#conditioning tw

[hittingthebrainsfunnybone]

Affrimations for your whumpee! By whumper

inspired by/paraphrased from good old George Orwell 1984

Faced with enough pain, no one is a hero. They'll give you up for relief, and you'll do the exact same.

I'll spend my goodwill by tolerating your struggle or granting you the ocassional moment of solace. Be grateful and choose wisely.

The only proof of your pain is your own perception of it, and your mind is so easily deceived.

You'll never be your old self, because I didn't remold wet clay. You were a cracked pot, already passed through the fire and ruined, so I crushed everything you were to dust and made something nicer to keep on display.

It's not easy becoming sane, but you're a particularly slow learner, and I'm losing patience.

If you're not even strong enough to hold two contradictory beliefs in your mind, you're not strong enough to handle reality.

If you never forget what you are, you'll never be punished for rebelling, and if you never rebel, you'll never forget who you belong to.

The only way you'll be able to hide your obvious secrets and glaring flaws is by lying to yourself so thoroughly that you forget the truth.

Assume I'm always listening, always watching, and you'll never have to be afraid of doing something that demands punishment.

You're your own worst enemy. The nerves, the imperfections, the weaknesses- the very impulses of electricity from your brain to your body guide my hand.

Don't give me a reason to exercise greater control over you. There's no reason I should ever give it up once I have it after all.

If tell you a comforting lie, take it as a gift and make it your comfortable truth, because it's the only comfort I'll waste on you.

Your story isn't a tragedy. A tragedy has an audience and a cartharsis. There's nothing satisfying or sympathetic about watching your same stupid mistakes over and over. And you begged me not to bring an audience.

Never again will you be capable of ordinary human feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living, or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be hollow. I will squeeze you empty, and then fill you as I please.

Love,

Whumper

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Lessons learnt

masterlist

previous

TW: electrocution, conditioning, whipping (mentioned), captivity tw, pet whump

Alyssa barely had the will to fight Luke's iron grip on her upper arm as he led her downstairs to the basement.

Compared to the one at the old house, the new basement was luxurious and pristine. The floor was covered in slick black tiles, instead of plain concrete, there also was a drain built in the middle of the room. The walls were painted black, giving the illusion to whoever was stuck there that the darkness surrounding them was infinite. The ceiling was high up, level with the ceiling of the ground floor, providing enough space for the metal balcony stretching over one side, if spectators were to watch they comfortably had the space to do so.

The side opposite from the entrance held the display for a wide array of tools, torture instruments. Various chains and hooks were attached to the ground and other walls, if one squinted well enough past the lights, they could make out the place for them on the cross beams that supported the structure, running from the gallery to the wall across.

Alyssa was torn, she knew she wouldn't have to think about the risk of infection caused by the dirt and germs all over the old basement that was impossible to sterilise, the new place was tenfold as horrifying. She was sure she would've gone insane if Luke kept her down here after they moved.

"Sit" he pointed to the floor next to one of the hooks on the ground and pushed her towards it.

"Luke, please, I'm sorry, I won't run off like that ever again" she started, as if she could any sense of humanity in him. A futile attempt to appeal to his nicer side, calling him by name. Please. Don't hurt me.

"I know you won't" he said simply and started tying a rope between her collar and the hook.

"Please, please, please, I'll be good, you don't have to do anything I'll behave" There were tears threatening to spill over her waterline already, as she pleaded frantically for an ounce of mercy, which she wouldn't get.

"Shhh, none of that now" he cupped her face, just for a moment and let her lean into the touch.

"What do you think you should get for embarrassing me yesterday, hm?" he asked, with a deceptively soft and genuine tone.

"Please, don't- just please" he stood up and strolled over to the pegboards and shelves of displayed tools running his hand along them.

"I'm thinking a whip" He ignored her crying and settled his hand on the familiar leather handle "Fifteen lashes sound reasonable, right?" he called over his shoulder before actually taking it off the shelf and walking back to Alyssa.

"I asked you something" he stared down at her.

"Please don't"

"Not up for debate, I'm afraid, fifteen with this and we can forget it" She nodded miserably as a response.

"But first, we need to take care of something else" he crouched down and she picked her head up, locking eyes with him confused.

He reached into his pocket and took a small black rectangular object and dangled it in front of her. Alyssa's eyes widened in fear with the realisation. It was the remote to the electrified box attached to her collar.

"You told me yesterday that I confused you, right? We'll fix that in no time" She nodded, more or less accepting her fate. "Tell me what you called me just a few moments ago"

"What?"

"You called me by my name, love, say it again"

"Luke?"

The shock was instantaneous, piercing through her neck and burning through all her muscles. It was over before she could scream.

"Say it again" he instructed calmly, after she finally caught her breath.

"Luke" he shocked her the same. Her body contorted in agony, and this time she did scream.

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" No. But she wasn't completely clueless either. It was something that had to do with Claire, a woman she knew almost nothing and everything about at the same time, and yet again it was her drawing the short end of the stick. She shook her head, sending a wave of uncomfortable twitches running through her body at the movement, her muscles still spasming from the aftershock.

