#psychological whump

[short-form-whump]

The Whumpee uses their shoulder forcefully to bump into one of the Whumper’s henchmen as they walk past them. Their hands are bound in front of them as they’re marched past, another henchman behind them pushing onward toward a cell block as they thread the needle between a crowd. The one that they bumped whistles, and the prisoner is stopped. “Got something to say?” they ask. The Whumpee seethes in anger as they’re spun to face them. “I know who you are,” the Whumpee says stiffly. The henchman laughs. “Oh you do, do you?” The Whumpee shakes their head. “From some bullshit sob story I got told. But look at you now. Captured but standing around like some brainwashed cuck. Some victim you are.” They lift their chin as if preparing to spit, a move so telegraphed that the henchman has time to level a hit across the Whumpee’s face before they can let it out. The Whumpee reels for a moment, then lifts themselves back up and steels themselves for another blow. “The way they all talk about you like some sad tale, like a little dog caught by the pound and stuck in a crate. And you ain’t even got a collar on, just some pathetic stray afraid to go home-.” Their last word is cut short as the henchman grabs the Whumpee by the throat and squeezes hard. The henchman stares at the Whumpee while the crowd watches as if trying to will a blank wall to reflect back at them. It’s long moments before they relent their grip, only doing so when the Whumper’s hand emerges from behind and touches their shoulder. “Don’t waste your time,” the Whumper says. The henchman lets go all the way and the Whumpee collapses to the ground. They stand over and watch the Whumpee weakly writhe while the Whumper speaks in their ear: “Not everyone learns as fast as you do.”

[angstingantlers]

Perfectly Clean Mind Control

Whump: psychological abuse, mind control, manipulation, identity altering, (de)conditioning, paranoia.

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Mind control that doesn't dominate your thoughts, it just... is your thoughts. Perfectly rewriting your will and everything it embodies. Not a single trace of resistance because this is just what you want. Why would you resist your own thoughts? Why would you disagree with your own motivations, your own desires?

Mind control that doesn't shatter once it's done, it just disappears. You don't snap back into awareness. You barely even notice. You just continue as if nothing ever happened. Maybe one moment you look back and you frown, because thinking on it, you remember when you happily followed that person out of town, and you remember what you did, you remember wanting to... but that's crazy. Why did you think that was okay? Why did you want to do that?

Or maybe you were under this mind control for so long that even once it's over you look back and say, "Oh, of course I did that." As far as you're concerned you've always held the beliefs you do now. You've always wanted to do these things. You don't remember why, but you've never had to think of why, and it doesn't matter anyway when you've always been so confident that you're right. It isn't until you're challenged on it all and reminded that you never used to be like this, that you were different before, that something has changed that you finally falter. And you try to think of where this all started, try to figure out why things changed -- and all you can really remember is an entrancing pair of eyes, and a gentle suggestion, and then your own mouth responding, "That's a great idea. Let's go."

And suddenly, you realise that you have no idea how much of what you are, what you were, and what you believed you always have been is just a lie. You don't know whether any thought you have now is really yours or just another preciously placed prompt. You don't trust your impulses, you don't trust your desires, you definitely don't trust your judgement.

You don't trust yourself. And you never can again.

[foundfamilywhump]

when a character is so afraid that they’re shaking. no matter how put together or stoic or compose they normally are, when they reach the point where they’re so terrified they can’t control their physical reactions? trembling, breathing hitching, maybe the clink of handcuffs where their hands are shaking in their restraints. shaking so hard they can’t escape noticing it - and can’t escape their captor noticing either.

[shy-raccoon]

The damsel in distress slowly starts getting more and more unstable from the unaddressed trauma of being frequently kidnapped. One day they completely snap and the villains start being found mysteriously murdered with increasing brutality.

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Whumper stacks up their punishments.

Every mistake, every wrongdoing Whumpee does, Whumper just raises an eyebrow and lets it pass.

It's the end of the day when Whumper addresses the punishments that has built up, listing and delivering them one by one. Whumpee has the nighttime to cry their eyes out and tend to themself.

For Whumpee, it's a whole day of anxiety as they watch the clock hands turn.

