#tw: medical scenarios

[ask-alsius-vafer]

The path to the Hospital Wing seemed to stretch endlessly before him. The throbbing ache on the side of his head matched the pulse of each beat of his heart. Every step on the stone floors sent a jolt of pain, a hurtful reminder of the morning's misadventure in Herbology. His hand pressed against the spot where his ear should have been, the phantom pain still gnawing at him. The sharp bite of the Tentacula Vorax' teeth still echoed in his mind, the memory almost as painful as the wound it left behind.

It was a foolish mistake, Felix chastised himself. He should have been more careful, more gentle. Perhaps a kinder touch when pruning the plant might have spared him this torment. Professor Garlick had certainly thought so, lecturing him quite thoroughly before handing him two pieces of cloth - one to stem the bleeding, the other to transport the unfortunate remains of his ear.

The Ravenclaw shook his head, a motion he instantly regretted as dizziness washed over him. There was no time for a bad conscience, no room for self-recrimination. He needed to reach the Hospital Wing. He needed Als.

Als would know what to do. He always did.

Had he been feeling less queasy, he might have opted for the Floo Powder system. But the thought of spinning through the network of fireplaces only made his stomach churn further. So it had to be the long way - the very, very long way, with its many, many stairs.

A sigh escaped Felix as he leaned against the cool stone wall, allowing himself to take a small break. A few passing students glanced his way, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. With a forced smile, the Swede assured them that everything was fine. Or at least, it would be once he got to Alsius. He just hoped his friend wouldn’t be too annoyed with his clumsiness, but deep down, he knew he was in the best hands.

"Take a deep breath. In and out. You're almost there," he muttered to himself, trying to steady his breathing, the words a small comfort as he pushed off the wall. The stairs seemed never-ending, each one a cruel reminder of how much further he had to go.

"Just a little bit more..." The words were barely a whisper as he forced himself to keep moving. The trek was taking its toll, beads of sweat dotted Felix' forehead, and the sick feeling in his stomach grew worse with each step. The wound throbbed in time with his heartbeat, the cloth already soaked through with blood.

“Finally,” Felix breathed, both exhausted and relieved as the door to the Hospital Wing came into view. He paused at the door, peeking inside cautiously, his heart lifting slightly at the sight of the young healer, who was quietly tending to his duties. A weak smile tugged at Felix’s lips, a small flicker of relief and gratitude amidst the pain. Just seeing his friend was enough to make him feel safer.

Clearing his throat softly, Felix hesitated. He didn’t want to disturb Alsius if he was in the middle of something important, and the last thing he wanted was to wake any of the other patients. But the urgency of his situation couldn't be ignored.

“Als, um,” he began, his voice a little shaky, “how good are you at reattaching body parts?”

Two freshly corked phials in hand, Alsius crouched before the medicinal cupboard by the infirmary entrance. The beds were unusually vacant today, prompting the rest of the Hospital wing staff to indulge in an impromptu excursion around the grounds for some exercise. Since Professor Sharp had delivered fresh batches of healing potions earlier that afternoon, Alsius volunteered to stay and he took advantage of the rare quiet and solitude to steadily restock the ever-dwindling stores.

He ducked his head and tucked the last phials in with the others, the faint tinkling of glass against glass floating in the stillness as he ensured all labels were neatly aligned for easy readability in an emergency. After an unfortunate incident involving a nurse and a swarm of magimedical-grade leeches (not to mention the Coffee Bean Barrage), the use of Accio was indefinitely banned in the infirmary and the last thing any reasonable healer wished to do in time-sensitive situations was frantically rummage through wilfully neglected shelves. It was a personal pet hate of his, so he made a point of leaving the cupboard the way he always wished to find it.

Clean, tidy, and methodically organised.

The creak of the Hospital Wing door opening echoed that of the cupboard door closing. He hadn’t the chance to look up before he heard Felix’s voice, and the weak, nervous warble immediately drew his attention and concern.

“…reattaching body parts…”

Alsius turned and caught sight of Felix slumped against the doorway, his focus immediately pulled to his friend’s rapid breathing and sickly pallor. Despite the attempt to inject a certain nonchalance into his question, exhaustion etched Felix’s sweaty brow, his expression drawn painfully taut as he cradled a blood-soaked cloth against his head.

A sudden, leadened pit in Alsius’s stomach tipped the scales for haste. Fearing Felix would collapse to the floor, he rushed to the entrance and caught Felix’s weight against his side. He quickly ushered him to the nearest bed, and if the tall blond baulked at being unceremoniously laid out in such fumbling earnest, Alsius couldn’t hear it over the torrential roar of his racing thoughts.

“Sorry,” he whispered, somewhat amazed he had the presence of mind to apologise for such a brutish bedside manner. “With the bleeding, it’s better to lie down.”