"I don't want to keep hurting you" he stated and fixed a strand of hair behind her ear. She flinched. He didn't seem to care. "But you keep making me, and I'd like to fix this before I go overboard again. I know you're doing your best, you're doing so much for me, and I want to help you out so we don't have to keep coming back down here, okay?" She couldn't keep her face straight, Aly was falling apart at the seams, and she couldn't hold back her crying. Luke not wanting to torture her was almost laughable, but she didn't have it in her to find it funny. "Say it again" he prompted gently.

"Please, Sir, I get it, I won't- I know not to-"

"Say it!" he was calm as ever on the surface, but the twitch in his thumb hovering over the shock button proved otherwise. She obeyed miserably preparing herself for another shock.

"Alright, alright, there we go" Alyssa ended up on the floor this time. He gently pulled her back up to kneel, ignoring the spasms and twitches that made it infinitely harder for both of them.

"Now, did we say fifteen?"

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

gasp

Whumper had been working so hard on their newest acquisition. Grinding all semblance of personality and identity into dust that merely floated away. Whumpee was behaving beautifully now, and more than ready to be shown off and paraded before the pitiful group that had been their devoted team.

However, the tiny gasp from behind them when they entered the room alerted Whumper their work wasn’t quite done yet.

But it would be.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

Primetober Day 7: Alone in the Universe, with all extra prompts (Autophobia, Isolation, and Weaponised Abandonment Issues)

Sci-Fi AU. Mad scientist Dream, training his beloved creation Tommy, finds out that he’s terrified of being alone, and realises he can use that to his advantage. Warnings for severe dehumanisation (Dream literally sees Tommy as an animal), some body horror from non consensual body modification, human experimentation, abuse, isolation, imprisonment, drugging, conditioning, codependency, and references to forcing people into dangerous situations.

ao3 link

—— When Dream entered the lab, Tommy was crying.

Curled up in the corner of his cage, he was hunched over, trying to make himself as small as possible despite his hulking size. His stinger-like tail was wrapped around himself protectively, the venom-filled stinger at the end only stopped from breaking his skin by the thick, dark fur covering patches of his skin erratically. His eight eyes were scrunched shut, yet even that wasn’t enough to hide their glow.

Interesting. Very, very interesting.

“Hi, Toms.” Dream spoke softly and calmly, like he was speaking to a child. Tommy usually hated it- same with the stupid nickname- but his ears pricked up the second he heard Dream’s voice, eyes snapping open and painting the lab in bright blue as he smiled, or as close as was possible with his disfigured maw.

Unable to stand up on two legs, both due to his twisted form and the smallness of the cage, he raced forwards on clawed hands and cloven hooves, immediately racing towards Dream’s side, scrambling so fast he collided face first with the hard light bars. Dream chuckled, reaching a hand into the container and scratching behind his ears like he was a puppy. Not even trying to hide his instincts, Tommy thumped his tail against the floor violently, flapping his hands and purring.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” he said, voice distorted and blurry through his new vocal chords. Dream had made sure that he’d be able to speak with them, of course. While a weapon didn’t need to speak, he quite liked his test subject, enough to grant him a name, which he’d reluctantly accepted over Subject 193. Still, it was a surprise- ever since he’d gotten his new mouth, perfect for crushing tanks and drones, he’d refused to talk, just sitting there staring.

Dream laughed. “What’s gotten into you?” Tommy was always a fighter- that was what made him perfect for the process. Earlier subjects, the timid and weak, faltered. Tommy’s defiance and spark, more than being entertaining and making him an enjoyable conversation partner, meant he was able to not only survive but thrive throughout the experiments. Seeing him like a lost puppy was bizarre, to say the least.

Tommy blinked. “I didn’t think you’d come back,” he repeated like it explained everything.

It had been a few days, Dream supposed, but he’d left Tommy with plenty of food. Even if he hadn’t, the alterations to his internal biology could let him go weeks at a time without a drop of water or a bite of food as long as he didn’t do anything strenuous. It just didn’t make sense- Dream would kill for a few days alone in his lab, without Punz constantly coming in to bug him about the next shipment of weapons or dropping off new subjects, and he liked Punz. Tommy always insisted that he hated Dream, so why wasn’t he happy about that?

Wait. Wait, wait, wait.

“Are you scared of being alone?” Dream asked, his mouth quirked into an amused grin. The idea that Tommy, angry and violent and insistent he didn’t fear any pain, could be so easily reduced to an obedient attack dog just by a few days alone, was both hysterical and deeply useful. After all, Tommy wasn’t just Dream’s personal lab rat; he had a purpose to serve, and while his strong will was important, so was directing that towards the correct purposes.

Unlike the other living subjects, Tommy wasn’t going to be a bonus attack dog for Punz or a gift to anyone else who’d give Dream rare genetic samples to study, of course. Tommy wasn’t the first of the successes, but he was absolutely Dream’s magnum opus, handling the most mutations far more gracefully than many subjects that only had about one or two major changes. More importantly than that, he was the closest thing Dream really had to a friend- at least in the long months Punz was away on mercenary jobs- and therefore, he’d kept him as a pet and his own personal bodyguard.

After all, it’s not like he was a person anymore. That was the kindest arrangement possible for a beast built to kill.

