#gaslighting whump

[stagelightwhump]

Whumpee who was told by Whumper, over and over and over again, that they're an awful person, less than human, the literal scum of the Earth, until they believed it without question.

When they're finally taken in by Caretaker, they're confused and frightened by Caretaker's kindness. After all, they're not a good person, or even a person at all, so why are they wasting their kindness on them?

[em-writes-stuff]

mystery pill + gaslighting

day 13 of two weeks of whump @promptsforyourwhumpfic

672 words

villain and supervillain

warnings: drugging, gaslighting

---

“Villain?” Supervillain calls from her room. “Can you get me something for my migraine?” 

There’s no reply, but she can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, the water running, and now he’s in her doorway. He hands her a glass and pill. 

“Thanks,” she says, popping the pill in her mouth and taking a sip of water. She finishes the rest of the water and hands the cup back to him. 

He nods and leaves her room, placing the cup in the sink and sitting back down in front of his computer. 

Two hours later, Villain stands up and checks on Supervillain, pushing the door open without a second thought. She’s slumped over her workbench, a pencil in hand, and the blueprints for a weapon laid out in front of her. Villain smiles and opens her computer, typing in the password and getting to work. 

Supervillain wakes up in her bed, how she got there? She has no idea. Her head isn’t any better, so she rolls over to face away from the window and draws the blanket up to her chin. 

The next day, Villain gives her the same kind of pill and she downs it without hesitation, hoping it would work. She gets back to work on her weapon, falling asleep after just two hours again. 

Villain wakes her up before dinner, “Are you feeling any better?” 

“No,” she groans. “I think I’m worse somehow. What have you been giving me?” 

He shakes his hands and mumbles, “Just whatever you usually take. The label’s worn off but it usually works. Do you think you’re sick?” 

He presses his hand to her forehead and frowns, “You’re a little warm. Why don’t I make you some tea?” 

“I have that thing with Hero later today. I have to make it there.” she tries to push herself up, but Villain stops her. He gently lays her back down and shakes his head. 

“Don’t be silly, you can’t do anything right now. I can go meet him. I helped you write the deal, so I know the whole thing by heart. Maybe better than you since I was typing it for you.” He lays a blanket over her and nods. 

“No, I have to…I should do it. Hero’s expecting me, so I should be there to meet him.” 

“Sure,” Villain says, taking a step back. “If you can get up and get ready alone, you can meet him. But if not, then can I do it for you?” 

She takes a deep breath and takes a moment to decide, but she nods. 

“Thank you. I’m going to make you tea, and if you’re able to get ready, I’ll pour it in a thermos, alright?” he leaves the room before she can give an answer. 

Villain puts a mug of water in the microwave and sets the timer, then leans against Supervillain’s doorway. He watches her try to get up, and fail three times before stopping her. 

“Supervillain,” He says softly. “You can’t do this. Not today, okay?”

She sighs and falls back against her pillow, breathing heavily. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel so weak. I don’t understand it.” 

He nods and brushes a strand of hair out of her face, “It’s probably just a 24-hour bug. You’ll be right as rain in the morning.” 

She nods, and lets him pull away with a sigh. He walks out of her room, a small, satisfied smile on his face. Quickly, he takes the mug out of the microwave and pulls apart a pill capsule above the boiling water. He tosses the empty capsule in the trash and dunks a tea bag into the steaming water. 

Villain sets the tea next to Supervillain’s bed and walks back out to meet with Hero. What Supervillain doesn’t know is that he’s not going over what they’d planned together. Supervillain wanted peace? After months of winning the important battles against Hero? It wasn’t smart, so she was going to do the right thing for them. 

[sufrimientilia]

"It’s not as bad as it looks."

Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration @juneofdoom Day 5

cw: broken ankle, hypnosis, vampire whumper, hypnotized whumpee, see above

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Thrall sat hunched over at the base of the stairs, big round tears leaking from those big round eyes. “But I think- I think it’s broken.”