Despite his relative youth, Alsius was generally cool and collected and not prone to dramatic mood swings, but when his gaze tracked the crimson rivulets steadily slipping down Felix’s wrist, something in him critically failed. He was no stranger to gruesome illness and injury, but Alsius was woefully unprepared for the visceral impact of seeing someone so dear to him in such a state.

As he stood and hovered over Felix, his chest tightened, heartbeat keeping time with the breakneck pace of all the grim possibilities reeling through his mind. Felix managed all the way here, he frantically reminded himself. It can’t be that serious. It was a paltry reassurance. He pinched his eyes shut against the unsettling swells in his emotions.

Set them aside. Heal. Reconcile the rest later. That was what his parents taught him in his early youth. That’s what Hogwarts more or less taught him in the infirmary. Yet his mind – his heart, still screamed: it’s Felix.

He turned and snapped the privacy curtains closed. Unnecessary considering they were alone, but the guise afforded him the barest moment to try to regain some semblance of composure.

The steadying breath he drew was audibly shaky.

After what felt like an age mustering his courage, Alsius returned to Felix’s side, lowering to sit at the edge of the bed. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort you out,” he murmured softly, though he was unsure if the reassurance for Felix’s benefit or his own.

He leaned forward to remove Felix’s hand and assess the damage, however just as his shaky fingertips brushed the back of Felix’s – he hesitated. He blinked and reached out again, only for his fingers to once again twitch away and curl defiantly into his palm.

There was more than a hint of frustration in Alsius’s sigh when he grudgingly compromised with himself. He rested his palm against the back of Felix’s hand as his gaze slowly surveyed the familiar topography of his friend’s face for all traces of primary and secondary injury. He murmured another apology when he lightly pressed his thumb into the side of Felix’s chin and carefully tilted his head to the side. Their hands remained protectively pressed over the wound, but Alsius still thoroughly searched the visible area for residual scorch damage from curses.

Any sort of evidence to restore the cool rationale upon which he so heavily relied.

A useless pursuit, like trying to capture vapour in his hands. The harder he focussed on ticking off a diagnostic checklist, the more each step dispersed into nothingness.

Alsius should just properly inspect the injury.

Alsius should just ask what happened.

It was the standard course of action no matter who found themselves in his care, but his faculties failed him. He shook his head against the internal contradictions: the spine-tingling fear and uncertainty, gut-wrenching anxiety, and the most alarming – the raw, hot sparks of anger that threatened his veins like flame at a fuse. At some point between his runaway thoughts and terrible excuse for a medical assessment, Alsius truly understood what Sebastian described feeling in the catacombs: cold, uncompromising protectiveness that overrode everything else. The ruthless sense of purpose that defied all rational thought was downright unnerving, and for someone as even-tempered as Alsius, its effect was so unsettling that he robbed him of his ability to function normally.

Nothing about it made sense, and it was maddening, but through the haze of it all there was one thing Alsius knew with unwavering certainty.

Felix would be fine because he would do absolutely everything in his power to ensure it.

Still, one question wrapped around his heart like a vice. It was the very first that crossed his mind in the emotional turmoil and the constant catalyst to whatever breakdown he actively tried to stave off.

It was an unrelenting, suffocating pressure that refused to be ignored. There was always the chance that it had been just an accident. Felix was unfortunately clumsy at times, but if this was maliciously inflicted on him…

Alsius didn’t need to know where or why, or what or how. He needed to know who.

And he would deal with that after.

Finally finding some sense of clarity once again, Alsius slowly exhaled into the heavy, ponderous silence as he gently tilted Felix’s face back to centre. When he finally spoke, the calm and even softness of his voice directly contradicted the steely intensity behind his eyes.

“Did someone do this to you?”

[spinzolliii]

DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NO CLUE IF THIS IS MEDICALLY ACCURATE

Something that whump writers don’t consider:

IVs feel cold. Can you imagine a room temperature liquid going directly into the bloodstream of someone who’s 97-104 degrees? It’s hellish. You can’t get warm no matter how much external heat you receive.

Imagine a delirious whumpee whimpering and clawing at an IV while being restrained and reassured by Caretaker.

“No no no, that stays in”

“Hey, hey. I know it hurts, but it’ll help you feel better”

Maybe the whumpee’s hallucinating, thinking that they’re being tortured. When Caretaker’s words fail to get through, they have to use gentle touches and singing. Or, if you want to be mean, you can have the Caretaker being forced to restrain Whumpee to prevent them from hurting themselves until they run out of energy and pass out.

[teratosfavouritesnack]

gyno!lizard man x afab!human - medical kink, gyno checkup, vaginal fingering

You have another gyno appointment today and you're already dripping wet before you even leave your house. It's always so embarrassing to spread your legs wide for your doctor and show him your drenched folds... He must know that you're so wet for him. He must know.

You really can't help it. You get so aroused even just at the thought of him, his long and thick reptile tail sprouting out from his white robe, his large scaly hands spreading you wide and probing at your pussy as he checks that everything's alright. It doesn't help at all that when he sees you enter his study he welcomes you so amicably, greeting you with such a genuine smile - he even called you his favourite patient once, and you're sure you turned into a puddle at once.

