#mind control whump

[galaxywhump]

Kidnapping via possession or mind control. No witnesses, because bystanders have no idea that they're watching someone being kidnapped in broad daylight - all they see is a person walking, maybe with a slightly absent look on their face, but nothing warranting a double take. Meanwhile, the person being kidnapped can't call for help, can't do anything to defy whatever force is controlling them. They keep walking towards their doom, powerless to stop what's happening.

[whitecoatwhump]

Bad and naughty test subjects have to sit in the mind wiping chair until they can barely remember how to breathe

[lumpywhump]

mind controlled whumpee who can't trust themself. Whumper can hack into whumpee's head whenever. Whumpee, while fighting whumper with their weapon, has to worry about if they're going to turn in their team mates. Maybe they don't know whumpers limitations so they always have to be on high alert. And then the after math. When whumpee wakes up and sees what they have done. It doesn't matter if caretaker says whumper did it. It was still whumpee's body. If they were strong enough, they would be able to break free, right?

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

I think the best mind control for whump is the type that doesn’t hurt. Hell, make it feel good even; a relaxing numbness over a once panicking mind, a warm pride at each fulfilled order. Control that makes you want to obey just as much as it forces you to.

Make the control sweet, tempting. Make them want to obey; don’t just break their will, make it submit to you. It’ll make their absolute horror and disgust at their actions all the sharper once they break free.

It’s easy to know you fought when you have the memory of the pain to remind you. It’s easier to justify defeat at the hands of overwhelming force and pain, the crushing of the will. But how can Whumpee look at the soft seduction of their will, the almost pleasant corruption of their morals, and believe that they truly tried their best to resist it. They remember how it felt. They remember liking it. And that memory makes one glaring question inescapable: were they defeated, or did they give in?

[stagelightwhump]

Whumpee with a mind control collar that only activates for Whumper's voice.

Whumpee learning to associate Whumper's voice with a complete and total loss of control.

Whumpee who feels uncomfortable and stifled, post rescue, if they have to wear anything around their neck.

Whumpee who, upon hearing Whumper's voice in public one day, mentally shuts down, wrenches themself away from Caretaker, and throws themself at Whumper's feet like they'd been trained to.

[marvel-ous-whump]

Magical Mind Control that completely shuts down a Whumpee's mind. leaving them a obedient shell when "Activated" by Whumper. and in a deep, magical sleep when "Deactivated." When Caretaker finds them and rescues them, it takes days for Whumpee to come out from under Whumper's magical influence.

Post Rescue timeline: Days 1-4; Whumpee just floats in darkness. It's quiet, heavy and blissful. Day 5: Whumpee becomes distantly aware of a voice talking to them. it's not Whumper, but comforting none the less. Day 8: Whumpee manages to open their eyes a little. but everything is blurry. Someone's holding them, a hand is in their hair, Whumpee doesn't quite know who it is, but they know they trust this person more than anyone else in the world. Day 12: A light goes off in Whumpee's brain like a lighthouse in pea soup fog. Caretaker! It's Caretaker who's with them. they wish they could speak Caretaker's name, but they're just so Sleepy, they don't have the energy.

Day 13: Whumpee comes to breifly when Caretaker's gently spoon-feeding them some soup. giving Caretaker a feeble smile. Day 15: Whumpee finally wakes up clear-headed and lucid to a teary-eyed Caretaker, hoarsely whispering "Hey."

[abhainnwhump]

Whumpee is fighting Whumper with a group of their friends. Whumpee and Whumper fight one on one and Whumper pins Whumpee down. They don't understand what is happening at first, but then Whumper pushes their palm against Whumpee's head. It starts with burning, then screaming, then the world goes dark. Whumper removes their hand and Whumpee has a mind control rune on their forehead.

"Stand up." Whumpee obeys Whumper's command. With a snap of their fingers, Whumper points to Whumpee's friends. "Kill them."

[bedtimescenarios]

Please write more mind control whump your piece on it was so good

Thank you so much!! Here you go, hope you enjoy! Mind control is so messed up but so fun to write :))

Lillies

CW: manhandling (brief), non-con touch (not sexual), intimate Whumper, mind control and all the autonomous restrictions that come with it

A pained yelp escapes Whumpee's throat as they're practically thrown inside the room by the hair. They stumble to the ground, head instantly perking upward, just in time to notice Whumper's sharp grin widen. They're well aware of the fact that Whumper could've simply made them go back, yet, to their exasperation, Whumper sometimes prefers manhandling them instead. Perks of having a choice.