“Don’t be silly.” Vampire descended towards him, regal with every motion. So unlike their precious thrall, always clumsy and uncoordinated. One pale hand slid down the banister. “You aren’t that fragile, are you?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Master,” Thrall gasped out. His ankle definitely looked broken— it was so disfigured his foot twisted the wrong fucking way, and it hurt. It hurt so bad. It was the type of white-hot agony that caught at his breath and made everything spin, fire and needles all over his foot, so desperate to not even move out of fear of making it worse. “I didn’t mean to- I- I didn’t mean…”

“I know, I know. You got yourself all worked up, and now look at you.” Vampire loomed over him, a tall dark presence so imposing it was dizzying. His master always had the same effect— the kind that made everything distort around the edges with the catch of his gravitational pull, like Vampire’s proximity alone made it harder to focus and harder to breathe. Everything blurred as a cold hand came to rest on his head. “Poor thing, tripping down the stairs like that. You really should be more careful.”

It was as easy as that, rewriting impatient shoves into clumsy missteps, soothing away barely contained fear into helplessness. Vampire never hurt him; Vampire was here to help him, take care of him. Tears leaked off Thrall’s chin as a faraway look swept across his face. “I… I fell…”

“Such a klutz.” Vampire stroked a finger down Thrall’s temple. The dizzy feeling intensified. “Maybe you shouldn’t be going up and down the stairs without me, hmm? So dangerous for a human. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Thrall, glassy-eyed and numbed, gave a curt nod. When he looked at the stairs again, they stretched out before him— impossible and endless, going up and up and up. So very, very scary. He clung close to Vampire as they scooped him up into their impossibly slender arms, gasping as his disfigured foot left the ground. “Ahh-! It- it hurts.”

“Poor thing,” Vampire cooed. Thrall was practically weightless in their grasp, and they carried him down the corridor to a dimly lit room with plush furniture. Thrall gasped again when he was laid across the cushions. “There you are. You should rest now. I’ll help you feel better.”

It wasn’t like Thrall was given much of a choice about it. The dull thrum along the bowl of his skull intensified, everything churning until there was just warmth and syrup melting through his veins. It was easy to forget about the agony of his ankle as it gave way to a numb sort of throbbing, still disfigured and swollen and screaming somewhere far, far away, but conveniently tucked just out of his sight. He melted like putty. “Mmn…”

Thrall’s breath caught at the sharp pain suddenly piercing his neck. Vampire fed gently, indulgent but not greedy, gentle and cautious despite the damage already done. Sometimes a little bit of hurt just added some flavor. But now Thrall didn’t hurt at all, heat and warmth blossoming all over, eyes glazing and rolling until they couldn’t stay open at all. Paralyzed into the depths of bliss as a cold slender tongue lapped and lapped and lapped.

His ankle didn’t get set until hours later, when it was so swollen the task was nearly impossible. He blacked out for most of it and screamed for the rest. At least he had Vampire around to help him, to rub his shoulders and nuzzle his neck, to make it all feel better. His master always took such good care of him.

[a-whumped-tea]

Whumpers who kidnap a normal person with the intention of "fake torture interrogation".

The whumpers know for a fact that Whumpee isn't a part of any illegal activity, but they're going to treat them as if they were anyway. 

They torture Whumpee, asking them questions about a fake rival gang or other “important things” that Whumpee doesn’t know about.

They keep going, just to see how long it takes for Wumpee to start lying and giving bullshit answers to get a break from the pain. 

Once that goal is achieved, the whumpers start pretending like some of Whumpee's lies and bullshit mean something. 

For example, Whumpee gives an address for a warehouse and the whumpers act as if that is the actual location of a warehouse that this fake gang owns. 

But of course, some of the “information” the whumpers have to call bullshit, and Whumpee gets hurt more. Slowly sort of gaslighting the whumpee into questioning themself, because "clearly" they know things about this gang they've never heard of, but they don't know how they know these things.

[whispers-whump]

manipulation dialogue prompts

“You know that’s not what I meant by that.”

“I don’t remember that, and my memory is a lot better than yours. Are you sure that’s what happened?”

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m just the worst.”

