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whumpinggrounds · 2 years

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Touch starved for T?

And it only took like 2 months! Oops...anyway...

Tagging robot people - @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @redwingedwhump, @ocean-blue-whump, @impalasexual, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @sadcatjae, @whump-cravings, @kawhump, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @winedark-whump, @whumpingmydarlings, @maracujatangerine

CW: android/cyborg/robot whump, nonhuman whumpee, male whumpee, electricity, aftermath of electrical torture, test subject, lab whump, touch starved (duh), complicit caretaker, lotsa fluff

It starts after a routine test. T is still shaking from the amount of electricity they’ve run through him – he has upgrades now, post-lightning, that make these tests interesting. Relevant. Worthwhile. The electrodes are placed on his scalp, the soles of his feet, his chest, his legs. Worst of the worst, the metal arm. The electrodes are pasted on with glue that T hates, the team talking over him the whole time as though he doesn’t exist. Then the shocks. Shocks that make him shiver, jolt, and finally, scream. All day. All day, while tears run down his cheeks and his chest hitches and his electronic heart stutters eerily, chillingly inside his chest. A full long day of detached scientists noting down every reaction, every hitch of his breath, every whimper and wail. When T tries to shut his eyes, they write it down then pry them open to check pupil dilation. When he flinches from their touch, they write down uncooperative and bind him to the table beneath him. When he pleads for them to stop, finally, in a voice that’s thick with tears and breaking, they ask him to describe the pain, to rate the pain, to really focus on what, exactly, is in pain.

Then they ask him how it changes when they make it worse.

All in the name of science. All in the name of making him better. T tells himself that, but it doesn’t stop the trembling. At this point, he isn’t sure if it’s aftershocks, or exhaustion, or the particular kind of fiery, electric pain that is still dancing down his veins. Dried tears make itching, salty tracks down his face, but T can’t bring himself to wipe them away. His shaking arms come up to hold himself, to wrap around his torso, maybe in a feeble attempt to stop the motion, maybe just because he feels so achingly hollow.

T doesn’t realize that Freddy is in the room until he’s sitting down on the cot beside him. He’s too busy white-knuckling his own arms, trying hard to stop the shake, the stuttering breath, the tremors running up and down his body. When Freddy clears his throat, it startles him so badly T jumps halfway out of his skin.

“Sorry!” Freddy flinches back from T, guilt written all over his face, the slump of his shoulders. “Sorry – T, I’m…sorry.” There’s a long, uncomfortable pause. “For…startling you.”

Freddy looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. T just stares at him, wide-eyed, waiting. Surely, they aren’t running more tests? Surely, Freddy isn’t here to bring him back into the testing room, to run more and more and more electricity through him until T’s heart just up and quits?

Freddy’s eyes are searching T’s face, but whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t find it. Sighing, Freddy looks away, scratching the back of his neck. He’s awkward. He’s unsure. Vulnerable, hisses T’s mechanical brain, trained to assess both threats and weaknesses. Those circuits, the patterns of analysis that run like second nature through his skull, tell him he has nothing to fear from the uncomfortable, gangly young man beside him.

Usually, T’s meat-brain would correct him. Freddy may not be physically imposing, but he has power over T that’s a threat all its own. Usually, the more active part of T’s consciousness would be advising him of this.

Right now, though, no part of T can find danger in the man sitting beside him.

“Are…T, are you okay?”

Freddy’s eyes lift to meet T’s again, and the test subject cocks his head.

“Heart rate has returned to baseline. Breathing has returned to baseline. Lung capacity good. Nerve responses good. Cognition seems normal-”

“N-no, sorry.” Freddy lets out a frustrated little half-laugh, more of a disbelieving huff than anything else. “No, I mean, T…how are you…feeling?”

Brow furrowing, T considers the question. “Please clarify, sir.” He thinks of the man as Freddy in his head, but no amount of comfort will let him say it out loud – that only happens when he’s lost himself in pain or fear.

Grimacing, Freddy sucks air through his teeth. “Um…remember when we talked about pain?” T nods his assent. “Are you in any pain?”

Pausing to think, T tries to focus on the feedback from his bio-body. There’s an ache in his bones, even, somehow, along his skin. There’s an itchy kind of tingling that sears in his veins, his muscles. T is almost surprised to discover that by Freddy’s odd, unscientific measure, he’s actually in quite a bit of pain. “I…I suppose I am.”

Freddy winces. “Shit.”

“Sir, it’s not a concern.” T isn’t sure how else to express it. “No mechanical or biological damage has been done.”

“T, it’s not that.” When T glances at him, he finds Freddy upset, like Dr. Pool after a failed update, or Wagner after a line of code doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to. “I care whether you’re in pain.”

T finds he has nothing to say to that, but the despair on Freddy’s face demands an answer. “I’m…sorry,” he offers, voice uncertain. The visual feedback from Freddy tells T that this may also have been the wrong thing to say.

When Freddy speaks, his voice is soft, free of the distress on his face. “No, T, I’m sorry.” He says it so earnestly that T finds it hard to look at him, to experience secondhand the weakness Freddy wears on his skin without second thought. “I…I wish there was something I could do, I…”

“You don’t need to do anything. The pain is not causing damage on any level.”

Freddy places a hand on T’s shoulder, careful to choreograph every movement so T doesn’t startle. “I’m not just worried about damage, though. I care about how you feel.”

