#experiment whumpee

[urlocalwhumper]

living weapon/military experiment whumpee being shown that they can create, not just destroy.

at the command of their former masters, they've razed fields and gardens alike, but now their eyes light up with pride as they watch the flowers they planted start to sprout.

they clumsily hold a paintbrush in their rough, calloused hands. they're a terrible painter, but no one's great when they first start out, and they just enjoy the process itself.

they used to be a mindless monster, an unfeeling weapon who obediently followed orders. but now they've been taught to think, to feel, to love. and they're happy.

[whumpsy-daisy]

BTHB: insecurity

CW: self harm (kinda), descriptions of torture and scars, bruises

Whumpee stood in front of the full length mirror the Whumper had left him. He wasn't sure why he’d given it to him.For once it was his own eyes trailing up his body, yet he still felt sick. Was this really what everyone saw? His hands came to shield his shoulders. He was nothing...nothing but scars and bruises. His ankles were scarred over from here the cuffs that had dug too deep into his skin. His legs were littered in scars from an escape attempt. All he known for the last few years was torture and cruel experiments. His hips freckled with needle marks from every injection he’d been forced to take. His chest was still covered with bruises from one of the other experiment’s outbursts. He couldn’t even blame him, he just wished he’d taken it out on one of their captors instead. He finally locked eyes with himself. His eyes watering, one swollen nearly shut and bruised, his lip busted and nose covered by a white splint. His bottom lip quivered. He couldn't remember what he looked like before scars took home on his skin. They weren't like bruises that’d go away over time along with the memories. They were parasites that infected every inch of his skin. He didn’t care that he’d probably be taken to the quiet room for his actions; he couldn't bear to see himself. Whumpee threw the mirror to the ground immediately dropping to the ground to finish the job. He slammed his fists into it over and over, he didn’t care about the shards digging into his fist or the blood starting to stain it. 

When Whumper came into his room he was stunned by the mess of glass and Whumpee’s curled up and bleeding form next to the shattered mirror he’d given him. He sighed standing over him. Whumpee heard him mumble fifty one fifty into his radio. Whumpee felt a little better knowing he wouldn’t have to see his reflection for the next three days.

[little-miss-no-namee]

imagine a whumpee with regeneration powers, but his flesh and blood can cure people of any illness or injury

That's why he is kidnapped by a pair of scientists who want to sell his flesh and blood

They say his is helping sick people while they sell his flesh for completely healthy rich people

(thinking about writing this or turning it into an ask comic because I miss them)

(Also english ist my first language. Sorry for any writing errors)

[superalk]

Febuwhump 2025 - Day 1 - Vocal Cords

A fierce, shredding pain awoke Eli from rest, but she was so pleased to no longer have a muzzle strapped to her face that she was not as distressed as she would have otherwise been to discover that someone had cut her throat while she slept.

"On position, V1."

Even as Eli traced her fingers over the gory, partially healed wound in her throat, she was pulling her legs under her and rising from her spot on the floor where she'd passed out. Her entire torso was tacky with drying or dried blood, but she had been here long enough that they'd actually been feeding her somewhat routinely, which meant that she was also healing from injuries at a fairly regular rate. The feeding and its resultant healing was of course predicated upon her following her captors' rules. She had not lost enough blood that she could not balance herself on her knees, and she quickly clasped her hands behind her back.

"Do you know where you are?" The voice over the speaker was not the generic, technologically-modified voice that had awoken her, but a woman's warm, rich tones, complete with an accent like the King's English, much like Eli's accent, if much more modern.

Eli considered the cell with curiosity at the question. This cell was much wider than the last cell she'd been in, and lacked any iron bars that she could see, encased in glass that Eli could just make out from a faint reflection. Eli flexed her wrists and ankles and then noticed the lack of iron shackles. She didn't even consider answering the question.

"Speak when spoken to, where are you V1?" The warmth had left the woman's voice; Dr. Keswick never missed an opportunity to remind Eli of her rules here at the facility.

