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blaiddraws · 2 years

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Whumptober day 25: Lost voice

back at it again with fic. two days in a row!! rip emmet tho. lol

> 1000 words

under the cut, or read here on ao3

Emmet shivered, pulling his coat tighter around himself. The ends fluttered in the wind where they weren't weighed down by snow or torn off completely by the wild pokemon he'd encountered.

The cold tore against his skin, a sharp painful wind that felt like blades of ice. The snow was deep, reaching up to his knees-- far deeper than he'd ever seen.

He had absolutely no idea where he was, or how he'd gotten there.

Everything about this sucked.

It had already been a bad day. Too many unpleasant passengers, too much paperwork, not a single trainer making it to his car on the Battle Subway. He was completely and utterly mentally drained by the time he was able to close down for the night.

And now, he'd suddenly been transported to what felt like a nightmare land. Completely unfamiliar, the wild pokemon were far too aggressive, the environment actively hostile to survival.

He didn't even have his pokemon! He'd put them in the PC to rest before he took everyone home. But never had the opportunity to do anything past that, because he'd been taken to some dragons-forsaken blizzard hell land.

(He tried verrry hard not to think about the similarities to what happened to his brother. Did Ingo get sent to somewhere as hostile as this? The same place, even? Would he have even survived?)

It was all so overwhelming and stressful and frustrating it, embarrassingly, made him want to cry. But he couldn't, because his tears would only make the cold worse.

And so, without any idea what else he could do in this situation, he continued to trudge forward through the snow.

He kept on walking until his extremities were alarmingly numb, hoping that there were humans somewhere nearby and he hadn't been sent to the middle of nowhere. It wasn't like he knew how to survive in an environment like this! The coldest it had ever gotten for him was winter, and on the peak of Twist Mountain. Neither of which were anything like this frozen wasteland.

He growled in frustration, fruitlessly rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm his ice-cold fingers, before quickly giving up and tucking them under his armpits. He couldn't do anything about his nose or ears, and he didn't even want to think about how his toes were faring. He needed to find some kind of shelter soon, or he wouldn't be surviving. Especially with how the wild pokemon were acting. With his luck, they'd find him shivering next to a measly fire and figure him a nice easy meal.

Why they were so aggressive, he had no idea. Maybe it was a sign that there were truly no humans in the area -- if they'd never seen one, never been socialized, their aggression would make sense. He suspected. He was not an expert on the behavior of truly wild pokemon.

After a while stuck in his thoughts, he realized he had stopped walking entirely, and was just standing in place. He cursed at himself, and started walking at a faster pace than before. If he was spacing out bad enough he forgot to keep walking, things were definitely not looking good.

And then.

And then!

Much to his relief and joy, as he rounded a particularly tall snowdrift he caught the unmistakable glimmer of a light in the distance.

Something bright and warm colored, completely unlike something a creature native to this climate could naturally produce.

Without hesitation, he altered his course slightly and made a direct approach to the source of the light, increasing his pace even more -- the relief and hope of seeing the light was particularly rejuvenating.

It wasn't long until he could see things more clearly. A campfire! With tents! And best of all, people sitting around it! Real, human people!

He'd never felt so happy to see another person when he was in such an overwhelmed mental state that he was. He grinned, big and wide. Even with the stress, it came easy with the amount of relief he felt.

They must have seen his approach, or heard his hurried footsteps. Suddenly, one of the individuals jumped up, letting out a wordless shout of alarm that caused the rest of their group to whip their heads around and look at Emmet.

Only… rather than. whatever he might have expected. the people then ran to hide, or pulled out weapons and called their pokemon partners to their side.

What? Wait, what?

His steps faltered, then slowed to a stop all together as one individual in particular stepped forward, spear pointed directly at Emmet's heart, even from the relative distance. Not far enough to reach him, but he was confident they could throw it and their aim would be true.

They shouted something, certainly words. For a moment, he thought he had just completely missed comprehending what they said, with how mentally and physically drained he was, but as they continued to speak he realized they were speaking in a completely different language entirely.

That was. not good.

He tilted his head, letting out a confused noise. Perhaps they could be able to understand his plight? No, that wouldn't make sense. But if he himself tried talking in his own language, maybe then?

