#tw: conditioning

[ashdoeswhump]

Tws: dehumanisation, conditioning, abuse, intimate whumper, pet whump, basically just all the whumpy stuff that comes with pet whump and nonhuman whumpees

Animalistic and nonhuman whumpees hit just right.

Nonhuman whumpee with claws and fangs and wings and horns and fur. Does whumper tear these off? Use them to pin whumpee down? Slide a knife along them, not hard enough to pierce, but enough to draw blood, enough to hurt? Put them on display for their friends? Does caretaker know how to look after their nonhuman traits? Are they gentle, so gentle, with them? Do these things get in caretaker's way so they keep accidentally knocking it? Does caretaker preen whumpee's wings, polish their horns, trim their claws when they're too weak to do it themselves?

Werewolf whumpee who looks perfectly human most of the time, but who are constantly punished for the one night they don't. Does whumper keep them on a chain? Treat them like a dog? Make them sleep outside and eat out of a bowl without their hands? Keep them surrounded by silver at all times? How does caretaker deal with it? Do they find a way to keep whumpee calm during full moons? Are they forced to keep whumpee locked up every month for everyone's safety, whumpee's included? Do they give whumpee a blanket and a hug and some hot chocolate afterwards?

Avian whumpee who struggles with speech but can make other noises just fine. Do they squawk when whumper hurts them? Does whumper force them to sing? Feed them nothing but seeds and nuts? Keep them locked in a hanging cage? Keep them outside but chained down so they can't fly away? Does caretaker build them a nest out of blankets and pillows? Let them out whenever they want? Encourage them to fly, only for them to fall back to the ground and hurt themself because they haven't flown in so long? Bandage and heal their battered and broken wings?

What about whumpees who aren't nonhuman, but have had their humanity stripped away?

Guard dog whumpee forced to stay outside. Does whumper make them pace around the perimeter of their property all day and night without breaks? Punish them when they pause for even a second? Only let them sleep once or twice a week because when they're asleep, the place is undefended? Does caretaker have to train this out of them because the only way to remove this conditioning is more conditioning? Do they help whumpee rest? Are they so, so relieved when whumpee goes to sleep by themself for the first time?

Lapdog whumpee who's made to cuddle with whumper. Does whumper make them sleep in their bed? Have them curl up on their lap while watching TV or reading a book? Comfort them after or during punishment? Does caretaker have to learn what sorts of touch whumpee can and can't endure? Do they have to sedate whumpee anytime they need to carry them somewhere because they're too weak to walk by themself but starts shoving any time they're touched? Is it an upwards battle, getting whumpee to associate touch with genuine care? Or is whumpee so relieved to be out, or so conditioned, that they'd do anything caretaker asks without question or complaint? How long does it take caretaker to realise this isn't them healing, but the conditioning going on?

Living weapon whumpee who isn't allowed thoughts or morals, only obedience? Does whumper force them to kill people they know during training? Keep them muzzled and hooded to hide their identity? Punish them when their face shows what they're thinking or feeling? Is caretaker afraid or horrified or disgusted of them at first? Do they have to teach whumpee that they're a person and that they're their own person? Do they have to keep weapons away from them because whumpee will think caretaker wants them to kill someone?

What noises do they make? Do they hiss or snarl when they're scared? Let out a barking yelp or a squawk when they're hurt? Whimper or whine when they're nervous? Purr when they're happy? How much of this is taught and conditioned into them, and how much is natural? Are they afraid of making human noises, or do they wish more than anything that they could speak?

There's just so many possibilities with this trope, I love it.

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

Finally got to tell someone about this. So the thing i could rave about is this peculiar idea: Whupmer using kind reassuring words while and before whump, you know… conditioning. So when they're rescued any attempts to comfort are DISASTROUS. Even better if they're seem fine at first so don't get that much comfort either, but then have a panic attack or something, and OMG just imagine…

Ooooohohohoho (when I do that laugh, you know I approve) what a whammy!! More emotional whump!! Conditioning! Emotional turmoil!!

