my activity fluctuates because IRL sucks. no posting schedule just chaos
my favorite things: violence, dark themes, living weapons, drugs and sedatives and poisons, incapacitation, mind control, lab rats, captivity, worried caretakers, male characters who are morally grey/defiant/conditioned/dangerous and made to suffer. dead dove content warning.
˗ˏˋ¡inbox open!ˎˊ˗
i accept asks, motivates me to write! (tropes, oneshots, gen)
MASTERLISTS:
all oc but i haven’t posted any names yet lol. perpetually a wip
assets • living weapons contracted and sold as assassins, bodyguards, and soldiers by an unknown syndicate deeply embroiled in international affairs. treated like dogs and monsters, these assets are both dangerous and deeply controlled—submissive until something finally makes them snap.
- The Exchange
- Does that hurt?
- Friendly Faces
- It didn’t have to be this way
- Crack!
- Choices
the facility • subjects are given a unique identifier and nothing else. no name, no belongings, no autonomy. everything stripped away in the pursuit of science.
- Intake ˗ˏˋnewˎˊ˗
- Processing ˗ˏˋnewˎˊ˗
- Induction ˗ˏˋnewˎˊ˗
- Research Log
- The Regimen
- You'll feel all better soon
- The Director
- Harvest
vampverse • creatures of the night, lethal and alluring. assorted stories featuring hypnosis, captive thralls, and our favorite bloodsucking monsters on the hunt.
- It’s not as bad as it looks
- Help me
- Well, well, well…
- Taking Turns
- Dinner Bell
- Cavernous Cravings
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
the facility [3/3] • medical/lab setting, NG insertion, invasive procedures, drugs, hypnotic induction, eye speculum
prev | masterlist
He blinked and suddenly he was sitting on some sort of modular procedure chair in a small white room. Everything hospital clean and hospital plain. Like nothing ever happened.
It was a sudden sense of clarity, almost like he could tell the exact moment his mind started making memories again. Minutes or hours blended together. Now he was dry and propped semi-upright, with a cushioned brace to keep his head straight and padded restraints around his wrists and ankles.
He wasn’t sure why he needed them. He felt so weak he could only move his eyes. He was still naked, and every part of him felt scrubbed raw. Squeaky clean. He couldn’t remember why.
Someone sat at his side and prepped a sterile tray full of odd tubes and carefully organized vials. A nurse, maybe. He could see a plastic bag drip drip dripping overhead, tubes snaking down to the crook of his arm. Tubes all over the place.
“How are you feeling?” Lenore. He didn’t see her until she approached, and for a long moment he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer. If he could.
“Fine,” he mumbled, eventually. He wasn’t sure. His own voice sounded muffled and detached, like a spectator in his own body. “Wh... where’re we?”
Lenore smiled as if it wasn’t the first time he asked. Her eyes crinkled like the plastic film peeling back in her hands. “We're about to begin the induction process. I’ve given you some muscle relaxants, so you should be feeling more at ease.”
Something felt wrong, but he wasn’t sure why. His mind reached and wandered, tried to remember. He watched Lenore pull out a long, thin plastic tube and make big lazy circles to unwind it.
“This is how you’ll be fed from now on,” she said, fleeting touches landing as she measured from his earlobe down his chest. “The insertion may be a little uncomfortable, but it will just take a moment.”
“Oh… okay.”
It wasn’t like he had much of a say. She twisted one end around two fingers before spreading out a glob of lube. The head brace kept him from moving, and she just shoved the tube into his nostril without any warning. It brought a rush of sensation so pervasive it burned all the way through his sinuses.
His fingers sluggishly curled around the armrest. “Gh- w-wait—”
The tube hit the back of his throat and he gagged. The nurse brought over a sippy cup and poked a straw through his lips. “Go ahead and swallow.”
He instinctively sucked and swallowed. It didn’t really taste like water. “Mnngh—”
“Again.”
He gagged, choked more of it down. The bitter taste, the tube. His throat bobbed and twitched from the dragging sensation going deeper, and deeper, and deeper. So deep he wasn’t sure it was ever coming back out.
Lenore eventually stopped and stuck a piece of tape right there to his face. She took the other end of the tube and attached an empty syringe, pulling on the plunger to draw back clear liquid. His stomach must’ve been squeaky clean, too. “Very good.”
He uncomfortably swallowed around the dull pressure down his nose and throat. “Wh… why…”
“This is just standard procedure.” Lenore handed off the syringe and attached the tube to another hanging bag. This one was full of a milky white liquid. “You’ll quite like the Blend once you’re on it. Most subjects do.”
“S… subjects…?”
Lenore gave him that same crinkled smile. She opened the port and started the infusion. He watched a solid streak of white travel down the tube, curl around, and vanish in a flush of warmth across his cheek. So warm he felt it twist all the way through him and go down, down, down.
At first it made him nauseous, filling his stomach with viscous deadweight. He swallowed and swallowed and the pressure built. The world blurred, went heavy. “Gh— hnnnngh….”
Whatever the Blend was, it made reality dissolve into a thick syrupy churn. His eyelids fluttered. The researchers exchanged calm clinical chatter, words distorting into odd broken patterns, everything melting away. All he could see was white.
The researchers took swabs, vitals, invasive biopsies. He barely felt the long, long needles poking between his ribs, into his back, in between his legs. He didn’t even notice when they inserted the catheter, the probe. It was like none of it really mattered. Faraway and meaningless.
He chose this. He chose it. A health optimization program.
A place to become his best self.