He just wanted the spear to Stop being pointed at his heart. It was. quite uncomfortable.

He held up his hands, and tried to speak.

But all that came out was a pained, wheezy rasp, something awful and horrible even for his bad days. But this was definitely one of the worst days ever, so it wasn't particularly surprising.

Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect of getting the others to understand him. In fact, it seemed it was rather alarming -- not that he blamed them. It was definitely a horrible noise -- as the individual with the spear stepped forwards and jabbed it towards him, effectively pushing him away without touching him.

He whined, upset and confused, but it did little to sway the others, and their aggression did not lessen.

There was no way he was in the world he'd come from. Not with every pokemon and human being so aggressive. Pokemon, he could understand, but humans? It just did not make any sense. It wouldn't fit in his understanding of the world he came from.

He tucked his hands back under his arms, giving up on the peaceful gesture from before. His smile faltered, but he fought to keep it up. He needed to seem friendly!

He rrrealy did not want to get sent back to that horrible snow and ice. He would certainly perish.

Despite their reactions, he stopped moving backwards and instead pointed at the fire. He tried making a pleading noise, but it clearly didn't come across well, as the person with a spear seemed to get angrier.

They shouted at him, loud and vicious, and jabbed the spear at him close enough that it would have stabbed him if he hadn't moved away in time. Even then, it nicked him in the arm, easily slicing through his moderately reinforced coat.

Not good!

He tried one last, desperate attempt at speech, tears gathering in his eyes as everything threatened to bury him in an overwhelming wave of everything.

And surprisingly, it must have done something, based on their slight hesitation.

But it was only slight, giving him just enough time to dodge another swipe of the spear. The tears began to fall, and the person in front of him growled at their hesitation.

A moment later, it seemed as if they'd come to a conclusion of some kind, their countenance relaxing --

Before they quickly flipped their spear around and whacked him in the head with a blunt end.

(The last thing he saw, an instant before he blacked out, was a dark silhouette in the background, quickly approaching, and a comfortingly familiar voice.)

#whumptober2022 #no.25 #lost voice #submas #pokemon #emmet #writing #language barrier #cold

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gothmusiclatinamerica · 6 months

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"Lost voice" by Mexicali, Mexico-based dark post-punk and gothic punk act Silent off of their 2016 album A Century of Abuse

#goth punk #post punk #punk #alternative #Silent #Lost Voice #A Century of Abuse #music #Mexican #2016 #Mexicali Mexico #2010s #Silent band #Bandcamp

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omgiamwish · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 Day 25 - Lost Voice

#whumptober2022 #no.25 #lost voice #rottmnt #art #blood #injury #tmnt #tmnt 2018 #donatello #fan art #artists on tumblr

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 1 year

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Whumptober Day 25 (BAU X y/n Hotchner)

No. 25 SILENCE IS GOLDEN

Lost Voice | Duct Tape | “You better start talking.”

Warnings: cold/flu, illness

Word count: 1591

Please let me know if I’ve missed any warnings

”Baby Hotch,” Emily smirked, “Adult Hotch wants to see you,” You groaned lowly, coughing when it tickled your throat. You gave a weak sniff.

“Old Hotch can annoy me greatly sometimes,” You huffed before standing up and making your way to your brother’s office.

You gave another sniff and swallowed, wincing at the pain in your throat before you opened the door.

“Agent Hotchner Junior reporting for duty sir,” You grinned, hoping he didn’t notice that your voice was slightly deeper than usual.

“Go home, (Y/N),” Aaron said with a sigh, he pushed his paperwork to the side as he looked at you.

“I’m not ill,” You responded, voice deeper than usual, thick will the cold you currently had. "I've just got a bit of a tickle in the back of my throat," Aaron gave a deep sigh.

"You're ill,"

"Nu-uh!" You replied, sniffing slightly. "I'm perfectly fine,"

"Go home,"

"I'm not ill, I'm fine," You and Aaron stared at each other, waiting to see who would break first. Aaron sighed.

"If you won't go home, I'm benching you.”

“We don’t have a case,” You said, seeing Aaron’s face you groaned, “We have a case?”

“You're not to leave the police station when we get there,"

"What about coffee runs?" You asked, folding your arms.

