#I think this counts as whump

[theminecraftbee]

you know the excellent quadruple life fan comic has me thinking about double life again. and MAN. thinking about the soul bonds mechanically. like, before I get into my meta-analysis it’s worth noting that non-diagetically the soulbond mechanic being based on how many hearts someone has is basically the only way I can think to do it in minecraft that’s sensible, but diagetically…

so do you ever think about how the marker of what made people soulmates in double life was pain?

like, soulmates share injuries/pain! that’s the whole premise! like, to the point that day one people were making up elaborate ways to hurt themselves so they could test for their soulmates! you met your (very romantic-coded) partner and confirmed they were the person you were looking for by hitting each other, generally!

being a soulmate in the double life universe isn’t about being compatible, it’s about literally sharing pain, and it’s just… I think about how for some pairs, they share the burden between each other, and it brings them closer. for some pairs, though, the only way they know how to communicate is by hurting one another. and the thing is, this isn’t just a literal thing. like, mechanically, the thing soulmates do is share pain and communicate with pain, but metaphorically, can you say desert duo doesn’t have trouble communicating because half of how they know how to exist is either sharing in pain or causing it for each other? can you say that ranchers’ strength wasn’t a pair of people who understood each other’s pain and desperation to be better than they’ve been before? can you say that divorce quartet isn’t, well—

so pearl wins after scott hurts them one last time don’t you ever think about that,

[whitecoatwhump]

Today’s vibe:

Automatic restraints, especially is they’re not immediately obvious. Like, you sat in this chair thinking it was completely normal, and suddenly there’s metal cuffs around your wrists and now you can’t get up

[castillon02]

“Make them clean their own guns,” Nguyen said, leaning her considerable bulk over Q’s desk. She was just starting her shift. “Or at least wear gloves.” 

Q kept plunging a bore brush soaked with cleaning fluid into the barrel of 007’s Walther PPK. His eyes burned with fatigue. “I’ll take it under advisement.” 

When he finished, he left with gun oil on his fingers, fingers that had traced over the gun’s every crevice, every curve and angle, every metal and electric anatomical fold. 

—

“Why not tell us to clean our own guns?” 006 asked. 

“I'm a control freak,” Q said. “Which is also why I know that yours is in the middle of the Atlantic and not in need of cleaning at all.” 

This was a lie. 006 had reported the gun lost at sea but had actually smuggled it back into his own flat, where it was currently residing in what Q suspected was his bedroom and knew for certain was the room that also had a backup earwig that Q had personally assembled, a Ka-Bar that Q had archaically sharpened on a whetstone, and one of the decoy keychains and keys (Alaska) that Q kept on his desk so that agents had something harmless to swipe. Probably there were other things that 006 also had in his nest, but they would be things that Q hadn’t touched and could only theorize about. 

Q was bad at lying. 

006 visibly recognized this, realized that Q was lying in his favor, and couldn’t stop his eyes from widening. “Right,” he said. 

Q smiled. Fixed him with a specific knowing look. You don’t ask, I don’t ask. “If it hadn’t sunk into the fathoms below, I would recommend a new hammer spring. Sometimes these things get a bit fussy when you use a gun as a bludgeon. That’s part of why I do in-person maintenance.” 

Part of the reason; not the whole reason. 

006 muttered a Russian curse. “Thank you, Q.” 

“Happy to help.” 

---

001 brought his guns back clean, but with a new part in them each time; a replacement firing pin, hammer, ejector rod, bullets. 

Q always asked about the replacement. He did it before disassembling the gun, like a magic trick.

001 always grinned like a mischievous schoolboy. “I’ll get you next time,” he would say, wagging a finger at him. Perhaps you’re more fallible than you believe. 

“It’s good that you’re optimistic,” Q would reply loftily. No mistakes. I see your gun. I see your tricks. I see you. 

—

004 never cleaned her gun and always brought it back. Hers was a semi-automatic of Theseus, parts replaced naturally when there was wear and tear. 

“Same as always?” she asked when she picked up her kit. 

“Same as always,” Q confirmed. 

—

When Q was a child, he asked, “Mum, why do you always shout about your car keys in the morning? And why does Peter never know where his pencils are?” 

She frowned into the mirror and finished applying her lipstick. “Sometimes people lose things, dear.” 

“How?” Q asked, boggled. 

She looked at him with squinched eyes; that meant she was thinking hard. “Well,” she said slowly, “we forget where we put them, or someone puts them somewhere we don’t expect.” 

Q squinched his own eyes too. What could she be thinking so hard about?  

Mum smiled. “Tell you what, we’ll see if I can give you a demonstration after school, all right?”  

Mum didn’t turn on the telly right away after dinner like she usually did. Instead, she sat down next to him on the sofa. “Sweetheart, you know how you asked about when I lose my keys? Does that ever happen to you?” She was trying to be casual about it, but if it were really unimportant then she would have asked during a commercial. 

“One time I pretended it did,” he told her, “because I was curious to see what it was like. So one day while you were doing the shopping I put one of my books on top of the telly and stomped around in the other room going ‘Where the hell is my story book?’ in a loud voice like you do with your keys. It was a little fun, but not much.” 

“It’s not fun to lose things. Do you know,” she asked, “where your story book is now?” 

