, my heart thudding weakly in my chest. Thomas and Anna enter, their footsteps soft but deliberate.

The sound of running water fills the air, and my breath quickens. I let out a soft, broken whimper, my head lolling against the wall as tears stream down my face.

Thomas crouches in front of me, his voice low but steady. “Hey,” he says gently, meeting my bleary eyes. “We’re going to help you get cleaned up, alright? I know you don’t want this, but it has to happen. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re gonna be ok.”

I let out a weak, trembling sob, too tired to pull away as he slides his arms under me. “No…” I cry softly, the sound more like a plea than a protest.

“I know,” he says, lifting me carefully. My head droops against his chest, and I shiver as the cool air of the bathroom hits my skin.

The sound of the water running makes my stomach twist, and I let out another soft whimper. Anna is waiting, kneeling beside the tub with clean towels and supplies.

Thomas sets me down gently on a small stool, his hands steady as Anna begins to remove my clothes. “You’re alright,” he murmurs, his voice calm but firm. “I know this is hard, but it’ll be over soon.”

I sob quietly, trembling as Anna works quickly, her touch careful but methodical.

They lower me into the tub, and I tense, bracing for the icey water to hit me. Instead, the warmth of the water wraps around me. It’s not comforting, not really, but it’s better than I expected.

Still, I can’t stop crying. My body shakes with each quiet sob, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

Anna starts to clean me with a washcloth, her hands gentle but thorough. I flinch with every touch, my hands twitching to push her away, but Thomas is there, his grip firm on my wrists.

“You’re doing good,” he says softly, holding me steady. “Just a little longer.”

Anna’s hand moves carefully, the warm washcloth gliding over my skin. When it reaches the raised scars on my back, her touch slows, the cloth passing over them with deliberate gentleness, as though trying to avoid reopening wounds that had long since closed.

I let out a weak cry, my head shaking as tears drip into the water. Anna’s voice is soft, soothing. “It’s okay,” she says, her words barely registering through the haze. “You’re alright. Just let me finish, and it’ll be done.”

When she moves to my hair, I snap. My hands shoot up, grabbing at her arm.

“Whoa,” Thomas says sharply, pulling my hands back firmly but not harshly. “She’s just washing your hair. That’s it. Let her finish.”

Anna doesn’t flinch, her touch remaining steady as she strokes my head gently. “You’re alright,” she murmurs, her tone soft and patient. “I’m almost done.”

The motion is soothing despite myself, her fingers working through the tangles with a care I hadn’t expected. My sobs taper off into soft hiccups, and I nod off for a moment, the exhaustion pulling at me.

I jerk awake as Thomas lifts me out of the water, the cool air hitting my skin and making me shiver. He wraps me in a towel, holding me securely as Anna dries me off, her hands quick but careful.

They guide me to sit on the edge of the tub, my body swaying weakly. Anna brushes my hair, but the sensation grates on my frayed nerves. “Mmm,” I whimper, twisting away.

“It’s okay,” Thomas says. Once shes done she places the brush down. “I’ll take it from here.”

Anna leaves to change the sheets while Thomas kneels in front of me with a toothbrush. I lock my mouth shut. “Do you want to try, or should I do it for you?” he asks gently.

I let out a small whimper, then reach for the toothbrush weakly. My hands fumble with it as I half-heartedly brush, but my head droops mid-motion.

Thomas sighs softly, taking it from my hand. He brushes my teeth quickly but carefully, his movements efficient but gentle.

When Anna returns, they dress me in soft, warm clothes and thick socks. My body feels too heavy to move, tears slipping silently down my cheeks as they tuck me into bed. Anna lays a heated blanket over me, the warmth sinking into my trembling form.

Thomas crouches beside the bed, his voice quieter now, almost apologetic. “I know this was hard,” he says, his tone steady. “I’m sorry it had to be this way. But you’re clean, warm, and done for now. Just rest.”

He lingers for a moment before standing, and they both leave, the door clicking softly behind them.

I close my eyes, the exhaustion pressing down like a weight I can’t escape. The warmth of the blanket helps, but the tears still come, quiet and unending.