He always takes his gloves off when it's your turn because "with human genitalia he can better feel bumps or other anomalies without the gloves on"; you're almost sure that's just bullshit but... you don't care. The rough texture of his fingers rubbing against your sensitive walls makes you feel so fucking good, your whole body tingling in delight... You would never deprive yourself of it.

There's no appointment that ends without you cumming around his fingers at least once. It's just part of the routine, isn't it? He must make sure that everything works as it should. And your cunt works perfectly, oh sure it does. The most perfect and reactive pussy he's ever had the pleasure to take care of. You're his favourite patient for a reason.

I'm already working on a longer fic for this one, let me know if you'd like to be tagged 🫶🏻 [Update, I wrote it. You can read it here]

🪷. You can leave me a tip on ko-fi if you want to support me ♡

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee hasn’t realized they’ve been rescued. They fight the hands trying to stop the bleeding, wich resulted in them also having to hold them down.

Then there’s a voice. A familiar voice that could never be mistaken. Caretaker speaks just loud enough over the shouts saying “Eyes on me, nothing else matters, don’t look at them. Eyes on me.”

They would never see the blood; or how gruesome and horrific their wound actually was. They never saw the faces of the strangers who had no other goal other than keeping them alive. 

They only saw caretaker.  

[suspensefulpen]

Guys I love holiday whump.

It’s like the best combo. It’s supposed to be the happy time of the year. But you can completely ruin it by torturing a poor soul with no remorse.

Take them away from everything they know and love. Make them lonely. Condition them to believe the holidays are the scariest time of the year and that something bad will happen to them if they try to leave. Condition a Scrooge into loving the holidays. Chain them down in Christmas lights. Tie them to a Christmas tree. Burn them with candle wax. Make their loved ones have to see them in a hospital bed with multiple wires attached to them, barely breathing.

I’m not a Scrooge but I need this fr

[loonybun]

Surgical whump prompts!

(req by @i-eat-worlds)

warning some of these will not be medically accurate or possible without an immortal whumpee so ignore that 💖 also sort of more intense gore stuff/me going on several tangents about my favorite pieces of unethical medical history. specific warnings for lobotomies, manipulation, infection, and dismemberment.

- i’ve kind of loved the idea of implanting something silver underneath the skin of a creature that’s weak to it. Every movement causes it to shift and itch and burn even after the skin has healed over

- amputation :) one too many escape attempts? why not make that a little harder? nab a limb every time they try running off. Maybe just start with the fingers or toes and work your way up from there.

- you know what i see a surprising lack of in whump? lobotomies. seriously where are the lobotomies. the lobotomies with long term effects. the lobotomies which a magical regenerative or immortal whumpee could recover from but leaves them scarred for life. In case you’re unaware of what lobotomies actually do to the brain, they essentially shut off your ability to think for yourself. You may still be responsive and you can still follow instructions, but they have to be very specific and step-by-step. (specifically referencing transorbital. there are different kinds with different ranges of damage potential but the transorbital is the most well known. fun fact the guy who invented the transorbital lobotomy rode around in a car he called the lobotomobile. you can’t make this shit up.)

- my love for victorian medical practices is seeping in here but perform a surgery with dull and dirty tools! The crusted blood on the scalpel adds to the effect. Bonus points if it causes a nasty infection

- Circling back to lobotomy-adjacent stuff, have your whumper fuck around with removing non-essential parts of the brain. Get an H.M. situation where you remove their ability to move short-term memories to their long-term bank. Maybe remove the amygdala, too. Or parts of the cerebellum so that they’re all uncoordinated. Not sure just how effective that would be though since I’m pretty sure the cerebellum controls other stuff too.

- leather straps securing them to the table. must i say more.

- also seriously implant devices into them. explosives, a little thing that releases drugs, something that taps into their nerves, etc…

- organ harvesting. classic but hey. i’m a simple man.

- maybe the whumper is a respected surgeon. whumpee goes to whumper for help with a rare medical condition that could maybe be solved through surgery, and instead of immediately helping them whumper keeps them to document their condition, subjecting them to various treatments and vivisections in order to find some way to “help” them. whumpee case studies, folks!

- sorry this is absolutely me sneaking my personal favorite tropes into this post but please dismember your whumpees n put them back together ball jointed doll style. surprise you can’t move on your own anymore but you can still hold a pose! loser.

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

Indestructible characters breaking, my beloved

Give me the "indestructible" character needing medical attention! *cough* MurderBot *cough* They're so unused to pain that when they finally do take a hit that's powerful enough to make them stagger, the whole world tilts on it's damned axis. And of course that leads to further damage, because they're not able to give 100% to the fight. Their reflexes are slower, their endurance draining as steadily as the blood leaking from their body. They should be able to run faster than this, should be able to carry heavier loads, should have steadier aim. They shouldn't be out of breath - shouldn't be sweating - shouldn't feel like their heart was about to collapse in on itself.

