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#guilty whumpee
whump-or-whatever · 1 year
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Idk if I’ve articulated enough how much I love whumpees with somewhat dark histories.
As in, they’ve done some stuff they regret, maybe hurt some people. Perhaps they were angry in their youth and lashed out, or they were so preoccupied chasing their own desires that they didn’t stop to think about how their actions affected others.
Anyway, that leads to a lot of guilt when they finally change their ways, and the way they feel about their past then influences how they behave in the present.
Maybe that means whumpee overworks themself trying to help others and make up for wasted time. They’re far too willing to put themself in harm’s way. When something bad happens to them, they don’t take it seriously enough cause deep down they just sorta feel like they had it coming. They might not object to being mistreated or they might allow themself to be used/manipulated because they don’t think they have a right to expect better. They could be unwilling to accept help when they really need it because they think other people are more deserving.
Yeah, I just love guilty whumpees, especially when that guilt is never explicitly discussed but it manifests itself in the way whumpee behaves and it’s fundamental to their understanding of self.
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whumpshots · 6 months
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Whumptober #6
Trope of the day: “It should have been me.”
_
Whumpee's eyes are trained on caretaker's chest, raising and falling in a steady and slow rhythm. It's almost hypnotising, almost as if they stopped breathing if they avert their eyes.
The guilt is eating whumpee alive.
Caretaker is almost as pale as the sheets they are lying on, the machines beeping and indicating that they are still alive. They were almost dead not even a day ago, whumpee hasn't dared touching them since they were allowed to go inside and see them, hours ago.
When team member comes in, whumpee still doesn't look up, but flinches when their hand touches their shoulder. "You should get some rest, too," team member mutters and whumpee bites their trembling bottom lip.
“It should have been me,” they mutter and close their lids for a second. "We all know that. We all know - It should have been me," they repeat and feel the tears streak down their cheeks.
Whumpee wasn't careful enough ... they were a risk to the entire team and now this happened. It's their fault. Deep down they know it can't be, but the guilt almost chokes them alive.
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rizzoto-whump · 7 months
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"Why? Why does your country torment us so?" Whumpee asked, their voice trembling with pent-up anger and sorrow.
Whumper, slathered in medicinal paste and bandages, looked at them with pained eyes. Their silence sounded louder than any apology they could have offered.
"We.. we were told that this is for the greater good. We didn't know... I didn't know the pain we were inflicting on people," Whumper admitted solemnly, guilt etching a deep crease on their face.
Whumpee inhaled sharply, "You choose to invade our lands, impose your laws, take our resources and you didn't know? You say you didn't understand what you were doing?"
"We were soldiers, orders were orders—" Whumper started, but Whumpee cut them off.
"No, Whumper. You have choices. Always. Every time you raise your sword, that's a choice." Whumpee tears welled up in their eyes as they looked away.
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ohnoithurts · 5 months
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Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
For @ailesswhumptober day 23- Forced to Watch, day 28- Whumpee Hair Pulling, and alt 8- Electrocution
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kaiwewi · 2 years
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Guilty Conscience
[Masterlist: Renegade Rescue Squad]
Synopsis: a rookie hero has been taken prisoner. Other Villain is looking forward to torturing them. Villain very much isn't.
tw: whump, captivity, talk about torture, gore mentioned
The little hero was a lost cause.
No one ever made a full recovery from Other Villain’s torture dungeon.
Anyone who had been lucky – or unlucky – enough to survive the encounter was in some way irrefutably and irreversibly distorted, physically or mentally. Or both.
Most who’d found themselves here, however, had simply been killed.
From his corner of the too small room, Villain watched Other Villain mock their tied-up captive. The little hero remained stoic, even after the beating they’d received, they still glared up from their no doubt uncomfortable position, slumped on the metal chair.
If only they weren’t this stubborn.
“You’re going to sing for me, pretty bird. Everyone does, sooner or later.” Other Villain dug their claws into the fresh wounds blemishing the hero’s cheeks and wiped the blood dripping down from the hero’s split lip off their chin.
The hero wrenched their head back, out of Other Villain’s grasp.
So much defiance in a body so small and beaten. Any semblance of fight should have forsaken the rookie the moment they’d realised whose clutches they’d fallen into. But the hero had refused to cave, to beg, to give information freely while they’d had the chance to emerge if not unscathed at least with only the few bruises to show for from kicks and punches.
This hero was a fiery thing, a phoenix caged and stripped of its magic, yet still so proud.
Their courage might have been inspiring if it wasn’t so dooming.
Other Villain leaned over the hero’s shoulder from behind and held up something small and metallic for them to see. “I love these neodymium fridge magnets,” they said. “So tiny, so practical, and so strong. Imagine swallowing a few, one at a time, every other hour.” Their mouth twisted into a manic grin. “Doesn’t that sound fun, all those magnets joining together on the inside and turning your guts into a sieve…. I saw that on TV once, wanted to try it on someone ever since.”
They pointed at the hero’s abdomen, purred into their ear. “Aw, just picture it, pretty bird: perforated intestines, digestive fluids leaking out into the body, the bacteria, the cramps, the vicious infections. Absolute agony. What a gruesome way to die.”
Villain rubbed his arm against the sensation of something crawling across his skin beneath his shirt. He tasted bile and swallowed.
Oh god, he could picture it. Magnets clamping together gut walls, tearing holes through soft flesh yielding under the pressure, a subsequent contamination of the abdominal cavity leading to sepsis and death…. It was sickening. Horrible.
It would work.
How depraved did one have to be to enjoy such a notion?
