get-whumped:

bubba-whump-shrimp-co:

The magical whumpee is thrown onstage in front of a crowd of hundreds, forced to use their powers to “perform” for the audience’s amusement. But after weeks of beatings, starvation, and humiliation, the whumpee is so weak they can barely stand. They try to perform anyway, although they’re unsteady on their feet, because they know they’ll be punished if they don’t. They barely manage to move a finger before they collapse on the stage out of sheer pain and exhaustion. The last thing they hear before they pass out is the audience’s laughter.

Yes please???

thurisazsalail:

thurisazsalail:

memesnotwelcome:

smitethestate:

Capitalism in action:

Step 1: Three companies come to control nearly all of the baby formula market by driving out or buying up competitors.

Step 2: One of the three, which holds 43% of the market, declines to replace its old and failing drying equipment, leading to rapid bacteria growth that resulted in four babies dying from infection after consuming the formula.

Step 3: The company, Abbott Laboratories, recalls its biggest formula brand. This leads to a massive shortage and panic as parents of infants drive hours looking for stores that have any in stock.

Step 4: Babies are gonna die from this, particularly the ones in poor households.

Capitalism will always lead to shit like this, because capitalism requires continuous growth and at some point you can’t grow any more without becoming a monopoly. The system requires the death of infants.

Source

Legislatures love capitalism. Legislatures also love a monopoly that pays state taxes. Legislatures would love to appear to address this problem, then not.

Bonus: approx 1 in 133 have Celiac disease. It usually isn’t tested for in menstruating people because blood loss AND Celiac both cause iron-deficient anaemia, and it’s easy to blame your stupid period than to do ONE (1) blood test specific for glutamase. Celiac is an auto-immune condition, different from a wheat allergy or intolerance (BOTH common in infants, btw!)

What do you think many formulas are made from?

Yep. Wheat or gluten-filled products.

So what happens when your baby is always sick with random digestive issues, spends hours screaming, is eating but somehow becoming more and more malnourished if the intestines stop taking up nutrients due to intestinal death from wheat exposure?

maybe…… you’ll get reported for child neglect? and have your kids seized?

maybe something that mainly targets low-income people and racial minorities?

would that, perhaps, be a felony in many places? places where felons, perhaps, can’t vote?

hmmmmmmm

Babies hospitalized in South Carolina because of formula shortage

Oh hey, look! Babies are being out in the ICu because people tried to make 80 year old formula recipes going around on facebook or dying because of… EXACTLY WHAT THE FUCK I said would happen! Autoimmune and allergic reactions!

Another article talks about women driving to up to 20 stores, daily, just to find formula. Breastfeeding for millions is not an option. Besides biological issues, MANY common medications pass on in breastmilk, so a baby can be poisoned with, say, heart medications or asthma meds. Common stuff.

The eugenics programs have been here. It’s just finally spread to poor white babies.

Whumpee having their first hot meal in what feels like forever, wolfing it down so fast that Caretaker barely has time to protest that they’ll burn their mouth and hands

The families losing their loved ones to hunger suicide in Afghanistan

People are dying by suicide across Afghanistan because of starvation, as the US has frozen the Afghan Central Bank’s assets and the IMF suspended access to funds after the Taliban takeover. The World Bank had also halted funding for the country—though it has now approved a package of $1 billion to address the population’s urgent needs. More than half the population, around 23m Afghans, are suffering from hunger. Millions of dollars in lost income after the collapse of the government, soaring food prices, a liquidity crisis, and shortages of cash have deprived much of the population of access to food, water, shelter, and health care.

comfy-whumpee:

A Month Of Whump Mafia Madness 1: Snitches and Stitches. CN: food / starvation mention.

@iaminamoodymoodtoday,@wildfaewhump,@ishouldblogmore,@lektric-whump,@that-one-thespian,@raigash

-

Bennett Kennedy broke over a piece of bread.