Reluctantly, Tommy nodded his head, eyes glancing to the floor in embarrassment as his slit pupils dilated. Dream couldn’t help but grin at how expressive Tommy always was. He was aware that most people probably found him terrifying, a beast in a vaguely human shape, but as far as he was concerned, he was as adorable as the kittens he used to have as a child, if not more so.

Petting Tommy’s head again, Dream fished for the remote in his pocket for Tommy’s collar. A shock collar, of course, would have been cruel. Not to mention stupid- wild animals bite back if cornered, after all. No, this was more sophisticated, a design of his own. As he pressed the button, a concoction of chemicals was injected through the heavy skin of Tommy’s neck, sending an immediate batch of endorphins and serotonin into his system. It was a way to cause an instant feeling of satisfaction and happiness and served as a far more effective way to get Tommy to behave.

The carrot certainly held more use than the stick, after all.

Tommy chirped happily, his eyes squeezing shut in the closest approximation to a smile he could make. Dream continued to scratch behind his ears, before moving his hands to scratch at the base of his first set of horns. “Good, good. Very good, Tommy.”

“I’m not-“ Tommy said in protest, struggling to make sounds outside of the involuntary chirps and purrs out his mouth. “I’m not a fuckin’ dog, man. You don’t have to treat me like one.”

“Well, you’re not human, are you?” Dream said, the argument pre-prepared in his head. Subjects always got so insistent about it, so he needed to have a quick refutation. Extreme stress made the process much more dangerous. “Your mind and your body are different now. Tommy, if you’re not going to let me take care of you, who will? Everyone who looks at you would think of you a monster. Isn’t it better for me to treat you kindly?”

Tommy blanched, the dull grey of his skin turning white. “They- they already abandoned me, before I was…”

“Shh, shh. You know we don’t talk about ‘before’. This is who you are now. You’re Tommy, you’re my creation, you’re mine. Don’t worry about ‘before’, Tommy. This is your life now. Is that so bad?”

“Yes! No. I dunno.” Tommy whined, pulling away with a start like a kicked puppy. “I hate you.”

“Do you want me to leave-“

“No! No, no, no, please. Don’t go, Dream. Please.” Tommy hit him with the puppy-dog eyes, far more effective than any puppies could ever be, considering he had eight of them. “I’ll be your weapon, or whatever the fuck, if you just stay.”

Dream chuckled. “Chill out, Toms. It was just a joke. This is my lab, idiot. I got a new order from Punz, anyway, I’m gonna be spending all day here. Since you’re talking now, we could chat, even.”

“Oh.” Tommy made a whining noise again, a frustrated one, as he tried to hide behind his matted blond hair- one of the few things remaining from the original human boy that had become Tommy, along with the electric blue of his eyes. “Yeah, I knew that.”

“Sure you did.” Dream shrugged, before pressing a button to dissipate the cage into nothing. Tommy blinked, unused to being allowed free, as Dream sat at his desk, fiddling over the next weapon design.

“Heel.” Dream said absently, and Tommy stayed still for a second before, reluctantly, slinking over to sit beside Dream, allowing him to run his fingers through his fur, something to keep his hands busy as he drafted new ideas in his head at a million miles per hour. He sent another dosage of reward chemicals through Tommy’s system at the obedience, smiling. “See, you know your place now, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” Tommy growled. “I just-“

“Don’t want to be alone?” Dream laughed. “Then be a good test subject, and you’ll never have to leave my side. I might even let you meet Punz. I mean, he’s very interested in how strong you are. You should be grateful I keep you here, instead of sending you off to die alone on the battlefield.”

Tommy was quiet, looking to the ground with a conflicted look. Still, he stayed still, like a trained attack dog. He truly was Dream’s most perfect specimen.

Today was going to be a productive day.

[grislyintentions]

|| Conditioning ||

Note: This post delves into how Freminet was groomed/conditioned into a killer by both the previous Director and Arlecchino in his early childhood-teenage years. It also details subsequent reflexes towards attempts at discerning intentions and manipulative behaviour by adults around him.

Children have been told from young to listen to their parents and trusted adults placed in a role of authority. Without his mother there as his main source of guidance, Freminet was left only with the previous Director to lean on for direction.

And it is quickly established by them that the Hearth is all he has left: the Director is reinforces how powerless/helpless he is without any means to survive on his own. They are able to drill into the young boy that his place in the Hearth is given on conditions. That love, warmth, shelter and food are all to be earned. That the only way he can survive is to give everything to protect this new 'family' because it is the only one he has left and it can always be taken away from him if he fails.

The previous Director's approach of running the place is primarily through Fear. Hence they are able to ensure Freminet's obedience but never fully gain his trust or gain access to his internalised feelings. As long as he kept his head down, does as he's told, he will be able to avoid being punished/avoid making mistakes/avoid the consequences that come with failure.

To the average child, it is apparent that the previous Director is the so called 'Villain' in their 'story'. Then enters Arlecchino, the 'King/Saviour' of the castle, who sought to build a different culture within the Hearth.

She changed the way things worked within the Hearth. Such that it takes on more of what one would perceive as acceptance: You won't be subjected to painful punishments even if you make a mistake. In this castle, everyone plays a part in the tasks they are given. Everyone works together to make sure everything is running smoothly.