“The last step is a neural scrubbing.” Lenore hovered in between the pale ghostly glow of monitors and screens. He couldn’t even move his eyes to follow her, so heavy and half-lidded. “It shouldn’t take long. The technique has been perfected over the last few years.”
Gloved fingers filtered in and out, placing cool sticky electrodes on his temples, behind his ears, down his chest. Eventually he was covered in wires and tubes, hooked to all sorts of monitors, warmth lingering in a band across his face and all the way down his throat. He could barely hear anything but the dripdripdrip of the IV overhead, and maybe Lenore’s voice somewhere far away.
The IV port gave a click and ran flush with something dark. His arm jerked at the rush of cold.
Heaviness followed.
“What’s your name?”
His tongue ventured and lolled. Too heavy. An arc of light flashed in a rhythmic strobe in front of his eyes, and then a white-hot burst of pain simmered across the base of his skull. His pupils constricted hard.
“Subject MK-817.” A low hum of energy, the brightening glare of light. “What’s your name?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. The darkness was thin, pulsing with afterimages until gloved fingers pulled his lids apart again. Cold metal latched hard under his skin, pressure pulling his lashes up and his lower lid down.
The speculum bit gently at first, then firmer and firmer and firmer. Ratcheting with tiny clicks until the blinding strobe was all he could see. He tried to close his eyes and the metal bit harder. He couldn't look away.
The light flickered and flashed. Static rippled up and down every limb, prickled across his chest and face. His face twitched from each electric jolt, eyes rolling in helpless directions. "Hnngh— hmnph-"
Lenore asked the same question and repeated the same things over and over and over. No matter what he couldn’t answer. The light flashed, he twitched and trembled, and eventually it all stopped making any sense.
Another pulse. Subject MK-817. Another flash. Subject MK-817.
subject, subject, subject
A glass dropper hovered overhead. Something slick and oily landed in each eye, multiple drops turning everything amber. The figures around him twisted and distorted into long melting patterns. His eyes slowed, slowed, and got stuck. Staring straight ahead.
The light pulsed. Blue, white, gold. Suddenly he was thinking about hot humid summers and mildewy laundry. Faces, voices, old memories rushing to the surface.
His pupils dilated and contracted, lingering on a monitor displaying jagged lines of bumps and waves. Waves like the ocean they went to every year, windswept palm trees and bitter cigarette smoke and-
Another rippling explosion of sensation came from the electrodes, an odd buzzing thrum up and down every nerve and every synapse. The lights flashed and flickered.
Fireworks and birthday candles. Bed sheets and bad handwriting. The burning aching breath after a long jog-
Another mechanical jolt shot through him. It was like every time his thoughts became familiar they got caught in a web of distorted pain. His muscles misfired under each electrode. His pupils dilated and made everything dark.
A gentle hum. Bright flash of light.
“Why are you here?”
Here, here, here. Where was he?
“Subject MK-817. Why are you here?”
Because you chose this. You chose it.
A health optimization program. A place to achieve your best self under the guidance of experts.
you chose this
you chose this
you chose this
Subject MK-817.
His lips parted. Saliva dripped. More warmth through the NG tube.
“He’s ready for the next phase."
————
Subject MK-817 sat propped among the ambient glow of monitors. A streak of drool glistened across his chin.
They fed him subliminal compliance messages through thick heavy headphones. The lights didn't stop strobing, deep hums giving way to flashes and flickers over and over again. His eyes were so dilated they were almost black, stuck staring in opposite directions. They closely monitored every change of brain activity on the screens until the peaks and waves became more and more predictable. Controlled.
This one responded well.
The electrodes fired. A strange, slurred sound left the subject's mouth. Residual muscle response. His fingers clenched and his arms curled against the padded restraints, eyes rolling to show just whites.
"Delayed reintegration," one of the assistants noted, trying to find his pupils.
"As expected," Lenore said. "Begin Compliance Protocol 01-7. This one can be primed for Implantation."
Another infusion entered the IV line. The subject's breathing shifted, sharpening once before going steady. His eyes drooped to each side as he gave a thin, thready moan.
Lenore filled out the necessary form on her tablet. Another subject processed and assigned.
Lenore rolled him down a hallway in the same wheelchair from before. He wasn’t sure when that happened.
It still looked like they were in a hospital, all those doors and doors and doors stretching out before him. Clean clinical wings, long and endless. One after the other.
after the other, after the other, after the other…
He trembled and shook all over. Something felt wrong, clawing and twisting its way inside of him. Like his own blood didn’t belong under his skin and wanted to crawl its way out.
“Where are we going?” He asked, distant and distorted. “Wh-… w-what’d you give me?”
“Don’t worry,” Lenore said, her voice floating down from somewhere above, behind, far away. Further, and further, and further. “Your body is just preparing for the purge.”
Sweat beaded all over his skin. His stomach twisted so hard it made him hunch over. “T-the purge?”
“It’s completely routine,” Lenore assured him, calm and pacifying. “Everyone feels like this on their first day.”
“I-it.. it hurts.”
The dizziness got so bad, he wasn’t sure what she said next. Something about ‘necessary procedures’ and ‘responding as expected.’
She brought him to a different room, he wasn't sure where. Somewhere darker, colder. Saliva pooled in his mouth and finally burst. He puked all over his lap and tipped right out of the wheelchair. His elbows landed hard on cold tile.
Reality started going by in bits and pieces, flashes of color lost between bouts of clarity. Most of it was painful. Harsh acid soaps, hot blasts of water, choking and gagging on thick chemical vapors. Twisting and writhing from violent cramps. Getting sick again, and again, and again.
