#irl whump experience
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alright we're out and lucid so here are some notes
funny things:
-> after anesthesia, they showed me my teeth and I reportedly said "that's so cool" like four times (I don't remember that)
-> repeatedly asked nurses if I did a good job. one responded "you didn't have to do much, but you did great"
-> tried to prove I still knew how to do math
-> tried to explain different signs in ASL
-> had to be told to stop talking and bite down on the gauze
whumpy things:
-> of all the symptoms, I dealt the worst with the post-anesthesia dizziness. i was miserable for about two hours, and every time I moved i felt like I was on a treadmill
-> bled Way Too Much (likely on account of me talking too much at the start, but I still have gauze in because of how much I'm bleeding)
-> cannot tell where my tongue or lips are. chances of biting my tongue or lips are high due to my inability to feel them.
-> couldn't talk for several hours. not due to the pain or gauze. simply Too Overwhelmed.
-> was helped to sip some water. the image was very gentle and soft for you caretaker lovers out there
okay those are my notes. i'm going back to bed folks
#post surgery#irl surgery#tw surgery mention#surgery#tw blood mention#tw blood#whump community#whump#irl whump experience
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Whumpee waking up absolutely drenched in sweat after having a string of nightmares based on their abuse.
Even though it's been a couple of years since everything had happened. Even though they know the dreams aren't real. But in their sleep they feel so much like recalling specific locked away memories of things they'd been through that they'd forgotten. Despite knowing they weren't actual memories of specific events and their mind has cruelly decided to make their subconscious experience new but similar events. Despite the source of the nightmares no longer being able to hurt them.
Confused, shaking and distressed in bed having woken up way earlier than they were meant to.
(MEGA Bonus points if whumpee has someone there to comfort them.)
#its me im whumpee today#whump#nightmares#text#Original#actually cptsd#please use my actual IRL experience this morning for creative pursuits#if i can't make my trauma into content or useful info for writers then WHAT'S THE POINT OF HAVING BEEN THROUGH IT?#vent#this partly counts as venting#I say it's MY turn to self comfort with hurt/comfort fiction#trauma
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You THROW Tarrie? You THROW Tarrie like the football?
#Directly into a wall too. That woke me up lmfao#I’m good though#I got some fun whump writing experience that I will certainly use and also free lidocaine :)#irl whump
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Preach it! I wish people would realize how significant the overlap between the whump and the disability community is, and that we're not intruding or taking over spaces
Yeah. This wasn't a thing until recently, hence my additional annoyance with it. Like I said in the larger post, whump is a way for us to find common ground with each other and other people. I've learned a lot about the mechanics of pain disorders that aren't ME/CFS, and phenomena that are similar to what I experience but not exact, and not just on my own posts. I reblogged a reference post a while back from someone who has fainting spells, and I was fascinated to learn how much longer I'm typically unconscious for (30-90 seconds vs 2-15 wholeass minutes!). Previously I'd just thought unconsciousness was unconsciousness. It's been a good tool for me for talking to my doctors, even. One of the first things I'm asked when I mention my pain knocking me out is if I've ever fallen, to which I've always responded "??? By the time it's bad enough for me to pass out I've already had to sit/lie down??" Now I know why they're always asking what I thought prior to this was a weird and counterintuitive question, and I can say "I don't mean fainting, I mean passing out, this and that are different"... which is really going to help me in disability evaluations, because I've met a lot of lay people who are convinced that if you don't drop from a standing position it's not "real." All because somebody made a whump reference post for writers, and tagged it what it was so I could find it. And the thing is, there's already a dedicated "space for community things," it's called the actually tags, and it's why they exist. #actuallydisabled #actuallychronicallyill I use these all the time, and you know what? No fandom content. This is a total and complete non-issue. When this shit takes over your life, in my experience, you've got two options for what to do with the spoons you're left with. You can reach out, connect with people, find something you can do to counteract how the world treats you and feel human again... or you can sit around trying to make everyone else as miserable as you are. I choose Door #1.
#it's just sad seeing people define themselves by how the world treats us#and then go and reinforce it#like why#aren't you exhausted?#don't you want to define yourselves by your pursuit of the human experience#instead of all the ways the world at large tries to take that away?#i know it's hard to believe in others when you're isolated#i know what it's like to compromise for the sake of in-person company#i have one rule and it's don't lie to me#i kept somebody who broke that rule repeatedly around for years#because i didn't want to be by myself#and nobody else bothered to visit#but in the whump community I'm (for the most part) freed from that choice#and if there is something i absolutely cannot stand#as long as people care enough to tag diligently i can avoid it#my online experience can be shaped and built and curated#my irl experience cannot#why would i recreate the situation when I could have the first?#whump meta#not tagging my annoyance#this is an editorial not a beef#also the people who came after me failed their own test#had reblogged fandom content to the chronic pain tag themselves#and came clowning on my nonfiction ref post#honestly I'm like 98% sure they were sicced on me#and I know exactly by whom
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- Day 18 -
Prompt: Ache
@whumpmasinjuly-archive
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Ethan Trauma Episode again (◡‿◡) as a backstory bc i don't know if i've explained it well enough, this is post-canon, after Ethan's been rescued and is hiding from his former captors in Scotland. during the main story, he gets his hand chopped off but since he's possessed by an alien entity, his regeneration abilities grow it back - but Not Quite Right. lots of fun.
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CN: past loss of limb, supernatural themes, mild possession, incorrect use of icepacks (don't put them on bare skin pls unless u also have regeneration powers), chronic pain
(a word on the last tag perhaps: do let me know if my portrayal of chronic pain is in any way inaccurate or damaging. i based it on my own experiences but they're fairly new to me so im still learning.)
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It got worse when summer came. Though Glasgow was closer in weather to Alaska than to Seattle, the heat built inside the insulated university halls and Ethan often found himself dizzy with it. Air-conditioning helped, but barely - he still got tired quickly and his head hurt if he spent too long indoors. But the worst was the pain in his wrist.
It began in the morning as a stiffness in the joint and by the afternoon lecture it had grown into a constant, searing pain, like hot wire wrapped tightly to dig into his skin. Right on the seam, where human flesh met alien, living gold.
He rubbed it unconsciously through his gloves and the soft friction brought a small relief. Even through the thin leather he could feel the difference in texture - the metal skin was harder and smoother, the bones underneath it ever so slightly misshapen. It connected with his forearm in an uneven ridge of strange, raised tissue, like a scar. The ache pushed up from under it, as if trying to burst it open again.
It didn't feel right. He wanted to call it phantom pain but how could he? The new hand obeyed him so well that he sometimes forgot what he’d lost. But then he'd take off his gloves and the memory would come crashing back down - of his real hand, severed, greying as it wept the last of its blood onto a laboratory table. The ache would get worse then.
Once it had reached its peak, it settled. It didn't get stronger but neither did it fade. It was like a veil thrown over everything around him, heavy and smoke-grey. He had to strain his eyes to see through it, every thought took twice the effort to keep.
Even though it had hurt for months, Ethan wasn’t used to it. He couldn’t ignore it. The ache kept eating away at him, demanding more and more of his strength, until he found himself swaying. He leaned against his desk, hands folded behind his back, and breathed deeply to at least finish his sentence. There was still more time in his lecture but he could tell he'd lost the room. Here and there, rustles betrayed students putting their things away; some had closed their notebooks. It wasn't surprising they had noticed Ethan faltering; they’d had months to realise that he had limits. But it still left a bitter taste in his mouth when he met their expectations and ended the lecture early. As he returned the nods and goodbyes, he kept his hands hidden and kept a trembling grip on his wrist.
The moment the door had closed, he sank into his chair and cradled his hand to his chest. The pain travelled to his fingertips, like a thousand burning needles fighting their way out from under his skin. He squeezed them tight, if only to feel something different. It did nothing to distract him.
It was so familiar. It tethered him through time to a different moment of pain - of a sudden, heavy shock; a glint of a bone cleaver. And again, to the sight of his hand severed. Again, the memory of molten gold spilling out with his blood and reshaping itself into a perfect copy, down to the fingernails. Again, some force crushing his throat, not even allowing him to scream.
He screwed his eyes shut and begged his mind to return to the present. In the silent lecture hall, his own breathing seemed deafening. He rubbed circles into his palm, trying to pretend it still felt like human flesh.
He couldn’t. But still, the solidity of it carried him back into his own body. The pain was just the dull, exhausting ache that he knew, almost like an overtaxed muscle. It was his present, something he dealt with every day.