Pt.7

[whump-bunny]

Whumper had Whumpee wearing a shock collar for the longest time... Until Whumpee got used to the pain and began to ignore it.

So Whumper made Whumpee wear a new collar. One that can monitor Whumpee's heart rate. And if that heart rate gets too fast? Say, for instance, if Whumpee is trying to run away? Or trying to hurt themself? The collar will inject a sedative directly into Whumpee's neck. Problem solved.

Maybe Whumper intentionally sets the threshold really low so Whumpee can hardly walk without setting the collar off.

Maybe Whumper takes great pleasure in trying to scare Whumpee just to see them panic.

Maybe the threat of sedation only makes Whumpee's heart rate get faster.

Maybe after Whumpee is rescued, they shove their feelings down and seem eerily calm all the time.

[starryybrained]

AMOW WINTER WHUMPERLAND DAY #4: The Grinch

Sedatives | Blackmail | Yandere whumper

@amonthofwhump

whump art taglist: @blood-and-regrets

[whumpsoda]

Intake Paperwork: Wesley

Masterlist cw: dehumanization, bbu/bbu adjacent, pet whump, institutionalized slavery, mentions of sedation, implied future noncon, kidnapping

——————

SUBJECT: 369719

DATE OF ACQUISITION: 12.15.XXXX

TIME OF ACQUISITION: 1:44 AM

LOCATION ASSIGNED: FACILITY 014, [REDACTED], USA

PREVIOUS ALIAS: Eugene Gabriel Reyes

AGE: 20

DATE OF BIRTH: 03.28.XXXX

HAIR: Dark Brown

EYES: Brown

HEIGHT: 5’10”

WEIGHT: 145 lbs 

SEXUALITY: Gay

DESIGNATION: Romantic

KNOWN SKILLS: Subject attending school on a sports related scholarship. Subject refused to disclose information on sex life, or any other details.

HOBBIES: Subject refused to report, providing only various expletives as his response.

KNOWN CONCERNS: Subject has shown to be increasingly aggressive as well as violent, taking any measure possible to repeatedly attempt an escape. Subject has shown to be a danger to those around him, recommended and requested to be kept in solitary for the entirety of his training.

KNOWN IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Angela Reyes, mother, and Gabriel Reyes, father. The couple was reported to have been divorced for 16 years. Both are still living.

SIBLINGS: Lewis Reyes, brother, five years older and living.

METHOD OF ACQUISITION: Involuntary. 

ACQUISITION DETAILS: Subject was apprehended after a night out with friends during his walk home. Subject fought back relentlessly before being injected with a sedative, although not before giving an employee a black eye. Subject was reported to have made continuous noise as an attempt at resistance during the transfer to the WRU facility.

CONTRACT SIGNED: 12.15.XXXX 2:58 PM

ASSIGNED HANDLERS: 

           PRIMARY: Amanda Reeves, Senior Handler and Processor, Romantic Division

           SECONDARY: Jermey Martinez, Senior Handler and Processor, Romantic Division

SIGNATURE PROVIDED INVOLUNTARILY, SUBJECT SEDATED FOR SIGNING. SUBJECT DISPLAYED MULTIPLE SIGNS OF INJURY AT TIME OF SIGNING, MOST NOTABLY A BROKEN NOSE.

CONTRACT SIGNATURE: Eugene Reyes, aka 369719

ESTIMATED COST FOR TRAINING: $150,000 USD

COMPENSATION PAID BY PROSPECTIVE:  $800,000 USD 

ADDED FEES: $50,000 AGORAPHOBIA TRAINING FEE

REQUESTED TRAINING: ALL Positions 1-35, Flexibility, Sensitivity, Endurance, Agoraphobia

COMMENTS:

This one’s gonna be a pain in my ass for a while, I’m sure of it. He already is, and we haven’t even begun his training. The drip will just make his fight stronger, his desperation ever present. I’ll get him under control though, as fast as possible. I always do. I can already see him groveling at my feet, quiet and docile with a head stuffed full of cotton. I imagine agoraphobia training being an interesting perk to this trainee, though.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Stick a gas mask on your bound Whumpee, tell them you’re going to sedate them, and make them wait. 

