I’m going on vacation. The hotel says no pets so you have to watch my captive while im gone ok. It gets 2 scoops dry food in the morning, 1 scoop dry and a can of wet at midday, and a salmon fillet at dinner. If you forget to feed it, it'll bite really really hard so don’t forget. If it gets mean there’s extra cuffs in the closet and a shocker hung up by its crate. Don’t listen to what it tells you. Don’t unlock the collar. Don’t take off the muzzle except for food. It gets 2 pink monsters a day if it’s being nice, they’re in the fridge. If it gets real mean there’s a pill bottle on the bathroom counter with a heart sharpied on the lid. Hold it by the jaw and force one pill down its throat until it swallows. That’ll keep it nice for a few hours.
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Welcome to the 2026 Whumperless Whump Event, where we celebrate all kinds of situational, accidental and environmental whump! If this is your first time, welcome in--if you've been here before, thanks for coming back!
FAQ and text version under the cut!
Frequently Asked Questions:
Q: Where can I find the prompts list?
A: @whumperless-whump-event on Tumblr.
Q: How are the prompts divided?
A: Each day has a "title" or a vague theme, followed by two tropes and one dialogue prompt.
Q: Can I use the title as a prompt?
A: Absolutely.
Q: Do I have to use all of the prompts?
A: Not at all.
Q: Can I use all the prompts?
A: Absolutely.
Q: If I'm writing a chronological story, can I swap days to fit the timeline?
A: Yes, just make sure you tag your days and prompts appropriately. If you're writing for day 6, but you post it on day 12, tag day 6, not day 12.
Q: Can I have early or late entries?
A: Yes. This is a very laid back event, and meant mainly to inspire lots of whumperless whump. It's not a strict writing challenge.
Q: Is there an Ao3 collection?
A: Yes! This year's collection is linked here. The parent collection also includes 2024 and 2025--make sure you select 2026.
Q: Can I write [insert anything here]?
A: Yes. However, this blog will not reblog certain topics (ex. nsfw or suicide), so please tag your works appropriately, so anyone can filter out anything they don't want to see.
Q: Can I use AI?
A: No.
Q: Can a whumper be included in the prompt fill?
A: The short answer is no. The long answer is that you cannot have the role of whumper in your prompt fill (aka: no whumper-on-whumpee); however, if the character you want to be a whumpee or a caretaker happens to be a whumper, then as long as they are not fulfilling the role of whumper, it's fine. Also, if there is a whumper, it must be totally impersonal and faceless. Here are some examples for clarification:
A character's drink is spiked at a party.
OKAY: The whumper who spiked the drink is never mentioned and is completely faceless, and the story is directly about whumpee recovering.
NOT WHUMPERLESS: The whumper who spiked the drink kidnaps the whumpee.
A character is left alone in a storm.
OKAY: The character is stranded or lost.
NOT WHUMPERLESS: Whumper tied them to a post and left them in the storm.
A character is mugged on the street.
OKAY: The whumper is a stranger, faceless, and the focus is on Whumpee.
NOT WHUMPERLESS: The whumper is a stalker and there to kidnap Whumpee.
All in all, if your goal is to fulfill the event, then try to avoid a whumper. If you're using the prompts elsewhere, then ignore this, but in the spirit of the event, no whumper roles please.
Q: How do I tag my posts?
A: Tag with #whumperless whump event, #wwevent 2026 and #wwevent day [x](Don't just tag wwe, that's wresting.) Make sure to tag the fill type (art, fic, music, etc) with #fic, #art, #et cetera. Then, tag triggers and content warnings. Please put these first in the tag order! It just makes it easier to reblog.
Q: How do I get reblogged?
A: Mention this blog in your post! It's the easiest way for me to find you. Otherwise, I won't reblog it. (This also means if you do not want your post reblogged to the event, just don't mention the blog, and it'll stay private.)
Q: I disagree with something/have an issue with a prompt/want to address a problem. How should I do it?
A: Send me an ask and we can fix it. I am more than willing to work through any problems--I am human, and not without fault.
I think that's about it. That's a lot, so if you've got any other questions that aren't on the list, feel free to shoot me an ask. I'm happy to help!
Plain Text:
Like a Baby Seal to Water: Fishtailing / Near drowning / "I thought I was going to die."
Somebody's Gotta Do It: Unexpected caretaker / Touch starvation / "You don't have to hide from me."
A Lull in the Chaos: Bedside vigil / Checking vitals / "Can you… sing? Until I fall asleep?"
How Are You So Oblivious: Unknowingly feverish / Falling asleep at work / "Can you drink some water for me?"
Wilderness Experts: Poisoned / Caught in a trap / "I don't know where we are."
Down The Wrong Pipe: Choking / Seizures / "Call an ambulance, tell 'em they're not breathing."
Wrong Place, Wrong Time: Panic attack / Overstimulated / "Get me out of here."
Are You Sure This Is Normal: Natural disasters / Scared of thunder / "We're safe in here, okay? I think."
Dropping Like Flies: Multiple whumpees / Caretaking while sick or injured / "I'll get some rest soon, I promise."
A Warm Welcome: Coming home from the hospital / Cuddle piles / "You scared me so badly…"
Bodily Betrayal: Stomach sick / Carried to bed / "…Yeah. I can call in sick for you."
You Make Me Lose My Breath: Wheezing / Altitude sickness / "You're not making sense."
Waking In A Cold Sweat: Midnight hospital visit / Allergic reaction / "I thought you were getting better."
The Final Straw: Grief / Mental breakdown / "You don't need to be okay right now."
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From your gifter: Author's Note: This was such a fun little piece to write! Thanks for letting me borrow your miserable men. I hope you enjoy <3
Summary: After Dew gets his wings (literally), Anton wonders if the transformation caused any other side effects. Despite Dew protestations, he must find out.
Contains: Lab whump, noncon drugging, medical whump, graphic depictions of surgery, carewhumper, mild gore, test subject whumpee, needles, mentions of past noncon body modification, winged whumpee
Science Doesn’t Sleep, But Test Subjects Do
Anton smiled to himself as he knocked on the door to Dew's room, giving his test subject a bit of warning before he pushed the door open. He couldn't help but smile as stepped inside to see Dew curled up on the bed, blanket covering his lower and half, and wings-those luscious, marvelous, miracle wings-curled around his torso protectively.