I wonder... did the Whumper do their research beforehand so they would have an idea of what their friends/allies/family would say to comfort the Whumpee, or did they try every kind/reassuring phrase they knew of? Was it planned or spontaneous? Did they enter the situation, knowing full-well what they intended to do, every breath and syllable calculated, or did it come to them in a moment of brilliance, all cunning eyes and dangerous smiles?

Because this? This could work. This would continue to work long after the Whumper leaves the picture, and the Whumper is realistic. They know they won't be able to keep the Whumpee under their thumb forever. So, they might as well make a lasting impact.

And it worked. God, it worked. And for it to work, it had taken time. So, so much time... Months (years?) of tender words overlaying very real threats. Maybe it progressed further than the Whumper had anticipated and a gentle voice is all that it takes? Or even the Whumpee's name? And the first signs of how badly off the Whumpee is, was when they were rescued. Because what do you say when you're rescuing someone? How do you say it?

"It's okay, you're safe now."

Maybe the Whumpee flips their shit. Maybe they shut down. Maybe they flinch and shrink away. Or maybe they're concerningly unfazed. Whatever it is, their rescuer finally does what needs to be done and - ta-da! Recon mission was a success! Now the Whumpee can focus on recovering and they can get back to their lives!

...Right?

At first, maybe the team thinks that it's just them talking in general that triggers the Whumpee. And of course every attempt to get the Whumpee to talk had been a failure so far, so they try not talking. And... as unfair and cruel as it seems, it works. Until one day the Whumpee enters a room while everyone is talking (did they have a night terror? feel lonely? were they thirsty or hungry?) and nobody realizes this until they spot the Whumpee nearby, slumped in a comfortable chair.

On the other hand, give me a strong Whumpee that keeps up appearances despite everything they had gone through. They're doing remarkably well, considering the torment they had been subjected to. Until they're not. Give me a Whumpee that snaps.

Give me tears.

"Please, just leave me alone..."

Give me angry outbursts.

"It's oka-"

"It's not okay!"

Because it hurts. Don't they understand? Any attempts of comfort just slashes away whatever progress they'd managed to make. Gentle reassurances made the bruises bite. Tender words might as well be knives and knuckles. And shouting feels good because there's no mental block of soft words preventing them from communicating clearly. As long as everyone's shouting, they're in control.

Then, maybe, the Whumpee's friend finally gets it. They manage to pull the Whumpee into an embrace, stunned as they try to process what kind of Hell the Whumper had put the Whumpee through. They open their mouth to speak, but the Whumpee quickly cuts them off.

"Don't."

I could go on and on. Lots of different ways to interpret this one. Thanks for the ask!

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Whumpmas in July Day 9: Mind Games

I am using a fairly loose interpretation of @whumpmasinjuly Day 9 prompt, by which I mean that I consider conditioning a form of playing mind games with whumpee.

This is a continuation of Embers and Shards, my spin-off, or so to speak, of Sun and Glass by @whumpflash which I have kindly been allowed to write!

The initial installment, linked here dealt with a precursor to Rena’s arrival.

This one is Rena’s first chapter in Sun and Glass from Caelon’s PoV.

Tagging @whumpwillow (I remember you liked the first part and asked to be tagged) and @whumpmasinjuly-archive with @dreamer-in-sleep

Story under the cut, with trigger warnings of slavery, conditioning, implied non-con, physical punishment, anxiety.

2. Questions and Uncertainties

He does his best to keep his head down, gaze on the floor, in front of the new lady, Master’s guest. Her eyes find him nonetheless. He has learnt to read people’s eyes by now. She is excited, amused, at the state he is in.

Excited has never boded well for him, especially with ladies. They would…they would…she is speaking to Master, trading courtesies. He pauses, trying to get a better measure of the lady.

“Back to work,” snaps Master. He cannot stop the flinch at the tone. The lady is looking at him again, eying him head to toe. It takes all his will to not shy away from her eyes, to simply go back to work, but he manages to.

What do his thoughts matter for in the end, regardless? They are without substance, as they have always been.

Without substance they may be, but they serve to bring his attention to his exhaustion, and he stumbles, the heavy trunk falling from his shaky hands.

He tenses, bracing for the inevitable punishment, Master’s warning resounding in his mind. Master had known he would be sloppy.