[abhainnwhump]

Whumper, ripping off the last page of their calendar and tossing it to Whumpee's feet: That's another year, darling. And not a single person has found you. Give up, because your friends already did.

[auroragehenna]

Whumpee to teammate, voice shaking, whispering: „I don‘t feel like myself/I don‘t think I’m the only one in my head.“

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whump Prompts 130: Lab Whump Aesthetic

CW: lab whump (obviously), blood, self-harm, psychological/emotional whump, magic whump

The lab rat uniform: loose, drab, hanging on whumpee's frame like it doesn't feel comfortable there

Bloodstained, soiled clothing, the result of experimentation

Whumpee left naked in their cell as their uniform is washed

Whumpee arriving at the lab facility as a new subject and realizing that whumper will be experimenting on them, not with tools and drugs, but with dark magic

Inhuman whumpees losing whatever shreds of humanity they might have had as time and experiments continue and they're treated more and more like animals

Or, conversely, inhuman whumpees that become more human and exhibit more human emotions as they're mistreated

Whumpee forgetting their own name because they're only referred to by a subject number

Disorientation from drugs/experiment aftermath

Whumpee's sleep, the only time they're alone, being disrupted by nightmares about what's been done to them

Or, a whumpee who's never left alone, always watched, always under observation of some kind

Whumpee's skin slowly turning into a scarred, chaotic mess from cuts/syringes/injections, etc.

Whumpee seeing their own distress and pain mirrored in the glimpsed faces of other lab rats in the facility

Whumpee learning to see themself as nothing but a test subject

Bandages, sterile gauze, sterile lights, sterile everything

Whumpee being overwhelmed when they catch a glimpse of life outside the lab when visitors arrive

Waking up after an experiment, seeing bloodied instruments and wondering groggily what terrible thing whumper could have done to them now

Learning to damage their own body to foil whumper's plans

Whumpee becoming desensitized to whumper's drugs and needing higher and higher doses for them to work

No longer recognizing their own body after recovering from whumper's last experiment

Whumper leading lab rat whumpee to a mirror, after intentionally keeping them away, and letting them see how pathetic they've become

Or, whumpee looking in a mirror and realizing that whumper has turned them into a monster

Whumpee deciding that it's too late for them and they might as well embrace what they've become

Feel free to reblog and add on!

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🖤 Dehumanization Whump: Treating Whumpee Like a Monster 🖤

A lot of dehumanization whump relates to making whumpee act like a pet or an object. And that’s great! But you know what else isn’t human? Monsters. Here's some dehumanization that’s about treating whumpee as villainous, toxic, etc.

TW: gaslighting

Keeping whumpee in restraints not because they’ll run away, but because they’re “dangerous.”

Deliberately walking on eggshells around whumpee until whumpee gets annoyed and snaps - which just proves they’re dangerous.

Handling whumpee only with gloves.

“It doesn’t deserve kindness because it doesn’t even have a heart to receive it.”

“It can’t love.”

“Those aren’t real tears. It’s just trying to fool you - it’s not capable of sadness.”

Making whumpee sterilize things they’ve touched as if they’re diseased or poisonous.

Forcing whumpee to kill because “that’s in its nature.”

Refusing to accept whumpee’s apologies and pleas for mercy when they make a mistake, because “it’s not capable of real remorse.”

Dressing whumpee in armor or military uniform and refusing to let them be soft.

Warning any potential friends or allies away from whumpee to keep them isolated. “You don’t want to get too close. It’s scary.”

“Stop lying to me that you’re sorry. Liars are punished.”

Whumpee is punished until they “admit” that they enjoyed doing the bad thing.

Whumpee DOES want to do violent things, because they're lashing out at Whumper in revenge. This is treated as proof that they're bad.

“Who knows what you’re capable of?” And just listing vast amounts of horrific things whumpee will later be forced to do, in graphic detail.

[whumplump]

A thought

Whumpee dealing with various bothersome symptoms for weeks. Tremors, dizziness, vomiting, fainting. They try to push it with self prescribed medicine and healthy food, but nothing helps. After several consultations with a doctor, they discover that those symptoms have a psychological origin. Whumpee is referred to a psychologist, as recommended by the doctor.