Other Villain’s laughter echoed from the tiled walls. “I'd estimate, it might kill you within a day or two. But that should leave you with enough time to sell out your team’s lovely little secrets for a few painkillers.”
They ruffled the hero’s hair, almost affectionate.
Some of the colour had drained from the little hero’s face – too pale skin now standing in even more striking a contrast to contusions and blood splatters. They stared up at Other Villain with big terrified eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
“Not to your liking? Pity.” Hand still playing with their captive’s hair, Other Villain circled around until they stood in front of the hero. “But don’t you fret, songbird. There are still so many other fun activities the two of us could try together.”
The two of us. So this was between Other Villain and their victim only? Then at least Villain wouldn’t have to play an active role in this sick game.
He hated himself a bit for feeling relieved.
[Part 2]
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whimp-whamp-whump · 9 months
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Character A is injured and out in the open (hit and run, left to die, shot/stabbed, etc.) and Character B (be they human or not) steps in to help them, only to be spotted by Character C, who freaks out and thinks Character B hurt Character A.
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whumpwillow · 1 year
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vampire whumpee that has been taught/conditioned to hate their nature. They cover their mouth because it shows their fangs, maybe they even file them down or even pull them out. Personal fave: rejecting blood because they're not a monster, they're not, but they're getting weak and caretaker looks tasty and now they're a threat to the very person that's taking care of them. How could they be such a monster? Caretaker is trying to get them to drink blood but whumpee would never, not caretaker's, even if their muscles are weak and they can't see straight anymore. . .
Bonus if the psychological hate whumpee has for themselves means they can't keep any blood down, try as they might.

vampire caretaker that knows how scary they are to whumpee and so take precautions to make themselves less threatening. making a conscious effort to move slowly or make mistakes to seem more normal. Maybe they put in colored contacts to cover an eye color or pupil shape that's unnatural. Obviously they lock themselves away every time they drink blood or around the time of their cravings so as to keep whumpee from getting scared. Oh? What's this? A sudden wave of thirst has them transforming right in front of whumpee? How do they get away? How do they get whumpee to stop offering up their own flesh? How are they going to control themselves if they give in?
ya know, people say that angsty vampires have gone out of style but i will NEVER get tired of them
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catnykit · 3 months
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𝔽𝕝𝕠𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕡𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 #𝟙 𝔸 ℙ𝕆𝕆ℝ 𝔻𝔼𝕍𝕀𝕃
𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠
AHJSOWNXOQNIXNQ I CANT BELIVE I'LL FINALLY WRITE ABOUT MY OWN CHARACTERS AAAAAAA
TY ALL MUTUALS AND PEOPLE TO INSPIRE ME TO DO THAT
THIS IS JUST A BLOOD LOSS WHUMP DRAFT,BUT WHO CARES AAAAAAA
pls tell me if you want to be tagged for more stuff like this idk
Word count: 1674
𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠
Warnings
;Suicide/suicide attempt
Blood loss
Torture hints/mentions
✨️Trauma,Of course
Mourning(????? Mild mourning???
Self hatred
Major character death :)
All warnings happen almost randomly,But not immediatly,Like— I gotta first explain and then the fuss happens you know
𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹
The dizzness was starting to became hard to ignore
Damm,It was expected,You cant lock yourself in the bathroom after accidentally torturing an innocent and then go free like nothing
Well,In her defense,Carmen did not knew that liam was innocent
Now she was the monster here,Isnt she? She had good meanings,The suspect's actions were too much to get ignored by the police Even if she was there,All by herself,She could still hearing her friend's cries that night....
She didnt know what happen in the woods until she saw wesley,Her best friend,Cover in a blanket while sitting in the border of an ambulance
They were shaking,All bloody.Carmen couldnt let the things like that!! Since childhood carmen was told she was 'way too impulsive' And why would they care?! She only did what was needed
Blood didnt stop coming as the yells didnt stopped. They wanted her to go out of the bathroom. Now.
Of course,The needed was to kidnap liam and torture them just like he did with wesley....
So one good day,She grab choloform and kidnap him in the middle of the night
How fun!,Guts,Blood,Burns,And a little syringue to make sure they dont pass out
The begs where even more satisfactory considering that,It was probabily how wesley beg in liam's hands,he deserve it!
What was not fun Was the call....
After being done with liam,And without any more ideas She decided to call wesley!,Yay!
Little problem,She did not tell wesley anything about her little plan ....Carmen was sure they would accept no matter what.
Or maybe she fogot it? In all the rage?
Staying awake was hard,Breathing was hard. She deserved it thought. They were always right and this wasnt the exception.
or Atleast thats why she throught
It didnt matter now
God,Wesley was mad.
So,So mad :(
And they had the right to be it! It was the wrong person!! Carmen is the heartless monster In here.....Atleast that was Wes said.....
"B-But I did it for.... you!"
"YOU'RE A MONSTER— I CANT BELIVE SOMEONE CAN BE THIS...TORTUROUS!"
God,And they used to be friends
Dear fucking God,It was truth....
Liam was aslo bleeding out,Atleast kind of
Carmen was so careless that she sewed up the wound with the first Thing she found,It wouldnt last forever
But the diference is that wesley was there for him
Such a backstabbed!,Or was she?
Did it care anyway?
Why was wesley yelling at her to get out?
Why did they wanted her alive?
Wesley was just there,Outside the bathroom,Trying to get who was once his friend out,For their own fucking sake
Liam was still there too,Watching quietly the blood stain the floor under the bathroom's door;All while squirming slighty In pain
The sedatives of the first aid kit did barely anything,Atleast he wasnt crying
Wesley was scared too,Goddamit,They were way too scared of anything that happen
Why the fuck did they told carmen about it? Knowing how she was?
