Hurt and Comfort

By Kailey Alessi

All proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to the National Network to End Domestic Violence.  

 

The Whumpy Printing Press presents Hurt and Comfort: A Whump Anthology. 

 

Whump: A genre of fiction that involves hurting fictional characters. It often also involves the comforting of those characters, but not necessarily.

 

Collected in this anthology are over two dozen whump stories from the whump writers of the internet. From vampires to mers to supervillains and more, these stories deliver a hell of a punch. And a lot of whumperflies. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Whumpy Printing Press
• Release date: Sep 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781959330011

Book preview

Hurt and Comfort

A Whump Anthology

Kailey Alessi

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The Whumpy Printing Press

Copyright © 2022 by The Whumpy Printing Press

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

To the Whump Community

Contents

Introduction

You've Been Selected For a Demo

hold-him-down

As I Laid Sleeping

Mars Burkett

The Perils of an Uninvited Guest

LadyWallace

Burden

whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

A Long Way From Home

Jayde Layne

Spark

Archer

Being Brave is Just Another Word for Being Afraid

@dont-touch-my-soup

Sonata

Blue

Fallen Demon

Ruth

Go-Getter

Ceph-the-writing-spook

The Stairwell

Melissa

Maurellian Misery

Virgil Enoch

The Lady's Companion

Jayalaw

Through the Storm

E.M.C.

Sorrow

@whumpwillow

Fifty-Eight Days: Day One

@peachy-panic

Numbers Game

Mill Cohen

Levofloxacin

Riley Frederickson

Reaudition

Zi Trone

The Kidusu - The Chase and Capture

TidalWhump

Lungs

Elaina Newman

A Small Price to Pay

Zipper

The Blood Market

Kailey Alessi

Replaceable

Shain M. Neumeier and Emily P. Titon

Friendly Fire

befuddled-calico-whump

Stone and Mortar, Anger and Blood

Ash

Nothing Good Comes After 3 a.m.

Cheyenne Smith

Last Moments

Faeryn

Catch No Release

Maksymilian Maria Grott

Glossary

Acknowledgments

About the Editor

Introduction

Whump is a genre of fiction which explores the dark. Those hidden places in human nature, those places that revel in blood and violence. But it is also a genre that celebrates the light. How even when terrible things happen, there are those who are willing to drop everything to help others. And I think that’s wherein lies a lot of people’s fascination with whump. As a writer, it gives you the freedom to explore topics like torture and trauma in more depth than is usually ever given them in mainstream media. As a reader, it allows a sort of emotional catharsis. In a world that so often tells us to be positive, to present nothing but a happy face to the world, whump flies in the face of that and says, no, sometimes life sucks. And you know what? That’s okay. Many whump stories involve the whumpee eventually escaping and recovering. As they go through this painful process, we can feel their pain as they try to piece together their life. And it’s fuckin’ hard, just like our own lives are at times. Whump gives us hope that people can come back from even the darkest of places.

Personally, I think a lot of people probably like whump, even if they don’t know the word for it. So many of the most popular franchises on the planet are quite violent. Just look at how The Hunger Games, Game of Thrones, and the MCU took the world by storm!

I didn’t discover the term whump until spring of 2021. I think I first ran across it on Pinterest when I was scrolling through writing prompts. One thing led to another, and I ended up discovering the thriving whump community on Tumblr. For the first time in my life, I found people who not only wrote dark fiction, but celebrated it. I had always been too afraid to write because the stories I wanted to tell were dark and I thought that nobody but me would ever want to read them. But then I found a group of people who weren’t afraid of the dark. I started posting my writing on my Tumblr, whumpy-writings, in August of 2021. I was terrified. I thought nobody would read it or like it. But I was wrong. The whump community embraced me with open arms and I have now posted over seventy chapters in that series, Of Vampires and Men. The whump community gave me the confidence to keep writing, and now I will be self-publishing the first book in the Of Vampires and Men series in 2023. This book is a love letter to the community that changed my life for the better. 