As Whumpee nearly bumps into a foot of the luxurious bed in the middle of the room, Whumper calmly steps forward, the smile slowly fading as they speak.

"Oh, Whumpee, what were you doing just now?" their voice resounds, impossibly melodic. It takes everything in Whumpee not to flinch as they take another step towards them, dark eyes scanning the smaller form as if they were a lamb set for slaughter.

The gate was unlocked. Did they truly expect them not to take the chance? To not run from this harrowing paradise they've been trapped inside of for... how long has it been again? Whumpee knows their mind is fucked now, but they don't feel like making matters worse in the moment. As much as they try to remain coherent in finding an excuse, they stammer under Whumper's gaze. They absolutely hate it, how the thought of Whumper's abilities alone makes them shiver. "I didn't try anything- I swear, I was just-"

"I gave you certain privileges, Whumpee." They interrupt, tone calm and composed. With their eyebrows slightly raised, forming a small crease in the middle, they give the impression of scolding a child. "You're making me regret trusting you with them."

Whumpee has to physically keep themselves from scoffing. Privileges, right. As in basic personal autonomy. Being able to use their own body has recently become a reward instead of a guarantee. If they could just reach out, stuff Whumper's mouth with a gag and wipe that grin off their face-

Whumper raises an eyebrow, seemingly amused. "That's not a very nice thing to say." They pause, seemingly contemplating their words for a second before correcting themselves. "Or think."

Whumpee's eyes shut tightly, and they bite back a snarky remark, attempting to also wipe it from their mind. While Whumper chuckles, they gather their thoughts. "Look- I was just in the garden, tending to the lillies, nothing else."

Whumper tsks, taking a step so sudden that Whumpee can't help but shrink back. A hint of a smile crosses their face at the sight, and they kneel down next to Whumpee. They reach out a hand, and Whumpee half expects all their thoughts to vanish. Surprisingly, they simply run their fingers through their hair, untangling it with an uncanny gentleness. A moment of silence passes, one that feels like ages to Whumpee. As a stray strand of hair is neatly tucked away from their face, and the hand rests lightly on their cheek, Whumpee's instincts overcome them and they speak up.

"I won't try to leave again, I promise. Just don't-"

"Don't what, Whumpee?" Whumper coos, their thumb brushing against Whumpee's freckles. "Don't melt your pretty brain, make all the thoughts in it evaporate? Don't mould you into the Whumpee that nuzzles their head against my neck and smiles whenever I hand them a flower?"

Whumpee's eyes flicker. These blackouts they experience- the stretches where they’re aware one moment but wake up weeks later- have only been described to them by Whumper. The possibility, or rather the probability, that Whumper is telling the truth is gnawing away at them. They absolutely dread it- being mindless again and not even conscious enough to remember, let alone retaliate.

"That's not me, and you know it." They tilt their head, their tone slightly passive aggressive, yet laced with fear. Still, Whumper doesn't seem to mind.

"Oh, but it is. I know it's hard to admit it, Whumpee, especially since you've never witnessed any of it." They pause, eyes studying them closely, and the expression that flashes across their face is one Whumpee can't identify. It makes their hair stand on end.

"Perhaps I should let you."

When Whumper leans back on their knees, picks a flower from the decorated vase on the edge of the table and reaches for their hand, Whumpee flinches back. Whumper's mouth curls upwards into a soft smile, and they gently pull one of Whumpee's clenched hands open, placing their own on top. As Whumpee tries to shift away, their grip tightens.

"You should know by now there's no point in fighting me."

That's the cue for a blackout, Whumpee thinks. Their heart skips a beat as they don't. Instead, the dull room seems to brighten, a caleidoscopic mix of sun rays and soft, hued particles of dust. They surround Whumpee like stars, expanding magnificently until they all gather around the still smiling figure in front of them. Whumper's eyes seem to gleam, and Whumpee notices for the first time just how sage flecks are splattered across their brown irises, how their dark hair glows in tints of red in the sun... No. no, no.

When Whumper hands them the flower, they want to smack their hand away, yet their body takes it. Their mouth curls into a smile, and they thank Whumper, their body leaning forward and arms wrapping around Whumper. They want to scream as they feel the embrace tighten. Let me go, Whumpee thinks. And Whumper hears it, Whumpee's certain, as they see a hint of a grin on their face as they pull back.