It didnt matter now,They went mad and they know it.
They aslo knew that she was way too sensitive for reasons that they told eachother on countless outings to eat, walks, just being together
The worst part it was how close they were from eachother,And how that somewhat end in this absolute Mess
Now wesley has to cope with Not one,But two persons bleeding out.
Why do they always need to be so rude?
They felt way too guilty too
Guilty about the person in the couch who didnt hurt them,But everyone thought against it because they say "He look similar"
Well,They didnt know it was gonna end like this.
They didnt know how Mad carmen was for someone hurting them
How much Rage in order to find someone to blame
It wasnt till then that they noticed The stain that they relized it. All the restroom was quiet since they kick the door open to the basment And find their best friend torturing an innocent person,Liam They didnt think carmen could do this and yet? It was there Just there And the worst part its that All was Her fault,Thats what she thought. Carmen was alredy blood-stained when she run upstairs trying to hide from wesley,Who didnt stop yelling at her how much of an horrible person she was And in part,It was right,The problem is that She alredy knew that. She alredy knew that So when wesley saw the blood under the door,open the damm bathroom door, He wasnt ready. He had to leave liam just to... Just to see it? How one of the most important persons in his life was laying om a pool of her own blood.
Well,She regret it.
How do you deal with the thought that you're a monster who deserved to be put down?
Its not like somebody would care anyway,Is not like they would care anyway
by this point,The blood lossed was enough to just
Pass out
Wesley was terryfied. Standing there,In the bathroom door....
Liam was still laying on the couch,In pain after Everything that carmen put them throught horryfing torture...
How was they supposed to fix this?
Was it any way to do it,Was it possible?
And now they were crying.Over the dying figure of someone who tried to be a good person And failed.
𓃠 𓃬𓃠
Carmen was...confusing
A year ago,They were the one in an ambulance
And they werent that...bad
wesley remembered how bad it was... They remember a strong hand dragging them to the white van They do remember the pain,They got beat up and starved But that was nothing compared to what carmen did to liam
What was most heartbreaking it was that there was no "villian" to blame
The ones who actually kidnap them were in fact,An entire gang.
They got confused following instructions and end up getting the wrong guy
Wesley
The gang promised them that,If they didnt say a word they would free them and never meet agaim
Wesley accepted
And now they're here
With two people on the ambulance
All because they didnt talk...and because carmen went insane
was it her fault tho?? Wanting revengue for her friend??
Was it wesley's fault? They were too focused on trying to keep liam alive they didnt notice when carmen— ... Carmen was only concern. It was her fault the way she decided to be ruthless about it But she didnt deserve...death. She thought she did tho That was wesley's fault.
Wesley was shocked when carmen,Practically drunk called him to say to him that she kidnap one of the suspect and gut him alive.
And other unspeakable stuff that left Liam way more broken than Wesley. All in one night.
The second worst night!— who would guess it...
Wesley tried to get an first aid kit being on the restroom, trying to atleast help liam
Even so,They did not measure their words....
Carmen felt hurt. Attacked,Even so!
by a Friend. That she thought she could trust... But could she? They instead called her inhuman and disgusting Because? Just for wanting revengue? Camen felt alredy sick when she lock the bathroom door and got left alone with her thoughts... Thoughts that didnt stop ominously chanting what wesley said. Liam was innocent you heartless monster.
Liam was innocent.
Liam was fucking innocent
All this time it was wrong
Because liam. Was. Innocent.
There was no one to blame more than the monster that looked back in the mirror The monster that did all of that to an innocent person The monster that cried while hearing who was supposed to be their friend yell at her for all that she has done Nothing but a fox that deserved to be put down
She was gonna get killed anyway,If she didnt do it,The police would.
So...she did it
Eventually wesley give up and just stay,Trying to keep liam alive
Wesley thought that carmen would just hide in the bathroom
The police would kick the door open and all would be over
Carmen felt backstabbed.
Wesley wouldnt even care,Probabily.
He did.
He did when they understood that it went more far than that....
She was dying. Atleast liam was stable She wasnt. Wheb the ambulance finally arrived to the place,Wesley finally got to open the door snd rushed to her The cuts in the wrist were too deep. Too bad. While he tried to hold on her,To just try to stop the bleeding and made her sit up,To just have a last moment!... She lean in his ear whispered with hatred,Her voice straned because of the blooe loss
:"Hypocrite."
the whisper of the devil. A self-proclaimed demon
Wesley was destroyed
Liam was healing
And carmen died. That very night,Commited suicide
All because wesley went mad. All because they didnt say a word
All because carmen was impulsive,And ruthless
All the pain for revengue,All the death for guilt
All for nothing at all.
𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠
YAYYYYYYYY I FINISH IT
TYSM ALL OF U
@theres-whump-in-that-nebula
@sillywhumpcreature
@whumpy-wyrms
(The ones who anwsered the last post :3)
:D
Pls tell me if you want a taglist,I think im gonna do more content if you guys like this <3
i gotta admiiit this wasnt what I had in mind buuut...again is just a draft sooo
Yeah
This is literally the First one
If
If this gets 10 notes or something imma start the next
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pigeonwhumps · 1 year
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Vampire prompt
Human Whumpee is ill or injured with something that would've been fatal hundreds of years ago. Vampire Whumpee-turned-Caretaker, who hasn't been outside much in that time, doesn't realise that medicine's moved on enough to cure them.
Of course, they panic. They love Whumpee (whether platonically or romantically doesn't matter) and they're going to lose them! They can't lose them!
