#guilty whumper

[rizzoto-whump]

"Why? Why does your country torment us so?" Whumpee asked, their voice trembling with pent-up anger and sorrow.

Whumper, slathered in medicinal paste and bandages, looked at them with pained eyes. Their silence sounded louder than any apology they could have offered.

"We.. we were told that this is for the greater good. We didn't know... I didn't know the pain we were inflicting on people," Whumper admitted solemnly, guilt etching a deep crease on their face.

Whumpee inhaled sharply, "You choose to invade our lands, impose your laws, take our resources and you didn't know? You say you didn't understand what you were doing?"

"We were soldiers, orders were orders—" Whumper started, but Whumpee cut them off.

"No, Whumper. You have choices. Always. Every time you raise your sword, that's a choice." Whumpee tears welled up in their eyes as they looked away.

[wattzgoingdark]

Impulsive Whumper getting too into the headspace. Getting too into the moment. They go too far and do something truly disturbing. Truly sickening. Sure, they do things that are sickening to normal people all the time, but they finally cross the line and do something that is sickening to themself.

[catnykit]

𝔽𝕝𝕠𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕡𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 #𝟙 𝔸 ℙ𝕆𝕆ℝ 𝔻𝔼𝕍𝕀𝕃

𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠

AHJSOWNXOQNIXNQ I CANT BELIVE I'LL FINALLY WRITE ABOUT MY OWN CHARACTERS AAAAAAA

TY ALL MUTUALS AND PEOPLE TO INSPIRE ME TO DO THAT

THIS IS JUST A BLOOD LOSS WHUMP DRAFT,BUT WHO CARES AAAAAAA

pls tell me if you want to be tagged for more stuff like this idk

Word count: 1674

𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠

Warnings

;Suicide/suicide attempt

Blood loss

Torture hints/mentions

✨️Trauma,Of course

Mourning(????? Mild mourning???

Self hatred

Major character death :)

All warnings happen almost randomly,But not immediatly,Like— I gotta first explain and then the fuss happens you know

𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹

The dizzness was starting to became hard to ignore

Damm,It was expected,You cant lock yourself in the bathroom after accidentally torturing an innocent and then go free like nothing

Well,In her defense,Carmen did not knew that liam was innocent

Now she was the monster here,Isnt she? She had good meanings,The suspect's actions were too much to get ignored by the police Even if she was there,All by herself,She could still hearing her friend's cries that night....

She didnt know what happen in the woods until she saw wesley,Her best friend,Cover in a blanket while sitting in the border of an ambulance

They were shaking,All bloody.Carmen couldnt let the things like that!! Since childhood carmen was told she was 'way too impulsive' And why would they care?! She only did what was needed

Blood didnt stop coming as the yells didnt stopped. They wanted her to go out of the bathroom. Now.

Of course,The needed was to kidnap liam and torture them just like he did with wesley....

So one good day,She grab choloform and kidnap him in the middle of the night

How fun!,Guts,Blood,Burns,And a little syringue to make sure they dont pass out

The begs where even more satisfactory considering that,It was probabily how wesley beg in liam's hands,he deserve it!

What was not fun Was the call....

After being done with liam,And without any more ideas She decided to call wesley!,Yay!

Little problem,She did not tell wesley anything about her little plan ....Carmen was sure they would accept no matter what.

Or maybe she fogot it? In all the rage?

Staying awake was hard,Breathing was hard. She deserved it thought. They were always right and this wasnt the exception.

or Atleast thats why she throught

It didnt matter now

God,Wesley was mad.

So,So mad :(

And they had the right to be it! It was the wrong person!! Carmen is the heartless monster In here.....Atleast that was Wes said.....

"B-But I did it for.... you!"

"YOU'RE A MONSTER— I CANT BELIVE SOMEONE CAN BE THIS...TORTUROUS!"

God,And they used to be friends

Dear fucking God,It was truth....

Liam was aslo bleeding out,Atleast kind of

Carmen was so careless that she sewed up the wound with the first Thing she found,It wouldnt last forever

But the diference is that wesley was there for him

Such a backstabbed!,Or was she?