And then - then their team rallies. Their vulnerable, soft friends that need to wear stronger armor - armor that makes them slower than they already are. Suddenly gravity is less of a challenge, and they realize (too slowly) that it's because a teammate is on either side of them, helping them remain upright. It doesn't matter how much they demand to know why they're out from cover. No matter how furiously they order their team to fall back, it's as if their orders fall on deaf ears. Either with strength in numbers or sheer luck, the team manages to fend off whatever enemy they were facing long enough to retreat.

Where the indestructible character could have easily carried one of them alone, it takes two teammates just to help them limp to safety. But their feet are too heavy and their head is too light. One of their legs isn't working right and there's a strange tightness in their chest. Something sharp keeps biting into their back and the fabric of their undershirt clings to their skin in too many places. Maybe they stumble, or outright collapse. A third teammate steps in to help carry them. Even then, they need to take turns. By the time they reach relative safety, their healthy complexion has gone ashen.

And it's so, so foreign to be the one at the center of attention. The medic(s) had never worked on them before. They had never had so many hands on them at once, not like this - and certainly not out of concern or urgency. Hands patting their face, stripping armor away, checking their pulse and applying pressure. Their cheeks were damp with a saltiness they could only associate with sweat or blood - certainly not tears. And they still couldn't catch their breath.

All at once, sensation comes crashing into their awareness. And it hurts - it hurts. They grit their teeth against the roar of pain that rises within their chest, but it escapes anyway. More hands clamber to grab ahold of them, only just managing to keep them still. But the pain is still there. Blinding. Nauseating. So powerful that they don't even register the tearful pleas to open their eyes, to 'look at me,' to breathe, to stay awake, to just hold on a little longer. Look at me. Look at me!

This was wrong. They shouldn't be the one being cared for. They shouldn't be surrounded by a blur of familiar faces. They didn't need protecting. They shouldn't be at the center of this guarded circle - shouldn't be guarded by small, vulnerable people. They did the caring. They provided strength when it was needed. They protected. They guarded. They... they had failed.

Give me an indestructible character that, when they break, they shatter.

[jump-in-the-whump]

am I the only one who LOVES starvation whump??? it hits so hard but I can barely find any

Yeahh, this is another big favorite of mine!! Everything about starvation is golden because you can torture your whumpee with so many fun symptoms!!

Hunger is just so powerful, and your whumpee will find themselves empty inside, and this emptiness will eat them out, not only physically (with constant spasm and cramps), but also mentally, they’ll always think about food, consuming each one of their thoughts, dulling every other sensation.

With this insatiable hunger comes the weakness! The whumpee will struggle to move, each step heavier than the last. Their legs and hands will shake uncontrollably, muscles twitching in spasms they won’t control because of exhaustion but also because a strong cold seeping into their bones, and tremors make it difficult to hold any object or to simply stand. Their limbs will feel as though they’re made of lead, weighed down by exhaustion that sleep won’t cure. Their energy is fading, they will know it, and so their body, which was initially begging to be fed, will soon beg for any kind of rest, their brain shutting down, unable to have any single coherent thought.

It’s gonna be difficult to concentrate: names, faces, memories will seem distant, slipping away no matter how hard they try to hold on. When they try to speak, they will often pause, forgetting what they were about to say, the words evaporating before they can form them. Hunger will pull apart the threads of their mind, making them a stranger to their own thoughts.

All these things the whumpee will feel inside, will soon be visible outside, with their cheekbones jutting out sharply, casting shadows on a face that seems to have aged a decade. The skin beneath their eyes will be so dark, bruised, and sunken, their sockets deep and hollow and their lips will be chapped. Their complexion will be an unhealthy, pallid shade, that, together with a haunted look in their eyes, a mixture of desperation and resignation, will make the character guess whether the person they see in the mirror is really them or someone else. And perhaps it is someone else, they will never be them ever again.

Thank you so much for the ask! you're so right, there's not enough starvation writing out there, but i promise i'll try to fix it ;)

[strawberry-cowmilk]

the brothers when mc is sick

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read

content warnings: illness, taking medication, some of the brothers being dramatic and thinking mc is dying

-----

Lucifer

acts like he's not insanely worried (he is)

if you're okay with it he'll move you to his room so its easier for him to keep an eye on you

lucifer will check your temperature every so often and leave medication next to the bed for you

if you want, he'll stay at your bedside until you fall asleep

when you're resting and he's (supposed to be) doing work, he opens the door to the room you're in to check on you every 10 minutes

