#whump cyoa

[whumpy-wyrms]

The Last Lab Rat CYOA #4

tllr au masterlist | tllr masterlist

content: second person pov, home invasion, manhandling, drugging, gag, restraints, kidnapping, creepy whumper

You chose: Fight! Struggle! There are knives over there on the counter, grab them!

— 

Fuck it. He broke into your home, it only makes sense for you to fight back. Good thing you’re in the kitchen, because a few knives are sitting in the knife block on the counter across from you. You finally have a chance to defend yourself, you have to take it.

You wrench your head to the side, getting away from whatever was about to poke into your neck, and you push away from him with all your strength.

But you get nowhere.

“Feisty one,” he lets out an amused chuckle. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You ignore his words and elbow him hard in the ribs. You’re flailing and thrashing, moving around too much for whatever he was about to do to you. With a deep breath, you bite the hand covering your mouth and he gasps in surprise, flinching back, giving you just enough room for you to stagger away from him.

He regains his composure quickly. “Hey, I wouldn’t step on that ankle if I were you. It looks bad.”

You don’t care. But you should’ve, because this time, your body can’t ignore the pain any longer. The last step you take, your ankle gives out and sends you collapsing to the floor. You cry out in agony, chest heaving in and out in a panic. You sit there, unable to get up, well aware that your attacker is coming towards you. As you scramble away from him, legs sliding against the floor, your back hits the cabinets. You turn around, vision tunneled. The knives are close. Your phone is close. Get to your phone. Get to the kni—

As you reach towards the counter above you, your wrist is grabbed in a firm but gentle grip.

You whirl around and look up at the man standing over you. Your horrified eyes are wide and panicked as you get a clear view of what the man is holding in his other hand.

It’s a syringe.

There’s nowhere to run. You’re cornered.

He kneels down and before you can react, he takes your other wrist in his hand, firmly holding both your arms away from him. Your struggles lead you nowhere.

Tears burn in your eyes as you feel a sharp sting in your neck, injecting whatever was in there directly into your bloodstream. You let out a pained whine. It hurts. You don’t want this.

You scream for help. It only lasts a second before he drops the now empty syringe and clasps a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhh, be quiet,” the stranger says. “Relax. It’s okay.”

You can’t, you can’t. This can’t be happening! You writhe against him, kicking out, trying to desperately pull your arms free but you can’t. 

“You’re only tiring yourself out. Just relax.”

You shake your head rapidly, getting hit with a wave of dizziness. You don’t care! You need to get away!

But you’re so tired. There’s a foggy feeling in your head. You blink, unable to shake the feeling. Your limbs are suddenly heavier and your movements are growing clumsy and weak.

Before you know it, your struggles die down and your body weakly slumps against him. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

“Good, that’s it. There you go.”

He takes his hand off your mouth and you can’t seem to muster up the energy to use your voice. You stare at him in defeat, looking up at his unnaturally green eyes that are staring down at you. A soft expression crosses his face, and he pets your head gently, hand carding through your hair, before turning around and grabbing something from behind him.

You shift uncomfortably where you lay on the floor, now slouched against the cabinets behind you. Whatever drug that was injected into your system is working fast, and you let out quiet sobs as you feel your body weaken further. Your breathing slows. Your eyelids feel heavy. You can barely move no matter how much you try.

He turns around. It’s too dark to see what he’s holding now; you can barely keep your eyes open. You feel a few strips of duct tape being taped over your mouth and smoothed over with his palm. 

You whimper through the gag, crying out as loud as you can despite the drowsiness overtaking you.

“Shhh. Stay still. It’s okay.”

None of this is okay. You don’t want this. You just wanna hide in your room and curl up in a ball where it’s safe.

He turns you around and your arms are pulled behind your back. Itchy rope rubs against your skin as it’s coiled tightly around your wrists, effectively restraining you. He grabs your legs, careful to avoid touching your sprained ankle, and you’re not strong enough to kick out anymore. He ties up your legs, and you’re completely restrained. You can’t escape.

Suddenly your eyelids are heavier than before. You don’t remember shutting your eyes. You slowly blink them open. But still… darkness. Oh, he’s tying a blindfold around your head. You barely noticed it.

You can’t see what he’s doing anymore, not like you could very well before in the dark anyway. You feel like you’re floating. Since when were you being carried in his arms?

Everything’s foggy, far away. You can’t keep track of the sounds around you, the direction he’s taking you. But you feel the breeze of fresh air on your skin. You’re not in your home anymore.

He gently sets you down somewhere small and enclosed. It almost feels cozy, warm…

Until a loud noise above you knocks you out of your thoughts. The sound of a car door closing. No, a trunk of a car. He stuffed you in the fucking trunk of his car.

You weakly kick out against it with your little remaining strength, crying out through the gag while the engine starts up and you feel the car start driving, gravel rumbling under the tires.

Realization finally sets in. This is it. He got you. The weird stranger who was following you home was now driving you off to who-knows-where, to do who-knows-what to you. You fought so hard, but he didn’t even break a sweat. You never stood a chance. There’s nothing you can do now. He has you.

You’re so tired. You can’t keep your eyes open any longer. You curl up in a ball, ignoring the discomfort, and your eyelids flutter shut. You finally drift off into unconsciousness while the man drives you further and further away from your home and into the unknown.

. . .

Eventually, you stir, waking up to darkness. It takes a little while for you to remember what happened, but you realize as soon as you feel the rumbling of the car all around you, and feel the rope digging into your skin. You’re still in the trunk.

Not for long, though. Only a few moments later, the car comes to a stop, and silence fills the air. It seems like you woke up just in time. Wherever the stranger was taking you, you’ve arrived.

Footsteps echo through the air and the trunk is opened, letting fresh air into the stuffy trunk. You tentatively move your body, but you’re still weak and stiff. You were out cold for longer than you thought you were.

“Ah. You’re awake.”

“Mmmf…” You whimper softly, barely audible. You still feel groggy, lightheaded, somewhere else. You can’t see where the stranger is, as your world is still filled with the darkness of the blindfold. You curl up deeper into a ball, making yourself small seems to be the only thing you can do at this point, and there's no use struggling when your body is weak and restrained.

“Aww,” the stranger coos above you. “It’s okay. Don’t be scared.”

His hands come down to wrap around your body, gently but firmly hefting you up into his arms, and holding you close. You freeze, unable to tell what was happening or what he was going to do to you. You feel the soft breeze in the air flowing through your hair as he starts walking, closing the trunk behind him.

There’s not much you can do now but wait, unable to see or move, you pay attention to what you can hear. He carries you up some steps, and through a door. It shuts behind you both. He shushes you when you cry as you are carried down and down and down more stairs, the air cooling around you. You can’t keep track of where he’s taking you, it all feels like a blur.

A sudden light flows through the fabric of the blindfold. You shiver. More steps, another click of a door shutting behind you, and you’re gently set down on something soft, your body melting into it.

“Okay,” he says, voice rumbling through your ears. “Let’s get you out of all this.”

Gentle fingers peel the blindfold from your eyes, and light fills your vision. You notice you’re in a small room, all white walls and bright fluorescent lights shining above you. The bed you’re sitting on is soft and warm, despite how much it reminds you of a hospital bed. You’re still restrained, your arms held firmly behind your back by the rope that’s now digging into your wrists, and your legs are still tied together. Your head is becoming clearer, and you look up at the stranger standing over you with wide, terrified eyes.

“Hi.” He’s smiling wide, as if he’s giddy with excitement. His hood is down now, and you can finally see him clearly. There’s a white streak through his short, slick black hair that falls out in all directions. His unnaturally bright green eyes bore into you. Despite the situation, his expression almost seems warm, kind.

