#dehumanization cw

[spicywhumper]

Alphabet of Whump 2024 – Name

The Beauty of Suffering // Series: A Coven's Violence // Warnings: dehumanization, it/its pronouns for a person, intimate whumper

It didn't have a name, not really. The host had a name, Mistress had a name and It wasn't allowed to refer to her as anything but Mistress. Names were important things, titled were even more important, and the Weapon wasn't important enough to have a name. "Weapon" wasn't a name, It new, "Weapon" was simply what It was. Something Mistress had in her hands, with a trigger ready to be pulled by her.

Mistress hand was warm on the back of Its neck, nails digging slightly, the touch sent shivers down Its spine. The touch made the girl in the back of Its mind squirm, make gagging noises, clearly disgusted by the touch. The Weapon didn't know why, she should be used to Mistress touching their body by now. Hands grabbing arms and shoulders and neck, fists hitting every soft flesh, nails finding home into tender skin.

"Calling you weapon is a little inconvenient, don't you think?" The Weapon doesn't respond, Its not allowed to. Mistress hummed in approval for the small obedience. "Violet. Your name is Violet."

The girl hissed in the back of Its mind, I already have a name! I'm not a weapon. She wasn't wrong, the girl wasn't a weapon, she just happened to be the original owner of the body Mistress decided was a proper body to turn into a killing machine.

Violet sounded satisfying enough, It guessed, having an actual name was something It could get used to.

[jaeyleo]

LOCKS OR KEYS: PART 8

YOU CHOSE: OPEN THE DOORS- CONTINUE WITH CHASE.

Your decisions allow buried memories to resurface. This is overwhelming for your character, and his mind suffers from the weight of it all.

cws: flashbacks, dehumanization, non human whumper, whumper is also caretaker, electric shock, force feeding, eye trauma, mentions of a seizure, sick whumpee, mentions of hypnosis. lmk if i should add more!

. . .

Screaming, screaming, screaming.

Chase's head feels like it could explode. Too many sounds, too many colors, too many voices and commands and knives and soft touches and- and-

Pseudo hushes him, raking fingers through the puppet's hair. "Pink, dolly, take a deep breath."

But Pink isn't there. Chase falls into the hands of his monster, and finds himself in a new place. Somewhere deep inside his head.

. . .

Cellar.

"Please, p- please!! I can't do it, please!"

"Shhh. It's just a pop quiz, Pink. You'll do just fine."

Chase's arms are chained behind him, with ankles cuffed to both legs of the chair. Hot tears pour down his cheeks, soaking into clothes that are already soaked with blood. He shivers, freezing in the cellar air, terrified of what he sees in front of him.

Just a few feet away, Pseudo holds a stun gun. He sits in a foldable chair, relaxed and comfortable in his position of power here. He owns Pink, and that's a wonderful feeling.

"Tell me your name," he says.

"Pink!" Chase doesn't hesitate in saying it. He may as well be saying please. "It's Pink, Pink, I'm P- Pink!"

"Good," Pseudo praises. "Now tell me your age."

"T- twenty seven..!"

"Mhm. And how about-" Pseudo covers his eyes with his free hand, "the color of my eyes?"

"Brown!"

"Very good!"

Pseudo returns to his original position, with both hands placed leisurely on the stun gun.

"Now, last question, dolly. If you get it right, I'll put this away, hm?"

Chase nods, eager and afraid in the same shaking breath.

"What time is it?"

The puppet freezes. There are no clocks and no windows to tell the time in here. He wasn't told when they got down here, and he wouldn't know how much has passed. It all feels like an eternity of pain and blood.

He trembles, searching his mind for answers. What time was breakfast? How long did it take to clean the kitchen? When was lunch? How long did washing the sheets take? It isn't dinner time yet, is it??

"N- nn-" Chase begins to panic. His breath halts in his chest and he has to shake the terror off himself, like a puppy emerging from falling into a swimming pool.

"Can I have a h- hint??"

Pseudo sighhhhhss, lulling his head to the left, the right, the left, up straight again..

"Mmm.... it was about 4:30 when we came down here."

"A- and how long have we been down here??"

Pseudo chuckles at him, his stupid doll. "That's not a hint, dolly, that's just the answer."

A breath escapes the puppet's mouth. "R- right," he says, defeated. "Okay..."

Think, think, think.

He rocks back and forth, clawing at his mind to provide the answer. How long has it been? How long does it feel like? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it?????

"Um, u- um..."

"Come now, Pink. We don't have all evening."

A soft sob bubbles out from his neck. There's no way he's getting this right.

"Is- i- is it... i- is it um.... s- six- no, no, seven, is it seven?"

"Let's see.."

Pseudo pulls his phone out from his pocket, and flips it open.

He stares at the clock, and Chase stares at his monster. Pseudo lets the tension hang in the air, drinking in the sounds of his puppet's pounding heart.

"Is it seven??? I- hh??"

The monster shuts the phone with a click, and places it back inside his pocket.

"Six fifty- three."

He raises the gun, pointing at Chase's shoulder.

"N- no, no!! No!! I was so close, please!! Please Pseudo!! Plea--!"

Chase's words are cut short. He wails, tensing and then falling limp as the pain takes over his entire body.

. . .

Kitchen.

"Open up."

Chase's mouth stays glued shut. Each hand curls a fist into his sweatpants, a desperate attempt at keeping them down. Any minute now, he swears, he's going to take that stupid spoon and shove it down Pseudo's throat.

In his reply, Chase only shakes his head.

"Oh, come now, don't be difficult. You haven't eaten since yesterday."

When he speaks, Chase keeps his teeth clamped together. "I'll eat if I can feed myself."

"Nooo, you'll eat if I tell you to. Now open up.."

He presents the spoon to Chase's mouth, gently tapping the food against his bottom lip. The puppet finally accepts, opens his jaw, and spits it in the monster's face.

For a moment, they only look at eachother. Chase knows what he did is bad. He knows he'll be punished, but he doesn't care. He's going to be hurt anyway, right?

Still, this hurt could've been avoided.

Pseudo's hand comes around to slap the toy hard across the face. It's enough to almost send him reeling out of the chair, gripping onto the table and stomping the floor as not to go flying to the ground. Before he can bring his own hands to cup the sting across his cheek, Pseudo grabs the collar of his shirt, and yanks him to the floor.

Chase yelps, losing his breath as Pseudo climbs on top to straddle him. He hunches over the doll like an animal, a feral spark running around inside his pupils. Chase feels so small beneath him, like a worm under a bird's claw, ready to be swallowed whole.