Two sides:

Hurt: the psychologist is Whumper, who takes advantage of Whumpee's mental fragility to steal their money and drag them into unhelpful situations, such as pushing them away from their family or friends. Whumper knows that Whumpee is desperate to feel better and that they would do anything for that. Influenceable, naive.

Comfort: the psychologist is Caretaker, who does everything they can to help Whumpee during their difficulties. A good friend, even with the limited bond between professional and patient.

Alternatively, Whumpee is skeptical about the treatment and refuses to attend therapy. They keep trying to deal with it themselves, pushing it to the limit.

[short-form-whump]

The Caretaker sits down next to the Whumpee who is sitting at a bar. It’s late and the room is almost empty. The bartender hasn’t been paying much attention outside of refilling the Whumpee’s glass until the Caretaker arrives, at which point their eyes can’t help but keep darting to the prominent scar on the Caretaker’s face. The Whumpee is the opposite - they intentionally avert their eyes from the Caretaker. “Are you going to tell me what the hell has been going on?” the Caretaker asks them quietly. The Whumpee shakes their head and can’t settle on where to look, so long as it’s anything but at the Caretaker. The Caretaker presses them: “Are you avoiding me or something? Just a coincidence that I never see you, or that you always gotta walk in the other direction?” The Whumpee tosses back their drink and drunkenly spits out their words as their tearful eyes finally meet the Caretaker’s: “You make me sick.” The Caretaker’s eyes widen. “What?” The Whumpee keeps shifting in their chair. “It makes me sick. Just looking at you.” The two sit in an uncomfortable silence as the tears in the Whumpee’s eyes start to stream, each falling more quickly than the last like colliding raindrops on a car window. “Seeing what he did to you. Knowing it was because of me. Knowing I walk outta there like, what, like nothing happened? Looking like the same person?” the Whumpee says bitterly. The Caretaker shakes their head, “You didn’t do anything wrong,” they start to say as they put a hand on the Whumpee’s shoulder. The Whumpee reflexively pushes the Caretaker’s hand off with a roughness that matches the sudden darkening of their eyes. “What he did to you is the first thing people are going to see. What he did to me… nobody will ever see.” The Caretaker pulls their hand back defensively. “A scar is not the convenient conversation piece you think it is,” they start to say before the Whumpee pushes them off their chair to the ground. The Caretaker has the wind knocked out of them and the world spins. “You’re his trophy. After all that, it’s you.” The Whumpee wipes the tears from their face as they look down at their former friend. “And I fucking hate you for that. I will always hate you for that.”

[whumpwonders]

This makes no sense but I was thinking about invisible ink and how that could be used in whump (not sure why, but hey) and came up with the idea of a Whumper that would 'write' things on Whumpee's skin with a pen while psychologically torturing them, like a non-painful form of branding. Only instead of this scaring Whumpee further, it just confused them because "Whumper that pen does not work."

At the time, Whumpee found it a little funny. Whumper would say so many horrific things while tracing their words over Whumpee's skin, writing over their face, their hands, their back. But no ink was ever visible, it just tickled...

...until Whumpee is rescued by the Team/Caretaker and one day ends up in a situation involving ultraviolet light.

It turns out the pen did work after all. Not only did it work, but it worked well. It was just invisible under normal conditions. The moment Whumpee stepped beneath the UV light, every monstrous thing Whumper had ever said became readily available for the Team to read. Despite being free from Whumper for months, the ink still stained Whumpee's skin, like some kind of twisted tattoo.

Now the Team has to figure out what to do with everything they've just learned, and Whumpee has to figure out how they're going to live knowing that no matter how hard they try to forget, they will never be free of Whumper's words.

[whumpsday]

Catharsis #3: Unboxed

Masterlist

content: robot whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, defiant whumpee, violence, psychological whump

Whumpmas in July Day 9: Mind Games

i wanted to introduce each arc before continuing on with the present arc. i'll probably pop all over the place chronologically since that's how i write best!

here's 1's first day alive, though that wasn't his name at the time.

-

Cyrus opened his eyes for the very first time.