“Mmh,” you squeak out a broken whimper. How casual he’s being about all this fills you with unease.

He takes a step towards you, and you flinch back violently, yelling through the gag in a panic.

“Shh, calm down, I’m just gonna help you out of this. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You don't believe him, but you do your best to calm down anyway, trying to steady your breathing and think smart about this. You look around the room more closely. There’s really nothing else here but a small nightstand to your left. There’s a door straight ahead, and a surveillance camera above it— the exit, you presume. There’s another door on the left wall, but it’s slightly open. The wall to your right is entirely made out of glass, and looking through it, there seems to be some sort of…

Laboratory?

You look back at him, not sure if you’re more or less calm than you were before, but he seems satisfied. He reaches toward you and you try not to flinch away this time.

He brings a hand to your face and rips the duct tape off, you yelp at the pain, and he winces and murmurs a quick apology.

You glare at him, but can’t hide your obvious fear seeping across your features. You tremble under his gaze.

“If I untie you, you’ll behave, right?”

next

— 

LAB TIMEEE

taglist: @creppersfunpalooza @whumpsday @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @inkwell-and-dagger @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@vidawhump @bottlecapreader @whumpinthepot @lumpywhump

let me know if you want to be removed or added to the taglist!

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA 27

CW for the series | Masterlist

You chose to take Whumpee on an outing.

“Whumpee,” you start, “I’d like to take you outside. And not just to the backyard. I was thinking a walk around the neighborhood. Can I trust you not to…get me in trouble?” They acted trustworthy before, when they kept quiet with your friend over, so you believe you can trust them again. But this is a new level of freedom and opportunity, so you’d like to make sure.

They nod. “Yes,” they say, voice soft but not weak.

“And are you ready for that?”

“Yes,” they say again. “I would really like that.”

“Okay. Let’s go, shall we?”

You bring them outside—out the front this time, where there’s sidewalk leading away from the house and no tall fence enclosure to keep the two of you hidden.

Whumpee gawks a little. It’s understandable; they haven’t seen a space this open in a long time.

You let them pick a direction, and start walking down the block, side by side. Whumpee enjoys the fresh air, the sunlight, and the birds that occasionally fly by or sing from the trees. You enjoy seeing their renewed wonder at a world that you’ve taken for granted but that they’ve spent too long cooped up away from.

They don’t shout or make a break for it. It seems you’ve succeeded in building up a trust that goes both ways. You make it back home without any incidents.

Whumpee looks a little regretful that it’s over. You promise them they’ll have the chance to stroll the streets again before too long, which cheers them up and earns you one of those smiles you’ve learned to value from them.

What you don’t tell them is that you’re not sure whether that chance will be with you again.

It’s time to make a choice. Whumpee has come a long way. As far as you’re able to tell, they’ve gotten through the biggest parts of the recovery you decided to help them with when you first brought them out of the basement. Whumpee is about ready to go back to whatever life they had before. Still, you can't help but wonder if…maybe they didn't have much to go back to. No one came looking for them in all the time you’ve had them, after all.

Taglist:

@kabie-whump, @whumpanthems, @whumpsoda, @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz, 

@taterswhump, @alivenova, @whumped-by-glitter, @expressionless-fr, @whumpycries, 

@whumpsday, @moons-cozy-corner, @echo-goes-aaa, @whumplr-reader, @starfields08000, 

@whump-blog, @ivymyers, @currentlyinthesprial, @lumpofsand, @coffin-hopping, 

@ragin-cajun-fangirl, @catnykit, @indigoviolet311, @dragongodryss, @kira-the-whump-enthusiast,

@risk606, @natthebatt, @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94, @whatwhump, @venusski

@hermitcrabs-1,  @croixph, @mj-or-say10, @kawaii-cakes, @gevwer,

@fourwingedwriter, @turtlesnap1

[oliversrarebooks]

Brainwashing Chair CYOA - Arrival

tw: kidnapping, restraints, conditioning

Previously and previously

Masterlist Next

You chose: defiant, fighting tooth and nail and cheerful pet training facility

You can see the pet training facility from the window of the van. It's a deceptively cheerful looking place, a modern building with big, sunlit windows and flowering bushes. You see an ordinary looking couple heading in the front door, excited and happy.

You're not going to be brought in the front door, of course. They're not going to drag you past the showroom or the play area or the accessory shop or the pet grooming stations. That might disturb the customers looking to adopt a new pet, remind them where their pets are coming from. That won't be tolerated.

So you're not surprised when the van turns from the entrance to drive around the back, into a dingier area where trucks are making deliveries. You're a delivery yourself, you suppose. The zip ties around your wrists and ankles chafe, and the gag in your mouth is coated with your saliva. The man in a smart looking uniform next to you is scrolling on his phone, not paying you any mind. It's just another workday for him. Just another workday taking a new pet to their fate.

But his ordinary workday might just be the end of your life as you knew it. 

Masterlist Next

[inkwell-and-dagger]

HTKAI CYOA

Part One.

|| next ||

—> —> —> —> —> —>

Immortals.

Those with the unnatural ability to surpass the regular limits of the human body, able to endure even the most lethal of wounds, able to heal from injuries with an uncanny speed, fall under this title.

But it wasn't as if they were particularly sought after. Unlike other, more mythical beings that plagued the world, they were treated normally.

Hell, if you were to pass one in the street, they'd look like any normal passerby. Just a regular person, unless one would happen to witness their healing process or uncanny ability to walk off lethal injuries themselves.

One of these Immortals is you.

—> —> —>

The bar bustles with activity; the soft drone of voices, the cheers and commentary of a football game playing on a television, glasses colliding with a gentle clink.

You've only recently moved near Durham, and found this quaint little pub to unwind in the evening, perhaps get acquainted with your surroundings.

But god, it was hard to unwind with all this racket.

You swirl your drink in your glass, watching the ice chink against the side. There was no point getting anything stronger; the only one driving you home tonight was yourself, after all.

The chatter of the pub drones on, and suddenly this place wasn't as relaxing as you'd previously made it out to be.

Maybe you just needed a breather. The air was thick and your senses were being all but assaulted by everything going on. A group of men nearby jeer at the television.

There was a woman a few seats to your left, chatting idly with a bartender. Curled, ebony black hair frames a face of rich brown, freckled skin and a scrutinising gaze. As she drums her fingers against the bartop, the other resting below her chin, you notice a faint, thin scar running across her bottom lip, and another splitting her brow. The bartender refills her glass, seeming flustered, before they walk off.

“Hey,” You lean over to her; and she turns to look at you. “Sorry to bother, but can you watch my drink for me?”

The woman smiles, and gives a nod. “Of course. I understand.” Her voice is smooth and accented, faintly Russian. She seems to recognise you, but you don't recognise her. Strange, but maybe you're just not thinking straight.

You smile back and thank her, to which she nods once more and pulls your glass besides her own. With that, you grab your bag and jacket and weave past people to get to the door. The interaction went surprisingly well; at least you don't have to worry about anyone tinkering with your drink.

The woman watches you go.

—> —> —>

As soon as you exit, the wintry air outside hits your face, refreshing albeit frigid. It had just stopped raining; the fine scent of petrichor was a welcome change to the muggy air of the pub. You breathe deeply, either to savour the smell or calm yourself down.

It was much quieter out here; just what you needed.

You move out of the way of the entrance and lean against the brick wall of the pub. Cars pass you by, their headlights gleaming ahead like keen, peering eyes in the night. The quiet chatter from inside momentarily amplifies as someone swings the door open and enters.