The spoon comes to meet Chase's lower eyelid, still hot from the food that was so rudely spat back out. Pseudo presses the spoon down, ever so slightly, and Chase feels his eye shift in its socket.

"Do you need to learn your table manners again, pet?"

The puppet's hands clamp around his monster's wrist. "Get off!!"

Pseudo does not relent. He presses the spoon down further, causing the puppet to start seeing double, triple, a black spot where his eye contacts the top of the socket.

"You should answer me, you know. I could do some terrible things to you."

He presses further, and Chase digs his nails into Pseudo's skin. He feels as though his eye could pop right out of his head.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!"

"That isn't an answer."

More pressure. More pain. Chase feels air in places he shouldn't.

"Ah! No!!! Nono I don't, I don't, I'm sorry!"

"You don't what, Pink? Show me you understand."

"I--!" Pink digs his nails deeper into his monster's wrist. "I don't-- I don't need to learn table manners, I'm sorry! Nh- please!"

"Good," Pseudo croons, and slowly, slowly, releases the pressure on his puppet's eye. He lets a few moments pass before reaching a hand to caress Pink's face, thumb stroking gentle across the cheekbone that was hit. The doll shrinks away, closing his eyes.

"I want you to prove it, now, Pink. Otherwise..." the spoon draws a line, following the curve of Chase's eye socket. He speaks soft, higher pitched, like talking to a child. A puppy, a worm under his claw. "Do you understand?"

"Y- yes, Pseudo.."

"Good.."

Pseudo moves off, and Chase climbs back in his chair. He holds his eye and stinging cheek in his hand before Pseudo swats it away, reminding him table manners include no hands above the waist.

Pseudo sets himself down, too, and presents the food to Chase's mouth once more.

"Open up."

Chase opens his mouth. Food is placed inside, but he doesn't chew.

"....Eat."

The puppet obeys, avoiding his monster's eyes throughout the rest of the meal.

. . .

Home.

The house is happy.

Chase cradles his daughter on the couch, running soft hands through waving blond hair. A cartoon drones on in the background, capturing the little girl's attention completely.

She giggles at the characters, and Chase's heart swells with love.

"They're silly," she comments, turning her head to her father. A wide smile takes her face over, with one missing tooth to top it off.

"Yeah, they are silly, aren't they?"

He smiles down at her, and plants a kiss on her forehead. A small hand reaches up to tap the end of his nose.

Chase smiles wider. He is so full of love he can barely stand it.

. . .

Somewhere in Denmark.

Somewhere far away. Somewhere, where old love and safety and sanity aren't a guarantee. Somewhere deep inside his head, Chase is pulled up, up into reality.

He feels like he's trapped underwater, and Pseudo is the one to drag him out. Up, up, up, through swamps and moss and dirt, through water that's thick as clotted blood. His eyes droop, his bones fall limp, Chase cannot breathe with the pressure in his chest. The water tastes of soap, and a sourness that makes his teeth chatter.

He wants to sink again, into memories good and bad. Wants to be anywhere but here. Anywhere, somewhere, somewhere deep inside his head.

Chase groans, a migraine holding him hostage. The lights are too bright, even behind closed eyelids. His blanket is so warm. Is he comfortable? Too tired to tell.

He opens his lazy eyes, seeing his small attic room surround him. He feels sick. Horrible. Tears wet his eyes but he doesn't remember why.

Beside him, Pseudo watches him rest. The puppet startles when he sees his monster, and he tries desperately to sit up. He can only claw the sheets.

Pseudo tilts his head as the puppet shoves himself into the wall. The blanket provides a shield of false protection, and he holds on as if life depends on it.

"You had some scary nightmares, huh?"

Chase only stares.

"Mh. Well, you slept for a while. You even had a seizure."

The puppet's brows furrow. "Really?" he croaks.

"Mhm. Does your head hurt?"

Chase nods. Pseudo reaches out his hand, slow and steady. Even so, the puppet shrinks away, closing his eyes as if expecting to be slapped or clawed or scratched.

But the monster is gentle, brushing away pink hair to feel the doll's forehead. The coolness of his hand is comforting. Chase can't help but relax a little in his touch.

"You still have a fever..." Pseudo runs his hand over the puppet's hair, petting softly. "... Are you hungry?"

"No.."

"Liar."

"I don't wanna eat."

"It'll make you feel better."

"Will it?"

Pseudo gives a soft smile. He helps the doll sit up, gently hushing him as he whimpers and whines about his head swimming, his muscles hurting, ow, Pseudo, please-

"Shhhhh. It's okay, Pink.."

On the end table, a bowl of warm soup waits to be eaten. The monster takes a spoonful, blows, and presents it to Chase's hesitant mouth.

"Come now... eat. You'll feel better."

The puppet frowns, and accepts. Bite after bite, it feels warm and heavy in his stomach, warm and heavy and delicious. Pseudo was right. He does feel better.

They wash it down with cool water, and Chase breathes a sigh of relief at the taste. He may still feel sick and afraid, but he's not thirsty, not hungry, and not cold, and that's more than enough right now.

Pseudo pushes the empty dishes aside, and returns his hands to playing with Pink's hair. The puppet sinks into the feeling, sleepiness pulling down his weight. He feels comfortable. Sick, but comfortable.

"You've been anxious lately," Pseudo says gently. "You're trying to get back into a headspace that's not good for you."

Chase opens his eyes.

"I hate to see you suffer like that, Pink. It breaks my heart."

"I don't wanna be your toy.."

Pseudo sighs, stroking the doll's cheek with his thumb. Sweet thing.

"I need to run to the store again. I forgot my sugar."

"I- I can't, I don't wanna-"

"No, shhh. You're staying in bed."

Chase relaxes again, falling victim to the gentle touches of his monster.

"Can I trust you to rest?"

The puppet nods. He's too sick to get up anyway. Everything hurts, especially his head.

"Good doll.. I'll be back soon."

He plants one gentle kiss on Chase's forehead, and leaves him to rest alone.

. . .

As the minutes pass, the puppet finds himself unable to sleep. His head hurts, his body aches, oh, God, he feels horrible. He almost wishes Pseudo hypnotized him before he left.

While he lays there, Chase begins to wonder. He heard the door close, but no keys, and no starting car. It's no secret that Pseudo can travel long distances without transport, as part of his magic allows him to do so. Could he have left the car keys?

"No, no, don't think like that," Chase says allowed. He runs his hands over his face, and tries to get comfortable again. But the thought plagues him.

Did he leave the car keys?