He tries to reduce the mess, to reduce the magnitude of his error, but of course Master has already seen his sloppiness.

He just holds himself still when he hears Master’s footsteps. If there is one thing he has learnt to some extent, it is the way a punishment is taken. “How dare you make such a fool of me? I had told you time and again that you are to respect my guest. Is this what you call respect? If you presume to disrespect my guest, you will pay for it later.”

He wants to say that he’d never dare presume anything, but he knows that his Master does not want him to reply, so he obeys the implicit order too. It’s all he can do.

Master’s hand expansively gestures to him. “You see? This is exactly the sort of behaviour I meant.”

Tired, resigned fear rises him in anew. Doubtless, he will be punished worse. That is what happens, when Masters talk about such a thing as him.

“With all due respect my lord,” the lady says, her eyes still roving on him, “it doesn’t seem to be his fault. Accidents happen.”

Master gives the reply he has taught the slave by now, what to expect. Sleepless, hungry days and nights. He hates that the carelessness cannot be beaten out of him, or forced out of him. He does not want to be careless, or in pain.

He stumbles his way to the lady’s chambers, all other servants moving hurriedly out of his way. None of them ever talk to him, too afraid of invoking Master’s ire. When he enters her chambers, she makes to touch him, and he barely manages to stagger back and keep his balance. He knows what women want out of him. He cannot bear that pain on top of Master’s punishments.

Whatever the lady might want from him, her rank must be respected, so he apologises, unable to keep the stutter from his voice, his head kept steadfastly bowed.

“Wait.” Somewhere, her quiet, clear command is expected for him. The women always want to take a closer look at him. And she does exactly what he thinks she would, her eyes lingering on his face, his eyes, his dirty hair. He has to force himself to stillness, knowing what is coming.

“Look at me.” Prepared for something else, her subsequent comment takes him off guard. He manages to look at her nonetheless. Perhaps she wants to see his eyes better. Perhaps she wants to see the regret in his eyes when he apologises to her. He had not apologised properly, perhaps.

So he tries anew. “M-My lady, I’m sorry. That trunk”-

Her hand swipes near his face, and he flinches back, too afraid to pay attention to her words. She sighs, and he understands that she is displeased. He makes greater effort to pay attention to her words.

Her next question is far too unexpected for him to answer correctly, for she asks him his name.

He stutters through whatever names he remembers, before he manages to clarify that Master hasn’t named him yet. Somehow that reminds him of his unworthiness, and so he stutters more apologies. They like to hear apologies.

This lady sounds displeased, though. “Calm down,” she commands forcefully. Perhaps his voice displeased her. He has met nobles like those, before.

So he forces his mouth shut, holding still as he could for the inevitable punishment.

She does not punish him. Is that what the Master meant by strange?

Instead, she asks another question.

“Caelon,”she asks, her voice soft, the word unfamiliar. Is that what her people call a slave? “Do you know who I am?”

Heart in his throat, he tries to think, to answer correctly. He cannot recognize her, though. All he can think of are the women who would come in the night, before, to take their pleasure of him. He does not think she would appreciate being told that.

So he tells her what truth he could, shaking his head as firmly as he knows how. “My lady,I…can’t. I’m sorry, I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I know I’m not good for anything, please”- In his jumbled thoughts, he finds the desperation to plead. He does not think he can stand through more punishment.

Somehow, she takes mercy on him. “It’s fine,”she says, voice soft and curiously blank. “You can go.”

He flees.

[fandomcrazy6226]

Whump Idea that i've actually been writing, but i'd love to see someone else's take on: parental whumper but out of love

Basically in my story the main character is a princess who's father was abusive, so her and her mother exiled him from the kingdom a few years before the main plot

Then the main conflict is that she's kidnapped by these men who take her across the country and torture her most of the way there. But they get to this house and she discovers that they were just working for someone else, and that someone else is her dad

He paid them to kidnap her and bring her to him because he loves her and wanted to be her father again. But he's still abusive to her even after he gets her back, but it's not abuse that's specifically torture it's a lot of conditioning and things that she always saw as normal when she was younger

And then when her friends from the kingdom come to rescue her and get her out she ends up killing her father in the fight, and on the journey home she has to deal with the grief and guilt of that as well as breaking the conditioning her father put her through

TL;DR I wanna see more parental whumpers who go for more manipulation-type abuse rather than physical torture. Honestly more whumpers in general who use mental abuse over physical. I think that's more interesting a lot of the time

(Not saying stories/prompts that are physically-focused are boring or less good. Just that they're very common)

[fleurladari-a]

👀 (litleo time... I know Silva isn't my muse but could I see one for her too?)