Did it care anyway?

Why was wesley yelling at her to get out?

Why did they wanted her alive?

Wesley was just there,Outside the bathroom,Trying to get who was once his friend out,For their own fucking sake

Liam was still there too,Watching quietly the blood stain the floor under the bathroom's door;All while squirming slighty In pain

The sedatives of the first aid kit did barely anything,Atleast he wasnt crying

Wesley was scared too,Goddamit,They were way too scared of anything that happen

Why the fuck did they told carmen about it? Knowing how she was?

It didnt matter now,They went mad and they know it.

They aslo knew that she was way too sensitive for reasons that they told eachother on countless outings to eat, walks, just being together

The worst part it was how close they were from eachother,And how that somewhat end in this absolute Mess

Now wesley has to cope with Not one,But two persons bleeding out.

Why do they always need to be so rude?

They felt way too guilty too

Guilty about the person in the couch who didnt hurt them,But everyone thought against it because they say "He look similar"

Well,They didnt know it was gonna end like this.

They didnt know how Mad carmen was for someone hurting them

How much Rage in order to find someone to blame

It wasnt till then that they noticed The stain that they relized it. All the restroom was quiet since they kick the door open to the basment And find their best friend torturing an innocent person,Liam They didnt think carmen could do this and yet? It was there Just there And the worst part its that All was Her fault,Thats what she thought. Carmen was alredy blood-stained when she run upstairs trying to hide from wesley,Who didnt stop yelling at her how much of an horrible person she was And in part,It was right,The problem is that She alredy knew that. She alredy knew that So when wesley saw the blood under the door,open the damm bathroom door, He wasnt ready. He had to leave liam just to... Just to see it? How one of the most important persons in his life was laying om a pool of her own blood.

Well,She regret it.

How do you deal with the thought that you're a monster who deserved to be put down?

Its not like somebody would care anyway,Is not like they would care anyway

by this point,The blood lossed was enough to just

Pass out

Wesley was terryfied. Standing there,In the bathroom door....

Liam was still laying on the couch,In pain after Everything that carmen put them throught horryfing torture...

How was they supposed to fix this?

Was it any way to do it,Was it possible?

And now they were crying.Over the dying figure of someone who tried to be a good person And failed.

𓃠 𓃬𓃠

Carmen was...confusing

A year ago,They were the one in an ambulance

And they werent that...bad

wesley remembered how bad it was... They remember a strong hand dragging them to the white van They do remember the pain,They got beat up and starved But that was nothing compared to what carmen did to liam

What was most heartbreaking it was that there was no "villian" to blame

The ones who actually kidnap them were in fact,An entire gang.

They got confused following instructions and end up getting the wrong guy

Wesley

The gang promised them that,If they didnt say a word they would free them and never meet agaim

Wesley accepted

And now they're here

With two people on the ambulance

All because they didnt talk...and because carmen went insane

was it her fault tho?? Wanting revengue for her friend??

Was it wesley's fault? They were too focused on trying to keep liam alive they didnt notice when carmen— ... Carmen was only concern. It was her fault the way she decided to be ruthless about it But she didnt deserve...death. She thought she did tho That was wesley's fault.

Wesley was shocked when carmen,Practically drunk called him to say to him that she kidnap one of the suspect and gut him alive.

And other unspeakable stuff that left Liam way more broken than Wesley. All in one night.

The second worst night!— who would guess it...

Wesley tried to get an first aid kit being on the restroom, trying to atleast help liam

Even so,They did not measure their words....

Carmen felt hurt. Attacked,Even so!

by a Friend. That she thought she could trust... But could she? They instead called her inhuman and disgusting Because? Just for wanting revengue? Camen felt alredy sick when she lock the bathroom door and got left alone with her thoughts... Thoughts that didnt stop ominously chanting what wesley said. Liam was innocent you heartless monster.

Liam was innocent.

Liam was fucking innocent

All this time it was wrong

Because liam. Was. Innocent.