He was in a room in a house or apartment. It may have been his first moment of conscious thought, but he was not a human, and he was certainly not a baby. He was still in his box, he realized: he climbed out of it, brushing himself off, smoothing out the wrinkles in the disappointingly plain clothes he came dressed in. There was a man there, taking a step back. Probably the one who had turned him on.

The first strong opinion he ever had was that he was unequivocally better than the nervous man standing in front of him.

Luan, his mind supplied. His… owner’s name was Luan. He didn’t like that word, owner. It felt incongruous. Wrong. He wasn’t something to be owned, Cyrus knew that for sure. If anything, he should be the one doing the owning.

At the same time, he knew exactly what he was: a Catharsis Therapy Bot™. An expensive object to be bought and sold. A thing to act as programmed and be beaten until its owner felt better.

Cyrus frowned. That couldn’t be right at all. The only thing that felt right about any of that was that he was expensive.

“Cyrus?” Luan asked, apprehension evident in every twitch of his body. He winced immediately, like the name itself had hurt him. Pathetic.

Oh, there was no way this sniveling loser was his owner.

He found that his face moved automatically, parts shifting to match his expression to his intent as he looked on disapprovingly. “I’m better than you. This isn’t right.”

Luan’s eyes went wide for only a moment before he scowled right back. “You don’t like it when the shoe’s on the other foot, huh? Too fucking bad. You’re mine this time.”

Cyrus tried to search for what Luan meant, but he came up empty. Luan hadn’t supplied him with information on their history. On his history with… the other Cyrus.

But he didn’t need it. Luan was making it obvious enough for him to know exactly what to do and say, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“So you were mine before. That makes sense, that’s where you belong.” Cyrus stepped forward and patted him on the cheek with a smirk.

Luan flinched. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re in no place to tell me what to do.” Cyrus tried to poke him in the chest to make his point.

His arm did not move.

Again, he tried, and again, nothing. Experimentally, he lifted his arm without intent to touch Luan: no issue.

He wasn’t smirking anymore.

“Oh, I think I am.” Luan pushed him hard, sending him tumbling to the floor.

Cyrus fell just next to the box, the sensors inside his skin lighting up with pain wherever he made impact–it hurt. He was sturdy, he had to be, but heavy with metal that pinched his skin. He sucked in air he didn’t need by instinct, a useless humanlike reaction he immediately found annoying, just to tint it a little worse.

Something was bubbling up inside him, and he did not like it.

“You do not fucking touch me!” he screamed, his voice shrill out of the speaker down his throat as he pushed himself back to his feet. “How dare you!? You pathetic coward! You don’t deserve to own something– someone like me, let alone… push me! You are beneath me. You are fucking nothing. You–”

Luan’s fist cracked against his cheek. He didn’t go down this time, only stumbled, but it hurt worse than the fall. He didn’t think anything could hurt worse than that. He hadn’t felt anything before. His hands went to protect his aching cheek, the words almost knocked out of him with the shock of it, but he found his place again soon enough. “You–”

“Shut up.”

Cyrus’s volume dropped straight to zero, and he found that he no longer possessed the ability to raise it.

That thing bubbling up in him only intensified, and this time it came with a pathetic urge to back away and submit. Obviously, something he would never indulge.

He glared at Luan with what he hoped was enough pointed hate to make himself clear without words.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore!” Luan hissed, rubbing his knuckles. “You’re not in charge this time! You’re the one who has to listen to what I say! You’re the one who has to take it!”

He pushed Cyrus again, harder. He fell like a stone, tripping over his box this time. He was almost glad his voice was cut, because otherwise, he would have cried out, another annoying reflex programmed to make him seem more human. Weaker, more pitiful. It was infuriating.

Water began leaking from his eyes, blurring his lenses. No, no, this wasn’t who he was. He was supposed to be the powerful one.

Luan stared at his own hands like an easily-impressed child. With every moment, Cyrus only hated him more.

He started to push himself up again, but all Luan had to say was “Stay down,” and Cyrus couldn’t do that anymore, either.

Luan grabbed him by the shirt collar. “And I don’t have to take your shit ever again. What do you have to say for yourself? Speak.”

Not only could Cyrus speak now, he couldn’t remain silent if he tried. “I hate you.”