"Take Morgan with you for coffee runs,"

"Aaron-"

"Ah, nope, don't want to hear it, those are my terms,"

"Fine," You said with a sniff, breathing through your mouth since your nose was blocked. "But I'm perfectly fine."

You left the room, holding back a pout as you did so. Honestly, your brother can be so ridiculous at times. You were perfectly fine, he was just dramatic.

"This is so unfair," You huffed, slumping in your seat next to Morgan, who gave a chuckle. You folded your arms close to your chest. “It’s just a cold,”

“Right,” Emily chimed, sharing a grin with Morgan. “Your brother benching you?”

“Yep,” You groaned, “It’s so unreasonable, I’m perfectly fine,” You clear your throat to avoid coughing, but it builds up and you give a deep cough. “That was acting,” You say, seeing your brother give you a look. Aaron rolls his eyes, causing you to scoff. "You believe me Derek, don't you?"

"Stay away from me man, I don't want whatever plague you've got,"

"I don't know, Aaron said you had to go on Coffee runs with me," You grinned.

"Aw, what? That's so unfair," Morgan chuckled, you flipped him off with a laugh, which quickly morphed into a cough. You rolled your eyes at the look Aaron shot you, trying to mask the wince that painted your face when a pain behind your eyes exploded due to the headache that was slowly beginning to make itself known.

You leant closer to Morgan, "You got any paracetamol?"

"Nope," You looked at your coworkers as they all shook their heads.

"Hotch normally carries some," Reid chimed. You thought for a moment before straightening up.

"Nope, that won't be necessary because I am not ill," You said, folding your arms. Your voice was beginning to feel scratchy and hoarse, which was annoying but you pushed it aside the best you could.

Boarding the jet, you huffed, pulling your hoodie closer around your body. It suddenly felt very cold. You ignored the look of concern Aaron gave you and the amused looks from your peers and sat down, sniffing as you did so.

You wince as the jet takes off, causing an immense amount in your ears. Your hands go to your ears and you wiggle them about, open your jaw, move your jaw side to side, swallow, cough, anything you can think of that might help relieve the pressure - you even try sniffing. But nothing works. Aaron silently hands over a boiled sweet. You think they’re discussing the case but you can’t tell, everything sounds like it’s underwater, a lot of water. You put the sweet in your mouth, sucking on it and hoping it’ll decrease the pressure. After a few minutes of nothing working you turn to Aaron, motioning angrily to your ears and then shrug. You don’t want to speak in case you start yelling. That would just be embarrassing. You watch as Aaron turns to Spencer, you assume he asks if there’s anything else that would help and you see Spencer say something before Aaron turns back to you. He says something, when he speaks you shake your head and shrug again - Aaron rolls his eyes, which has you glaring at him. Aaron puts his fingers over his nose, plugging it and mimes trying to breathe out.

You nod, you can’t believe you forgot that trick! You plug your nose and try to breathe out, feeling the tension build up before releasing. “You’re a lifesaver, Spencer,” You say.

You were hoping it wouldn’t get any worse over the course of the case, you had the tendency to get a little… clinging to Aaron when you’re ill. Which you knew the team would never let you live down. Ever. Luckily, you were sharing a hotel room with him, which meant you had easy access to stealing his clothes.

As the hours pass, you’re trying not to give in and show how ill you’re feeling, but you’re feeling rough. The team notice you sticking to Aaron where you can, they also notice Aaron watching you closely. You’re sniffing every thirty seconds, rubbing your eyes, unable to focus, but still pushing through.

You're two days into the case and you can't help but be relieved that your brother benched you. You were tired, you ached all over, and at about lunchtime, you began to shiver. Obviously, you weren't going to tell him that you were glad he did. You weren't going to give him that satisfaction. Instead, you wore a large and very warm hoodie and debated putting the hood up throughout the entire recap of the evidence collected thus far.

It didn't take you long after that to lose your voice. Not that that stopped you from talking. Turns out, talking only made it worse. Like a lot worse. And soon enough, your voice was simply a whisper.

“You got any paracetamol?” You croak as Aaron walks past.

“Let me grab you some-” You shook your head, he always goes into Mother Hen mode when you’re ill.