From the side pocket of his bag, he retrieved an instant ice pack. When he squeezed it, the ice-cold relief was instant. Angling his body to avoid security cameras, he took off his left glove and placed the pack on the bare, golden skin. He let his head drop forward, exhaling slowly. The anxious buzz in his head faded and then stilled.
He forgot sometimes that he wasn’t the only one hurting.
Only half of this pain was his own. The rest belonged to the being that lived inside him - impossibly alien and yet just as fragile as he was. It hated the heat. It withered and shrunk in it like paper held over a flame. And because they shared a body, Ethan felt everything it did.
He barely understood half of what it made him experience. But pain was simple. It reached across the vastness between them and connected them into this one, physical form - a healed scar joining flesh and metal.
So he closed the ice-pack between his hands; one gloved, and one alien. As the cold seeped into him, it dulled everything: the ache, the fear, the bitter memory of how things used to be. The past was nothing but a lesson. All he had was the present and the steps he could take towards whatever the future would be.
That thought seemed to echo. It gained a hallucinatory voice as the alien mind flinched and bucked against his human understanding of time. It almost felt like it was mocking him.
But then the voice dissipated into the cold and it took with it as much pain as it could.
#wij23day18#whumpmasinjuly2023#whumpmas in july#whump#whump writing#oc whump#ache#captain's stuff#captain's ocs#kintsugi#thru writing this i kinda realized i have chronic pain? lol#i was all happy writing like 'nice i can use my irl experiences to make this more realistic :)'#and then went like Wait Hang On#lmao
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Weird thing about heart attacks is, they can also be weirdly stealth or drawn out. My grandmother most likely had a heart attack and was very fatigued leading up to it, it lasted WEEKS. My dad, on the other hand, had one prior to being diagnosed with heart disease and didn't know it. However, mom did pick up something was wrong in one point she called him and he, in her words, sounded drunk. Like, mental fog/altered mental state, slurred speech, etc. Even though my father not only never drank, but was TERRIFIED of alcohol due to family history.
It's kind of a shame heart attacks are often portrayed as just "grab the chest and collapse."
Bonus Tetrology of Fellot info under the cut:
As someone with Tetrollogy of Fellot, while I'm not sure about heart attacks SPECIFICALLY, I DO know we tend to also have arrhythmia issues, either due to how the heart formed or due to scarring from surgery. These arrhythmia issues CAN sometimes cause problems if not properly monitored. If the person has a family history of heart issues INCLUDING heart attacks, also the case for me, that can increase their risk as well. Having a pre-existing condition will also naturally make the whumpee more likely to freak or worry if they realize they're having a heart problem. It could also cause some interesting hiccups when seeking care, as there are some procedures that are more risky if you have a heart condition to start with, including any that involve sedation.
We also, again from personal experience, have a tendency for congestive heart failure. In my case, it was a combination of my heart working too hard to keep me alive in the odd state it formed in and water retension. Basically, to be safe, ANYTHING that can affect the heart is a risk for us. This is why people with heart issues are advised to avoid roller coasters, strong sedatives outside medical supervision, and energy drinks or high caffeine levels like Panera's "death by lemonade." However, we don't seem to have as many restrictions as other heart problems from my experience. I am not on a special diet or told to avoid scares lest I die of shock, I've been told I could have sex and survive pregnancy if I wanted (although there's a chance any kids of mine would have the same issue.) The only restrictions aside from what I mentioned already is not to push myself too hard physically or try and carry things heavier than me. Well, that and grapefruit.
This also said: The heart affects alot and is affected by alot. Stress, lack of sleep, diet, exercise, shock, genetics, medications, etc all affect the heart regardless of defects, although defects can make that worse. And the heart, lungs, and stomach are all oddly connected. Matter of fact, breathing issues can sometimes be a warning sign of heart problems, and alot of people with heart issues tend to have gastrointestinal issues as well.
TLDR: While I've never heard we have a greater risk of heart attack or such complications beyond the average person, it wouldn't surprise me as in general ANYTHING that affects the heart is a possible risk.
Ok
I'm in the middle of writing a full fanfic
One of the characters I gave tetrology of fallot and I'm planning for him to have complications later on (I already know a lot about the heart defect)
One of these is heart attack
How would I write someone having a heart attack in their pov
Because I don't actually know how I'd go about it and how it feels
And would a heart attack cause complications with the preexisting condition
Okay so I don't know too much about whether it would cause complications with the condition, but I imagine it probably would, since the heart is not only beating irregularly but might not be very good anyway at providing the body with oxygenated blood.
As for writing a heart attack, here are some tips:
Whumpee suddenly having a tingling feeling in their left arm, or a pulsating kind of pain there. Perhaps they think at first that they've pulled a muscle, in their chest that's also affecting their arm, but the pain doesn't abate
Whumpee's chest feels like it's being squeezed in a vice. Getting even a single breath in is like torture, and breathing deeply only makes things worse, so Whumpee quickly switches to quick, shallow breaths that don't provide them with enough oxygen
Nausea is a common symptom of a heart attack too, so as the pain gets worse, whumpee feels physically sick. Of course, though, if they end up vomiting, this is only going to make the pain worse
The pain starts to spread from whumpee's chest all the way across their torso, constricting every blood vessel. You know how it feels when you have a blood pressure cuff on, and your arm feels sore and tingly? Imagine that, but on both arms, and Whumpee's chest as well.
Mentally, whumpee will be feeling a great deal of panic. Heart attacks can come on incredibly quickly, so this sudden agony and discomfort is a clear sign that something isn't right. Even the most stoic of whumpees will be feeling a sense of impending doom.
The more that whumpee panics, though, the worse it gets. They're sweating now, and by this point if they're not sat down, their lightheadedness and dizziness will force them to slide down the nearest wall, clutching their chest and desperately trying to breathe properly.
Depending on the severity of the heart attack, it could lead to cardiac arrest, where the heart stops beating entirely. Whumpee will rapidly lose consciousness, and then it's up to those around them to get help- if they're alone, the prognosis at this point is pretty dire.
Hope this helps!!
#heart attack#heart attack whump#tetrology of fellot#heart whump#irl whump#(since alot of these are based on my own experiences or those of my family members.)
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That pneumonia hit me pretty hard, but I am on the mend now. And I have, indeed, been taking notes 😉
Cmmon symptoms, treatment, etc can be found online from health organizations that actually know what they're talking about, so these are just going to be a few little things from my personal experience.
Feel free to use as inspiration in anything whump-related. Enjoy!
CW: irl illness and a bit of medical stuff
In general:
When they say it can come on fast, it can come on FAST. After a bit over a week with lingering cold symptoms and the occasional low-grade fever, my temperature went from normal (98.7F / 37C) to 102.4F / 39.1C in an hour, to 103.7F (39.8 C) in the urgent care half an hour after that. Fatigue, dizziness, and shortness of breath all hit all of a sudden about half an hour in.
I had lower left lobe pneumonia (inflammation in the lower part of my left lung) and for about 3 days I had what felt like a constant stitch in my left side, in my lower ribs, that hurt to lean against or lie on.
Breathing about halfway in felt fine. Breathing more deeply than that hurt and made my lower ribs and mid-back seize up.
I'm addition to being a lovely variety of colors, the gunk I coughed up tasted foul. Really bitter, in addition to about triple the usual clingy sickly taste of mucus. And it took a few minutes for the taste to go away.
In a chair, sitting straight up was alright, but it stretched my lower ribs and made it more tiring to breath deeply. Leaning forward elbows-on-knees was sometimes better. In a bed, lying flat made breathing a lot of work, even breathing shallowly; it felt like only the top 1/4 of my lungs was functional. Leaning back at an angle felt best. Any sort of turned/twisted position hurt and made my breathing shallower and more work.
Even after the congestion/inflammation in my lower lungs cleared out and I could breathe completely pain-free, my upper airway was pretty irritated. It felt like my trachea for a few inches above and below my sternal notch was made of tissue paper. Breathing into my lower ribs felt ok, but breathing into my upper chest felt tight and made me cough.
For a modern hospital setting:
Personally, how my IV felt was directly correlated with my fever, which went up and down several times. No fever, no pain as long as I didn't move that arm too much. Fever, and the whole inside of my elbow ached.