" well we can't be sure of it. "

As likely as it was. They wouldn't know for sure till samples were collected, both of DNA and of the ULTRA variety. Perhaps he might even be able to reach out to the URS again, he would hardly be opposed to it...He enjoys their company--at least Phyco and Dulse, the second of which was...interesting. He'd need to talk to Xerosic about it either way.

The more they knew the better.

" that being said, it's quite obvious, even without the literal confirmation. i will be curious to see if the genetic footprint will be identical to my own and malva's or not. "

A hum, before he turned back towards Perilys. His admin, one whom he relied quite heavily upon when it came to the psychological aspect. Though he doubted he would need to condition--nor have the capacity and time to fully--any of the test subjects, she was useful for talks as well as anything else.

After all, she would be apart of the counseling staff, publicly 'outsourced' and 'collaborated' with Lysandre Labs. Even if the reality was a little more direct. Before then, he had a very simple request for her.

" i would like you to go to alola. your pokemon is there, reconnect a little. but make sure not to let our little battery see you. "

He took a few steps forward till he was right in front of her, a hand pressing over her arm and squeezing just a little bit.

" i can trust you not to alert it of our presence, can't i? "

Silence at first, then a nod. He knew her best, she could figure it out. There was a moment longer where his grip seemed to tighten...before loosing and letting go. A smile crossing his face.

" i'd like to know how it is, if you DO feel like you can interact without it feeling, mmh...cornered. do so. i know it quite trusted you. just be weary of those skulls, they're a rowdy bunch. "

Or maybe, just trusted the key ring. Either way.

A Conversation Mention. ( 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

[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.

[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.

[ashdoeswhump]

Tws: abuse, slavery, implied non-con, conditioning, caretaker-turned-whumper

Caretaker-turned-whumper can be so special to me.

Picture this. Caretaker and whumpee were never exactly close, before. They knew each other, maybe even knew each other well, but they were barely friends - maybe a sibling's friend or something.

Then whumpee gets captured by whumper, and they're conditioned and tortured to the point where, even when they get out, they can't function without rules, without orders and punishments and someone else in control. Originally, caretaker was genuinely trying to help whumpee get better, no ulterior motives or anything. But whumpee simply wasn't getting better.

They needed to be under someone's thumb, and caretaker was never a patient person. So when no amount of gentle touches and guidance made a difference, caretaker gave up.

They took the control. They gave the orders and the punishment.

It was small, to start with. They weren't a monster, after all. Just getting whumpee to make them a drink, fetch them a snack, make their bed. And when whumpee failed, they got a scolding, maybe an insult.

But slowly, it escalated. Making whumpee clean the house and make dinner, then look after the garden and make every other meal as well, then only letting them eat and sleep and use the toilet when whumper allowed/remembered. At the same time, punishments got worse and more often, too. Going from a few strong words to a slap to a hail of punches, to attacks with the baseball bat whumper kept for protect from break-ins. Maybe no-longer-caretaker decides they want whumpee for more.

Whumpee becomes caretaker-turned-whumper's slave.

Caretaker becomes carewhumper because full on whumper.

And before either of them know it, whumpee is in just as bad a situation as before.

[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

[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

[fleurladari-a]

[CONT.] [next]

Asleep. As odd as it seemed with eyes wide open. Lysandre himself remained awake, on hand holding a pencil while the other settled over his 'daughter's' sleeping but upright body. It was odd, he wouldn't deny that, having someone around. Though he certainly didn't mind it, especially when it so benefitted him and his goal, in the end. Plus it was an excellent opportunity to study a rather interesting specimen, whether they be experimenting on her or not.