So Caretaker turns Whumpee. And they feel guilty, of course they do, for turning them into a creature that has to drink blood and can't die. But at least they're not dead, they console themself with. If Whumpee's angry at them for turning them without permission, at least they're alive to do so.
And then, when Whumpee recovers, they explain that, actually, they would've survived what happened. Medicine's far more advanced than it was the last time you checked, Caretaker.
And oh, the guilt then, as Whumpee struggles to adapt. Caretaker didn't have to turn them, they violated them. And now... Whumpee seems to be forgiving them? I mean it's fractious and that but they seem to have. Although Caretaker's pretty convinced that that's just because they're the only other vampire Whumpee knows, the only person who can help them adapt.
But are they even a person, if they'll do that to their best friend/lover/etc?
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hillscapecity · 1 year
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Whumpee fighting other people that talk badly about caretaker:
"You have to stop getting into fights, this is the third time this week." Caretaker said while cleaning out some of their scrapes. "I know, I know its just… " " Just what?" "They were talking about you again and-" "Your saying you fight them because of what they say about me?" Caretaker paused their work to look Whumpee in the eyes, they were angry but they held back. "I-" "Just- grrrr. You shouldnt be fighting for stuff like that!" They exclaimed while wiping the scrapes a bit too hard in frustration. "I don't care what they say about me, so neither should you."
(There was a long silence between them while Caretaker worked)
*sigh*...."Listen, I just hate seeing you get hurt, especially for something stupid like that. So...cut it out, ok?" Caretakers once furious expression dissolved into guilt.
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whump-or-whatever · 2 years
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40 Immortal Whumpee Prompts/Tropes
1. They never ask for help, having become self-sufficient out of necessity
2. They isolate themself to avoid the pain of losing people
3. They put themself in the way of danger because better them than someone mortal, right?
4. OR they put themself in the way of danger because it’s the closest they can get to an end to their suffering
5. They are genuinely confused when other people care for their well-being
6. “It doesn’t matter if I get hurt, I’m immortal.” | “Yes, but you still feel pain, don’t you?” | “Well yeah, but it will never do any lasting damage.” | “Okay, but it’s still just, like… not good for you to suffer constantly?”
7. They think nothing of going missing or zoning out for extended periods of time
8. They laugh in the face of whumper because no matter what they do, whumpee has survived worse
9. Captivity/servitude doesn’t really faze them much (practice makes perfect)
10. Alternatively, their past experiences affected them so strongly that they are terrified to go through it again
11. They fall into familiar coping strategies very quickly once introduced to a new whumper
12. They view whumper as little more than an amusing child
13. And yet they somehow view caretaker as an equal, if not an elder
14. Caretaker grounds them, reminds them of what it is to have a finite life, keeps them sane
15. They simultaneously abhor and relish in the fact that nobody will ever really know them fully
16. They have lived long enough to have made difficult decisions, made some mistakes, or outright done some bad stuff, about which they are endlessly guilty (they have a lot of regrets)
17. (If they have healing/regrowth) They are far too wiling to cut off a body part/severely injure themself to get free
18. OR (if the can die and come back) They are far too willing to take more drastic measures
19. (If they can die and come back) Whumper puts them in a situation where they die repeatedly (eg. chained underwater, buried alive)
20. Alternatively, whumper just locks them up and throws away the key, and they are stuck there alone as they slowly lose their mind
21. Maybe they use the fact that they can die & come back/heal to prank people… 👀
22. They take everything either way too lightly or way too seriously
23. They dedicate themself to a purpose, because it is the only thing that gives their life any meaning
24. Caretaker regularly has to remind them that there is more to life than just said purpose
25. Caretaker constantly pesters them to make sure they are taking care of themself
26. “Just because you won’t die if you don’t take care of yourself doesn’t mean you don’t have to do it!”
27. They have to stay in the shadows/only trust certain people with their secret in order to avoid people finding out they’re immortal
28. They have been betrayed before so they are very cautious about who they trust, and they are extremely slow to open up
29. When people do find out they are immortal, the reactions can be quite negative
30. They at times lose hope and fall into bad habits, such as alcohol or drugs (if those affect them), or fighting/self-injurious behaviors
31. They have to deal with the fact that everything they have ever known/will ever know will one day be gone
32. They don’t only outlive people regularly, they also survive through plagues, natural disasters, wars, major catastrophes, maybe even the destruction of their planet
33. (If they need need a thing to stay immortal, like a potion or talisman) Whumper denies them access to said thing and repeatedly brings them to the brink of death before finally giving it back
34. They are constantly looking for a ‘cure’ to their immortality, which caretaker simultaneously understands yet is horrified by
35. Alternatively, (if they can give away their immortality, say it’s a talisman) They have to decide when to give it away/who to give it to
36. And imagine, they had decided to give it to someone (maybe their child), but the person dies before they can give it to them
37. They gradually forget things and people which were important to them, such as their parents, significant others, children, and so on
38. OR they are so concerned about forgetting things that they obsessively record everything that happens in a journal or rehearse past events in their head
39. (If they don’t age or scar) They feel invalidated by the fact that their body does not represent who they are and what they’ve been through
40. (If they retain one scar, say the wound that first killed them) They are extremely distressed by what it represents and don’t like thinking about it, but they have to play it off and lie about it when people ask
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whumpshots · 10 months
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Whump Snippet Saturday #29
"It's not your fault."
These words haunt caretaker since they brought in whumpee, barely conscious, barely alive. But strong enough to utter these words before passing out.