“Yes, of course,” he said. His story book was immense and well-thumbed, so heavy that it made him grunt whenever he had to lift it, but he had already read through all of it at least four times. It had hard edges and corners that were beginning to bend; chocolate fingerprints littered the pages at the beginning because his hands had still been sticky from birthday cake when he first opened it—he can put his fingers on them now and see how much he’s grown. There’s a stain of pomegranate juice at the beginning of the Persephone story from the pomegranate that his mother had bought before they read it together; a special treat, expensive, but “you have to know what a pomegranate is before you read it,” she’d said, “otherwise you’ll wonder why they’re eating the seeds.”    

“And where is it?” his mum asked. She had to know that Q knew, because why wouldn’t he know? 

He answered anyway. She ‘humored’ Q a lot, she sometimes told him, so he could humor her this time. “In the vegetable drawer,” he said. “You came home for lunch and moved it there. But that’s a silly place for things that aren’t vegetables, isn’t it?” 

His mum closed her eyes and sighed, long and deep the way she did every so often when Q asked too many questions that she couldn’t answer. “You’re right,” she said after a moment. “I’m lucky to have a son who knows that. But most people can’t keep track of their things as well as you can, so let’s not talk about it too much and make them envious, all right?” 

That was something he knew how to do. He had already had a few talks about not stirring the other kids up with how smart he was. Plus he could tell from the tightness in her voice, like when she talked to her boss’s boss or Q’s headmaster, that she was nervous. “Sure, Mum,” he said. “I won’t.”   

So he never mentioned it again. 

He also never lost his keys, or his rucksack, or his socks, or anything else he touched and touched often. He might as well try to lose his own foot.     

—

“You know, we can clean our own guns,” 002 said, dropping her pistol onto Q’s desk. “In fact, you’ll find I did.” 

Q smiled. “That will make it much quicker when I do it, then.” 

002 pursed her lips and blew a pink bubble with her gum, which Q Branch had also issued her. “And where do you want this?” She took the sticky wad out of her mouth and held it out to him. “Gonna chew it for me?” 

Q held out a petri dish. “We have better chemical analyzers than my tongue, I’m happy to say. We do want to see about the wear and tear on the product.” He met her eyes. “Reliability is important in our field.”  

002’s performatively petulant glare softened. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and next time you’ll make it into plastique instead of a tracker.” One corner of her mouth quirked up.

The sticks of gum were actually one of Q’s least favorite gadgets; like most gum, it was sensitive to heat, so he couldn’t hold it for long without destroying its structural integrity. Couldn’t sense what he usually sensed. But if it put a smile on 002’s face as well as being useful to her, he’d keep issuing it.   

—

“A gun and a radio,” Q said. He waved his hand at the corner of his desk where he’d perched the usual equipment case. “Earwig will be distributed at your landing site. Unless things go terribly wrong, the local team should be able to support you for this one.” 

Bond took the case. “Anything else?”     

Q looked up; he’d been double-checking Bond’s mission brief and wondering how much structural damage the Managua team could make excuses for. “Cufflinks.” He pulled a small box out of his desk drawer and opened it. Inside lay a pair of cufflinks, copies of ones that Bond already owned and wore frequently. “They have little folding knives in them.” He demonstrated how the outside half could be pulled apart to reach the blade in the middle. 

The corners of Bond’s eyes were all happy wrinkles. “Am I expected to need tiny knives?” 

“No,” Q admitted. “But you brought the Walther back last time and I thought you could use some positive reinforcement. May I?” He removed the old cufflinks and put the new ones on, his fingertips brushing against the warm skin of 007’s wrists as he did. “Good luck in the field, 007,” he said after he closed the last French cuff. “As always, try to bring the equipment back in one piece.”   

“As always,” Bond echoed, his eyes meeting Q’s before he left. 

The cufflinks weren’t just positive reinforcement, of course. They were a connection; this meant that it was even odds that Bond would destroy them. (Paradoxically, Bond had the best equipment survival rate when that equipment self-destructed; he wore the latest exploding watch for three months and four missions before he had to use it.) 

Q didn’t touch the other 00s, who stayed near their equipment, more or less, and who deserved their privacy, deserved not to have their footsteps tracked through the crevices of Q’s brain. In fact, he didn't touch anyone. Not if he could help it.

With Bond, Q made excuses for the tiniest bit of extra assurance, the mental tip-toe of 00 feet sneaking across the globe. 

—

“Make Hutchinson do it,” Nguyen said, back again. “He loves guns; he’d be thrilled to do maintenance on company time.” 

Q met her eyes. “I take personal responsibility for the equipment of our most senior agents. They deserve that level of consistency.” He changed out the cleaning swatch he was using. 

“How consistent will you be if you burn out because you never leave this place? Guns, radios, earpieces--you can delegate. Our work is important, but...” 

“I’m almost done,” Q said, implacable. 

Nguyen sighed. “Sleep well, Quartermaster.” She showed herself out.             

Q dried, oiled, and reassembled the gun. He would make sure to catch up with Doctor Who and a few blockbusters so he could convince Nguyen that he sometimes made an effort to think about things that weren’t work or work-related. They could collaborate on blueprints for a sonic screwdriver. It would be fine. 

He would even give the same advice if he were in her position. She couldn’t know that Hutchinson doing as simple a thing as cleaning a Double-Oh’s gun until it shone would be detrimental to the delicate safety net that Q had been building since he had arrived at Six.  

