#whumpee going insane

[unforgivenn]

Masterlist

Noah shuddered, the tears welling in his eyes mixing with the blood and sweat on his face. He tried to pull away, but the strings only tightened, biting deeper into his flesh. Andrey laughed softly, a sound that sent shivers down Noah's spine.

"Struggle all you want, slave.," Andrey murmured, his lips brushing against Noah's ear. "You'll only hurt yourself more. Accept your fate, and perhaps, just perhaps, I'll show you a mercy."

But Noah knew there would be no mercy. Not from Andrey. The prince's touch was as cold and unyielding as the chains that bound him. Nevertheless, he was too ensnared in his thoughts to make out Andrey's words. He felt as if he was teetering on the brink of insanity. There was just pain, pain, and more pain.

Every moment in this hellish place was a relentless assault on his mind and body. The constant pain, the fear, the humiliation—it was all too much. Noah's thoughts raced, a chaotic whirl of memories and nightmares. He remembered his life before this, the freedom he had taken for granted, now a distant, cruel dream. He remembered his mother making rhubarb pie for him. His sister running around the house lighting it up with her talkative nature.

Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? The questions had been echoing in his mind ever since he came here but now he heard them ring in his ears louder than before. He felt his grip on reality slipping, the edges of his sanity fraying with each passing second.

Noah's heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum of panic. He tried to focus on something, anything to ground himself, but all he could see were the s, the blood, the darkness.

I'm finally losing it. I'm losing my mind. The thought was like a dagger to his heart. A part of him wanted to laugh at himself, at this whole shitty situation while the other wanted to just sob at his helplessness. The fear of what he was becoming was almost worse than the pain itself. He was no longer just a captive; he was a broken man, teetering on the edge of madness.

Andrey's voice broke through the fog of his thoughts, a chilling voice in his head that repeated again and again. "You're mine, Noah. Mind, body, and soul. There's no escape for you. No hope. No mercy." He wanted to help him to shut up but it felt as if he couldn't open his mouth anymore.

Wait.. What was he doing here again..?

Noah's vision blurred with tears, his body trembling. He wanted to scream, to beg for release, but he knew it would only bring more torment. He was trapped, not just physically, but mentally, emotionally. The shackles that held him were more than just physical restraints; they were the bonds of his shattered will, the chains of his despair.

I can't do this. I can't keep going. The thought was a desperate plea, a cry into the void. But there was no one to hear it, no one to save him.

The room seemed to close in around him, the walls pressing in, the air growing thin. He was suffocating, drowning in his own fear and pain.

Help me. Someone, please, help me. Please help me please help me- The plea repeated in his mind like a chant thought it went unanswered, lost in the abyss of his despair.

He was just a puppet, and Andrey was the puppeteer. And in this twisted game, there were no strings that could be cut to set him free.

(THIS WAS NOT A PART OF THE MAIN SERIES)

Taglist: @miireux134 @nuriiz134 @ash-reh @noeul-whumpppss @morning-star-whump

@parasitebunny @anutz1234 @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumped-by-glitter @someoneoninternettt(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

[siren-of-agony]

The horror of immortal whumpee with superhealing. The horror of not leaving scars. The horror of it's not visible, it's not lasting, so it didn't happen.

You can hurt them and hurt them and hurt them and hurt them and hurt them again.

And everyone just sees clear skin, sees youthfulness. No evidence of suffering remains.

It doesn't look like anything happened to them, so how could they still suffer from it?

Why should others give them empathy, give them care, when there's nothing to care about. Why should they themselves?

Just look at them. Nothing happened.

[whumpy-wyrms]

out of context Ant-five for those of you who aren’t in my discord server X3 teehee (yes this is one of Anton’s clones)

[whatiswhump]

Whumper kidnaps Whumpee, not realizing they were on psychiatric meds, thus inadvertently cutting them off.

They're horrified watching Whumpee go into withdrawals- anger, mood swings, vomiting, unable to sleep, agitation, losing touch with reality rapidly.

Whumper wanted to have some fun... not... this. They’ve barely even touched them yet!

[painonthebrain]

“Kneel.”

[bugbytez13]

hey!!! What type of Whumper is your go-to? And what type of Whumpee?

hi tysm for the question!!!!

usually for whumper i go for some sort of outside force if that makes sense? like a mission gone wrong or something like that

BUT. i’m a big fan of like. i’m not really sure how to describe it. charming whumpers? like ones who are really sure of themselves and no one really suspects to be a bad guy because they are so charming and silly and friendly. i’m not sure if that makes sense

also if there are ever any whumpers in business suits… 😊

BIG FAN OF STOIC WHUMPEE. and this doesn’t even have to be the strong or silent type just characters who are not openly vulnerable (something all of my favs have in common lmao)

there’s something so cathartic about a character who has never been vulnerable with someone have their walls torn down and have their peers see their rawest feelings. something so great about them getting the comfort they could never ask for…

im so insane auauaughhhh please yall feel free to send more asks! i love to talk

[clickerflight]

Clove: Part 31 - Funeral Feast

Author's notes: AHHHHHHH I'm back! I moved last week and I've been exhausted, but I'm getting back into it. Especially after I get some rest this weekend. *it'll be so hot saturday there won't be much to do besides rest and hide inside lol*

Masterlist - Part 30

Content: Slight dehumanization, creepy fae whumpers, brainwashed vampire whumpee

.........................................