That sentiment is confusing enough, but T can’t even begin to parse its meaning with Freddy’s hand resting on his shoulder. It’s just – his hand is warm. And so intentional, there against T’s skin. He doesn’t seem to care that it’s resting right where metal is grafted onto flesh, a messy seam that repulses most new techs, most people. He holds T’s shoulder, and, without really thinking about it, T leans into the touch.

Clearly surprised, Freddy pauses for a moment, mouth moving as he tries to come up with something to say. Finally, he just slides closer to T, slipping his arm around T’s shoulders. A kind of lightness fills T’s body. He feels warmer. There’s something in his chest more buoyant than air. It’s not sleepiness, exactly, that makes him want to slump against Freddy, but something stranger, more unfamiliar, and definitely more powerful. He just – he likes being close. He wants to be closer. Freddy’s arm around him is the only thing that makes the pain dancing across his skin recede. T presses against Freddy anew, and the tech swallows, hard.

“T, do you…um, are you…?”

Freddy sounds unsure, and even more awkward than usual. T should stop, but the brand new feeling in his chest, the feeling that ignites when Freddy touches him, is overriding every instinct he’s ever had and every instinct that’s ever been coded into him. T should stop – but then, Freddy is always encouraging him to be as honest as possible. So, eyes fixed on the ground in front of them, T tells the truth. “It helps. With the pain.”

Freddy lets out that huff again, the one that’s almost a laugh. “Man. You know how to push my buttons, huh, T?”

There’s no anger in Freddy’s voice. T doesn’t think it’s an accusation. He also doesn’t think it’s worth it to say anything, so he just gazes at Freddy, waiting. The new tech sighs. “C’mere, bud.” He sits back against the wall and opens his arms.

Disbelieving, T stares, not daring to move. Freddy rolls his eyes, smiling all the while, and beckons T forward again. A shiver runs through T, and this time, he doesn’t think it’s the aftershocks of the electricity. Hesitantly, he creeps forward.

Freddy has his back flush to the wall, his arms out, his legs spread to allow T to crawl between them. Now T is the awkward one, moving slowly, unsure. For the first time in months, maybe years, he’s in an entirely new situation, with no directions or objective save for the longing in his chest that urges him toward Freddy. The most analytical parts of his brain can’t quantify the want – it can’t be warmth he’s after because he’s not cold. Pressure on his skin won’t distract from the pain because the pain is deeper than that, zinging through the meat of him, muscles and flesh and steel wire. There’s no logical reason for T to inch forward until Freddy takes over and pulls him forward. Like a child, Freddy gathers T against his chest. Like a child – and T doesn’t know where he gets that comparison, that idea, the image of a little human curled up against a big one.

That is what he’s doing, though. That’s what Freddy has him doing. With uncommon care, a foreign gentleness, Freddy maneuvers T so his test subject is curled up against his chest. Freddy wraps both arms around T, and T’s hands come up to cling, to clutch Freddy’s skinny forearms, as if the holding isn’t enough because it might end. There’s a squirrely warm feeling in T’s stomach, a sweet keening. He presses into Freddy, and when the tech chuckles, T feels the vibration against his cheek. It feels good in a way T can’t articulate, analyze, or express. It’s the satisfaction of a full belly after a meal. The warmth of a heavy blanket. The brief bright feeling of connection when T knows he’s acing one of the tests intended to differentiate him from a robot. It’s all those things – and also more. And different.

T doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He just wants to curl against Freddy’s chest and feel. Just then, as if he’s heard T’s thoughts, Freddy brings one hand up to cradle T’s head against his collarbone. And T stops thinking to drink in the feeling for as long as Freddy will hold him. And he does, and he does, and he does.

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gravitywasneveranoption · 6 months

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*shrug*

Thing I wrote one time

(TW: blood, mentions of torture and guns)

Clara calmly raised her head, despite the blood dripping down her face. "Drew, darling, I'm sure we could work this out-"

"NO. FUCKING. WAY," her captor yowled, crazed by adrenaline.

"A-A-AND-AND LET YOU TEAR OPEN MY BELLY AGAIN?! RIP MY PAWS TO SHREDS?! PLAY WITH MY GUTS?! USE ME FOR TARGET PRACTICE?!? NO!" he shrieked. "NO. No. Never. Never again. This time I'll be sending you to the floorboards. I'll be watching you melt into nothing. This time, you'll be the one begging."

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eternalwhumper · 2 years

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You know sister location has so much whump potential. I wonder how many times a day funtime Freddy got controlled shocked? No wonder the guy is unhinged. I like to think the reason bon bon attacks us while we repair Freddy is because he thinks we are trying to hurt his best friend. I wonder if bon bon was forced to watch as Freddy got punished. Just imagine the techs are holding Freddy down begging them to not hurt Bon Bon while Bon bon is struggling to get out of the person who is holding him grasp and they are yelling out for each other. Jeez no wonder the funtime animatronics were desperate to leave.