Seeing them made his heart sing, and Anton didn't think that would ever change. The experiment had gone so beautifully well. A part of him couldn't believe that it had worked at all, but the evidence was impossible to ignore. Dew had grown wings. His life's work was coming to fruition.
Quietly, he approached the bed, crouching down by Dew's head. He knew the hour was early, possibly obscenely so, though it was always difficult to tell where the line was, but the procedure he had in mind for today needed to take place before Dew had eaten, and the results would probably take him some time to interpret. He reached out, patting Dew's shoulder. "Hey, buddy, you awake?"
After a moment, Dew groaned, lazily opening an eye. He groaned again, louder, when he realized it was Anton who had disturbed him. "Whaddaya want.." He mumbled as he buried his face in the mattress.
Anton tutted, turning the lights in his room all the way up. "We've got a few tests to get through this morning. Nothing difficult, all you have to do is lay there."
Dew shook his head, lifting the pillow to hide underneath it, wings curling in even more.
"C'mon sleepy head, none of that." He frowned as he pulled the pillow away, leaning it up against the headboard.
Slowly, Dew opened his eyes, squirting at Anton."Can't it wait until a more decent time?"
"Science waits for no man," Anton smiled, patting him on the shoulder and offering him a bouffant cap. "After this you can have a big breakfast, okay? Maybe the chocolate chip pancakes?"
Dew looked up at him, eyes wide and brimmed with tears as he nodded. His voice was quiet when he spoke. "Okay."
Anton was pleasantly surprised with Dew's compliance as he got his subject situated on the operating table at the center of his lab. When he was first constructing the space, he hadn't been so sure about about investing in the table and the overhead lights for it, along with everything else, but he was now more than getting his money's worth. Being strapped down to it always made Dew's eyes go wide, but he hoped that would fade with time.
"I'm going to give you your sedative first, okay Dewey?" He reached back for a pair of gloves and his IV access tray. Dew had great veins, adding just another reason to why he was such a wonderful subject. With some ketamine in him, he was nearly perfect.
Unfortunately, Dew didn't seem to appreciate that as much as he did. When Anton started to wipe his hand off with an alcohol wipe so he could place the cannula, Dew sobbed, sniffling.
"What're you even gonna do to me?"
Anton couldn't help but smile as he sunk the needle in. "I'm so glad you asked." He ignored the way Dew groaned quietly in the background. "Today, we're going to do a quick little kidney biopsy."
Dew flinched at that, blinking the tears out of his eyes. "Wha? Why?"
He hummed, tapping down the IV to the top of his hand. "Well, as I explained previously, the serum I gave you that stimulated your wing development" -they were really such wonderful wings, he would never be over that-- "used portions of bird DNA as a template." He flushed the line, and Dew shivered when the cold saline entered his veins. "Now, little known fact, bird kidneys contain both mammalian and reptilian nephrons. I'm curious to see if you've started to develop these traits internally."
Dew whimpered quietly as he drew up the sedative, double checking the dosage calculations in his mind. His subject's hands were already kneeling against the thin padding of the operating table pulling at the piped edges. The poor thing always got himself so worked up.
"I know it sounds scary," he said, keeping his voice gentle as he flicked the syringe. "But it's very important that l investigate this. Making sure any mutations stay contained is vital to my research." He screwed the syringe into place. "You know I wouldn't put in any more pain than was ever strictly, scientifically necessary."
His subject sniffled again, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath.
"What was that?" Anton asked, thumb lightly resting on the syringe's plunger. Dew just glared at him, eyes watering, and he shook his head. "It's okay. Let's calm down now, yeah Dewey?"
He slowly depressed the plunger, pushing the medication into Dew's blood stream. As it took effect, he watched a blissful expression slide over his face, and his eyelids started to droop.
Much better. Much better indeed.
***
Now that Dew was much more relaxed, Anton found preparing for the procedure to be much easier. He could finally focus on all the minute details, as he preferred to do. A procedure like this was meticulous, and Anton wouldn't have had it any other way.
First, he pulled Dew's gown off and attached him to the monitors. Just in case, he looped an oxygen mask around Dew's face, so he wouldn't have to worry if his oxygen suddenly took a dip while he was working, and started him on a liter of fluids, to keep his pressure up. Then, he carefully positioned Dew on his side, placing supports under his downward shoulder, head, and behind his back, and then holding up his top arm with two pillows. He looked a little silly, but it would save him quite a bit of soreness when he woke up.
Next, he moved on to setting up his instruments. He'd spent a while planning a kit that worked perfectly for him. For this procedure, he had two basic surgical sets, of which he unwrapped the outer drape of, careful not to contaminate it, then deposited extra surgical swabs, suction tips, electrocutery pens, and sample collection dishes. Next came the pack of drapes, which he easily tore open, but didn't unfold. Because he was operating alone, draping could be difficult, but he'd manage it when he was sterile. Before he went to do just that, he opened the sterile pack containing his gown, and peeled open the sterile, size seven point five glove package and dropped them in as well.
With the exception of the actual operation itself, the scrub had to be Anton's favorite part.
He lathered on the bright orange antimicrobial soap, starting at his fingers and methodically working his way down, all the way to his elbows. Afterwards, he went as his fingernails, as well trimmed as they were, carefully removing every trace of contamination from underneath them. He washed for another two minutes, using the brush side of the sponge on his fingertips, before using the softer side to wipe the rest of his hands and arms down.
From there, he moved over to the table, thoroughly drying each of his hands with the towels that were packaged with his gown. After they were dry, he pulled the gown up off the packaging, letting it unfurl downwards, before stretching his arms inside it and pulling it on. This was the part that an assistant would've been helpful for, and it hurt him dearly as he fastened the velcro behind his head, careful not to brush his mask, cap, or the exposed skin of his neck, and making sure to only touch the outside of the gown. It hurt his soul, but it needed to be done. His experiment had to stay secret. An assistant was too much of a risk. Sighing to himself, he moved on to the gloves, pulling them down over the cuffs of his gown.