At one point he gasped back to awareness, sputtering and begging in a puddle of his own mess, strings of bile hanging from his lips. He was completely naked, soaked all over. His skin red and raw. Faceless technicians hovered overhead, looming shadowy figures wearing full body suits and domed masks. They held him down with thick rubber gloves.
“Wh… w’s goin’ on,” he slurred, words heavy and thick, lost against the hollow roar of steam and water. They manhandled around like a sack of meat. Forced him on his hands and knees. “Wh-w-where’m I…”
He couldn’t keep up, getting shoved face-first into the grate. And now they had him wide and exposed in a very different sort of way. They shoved thin nozzle deep exactly where he didn’t want it, and he gasped at the invasive slip of pressure. A rush of warmth shot through his bowels like a torrent and filled, filled, filled. They filled him with so much he almost thought he'd burst.
He let out a miserable groan and the tube slipped out. The liquid purged in a violent rush, like his body immediately rejected whatever was being forced into it, poison churning deep in his system. And then the tube went back in. He let out pathetic whimpers and cries as his body spasmed and contracted. Again, again, again.
“S-stop… please.”
“I know this is unpleasant, but it’s an important transition from your past life to a new one.” Lenore’s voice came from faraway, muffled and hollow. “Like starting from a clean slate.”
His eyes skittered around trying to find her. Instead he saw faceless technicians, thick droplets of fog clinging all over their plastic suits.
Eventually they pulled him upright and he swayed hard. He could barely see straight as they wrapped his wrists in restraints. They connected a long slack to a bar somewhere overhead, and suddenly his arms were stretched upwards, the only thing keeping him standing. “W… wh… why—”
The technicians were still at work, brushing him all over with some sort of chemical powder. Plumes of orange swathed across his view. It burned at first, but then the water started up again and turned it molten— hot fiery acid rolling like sludge down his skin. He coughed and sputtered and cried. The sharp pressure of water dug into every pore as they sprayed him from head to toe.
They were thorough. They brushed, scrubbed, scraped. Blasted him with air to dry off, then scanned him from head to toe in blinding blistering lights. He screamed, he struggled. It didn’t make a difference.
“It’s time for the next dose,” Lenore eventually said, distant and intangible. Almost like a hallucination. “You’ll feel much better after this one.”
They stuck him in the arm with a syringe, the sensation cold and bitter. Then gloved hands grabbed him hard around the jaw and wrenched his mouth open. The other tech shoved a cold metal tube between his teeth.
“W- ghh—” A pill launched into the back of his throat. He gagged, automatically swallowed, then kept sputtering. “Agh— S-… please.”
Whatever they just gave him landed hard in his empty stomach, and an odd fluttery sensation spread through him. Warm, heavy, artificial.
the facility [1/3] • medical setting, physical exam, drugs
masterlist | next
The guy who drove the van didn’t give him the option of walking. Something about ‘VIP treatment’ and safety protocols. He didn’t feel like arguing this early in his stay, so for once he shut his mouth and did as he was told.
He chose to be here, he reminded himself over and over again. He chose to be here, so he might as well play by the rules. He shrunk low in the wheelchair and held on tight.
The first person they met was some woman sitting behind thickset plexiglass. A metal door stood just to her left, and a pair of cameras hung overhead. He nervously eyed one of the red blinking lights before forcing himself to look away.
She greeted them with some degree of kindness, plain and robotic through the microphone. Asked for his date of birth and biological sex. Wrote it all down. She didn’t ask for his name, but she slid a clipboard with a piece of paper through the gap for him to sign.
Routine, routine, routine. The paper was filled top to bottom with words, all bold and small print. It seemed important. It was also too overwhelming to take in, line after line stretching and blurring. None of it made sense. He glanced up at the woman and swallowed hard. Quickly scribbled down his name.
The lady’s nails clicked and clacked against the clipboard when she dragged it back through the slot. “Any personal items? Phone, wallet, keys?”
“Uhm… no.”
“That’s okay. It’ll just be a couple of minutes.”
Eventually, the door rumbled open and a nurse came out to retrieve him. She wheeled him down a hallway in amicable silence, and very quickly it was like they were in a hospital— bland vinyl floors and plain white walls, endless hallways, doors and doors and doors.
Except it was so quiet. Nothing but the rumble-tumble of his wheelchair.
“Where are we going?” He ventured to ask, voice small.
“You will be taken through intake first,” the nurse said. “Don’t worry. This part is all standard procedure.”
She brought him to an exam room that could’ve been taken out of any doctor’s office. Sleek cabinets, modular cushioned bed, carefully organized medical supplies. He awkwardly clambered out of the chair when she clipped the brakes and nudged him forward.
“You’ll fill out an intake form and go through some preliminary tests before moving on to processing.” The nurse pulled a folded gown from a drawer and set aside what looked like a trash bag. “This is for your clothes. Remove all socks, underwear, jewelry, and artificial eyelashes or nails of any kind. That includes any piercings, retainers, or butt plugs.”
He blinked in surprise. “Oh. I guess you’ve seen it all.”
She didn’t seem amused. Her words might as well have been a script, flatly delivered over and over. “Make yourself comfortable and fill out this form. There’s water if you’d like to help yourself, and blankets in that drawer. Someone will be in soon.”
And then she was gone. He stared at the door after it clicked shut.
The room was overwhelmingly clean. The plant sitting next to the sink was fake, and the only painting on the wall was of nondescript blots of color. Bland and impersonal. Some sort of aroma diffuser cast a thready swirl of vapor into the air, but he wasn’t sure what it was supposed to smell like.
He wondered if he was being watched here, even without any obtrusive cameras or blinking red lights.