By giving them 'chores', she is empowering the children in a way that allows them to learn they are capable of self agency. She teaches them confidence, develops their skills and allow them to flourish in their own ways. She pays attention to them and tries to cater to their personalities the way a 'parent' is supposed to do. And that is what makes her a terrifying manipulator. Yes, this is grooming. Because this is a predatory mindset at it's core, being able to create a cognitive dissonance that allows you not only to exploit children but also do so under the pretense of caring for them: The roles in which each child undertake/develop are also 'suggested' by her. A skilled puppeteer nudges their creations into the roles and places they should take, all while allowing them to think they themselves are the ones who have chosen it for themselves and that the puppeteer is a great person for supporting them in 'their decision'.

For example: Lyney and Lynette lived on the streets for some time. To survive, Lyney began taking up magic tricks with Lynette as his assistant. Upon coming to the Hearth, the Knave taught them how to further hone their skills, earned their trust/acceptance to cooperate and allowed them the resources to elavate themselves whilst living in relative comfort. Freminet on the other hand is slow to trust. Yet Arlecchino was able to return his mother's necklace to him and tell him the truth behind why she left him with the Hearth: How would she know to identify the necklace if she had not taken the time to research into each child's background? Freminet is lonely and at his core, distrustful of adult figures due to his unstable environment and experiences. She knew that. Not only did she return him a source of comfort, she was the one who brought him over to the twins, allowing them to form a close bond with one another. Freminet might be anxious to displease/disappoint her. He might hold reservations with her. But he wouldn't have the same problem with the twins. And that is how she will string him along too.

In this castle, Father is King.

[fortitudina]

fangsforhire asked: "I'm not gonna beg for my life." ~ for Meph

WASN'T HE NOW? How interesting, considering the position in which they were both in. Time and again, Lucien had attempted to escape from his clutches and time and again, Mephistopheles had dragged him right back to his captivity, kicking and screaming. Mercy was beyond the demon that owned him; there was no compassion or softness about any of his actions, they were all callous and filed with mallice. Purpose was his main drive; Lucien needed to learn, he needed to learn that life was neither fair or nice to anyone, especially ones like him.

Rinse and repeat was the way that lessons were taught when it came to the brat. His reluctance to comply with Mephistopheles angered the demon, driving him to further condition the boy to believe the ideals that he was coercing him to follow. Number one, him being his true father. Number two, kill to survive. Number three, compassion equalled weakness. Right now, Mephistopheles saw him as weak. He always did.

Lucien was so easy to get to and break. It was a matter of overpowering with both word and action and that was exactly what Mephistopheles had been doing. Right up until the point that Lucien spat out the defiant words to him. " I would think twice about those words that you have just spat at me, BOY... You know fully well that I am more than capable of putting your life in the balance --- " It would not be the first time, either. Mephistopheles had tortured him to the point of near dismemberment on several occasions; had mutilated him; severed limbs nearly entirely; broken him beyond coherent measure mentally and physically, and yet the boy still tried to defy him. " You would do well to remember who your father is, Lucien. Respect of your elders goes a long way and manners cost nothing. "

He reinforced his words with the driving of a blade into Lucien's diaphragm, plunging it up under his twelfth rib on the left as he hung, restrained by his wrists and the collar around his neck. Aside from the evident anger and disapproval behind Mephistopheles's eyes, his features were void of any emotion ~ showing emotion seemed to be far beyond the demon's capabilities, and he far from cared, either.

@fangsforhire CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE III / ACCEPTING

[tomahachi12]

TW/ST: MISCARRAGE (implied)

[gayvampyr]

fat people are allowed to be fat even if they don’t starve themselves or push themselves physically past their limits btw

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[sugurouge]

— taste of the divine : getō suguru x f!reader

content warnings! DARK CONTENT, forced marriage, kidnapping, mind break, heavy manipulation, dubcon, breeding/pregnancy talk, misogynistic topics, torture (isolation & darkness), conditioning, pet names (love, little dove, good girl), depression, stockholm syndrome

summary: Set out on the honourable task of finding the right wife for their leader, Getō's followers have abducted a special sorceress to bear him children that will carry on his will and legacy. Unfortunately, unlike your rather promising lineage, your temper and beliefs are anything but befitting for his wife. But not to worry, there are many ways to reshape a person. You will learn. Of that, Getō is sure.

❝ la sensualité de ton regard, la fragilité de ton corps. je brise ta pureté. deux âmes s'emmelent pour l'éternité. ❞

wordcount: 3.5k | my kinktober masterlist

by clicking read more you are agreeing to consume dark content. don't interact if you cannot differentiate fiction from reality.

Never have you felt as objectified as you do in this very moment: the lustful, piercing stares of Geto’s countless followers bore through your clothing as you are thrown before him—a man you know all too well from hushed whispers and dark stares within the Jujutsu Society. He is the enemy, a lost man.

The white robe they forced upon you, a mockery of a bridal attire, does you no favours. They made sure to leave nothing to Geto’s imagination: he should easily see how thoroughly they searched for a perfect fit when they took you.

And yet, somehow, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence—not once does he seem to look at you, unlike everyone else in the room.