There was no one to blame more than the monster that looked back in the mirror The monster that did all of that to an innocent person The monster that cried while hearing who was supposed to be their friend yell at her for all that she has done Nothing but a fox that deserved to be put down

She was gonna get killed anyway,If she didnt do it,The police would.

So...she did it

Eventually wesley give up and just stay,Trying to keep liam alive

Wesley thought that carmen would just hide in the bathroom

The police would kick the door open and all would be over

Carmen felt backstabbed.

Wesley wouldnt even care,Probabily.

He did.

He did when they understood that it went more far than that....

She was dying. Atleast liam was stable She wasnt. Wheb the ambulance finally arrived to the place,Wesley finally got to open the door snd rushed to her The cuts in the wrist were too deep. Too bad. While he tried to hold on her,To just try to stop the bleeding and made her sit up,To just have a last moment!... She lean in his ear whispered with hatred,Her voice straned because of the blooe loss

:"Hypocrite."

the whisper of the devil. A self-proclaimed demon

Wesley was destroyed

Liam was healing

And carmen died. That very night,Commited suicide

All because wesley went mad. All because they didnt say a word

All because carmen was impulsive,And ruthless

All the pain for revengue,All the death for guilt

All for nothing at all.

𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠

YAYYYYYYYY I FINISH IT

TYSM ALL OF U

@theres-whump-in-that-nebula

@sillywhumpcreature

@whumpy-wyrms

(The ones who anwsered the last post :3)

:D

Pls tell me if you want a taglist,I think im gonna do more content if you guys like this <3

i gotta admiiit this wasnt what I had in mind buuut...again is just a draft sooo

Yeah

This is literally the First one

If

If this gets 10 notes or something imma start the next

[whumpycries]

written for this prompt by @whump-blog

didn't do the complete prompt, migth continue later.

content: stabbing, medical care, past forced self harm and graphic, bad medical care, guilty whumper, whumpee turned caretaker.

The realisation hit Alexander as soon as he locked the door behind him, sliding down with his hand clutched to his side, bleeding out.

He had thought, a little foolishly, that he'd be fine as soon as he reached home. That of course they didn’t know where he lived, and that he knew he hadn’t been followed, and that he would be able to rest and recuperate and then go back to get his revenge. 

He had forgotten about Nick. 

Nick, who, as reward for his obedience, wasn’t locked and chained up while Alexander wasn’t at home anymore. Nick, who was looking at him from the end of the hall. Nick, who Alex has been hurting for over a year now. 

I probably deserve it, was the last thought in his mind before his vision finally gave out, and he was dragged down to unconsciousness. 

…

Alexander woke up, which was to be expected. Can’t take revenge on a dead person, after all. Although he was still a little surprised because there had still been the small possibility that Nick might have just wanted it all done and over with and killed him. 

The second thing he realised was that he was on a bed. Not just any bed though, he was on his bed, firm and familiar and comforting. He was fairly certain he wasn’t bound in any way either, despite being in considerable pain. 

He peeled his eyes open, and looked down at himself. He’d been stripped from waist up, and there was a clean, white bandage wrapped around his torso, over the place he’d been stabbed. It throbbed and ached and stung, but it was clearly not bleeding anymore. 

Nothing else, though. Nothing. He still had all his stuff next to him. Including his knife, his phone, and his car keys. Alex stared at those dumbly, until he heard footsteps. His head whipped up to see Nick entering the room, a tray in his hands. He was walking a little unsteadily, but managed not to drop anything. 

When he saw that Alex was awake, he froze. Then, seeming to shake himself, he walked back over to his bedside and set the tray over on the table, right next to Alex’s other things. 

“Sir,” Nick whispered, “There’s some– some painkillers. Don’t… please don’t have them on an empty stomach.” 

Nick cringed as he spoke, as if expecting to be hit. But Alexander just stared at the boy, trembling faintly as he fidgeted at the bedside. He gingerly propped himself up on his elbows and saw that the tray did have a bottle of over the counter painkillers, a small mug of soup, and a glass of water. 