Mammon

his ddd search history is full off stuff like 'how to cure human fast' 'human has a fever is this bad' 'is my human dying'

he literally doesn't leave your side, unless he's getting you food or something, and mammon will talk about random stuff to keep your mind a little busy

at every little change, mammon almost loses it because of worry

if you bring up how sweet he was to you after you're cured he'll deny everything

Leviathan

it could be something as harmless as a mild cold and levi would be freaking out

if levi looks up 'signs a human is dying' and something like coughing is listed as a symptom, he will nearly call an ambulance every time you cough (even though he knows it's probably nothing but still)

levi really wants to stay near you the whole time but he feels like it might be awkward, so he just leaves all his anime merch plushies, pillows and blankets in your room instead

Satan

he's actually kind of calm, he makes sure you're hydrated and are taking medication to help fight the illness

satan will get worried if your sickness lasts for a while or if any fevers are hard to get down though

if you want company he'll read you books but don't tell anyone about that please (he's embarrassed)

if you seem to be getting a little better he'll take you to the balcony for some fresh air

Asmodeus

he calls solomon in panic every time he's worried about something, like how high can a human fever be before it gets dangerous? how to get a human fever down fast? how much paracetamol can you give a human?

asmo is worried you might hurt your throat from all the coughing, so he gives you plenty of tea with honey

when he is sick, he'd prefer it if somebody stayed near him, so he does just that for you

Beelzebub

worried to the point he wants to stay in your bed and hold you until you feel better

he will be extra worried if your appetite is severely decreased, he has to look up how to make light meals you can eat

if he has any questions he will text solomon for help and advice, after all he is a human too maybe he'd be of good help

if you feel bad again after you almost recovered beel might actually call a doctor

Belphegor

when he's sick he just tries to sleep it off, so he encourages you to do the same

he will be awake and holding a damp cloth to your forehead the entire time though

belphie has a little trouble falling asleep knowing you're sick, he knows how fragile humans can be what if you die

he will get mad at anyone who dares disturb you when you're recovering (mammon walked into the room while belphie was looking after you and he wasn't happy)

[unforgivenn]

16th HOUR — #5: Marked for sale

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: dehumanization, captivity, non-con medical procedures, implied threats of sexual violence, physical restraint, psychological torment

The room was stark, bathed in harsh white light that bounced off the gleaming surfaces and sterile instruments. The antiseptic smell was overpowering, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood that Samuel had begun to associate with his new reality.

Two technicians, masked and gloved, awaited him with cold, clinical efficiency. They moved with practiced precision, their expressions hidden behind masks, their eyes detached and impersonal.

"Strip," one of them ordered, the command devoid of emotion. Samuel hesitated, a flush of humiliation rising in his cheeks.

"W-What..?"

The technician's eyes narrowed, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. "Now."

When Samuel only returned a glare, the technician sighed. He flinched as his hands were seized and his clothes were roughly removed, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. He tried to shield himself with his arms, but the guards were relentless, their hands unyielding as they forced him to the table.

"STOP! LET GO!!" His lips were trembling, his mind going insane with the thoughts of what they were going to do to him. "D-Don't do it please..."

This was it. They were going to do the thing he had been fearing since the moment he got here. He was going to be raped. Or maybe even worse.

The men laughed only adding to Samuel's confusion and his tears. "Hey now. There's no fun in having a used toy y'know. Your owner could do those things you have going on in your dirty little mind later."

"N-No.. I wasn't- I.." Samuel's cheeks flushed in embarrassed and he only continued struggling wishing that would somehow fit the hole of what he was trying to say.

One of the guards were going to smack him on the face, before the other stopped him. Samuel flinched, kind of surprised there was someone with even a tad bit of humanity left in them.

That innocent thinking was gone soon enough though when the other spoke to the guard.

"We need him to be in his best condition. I don't think he'll be looking presentable with a damn bruise on his face." He said with a scowl, which Samuel could make out was half directed towards him. The guard only rolled his eyes before forcing him on the table.

Restraints snapped around his wrists and ankles, pinning him down. He struggled, panic surging through him, but the bonds were unyielding.

The other technician approached with a handheld scanner, its screen flickering to life as it passed over Samuel's body. "Subject 42, S class," he read aloud, his tone monotonous. "Begin prep for auction."

Auction. The word sent a chill down Samuel's spine, a reminder of the dehumanizing fate that awaited him. He would be paraded before the highest bidders, reduced to a mere commodity in a world that saw him as less than human.

He had wanted nothing more than to kick these bastard's faces and ask them what the actual fuck was wrong with them? But now he was the one being asked these questions.

As the technicians began their work, Samuel's mind drifted back to his life before the classification, when he was simply Samuel—a boy with dreams, friends, and a future. The memories felt like fragments of a distant past, slipping through his fingers like sand.

One of the technicians roughly grabbed his arm, inserting an intravenous line with ease. The cool rush of fluids coursing through his veins brought him back to the present, a stark reminder of his reality.

"Hold still," the technician muttered, adjusting the flow. Samuel winced at the sharp sting, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he fought to suppress the rising panic. He was determined to retain some sense of control, even in the face of overwhelming fear.