“I’ll get it,” You said, sitting up, pausing for a moment as you waited for the room to stop spinning. At this point, Aaron was already in front of you with a glass of water and medication. You gave him a thankful grin as you accepted the items.

“(Y/N), you need to go back to the hotel,” Aaron said, you were both in the breakroom, Aaron making a coffee for himself and a tea for you. You were sat at the table, resting your head on the cool wood.

“‘M fine,” You groaned, turning your head into your elbow as you coughed.

“(Y/N).”

“I don’t wanna,” You moaned.

Aaron would have laughed, if he wasn’t worried about your health. “You need rest,”

“I am resting,” You mutter.

“How about if I send Morgan with you?” Hotch offered, you shook your head, “Why not?”

“You’ll be here,”

“I have to be here,” Aaron sighs.

“I’m fine here,” You mumble, “I’ll just be ‘sleep here,”

Aaron shut his eyes, trying his best not to groan. You were already asleep. He poked his head out of the breakroom, “Morgan?”

Derek’s head shot up and Aaron motioned for him to come into the breakroom. “Can you take him back to the hotel? Maybe sit with him while you work?”

“You really do go Mother Hen on him don’t you?” Derek teased before nodding, “Of course Hotch,”

Aaron gently shook your shoulder, “(Y/N)? You need to wake up,” He said softly, “Derek’s taking you to the hotel,”

“No,” You mutter, waking up. “I don’t want to go to the hotel,”

“Well, you don’t have a choice,” Aaron said, folding his arms.

“Big brother boss man said you have to,”

“Told you he goes all mother hen when I’m completely fine,” You mutter to Derek as you stand up, Derek’s hand on your shoulder, steadying you.

“This is completely fine, is it?” He asks sarcastically, “I’m pretty sure if I let go, you’d go down like a ton of bricks.”

“You’re just rude,” You mumble, causing Derek to snicker, “You’re not allowed to laugh at me, I’m ill.”

“Ah, so you are ill then,” Derek replied with a snort, you huffed.

The team took shifts keeping an eye on you in the hotel room whilst working, all except Aaron, who had to stay put in the police station until the end of the case. He only went back to the hotel for a few hours of sleep each night and a shower. Soon enough, the case was finished and the team was back on the jet on the way home. Knowing you were still feeling rough, the team let you have the couch for the flight back.

Aaron sighed, watching as you curled into a ball on the jet couch, trying to conserve as much body heat as possible whilst you slept, shivering. He grabbed the spare blanket from the other couch, carefully draping it over you.

"Just a cold my ass," He muttered before returning to his seat.

Two days later, Aaron sneezed. He was going to kick your ass the next time he saw you, when he was feeling better that is.

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cybergrapeuk · 1 year

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When The Noise loses his voice due to shouting too loudly/illness/whatever, he'll be absolutely grumpy for the entire time.

He can't talk or chitter-chatter or annoy Peppino...

He'd have to mime things out dramatically like a family round of charades whilst fuming at everyone not understanding what he's trying to say.

Peppino doesn't really like The Noise when he's forced to be quiet. Not only because of his violent anger during multiple misunderstandings, but because he feels genuinely bad for him that he's not feeling like himself. He may be annoying in the pizzeria when he's noisy, but the two are rivals, not hateful enemies.

To help The Noise, Peppino brings him to Gustavo and Brick. The former makes soothing soup that would help with his throat and the latter would teach him how to communicate without words. Be it sign language, pen and paper, text to speech or anything else.

Until he's noisy again, The Noise is humbled by the support and feels a bit better waiting for his voice to come back.

#pizza tower #pizza tower headcanon #the noise #peppino #gustavo and brick #lost voice #peppino x the noise

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the-mossy-rock · 2 months

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Yall so I’m playing Cady in my schools production of Mean Girls, right? Tonight was opening night and I just wanna say…

NOTHING CAUSE I LOST MY VOICE. I LOST MY VOICE.

I AM CADY.

AND I LOST MY VOICE.

I STILL SANG THROUGH EVERYTHING. AND DID ALL OF MY LINES.

DID IT SOUND GOOD? NO.

DID I DO IT? YES.

CAN I SPEAK NOW? NO.

WILL I BE BETTER FOR TOMORROW NIGHTS SHOW? I BETTER BE.