#fnaf whump #robot whump #fnaf sister location #funtime freddy #electrocution whump #forced to watch #whump scenario #robot whumpee #bon bon fnaf

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littleperilstories · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022: #3 :: A Hair's Breadth from Death

Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled

Whumpees: Freddie Howell, Fen Bailey-Song

Whumper: Kain Brockhurst

@whumptober-archive / @whumptober

CW: general peril, female/lady AND male whumpees, gun use (warning shot, explicit threats), gore (hand impaled), restraints (handcuffs, duct tape), gag (duct tape), physical violence (hitting/punching, kicking), kidnapping/abduction, death threats

Fen & Freddie

Next instalment: Day 5

I want your sister. And you're going to help me find her. And if you don't cooperate, Miss Bailey-Song, I'm going to blow your pathetic little boyfriend's brains out.

None of this was real. It couldn't be, Freddie rationalized. Things like this did not happen in real life. Things like this only happened in the movies.

Armed goons did not come speeding into alleyways with guns drawn and pointed at two friends walking back to their overpriced rental house after a late night study sesh at the twenty-four hour Starbucks.

Menacing black cars did not block the only escape path at the mouth of the alley.

Strangers did not just start throwing punches, hard ones, blows meant to hurt—maim—leave scars.

People he loved and trusted—whom he thought he knew—did not glide into a fighting stance and start kicking ass, dealing blows right back to their attackers.

Freddie was seeing double, the figures in front of him blurry and unfocused. He could taste blood in his mouth. It was an unfamiliar sensation; he’d never been punched before. The blood was metallic and rancid, on his tongue, and his mind skipped from one confused, irrational thought to another.

What was happening?

Who were these people?

What did they want?

He needed to help Fen.

Where did she learn to fight like that?

She looked so beautiful.

This thought spun in dizzy circles around his head. It, and more than one variation of it, was never far from the forefront of his mind—but it was particularly useless right now. While he was busy spitting blood onto the asphalt and trying to form even one coherent idea, she was going head-to-head with these bastards, limbs flying in graceful arcs. He hadn't even known Fen Bailey-Song, his best friend, could throw a real punch, let alone take on an entire gang.

"Freddie!" Her voice broke through his stupor. "Freddie, run!”

Me, he thought dizzily. She's talking to me. She was telling him to run. While she fought them off. By herself.

He staggered to his feet, the world spinning around him, a cruel and out-of-control merry-go-round.

Her voice broke the air. "No!”

Something—a fist? a foot? he couldn't tell anymore—slammed into his gut, and then a set of arms yanked him upright, one muscled limb snaking around his neck.

I can't breathe.

Freddie gasped for air, a panic like he'd never known tearing through every atom of his body.

"Stop," he rasped—at least, he thought he did. Outside, in the realm of breath, of air, of oxygen, Fen was screaming the same word.

"Stop! Stop it! You're killing him!"

"You want me to stop?” A cool, disturbingly unperturbed voice asked, right next to Freddie's ear.

"Yes!”

"You don't want me to kill him?"

The arm around his neck relaxed, and Freddie sucked air into his lungs, each breath a humiliating wheeze screamed into the night.

“Run, Fen,” he choked out. “Please.”

"Let him go," she snarled, ignoring his pleading. Freddie could focus on her again. She was still tense, surrounded by their attackers, but unhurt.

Something cold pressed against Freddie's temple. "I will. But before I do that, we are going to have a conversation."

Fen released a guttural roar at the sight of the gun pressed to Freddie's head. She seemed about to charge, a look of wild, unbridled wrath upon her face, when the man holding him said, "And if you don't cooperate, Miss Bailey-Song, I'm going to blow your pathetic little boyfriend's brains out."

Fen, beautiful and sweet and gentle Fen, froze. Not his girlfriend, no. But the most important person in Freddie’s life? Yes.

"Hands up," the man said softly. Fen obeyed, her eyes not leaving Freddie's.

"Pat her down."

As two men lurched forward, Freddie came to his senses. "Don't you fucking touch her!" He struggled against the man's grip, even as the chokehold grew tighter again.

"Shut the fuck up," the man growled, and a loud click sounded in his ears.

"Don't!" Fen's hands shot higher into the air. "Freddie, it’s—it’s okay, you don’t need to worry, I promise it’s okay.” She nodded as if that somehow made the words more true. "You'll be okay."

Some small part of him appreciated the lie, even though it was categorically the least true thing had ever been told.

"Do you know who I am?” the man asked calmly as his cronies finished searching Fen’s body for hidden weapons. Her purse, the first thing she’d discarded when the fight began, was on the ground, its contents strewn across the alley floor.

"Kain Brockhurst." She spit out his name as if she'd been sucking snake venom from a wound. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Why, that's easy, dear." The muzzle of the pistol pressed harder into Frieddie's temple. "I want your sister. And you're going to help me find her."

"In your fucking dreams." Fen's eyes flashed like lightning. "Even if I knew where she was, I wouldn't tell you.”

Brockhurst tsked. "What a shame. Here I thought you shared some of your sister's…heroic qualities. Perhaps you'd secretly enjoy seeing this fucker’s brains splattered on the pavement?"

Fen was shaking.

"There's a convenient dumpster just there," Brockhurst said, pulling away the gun just for a moment to gesture with it. "I wouldn't even have to travel far to dump his body."

I am going to die.

Freddie couldn't breathe again, but this time it was his own lungs turning against him.

Fen flew forward, and Freddie closed his eyes, waiting for the bang.

Instead, though, a cry ripped through the air. His eyes flew open again.

It took two men to hold her, and she was fighting fiercely, but they had her overpowered. Her face was contorted with rage.