Probably.
The gown was plain and hospital-like, but somehow comfortable. Clean. It closed all the way in the back and went down past his knees. He changed while trying not to give the cameras a second thought and stuffed all his clothes into the plastic bag. He didn’t have much in the way of piercings or butt plugs, but there were some bracelets he hesitantly took off.
There wasn’t anywhere to sit but the exam table. He let his feet dangle, and by then it really did feel like he was at the doctor’s office. Just another routine check-up. He watched the diffuser swirl and swirl before reaching for the intake form.
Most of it seemed standard. Demographics, medical history, lifestyle habits. Whether he was a drug addict or considered himself mentally unwell. He filled it out slowly, conscientiously. Like he didn’t want to get anything wrong.
Have you ever felt as though you’ve been watched or monitored without your knowledge?
He faltered at the next string of questions, his pen catching at the edge of the clipboard.
How would you rate your ability to follow instructions?
Do you have a high or low pain tolerance?
Are you ready to comply?
The door opened and some blonde-brunette woman in a white coat entered. By then, he’d unnerved himself so much his eyes snapped towards her like he expected a ghost. She was carrying a thin tablet that seemed too long, casting odd shadows all over her chest.
“Hi there,” she said, giving a warm smile despite his immediate reaction. “You can call me Lenore. I’m one of the Specialists here at the facility. I’ll be taking you through intake and processing today.”
“U-uh… Hi,” he warily greeted, fingers tightening around the clipboard. His throat felt so dry.
“There’s no need to be nervous,” Lenore continued, observing him closely. “This part is just about establishing some baselines to make the transition as easy as possible for you. I’ll walk you through the whole process.”
“S-sorry, I…” He wasn’t sure why he was apologizing. His fingers fiddled with the pen, hot and sticky around plastic. “This is just… I didn’t think it would be like this. And these questions—”
Lenore reached forward to take the clipboard when it nearly tumbled out of his lap. “Why don’t we put that aside for now?” She suggested, airy and calm. Like she had all the right answers. “I’m here to make this as seamless as possible. We’ll begin by taking some vitals and a few samples, alright? How does that sound?”
She didn’t wait for an answer before smoothing a blood pressure cuff around his arm. All her motions were pacifying, like handling a scared animal, but also direct. Routine. He watched her clip a glowing sensor around his finger while the cuff squeezed and squeezed.
“Why are you here?” Lenore asked.
“Why am I… what?”
She watched him closely. She had these blue-green eyes, features nearly indiscernible behind thick-framed glasses. “You’ve chosen to enter this facility because you’re seeking a health optimization program.”
His heartbeat fluttered quietly from her tablet. He was sure it sounded too fast. “Y-yeah…”
Lenore gave a warm smile. It stretched too wide. “This is a place to achieve your best self under the guidance of experts. We take care of everything— your diet, your sleep, your body. You’ll find yourself becoming stronger, healthier, better.”
He heard the pitch before. It was why he was here, right?
he chose this he chose this he chose this
“This is just the first step.” Lenore observed the tablet with a delicate crease in her brow. “I know it can be daunting.”
His blood pressure must have been too high, too. He was already messing this up. The sound of his heartbeat only hastened when Lenore turned away.
“If you’d like, I can give you something to make this a little easier. Help you relax.”
He practically vibrated with nervous energy. “Like… like a sedative?”
“No, no. It’s more of supplement to ease anxiety.” Lenore returned with a cup of water and a single pill. “Many participants feel like this on their first day. This helps make the transition easier.”
She held it out for him to take. Like maybe it was his choice.
Small, white, and round. So unassuming.
He chose this. He chose it.
He held out a trembling hand. And as that pill went down, leaving behind a bitter bitter aftertaste, a strange thought slipped through his mind.
She never asked his name.
——
It was some sort of supplement, supposedly. He didn’t notice it come on.
“You’re doing great,” Lenore said again and again. She was taking all sorts of vitals, he didn’t even know. She pressed a diaphragm against his chest and back, told him to breathe deep and breathe out, and there wasn’t even an attachment for her ears but somehow the tablet recorded it all. She measured his height, recorded his weight. Stuck cold thin devices in his ears, nose, and mouth. Took scans with increasingly complex devices.
He floated through the process with a detached, hazy disposition. He was really glad he took that pill. The jittering nearly shaking him off the exam table went away, and his heartbeat sounded a lot slower through the tablet. This felt… simpler. Easy.
Routine, routine, routine.
“You’re so ready to comply.”
His eyes snapped open. “What?”
“You’re almost ready,” Lenore said, giving him that same patient smile. “Open wide.”
At some point she stopped telling him how great he was doing. Just what to do. She swabbed the inside of his cheeks, then used a tongue depressor to take a good look at every one of his teeth. Made him say ‘ahh.’ She worked thoroughly and efficiently, her pacifying nature from before turning precise. Clinical.
He wasn’t sure when this became a full-body physical exam, but he just followed along in slow motion. Getting touched and prodded and poked all over. At some point Lenore even handled a swab around his genitals and he barely registered the invasive touch. He didn’t think about it. He wasn’t thinking about anything.
He sat back on the exam table and watched the lazy swirling of the diffuser. It was like the air was too humid, pressing down on him, making his limbs light and floaty. “What was in that pill?”
“Like I said, just a mild relaxant. You have nothing to worry about.” Lenore flashed a light in his eyes for the second or third time. Now it left behind odd kaleidoscopes of color, his pupils slow and dilated. “You’re responding just as expected.”
That sounded like a good thing. He was doing great.