“Why are you still holding a grudge? It’s been so long since that happened.”

“I would never do something like that.”

“Well what do you expect me to do about it?”

“You’re taking that out of context on purpose to make me look bad.”

“Listen, I’ve always tried my best.”

“Why am I the one that always has to fix things?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Feel free to add on!!

[whumpshaped]

mayhaps I request whumpee being slowly hypnotized by “caretaker” to become more and more submissive and incapable of more and more stuff (like reading, self regulating, being alone) so whumpee becomes clingy pet that wants to be pet and doted on

tw bad caretaker, conditioning, hypnosis, gaslighting, manipulation, past trauma

“Oh, darling. Not again.” Caretaker sighed at the sight of the broken glass on the floor, the big puddle of water at Whumpee’s feet. “You’ve always been a clumsy one, haven’t you?”

Whumpee opened their mouth to protest. They hadn’t. They had been pretty capable once, they thought. Before the captivity, before Caretaker had taken them in to care for them.

They closed their mouth again. It wasn’t worth it to argue over semantics. “I’m sorry,” they said instead. “I can clean it up.”

“And cut your hand on the glass? No, it’s quite alright. I’ll handle it.”

Whumpee was instructed to sit on the counter while Caretaker worked, muttering about all their little flaws and faults. It was a constant by now. They knew the list front to back, they could’ve recited it on command if Caretaker ever asked.

Or maybe they couldn’t. Stupid was on the list, after all. With a bad memory was yet another item. Maybe they were only kidding themself, trying to hold onto a version of themself that didn’t exist anymore and wouldn’t exist again.

“There,” Caretaker said with a soft smile when they were all finished. “Safe as ever. Unless you slip again, of course. But surely not, right?” They stepped in front of Whumpee, preventing them from hopping off the counter on their own, and cupped their cheeks. “You’ve learned your lesson from that one, hm?”

“Yeah,” they said dutifully. “No slippery socks on the slippery tiles.”

“Smart thing,” they cooed, sliding their hands lower and grabbing them by the waist to lift them off the counter. “Maybe we should have a rule about you not handling any glass items. I can get you a plastic cup that won’t break.”

I’m not a child. No, a child at least had an excuse. What was their excuse? Trauma made them unable to hold a glass? Trauma they should’ve long healed from by now?

“Okay,” they said quietly. Caretaker knew better.

Caretaker ruffled their hair and leaned in, whispering into their ear. “You’re a useless little thing, aren’t you? Constantly breaking things. Really, you’re lucky I keep you around when you’re so clumsy.”

Whumpee leaned back against the counter a bit more, grateful to have some support now that they were starting to feel so dizzy again. “I’m lucky…” they repeated thoughtlessly.

“Yes, you are. So lucky that I’m generous and kind. Kind enough to care for a destructive, useless thing like you.”

“Useless thing like me…” they murmured, barely registering when Caretaker lifted a hand. They only came to when their friend started snapping their fingers in front of their face, looking concerned.

“Are you alright?” they asked, and Whumpee blinked a couple times before nodding. “You completely zoned out on me.”

“Ah, I… I’m sorry. Thank you for still caring for me.” They smiled a little. “I know it must be annoying. I’m glad you’re so kind.”

[whumpy-daydreams]

Give your whumpees anxiety about old injuries!

I completely tore my ACL (literally 100%) when I was 9 and the literature at the time said not to do reconstruction because I hadn't finished growing and it might fuck up the growth plate in my leg, plus lots of people can manage fine with just their muscles to compensate (especially since I wasn't sporty anyway)

HOWEVER. I ended up getting a locked knee if I squated/knelt on my knee. Resulting in me screaming in pain for 6 hours while I tried to straighten it back out (and when my mum called the paramedic they said I could only have paracetamol and ibuprofen 👍 helpful)

I had an arthroscopy when I was 11 to try and solve the locking but it didn't help. Finally, 4 years after the injury, I got a reconstruction and the problem went away (sort of, it would dislocate occasionally but that's stopped now)

Those 4 years of not being able to fully bend my knee because it would lock completely changed my psychology. It took 2 more years before I even tried sitting cross legged on the floor, and only in the last few years have I gotten more comfortable kneeling.