#mean girls #mean girls musical #theater #lost voice #save me please #omg #its terrible #I sound like the girl from the school of rock tv show

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whumpster-dumpster · 1 year

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Is it possible to lose your voice after an extended period of not using it? If so, how long would it take, and when would it recover?

The vocal folds can atrophy like any other muscle if they don't get enough exercise. How long the damage and recovery take are hard questions to answer; there's no set timeline because everyone is different. If your character was born with thinner vocal folds to begin with, a weakened voice might happen faster and recovery might take longer. Treatment usually consists of voice therapy with a speech-language pathologist.

#whump #lost voice #atrophy #answered ask #anonymous

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ace-trainguys · 2 years

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Whumptober day 25 - prompt is lost voice.

Imagine how much tougher of a time Ingo would have if he lost his voice in addition to his memories. His main way of expressing himself is through speech - without it, he’s an unapproachable silent, stoic man. Very few in the Pearl Clan would be willing to interact with him.

#whumptober2022 #no.25 #lost voice #submas #art #ingo #qed's art #this would be like soon after he lands in Hisui #as soon as he's well enough to walk around #I'd say he probably would be kicked out of the clan asap except Lady Sneasler took a liking to him #I like to hc that Emmet and Ingo know sign language #in this situation no one in Hisui does #He gets called 'stranger' and 'outsider' until he's able to write his name down #bonus points if you want there to be a difference in writing systems #then he has to learn a whole new writing system before he can even be called by name #I had an idea for a cute bonus to this but I have gotten busy recently and I didn't have the time #perhaps something to return to after whumptober

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one-piece-aus · 1 year

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Whumptober Day 25

Sanji x Reader

"Damn," Sanji mumbled as he lit up a cigarette. "Didn't expect to end up stuck here."

He closed the lighter, placed it back in his pocket and puffed out a cloud of smoke. Glancing around the area he stumbled into from the cave, it would be pitch black if Franky hadn't given them flashlights. Shining the small light around, Sanji noticed the various chains and burned-out torches that hung along the wall.

"This place gives me the creeps," the blond commented glancing away from the chains. Looking at the torches, he grabbed one of the torches off the wall and lit it up. "Let's find a way out of here, Nami and Robin are probably scared without me."

Silence walked with Sanji, echoing each footstep he took. The trail of his cigarette fed the fire he held, puffing out a cloud of smoke occasionally. Just as he thought of switching directions, Sanji heard the sound of sniffling. Abandoning silence, Sanji followed the sound and discovered you sitting in a curled-up ball, chained to the ground by your leg.

"Hey, are you alright," he inquired, crouching to your level.

You lift your head, staring at him with wide eyes. Registering what he asked, you shook your head. The lighting revealed the streams of tears running down your cheeks, still wet. Sanji growled to himself, how could anyone abandon such a beautiful lady here?

"I'm going to get you out of here," Sanji reassured you and stood up. He stomped on the chain attached to your leg and it crumbled to pieces. "Well, that was easy."

He held his hand out to you but instead of taking it you jumped to your feet and hugged him. Sanji blushed immensely, clearly not expecting your hug. Your silent cries snapped him out of his daze, and he patted your head while your tears soaked his shoulder.

"Hey, it's alright, I'm here," Sanji comforted you, even though your tears were joyful. You pulled back and Sanji used his thumb to wipe them away. "Can you tell me your name?"

You shook your head and he gave you a puzzled look. You brought your hand up and tapped your throat, bringing your large scar to his attention. His eyes widened and his jaw fell open, the cigarette dropping to the group. He placed a hand over the scar, tracing the outline carefully. Growing uneasy, you step back and Sanji stopped.

"Sorry..." he apologized. You gave him sad smile in acknowledgement. Returning the smile, Sanji stuck out his arm to you. "Come on, I'll lead you out of here m'lady."

You gladly link your arm with his and let him escort you. Despite the silence, a warmth settled around the two of you. Growing cozy, you rested your head against Sanji's shoulder, a large smile on your face. He gazed down at you, happiness fluttering in his heart, this felt right.

Voices began to echo down the passage, familiar voices talking about a glowing light. They were referring to you and him. Sanji perked up, letting go of your arm and quickly pacing forward.