“It’s time for the next preparatory dose.” Lenore collected aside her tray of supplies and returned with small glass vial filled with a strange yellow-orange liquid. It nearly looked neon when it caught the light.
Or maybe everything was just too bright, too vibrant. He eyed the drink with a half-lidded gaze. “Wh… wha’s it for?”
“This is the last step of your intake." Lenore pressed it into his hand like he had to drink it himself. "It's part of the preparatory regimen to prime you for processing.”
He stared down at the vial like he had any reason to hesitate. His choice, his choice, his choice. His mind moved sluggishly, thoughts thick and murky. His choice?
Lenore watched him expectantly with those blue-green eyes, lips folded into a thin smile. Somehow, it felt like less of a choice this time. Like he’d already gone too far.
It didn’t matter. Lenore tilted the cup towards his lips, and he didn’t stop her. She’d take care of everything.
Everything would be taken care of inside the facility.
A whumpee being put to sleep who is desperately trying to resist and stay awake, because they know they'll be at the whumper's mercy once they succumb.
The side dishes:
The whumpee's teammates are also losing the struggle, as the whumpee desperately tries to keep them from falling asleep while also feeling the effects
The whumpee fading in and out of consciousness, each time a little less able to keep their eyes open
The whumper's team preparing medical equipment and chattering about what they're going to do to the whumpee as the whumpee's awareness slowly fades
The whumpee being manhandled and restrained when they're too weak and sleepy to resist
The whumper whispering in the whumpee's ear all the things they plan to do to them once the whumpee is asleep
The whumpee desperately trying to crawl to safety or call for help before they pass out
Sedated or ensorcelled whumpee trying to escape from their whumper, even as their limbs become so slow and heavy
Fear, defiance and cunning giving way to glassy, blank eyes, fluttering eyelids, mouth hanging open in a stupor
Dazed whumpee forgetting why they shouldn't go to sleep as they curl up more comfortably and shut their eyes
Teammates pleading with whumpee to stay awake as their head fogs and their vision blurs
Android whumpee sacrificing more and more of their non-essential processes as their battery ticks down to 0%
Whumpee who can feel their thoughts becoming controlled and corrupted as they fall asleep, but is still unable to keep themselves awake
Dazed and hypnotized whumpee sleepwalking after a hypnotic lure, with outstretched arms and drooping eyelids, unable to stop their feet from stumbling forward
Whumpee hit with a fast-acting tranquilizer dart -- bright and alert one minute, completely out of it the next
Delirious whumpee babbling nonsense as they try to fight off the sleep
A whumpee who knows their memories will be erased once they're under, knowing that sleep means the death of who they currently are
A whumpee who thinks they're being put under for an ordinary medical procedure, only for their worst enemy to waltz into the room and taunt them once they're too sedated to escape
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
(conditioned??) living weapon whose feelings towards whumper gravitate somewhere between "i'd burn the world for you" and "i'd kill you in an instant if you'd just let the leash slip"
so, what if she finds him hiding in the hayloft and he’s horrifically injured (and also poisoned) and she has to heal him, but she’s not super great at it yet and it’s excruciating for him and he has to be quiet because if anyone else finds him he’ll be taken back to the people who tortured him and want him to be a weapon of mass destruction for them and he’s really scared and just wants to be free and he also thinks she’s really pretty but tries to hide it bc it confuses him and she feels like he’s a lost cat she needs to nurse back to health. what then?
drugs that make a character woozy and disoriented. slurring words and falling slack, everything too heavy and confusing and muffled
blown pupils, wandering eyes, breathing too much or too little. sweating, shaking, puking, so limp and pale it’s almost like they’re dead
fevers so high a character's mind just turns to mush. glossy eyes tracking the ceiling, listless and unaware until eventually there's sweat sticking all over the sheets and they start mumbling some vague responses to caretaker's questions
tranquilizer dart that brings a character down all at once. one sudden jerk or look of confusion, not enough time to glance at it much less pull it out before eyes are rolling back and they collapse into the dirt
tranquilizer dart that comes on slowly. pulling it out and running and running until each step becomes too uncoordinated, stumbling or getting dragged along by a teammate until even their begging to stay awake, let's go, becomes hazy and distant
struck so hard that everything rings in one ugly roar. staggering or falling, told to sit down, just stay down. so confused and lost, repeating the same questions and forgetting the answer over and over and over again
character so messed up they struggle to follow any part of the conversation. everything too heavy and confusing and muffled, just useless and incoherent and completely oblivious to the situation
nervous prodding or pleading by caretaker, begging them to just stay awake or focus
jostled around by captor, told to get the fuck up and follow orders, easily manhandled and restrained
mumbling nonsense and spilling secrets. stoic characters without any masks, so confused and broken and vulnerable, slipping and powerless in every sort of way
"you're okay, i promise you're okay"
“ah, shit. you’re a mess—”
“I guess you won’t remember this anyways…”
gaze drifting and blank, too faraway to track anything caretaker/captor is saying. nudged and prodded and pleaded at to no avail, just incoherent and out of it
too weak to move. beaten absolutely senseless or bleeding all over the place, a character just hurting and spent beyond means sprawled flat against the ground
getting dragged along or stepped on, pinned down as if they're in any state to go anywhere
hypnotized and stunned into mindlessness. repeated mantras and rewired thoughts, a character made pliable and blank and used like a puppet
paralyzed but fully aware, left slack and useless and desperate with limp muscles and depressed breathing. assumed dead and abandoned, grieved over or dumped aside like a corpse, forced to watch and unable to do anything
poisoned and just getting worse and worse. teammates desperately looking for a cure while character deteriorates, puking and passing out and getting high fevers, hallucinating and begging for relief
characters taken out of commission when they're otherwise the strongest one. exposed to a weakness, given magical restraints or cuffs with neural suppressors to keep them docile, targeted and taken out
vertigo taking a character side to side, brought down and useless
everything goes blurry, dazed, muffled, all at once
tinnitus is a common side effect of head trauma. one well-placed strike could leave behind sharp relentless ringing, deafening and disorienting all at once
vertigo makes them stumble and stagger and fall, turning their head gives them the spins. every movement is wobbly and uncoordinated
confusion, memory loss, incoherence. the brain does funny things when it’s concussed and sometimes the aftermath involves answering the question “What happened?” a dozen times over
too out of it even for simple instructions, not really processing how messed up they are and that they should, in fact, sit down
Drooping eyelids, shadowed eyebags, fogged and sluggish thoughts, soft mumblings, heavy head lolling down toward their chest, limp and tingly limbs, slow, deep breaths, half-dreaming 💖
Whumpee who was bred to be a test subject/created in the lab. Maybe they have weak joints or muscles to prevent them from running away, or some kind of engineered brain damage to make them compliant and unable to run away. Maybe the whumpers even claim this is more ethical; after all, whumpee was engineered to be a test subject so that no one else has to be. The whumpee was created for this, and hasn't ever experienced anything else.