Even if he won't escape, he could still check, right? Then at least he knows, and he can get some sleep. Yes, yes, he'll just check and see..

Chase drags himself up, groaning as a dizziness swirls the entire room around. A chill takes over him as well, and he reaches for the smaller blanket on the bed to wrap around his shoulders. God, he feels like shit.

Eventually he makes his way out of his room, leaning against walls and railings as not to go tumbling to the ground. Walking is a chore, and his feet ache with every step. Pins and needles climb up his legs like leeches, and he finds himself in pain with every. Single. Step.

Down the stairs, into the living room.

The car keys hang on the wall by door.

Chase freezes. He can only stare.

[copics-and-renegades]

Whumptober 2024 Day 16: Vermin

Everybody has their limits.

---

Somehow I came up with lots of "Magnius whumps Botta" scenarios this year. He's fitting because imo he has zero patience for any smartass Defiant Whumpee bullshit Botta would usually pull and instead like, just shrugs and goes, "ok throw this one to the rats and cockroaches and ask him again in a week". After enough time in the pitch black darkness with the only sensations being "cold" and "did something just crawl over me again", even Botta would play the good pet, me thinks.

Very brutal dynamic, is what I'm saying.

I'll post the remaining pieces tomorrow or something, because I honestly feel like flaming garbage these days and am too tired to operate a scanner. :'D

[much-ado-about-whumping]

Meet Mercy

It's been a while since I posted something original of mine here, but I think I might be due! Many, many thanks to the magnificent @newbornwhumperfly for transcribing this for me from a stream-of-consciousness Discord sketch. (I meant to post this in Mermay, but didn't quite make it - here it is a little late.)

Enter my genderfucky merfolk, Mercy.

Background: The creature who will come to be known as Mercy is captured by some sailors, roughly analogous to Age of Sail British imperialists but, like, in a fantasy way.

Content notes: Non-con, captivity, language barrier, dehumanization (of someone who isn't exactly human, but is human-like in sentience), experimentation, hurt/no comfort (for this installment), bondage, fantasy creature biology, sorta dysphoria, and some VERY FUCKY gender stuff, including essentially non-consensual hormone therapy. Trans readers, approach with caution; this was cathartic for me but might be painful for you, depending on your particular deal. You can DM me if you'd like more specific warnings for this piece.

Readers must be age 18+ for this one, friends.

---

The sailors think, at first, that their net has caught a very large fish. But they heave and haul and the furious thing they bring aboard has a torso, has arms, has a face, has a voice.

They don't know what he needs at first. They try to give him fresh water with his food, but it makes him sick. He thrashes in his ropes and screams words they don't understand, and it's only when someone dumps a bucket of icy brine over him as a punishment that they realize he's drying out. He needs salt water, not fresh.

And they touch him. All over. Inspect him. It's under a day before someone tries to fuck his mouth. He yowls and bites and his teeth are sharp and they curse him, hit him, bash his head against the deck.

They pry his mouth open with some piece of ship hardware and try again. They grow bored. Go exploring on his body while he squirms. Find his ass and fuck it while he screams and thrashes.

He cries his eyes raw. Feels like he can't breathe. Gets doused in salt water again, and he recovers, but he's damaged—

And he learns bits of their language.

Learns suck.

Learns still.

Learns down.

Water. Eat. Bitch.

He learns, in one bizarre encounter, hurts, when one of them tends to a cut on his brow. He hisses, pulls away. The sailor looks at him with a little sympathy.

"Hurts?" the sailor asks. He dabs gently, tentatively at the cut. Mercy hisses again. But the sailor only grips his jaw, not unkindly. Tries again.

Over his shoulder, someone teases him. Asks how his girlfriend is doing. The sailor waves him off. Says, "Even a beast deserves a little mercy."

He says it as he rubs a balm over the cut. Something that soothes the pain. The merman gazes at him, hopeless.

"Mercy?" he repeats quietly.

The sailor studies him for a moment. 

"You know, I think there is something going on behind his eyes," he says to his comrades.

Drops Mercy's chin. Leaves him to shiver, curled up, trembling in the corner by the barrels while the others drink.

Later that night, the merman screams mercy, mercy, mercy as they use him - and again the next day, and the next. That's how he gets his name.

And maybe, one day, they're exploring other ways to hurt him. To touch him. They have him stretched out, bound. The journey will take a month, at least, so there's no rush in examining him before they have to sell the poor thing off.

They find a sensitive spot beneath each of his arms, in the hollow where underarm meets breast. A little soft place, springy. When they press on it, he screams. It hurts. Like it's something deep inside him, something that isn't supposed to be touched. And he recoils, as if they've touched a very private place.

They keep pushing. Prodding. Massaging.

And something seems to shift. His flesh grows a little softer. His body slightly changes shape. It takes an hour of massaging him, but by the end he has soft little tits, a touch of padding where his hips would be if he were human. 

They maneuver him while he sobs, hurt and exhausted, and find...a cunt. Small. Tight. Like it needs more time to develop. But they can get a finger in right from the start. And they do.

Mercy wails.

Thrashes and fights and screams and screams and screams.

But the fingers come back, massaging the glands beneath his arms. Stretching his cunt open bit by bit. When they can fit two fingers inside, the sailors get impatient. One of them rams into him.

He screams like he's dying.

But they keep going, going, going, and when it's all over, Mercy is left torn and leaking. Crying softly. Half-hoping he'll drain out and die before they notice. No such luck - he's doused again and again, and eventually set him in a barrel of seawater to keep him hydrated.

Her. To keep her hydrated.

She's been female before. It isn't the femaleness she minds. But it takes weeks, usually. Her body is still reeling from being forced through the change in hours. She's aching. And they keep using her like this. They do it again, again - take pleasure in switching back and forth.

She's always tired. 

He always hurts.

His old name feels like a distant memory. Her body doesn't feel like hers.

[mildew-mop]

I think some neurotypical people don’t really understand how traumatic it can be to be an autistic child with ableist parents. Having uneducated parents who don’t care about accommodating you, or don’t bother to research is awful.

I was not diagnosed with autism until I was 16. I didn’t find out what it even was until around then. I had to beg my mother to find somewhere I could get diagnosed. Turns out I had ADHD & Autism all along (though personally I find myself more affected - at least socially - by my autism, though now that I know what’s up with my brain, I find it easier to identity what is which).

I wanted an explanation for my struggles, and I wanted help. Once I found out it was an option, I was told by my parents and by adults at school that there would be no point for me to get diagnosed. That I was too “high functioning” to need help. That A diagnosis was pointless.