I still can't put all my weight on my knee when kneeling because of the fear. Every time i feel something unexpected I panic (not pain, more like a movement inside my knee?)

I've dislocated my shoulder a bunch, as well as my hip (yay hypermobility) but nothing can send terror down my spine like my knee slipping or giving way.

So anyway, whumpees who won't do certain movements or get scared when a particular thing feels wrong

[cold1dead1eyes]

“punish yourself for me.”

tw // self-harm

whumpee gets into an argument with caretaker. maybe it’s whumpee’s fault— maybe not— it doesn’t matter anyway. all they know is that caretaker is angry, and frustrated, and looking at them with those eyes that say that whumpee’s made a mistake.

‘you’re not worth my time,’ whumper’s voice in their head tells them. ‘or my effort.’ whumpee knows what to do. it’s a reflex at this point. whumper was so mad that even punishing them wasn’t worth it.

but whumpee still needed a punishment. after all, they stepped out of line. if whumper wasn’t going to do it, then whumpee had to. blunt force and cigarette burns and sharp scrap metal clawing into their arms and legs. whumper always enjoyed it, even more than their own punishments. after all, they didn’t have to lift a single finger to hear their captive cry this time.

“whumpee— stop, stop!” caretaker’s hands are reaching to yank whumpee away from the wall. whumpee doesn’t listen. they keep banging their body into the plaster, hitting their head with awful cracks, trying to get as many bruises as they can.

“why are you— you’re hurting yourself!” caretaker finally manages to pull them away. whumpee is shaking from the pain. they collapse into caretaker’s arms.

“did i do good?” they ask, dizzy, disoriented, and caretaker’s trembling arms pull them closer into their chest.

“no. god, no. whumpee, don’t— don’t ever do that again.” that’s when whumpee realizes that they made a mistake. caretaker isn’t happy. they’re terrified. they’re hyperventilating, maybe even crying, clutching to whumpee like they might disappear if they let go.

“i’m sorry.” whumpee whispers and caretaker clutches them tighter. their hands are still trembling. suddenly, whumpee feels very guilty.

[whump-queen]

Whumper won’t tell whumpee why they’re getting punished.

They have to keep frantically guessing, knowing that they’ll be hit with every wrong answer.

"Still haven’t figured it out yet?”

“You’re even dumber than you look.”

Sliding the bloody crop up their jaw, smearing red.

“Now lick it clean.”

[kabie-whump]

Could you write a scene where Whumper deliberately crosses Whumpee’s boundaries, pressuring them to consent to things that Whumper knows Whumpee doesn’t want to do? A whole scene of manipulation, under the guise of intimacy and love, but actually it’s violence.

Nnngk

Thanks for the ask <3

tws: Very very dubious consent, nsfw-ish, manipulation, inexperienced whumpee

"Just trust me, darling," Whumper purrs in Whumpee's ear. They're holding Whumpee on their lap, face to face, their hands sliding up under Whumpee's shirt and squeezing their waist. "Let me show you how much I love you."

Whumpee looks away, their face flushed bright pink. Their hands sit on Whumper's shoulders, awkward and unsure. "I don't know..."

"That's right. You don't know. No one's ever loved you before, so you've never had anyone to show you what it's like, have you? Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

Whumpee blinks back tears. It hurts, having someone point out how alone they've always been, but it's true. They don't know what love is supposed to be like.

But Whumper does. Someone as charasmatic and good looking as them must know all about love. Whumpee should be grateful that Whumper's giving someone as plain as them the time of day.

Their skin crawls under Whumper's hands and they can't stop shaking. They think it's fear, but-

"Aw, you're so excited that you’re trembling. How sweet."

Excitment? That must be what it is. Whumpee's never done this before; they wouldn't know the difference. They should just stop thinking and let Whumper tell them what to do.

"Alright," Whumpee says softly. "How do you want me?"

Whumper's smile is all teeth.