He finished the rest of the preparations that needed to be done while he was sterile, moving efficiently as he laid out the collections of forceps, clamps, and retractor,s and scissors, scalpels and needles, sutures and syringes and anything else he could possibly need, organizing them along with the sponges and swabs. Next, he set up his suction and diathermy, which he'd modified to all be controllable with a series of various foot petals. He thought it was pretty ingenious, though, of course, it wasn't exactly like he could share it with anyone.
Next came the prepping and draping. Anton thoroughly scrubbed Dew's back with a chlorhexidine solution, before starting to drape him. Once again, because he only had one person, his draping wasn't exactly perfect technique, and he found himself wincing behind his mask.
Luckily, it was over soon enough, and then he could move on to the main event. He'd gone for the right kidney, since the literature seemed to say that it would be easiest to access. Before he cut, he carefully palpated Dew's spine, finding the edge of his rib and following it along to his mid-axillary line. After quickly numbing the area with a syringe of lidocaine, he plucked a scalpel off the table and made the first incision.
Smiling to himself, he sliced through the layers of Dew's skin, then used his fingers to tear apart the muscle until he got down into the perineum. He suctioned and cauterized as necessary, cursing himself for not installing a better ventilation system. If he was being honest, the singed flesh smelled absolutely god awful.
There was a tired, slightly pained groan from the table as he worked. "It's okay, Dewey.
You'll be just fine," Anton said softly, doing his best to comfort. Though, that was really the point of the ketamine. Dew wouldn't remember any of this.
He hummed, smiling slightly as he got down into the retroperitoneum. One of Anton's big concerns had been that Dew's kidney would be difficult to locate, but once he'd started cutting, he'd found that this wasn't going to be a problem at all. His right kidney was very superficial, easily identifiable without any trocar placement at all. Just one more way the Dew really was the perfect subject.
Using a pair of forceps and a pad, he pushed open the fat pad, revealing the flesh of Dew's kidney. He couldn't help but poke at the organ, feeling the warmth through his gloved finger. There was another wide grin on his face again. It was beautiful.
Dew whimpered again, breath hitching, and Anton pulled his hand away. He needed to get on with the actual procedure. Dew didn't need his abdominal cavity open any longer than was strictly necessary. Refocusing, he pushed the Trucut needle in and collected the biopsy sample, then repeated it with a second needle. He'd gotten what he came for.
"That's the worst of it," he hummed as he withdrew the second needle, setting it to the side so he could close.
He used the diathermy forceps to stop any of the bleeding from the biopsy site on the kidney, then started to close, neatly suturing up Dew's skin layer by layer. His subject was still whimpering quietly, Anton wished he could lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but his words would just have to do.
"You're all done," he said as he numbed the site generously, hoping that it would make waking more comfortable, before bandaging the surgical site. "See, that wasn't so bad, hun? Just like
Satisfied with his work, he pulled his gown and gloves off, then took down his mask. Dew was still distant, but his eyes still flickered up towards Anton as he squatted down so he was at face level. "You did so well for me, Dewey." He reached a hand out, petting his subject's hair. "So, so
Dew just mumbled in response, and Anton smiled sadly. If only Dew could be this pliant and relaxed all of the time, then they would really be unstoppable.
cw: drugging, brief violence (whumpee fights back 🙏🙏), intimate whumper (carewhumper). lmk what i missed 👍
~~
It’s faint.
The twitch in my fingertip is faint, barely noticeable even to myself, but it’s there. I know it is. It has to be. My eyes, tired and unsteady, flick downward at the hand he isn’t holding. Every nail is freshly cut, filed tenderly, and almost to the bed. It’s admirable, nearly, how much careful gentleness he puts into every subtle threat, as though he were disciplining an unruly child rather than holding a prisoner. But my index finger, my perfectly-manicured index finger, can curl in on itself if I focus enough. The slightest bit of my autonomy is returning to me in consciousness, meaning perhaps I can reclaim it all if I play these delicate cards right.
I tilt my head sluggishly, looking back at his lap. He’s holding my hand with both of his, one supporting my knuckles and upper palm while caressing me with his thumb, and the other manning the silver nail clippers as he poises its jaws over the nail of my middle finger. I hate him so damn much. That gentle rub wears through my skin, sending hellish needles through my arm as my knuckles feel raw. I’d almost prefer to be struck than to be coddled and pretend that everything is the way it used to be.
He glances up at me, a small, fond smile that lets his teeth poke out belying the torment and carnage I know he’s capable of. His hand squeezes mine as he mutters, “Almost finished, then I can lock you back up. You can sleep off the sedative until dinner. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
No. It sounds terrible. But I don’t tell him that. I instead grumble unhappily. It’s all I’m reduced to like this, and it’s humiliating. He just laughs, laughs, and continues to raise my indignation with his “pampering.” It’s okay, though, because I’m starting to move my wrist, too. I don’t dare test the movement in the hand he’s working on, though I’m almost confident it, too, is capable of movement. I close my eyes, trying to keep my face and breathing calm. He can spot a shift in attitude like a shark can smell blood, and if a hitch in my breath is what gives me away, I will never forgive myself. I feel him move the clippers to my ring finger, and I know I’m running out of precious time.
I curl my fingers into a fist as I flex my elbow. Through my bangs, I look up at him. Still, he’s so focused on my nails. I want to laugh bitterly; the ever so benevolent companion, so doting and loving, too interested in his prized possession to see the threat to his right. I don’t go back, I don’t second-guess, I just slam into his cheekbone.
Everything happens so quickly, so perfectly. He lets go of my hand, groaning as I shove him off the bed and to the floor. I stand, holding on to the bedframe at the foot of the bed as I stare down at him. It’s where he belongs. Before he can snap out of his stunned stupor, I collapse on top of him, heaving with effort as I clench the collar of his shirt. With every ounce of strength I can muster, I slam his head into the metal frame.
“I… f’ck’n… hate… y’...” I declare, my eyes squinting as I place my hands around his neck. He stares at me, not afraid, but… amused. It makes my face flush red as I tighten my weak grip. “You… are… dirt…” I sneer through gritted teeth, “Noth’n… but… traitor… scum…”
“Sounds like you’re still a little tired,” he muses, albeit with some trouble. One hand clenches both of my wrists as the other reaches into his pants pocket.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
“Maybe you should take your nap earlier,” he sweetly suggests. I hardly comprehend what’s happening before I’m back in bed, my eyes wilting shut as the sting of my neck grows more painful. “I’ll finish your nails while you sleep. We can talk when you wake.”