This book contains twenty-nine stories from whump writers across the globe. Each story has content warnings at the beginning.

You've Been Selected For a Demo

hold-him-down

CW: Whipping, Restraints, Dehumanization, Sci-Fi Nonsense

Whumpee: Man, Whumper: Man, Caretaker: N/A

Leo is not brought to the dining hall when he is awoken today. He is told to get dressed and that he’s been selected for a demonstration. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows he does not like the sound of it, or the way the handler grips his bicep. He hasn’t given them too much trouble since he returned here three weeks ago. He remembers one of the kitchen workers giving him a little extra soup yesterday, and reasons with himself that that must be it.

He wants to ask where he is going, as they shuffle him down the dark hall, but he doesn’t. The building is asleep. So eerily quiet that he could hear a pin drop. He walks forward, head down. 

He’s ushered into E wing, and then into a small exam room. It isn’t rare for him to be examined, but he’s on edge. No one has spoken to him. He’s given a hospital gown to change into, his clothes are put into the sanitary bin. No, this definitely doesn’t feel good.

Still, he strips, and then he pulls the gown over his arms, and reaches to tie it. 

You can leave it open, a man in a lab coat says to him, entering unceremoniously through the same door the handler just shuffled out of. Another man stands at the door now, a little tablet in his hand, typing furiously into it. Sit down, please.

The man in the doctor’s coat, Leo will call him the doctor, he thinks, pushes a cart toward him, and Leo glances anxiously over the materials lined up carefully on the top tray. 

What is that? he asks, toward the thing he is sure the doctor meant for him to see. It looks like a handle with a thin thread attached to it. Smaller than the leather of a whip, smaller than even a piece of yarn. It’s metallic looking, and curls around itself on the tray. It seems very much like a whip. But Leo hasn’t done anything that he thinks would earn him this.

It’s a prototype, the doctor says, almost eager to answer his question. He picks it up, letting it balance in his hands. The cord falls limply. The board has asked for a demonstration on how it works. If they’re pleased with the results, it will be used across all DLS sites in the future.

The doctor looks at the device with heart-shaped eyes, Leo thinks. He doesn’t dread what is to come; he doesn’t allow himself to think that far ahead. The wire is light, thin. There must be something more to it. The doctor sets it to the side.

For the next several minutes, the doctor runs a series of tests on Leo’s body. He draws Leo’s blood. He does scans of him, and clips the large prints against the light on the wall. He runs his fingers down Leo’s back, with a light pressure that doesn’t hurt, but does bring Leo’s heart rate into a less-comfortable cadence. He fixes little wireless patches to Leo’s chest and turns on a machine, and Leo knows this is definitely not going to be good. He recognizes the methodical way the doctor observes all of his baselines. He holds his hands to stop himself from trembling.

The doctor gives Leo an IV and then puts something inside of it. He hangs the bag. Leo wants to ask what he did wrong, so he can make sure he doesn’t do it again. He thinks maybe Mr. Peterson finally did his post-contract interview and that this is the result of that conversation.

Open your mouth, the doctor says, and Leo does, letting his eyes slide shut slowly. This is where it gets to hurting, he thinks, as the doctor pushes a bite guard between his teeth. 

Alright, Leo, he says. The bite guard does not have a strap and Leo could easily spit it out, but he doesn’t. Take a deep breath.

To his assistant, he says, The worker selected for the demo is Leo Evans, initiating phase one on 10/2/2091, 6:54am. 

The doctor picks up the object and presses a button on it, but Leo doesn’t notice a change. He walks up behind him, as the assistant moves to stand in front of him, and Leo knows enough to know that he needs to grip the side of the exam table and he needs to bite down and he needs to be still. He does those three things.