"If you fucking hurt him, Kain, I'll—"

The force of his body slamming into the ground knocked the very air from Freddie's lungs. He screamed as Brockhurst's foot slammed into his chest.

"Oops," Brockhurst said. "That might have broken a rib. Or several."

Fen was crying. Crying because of me.

But she was strong, stronger than he’d ever realized. She could escape their grip. She could get away.

"Run," he tried to gasp again, "get out of here.”

A gunshot split the air.

"A warning shot," Brockhurst said. Somehow, Freddie was still alive, though he was gasping for breath.

He knew he wouldn't be able to stand.

"Don't hurt him!" Fen’s voice was shrill as Brockhurt coolly inspected the pistol.

"Beg."

Fen stopped thrashing. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Tears blurred Freddie's vision as he watched Brockhurst lean in, bringing his face mere centimetres from Fen's. "I said. Beg. Me. Beg for his life."

"Don't." Freddie's voice was a rasp, a scrape of rusty metal. "Fen, don't—“

"Please." Fen turned her tearful face up towards Brockhurst’s. "Please. I'm begging you. Don't hurt him. Don't kill him. He has nothing to do with this. He barely even knows Bridget. He doesn't know where she is—please, I swear. He doesn't. Neither of us do.”

Freddie heaved in a breath, wet and ragged, and tried to haul himself onto his hands.

One of Brockhurst's henchmen kicked him down again.

"You see, that's the funny thing," Brockhurst said. "I don't need you to know where she is."

Fen's eyes snapped with fury again. "Then why—”

"I just need to give her an incentive to come to me."

Fen flailed against the arms still gripping her. "She won't. She'll never—"

"Oh, she will." Brockherst backed up a few steps, stopped, and then he raised his arm again. The goon over Freddie yanked him upright.

The round void of the muzzle pointed directly between his eyes.

"You will do as I say, Fen Bailey-Song," Brockhurst said quietly, "or I will pull this trigger, and you can say goodbye to your friend forever."

"Fen, don't—"

But she was motionless, save for a slow, tearful nod.

"Fen, don’t—"

The remaining henchman hurled a punch into his stomach, and Freddie doubled over, groaning. A hand grabbed onto his hair and pulled him back up. Brockhurst's aim had not shifted.

"Hands behind your back."

Freddie choked on a sob as she did, and the sickening click of handcuffs rang through the alley.

"Feet together." Fen shifted. One of the men wrapped duct tape around her ankles.

Freddie was screaming. Was he? He couldn't tell This was a nightmare, it just had to be—

"Don't. Fucking. Move." Tears were streaming down Fen's face as the tape was pressed over her lips, wrapped around her head in an inescapable gag.

"Stop it.” Freddie was sobbing. "Stop, leave her alone, stop—”

"What a sweet, obedient little girl." Brockhurst was smirking as he lowered. the gun. "Did Bridget ever tell you my specialty?"

Trembling, gaze burning with fury, Fen shook her head.

"Superior strength,” said Brockhurst smugly. "Incredible accuracy.

A kick to the back of the knees had Freddie kneeling. A backhanded blow sent him sprawling.

Fen was screaming through the tape, eyes round and terrified.

And then a boot was pressing into Freddie’s arm, pinioning him to the ground.

"I’ve decided I won't shoot you in the head today," Brockhurst said. "I have a better use for you. You'll give precious Bridget a message for us, won't you?"

"I don't—" Freddie rasped.

He realized what he was looking at too late.

A piece of paper, stuck through with a gleaming silver knife.

A knife that punctured, no, that shattered through his trapped hand, digging into the very concrete ground beneath him.

The last thing Freddie saw before the world turned to darkness was the love of his life thrashing against the men who were dragging her away, tears staining her cheeks, as she tried to scream his name.

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whumpy-bi · 3 months

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Mechanic

Words: 734

Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy’s

Warnings: mild gore, description of severe injuries, stabbing, blood, major character death

Notes: first thing I’ve ever written with a ‘bad’ ending, lmao. Heavily inspired by Tunnel Vision by St4tic on YouTube, and Five Nights at Freddy’s (2023).

Jay huffed as he finally descended the final flight of stairs on his way into work. He’d done the climb up and down the two dozen flights countless times as he came and left for repairs, but…he still hadn’t quite built up the endurance to not need twenty minutes in his car afterwards.

He grumbled to himself while scanning his ID badge, lamenting the performers and managers who were allowed to use the guest elevator. Evidently, without anyone saying it out loud, lowly mechanics like Jay were beneath being seen alongside the guests. So, it was the twenty four flights of stairs for him and the other unfortunate employees.

Today, though, it was only Jay. Clocking in for routine cleaning on…which one was it? The fox? The chicken thing?

The automated voice above the door was as jarring as ever, cheery and upbeat in a sugar coated way.

“Good morning, Employee 7472! Today, you are scheduled for routine maintenance for Foxy!”

He only grunted in acknowledgment, pacing to the corresponding showroom. This thing was always extra filthy, of course Jay would be tasked with cleaning it on a Monday. The Fox character was almost his height, awkwardly propped up in a chair for him to work on. Its eyes were as dead and lifeless as always, staring ahead past Jay. Its teeth always seemed…sharper, in the dark. He shook off the creeps, frowning. It’s unplugged, dumbass, there’s nothing to be afraid of.