"Now, remember, we don't know what all she's been through: she's sleeping right now and may wake up in a couple of hours"
"Yes, Medic, I know all that. This isn't my first time" Caretaker smiled warmly.
"Just wanted to make sure, good luck" Medic patted Caretaker on the shoulder and walked out, closing the door behind him.
The house was the usual cookie-cutter house that Caretaker has been in dozens of times. Many people confuse Caretaker and Medic: assuming they have the same role. However, Medic's job is to get Whumpee out of the woods, and then Caretaker steps in. Whumpee is given a room in a house that's creatively referred to as a 'Caretaker house,' which is where Caretaker will live with them full time to help them heal from day to day. Caretaker knows the drill and this house like the back of her hand, yet she still looks across the living room, over at the door that Whumpee is currently sleeping in.
So Caretaker is as quiet as possible when walking up the steps to get to her designated room.
It had been around 4 hours later when Caretaker had finally seen a sign of life coming from Whumpee's room. She was in the kitchen making dinner, with quiet music coming from her record player she set up right next to the TV. Over the years, she's bought a vynl for each of her Whumpees. Once she got to know them: and their favorite artist, she would go out and buy a few records 'inspired' by them and they would sign one.
Caretaker had zoned out making dinner: she snapped out of her thoughts only because she heard a door open: snapping her head over her left shoulder, she was suprised to see a girl who couldn't have been over 17. Her dark curly hair was resting on her shoulders and it seemed as if she was coated in bandages. Her nose was crooked, but not in the natural sense, but in the sense that it had been broken one too many times. "Uh..who are you?" The girl questioned
"I'm Caretaker, I'm gonna be watching over you for a little while"
"Okay, uhm. What's that smell?"
"Dinner, you hungry? I made sure to make some for the both of us"
Even though the girl shook her head no, she still came up and sat at a barstool: still seemingly dazed, as if she couldn't process things at a normal speed. Which is to be expected. "So, would you like to talk, or would you like me to stay quiet"
"Hm?"
"Would you like me to stay silent and let you process things for a little bit. Or, would you rather have a conversation and small talk? I'm not gonna be mad at you for picking either option"
"Tell me who you are"
Caretaker's interest was piqued hearing that: "What do you mean?"
"Why are you here? Who are you? Why do you care? And what happened to that one big burly guy that save me?"
Caretaker thought for a second, and started, "Well, for starters: that man's name was Medic and he's a coworker of mine. A very sweet guy, you were in good hands. And like I said, my name is Caretaker. I am a registered nurse and this is where I am going to be living here for however long it takes you to heal. And I care, because you're human and deserve stability as much as anyone else." Caretaker sets a place of food in front of Whumpee, "Any other burning questions?"
Jasper cursed quietly when he burned his finger with the soldering iron again, shaking out his hand. He hadn’t stopped shaking for a week, and he was getting awfully sick of it. He sighed heavily as he leaned back in his chair for a moment, letting his eyes relax and stretching out the sore muscles in his back. The machines and equipment of the lab hummed around him in a comforting, ever-present buzz that his powers naturally attuned to.
He knew he had an episode coming on. He had tried so hard to keep it at bay, but working with the heroes had made it hard. Keeping up with chores and lab work, having little to no time to rest or eat, and having few chances to use his powers was like a perfect storm. He was exhausted, which made it harder to control the electricity in his veins, and having little proper output for it made it build up more and more. It itched under his skin, making him increasingly restless and jittery, desperately hanging onto his control. The shocks from the collar didn't help either; the current was too high, specially made for him, and it fried his neurons’ resistance, which regulated the electricity.
Essentially, his fuse was about to blow. And it wouldn’t be pretty.
Miguel was aware that it was something that could happen. Jasper told him about them when he realized how difficult it would be to keep them at bay here, with all his responsibilities and how rarely he would get to exercise his powers. But he was still terrified of the punishment if he hurt someone or broke something.
Jasper missed throwing pottery on his Aunt Lydia’s pottery wheel. Creating pottery was her main passion, and she taught him the techniques, the quiet patience and perseverance of creating something beautiful out of a lump of clay. He would set his mind to forming a plate or a bowl, give his hands and brain constant stimulation, and forget all the anxieties that weighed him down, even as a small child. The last time he'd thrown was the month before his father handed him off to Cross.
Since he could remember, anytime he’d visit her, she’d have him doing something creative. She was adamant that it was essential for any child’s education to round out sciences and maths with arts and history. Lydia was an artist, and she took it upon herself to teach him what his father ‘couldn’t appreciate.’ Whether it was pottery or sculpting or painting or cooking, she always had something stimulating for his hands and overactive mind, a lesson to go along with it.
His aunt’s brazen teasing and trash-talking of his father had set him on edge occasionally as a child, but when he looked back on it now, it always made him smile. She was so brave, so staunch in her protection of him, her efforts to give him the best possible childhood. Whenever he left her house for his own, his father doubled down on his efforts to stamp out anything she tried to instill in him, like compassion, but he liked to think he held on to some of it.
Jasper liked to think his Aunt Lydia would be proud of where he was now, what he was trying to do with the heroes. He was sure she thought he was dead now. And he was too afraid to reach out to her; to put her on Cross or his father's or even the heroes’ radar as someone important to him.
He sighed, focusing himself back in the present, gazing around the lab. He'd made himself sad again.
Jasper made eye contact with Emery for a moment, across the lab, and quickly looked away. Her gaze made his skin crawl for a few moments before she refocused on sharpening her twin katanas. The blonde with bright blue bangs and shiny lip gloss was in charge of babysitting him today, as he worked on an EMP gun for an upcoming mission. She was perched cross-legged on one of the other work tables. She blew another bubble with her gum, and her massive baby blue wings rustled.
Without looking up, she said, “What’s going on in that big brain of yours, Tinker?”
He gulped. “Nothing, I, uh, was just brainstorming ideas for gear for you guys,” he fibbed.
“Yeah? Like what?” she asked, giving him a knowing smirk.
His chest squeezes with anxiety.