Passersby pay you no mind; at least, most of them. One of them who had emerged from a nearby carpark, a shorter lad in a thick black hoodie, gave you a second glance as they passed. That same strange gleam of recognition you saw in the woman's eyes returned; although this time reflected in a steely gaze of dull grey and sky blue.

You meet their eye momentarily, enough for a feeling of unease to settle on your mind and a shiver to snake down your spine. The cars, the street, the pub fades away from your vision, replaced with a fog-like darkness.

Just then, they turn away once more, and the feeling dissipates as if it were never there. They walk onwards, and turn sharply across a nearby corner. The street swims back into view.

Strange. Perhaps you’re overthinking; people stare, you can't change that. You'll never meet these people again — the woman in the bar and the stranger passing by — so what was the point of dwelling on the tiniest interactions you have with them?

Checking the time, you're mildly surprised to see it was already 10pm. It feels like you've only just gotten here. But, a nagging feeling in the back of your mind says to go home, which was, admittedly, a pretty good idea.

So, you re-enter the pub begrudgingly, and immediately the noise assaults your ears. Bloody hell; you bet they're enjoying themselves, but couldn't they at least not give you tinnitus in the process?

You return to the bar, thank the woman once more with a smile before finishing the remains of your drink. She insists that she'll take your glass with her own; how kind.

The cold night air greets you with open arms. Shrugging your jacket on and shoving your hands into its pockets. Your bag over your shoulder, you walk down the wet, puddled street to the car park beside the pub.

You pass the same alleyway the strange young man had gone down prior. It's dark and, before you realise, a hand is looped around your neck and you're dragged into the alley.

A hand clamps over your mouth, muffling a strangled cry. The hand on your neck removes, to instead be replaced with the cold, sharp blade of a knife.

“Shut the fuck up and do as I say if you don't want one of your little Immortal lives to be lost,” A voice sneered into your ear, strained and tense, lilted with a thick British accent.

Crap. You have a knife to the throat and nothing to protect yourself with. Whether this is a simple robbery or something else, you are unsure.

—> —> —> —> —> —> —> —> —>

AAUSJFHJ LETS FUCKING GO YALL. CYOA CHAPT 1. thank you all for being so patient with me these last few months regarding my writing ♥️♥️♥️

I'm not bothered to re-read this so sorry if there's any mistakes

HTKAI Taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @whumpy-wyrms @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox @vidawhump

@whumpinthepot

[whumpinthepot]

Hamster Interactive Story

Chapter 8. Threat

Prev - Masterlist

Content: CYOA format, poll options, Being watched, physical restraint, verbal threats, cages, pet trope, Giant/Tiny, Selective Mutism, poor vision, drug mention (in poll), no medication for pain, fear for ones life, dehumanization, female cast, ableism,

Pov: Hamster, then switches to Ashley for the poll.

Poll winner: Rub your eyes and crawl closer to see if they’re real

—-

You rub your eyes and clumsily crawl closer to the blurry image that stands across the bars. You fall into your shoulder a couple of times but lucky enough the padding in the cage cushions any pain it might have caused. The figure does look like one of Ashley’s prop dolls, and you start to relax. 

Until it talks- “You really are blind, aren’t you, Pet?” 

You scream immediately, kicking backwards from reflex, and the voice becomes shrill, “Hey! Shut up- Stop screaming!” The figure is opening the cage now to get to you. They force the door to stay ajar by shoving a pencil into it. 

They storm towards you, and you don’t stop screaming. In fact you scream more from terror. Until he’s shoving a hand against your mouth and you’re face to face with someone who is the same size as you, “Stop screaming before something bad happens to both of us!” His hand shoves against your lips, and grinds flesh into your teeth. It hurts, and you want it to stop. 

You stop screaming in hopes he’ll let go of you. It doesn’t stop the tears though, and when he takes his hand away you continue to back up to distance yourself from him. 

The man closes the distance and towers over you, “Does the human know about me?” He asks. You stare at him in disbelief, and he says it again, “Does. The. Human. Know. About. Me?” This time you shake your head quickly. 

“You don’t talk do you?” He tilts his face sideways.

Once again you shake your head. You’re not going to say a word to him. 

“Then you won’t tell the human you saw me, right?” 

You keep shaking your head, though you’re not sure if you’re supposed to nod at that last question. It doesn’t matter, because he understands it anyway, “Good.” He seems satisfied enough. 

You both stare at each other for a second, then he takes off. The cage door slams shut, and he’s gone. 

You’re left shaking like a leaf, and you need Ashley to come home NOW so that she can protect you. The medicine in your system dies down mid day, and your arm starts to throb against the inside of the cast. You feel miserable. 

Once Ashley finally comes through the front door, it's late, and you’ve already cried your heart out from fear and pain. 

When she puts her hand in your cage to check on you, you cling to her fingers immediately for safety. Ashley startles, but she scoops you up with no problem, “Oh Honey, does your arm hurt? It's okay, Mummy’s home. Here-“ She puts you to her chest where her heart thumps against you as she chucks her purse onto the counter. She then takes you to the bathroom to get more medicine syringed into your mouth. It’s bittersweet but you swallow it. 

When Ashley tries to put you back down you latch to her thumb, and refuse to let go. You’re still terrified of the tiny man killing you in your sleep. You’ve never done this before, and Ashley seems rightfully worried. She brings you back up to her chest and looks around as if lost. 

—

(Top two or three poll winners may be used) 

Taglist under the cut:

Tag list: @frogkingdom @verkja @whumpsday @octopus-reactivated @marvel-gt @rsitb-second-account @fallen-grace-smd @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @kyp-the-spacekiwi @dramat1ques @ilasknives @hollowgast1 @whither-wander-whump @redd956 @zobodahobo @alittlewhump @blackrosesandwhump @angst-after-dark @sandygarnelle @copperyote @kim-poce @mayisreallygay @smoll-stace @demondamage @vickytokio @sunshiline-writes @whump-in-the-closet

[shywhumpauthor]

To the Victor the Spoils—Part One

The Throne

Choose Your Own Adventure / Interactive Whump Series

Masterlist

Cw: capture, blood, referenced abuse/beatings, royal whumper/whumpee, restraints, manhandling

The cobblestone scrapes the underside of your bare feet as you are dragged forwards, either arm seized in an iron-gloved grip of a guard.

You try to find your footing, but you aren’t given a moment to stand, any slight vantage you manage to find is only lost a moment later when you are wrenched forwards. The guards don’t appear to be bothered in the slightest, their pace unfaltering as they drag you down a series of halls.

You are gagged and blindfolded. A knotted cloth shoved awkwardly in your mouth, knotted with strands of your hair at the base of your skull, the fabric turning any attempts at speech to incomprehensible muffles. The blindfold, a long strip of dark silk pressed over your eyes, tied tightly enough for the back of your head where it rested to begin to ache. Even if you managed to get your feet beneath you, it wouldn’t do much—iron shackles with only a short chain between the two cuffs weighed heavily against your ankles. You wouldn’t have been able to keep up with the pace the guards set anyways.

You hear a loud slam of wood, before you are dragged over a threshold into a new room. The atmosphere feels instantly different, stale, damp dungeon air changed to a warm, light breeze. You stumble again as you are taken up a short set of stairs, and then down another hall.

You are exhausted and confused. Before this, you had spent hours locked away in a small cell, unable to move, see, or speak. The blindfold is damp with tears, your face scraped and smudged with dirt. Before you had been dumped in the dungeon, a different set of guards had searched and stripped you, leaving you in only an undershirt and trousers, both which were now dirty and spotted with blood. They hadn’t been particularly gentle while doing so, leaving you with a number of bruises blooming dark plum across your skin. The taste of copper hadn’t faded from your tongue yet, blood dried against your chin.