Q touched everything his agents went out with, enough that he could still sense 007's old Walther in Macau, 001's discarded ejector rod in Tunis, 004's stack of worn-out gun parts secreted in a tea tin hidden behind a book on his shelf because he liked the thrum of them all together like that, and there was always the risk, at work, that they'd be disposed of.

He never lost things that were truly his. Guns, radios, earwigs, cufflinks.

He hadn’t lost an agent yet either.

[mikakuna]

i am once again begging for jason fic recs but this time i'm gonna be more specific. pls plsss share any fics you guys have read that doesn't include pit madness, jason apologizing to tim, jason feeling bad about what he did to tim, or anything to do with tim. if it has to do with tim, i hope it's someone acknowledging tim's role in badmouthing robin jason (literally impossible i think) or them only having a relationship if it's not built on jason feeling guilty and tim being a baby twink

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Day 31: Bonus Day

Cape

“Your suit must include a cape,” cut the Designer dryly. “If you’re a Hero, you have to wear a cape.”

Hero squirmed uncomfortably:

“But- didn’t the Edna Mode School of Thought say-”

The end of this sentence died on their lips as Designer glared at them, waving dangerously with their scissors gliding in their hand:

“I know what they say. Do you fly?”

“N-no?”

“Then most of the risks are averted. All clothes have dangers, if you put it like that. You can trip on a scarf or on new shoes too.”

“But capes do nothing.”

“Excuse me? The propaganda has come too far!”

Designer rubbed their forehead:

“Look, if you’re cut from help and backup, trust me, you’ll be grateful for the extra fabric. You can carry things or a person with it. You can rip it apart for bandages. It can be used as a shock blanket or a way to protect anonymity. ”

“I-I didn’t think about that-”

“Exactly.”

Designer stepped forward and poked at their forehead:

“So you’re gonna walk out to the world with your shiny new suit, you’re going to heroically cover a citizen in need with your crazy useful cape, and you’re going to look damn good doing it. Understood?”

“Y-Yes, Designer.”

"Don't be ungrateful to the Cape and its wonders. Or it will end you."

*

Aaand that makes 10 snippets. Thanks for the event @augusnippets, it's been fun !

Back to the Hero x Villain Masterlist

Whump/Horror Masterlist

[cryptobiolliegy]

"Say that one more time."

A reaction to sass. To something the whumper didn't want said.

The twist?

A very, very conditioned whumpee taking that as a command.

Example:

"I just... I just wish you wouldn't use that as much, that's all."

"What did you just say?"

"I wish you wouldn't use the- the cattle prod as much as you do."

"..."

"..."

"Did I just hear you tell me what to do, Whumpee?"

"...I... Think so? I mean, it's completely up to you, Master, just a su-"

Big sigh "Well, say that one more time an-"

"I wish you would use the cattle prod less."

"Excuse me?"

"I wish you would-"

Whumper pulls out the prod. Uh oh!

[whump-queen]

just… give me whumpees getting dehumanized to hell, getting gagged and restrained and manhandled and inspected and called pretty… give me a whumpee who gets treated like a toy, an accessory, a decoration, arm candy, a prize— I don’t care just make them exist to make you look good

[rainysflowers]

Do you think a Whumpee who's whole shtick is kissing Whumper's ass as to not get in trouble would eventually break down??

Not in front of Whumper, Heavens no, but when they're all by themselves, left chained in the basement while Whumper goes shopping or abandoned in their cell as Whumper does its job, do you think that they scream and cry and take out all of that pent up hate for the person they have to pretend for. Always pretending and for what, just to end up messing up and getting hurt for it anyways??? playing nice will last for a little, sure, but not always. But still they do it. Still they lick Whumper's boots, still they endure its rage, even if in the end it doesnt matter. theyll just kiss ass, wait to be alone, scream their lungs out, and do it all again and again and again

Just a thought

[straight-to-the-pain]

I don't know if anyone else in the whump community has read 'A Constellation of Vital Phenomena' by Anthony Marra but it is genuinely a really good book and also has some of the best depictions of torture and its aftermath that I have read in fiction.

I wanted to share some of my favourite quotes, hopefully without too many spoilers as it is out of context, but maybe skip this post if you don't want to know anything at all going in.

To give a brief summary, the book centres around the lives of people in Chechnya during the first and second war between the Russian government (Feds) and the separatist rebels. The main story focuses on a man (Akhmed) who is trying to save his neighbour's daughter from being killed by the Feds after her father is taken away in the middle of the night. He does this by taking her to a hospital where he then volunteers. One of the people in his village (Ramzan) becomes an informer for the Feds after being tortured, and this is explored in the excerpts below.

‘Information the Feds would torture them for was written here on the walls for all to see. It was well understood among the men that the Feds had as much sense as two bricks smashed together. It was also understood that pain, rather than information, was the true purpose of interrogation.'

'During his first detention in the landfill, in 1995, in the first war, he had refused to inform. They had wrestled down his trousers, shown him the bolt cutters, and still he had said no. Screaming, thrashing, with his manhood half severed, he had said no. He had done that, and now he was ready to start saying yes.'