Damnit. He should know he couldn’t get anything past her by now.
“Uh, like long-distance comms, and… cool attachments for your swords?” he tried lamely. Of course, the moment he tried to remember the hundreds of ideas he’d played around with since he was a kid, they all left his mind.
“Ooh, that sounds fun. I love making my swords more deadly,” she smirked. “What sort of attachments?”
She knew.
“I, uh. Well, I dunno… I-I guess, I was more just thinking about my powers. Th-they’ve been acting up on me a little…” he confessed quietly, like a scolded little kid.
She sighed. “Jasper, I can’t believe you’d lie to me. We can’t work with someone we can’t trust.” Her voice was disappointed, but her smile was downright vicious.
Jasper clenched his teeth to hold back the surge of anger and fear at those words. She was so going to hold this over his head. “I-I’m sorry, Emery; I just didn’t want to worry you. It’s—” he cut himself off. Excuses wouldn’t help. It was his fault he was an idiot who thought it was a good idea to lie. “I’m sorry.”
Her face lit up again. “That’s okay! I’m sure I can think of some way for you to make it up to me,” she smirked.
He nodded, quietly. The things she came up with to ‘make it up to her’ were always painful or demeaning. But he knew he deserved it. He was the villain in this tower, and he always would be.
Just then, Chase burst in, talking animatedly to Miguel, who was right behind him. Jasper flinched. He forced his focus back on the circuit board he was meant to be soldering.
The two were chattering about fantasy football, something apparently played by many of the heroes in the tower.
“No way, man! I'm not trading you Keziah! It's not my fault you were dumb and gave up Kaufman,” Chase declared in his booming voice.
“Come on, Chase, you already have Walter, you're set for the next couple of games,” Miguel bargained.
Jasper couldn't help but watch the pair out of the corner of his eye. He sort of wished he could join in with the game, the bantering. Be part of the team in more than just the work. But Chase made him terribly nervous, and besides, he didn’t have time to watch football or figure out how to play with all his chores.
Jasper suddenly realized the pair was making their way towards him, and he startled, trying to look busy.
“Hey, Tinkerbell! How're my night vision goggles going?” he asked, though it was less of a request and more of a demand. It was always a demand with Chase.
“Oh, um. Th-they're coming. I had to take a break to make the EMP cannon for the next mission, but— but they're pretty simple. I should have them for you a few days after the mission?” he said with a preemptive wince.
Chase’s mouth curled in an annoyed sneer before he rolled his eyes.
“Whatever. Just get them to me by the next.”
Jasper nodded quickly. “Of course, yes sir,” he rushed.
Chase let out an amused scoff.
“He sure did learn fast, huh, Miguel?” the man said, mocking, as he was suddenly pinching Jasper's cheek.
Suddenly and all at once, Jasper lost his grip on reality, memories flashing before his eyes and Cross’s mocking voice laughing in his ear, just like Chase. He froze, eyes going hazy, breath coming faster and faster until he was gasping.
Chase and Miguel exchanged looks, utterly confused, and Miguel laid a soft hand on his shoulder. He was unprepared for the way Jasper jolted away from him like he'd been burned, and even more unprepared for the shock of electricity that shot up his arm.
“Agh! What the fuck, Jasper?!” he burst, but Jasper wasn't there.
Electricity was beginning to arc off his body, shocking nearby objects—and people—in bigger and bigger bolts.
“Jasper, snap the fuck out of it!” Miguel yelled, shoving Jasper and biting back the yelp that threatened to escape again.
Jasper's electricity was definitely getting stronger, and Miguel knew from personal experience just how bad it could get. His first thought was that the villain finally snapped and was attacking them, but there was no real attack. He was just sitting there, hyperventilating, sobbing, staring off into space with unseeing eyes as he twitched and whimpered.
“Chase, grab him. I know what's happening; I'll be right back,” Miguel ordered, bolting down the hall to the weapons room.
Chase followed orders, hauling the kid out of his seat and restraining him even as the electricity flowed freely into his body, hurting more and more.
Jasper was absolutely hysterical, tears streaming down his face and nonsensical apologies and pleas streaming from his mouth. All he could see, all he could focus on, were images of Cross and blood and fear and pain.
Emery had been watching silently from across the room, intrigued, with her sword at the ready. When the villain barely reacted as Chase squeezed him hard, still clearly panicking and now audibly begging and protesting pathetically, she got up and strode over, putting her whole body into backhanding him.
Jasper gasped back to reality, mostly, the sharp pain bringing his focus to Emery in front of him, and, worst of all, Chase grunting and groaning at the pain of his out of control powers. His thoughts were pure panic now, split between the flashback and a desperate attempt to rein in his powers. He convulsed against Chase’s chest, unable to control the way his whole body jerked and spasmed with the electricity running rampant through his body.
Suddenly, he was shoved down, his chest and face smushed into the cold lab work table. It was enough to jolt him fully out of the flashback, but as his awareness returned to him, he realized he was still in a nightmare.
Computers and machines around the lab were blowing fuses and sparking and acting on their own accord. Chase, behind him, was grunting and groaning, cursing up a storm, through the pain of the sparks and lightning arcing off Jasper’s body as he tightly held the villain in place.
The hero started wrestling his arms behind his back. Jasper wasn’t purposefully fighting him, but his spasming muscles were determined to do what they wanted.
Jasper finally registered Miguel approaching them. His eyes widened with horror when he realized what Miguel had in his hands.
“O-oh, G-God, no! N-no, ple-ease Mig-guel, please n-no,” he begged as a new terror tore through him.
He barely heard Miguel over the pounding of his own heart.
“It’s okay, Jasper. This is for your own good, I promise. It’s okay, we’ll fix it.”
This won’t fix anything, he thought as his vision blurred with tears and the power-suppressing restraints closed around his wrists.
Agony. Instant, pure, fiery agony tore through him, and he screamed, loud and violent. The out-of-control, wildly powerful electricity was suddenly locked up inside him, frying him from the inside out. His heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his chest, blood rushing in his ears, and his head throbbed like it was about to explode. It felt like death, ten times worse than the shock collar or any torture Cross could come up with.