It was a slice of toast, to be more specific. It was golden-brown and buttered on one side, with a thin layer of raspberry jam over the top. The crusts were dark and crispy, the centre softer and slightly cooled. It was the most delicious thing he had ever laid eyes on, and it was being hovered an inch under his nose, almost touching his top lip. His neck was strained forward as far as it would go, painfully, and the smell of warm gluten and grains almost stung his nostrils, and when it was pulled back he could have sworn he would die.

It was the closest he had been to solid food in two weeks.

He was starving.

And he broke.

“Forty-eight Alison Terrace,” he said. The words could never be taken back. “Forty-eight Alison Terrace. Please—”

The bread returned, and he sobbed as he took his first bite. It tasted like ash, and for a horrible moment he thought he would throw up, but then his dry mouth registered the sweet tang of the jam and his body collapsed in relief. His head tilted back to let the tears run from the corners of his eyes and chewed until the rest of the flavour came to him, the salt of the butter and the whole-wheat support of the bread underneath.

The rest vanished in bites as large as he could take them, until the last corner was fed between his lips by the gloved hand of his captor.

It was followed by a sip of water from the glass that was always on the table by his side, though never within reach with his wrists tied to the arms of the chair. He could see it in glimpses in the corner of his eye, maddeningly close.

His cheeks dried slowly of tears as Bennett’s breathing settled.

“Where do the minders live?”

The next question caught him off guard. Ever since he woke up here, on this chair, in the almost-dark with only masked figures standing over him, there had only been one question. Where are the Mannington family?

Bennett didn’t even work in witness protection. He’d just been helping out. Just for an afternoon, because Kamran Heydari was sick.

Maybe that was why they picked him.

“Across the road,” he said, because the damage had already been done and the Mannington family were as good as dead. “Fifty-one.”

“Good.”

“Will – please, are you—?”

“See to it that Mr Kennedy gets his injuries tended to,” the voice cut him off, and Bennett flinched at the realisation. He flinched again at the feeling of hands, still gloved, touching the area where the knife had been hours ago. His reward.

The door to his cell clicked shut. The interrogator was gone, but not far. Outside, he heard her, and another voice.

Good work.

Thank you, sir.

She was calm, professional, as she always was. There was barely a trace of emotion in her voice.

You’re just the right kind of monster, as always.

I try my best.

The other voice, warm and approving with a hint of humour, was one Bennett could only guess at identifying. But if he was pressed to, he knew who it was likely to be. Only one player in this godforsaken city would have the guts to take a police officer captive from his own home.

He was in the care of Alfonse Dechart.

Florence + The Machine || Hunger

(03/01/22)

whumpropaganda:

A vampire being locked in a room with their loved one. Their loved one is taken care of perfectly. They’re given food three times a day and as much water as they want. They cuddle. They kiss. The vampire tells them it’s okay and that they’ll get out and everything will be fine. The loved one nods. 

They both know it’s not true though. There’s no way out. They’ve tried every single way. They’re completely trapped and it doesn’t matter how well the human has been taken care of. 

The vampire hasn’t been given a single drop to drink. Their eyes are already turning dark. They’re looking like more and more like a monster every day as they become more desperate for blood.

Eventually, they don’t cuddle anymore. The vampire sits, hugging themselves on the other side of the room, trying not to breath in a single breath of their human’s scent. 

It doesn’t matter how hard they try. It doesn’t matter how long they make it. They both know what’s going to happen. 

doctordiscord123:

Keep reading

oddsconvert:

Shattered

So this popped into my head and I wrote a lil drabble heavily influenced by@whumpsday ‘Kane & Jim’ and@t0rture-me 'Cat and Mouse’ universe bc I’m absolutely in love with them both (if you haven’t seen them… GO READ - RIGHT NOW, WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING H E R E?!!! YOU’RE MISSING OUT!)  And additionally I apologise in advance if the tags are annoying

My idea was kind of the perspective of a blood bag who’d gone through the route of being broken down through persuasion to the point of complete mental collapse -