"You're welcome, Whumpee."

Whumpee's stomach churns- or is it just their mind wishing it could?- when they're pulled to their feet by the hand and they smile wider at their captor. Let me go, they repeat in their mind, but their body doesn't say it. Their body keeps their fingers intertwined with Whumper's, thumb brushing against their knuckles.

"This is my home. Thank you for making me realize it." Their mouth says, and they wish they'd settled for the blackouts.

"You're such a sweetheart," Whumper murmurs. "Let's continue tending to the lillies together."

[whumpsoda]

vampire whumper puts whumpee in a strightjacket. But they're now so enthralled. That the straight jacket feel like a hug from them. so they fall asleep

WOHEO Masterlist

Loved this, dunno if I did it justice but it was definitely enjoyable to imagine!!

Anyways I need sleep

Taglist- @softvampirewhump

cw: hypnosis, restraints

———————————————————————

“Get-! Get offa’ me! Let me go!” Malak thrashed against the restraints, while desperately trying to shake off the vampire’s grip on his limbs. 

Adrastus sighed disappointedly, shaking their head. “You are in no spot to make such demands after the stunt you just pulled.” They made the last of the adjustments to Malak’s newest punishment, a difficult task when he refused to calm himself. “So, so naughty. This is what happens when you try running from Master.”

Malak wrestled with the confines of his straight jacket prison, to no avail. Adrastus looked him over, a saddened expression plastered across their face. “Maybe you’ll finally learn from your mistakes. I can’t believe you would do such a thing.” They stroked a finger down their captive’s cheek, which he quickly rejected.

They sighed. “I’ve treated you so well, and all I’ve gotten in return is malice. All the love I’ve shown you, and this is what I get? Bad boy.” They wagged their finger in front of his face, which only flushed with a mix of anger, anxiety and embarrassment. “I do suppose it’ll all be over soon, though, once you’ve finally succumbed to your fate of being an eager little pet.”

“I’m not- I’m not your fucking pet! Let! Me! Go!” He wailed, still jerking about on the floor. 

Adrastus just laughed, a hint of anger present themself. “How foolish you are,” they pushed to their feet with a grunt. “I’ll leave you here to think about what you’ve done. Bye bye, my dear.”

Malak followed them with darting eyes as they sauntered to the door, before exiting with a condescending grin. “Take this off me! Let-! I need-! Please!” The vampire either didn’t hear him, or simply didn’t care. 

He slumped against the wall behind him with a huff, his sweat tainted hair sticking to the plaster. Malak took in ragged breaths, worn from his short lived escape attempt and countless shrieks.

A concoction of both fear and fury bubbled in his stomach, exiting through several more enraged hollers. “Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” Each repetition scratched at his throat, running it red and raw. 

His vision started blurring with salty moisture as he shouted, his head swaying along. “F- f- fuck, fuck you!” Ignoring better judgement he continued his tirade, disorder scattering his thoughts.

With each following word, his tongue grew heavy, his voice like a slurry weighing it down. “Fuck, um, let… um, let me… um…” In an instant his eyes grew glassy, and his brain confusingly slow. 

With his thoughts so distant, his voice died right in his throat. Why was he yelling again? Good boys weren’t supposed to yell, Master said so.

“Ah-!” Malak jumped as his muscles convulsed, sending the back of his head bashing into the wall behind him. Lurching in pain, his eyes grew wide and alive, his psyche returning in a rush of cognition. With a strung out groan, he breathed a shaky sigh of relief. A stray tear dribbled to his chin.

It was happening more and more often. Moments where he was pulled from reality, his perception twisted and molded by the second, succumbing to countless nights of patient conditioning. Forcing him to think and believe things the vampire wanted him too. As horrified as he was to admit it, Adrastus’ modifications were definitely working in their favor.

And it all happened so fast, his mind buckled so quickly it was difficult to stop. If Malak didn’t escape soon, he’d be like that forever.

Stupid and eager to please, confused with a cotton filled head. Obedient and docile, malleable and… compliant. 

Dutiful… and trained.

Warm and loved and cherished.

He shook and writhed, pounding his restrained limbs upon the hardwood floor. “Get out of my head!” He shrieked, wriggling and flailing.