The nebulizer treatments made me feel like jumping out of my skin. Jittery, shaking, heart palpitations, heart rate up into the 120s (when it wasn't there already), for about three hours each time. My short-acting asthma inhaler gives me a little bit of that, so I wasn't completely thrown for a loop, but this was way more intense.
If you want to add in a little more hurt-to-help / it's-for-your-own-good, you might consider acquainting your character with an incentive spirometer (aka medical self-torture device). It's a benign-looking plastic apparatus that taunts you into taking painfully deep breaths, and then usually painfully coughing. I don't know what the standard is, but I was sentenced to 10x every hour.
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Being in the #whump community bingo! How many do you get?
Full list of squares:
first whumperflies stories
“they have all of my issues lmao”
favourite trope version #3547
everyone knows I love whump vs. nobody can know
posted as screenshots on pinterest
posts that are one line but hit just right
tag games that take 5 hours to scroll past
beloved mutual going feral in the notes
found your new best friend via niche tropes
discussions on improving diversity
“dead. i’m dead. this killed me.”
extremely nuanced, developed characters called A and B
bad things happen bingo never completed
fighting the morality police
fanfic about the character with 0.3 seconds of screentime
ao3 links for the really saucy stuff
“bestie you forgot your readmore” “OH NO”
prioritising fun
one of your OCs is called Sam
sharing irl experiences to inspire each other
gifsets of shows you’ve never heard of
twelve reblogs deep in the au with the mutual
picking the trope to fall asleep thinking about
making a whumpee for your friend’s whumper and vice versa
blacklisting a tag your mutual loves but supporting them anyway
crack posts and shitposting about agony
anonymous asks for the most fucked up tropes <3
monthly challenges for almost every month
realism has no power here
an arcane but extremely detailed tagging system OR nothing
that one trope you will always reblog
misspelling it ‘whimper’
everyone from the discord server knows the plot twist
whumpee who gets every disease
intro post with 200 notes
watching the show from all those gifsets
#whump community#whump meta#tell me about your OCs called Sam#ps made this together with some friends from The Discord Server
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Oh, hey, another good whump by personal experiences 🤣 welcome to the "I don't think I want to do that again" club. Seriously though, spoiled milk and fish? I'm not sure I want to know..... as for the smell, maybe try soaking in bath bombs or skunk oder remover or something? I have no idea 🤣
I was just think here about whump and humiliation, and after coming home from my university's prank (which I went to voluntarily), I feel like I have something to say.
Spoiled food. I swear to God I've washed my hair five times and it still smells like milk and fish. But just, covering a whumpee with dirty in general. They used spoiled food on us but the possibilities are endless. They made us crawl on the mess of flour, coffee powder, spoiled milk and egg afterwards and I'm pretty sure my clothes are going to trash (which I was also warned about lol)
Anyways, that's it. Throw shit at whumpees and make them crawl and lay on it. Takes days to get rid of the results.
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friends. babes. dears. I am literally begging all of you to not fucking trauma dump in AO3 author's notes. I respect you and I want you to feel better but do not hit me out of nowhere with "this is a vent fic which is basically just pulled from my own experiences <3" on a piece of whump/trauma/abuse recovery fanfic. I cannot stress to you how much I am aggressively not reading fic to think about stuff like this happening to real people. I am not browsing blog posts, I am browsing fanfic. you don't need to justify what you write. in fact I'd really rather you didn't.
Link to a tumblr/other social media post explaining why you wrote it the way you did if you really feel the need to do it. But, listen to me — pretty much everyone who clicks the fic is going to see author's notes. There is no way to filter them.
“Fictional portrayals of this thing do not upset me me but irl instances do” is a real, valid thing for a lot of people. I don’t wanna be accosted by that non-fictional thing in an author’s note the same way I don’t want a murder mystery comic to all of a sudden show me actual crime scene photos. This is also a privacy issue but that's a whole other can of worms.
Don't do this in author's notes, don't do this in summaries, don't do this in tags. It is unsafe for several reasons. Just don't do it.
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(this ask ended up getting much more rambly than expected haha)
hello, i love your blog and whump in general and i would like to try and get involved in the community.
thing is, i feel really weird/embarrassed for liking whump (even before i knew the term). like ashamed i guess? (im not sure how to put it into words exactly). so i dont want to tell any of my irl freinds that im into it/put it on my main since some of my irl freinds follow my main.
and i do draw and i used to write but i dont really know how to draw/write whump yk? (though i have written whumpy things before, when i was like 10, they were really shit though by virtue of me being a 10 year old) and i feel too shy to put any of my work out into the internet for all to see, espcially my writing because i havent actually written prose fiction in. years. i have played dnd (and my campaigns do tend to get pretty whumpy) but i dont think the experiance of roleplaying it really translates well to the internet?
so i was wondering if you have any tips for 1 getting involved in the whump community and 2 managing feeling embarrased about liking whump
Here's an equally rambly answer! First off, welcome to the community! You're definitely not alone in liking it or in feeling embarrassed about liking it. A lot of us, myself included, have our moments where we feel weird for our interest.
I can't tell you how to get over that because I still feel embarrassed sometimes but pinpointing your reasons for liking it can make it easier to explain if someone inquires. Is it the aesthetic? The drama, the adrenaline? The character development? Is it a coping mechanism? A kink? We've got community members whose reasoning is all across the spectrum. Understanding your reason can be reassuring and help it make sense.
As for the shyness, a lot of us make side blogs for whump content, so it can be a little more isolated/private if we feel awkward about IRL/main blog followers seeing. If your art style is easily recognizable as yours, that might not be the best solution but also remember you don't have to post what you draw (or write.) You can create whump content just for you (and if you decide you do eventually want to post some, that will have served as good practice.)
There are whump prompt lists coming out all the time that can be used for art or writing if you don't know what you want to make. You should look up the whump wheel, it's a fun one!
Re: getting more involved in the community: believe it or not, there are whump roleplayers floating around in the tags pretty often! They'd probably enjoy another roleplay partner on the scene! Beyond that, liking people's posts, reblogging them to that side blog if you decide to make it, coming into their inboxes to say you enjoy their content, sending in prompts if whump fic writers are asking for some, posting prompts of your own if there's a type of whump content you notice lacking and want to inspire someone to explore...There are monthly whump events happening all the time too if you want to participate or just reblog to help promote them. You could also ask if another whump artist wants to do an art trade with you. Those are some of the best ways to dive in!
I hope that was helpful. Have fun!
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WE MUST READ WHUMP STORIES THROUGH THE OBJECTIVE EYES OF AN INSPECTOR MORE OFTEN😭😭😭
I haven't read enough whump stories to find out if it's a common trope, BUT BOOOIIII I'm about to lose my mind over it.
I was thinking about my fictional government that gives permission to sell your organs legally and human experiments, then I remembered the inspector in Cadaver Exquisito by Agustina Bazterrica and pathologists who perform autopsies irl. LIKE YOU CAN'T SEE TOUCH THEM AGAIN AND I'LL KILL YOU OR I LIKE IT WHEN YOU CRY LIKE THAT OR PLEASE STOP IN AUTOPSY REPORT, it'll report you how deep the cut is, postmortem changes, cause of death, ect.
THERE IS NO WHUMPER, NO CARETAKER, NO WHUMPEE, JUST A COUPLE EYES TO SEE WHAT'S GOING ON WITHOUT ANY ETHICAL CONCERNS.
They come to check if cages are clean, if whumpees are nurtured enough to not be dead, and if everything aligns with the agreement between whumper and whumpee. We can see the pure results of the torment, why do people get involved in it, and what they'll earn when whumper is done with them.
#this concept has too much potential in it#inspector???#lets make new ocs#whump#whump community#whump prompt#whump writing#whump tropes#whump dialogue
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Request for an Alex fic!
I've always wanted to see some heavy whump put on this character-
Maybe a sick fic?
Or just a senerio where he is hurt/exhausted/thirsty/hungry etc.
She/Her
Tired • Alex DeLarge
⚠️Content warning: Implied & mentions of t0xic relationship dynamics, ch3ating, Alex being an asshole (as always), mentions and mild descriptions of injuries, description of (consensual) s3x and cursing (yes, theres SMUT in this one).
*These characters do not belong to me, all rights to their respective owners, this is just a piece of entertainment by and for fans.
Summary: After one of his outings with his droogs, Alex finds himself being injured. As his long-time girlfriend you feel the urge to take care of him.
Reader’s pronouns: She/Her
Keys: Y/N = Your Name. Nadsat glossary.