Newly captured lab whumpee crying on the floor in their sterile, empty cell. They don't know what's going on, they're so scared and just want to go home. All they can do is anticipate what horrible things will be done to them.
Newly captured whumpee who has just experienced their first day as a test subject. It's only downhill from there.
Whumper coming in to do a routine check of whumpee's vitals. It's nothing invasive or painful but whumpee still hates it because it feels so cold and impersonal, and because they're so scared of whumper.
Alternatively, whumpee not minding when whumper/carewhumper comes to take their vitals... they're so touch starved, that any contact is welcome, and whumper never hurts them during the routine checks.
Carewhumper bringing whumpee a blanket and some hot herbal tea with honey after a long day of painful experiments.
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- whumpee being overstimulated by sensory stimuli - bright lights, loud/repetitive sounds, being touched, certain smells - and wincing or shrinking down to get away from it
- unresponsive whumpee who doesn’t give a crap anymore. theyd let someone push them over and theyd just topple to the side and lay there. they don’t respond to goodwill attempts to help, like having a bowl of warm food placed in front of them. they’ve checked out.
- familiar/casual whumpees - whumpees who are familiar with being treated a certain way so they don’t put up much of a fuss to being spit on or kicked. Just groan and move on with your day (could work rly well with ‘living weapon’ i feel)
- whumpees with collars!!!! it’s too dang good. especially if it’s a shock collar and they’re afraid to speak for fear of getting zapped. Bottom line is, you are property.
- whumpee being treated like a child and getting really pissed about it. bonus if the whumper has to resort to some atypical child behavior remedies to keep whumpee in their ‘role’ - such as chains, drugs, etc
- whumpee who refuses to part with an object, such as a mask, and freaks out if anyone so much as touches it.
- caretaker removing masks or collars when the time is right - only to catch whumpee wearing it again in fear or for comfort
- whumpees hands shaking so badly they can’t write or pick things up, and breaking things because their fine motor control is so horribly shot
- whumpee’s injuries being discovered by a group of caretaker friends; whumpee attempts to minimize and de escalate the damage they endured, while friend group is getting bent out of shape in horror over what was done to whumpee, and falling over each other to begin taking care of them
- whumpee being resuscitated and immediately leaping back into action without a thought to the fact that they just DIED; caretaker friend trying to get them to slow down and rest for one freaking second
- ANY kind of retrograde amnesia is soooo tasty. Especially when they don’t remember people they love and just stare at them with a blankly polite smile - OR whumpees who become aggressive with fear over not remembering anything!!
- whumpee seeing/hearing things and freaking out about it while caretaker tries to calm them down
a living weapon whumpee where all whumper need to do is say one little word, and whumpee will do whatever they say. Imagine the moment where whumpee comes back and caretaker has to explain to them what whumper made them do
I was possessed with the urge to write a whumper based on the emerald jewel wasp.
CW: Needles, medical inaccuracy, noncon drugging, kidnapping, mind/body control of a sort
Whumpee yelped as they were grabbed from behind.
“Shh.” One arm snaked around them, then they felt a sharp pinch in their neck. A slight tingling spread through Whumpee, and their muscles stiffened against their will.
They tried to struggle and found they couldn’t move. They couldn’t move. Whumpee was utterly helpless.
“Now, this is the delicate part. I'd tell you to hold still, but that really goes without saying.” Whumpee could hear a smile in their voice. They wanted to scream, or cry or protest or even beg, but all they could manage through the paralysis was a slight whimper. The stranger maneuvered their head, with careful precision but not a hint of gentleness.
Whumpee couldn't move as their attacker left them in that position to dig out something else they were carrying. Whumpee couldn't move as another needle pressed to their skin. Whumpee couldn't move as it went in way too far. The tip must have made it to the inside of their head.
The needle withdrew, feeling almost as horrifying coming out as it did going in. Another whimper squeezed its way out of Whumpee’s throat.
The stranger righted Whumpee’s head, then came around into Whumpee’s field of view for the first time. They jabbed Whumpee's finger and collected the blood in some sort of device. They watched the readings and seemed pleased with what they saw there.
“Perfect! Just one more.” They pulled out another needle, to Whumpee's horror. “Don't worry, this one's just the antidote to the paralytic.” They injected it into Whumpee, and sure enough Whumpee found movement starting to return to them after a couple of minutes.