The funeral dinner was going to be the death of Ephraim. Each new thing he learned he would have to worry about was taking years off of his life. He couldn’t leave Hyrum behind or with one of his allies because both Halia and Kortops needed to be in at the dinner. Every fae needed to. So, Ephraim would have to keep a close eye on Hyrum to make sure he didn’t get taken. 

Of course, the main goal was to talk to the queen before the end of the evening and get her promise to let them go home. If they didn’t…. Well, getting home and delivering on his promises to Kortops and Halia were not going to be options anymore, feasibly. He hoped the Queen wouldn’t be so distant. She had been hiding while the funeral preparations finished in record times. Ephraim had a suspicion she was doing it on purpose to keep him and Hyrum from leaving. 

Then there was the question of getting Benny out of here. Kortops said he would try and work something there. As a consort to the Queen he had some freedoms he was pretty sure he could work with. 

There was just so much that could go wrong and Ephraim felt so out of his depth. He had never played in any sort of complicated politics in his whole life, and just this taste, even with Halia and Kortops to shield him, was making him sick. His resolve would strengthen again anytime he looked at Hyrum though. He needed to get his pup home, no matter what. 

And now it was time to prepare to go to dinner and his stomach was unhappy with him once again. 

Kortops was outfiting Ephraim and Hyrum to give them an advantage at getting to the queen, but the longer they went on, the more he felt like they were becoming objects. Hyrum especially. 

“You’ll need to wear something to announce that you are the Vampire’s pet, Pup,” Kortops said, going through the outfits and accessories he had. “It will keep you safer at this event.”

He pulled a golden collar out from a chest and Hyrum whimpered, pressing ino Ephraim’s side. 

Kortops froze and carefully put the collar back in the chest before pulling out some simple cuffs decorated with delicate golden chains. They weren’t connected to each other, but Ephraim could hear Hyrum’s heartbeat speed up when he saw them. 

“Isn’t there something else?” Ephraim asked, tightening his protective arm over Hyrum. 

“I’m afraid not,” Kortops said regretfully. “It will only be for the night. I swear it.”

Hyrum took a huge swallowing breath and nodded. “It’s okay,” he said, pushing away from Ephraim despite how the vampire wanted to pull him close and protect him forever, “I can do it. Whatever is the most convincing.”

“That would be the collar,” Kortops said hesitantly, “But I think the two of you will prefer these cuffs.”

Hyrum held out his wrists so Kortops could put the cuffs on the boy. Hyrum looked like a wild thing, his tunic and vest sleeveless to allow him extra mobility in case he needed to fight, his pants loose and comfortable in the same way, viney decorations woven into his hair. 

Halia drifted over with little clips for Ephraim’s ears, emerald in color with gold details. Hyrum and Ephraim would compliment each other in color schemes, with Ephraim dominantly in green with gold highlights and Hyrum in gold with green highlights. 

Ephraim wore something with a lot more fabric as that would be expected of him, though he was sure he could tear the fabric easily if he needed to free up some more room for himself. 

Halia placed them on as she said, “Kortops and I have been working on a contingency plan in case you cannot get a promise from the Queen tonight.”

Kortops nodded. “It’s not perfect, we may die, and there will almost certainly be fighting, but it would be better for you to try than to stay knowing what the fae and Monarch might do to you. There is a mirror in the Queen’s rooms that leads to the mortal realm.”

“Well guarded, I imagine,” Ephraim sighed as he let Halia fuss with his hair one more time, half of it braided and pulled up into a little tail in the back. 

“Yes. Very, though with us to help, it might not be too bad,” Kortops said firmly. 

“Us?” Ephraim asked, “I thought you only wanted a changeling in the modern world, not to come with us.”

Kortops glanced at Halia and said, “Maybe I would like to live there a few years or so. It would be a good change of scenery and politics.”

Ephraim smiled to himself, the nervousness fading slightly in the face of that tacit admittance of affection. “Of course. You may get banished.”

“More interesting than trying to best the twins. They will always be the Queen’s favorites, I know that by now.”

Ephraim gave a little shrug and nod. 

Once they were all dressed and everything was double checked, the four of them headed out. 

Halia hung off of Kortops’ arm, acting like the lovestruck fae toy the court believed her to be at the moment. At least, with Kortops. Most fae were aware of how the preparations coming together so quickly was mostly by her efforts. 

Hyrum stayed close to Ephraim’s side, forcing his tail to stay in a relaxed position, his ears pricked forward. He looked like he was handling this much better than Ephraim was. At least, until you looked him in the eyes. They were glazed over in that way that said his mind wasn’t really there. He was hiding from his fear. 