There’s a small whoosh in the air before the thread makes contact with his back, directly across his shoulder blades. There is a sick moment where Leo isn’t sure that whatever was supposed to happen happens. And then his back lights ablaze. His jaw locks as he bites down into the guard, tears already springing to his eyes. The sounds that come out of him are muffled, anguished cries, and he lurches forward. The large man in front of him holds him still. His back is fucking furiously splitting at the seams, the spot where the thread touched him seeming to go deeper and deeper and deeper until his bones and his organs and every piece of him feel it, breaking his muscles into pieces. 

He barely has a chance to recover from the first strike, when the second hits him, just a few inches lower. Like the first, there is a split second between when he feels the contact of the thread and when the pain starts. It does, though, and mixes with the anguish of the first, and the hands on his shoulders, holding him still, grip him tighter. He hears them talking but he can’t hear their words, he can only feel a kind of frigidity taking its grip on him and he starts to shake and dry-heave when–

The third blow connects with his back, landing on a spot just between the first two. Leo is successful in his forward jerk this time, but the man is large, and he wraps his arms around Leo’s frame and holds him still. The pressure of the man’s arms tightening around his muscles that are still breaking and breaking makes Leo shake harder. He feels the man’s fingers tangle into his hair and hold him still as his body fights uselessly against his grip, as his fingers go white from gripping the table so hard. The man keeps his hold on Leo, and Leo is screaming. Eventually he lets him go, guiding Leo onto his side on the cold table. Leo thinks he has stopped screaming, but he doesn’t stop shaking.

The first three strikes have been successfully administered, the doctor says, glancing at the live scan of Leo’s back. The next three strikes are scheduled for 12:00 pm. And then, do you want to see? the doctor asks, when Leo is calm enough to think. The agony is there, and it doesn’t ease, and he’s curled up as tight as he can be, and every few seconds he feels a deep tremor roll through him. He doesn’t answer. He keeps his eyes pinched shut, and swallows back his tears.

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Leo is made to walk into the room full of people. The IV bag is gone, and his gown has been changed (twice) and tied for him. He is made to sit on an exam table with a T-shaped bar bolted to it, his back facing the eleven people who watch, taking notes on their tablets. He recognizes one, the director of the site he’s at now. He doesn’t recognize any others. 

He faces the wall, which has four or five screens on it. Slowly, they each light up with something different. Although his vision is still blurry, he can’t stop himself from looking. One, he can see the x-rays from the morning. Another, he can see a real-time scan of his insides. He sees camera footage of himself beneath it, hunched over and rubbing his biceps, trying to stop himself from shaking. A presentation pops onto the middle screen, the largest. Graphs and other data appear on the fifth.

The doctor stands next to him; the fire in his back has cooled to a steady, throbbing ache, and the doctor begins his speech. Leo tries desperately to tune him out. He knows this is a demo, and he knows what that means. He tries to go to the warm place, to take himself out of the game completely. The beauty of this patent pending device, he hears the doctor say distantly, Is that the pain output is severe, however, the recovery period is mere hours, and there are no lasting signs of trauma. This is ideal for trainees and contract-workers who require frequent discipline or have not been responsive to alternative disciplinary measures. External scarring is non-existent and internal scarring is minimal, observed only when repeated contact is made within the recovery period.

The man flips through slide after slide, reviewing data, reviewing benefits of his device. 

In our clinical trials, we used a random sampling of 173 human subjects currently in the system, aged between 18 and 63, with a median age of 22. Each subject was asked to complete a series of intake tasks. The worker you’ve selected, Leo, he says, gesturing to the shell of a person at the table, for the demo has completed similar tasks and his responses have been noted in the attached file… 198558.

He can’t see the people watching this, but he pictures them opening the file and furiously reading to keep up. 

"Six strikes have been administered prior to this demo. Three strikes were delivered six hours ago at 6:54 am. Three additional strikes were delivered one hour ago, 12:01pm. On the scans, all muscle damage from these are highlighted in blue and red respectively. For the remainder of the demo, all new strikes administered will be highlighted in yellow on the real-time internal scans. You will be able to see an observable difference in the lingering muscle damage between each set of strikes, with deep tissue damage observed only where strikes overlap across multiple sessions."