With each tug and fight on the fabric restraining him, it almost felt as if the jacket was growing tighter. Almost like arms wrapping him in a warm, tender hug. 

A strange sound of guttural fear and anger escaped his lips at the thought, as he began rolling and fighting with less and less spirit. With each thrust of his limbs a silver chain holding his legs rattled and skid across the wood. Gathering all of the strength he had, Malak beat his flesh against the solid flooring, agony searing into his bones.

Again, again, again, until he physically couldn’t anymore. He collapsed in a pile of anguish, choking back livid sobs and fat tears. 

Why him? What had he ever done to deserve being plucked from his home by a blood sucking monster? One so adamant on turning his brain to mush?

The snug embrace that enveloped him was his tired body’s only comfort in the moment, cuddling him genially. Malak nuzzled into it, clawing for the slightest of consolement. 

He allowed the easement to take advantage of him, desperate for any sort of solace. Carefully, his breaths evened and relaxed with the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he swallowed his dismay. His lip quivered ever so slightly, while his eyelids grew heavy.

Would it… be so bad to give in?

The thought snuck in, but this time He didn’t shake it away.

Just this once? Everything hurt, he was so exhausted and weary, and the jacket was almost like a pillowy blanket. Why should he deny himself the cozyness and only make himself feel worse?

Just this once. He could fight back again tomorrow, couldn’t he?

Content with his sound reasoning, Malak allowed his lids to flutter to a close. After such an intense struggle the embrace was so heavenly to give in to, and he couldn’t help but smile, just a bit.

[redd956]

Hear me out!

Whumper possessing Caretaker to hurt Whumpee

Thoughts?

[entity56]

We all know about mind controlled Whumpees, but what about mind controlled Caretakers?

Whumpee had just started to fully trust Caretaker, feel safe around them, when Whumper got their hands on them. Now, out of the blue, Caretaker seemingly turns on Whumpee. They use the same insults and tactics and commands as Whumper, and they seem exactly the same as Whumper was. Maybe this is momentary, just to give them a scare, or maybe it lasts long enough to give Whumpee the sensation of going through what they'd just gotten out of again. And when Caretaker finally comes out of it, Whumpee is either gone, or (physically/mentally) severely injured and won't even look them in the eye.

[ziptiesnfries]

Persuasion, part 1

(Loosely based off of this post by @whumpshaped)

CWs: mind control, whumper POV, kidnapping, restraints

Everyone loved Gianna Jennings. Her friends said she gave the best hugs. Her fans adored her makeup tutorials, and even her most vocal critics had to agree that she was charming in person. Gianna wasn’t sure how old she was when she first noticed it—really noticed it. All her life, her family had adored her, and even strangers would bend over backwards to please her. She’d always been affectionate, so maybe that was why it took so long to notice: it was her touch. Any skin-to-skin contact made the people around her much more agreeable. The effects only intensified the more she learned to control it.

Of course, she never let it get out of hand. But what was a talent like this for if not to be used? It served her well with getting sponsorships when she launched her career as a beauty guru. Most of her job happened online, but after years of building up her charisma, she knew how to work her audience. She didn’t need touch to draw people in, but when it came to in-person contact, it certainly gave her a boost.

Having the whole world at her fingertips was lovely, but it wasn’t very exciting. She wondered what it would feel like to make someone hate her—really, truly hate her—and what would happen if, then, she used her powers on them. The thought of it was more than a little alluring. It sounded complicated, interesting, real.

She decided to go hunting.

After visiting the same club a few weekends in a row, Gianna had finally found her target. They were smaller than Gianna, and always wore short skirts and tank tops—the kind of outfit that would give her ample opportunity to use her powers. Every weekend, without fail, the target arrived at the club with the same group of friends and spent the entire time sitting in a corner, texting. They seemed utterly disinterested in everything around them, even their friends—although, given the interactions she’d seen, Gianna was hesitant to label them as friends. Others who tried to approach the target had been met with either apathy or outright hostility.

They were perfect.

Gianna had already been at the club for an hour, chatting people up, when her target slouched in behind their usual group of three others. One of them, a tall girl with long brown hair, looked similar enough to be related to the target—a sister, maybe a cousin—and she interacted with them the most. The other two, another girl and a boy, hardly spoke to the target at all.