You hear the sound of another set of doors opening, gentler than the first, and you feel the stone beneath you change to a smooth carpet. You are brought forwards a few strides, before the blindfold is torn away from your head, with it ripping strands of your hair.

You blink, squinting against the sudden light of oil lamps.

You are in a large chamber, pillars framing the far walls. It is easily the same size as your courtyard back at the palace, high ceilings carved with intricate designs and laced with gold detailing. Men in armor like the sides of the room, standing tall and at attention. A long red runner leads straight down the middle of the room, to a section of platform raised a foot or so off the ground. On top of that platform lay a throne, deep satin curtains and a high-arching back that stretched as if reaching for the sky. A servant stood just behind the throne, a silver platter balanced in their arms with a single bottle of rich wine.

In the throne, a man sat, and though his posture was relaxed, a sense of authority radiated from his very being—not just from his royal robes or the crown that sat purposefully on his head. He had one ankle crossed over his opposite knee, leaning back in the throne that was twice his height sitting, yet somehow seemed perfectly sized to him. An elbow rested lazily against the armrest of the chair which he leaned on, his other hand holding a crystal glass filled a quarters way with wine as deep as blood.

His eyes were on you, but it didn’t feel as if he was looking at you as opposed to through you, like you were nothing worth more than a moment of regard. He took a sip from the glass before placing it on the tray the servant held, uncrossing his legs and leaning forwards as he did so.

“Remove the gag.” He ordered the guards restraining you, and the one to your left released your arm, his hands raising to roughly tug the cloth from your mouth, reddened with blood and saliva, he let it fall to hang around your neck. With a flick of his wrist, the guards stepped back, leaving you standing alone in front of the platform.

His stare was piercing, and this time, you could tell he was looking directly at you. Taking in every detail, every strand of hair astray, every tear in your clothes, every scratch on your skin.

When he spoke, his voice was steady, resounding around the chamber like a strike to a drum.

“Kneel.”

(Future installments likely won’t be as long as this, I just wanted to start off on a good note!)

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

[thewhumpcaretaker]

♥︎ Whump Dating Sim: Allister Price ♥︎

Image Sources: One | Two | Three Author’s notes: More information will be added to this post over time. I have a longer document about Allister, but I don’t want to reveal spoilers too quickly. You’ll discover some of it during the story. Hearts will also be updated here.

Also, “male” won the gender pole, but nonbinary and bigender both got a lot of votes and would have won if combined. So, I made Allister's pronouns he/they.

Please comment, ask, etc. to be added to a tag list for updates!

He/they | 25 | Assassin

Current Heart Level: ♥︎♡♡♡♡ (1/5)

Residence: Chicago

Sexuality: Pansexual (the reader’s gender will never be stated)

Face Claim: Curt Cobain

Backstory: When Allister was 15, he won a illegal shooting competition designed to find talented snipers. He was then kidnapped and forced to work for The Operator, a crime boss. Because they have seen The Operator's face, they can never be allowed to walk free. If he fails in a mission or does not show up to receive the next assignement, he is tracked down by "The Handler." That's all we know for now.

Skills: Allister is an incredible marksman and sniper. They’re also good fixing things. He knows a lot about electrical components, as well as how to assemble guns and explosives. 

Interests: ???

Personality: Allister seems jumpy and paranoid. He gets through his ordeal by focusing on revenge fantasies. We don’t know anything else yet.

Desires: ???

Hates: ???

[jaeyleo]

LOCKS OR KEYS PART 10

YOU CHOSE: SEND PINK TO HENRIK’S HOUSE

NEW OBJECTIVE: BE GOOD FOR PSEUDO

Chase has been pushed to the back of the mind, you are now playing as Pink. His goals are to be as obedient as possible. What are yours?

Masterlist.

Tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @skid-row-seymour @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @the9645archives

CWS: hypnotized whumpee, brainwashed whumpee, captivity whump, two caretakers (one being non human), mentions of a non human whumper, mentions of injuries and torture, scars, let me know if i should add more! also my apologies if there’s mistakes, its so late and i almost lost it to the tumblr void ;-;

. . .

Pink’s mind swims with hypnosis. Dizzy eyes blink open to stare at the ceiling, a groan suppressing the nausea in his stomach. Everything in his body aches and burns and weeps in agony, but he cant be bothered with the physical discomfort. All he can remember is Pseudo’s test for his loyalty, and wonder where he is now. When he gets to go home.

His eyes fall from the ceiling to the dresser in front of him. He’s in a bedroom, and he’s tucked into bed, but he isn’t sure who it belongs to. He keeps observing the room for more answers, turning his head to find a man sitting at the side of the bed.

He startles, breath stopping in his chest. He tries to sit up, but his injuries implore him to stay laying on his back.

“It’s alright,” the stranger coos. “You’re safe, Chase. You’re safe now.”

Pink frowns hearing his old name. Is he in trouble with the stranger, too?

He wants to correct the name, tell the stranger that he’s got it wrong. For a while he just stares, more occupied with feeling something familiar with the stranger. Something in his voice, or maybe its his face. He feels a pit in his chest, like he loves this stranger, or did love him. Tears blur his eyes and the stranger reassures him again that it’s alright.

Pink shakes his head. He wants to ask where Pseudo is, but the thought is drowned. He hears laughter in the back of his mind. Fondness and hugs and wrestling and this stranger teaching him how to play chess. He feels empty spaces in his head where memories used to be. The tears spill over his cheeks and he covers his face, feeling a deep, horrible ache inside his heart. He loved this stranger. He cherished this stranger. He missed this stranger. But why can’t he remember who he is?

The man beside him leans closer, holding his hand and trying to pull him out of his crying spell. Pink wants to open his eyes to look at him, but the thought of feeling that ache again makes him sick.

Who is he? Who is he?

“Chase,” comes the stranger’s voice, firm and guiding. “Look at me.”

A string is pulled. The puppet obeys the command, and his lip quivers as the pain stabs into his chest. He wants to look away, but he can’t.

“You’re safe. You are safe. Breathe.”

Pink obeys. He tries to breathe, tries to look, but it hurts.

“Who are you?” Pink whimpers. He shakes like a leaf, hands coming up to cover his face. He leaves a crack in his fingers for his eyes, as the stranger hasn’t told him he can look away yet.

The stranger frowns, deep and grieving.

“Henrik. I am your friend.”

Pink feels another wave of ache hit his chest. He cries into his hand, staring into Henrik’s piercing green eyes. He feels so much love and so much hurt in the same breath.

“Henrik?”

The doctor nods. Oh! Doctor! Henrik is a doctor, Pink remembers that.

“Im- I’m h- having trouble remembering who you are,” Pink starts, and Henrik nods. He understands. “But I know I love you.”

Henrik bows his head. Before he looks back up again, he wipes his eyes, and holds tight his old friend’s hand.

“I love you too, Chase,” he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He clears his throat to stop the shake in his voice from showing. “Can you tell me how you feel?”

“Scared,” Pink murmurs. He tries to sit up again, wincing as his friend gently pushes him back to the bed. He pulls the puppet’s hands from his face and wipes away his tears.

“Don’t be,” he replies, holding Pink’s hand awfully tight. The puppet doesn’t mind the pressure of it. “You don’t have to be afraid here. Not anymore.”

The puppet shakes his head. His voice breaks when he speaks.

“I need Pseudo.”

The two friends frown, but for different reasons. There is a heavy grief that weighs down the air, seeping into the walls, bleeding out of their minds. Henrik stiffens in his discomfort with the statement.

“…Do you remember who Marvin is?” the doctor tries to change the subject.

The puppet breathes, searching his brain for a face to tie to the name. It comes much easier than Henrik’s did, because he looks just like Pseudo.