Ephraim wanted to draw him back out and make Hyrum laugh, but he was feeling nearly the same way. He took a deep breath. He just needed to talk to the Queen. That was all. He just needed to walk up to her before the rites and ceremonies were started and get a quick promise from her and all would be well. He was still a guest. Still a guest until the night was up and everything would be fine. 

The four entered the ball room, tables laid out along the sides, decorations hanging gracefully all over the room, and guests and pets already milling around. 

Ephraim and Hyrum split from their fae allies, making it look like they weren’t together and just arrived at the same time. 

Ephraim scanned the crowds, looking for the Monarch or Benny, but couldn’t see them yet. 

They lapped the room, nodding to guests who acknowledged Ephraim and trying not to look too distracted. 

Ephraim felt a gentle tug at his sleeve and looked to Hyrum who chucked his chin towards the other side of the room, his eyes stating that he was fully present again.

Ephraim looked across to see the snake fae who had been responsible for kidnapping Hyrum. Ephraim gave the pup a nod to let him know he was aware of the threat. 

However, distracted as they were, they didn’t notice the threat behind them. 

Ephraim tensed as someone put an arm around his waist, a little too familiarly. 

“If you aren’t Benjamin’s sire,” a melodic voice said and he turned his head to see one of the angelic fae leaning into him. Polyps, if Ephraim remembered right. 

Illesis was right there too, running a hand through Hyrum’s curls. 

“There you are,” Illesis purred. “We were wondering where the guests were. Such pretty things, all dressed up.”

“Please do not touch me or my pup,” Ephraim said in a cordial tone, and his request was complied with immediately. “Thank you.”

“Of course. You are, after all, a Guest,” Polyps said with a smile that said that would not be the case for very much longer. “What are you looking for, dear?”

“I was hoping to speak with the Monarch,” Ephraim replied. “I have a matter I would like cleared away before the feast starts.”

“Hmm,” Illesis said, clearly disappointed with the answer. “She will be here soon. Don’t you want to stay with us? We can get you a seat with the consorts, dear.”

“You could be a consort, even,” Polyps said brightly. “We can arrange that once you are no longer a Guest.”

“Oh, yes, we can teach you how to move in the courts,” Illesis said with a nod. “Why not? You could even become the Monarch one day! Vampires are the human’s clumsy attempts to create fae, after all. It would only take a few moons for everyone to consider you as good as fae.”

Ephraim cleared his throat nervously. “No, thank you, though. I have duties at home that I would like to return to. I am quite happy there.”

The angelic fae glowered twin expressions before they were gone. “Let us know if you change your mind,” Polyps said, their tone a little more clipped now. “You may need it.”

Ephraim shivered as the two left, Illesis patting him on the cheek, graceful and sinuous.

“Don’t like them,” Hyrum whispered.

“I know,” Ephraim replied. “Me neither.”

It was at that moment that he spotted Benny and the Monarch walking in through a hidden door behind the throne and Ephraim started to move. He needed to speak with her. Everything would be fine once he’d had a chance to talk with the Monarch. 

Benny noticed him coming and moved to meet him, coming down the few steps and opening his arms wide. “Eef! I’m so glad you could be here,” he said warmly. He was dressed in a truly awful outfit. Leathers so tightly fitted that it was almost as though they had simply painted Benjamin black, a cape draping from his shoulders and some sort of jingly waist skirt to hide whatever awkward transition that had to happen around his crotch in those leathers. 

“I’m glad I could be here,” Ephraim said, accepting the hug from Benjamin. He moved to pull away after a suitable length, but found that Benjamin wasn’t letting go. 

“Benny,” Ephraim said, a little sternly, his heart jumping into his throat. “I need to speak to your wife.”

“Mmhmm? I’m sure it can wait till after we’ve caught up a little.”

“I won’t be long,” Ephraim said, pushing a little harder at Benny. “It’ll be better if I just get this out of the way. Then we’ll have the whole evening.”

Benny pulled away reluctantly, but he stood between Ephraim and the Monarch, subtly moving to block him as Ephraim tried to step around him. Ephraim caught a glimpse of the Monarch’s golden eyes on them, amused. 

“Benny,” Ephraim said warningly, putting as much Vampire Sire energy he could into the words. “Get out of the way.”

Benny glanced back, tensing as the Monarch gave him a nod. 

“Fine,” Ephraim hissed. “That’s the way it’s going to be then.”

With that, he shoved Benny and the fight was on.

Part 32

Clove Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @the-blind-one-speaks @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @inkkswhumpandstuff 

@honeycollectswhump @whump-blog-reblogs @pigeonwhumps @mj-or-say10 @percy-frayer 

@currentlyinthesprial @scoundrelwithboba @whumps-and-bumps @hellodecisionparalysis @scatteriskity

[honeycollectswhump]

Things End | People Change – Staining Touch

this is shameless friendfiction of my dear friend @whumpcloud's story Things End | People Change, featuring poorest little meow meow vincent, my beloved. go check it out if you haven't already !!!