Caretaker still feels like it's their fault, of course they do. How the hell isn't it, if they are the one who failed to see the signs and keep whumpee safe?
But since then, whumpee has been too weak, only waking up every now and then, barely getting any words out. They are alive and breathing, but caretaker is not able to see that.
They only see the blood on their hands.
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rizzoto-whump · 7 months
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"Whumpee, tell me one thing, don’t you ever feel the desire for freedom?"
The question dumbfounded Whumpee. Freedom was an elusive concept to them, nearly mythical. Their eyes widened, and they responded in their usual naive way, "Freedom? What could be better than being here, serving you?"
Interested in Whumpee's thought process, Whumper probed further, "Surely, you don't want to be serving me forever? What about your dreams, Whumpee?"
"Dreams, Whumper… are for free men."
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montammil · 1 year
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Caretakers who get angry at Whumpee, not realizing how horrified Whumpee is until they see them shaking, crying, and looking at them like they don’t know them. Or rather, looking at them the same way they’d only look at Whumper.
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kaiwewi · 2 years
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Some more Guilty Conscience please!! (Though now I feel guilty, because this is going to HURT me) haha, get it?
Thanks for the request! Lol, pain it is, and there's enough for everyone xD
Guilty Conscience #4
[Masterlist: Renegade Rescue Squad] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
Synopsis: Other Villain wants Villain's help with experimenting on the hero. Things take an unexpected turn.
tw: whump, captivity, talk about torture, knife, blood
All of this was Villain’s fault.
The hero had been caught in his trap – a cursed contraption he had built more for show than anything, convinced it would never activate, let alone outperform its purpose. But he’d miscalculated, and his naivety did not absolve him from his crime.
His trap, his responsibility. His guilty conscience.
He wasn’t an idle bystander – he was an accomplice.
Other Villain leaned closer, half turned towards him in something almost resembling a loose hug. The hand that wasn’t sitting on his shoulder slithered down his torso and came to rest above his hip, on the small leather sheath on his belt. Other Villain flipped the latch open and pulled out his knife.
He didn’t dare try to snatch it back as they held it up in the space between their faces.
“I’d like your assistance,” Other Villain said. “I need someone who can handle a blade, and rumour has it you’re some kind of surgeon or something.” With a final pat on the back, they removed their arm from his shoulders, grabbed one of his wrists, placed the knife firmly into his hand, and closed his fingers around the hilt. “So be a darling and skin one of the subject’s forearms for me.”
“You want me to—” Skin the subject’s… No way. He couldn’t – he wouldn’t. “Why?”
“Just an experiment, for science.” Other Villain smiled sweetly, glancing back at the hero. “I want to apply acid to both their arms and contrast deep tissue damage.”
The poor little hero shrank back as far as their bonds allowed.
“Wait,” they cried, voice raw and desperate, choking on their sobs, “you don’t have to do that. Please… I’ll talk, okay? Yeah? I’ll tell you… whatever you want to know, I promise, I’ll tell you. Everything… So don’t do that, please, don’t do that… please, just stop…”
Other Villain laughed.
“You misunderstood, birdie. I’m so sorry,” they said, and did nothing to hide their vicious grin, “I’m not all that interested in information. Fact is: you’re not going anywhere, and when I finally get to interrogating you later, I’m sure you’ll still be just as eager to share.”
Villain couldn’t breathe. The hero’s pitiful wailing may as well have been a punch to his solar plexus. The knife rested heavy in his hand like the weight of every bad decision he’d ever made in life.
He met the hero’s eyes and found that he couldn’t look away, no matter how much he willed himself to not stare at the tears rolling down puffy cheeks, drawing lines through the carnage of half-dried blood splattered across a face which had been reduced to an ashen canvas painted red and purple.
For the first time, the little hero looked truly shattered.
Maybe hope and Other Villain simply couldn’t coexist.
“Let me show you something, pretty bird.” Other Villain plucked a smart phone from their pocket and began tapping and swiping at the screen. “No. No. No…. Ah, found it!
“See, that’s what a chemical burn looks like. Nice, isn’t it? – I took that picture last year, when one of my guests had an unfortunate accident with my hydrochloric acid…. Well, at least it was all rather insightful, if you get my drift.” They swiped across the screen again. “There, half the skin on her hand practically melted away and we could see the ligaments and muscle fibres. And this” – they pointed at something, paused to zoom into the picture, then held the phone up in front of their captive’s face again – “this is a knuckle bone and here—”
Other Villain’s words cut off in a breathless gurgle.
The phone clattered to the floor.
Villain pulled his knife out of Other Villain’s neck and gave the blade a curious look.
He’d just stabbed them, hadn’t he? He couldn’t remember doing that – neither the action nor the intent – but here they were: Villain with the bloody knife clutched in his hand; Other Villain bleeding profusely; the smartphone on the floor next to Villain’s feet; and the hero on the verge of passing out in their seat.
“Not a surgeon,” he said softly into the sudden silence, “I’m a paramedic.”
[Part 5]
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whumpcereal · 2 years
Text
behavior modification, part seven
<previous, masterlist here!
taglist: @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @aut0psy-s, @reflected-pain, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump (let me know if you'd like to be added!)
content warnings for: EXPLICIT NONCONSENSUAL TOUCH, MENTIONS OF CSA, creepy/intimate whumper, forced nudity, invasive questioning, emotional manipulation, negative self-talk, restraints, muzzles, humiliation, cages, dehumanization, institutionalized slavery, past minor whump (again, not detailed & only used as a means for backstory), edging, references to past noncon, implied future noncon
part seven, jack's intake interview (part two)
Ivan’s fingers hover over the keyboard.