CW: Vampire Whumper, Captivity, Restraints, Vegetative State/Disassociation (Stoic Whumpee in a sense???), Use of hypnosis/mind control, Starvation, Pet/Bloodbag Whump , Creepy/Intimate Whumper, Mentions of blood, Reference to previous abuse

-

It wasn’t that Declan was a prisoner trapped within his own mind; that would hideously underplay the boy’s state. No, it was more so that his mind no longer worked; viciously broken down into dormancy. A slither of consciousness remaining, for the sole purpose of ensuring his body performed the necessities required to survive. Not quite alive yet not quite dead, hopelessly suspended in limbo between the two states. Shallow breaths huffing through cracked, parted lips at least signalled his weak tether to the land of the living, and although hazed over eyes would often wearily stare dead ahead, expressionless; he could never quite fully comprehend what was occurring in his surroundings anymore.

A vampire’s persuasion tends to do that; completely eat away at the mortal’s fragile soul over time, devouring it into nothing. Vince had never intended to shatter his blood-bag; his prized pet…not in this sense, anyway. He just got carried away over the years from the addictive temptation of delicious power, of forcing the petrified boy to adhere to his every command. Vince missed and so desperately craved the tremors that used to run through the boy, trickling down his warm skin. Pure unbridled horror striking his face like lightning upon a tree whenever his body uncontrollably moved against his will, despite the fight burning within him trying to resist the control. Always falling short with an unholy wail clawing from his throat, so utterly frustrated at how defenceless he was - his own body betraying his every screaming thought. Vince revelled in the pet’s suffering whenever he would be forced to crumple onto tender, bruised knees and expose his vulnerable throat for thirsty fangs to sink into. 

Vince’s word became gospel, with Declan unable to resist and blindly obeying every syllable that uttered from his lips - becoming a god that he couldn’t resist worshipping. Who would want to give up that power?

Unfazed; Declan doesn’t stir when the bolted metal door at the top of the basement swings open, thudding against the wall. It used to make him jump out his skin every damn time, scuttling backwards with outstretched quivering palms pleading Vince to not hurt him, crying out to not feed from him. Nowadays, he remains perfectly still, perched on the edge of his moth-eaten mattress and oblivious to the hungry vampire swiftly descending down the stairs and bee-lining straight towards him. 

“Eat.” Vince’s gruff voice commands, handing the human a singular stale bread roll that he stiffly collects from his master’s hands, beginning to robotically chew and swallow to force the food down his throat. That was the only way Declan received sustenance more recently, via the use of persuasion. Vince reminding him and commanding him to nourish his own body from the lack of ability to do so himself anymore. With Declan receding back into the depths of his mind, paralysed in his vegetative state; Vince found himself suddenly assuming the role of a carer rather than captor.

Honestly? It had been concerning when the human had stopped eating, stopped caring for itself entirely - a fully-stocked fridge of food turning putrid and rotten. Vince didn’t know how to cook human food, why the hell would a vampire know how to cook human food?! Resorting to splashing out money on a mere pet, buying pre-cooked meals and hand-feeding Declan a few days each week. 

But fuck are these mortals so needy?!

The human’s health still persisted to rapidly decline; its bony rib cage protruding through now baggy clothes, passing out after every feed and a persistent sickly colour washing over his face that wouldn’t seem to budge. Reluctantly, Vince would begin feeding the boy everyday - it was long and exhausting but if the vampire wanted to keep feeding, Declan needed feeding. From that moment, he ceased control in the desperate hope it would allow his mind some time to recuperate and heal. But the human still did nothing. Day after day, still sat mindlessly awaiting its next command. After six well-served years as the vampire’s blood bag, the pet had finally broken. It finally needed replacing.