My parents also told me that they suspected and assumed that I was autistic since around age 4. They didn’t tell me this until I started trying to figure out if I was autistic around age 16.

Based on this and other things throughout my life, I assume that my dad actively

Below are 3 personal examples. Warnings in the tags. Click to read.

Throughout my childhood, both my parents would regularly tell me that I was completely incapable of emotion or empathy. They would flat out say this to my face. This didn’t stop them from being upset with me when I was crying (mostly because the sound of my crying was annoying) but growing up I was regularly told that I was incapable of empathy. Most recently I think my mom said this not even two years ago.

When I was around 5-7, occasionally my dad would hold me down on the floor and force feed me foods that I did not like the texture of. He would restrain me, and just shove it/pour it in my mouth depending on what it is. He justified this by saying I had to stop being a picky eater.

My mother would scream at me for stimming (she would call it fidgeting) and claim that me shifting around in my seat or moving was an attack on her. She would describe it as painful. She would grab my hands to make them stop moving. She would take toys away from me (not that I ever really had any other than occasional soft plushies) so I had nothing to move around. She would pretend call me disrespectful for bouncing a knee while excited. She would also cry if I ever sang and go on about how it was so unbelievably horrible to hear me sing and I should never do it in her presence because it was so awful that it might as well be a targeted attack meant to physically hurt her. She made sure I stopped opening my mouth around anyone before I hit 10, and I’ve barely stopped constantly worrying that no one notices my fidget toys I can finally get so I don’t “hurt” anyone in case they notice. (I’ve realized that most people don’t actually give a fuck.)

[independentzaun]

Zaun doesn't have happy endings.

((Random drabble featuring Jinx. Content warnings for violence, blood, torture, dehumanization. Read at your own risk… is it a memory or a dream? Maybe, yes.))

If the thing running through Jinx’s mind was a dream as she stretched out across the rafters above Silco’s office it was a very vivid one, and if it was a memory it held her attention perhaps a bit too firmly. She of course had no intentions of admitting to anything one way or the other, and if anyone else could have said one way or the other they had their own problems to deal with.Regardless for a time her eyes were closed with a leg dangling downwards as she stayed still, and quiet letting something run across her mind. Something that regardless of if was a dream, or a memory brought a faint flush to her skin and a pleasant little rush through her body as she shifted ever so slightly. It started off simply enough, and with something that would likely have irritated anyone… of course Jinx wasn’t just anyone.

Jinx’s distaste for most of the food in Zaun due to textures, and inconsistent preparation had made her look forward to the chicken katsu sandwich in her hands all the more particularly as it was so seldom found in Zaun. The sandwich was in fact from a vendor that most of the time peddled their wares up in Piltover, but on rare occasions came down to the marketplace in Zaun. When Jinx had gone to get it she had even stood in line, and paid properly the same as anyone else if only because she had enough awareness to understand doing otherwise would only make it more likely she’d never get a sandwich from them again at least not down in Zaun which would be quite a shame. Walking away from the vendor she’d stepped to one side unwrapping the sandwich, and taking a small bite wanting to eat half of it before wrapping the rest back up and heading off somewhere more comfortable. With how she’d stepped out of the way Jinx had assumed things would be fine, but this was not a lucky day for her. One single bite was quickly followed by the feeling of someone shoving their way past her for no good reason Jinx knew of making her drop the sandwich onto the dirty wet pavement of Zaun. What had been a clean, pristine, and crispy selection of delicious food was now none of that. The sandwich spilled out of the wrapper so that the bread slid along the pavement becoming riddled with pebbles coated with mud at best and soaked from the dampness nearly constant in a place so close to water, the chicken escaping out from between the bread as it finally came to a stop only for someone's boot to come down onto it a second later ensuring that the only thing that might be willing or able to eat it was perhaps a scavenging rat, and the various condiments that had been a part of the sandwich squirting around the food like blood from a man who had just been gutted by Sevika and slammed against the ground.

Staring down at the one thing she’d been looking truly forward to nearly all day now ruined like so much else in Zaun Jinx’s eyes went flat, and her face near expressionless before lifting to watch the man who had treated her so rudely walk away without even an apology. Chewing for a moment, and than swallowing so that one bite at least wouldn't go to waste she considered for a second going back for another sandwich. The problem was that her mood was ruined now, and with her attention focused so tightly on the man it was near obsessive the odds of her enjoying another sandwich were low at best. Instead, Jinx simply followed the man who had, in her mind at least, ruined her day.

Down the road, through side streets, up onto one roof top or another, long blue braids swaying behind her as heavy boots stepped surprisingly quietly, and attention focused quiet firmly on the man who had offended her Jinx went largely unnoticed. As far as she was concerned this was something that needed her proper full attention, and a bit of time devoted to it rather than being something to be solved with a quick gunshot or a chomper exploding. Besides it wasn’t as though she had anything scheduled, or planned that she was going to miss. Even if she got home “late” Jinx’s habits coming and going were random enough at this point for it to not really be all that noticeable. Watching the man who had ruined her food pull out a key, and unlock a door to a ground floor apartment her head tilted a bit before she settled down somewhere up high sitting cross legged to wait. A few hours of watching that one apartment while playing with a chomper, or her braids, or her pistol and eventually Zaun entered the quiet hours of the night and any lights that had been shining through a window flickered off staying that way for long enough it seemed likely her prey was asleep. A few hops downwards, and a dash across the street followed by picking a lock and slipping inside had Jinx quickly looking around the apartment.

A portrait done of two men on the wall, a sofa big enough for two, and a kitchen well kept and comfortable that showed signs of use with a bottle of mushroom wine chilled and ready to sip. The whole place looked small, but homey. Spotting a dish left out for someone else with a note imploring them to eat before coming to bed Jinx picked it up, and strolled towards the bedroom. Her prey passed out on a large bed with a book next to him that he’d likely fallen asleep reading grumbled softly in his sleep before going quiet once more as the bedroom door shut than opened. Food placed on a chair in the corner Jinx moved quietly around the bedroom with a bit of wire so thin it was nearly invisible tying it here, and there. In the end she settled down in the chair, and started eating food placed aside for someone else. Not what she’d wanted, and it wasn’t even something she particularly enjoyed yet it was food all the same. Eventually though her presence in the room woke the man who sat up looking vaguely confused, and than angry.

“The fuck? You’re not, get the fuck out of my home! That’s NOT YOUR FOOD GET THE FUCK OUT FREAK!” As his voice steadily went louder the man started to move. Tossing his blankets to one side he scooted to one side of the bed placing his feet on the ground to stand.