CW: guilt, so so much self-blame and self-deprication, references to past torture and also past SA undertones (vincent is going through it)

Clary has brought him something new, something to slowly fill out the empty space of the basement that is not his but as close as it gets. 

It’s a mirror, almost two-thirds of his height, strange and wobbly and cause of a weird noise Vincent cannot categorize into his existing knowledge when it is bent. Arguably, it is doing a very bad job of being a mirror, besides the fact that it is floppy and almost entertainingly noisy before being put up on the wall, because it distorts his reflection at the edges, pulling him into comical shapes like dough if he moves.

But most importantly, most off-puttingly is the fact that it portrays his reflection at all. 

At first, he can do nothing but stare.

In a little under two hundred years, all Vincent has seen of himself was through the eyes of others and those never regarded him too kindly. Not that he didn’t share that sentiment.

He knows what he can see, from the brown of his hair to the shape of his body, he knows what little is left that connects him to Henry, like the green of his eyes, and he knows what separates him, like the scar that sits right under them, as if mocking. 

And now that he can see his eyes again, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, for the first time in two human lifespans, which is distinctly one more than he had any right to, he can’t look at what remains of Henry without seeing what remains of Lyfelde.��

That man, he… 

Vincent swallows. If it could, his undead heart would be beating faster –skipping like a rabbit– with each step that thought takes.

…He loved to leave marks. 

Not for some desperate desire to be remembered in an ever-changing world, but instead with the same expectations as couples that carve their initials in the bark of a tree, curious to see the way the tree tries and fails to heal the cuts, to see how they will twist with time.

Vincent is no stranger to cuts, to initials carved into his delicate flesh, to being torn open for amusement and to satiate careless curiosity, even though they will never show on his skin, no matter how he twists and turns to get a good look at himself in the mirror.

Lyfelde however never needed force to leave evidence of himself, even if he can proudly wear the title of the last permanent remainder of Vincent’s weak mortality long gone by, and at his hands no less.

After years and years of captivity, of relentless, giddy torture, Vincent couldn’t point out individual marks of memory, couldn’t remember the incisions, the lacerations, the breaks, only the aftermath, the pain ripping at the edges of his sanity.

But when Vincent closes his eyes, when he imagines his being as he sees himself, there are stains on his chest, in the shape of a freezing claw, long delicate fingers decorated with rings much older than Vincent ever hopes to be. 

There is one right over his heart, claiming it rightfully as Lyfelde’s, honouring the hard work he put into tearing him apart just to shape him into a–

Into a toy.

He is collared –like a pet–, marked by two hands wrapping around his throat and squeezing, a brute display of strength Vincent thought could keep him safe. 

Even now, after all of these years, his mind produces the image of his hands clearer than the face that is already blurred beyond recognition by time. Neither time nor the Hunters could beat Lyfelde’s touch out of Vincent’s memories.

Vincent stretches, looking over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the way his ribs protrude through sickly ashen skin. Even the thought that this is a far cry from his jutting ribcage in captivity, the corpselike result of starvation, turns sour with the sacrifice of those that feed him. 

He is tainted, he knows, from comfort twisted to form a blade –a stake– and embraces that should have been kind and understanding, that Vincent now can’t even bring himself to call “warm”.

He wonders –briefly– if, behind his back, in the security of Vincent’s blindness, Lyfelde’s expressions would have betrayed his intentions. If there was a way a trick of light and precognition could have warned him, if he had just seen it, seen the signs that should have been so glaringly obvious.

Still, at the cost of himself, he had found comfort and solace in the deathly cold touch, and that should have been warning enough.

Almost obsessively, his gaze scans over his own marred, unmarred skin, even as it is stretched and squished by the metal-mirror, now that he finally has the chance to, after decades of nothing. Some quiet, drowned-out part of him whispers back that this is why he avoided anything similar for so long, that the evasion of his own reflection was not only by force of his vampirism but by some self-preserving instinct.

It’s excruciating in a way that is dangerously addicting, a sizzling fire that he cannot look away from. Pain for the sake of pain for the sake of entertainment. 

Curiosity and her twin sister punishment.

If he dares to let his eyes drop lower, his hips will carry two hand-shaped brands of intimacy and trust that were only ever one-sided, burned into his skin deeper than any silver and scratch marks betraying the attempts to rid himself of the ever-present poison seeping from every pore. 

They condemned him to be both poisoned and poison at the same time, always a victim and always a monster and always rightfully so.

Vincent swipes the mirror from the wall, heaving, watching it fall to the ground, deafening but too slow. He wants to fall to his knees, begging and ripping the metal to shreds, ripping his own reflection to shreds so that he will never have to look at it again. … So that it will never be looked at again.

[silenced-sky-spake-sooth]

oh no...what a shame it would be if a whumper accidentally killed their whumpee and had to slowly go insane with the guilt eating away at them.

Bonus:the whumpee could be haunting them(if it's in a supernatural world/or a world where ghosts and spirits are real).