"Somewhere new," Eli tried to answer, but her voice came out a rasping croak. It wasn't her throat that had been cut, it was her vocal cords. Eli gritted her teeth and gripped her wrists tightly behind her back, riding out the hot flash of temper at Keswick's plan. Cut Eli's vocal cords, order her to speak and --

As if on cue, a light flashed from above her. Eli flinched, hissing involuntarily at the searing pain that erupted across her skin at the light. She had done this too often, however, to permit the fear or pain to shift her from her position.

The light held for several long seconds before shutting off again. "Speak when spoken to V1. Now hold position."

Eli flinched as more lighting ignited, but this was no longer the burning punishment of the UV lamp, but instead ordinary fluorescent lighting. Eli was no longer alone in a concrete tomb. She spotted two other cells across from her and got a sense of a cell to her right before an unfamiliar mortal stood right before the clear wall of her cell.

Tall, willowy, a plait of long golden hair down her back, sharp golden brown eyes; a striking mortal woman in a lab coat watched Eli steadily, a small black metal device in one hand.

"I am Dr. Adelaide Provencher," the woman said, her voice as warm and pleasant as her appearance. Her accent was French, Eli guessed, and she had graceful pianist fingers that swiped and pressed on the slate-like device in her hand. "I am a Hematologist and Hyperbiology expert, as well as the chief scientist here on Floor 2." Distress flickered across Provencher's face, and Eli flinched involuntarily at the woman's flurry of swearing in French, waiting for the lamp...

Instead, venom flooded Eli's mouth involuntarily and a half-second later, there was the 'clinking' sound of solid glass on glass.

"Please, it is the very least I can do." Dr. Provencher's voice was much more steady, and Eli risked a glance around her cell for the source of the sound.

A bank-like drawer had opened in one wall of her cell, and something cylindrical and solid with a mouthwatering smell --

Eli locked her limbs in place, screwing her eyes closed and forcing the knowledge of what was in that syringe away.

This had been the worst part of Floor 1, the worst rule that Eli was in absolutely no hurry to revisit, <i>act not in haste</i> Eli forced her mind down, her senses away from her body's awareness, down into the icy safety of nothing but her limbs <i>on position</i> and waiting for permission to feed <i>the more you resist the more you will hurt</i> 

"Oh for heaven's sake!" Dr. Provencher's outburst was loud, clearly audible across the entire observation platform of the otherwise quiet Floor 2, but Eli hardly registered the sound.

<i>Never feed without permission</i>. Oh, Eli had learned that lesson far too well, Keswick and her trials and experiments and that lamp, <i>the lamp</i>, it was all Eli could do to keep her limbs in place and continue to fight against every impulse as each cropped up, reminding her --

"You may feed, V1." That voice was not Keswick's and did not register at all at that moment. Eli's starving, wounded body reacted only to the conditioned phrase of permission. She was off the ground less than a half second after the command ended; she was at the drawer less than a full second had passed.  Eli could not force her body to wait the time it would take her clumsy fingers to open the carefully sealed glass vial, so she instead put the vial in her mouth and burst the glass with her teeth.

The cuts from the glass were inconsequential compared to the rich blood that flooded Eli's system, and she doubled over as she felt it go to work on the wounds in her neck.

"We are scientists, not torturers from the 13th century." Dr. Provencher's rapid-fire French retort was a dart of derision in the still air as Eli slowly returned to present awareness.

As the wound in her neck slowly mended, Eli regained her characteristic acuity of senses. The glass barrier of her cell was also a mixture of a wide variety of plastic polymers that Eli had no name for, but nonetheless produced distinct scents from one another, as well as a fine mixture of silver within the wall itself.