'He would have confessed everything, but they didn't ask, weren't interested, threatened to cut out his tongue and put pliers to his teeth if he spoke one more fucking word. Electric wires were wound around his fingers. A car battery was drained into his bones. God might have been watching, but it wasn't God's finger on the battery switch. The interrogating officers didn't speak. Instead he was an instrument they played, performing a duet, and in their own way they conversed through his sobs. They both wore very shiny shoes. That was all he would remember.'

'He had trouble walking, He had forgotten torture could be so exhausting. The new interrogator, the one with less shiny shoes, held him upright, using his whole body as a crutch, and helped him walk. He carefully wiped Ramzan's forehead with a handkerchief before opening the door to the next room.'

'The interrogator with less shiny shoes crouched behind him. His hands were wet. Ramzan promised everything, and the interrogator, like the parent of a child too old to believe in ghosts, watched him with disappointment, his clear eyes saddened by Ramzan's sincerity. The interrogator took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, laid the live wires on Ramzan's chest and mapped the border of their shared humanity. Ramzan offered his soul. He begged to be enslaved. The known universe contracted to the limits of the cement floor, and on it, the interrogator was both man and deity, prophet and god. By ten o'clock the interrogator with less shiny shoes asked his first question. By eleven the electrical wires were unwound from Ramzan's fingers. By noon he was allowed to dress. By one he was on the FSB payroll. He kept thanking the interrogator with less shiny shoes.'

‘Greed didn’t motivate his informing, at least not primarily; primarily he informed by necessity, to survive, for his love and hate and above all awe of the power wielded by the interrogating officer with less shiny shoes.'

'That was his greatest fear. Could he stay silent? Could he withstand what awaited him? He told himself that his love for the girl should fortify him against any torture, but this, like so much of what he told himself, was a lie. After all, he was squeamish at the sight of blood, what would he say when lying in a puddle of his own? But he saw no other way. He would pray for the strength to stay silent, for a quick heart attack, and leave the rest to God.' (This is Akhmed POV)

'When they threatened to beat me, I said nothing, Akhmed. When they threatened to beat me, I said nothing. When they threatened to electrocute me, I said nothing. When they threatened to castrate me, I said nothing. I said nothing, Akhmed. Whatever you think of me, you remember that once I said nothing when a wiser man would have sung. And the interrogators, they couldn't believe it. They called in others to examine me. I was there on the floor, and above their faces were dark ovals silhouetted by the ceiling lights. They had beaten me hard and I couldn't hear right, but I kept saying no, with every breath I had. The main reason they let me go, the only reason they didn't shoot me right there was out of perverse respect, some sort of professional courtesy. But I wish they had shot me, Akhmed, because the good part of me died there, and all this, everything since, has been an afterlife I'm trying to escape.'

‘I knew what was coming. I knew it never stops. They put a shame inside you that goes on like a bridge with no end, the humiliation, the fucking humiliation of knowing that you are not a human being but a bundle of screaming nerve endings, that the torture goes on even when the physical hurt quietens. People treated me differently when I came back the first time.'

[miles-wrightworth]

nrmt fics :)

to celebrate nrmt week, here are all of my nrmt fics i have written (and one my friend wrote!)

this is a short series of nrmt oneshots that all go together featuring Kristoph being a douche. my friend asami (@strawberii-symphonii) wrote one of the fics in this series

and here is a little sappy proposal fic i wrote

happy nrmt week and happy reading :) (reblogging helps a lot, as always!)

[loonybun]

hi guys… guess who wrote for mermay… it’s me…. hopefully i’ll also do some more soon

Contains: Mermaid/siren whumpee, siren hunter whumper, multiple (care)whumpers, captivity, very subtly implied murder and torture (for funzies), carewhumper, a really fucked up found family dynamic except one of the “parents” has no idea about it, teenage whumpee, mute whumpee, nonbinary whumpee

hope u enjoy my silly guys…. i plan to write smthn for cady next if my brain is hyped up enough

—

The tank was the only home they’d ever known. Though they were young when they’d been taken from the ocean, it had always been cruel to them. The tank, on the other hand, was made with them in mind. It was comfortably large and filled with things like plants and hides for enrichment.

They loved seeing their caretaker, even if he never had much time to spare. He moved briskly whenever he walked by, never even offering a slight glance towards them. Eye contact was a rarity. They didn’t know why he scowled whenever he was forced to face them. His disgust, whenever he tossed the long-dead fish into the tank, made their guts twist with guilt. They’d done something wrong, they were sure of it, but they didn’t know what it could've possibly been.

Maybe something was wrong with them. The water made it difficult to hear anything from the other side of the tank, but they knew one word he used frequently. “Beast”. That’s what he called them. It hurt more knowing he’d handled other people like them before. Sometimes, he’d even smile at someone. They’d never seen the same person twice after someone was wheeled away in a cooler. There was no need to take any of them out of their tanks after all. They found it strange how they'd never seen any of the other enclosures, but it was the only place they could be. They were sure of that fact.

Besides their caretaker, there was another human that came around every once and a while. She had bright eyes and a playful smile constantly fixed on her face. Her fascination with them was a stark contrast to her caretaker’s aversion. The woman would always come and tap on the glass and grin when they came up. With her hands, she’d make little motions and signals. It took them a while to pick up on the language, but with a bit of time, it became easier to hold a conversation. They’d managed to learn her name. Mel. They were called Marley by her, but they’d never heard their caretaker use that name for them. Or any name, for that matter.