....feeling bad rn...soooo tragic fr😞...what a horrible whumper turned whumpee idea...

[loserwithsyle]

1.) Drugging/sick/poisoned

Used: Drugging

I watched as Jim and Alice —Dressed in their black uniforms decked out with pockets and armed— walked in with a small child thrown over Alice's shoulder. The child was crying, and loudly at that. They were wailing and screaming along with the squirming to try and get out of Alice's arms.

I smiled, "Look what the cat dragged in."

Alice and Jim exchanged looks before Alice put the child down. They had Apple red hair, and heterochromatic eyes. One was green, the other pink. Though the most notable thing about them was the ears. Two cat-like ears were connected to their head, plus a tail coming off of their spine, that's what made it worth something.

Alice spoke, "Actually, I'm pretty sure we dragged the cat in." I sighed at Alice's bad joke, but couldn't help but give a slight smile.

"Oh, Whatever. So, Where's this one off to?" I asked the two, but the child was clearly waiting for a response too. I eyed Jim, he nodded and walked off.

"Oregon, In the United States." She glanced at the child, who clearly had listened but wasn't aware of what any of that meant. Which, was to be expected. They couldn't have been more than nine, and their papers said they'd been added to the program a little over 5 years ago.

"Okay, And the buyer?"

"A woman in her late 30s, married. Looks like she's high up in a few organized crime rings. She wanted a pet." I nodded in response, the child looked panic. Thankfully though —for us at least—, Jim came back.

"Hey," Jim said, kneeling down next to the child. "Are you okay?" He feigned a soft sounding voice, And the child shook their head no. Jim pulled him into a brief hug, and offered him a cup. "Drink up, kitty. You must be thirsty." The child flinched at the petname, but nodded and started drinking the cloudy water.

Me, Alice, and Jim knew that the child would be out cold in minutes, and that the child would likely never have another moment of peace or a longer time to rest

[honeycollectswhump]

YOURE RIPPING MY HEART TO SHREDS

idk about you but i would literally sell my firstborn for a future/more-recovered-aiden-chapter 👀

~ 🍯

Once upon a time, the scene of Aiden waking up in the back of Leo's van full of painting tools, thinking for a second he was seeing in monochrome would not leave me alone. Three years ago today, I posted the first part of Unintentional to start telling that story <3

As a postiversary present to everyone from the beginning (seriously, this ask is from 2022), here's a timeline jump. (Don't tell Leo, he's a real stickler for order.) Thanks for sticking with me and the boys <3

More Than This

Masterlist

Snap. 

Aiden huffs, twisting and grinding the broken pencil tip through the last stroke even as it threatens to tear through the paper under his force. 

He should be able to do this. It’s all he ever does now. Practice speaking, practice reading, practice writing. Follow the plans for eating, for exercising, for sleeping. He shouldn’t complain, he finally knows what to be. There was a time he’d have let a routine like this support him like it was his spine. He was given a role to play but all he does is just that: pretend. He hasn’t made progress in weeks. The only thing he knows is how precisely he is failing. 

Across the room, Leo stops typing. “Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been at it for a while.” 

He doesn’t need to look to know that Leo will have that concerned crease between his brows, mouth turned down at the corners as he tries to assess what the problem is this time. Aiden is nothing but problems. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters but of course Leo is coming over. Would have no matter what he’d said. 

Leo fills a glass at the sink and turns to lean against the counter across the island as he sips it. Aiden doesn’t want to see whatever look Leo is giving him that will just crumble his resolve. The triangles and circles on the page blur in and out of focus as he blinks back tears. Tears from the strain of making his damaged, useless brain process not-even-fucking-letters for the last few hours. Nothing else.

When Leo finishes his water, he fills a glass for Aiden, slides it in front of him. “I’ll do some work with you then.” 

“No.” He definitely can’t look at Leo now. 

Leo takes a measured pause.

The apology is on the tip of Aiden’s tongue but he keeps his jaw locked. Harder to stave off are the physical reactions. His body wants to shrink away, to flinch and hide and beg and be hurt and held. He tightens his fist around the pencil, pulling it into his lap to hide that he’s shaking. 

“I know you want to make progress but it’s okay to take breaks.” Leo makes his voice gentle, tiptoeing through the minefield between them. "It’s not going to send you back, you’ve been working hard.”

“Nnnno. I…mmm—” He shakes his head as if he could shake off the rising frustration coming up to tighten around his temples, his throat, his chest. He’s been trying to avoid the stuttered conjunction between every word, always made worse by times like this. Harrison guaranteed he would never get out of a painful situation too quickly. 

Leo steps up to the other side of the island, leaning onto his elbows to lower himself into Aiden’s line of sight. “C’mon…”

He shakes his head, can’t trust himself to speak coherently. He’s being stubborn and stupid. Harrison would have threatened him by now if he hadn’t already backhanded him. He never dreamed of pulling something like this back with Archer or the Songs.

  “Alright, hon.” Leo gave him one last long-suffering smile and turned back to the sink. 

