#per whump

[dokidokisadness]

From pet shelter whump here

[uuuhshiny]

Vladimir Verevochkin in Double

The next day doctor returns. Feeling absolute and complete power over another person, now he wants something else…

Next

[arduousflame]

Perrepatae’s Vintage

Please also read a short Part 2.

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Viago bit off the cork of the vial with practiced movements. The acrid smell hit hard as he poured the liquid over the gash on Rook’s arm, the wound bubbling instantly with a whitish foam as it reacted to the poison’s residue. Illario. Will. Pay. Rook flinched, her breaths shallow and erratic, her body twisting where she lay in Teia’s lap.

Pain. NO AIR. Help. Rook!

Lucanis could only watch, helpless, as Viago yanked open a second vial. "Dammit, Gwynn, drink!" he cursed, tipping it to his Crow’s lips. Rook choked, spilling the precious antidote between coughs, fighting those who were trying to save her. Teia tried to steady her, holding her head as Viago tried to pour the antidote down her throat.

-------

It had been a dirty fight. Illario’s treacherous coup to seize the First Talon’s seat erupted into chaos—a fierce clash of Crows against Venatori. It wasn’t unexpected. They had come prepared, armored and ready, after Viago and Teia’s missive. Yet, Lucanis had held onto a shred of hope—that the past year of betrayal hadn’t been Illario’s doing. A shred that was torn to oblivion once they had found Caterina alive and as well as can be as a hostage in her own home.

Rook had been quick on her feet, as always. Her magic humming beside Lucanis as she darted in and out of the fray. She kept the Venatori occupied, leaving him to cut them down one by one. But somehow, Illario had slipped through the chaos, exploiting her unguarded left side while Lucanis was locked in battle with a Venatori magister. She was no trained fighter. A Crow in name only, some would whisper. Yet she had proven she could hold her own in the past few months, with Lucanis at her back.

It had been no more than a shallow nick. But with Illario’s blade poisoned, it didn’t need to be more. Viago’s concoctions were nothing short of deadly—undetectable until the damage took hold. Even for one who spend considerable time in House de Riva where paranoia and poison reigned. No healer’s magic could counteract it without antidote, once it spread through the blood, attacking the heart and lungs.

Viago had named this particular poison Perrepatae’s Vintage, its lethal effects compounding the longer it lingered in the victim’s system. Years ago, he had called it his masterpiece—a special commission from the First Talon herself for her mage-killer grandson. Lucanis knew its power too well. Even he hesitated to use it. Death by this poison was no simple mercy but a brutal struggle to breathe and live. A death even Venatori did not all deserve. Something even Viago would reluctantly admit.

Lucanis had always ensured his own vials were accounted for, keeping them close on his person. None had gone missing. Which meant Illario must have gotten his dose from Viago’s backup stash. Whether through thief or traitor, Viago would have to uncover that answer later. The Fifth Talon would not show mercy on the Crow who had betrayed House and Talon.

Rook hadn’t realized she was poisoned. She wouldn’t have connected the subtle tremble in her hands or her magic depleting faster than normal. Fatigue from battle, she’d have told herself. The shortness of breath and heart pounding in her chest? Adrenaline, nothing more.

She wasn’t a fighter by nature. Drawn into the Crows to settle a debt at an age most already went out on their first contracts. Her skills lay in subterfuge, intrigue and forgery, not with blade or staff. But the months spent in skirmishes against the Evanuris had hardened her into a viable spellblade.

The battle ended with Illario on his knees, defeated. As he was dragged away, Lucanis was declared First Talon. There should have been relief, even triumph, as the inner circle retreated deeper into the villa to celebrate.

But then Rook collapsed, her legs giving out as she gasped for air her lungs could no longer hold.

Teia reached her first, her frantic hands trying to steady her. Viago arrived moments later, biting back a sharp reprimand for her carelessness—until his sharp eyes caught the oil-like sheen glistening on the gash in her arm. That unmistakable sign.

Lucanis met his gaze, their silent understanding instant and grim.

Mierda, Rook.

-------

Spite bristled at the edges of Lucanis’ mind, seething. He fought to stay in control, to suppress the urge to turn and crush Illario’s throat. A hesitant touch on his arm steadied him. Bellara stood beside him, worry in her eyes. "Is she going to be okay?"

Viago’s reply was clipped. "Not yet."