“Ps… Pseudo’s brother?”

“Yes, yes. Very good.” Pink seems to calm down with the praise. “He is going to heal your injuries.”

The calm goes away again.

“No,” the puppet shakes his head. “No, I deserved it, he- he can’t..”

“Why would you deserve this?”

“Because I— I tried to leave him,” Pinks voice comes out weak and whining, threatening another spill of tears. “I was bad, bad, bad.”

“No, Chase. Especially not for escaping.”

“No,” Pink says, to everything Henrik just told him. It’s all wrong. Chase is wrong, thats not his name. Escape is wrong, that implies Pseudo was bad. His breath picks up in his chest and his heart thumps louder behind his ribs.

“You don’t understand, you don’t understand-“

The doctor shakes his head. “Chase-“

“Pink!” The puppet smacks his own mouth for yelling. That’s what Pseudo would’ve done. “My name is Pink..” he mumbles behind his hand.

Henrik just breathes. He’s overwhelmed his friend, overwhelmed himself. Chase isn’t the same man anymore.

“…. You want me to call you Pink?”

The puppet nods. It sounds like venom coming from Henrik, like each letter is another fang for the snake to bite with. Why does he hate it?

The doctor just squeezes his friend’s hand. “Okay.. lets focus on one thing at a time, yes? Okay?”

Pink nods, allowing the doctor to remove his hand from his mouth.

“Okay…. Even though you think you deserve them, you can’t keep these wounds.”

Pink opens his mouth to protest, but Henrik holds up a finger to silence him.

“Do you want to walk around?”

Pink nods.

“Do you want to eat? Get dressed?”

Pink nods, and nods again when he realizes he’s only wearing boxer shorts under the blanket. Henrik’s finger comes down to his side again.

“Then you will let Marvin heal you. Okay?”

Pink frowns. This doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t know what to say, so he stays silent.

Henrik takes it as agreement and tries to relax again. He checks his phone, types something in with his free hand, and sets it back in his pocket. A few moments later, a soft knock is heard at the bedroom door. The doctor gives his friend a reassuring pat on the hand and ventures to open it.

Pink feels many things seeing Marvin come inside.

First, the comfort of his familiar face. It is nearly identical to Pseudo’s, with the only differences being their scar placement, eye colors, and lengths of hair. While Pseudo’s is short and black with a white streak, Marvin’s grows long past his shoulders in deep black waves, stopping just before his navel. It’s a bit unkempt, but still shining and smelling of the flowers and dirt adorning his garden. As for their eyes, Pink has no trouble picturing the soft brown of his beloved caretaker. Marvin’s are glassy and pale, with irises and pupils that almost blend into his sclera. He was blinded a long time ago, with scars to show how.

After the comfort of recognition, Pink feels afraid. He doesn’t want his injuries to be taken away. He doesn’t deserve that. On top of that, Marvin feels like an old friend and a stranger at the same time, similar to Henrik. It’s confusing, overwhelming, and makes him miss Pseudo that much more.

Henrik closes the door behind him, and sighs a breath of… Pink can’t quite tell with the lack of expression on his face.

“Hi, Chase,” Marvin greets softly. His voice is soothing and low toned, in contrast to the bouncing and playful Pseudo’s. “It’s good to have you here again.”

Pink pulls the blanket up higher to conceal his bare skin and bandaged wounds.

“Pink,” he replies, pathetic. “My- my name is Pink…”

Marvin nods. He steps a bit closer, hearing the shift in blankets again. Much like Pseudo, he can hear the beats of human hearts. The filling of air in lungs, the bubbling and breakdown of nutrients in the stomach, creaking of joints and pull of muscles. What’s loudest, now, is the anxiety that radiates off the puppet like heat to a well kindled fire. Marvin takes a deep breath, and stops a few inches from the bed.

“Pink,” he repeats. Henrik’s brow furrows in response, but the puppet seems pleased with the idea of his request being respected. “Do you remember who we are?”

The puppet looks at Henrik, who has yet to move from his crossed arms, furrowed brow stance. Then to Marvin, who is gentle, and warm, and patient.

“A little bit,” he replies. “A little, little bit.”

Marvin nods again, sitting down in the chair Henrik once occupied. Pink feels a little more relaxed.

“I’m sure Henrik told you what I’m here to do…” he says. He tilts his head when Pink whines about it, and the puppet sees Pseudo in his mind’s eye. Part of him wants to make Marvin angry to see if he’d hurt him like Pseudo does.

“Please don’t,” Pink wraps his arms around himself. “I need them…”

“Dear.. I don’t think you’ll enjoy your time here with all of those..”

“It doesn’t matter what I- what I would enjoy. Th- they were a punishment, and— and, and I need to keep them.”

Pink glances at Henrik. He grips his sleeve so tight his knuckles show white. His pupils are pinpricks in his eyes. Why is he so upset? Did Pink do something wrong? He’s being a bad puppet again, isn’t he?

“You don’t,” Henrik seethes. “You need to heal. Let Marvin help you.”

A string pulled. The puppet frowns. If Pseudo isn’t here to guide him, he should follow the word of someone else, shouldn’t he? Pseudo wouldn’t want him to stop being a puppet just because he’s gone. This is a test, after all, right?

“…Okay,” Pink obeys, pushing the blanket off of himself. The cool air pulls the goosebumps out of his skin.

“Could you take a deep breath, Pink?”

The puppet obeys another command from Marvin, pretending it’s Pseudo giving it to him. Once he breathes in, he is overcome with warmth.

Warmth, warmth, warmth. The burning agony that once chewed away at every wound on his body is lifted, replaced with a gentle, soothing sensation, and then nothing at all.

He feels lashes on his back smooth over, a hole in his tibia piece itself back together. Bruises on his wrists and ankles return to normal color, a mouth that once was scabbed with needle marks returns to something that doesn’t ache when he speaks. He feels all his punishments wash away, with only the memories left to prove them. Pink breathes out, sitting up without groaning in pain. It feels wrong and good at the same time.

“Thank you,” he says, despite his inner conflict. Pseudo taught him to be polite.

“You’re welcome, dear..” Marvin smiles softly at him. He leans in slightly, speaking a bit lower. “Now, how does getting some clothes and food sound?”

Pink wraps his arms around himself to cover some of his scars. Henrik won’t stop staring at them, and he looks angry. Pink doesn’t want him to be angry. He nods in response. “It sounds nice.. nice..”

Henrik finally breaks his gaze from the puppets carved skin to pull out clothes from the dresser. A pair of black sweatpants and a pair of grey shorts.

“Which one, Chase?”

Pink frowns. Why is he in trouble? He thought he was being good.

“Which one do you want me to wear?” Pink tries.

“I want you to pick.”

The puppet starts scratching at a scar on his arm. Pseudo doesn’t want him to make decisions, yet here, Henrik does. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to follow Henrik’s rules or Pseudo’s, Marvin’s rules or just try to escape. What’s part of the test and what isn’t??? What happens if he makes the wrong decision, if he’s supposed to make one at all???

Pink’s eyes water and he shakes again, eyes darting between his choices. Marvin steps in when he hears whats going on inside the poor puppet’s chest.

“Wear these,” he stretches out an arm to grab the first thing he feels in his hand, which is the black sweatpants. “Don’t they feel soft?”

Pink nods, trying to calm himself down by feeling the fabric. He looks at Henrik for reassurance, who gestures for him to put them on.

He stares at his friend while he slowly, slowly slides a leg inside. This. Feels. Wrong. He’s not supposed to get dressed by himself.

But he was given a command, and he must follow it. That’s what a good puppet would do.