That is the first blow to your pride.

Then, there’s the way they speak about you as if you are not even there. Coming from a prestigious, ancient sorcerer family, your bloodline offers Geto everything he could possibly desire, all he could ever need from his perfect breeding vessel to bring forth some sort of prince to revolutionise the world. Indeed, they say, you are perfect.

“That monster will not lay a hand on me!” Your fighting spirit is adorable. But nothing could have prepared you for the sudden, heavy impact landing on your cheek. Geto can’t hide his chuckle at your shocked reaction. Did you truly expect to insult him in a room full of his most loyal men? They would never hesitate to put you in your place before continuing their praises of their great Geto-sama.

Strike number two followed so quickly, it made your mask crumble. The frustration becomes a thrilling decor on your face as you continue to hold your bruised cheek. There is so much hatred in your eyes—Geto looks forward to replacing it with fear. You will learn your new place, he is sure of that. You will love to obey him, to bear him children that will carry out his will and create a society of the promised.

Yet, Geto appears to hold not the slightest bit of interest for you, no desire found in those deep purple hues you nearly drown in.

He knows he needs to play this game wisely. He can’t have a woman at his side who despises him, can’t risk the danger of a mother who would rather kill her children than let the riders of his apocalypse trample the grounds of this world. You need to fall for him, have to desire him. For that, your strong-willed mind has to be broken, to turn you into the most ethereal sacrificial lamb the Jujutsu Society has ever known.

With a softly spoken command to "leave us," the room empties. His followers depart swiftly, their obedience causing you to frown. How can they submit to a demon like him?

A demon—that’s what he is to you. Dangerous, devious, twisted—yet alarmingly beautiful. As he approaches, the air seems to catch in your throat, and, of course, Geto notices the heavy swallow you're forced to take.

Is this the moment he’s going to claim you? Right here, in this dreadfully cold room, surrounded by an atmosphere of adoration for his sick schemes? Your body instinctively leans back, shrinking away beneath his stare. You already appear so submissive. He doesn’t trust it.

Standing tall with feet planted firmly on the ground, Geto looms above your kneeling figure. You didn’t expect the shiver that crawls over your skin as your eyes meet his. It’s as though he has flipped a coin and donned a different personality: one of intimidation and something darker, something sick. He might kill you on the spot if you speak now.

Hence why your lips part, yet no words escape before you shut them once more. The nervousness clouds your mind, paralysing your thoughts as you waver between holding his gaze or looking away. You're already caught in his web.

"Learn to love your new home," he says—the only words he speaks before leaving you alone.

The man you expected to force himself upon you, to bruise you, to scar your body and mind—he never touches you. He never seeks you out, never again meets your gaze. Your first night welcomed you to a life of isolation. You can only cling to the sticky feeling of fear that attaches itself to your new daily existence around Geto’s presence.

𓍯𓂃

Every day, you are expected to be part of his reception, dressed in fine clothing, your hair styled in ways befitting your title. Yet, despite this, you are forced to kneel, your forehead touching the ground, just like all his followers. You have reluctantly accepted this role after spending your first weeks locked away in a tiny room, with barely any light or kindness to sustain you. 

During those weeks, you never once met your 'husband'. He refused to be bothered by your disobedience, unconcerned with the punishment his most trusted men inflicted upon you. 

It all played perfectly into his hands, as you began to believe these men to be far worse monsters than Geto could ever be. After all, he never laid a hand on you, never tortured you, never dragged you into the dark dungeons until you began seeing things. 

After months of this twisted game of escape within his temple, with only his henchmen for company, he finally deemed you broken in. No one had ever lasted this long under his torture before. He might have even said he was impressed by your willpower. But that strong-willed part of you was gone the moment Geto finally decided to free you from the darkness. 

He may never forget the state he found you in: the hatred in your eyes shifting to relief upon seeing his face, your body worn down and weak from exhaustion, your fighting spirit crushed by the horrors your mind encountered in that cell.

You wanted to be saved by him. 

Deprived of human contact, kindness, touch, affection, you crave to be cradled in his arms. You want nothing more than to feel a hand pat your back, to be held tightly while you finally allow yourself to cry until you pass out. But the torture continued. Geto assumed it wouldn’t take much more to get you to eat out of his hand. So, for now, he shall continue this farce. He shall refuse to touch you since you aren’t fully ready to accept his love just yet. 

That much was clear since he could still catch you stealing glances towards the nearest escape route, no matter which room you were in. Until eventually, even with the doors unlocked, you no longer dared to look. You were too aware of what they would do to you if they caught you again. You couldn’t bear to be plunged back into the darkness, where the monsters you carried out of that room still haunted your sleep. 

So, you learned to listen, to bend in an attempt not to break, while your mind slowly began to fade. Geto loves this version of you. How you bow to him each time he passes, how your body stiffens at the mere sound of his footsteps, how your eyes search for him. What are you looking for? Have your resources finally run dry? Do you need him now? Need him to fill you with his love, his affection, and his seed? Geto can only admit to himself the joy he feels upon comparing this new you to the feisty thing you once were. It makes his desire almost unbearable, his cock heavy with the urge to pump into you until you give out, until you bless him with the perfect children. 