Finally they could escape. Their assailant wasn't holding onto them and the drug's effects were fading away. Whumpee tried to take off running—and found they couldn't. It was like their feet were glued in place.
But they weren't paralyzed anymore. Whumpee's brow furrowed, confusion battling with their fear. Was it just their legs? Whumpee lifted one foot, then the other. They could move, they just couldn't run.
Dread filled Whumpee to the brim. “What did you do to me?” they asked.
“Took a precaution,” the stranger said. “I had to make sure you'd be cooperative.”
“What do you mean? What did you do!?”
“Shush. Come on.” The stranger started leading them along, and Whumpee followed. Whumpee wanted to go literally any other direction, but their body carried them after the stranger as easily as following a trusted friend.
They came to a car. Presumably the stranger's. They couldn't go in there, then whatever chances they had for escape would be cut down even further. And they could be taken anywhere, too far to be found even.
“Wait—”
The stranger pushed them into the car, and Whumpee didn't fight. They couldn't. They were going to be taken to whenever their attacker wanted, and Whumpee couldn't do a thing about it.
He stared confidently into her deep, dark eyes, just waiting for the telltale signs of her capitulation. She clearly didn't know what she was getting into, challenging him of all people to a duel of mental powers.
"You're very confident you're going to win, aren't you?" she said calmly.
He nodded, unable to keep the smug smile off his face. He felt great. "I'm very confident I'm going to win."
"You're completely certain that I'm the one falling under your power."
"That's right, you're falling under my power." He leaned in eagerly, looking ever deeper into those eyes, searching for the signs of his triumph.
"You're so sure and so comfortable that you won't even notice when you start to fall into a trance."
His eyelids fluttered. It was strangely hard to focus, but he really didn't need to focus to dominate such a weak opponent. "That's… right… it's so easy…"
"It's so easy. So easy to fall into trance. So easy to win."
cw: mentions of torture kidnapping, restraints, drugging
luxury yachts taken out to far waters and used only for nefarious purposes. drug trade, human trafficking, dumping bodies
“looks like a nice day to go out on the boat, doesn’t it?” when the boat is only used for punishments, torture, and executions
so much rope anywhere and everywhere, so many places to get tied up. very convenient for hostage-taking
absolutely no one around to hear any screaming
locked in a cabin with just a small slat of a window to the outside, everything bolted down and solid. which really sucks if the boat somehow sinks or capsizes
restrained, locked up, or pinned while the boat sinks and fills with water
floating among the remains of a ship and suffering from hypothermia
strung up on the deck of the ship and blistering under the sun all day
shootouts on a small boat/yacht with nowhere to go. bullets ripping through walls, harsh rocking waves making it harder to aim and harder to run
shootouts on public ferries with too many bystanders around, crowds scattering and tripping over chairs, jumping over railings
blood making the deck slick and slippery, splashes of seawater turning it all pink
thrown off the side of the boat and left for dead
abandoned on a disabled boat and left for dead, injured and surrounded by corpses
held captive on a cruise ship, always isolated and drugged up and carted around like a trophy. no one getting suspicious and no one to turn to
on the run and sneaking onto a cargo ship or industrial fishing boat. hiding in some back room, scavenging necessities, eventually getting caught and trapped at the whims of the captain
forced to do all the shit work, grueling physical tasks like swabbing the deck and rigging ropes day in and day out. pulling muscles, getting rope burns and sunburns, made to earn a fair stay by being pushed to the brink
sea sickness. rocking back and forth, equilibrium spinning and rolling, green and miserable the entire trip
tied up and thrown over to be left for dead to punish friend(s)
tied up and thrown over to be dragged along in the water for hours and hours. maybe to make friend(s) talk, or to just punish everyone involved
keelhauling
walking the plank
pirate crews that thrive on violence and intimidation, always publicly stringing up prisoners or punishing cowards, mutineers, thieves
siren/mermaid tied off the side of the ship and getting partially dried out in the sun
punished by the sea. violent storms and towering waves, forced to navigate nasty conditions, flooding decks, threatening to capsize
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cw: medical/lab whump, lab rat whumpees, noncon drugging
He woke in a restless and uncomfortable state. He was on the same thin, spring-loaded slab of cotton he woke up on before, with the sticky white sheets and the white fluorescent lights, plain obtrusive monotony all around him. It was all indistinct and hard to remember, hanging just out of reach.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The bed to his left was quiet, a messy clump of limbs and sheets with some face buried in between. He had yet to see that guy conscious. The beds to his right had more activity, the rest of them groggy and confused like he was. Nurses fluttered about at the start of the row. They usually went down one by one, and he was the third—fourth?—bed in line, second to last. It always gave him just enough time to know what was coming before it was his turn.
A man in a large white coat loomed at the foot of the beds. Muffled gasps and groans came from whoever was in his immediate attention. They weren’t faring so well. Two nurses hovered close, working hard to restrain struggling limbs, and for a moment all he could see was an arm raise and twist, contorting like an animal getting crushed and pulled apart.
He tried to sit up and realized his wrists weren’t restrained. Oh. Something about the novelty of it had him testing his limits, like he could finally lift his arms and stretch wide, but then he just flailed, all sluggish and clumsy, and flopped onto his side. He trembled hard from the wasted effort.
He was so tired. He absently watched the wild struggle of limbs, thudding and extending, skin pulling impossibly taut, until suddenly he blinked and the whitecoat had moved on to the next bed. The grunter from before was quiet now, head lolling. A different nurse worked to snake a long, long tube down their nose.
