#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)

[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!

[starryybrained]

“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

[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.

[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.

[spencers-secret-whump-account]

dad whumpees with daughters fucking slay actually.

Dad whumpee technically adopting his daughter, but more accurately, she adopts him.

whumpee who will take a bullet for his daughter (even if they wouldn’t admit it before)

found family!!!

basically any dads who will go to hell and back for their daughters.

young daughter ends up having to take care of dad whumpee while he’s sick or injured; angst ensues.

sorry if this sounds insane but I just love it when dads get whumped for their daughters

[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

[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

[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.)

[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—

[tater-tot-jr]

Alright whump community I’m about to blow your mind.

Rabies.

You heard me, it’s the most whumpy thing imaginable. It has no cure, only fourteen people have ever survived. It’s slow, it’s painful, and it’s perfect. It causes aggression, paranoia, a high fever, hallucinations, foaming at the mouth, and a fear of water so great people literally dehydrate to death. Imagine being a whumpee who got bit by a wild animal with no access to doctors, slowly watching yourself go insane and knowing you’re screwed. A caretaker who has to watch whumpee die in such a horrible way and no hope of them even being lucid in their final moments. A whumper putting their beloved pet down because they got bit by a raccoon.

This is my best idea ever. Intellectually, I’ve peaked.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 6- Not Realizing They're Injured/ "It's Not My Blood"

This one is a bit long, so I've put it under the cut!

Whumpee stumbled back into the base. They intended to pass everyone by and go straight to their room; they felt tired after that scuffle with Whumper's team.

“Hey, you're finally home,” Teammate said, “you could've said something.”

“Sorry,” Whumpee said, “I'm just really really tired.”

Teammate gave them a strange look. Whumpee shrugged it off and meant to move past them, but Teammate stopped them.

“Hang on,” they said, “Medic, can you come here for a sec?”

Medic closed their book and approached the pair. They looked Whumpee up and down.

“What are you hiding?” Medic asked sternly.

“Hiding?” Whumpee asked, “I’m not hiding anything…”

Teammate went to argue, but then their eyes landed on Whumpee’s shirt.

“Oh my gosh,” they whispered, “is that blood?”

“Blood?” Whumpee said, suddenly having trouble getting their words out.

They followed Teammate’s gaze and went pale. A deep red stain bloomed on their shirt, getting larger and larger.

“Huh, well, it’s not my blood,” Whumpee slurred.

Without warning they lurched forward. Medic and Teammate barely caught them.

“Help me get them to the med bay, then call Caretaker and Leader,” Medic ordered.

“Wha’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Teammate lied.

Teammate and Medic helped Whumpee onto an operating table.

“On an unrelated note, where were you this evening?” Teammate asked.

Whumpee’s head lolled to the side, their breathing becoming labored.

“I… I was…”

Caretaker and Leader came bursting in.

“Whumpee what the heck!?” Caretaker exclaimed.

They rushed to Whumpee’s side, as did Leader. Whumpee winced as Medic peeled back their shirt. A collective gasp from everyone. A huge stab wound pulsating red. Whumpee looked down at their own body.

“Huh, tha’s not good…”

“Don’t you dare-” Leader warned.

“Sorry…”

Whumpee’s eyes fluttered shut, and any shouts from their team became muffled and distant as they fell into unconsciousness.

…

Whumpee stirred as the harsh fluorescent lights of the med bay beamed through their eyelids. They groaned, eyes fluttering open, and they tried to sit up.

“Hey, hey! Easy, easy…”

A gentle but firm force pushed them back down. Whumpee’s vision cleared and saw Caretaker sitting by their bedside.

“This isn’t my room,” Whumpee croaked.

“Yeah no kidding, Sherlock,” Caretaker huffed, “you’re still in the med bay. You’re hurt, you need to stay down.”

Leader knocked on the door frame.

“Good, they’re awake,” they said, entering the room.

They sat down on Whumpee’s other side.