Jay muttered to himself as he dug through the cabinet, pulling out the industrial (probably unsafe to inhale) cleaning spray and rag he’d been keeping beside it. “Stupid thing, just collects mold and shit…no wonder the kids are terrified of it, almost wish they’d keep it down here.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin. The animatronic had started singing, that stupid copyright free sea shanty it always sang on stage.

Jay found himself freezing, his neck snapping to look back at the Fox—still motionless—as the music continued coming from the speaker hidden in its jaw. A logical part of his brain tried to calm him down—it’s an audio glitch, surely, leftover power from the last time it was switched on. It’s fine.

But the feeling in his gut wouldn’t budge. Something wasn’t right, he could feel it in the cold sweat and intense twists in his chest. Something wasn’t right.

Jay ran before he could think much about it. He’d forgotten about the rag, about the cleaning spray, about the door—something was wrong, and he needed to get out.

He fought his panic and exhaustion to keep his breathing steady as he rushed up the stairs, suddenly very grateful for the harsh overhead lights and flimsy railing as they helped him keep his footing.

To Jay’s credit, he’d made it about halfway up. He refused to stop or slow down, despite the burning in his calves and his throat. Was he imagining a second set of footsteps? Why was he so afraid of looking behind him?

He turned on his foot to ascend to the next flight, and—

Something sharp and strong dug into the flesh of his arm. He began to let out a strangled scream of pain, twisting to try pulling it off.

He only got a glimpse of the Fox’s face before he registered that he was falling.

Jay wasn’t sure how, but he’d managed to move his arms in front of him before he’d hit the concrete floor. Not that it helped much, he thought to himself—he could feel a new, horrifying pain spreading through all his limbs. A freezing sort of agony wove into his arm—the open wound exposed to the frigid air of the basement.

He heaved, struggling to maintain his breathing. Ribs had to be broken, surely. But he had to get up.

His brain fought and strained, trying every method it could to force his muscles to move. To push up, to get him off the floor, to get away from the metallic footsteps that kept getting louder—

He somehow managed to move his neck, despite the extra pressure it caused. The Fox was staring back down at him, still singing that goddamn song.

“Please…” He was really desperate enough to beg. “Please, I—I need hel—“

Another voice stopped Jay’s in its tracks. A deep, imposing command. “End it.”

Jay didn’t have much time to process before the animatronic lunged for his chest.

#whump #whumpee #whump writing #writing #whump story #FNAF #five nights at freddy's #horror #major character death #tw blood #tw major character death #tw murder

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paininseries · 6 months

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| Five Nights at Freddy’s |

Some moments from the Final battle against Springtrap. Josh makes such a pretty whumpee!! Not included: scenes from where his leg is being chewed on like a dog toy by cupcake.🧁

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whumplists · 1 year

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Whump Movie Rec #4: One Way (2022)

It’s been a while since I’ve made a movie post but trust me this one is worth it!

Title: One Way

Whumpee: Freddy (played by Colson Baker/Machine Gun Kelly)

Whump List: basically the whole movie is about him being shot, lots of bleeding/in pain/calling for help/hallucinating, uses inhaler, beaten by his father, crying

~Preview Pics~

#one way trip to whumpsville #amiright #ha #his middle name came true #cause shot #whump #whump list #machine gun kelly #colson baker #MGK #one way whump #one way 2022 whump #whump movie #whump movie rec #whump rec #hurt/comfort

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whump-collector · 2 years

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Whumpees (actors)

All the actors on this blog (so far):

Search for the name or use this link and add the name you're looking for https://whump-collector.tumblr.com/tagged/

I use the tag compilation for posts with several whumpees.

a: aaron ashmore - aaron tveit - adam palsson - adarsh gourav - aidan turner - alex o'loughlin - alexander dreymon - ali tarik findik - allison scagliotti - andreas pietschmann - andrew j. west

b: ben levin - benedict cumberbatch - brian austin green - burc kümbetlioglu

c: callum turner - channing tatum - charlie cox - charlie hunnam - charlie vickers - chris pine - christian bale - christipher egan - colin farrell - colin morgan - colin o'donoghue

d: dan lewis - daniel craig - daniel sharman - david boreanaz - david dastmalchian - david tennant - david wenham - diego klattenhoff - diego luna - dirk benedict - dominic cooper - drake rodger

e: engin akyürek - eric christian olsen - ewan mcgregor

f: freddie stroma - freddy carter

g: gael garcia bernal - gavin drea - giacomo gianniotti - guy pearce

h: halil ibrahim ceyhan - harold perrineau - henry cavill - henry golding - hisham tawfiq - hugh dancy - hunter doohan

i: iain de caestecker - ian somerhalder - iko uwais

j: jack bannon - jack davenport - jack martin - jack quaid - jake mclaughlin - james mcavoy - james spader - james wolk - jared padalecki - jason isaacs - jay hernandez - jd pardo - jenna ortega - jensen ackles - jeremy allen white - jim sturgess - joe flanigan - joe gilgun - joe keery - joel kinnaman - john cho - john cusack - john reardon - jon bernthal - jonas nay - jonny harris - jordan bridges - joshua jackson - jude law - julian morris

k: karl urban - keegan allen - kevin alejandro - kiefer sutherland - kit harington