Once, they’d asked why their guardian looked at them the way he did. They noticed the way Mel bit her lip before she responded. “He’s like that to everyone. Don’t take it personally, okay? He likes you plenty.”, she signed. Then, they asked about why he never seemed upset with the others. Her expression shifted into one of horror, then deep discomfort. All she said was that she needed to leave, and then she did. They heard yelling a bit later, but they weren’t able to discern why.

They had a feeling that whatever it was, it was their fault.

—

i know it’s a bit short but take what u can get from me and nibble on it because for all you know it could be months till ur next little meal /j

[mechanicalpiper]

Not heroes and villains universe, I've been writing various miscellaneous stories lately and haven't posted them here since I sorta set this up to be heroes and villains focused but like

It's been way too fucking long since I've posted ANYTHING so. have this I guess.

Sci fi type thing vaguely in the Stellaris setting (been playing it recently, based this off of the empire I've made n been playing- a single digital consciousness controlling a swarm of drones rather than a society) and also to vent my robot obsession. Robot hive mind goober getting subjected n vassalized by a human empire :3

So. Iunno enjoy I guess

-------------

"W-What the hell do you WANT!?"

The feminine, digital voice, previously showing nothing but cold calculation, was full of... genuine desperation.

Such a dramatic change of tone was music to the human's ears.

The leader stared down the short, vaguely feminine robotic figure in front of her, staring into its digitally-displayed, desperate and confused eyes. God, it felt so nice to win.

It was certainly an occasion for her to make a physical appearance for a meeting like this. Her fleet's forces had the robot's cornered from every angle- she could force it to give inover a simple demand on comms, but where's the fun in that?

She wanted to watch her soon-to-be Vassal surrender to her.

"Don't just fucking stare at me like that! What do you WANT? Why are you doing this!?" The robot cried again, marking the first time yet it had sworn. The emotion in its previously cold demeanor... the Human leader savored it.

"Hmm?" She finally spoke, feigning not having heard the robot's first cry. "Oh, surely such a large, advanced consciousness could piece the dots together, can't you? It's all you're truly useful for, after all."

The robot grumbled in beeps, frustrated and defiant. Why did her assailant have to rub in her unique consciousness? She wasn't just this Drone she was speaking with... she was every single robot and machine that made up her colony. One incomprehensibly vast personality, running every aspect of her entire empire simultaneously. She was a technological marvel, an artificial consciousness beyond the scale and quality of any other in the galaxy!

And here she was. At the mercy of a single. Fucking. Human.

A human with an army and empire of her own under her belt, maybe, but a human nonetheless.

"Nothing?"

"Get to the point." The robot growled in response. It tried to gather the deadpan confidence it had always spoke with, but its digital voice faltered in defeat.

"Ah, fine, I'll spell it out for you, tin can."

"I am NOT a FUCKING-"

"Silence."

The robot backed off instantly, though reluctantly. It grumbled as the human continued her speech.

"We've been on the hunt for a very particular type of resource for quite some time now."

"uuUugh. And you're gonna, what, scrap me for metal!?"

The human laughed, looking down on the robot. "Ahaha! Of course not, tin can." The robot hissed in frustration with the insult. "We aren't after anything that's... material."

"Not... material?"

"Shiny metal will only really get you so far. My empire's growing quite fast, and it's hard to keep up a massive group... and it's hard to subjugate an empire when they have a sentient population..."

"S-Subjugate...? ...Wait, wait, hey-"

The human stepped forward, closing the comfortable distance into something more... possessive. The robot made a half step back, digital eyes widening in slow realization.

It could've easily picked up on the motive long ago, but it didn't want to come to this conclusion.

Its consciousness and perception extended far beyond this particular drone, but as the human backed it against a wall, even this unimaginably complex and far-reaching web of a consciousness felt well and truly cornered.

A completely new sensation to it. Everything was always running and working, it was always perceiving new ends of the universe through thousands upon thousands of sensors, and no empire it had previously come across had ever posed a challenge. It felt as truly massive in scale as it was.

And yet... For the first time in its long timeframe of operation, it felt small.

Dealing with a power it couldn't hope to measure up to. Backed into a corner, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

The human had never felt so gratified as that very moment. The moment when the robot's fans began to speed up.

--Core Temperature 80°C--

"What's the matter? Finally peiced it together?"

"I- n-NO! I'm not gonna- I'm not gonna be a fucking servant for ANYONE else!" It shot back, voice faltering. It wasn't confident in the slightest. It was trying its hardest to stay firm. It was failing. It shouldn't be failing.

--Core Temperature 85°C--

"Hmm? Aw, it's not a choice, tin can. You were made to serve, after all."

"I-I'm a free consciousness!! I got this far alone, and I can go further!!"

"Aw, how misguided. You're a feral pet, bot."

--Core Temperature 90°C--

"A FERAL P-PET!? I'm n-not a fucking PET! Could a pet singlehandedly accomplish this much!? Document this much information, create an FTL empire THIS massive!?"

"Doesn't change where you belong, bot. You were made to be subservient. We're just enforcing that."

--Core Temperature 95°C--

"Y-You- Fucking-!!"

"Oh, calm down, sweet thing. Your voice is glitching."

"I-!! Wi-i-ill NE-VER-"

The human giggles playfully in spite of the robot's rage, gently pushing it against the back wall.