Teia’s hands trembled as she stroked Rook’s hair, whispering soft reassurances in Antivan. Bellara’s confusion mirrored Spites’ rising frustration. "Why isn’t the antidote working? Were we too late?" Rook. In PAIN. Stop. Pain. HELP ROOK!

Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply, forcing calm into his voice. "Because sometimes the cure is worse than the poison."

Bellara tensed, her grip on his arm tightening. He didn’t know if she sought to steady him or herself.

Rook's writhing gradually slowed, her coughing and gasping subsiding. At last, she seemed to relax. Bellara let out a sigh of relief beside Lucanis, but he remained tense, unwilling to let his guard down just yet. “Oh thank..” Bellara breathed. Just then Rook’s breathing stilled altogether.

With this, the waiting game started.

Teia ran her fingers through Rook’s hair over and over. "Come on, come on now, Gwynn." The worry in Viago’s voice cut through the silence, his quiet plea making Lucanis’ heart falter his chest. “Not like this, you idiot. Not now. Breathe., damn you..”

Seconds dragged by, each one marked by the frantic rhythm of his own heartbeat, while hers remained unyielding, unmoving. It was taking too long.

"Viago..." Lucanis started, stepping forward and shrugging off Bellara’s hold on his arm. But the Fifth Talon was already moving. After a brief nod, Viago sprang into action. With a firm but gentle motion, he eased Rook out of Teia’s lap, laying her fully flat on the ground beside him.

Viago moved closer, placing one palm firmly on her chest, the other interlocking on top. His lips moved in a muttered count as he began the compressions, his movements precise and unwavering. Teia scrambled back to make room. Bellara now reached to find her and clung to the Crow with tears in her eyes.

Lucanis knelt down, taking the spot across from Viago. He forced himself to focus, to suppress the rising dread threatening to overtake him. All the while Spite remained silent. A silence that only deepened his unease. He tilted Rook’s head back with practiced care.

As Viago paused, Lucanis leaned in, sealing his lips over Rook’s to breathe life back into her. Please, come back. A first breath, her chest rose faintly. A second, but the stillness persisted.

“Damn it.” Viago resumed the compressions, his jaw clenched tight, the force of his efforts enough to bruise her ribs. This made both men flinch, but Viago did not hold back. A third breath. A fourth. Still, nothing. Panic flickered in Viago’s eyes, mirrored in Lucanis’ own.

They were losing her.

Viago paused again, his shoulders heaving with exertion. Lucanis didn’t hesitate, bending down once more to breathe for her. Just as despair began to claw at him, a faint shiver rippled through Rook’s body.

Then, a cough. A desperate, gasping breath.

“Maker.” Relief crashed over them like a wave. Viago sagged back, as he sat beside Teia, who dropped down with him. Lucanis barely registered the tears in her eyes as he pulled Rook close, murmuring softly.

"It’s okay, Rook. You’re okay now. I’ve got you."

[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

this or that - whump tropes (53)

potentially dangerous flesh wound (and you might have to look out for rabies as well) or venom that a character might not even immediately notice?

[letitbehurt]

Yes I adore Whumpees who talk their way through the pain of field surgery. Yes I equally adore Whumpees who are so delirious with pain that all they can do is scream around the bit as Caretaker works to remove a bullet or suture a gash. When Caretaker has to hold a thrashing Whumpee still, whispering an endless stream of apologies underneath their wordless sobs of pain.

[kim-poce]

This Worldbulding applies to: A Brand New Life; Found; Full House; Safety; and Unlearning, so I'll tag everyone in said series taglists.

@a-dead-tea, @alienmashup, @annablogsposts, @aswallowimprisoned, @badluck990, @batfacedliar-yetagain, @bluewhumpcrew, @boonasaurusrex, @cupcakes-and-pain, @d-cs, @dainluvr, @damienxozmoze, @dont-touch-my-soup, @dyingisbadforyourhealth, @emcscared-whumps, @espresso-depresso-system, @extemporary-username, @fishtale88, @freefallingup13, @fuzzybucketz, @greenwhump, @haro-whumps, @hollowgast1, @i-eat-worlds, @inkkswhumpandstuff, @inpainandsuffering, @isntthisblank, @jadeocean46910, @kekihi, @latenightcupsofcoffee, @maracujatangerine, @mazeish, @melancholy-in-the-morning, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @neuro-whump, @neverthelass, @nicolepascaline, @nii-chans-rabiddogs, @octopus-reactivated, @onlybadendings, @paranoiaxagent, @pigeonwhumps, @pinkraindropsfell, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @ramadiiiisme, @rat-father, @rose-pinkie, @sacredwrath

Full House/Pet-verse question: How do people become pets? Eri pretty much immediately clocked Day and Night as guard dogs, so were they born for that purpose (how German Shepherds are bred to be attack dogs) or were they rounded up somehow and, because of their size, designated guard dogs and trained accordingly?