He thrashed and bucked like a wild animal, yanking on the cuffs mindlessly. Any logic that might’ve told him he was only hurting himself further was being completely overwritten by the instinctual terror that told him he was dying.
Jasper was still screaming and sobbing at the top of his lungs, unable to stop, despite being out of breath and wrecking his throat. Chase pulled him against his chest again, an unyielding arm wrapped around his shoulders, and his big hand clamped down over Jasper’s mouth. It was suddenly even harder to breathe, and his panic, somehow, got even worse. He kicked and bucked and struggled like his life depended on it because it felt like it did.
The one, singular, coherent thought running through his head was, I’m going to die.
His own powers were going to fry him until he was a burnt-out husk.
At a particularly horrible wave of pain, Jasper involuntarily bit down on one of Chase’s fingers, jaw muscles locking up. The man yelled out in pain and had to use his exceptional strength to pry the villain’s jaw open as he let out another guttural scream. Chase grunted in annoyance, and then Jasper’s stomach was suddenly rolling at the oil invading his taste buds and nostrils as Chase shoved a rag in his mouth. It muffled his screams and sobs in a haunting sort of way, but it did nothing to stop them.
His body continued to flail, and he barely even registered the lance of pain through his leg from catching his ankle between two of the nearby work tables and twisting it violently.
“Jesus Christ, Miguel, do something about his fucking legs!” Chase snapped, yanking the villain none-too-gently away from the tables and eliciting a sickening pop. Jasper screamed all the louder for it.
“Chase! Be careful!” Miguel said as he rushed to grab Jasper’s ankles, pulling a broken whine from the villain.
“Fuck off, Miguel, he just electrocuted me! He’s lucky I’m not punching his face in.”
“He didn’t do it on purpose!” Miguel shot back.
The two continued to bicker, completely ignoring the sobbing, screaming kid between them. Jasper couldn't really focus well enough to understand them anyway. Miguel wrangled his legs and used his own belt to lash Jasper's legs together.
Jasper squeezed his eyes shut as he was lifted between the two men, barely making out Miguel saying something about getting him out of the lab. His yells and spasms were steadily becoming weaker, but that didn’t mean the pain had subsided at all. The only way an episode had stopped in the past was by completely and totally wringing any super-powered electrical energy from his body. With how his powers were now locked inside him, pinging back and forth along his nerves like a game of pinball with no end, he wasn’t sure the pain would ever stop. More tears spilled over at the thought.
He eventually vaguely registered being dropped on something cushioned, and all hands left his body. Jasper jerked and twitched and writhed in his restraints, as muffled, weak sobs and cries escaped the gag. He was trying desperately to focus on his surroundings, to get even a vague idea of what was happening, but the electricity and pain had frazzled his brain.
Another pair of hands pulled him up by his shoulders, only to let him lean against something soft, warm. It rose and fell subtly, regularly, and Jasper melted the best he could when he finally registered it as Miguel's chest. Miguel ran his hand through his sweaty hair, rubbing his chest soothingly.
Jasper tried to focus on the comfort, but he just couldn't stop crying, now only able to moan and whimper weakly as his entire being continued to burn from the inside out. He had no clue how long they stayed like that. It felt like forever. Jasper had resigned himself to forever with this pain. That's all he could do.
Suddenly, a new hand patted his leg, and he could just barely drag his eyes open, wrestle with his consciousness to focus on the person leaning over the couch with a mocking little pout on their face.
It's Emery. She must've followed them out of the lab.
“Poor thing,” she cooed. “Why don't you guys just knock him out? Put the poor guy out of his misery.”
God, yes, please anything, make it stop, Jasper thought.
Miguel’s soothing ministrations stilled.
“I hadn't thought of that,” Chase said in a dumbfounded voice.
“Yeah, too bad. If we'd thought of it earlier, he wouldn't have had to go through all this pain,” Emery said. Jasper swore he could hear a veiled, vicious glee in her voice.
“Alright, yeah,” Miguel said aloud before leaning closer to Jasper and speaking softly into his ear. Jasper struggled to focus on his words, but he latched onto his comforting voice. “It's alright, Jasper, we'll make the pain go away. Just try to relax, man.”
“Chase?” Miguel finally said expectantly.
Jasper dragged his eyes open again at that—they kept drifting shut, and it was a harder fight to open them each time. He barely made out the blurry, haloed silhouette of Chase, those big hands that made him so nervous, balling into fists. He whimpered, not quite able to piece together what was happening with the haze of pain and exhaustion, but some part of him knew it would hurt. His chest still heaved with sobs as he looked up at the hero, at least twice his size. Jasper only saw Chase’s fist twitch before his head snapped to the side. Stars burst across his vision, a blinding, white-hot pain rippling through his skull before finally, blessed, painless darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~
Hope you enjoyed this Super whumpy chapter. Apologies for disappearing for like two years 😅. I got hella stuck and then started roleplaying with a friend and lost the hyperfixation on this story lol. One important note, I’m switching to past tense for this moving forward simply because I’ve been roleplaying in the past tense these last two years and its sorta the only tense my brain works in now lol.
Big thanks to @itsenderp for helping me get unstuck and betaing! Thank y’all so much for your patience, and have a lovely day :)
Also, since it's been a while, taglist might have extra people, or I might have missed someone, sorry! lmk if you want to be added or removed!
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Funnily enough, when they first meet past the edges of the Sol system, the aliens like the humans.
None of the humans were prepared for this.
The humans prepared for decades- for centuries! to contact life out in the black, and be judged harshly for their past. To be judged and found wanting.
The aliens, almost to the one, seemed delighted with humanity and everything they entailed. Good, bad, and ugly.
“You see, we heard you calling out for long, long, long… we could not find where you called out from. Now we have! You called for so long, and now we meet you! It is good to know you! We have tried so hard to find you and say, Hello!”
The messages Earth sent out, just in case there was anyone out there to hear, to extend reassurance that they simply were not alone was received always with delight. And they sparked a soft race to find the origin of such a kind and curious signal into the vastness of the universe.
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he already knew what they were going to do. this was exactly the kind of casual, friendly gathering they had been waiting for.
his heartbeat was fast as he approached them. even if he had indulged them, session after session, more times than he could count, at this point... he wasn't sure exactly how he would react in front of other people, in front of his friends.