You should really stop clinging to your dignity and surrender yourself to him. 

Instead, you isolate yourself further. You behave, yes. You don’t act out, you don’t try to escape. You are now a perfect rule follower, much like a robot, little like a wife. But what else could he do but leave you space. He swore to contain himself. He’s not some monster that would hurt another great jujutsu sorcerer. Plus, he adores you too much.

But he does start to worry. Worry for the plans that will fail if you succumb to your depression and fail to cling to him for support, for purpose.

𓍯𓂃

Imagine the surprise Suguru tries to hide upon learning about the person standing in front of his most private chambers, seeking an audience at such a late hour. A defiant shadow of the woman you once were enters his haven—your hair loose and unstyled, a soft and tired expression gracing your beautiful features, and that delicate robe you chose to wear for him. Your guard is finally gone.

After another slumber filled with dark monsters and fears, you find yourself desperately searching for comfort and found yourself in front of these doors.

Suguru moves closer, tearing through the final walls you've erected around yourself. He didn’t expect you to break down merely from his acknowledgement of your presence. Was he too hard on you? He wonders, as gentle hues of purple try to solve the riddle in front of his eyes. The kind words of “You are so beautiful,” make your shoulders sag, they add a tremble to your bottom lip—a reaction Suguru hadn’t anticipated. His sudden gentleness feeds your depraved ego. Careful not to turn into a glutton. 

The smell of incense and sandalwood might just become your new favourite. The creamy sweetness blended with earthy undertones seems to be a comfort you didn’t expect once Suguru stands in front of you. The warmth of his palm, another trait you wouldn’t have granted him—you always expected him to be cold to the touch. Yet, as a hand lightly rests against your neck, you feel yourself melt.

To Suguru’s astonishment, you lean into his touch and let your eyes fall shut. This serene moment allows your mind to finally slow down thanks to the much needed human contact. For some reason, you feel safe, protected. 

You are so docile now.

Your eyes meet as Suguru tilts your chin upwards, leaning in until his forehead rests against yours, his fingertips tracing the contours of your neck and collarbones. “You’re empty,” he breaks the silence with a gentle voice. “Let me change that…” The tip of his nose nudges yours, soft lips graze your skin before trailing kisses along your jawline. “I can make you forget about your past struggle and give you a new purpose…” Your hand fists the fabric of his attire as an attempt to ground yourself, his affections have you hum in sugary content. “A purpose greater than you ever anticipated.” Suguru’s free arm finds rest around your waist, to stabilise your tired form against his chest while his mouth attaches to your neck, leaving kisses in its wake. 

“Give yourself to me, be mine forever,” his husky voice reaches your core, hits exactly where he wants to influence your body most as he whispers the words into your ear. Then he pulls back, to cradle your cheek while commanding you. “Look into my eyes, little dove.” He tilts his head, challenging you to focus on him, to finally speak, surrender. 

He needs to taint you, to finally shatter the perfect image you’ve been trying to uphold. “Let me save you.”

You can barely offer more than your pliant body, seemingly overwhelmed by his greed for you. “Save me, please,” the whispered words threaten to burn themselves into Suguru’s memory.

His fingers run over your shoulder, down to your chest and above your stomach. You feel hot beneath his touch, needy to be filled with life and love again.

The alluring touch reaches beneath your robe, between your soft thighs, allowing him to tease you through the fabric of your panties. The tip of his finger grazes the delicate area, soft moans escaping your lips as your hips push into his touch.

The moment lures you forward, to close the distance and have your shaky lips meet his in a searing first kiss. Who would have thought you were that starved? Naughty girl. But he happily leans into your guidance, kissing you without restraint, teeth tugging at your lower lip before his tongue pushes into your mouth, leaving you breathless and needy.

As you break away, your face finds refuge in the curve of his neck, sighing your pleas for “more…” against his warm skin. “Patience, love,” Suguru breathes, eliciting goosebumps to decorate your skin and a flood of pleas to cloud your mind. One of his fingers hooks under the silky fabric, tugging at it teasingly to let the cool air hit your pulsing heat before a single fingertip begins to tease your clit, then enters your clenching little hole.

Your moan is unholy, a sound so exquisite Suguru couldn't prepare himself for it. He won’t let you hide them. A finger redirects your face to force you to look at him and allow him to drown in your glazed eyes. The irregular huffs from your lungs warm his skin, as he loses himself in your irises. You’d kiss him again if not for the firm grip on your chin.

“I’ll make you feel good every night, as often as you need me,” the once-dangerous man promises, before showing you his mercy. His hands release you to finally tug at the overflowing fabric of your robe, exposing your heavenly form to his eyes. And yet, you don’t feel exposed, don’t feel shame anymore as you watch Suguru admire you. You’ve never felt so good.

“Undress me,” Suguru’s firm voice commands, though he seems so pliant, so soft. Let your rush of confidence guide you to close the distance again, let your fingers untie his robes and slip beneath the heavy layers. His eyes close upon your touch, almost as if he’s allowing you control. Leaning in, his temple rests against yours and strands of dark hair drape over your shoulder area while the fingertips that trace along your waistline already feel like home.