Jinx in the meantime took another bite of food. “It’s my food now, and you don’t want to do that. I might actually just leave after I finish eating.” Voice playful, and mocking she knew quite well he wasn’t going to listen which of course he didn’t. Her eyes stayed on him as she ate the food he’d set aside for another without any care at all.

Frowning the man reached for a club he kept next to his bed, and stepped forward. “You’re going to leave now, and if you don’t we’re going to have a major problem. I don’t care who you are you can’t just, FUCK!” His voice went high and startled as his ankle hit a wire, and suddenly he found himself falling downwards. His cheek bouncing off of the bed frame, and his knee slamming into the floor as he failed to catch himself in time. It gave Jinx enough time to move however, and the next thing he knew a boot was against the side of his head making his face bounce off of the bed frame once more. The kick was followed up by a quick harsh punch, and than Jinx simply yanked the club out of his hand before raising it up and bringing it down onto his shoulder with a sickening crack as his shoulder broke. Tossing the club to one side Jinx chuckled softly. “Told you that you don’t want to do that.” Ignoring the sudden cascade of whimpers, groans, and curses coming from the man as he slumped against the floor Jinx crouched down watching him as she was now far more interested in her victim than the food she’d stolen.

“That must feel so weird to be in between things. In between being just a doll made of meat laying there limply because it’s not as though I have any reason to let you live tonight, and being a person moving about and existing. You aren’t exactly a person anymore not really just prey to play with after all, but you also aren’t a doll yet. Heh, It hurts doesn’t it? To be in that spot fallen down a well, and you haven’t climbed back out yet or died either you are just at the bottom whimpering and scratching at the walls trying to figure out what comes next.” Voice smooth, and contemplative her eyes stayed on his before she rolled her eyes hearing his continued curses directed her way. Reaching out with one hand surprisingly strong fingers clutched at his jaw as her voice went bright and cheerful sounding practically gleeful. “You talk too much. Particularly for someone almost a doll...why don’t we fix that?”

One hand keeping his mouth open her other hand went down to grab a knife Jinx carried with her. That knife found it’s way into her victim’s mouth a second later as she smirked pushing the knife as deep as possible before a quick swipe had his tongue cut off. A wet splat, and a spurt of red from his mouth as blood shot out onto the floor from a scream. Some of the blood hit Jinx’s fingers, and gloved hand but that wasn’t something she particularly cared about. What she did care about was the sudden possibility the man would bleed out as he gurgled, and his hands slapped at his face impotently trying to figure out a way to stop the bleeding before hitting at the floor. Frowning for a second Jinx rolled her eyes, and sighed reaching down for her lighter. “Oh stop being so whiny, as though no one has ever lost a tongue before.” Despite the frown, and chastising words there was an amused note to her voice that was slowly becoming more gleeful. Lighter letting out a sizable flame she hummed to herself for a good thirty seconds heating up her knife with the lighter as the man continued spitting blood onto the floor, and even reached into his own mouth trying to squeeze at what small part of his tongue might be left to stop the bleeding which only resulted in him gagging himself and a large splatter of blood getting coughed out against Jinx’s leg as a result.

Knife heated up Jinx ran a hand into the man’s hair taking a firm grip and using it to slam his head down against the floor. “Now be a good lil corpse, and stay still for me so I can help with your little bleeding problem.” Eyes gleaming with enjoyment she moved suddenly letting her hand leave his hand, and move to his jaw forcing it open while one of her knees slammed onto his chest pinning him down. Lips pulling into a sinister smile the heated knife was suddenly inside the man’s mouth pressing against the bit of tongue still remaining as suddenly there was a smell of heated metal, and burning flesh along with the sound of blood sizzling. It made Jinx’s eyes gleam with delight as the man’s feet beat against the floor, and a soft laugh escape from her. At this point it wasn’t about the food ruined, or otherwise anymore. It was about the fact she held all the power, and could do whatever she wanted to him giving her a feeling of control she adored particularly when placed side by side with causing someone pain and sending them down into their own well darkness. “Such a wiggling, struggling dolly. You really shouldn’t be moving this much lil corpse that’s not normal. At least not unless someone else is moving you around. Why don’t we fix that next?”

Knife removed from her victim’s mouth Jinx stood and stretched for a second before suddenly taking the very simple approach of bringing her boots to bear against him. A few playful kicks against the mans ribs at first, and than they got harder and more directed. The kicks went downwards to slam against his hips, but the first kick that did real damage was one that broke her prey’s knee with a stomp following afterwards onto it shattering the man’s knee entirely. His other knee was treated the same, ankles, elbows, shoulders, and in the end he was a largely immobile whimpering crying thing. Jinx’s eyes shining bright with a sadistic enjoyment, and a fang filled grin that spoke very clearly of one simple thing. They were not done yet.

“There we go now you don’t ever have to worry about where you are going to, or how you’re getting there, or how to move about! Aren’t I nice? You don’t look very grateful though… something is missing… what is it though?” A boot on the man’s chest as Jinx stared down at him for a long moment and than snapped her fingers. “I know! No one likes a sad dolly, and that’s what you’re going to be soon. Not quite yet no. Still a bit too much life in you, but soon. So let’s fix that too.” Once again her knife was going to be brought out, and crouching down one of her hands clutched at his jaw hard enough to hurt as the knife went between his teeth and cut open his cheek first on one side than on the other. “Now if you were going to live the scar from that would be a nice smile, but let’s be honest that’s probably not going to happen lil corpse so do you have any staples around here? Lil corpse? Oh! I’m silly why am I asking some doll where things are? Doll’s don’t talk. Even I know that, heh. I’m not that crazy.” Standing up Jinx sighed glancing around before moving around the apartment searching for staples and a stapler, or if not that perhaps a needle and thread.

It didn’t take Jinx long to find staples, and a stapler and returning to the man she hummed softly pinning him once more with a knee as she tilted her head. “Now we don’t want some big smile. You aren’t a clown after all. Let’s see it needs to be just right,” a staple punched into the mans skin before she frowned and shook her head. That staple would get ripped out of her victim’s face, and the same thing would happen a few more times before Jinx finally seemed satisfied. A series of eight staples on either side giving her “doll” a pleasant smile resulting in a little nod from her as she tossed the stapler across the room. “There, almost done now. After all I can only spend so much time here. Eventually I have to go back home you know. Sure I spend a lot of time at my workshop, and all but you know dads. Disappear for a night or two, and he gets worried. Should I tell him you said hi? This has been fun after all! Wait, fuck, no, dolls don’t talk Jinx you know that, duhhhhh that’s half the fun of them. Well that’s okay we can always pretend.” Rolling her eyes at herself Jinx reached behind herself, and pulled out a chomper as she stood. “This wont hurt much. Will put a bit of a hole in your chest, but that’s okay. Just hold still, and be good and this will be over…” Voice trailing off Jinx’s head turned as she suddenly focused on something before she held up a finger. “Shhhhhh.”