Author’s notes: If you want to send your own request, please check the Disclaimers & Rules post and the MASTERLIST post to see more content and which characters are available.
This is somewhat of a continuation to this fic: “in the aftermath” or at least I wrote it with the same MC in mind! However, this time she is less submissive and has grown to be a bit more confrontational with Alex and his shit! But is not necessary to read the first one, this can be enjoyed as a standalone if you want!
I'm not here to judge why you are consuming this type of content (I'm the one doing the writing after all) I know from personal experience that this type of content (as weird as it sounds to some of you) might be used as a coping mechanism to a similar situation some of us might've experience or are currently experiencing irl; but just in case, I want to encourage you to reach for help, so please, if you're going through a tough time or experiencing some kind of violence, here are some resources that I was able to find and might be of help, please stay safe everyone:
List of countries and their helplines for d0m3stic abus3, s3xual as5ault and other resources.
List of other resources for immediate help.
List of countries and their respective helplines for su1cid3 prevention/crisis.
Consider donating to my Ko-fi!
"He's been in there all week! Barely eats, barely goes out...I might knock the door down and put an end to this worry!"
You hear Alex's mom tone through the phone slowly rising making her concerns quite apparent.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, I’m sure he’s fine, Ms.-”
“Y/N dear, wouldn’t it be possible for you to come by the house this mornin’?”
A slight pause is settled as you ponder her request. Truth be told, you haven’t talked with Alex much as of lately, the reason being you two breaking up (again) over him continuously flirting with another woman (again) and since you were already used to such behavior it wasn’t really the flirting that set you off (having Alex as your boyfriend had made you grown desensitized to many things), it was more the time and place that angered you, and though you knew you’ll get back together eventually, you had grown quite comfortable as a single woman, it was like allowing yourself a breather and would like to stay that way at least for a little bit longer...
“I don’t think-…"
“Please, dear...I- I noticed you and Alex haven’t talked much but maybe is time to patch things up?”
You fall silent. The lady on the other end of the line has always been kind and warm to you even when her kid really wasn’t. Though perceptive she’s unaware about the true nature of your relationship with her son, only knowing the brighter side of the whole ordeal, it’s natural that she asks for your help, believing you to be a positive influence in Alex’s chaotic life.
“Y/N?”
She asks; the undeniable worry dripping in her voice tugging at the heartstrings of your own weak and sensible heart, you comprehend her pain and to be quite honest...you had been worried too...after all it is hard to break old habits...
“I’ll be there as soon as I’m finished with school”
You announce with a heavy sigh, hoping you won’t regret it.
“Thank you dear! I appreciate it!”
[…]
The door to Alex’s home is right in front of you, the apartment is unusually quiet even knowing that his parents are most likely at work at this hour; you open the door with the spare key Alex gave you long ago and enter, his room it’s right down the hall of the apartment and before you knock there’s a slight hesitation as you wonder if this is really the best choice...maybe you can still turn back.
You measure your options and become unaware of the movement in the rotary combination lock and only come back to reality as the door suddenly springs open.
You haven’t seen his blue eyes in a couple of weeks, maybe that’s why you freeze in place as his surprised gaze meets yours, his brows narrow in confusion but soon a smirk on his face appears.
“Well, well! Hi, hi, hi there! ‘Been a long time, innit?”
He seemingly mocks you and visibly sizes you up with his eyes as he leans his body in the doorframe; it takes you a couple of blinks to get out of your trance and when you do you can’t help but feel angered at his smug attitude; you didn’t expect an apology, it’s been a long time since those stopped coming for every time he cheated. In fact, you don’t know what you expected...but definitely something better than this, your brows furrow and take a quick glance at him only to notice the state he’s in: bruises, most of them in the left side of his body, part of his chest on that side even seems quite swollen and some small superficial cuts on his right cheek.
“Something wrong?” he asks dryly
“You look like trash” the words come out of your mouth, hoping to hurt him even if just a bit, but instead he scoffs while leaning this time in your direction, his gaze looking for yours as he closes the distance.
“My, really?” his voice drops in to a suggestive but slightly threatening tone, mocking smile never leaving him.
The closeness of it all making you realize the man in front of you has been half naked from the beginning if only for a pair of underwear to cover him.
As you roll your eyes and aggressively walk into his room you hope your cheeks aren’t flushed in case, he decides to tease you any further. As you enter you notice the messy state of the room which strikes you as odd since you know Alex usually tries to very careful when it comes to it but you figured he might’ve just thrown a tantrum recently. Then you see Basil sitting calmly in his usual spot by the poster of a naked woman, you immediately approach it.
“Oh, hi there!” your baby voice coming through as you pet the top of the snake’s head.
You hear him walk and feel him right behind you, his chin eventually touches the top of your head, his arms wrap around your body just right below your breasts and although you’re still mad you don’t make any attempts to remove him.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of viddying* you here?”
“Your mom called; said you wasn’t coming out of your room like some pathetic hermit. Figured it was serious if there was no record of you and the boys in the last few days”
“Were you worried then?”
“No” Yes, you were but won’t admit it so easily, he scoffs once more, he can see through you and as he holds you tighter, he bows his head just slightly to kiss your temple.
“Then...why is that you’re here? More than welcomed to ignore her, are you not?” Whispers in your ear and you only try to calm the goosebumps by focusing your attention ever harder on the reptile in front of you. You hear him laugh lowly at your reaction.
“My kisa*, you’re not being quite honest...” His declaration carries on with his mouth now traveling down your neck peppering small kisses. You hate how quick the urge of being all over him invades you, turning around quickly you reach to kiss him but as your hands rest on his chest for support he suddenly winces in pain and pushes you away.
“bloddy cal*!” he mumbles as he tries to soothe his pain by covering the affected area with his hand, though startled by his sudden action you take the time to examine what exactly is wrong. Walking towards him you place your hand over the one he holds defensibly, subtly asking him to lower it to which he complies.
Your hand explores the swollen side of his chest gently, it takes you a couple of minutes to realize the reason he is in pain:
“Jesus, Alex your rib is fucking broken!” his brows furrow once more in an annoyed expression as he hears you exclaim.
“Quite the sharp one are you, eh?” sarcasm present in his voice, maybe a bit bothered you didn’t notice it sooner.
The thought of asking “what happened?” crosses your mind, but seeing the state the room is in, you pick up on the fact that it might be a sore topic for him and you don’t want him throwing another tantrum as he might injure himself further; instead, you scoff at him in a mildly angered expression.
“Lay down, let’s treat it before it gets worse or Mr Deltoid finds out and questions you about it” you command and are satisfied with how quick he obeys at the mention of Mr Deltoid.
[...]
You surprise yourself with how many times you have helped Alex with his injuries it’s almost second nature to you at this point and though you pride yourself in your impeccable first-aid abilities you can’t help but see just how sad this really must be.
Alex lays on his bed, eyes closed and wearing a pained expression that you know comes from the sensation of cold he feels through the bandages you had applied in his chest moments before; you hold a frozen bag of peas covered with a random woman’s blouse you found lying in his bedroom and take note it is not one that belongs to you and most certainly not his mother...
“careful” he warns as he feels the pressure shifting; out of spite you disobey him and apply more pressure, making him wince once more.
“Ah! What you think you’re even doin’?!?!” in anger he almost sit up, but the pain knocks him back down.
“Asshole” you declare throwing the clothing item in his face, setting the frozen bag aside, you sit by his side as you try to calm your own frustration. Alex gets strangely quiet but doesn’t move a muscle at your sudden vent and there’s a brief silence before it breaks.
“You don’t need to take it so seriously” he says, seemingly in an attempt to comfort you without lying telling you that “it won’t happen again”
“...” you look at him in frustration, he looks back at you and even through his expression is serious at the beginning, a smile grows on him as he notices your gaze, probably taking pleasure in your aching in some way.
“C’mon, my pretty kisa, are you jealous?” he lightly tugs at the fabric of your dress as a way to secure your attention.
“You don’t know what I’m feeling” you mutter. It’s true, you’re not jealous, just tired of the same shit, yet he’s so sure of his assumption he chuckles at your denial. Holding your elbow, he guides you to lay beside him, you don’t fight his action, deep down wanting the comfort he extends.
“Now, now, my kisa, you can’t be jealous at some starry sooka who can’t even compare”
You sigh, already overwhelmed by his sweet-talk, you just want him to shut up.
“Don’t” he looks at you, one eyebrow raised in confusion as you interrupt him in the middle of his speech to kiss him lightly.