As you push the fabrics off his shoulders, you can’t help but explore Suguru’s built figure. The contrast between his skin and the richness of his hair, illuminated by the moonlight, makes him look almost innocent. You swear you feel him shiver as your fingertips thread through his hair, his shaky exhale dampening your skin. “So pretty,” you murmur subconsciously, upon which his eyes open, a newfound desire now pools in them. 

You don’t mind the blunt nails that dig into the plush of your ass, don’t mind being pushed back until your calves bump against his bed frame. Yet, he keeps drawing in, to fully push your figure up against him while cupping your face to kiss you again. Suguru’s hardness meets your stomach, tainting your skin with his pre-cum while seeking such teasing pressure. The thought of being inside you any moment now has turned him needy. He kisses you more erratically, lips crashing against yours until they nearly turn numb.

He guides your body to find comfortable rest on his mattress as he leans above you. There is a moment of pure adoration as your hands cradle his cheeks gently, before curious fingertips explore the flexing of muscles beneath the required force to hold himself up. His hand roams over your heaving chest, appreciating the form of your tits before trailing along your waistline and hip to take a firm hold of your inner thigh—parting your legs with ease to prod the head of his cock against your achingly ready hole.

Your eyes shoot up to him as he guides his length to run along your puffy lips, coating himself in your arousal and relishing the way your hips push against him. It’s too tempting not to push into you, especially when you roll yourself against the head of his cock, stretching your entrance around him ever so slightly and forcing a moan from Suguru’s lips. Your hands rest in the long strands of his hair and at the soft skin of his nape. Every fibre of your being lures him forward, pleading for him to make you feel complete.

He succumbs, leaning down to swallow your moans as he whispers, “Forgive me for my sins,” just a second before he sheathes himself deep inside you. You never expected to experience pleasure this intense upon your surrender; the stretch of Suguru’s cock a wicked reward that steals the last drops of sanity from your mind. Your lustful moans echo in the shared space between your bodies, and the chilly temperatures of the season make your panted breaths seem feasible.

“Finally,” you think you hear his breathless murmurs before he leans in again, lips latching onto your perky nipple while Suguru palms your right breast, gently squeezing your soft mound and rolling the nipple between his fingers. His teeth spoil—or rather, overstimulate—your left side, nibbling on the sensitive area until you whine and writhe beneath him, your hips pressing against his cock perfectly. How could he resist putting a little torture on you?

“You feel so good,” his words drip like honey into your ear. The tips of his hair and the trained muscles of his upper body brush against your figure, tickling and teasing your awareness as he sinks deeper to finally bottom out.

The addictive moan that escapes you leaves him no choice but to refuse to kiss you further; he doesn’t want you to cover up the sounds of pleasure he’s bringing forth. Instead, he redirects his mouth to nibble along your exposed skin, planting one love bite after another along your neck until he reaches your collarbone.

His world stops spinning when you moan his name—so shamelessly, so heavenly—that he could ascend right in this moment. “S-Suguru!” you plea, so smoothly, he can’t help but thrust harder into you. Your fingers drag over the duvet while he pulls his heavy cock out of your fluttering walls only to push back in. You cry in pleasure, praises to his name spilling from your lips as his hips roll against you. His hands securely grip your shaking form, holding you perfectly in place for his own selfish desires.

Your soft moans mix with his rich ones, creating the most beautiful harmony as your bodies share the deepest connection possible. Warm palms glide over your figure to take a firm hold of the back of your thighs and press them flush into your chest. His entire weight squishes you further into the mattress and allows for a reach that appears incomprehensible. The sudden intensity seems too much to bear; it makes you painfully aware of just how deep he is inside you. His thighs slap against your hips at a rapid pace, each thrust jolting your body against the mattress as his cock repeatedly hits your cervix.

By surprise, you hear him suck in a sharp breath as he witnesses the state he’s left you in: fat tears staining your cheeks as the mix of pain and pleasure leaves you unable to form coherent thoughts. You’re so perfect, perfectly submissive and ruined for him to rebuild.

Now, you feel his love, the adoration pooling in his dark eyes as he can’t seem to look away. Eager to witness every second of your pleasure. “So perfect, such a good girl for me,” he praises, his lips caressing your forehead to calm you down, while he continues thrusting into you with the same strength, speed, and desire. “Let go for me, give into pleasure,” he encourages, the clamping of your walls a telltale of what impedes. 

You barely manage to nod in agreement, moans and hiccups making it impossible to form coherent thoughts while Suguru knocks the air from your lungs. You whimper against his sweaty skin, your breath tickling his neck while your nails claw into his back. “‘S too much,” is your final warning before your walls tighten perfectly around him, and the coil in your stomach finally snaps.

With all this newfound love, he can’t resist breaking his little rule. Suguru seeks out your lips, hurriedly placing his own over yours—surely not to drown yours, most likely to cover his own—as he almost immediately follows your orgasm with his own. He thrusts all the way in, coming deep inside your fluttering walls, which practically milk him dry.

His hand slides from your thigh to gently press against your stomach, accentuating where exactly his length resides and his cum lands, praying that your womb savours every drop of his seed to hopefully turn fruitful.