BBU Worldbuilding. Heed the warnings.

CW: BBU (boy box universe), pet whump, institutionalized slavery, human trafficking (including children), kidnapping (including children), child abuse in general just to be sure, talks of sex slavery, racism, classism, ableism, noncon body modification (includes mutilation), food control, near death experience, torture, brainwashing, long term captivity, minor whumpee. If I forgot to tag anything PLEASE let me know.

Officially, pets are people who signed up to the facility. There are laws for it; adult applicants must have a witness, underage applicants as young as 12 years old must have the guardian’s permission and at least three witnesses; after a test, the applicant can choose which, from the given option, kind of pet they wish to be. No children under 12 allowed.

Unofficially, there is a lot of illegal human slavery, the consent papers are often fake or forced, and children really young go to the facility often and the register about it is erased.

The facilities avoid illegal acquisition because there are several people against the BBU system, people who jump at them at any given chance. There are however circumstances that makes them more prone to illegal acquisition:

Children: Easier to train and more moldable to whatever the client wants. 

Foreign people: Some clients want specific races that do not always come by so they don’t lose a chance when they get one.

Neurodivergent people: Again, some clients have specific tastes.

Pretty people/People with unique features: For obvious reasons.

Training and Customization

The training is personalized both to the client's tastes and to the pet needs. Touch starved pets are sold to not-touching clients, pets allergic to fur are sold to people with no animals and so on.

In matters of customization, well, as long as the client pays, the facility will make ANY body modification asked: tattoos, piercings, removal of vocal cords/eyes/hands/etc, sewing the mouth and make the alimentation integrally IV, and so on. The more hardcore modification the less it is shown to the public.

Another important point is alimentation: To the underaged pets (the ones who are still growing) the alimentation is controlled. Guard dogs's rations are really nutritious and meant to make them big and strong. Lapdogs are feed enough to survive so they can be small and cute. Domestic and General pets are fed in an irregular way so they can work under any circumstances. Romantic Pets are usually also kept small, but the future owner can "customize" them (feed less if small, more if big, if they want the pet thin or fat, hair length, etc). 

Guard dogs: Torture with no regard to scarring. Trained in martial arts and weapon use over stamina and strength training. Kept 24/7 with a shock collar and when the client pays enough they are implanted with a kill switch. During training, the torture often gets them in the brink of death, this happens so whoever owns them after it’s “merciful” in comparison, so the pet will see them as a “savior” and don’t try to fight back.

Lapdogs: Trained to be as touch starved as possible. Torture usually leaves little to no scars. fed and touched as little as possible so their owner may be their only source of comfort. The training is usually about being as still as possible, acting cute, identifying tricks and traps and acting as such, and makeup and hairstyle. Also, they learn to undergo pain in silence unless told otherwise.

Romantic Pets: Torture leaves little to no scars. Trained to be silent until told otherwise. Kept touch starved all the time but during sex, they have stamina training, and acting lessons so they look as if they are really enjoying it. Their interaction with everything and everyone in a non-sexual setting is cut so sex can be their only form of comfort and contact with other people. Training includes long periods of torture with no apparent reason, where the pet is kept in constant pain, the pain only stops during sex training so they make the realtion of “no sex=pain.”

Domestic Pets: Torture with no regard to scarring. Punished for every sound they make. Not allowed to talk until said otherwise, choke collar activated by speech (and it is kept on n moment they are obligated to speak so even allowed words hurt). Training includes cleaning and cooking lessons, made to overwork with little to no food, hours and hours of repetitive tasks.

General pets: Torture with medium scarring. Usually they sign up as adults and aren’t conventionally attractive so they go into basic training for all types of pets and are sold at a cheaper price.

The Full House pets:

If you want to know about other's series pets, please ask.

Beige: He is a Domestic Pet who voluntarily  signed up when he was a young adult. He had no family.

Pink: He is a Lapdog who voluntarily signed himself when he was a teen. The money went to his father. One trainer tried to make him into a Romantic Pet but the facility didn’t allow him to.