Alex looked back at Nick, something heavy growing in his gut as Nick seemed to grow paler and paler. Then, quite suddenly, Nick dropped down to his knees, wringing his hands impossibly harder. 

“Can I–” he stammered, “May I look at your wound, sir?” 

Ah fuck it. He’ll deal with his emotions about the matter later. Currently, all Alex cared about were the goddamn painkillers and the fact that he didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger. He pushed himself up into a sitting position with a grunt, swinging his legs off the bed and leaning his side against the headboard. He picked up and swallowed down a pill, downing half the glass of water. 

He turned towards Nick, who was looking at him anxiously, his lip already bleeding from where he’d bitten through it. 

Alex waves his hand, ignoring Nick’s flinch, “Go ahead, I suppose.” 

He does, unwrapping the bandages with now steady hands. The change is so abrupt Alexander wonders for a moment if the tremors were just for show, but he knows better. He’s seen it happen before, force of habit, needs must, and all that. Some things just need a steady hand. 

Logically, he knows his side must have been stitched to have stopped bleeding. He just hadn’t really considered that Nick would have actually stitched him up. Quite neatly at that. 

Alex knows how how badly it is possible to fuck up stitches, after all. He’s seen it on Nick, when he’d forced him to cut himself and then stitch himself back up. He’s fairly certainly some of the cuts scarred because they’d been stitched. 

Alex stays still as Nick checks over the neat line of stitches, cleaning up little spots of blood and applying a cool ointment over it. After he’s done, still kneeling, Nick scoots back over, bowing his head and resting his hands on his lap. His hands have started trembling again. 

Fuck. 

--

part two

[whump-or-whatever]

Idk if I’ve articulated enough how much I love whumpees with somewhat dark histories.

As in, they’ve done some stuff they regret, maybe hurt some people. Perhaps they were angry in their youth and lashed out, or they were so preoccupied chasing their own desires that they didn’t stop to think about how their actions affected others.

Anyway, that leads to a lot of guilt when they finally change their ways, and the way they feel about their past then influences how they behave in the present.

Maybe that means whumpee overworks themself trying to help others and make up for wasted time. They’re far too willing to put themself in harm’s way. When something bad happens to them, they don’t take it seriously enough cause deep down they just sorta feel like they had it coming. They might not object to being mistreated or they might allow themself to be used/manipulated because they don’t think they have a right to expect better. They could be unwilling to accept help when they really need it because they think other people are more deserving.

Yeah, I just love guilty whumpees, especially when that guilt is never explicitly discussed but it manifests itself in the way whumpee behaves and it’s fundamental to their understanding of self.

[kaiwewi]

Guilty Conscience

[Masterlist: Renegade Rescue Squad]

Synopsis: a rookie hero has been taken prisoner. Other Villain is looking forward to torturing them. Villain very much isn't.

tw: whump, captivity, talk about torture, gore mentioned

The little hero was a lost cause.

No one ever made a full recovery from Other Villain’s torture dungeon.

Anyone who had been lucky – or unlucky – enough to survive the encounter was in some way irrefutably and irreversibly distorted, physically or mentally. Or both.

Most who’d found themselves here, however, had simply been killed.

From his corner of the too small room, Villain watched Other Villain mock their tied-up captive. The little hero remained stoic, even after the beating they’d received, they still glared up from their no doubt uncomfortable position, slumped on the metal chair.

If only they weren’t this stubborn.

“You’re going to sing for me, pretty bird. Everyone does, sooner or later.” Other Villain dug their claws into the fresh wounds blemishing the hero’s cheeks and wiped the blood dripping down from the hero’s split lip off their chin.

The hero wrenched their head back, out of Other Villain’s grasp.

So much defiance in a body so small and beaten. Any semblance of fight should have forsaken the rookie the moment they’d realised whose clutches they’d fallen into. But the hero had refused to cave, to beg, to give information freely while they’d had the chance to emerge if not unscathed at least with only the few bruises to show for from kicks and punches.

This hero was a fiery thing, a phoenix caged and stripped of its magic, yet still so proud.

Their courage might have been inspiring if it wasn’t so dooming.