"what is it?" he asked with annoyance, as if he didn't already know.
"just telling everyone about my little party trick."
they knew that wording would piss him off. "so it's your trick, is it?"
their face was smug as they turned to face him. "you really want more credit?" they murmured. "i can give you credit."
he realized what they meant a second too late, his face flushing as they turned back to his friends.
"he's a good subject," they said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "it might not be fair to say it's all me."
"well, it's--" he had no idea what to say. "i mean, you- a lot of it is you, it's just..."
"it's really more like jim's trick. he's the one who's been trained."
embarrassment flooded through his entire being. "okay, it's- that's not- just because i let you hypnotize me sometimes, that doesn't mean-"
snap.
"sleep," they whispered into his ear.
their body shifted, in a quick, smooth motion, their other arm reaching in front of his body to catch him as he slumped forward.
he could hear his friends gasp.
"good," time murmured. "that's right. back on your feet. still nice and deep for me." they guided him upright. "see? he can fall into trance just like that. it took a lot of practice for him to do it that quickly and automatically. but now it's so automatic, he can't even try to fight it."
they gently rubbed the back of his neck as they spoke, sending tingles down his spine.
"that's crazy," he heard someone say. "i thought you were just fucking with us."
"if it was anyone but jim, i wouldn't believe you."
"that's exactly why i wanted to use jim for this," time replied. "you know he's not just acting."
to use him for this. they were talking about him like he was an object.
they were still stroking the back of his neck, a continuous signal to go deeper, to feel weaker. even now, as he considered the idea of resisting, it felt almost like a kind of drug running through him, numbing his thoughts, his body, his will. it felt more real than it really should have, considering it was something he didn't really believe in. these were all the kinds of exaggerated, dramatic ideas of control that time had suggested to him, just because they could. ideas that even they didn't believe in. this was all an act, a game, and a joke.
but he felt it. it was happening.
"that's not all he can do," they said. "he'll do anything i say now."
it wasn't true. he didn't like the idea of presenting hypnosis that way.
still, the words felt good in his head. his body pulsed with an unmistakeable feeling of arousal. he wanted to do anything they said. to be such a perfect subject that it looked exactly like mind control.
"so he really can't resist?"
"he can't. he won't even be able to resist if i wake him up again and bring him down slowly. here, i'll show you."
snap.
"wake."
the embarrassment came back. with his eyes open, he could see how intently everyone was watching him.
"you really can't resist?" shark asked him.
"i-" there wasn't a good answer to that question. "i mean, i could. i can, but-"
their hand was on the back of his neck again. they weren't rubbing it, but he could feel the pressure.
"but it just feels so good to listen, doesn't it, jim?" they spoke a bit more slowly, almost seductively.
he shuddered. he couldn't help it. he was sure everyone could see.
"doesn't it?" they repeated.
they wanted an answer. "it does," he said, before he could think about it.
his face must have been bright red. "it's- it's just- i'm just used to it," he said quickly. "it isn't that i actually can't resist, it's just..."
"that's enough," they said. "you can just listen now."
his mouth shut.
"see? does it look like he can resist?"
he really didn't feel as if he could say anything.
"just look at him. you'll see how it just happens." their voice softened again, their finger just barely rubbing against the back of his neck. "he just sinks... his eyes start to glaze over... his shoulders sink... he can't fight it. i don't even have to tell him directly... my voice is just pulling him down... bit by bit... until his eyelids get heavy... so heavy... look, he's still trying to keep them open, but you can tell how heavy they are. you can tell how sleepy he is... so sleepy... so sleepy."
his eyes closed, a sigh almost escaping his lips.
they pet his hair. "good. very good. that's right. you're such a good subject, aren't you?"
it must have looked creepy to his friends, but it felt unbelievably good.
"he'll do anything." they grabbed one of his hands, running their fingers along his. "just let me pose you."
he allowed them to move his arms and push on his fingers, remaining motionless with his hands up in peace signs.
"hold on, can i take a picture of this?"
"go ahead. he won't stop you."
he still didn't move. he couldn't even bring himself to feel particularly self conscious about it.
"can you make him do the like, heart? like this?"
"yeah, sure." they touched his hands again, manually moving and bending his fingers, and pushing his hands closer together.
he was being played with.
"good," they murmured near his ear. "you're doing good. you can't resist."
he wanted to do this forever.
"you can just let go now. you don't have to hold your arms up anymore."
they fell to his sides.
"there's some more impressive stuff i can do with him, too." they pulled his wrists behind his back. "see, if i just motion like i'm tying his hands together..."
he felt it.
"that's right... i'm tying them together... just tight enough that you can't pull them apart... feel the rope against your skin... feel that little bit of pressure..."
it didn't quite feel like actual rope, but he could feel it.
"that's right. now, i'll turn him around so you can see." he was facing away from his friends now. "try to pull them apart."
he didn't try particularly hard, a small, distant part of him worried about ruining it.
"they won't come apart. come on."
he pulled a bit more, but they didn't separate.
"he'll try a little harder if i wake him up." they moved back to his ear. "it'll only feel more real when you're awake. it'll feel tighter the more you pull on it. you really won't be able to pull them apart."
snap.
"wake."
he felt self conscious about having his back to the crowd. he turned his head to look at them, although seeing everyone only made it worse.
"come on, jim. pull your wrists apart. you can see there's nothing actually tying them together."
he hesitated to even try, even as they goaded him to.
"you don't feel silly keeping your hands together like that? you said you can resist, right?"
reluctantly, he pulled.
he could already feel it tighten.
he pulled again in disbelief, a bit harder, finding that it was difficult to move his hands at all.
he pulled more, trying to change the position of his hands, as if he could break or wiggle out of it if he just moved the right way - but he was just struggling against imaginary rope. there was nothing there.
a couple of people laughed.
"he really can't do it," time said. "you can tell he's really trying now."
"i'm not- i could try harder," he said.
he figured he had nothing to lose - he tried, he really tried, putting in an amount of effort that he was sure would break the illusion.
but his wrists still didn't separate. they hardly budged at all.
his eyes widened, his mind going blank for a moment, his heart pounding.
"come on. try your hardest."
he did. he didn't feel as if he was holding back. he was trying. it just wasn't happening.