Seconds later Jinx was crouched down behind the bed on the opposite side of the bedroom door with her pistol in one hand. Another man’s voice could be heard in the apartment calling out for his lover, and sounding vaguely puzzled as well as a bit concerned a question was offered as the bedroom door opened. “Hey babe you feeling okay? I thought you said you were making dinner for both of us? I know I got home late, but… oh, oh no, oh gods!” Knees slamming into the ground the man let out a sob seeing the condition of his boyfriend. Jinx unable to help it peaked out just a touch to watch, and her “doll” spotting her let out a loud whining whimpering sound trying to warn his lover which was completely misunderstood by the other man.

“I’m so sorry I should have gotten home sooner, who did this to you!? No that’s not, that’s not important. Come on I’ll get you to a doctor, we can get you fixed and than I’ll make you dinner and help you recover and everything's going to be okay I promise. This is going to hurt, and I’m so sorry my love I have to move you though.” The whimpering turned into a keening sound as the tongueless man with his face stapled into a smile tried to scream, and failed. Jinx’s eyes narrowed as her grasp tightened a bit on her pistol before relaxing as she shrugged, and she let them go. If the man’s boyfriend really wanted his own helpless doll than fine, whatever. There was a certain satisfaction to the idea of those two struggling through life in Zaun from now until… well whenever one of them left the other. It wasn’t as though they’d last after all not now.

This was Zaun, and people didn’t get happy endings here.

Monsters could, sometimes, but not people.

[killercmd]

@podpilot sent a broadcast: hey girl how about the ep4 Uzi and V fight…. post → title: ❝ i'm out of my head, of my heart, and my mind; 'cause you can run but you can't hide. ❞ → answered inbox meme (send a canon scene for my muse's feelings on it - accepting) content warning: intense feelings of betrayal, violence, intense self-doubt / senses of abandonment issues, dehumanization, dismemberment (although kinda mild)

The other campers are dead. You already have a suspicion of who - no, what - caused the massacre of oil, viscera, and body parts. Giggling draws your attention, body tense as you go on high alert. N had tried to stop you, but after what you saw with the arrow, your mind had been set.

The clash of his blade against yours fuels anger as it continues to ring in your head like an audio clip on loop, your sharp teeth gritted in a snarl. That thing has to die. Not for your sake, not for the other worker drones', but for N's sake. Every horrible action you did to protect him, not that he'd--

CRACK.

Your attention snaps towards the sound of a tree giving way underneath something big, something heavy. The flash of purple is enough to make your wings snap open, a heavy beat of them launching you into the air to investigate. Yellow LEDs widen in panic at the sight of Lizzy being lifted off the snow by a symbol you knew all too well. There's the fucking beast.

In a swift movement, you're in the way, one wing folded over yourself to block that monster from taking another life senselessly. When impact is made with the durable bio-metal, you shove back to unfurl it, bladed claws swinging forward with the momentum and making contact. The speed and force behind your strike sends C̴y̵n̶ flying into the trees, ricocheting off one before collapsing into the snow- a few logs landing atop her new body.

You walk away from Lizzy once you hear her drop into the snow, claws shifting into a long, hooked blade. You can hear coughing, see that organic tail slither into the shadows before a soft, pathetic voice pleads with you in feigned weakness. You knew better. It'd made sure of that. As you cautiously approach, your stance aggressive, you bare both blades in case it does happen to launch out once you were within range.

❝ New body, same horrors, huh, Cyn? ❞

You growl snidely, your yellow optics never once leaving where the beast had landed. Though, perhaps, that had put you at a disadvantage. The moment you refuse to allow that thing to talk to N, your sensors go off in alarm as something sharp digs into your shoulder-- that tail. Dragged forward then flung into the snow, you let out a grunt. The sever is so quick that it doesn't register until you recalibrate: YOU'RE MISSING AN ARM.

Panic sets in, cold and heavy, as you scramble to your feet to deflect your own blade being thrown at you. Just as quickly, you're pinned to a tree, and- [ WARNING: SEVERE DAMAGE TAKEN! RECALIBRATING. ] The blade drives through your head, temporarily sending you offline only for you to blink back with the sudden impact of the ground against your side dislodging the sharp object from your skull. Rolling onto your back, your breaths hitch when a sudden weight pins you down, sharp pain going through your hand.

Looking back up, you're met with that cursed symbol glowing a deadly purple across the visor of N's so-called 'friend'. Your processors scramble in a panic, your tail moving to stab her with the nanite acid-- only for burning pain to scream through your sensory receptors, making you writhe and squirm like prey underneath the bared jaws of a predator. Her tail had severed your stinger, dropping it in her hands. You're going to die again. The cold dread of realization sets in as you watch the hooked syringe be drawn back in preparation to stab you.

In a blink, the weight is removed and you can muffledly hear N's familiar light voice. Wait- N?! Sitting up, you see that Cyn had driven your stinger through his hand- though now Cyn was no longer anywhere to be found. As his removes the stinger and pops his hand into his mouth to neutralize the acid, you expect him to ask if you're alright, or what happened. Instead, he's-

. . .

He's scolding you?!

Your chest tightens as though you really had been stabbed again, a hurt look briefly crossing your visor before you sharply turn away from him. The wind that whips up with him taking off into the air is felt against your back, biting cold and cruel.

N doesn't care about you, does he? Would he ever care even if he did know why you were doing this? He'd gotten so stupidly attached to that little monster that he entirely disregarded that it had nearly killed you just now- that, had it not been for his intervention, you would be just another body to the count. Anger boils the coolant in your artificial veins as you stand to retrieve your severed arm.

Fine, then. Maybe he should just get burned again.

Maybe then he'd realize that she's a monster, that she would not only tear them apart but rip through anyone he could ever dream to care about.

What's he need you for when he's got that purple menace anyways?

It was a mistake to come on this trip with him. You never should have come along.

But you couldn't let N catch you crying, not now, not ever. Vulnerability and weakness was preyed upon. Even if he doesn't understand it, you have to protect him. You HAVE to keep a repeat of the gala from happening.