"Heyyyy! Luffy! Is that you and the others?" Sanji called.

"SAAAAAANNJIIIII!!"

'Yup, that's definitely Luffy.' Sanji smirked, listening to dashing footsteps heading toward the two of you. "We're safe-"

"Who're you talking to Sanji?" Luffy asked scratching his head.

"What do mean? I'm obliviously talking to-" Sanji turned to gesture to you but when he looked behind him, you were nowhere to be seen.

In your place, gold shackles remained.

#whumptober2022 #no. 25 #silence is golden #lost voice #one piece #whump fanfiction #whump fic #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #one piece x you #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #monkey d luffy #no 25

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whumpcereal · 2 years

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whumptober, day twenty-five: duct tape | lost voice | "you better start talking"

part of behavior modification (masterlist here). set in the future, during hallie's senior year of high school. references some events from this piece. part one of a four-part whumptober mini-series. don't worry: hallie will be fine.

content warnings for: light lady whump, filmed whump, noncon drugging, noncon nudity, terror, bbu/bbu-adjacent, emeto mention, adult language

future snippet, like father, like daughter

Hallie turns her head, and the room keeps spinning, even after she’s stopped moving. She laughs, because it’s silly. The room isn’t spinning; she isn’t moving. But it spins and it moves and a vague sour feeling settles at the back of Hallie’s throat, and she doesn’t fucking care.

“Whooooa, Hallie, you’re fucked up.”

Hallie doesn’t recognize the person she’s toasting, but she shoves her cup in the air anyway. “Yes, I am!”

“Yeah, you are!”

The bass is so loud that Hallie can feel it thrumming in her core. She spins again, moving her hips in time with the beat.

She’s never been this free. Or at least, she’s never been so out of control. Her dads don’t know. They think she’s a free spirit, a wild thing, untamed, so wholly herself. That’s what they say. Oh, baby. We’re so glad that you know how to be yourself. She’s so beautiful, so smart. And Hallie is smart. Smart enough to recognize the pain her fathers carry with them.

Dad–not Daddy, not anymore–still spends some days in bed, silent and scrabbling at scars that won’t ever fade. Hallie knows what made those scars now. She’s read about the shock collars, seen pictures online. She knows what it means to be the “bad kind” of pet, all the things Dad would have suffered. All the things he did suffer. His WRU files were unsealed after they went to court. Hallie knows more than she wants to. She doesn’t understand how Dad can smile, how he doesn’t spend all his days in bed.

And Papa is afraid. Afraid for Dad, and afraid for Hallie. He asks too many questions, and he never seems content with the answers. Papa trusts her, she knows he does, but he doesn’t trust anyone else. Everyone is a would-be Ivan Peters or an agent for WRU. Everyone is waiting to fracture their little family.

Her dads try to play it off like that isn’t how they live, but Hallie knows better. There’s a reason this is her first real party in four years of high school.

Don’t leave your drink. Better yet, don’t drink at all. Always tell someone where you’re going. Never let your guard down, even for a second; there are people who would give anything to make an example of you.

But her dads aren’t here. If they knew she was at Kaitlyn Halstrom’s house, if they knew that Hallie was drunk, they would certainly have something to say about it. But they don’t know, and Hallie is drunk at Kaitlyn Halstrom’s house, and she has never felt quite this way before.

“You want another?”

“Fuck yeah!”

Hallie doesn’t recognize the boy who hands her the shot, not really. Maybe they’re in the same study hall? But it doesn’t matter. No, what matters tonight is having fun. She throws the shot down her throat and slams the glass down, coughing as the alcohol burns all the way to her chest.

Her ears rush, and the pulse of the bass seems to slow.

“Grab her,” someone says. “Before she falls.”

Hallie falls anyway, but she doesn’t hit the floor. There are hands on her arms, at her hips, yanking at her hair. Her feet aren’t on the floor, and her head feels heavy. Everything feels heavy.

She’s flying. She’s flying, and she doesn’t like it. She tries to set her feet down, but she can’t. Sweaty hands cinch tight around her ankles.

This isn’t right.