l: lee pace - liam hemsworth - lucas till - luke evans - luke mitchell

m: mark hamill - mark waschke - markus brandl - martin henderson - martin shaw - martin wallström - matt barr - matt bomer - matt czuchry - matt lanter - matt smith - max thieriot - megan boone - mel gibson - michael fassbender - michael hurst - michael shanks - michael sheen - michael weatherly - mike farrell - milos bikovic

n: nathan fillion - nathan parsons - nicholas galitzine - nikolaj coster waldau - noah centineo

o: oliver rayon - oscar isaac

p: pablo schreiber - paul bettany - paul hassall - pedro pascal - pio marmai

r: raj yadav - rami malek - richard armitage - richard harmon - richard madden - rish shah - robert downey jr - robert james-collier - robert kazinsky - robin lord taylor - rodger corser - rupert evans - rupert penry jones - russell crowe - ryan guzman - ryan kelley - ryan reynolds

s: sabin tambrea - sam riley - santiago cabrera - scott caan - sean bean - sebastian stan - shawn ashmore - simon baker - stanley tucci - stephen amell - steve burton

t: thomas elms - thomas gibson - tim dekay - tim roth - timothy granaderos - tobey maguire - tolga saritas - tom austen - tom ellis - tom holland - tom payne - tom riley - tom sturridge - torrance coombs

y: yon gonzalez

z: zach mcgowan - zeeko za

#whump #whump community #whump actors #whump collector

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cowboy-anon · 3 years

Note

For that oc name ask: freddie

CW: Crying, forcibly stripped (non sexual), frightened whumpee, kidnapping, pet whump (?), whipping with a belt

Okay, I’m going to describe Freddie (he/him) as if he were my OC, meaning the boy would suffer big time. Lol.

Freddie seems like he’d be hecking adorable. The first thing that comes to mind is the stereotypical curly red-haired boy with freckles. He likes wearing colorful scarves, even in the summer, and autumn is his favorite season. He makes dad jokes and likes crafts and is in his early years of college with an undecided major because decisions are too big a commitment. He’s thinking of studying botany though. His mother used to garden with him and in his apartment, he has over a dozen houseplants.

Now, onto the good stuff. He’d be a frightened whumpee, kidnapped from inside his apartment because he’s too trusting and thought that noise was probably the neighborhood cat in his room again.

The first time his whumper goes to punish Freddie for not shutting up, ripping his shirt off his body, Freddie cries out, “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?”

His whumper simply tells him to be quiet. And then he strikes him across the back with a belt and Freddie screams. They go until Freddie loses his voice and all he can do is cry. When the punishment is done, not soon enough, he’s shaking and sobbing and he flinches when his whumper crouches down next to him and pets his head.

From then on, when he’s going to be punished, he begs with his eyes and a barely audible, “Please no.” And when his whumper doesn’t respond, he does as he’s told, sniveling and trembling but obedient all the same, hoping every day that someone will come to save him.

No one ever does.

#this was actually so fun!#names as ocs ask game #ask game #whump #whump writing #crying tw #forcibly stripped tw #(non sexual)#frightened whumpee #obedient whumpee #thank you for the ask!#freddie the whumpee

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whumpinggrounds · 1 year

Text

So, This Is Christmas

Early Freddy and T! A bit late but it’s a Christmas comfort special ;)

CW: nothing! This is fluff.

Even before Freddy started working with T, his salary was ridiculous. Now, with the bonuses, and the overtime, and the extra that Granger calls discretion pay…

Well, now, looking at his bank account makes Freddy feel slightly sick.

He sends gifts to his friends, first. Some of the others are in software, making just as much as he does, but then there are the teachers, and the mechanical engineers, and those who majored in psychology and are still deciding what they want to do with it. It’s harder than Freddy expects, finding a balance between getting something nice and not spending so much that they’ll be uncomfortable, and at the end of it, Freddy still has too much left in his bank account. He scrolls through donation posts and uses up a good chunk of change that way, but it’s not what he really wants to do.

Like magnets, Freddy’s eyes are drawn to the bag he carried home from the mall last week. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

But he’s already picking up his phone.

It’s Christmas morning, and Freddy is in the basement of his work. He could’ve gone to visit any number of friends, especially the childhood buddies who are more like family, but instead he’s here. The bag dangles from his hand, and Freddy ignores the sweatiness of his palms, the dampness across his forehead. He shouldn’t be nervous. He has no real reason to be nervous.

He’s nervous anyway.

The elevator shudders and creaks on its downward path, and Freddy shivers as the air grows colder. It may not snow here, but underground, he feels something like a winter chill. It’s doesn’t make anything feel festive, in a world of cement and spotless white walls. It’s just depressing. Freddy grips his bag tighter as he steps out of the elevator doors.

T is in his room when Freddy finds him, lying on his back with his eyes shut. Unsure if he’s asleep, Freddy hovers in the doorway, biting his lip. He’s just decided to set the bag down and maybe come back tomorrow when T speaks.

“Am I needed today?”

“Uh…what?”

“I was told that the team would be gone for a period of ten days, beginning on the twenty-third of December and ending on the second of January.” Now T sits up, the movement fluid and graceful, nothing wasted. He regards Freddy with a steady, brown-grey gaze. “Has that changed?”

“Um…no.”

It’s hard to describe what exactly changes when T hears that news. Freddy has been paying so much more attention to body language, to emotion, and so he knows to look for the shoulder slump, the downcast eyes, the downturned mouth. The relaxation of muscles that spells disappointment – Freddy doesn’t see it in T, but knows that it’s there nonetheless.