Purple: He is a Lapdog who was forcibly sold by his uncle when he was a teen, it was so he would protect his brother. Money went to his uncle.

Day: He is a Guard Dog who was kidnapped when he was a really young child. No one got the money. He was meant to be a lapdog at first (he was cute) but he grew up too much so his alimentation and training was changed.

Night: He was kidnapped in his teens for political reasons and made to be a guard dog because they couldn't tame him enough to make him a Romantic pet.

Little One: He is a Lapdog who was sold by his parents as a young child. Training was customized so the “ugly” autistic traits were not shown and the “cute” ones were encouraged. At first they tried to make him starved, and since it didn’t work, they made him a dancer. Was meant to be sold to a non-touching owner but his first mistress wanted to “fix him,” she signed a document declaring she was aware that she was buying a touch repulsed pet and took responsibility for any defects about it.

[evankinkley]

donovan rocker in every swat episode → 1x01

[cartwrong]

okay but slow horses has like the most whump per episode right?

[savebatsfromscratch]

Whump... I'm having thoughts...

I don't know what thoughts they are but I'm having them.

[whumpypepsigal]

Slowly, his limp pronounced but his back straight, Kaz made his way down the final flight of stairs, leaning heavily on the banister. When he reached the bottom, the remaining crowd parted.

Haskell’s grizzled face was red with fear and indignation. “You’ll never last, boy. Takes more than what you got to get past Pekka Rollins.”

Kaz snatched his cane from Per Haskell’s hand.

“You have two minutes to get out of my house, old man. This city’s price is blood,” said Kaz, “and I’m happy to pay with yours.

Excerpt From Crooked Kingdom, Leigh Bardugo

[neuxue]

do I know what this novel is actually about yet? No.

do I know that one of the leads was once described as 'the blade of the empire', is now seen as a traitor, and made her first appearances by, in order: (1) flogging the other lead with a whip made of bones (her own??? unclear!), and then (2) imprisoned and tortured beyond normal human endurance, unable to stand or do anything but affirm the other lead's memory of her pain tolernace, before (3) pulling someone else's hidden dagger out as a first recourse for dealing with a member of the imperial family? Yes.

[uuuhshiny]

Vladimir Verevochkin in Double

He brakes

[starryybrained]

Overwritten Routine

Whumptober Day 8: Isolation chamber

Content: Isolation, lab whump, captivity, nonhuman whumpee, self harm

It’s been hours now.

Solstice hasn’t seen another soul since it was left behind in the enclosure. Its only company is the warm yellow of the light in the ceiling beating down on him and the dirt beneath his feet. Every so often, a mist comes from the ceiling. He uses the mist to count how long time has passed, marking a line on the ground to help himself recall how many. He can’t count, but he can tell the row of lines is beginning to get long. Worried, Solstice recounts them on its fingers, checking how many sets of both hands there are. One set and its pointer, middle and ring finger… not including some it didn’t track.

The loneliness eats away at him. Where did they go? What are they doing? He paces, tracing the walls with his fingers like he’s done so many times before. He’s done this for many sets, so many he can’t keep track, trudging the circumference of the room, dragging his hand against the smooth walls and vocalizing to himself. With the room empty, it stretches its vocal cords, humming and making noises, anxious. He hasn’t resorted to crying or screaming yet, but he might, feeling his hope wane and the fear of the uncertain grow stronger.

It continues to trudge through the room, until the familiar feeling of moisture hits it. Misting. He makes his way to the tallies in the corner, adding a line and counting them on his fingers again. One set and the pointer, middle, ring, and pinky finger. Almost two whole sets. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

Solstice holds back a worried cry, biting its tongue. It hurts to do so, but Solstice soon realizes it’s a new sensation and welcomes it. Leaning back against the wall, it bites its tongue over and over – and hard – until it’s tender and sore, running it against the roof of his mouth and teeth. It hurts, yet he can’t help but do it anyway. He doesn’t understand why he would want to hurt. Its own behavior is indecipherable to itself.

The cool droplets of water from the mist roll down his back, and he finds himself tearing up. It just doesn’t understand. Where is everyone? There’s only so much it can do while waiting for them–!

It paces around the room again for half a set, until suddenly, it sits on the ground, back against the wall. It digs its fingers into the soil, raking it up, ripping out fistfuls of it. With nothing growing within it, it’s easy to do so; it crumbles in Solstice's hands, crumbs of it falling to the ground.