Now the next bed was getting the same treatment. Two nurses at each side, poking and prodding and prepping. The whitecoat stood back and took notes. At his nod, they gave a single injection at the crook of an arm, and the reaction was nearly immediate: eyes rolling back, muscles clamping up, contorting and twisting and gasping, gasping, gasping—
A cold sheen of sweat prickled across his skin. Sticky all over again. He tried to sit up and was left sprawling, weightless, so achy and miserable and weak it became clear why they took off those restraints in the first place. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere.
Panic was an abstract, foreign feeling when there was nothing he could do about it. His efforts cost him another few minutes, anyways. The next time he came to his senses, it was from the hard jabbing of a nurse hovering overhead.
The guy in the bed right next to him had his eyes rolled all the way back, mouth wide open, head lolling. The third nurse ran a tube against all the drool on his cheek to lube it up before lining it up with his nostril and-
His gaze swiveled back towards the ceiling. There was a nurse at his other side too, and she pulled away his shitty lump of a pillow to make him lay flat. He felt his arm get stretched aside, fingers pressing around for a vein.
“Mn… gh—” He tried to speak and nothing really came out. He tried to push them away and didn't move at all. Everything felt heavy, but nothing was heavier than the slow muddy guck of his mind.
He was fucked. So, so fucked.
The sharp slip of the needle came faster than he could process where the nurse got it from. He didn't even see the syringe, but he felt every bit of its contents go in— like bristling fire running up his arm, spreading and spreading, prickling and digging deeper and deeper down to his core.
He blinked so many times the world became a shutter shock of black. His jaw clamped hard. The tension suddenly went down the back of his neck, and the nurse waited until his mouth briefly snapped open to shove a folded towel between his teeth. It was warm and wet, bittersweet.
And then there was nothing. Burning, twisting, writhing, and-
—
He woke up. Or his eyes cracked open.
Buzzing, thrumming. Throbbing. It all hurt something fierce. Like he felt sicker than he could describe, sicker than he could even process.
Just, just miserable.
Blurry-edged fluorescent lights against a plain white ceiling. He swallowed and winced at the sting going all the way through his nose and down his throat. He tried to move and winced harder at the pain all over— white, hot, encompassing.
A nurse appeared overhead. The panic feeling came back. She propped up some sort of canister attached to a long tube, which hung suspiciously close to his face. She started pouring something into the canister, and just seconds later he could feel the warm heavy slosh of liquid. It thickened in the back of his throat and traveled down, down, down.
Out of instinct, he swallowed and swallowed because it felt like he was going to choke. Wasn't like it made a difference. The nurse kept pouring, and a cursory glance to the side let him know exactly what he had in store: whitened, rolled back eyes, mouth slack and wide open. Left brainless hollow, an empty puppet strung up by an ugly tube taped at a nostril.
A deep numbness settled low in his stomach. Like whatever he was being fed was making the most visceral parts of him go lax limp and lost. The feeling spread all over, piece by piece, every part of him melting away until his view of that plain white ceiling broke apart, darkened, and turned into meaningless blots.
Static.
—
The row of subjects were a scattered disarray of incoherence. Most of them were quiet. Bed One often groaned or cried out; they were the most resistant to the regimen, and it was only a matter of time before their dosage was raised. Bed Two took most of the attention of the bedside nurse, losing all bowel and bladder control, gagging and sweating and puking as if every part of the body needed to reject what was being given.
The others responded better. Bed Three looked to be at peace, eyes rolled so far back it was hard to see the absent euphoria keeping him adrift. Drool glistened across his cheek, and sometimes he even smiled or moaned.
Bed Four also looked at peace. He stared at nothing, eyes half-open and lazily roving back and forth. He didn't even twitch when a nurse peeled his eyelid all the way back. "Vitals within range. No signs of awareness.”
“Bed Five.”
“No change. Still maintaining his own airway.” This one responded maybe too well, but he’d get the regimen the same as the rest. Probably crash sooner than later.
The man in the white coat loomed nearby, taking his notes. He finally nodded and walked back to the foot of Bed One. "Prepare another round of injections."
Man, I just love the idea of a dazed-out Whumpee, drugged-beyond-comprehension, sprawled out vulnerable and unprotected on the couch as Whumper's party guests interact around them. I love the idea of Whumpee being a party favour; a cheap little bit of entertainment. Conscious, but barely. Alert, but subdued and drugged enough that they can't fight back.
Do the guests pull Whumpee's limp form into their laps, caressing their face and hair and chuckling at their incomprehensible mumbling? Do they tilt their chin up and pour alcohol through the parted, un-protesting lips? Does Whumpee sputter and choke, causing the party-goers to laugh cruelly, shoving their head between their knees so they don't suffocate? Do they blow their smoke into Whumpee's face, mouth, or eyes?
Do they hurt Whumpee, or mishandle them, or assault them? Do they take pictures or videos? How do they react when Whumpee reaches out a limp, sluggish arm in a futile attempt to push their tormentors away?
Do the party-goers mock the Whumpee, forcing them to their knees, making them crawl across the floor just to watch them struggle? Do they scoff at the way Whumpee is too dizzy to move without collapsing? Do they tell Whumpee to "sit" and "speak" like a dog, punishing them for slurred mumbling and rewarding them if they can somehow manage an intelligible word or phrase?
Does the Whumpee, in their delirious state, call out unitelligibly for Whumper? Does Whumper hold them, wiping away their tears, reassuring them that they're doing great and that they'll feel better soon?
Or does Whumper simply let them cry, watching from afar as their guests do whatever they want to the victim?
... Just something I like to think about.
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