“I don’t want to hear it” you whisper as your voice seems to falter slightly by the lump in your throat.
He smiles his ever-dashing smile, those bright electrifying blue eyes staring at you with a hint of amusement, but this time you don’t really care about it.
He stares at your lips, holds the back of your head tightly and finally kisses you roughly, it’s hard for you to keep up with him when you feel so close to crying; none the less you continue, allowing yourself the opportunity to block everything out; right now you don’t want to think how bad he really is for you.
He caresses your leg, his hand lifting your dress allowing him easy access to your ass which he squeezes firmly enough to hurt you just slightly and as you react by throwing your head back to allowing yourself to moan, he quickly takes the space to kiss your neck this time even leaving a trail of bite marks on it and you make a mental note to find a way to cover those later.
You can feel his hand trying to unfasten the top part of your dress and so you help him, allowing for your exposed breasts to be tasted by him, you moan even harder when you feel him suck especially harsh on one of your nipples.
“Shit” you curse at him, this time you decide to get back at him by sliding your hand past his underwear and taking his cock in your hand making harsh up and down motions earning you a sudden grunt from him followed by a small laugh.
“Quite the baddiwad* are you, my kisa, eh?” He manages to let out in between all the groaning
Your only response comes in the form of a mocking smile, one similar to the many others he had given you
“I can be even worse” you declare, in an act of petty revenge you press lightly at his injured spot, just enough for the pain to leave him lying on his back once more as you act quickly and climb right on top of him, you make eye contact with him and can tell that he is not only surprised but curious to see where this new found side of you might lead him. You lower yourself until your entrance falls just above his length and start grinding on it. You moan along with his grunts; you can feel him trying to hold himself back from cuming right then and there by gripping your ass and thighs with so much force you can tell he’s trying to anchor himself.
You make a slight pause as you place your own underwear aside, leaving yourself partially exposed as your dress still hangs by your waist. You lower back onto him, this time allowing him to enter you; you watch as he looks at you with that beastly gaze of him, one full of determination and lust. Wasting no time, you begin riding him, but unlike many times before, this time you only care about your pleasure.
You can’t tell how many times you danced up and down his cock, whatever the number might be you fasten your own pace when you feel so close and finally you reach it, your head and body naturally lean forward asking for a kiss as you moan a random curse you can’t even remember now. He complies kissing you and allowing yourself a few seconds to catch your breath, but only that...seconds, as he grabs your hips and tries to replicate your movements from moments before.
But before he can do so, you act faster; pressing once more the sore spot on his chest he is thrown back in bed by the pain and you take the chance to come down from him, stand up, quickly fix your clothes and walk towards the door without allowing him any release.
You hear him curse at you behind your back and maybe make an attempt to grab you but instead you get the pleasure of slamming the door right in his face. As you bolt through the hallway and out of flatblock 18A where your long-time boyfriend lives, you smile to yourself.
It might be time for a change in your life...
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The Last Lab Rat #9: Alone - part 1
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content: lab whump, captivity, nightmare (italicized), parent death mention, isolation, fear of abandonment and death, sensory deprivation, starvation, emotional whump, claustrophobia, escape attempt, needle mention, winged whumpee
sorry this took so long i’ve been busy irl but hopefully i’ll be back posting weekly chapters soon. also today is Dew’s birthday!! i’m gonna draw something but i might post that a bit late but happy birthday Dew!! silly guy
—
Dew woke up sprawled out among his pile of blankets on his bed. He yawned and sat up, stretching out his wings with a sigh of contentment. He sleepily rubbed his eyes and flopped back on the bed. That was the best sleep he’s had since…
Wait.
Dew’s eyes shot open, remembering last night and the days before. But when he expected to see the scientist standing over him with needles and knives, he saw nothing. Literally nothing. Dew sat up in bed, still groggy from his rest, and looked around. His eyes were open, and they were working— looking out the window, he could see the faint red glow of a few digital clocks and other machines— but the light was off. All of the lights were off, and the scientist was nowhere to be seen.
This had never happened before. Anton had always arrived super early in the mornings to check on his favorite little lab rat. Even if he wasn’t in his room waiting for Dew to wake up, he was still working in the lab on other things Dew couldn’t comprehend. The lights were always on, usually dimmed in the mornings before the experiments began, but the only time the lights were all completely off was at night. But it wasn’t night.
Dew looked out at the glowing digital clock: 8:12AM. Anton always woke Dew up at 7. He was late.
Whatever was going on this morning, Dew was too tired to do anything about it. He flopped down into bed and snuggled under the covers. He’d take advantage of this strange start to a day. A bit of extra comfort now would make up for hours of painful experimentation that would surely happen later. Dew closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
. . .
Dew woke up. He was sleeping in a bed, but the blankets were fluffier, and green and brown… not white like the ones on his bed in the lab. He sat up, bumping his head against the… ceiling? Where was he?
Dew opened his eyes. His gaze fell to his old minecraft themed bedspread he had as a kid. On the walls were posters for his and his roommates favorite shows and bands and video games. The light was off, but the sun was shining through the windows, and he basked in the warmth on his skin. He was home.
But how? Dew spread his wings and glided off of the top bunk, feeling the soft carpet under his feet. He took a look around. Everything was almost the same as he left it, but his friends were nowhere to be seen, and neither was their cat Sir Bonkles. But that didn’t matter right now. Dew could cry. He was back.
Dew ran though his old house– no, his home. Anton’s lab wasn’t his home and it never would be. He ran to the living room and saw Layla sitting on the couch with Sir Bonkles purring in her lap. Mars’s enclosure sat on a table against the wall, the ball python curled up inside. Dew caught the smell of something cooking, and looked in the kitchen to see Hayden and Sawyer painstakingly trying to make breakfast for everyone. Wait, Sawyer was here?
“Hey,” Dew said.
“Oh, hey Dewdrop!” Layla exclaimed, pausing her show.
“Where’ve you been?” Hayden asked. “We missed you.”
“I… I um, I was…” Dew’s mind flashed with memories he’d rather forget. Memories of fear and pain, of being kept in a room, trapped in a lab, memories of failed escape attempts and needles. So, so many needles. Memories of his captor taunting him about how nobody was coming to rescue him. Dew tried blinking away the tears forming in the corner of his eyes, but they fell anyway. “Weren’t you looking for me?”
“Of course we were!” Sawyer said. “I didn’t stop looking. I’m happy you’re back, Dewey.”
“W-wait, how’d I get h–”
“Oh!” Layla exclaimed, looking out the window. “Scooby Dew, your parents are here!”
Dew’s heart skipped a beat. All his strange excitement for being back immediately vanished and was replaced with a sense of dread oozing through his body. This wasn’t right. “W-what…?”
The door opened, and Dew’s mom and dad walked in, holding bundles of balloons. They looked just like Dew remembered them… not from the funeral, but back when they were alive. They looked happy. They were smiling. They were alive.
Oh. It was a dream.
This was all just a dream.
“Everyone’s so happy you’re back, Dew!” Hayden said, bringing Dew a plate of chocolate chip pancakes. “We have to celebrate, you’ve been gone such a long time.”
Of course it was a dream.
“Yeah, we have a whole season of our show to catch up on!” Layla exclaimed, patting the spot next to her on the couch. Dew sat down. “And I’ve gotta show the progress I’ve made on the game we’ve been working on. I can only code so much, you’re the writer Dew, you gotta help us!”
Of course he wasn’t actually out.
“Oh! Dew,” Hayden said. “That new video game you’ve been waiting for was released! You missed it, we were gonna play it together, remember?”
“Hey Dew,” Sawyer said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I wanted to say I forgive you for what you said to me a few months ago. I know we haven’t talked, but I would still like to be your friend.”
No. He wouldn’t say that!
“Stop!” Dew exclaimed, jumping from the couch and flaring his wings out. Everybody stopped and stared. It was eerily silent.
“Th-this isn’t real! This is just a dream! It’s just a fucking dream!”
He heard his parents talking. He couldn’t understand what they were saying to him, their words were jumbled and their voices didn’t sound quite right. Dew tried to look away, tried to squeeze his eyes shut but he couldn’t help but glance up at them. From a distance they looked familiar. A distant memory, nostalgic, a blurry photograph taken from far away. But up close they were blank, their faces jumbled and unrecognizable. Dew rarely made eye contact with people, he always had trouble remembering faces and after his parents died, he avoided looking at photos of them because it was too painful. A constant reminder of what he would never see again. That was five years ago. They only haunted his dreams now.