“What happened, Whumpee?” Leader asked.

“I don’t know!” Whumpee answered, “I was out, and there was a scuffle with Whumper’s group. I thought I managed to get out of there without getting hurt, but…”

Whumpee looked down at their bandaged side.

“Yeah…” they said.

“Where were you when you ran into them?” Leader prodded gently.

“I…uh...” Whumpee looked away sheepishly, “their base?”

Whumpee braced for the scolding they knew would come. And it most certainly did.

“WHUMPEE!” Leader shouted, “are you insane? Are you actually insane? What in blazes were you doing there!? You know not to go to a dangerous place like that alone! That is basic, common knowledge!”

“I know I know I know I’m sorry,” Whumpee said quickly, “I didn’t mean to go there. I just kinda… wound up there? I was following one of them, doing some recon, and we just ended up there.”

Leader didn’t look convinced.

“I’m telling the truth!” Whumpee protested, “and hey, now I can tell you guys where the base is!”

“Oh yeah?” Leader folded their arms across their chest, “where is it?”

“It was…” Whumpee paused, their head starting to swim, “I think it was… hang on it’s kinda fuzzy right now-”

“Leader, can’t you grill them later?” Caretaker asked sharply, “I’m surprised they’ve held a conversation this long. Save the interrogation for someone else.”

Leader huffed, standing.

“Where are you going?” Whumpee asked, eyes drooping.

“For a walk,” Leader snapped, “with the one person I can trust not to be an idiot. Myself!”

Leader stormed out, and Whumpee could hear the front door slam from all the way in the med bay.

“They hate me,” Whumpee sighed.

“Oh yeah, that’s why they’re so mad that you got hurt,” Caretaker deadpanned.

“I didn’t mean to find the base!” Whumpee said, “I thought the goon was heading to commit a crime or something, not go home!”

“What’s all that racket!?”

Whumpee and Caretaker exchanged a frightened look. Medic. If they thought Leader’s anger was bad, it had nothing on Medic’s.

“Whumpee!” Medic glared, entering the med bay, “I leave for five minutes and you’re already exciting yourself, don’t you know what bedrest means!?”

“Sorry,” Whumpee yawned.

“Look at you, you’ve already gotten yourself exhausted! For the love of all things good, settle down and go back to sleep!”

“You don’t gotta tell me twi…”

Whumpee trailed off, falling asleep before they could finish their sentence. Medic rolled their eyes and looked to Caretaker.

“Leader yelled at them, didn’t they?” Medic demanded.

Caretaker nodded silently.

“They’re next.” Medic promised.

Medic turned on their heel, muttering something along the lines of, “how is anyone supposed to get better around here” before heading out of the room.

Caretaker winced as the front door slammed a second time. They turned and took Whumpee’s hand, rubbing circles into it with their thumb. They were safe, that was all that mattered. The others could do to notice that.

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@electrons2006

[whumpbug]

slightly hyper-specific trope but i totally adore sedative whump with a distressed whumpee. like. okay listen.

whumpee is in a super high stress situation, but they need to be subdued for whatever reason. personally, my mind goes to a whumpee being arrested or taken by the authorities while freaking out for whatever reasons, and they can’t get whumpee to calm down and stop thrashing against the restraints. cue whumpee being stuck with a needle filled with some kind of sedative or relaxant. whumpee’s panicked screams and gasps and struggling slowly start to lessen as they realize how heavy their eyelids are and how fuzzy their head feels. they blink more frequently, trying to clear their hazy vision. their speech becomes more slurred and garbled, and they aren’t even sure if they’re getting the words out. they’re still fighting against whoever is holding them down, but they are so uncoordinated that they can hardly do anything as hands guide them to wherever they needed to go in the first place. after a few more moments, their head begins lolling to the side and their eyes become impossible to keep open as they lose the fight against sleep that their body is pulling them under.

ugh! (˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) just something about a whumpee unable to fight against their own body’s call for unconsciousness makes me insane and i love it so much.