Aiden swallowed a sob, furiously blinking away hot tears prickling his eyes. Leo was never going to push him more than a little. Lead him to whatever line he’d drawn or found, offer to help him step over it, but be the first to abandon the idea if it was too much. 

“Why?”

Leo shut off the tap. “Pardon?” He dries his hands on the bright salmon-pink tea towel threaded through the pull for the dishwasher. Delia says I shouldn’t be so allergic to real colors, he explained when Aiden pulled it out from the perfectly folded stack of muted earth-toned cotton in the cabinet.  

“Why?” Aiden repeats, voice strained by the tightening in his chest. “I…don’t…mmm—” He squeezes his eyes shut, pushes past the stupid mumbling. “Why?”

“Why what, hon?” Frustratingly calm and earnest, so eager to help in whatever he can. 

Aiden wants to scream. It’s not fair, it isn’t Leo’s fault, but whatever has been sparked rages inside him beyond his control. “Why…do…mmm…mmm—” He mashes his lips together, forcing his lungs to fill with air. He will not start crying. 

Leo tilts his head to the side. “Why do I…help?” Aiden shakes his head, huffing out a breath that is perilously close to a sob. “Why do I…care?” 

It puts a rock right in the middle of his throat. He lifts his chin a fraction. 

Defiant despite having literally no ground to stand on, Harrison used to taunt when Aiden was strung up on his table. 

“Because I do. I do care about you…” 

Aiden’s heart skitters in his chest. He looks away, all the wind gone from his sails because he’s as easily swayed as a feather. No. He won’t be weak, pathetic, and needy. He’s angry right now. Frustrated and bitter. 

“There’s no one reason—”

“I…don’t—mmm—mmm—” He clenches his teeth together until they creak in the back of his jaw, blinking away more of the hot tears that refuse to fucking stop pooling in his eyes. 

Leo stands there calmly, crease between his brows confirming that he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. He’s worried. Always so worried and concerned and caring. 

Because he cares. 

Aiden stands, pushing away from the island and Leo. “I-I-I-I—” God, he wants to break something when it's like this. A wall he is just banging his head against, all the while becoming less coherent.

“Breathe,” Leo says, slowly rounding the end of the island toward him. “It will come. Just—”

“No. I…mmm…don’t…w-w-mmm—Fuck!” He slams his fist down on the counter. 

Leo doesn’t even flinch. 

Why should he? Of course he wouldn’t flinch. 

Aiden moves away from him, starts pacing back and forth. He wishes he could run, pound his feet into pavement until it dulls whatever is going on inside his head. 

“Aiden—“

“Not…mmm’my name.”

Leo’s expression falters. 

It’s a low blow. Aiden knows it, they both know it. All it does is deepen the disparity between them. Making him all the more desperate as Leo regains his composure. 

“If you want a different name—if you want me to stop calling you that, all you have to do is tell me.”

How can Leo be even calmer than before?

A sob escapes Aiden’s throat before he can swallow it. He turns away, circling the island to put it between them again. He doesn’t want Leo trying to comfort him. He doesn’t want it and he doesn’t deserve it. 

“I don’t want you to keep the name just because at the time you thought it was my place to give it. That’s not how I saw it then and that’s certainly not how I see things now.” 

Shame is oil on the fire, it only burns hotter. “Doesn’t…mmm’matter…”

“It does to me. I’ve never seen you as a Companion or treated you like one. I don’t expect anything, you know that.” 

“Fuck…you.” He surprises himself but pushes on anyway. Even steps forward so they’re closer, eye-to-eye, bold with the slab of stone between them. “That…doesn���t—doesn’t mmm’make a…difference. Doesn’t mmm’make..mmm’me…different—”

“Wait, that’s not what I’m saying—” 

“You—”

“I didn’t mean—”

He raises his voice to speak over Leo. “I’m’mmm…that’s…what-what…I am…” 

Leo waits to make sure he’s finished this time. The stretching silence makes his shouting seem ridiculous and Aiden burns under the unearned patience, the undeserved consideration. 

“I know,” Leo finally says.

“If you…don’t…mmm’w-w-want…this…why?”

Leo’s face falls and Aiden almost goes with it. He backs away from the gaping hole in his resolve. One misstep and he’ll be at the bottom of it, down on his knees. Putting a chink in Leo’s composure is no kind of feat. It only makes him feel that much closer to coming apart entirely. 

“Please,” Leo moves around the island, trying to get onto the same side as Aiden again. “It’s not that black and white—”

“Mmm…yes…it-is.” 

“But—”

“You-you…mmm…hate…it—” He points at Leo. Anyone else would have broken his accusatory finger. “You…hate…this…mmm’what…I am’mmm—” He backs away shaking his head. 

“Wait, no. Aiden, that’s not what I meant. You misunderstood—”

“No!” He wants to hit the ceiling. Better yet, put his whole body through a wall and get the fuck away from here. From these feelings. Leo wouldn’t follow if he went up to his room. Not even if he slammed the door and started breaking things. But he can’t. He’s only acting brave enough to set this fire, he could never leave the blaze unattended. Just like he’s only acting like he’s recovering into a real person.