"Oh, you're overheating! How cute."

"--C-UT--E-E-!?"

--Core Temperature 99°C--

"You heard me, bot. Cute."

"Y------"

--CRITICAL ALERT--

--Core Temperature Readings > 110°C--

--Delayed System Reboot initiated to prevent damage to hardware.--

--Automatic Power On scheduled for two hours from present.--

--Shutting Down.--

||Display Disconnected. Host program is inactive. Placeholder display initialized.||

||To whoever's reading this:||

||Please, be gentle.||

[pixelatedraindrops]

"You've been through a lot... But it's alright now.

You fought long and hard Makoto...

Everyone in Kanai Ward is grateful to you."

A lil' MakoYuma comfort edit I attempted just because...

...someone needs to give this poor thing a hug fr... ;w;

show your emotions lil' CEO, you've held them in too long.

ty again for the vulnerable sadboi makoto sprite edits @shiut💕

[siren-of-agony]

Can't believe they're gonna cut a whole ass organ out of my belly tomorrow and then I just get to? go home right after?

[whumblr]

Road trip

Continuation from Collaboration

-

“When we leave? As soon as you both are able to.” Whumper glanced over at Whumpee, who still sat in the corner staring straight ahead. “Buckle up, Whumpee,” he almost shouted, “We’re taking you home.” And with that he pressed a small key in Caretaker’s hand and he left the cell, this time keeping the door open.

Whumpee glanced up at that. “H- home…?” Their eyes searched Caretaker’s, and their confusion at the word worried Caretaker.

They picked up the first-aid kit Whumper left and knelt in front of them, unlocking the handcuffs around their ankles. Putting on a comforting smile, pretending they had all the answers, they continued in a chipper voice, “Yes, home. People must be worried about you, Whumpee, after you disappeared?”

Whumpee barely nodded, eyes still darting left and right, as if thinking very deep about what it all meant. Then… “I want to go home,” they said in the smallest voice.

The soft despair and longing rang out clear as day and Caretaker swallowed hard. They squeezed their shoulder, too hesitant to go in for a hug, and nudged them forward so they could remove the handcuffs from their wrists.

“We’ll get you home,” they murmured, lingering near Whumpee to allow them the opportunity to go for a hug. But they didn’t. They just stretched their legs and rubbed a hand over their wrists, but all rather absentmindedly, as if their thoughts – and they themself – were somewhere far, far away from this cell.

“Here.” Caretaker moved away and snapped the medkit open. “Let me clean those wounds. Careful, this’ll sting a bit. Just trust me.”

They gently took Whumpee’s hand and Whumpee let them without protest. Blood still stuck to their wrists from where they’d fought against the handcuffs. Keeping their eyes on Whumpee’s, Caretaker cautiously wiped it away and disinfected the torn skin, but Whumpee barely winced at the sting.

“People must miss you,” they murmured. “And you must have people you want to see again?”

Whumpee nodded more confident at that. “At… at home.” They pointed at Caretaker and Caretaker’s heart tore.

They flashed a bashful but wry smile and took a deep breath before responding. “It’s going to be alright,” they said, firmly yet calm. “I’ll be with you. I’m not just going to leave you. Whumper will come with us, but don’t mind him. I will be there with you. But I’m not sure how long I can stay. We’ll need to get you home first, then we’ll see if I can stay with you for a while. Okay?”

“Okay,” Whumpee merely said, tone still too unsure for Caretaker to actually take it as a full yes, but it would have to do.

The sound of footsteps behind them made them whirl around. Whumper stepped back into the cell, carrying an armful of clean clothes.

“I’m sure our colours will look great on you,” he said with a sly smile. “Don’t think that this will make us allies now.”

“Not at all.” Caretaker begrudgingly accepted the dark fatigues. Wearing their enemy’s uniform was uncomfortable but probably the least of their worries now.

Whumpee let Caretaker help shrug off their jacket. But as soon as Caretaker tugged at the mud cleaved shirt, Whumpee let out a gasp, clutched at the hem pulling it down and shrank back. Pleading eyes locked on to Caretaker’s and they furiously shook their head.

“They didn’t want me removing it before either,” Caretaker said. “Whumpee, please, you need to wear something else.”

“There’s a bathroom in the dorms. Might not be a bad idea for you as well. Then we can leave tomorrow morning with you both freshened up. Unless you wanna sleep here in this cell?” Whumper grinned.

Caretaker nodded, helping Whumpee up and they both followed Whumper.

The dorms were empty, luckily, and Caretaker turned to Whumpee, a hand on their shoulder. “What if I give these clothes to you and you can wash up and change behind that door?”

Whumpee followed to where Caretaker was pointing at, hesitated, but then nodded and accepted the clothes.

“Keep the jacket.” Caretaker winked at them, draping it over the stack of fatigues. “It suits you.”

Their eyes lit up and they nodded again, but this time with a little more vigour.

"They're very quiet... when not screaming." Whumper watched them walk off. "Did they just shred their throat or...?"

"No, they didn't say much on the road either. Only the bare necessities."

A mere hum in reply. “Well, I’ll come wake you both in the morning.”

-

Down in Whumper’s garage, Caretaker immediately crossed over to the 4x4’s, but Whumper walked past them.

“We can’t use those,” he said as he glanced back.

“There’s no road?”