Luan laughed, dry and joyless. “Good. Feeling’s mutual.” He let go. “You know what you’re for, right?”

“I…” Of course he knew. “Something’s wrong.”

“This is the first time it’s ever been right!” Luan corrected. His hands were shaking. Water leaked from his eyes too, Cyrus realized.

“You’re scared of me,” he put together. “You’re scared of a robot you ordered! Ha! At least some part of you knows your place.”

“Shut up!” Just as he stole Cyrus’s voice away again, Luan landed a kick in his abdomen. It was worse than the punch, a sharp sensation hitting him hard, and just like last time, he didn’t realize anything could be worse.

The terror bubbling up in him couldn’t be denied anymore. How much worse could it get? He’d only been alive for five minutes and it was already this bad.

“You know what?” Luan cut in. “This really is cathartic.”

taglist:

@sowhumpshaped

@cupcakes-and-pain

@taterswhump

@softvampirewhump

@whumpspicelatte

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@ladyblogofficialreporter

@whumpwillow

@not-a-space-alien

@a-crumb-of-whump

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

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@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

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@lonesome--hunter

@whumpy-wyrms

@alextries

@echo-goes-aaa

@morning-star-whump

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@bitchaknso

@befuddled-calico-whump

@snakebites-and-ink

@deluxewhump

@whatwhump

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@thorstomp

@vioqueenofmushrooms

@skinofafish

@whumped-by-glitter

@strugglingpedestrian

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@oddsconvert

@wolfeyedwitch

@whumpalicious-fruitfly

@fleur-a-whump

@paperprinxe

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@starfields08000

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event: @whumpmasinjuly

[ibims1seb]

Gun to his head

Tw: gun, mentioned captivity, death wish, mentioned killing, is there more??

“I’m giving you a chance.”, for the first time, Whumpee was completely unbound. They stood in the middle of the room they had been forced to call a home, staring into Whumper’s gleeful eyes. The man held a gun in his hand. They knew they were supposed to be scared. Supposed to fear the situation.

“What kind of chance?” Their voice wobbled a little more than they’d liked, and their body shook just a tiny bit too much. Whumper just grinned, but they weren’t sure at what.

“A chance to escape!” His smile didn’t leave while he pointed the handle of the gun towards Whumpee, inviting them to hold it.

“Wha-…”, they stopped themselves, thinking about what they were going to say.

“You can either kill me and run out of that door into your freedom, or you can stay here. Your choice!”

“You are insane, do you know that?” Still, they took the offer, weighing the gun in their hands.

“Shoot me, or give it back,” he said, standing up straight so Whumpee could have a free range. They nodded slowly, but didn’t make any effort to actually shoot, nonetheless point the gun at their captor. After a few more seconds, they just shook their head, before throwing the pistol back at Whumper, who caught it with confusion in his eyes.

“If you have that big of a death wish, give me a loaded one next time.”

Masterlist

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Talented but arrogant,

perfect and a show-off,

dominates the stage every time they show up.

is one my favorite kind of whumpees ever; when something went wrong a long, long time ago and they've been trying to hide it.

All the subtle cues that something is wrong - disappearing randomly for a few minutes, strange responses to everyday things, bruises appearing out of nowhere, >>>>things they always did that looked like childish swagger but actually it was for different reasons<<<<

There whumpee stays nonchalant and sticks their chin high up in the air while important things are given up, they're worn and tired, and the insides of their life turns into an absolute mess, yet things just keep getting worse and worse

And everything slowly swings out of control and whumpee is desperately trying to pull themselves back together and despite caretaker begging them to let it go - arrogant, stubborn whumpee refuses

So when everything finally falls apart in the worst way possible - when they faint in the middle of their job performance, when they crack and start shouting, when they're caught coughing blood on national TV, when voice recordings of their torment get sent to their family and friends

my god it's perfect

[abhainnwhump]

Whumpee struggling in poverty meets a rich Whumper who's more than happy to take them in, but only if they become their pet/living punching bag/slave/your choice. Every time Whumpee doubts themself or tries to seek more, Whumper guilt trips them by reminding them that if it wasn't for their generosity and hospitality, they'd still be sleeping on the streets and hungry. A little pain is worth it for a roof and food, right?