Eli snorted, taking an involuntary step away from the wall. Contrary to the popular opinion of mortal media, not all of Eli's cousins were averse to silver. Eli, however, was a fact that Keswick had known about Eli from the outset and used to great effect on a wide range of shackles, muzzles, and other restraints made with silver alloy. Despite her misgivings, Eli had to admit that making an entire clear wall from a silver mixture was impressive.

"I apologize for that." Dr. Provencher's words sounded like they came through gritted teeth. "As I said, I am the lead haemotologist and biologist here on Floor 2."

Eli was confused for a split second, before she realized that Provencher spoke to her. Eli touched her throat and found that while there was still significant scarring, her vocal cords and the musculature of her throat had mostly been restored. Provencher was staring at her, and Eli flinched involuntarily, tracking her thoughts backwards, unsure what she'd been asked that she hadn't yet addressed (<i>speak when spoken to</i>).

Provencher had brown eyebrows to go with her hair, and they were crinkled in confusion as she and Eli stared at one another. As long seconds passed, it occurred to Eli to wonder how long it had been since she'd had a conversation with anyone. She had been receiving conditioning and orders from Keswick and her staff, but for how long? How long had it been since she'd been abducted from her apartment?

"<i>Putain</i>Keswick," left Provencher's mouth before she forced a long exhale from her lips. "You may speak. I'll be leading your care here, and before I let you rest, I'd like to ask what you like to be called?"

Eli noticed that a strand of hair had freed itself from Provencher's plait and lay just on the top of the woman's ear, and only realized after Provencher's speaking began and ceased that perhaps a response of some kind was required? Eli winced and brought her attention back to the woman's face.

"What shall I call you? V1 is hardly your name."  Provencher's expression was kind, her tone dismissive of Eli's designation.

Eli flinched as her body involuntarily recalled the Floor 1 conditioning -- <i>speak when spoken to</i> the hot kiss of the UV lamp, the burning silver shackles, unable to move and get away</i> the more you resist the more you will hurt</i>  burning silver muzzle strapped to her head, leaving burns and charred skin at every point of contact. <i>obey all commands given</i>

"Eli," Eli whispered, cringing away from the expected flash of the lamp...which never came.

"<i>Putain de bordel de merde</i>" Provencher muttered, and the combination of the ethereally beautiful mortal and the utterly common language caused an involuntary snort of laughter to escape Eli. 

Provencher's gasp of surprise was perfectly audible, and Eli flinched, her muscles tensing involuntarily... but no flash of lamp accompanied her speaking without permission.

"I didn't know you could speak French." Provencher's wry comment was quiet and thoughtful.

Eli risked a glance up to see that the mortal woman was smiling slightly. Eli smiled back, an involuntary response to a pretty mortal smiling at her.

And then something within Eli, long dormant, unfurled itself like a matron snapping her fan at a luncheon to tell her charge that she spoke out of turn. "They were much more interested in impressing upon me the importance of their rules." The retort was in French, and was the longest string of words Eli had spoken since her arrival.

Eli's body flinched involuntarily, anticipating the lamp -- but no reprisal was forthcoming.

Provencher nodded, her eyes tightening at the corners.

The same spark from before -- Eli's long-dormant real personality -- returned. "Elinor, Eli. My name's Eli Coleman." The introduction was in French, a language Eli had not spoken for over 60 years.

Provencher's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded back. "You must then call me Adelaide," she whispered in the same language. "Truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Eli." Read on my AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/62668408/chapters/160425826

[bilightningwhumper]

Yeah, so, my ideas are wandering, again. I'm still keeping on "Belonging to Nightmares", no worries there. Basically, I'm starting "A Crown of Candy" for the 5th(? might be 4th) time and also somewhat worldbuilding while I write the next drabble for "Belonging to Nightmares" (which will be called either Midnight Visitor or Late-Night Visitor, tbd).

Would anyone be interested in a prequel for it? Set 30~ish years before, or rather, 5~10 years before the 12 clones/sisters are made.

MCs would be multiple whumpees (various genders) based off the Greek Pantheon. Like, they share the same names and their abilities are based on the gods' powers.