Gianna watched as the group claimed a table, and the boy went off to the bar. The two girls sat next to each other, chatting and laughing. The target was already slumped down in their chair, eyes glued to their phone, their bleached bangs obscuring half their face. When the boy came back with the drinks, he only brought three, depositing two in front of the girls and one in front of himself. The target didn’t seem to notice or care.

Gianna kept an eye out as she circled the room. The three friends took a while to drain their drinks before they finally headed for the dance floor. The brown haired girl hung back for a moment, tugging at the target’s arm. The target yanked away, and although Gianna couldn’t hear across the club, it looked like they’d snapped at the girl. The girl stormed off, and the target was left alone.

Gianna took her time, idly circling the club before she sidled up to the target’s table. “Well, aren’t you a pretty thing?” 

They gave no indication that they’d heard her. The blue glow from their screen reflected in their bored eyes and highlighted glitter on their cheekbones. She could just barely hear their response over the music. “Who said I was trying to be?”

Instinctively, her wrist twitched to touch their shoulder, but she lowered her hand quickly. She was wearing lacy, elbow-length gloves to ensure that there weren’t any slip-ups. She didn’t want to use her powers—not yet, anyway. She laughed. “That’s cute.” She leaned on the table, tilting her head. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

The target’s eyes flicked up. They scanned her face for a moment before turning back to their phone.

“I’m Gianna.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Really, though, what’s someone as pretty as you doing by yourself?”

Finally, they lowered their phone and gave her an exaggerated eye-roll. “None of your business,” they said, enunciating each word.

It was like talking to a brick wall. Gianna could see why everyone who had spoken to them had given up. Even she was tempted to take off her glove and touch their hand, just to get them to open up a little. But she refrained; the whole point was for them to hate her, and it seemed like that was going well. She pouted. “Oh, come on. You don’t even have a drink. I’ll get you one, okay?”

As she headed for the bar, she thought she heard them mutter, “Don’t come back.” She grinned to herself. She couldn’t have chosen a better target.

When she returned, they hadn’t moved an inch. She slid their glass across the table, and they kept texting. “I don’t drink,” they said.

“It’s seltzer.” It wasn’t, and they’d know right away if they took a sip, but they didn’t even glance at the glass. She stirred her own drink with her finger and wondered how to provoke them. Clearly they weren’t interested in playing her game, and that was what she’d expected, but she needed the tables to turn in her favor a little if she wanted to take them home tonight.

“Don’t care,” they said dismissively. “I don’t take drinks from strangers.”

“That’s smart.” She smiled and rested her chin in her hand as she leaned forward. “But I think you deserve to have some fun. Don’t you?”

They shot her a scathing side-eye. “I’d be having a lot more fun if you weren’t—”

“Oh my god, Shelby!”

Their head jerked up, and Gianna turned to see the brown-haired girl from earlier approaching the table, her two friends in tow. All of them looked tipsy, but the brown-haired girl seemed just a tad more wasted than the others, casually gripping the table for balance. Gianna suppressed a grin as she turned to her target. “Friends of yours?” she asked innocently.

The girl didn’t seem to hear her. “Oh my god, Shelby,” she repeated, turning to the target. “Are you actually talking to someone for once? I never thought you’d—”

“Shut up,” they hissed, lowering their phone into their lap as they glared at the girl. “I’m not—”

“We were just having a little chat,” Gianna interrupted. She extended a hand over the table. “I’m Gianna.”

The girl shook her hand limply. “I’m Taylor.” She was talking too loud, even for the background noise of the club. “And that’s Anna and Tate. And of course you know my baby sibling, Shelby.” She squeezed their shoulder.

Shelby jerked away, their elbow missing their untouched drink by an inch. “Fuck off!”

Taylor pouted at them sarcastically. “Oh, sorry, was I interrupting something?” She shot Gianna a suggestive grin.

“I said, fuck off!” They crossed their arms, their phone clutched tightly in their hand. “Can we just go already?”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “We just got here. Why don’t you go home with someone else for once? Loosen up, have a little fun!”

Shelby’s arms tightened around their chest, and they opened their mouth to protest. “I’d be more than happy to help with that,” Gianna cut in.

Blush rose to Shelby’s face. “Yeah, I’m sure you fucking would.” Their chair nearly toppled as they got to their feet. “Whatever, I’m calling an Uber.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “You’re such a killjoy.” They didn’t dignify her with a response before storming off across the club.

Taylor didn’t seem keen to go after her, and the other two hung back, exchanging uncomfortable glances. Gianna gave them all a sympathetic smile before she turned to pursue her prey.