Just think of how anxious they’ll be! Constantly vigilant for a hissing noise or strange smell or anything that could show it’s started. Leave them there for hours, with nothing to do but breathe and wait, fear gnawing at them with each passing moment. Let them exhaust themselves with their fear, trying so hard to breathe shallowly that they make themselves dizzy. Let them wonder if that exhaustion is from the stress, or if the drug has already entered their system. Let them be terrified of even closing their eyes.

By the time it actually begins, Whumpee would be so anxious that they’d simply panic. Fighting desperately against their restraints, torn between begging for it to stop and holding their breath. When they are forced to inhale, it’s in sporadic, desperate gasps. Each breath feels like a defeat, each breath drags them closer and closer to oblivion. And yet it’s inevitable, a fight against their very body that they’ve no chance of winning. Their own body is being used to drag them under, and it’s terrifying. As the numbness and exhaustion starts to spread, all Whumpee can do is cry. When they finally succumb, the mask is wet with tears.

Sometimes anticipation is the worst form of torture.

[mj-iza-writer]

I wrote this one in a Pinterest comment for a forced sedation whump prompt.

"No, let me out of here", Whumpee staggered to the elevator. They attempted to hit the down button, but definitely missed and hit the wall.

They felt something sharp poke into their arm, they turned to see Caretaker stepping away, they eyed the needle.

"Bastard", Whumpee groaned as they slunk to the floor.

Caretaker sat down next to them, "you left me no other options, I'll take care of you though, don't worry."

Whumpees eyes starred to get heavy, "you better", they mumbled, then drifted off.

[oliversrarebooks]

fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace part 2: you can't be fucking serious

Masterlist > Next

TW: abuse, injuries, concussion, sedation, medical whump

Morgan awoke slowly, the sting of antiseptic in his nose. The only thing he could hear past the painful ringing in his ears was the soft beep of medical equipment. His body ached, especially his knee and upper back, and his head was pounding. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He knew exactly where he must be -- in the medbay at his boss's lair -- and the longer they thought he was unconscious, the longer he could relax and heal before the punishments began.

His memories were vague. Lights overhead. Voices. The beeping of medical equipment. A rubber mask on his face.

He lay there, drifting in and out. The pain felt so fuzzy and indistinct. Painkillers? That was new. Salcedo never gave him painkillers. He loved to watch Morgan suffer way too much for that. You wouldn't make it far among the crime lords of the city if you didn't enjoy your work, after all. 

Maybe there was some trick to the fact that he was being allowed this pleasant buzz. Let him relax and let his guard down so it'd hurt more later. He could figure that out when his head felt better.

"...awake..."

Fuck. It was starting. Morgan tried not to react.

"Morgan, are you awake? We just need you to respond to make sure you've woken up from the anesthetics, and then you can go back to sleep, promise."

Morgan couldn't help his face twitching as he recognized that absolutely infuriating voice. Arthur. His blasted nemesis.

Oh, that's right, he had been captured. Lucky fucking him. He got to be completely at the mercy of the hero he'd been tormenting for years. And at the end of it, he might get the wonderful experience of his boss busting him out of captivity only to punish him for his failures.

"Morgan, please, wake up."

Begrudgingly, Morgan opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. Even the dim light of the room was like an icepick to the brain. He looked over to see the smug fucking face of Arthur, and that was even worse.

"I'm awake. What do you want?" he said, his voice weak and slurred. He was definitely drugged, he could tell, because he could barely even muster up the strength to be scared of what was going to happen to him.

"Good. That's very good," said Arthur. He sounded kind. No, he sounded like he pitied Morgan. Oh, fuck that. "You gave us all quite a scare. It was a little touch-and-go for a bit there, but the surgery went well, and you should make a full recovery, as long as you get lots of rest."