“There is, but only leading to the city, west. Not leading to our outback.” He stopped at a table and folded out a map, gesturing for Caretaker to come look. He circled the facility. “We’ll have to go around the cliff,” he said, pointing at the map.

“If they fell there it’s no wonder they got lost…” Caretaker mumbled to themself.

“I think the nearest point back up is over here.” Whumper brushed upwards. “That’s at least ten miles. If you’re going the right way.”

“So which is the right way for us?”

They plotted out a course, Whumpee standing next to them in silence. They watched fingers skidding over the map, that turned to prodding and tapping hard as the bickering over the route increased. Avoiding all mountain paths and calculating for a slower pace, they settled on a route that would take at least six days.

“Fine,” Whumper relented. “I mean, I could carry Whumpee if things get rough…” He brushed a hand over the rejected crossing of the river, “But I forgot you might need some recuperation as well.” With a grin, he prodded an elbow into Caretaker’s arm, where the still stinging cuts were neatly bandaged up.

“You’re all heart.” And keeping all and any grunts of exertion to themself, Caretaker heaved one of the heavily packed backpacks on and helped Whumpee with a smaller one.

Sunlight flushed into the underground garage as the door slowly slid up. It was nice to see and feel the warm rays after two days stuck in a compound, but…

“Never thought I’d go on a road trip with you,” they grumbled.

“It’ll be fun,” Whumper said with a smile.

And so they set out.

Whumper set the pace, leaving Caretaker and Whumpee to trail behind quickly as he marched ahead. Caretaker didn’t mind. They didn’t trust themself not to snark and complain the whole way if he actually travelled alongside them. It also gave Whumpee and themself the peace of mind they needed. They could just pretend he wasn’t even here travelling with them.

They only joined up for breaks and to make camp, sitting together at the fire, Whumper a little further away from the other two.

“Could you not walk too far away from us,” Caretaker snarled that evening, dumping an armful of branches – Whumpee dropped a handful of twigs – next to Whumper who was boiling water preparing for his first cooking duty. They’d settled on taking turns every day, meaning no bickering about who would run up to collect water or cook to slow them further down.

“Aw, you were worried about me?”

“No!” Caretaker blubbed, indignant. “Just…”

“You can say it.”

“You’re here to show the way so—”

“Meaning that...?”

Caretaker took a deep sigh. “Okay, we need you to show us the way. Also, to keep us out of trouble should we run into your men.”

“Maybe I’m keeping a distance to see how you’d solve that,” Whumper said with a grin.

Wouldn’t surprise Caretaker… He’d do that just to see the look on Caretaker’s face – and maybe to see them manhandled and tossed about a bit – before he’d saunter out as their personal saviour like, “At ease, gents. They’re with me.”

Ass.

But the next day he did stick closer, still pacing ahead but making sure the others could still see him. As long as they’d only have to see his backpack bouncing along, Caretaker was fine with it all.

“Whumpee, do you remember what happened before I found you?” they asked, as they helped Whumpee over a little brook.

They noticed Whumper up ahead stop walking, turning towards them. Curious, aren’t you, asshole.

Whumpee tugged at the jacket Caretaker had given them, pulling it tighter over their chest. They hesitated, eyes dancing up and down between Caretaker and the dirt in front of them, mouth opening and closing again.

“I…” they finally started. “I don’t really… It was dark and… I’m not sure what all happened but… I tripped and… and I fell. I was scared. But it hurt and— I ran, and ran, but I didn’t know where to go and—”

“That must’ve been scary…” Caretaker agreed. It was the first they’d got out of Whumpee besides just the word “Lost…”. And with the amount of mud cleaved to the front of their shirt, they must have made quite a dive. “You were really lucky you didn’t break anything.”

Whumpee nodded and fell silent.

Up ahead, Whumper walked off again.

-

They were nice on schedule, Caretaker thought as they set their backpack down for the third night, and they stretched out. “God, the things I’d to for a shower.”

“The things I’d do so you could take a shower…” Whumper sighed. He was already waiting for them, setting up camp on top of the hill.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just saying there’s a reason I walk a couple of steps ahead of you, upwind.”

Caretaker ‘pshed’ hard, but secretly sniffed their clothes when Whumper was busy taking out the supplies. Nothing too funky, just… salty. Funny how that matched with their mood.

“Do you think they have a nice spa at that facility?” Whumper glanced up, talking up to the sky, wistful sparkle in his eyes. “Like, forget a shower, I could go for a hot tub. Maybe a massage. I mean, if they want to make their residents as comfy as possible, it’s not too weird to think, right?”

A fancy care facility with fancy wellness centre… Damn, now he got them thinking about that as well. A nice hot bath, whirlpool…

Sauna.

Ugh.

They picked at their shirt; it clung to their chest, heavy with sweat.

“There’s a stream just down the hill.” Whumper stood straight and tossed Caretaker a jerrycan. “Get some water. Take a dip if you want. Just fill this first, please. I don’t want to boil out the gunk that floated in from between your toes.”

Caretaker was about to snarl a reply as they caught the jerrycan, but their mouth snapped shut again. A dip might actually not be such a bad idea.

It was even better.

“Ahhh!” Cold water washed away the fatigue from the day and ran up in waves against them. This was better than any whirlpool. The stream of water pushed against them, prompting them to go along and let their body tilt and stretch out. “Come join me, Whumpee! Water’s great!”