“N-no… you’re not real. J-Just leave me alone!”
Everybody disappeared. The room was empty, and Dew was alone again.
“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” Dew cried. He opened the front door and looked at the sky. It was weird. Not a normal sky. But he didn’t care.
Dew took off. He flew through the air at a speed that felt faster than light itself. He felt the wind blowing through his feathers and a flock of birds surrounding them as if he was one of their own. The trees were tall, never ending as they stretched up into the sky with him. But he eventually flew higher than those too.
But it wasn’t real. Dew wasn’t flying through the sky and clouds and air like he’d always wanted, he was having a dream in Anton’s lab. And he knew this.
But he didn’t care. He flew and flew and planned to fly forever, higher and higher and higher. It felt so real, he hoped he would never wake up. That way, everyone would get what they wanted. Dew could fly forever, and Anton could use his body as a test subject, unable to resist.
But after a while, the more he spiralled, the more the sky turned colors and his flesh warped around him, the more the birds started talking to him in human words, and his nonexistent watch displayed numbers that didn’t exist, the more this fucked up reality faded away.
The last thing he saw before he woke up, was a little mouse in his hands, telling him the words, “I’m sorry.”
. . .
Dew gasped awake. “Dammit!” He screamed into his hands as tears flowed down his cheeks. It was just a dream. It was just a fucking dream.
Dew grabbed the blanket and yanked it over his head, curling into a ball and squeezing his eyes shut. Anton had to be in his room now, watching him, mocking him. He had another bad dream that was almost making him burst into tears, how pathetic was that? But it was too hot under the blanket, too suffocating. Dew threw it off of him, almost falling off of the bed by the force of his throw. If Anton was there, he would’ve laughed�� Wait, he still wasn’t there?
Dew wasn’t expecting the lights to still be off in his room. He wasn’t expecting all of the lights to be still off. It was pitch dark in the lab. Dew blinked a couple times, maybe his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet? No… nothing had changed. Dew looked out the window to the glow of the clocks. 11:24AM.
Okay. This was fine. Anton was over three hours late. He had probably just slept in from being woken up last night. This was fine. Dew couldn’t see anything, not even his hands frantically waving in front of his face. This was fine.
Maybe the power went out? No, that wouldn’t explain how the clocks were still working, or why Anton was nowhere to be found.
Dew looked up towards the door, at where the camera would be. If Anton wasn’t in the lab, he would surely be watching him through that, right? That was how he found out about Dew’s nightmare last night, after all.
Oh shit– Dew cringed. How could he have been so stupid? Asking Anton to stay with him last night? What was he thinking?
Dew hated Anton. He hated him! He’d always hated him and sometimes the thoughts of killing him and escaping were the only thoughts that got him through this hell. But thinking about what had happened last night, it wouldn’t make any sense for Anton to just abandon him like this. The scientist wasn’t the type of person to just forget, or sleep in, or decide to take a random day off. He had a rigid schedule that he stuck to, and he seemed to never want to spend too much time away from his test subject if he didn’t need to.
Dew was his test subject though. Thinking about it like that made him want to cry, but at the moment, stuck in Anton’s lab, it was true. He was a test subject, and the scientist controlled every part of his life. Dew needed Anton if he was going to survive here. Anton knew he needed him. Dew didn’t want to die, but he surely would if Anton didn’t take care of him. As much as Dew didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to need Anton, he did.
“H-Hey!” Dew yelled, hoping the camera also had a microphone. “Why are all the lights off? I’m- I’m hungry!” Dew felt silly screaming into the air at nothing, but what else could he do?
“...I know you’re watching me!” Dew lied. “Stop ignoring me!” Nothing happened. “If- if this is some trick or- or experiment, like if you wanna see how I react to isolation or something, well, your cover's blown! I know what you’re planning now so you might as well come feed me!”
Silence.
Dark, suffocating, eerie silence.
“...Anton!” Dew shouted, not even at the camera anymore. He ran to the wall that looked over the lab and banged on the glass. “Anton! Anton! Anton?…” His screams died down after a little while, when he was sure he wouldn’t get a response.
“Just fucking great,” Dew sighed to himself. He stood in his room, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in this dark void. It was a small room, and there was almost nothing to do but wait until whenever Anton showed up. Dew didn’t understand what was happening, why, of all days, Anton just… Wasn’t here. But it was fine, he supposed, it meant he’d be free from pain for a little while.
Even if Dew did have something to do, it was impossible to see anything. He didn’t want to just go back to sleep though, after two terrible dreams in a row. And besides, he’d gotten a lot of sleep by now. He was wide awake.
Dew paced his room, trying to calm down. He was hungry, but he could go a few more hours without food, it was fine. Dew held his arms out in front of him, feeling the walls for the bathroom door. Dew was thankful Anton had removed that chain from his ankle a few weeks prior, at least now he wouldn’t have to worry about tripping over it in the dark.
Brushing his teeth was easy in the dark, and so was showering. It was a routine, a pattern. Not being able to see didn’t change anything. And Dew liked the dark, he’d always loved being in small, dark spaces, it had always been a comfort to him.
It was only until recently that he first felt the creeping fear of the dark, a cold chill go crawl up his spine whenever it was too dark to see what was lurking behind him. It didn’t make sense; Anton was the only other person here. But still, Dew hated the constant feeling that he was being watched, even in the darkness.
It was only until recently that he had grown to hate confined spaces. His growing wings needed to stretch out, and Dew was forced to spend his time out in the open. Yet another thing his captor took from him.
But that was fine. That didn’t even matter. There were so many more things that were more important than not being able to have slumber parties with his friends in the tiny room under the stairs anymore, or listening to music in his dark closet.
The shower helped Dew’s racing heart, but did nothing to get him out of this… situation. It was strange, wanting the things that hurt him; the too bright lights to turn on and Anton to walk through the door. It meant pain, most likely, and fear… but it also meant he wasn’t alone.
Dew almost hated being alone more than being with Anton.
And he hated that.
Dew didn’t have any dishes, so he cupped his hands under the cool sink water and sipped it from there. At least he knew he wouldn’t die from dehydration. But he still had no food.
He checked the clock. 13:23. He learned how to read a 24 hour clock at this point, it was a little over 1pm. Anton was over six hours late.
This wasn’t fine anymore. Of course it wasn’t. Where could Anton possibly be? Dew thought of all the things that could've happened to his captor to keep him from coming down here, and it just didn’t make sense. Anton hadn’t left Dew’s side for almost two months straight, why had he suddenly abandoned him?
Maybe he got caught? Maybe Dew’s friends or the authorities finally found him and locked him up… but then why weren’t they coming to Dew’s rescue? Did Anton destroy the keys to the lab? Was Dew now stuck here forever, his friends on the other side of the door, waiting for some miracle to open it?
Dew shook those thoughts away. Of course they weren’t. Of course, they must still be looking for him, but he’d know if they found him by now. They wouldn’t need a key to open a door when they could just kick it down.
So what was it then? Where the fuck was Anton? Was he in trouble? Did something happen? Dew supposed the worst possible thing would be if something bad did happen to Anton, and he wasn’t around to help Dew. At all. That thought, that feeling of sheer abandonment and knowing that if Anton disappeared, nobody would ever find your body, deep underground in the secret lab.
Dew laid down on his stomach, resting his head in his arms while his wings fidgeted nervously above him. He felt his stomach growl with hunger and he wished he had his music to listen to… If not that, then humming his favorite songs until Anton showed up would have to do.
Because he would show up, and Dew would have the slight comfort of knowing he wouldn’t die here, at least not abandoned and all alone.
. . .
Dew couldn’t take it anymore. How long had it been? It was 6PM already. Eleven hours after Anton was supposed to wake him up. He’d hummed the lyrics to probably 100 songs by now, all of them jumbling together as the minutes slowly ticked by. He felt like he was going insane, there was absolutely nothing to do. There was nothing to see, to hear, taste, smell… it was torture.
Dew wished he’d asked for a notebook, or a book to read, or anything to make his time here less boring. But he’d usually spend time with Anton in the lab during the day, and resting during the night, too tired from the experiments to do anything else. So he never bothered to ask for things to keep him entertained. How he wished he did now… even if it was too dark to see it.
The only sound he could hear besides his rapidly beating heart and racing thoughts was the air conditioning start up every hour. The white noise drowned out some of his spiral, but it was no use.