Morgan swallowed hard, trying to comprehend this. He'd been given surgery? What the fuck had they done to him? He was in pain all over, but he certainly didn't feel like he'd been turned into a mantis-man hybrid or anything like that. Or been lobotomized.

...Had they seriously just patched him up? After everything he'd done? If there was anyone naive and soft-hearted enough to do that, it was his fucking nemesis.

"How are you feeling?" said Arthur, his voice too gentle.

"Like your whole team shoved me into a woodchipper and danced on the mulch."

"Yes... Julie went a little too hard with the energy blasts. She's still learning how to control it," said Arthur. "But you know, you were..."

"None of this would've happened if I weren't trying to install a zombification device inside city hall? Yeah, got it, lesson learned, next time I install it in your stupid fucking hero lair."

Arthur scowled. "Was the plan your idea or your boss's?"

"As though my boss could build something like that. Did you even notice the craftsmanship, or were you too busy punching it apart?"

Arthur sat back in his chair, looking as if something was on his mind.

The room was filled with medical equipment, the kind Morgan could control with his technomancy. He reached out slowly, feeling like he was fighting through a wall of cotton, and got no response. The familiar, tell-tale feel of power suppressors. They were probably in the restraints. 

"You know, Morgan," Arthur said after a long moment, "when we had you under for surgery, our medic, Laurel, performed an examination."

Morgan turned away. He could tell where this was going.

"There were a lot of injuries there. Injuries that didn't seem like ones you got while fighting us."

"Training."

"It looked like you'd been kicked in the ribs repeatedly without proper healing," Arthur said. "And there were marks that looked like they'd been left by a taser, and a lot of electrical burns."

"Heavy training."

"That's not training, Morgan!" Arthur actually sounded angry, now, and it took all of Morgan's willpower not to flinch away. "I'm not even discussing the massive amount of nasty bruises or that infected cut on your shoulder. Those could've been sustained while fighting heroes. But not all of that. And even if they were, everything looked like it had healed wrong or been left to scar. There's no way that's normal. I know your usual activities. I see the reports of all of your fights. No hero did those things to you. Certainly not my team."

Ugh. What was the point of all this? To humiliate him? Now his nemesis probably knew all about his poor condition, his chronic pain and his trick elbow and the scars littering his back. And it wasn't like it was going to get any better when his boss got him back. Fucking wonderful.

But Arthur didn't sound humiliating or mocking. He sounded concerned, which was almost even worse. "Morgan, did your boss do those things to you?"

Morgan rolled his eyes and turned away. Or he would've turned away if he weren't so heavily restrained he couldn't roll over.

"Morgan, I'm serious. Did your boss --"

"No, of course not," said Morgan, packing his voice with as much sarcasm as he could muster. "You know how Salcedo is. Every time you defeat me, he gives me a nice pat on the head and a participation trophy, and he tells me that it's okay I failed, because I tried and had fun."

Arthur sighed. "He's abusing you."

"He's giving me my quarterly performance reviews. You're abusing my patience."

"While you were sedated, you kept fighting us off, saying you weren't allowed to sleep. Does he prevent you from sleeping?"

Fucking drugs. Morgan barely remembered what had happened, much less what he'd said. He remembered hitting the wall, pain, pain, pain, and then the most beautiful and relaxing feeling in the world, and finally oblivion. 

"...It's been obvious to me for a long time that your health is deteriorating."

"Shut the fuck up," said Morgan, his sarcasm dissolving with his frustration. "You don't understand a goddamn thing about my life, so don't pretend like you do."

"I understand that you're being abused!"

"I'm being trained to fight your team," said Morgan through gritted teeth. "Rich of you to go on about being abused when it was Julie who gave me a sixty mile per hour impact with a concrete fucking wall."

"That was an accident and you know it. And there's a huge difference between thwarting your plans and casually abusing you."

Morgan looked down at his hands. Like he hadn't noticed how the hero team always pulled their punches to avoid injuring him too much, even when he was scheming something really nasty. Like he wasn't so much more afraid of his boss than his nemesis. Like he really needed his nemesis's smug pity.