[suspensefulpen]

Nothing

TW: Captivity, Multiple Whumpers, Bad Caretaker, Mentioned Torture, Choking, Degradation, Gaslighting, Self-Hatred

Whumpee had it all. Their life was perfect. They had the best house, the best cars, the best lovers, there wasn’t anything they didn’t have the best of. If they saw something they liked, they owned it. If they saw something they wanted, they owned it. Whumpee had a sculpture of themself for crying out loud. Their initials were inscribed into everything they owned. Everyone loved Whumpee, everyone wanted to be Whumpee. They were the best thing to have ever happened to the Earth. They were basically a god. 

At least, they were. 

Once upon a time, Whumpee had all of those things. 

Once upon a time, Whumpee was all of those things. 

Now Whumpee sat curled in a ball in the corner of their cell, shivering violently. What did they do to deserve this? Why did that cause them to deserve this? 

Whumpee wanted that life back. They wanted to go back to that life. They want to go back in time and change whatever it was that they did wrong to keep this situation from happening. They wanted to go back and humble themself while they still could. They thought that maybe if they had changed, this would’ve never happened. 

Back then, seeing three different faces a day wasn’t anything for Whumpee. But now, seeing three different faces a day meant three different kinds of torture. At first, they’d see Carewhumper who loved to gaslight Whumpee. Then they’d see Caretaker who loved to insult Whumpee. Then they’d see Whumper, who loved to test Whumpee’s breathing. It was later rearranged where they’d see Caretaker, Carewhumper then Whumper instead. 

Thankfully and disappointingly, their routine was changed up from that completely. Now, The three each get Whumpee to themself for a week to do whatever they want. No matter what it is. 

They could beat Whumpee into the next week. They could break some of their bones. They could collapse their windpipe. They could gaslight Whumpee until they pulled their own hair out. They could insult Whumpee until they didn’t think their own existence mattered anymore. 

They could do whatever they wanted, however they wanted. 

Every time they see either of their faces, Whumpee regrets their life more and more. They regret being put on the Earth. They regret being alive. Maybe Carewhumper was right. Whumpee really might be crazy. Maybe Caretaker was right. Whumpee really might be stupid. Maybe Whumper was right. Whumpee really might deserve to have their life drained from their body. 

The world would’ve been better off without them to begin with. They never deserved the life of luxury that they had been living for the past twenty five years. Not the cars, the house, the lovers, the statue, their initials inscribed onto everything they owned. 

Whumpee didn’t deserve anything. 

They weren’t the best thing that ever happened to the Earth. They weren’t a god. 

They were nothing. 

[a-whumped-tea]

Got caught trying to escape by your captor? Gaslight them!

"And where do you think you're goin-"

"Oh my god, Whumper, I've been looking for you everywhere!!"

"...What?"

"You had me worried sick!! Do not make me worry like that again, Whumper. Do you realize how hard it was to get out of those chains?? Do you?? I scraped up my hands getting out of them!! Do you have any idea what could have happened if I hadn't gotten out?? I could have died from worry and it would have been all your fault!!"

"......Huh?"

"I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed."

[kira-the-whump-enthusiast]

hey, I'm like... really new to the Whump idea but I have an idea I kinda like and wanna hear someone who clearly knows more about whump and what it is and the appeal blah blah blah's opinion on it

Whumper who legitimately believes Whumpee enjoys the various tortures they put them through, to the point that when the rescue happens and the Whumper learns that the Whumpee wasn't willing nor enjoying anything at all they crumble and break, perhaps (this one is a stretch) becoming a Whumpee as well due to the people/person who rescued OG Whumpee from Whumper trying to do justice??

definitely not me projecting a little bit too much on my mind's idea of a legitimately well meant though extremely delusional Whumper

Hey!! Thank you for the ask!!! I’m flattered that you would share this with me.

This is such a fun idea!! I always love a whumper who is thoroughly convinced that what they’re doing it okay, and I can just imagine the whumpee screaming at the whumper about how they’ve got it all wrong and the whumper just smiling and pressing a finger to the whumpee’s lip. Yes I’m very normal.