Other Villain leaned over the hero’s shoulder from behind and held up something small and metallic for them to see. “I love these neodymium fridge magnets,” they said. “So tiny, so practical, and so strong. Imagine swallowing a few, one at a time, every other hour.” Their mouth twisted into a manic grin. “Doesn’t that sound fun, all those magnets joining together on the inside and turning your guts into a sieve…. I saw that on TV once, wanted to try it on someone ever since.”

They pointed at the hero’s abdomen, purred into their ear. “Aw, just picture it, pretty bird: perforated intestines, digestive fluids leaking out into the body, the bacteria, the cramps, the vicious infections. Absolute agony. What a gruesome way to die.”

Villain rubbed his arm against the sensation of something crawling across his skin beneath his shirt. He tasted bile and swallowed.

Oh god, he could picture it. Magnets clamping together gut walls, tearing holes through soft flesh yielding under the pressure, a subsequent contamination of the abdominal cavity leading to sepsis and death…. It was sickening. Horrible.

It would work.

How depraved did one have to be to enjoy such a notion?

Other Villain’s laughter echoed from the tiled walls. “I'd estimate, it might kill you within a day or two. But that should leave you with enough time to sell out your team’s lovely little secrets for a few painkillers.”

They ruffled the hero’s hair, almost affectionate.

Some of the colour had drained from the little hero’s face – too pale skin now standing in even more striking a contrast to contusions and blood splatters. They stared up at Other Villain with big terrified eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

“Not to your liking? Pity.” Hand still playing with their captive’s hair, Other Villain circled around until they stood in front of the hero. “But don’t you fret, songbird. There are still so many other fun activities the two of us could try together.”

The two of us. So this was between Other Villain and their victim only? Then at least Villain wouldn’t have to play an active role in this sick game.

He hated himself a bit for feeling relieved.

[Part 2]

[whumpcereal]

behavior modification, part seven

<previous, masterlist here!

taglist: @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @aut0psy-s, @reflected-pain, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

content warnings for: EXPLICIT NONCONSENSUAL TOUCH, MENTIONS OF CSA, creepy/intimate whumper, forced nudity, invasive questioning, emotional manipulation, negative self-talk, restraints, muzzles, humiliation, cages, dehumanization, institutionalized slavery, past minor whump (again, not detailed & only used as a means for backstory), edging, references to past noncon, implied future noncon

part seven, jack's intake interview (part two)

Ivan’s fingers hover over the keyboard.

“Typically, Romantics are custom-ordered, so their handlers know which responses to encourage. You, my darling, are an experiment in fitting every specification, in learning how to condition—and decondition—any desired behavioral response. And we’re developing an entirely new protocol based on you. You’re special, Jack. Trainee Zero, so to speak.”

He taps the numbers into the white field, and Jack flinches with every keystroke. There is no color left in the boy’s face.

SUBJECT: 000000M

Eventually, those numbers—the absence of value—will replace sweet little Jack’s name. He will be nothing. And then, he will be Ivan’s.

Ivan smiles, and he keys in the date and time of Jack’s acquisition. He leaves the facility assignment blank.

“Now, I’ll need your help for the rest of this, sweet boy. Do you understand?”

Jack nods vacantly, his leash jangling against his chairback.

“Given name?”

Jack works his jaw back and forth before answering. “John Michael Kenyon.”

“And your date of birth?”

“M-May 21, 1998.”

Ivan laughs. He looks over the screen and raises his eyebrows at Jack. “Oh my. Old Joe really was robbing the cradle, wasn’t he?”

“Don’t talk about Joe!”

It’s adorable, the way sweet little Jack forgets himself. His cheeks are red again, and there’s a delicious little snarl curling against his pretty pink lips. He tugs too hard against his leash, and his throat seizes beneath his collar when the chain pulls taut.

He’s even more adorable when his body jerks and rolls with electricity, rattling the chain behind him.

“Careful now, Jackie. You remember that you said you’d be good. You said you’d answer the questions; that’s the only reason you’re not muzzled right now.”