She found Shelby near the entrance, tapping furiously at their phone screen. “Hey,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. They stiffened, but they didn’t turn toward her. “I’m sorry if I was being too forward. Do you need a ride home?”

Their back was still turned, but she heard them snort. “Like that’s not the most forward thing I’ve ever heard. I’ll take an Uber, thanks.”

She approached casually, sliding an arm around their shoulders. They stiffened as she leaned in close and murmured, “Come on, let me drive you home. It’s the least I can do.”

Her lips brushed their ear, and that was all it took. The tension melted out of their shoulders, their phone lowering. They were quiet for a moment before they cleared their throat. “I … guess you could take me halfway there?”

She squeezed their shoulder before letting go. They’d feel the effects of her touch for another few minutes, and she’d sneak in another dose along the way. Of course, she’d prefer not to use it at all, but Shelby was a difficult target. A little persuasion would be necessary. “I’d be glad to,” she murmured.

Gianna took off her gloves to drive. Shelby was quiet in the passenger seat, their face turned out the window, their phone all but forgotten in their lap. “What’s your address?” she asked.

They didn’t turn their head, but their voice still sounded a little distant as they said, “You can drop me off at the corner of Fourth and Fremont. I’ll give you directions.”

“Oh, no worries. I know where that is.” Her house was that way, anyway—just a little farther down. Maybe Shelby actually lived near her; that was an interesting thought. “I really am sorry about earlier, by the way,” she added. “I know I can be a little pushy. And your sister … well, she didn’t seem very nice.”

They blew out a sigh that lifted their bleached bangs, propping their chin in their hand. “Fucking tell me about it. She’s a real asshole sometimes.”

Gianna suppressed a grin. “Oh? What’s she like?”

“She thinks I should worship the ground she walks on just because she’s letting me live with her.” They rolled their eyes. “I’d appreciate the favor more if it didn’t come with so many fucking strings attached.” They cut off abruptly and glanced at Gianna. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

“That’s alright.” The car was rapidly approaching the corner Shelby wanted to be dropped at. Gianna leaned over and laid a hand on Shelby’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of her power flow through her palm. “Are you sure you want to go home, then? Maybe it would be nice to spend a night away from her. She sounds so overbearing.”

When she glanced over, Shelby’s lips were parted, their eyes halfway glazed as they gazed out the windshield. “I, um …” Gianna removed her hand, allowing the poor thing to think a little more easily. They blinked hard a few times. “She is overbearing,” they admitted.

Giddiness rose up in Gianna’s chest, but she couldn’t let it show. She rarely allowed herself to play with people like this, but god, it was fun. “Well,” she said, in her best logical, concerned tone, “take a break from her, then. It’ll be good for you.”

The intersection passed by, and Shelby blinked again as they realized. “Where are you …?”

“You can stay the night in my guest bedroom.” Gianna’s voice was pleasant and soothing, trained to perfection. Her powers may have only worked through touch, but people always responded well to her words, too. “You won’t have to see your sister again tonight.”

“Alright,” Shelby agreed quietly. Their hands rested in their lap, their eyes forward. “Thanks.” Gianna smiled.

It didn’t take much longer to get to Gianna’s house, a quaint two-story home in a quiet neighborhood. It was a bit big for one person, but Gianna had always liked it, and the extra space came in handy for guests. Shelby was quiet and pliant as Gianna led them inside, a gentle hand between their shoulder blades. The lightest touch was enough to keep them relaxed all the way up the stairs and into the guest bedroom.

Once they were in the room, Shelby paused, trying to gather their wits. “Ah … thanks for letting me stay over.”

“Of course.” Gianna smiled, her heart thumping. “Could you come in here with me for a moment?” She nodded toward the guest bathroom, attached at one end of the room.

They looked confused, but with her thumb rubbing circles between their shoulder blades, they followed her into the bathroom. She flicked on the lights and casually grabbed the pair of handcuffs she’d left on the counter earlier. Shelby looked even more confused at the clink of metal, and when they spotted the cuffs, they stiffened.

They made to pull away, but Gianna grabbed their wrist, channeling her power into the touch. Their phone cracked against the floor as they dropped it. “It’s okay,” she murmured, like she was soothing a frightened animal. Her heart pounded. She’d never done this before—never tried to calm someone over anything truly objectionable. She wasn’t even sure whether it would work. Shelby’s wide, fearful eyes flicked from the handcuffs to Gianna’s face, and she smiled at them reassuringly as she gripped their wrist. “It’s alright; you’re okay.”