“Kneel…and tilt your head to the side”, Declan instantly yet gracelessly tumbled from his bed with that neutral expression, collapsing onto his knees and craning his head to expose his neck, ready to be fed from. Sick, purplish hues buried underneath the skin, deep scarring painted above from the sore, bloody bite marks and scratches encasing his neck. But the blood was right there, the gorgeous nectar flowing through his veins - albeit underneath the unappetising appearance of his neck but Vince could smell it, nostrils flaring. In an instant he was on Declan, plunging the sharp dagger-like fangs into his neck and slowly drawing out and lapping up the oozing blood. This would usually be the part where Declan would begin shaking, sometimes a juddered cry would break free or even a whimper from the pain. Often trying to snatch himself away just to be firmly and painfully held in place. But this time, he didn’t even know it was happening, his breathing didn’t even involuntarily quicken - did he even know where he was? Can he even remember his name at this point? Maybe it was a kindness, numbed to the searing pain and oblivious to his own suffering. 

The human was beginning to taste off. Not ‘unfeedable’ off but still lacking the usual kick it provided. Declan’s blood was always so aromatic, sweet and alluring - whenever the scent wafted up Vince’s nose, he physically couldn’t restrain himself, pouncing on the human like a wild, rabid dog. But now it was like his mind and body were co-conspiring with one another, purposely trying to screw Vince over. Nothing about this was enjoyable anymore, the pet was well past its use-by date. Why couldn’t he just wince or whimper a little bit? Even just a little flicker of pain in his eyes to indicate that somebody was home in there.

Vince lets out a chesty sigh as he arises from Declan, leaving him bowing on the floor as he circles him like prey to get a good look at him. Still redundantly attached to the wall by the chafing chain clasped to his ankle, as though the little thing had the mental capacity to plan a escape, he could barely walk even if he tried! He’s merely a shell of himself, a ragdoll pliable for the vampire’s every use and desire but that’s so unbelievably boring. How can you wring a scream out of something that doesn’t feel pain? Terrify to the point of tears when it no longer understands fear? Vince’s trailing comes to a halt, crouching down before the boy to glare into his eyes and though they do glare back at him, they are glaring straight through him. As though Vince was translucent. 

“Oh Deccy…”, Vince cooed that ridiculous pet name he had always despised, so childish and patronising, “You’re just a fridge now, aren’t you? Keeping my food fresh for me”. Silence. A low buzzing hum from the energy saving lightbulb hanging above them and the whooshing of blood filling Vince’s ears but other than that he was speaking to a wall, words getting lost in the abyss. 

“I can get another fridge like this”, Vince clicked his fingers right against the bridge of Declan’s nose, hoping for even just an instinctive blink to recognise the threat and naturally protect his eyes. The boy remained swaying ever so slightly, blubbing his mouth like a fish out of water and eyes fixed dead ahead.

The realisation crashed down that this is truly the end of the road. On all levels except physical, Declan was already dead. A fleeting flash of sympathy strikes Vince, a foreign emotion but still there nonetheless. He attempts to card his fingers through the boy’s long, matted hair but gives in, retreating his hands when they get caught in a greasy tangle midway through. 

“You’ve reached the end, haven’t you?”, Vince narrows his eyes, scouring Declan’s face for even a tinge of reaction, a last dashing chance to see if any of this is salvageable. But he’s met back with that same, gormless and expressionless face. Not a single thought lingers within that head. What used to be sparkling, caramel eyes were now morphed to grey stones - no sign of life behind them. 

“I think it’s your time, little one…”, Vince cups his palm against Declan’s cheek, fingers instantly tapping against his gaunt cheekbones and no longer sinking into the plump skin. Had Declan been able to understand the words being spoken to him, he’d be truly and utterly crushed - overwhelmed by devastation and panic but still…nothing, didn’t even stiffen from the threat. Through one ear and out of the other, neutral to the news. 

Vince stands back to his height, nodding with acceptance of reality and about to leave the shattered pet in solitude once more. Neglecting to command it back into bed, it will stay perfectly situated on the cold, damp floor until it is next needed. Simply as a formality, knowing Declan will not hear his parting words, Vince calls back before bolting the basement door.

“By sundown today… you’ll be sold to a new master.”

-

*I do have possible ideas for continuation of this if I get the creative juices flowing for it but idkk-

OHHHH MY GODDDDDDDD this is so delicious. i adore this immeasurably. this is WONDERFUL.