Eventually Dew decided to take another shower, to feel the warm water turn freezing cold and smile as Anton’s water bill went up. But that got boring quickly too. He kept the water on though, the silence he onced loved turning suffocating.
Dew stared at the clock. 19:45. It’d been over 12 hours. He’d stopped trying to sleep a while ago. Dew was curled up in a ball on the floor in the corner of his room. He stared at the camera with hatred in his eyes.
“I bet you think this is funny, huh,” Dew spat. “You found out last night I hate being alone, so you thought you’d leave me all alone in the dark today, huh? With no food? Or stimulation, o-or company? You just wanna torture me now, is that it?” Dew wrung his hands through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut at an attempt to hold back tears.
“You think– that maybe being ‘nice’ isn’t working, it’s not making me want to stay here willingly… So you decided to abandon me, make me see how much I need you and d-depend on you. S-so that when you come back and feed me, I-I’ll want to stay because I can’t stand being alone– all fucking alone in this cage! You wanna see me break, is that it?! You want me to be compliant and obedient while you fucking experiment on me like some animal?!
“I’m not an animal… I’m a person, Anton! I’m a person and I know you know that! I know you have this strange fucking– perception of me and sometimes you treat me nice but the other times you treat me like I don’t even have a fucking mind! You don’t make any sense! I don’t understand you!
“But if this– if all this is some trick to get me to willingly take part as a test subject like you want– It’s not working! I won’t fall for any of your fucking tricks again! Go fuck youself! Go fuck yourself and go die! I’ll kill you, you hear me!? When I get out of here I will fucking rip you apart!”
Dew hadn’t realized he stood up, but he found himself standing in front of the door, staring at the camera as tears flowed down his cheeks– he hadn’t noticed he started crying either. Dew grabbed the camera and yanked it from the wall, throwing it to the floor and laughing as it smashed into pieces.
“Fuck. Fuck!” Dew collapsed to the ground and cried in a ball. Anton wouldn’t be happy about him breaking that. But the scientist couldn’t even see him now. He wasn’t watching him anymore.
He wasn’t watching him anymore.
Dew’s breath hitched at his sudden realization. He was alone. He wasn't being watched. If Anton had been watching through the surveillance camera, he’d surely come down to see what happened to it. But if he wasn’t… He wouldn’t know it was even broken.
Dew’s heart sped up. He uncurled himself from the floor and stood on trembling legs. He was alone. He wasn’t being watched. Nobody was here to stop him. He could escape.
Dew frantically started to try and open the door, kicking it and banging on it. He moved his hands and felt along the walls, as if he’d push a brick in and unlock a secret entranceway. He knew it didn’t make sense, nothing did right now. He was starving, he felt like a feral animal, proving the scientist right as he picked up the chair and threw it at the door. When that did nothing, he then threw it at the glass wall, but that too, was too strong. Dew tried picking up his entire bed frame, but he wasn’t strong enough. He hadn’t eaten all day. He was starving and weak and exhausted.
The air conditioner started up again, signifying the endless passing of time that never seemed to stop. The sound of cool air flowing through his room just reminded him how trapped he was—
Wait a fucking minute.
Dew looked up to the corner of his ceiling, above his bed and to the left. Of course he saw nothing, the room was still dark. But he knew what was there. He knew what’d always been there since day one but the thought never even occurred to him to try and open it. He was too short, too weak to pry open the metal hinges. Especially not with Anton watching through the camera or being in the lab all the time. But now… he was all alone. He could reach the vents now. He could. He could go through them and the scientist would never know because he wasn’t here.
Dew’s wings fluttered in anticipation. Excitement. Suspense. Hope. This wasn’t like the other times he’d tried to escape. He didn’t randomly decide one morning that today would be the day, he didn’t impulsively decide to escape and run and be chased and get hurt. This was controlled. This time, he was alone. He was by himself and Anton was nowhere to stop him or mind control him or hurt him. Dew could escape and there was nothing Anton could do about it because he was gone.
And at this point, Dew didn’t care where Anton went. He was done waiting around for his captor to come back. He had a plan now. This was the chance he’d been waiting for.
Dew waited another half hour, making sure he truly was alone. Maybe a part of himself tried to talk him out of it, told him he’d just be hurt more, worse than before for escaping. But he ignored that part of himself, the part that tried to keep him safe, the part that saw himself as just a test subject.
He couldn’t wait any longer and let that part of himself win. He took a glance at the clock– 20:16, 8PM– before he hopped up on his bed with nervous, shaking legs. He was too short to reach the vents with his arms, so he grabbed the chair in the corner and stacked it on his nightstand and climbed on top of that. If he fell from there, it would hurt, but not as bad as what Anton would do if he caught him escaping.
Dew took one last look towards the direction of the window, down where the door to the lab would be. If it opened now, he could just hop down and pretend everything was normal. He could wait until Anton arrived like the good test subject he was, but Dew knew that wasn’t gonna happen. Fuck that shit. This was it, no going back now.
Dew’s wings fluttered as he jumped in the air and grabbed the bars of the vents with his hands. His legs kicked out and knocked over the chair, having nothing to step on, but that was fine. His wings kicked into action and despite his room being so small, and despite not being able to see where the walls began, he was flying. He positioned himself upside down, hands gripping the vent, feet placed on the ceiling, on either side of it, and pulled with all his strength.
The vent suddenly swung open, causing Dew to fall backwards, but he expected that to happen and he was ready. His wings flapped rapidly as he lunged himself upward, through the hole in the ceiling, and into the unknown.
He collapsed in the small, cold, metal space. He closed the latch back up, covering his tracks, and began to crawl through the tight tunnels. It wasn’t as a tight space as Dew was expecting, which he was thankful for. There was enough room to sit up and turn around if he needed to. It was still dark, and he had to hold his arms in front of him to not bump into a wall, or fall down a sudden turn.
Despite the high stakes situation, Dew couldn’t help but smile. Crawling through the vents like he was in a heist movie was something Dew had always wanted to do. He just hoped it would end with him making it to the surface.
He was crawling for a few moments until he found his first turn, his sense of direction was abysmal so he had no idea what way to go, so he just chose a direction and kept crawling.
A sudden, terrifying thought occurred to him. The lab was located underground, deep, deep underground. If Dew never found an exit, if Anton never got him out of the air ducts, Dew would just die here.
He gulped that thought away. He couldn’t think like that, he wasn’t going to die.
After more twists and turns, he found an opening. He couldn’t see what was out the other side, as the lights were still off, but he didn’t want to be in the vents anymore. So, with the bit of strength he had left, he kicked it open and jumped down, his wings softening the landing.
Dew was out. Dew was out of his room and even though he was hungry, that didn’t matter anymore— nothing mattered now except escaping the lab.
Dew looked around frantically, recognising the familiar feeling of the tiles on the floor, and noticing the glow of the clocks closer to him. He was in the lab. Alone.
It was around 9PM. Dew didn’t think anymore, not about his hunger, not about Anton, not about what would happen to him later, only about finding a way out. He ran to where the clock was, that was a good start. He tripped over some boxes on the floor but regained his footing quickly, fueled solely on adrenaline.
He made it to Anton’s desk, and felt around for anything. He opened drawers until he found a flashlight. It clicked on and Dew let out a sigh of relief. Finally, he could see.
First thing first was finding out what fucking day it was. Dew tried to keep count, but only had a rough estimation at this point. He shined his flashlight over Anton’s desk, picking up a small bag and stuffing it with papers, files, tape recorders, any evidence that would be helpful once he gets out of here. He found a small blank notepad, and a pen, and stuff that into his pants pocket as well. And then his eyes landed on a calendar.
Dew looked at the calendar. All the days that had passed were marked with an ‘X’, except today: October 3rd. It was October already? Dew realized in horror.
Dew flipped through the calendar a few pages until he got to July. Some of the days had writing over them, important events Anton was waiting for, Dew supposed. One of the days was circled with a blue marker. “New test subject day!” it read. Dew felt sick. Anton had planned it, written the day he was gonna kidnap him down on his calendar like it was any other special event.
Dew had been taken around the middle of July, and it was already October. Dew felt numb. How had he let eight weeks pass like it was nothing? How could– How hasn’t anybody found him yet? Surely people have been looking, right?
Dew crumpled up the calendar in his hands, tears freely falling down onto it. He’d been here so long, he only just realized his birthday was already two weeks away.