Why couldn't Arthur just fucking take revenge or whatever? It wouldn't even be that bad while he was hopped up on drugs. Hell, Arthur was probably too soft a heart to pull half the shit Salcedo liked to, even though he had far more reason. Just get it the fuck over with.

"Could you spare me your fucking after school special bullshit and just tell me what you're going to do with me?" With any luck, they would throw him in ordinary jail and not that awful psychiatric hospital. Either way, it wouldn't stop his boss from finding him and pulling him out again whenever he decided Morgan was needed. Or needed to be punished.

"Well, we can't let you go free, obviously," said Arthur. "But if we put you in jail, you're just going to get captured by Salcedo again."

Oh, Morgan hated the way he phrased that. Captured. Like he was a civilian being taken hostage and not Salcedo's right hand man and a terrifying villain in his own right.

Arthur was leaning in closer. "You don't have to work for Salcedo, you know."

Morgan's eyes went wide with shock as he realized the turn this conversation was taking. He laughed sharply, a little maniacally. "Are you serious? Are you fucking serious, Arthur?" he said. "Did you also hit your head on a wall? Did you forget who you're talking to?"

"I think I know you quite well by now, yes."

"And you're seriously trying to get me to go straight? Join your merry little band of idiot heroes?"

"...it would take a lot of work, and a lot of trust, but yes, eventually. It's something I've thought about on more than one occasion," said Nemesis, who, against all odds, seemed to be completely serious. "Look, let's cut the bullshit. Salcedo is abusing you. Don't even try to deny it, because I've seen more than enough evidence. He's beating you, burning you, god knows what else. He's working you to the bone on ridiculous plans that will never work, and makes you the fall guy for them while he escapes unscathed."

Every word of that was true, and hearing it from Arthur made him want to punch him in the face.

"You're a smart guy. Ridiculously smart. And despite what you claim, you have ethical standards. Remember the time the two of us teamed up to get those kids out of the burning school?"

"They were kindergartners, c'mon --"

"You have ethical standards, no matter how shaky they can be. And you have courage and talent," said Arthur. 

"You think I can be won over with cheap flattery, seriously, Arthur?"

"How about cheap flattery and a cool costume?" he said. "But seriously consider what I'm telling you. You're a smart guy. We pay well, maybe not as well as Salcedo, but enough, and you'd get overtime when you have to work late. We have health insurance. Most importantly, nobody is going to beat you to within an inch of your life if you screw up."

"Oh, yeah, sure thing, I'll just do that," said Morgan. "And I'm sure that, after everything I've done to you, you're all just going to protect me when Salcedo shows up to get me back."

"Yes. I will. I absolutely will," he said. "...Because he's going to kill you. We both know that. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday. And you don't deserve that."

Fuck. He sounded so serious. He was using his superhero voice. The one he used to tell terrified hostages that he was going to save them and that nobody was getting hurt. The one that was usually directed at the civilians Morgan was menacing.

 "I don't expect you to make this decision overnight," said Arthur, standing up. "You've got a lot of healing to do. A lot of time to think over where your life is headed."

"And you're just gonna let me heal?" said Morgan skeptically. "You've got me totally at your mercy in what I assume is your underground secret lair, and you're just going to let me lay here and heal up my injuries?"

"Yes. I mean it. I know you don't believe me, but it's true. As long as you don't try to cause harm to any of us, no harm will come to you while you're here. I swear it." Arthur turned as he was about to walk out the door. "All I'm asking is that you think about what I said to you. We'll talk again. The nurse is here to see you."

And he was gone, and Morgan felt utterly exhausted.

An older woman wearing scrubs with pride-flag-colored fish on them entered the room. She looked tired and a little scared. "Well, uh, Arthur tells me you're awake and lucid, Mr.... uh... Mr. Morgan," she said. "That's good. You were in pretty bad shape."

"Hmph."

"Can I look in your eyes with this penlight, please? You had a really nasty concussion, so you're probably going to be very tired and disoriented for a while as you recover."