Premise would be living weapons made from orphans of a decades long war. They're experimented on and become somewhat supersoldiers as well as somewhat immortal. Not entirely sure how to go about things yet as I have a few branching ideas and don't want to fully explore them if 1) no one's interested or 2) get myself too derailed... again.

[*Edit* Important tidbit I forgot to say because I was tired: all MCs/living weapons would be 18+, basically the recuitment would be them aging out of the orphanages and the program is specifically picking "people that no one would miss" type deals]

[*2nd edit* Here's a spoilers character list, too]

Feel free to reblog if you want, I don't mind.

I've also been debating whether or not I'd share other stories of mine, the ones I've worked on and off for 10+ years (though anything "finished" is outdated other than notes). Like, I wanted to publish things someday, but I'm in the USA and with everything going on, I don't know if I'll even be able to do that, as everything is my own spin on fairytales with years of creating medieval fantasy/magic worldbuilding and so much diversity and just... I'm jumping into these new ideas because they're similar and I just don't want them to go to waste.

If I did do that, I'd open up a patreon or something to make at least some money off my writing. Because the plan was to become a good enough author to share the characters and stories I've put my heart and soul into with the world, but also to be good enough that'd it'd make enough money that I wouldn't have to work in environments that hurt anymore. I've still been debating doing that, but I don't want to risk ostracizing myself with some unspoken "don't do that" rule. Or rule rule, like not making money off stuff you put on Ao3 (because copyright and all that legal jazz).

Anyway, those are my late night thoughts while I distract myself that I have to do bloodwork in a couple days (even worse with the fact I have to fast for some of it.).

[zoethehead]

Welp, here's my canon design of Andres, the escaped Estonian supersoldier-esque experiment.

Note: i didn't want his design to seem too similar to other characters with a rolled up sleeve formal shirt with a tie, so.....yeah.... i might redo the shirt and/or tie colors though; maybe a white shirt with a beige tie, maybe an orange tie or a black shirt.

The tie color i chose just reminded me of vriska, that's why i chose that tie color; THE HOMESTUCK WAS TOO STRONG!!!

[foolish-rat]

The idea of a character being gently shushed in a comforting manner while being hurt by the person shushing them is lowkey good whump material

[sonofwhales]

ok but an interesting detail I've noticed in fiction after experiencing this myself.

Usually when fainting, a character's vision goes black and they might be out for hours. Now I'm not an expert as I have only fainted once, very recently. It was due to stress+food poisoning and I was trying to throw up when I heard my dad calling for me and like, I was in a state of confusion and one moment I was haunched over the sink and the next I was on the floor with him calling out for me (can cross that one out from the whumpy bucket list LMAO)

but like, I was out for literal seconds and there was no vision going black, didn't even feel the fall. I just feelt extremely weak and disoriented and had a very skewed passage of time. While I looove a good ol dramatic faint, I want to see more of that in fiction.

Just imagine, whumpee is injured and bleeding out, focused on standing up and determined to find their team but they feel as if the ground is moving under their feet.

When they see their group relief of being "safe" overtakes the adrenaline and one moment they see the group running towards them and the next they're laying in the arms of the leader, who is crying and calling out their name.

Whumpee can't understand why leader's expression seems so anguished.

[fl4tlines]

I want to see whumpees suffering the aftermath of a night of drinking. It’s so mundane (in my social circle at least) but it’s just so versatile. Bonus points for it maybe being accidental or whumperless. No this has nothing to do with my current raging hangover, not in the slightest. So here’s a list of just some possibilities:

Nausea, vomiting & stomach upset

Headaches

Muscle pain & weakness

Dehydration

Photosensitivity & noise sensitivity

Exhaustion

Strained personal relationships

Irritability, agitation & apathy

Insomnia & hypersomnia

Chest pain

Drastic appetite changes

Heartburn & acid reflux

Low body temperature

Dizziness, spinning vision & vertigo

Intense food cravings

Hangover shakes

Shortness of breath

Hallucinations

Nicotine (or other drug) cravings

Heart palpitations

Waking up drunk

Hangxiety & Sunday Scaries

Vivid dreams & nightmares

Brain fog

Blackouts & memory gaps

Waking up somewhere they didn’t go to sleep

Symptoms persisting for days at a time

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpees slugging down the road, shirt torn and bloody. They drag a chain from their right leg, they moved staggering and dazed.