“Typically, Romantics are custom-ordered, so their handlers know which responses to encourage. You, my darling, are an experiment in fitting every specification, in learning how to condition—and decondition—any desired behavioral response. And we’re developing an entirely new protocol based on you. You’re special, Jack. Trainee Zero, so to speak.”
He taps the numbers into the white field, and Jack flinches with every keystroke. There is no color left in the boy’s face.
SUBJECT: 000000M
Eventually, those numbers—the absence of value—will replace sweet little Jack’s name. He will be nothing. And then, he will be Ivan’s.
Ivan smiles, and he keys in the date and time of Jack’s acquisition. He leaves the facility assignment blank.
“Now, I’ll need your help for the rest of this, sweet boy. Do you understand?”
Jack nods vacantly, his leash jangling against his chairback.
“Given name?”
Jack works his jaw back and forth before answering. “John Michael Kenyon.”
“And your date of birth?”
“M-May 21, 1998.”
Ivan laughs. He looks over the screen and raises his eyebrows at Jack. “Oh my. Old Joe really was robbing the cradle, wasn’t he?”
“Don’t talk about Joe!”
It’s adorable, the way sweet little Jack forgets himself. His cheeks are red again, and there’s a delicious little snarl curling against his pretty pink lips. He tugs too hard against his leash, and his throat seizes beneath his collar when the chain pulls taut.
He’s even more adorable when his body jerks and rolls with electricity, rattling the chain behind him.
“Careful now, Jackie. You remember that you said you’d be good. You said you’d answer the questions; that’s the only reason you’re not muzzled right now.”
Jack still twitches, the cuffs at his wrists pulling against the bar beneath the table’s edge. His eyes are half-rolled back in his head. He’s gorgeous. Soft. Pliant. At Ivan’s complete mercy. 
“Are you ready?” Ivan asks, knowing full well the boy can’t respond. 
Darling Jack’s only answer is an animal grunt, low in his throat. But he manages to nod, tears spilling from his pretty blue eyes and sliding all the way down to his slack, spit-soaked jaw.
He’s already coming undone. WRU was right about the collars.
“Excellent, sweet boy,” Ivan says. “You’re doing so well. Now, this next bit is important. Sexual orientation?”
“S-seriously?” Jack slurs.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Ivan shakes the remote at him. “You’re a Romantic, darling. Harnessing your preferences is an important part of your training.”
Jack won’t meet his eye. “Gay.”
“Only men, then?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s fortunate.” Ivan’s nostrils flare, and he inhales a slow breath. “Not many women order Romantics. And besides, you’ll be prepped and ready for me, won’t you?”
It’s then that sweet little Jack really starts to tremble.
Heat coils low in Ivan’s belly, and he spreads his legs wide. “Next question.”
---
SEXUAL HISTORY: Subject’s first sexual experience was at age 13; he maintains that this was non-consensual and established a pattern of abuse that lasted for several months. Similarly, Subject claims that he was molested by guards at a juvenile detention facility and routinely used by other inmates as part of a token economy. Subject engaged in illicit sex work between the ages of 15 and 18; some of this activity was facilitated by a staff member from Subject’s group home. Subject reports hypersexuality during and following this period, until at least age 19. Previous to intake, Subject was involved in a monogamous relationship with a stable partner for a period of two years; partner was substantially older and furnished much of Subject’s lifestyle.
Jack’s cheeks are stiff with the salt tracks of his tears. He can’t see what Ivan’s typing, but it doesn’t matter. He knows what he said, what he admitted to. It’s not like he’s never talked about it. His therapist knows. Joe knows. 
It wasn’t your fault, baby. That’s what Joe said when Jack told him. He held Jack, gently, like he thought Jack might go to pieces in his arms. It was the first time anyone had treated Jack’s body like it might be fragile, like it was something that deserved protection. Jack remembers that he didn’t understand, that he tried to pull away from Joe’s tenderness. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved to be used. 
I’ll never make you feel that way, Jackie. Never, never. You are more important than what your body has to offer. I promise you. You are more than what’s happened to you.  
That night, Jack let himself cry, and Joe wiped his tears away. 
Ivan does not wipe away Jack’s tears. He’s only too happy to watch Jack’s face disappear behind the thin mask of his own pain. He looks up from his laptop and smiles.  
“That must have been very difficult, Jackie,” Ivan murmurs, and Jack winces at the nickname. “You must be very strong, to have survived so much.” 
Ivan’s fingers fall to the keys again. 
ADDITIONAL NOTES: Subject should have high capacity for masochism; pain tolerance appears to be high, and sexual history indicates extensive experience with submissive positions and hard use. 
Ivan leans back in his chair and scratches at his balls. Very fucking professional. 
“Now, Jack. Remember, part of this interview is about understanding your, ah, preferences, so that we can incorporate them into your training.” 
Jack presses his lips together. He isn’t an idiot. He knows what that means. That Ivan will use the things that make Jack feel good to destroy him. That he’ll obliterate all of the progress Jack has made in the last five years. That he will lock Jack back inside those lost years, and this time, there will be no way out. 
“For instance, when you’re with Joe, what’s your role?” 
No. No fucking way is he answering that question. 
“You understand what I’m asking, don’t you? It isn’t hard to figure out how you were used before–” Jack squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. He bites his bottom lip so hard that he can taste copper on the tip of his tongue, “--but I bet Joe was gentle. I bet he let you call the shots, didn’t he?” 
Was. As if Joe belongs in the past tense. Jack’s eyes sting with angry tears, but he won’t let them fall. Not this time.  