Your bodies are close enough for your heartbeats to thump against each other’s skin, pants and whimpers stifled by the shared kiss as you both come down from your highs. “Don’t ever dare to leave me.” The words are nothing but a whisper as his lips return to spoil your body with kisses, but the intensity behind them makes your heart stumble. The loneliness he must have repressed since his days at Jujutsu Tech have ended something you never once considered before.

But now you are here. Here to stay with him, to be his family, his weakness and strength all at once and forever. He broke you just to hold you. Now let him make it up, forever.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[defire]

Different types of conditioning for different whumpees is really interesting because it changes their fear responses! Like

A slave whumpee that was conditioned to keep their hands in front of them or else they'd get whacked in the arm with a cane. Their reaction to realizing they're not doing it is to flinch and grab their arm.

A living weapon whumpee that was trained to stand stiff and tall, or they'd be slapped in the face. Now when they catch themselves slouching, they squint and stiffen, clenching their jaw so they don't accidentally bite their tongue when they're slapped.

A prisoner whumpee freezing up and going still when a door clangs. if they blended in, an angry guard might pick a more defiant prisoner to make an example of.

A pet whumpee that was conditioned to pretend to be happy and cute, and was kicked across the floor when they didn't. When they're caught being upset, they skitter to the other end of the room and protect their ribs and face.

The right-hand-slave of the king or cult leader that had to look amazing and represent the kingdom or they'd be whipped that night. If they do something awkward, they go cold and swallow, fearing punishment later.

[wubbelwubbwubb]

How the hell was I supposed to know there were transports sentient enough to be mean?

[i-eat-worlds]

there’s something about whumpee being talked about like they aren’t even in the room that just gets me

[cupcakeslushie]

May we see that April and Donnie scene and the reaction of the whole family? Not forcing of course! I love this au so much, ahh the pain! 🥺

April does remind Donnie of Kendra, in only that they’re both nice to him. In Donnie’s memories, April wasn’t ever as physically abusive as his brothers, and now that he’s back home, she’s not said anything hurtful. So he latches on to her pretty hard.

⚠️ Warning for comic under the cut: implied sexual abuse, short scene of Donnie/April (conditioned panic reaction, nothing romantic is actually implied between them), brainwashing/conditioning.

Do not click if you find any of these things disturbing or triggering!!!! ⚠️

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Killer Sans be like *cries his eyes out* this is fine *trembles uncontrollably in unimaginable agony* I literally do not feel anything *chokes on dt* this doesn’t mean anything *curls up in a ball and whimpers pathetically* I am emotionless no really u do not understand *gasping for air as his soul switches into stage 1* this isn’t me I promise *uncontrollably shakes* its just the body

[stemms]

I believe that c!Tommy’s kleptomania is one of the most fascinating and heartbreaking parts of his personality, as it adds layers to his character, and explains certain parts of the lore that some people seem to consider a simple bad habit and display of his childishness. I would like to elaborate on that further and explore the way it changed in the exile arc.

To begin with, c!Tommy has been suffering from kleptomania ever since s1, but contrary to popular belief, he had no malicious intentions. From the very beginning of the server, he was already severely traumatised to the point of having PTSD and lacked self-worth. So, understandably enough, he was craving something to make up for his self-hatred, and robbery became that thing. c!Tommy would mostly steal insignificant things because what truly mattered was the amount of things he possessed, not their value or rarity. After all, if he had a large number of objects in his possession, it meant that he was worthy, and nothing else truly mattered.

Since the very beginning of exile, despite his need to acquire items to stabilise his extreme self-hatred, c!Tommy adamantly refused to accept anything from his visitors because he couldn’t help but assume that the gifts in question were “pity items”, and being pitied was one of the things he hated the most. As his exile went on, the belief that no one cared enough to offer him a gift out of genuine care, only grew stronger due to c!Dream’s manipulation, c!Tommy’s severe loneliness, and the heartbreak of the Beach Party. However, with time, the blond has grown to trust someone other than c!Dream — c!Ranboo. Eventually, he allowed the enderman hybrid to offer him things, as long as he promised that his gifts came from the heart. As much as c!Tommy attempted to hide his true feelings, he cherished every single object received from c!Ranboo. These weren’t just objects, like the ones he’d often steal from people to feel worthy — these served as a reminder that there was something to live for, and at least, someone other than c!Dream genuinely cared about him.

Considering that c!Dream has been obsessed with c!Tommy ever since s1 (which included living in his walls and stalking him) and used his kleptomania and “destructive nature” as an argument to get him exiled from L’Manberg, he certainly was aware of the boy’s insecurity, and was looking forward to exploiting it to the fullest to break- no, shatter him :)

The daily routine of discarding his objects hurt c!Tommy far more than we could’ve imagined, because if we keep his deep self-hatred in mind, he didn’t simply find it upsetting due to being stuck in the cycle of obtaining and destroying his items — it was something more than that. Every lost item equaled a tiny shard of c!Tommy’s self-worth, and soon enough, there was almost Nothing left; he was nothing but an empty shell.

Understandably enough, with time, the teenager has grown to believe that he wasn’t worthy to possess anything valuable of his own — he was meant to earn every little thing, and his best friend tormentor couldn’t be more pleased :) :) :)