“No,” Hallie grunts. “No, pu’me down.” Her tongue feels like swollen leather in her mouth, and she’s still spinning. “Please,” she tries to say, but she isn’t sure the word actually makes it past her lips. She squeezes her eyes shut. It doesn’t help. She’s moving, and it feels like she’s left her stomach behind.

Snippets of other people’s words bounce through her head.

“...did you give her?”

“...worry…be fine!”

“...take her?”

“....my room, I guess.”

“...have the stuff?”

“Yeah.”

The hands lay her on something that’s hard and soft at the same time, and they manhandle her until she’s resting on her hip. Instinctively, she curls over her stomach; it’s cramping, and she doesn’t know why. Well, she might know why, but she can’t remember. Not right now. Just now, she knows that she wants the world to stop spinning so fast.

She coughs, and she tastes acid.

“Gross!”

“Just keep her on her side. And don’t tape ‘til you think she’s done.”

“Kaitlyn–”

Hallie’s brain grasps for the name, but it slips away just as suddenly. She feels like she’s sinking into thick mud. It’s clogging her mouth and nose, her ears, her eyes.

Daddy, she thinks. Daddy, I need you.

She slips into blackness just as she feels clumsy fingers plucking at her fly.

-/-/-

When Hallie wakes, it feels like someone’s driven a Mack truck between the hemispheres of her brain. It’s the only thing that lets her know that she’s actually awake, because when she opens her eyes, there is only blackness; something soft is wound around the top part of her face, blocking her eyes.

“Wh–” she tries, but her mouth doesn’t move. Her lips feel like they’re stuck against something, and she can’t seem to get them apart.

She screams, but the sound stays trapped in her head. It makes everything hurt worse.

“She’s awake.” It’s a boy’s voice. He sounds excited. Maybe scared. She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know.

“Perfect,” answers another voice, a girl this time. “Sit her up.”

Hands are on her again, but this time, they’re up against her bare skin. Hallie wriggles, and she realizes that she isn’t wearing her shirt or her jeans.

No. This is what they warned her about, what Daddy and Papa have been terrified of Hallie’s entire life, even before. This is what happened to Daddy. There was something in his drink. She remembers that she thought it sounded like a magic potion when she was a little girl. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t magic at all.

Hallie screams again, and this time, the girl laughs.

“She sounds like a stuck pig.”

The boy snorts. “Well, people have pigs for pets, don’t they?”

Pets.

Hallie’s entire body runs cold. The hands holding her still squeeze her tight, and she shakes her head.

Daddy, she thinks. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have listened. I didn’t listen.

Hallie wonders if Dad was this scared, when it happened to him. When he was taken. When he was–

“Put the sign on her,” the girl says.

Something thick and scratchy settles around Hallie’s neck, and she feels something flat settle against her chest–over her bra, she realizes with the smallest flash of relief. It’s only then that she realizes how badly she’s shaking. The sign–cardboard–jolts against her skin. A big hand slips over her naked stomach, and she feels the soft slip of a tongue against her neck. Hot tears squeeze out from beneath whatever they’ve wrapped around her eyes.

“Ohmygod, perfect,” laughs the girl. “Now the other thing.”

“Dude, are you sure?”

“Our little pet lib princess deserves a shock, don’t you think?”

At once, something else slips around Hallie’s neck, close against her throat this time. She feels the metal prongs settle against the back of her neck, and she knows.

She thinks of her father’s throat, of the collar he’ll never be able to take off. She wants to plead, to beg them to stop, but all she can manage is more tears.

“Awww,” breathes the girl, her voice steeped in mock sweetness. A soft little hand gropes at Hallie’s breast, and Hallie shrieks behind the tape. “Look at that; I think she likes it. Like father, like daughter. A future Romantic, if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Kaitlyn, you don’t have to–”

Kaitlyn. Of course.

“Let go of her,” Kaitlyn snarls. “I don't know how strong this is.”

“You don’t know how–Jesus, maybe don’t, then? If you hurt her–”

“Just let go! Come here, and take the camera.”

“Jesus Christ,” the boy mutters, but he does as he’s told.

Hallie doesn’t even have time to feel relieved; in an instant, the collar lights up, and her nerves explode.