“I, um. Came to visit.” He cracks an awkward smile, and T, looking up at him, mirrors it cautiously. “I…I brought you something.”

The look on T’s face is new. It’s a tentative kind of confusion, totally unlike the professional inquisitiveness T shows when he doesn’t understand a command. This is something newer, more vulnerable. They’re both breaking new ground.

“I, um. Look, I…” Freddy sighs. “It’s Christmas, you know? I got you something.”

“For…Christmas?”

“Yeah. Sorry, do you, uh…know what that is?”

“Yes.” Freddy watches T’s face for emotion, but none shows. “I’m familiar with most major holidays. It was part of my basic education.”

Freddy swallows, wondering what ‘basic education’ means when he had to teach T the meaning of the word pain. “Have you, um…ever…celebrated it?”

The look on T’s face is blank, but Freddy thinks that if the man in front of him were only a little bolder, he might call Freddy an idiot to his face. “No, sir, I haven’t.”

“Freddy,” Freddy corrects gently. “Not sir, just…Freddy.”

T dips his head. “Freddy.”

The silence stretches, and finally Freddy can’t stand it anymore. Even his stupid little offerings have to be better than this endless, unbearable quiet. He reaches into the bag and withdraws the flat, thin package, thrusts it at T.

“I didn’t wrap it. I suck at wrapping things. Sorry.”

T looks at the box in his hands and then back up at Freddy, uncomprehending. Blush now crawling into his ears, Freddy clears his throat.

“It’s a tablet? It, um. I had to disable your, uh, Internet access. I’m sorry. Granger wouldn’t have approved it otherwise.”

Slowly, T nods, but Freddy can tell he still doesn’t know what’s going on. He takes a deep breath and makes himself blow it back out before he responds. This isn’t that bad. It’s just a conversation with…with…

A friend.

“So, it’s a, uh, screen thing. You can watch stuff on it? Or read. I downloaded some books and movies for you – a little of everything, and then when you, um, when you’re done, you can tell me what you like and I’ll get more of that?”

T looks down at the flat glass rectangle in his hands, and back up at Freddy. He looks blank, still, but now it’s from the shock.

“Here, I’ll-” Freddy sits down next to T and reaches across him for the tablet. Then he freezes, feeling the press of their legs together, his body so close to T’s. “Sorry. Sorry, uh, is this…okay?”

“Yes, Freddy, it’s fine.” T’s voice is smooth, steady. Their proximity doesn’t seem to affect him at all. “What were you going to show me?”

“Um – here.” Freddy clicks the tablet on. He shows T where he can watch movies, TV, or read books. He shows T how to write himself notes, or record voice memos, or draw in a rainbow of colors. He takes T through every function of this tablet – everything that doesn’t require Internet, that is – and never once does he worry about the price tag on the underside of the box the thing came in, the way he poured half of a bonus into the most expensive tablet he could buy.

Next to him, T’s expression doesn’t change. His breathing remains steady, and he doesn’t speak much, except to ask questions about this function or that. Freddy tells himself he doesn’t care whether T likes it; he’s glad he got him something. It’s Christmas, and the guy is sitting in a basement all alone, nothing to entertain him but some old gym equipment in the next room. If he uses the tablet, fine, and if he doesn’t, that’s fine too, and Freddy won’t take it personally, he won’t –

When T finally meets Freddy’s eyes, after they’ve gone through every app on the brand-new device, there’s a pause. Freddy watches T’s throat bob as he swallows.

“Thank you,” T tells him, and Freddy realizes with a funny lifting feeling in his chest that he doesn’t care about smiles or laughter or clapping hands, any outward expression of joy. T, overcome, looks just like this, and that is more than enough for Freddy.

“Merry Christmas.”

@stab-the-son-of-a, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @redwingedwhump, @ocean-blue-whump, @impalasexual, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @sadcatjae, @whump-cravings, @kawhump, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @winedark-whump, @whumpingmydarlings, @maracujatangerine

#comfort #freddy and the robot #nonhuman whumpee #lab whump #robot whump #techno whump #christmas #christmas presents #caretaker

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littleperilstories · 2 years

Text

Whumptober 2022: #12 :: What Could Go Wrong?

Whumptober Masterpost “Mayday, mayday!” | Cave In | Rusty Nail

Whumpee: Fen Bailey-Song

Whumper: Kain Brockhurst

@whumptober-archive / @whumptober

CW: kidnapping/abduction, restraints (handcuffs), gag (ballgag), mention of death, needles/injection

Fen & Freddie

Roughly follows from Day 6 (Bridget's POV) and Day 7 (Fen's POV) and precedes Day 30 (Freddie's POV) and Day 10 (Fen's POV); a few days into Fen's captivity

Hesitantly, Starr unlocked their phone and handed it to Freddie. Their eyes skimmed the picture messages before the phone made it into his hands, and what they saw made them shudder.

Freddie couldn’t sit around any longer.

Days had passed. He’d sent his parents a few text messages—even called his mom once. They had no idea he wasn’t at the house he lived at in the city with Fen and a few other students during the semester. They didn’t know he’d almost died. They didn’t know he’d nearly been murdered by a mutant-genetically-enhanced-superpowered-whatever-you-wanted-to-call-it psychopath.