Even if it kills you in the process.

Even if no one remembers or misses you in the end.

As long as N was safe.

[csa-survivor-confessions]

i am a rag doll. i always have been, that was what he made me, and that was the only time anyone liked me. my mom doesn't like me, the people i spend time with find me agitating but still slap the word 'friend' on me. i am not a friend, im not a loved one, how can a rag doll be either of those. ive tried to act human enough, but i hate it. at least when im a doll, i know being thrown across the room, left when someone grows bored, doing things without my will, is just what dolls do. when im pretending that im anything but that it hurts, because humans don't normally get treated like dolls, just me. ive tried to mimic, ive tried to have some sort of depth behind plastic beady eyes and a head stuffed of cotton, but im told its agitating. im a doll, thats what i was made, that's what I'll always be. ill always be treated like a doll.

.

[suttttton]

love your posts about your own writing and fics! Im happy to see them on my dash; it’s fun to know what projects you’re working on :) they’re a lovely delight and I look forward to them being published! or at the very least, I look forward to seeing snippets and/or your process with it. have a great day Sutton!

<3 <3 <3

that's so nice to hear! i do feel a little bad for how often i'll post things like, "[x story] is so close to being done!" and then it doesn't get done for another six months after that. i simply am not good at predicting how long a story will take me or how close any particular project is to completion....

anyway, here's a nice lengthy excerpt of from today's project, an alternate bad ending for stag story (inspired by @inklingofadream's fic dishonor), in which elias kills martin and then sells jon to the highest bidder. (cw for dehumanization and typical stag story unpleasantness):

Elias has changed the stag's antlers.

That's the first thing Sasha notices when Elias leads him into the room. She's seated toward the back, so she has to crane her neck to see around the tall hats and intricate hairstyles of the nobles that surround her, each of them prepared to sink their fortunes into acquiring one of the only captive stags in existence. Useless idiots.

She doubts any of them have noticed a difference in the antlers. She doubts any of them ever noticed anything odd about the antlers in the first place. They'd looked beautiful, definitely, with their perfectly symmetrical, curving tips, but they never looked natural. There was clearly some sculpture involved in their shape.

They still don't look quite natural. The stag has always had eight points, but now there are twelve--an absurd number for a yearling set of antlers, and a clear attempt to make the stag look artificially more impressive. Sasha wonders what his antlers originally looked like. He's so small even in full adulthood, she finds it doubtful his yearling antlers started out with eight points. He might have managed six, but her guess would be four or five.

Elias brings the stag onto the platform at the front of the room, improving Sasha's view considerably, and the second thing she notices is that he's restrained more heavily than usual. There are shackles around both of his wrists and a delicate collar around his neck, all hooked to a leash looped around Elias' wrist. They are subtle pieces, possible to ignore, possible to pretend they are just ornamentation. Elias hooks the wrist shackles to the stool, but keeps his hold on the collar. It's made of leather, but the buckles and hooks glint in pure silver.

The third thing she notices is the stag's expression. It's... wrong, somehow. Somehow both sharper and duller than it should be. Every time she's seen him in the past, his eyes have been like panes of glass, blank and inscrutable, like the eyes of a horse. He held himself tensely, always, his body a taut bowstring, an unexpressable desire to Flee. Now he looks calm, his shoulders relaxed even as Elias touches his back, fixes his posture, leans forward to murmur something in his ear. His eyes are downcast, but she sees true awareness there, a vague expression she can only describe as 'troubled,' completely at odds with the rest of his demeanor.

She wonders if he's been drugged for the auction. She wouldn't put it past Elias. She couldn't even fault him, really, if the stag were putting up lively resistance to the idea of being taken from his home for the past decade. A docile creature would doubtless fetch a much higher price than a stubborn beast.

Once the stag is settled, Elias turns to face his audience. He raises a hand for silence, and says, "Thank you all for accepting my invitation to this very exciting occasion, the retirement of my noble and dutiful bait-stag, who has served me well for many years. Due to my own retirement from the Hunter's Guild, I no longer have use of his services, and I trust he will find a welcoming home in one of your households. Shall we start the bidding at three broams?"

Sasha raises her eyebrows. Elias is aiming high. Still, she isn't surprised when he immediately gets a bite, a woman in the first row in an ornate blue hat. The stag had been instrumental in bringing down the Beast; he's no longer a simple novelty, but a celebrity in his own right.

"Three and a quarter?" Elias says, his voice perfectly neutral.

Another bite, a man leaning against the wall in a nondescript suit. Probably a well-off member of the Hunter's Guild, hoping to use the stag to emulate Elias' success.

"Three and a half?"

Blue hat raises her hand immediately, cutting off two other hands that go up just a moment too late.

And so the bidding goes. Three broams becomes four, becomes five, six, seven. The lesser nobility is left behind in favor of the people with real money. Blue Hat slumps down in her chair, arms crossed sulkily. The man in the suit leaves the room entirely. Finally, it gets to the point where the only two bidders are a man representing the Crown Princess, and a man representing the King himself. Idly, Sasha wonders what the point is, if Jon will join the royal household either way. Pride of ownership? Friendly competition?

"Seven and a finger."

"Seven and a ringlet."

"Seven and a quarter."

"Seven and a piece."

Sasha is bored. She stands up. "Ten broams."

All around the room, eyes turn to her. Elias' grin broadens. "Miss James offers ten broams. Does anyone care to counter?"

She sees the two businessmen look at each other, uncertain expressions on both their faces. She's surely outpaced their upper budget limits, and she sees them making calculations. Surely this stranger can't have much more than ten broams. Surely they can outbid her if they just press a little harder.

The one who represents the Princess says, "Ten broams and a half."

"Fifteen broams," Sasha says, sending the entire crowd into a tizzy. She grins.

"Fifteen!" Elias says, sounding genuinely surprised, just for a moment. Sasha keeps her eyes fixed on her competition, daring them to go higher.

One of them leans over to say something to the other, and he nods. The one who represents the King raises his hand and says, "Twenty broams."

"Thirty," Sasha says immediately.

The room goes silent, waiting for a response. For a moment, even Elias doesn't respond. He hadn't put the Great Antlers on auction, selling them directly to the King as a sign of goodwill. Sasha doesn't know how much the King had offered for them, but Elias had come out of the deal with a title and quite a few acres of land. Thirty broams seems as good an estimate as any. She wonders if he ever imagined his captive stag would fetch a price even half as much.

"Thirty broams," Elias says finally. "Do I hear a counter for thirty?"