"is that it?" they asked. "you can't do it?"
"i... i really can't," he mumbled.
"he said it himself."
"i actually can't," he repeated. it was embarrassing to admit, but he was too mystified by it to even think much about that.
"you can stop trying," they said. "you'll just have to wait for me to untie you."
he felt helpless, even while he was awake. he had never tried so hard to resist and still failed. had he really been that well conditioned? how was that even possible?
and people were watching him.
not to mention that the thing being demonstrated was hypnotic bondage. it was hard not to think about the implications, the things someone could presumably do to him using this.
snap.
"sleep."
he sank deeply, finding the relaxation sort of merciful.
"let me just pull this apart..." they mimed untying him. "there. you're free now."
his wrists came apart with ease, and his arms were at his sides again. they turned him back around.
"good. very good." he still couldn't help but melt at their praise. "but there's still something even better than all of that."
it was directed at his friends, but he could feel his own anticipation.
"i can take his memories."
he was already at the point where the phrasing didn't bother him, where he could almost believe that they were capable of taking his memories, rather than just directing him to forget using a process they taught him.
"i can make him forget all the stuff i just did with him."
he wondered if that was really true.
they leaned close to his ear again, stroking his neck with their finger. "it's alright to forget. it's natural to forget."
his body tingled.
"i'm pulling those memories away... pulling them away from you... you can just let them go. you can let me take them. normally, you keep such a tight grip on them... the way you'd hold onto something with your hand... that's right... making a fist... hold it up..."
he did so almost automatically.
"you keep such a tight grip on them... too tight... too tense... it's tiring... you just want to relax. you need to relax." they held his hand in their own. "it's tiring, holding onto those memories... clenching down like that..." their thumb rubbed his closed fingers. "just let them go... let me take them... relax..."
his grip loosened a bit, and they began to gently pry his fingers open, bit by bit, as they continued cooing at him.
"that's good... that's right... and as you let go... as you loosen your grip... you're letting go of those memories... of everything that happened since i called you over here during this gathering... letting go... giving them to me... letting me take them... all of them..."
he couldn't stop them from opening his hand. everything was slipping away from him, becoming quiet, blank, distant.
"and as you give me those memories... you become empty... empty like your hand... ready to accept what i give you. i'll tell you exactly what to think. i'll fill in the blanks for you. i'll give you something else to hold onto when you wake up. you'll like it. it will feel right."
he felt completely open.
"that's right. when you wake up, and you feel a little tired, blinking your eyes, you'll realize that you were just resting them a bit. your eyes just felt tired. we were having a conversation here, and you zoned out for a minute. you weren't really paying attention. but that's alright. just let me put this in your hand... and slowly close it... accept it... hold onto it. and once your hand is closed, you'll be ready to wake up."
his fingers curled, in a strange, jerky and inconsistent sort of motion, until his hand was closed.
snap.
"wake."
jim rubbed his eyes. he wondered if he was getting a migraine, or if he didn't sleep well enough the night before. sometimes gatherings like this were tiring, anyway. he hadn't been paying attention to whatever his friends had been talking about, although there seemed to be a lull in the conversation, because they were quiet now.
they were all looking at him. maybe they were concerned, or they noticed he wasn't talking.
"sorry, i just... i'm just kind of tired. what were we talking about?"
"you're kidding me," shark said.
"i just kind of zoned out. i wasn't trying to ignore you."
no one said anything.
"did i miss something important? or... i really am fine, i'm just kind of tired. if you could just tell me what you were..."
"we were just talking about hypnosis," time said. "so it's kind of funny that you zoned out like that."
"it wasn't because of that. i really wasn't paying attention."
"no, i believe you," they said. "you wouldn't just slip like that when we're casually talking about it. you're supposed to save that for the demonstration."
his heart pounded. "we're not really going to do that, are we?"
"well, how about this," they said. "i'll use some really simple hypnotic language, and if you start to fall into trance, that means you're ready for it. if you don't want to do it, you can just resist. i won't even tell you to sleep or give you any kind of direct commands."
he felt strangely susceptible already. he didn't think he was in a state of mind where he could resist.
still, he didn't really want to say that in front of everyone. "alright," he said quietly.
"good," they said, getting closer to him. "i know you're extra suggestible right now, jim," they whispered.
he shivered and twitched almost immediately.
"that's not- you said you'd just-"
"just relax. it's alright. just relax..."
he responded more quickly than he expected.
"yeah, there you go... see? you're not even that nervous about being watched, are you? you don't mind if everyone sees you get hypnotized."
he supposed he was a little less nervous than he would have expected to be.
he felt strange in general.
"you want to be a good subject for everyone. it feels good. it feels natural."
now that they mentioned it, it did feel natural. maybe it was because of all of the training they had done with him.
"they love to see it. look. we haven't even done anything yet, and they're already impressed with you."
a chill ran down his spine. his friends were looking at him as if something had already happened. they weren't reacting the way they should have.
"you can just relax. you don't have to think about it." another whisper. "you don't have to think about the fact that something feels wrong about this."
shudder.
"what am i missing?" he asked.
"you're not missing anything," they murmured.
it felt a bit unsettling to relax so quickly at their words, when he knew they were lying and keeping something from him.
"that's right... you're slipping into trance again... so easily..."
"i'm not..." he could barely think, let alone speak. "what is..."
"shh," they whispered. "keep your eyes open, just enough to see. you're in a trance, but your eyes are open."
he wasn't sure what the point was, but he obeyed.
"shark, show him the picture."
he wondered why they were involved in this.
they tapped something on their phone, then turned it toward jim, putting it in front of his face.
a picture of himself, in their camera roll, from that same day, being posed while in a trance.
he didn't remember it, but he immediately understood what it meant.
"that's right," time said quietly to him. "you've already been such a good subject. you don't even know what they've already seen, or how long we've been doing this for, do you?"
he didn't.
"well, you don't really need to know." they stroked the back of his neck. "do you?"
"i- i want to know," he mumbled.
"maybe i'll give your memories back to you later," they said. "see? he really can't resist. he wants to know, but he still doesn't."
he knew they would give it back later, but in that moment, he was helpless.
"tell everyone how you can't resist, jim."
"i can't resist..." it slipped out more naturally than he expected.