Though, those plans had yet to begin. Still prepping and going over the proper procedures before they could really dig in. They still needed a baseline of study, not to mention proper conditioning to assure there wouldn't be too many issues down the line. He was frankly surprised she was so comfortable in that moment, enough to sleep in his lap. As if he were a real parent.

It reminded him of before he lost hope, in a way. What he worked towards, who he was working for. In a perfect world there would be no need to take such drastic measures as to fire a weapon to devour all life. To make a hard reset. There would be no need for such a painful extraction of life from one's body.

Oh but he couldn't deny his own curiosities, nor those of his scientists. Unlike others, however, he had no plans of disrespect or cruelty. A lamb not cattle. His hand just slightly tightened around one of her little arms, she'd grown comfortable enough to fall into a trap.

A shame to deceive, but ultimately so necessary to achieve his goals--to assure there was no failure. Every plan needed a failsafe--an extra battery, if need be.

As his writing hand scribbled sketches and concepts, he noticed a shift in how amber eyes stared blankly, a light in them. Yet she remained still--she was awake, though hard to tell. Amber irises staring up, to try and see what he was doing. He didn't change his posture, nor even acknowledge that she may be awake. Simple continued to doodle.

'Doodle' of course, was an understatement to what he was doing. The development of technology, that which he might deliver to the public, and to be delivered to the lower floors of his labs. Labs that his 'daughter' would become quite well acquainted to. Though he, and Xerosic, were still deciding whether or not it was best she was conscious for those visits.

She had already seen at least one lab--the Eastern HQ--when receiving the initial checks. It was surely stressful, he remembered her trembling afterwards. Perhaps that was why she had already gotten so close, he gave her comfort, after such a stress and new experience.

As it would be, anyway. That was the purpose of the little escapade, temporary terrible treatment in exchange for permanent rebound. Another unfortunate but necessary method for something so unpredictable.

" would you like to see? "

A low whisper, a hum, Lysandre's gaze remaining on his page while the hand closest sort of squeezed her arm, ever lightly. It only took a few moments, a little shuffle, and standing on his folded legs so that she could better see what he was developing.

If it got her more obedient, he didn't mind it, not at all. A little kindness did everything to encourage loyalty. As a trainer might give their poochyena a treat after ever job well done.

[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!!!! ⚠️

[mirrorcatcreditcard]

Take I haven't seen in the fandom yet:

Luka doesn't want to be freed.

"Now, MirrorCatCreditcard," you may say, "that's nonsense. Any human would want freedom from that system."

If you're thinking I'm gonna convince you that Luka doesn't know he wants freedom yet, you're wrong. I'm here to talk about indoctrination/conditioning, grooming/emotional manipulation, my own experience with those topics, and how all of the above connects with Luka as a character. If a deep dive like this is too much for you, please tap out for your own sake.

Luka's life was planned before he even existed. There has never ever been an alternative option. There is no life for Luka as anything but what Herperu chose. Everything in his life has been planned to have him be the perfect pet human idol. That is what he must be.

Fandom, I don't think most of you actually understand this and have dissected what this means (shout-out to the Luka stans who are getting there/have guessed similar things). These words we know have alternatives and are not set in stone are Luka's "gravity makes rain fall to the earth" and "water makes things wet." They are facts so deeply ingrained within him that even if shown the contrary he remarks that the person showing them is just disillusioned.

Take his commentary on Mizi and Hyun-A in the art book. He looks down on Mizi for not being able to control any of her emotions. How does he talk about Hyun-A? He has her at 70% affection yet shows a patronizing attitude—she's the one in denial at reality.

Now, how did we get here? How is a human so "delusional" and set in the control?

He's been conditioned.

Some of you don't know what I mean by this from experience and/or research, and count yourself fortunate that you don't. I pray you never experience such things firsthand. Don't worry about ignorance. Familiar or not, I will explain.