Also man you got me at whumper turned whumpee I could make a whole prompt list for this >:)

The whumper is having so much fun hurting the whumpee and can’t possibly contemplate that the whumpee might not be having fun either

The whumpee has a nervous habit of laughing when they’re very emotionally overwhelmed or smiling when they’re scared, and the whumper completely misinterprets it as enjoyment

The whumpee was known to be overdramatic and have a tendency to embellish things, and the whumper assumes it applies here too

When the rescuers come, seeing them believe in the whumpee’s suffering makes the whumper start to realize that maybe they’d been wrong the whole time

The whumper expects the whumpee to defend them, but instead the whumpee breaks down and screams at whumper about how much they hate them and how hurt they were

The whumper falls to their knees and doesn’t resist when the rescuers haul them off too

The caretaker, enraged by what the whumper did, pretty much kidnaps them to partake in the dark joy of kicking the whumper while they’re down

Maybe the whumpee finds out and they’re horrified

Or maybe they put the whumper through everything they went through, in the desperate hopes that it will finally make the whumper understand

The whumper never realized how much it actually hurt, and they scream and cry and beg for it to stop

The whumper does a full 180 and can no longer trust themself they don’t trust their own interpretations of people and they automatically assume that they’re lying to themself about anything

Their new whumper uses this to their advantage to manipulate the whumper horribly

Maybe the whumper truly does find the fun in being whumped though. Maybe they frustrate their new whumper thoroughly because nothing seems to break them

Maybe it’s all a facade and they’re slowly crumbling inside :)

[whumpshaped]

Hypnotic music box!

- @oliversrarebooks

tw gaslighting, hypnosis, magic whump, tiny whump, lady whump, captivity, memory loss

The song filled her mind and body as she kept spinning, keeping completely still for her owner’s enjoyment. She was a perfect little ballerina, her master’s favourite, never stumbling and never ever disappointing them.

Her dress was as pretty and perfect as the body it served to accentuate, with a soft face and shiny hair to match. A work of art, her master had called her. A masterpiece.

The music was gentle as it wrapped around her, settling deep in the creases of her mechanical body and soothing her every worry. She let herself be carried around and around, her glassy eyes fixed on something invisible. Her master was in the room with her, she noted distantly. She could only ever catch glimpses of them, but it was enough to motivate her to do well.

She would always do well. She was perfect, a product of her owner’s genius.

“The battery in your music box is running out,” Master said one day. “I’ll get new ones soon.”

She didn’t doubt it. She was grateful to be informed ahead of time, that way she didn’t panic when her little personal carousel started slowing, and eventually came to a complete halt. She stayed motionless, staring out into the empty room with the last remnants of the song playing only in her mind.

Her owner must’ve been at the store by now, getting the new batteries so they could continue to enjoy her dance. She only had to be patient for a few more minutes, at most an hour.

The stillness was unnerving. She almost felt like her arms were getting tired in this demanding pose, even though she knew that was quite impossible. Dolls didn’t get tired. And while her master was a particularly skilled tinkerer to have created something as lifelike as her, they would’ve had no reason to make her susceptible to exhaustion. That would’ve been cruel, given her purpose.

Still, the feeling continued to spread. Her joints started aching, her mechanical muscles were burning, and despite her best efforts, she eventually had to lower her arms. It felt sacrilegious to do that while the music box was open… but there wasn’t any music now, nor an audience to dance for. Maybe it was okay. Maybe she could treat this unusual circumstance as if the box had been closed.

It kept bugging her, though; the bone-deep exhaustion that suddenly plagued her now that she was off duty. And what were all these new worries? Why did she feel so anxious? Was she shaking from fatigue or nerves?

Why was she shaking at all?

She glanced towards the empty room again, suddenly seized by an overwhelming desire to crawl out of her box and explore. Her whole body protested as she carefully crossed the threshold into the outside, walking along the table with a sense of odd familiarity. It felt as if she had gone on walks like this before, even though she had no recollection of anything but the box.