Jack still twitches, the cuffs at his wrists pulling against the bar beneath the table’s edge. His eyes are half-rolled back in his head. He’s gorgeous. Soft. Pliant. At Ivan’s complete mercy. 

“Are you ready?” Ivan asks, knowing full well the boy can’t respond. 

Darling Jack’s only answer is an animal grunt, low in his throat. But he manages to nod, tears spilling from his pretty blue eyes and sliding all the way down to his slack, spit-soaked jaw.

He’s already coming undone. WRU was right about the collars.

“Excellent, sweet boy,” Ivan says. “You’re doing so well. Now, this next bit is important. Sexual orientation?”

“S-seriously?” Jack slurs.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Ivan shakes the remote at him. “You’re a Romantic, darling. Harnessing your preferences is an important part of your training.”

Jack won’t meet his eye. “Gay.”

“Only men, then?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s fortunate.” Ivan’s nostrils flare, and he inhales a slow breath. “Not many women order Romantics. And besides, you’ll be prepped and ready for me, won’t you?”

It’s then that sweet little Jack really starts to tremble.

Heat coils low in Ivan’s belly, and he spreads his legs wide. “Next question.”

---

SEXUAL HISTORY: Subject’s first sexual experience was at age 13; he maintains that this was non-consensual and established a pattern of abuse that lasted for several months. Similarly, Subject claims that he was molested by guards at a juvenile detention facility and routinely used by other inmates as part of a token economy. Subject engaged in illicit sex work between the ages of 15 and 18; some of this activity was facilitated by a staff member from Subject’s group home. Subject reports hypersexuality during and following this period, until at least age 19. Previous to intake, Subject was involved in a monogamous relationship with a stable partner for a period of two years; partner was substantially older and furnished much of Subject’s lifestyle.

Jack’s cheeks are stiff with the salt tracks of his tears. He can’t see what Ivan’s typing, but it doesn’t matter. He knows what he said, what he admitted to. It’s not like he’s never talked about it. His therapist knows. Joe knows. 

It wasn’t your fault, baby. That’s what Joe said when Jack told him. He held Jack, gently, like he thought Jack might go to pieces in his arms. It was the first time anyone had treated Jack’s body like it might be fragile, like it was something that deserved protection. Jack remembers that he didn’t understand, that he tried to pull away from Joe’s tenderness. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved to be used. 

I’ll never make you feel that way, Jackie. Never, never. You are more important than what your body has to offer. I promise you. You are more than what’s happened to you.  

That night, Jack let himself cry, and Joe wiped his tears away. 

Ivan does not wipe away Jack’s tears. He’s only too happy to watch Jack’s face disappear behind the thin mask of his own pain. He looks up from his laptop and smiles.  

“That must have been very difficult, Jackie,” Ivan murmurs, and Jack winces at the nickname. “You must be very strong, to have survived so much.” 

Ivan’s fingers fall to the keys again. 

ADDITIONAL NOTES: Subject should have high capacity for masochism; pain tolerance appears to be high, and sexual history indicates extensive experience with submissive positions and hard use. 

Ivan leans back in his chair and scratches at his balls. Very fucking professional. 

“Now, Jack. Remember, part of this interview is about understanding your, ah, preferences, so that we can incorporate them into your training.” 

Jack presses his lips together. He isn’t an idiot. He knows what that means. That Ivan will use the things that make Jack feel good to destroy him. That he’ll obliterate all of the progress Jack has made in the last five years. That he will lock Jack back inside those lost years, and this time, there will be no way out. 

“For instance, when you’re with Joe, what’s your role?” 

No. No fucking way is he answering that question. 

“You understand what I’m asking, don’t you? It isn’t hard to figure out how you were used before–” Jack squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. He bites his bottom lip so hard that he can taste copper on the tip of his tongue, “--but I bet Joe was gentle. I bet he let you call the shots, didn’t he?” 

Was. As if Joe belongs in the past tense. Jack’s eyes sting with angry tears, but he won’t let them fall. Not this time.  

“Did you top old Joe?” Ivan asks. “Or did he pretty up the things other people did to you?” 