Dew missed out on seven consecutive gamenights with his roommates. He missed over 40 days of work. He missed feeding Hayden’s snake every Wednesday. He missed sitting on the couch with Layla to watch a new episode of her favorite show every Friday, with Sir Bonkles purring on his lap. He missed out on long nights awake playing video games with Sawyer. He missed playing with Sawyer’s dog. He missed Sawyer.
“C-calm down,” Dew told himself. Breaking down wouldn’t help his situation now, he had to focus.
He’d see Sawyer, and Hayden and Layla and all their pets later. He’d reunite with his best friends and confess his most likely unrequited love to them later. Now was not the time to think about all this.
Dew stood up on shaking legs, forgetting about the half-assed bag of evidence he made, and pointed his flashlight towards the direction of the door. He was hungry, he hadn’t eaten in a full 24 hours, but Anton was gone. He was so close, he could just leave if he got the door open.
He shined the flashlight to a nearby shelf, jump scaring himself at the sight of needles, but he shook that fear away. He didn’t have time for fear. Dew took a deep breath and looked over the various strange tools and weapons, any of these outta get that door open.
Just as Dew was heading towards the door with a crowbar in hand, the lights suddenly turned on, briefly blinding him. Dew stopped in his tracks, dread pooling in his stomach, acutely aware of the situation he was in. He hadn’t felt this sense of pure terror before, almost animalistic, this deep sense of dread that made a chill crawl up his spine and his entire body tremble in terror.
He was caught.
Anton was back.
—
:)
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#the last lab rat#my writing#lab whump#whump#whump writing#whumpblr#whump community#whump series#winged whumpee#trans whumpee#needles#mind control#nightmares#captivity whump#death mention#parent death mention#fear of abandonment#isolation#sensory deprivation#starvation#emotional whump#claustrophobia#escape attempt
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intro post
I'll probably add more to/change this later; I've just needed an intro post for a while, and this is what I could think of. you should probably remind me to update it if this section is still here after like six months lol.
name/pronouns/age/gay shit~
honestly you can call me whatever, but I probably won't know you're talking about me unless you use vel/velvet.
prefer they/it; any pronouns are fine.
I'm probably non-binary I guess.
I'm an adult.
I basically just identify as queer at this point, but I'm like,, vaguely aroace-spec probably? still figuring it out. I'm actually very happy to talk about it more specifically, but I might have to sit you down for an entire day to explain it lol.
what I do/post~
I mostly post fandom stuff, and my original posts include a lot of art + occasional meta. I'm starting write fic too, so that might be a more regular thing in the future :)
other accounts~
@/velvetygames -- explicit nsfw twitter/x account, not very active
@cornerbytes -- old dragon prince account that I will probably revisit when the new season comes out
@/velvet_games -- ao3 account
nsfw~
I post occasional nsfw here (never super explicit; that's saved for my twitter); it'll be tagged #nsft.
fandoms~
current fandom: hazbin hotel
previous fandoms:
hannibal (will always have a very special place in my heart)
arcane (will revisit when the new season comes out)
ofmd (literally so happy this exists; devastated it's not getting a new season)
the dragon prince (will probably revisit when the new season comes out)
good omens
lotr (I also read like 2/3 of the hobbit and will hopefully finish it this summer lmao)
things in media that make me go insane (in a good way)~
friendship
happy endings
cannibalism
(WELL-WRITTEN) romance (THAT RESPECTS THE CHARACTERS AS INDIVIDUALS AS WELL AS WHO THEY ARE IN RELATION TO OTHERS)
surrealism
good visuals (even if everything else is shit; extra points if it's animation)
angst
fake-hating
this one's weird but I love situations where a character is really helpless; I thought I liked whump because I can be borderline sadistic about it sometimes, but whump is really not necessary at all to this concept
religious stuff, mythology, angels specifically for some reason (especially when they're terrifying and/or fallen)
gay people
requests~
you are welcome to send in ideas through comments, DMs, asks, etc., but I can't guarantee I'll draw them. if I don't, it doesn't mean that I don't like your idea; I'm probably just busy or have too many brainworms about a specific thing to draw anything but what's on my mind.
notes~
I randomly get really anxious about feedback on stuff sometimes lol, but I promise I read every single comment/tag and cherish them very deeply <33
also, like/rb spamming is totally fine and welcomed! I know some people don't like it, so I just wanted to make it clear that it's completely cool with me.
mutuals~
for a really long time, this was my pinned post, and it's still true! definitely welcome any interactions from mutuals <3
I do have a problem with randomly ghosting people though; I've been much better with it recently, but please try not to take it personally if I don't respond to DMs quickly. I'm probably just being insane and in my head about it. I'm really sorry.
misc~
this is an account that is purposely removed from my irl stuff; I'm here to have fun and relax on my mostly fandom-oriented blog.
I don't block often since I mostly meet nice people on here, but I am very happy to block accounts that make my experience on this app shitty.
I try to tag triggers when appropriate, but please let me know if you need me to tag anything I haven't.
art for me is just a hobby I use for fun and self-expression, so while I really appreciate concrit, keep in mind that my goal is ultimately to make stuff that makes me happy.
I am also very protective of young artists that get made fun of for being beginners or making unconventional art; you should never assume why someone is making art, and you especially should not assume that they are focused on becoming more skilled or making things that are beautiful to you. if they're not hurting anyone and you're not their target audience, get the fuck out.
I am of the mindset that media is not real, but that your reaction/the things you learn are. liking cannibal media does not make you a cannibal, but seeing bigoted portrayals of minorities can feed your biases (doesn't necessarily mean you can't consume it; does mean its effect on you/others irl should factor into if/how you decide to interact with it).
I'm vaguely fucked in the head. just keep that in mind.
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Women in Whumpable Work
So, relevant to the topic of this whump post, I imagine there might be a few readers whose experience of women in security professions comes entirely from media. If that's the case, you might suppose that this is an entirely male occupation. There are a few reasons for this representation here in 2024, and I am going to tell you what I think they are. I'm not an academic, my degrees are from 2004 and in Biology and Chemistry and I work in an art/tech profession; this is just an opinion from a blogger in a small fic genre.
So with that disclaimer, I think an important, and probably the main reason, is that security guards in media are usually there to demonstrate the seriousness of a threat by getting hurt. Sometimes we don't even see them alive, just as bloody shreds or as decorations for a monster lair. In the case of my whump writing, they're there to get knocked out and dragged behind a pillar by a thief dressed like a ninja.
Sometimes that's a patronizing and antiquated "women can't be guards" thing, but I don't think it's just that. For one thing, my own dear sibling was working as a night guard when she was in college 20 years ago. Women in security are perhaps more likely to be sturdy butches than femmes, and movies mostly hate butches if they recognize that they exist, but even boomers should by this point have encountered women as cops, construction, security, and other hazardous professions.
I think part of it is that the way to increasing gender parity, there seems to be a stage where women can't be shown to be hurt or fail because they've always been shown ONLY failing. ONLY as victims. Women therefore have to be badass girlbosses who can barely be stalled by an obstacle before their glorious victory (and queer people have to be virtuous martyrs to compensate for old portrayals as gross perverts, but that's another topic). Maybe eventually we can get to an Amanda Waller or an entire female cast of Dungeon Meshi, but those aren't the majority examples in American pop culture right now. That's still at the Marvels in a lot of cases, where rep has to be good and powerful to be valid and female villains tend to also be of a very specific type who has snapped from trauma (also a topic for another day).
So, obviously that concept doesn't go well with the entire genre of whump, where we demonstrate that we like characters by hurting them, either as an end in itself or so that they can be cared for. I get that. I'm very uncomfortable seeing female whumpees in certain subgenres, especially the ones that hew closest to real life. But the thing is, I'm also a woman, kind of. At least, that's where I started from, and I'll probably never be out as fluid or agender to anyone irl but one sibling. And I want to see rep of all kinds for all genders, not just the women as badass winners or the men as victims and everyone else as simply absent. That means that sometimes I'm also going to write women as soldiers getting shot and peasants getting attacked by vampires and security guards getting tranked. I'm going to write enbies as villains, as chronically ill, as afab or amab. I don't see this as a problem. I see it as wanting to write more characters.
Obviously I'm not telling anyone to not write men if they like men and this is their fetish. I'm aroace irl, and I feel only a mild preference toward any given gender visually, so I don't exactly have a genetically engineered laboratory mutant in that fight. I'm just saying, consider why you pick your whumpees and how while you decide what's fun for you.
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