It’s all just acting. None of it is real. 

Why?

He’s trapped and boiling, glaring at the charcoal-grey cabinets. He once put his fist through another one. A honeyed pine varnish with dark grain, an arched frame around the flimsy middle panel of each one. Hardly took any force to slam through it but he put his whole weight behind his fist anyway. 

Of course, Leo’s damn cabinets are solid wood. 

He cries out, turning away from Leo to slide down the cabinet he hasn’t so much as dented, cradling his hand against his chest. No point holding anything back now. He’s sobbing by the time he hits the floor, curling up tightly. 

When Leo comes over, Aiden’s reaction slips out before he can catch it. He shrinks back, sobs turning to whimpers. “Please…mmm’sorry, mmm’sorry…mmm’good—” He can almost see himself from above, staring up at Leo with those distrustful, unblinking eyes. Lips still moving through the shapes of pleas he’s crying too hard to vocalize. 

He hates that less-than-person. How little it controls and how much power it still holds. His shameless meltdown only puts him back exactly where he belongs. He’ll never be anything different. 

“I know, I know. You are good.” Leo kneels carefully, holding his hand out, palm up, between them.  “You don’t have to be sorry, it’s all good.” 

Aiden shakes his head, gulping in air between sobs, knuckles throbbing. “I didn’t—didn’t mmm’mean…” He didn’t know if the apology was for trying to ruin Leo’s kitchen or for exploding or for falling back on old habits. 

“I know, it’s okay. We’re good. Come on, let me give you a hand?” 

He swallows and tries to take a deep breath. Tries to compose himself, tries to get his mind to stop spinning through replaying and catastrophizing. He just wants—He needs—

“I—I used…t’be mmm’more than…this,” he blurts. 

Leo stops waiting for Aiden to take his hand and slides in next to him against the cabinets instead. They sit in silence long enough that Aiden starts to wonder if Leo even heard him but Leo finally says, “I know.”

Aiden bites his lip, afraid to look at Leo but he can’t look too closely at his hand or he’ll draw unwarranted concern. 

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Leo says after another long pause. “I care about you. I’m here for all of it and I’m not going anywhere. I think maybe you know that or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“It's okay, hon. We're figuring things out as we go."  

Leo always means what he says so Aiden looks up, it’s for a different kind of reassurance. Leo gives him his half-smile, reaching out to squeeze the back of his neck. Goosebumps run down Aidne’s spine and he drops his head onto his knees, hiding his face. Leo wraps an arm around his back. 

Aiden has long since stopped preparing himself for Leo to pull away before he’s ready by the time Leo says, “So, how about that break?” 

He lifts his head from Leo’s shoulder, trying to gauge what he means.

Leo pulls him to his feet. “Come on, let’s go for a drive.” 

And his heart falls.

Masterlist

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps

@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight

@whumps-and-bumps @i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney (og asker?)

[yet-another-heathen]

On conditioned whumpees...

Y'know, I think one of the things that people get wrong with conditioned whumpees is their rules. Specifically, when a whumpee was in long term captivity/training and they later get released or escape.

Most people write them as latching onto a caretaker or new whumper, and begging for new rules so they know they're doing something right. A new set of laws to live by, a new framework to behave to.

And that's... not really how conditioning works.

Conditioning means automatic reactions. Your body doing something that was trained into you without consulting your brain first.

There is no decision making. There is no choice. The trigger hits, and you are immediately performing the correct action regardless of anything else.

You're told to kneel? Your knees have already hit the ground. You're supposed to be standing in one part of the house when a certain noise is made? You've launched into movement before you even realize what you heard.

These rules are woven into the fabric of your body. And they are insurmountable. The conditioning overrides emotion, internal conflict, hesitation, beliefs, wants... everything.

Your whumpee may very well hate what is being done to them, and after the moment has passed they're cursing themself and their whumper. They're still a person on the inside. And that person is still very much alive. Most of the time, they will have some level of awareness that what's being done to them is wrong. They'll be angry. They'll be hurt. And they will hate that there is nothing they can do about it.

But the next time that trigger occurs, the response still hits them exactly the same.

So now take your whumpee out of that situation. They ran away, were rescued, were sold. They got out. Now they're with new people, a new caretaker, a new whumper. Or they're on their own and trying to make their own way in the world.

But those conditioned responses are still there.

There's no turning them off. You don't just replace them with new rules. They are in your every fibre. They have been built into the very framework of who you are.

The next time someone says the word "kneel", your knees are on the ground again. No matter where you are, or who you're with. The response happens before you can stop it. If they don't know why, everyone looks at you like you're insane. And you feel like you are.

Deconditioning is an agonizing process that takes more effort than I can even begin to describe to someone who's never experienced it.

Every time they hit that trigger, that response will still be there. Over, and over, and over, and over.