Henrik doesn’t give him shirt options once the pants are on. Pink wears a grey shirt with a logo on the pocket that reads:

C. Barrens

Math and Science Dept.

Pink sighs in relief. He is dressed and following commands, and Henrik doesn’t look so angry anymore. If he keeps up this good behavior, maybe Pseudo will be back to get him soon.

“Let’s go downstairs,” says Henrik, extending a hand which Pink gladly takes.

. . .

The house feels familiar.

Pink recognizes the hallways as he passes through them. The faces in the pictures are blurry in his mind, but the shape of them tugs at memories buried. He sees a picture with three children, one with green eyes and dark hair like Henrik’s, the other two blue eyed and freckle faced like himself. Before he can focus too deeply on who they are, he is tugged off down the stairs, left to wonder who those little smiles belong to. Part of him wants to ask, while another warns of a grief he isn’t ready to face yet. He pushes their faces out of his mind as they approach the kitchen, which pours light in through the screen door to the backyard.

Marvin follows close behind them, a hand on the puppet’s elbow to ensure he doesn’t walk the wrong path.

“Sit,” Henrik says gently, letting go of Pink’s hand to venture to the counter. When he turns back, Pink is sitting on the floor, on his knees, staring up at him like a puppy waiting for a treat.

“Ah-“ the doctor’s face twists from the nothing to frowning and furrowed brows again, almost a cringe. It’s like Henrik only has two modes of expression, nothing, or unhappy. “Here, sit up here, my friend.”

Henrik pulls out a chair for Pink to sit in, and the puppet plants himself there without a second thought. His cheeks burn in embarrassment for following a command wrong, and he instinctively pulls at his hair to both punish himself and soothe the humiliation. Marvin sits diagonal to him to chat while Henrik fixes up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of strawberry milk. Pink smiles when its set in front of him, thanking his friend.

“Go ahead,” says Henrik, after Pink just stares longingly at his meal. “It’s okay, Ch… it’s okay. You can eat.”

“H- how? By myself?”

The doctor just stares at the puppet. “…Yes,” he finally says. “You can eat by yourself.”

Pink nods, and continues staring at his sandwich. With cautious hands, he picks up the food, and takes a bite.

Henrik nods in approval and the puppet takes it as a win. He takes another bite, and relaxes as the taste fills his mouth. Blackberry jam, his favorite!

Marvin stands and turns to the doctor. “Come talk with me,” he says. Henrik nods, then turns to his friend.

“We will be in the other room if you need anything. Don’t be afraid to say something.”

Pink thanks them, and his friends leave the room. He is left to hear their muffled voices for a few minutes. It isn’t until he hears his “in- trouble” name that he begins to focus on what they’re saying.

“She wants to bring the kids over.”

“No, no… he isn’t ready for that, Henrik. I don’t want to overwhelm him..”

“I don’t either. And I wouldn’t know how to explain to them why their dad is so different..”

Is Pink dad? Is Pink a dad?

“Dad, dad, dad,” Pink whispers to himself. He wants to take a sip of strawberry milk, but he wasn’t given permission, so he just takes a break from eating until he can ask. “Dad, dad, dad…”

It feels sad and warm to be called dad. He thinks about the freckled faces he saw in the hallway, and his heart aches. Did they call him dad?

Their talking soon comes to an end as Pink’s focus was spent too long trying to remember things he can’t. Things he shouldn’t. His friends come back into the kitchen, where both of them sit at the table to keep their puppet company.

. . .

When nighttime comes, Pink doesn’t want to sleep.

“What if Pseudo comes to bring me home?” Pink says, curled up on the couch while a movie plays in the background. Henrik tried to get him to pick one out of two games to play first, which sent him into a panic attack, so they ended up putting the tv on instead. Pink stopped thinking about why he was crying once the screen came to life with characters he watches with Pseudo all too often.

“He will not come here,” Henrik replies sternly. He sees the hurt in his friend’s eyes and softens, trying to hide the stress he’s feeling. He must not have puppets like Pseudo does.

“I will not force you to rest. If you want to stay up, you can stay up, yes?”

Pink nods in agreement, pleased to have yet another request granted to him.

“Thank you, Henrik.”

“No, no. You made-“ the doctor bites his tongue, stopping himself from saying what he was intending. Pink wonders what it was, but it would be rude to speak in between his keeper’s thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” Henrik finally says. “Let’s watch your movie, yes?”

“Okay.”

As time passes on, the two men grow more and more tired. Henrik refuses to sleep when Pink isn’t, but he won’t explain why. Another movie turns on when the first ends, and then another, and by the time the fourth movie is on, Henrik is fast asleep on the couch. It isn’t long before Pink follows, and the next time he opens his eyes, daylight pours in the windows.

It’s delicate and cool, as though the sun is just barely beginning to rise. Pink looks around the room to find no Henrik, and no Pseudo. A pang of disappointment makes him frown.

The puppet sits up to stretch, pleased yet guilty that he feels no pain in doing so. While keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Pink looks around the living room, observing, observing, observing. He hears muffled voices speaking in another room, and despite not having permission, he stands up from the couch. Henrik never really did say “stay,” so technically, he can move freely for now.

He wanders closer to the noise, while staying far enough away as not to alert Marvin of his presence. He finds that standing at the kitchen counter gives him the best earshot of what’s being said.

“He’s very hypnotized..” says Marvin. It’s harder to hear him with how quiet he talks. “It won’t work unless we can coax Chase back out of his mind.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

“He has to want to fight for himself, too, Henrik. Otherwise we can only know Pink, and Chase is forgotten.”

“You can’t bring him out with magic? Or— or healing?”

“No. There is no reversing what Pseudo did. He has to make the decisions on his own… then I can help him come back.”

Pink’s brow furrows. He feels a heat in his chest, a pit in his stomach. Are they trying to being Chase back? He can’t let that happen. He has to obey Pseudo. This is his test, and he cannot fail. He wants to go home.

As his two friends continue their discussion- which leaves a sour taste in Pink’s mouth- a phone begins to vibrate on the counter. Pink looks down at it, instinctively following the noise.

“Stacey B.”

A picture of a blonde woman, smiling and sweet and beautiful. Pink gets butterflies just looking at her, oh, she’s gorgeous. He smells peaches and citrus and a bakery in Liverpool. Oh, God, and then the ache comes.

He looks at her and her pretty eyes, pretty face, pretty hair, and he feels like he should know who she is. So why doesn’t he?

The phone keeps ringing. No one seems to notice but Pink.

[stagelightwhump]

User's Manual: Choose Your Own Adventure story!

Let's start things off with character creation. Who are you going to be, exactly?

[whumpafterdark]

nsfwhump cyoa 1

ive seen some of these floating around and decided i wanted to put my own spin on it! enjoy! the poll's at the bottom.

the last thing you remember... you were at a bar. that's it... that's all you remember. and now? your hands are tied behind your back, your ankles tied together, and you're lying on the cold floor of what you assume is someone's basement.

but even weirder... your clothes are different. you're not wearing the clothes you had worn yesterday. instead, you wear an admittedly stunning white gown, adorned with pale pink roses, a flower crown upon your head. you can feel makeup on your face.

your head hurts horribly from the hangover, and you feel dazed and woozy as if you've been drugged. the door opens, and you see a handsome man with ruffled ginger hair come in.

"oh... you look so gorgeous like that, baby. we're going to have so much fun together before our wedding."