The other technician approached with a tray of instruments, their metallic surfaces gleaming ominously under the fluorescent lights. Samuel's breath hitched as he recognized some of the tools—restraints, measuring devices, and branding irons.

"Prepare the restraints," one technician instructed, his voice cutting through Samuel's thoughts. They moved with efficient brutality, securing his limbs to the cold metal frame that dominated the center of the room. Samuel's skin prickled against the unyielding surface, the restraints biting into his flesh.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his breathing steady. The technicians worked in silence, their actions methodical and detached, their faces masks of indifference.

"Subject 42, ready for inspection," one of them announced, stepping back to assess their work. Samuel lay splayed on the table, his body exposed and vulnerable, a living testament to the cruelty of the system that had condemned him.

The door to the room opened with a hiss, and a figure entered—a man in a tailored suit, his presence exuding an air of authority. Samuel's pulse quickened as the man's gaze swept over him, appraising him with a calculated detachment.

"Excellent," the man said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "He'll fetch a high price."

Samuel's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He was being evaluated like livestock, his worth determined by the whims of those who saw him as nothing more than property. The indignity of it all burned within him, a simmering rage that threatened to consume him.

The man approached, his fingers brushing over Samuel's branded skin, tracing the letters that marked him as property. Samuel fought the urge to recoil, his muscles tensing under the man's touch.

"Don't worry," the man said, his voice a mockery of reassurance. "You'll find a good home. Someone will take care of you."

Samuel's eyes blazed with defiance, a fire that refused to be extinguished. "I'm not a pet," he spat, the words laced with venom. "I'm a person."

The man chuckled, a low, condescending sound. "Not anymore," he replied, his tone dripping with arrogance. "You're whatever we say you are."

The technician injected something into Samuel's IV line, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. His vision blurred, the edges of the room growing hazy as the sedative took effect. He struggled to hold onto consciousness, to maintain his grip on reality, but it slipped through his grasp like water.

As the world faded to black, Samuel clung to a single, burning thought—a promise to himself and to the others who suffered alongside him. He would survive. He would endure. And one day, he would reclaim his humanity from those who sought to strip it away.

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

Samuel awoke in a dimly lit room, the sterile white replaced by a more subdued, yet equally oppressive, atmosphere. His head throbbed, the remnants of the sedative lingering in his system. He tried to move, but the restraints held him firmly in place.

He was no longer alone. The figures whispered among themselves sending shivers down Samuel's spine.

"Look at this one," one of them said, his voice dripping with curiosity. "Quite a specimen, isn't it?"

Another figure approached, leaning over Samuel with an appraising gaze. "Indeed. It'll be a popular choice."

He didn't know what was more scary. The fact that these people were calling him an 'it' or the fact these people were staring at him like they were ready to tear him apart.

Samuel's heart raced, panic rising in his chest. He was being inspected, evaluated like a piece of merchandise. The reality of his situation settled over him like a suffocating blanket, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of despair.

The figures moved with unsettling precision, their hands tracing over his body, noting every detail. Samuel clenched his jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

"Prepare him for display," one of them ordered, stepping back. "The auction is about to begin."

Samuel's stomach churned at the words. Display. Auction. He was about to be paraded before a crowd of potential buyers, his fate determined by the highest bidder. The thought made him sick, a wave of nausea washing over him.

They worked quickly, removing the restraints and lifting him onto his feet. Samuel's legs wobbled, weakened by the drugs and the strain of his ordeal. He stumbled, but a firm hand caught him, steadying him with a rough grip.

"Stand up straight," the figure commanded, their tone harsh and unforgiving. "You need to make a good impression."

"And if I don't?" The words slipped past his lips before he could realize. The man only leaned in close to his ear, and Samuel couldn't suppress the flinch that went through him.

"Well then, we have some other measures to make you listen as well. Surely you wouldn't like your head to be dipped underwater continuously until you become obedient, would you?" What scared Samuel more was the smile maintained on the man's face while he spoke.

Samuel gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand tall despite the trembling in his limbs. Just how sadistic were each one of these bastards?

They dressed him in simple, clean clothes and moisturized his skin making it glow. The fabric felt foreign against his skin and the moisturizer only itched him. They groomed him meticulously, every detail attended to with an almost obsessive precision.

His hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were snapped with cuffs tight enough so that he could walk but wont be able to run.

"It's ready," one of them said, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

"I'm not an 'it'"

"Shush. Now listen. You will keep your head down throughout the auction. You will only speak when spoken to. You will not struggle or fight. You will not be defiant. And you will behave. If we get any trouble because of you, I swear to gods I will make you regret it."

What the lady said basically went through one ear and out the other. Before he could question anymore, he was pushed to a large wooden door.

What was up with these people and their obsession with pushing?

The door opened, and Samuel was led down a corridor lined with ornate decorations that seemed out of place in such a grim setting.

They reached a set of heavy curtains, the barrier between Samuel and his uncertain future. He could hear the murmur of voices beyond, the eager anticipation of those who awaited the auction.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the blood rush to his ears. He was on the bound of a panic attack. After going through so much, now he was scared?