“Did you top old Joe?” Ivan asks. “Or did he pretty up the things other people did to you?” 
Fuck you, Jack thinks. He doesn’t realize that he’s actually said it until another shock blows his nerves apart–and then another, and another, until Jack’s chair tips off-balance, sending his chest into the edge of the metal table with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. He opens his mouth in a desperate gasp, but his chest keeps seizing, begging for air. 
Ivan is next to him now, and he guides the chair legs back to the floor by Jack’s throat. 
“You’re lucky I need you to speak, darling,” Ivan soothes, and Jack wriggles in his bonds as Ivan traces a gentle finger down his throat,  “but I’d choose my words more carefully if I were you. This really is one of your last opportunities to speak freely.” 
Well, if that’s the case– 
“Fuck you,” Jack rasps. 
Ivan doesn’t shock him this time. Instead, he slaps Jack so hard across the face that Jack can’t help but cry out–and then, Ivan’s mouth is on Jack’s, pressing Jack’s lips open with the muscled dart of his own tongue. Jack tries to pull away, but Ivan’s hand is anchored against the back of his head, and there’s no way out. Ivan sucks at Jack’s tongue, and then he bites it, hard enough to draw blood. Then, he pulls away. 
“Did you like that?” Ivan asks. 
Jack spits his blood on the table’s spotless surface, chest heaving. “Fuck. You.”  
Again, he waits for the blistering assault of the shock, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Ivan’s teeth fasten tight around his earlobe. Jack yelps, but Ivan knuckles into his hair and holds him fast. 
“No, darling. I think it’s the other way around. I’ll be fucking you soon enough. That’s all you're good for, isn’t it? No matter what Joe made you think. This was always how it was going to end for you, wasn’t it?” 
“No!” Jack rasps, his throat aching beneath the hard press of tears. 
Jack thinks of the boy he saw when Bill took him to WRU. Of his empty eyes. Of the way he did what the handler asked without hesitation, without resistance. Of the cold fear that knotted in Jack’s belly when he thought of himself in the boy’s position. How he told himself that would never be him. Even when he sold himself to other people, he told himself it was because he wanted to, because it was an easy way to make extra cash. 
Joe took him away from all of that. Showed him it didn’t have to be that way. That he was worth more. But now–
Jack tries to jerk away, but Ivan’s breath is wet and hot in his ear. 
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’d do to me if I unchained you, Jack. But in time, you’ll become accustomed to my expectations for you. In time, you won’t fight at all.”
Ivan uses his free hand to trace a gentle line down Jack’s chest, scratching his nails over Jack’s belly and down into the thatch of dark hair between his legs. Then, he wraps his hand tight around Jack’s exposed cock and begins to move. 
No. Jack jerks against the restraints at his wrists, tries to slam his knees together, tries to protest, but it’s no use. Ivan lets his head go and reaches for the chain behind him, pulling the collar tight against Jack’s throat as he continues to stroke him. 
Nothing about this feels good. The friction pulls and stings against Jack’s thin skin as Ivan begins to work up speed, and even as Jack tries to protest, his words strangle inside. But still, he can feel himself beginning to respond. He knows he’s supposed to. He’s done it before. 
He tries to shake his head, to shake the thought from his head, but Ivan pulls at his leash.
“I see that look in your eye. The one that says ‘oh, I’ll always fight.’ You won’t.” 
As if on cue, a moan forces its way from Jack’s lips. Ivan keeps his hand moving around Jack, his thumb slipping over Jack’s tip and around the base of his head. Jack tries to slow his breath, but it mounts anyway. 
“I’m going to undo you, darling. Piece by piece. And when I’m done, you’re going to be my perfect little lapdog. I don’t think I’ll have you drooling at the sound of a bell, but, then again, I’m going to do things to you that Pavlov would never have done with his dogs. And you’ll learn to enjoy them. To beg for them.”
“No!” 
Ivan sinks his teeth into Jack’s shoulder then, and Jack can’t help it: he cries out, voice shredding against his own resistance. 
“See, it isn’t so hard,” Ivan murmurs. He doesn’t break pace, doesn’t let up. “It won’t all be bad.” 
Jack is close, and Ivan knows it. 
Jack doesn’t want this. He doesn’t. He won’t. Not ever. 
But his body apparently doesn’t give a fuck, because he arches into Ivan’s punishing touch with another moan, and he can feel his spine starting to disappear, his bones dissolving into nothing. 
“That’s it, Jackie,” Ivan says. His tongue slips inside the pink shell of Jack’s ear.  
And it’s too much. Jackie. That’s for Joe. It’s only for Joe. Jack isn’t supposed to be doing this. Why is he doing this? Why does it feel good? It shouldn’t. It doesn’t. It does. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. He’s so close–
Ivan abruptly pulls his hand away, and Jack actually whines. His cock twitches between his legs, and he tucks his pelvis, trying to rut into the chair like a fucking animal. But it doesn’t work. He’s thrusting into empty air, and there’s no release. His face burns, and his tears overflow. 
“No!” Jack cries, but he doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know if he’s asking for more, or if he’s still trying to protest. And it scares him. “Please!” he sobs. 
Ivan moves to the other side of the table and returns to his laptop as though nothing’s happened. Like Jack isn’t a complete and total wreck. 
“Please. Again. Darling, I told you before, requests aren’t something you get to make anymore.” He smiles and looks at Jack. “Well, I suppose that’s not true. We’ll teach you how to beg. I can see you’ve got aptitude for that.” 
Jack can’t answer. He can still feel himself twitching and aching, and his gut is a knot of need and shame. 