When you are surrounded by only one truth and reality, that is the way you interpret life. If a parent tells a child "the moon goes to sleep during the day," until the child learns otherwise, that's what they believe. Now take that child-like belief and add some toxic environments to the mix. With time, any other kid would learn that the earth rotates from their peers or adults around them. But if the creatures around them all say and believe the same thing "the moon goes to sleep during the day," then that is what the child continues to believe. Years of that same thing being the only truth make that false knowledge into a fact in the person's head, and everything that supports that fact is taken as truth or on the right path to truth.

"This is kinda silly though," you guys are no doubt murmuring, "All of this is a hypothetical. Give us something that makes sense or that someone could actually see happen in our society."

I'll give you my own experience then. My parents taught me that God is real. My parents taught me that I will be damned I do not follow the commandments of the scriptures. I didn't need to worry though. As long as I was obedient to the God who loved me and wanted what was best, I would be saved despite being born an awful sinful human. I was homeschooled, only interacted with people of similar beliefs, and taught that people too different from me in ideology or with radical beliefs against my own were trying to harm me and my family. I believed the people who raised me because why would people who love me lie to me? My task was simple. I needed to obey God and love everyone, especially them. Love meant giving up my entire being and living only as servant and sacrifice. After all, being selfless to the utmost was the greatest form of love.

Let's go back to Luka. His guardian, Herperu, when questioned about any surprises while training Luka, stated not only that he was the one who endured the "tough moments" but also that "(Luka) owes his success to me, and naturally, he should be grateful." This sentiment is echoed by Luka in his interview (shown on Patreon). My god, it's giving parents with disabled kids who brag on social media about how much trouble their kid is and how much they do for them. Sickening. This shows exactly what environment Luka has lived in though.

When you are manipulated into having something as your reality, everything else is fiction and delusion.

Let's review what exactly is Luka's reality.

Heperu is the one suffering if Luka has any difficulties being obedient.

Gratitude is what Herperu is owed because he goes through so much trouble to make Luka a star.

Love/care is shown by owning another's autonomy.

Emotions and bodily reactions exist, sure, but someone should be able to control them; and if they can't, someone should control those reactions for them.

Segyein are superior and the good ones for dealing with humans. Humans must be disciplined and shaped to how an segyein wants it to act to be considered deserving of this goodness.

(Luka)'s perfection is defined by his guardian.

Luka's life is directly connected to being the perfect performer. His guardian praises his abilities with the statement that no other pet human will ever be as perfect as him yet leaves an underlying threat saying that it will be no good if a pet is not trained properly. This has probably been mentally (if not physically) beaten into Luka's mind: his greatness doesn't stop him from being able to be disposed of. The human instinct to want to live has been explained to him as Heperu's wish for him to live and that has been further distorted as a duty to live for the stage he has been placed on.

Luka believes fully that there is a debt in play here. In his interview, he mentions repaying love. He thinks the relationship between fan and idol is completely normal, encouraged, and healthy. Performance is the most important thing. Being where he is is a privilege.

There's a chain here:

Heperu indoctrinated Luka into believing what he says is all true.

The guardian manipulated him easily to do what he wanted with his body and mind.

The years have been spent constantly conditioning Luka to be the god who encapsulated fantasies for the audience.

He is continually being groomed to exist for the entertainment and enjoyment of segyein.

Circle back to my first point of this post. Luka does not want to be freed. He doesn't know what freedom actually is. He sees freedom as either foolish denials of reality (and doesn't consider that actual freedom) or as controlling the song and stage when he performs (something he learned from Hyuna). He cannot want something he cannot understand. He cannot want freedom in the sense the fandom keeps speaking about.

It's funny. From the moment Luka was revealed to be hated by the fandom, I wanted to know why. Instead of digging and finding horrific deeds, I instead found a character who portrayed my own traumas and experiences. I instantly attached and delved deeply into learning about this thirty year old singer. Why does he express himself in a certain way? Where do we first see mention of him? Who does he have emotions towards? How was he trained? What makes Luka himself? I have past essays/replies to other's theories if you're interested, but in this one I got personal and didn't sugarcoat the facts. If the fandom can't handle deep thought, we shouldn't be discussing this incredibly profound and depth-filled web series.

As always, thank you for your time, and I hope my thoughts allowed you to open your mind to new things. Mostly, I hope you enjoyed them 🫶