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy-s, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @no-terms-and-conditions-apply, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keep-beach-city-werid, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things, @hold-him-down, @peachy-panic, @whumpyblogthing, @sowhumpful, @considerablecolors, @ramadiiiisme

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whumpypepsigal · 3 months

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Silent Night (2023): “Help me.”

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celestiallime · 4 days

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woke up at 4 in the morning and stayed awake and I just had a chocolate chip cookie and let me tell you, it was amazing.

#chocolate chip cookie #woke up at 4am cause my cousin keeps his fan on super high and im sick and now i feel extremely worse #i hate being sick #my throat is killing me #my throat is so sore #my throat burns everytime i swallow and EVERYTIME i try to talk i sound like a pubescent teen boy with an extremely cracked voiced #lost voice #cant really talk #nonverbal #what the fuck #in my nonverbal era (not really tho cause im always going nonverbal)#hate talking and being sick made me realize how much i like not talking #but somehow everyone keeps trying to make me speak and the thing is i literally can't cause it hurts #also realized no one really gives a shit about that boundary of mine but atp im use to it #writing #im literally just a girl blogging #im a girl blogging who is very sick

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whumpshots · 2 years

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Whumptober #25

Trope of the day: lost voice

It’s like he still can hear his own screams ringing in his ears. Days have gone by and whumpee isn’t even able to utter a single word. His throat hurts, dry like sandpaper. Only a croak escapes his lips as he watches caretaker change the bandages, not able to actually tell them where it hurts, only his reactions give away that he is in pain.

Caretaker looks up at him, eyes ever so patient and kind. They have seen him in many different … shapes, but he’d always been able to talk to them. To tell them how thankful he is for their help. But now, whenever he opens his mouth, it just hurts.

“You can hold onto my arm, if you want to. Just squeeze a bit, when it hurts and I will be more careful,” caretaker offers and moves a bit so their arm is in reach for whumpee. “And if it hurts too much, then I know because you won’t be able to squeeze a bit, hm? A lost voice shouldn’t stop us from making this as comfortable as we can.”

Their kindness overwhelms whumpee every time, who manages a small nod and reaches out his hand, softly placing it on the other’s arm. Caretaker continues their work, as careful as ever, but whumpee still has to squeeze them every now and then, only for them to nod and be even more careful.

When the ordeal is finally over, whumpee feels himself breath out shakily. It’s exhausting, even if caretaker offers other kinds of communication. But he is grateful for the option and rests his head a bit, looking up when caretaker eyes him with a smile. “If you need something, just push this button. It will make a noise so I can hear you and come over.”

Huh … caretaker really thinks of everything. But is it really that surprising? No, not really. Whumpee is glad to be able to have at least something to communicate, even though it is just the bare minimum. But better than nothing at all.

#whumptober 2022 #whumptober2022 #whumptober #trope of the day #lost voice #hoarse #whump #whumpee #caretaker #whump writing #aftermath of capture #emotional whump #caretaking #aftermath #aftermath of captivity #whumpshots

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breezy-cheezy · 2 years

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Day 25: SILENCE IS GOLDEN

Lost Voice | Duct Tape | “You better start talking.”

Working Title: This Sign Can't Stop Me Because I Can't Read (Sign Language)

First Twisted Wonderland fic and it’s a sickfic. Surpriiiise-

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“Alright…..that’s enough.”

………

“You’re clearly coming down with something, and I cannot have you spreading that to our paying customers. Go rest, Floyd.”

A flurry of hands moving, a young face half covered by a mask, scrunching in frustration.

‘Resting boring. No.’

Azul sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. Jade merely raises an eyebrow.

“Well I can’t imagine it’s particularly pleasant to work with a cold, right? Look at you, you can’t even speak.”

A pan clatters as it’s roughly shoved to the side. ‘Not closed now. Feel like working. Busy.’ Floyd signs, grimacing when he turns just a little too quickly. He really is rather pale…. ‘ Dancing hurts. Sitting is boring. Want to work.’

Jade brushes his twin’s hand aside when he goes to pick up the frying pan again. “If you feel like working, perhaps you can work on your studies?” he suggests, effectively standing between Floyd and more cooking.

Being sick was an absolute “no” for working with food, but when Floyd put his mind to something, it was hard to redirect him.

Thankfully Jade has a whole lifetime of practice.

Read the rest on AO3!

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