“If you’re very good, perhaps I’ll finish you next time,” Ivan says, eyes back on the screen. “But we still have work to do, don’t we? Now, about Joe–” 
Jack sobs, the basement room blurring around him. But, eventually, he tells Ivan what he wants to know. What choice does he have? 
ADDITIONAL NOTES: Former partner encouraged Subject to “top” during intercourse, in an attempt to increase Subject’s agency and self-efficacy in terms of sexual behavior. This preference should be discouraged in order to promote Subject’s absolute obedience. 
---
Sweet, little Jack is barely clinging to coherence by the time their interview is done. His body has come back down from their little tête-à-tête. He sags in the chair, his dark hair sweaty and his breath shallow. He doesn’t move. 
But it doesn’t matter. Ivan got what he needed.  It’s all in the form. Jack’s family history, or lack thereof. His issues with anger and aggression. His early promise as a behavioral analyst. Each and every piece of information will be critical to Jack’s undoing. 
What’s more, Jack knows it. He knows he’s damned himself, and the pall of shame the boy’s wrapped around himself is exquisite. 
Ivan sends the form to his WRU contact and slaps the laptop closed. 
“Are you tired, sweet boy?” he asks. 
Jack doesn’t respond. 
“Or maybe you’re hungry?” Ivan tries. 
That, at least, elicits a ragdoll’s shake of the head. 
“Well, then, no need to keep this off any longer.” 
He slips the muzzle from the tabletop and stands. He moves behind Jack, and the boy obediently opens his mouth. Ivan stuffs the bit in and fastens the buckle, just a little looser this time. He clicks the padlock into place. Jack’s head bobs forward.  
“You were such a good boy,” Ivan says, like he’s talking to a toddler. “You told me everything I needed to know. But it’s bedtime now, isn’t it?” 
He unclips the boy’s wrists from beneath the table; Jack’s arms collapse, limp, from his shoulders. Ivan releases the boy’s ankles–nothing. Finally, Ivan gently unwinds the leash from the chair back. Jack slumps over himself. 
“Oh, you’re a tired boy, aren’t you, Jackie?” 
There’s the hint of a whimper, but darling Jack doesn’t even seem to be able to raise his head. 
“Let me help you,” Ivan says. 
Jack isn’t a large man, and it’s easy for Ivan to lift him into his arms. Jack’s head lolls against Ivan’s chest, and for a moment, Ivan considers laying him out on the table and taking him right there. He wouldn’t fight. Not tonight. 
But Ivan knows that would disrupt his procedure. Instead, he carries Jack to the corner of the basement, where Jack’s new quarters have been arranged.
“You know,” he says, leaning Jack against a cabinet door, “eventually, you’ll sleep with me. I have a special spot for you all set up in the bedroom.” 
Jack says nothing. Not that he could, anyway. 
“But for now, until you learn your place, this is where you’ll be.” 
Ivan unhooks the latch of the crate. He wonders if Jack will even notice in the state he’s in; Seligman said it’s the same crate Jack had for his dog at home. Seligman certainly has a unique sense of humor. 
“Can you get yourself in there, sweet boy?” 
Jack looks at the crate with red, empty eyes. And then, to Ivan’s delight, he crawls into the cage and collapses on the wire floor. 
“Good boy,” Ivan murmurs, petting Jack’s hair. He reaches into the crate and unclips Jack’s leash. Then, he gently takes Jack’s hands and guides his wrists to the O-ring at his collar; once he’s locked them into place, the boy looks appropriately penitent. Like he’s praying–or begging. 
It’s beautiful. 
---
Jack doesn’t bother to fight Ivan’s touch, and he doesn’t try to keep his tears at bay. He wonders distantly if tears can wear away flesh over time. At this rate, he’ll have trenches in his cheeks before long. 
God, he’s so fucking weak. 
Joe would be disgusted by him. Already Ivan’s whore. Willingly caged. Ivan’s right: this is always how it was going to end for Jack. 
“We left you a little present from home,” Ivan coos. 
His hand slips between Jack’s back and the edge of the crate, and Jack feels soft cotton brushing against him. Ivan settles the fabric around him. 
Jack is ashamed at how relieved he is to be covered. He clings to the fabric with his bound hands, dropping his nose into its folds. He takes a breath, and he catches spice–ginger, basil, a hint of sandalwood. 
He chokes on another sob. It smells like Joe. Joe can’t be here. Joe can’t see him like this. But still, Jack can’t let the cotton go.
“Seligman told me you were wearing it when he brought you in. Of course, he had to cut it open to get you ready for me, but I thought it might help you get comfortable in your new surroundings. It does get awfully chilly down here.” 
Joe’s hoodie. At once, Jack is grateful for the muzzle, that Ivan can’t really read his expression; if Ivan knew the shirt was Joe’s, he would take it away. 
Ivan’s fingers card through Jack’s hair for a moment. Jack buries his nose in Joe’s scent and squeezes his eyes shut. He can pretend it’s Joe touching him, even if he shouldn’t. 
“I know today was hard, Jackie. But, for the most part, you did very well. Maybe this isn’t what you expected when you agreed to work for me, but I promise, it will be worth it. You’re going to help us learn so much. And I’m going to take such good care of you.” 
The hoodie is already soaked through with Jack’s tears. 
“We’ll start tomorrow,” Ivan says. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Jack’s hair; this time, Jack flinches. Ivan chuckles. “Sleep tight, sweet boy.” 
The crate door swings shut, and Ivan secures it with another padlock. Then, he withdraws. The basement goes dark. Ivan’s feet trip up the stairs. And Jack is left alone, wrapped in all that he has left of Joe.
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