She didn’t make it far. She crumpled to the ground in pain, curling up in an attempt to soothe her aching joints. Everything hurt. Nothing had ever hurt before, not since her owner had created her.

Oh, lying down like this would definitely put a few wrinkles in her pretty dress. Bad, bad, she was being a bad doll.

‘What a bad doll you’ve been.’

‘I’m not a doll! Stop calling me that, stop– what are you doing? You can’t lock me in there!’

‘But I can. Dolls belong in boxes, after all.’

The hallucination made her sit bolt upright, eyes wide and full of terror. What was that? Where did that come from? She hugged her knees close to her chest, barely understanding why she was suddenly crying.

The box seemed scary now that she was out. It seemed like nothing but a prison instead of a home.

She stared down at her realistically painted legs, blinking at the level of detail she had never noticed before. She couldn’t help it. She gently scraped against the layer, consumed with a desire to see the paint flake off, to see her metallic endoskeleton underneath… But it hurt, and all she found was a layer of flesh with blood bubbling to the surface.

It couldn’t be.

She was a doll.

She was just a doll.

‘I’m not a doll!’

She buried her face in her hands, taking quick, shallow breaths. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. None of it was real. She had to get back into the box. She had to get back and dance and look pretty. She had to be perfect, she had to be nothing but a beloved object.

The door opened and she flinched, scrambling to her feet and promptly falling again. She was so tired. She was so scared. She had to get back to the box before her owner realised what a bad doll she had been.

“Oh… The battery ran out sooner than I thought…” Her master walked over to the table, and their presence held none of the usual gentleness that always put her at ease. She felt nothing but the dread of a prey animal, trapped and about to be killed. “How unfortunate. I need to fix this box, this is the second time in only a few months.”

Second? In a few months? No… She had never had the box stop before.

“What’s going on?” she asked, startled by her own voice. She didn’t know she had a voice box. Was it a voice box? Or was it her voice, natural and painfully alive?

“Shh, it’s alright.” They quickly inserted the batteries into the bottom of the box, then set it down on the table again. “Come on. In you go.”

“No! No, I want– I want you to explain! Why am I bleeding? What’s going on?”

“You’re bleeding? Oh, my. What a mess.” They flipped a switch and the song started back up, and she didn’t know why she covered her ears. She just knew she had to, it was crucial that she did, it was the most important thing in the world that she blocked out the song completely.

“Just tell me what’s going on!” she cried, shrieking when her owner pinned her down against the desk, securing her limbs with clear tape. “No, stop, stop it! Please! I don’t understand, I don’t understand!”

“Shh… Calm down, sweet… It’s alright…” They winced when they saw the wound above her knee, swiftly grabbing some ointment and a cotton swab to treat it. She struggled against the makeshift restraints, unable to stop the music from infiltrating her mind any longer. “Oh, what a bad doll you’ve been again…”

“I’m not a doll!”

Her captor gave her a pitying look, gently dabbing the injured area and making her cry harder with the sting of it. “It’s going to be alright.”

The empty box continued playing the music, and she felt her anger slowly give way to resignation. Her struggles became weaker before they ceased entirely, and her pain dissipated before she was even freed from the clear tape. She wasn’t tired anymore. She wasn’t hurting.

“There you are,” they murmured. “My most perfect little creation. My little ballerina.”

New clothes were brought out for her, and she lay completely still as her owner changed out the old ones. She was placed back in the box, where the song was the loudest, and she let it wash over her. It was so heavy, like a comforting blanket.

“Get into position for me, won’t you?” She raised her arms and tried to mimic the grace of a real dancer, making her master smile. “Perfect. My little mechanical doll. My toy box dancer. What a little wonder I’ve created.”

The song filled her mind and body as she kept spinning, keeping completely still for her owner’s enjoyment. She was a perfect little ballerina, her master’s favourite, never stumbling and never ever disappointing them.

[painsandconfusion]

Whumpee who catches hints from whumper every once in a while that there’s someone whumper has erased from their memory.

Their desperation to find this ‘caretaker’ and remember who they are.

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

whump prompt 155

Making Whumpee think their friends / loved ones are responsible for their situation.