They knew that Fen was missing, though.

Because Bridget and Fen’s mom and dad were receiving pictures and videos from Kain Brockhurst, too. And they’d been minutes away from calling the police—but Bridget had gotten there in time.

Freddie was going to lose his mind.

He didn’t understand why Bridget wouldn’t go to the authorities, why she’d stopped her own mother and father from involving the people who might actually get Fen out of the hellhole Brockhurst had put her in.

A few dings sounded throughout the hideout. Most of Bridget’s team—apparently, the way Starr had explained it, they were the ones who had been on the anti-Brockhurst side when the company split—were leaving their phones on silent these days. It didn’t stop their screens from flashing awake, brightly coloured notifications bearing yet another slew of sickening media files none of them wanted to see.

Starr was working on a computer a few seats away, their eyes trained on the screen, when their phone blinked to life. They paled as the light caught their attention.

Click-tap-click-tap-tap-tap went their keyboard. Freddie felt frozen as he watched Starr desperately try to ignore the waiting message.

Jeffersen, though, could never resist, even though he’d been brought to tears more than once. Freddie moved his gaze to Jeff. Watched him close his eyes in horror after he looked.

“Is it pictures or video?” Freddie swallowed the taste of vomit as it hit the back of his tongue.

Jeff put his phone back down. “Pictures.”

“I want to see.”

Starr glanced up from their computer. “Don’t do that to yourself, kiddo.”

If it had been anyone else calling him “kiddo,” Freddie might have completely lost it. But Starr never said it patronizingly. In their voice, it sounded genuinely affectionate. Today, that voice was also brimming with sympathy—and with warning.

“I want to see it.”

Somewhere down the hall, a scream of rage.

Bridget.

Hesitantly, Starr unlocked their phone and handed it to Freddie. Their eyes skimmed the picture messages before the phone made it into his hands, and what they saw made them shudder.

Freddie swallowed.

The photos Brockhurst had sent were toned down today compared to the ones he’d been sending. The day before, the message had been a single video: Fen, arm stretched high above her head, feet dangling off the floor, crying out in pain around a ballgag. Out of frame, someone was adjusting the chain connected to her handcuffs, lowering her body and pulling her up at will as the metal cuffs dug into her wrists. The day before that, it had been a series of short videos detailing the process as he and his cronies strapped her to a table and then injected her with something that made her scream.

Everyone had heard Bridget throwing up after the video arrived. She hadn’t come out of the bathroom for almost an hour.

Today, though, was just a series of images. Fen, sitting at a table, cuffs still locked onto bruised wrists, her head in her hands. Curled on the floor with her knees against her chest. Wiping tear-filled eyes. Glaring at the camera lens with hatred on her face.

What are we still doing here?

Whatever the formula was, it couldn’t be worth all this.

Bridget wouldn’t tell him what it was, what it did. She just insisted that Brockhurst couldn’t get his hands on it again and that there had to be another way.

Unable to speak, Freddie handed Starr their phone back. They took it without comment, glanced at the pictures again, and stood up, disappearing into the hall. Jeffersen followed.

“We have to do something, B.” Starr didn’t try to keep their voice down.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I’m not fucking dying right now?”

“We know where he is. We should go get her.”

“That’s what he wants. What he’s expecting. We need a better plan.”

It took Freddie a few seconds to realize what Starr had said. We know where he is.

His muscles carried him before he quite knew what he was doing. Starr had left their computer screen on and unlocked. For a moment, Freddie wasn’t sure what he was looking at, then it struck him that it was an open doc filled with long scientific words he did not understand—but it wasn’t the only tab open.

Hands shaking, he navigated between the tabs.

On the third one he tried, the address jumped out at him. Pictures. Details of where each security camera was.

I am not supposed to know any of this.

Even Starr, who was the kindest and most patient with him, had refused to tell him more than necessary about Brockhurst, his history, and the lab they had all worked at. “You don’t want to be a part of this,” they kept saying. Bridget could barely look at Freddie, but when she did speak to him, she said much the same. So did Jeff.

So if any of them knew that he was creeping into the data Starr had collected for the team…

With a quick glance at the door, praying no one was about to walk in and catch him snooping, Freddie snapped a picture of the screen with his phone and returned to the original doc.

If Bridget wanted to wait for the perfect moment and the perfect plan, fine.

Freddie would just have to go get Fen on his own.

Closing his eyes, he imagined telling her his plan, imagined what she’d say if she knew what he was going to do. “‘What could go wrong?’” He could almost hear her echo of his overconfident rhetorical question, dripping with sarcasm. “Only everything, Freddie.” She would wink and toss her hair. Maybe playfully punch his arm. “This just might be the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, actually.”

But he couldn’t sit around in the hideout anymore. Not while she was suffering.

He’d been willing to die there on the pavement in the alley if it meant that she might somehow live. Well, she’d lived, and so had he.

Two weeks ago, if someone had asked if there was anyone he was willing to lay down his life for, he wouldn’t have been sure. But he knew now.

I’m coming for you, Fen. I’m going to get you out of there.

And if he didn’t—then he would die trying.

#whumptober2022 #no.12 #what could go wrong?#oc #originalcontent #original content #fic #lady whump #female whump #female whumpee #oc Fen Bailey-Song #oc Freddie Howell #whump #whump writing #original story #whump story #original writing #day 12 #whumptober

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