Their mouth was agape, struggling to protest, but their body was like putty in her hands. One cuff clicked around their wrist, and Gianna gently guided them closer to the towel bar before looping the chain around and securing their other wrist.

“Good.” She removed her hands and stepped back to admire them, feeling giddy that it had actually worked. They twisted their neck after her, their lips still slightly parted, distress in their eyes. She scooped their cracked phone off the ground and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be back soon, okay?” Their bewildered gaze followed her as she shut them in the bathroom to wait for the effects to wear off.

Read part 2 here

[whitecoatwhump]

Today's vibe:

The very normal experience of being so stressed all you can think about is being assimilated into a drone hivemind and losing all capability of individual thought. You may not be yourself, but at least you have several thousand new best friends you're constantly connected to and work alongside

[lumpywhump]

Whumper with telepathy digging through whumpee's mind for info... only to find nothing but whumpee's current hyperfixation.

bonus points if whumper then consumes the media and hyperfixates with whumpee

bonus bonus if whumper was watching the show/movie/video game/book and trying to avoid spoilers and and and... yeahhhhhh whumper isn't happy about the spoilers in whumpee's head.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

spinning off of the death being peaceful idea, what about possession? like. character is possessed, and instantly thrown into a bone deep peace, floating in darkness away from their body, oscillating between the void that held them and awakening within their own most peaceful memories. after they’re freed, the can’t sleep. they’d always had anxiety, but after feeling what it was like to be safe…they couldn’t function.

(context)

Oh I love that!! Honestly I’m a big fan of ideas that focus on Whumpee’s mental state and experience while being possessed/mind controlled/ect. I think it can be very interesting, not to mention what sort of recovery would be needed after. It’s a niche interest but VERY high on my list of favorite tropes. 

I really like this idea, because it makes possession tempting to some capacity. It’s helplessness yes, but it’s helplessness that comes with a level of relief you couldn’t get otherwise. It’s control that makes you miss it afterwards, even after you’ve come back to your senses. And I’m so normal about that (lying). 

Just like, imagine. A team coming into fight a superpowered Whumper, unsure of what exactly they’ll face but armed to the teeth and hopefully ready for whatever they’ll face. 

There are more dangerous people on the team than Whumpee. There’s the powerful leader and their trusted second in command, both staring ahead with sharp eyes and trained confidence. There’s the medic standing near, prepared to offer support at a moment’s notice. The team would be greatly hindered with the loss of any one of them. But Whumper isn’t looking for the short term victory.

When Whumper’s eyes glow with power, when their hand extends towards their opponents, it’s Whumpee that they point to.

There’s a reason for it. The shadows beneath their eyes, the anxious wringing of their hands, the perpetual look of worry plastered on their face even before the battle began…one look at Whumpee and Whumper knows exactly who they’re dealing with. Whumper knows their type very, very well.

Whumpee feels the domination like a chill that settles on their body and refuses to leave. A chill that grabs onto their very being and pulls them down. Down beyond their body and the ground beneath them, down into  a darkness miles away from their team. 

 The last thing Whumpee does before their eyes go blank is let out a startled, choked scream.

Whumpee had expected it to hurt. They’d prepared for it, every muscle tightening in the millisecond between realizing they’d been targeted and succumbing to Whumper’s power. But the force pulling their mind down never tightens to the point of agony. Whumpe isn’t crushed, but embraced, swatted in a grip that's both gentle and inescapable. 

 It doesn't hurt. Despite the chill they’d felt, the darkness they’re sinking into isn’t cold. It’s warm and cozy, like the tempting comfort of their bed on a cold morning. They can’t hear the tense voices of their teammates or even their own pounding heartbeat. The dark is silent, but not unplesantly so.

It’s peaceful.

And I LOVE the idea of their positive memories being used to trap them. In the brief moments where their consciousness isn’t entirely engulfed in peaceful silence, Whumpee is surrounded by their friends. Smiling and peaceful and happy, not a hint of stress on any of their features. When the darkness splits apart, Whumpee finds themselves reliving the most comforting moments, surrounded by joy and free from stress. 