The man beside him gave a final, appraising look before nodding. "Do as you're told, and you might just survive."

Samuel swallowed hard, his mouth dry with fear. The curtains began to part, revealing the crowd beyond. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his breathing steady steeling himself for what lay ahead.

As the curtains fully opened, the auctioneer's voice boomed through the room, welcoming the eager bidders. Samuel stepped forward, the weight of a thousand eyes upon him, each one assessing, judging, determining his worth.

One day, he would reclaim his freedom from the chains that bound him. For now, he would play their game, but he would never forget who he truly was.

The auction had begun, and Samuel's fate hung in the balance, but his spirit remained unbroken, a beacon of resilience in the face of overwhelming darkness as bids began storming in.

Next

Reblogs are appreciated

PS- Guys, I'm actually really busy nowadays, and my writing asks have been storming in. Especially for BTBH. Asks are still open, and I will be answering those asks, but I can't confirm that it'll be soon.

Taglist: @electrons2006/ @anutz1234/ @ash-reh/ @whumped-by-glitter/ @catnykit/ @morning-star-whump/ @paperprinxe/ @octopus-reactivated/ @whumpdemonium/ @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees/ @noeul-whumpppss

@whumpifi/ @fable-bug-real/ @cheesemctoastnuggets/ @deputydeputyp/ @thelazywitchphotographer/ @isntthisblank/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234

@nuriiz134/ @fox-fox234/ @carosbee/ @writingphoenix @carolinethedragon/ @possumhoe/ @evagran/ @somebody327/ @someoneoninternettt/ @classyanchorlove/ @kiratheperson/ @boahamcock/ @pyromaiow/ @imarandomgamer/ @edward-mybeloved/ @skribl/ @aleki-lives-here/ @roskarovio/ @pentagramstars/ @ossknsma/ @abbyreader23/ @cluelesscameraman/ @alphabet-egg/ @cheesemctoastnuggets/ @deputydeputyp/ @thelazywitchphotographer/ @isntthisblank/@demetercabingreen-thumb/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234/ @electrons2006/ @demetercabingreen-thumb/ @vampiresprite

(let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)

[cravesunconditionallove]

Something about a character clearly in agony, but too exhausted to scream, to cry, to voice it anymore, really gets to me. This was awfully lovely to write.

[spinzolliii]

I’m curious. For those of you in the whump community

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Merry Whumpmas 2023 Day 31: Free Day

And... that's a wrap for Whumpmas 2023! Thanks for reading my contributions, I'll see you all in the New Year!

This is the third (and final) part of a hero x villain story that I accidentally created during Whumpmas. (edit: I lied. there's more)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Hero x Villain Masterpost

TW: blood, surgery, medical staples, referenced abuse, painkillers

Hero was lying on the couch in Villain’s safe house, staring at the ceiling and impatiently waiting for painkillers to kick in, when the door burst open. Villain stumbled inside, covered in blood. Hero shot to their feet from the couch, gritting their teeth against the pain caused by the movement. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Villain bolted the door and leaned heavily against it, breathing raggedly. “Yeah,” they mumbled, pulling off their mask and tossing it onto the nearest surface, “I’m fine.”

“But you’re covered in blood!” Hero protested, anxiously following them into the makeshift surgery room, the original purpose of which they hadn’t yet discovered. Hero stared in horror at the rips on the back of Villain’s suit, revealing the deep cuts underneath.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Villain muttered, rummaging through their medical supplies in search of something. “And it’s not all my blood.”

“You need stitches—”

“On my back? It’ll be fine, I just need a mirror.” Villain held up a medical staple gun. “I’ve done this before. Hurts like hell, but works just as well as stitches in a pinch.”

Hero wordlessly turned on their heel and left the surgery room. Snatching the bottle of painkillers off the small table by the couch, Hero returned and held it out to Villain.

Villain took the pill bottle and set down the staple gun to take the medication. “Thanks,” they said softly, shaking out what was probably more than the recommended dosage and swallowing it dry. They winced and made a face. “Think I might have bruised ribs, too.”

“Sit down,” Hero ordered, picking up the medical staple gun. “I can do it.”

Villain frowned. “You sure? You’re still not a hundred percent—”

Hero shook their head adamantly, ignoring how the movement jarred their own injuries. “I’ll have a better angle than you and your mirror contraption. You don’t need to do everything yourself.”

“Oh…” Villain said softly. They boosted themself onto the table and sucked a deep breath in through their teeth. “I guess… I guess you’re right.” 

Hero took a second to clean their hands and put on gloves before they moved behind them and picked up a clean alcohol wipe. “This is gonna sting, but I need to get rid of all this blood.”

They didn’t miss how Villain’s hands curled into fists as they wiped away the blood from the scratches. “How’d you encounter my team, anyway? Did they come to you?”