The doctor, Leo thinks, loves hearing himself talk.

Please remove your gown, the doctor says, touching Leo’s shoulder briefly.

He does, the movement sending a quick flash of fire through his shoulders.

Good, he says softly. Softly enough to confuse Leo, and loud enough for the entire board of directors to hear him. He gives his shoulder a light squeeze. It’s fake.

With the tip of his finger, he gestures to where the whip ripped Leo’s muscles apart throughout the morning. His touch is light, but Leo shivers involuntarily.  As you can see, here is where the three initial strikes were delivered.

He moves to the scans on the wall. Here, you can see the damage to his muscles after sixty minutes, and after ninety minutes. As you can probably tell, his muscles are already rapidly repairing themselves. This is due to the unique chemical and electrical configuration of the whip. The whip doesn’t actually rip into muscle, but rather interacts with the tissue to create the same effect of a traditional whip, just under the skin. Similar results have been noted across all test subjects, with some variability due to age and other health factors.

He points out the other lines on the scan of Leo’s back, darker, deeper, he thinks. He can’t peel his eyes away from this presentation. It’s a fucking twisted mind-game, he thinks.

Here is where the second set of strikes have been delivered. Strikes one and two were located below the initial set of three. Strike three was issued directly on top of the initial three perpendicularly. You can see, here, at all intersections, the damage is more substantial.

He touches Leo lightly in those spots and Leo jerks forward before becoming aware of himself. Easy, the doctor says quietly.

Leo nods.

Next slide.

"These images were taken five minutes prior to this demo. The initial three strikes, after a six hour recovery, have nearly fully healed, with the exception of the intersections of the second set of strikes. The second set has shown marked improvement. In a clinical interview fifteen minutes before this demo, Leo indicated that he was no longer in pain.

"This demo will consist of a randomized number between 25 and 35 strikes, in various locations, and a series of follow up tests. Tests will be conducted fifteen minutes after the delivery of the strikes, in three hours, in twenty-four hours, and in one week. In all clinical trials, even with the deepest tissue damage noted, all subjects showed complete recovery within one week, with 99.987 percent of strikes healing within 24 hours. 

"We’ve administered a small dose of Lorazepam, which will aid to keep him calm during any inter-trial lapses and/or discussion questions. No physical pain blockers have been administered or will be administered for the demonstration or during the 24 hour recovery period. We expect within three hours, even with the excessive number of strikes, he will be substantially recovered and able to go about his daily tasks. Our studies have shown that no more than five strikes have been required to obtain full cooperation, however for the purpose of the demonstration, we will administer excessively. 

"Within twelve hours, all swelling will be gone, and the likelihood of deep-tissue damage will effectively be zero if additional discipline is administered. At this point, a worker would be cleared for additional use of the ionic whip. There is no concern of brain damage, as possible with excessive use of electroshock, and no risk of permanent skin or deep muscular damage. It’s the perfect tool for frequent or prolonged disciplinary measures. 

This demonstration will be recorded, as well as the 24 hour recovery period. Leo will be interviewed hourly, and his pain levels and physical recovery will be assessed every fifteen minutes. In the event that Leo shows substantial levels of pain following the initial 24 hours, the trial will be discontinued, and pain medication will be administered. Our extensive research has made me confident that won’t be the case. Pain will be considerable for the first sixty minutes and will rapidly decrease following that initial period. Let’s begin.

The doctor’s assistant moves to the front of him and for a moment, Leo thinks he will hold him still again, but instead he puts tight metal cuffs around Leo’s wrists and tests them, then raises them to the small frame affixed to the table. As the man pushes the bite guard into Leo’s mouth, there is the briefest moment of eye contact exchanged between the two of them. This is gonna suck, he whispers, so softly that no one in the room could possibly have heard him. Leo is sure that he’s already trembling, if not visibly, at least on the inside. The man holds eye contact with him for one more moment then steps back, standing still directly in his sight line.