Whumpee hesitated just along the edge of the water. They took their boots and socks off and took a few careful steps into the water, but didn’t fully go in.

“Lose the jacket but keep the shirt on if you want,” Caretaker prompted. “Your clothes’ll dry fast, anyway.”

Whumpee nodded and tossed the jacket back to dry land, taking another small step forward.

Caretaker couldn’t help a snort as the water lapped up to Whumpee’s knees and they nearly jumped back with a soft but shocked “Eeee” as the cold water contrasted sharply with the day’s heat.

Slowly but surely, and with a bit of convincing and cooing from Caretaker, Whumpee sank down up to their waist. Even allowed Caretaker to cup a handful of cold water and release it over their head. A soft gasp escaped, followed by another keening soft shriek, and Caretaker burst out laughing. And while they were confused for a few seconds, Whumpee joined in.

And not just to follow Caretaker. The actual joy in their laugh hit Caretaker like a ton of bricks; it was the first time they had heard Whumpee laugh. It made them just want to pick them up in a hug and twirl them about.

But they didn’t.

After some playing around, they sat next to each other on the rocks, letting the sun dry them, feet paddling in the water. Whumpee gave a soft shiver and Caretaker reached over for their jacket, draping it over their shoulders.

Their arm rested over Whumpee’s shoulders and they nudged against them, resting a hand on the crown of their head.

“I got you.”

-

The fifth and hopefully final camp day was upon them.

Caretaker glanced back at Whumpee. They were pleasantly surprised how Whumpee kept up. They’d set a rather relaxed pace, but they knew it must’ve been hard for Whumpee. They’d already travelled quite a bit together before they ran into Whumper’s men, then with everything that happened and continuing on without a break… Whumpee was stronger than they’d thought. They just kept marching ahead, face stoic, never complaining.

“It’s totally alright if you need a break,” Caretaker said again, as they had multiple times a day during the trek. “We’ll stop whenever you want.”

And while Whumpee nodded every time, they never asked for a break. And if it were up to Whumper they’d just keep walking forever so Caretaker took it upon themself to just loudly announce every time they felt it was time for a break.

But after five full days trekking through the forest, fatigue obviously started to show in all three of them, and they huddled around the campfire eating their meal in silence.

All quickly fell into a deep sleep, but somewhere in the middle of the night, Caretaker woke to someone shaking them.

“—aker…”

They moaned and wanted to turn over, but a hand grabbed their shoulder and pulled them onto their back.

“Caretaker!”

“What’s wrong, Whumpee?” they croaked out. But when they opened their eyes, it wasn’t Whumpee hovering over them and Caretaker’s face fell when they stared at Whumper. “What?” they snarled.

“Get up.” He shook them again. “Something’s wrong.” He turned away from them, looking at where Whumpee was sleeping.

Caretaker snapped up.

“I thought they were having a nightmare, but when I checked on them… well…”

Whumpee’s brow was beaded with sweat and they tossed and turned in their sleeping bag.

“They were burning up,” Whumper finished and Caretaker scrambled over to them.

“No… no, no, no, Whumpee? Whumpee!” Caretaker crashed to their knees next to them, tapping them lightly against their cheek, but they didn’t wake up. A hand over their forehead confirmed Whumper’s words; this was one hell of a fever.

“Shit… shit!” Did we push them too hard? Had they just been stoically marching alongside them but secretly breaking with every step they took?! And now they collapsed?! Or did they catch a cold in that stream?!

“Do you want to wait ‘til morning?” Whumper asked, voice uncharacteristically soft and uncertain.

“No…” Caretaker said and they looked over to the cliff out west. Soft yellow lights blinked in the distance. “We’re pretty close…” they considered. “What time is it?”

“Almost four.”

That meant the sun would rise soon. First rays would probably peek through by the time they’d packed. And the temperature would climb fast. Not ideal for a fevered Whumpee.

“We’ll have to carry them there. They’ll have more than just some aspirin and they can help. I don’t wanna wait until they get worse.”

Whumper nodded then shot to action. “I’ll pack one bag. Leave the rest here.”

“Let’s go.”

-

Continued here

Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @scribbelle @mcjcxx @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @pigeonwhumps @briars7 @roblingoblin285 @gala1981 @ilickedanenvelopeandilikedit @those-damn-snippets @queenofthenoobs @soheavyaburden @worldofwhumpcraft @bloodinkandashes

[whumpshaped]

i love. all powerful whumpers. i know i talk about this a lot but i just really absolutely love when a whumper controls every aspect of whumpee's life. not even as a human, but more as a god. a being so far above whumpee that they genuinely have no chance of fighting back.

maybe whumper literally created whumpee, and is now playing with them like a puppet. and whumpee is forced to bump into the invisible walls of their confined world over and over again, realising again and again that they can only ever go as far as whumper allows.

and maybe... sometimes... whumpee thinks they have outwitted whumper. they find a little loophole, a glitch in the matrix, a tear in the fabric of their artificial reality. they take the opportunity immediately, thinking they're about to be free... only to end up as a pawn in whumper's game yet again. the opening was put there on purpose, specifically for whumpee to find. and where it led was entirely controlled. and whumper enjoyed every second of this delightful little show of whumpee feeling some hope, only for it to be violently ripped away.

again.