He lets the dirt fall out of his fingers, uncurling them. Then, with a newfound fury, it shoves its hands back into the ground. Something deep inside of him awakens, twisting and writhing, and it pours out from his palms, burning. Something creaks from beneath the dirt, penetrating the surface, wooden, gnarled. Solstice pushes himself further, urging the energy into the ground and into his creation, making it grow larger until finally, in front of him stands a thin, crooked sapling.

For a second, time is frozen, and he stares in awe, his hands still buried in the dirt, his body fixed in place. Then he reaches for the trunk, caressing it, feeling the grooves of the wood under his fingers. In that moment, it feels an almost motherly connection to it, forgetting about being lonely, forgetting about the scientists, forgetting about everything.

Then it begins to decay.

Frantic, Solstice holds on to it, trying to summon up the energy once more, having only known his power for a fleeting moment. He fails and the sapling crumbles into the earth, dying until there’s nothing left but the rotten, petrified remnants of its leaves and branches.

He is unmoving again.

He lets out a tiny sob, and with a shaking hand, reaches for one of the blackened branches. Then he raises his hand with the branch in it and slams it down on his leg, stabbing himself. He does it over and over until he’s numb to the feeling, shuddering with silent sobs as he does. Once it’s done, it drops the piece of wood, betrayed by its own feelings and actions. It brings a hand to its thigh, rubbing the raw skin gently, its touch feather-light.

Gingerly, it lays itself against the wall, curling up and holding its legs to its chest, letting its hair fall over its eyes, closing them tightly.

[citrine-elephant]

sedated by my cicada rhythm as my stupid flesh mech thinks it's days past bed time

post plaga leon and biting. how vets sometimes need to muzzle their clients?

leon gets a little too bitey at a checkup and is put in the shame muzzle.

or, a more grounded idea: leon gets squirmy in medical settings, and because of trauma response paired with post-plaga feral reworking of his brain, there's a chance he may bite when threatened. he understands, there's always a chance he could pass infection if he's a carrier for something and isn't aware. y'know.

fuckin parasites rewiring his brain...

[soapy-soartp]

Day 18 of @whumperless-whump-event (late entry!)

Day:  18- I DON'T SEE IT

Prompt: Hallucinations / Fever dreams / "It's just a nightmare. You're safe."

Fandom: TGCF

Characters: Wu Ming and Xie Lian

Wulian - XL having hallucinations 

Wu Ming stands guard just outside of the shabby hut that they had decided was their shelter for that night. It’s rare that they stop on their journey, his highness hasn’t been feeling well recently. 

As much as Wu Ming would’ve liked to help… (he tried) It wasn't his place…

So he merely stands guard just outside of the dilapidated house, he wants to give his god privacy but he’s unwilling to stray too far. Especially when he already wasn't feeling well… especially when there's a chance that masked monster could appear at any mo- 

A choked off scream rings out into the quiet night.

Before he knows what's happening he’s slammed open the poorly made door and is met with the sight of his beloved curled up in the corner. He feels his dead heart break, yet he freezes. The familiar feeling of helplessness takes over.

His god, his beloved, his most gracious and noble special someone is suffering right there yet he can do NOTHING.

His god is left trembling (bleeding) in the corner (on an altar) with ragged breath and unseeing eyes (choked breath and panicked tears) mumbling to himself (choking on bloody screams).

And for the second time that night Wu Ming does not control what he does. He’s suddenly gently wrapped himself around his god, as gentle as a weapon can be. His god’s heart thunders and he trembles with it. He mumbling a litany of no’s and get away’s. Most heartbreakingly of all are the small yet oh so pained *‘it hurts’*.

Wu Ming takes an unsteady breath, one he doesn’t really need but he can’t help it. He starts feverishly trying to comfort his beloved, trying to chase away whatevers plaguing him with his words (“Your Highness… Please breathe!” “It's just a nightmare. You're safe." “I won’t let them do that to you again. Never again. I swear it.”) and his hold (he clings to his highness as if he were that ten year old boy again, just told he had cursed and doomed fate). 

It's almost exactly like what his god had done for him, but he is no god. He can barely get his highness to take a proper breath let alone comfort him properly. The feeling of helplessness pricks at him yet again but all he can really do is continue to whisper reassurances and hold on tight.

And when the deep night came and his highness was once again calmly asleep, if he began to sing the vague lullaby that his mother used to sing, that's no ones business but his own.