[whumpy-wyrms]

The Last Lab Rat: choose your own adventure #1

tllr au masterlist | tllr masterlist

umm yes hi i was NOT planning on making this at all but here it is! cyoa thing where we get to meet Anton for REAL and i’m very excited. these will be shorter than my usual writing since you all get to make the big decisions, sooo maybe weekly updates? we’ll see (also i’ll definitely come up with a different name for this eventually)

also if you’re new, you don’t have to have read tllr in order to read this :3 this works as its own thing!

content: you being followed, general weird and creepy vibes from the man himself (Anton), and most likely eventual lab whump in future parts :)

— 

It’s just like any other night. You’re mindlessly kicking a small rock down the dark and empty street you walk on, dodging the puddles in the concrete from the rain from earlier. The street lights glow dimly above you, giving you some light in the otherwise cloudy night.

You’re tired, and you would be listening to music through your earbuds during your nightly walk home from work, but your phone died. So, kicking a rock it is.

But not so much like any other night, you pretty quickly realize that you’re being followed.

You hear the pitter patter of footsteps coming from behind you, hurrying across pavement and rustling through dewy bushes. This had been going on for at least fifteen minutes by now, and at first you thought it was an animal, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that it wasn’t.

You stuff your hands in your pockets and try to just focus on getting home. Whoever was following you could have easily made a move by now if they were going to. But they hadn’t yet, so perhaps they were just messing with you? Some teenagers pulling a prank? You kick the rock harder, watching it fly farther down the street and give you an excuse to hurry your pace to catch up to it and kick it again.

You walk past another street light, and from the corner of your eye, the light behind you casts a shadow of a person, a lot closer behind you than you had thought.

Shit.

You are definitely being followed, and this person is definitely not going to just leave you alone.

Your heart speeds up, and you try to calm your breathing. Just keeping on walking won’t change anything, you have to do something.

Ready to face whoever it may be, you whirl around suddenly, apparently catching the stranger off guard as he freezes in place and looks at you with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?” You ask, taking a careful step away from him. He was closer than you realized. Dangerously close.

The stranger stands up straight and clears his throat, putting his hands behind his back casually. “Just going for a midnight stroll.” He laughs awkwardly and steps closer to you. There’s a strange glint in his eyes and a wide smile on his face. It’s unsettling.

You continue to back away from him, narrowing your eyes. Now that you’re both in the light, you can get a better look at the strange man who was following you. He’s tall, taller than you, and he’s wearing a baggy black hoodie. His hood is up, making it hard to get a good look at his face, but you can still make out the thin scar across his left eye, and his black hair with a white stripe in the middle. His eyes shine bright despite the darkness, almost glowing.

You think you might recognise him from somewhere, but… you can’t quite place it.

“You were following me,” you say, and he blinks.

“No I wasn’t.”

“What- yes you were.” You take another step back.

“What brings you out here anyway?” He changes the subject. “It’s pretty late. It’s not safe to be out alone.” He takes another fucking step closer.

“I’m walking home,” you say, and your voice starts to waver. “What do you want?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “You looked like you could use some company.”

“…Oh.”

The man seems to be subtly surveying his surroundings, as are you. You have a horrible feeling in your gut. You have to get away.

The street in front of you stretches on, and will eventually lead to your apartment. If you make a run for it, you might make it there before this guy inevitably catches you. You don’t wanna think about what would happen if he does.

Yes, it’s an if. This guy might be completely normal and innocent like he says. He genuinely might be going on a peaceful walk and just decided to chat with you for some reason. Weird, but you suppose we’re all a little weird at the end of the day. He might not have any devious plans for you at all.

But if he does… would leading him straight to your home really be the best idea? Maybe you should go a different route, run through the trees and try to lose him in the darkness.

The other option, of course, is to make sure he doesn’t follow you home. Now, this guy doesn’t look very strong, but it’s obviously impossible to tell under all that clothing. You don’t know if you could take him in a fight, and you’re not sure you want to try.

You swallow thickly. He’s just smiling at you. His hands are still behind his back. You fear that if you turn your back to him, you’ll soon find out exactly what he’s hiding.

next

— 

this is very fun so i’m gonna try my best to do weekly updates :) i’m also doing a new taglist for this, so please let me know if you’d like to be added!

taglist: @creppersfunpalooza

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA 6

CW for the series | Masterlist

FYI: I might not update this next week because I have a lot to do for school including exams, but I should be able to go back to my normal updating schedule after that!

You chose to tell them that obeying is a more important rule than earning their food, so they should obey when you tell them to eat.

You lower your face to Whumpee’s level and look them in the eyes. “Whumpee. I know only eating once you’ve earned it is a rule you’re used to living with. But obeying me and cooperating is a rule you’re supposed to follow too, yeah?”

A look of fear overshadows their face as they realize the implications of that. They probably feel trapped between a rock and a hard place with the rules at odds with each other like this. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s the more important rule. I expect you to be obedient. You’re not going to be punished for doing what I tell you to. Now, eat.”

Whumpee nods. They still look fearful but they pick up the fork and finally start eating.

You watch them the whole time to make sure they don't try anything sneaky to avoid eating their food. This probably means that you’ll have to outright order them every time they need food, but they are eating without getting hurt so you’ll consider it a win.

“Good,” you say as they finish. You debated whether praising obedience might send the wrong message for their recovery, but at this stage you figure it will do more good than harm. They need the reassurance that healthier behaviors are a good thing and they’re not going to be hurt.

You get yourself some food as well. Whumpee appears to take it as a good sign that you sit down to eat, instead of doing something about them having eaten without doing something to earn it. And once they seem reasonably convinced that you’re really not going to punish them for it, they do look happier now that they have a full belly.

Taglist:

@kabie-whump, @whumpanthems, @whumpsoda, @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz,

@taterswhump, @alivenova, @whumped-by-glitter, @expressionless-fr, @whumpycries,

@whumpsday, @moons-cozy-corner, @echo-goes-aaa, @whumplr-reader, @starfields08000

(had to split it into groups of five because tumblr is having issues)

[oliversrarebooks]

Brainwashing Chair CYOA - Save Your Strength

Masterlist > Next

tw: pet whump, restraints, drugging, conditioning

you chose: save your strength

The handler is pushing an ominous black mask closer to your face, and you can't seem to think of a way that you're not entirely screwed. 

Perhaps it was a little too easy to confidently state that you're willing to risk your mind when you were safe and surrounded by your journalist group, eager to reveal the sordid secrets of pet processing. Now, confronted by the very real possibility that your mind is going to be permanently altered, you can't help but wonder if it's worth it.

You hope at the very least your group is getting good footage of this.

Overtly struggling seems pointless when you're restrained and surrounded, and they've threatened to do something worse to you if you fight them too much. You think that if you want to make it out of here intact, you're going to have to choose your battles. Still, you can't keep yourself from holding your breath as the mask seals firmly around your mouth and nose, not terribly eager to be drugged again.

"Just take a deep breath," the man says, as he straps the mask around the back of your head. "Count backwards from ten if you like. Soon, you won't be worrying about a thing."

"You can't hold your breath forever," says the woman, as your lungs start to burn. "Make it easy on yourself and breathe."

She is, unfortunately, right. You can't hold your breath forever. You eventually have to take a breath, choking down the artificial scent of flowers. Your head is spinning from it -- whatever they're drugging you with is potent, and there's no way you can avoid breathing for long. You're just going to have to try and keep yourself awake and aware as much as you can.

The handlers are hovering around the chair, their complete nonchalance adding to your humiliation. "Did you put in an order for lunch?" the woman says.

"Oh, I think I missed the group order. What was it?"

"Mexican. But I wish... cool local place..."

You realize that you're sinking into a kind of daze. It's hard to focus on their conversation. You try to shake off the feeling, but it's filling your head like cotton wool. The drugged gas is quickly getting to you -- you're starting to feel so drowsy and your eyelids are slowly drooping downwards.