“Yeah…” Villain hissed through gritted teeth. “Just two of them. Not the fire one, thankfully. I hate fighting them. It was the one who can turn into different animals and the one who has the sound… gun… thing…?”

Hero positioned the head of the stapler in the center of the first of the cuts on Villain’s back. “Guess that’s where you got the scratches?”

“Cor—” Villain began just as Hero pulled the trigger. They yelped, flinching away from Hero. They glared over their shoulder. “Now that’s just mean.”

Hero shrugged. “I didn’t want you to tense up. Get back here, I gotta put one more in that cut and then another two in the other one.”

Villain closed their eyes and pressed the heels of their hands against them. They breathed slowly, purposefully, until they removed their hands and moved back towards Hero. “Alright,” they mumbled, fingers gripping the table's edge so hard, the knuckles turned white. “Fire away.”

Once the first staple was in, the rest of them went in swiftly. Villain flinched away every time, but only a few seconds later would order Hero to put the next one in. Finally, Hero had Villain pull off the top part of their suit so they could cover the cuts in bandages. Villain kept their eyes forward throughout the process, but Hero didn’t miss how their cheeks flushed when they removed their shirt.

“Okay,” Hero said, removing their gloves, “I’m done.”

Villain slowly pushed themselves off the table, wincing at the pain the movement caused. “Oh… that’s gonna bug me for a while.”

“Will your part of the city be all right?” Hero asked anxiously, wondering what would happen if their team decided to invade while Villain was recovering.

Villain waved their hand dismissively. “Yeah, they can handle themselves. I think I threw your old team off your trail by acting all annoyed that they’d showed up and really playing up the whole ‘sworn nemesis’ deal we had going.”

“Oh…” Hero said softly. “And they fought you anyway?”

“They didn’t take too kindly to my very reasonable request that they’d leave me the hell alone. Sure, I got all scratched up but I shot your shapeshifter buddy in both legs and broke the other one’s sound gun so I don’t think those one’s’ll be coming after us anytime soon.”

“Did they ask about Whumper? About how… you killed them?”

Villain smirked. “Nope! I forgot to tell you about this earlier, but I moved the body to the complete opposite side of the city from us. If anything, they probably think you killed them.”

Hero stared at them for a long few seconds. “I…” they stammered, trying to gather their thoughts, “I… why are you doing all this?”

Villain blinked. “Huh?”

“Saving me, stitching up my wounds, throwing off my other teammates, letting me stay at your safehouse…” Hero’s vision blurred as tears began to drip down their face. “I… what have I done to deserve all this? You’re risking everything for me, and I don’t have anything to give you in return….”

“Oh, Hero…” Villain murmured. They took Hero’s hand. 

Hero froze, gazing down at it in surprise. 

“I saved you,” Villain said, “because it was the right thing to do. You would’ve died in that alley from Whumper, so I took you to safety. I stitched up your injuries because you would’ve died from infection. And I’m letting you stay here because out there, those bastards would just recapture you again.”

“What…” Hero whispered, “What are you saying?”

Villain smiled. A soft, genuine smile. “I care about you, Hero. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I abandoned you.”

More tears began to well up. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “I…” Hero stammered, heart racing, “I care about you too. Please… please don’t get yourself killed trying to protect me. I don’t know… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Me neither,” Villain murmured, a dark look crossing their face. “Me neither.”

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

a tortured whumpee with a collar around their throat, but the catch is that the collar is made of barbed wire, and there’s a chain strapped to the collar. the chain is hung from the ceiling. so whumpee is forced to be standing upright all the time, with their feet barely touching the ground. and the collar is actively cutting into their skin every time they breathe.

they’ve been in that position for so long until caretaker eventually finds and rescues them. 

by the time caretaker cuts the chain, whumpee immediately falls limply to the ground, unmoving. 

when caretaker slowly and carefully pries the barbed wire, that has cut deep into whumpee’s skin, from whumpee’s throat, whumpee is barely responsive. they only occasionally let out a weak whimper when it hurts too much.

the extent of the damage depends on how long the collar was strapped around whumpee’s neck, but it can result in necrotic tissue, infection, odor, etc. overall, the whumpee’s road to recovery will not be pretty.

[jordanstrophe]

An unqualified caretaker who has to preform life saving treatment on whumpee while they have zero anesthesia or any way of blocking pain aside from a belt to bite down on.

[thatgenderfluidmonstrosity]

Something I learned today in Anatomy/Physiology Class:

If you cut/damage the Broca’s Area in the brain (which controls speech/articulation of language) you will not be able to form speech correctly/at all

There was one case of this happening (forgot who exactly) but he was trained to sing instead, because it uses a different part of your vocals. Other than that, he couldn’t actually speak regularly.

Anyway- singer/performer whumpee who had this kind of accident or forced surgery, and can’t even rely on singing for help

Bonus points on if they didn’t really know how to sing that well because punishments for “not trying hard enough” are so whidjjwxnje