A vehicle pulls up, stopping to see if this stranger in the middle of nowhere needs help. They don't notice the chain or blood at first.

They try to approach, but whumpee backs away. They don't know if these people are a part of the group who experimented on them, or good samaritans.

They did come from the direction whumpee escaped from, after all...

[kades-whump-stuff]

recovering Whumpee prompts

Whumpee who NEEDS to see everything around them. They will not let anyone, even Caretaker, walk behind them, they sit or stand with their back to a wall if possible. They're always looking behind them, constantly expecting Whumper there, even if it's just subconsciously.

Whumpee who makes themself as small as possible. They know their posture is taking a hit, but they draw in all of their limbs and hunch over in an attempt to be as small as possible. They're most comfortable this way.

Whumpee who has periods of time where they lose speech - partially or totally. During these, if they want or need something, they find it difficult or impossible to ask for it, and god forbid someone ask them about Whumper.

Whumpee who dissociates - their eyes grow unfocused at times and they always look confused or lost. They mindlessly follow Caretaker wherever they go, even when they're completely out of it.

Whumpee who has lost touch with their own self and feelings, and who notices that their breathing and heartbeat are speeding up. They notice their symptoms of having, say, a panic attack, too late to stop the effects.

Whumpee who has to be their own caretaker, whether that means stitching up their own wounds while biting on their wallet, or forcing themself up and out of bed in the morning.

[zoethehead]

so, here's more of andres, idk why it blurred the outfit like this

[whump-galaxy]

The whumpee trying new mobility aids. They help, somewhat. But the more they use them, the more they hurt.

Crutches bruise their armpits and misalign their hips. Canes cause wrist pain, eventually causing their entire arm to get too tired to use it. A wheelchair requires upper body strength they haven’t quite honed yet.

They wonder if it’s worth it to even use one if they’d be in pain anyways.

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpee’s tied down in a hospital gown gagged and blindfolded. 

The gag is so they don’t bite.

The blindfold is so no one has to look into their eyes when they run unethical experiments.

Besides, they’re here for the science, not torture. They had the stomach for blood but not for the crying.

[whumpitisthen]

Whumpee struggling to say no to anything caretaker says, as refusal was never an option with whumper

[whumporama]

I see alot of stuff for winged whumpees with bird like wings. But what about winged whumpees with more batlike wings. Obviously there aren’t like, feathers to pluck. What can you do with a whumpee whose wings are more batlike?

(You got me looking up bat wing facts and they're so cool! Anyway-)

Maybe they get compared to Whumpees who do have feathered wings. They get called ugly and weird.

Their wing tears, either through activity, or Whumper stretches them to see how far it can go

They heal fast; Whumper injures them again and again just to see how fast they can heal.

Their wings are sensetive, maybe Whumper or the environment overloads them with sound or vibrations. Even curling up doesn't help, they can't hide begind anything

Whumper likes to display their Whumpee. So they drives nails through their wings, keeping them spread out for all to see

Whumpee is forced to fly with injured wings. Either by Whumper or in a desperate escape, or maybe to save someone

Whumpee gets called a demon, hated for how they look

In the aftermath, Whumpee's wings are horribly damaged. The membrane is torn and will never heal well again, so it just looks like a skeleton on their back

Since the main structure of the wings are bone-like, maybe one breaks, leaving Whumpee in horrible pain with a deformed wing

Their wings get damaged and burned by too long exposure to heat