He doesn't. The two businessmen sit down, defeated. She expects she'll be seeing them in the coming months, after they communicate with their patrons, bringing offers of sixty or seventy or two hundred broams, anything to complete the Royal Collection.

For now, though, Elias says, "Sold to Miss James for thirty broams."

It isn't a surprising outcome--Sasha has been planning for this sale for years, and she knew coming in that she would be the one leaving with the stag. But with every eye in the room turned on her, she feels a surge of victory.

Finally, the stag is hers.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i love how these books just yeet the mask like a frisbee and say about as explicitly as they can that vatborn aren't people lmao

[aroseandapen]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Il Dottore/Scaramouche (Genshin Impact) Characters: Il Dottore (Genshin Impact), Scaramouche (Genshin Impact) Additional Tags: Gore, Toxic Relationship, Humiliation, Victim Blaming, Dehumanization, Manhandling, unwanted touching, Whumptober 2024 Series: Part 9 of Whumptober 2024 Summary:

Being Dottore's favorite experimental subject had few perks, and innumerable downsides. Especially in the aftermath of an especially brutal exploratory surgery.

[spicywhumper]

Alphabet of Whump 2024 – Food

The Beauty of Suffering // Series: A Coven's Violence // Warnings: dehumanization, it/its pronouns used for a person, mild descriptions of injuries

"It's feeding time," Mistress smiled, a cruel and sadistic smile that sent shivers down Violet's spine.

The mission had been a bust, a failure, Violet only survived because It wasn't as human as the other member of the team sent out. The girl kept saying it was a suicide mission, she was right as she seemed to be a lot of the time. Violet was injured, It could feel the bruises on Its back and chest and arms, cuts scattered across Its body, hitting every spot the uniform wasn't thick enough to keep It safe.

Violet was still conscious only out of years of stamina training.

Mistress had hoosed It down, the ice cold water left It shivering. It was still soaked and shaking as It stood in the middle of the secret room. Violet didn't look up as Mistress roughly out the bowl a couple of steps away from It. The metal against the ground echoed against the walls.

"You don't deserve to eat anything," she stepped closer and poked a nasty cut on Violet's left shoulder. "But not even you can heal without sustenance. Be grateful that I'm not giving you literal dog food. Eat."

Violet kneeled. The metal bowl, probably bought from the nearby pet shop, was filled to the brim. It seemed to be a mix of leftover rice, grains, some potatoes and carrots and other pieces It couldn't identify. There was also pieces of meat that would usually be discarded, red meat and chicken and pork.

It was garbage, dog food would be more pleasant.

But Violet had been using Core magic to stay up for the last several hours, any sustenance was welcomed. It was thankful that Mistress didn't tell it to not use hands. Hands that had blood caked under fingernails, fingers covered in scrapes, shaking from exhaustion. But Violet dug in, stomach craving for anything to fill it and turn into energy.

Violet knew an actual punishment would come eventually, It could appreciate a meal for the time being.

[writtenbyariavargas]

Day 10

Difficulty Breathing - Nemu/Mayuri

experimentation cw, experimentation tw, medical situation cw, medical situation tw, dehumanization cw, dehumanization tw

Even with Mayuri-sama’s specifications there were times that my body wasn’t quite as perfect as he wanted it to be. He’d done many surgeries and many experiments in order to perfect each cell of mine. Part of my existence was always to protect Mayuri-sama. The other part was to continue to grow and evolve. Any obstacle that I was faced with there was another way to be better, to become more perfect for my captain and creator.

Sometimes enemies would do things that weren’t expected. Sometimes I was injured far worse than I had been previously. Even with Mayuri-sama testing my limits, making my body so resilient that normally fatal wounds wouldn’t kill me. Unfortunately not every scenario could be accounted for. There had been a Vasto Lorde that Mayuri-sama had been running experiments on. He hadn’t quite gotten to the crux of what the hollow’s ability was, not until it got ahold of me.

I wasn’t afraid. I knew that whatever would happen, I’d be stitched back together and healed. The hollow dug its tendrils into me, slithering into my arms and moving their way under my skin. The tendrils were painful, but I breathed through it, calling out for Mayuri-sama. Soon, I could feel something taking hold, a secretion I gathered, as each second passed. My mind became muddled and it started to feel as though even my automatic survival faculties weren’t even in my control. I knew then that the hollow’s ability was some sort of complete control over their victims.

“Let me go!��� The hollow screamed, thrashing against the binds that the captain and I put it in, “if not, I’ll kill her.”

The captain huffed but didn’t stop. Instead he took a hypodermic needle and inserted it into my immobilized arm. He hooked it up to a tube to draw blood.

“I’m not finished yet, I’m just seeing what you can do. You hid your abilities for so long,” Mayuri-sama replied, a grin spreading from cheek to cheek, “now, what kind of control do you have?”

He hummed and reached out, slicing off one of the tendrils that was reaching out to me and taking it as a sample. Tightness gripped my chest, my lungs, as the hollow screamed. I felt the air be forced out of me. I was gasping, trying to get any oxygen in my lungs but to no avail. I couldn’t breathe. I could hold my breath for longer than an average person, but even this was harder than I’d been through before. I wanted to claw at what was holding me in place, yet was unable to move.

“Stupid girl!” Mayuri shouted as I continued to gasp for air. I wasn’t able to even ask for help at this point, “you can hold your breath for longer than this.”

Mayuri-sama hissed at me, and I blinked in acknowledgement. He was right, yet my body was automatically begging for air. I hadn’t been prepared for this, hadn’t even had a moment to take a breath before my breathing was taken away from me. I felt my lips becoming numb, knowing that they were turning blue. Moment ticked by and I could feel my mind becoming more and more fuzzy, far away from me. I knew that I’d lose consciousness soon.

What happened next I couldn’t be sure. I just remember waking up to a breathing tube down my throat and hooked up to the machines in my captain’s personal lab. This wasn’t the first time I’d been here like this and I knew it wouldn’t be the last.

[copics-and-renegades]

Whumptober 2024 Day 27: Voiceless

Scheduled maintenance.

---

The prompts screamed more angel experiments on Yuan. Also the scar is from my hc for him.

[muxhroom-marx-markiplier]

Until dawn already makes me so sad but the spin off where u play as josh Rush of Blood makes me even more sad why couldn't they have given us a route where he doesn't get seperated from everyone why does he always have to lose his mind alone with no one to help him

supermassive games please make until dawn 2 and pleeeaaaseee make it about josh i would give anything

[haunted-xander]

(Im)personalized dress-up doll