Whumpee knows something is wrong. They haven’t forgotten Whumper, haven’t forgotten those finally, terrifying moments before they were overcome. And yet the terror that should come with that memory never comes. There isn’t an ounce of fear or stress left in them, as if those emotions remained in their now distant body. Even their usual anxiety—the constant vigilante their work required, the general worries and stresses of life—had simply vanished into thin air. 

Whumpee felt light, as if the very concept of fear had been stripped from their mind. There were no worries about the future or even the present, no discontentment. They hadn’t felt that content in their entire life. 

There, embraced by that peace, it’s hard to care about something happening so, so far away from them. It’s easier to snuggle into the warmth, embrace the peace, and rest. 

The next time they open their eyes—their eyes, the ones sat in the body they’d been locked out of for minutes or hours or days—Whumpee is on the ground. 

They hurt. They’re becoming aware of throbbing aches across their body, something wet and warm dripping down their face. They can feel snapped bones in their fingers, pulsing with the heartbeat that sounds too loud in their ears. Whumpee’s body was returned to them bruised and aching. 

Their heart is pounding, mind swirling with disorientation and growing dread. Their fear pours back into them alongside the pain. 

It takes a moment for their vision to clear. When it does, they see Caretaker’s face above them. There’s tears in their eyes, expression warped with fear and hope. They’re bleeding, littered with bruises just like Whumpee is. 

Slowly, with Caretaker’s help, they sit up. Their teammates look down at them with worry and poorly hidden anxiety. Whumper is nowhere to be seen. 

They all return to their base, eventually. Whumpee doesn’t remember anything of the fight, They only remember the quiet, peaceful rest.  But the bruises on their fists match those on Leader’s face. Their body aches from a struggle they can’t remember, there’s blood under Whumpee’s nails that they know isn’t their own. 

Whumpee doesn’t ask what Whumper made them do. They let their eyes glaze over as they’re debriefed, mind skittering away from that painful truth. Nobody pushes them to remember. 

It’s difficult, trying to return to normalcy. Everything is simply overwhelming. Whumpee’s filled with a constant anxiety that can’t shake, their nerves burning with a newfound sensitivity. Their body aches with the evidence of a fight they don’t remember, making proper rest impossible to achieve. They can’t stop noticing the worried glances their team gives them, the bruises still lingering on their bodies. 

Whumpee can’t stop noticing the way Caretaker flinches when Whumpee moves too quickly around them, only to hide it behind a guilty smile. The guilt Whumpee feels at the sight hurts most of all. 

It’s exhausting. Existing, suddenly, is overwhelmingly exhausting. They’re on edge like they’ve never been before, guilt and pain burning holes in their mind. 

Whumpee misses the quiet. They miss the peace helplessness provided, the safety from the anxiety they’re constantly faced with. It makes them sick, sends a nauseating wave of self loathing up their throat, and yet that feeling itself only makes the longing stronger. 

Nothing compares to it. No amount of sleeping medication desperately swallowed, no amount of weighted blankets, nothing can recreate that serenity. Whumper gave them a taste of true, pure peace, and now their mind cannot settle for anything less. 

Whumper isn’t surprised when, two weeks later, Whumpee crawls back to them like a sick dog. 

They look horrible. The deep eyebags carved into their eyes are darker than the bruises still littering their body. They’ve lost weight since Whumper last saw them. 

Whumpee looks exhausted. They look disgusted with themselves, a look of self loathing etched into their face. They look desperate. 

They look exactly like Whumper expected them to. Whumper knows their type very well. 

This time, Whumpee doesn’t flinch as Whumper calls their power. They don’t brace themselves for pain. 

This time, the last thing Whumpee does before being submerged is gasp out a sob of relief.

[stagelightwhump]

Turn blorbo into your whumpee? No.

Turn whumpee into your blorbo.

Completely alter their appearance, from their hair color, eye color, even their height and weight should be changed to match your blorbo's. Make them unrecognizable as anybody but them.

Then, the fun part. Training them to act like blorbo. Shock collars, hypnosis, whips, or even hijacking their brain entirely, be it through magic or machinery. Beat down whatever personality they came with, and install the correct one overtop. Make them genuinely believe that they are blorbo, and that they've always been blorbo.

Now, you have your own version of blorbo, one who you can re-torture, or take care of, or train to torment others, at a much lower cost than you'd pay if you hunted down blorbo yourself. It's clearly the superior option, right?

Of course it is.