But being sedated isn't really what's worrying you. The larger problem is that it's beginning to feel nice. There's a lovely warmth spreading all over your body, and a strange euphoria blossoming in your brain. It feels good. So good. 

Your terror at having your mind altered, your fear of being found out, your uncertainty about what you've gotten yourself into -- all of that is melting away, slipping through your grasp even as you try to hold onto it. It's becoming difficult to focus for long on any of those complex, scary thoughts. Not when you feel so amazing, like everything's going to be okay.

Maybe everything is going to be okay. You feel so warm and blissful and you're so sleepy. Maybe it's fine to just relax and let whatever's going to happen, happen.

...No! That's just the gas, not how you really feel about it. You can't stop yourself from being drugged, but you can fight against the effects.

...but it's a lot of effort compared to just laying back and breathing the nice gas that's making you feel so, so good...

"Looks like it's kicking in now." The woman is talking about you, startling you as you were starting to drift off. "I'll start the program."

"Great, then we can get lunch."

Lunch? How long are they going to leave you here under the effects of this gas? Isn't that dangerous? You're not sure what worries you more: the idea that they're going to be leaving you alone and drugged for god knows how long, or the fact that part of you is more than happy to melt into the chair and let the soothing sensations just wash over you.

The man dims the lights in the room as the woman slips a pair of headphones over your ears. You hear a sound that's like a cross between pouring rain and white noise, and beneath it, words that are difficult to make out. Subliminals? Those don't actually work, do they?

What are they saying? You strain to hear it.

At the sound of the door clicking, you shake yourself out of a daze once again. The handlers are gone. Maybe you can free yourself? Do... something...?

The darkened room is blurry and indistinct around you, and your limbs feel heavy. Your eyes are blinking slowly as you try to keep yourself awake. There has to be something you can do before you lose yourself completely...

Masterlist > Next

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Rat CYOA 9

Surprise I’m back. Short one this time though, sorry.

Masterlist

———

You slowly reach a hand out to pet down his chest and stomach, not knowing what else to do. You regret every decision that has lead you here.

But you can’t stop now, and as you continue to pet him, his whimpering and squirming gets worse, and you notice fat tears rolling down his cheeks. You try to dodge every injury on his front (and they were numerous), but petting this area suddenly feels like a bad move.

Resisting the urge to shush and comfort him, you desperately look for an area that maybe won’t hurt as much. The top of his head maybe? Does it have less nerve endings? Also the hair should shield him from feeling it a bit, hopefully.

You reach for his head, hoping this’ll somehow help, and start patting. He whimpers a bit, but doesn’t seem to be in as much pain.

You glance at Virginia. She is watching you intently, but doesn’t seemed very moved one way or another.

Tag list: @whumpsday @kim-poce @scp-1296 @boonasaurusrex just ask to be added or removed! I know it’s been awhile, absolutely understand if this is no longer your thing

[whumpinthepot]

Hamster Interactive Story

CYOA

Chapter 6. Clean

Previous - Masterlist

Content: Giant/tiny, pet trope, cages, dehumanization, dubious handling, selective mutism, female cast, broken bones, forced medication, fever/sickness, dubious kiss (platonic, probably on the head)

Ashley’s Pov

Poll winners: Tie between “Wipe her clean”, and “Give her a minute to calm down” and a second tie with half the votes “Brush bedding from her hair”, and “Put her to bed”

—

The poor girl is covered from head to toe in sweat, tears, and dirt from where most of it was swept under the counter where she was found. Her whole body quivers with shaky exhales, and she’s resting on her back with her eyes closed.

You can’t leave her looking like this; that would be disgraceful as a pet owner, so you dab a face cloth under warm water, and carefully wipe Hamster clean while little whimpers slip through her teeth. You’re careful of her left side where scrapes are littered across her skin, washing away any lingering grime until she looks more clean, and comfortable. 

Once that’s done, you give her a moment to calm down on her own while you tidy the bathroom. You keep an eye on her and make sure she’s nowhere near the ledge of the counter, but she doesn’t move. She ends up in a tight shaking ball with her hair pulled over her body to hide, and cover herself.

Once everything is in the trash, put away, and wiped up, you glance at the orange puff. Her shaking seems lighter, if just slightly. She’s gone through enough for the night and you really don’t feel it’s right to keep handling her. Though you did notice the brush on the floor as you were picking her up earlier. Her hair must be bothering her… 

Speaking softly, you lift her into your arms, careful not to rub against her makeshift cast. She’ll need help sleeping tonight, so you syringe a drop of liquid baby gravol into her mouth, and carry her to her cage.

You pick bits of fluff from her hair while you walk to ease the discomfort before placing her into the bedding after kissing her goodnight. 

To be safe, you also tie the cage door closed to keep her from falling again. You leave her alone for the rest of the night, and go to bed yourself.

When you check on her in the morning, Hamster is hot to the touch, and whimpering. Your heart lurches, and you scoop her to your chest while deciding what to do. 

Starting a GoFundMe seems to be less of an option and more of an obligation at this point. Her crying rips at your heartstrings as you snap a picture of her snuggled into your palm. You save the picture to your phone to upload once you have some free time. Hamster has quite the following on your social media, so you’re sure her fans will help you out. 

You promise her it will be okay. 

—

(Tag list under the cut)

Special thanks to @verkja and @alittlewhump for looking this chap over for me <3

Tag list: @frogkingdom @verkja @whumpsday @octopus-reactivated @marvel-gt @rsitb-second-account @fallen-grace-smd @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @kyp-the-spacekiwi @dramat1ques @ilasknives @hollowgast1 @whither-wander-whump @redd956 @zobodahobo @alittlewhump @blackrosesandwhump @angst-after-dark @sandygarnelle @copperyote @kim-poce @mayisreallygay @smoll-stace @demondamage @vickytokio @sunshiline-writes

[shywhumpauthor]

To the Victor the Spoils—Part Five

Amusing

Previous || Masterlist

Cw: torture, implied massacre/burning/destruction, kidnapping, restraints

There was just something about him, the arrogant set to his shoulders, the steel behind his eyes, the way the grin curled across his lips, shit, you can’t help it.

A laugh bubbles past your lips and you lean forwards, pressing your forehead to the pillar as heat rises to your face.

You know you shouldn’t be—there is nothing funny at all about this. You are tied to a column, a guard uncurling a long iron-beaded whip not ten feet behind you, your kingdom undoubtedly burnt to the ground. When you had been captured, just before they had blindfolded you in the carriage, you had seen through the small window gap, thick black smoke curling across the blue sky. The entire town square had been ablaze, by now it would be reduced to nothing but ash.

The king’s expression flattened with confusion, but it only lasted a moment before a sharp crack fractured the air.

Your laugh breaks into a sharp cry as the whip split across your shoulder blades, the beaded tail catching and ripping open the flesh. Blood begins to well almost instantly.

“Not laughing anymore, I see,” the king chuckled, stepping back to lower himself into his throne. He propped one arm on the armrest, resting his chin in his palm as he faced you. “Let’s start with twenty lashes, see if you still find any of this amusing.”

The whip cracked again, a line of fire slicing only inches below the first, and you clench your jaw to keep from screaming.

“Oh, and prince, count for me.”

Tag list (lmk if you’d like to be added): @tauntedoctopuses @sorrowful-hyacinth @kaz-of-crows @andromeda-liske @sonder35 @bloodsweatandpotato @merlilica @whump-me @gala1981 @lakelyasleep @icepick-hoe @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpedydump @thelilbutifulthings @amazingmagda @itsmyworld23 @annablogsposts @whither-wander-whump @whump-in-the-closet @orphans-parent @shannon-foraker @mysticstarlightduck

(Sorry there’s not too many options this time, I couldn’t think of any lol)