Breaking those rules down takes YEARS. And it is a constant effort that the whumpee has to choose to undergo every single time. Progress is measured milimeter by milimeter. You're told to kneel, and you kneel. You're told to kneel, and your mind catches up with the fact that you already did it— but a little sooner than it did before. Then a split second sooner. Then as you're doing it. Then you feel the impulse just before your knees hit the ground. Then you have a split-second of resistance before you go down. On and on and on and on, inching toward progress despite the fact that you're fighting with all your might. And that progress is anything but linear.

You don't just start obeying new rules. You don't latch on to your caretaker's new way of doing things and drop everything that you were conditioned to do before. These rules don't just get replaced.

Conditioning is not a belief system. It's a flinch response. Programmed deeper than the instincts you were born with.

You can be ordered not to obey the old command, and moments later when the trigger comes, you will anyway. Because in conditioning, the action comes before the choice.

These rules, these laws of your existence, come above everything else. And if your new whumper wants to replace them, they are going to have to beat the new rules into you so often and so severely that the pain becomes stronger than the old conditioning. At which point, the newly desired response will very, very slowly start to take over.

You're not swapping out new rules. You're layering new, worse conditioning on top of the old. And your brain will spend time stuck in that split-second between both responses before one finally grows stronger than the other. And even then, the change will not happen quickly.

That is what your conditioned whumpee is up against. That is what makes it such a horrible—HORRIBLE— and powerful tool.

[defire]

Smart whumpee stuff (EQ and IQ)

(sadistic whumper ideas included)

They can tell when they're going to break.

Knowing their own pressure points, they make up fake ones that the whumper can then enjoy "breaking", and whumpee plays along

Whumpee pretending to be defiant so that whumper is more satisfied by their submissive act

Finding ways to restore their own spirit like mantras or plans

Watching and testing whumper for weak points that they can exploit as a distraction later

Knowing or quickly learning how to tend their own wounds

When they DO break, they spill everything they've been doing. With maniacal laughter, watching whumper's shock.

An autistic that knows the layout of the compound they're trapped in just from walking through it once.

An ADHDer that's so good at thinking on their feet that they can choose a moment of chaos to disappear.

IQ whumpee knows HOW to escape but also that it's logistically impossible

EQ whumpee doesn't care if it's impossible, they know if they don't try, they'll go insane from helplessness

Or EQ whumpee that knows that the constant failure will eat at them. So they resolve to try something they might succeed at, like convincing whumper to feed them

IQ whumpee blaming their lack of proper planning for a failed escape attempt

EQ whumpee wondering why their usual make-friends thing isn't working on whumper, perhaps blaming themselves

IQ whumpee trying to convince whumper of the impracticality of continued abuse

[vcepsis]

Currently going insane over the phrase "down for the count".

A character who is notorious for not sleeping enough. Maybe they're the team leader who insists everyone else sleeps first. Maybe they always take the night watch after being awake all day. Maybe they simply can't sleep, whatever trauma buried in their brain too loud to silence.

Either way, it's well known they only get maybe a few hours a night if they're lucky, and it's bound to catch up to them.

Soon enough, they're finally forced to slow down - due to an injury, illness, or simply collapsing from exhaustion.

The caretaker watches over them as they make up for what is sure to be an incredible sleep deficit. And eventually, their breathing completely evens out, sleeping deeply for the first time in who knows how long.

"They're completely down for the count."

(Bonus points for the caretaker who is just so relieved that the whumpee is finally, finally sleeping. They've watched the whumpee work themselves into the ground for far too long - they deserve some actual rest.)

[honeycollectswhump]

go read @whumpcloud‘s story Things End | People Change im literally begging you!!! it‘s whumper turned whumpee vincent is my favourite guy of all time he’s literally the most pathetic wet crumbled napkin you’ll ever meet!!

(plus you can hurt that man by sending polly an ask!! go wild!! and make me cry!!!)

Idk why, but I haven't seen any vampires as whumpees. Like, you can starve them all you want and they won't die?? Or chain them outside in the sun, like a cute little pet??

There are lots of possibilities.

I'm just saying

[whumpsmith]

Sometimes I look at our shelter cat and I think about how insane everything must seem from her perspective. You get lured in with food by these giants, then they cage you and they neuter you, and they put you in a room with others of your kind and none of you have any clue what's going on because these giants don't seem to understand your language at all, but there’s food and water scattered about and they clean up your toilet so well no predators can find you, and then a couple of new faces come in and they give you a lot of treats and all of a sudden you're caged again and now you're all alone in a new room, no one else around who speaks your language, but there's food and water scattered about, and your toilet gets cleaned so well no predators can find you, and there’s toys to hunt and once a day you get extra yummy food, but you still can't wrap your head around these giants' behaviours and habits and you can tell they're talking to you, but you have no clue what they're saying, but it seems higher-pitched vocals are good and lower-pitched vocals are bad——

Anyway whumpee street rat gets abducted by aliens and is now their shelter pet. They get more food than they need but what the fuuuu—