A trope I adore: not only a drugged Whumpee, but the act of drugging Whumpee.
Pinning Whumpee’s arm to the ground or a table, keeping them still enough to push the needle into their arm
Causing a sharp, sudden pain that makes Whumpee cry out, their mouth opened just long enough to shove a pill inside—then holding a hand over Whumpee’s nose and mouth until they swallow or suffocate
Forcing Whumpee to drink something they know is laced (or don’t)
Waving a strong chemical beneath an unconscious or exhausted Whumpee’s nose, and watching the effects hit their system almost immediately
Making Whumpee finish a suspiciously chalky meal
Restraining Whumpee and hooking them up to a constant drip of fluids meant to keep them docile. Bonus: Whumpee fighting tooth and nail to keep the needle from their arm because they know—once it’s in, there’s no chance to escape
“Relax…” Whumper croons into the softness of Whumpee's hair, holding them close against their chest as they struggle. Their body bucks, limbs fail; All of that writhing weakened by the drugs coursing through their system and reduced to pathetic wriggling and mewling. Whumper catches one of their hands easily by the wrist, pulling it up to their lips. “Just let it happen…” They murmur between gentle kisses.
“Relax…” Caretaker's deft hands knead at the stiff muscles in Whumpee’s shoulders, bunched up and pulled taut like a cord. They make sure to avoid the fresh stitches along their back, the bruises standing out starkly against their skin. They do it for themself as much as for Whumpee. They don't like to think about what they had to go through at the hands of that monster... all alone... when it had been their job to protect them. Caretaker takes in a deep, shuddering breath, forcing themself to push those thoughts away. There is no fixing the past. “You’re safe now— Safe for forever, Whumpee. You can relax now. They can’t get you…” Caretaker leans forward to look earnestly into their eyes. “Not anymore.”
“Relax…” Whumpee whispers breathlessly, frantic huffs of air echoing off the barrel of the gun, mere inches from their face. Whumper's gaze is dark and intense as if they're just waiting for Whumpee to slip up... to say the wrong thing. They keep their hands raised in the air, trembling faintly. "Relax, I-I won't run, okay? Seriously, I swear I won't."
"Relax..." That achingly familiar voice sends chills riveting up Whumper's spine. Leather straps hold them firmly in place as they thrash with renewed vigor... They can't see Whumpee... but they can certainly feel them lurking somewhere behind the chair in those thick, churning shadows. Whumper can feel the hatred. Years of festering resentment spilling out across the floor, all too consuming and just as suffocating as the dust and mildew. "Isn't that what you used to say to me... 'Relax and enjoy the show'...?"
Super versatile word. Also first post guys, what? huh? cuhrazy. Probably going to post an introduction post sometime soon but hello everyone -Fox