Great. It was super great to be concussed and useless in the hero's lair. Still, he submitted to Laurel's eye exam without a fuss. It was one thing to sass his nemesis -- putting up a fuss for the medic was pointless when she was just trying to do her job.

"The only thing you can really do right now is get some rest," she said. "I can give you some painkillers, and some sedation if you think you'll have trouble sleeping. Would that be okay?"

Morgan let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, sure, yeah, I really want to be drugged up and helpless in the hero's lair."

"Well, you're not going anywhere," she pointed out. "You'll heal a lot faster if you get some rest."

Morgan scowled. He couldn't afford to be lounging on a bed in a drugged haze. He had to work on finding a way to escape, preferably with some valuable information or a hostage, in the hopes he could catch Salcedo in a good mood. 

But no matter how he looked at it, he was already exhausted, concussed, power-repressed, and in restraints. He wasn't successfully escaping a team of heroes in this condition, sedated or not. And if they wanted him at their mercy, they could come knock him out whenever they felt like it. 

So what difference would it make if he were drugged again? God knows his life was going to fucking suck enough once Salcedo came to drag him back. Might as well feel artificially good for a few hours.

"Yeah, I'll take it. Give me the good shit," said Morgan. 

"Right away," she said with a laugh. She pulled a few bottles of clear liquid from her pocket, and, consulting a chart attached to his bed, began to measure out doses. "You know, it's really interesting to finally get to meet you, Mr. Morgan."

"Scared?" he said, attempting his most menacing grin.

"...well, I haven't forgotten the things you've done," she said, which really wasn't what you wanted to hear when someone was preparing a syringe for you. "But the team thinks you deserve a chance, and it's a medical professional's responsibility to provide care for anyone, no matter their past. So I'll treat you like I would any innocent person. You have my word." The look in her eyes was distant. "You're not so frightening now, anyway."

Morgan tried to push down his unease. "Fuck you, I'm a goddamn menace."

"Of course you are," she said, injecting the drugs into Morgan's IV line. "This should kick in in a few minutes. It's going to make you very drowsy. I suggest actually getting some sleep and not fighting it. We'll be monitoring you, but if you have any complications, hit this button."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," said Morgan, smarting from the fact that he couldn't even intimidate the medic. He was at her mercy. He didn't like being at anyone else's mercy. He knew how he treated people he had at his mercy. How his boss treated people.

He hated being on the receiving end, when he was normally such a fearsome and threatening...

Fearsome and threatening...

Ohhh.

Whatever Laurel had injected hit him like a truck, because suddenly he was feeling real fucking good. It was like all of his anxiety melted away, his tight muscles loosening, the pounding in his head finally lightening up. He felt like he were being wrapped up into a wool blanket and carried off on a soft cloud to slumberland. 

Any thoughts of trying to scheme his way out of the hero's stronghold evaporated from his mind. He didn't even bother fighting as his eyelids grew heavy and threatened to close. He was so tired and felt so good. Sleep would feel amazing.

You're a smart guy. Just think about it. Arthur's words echoed in his mind as he began to drift.

Fuck you, Arthur. Like it was all so fucking simple.

Arthur probably knew him better than just about anyone. He must know that it would never work. Why even bother?

Morgan couldn't help but picture himself laughing and joking with Toshiro and Satomi and Julie, dressed in one of their ridiculous bright uniforms, working on gadgetry to help people instead of constantly getting his beautiful machines smashed to bits. 

Ridiculous. The fact that he was even thinking about it was the drugs talking. And now, the drugs were whispering to him that he should really just get some sleep. When would he ever get to sleep this well? Certainly not when his boss came to pick him up.

Part 1 >> Masterlist > Next

@cardboardarsonist @zeiniszein @crystallizedme @mistythedritten @pigeonwhumps @whumpshaped @sparrowsage

[whitecoatwhump]

What is your favorite whump trope at the moment? Love your blog!

Thank you so much! Right now, my favorite whump trope would be the whumpee fighting against being restrained, sedated, or both. I always like that desperate struggle against helplessness, and the whumpee's reaction when they inevitably fail to prevent it.

Thank you for the ask!