His eyes are closed and he tries to prepare himself for what he knows is coming. He bites down to stop himself from making too much noise. He feels himself pulling on the restraints at his wrists and he makes a conscious effort to still himself.

Administering strike one, across the shoulder blades.

The whoosh that he can’t get out of his head acts as a warning before the spark of electricity ignites just under his skin. His muscles are still in pieces from earlier; they split under his skin. His body goes rigid for an instant, and then lurches forward. The restraints hold him back. The man in front of him doesn’t touch him; his arms remain crossed in front of him and he watches with something Leo might call concern. It hurts like fucking hell, but he does not cry out.

Administering strike two, allowing contact across the rib cage.

A noise comes from somewhere deep within him as his body jolts against the thread of the whip. He still doesn’t cry out, but he feels the tears building, and he feels his jaw start to protest against the force with which he bites the guard. His fingers are going numb, but the fire is moving up his arms. The world is starting to fucking spin, and all he can feel is cold. 

Administering strike three, vertically at the spinal cord.

As the sound that has become a warning signal flies through the air, Leo pinches his eyes shut, and bites harder. The doctor is good with his tool, and hits his mark directly down Leo’s spine. A sound of choked desperation comes from him, a p-p-p-please, so frantic and agonized, comes out of him, distorted by the bit. As the now-familiar feeling of nerves and muscles being obliterated ignites under his skin, his spine arches and his back twists. It all only serves to hurt him worse. He is shaking now, from the cold and from the pain. He’s shivering. His breaths are rapid, his chest heaving wildly. Blood is trickling down his hands, keeping pace with the tears that are rolling in steady waves down his cheeks.

Administering strike four, allowing contact with the neck.

Leo makes a split second decision to lift his head, to try to protect the bone there, and shrieks as the thread cuts into the muscle at the back of his neck. His head instantly drops and lolls to the side. 

We’ll pause briefly to ensure the worker is fit to continue. And then, a hand under his chin, lifting his head. A bright flash of light. Pressure a fucking ton of pressure right in the spot that the fucking whip has ripped into his muscle and Leo shrieks again, his toes curling and his arms pulling and pulling at the restraints. The bit that he’s holding tightly between his teeth is adjusted quickly and the man nods. 

Administering strike five…

Administering strike six…

He is undone. 

Adminis…

Admi…

The words fade out, and the world becomes pain and only pain. Leo loses count of the number of times his body is whipped. He feels it worst when it connects with muscle that’s already been shredded. He knows he has vomited on himself, and he knows that his body is slick with his sweat, and he knows that his face is covered in his tears. He knows that he shakes, and screams, and tries to jerk his body away from the whip every time he hears the whoosh. He thinks he is probably bleeding, that he might be bleeding to death. He thinks this might be it, even if his skin isn’t broken by this device, his insides are in literal shreds, and his nerves have all been sliced up and he thinks this is the kind of agony that stays with him forever. He can’t stop his screaming. He can’t stop himself from pulling wildly against his restraints. Until he can’t move anymore, and he can’t scream anymore, and all he can do is hang by his wrists and let the darkness consume him.

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Leo has been released from the restraints on his wrists and is now a limp pile of flesh and torn muscle and fire on the table, with the board of directors slowly making their way toward him. They surround the table. One of them asks if they can touch his back. Permission is granted. Leo tries to snake away from the touch, but there’s a hand at his chest, holding him still. More fingers on his back, creating little jolts of fire. His skin looks nearly perfect, but the members of the board of directors can feel the heat coming from underneath, can feel the swelling. They allow their fingers to push into his skin, trying to understand better what exactly is happening inside of him. They can’t understand, but every time their fingers press into him a new wave of agony crashes over him, and he keeps trying to jerk away, but he is markedly outnumbered.