Fuck you, Jack thinks. He doesn’t realize that he’s actually said it until another shock blows his nerves apart–and then another, and another, until Jack’s chair tips off-balance, sending his chest into the edge of the metal table with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs. He opens his mouth in a desperate gasp, but his chest keeps seizing, begging for air. 

Ivan is next to him now, and he guides the chair legs back to the floor by Jack’s throat. 

“You’re lucky I need you to speak, darling,” Ivan soothes, and Jack wriggles in his bonds as Ivan traces a gentle finger down his throat,  “but I’d choose my words more carefully if I were you. This really is one of your last opportunities to speak freely.” 

Well, if that’s the case– 

“Fuck you,” Jack rasps. 

Ivan doesn’t shock him this time. Instead, he slaps Jack so hard across the face that Jack can’t help but cry out–and then, Ivan’s mouth is on Jack’s, pressing Jack’s lips open with the muscled dart of his own tongue. Jack tries to pull away, but Ivan’s hand is anchored against the back of his head, and there’s no way out. Ivan sucks at Jack’s tongue, and then he bites it, hard enough to draw blood. Then, he pulls away. 

“Did you like that?” Ivan asks. 

Jack spits his blood on the table’s spotless surface, chest heaving. “Fuck. You.”  

Again, he waits for the blistering assault of the shock, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Ivan’s teeth fasten tight around his earlobe. Jack yelps, but Ivan knuckles into his hair and holds him fast. 

“No, darling. I think it’s the other way around. I’ll be fucking you soon enough. That’s all you're good for, isn’t it? No matter what Joe made you think. This was always how it was going to end for you, wasn’t it?” 

“No!” Jack rasps, his throat aching beneath the hard press of tears. 

Jack thinks of the boy he saw when Bill took him to WRU. Of his empty eyes. Of the way he did what the handler asked without hesitation, without resistance. Of the cold fear that knotted in Jack’s belly when he thought of himself in the boy’s position. How he told himself that would never be him. Even when he sold himself to other people, he told himself it was because he wanted to, because it was an easy way to make extra cash. 

Joe took him away from all of that. Showed him it didn’t have to be that way. That he was worth more. But now–

Jack tries to jerk away, but Ivan’s breath is wet and hot in his ear. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’d do to me if I unchained you, Jack. But in time, you’ll become accustomed to my expectations for you. In time, you won’t fight at all.”

Ivan uses his free hand to trace a gentle line down Jack’s chest, scratching his nails over Jack’s belly and down into the thatch of dark hair between his legs. Then, he wraps his hand tight around Jack’s exposed cock and begins to move. 

No. Jack jerks against the restraints at his wrists, tries to slam his knees together, tries to protest, but it’s no use. Ivan lets his head go and reaches for the chain behind him, pulling the collar tight against Jack’s throat as he continues to stroke him. 

Nothing about this feels good. The friction pulls and stings against Jack’s thin skin as Ivan begins to work up speed, and even as Jack tries to protest, his words strangle inside. But still, he can feel himself beginning to respond. He knows he’s supposed to. He’s done it before. 

He tries to shake his head, to shake the thought from his head, but Ivan pulls at his leash.

“I see that look in your eye. The one that says ‘oh, I’ll always fight.’ You won’t.” 

As if on cue, a moan forces its way from Jack’s lips. Ivan keeps his hand moving around Jack, his thumb slipping over Jack’s tip and around the base of his head. Jack tries to slow his breath, but it mounts anyway. 

“I’m going to undo you, darling. Piece by piece. And when I’m done, you’re going to be my perfect little lapdog. I don’t think I’ll have you drooling at the sound of a bell, but, then again, I’m going to do things to you that Pavlov would never have done with his dogs. And you’ll learn to enjoy them. To beg for them.”

“No!” 

Ivan sinks his teeth into Jack’s shoulder then, and Jack can’t help it: he cries out, voice shredding against his own resistance. 

“See, it isn’t so hard,” Ivan murmurs. He doesn’t break pace, doesn’t let up. “It won’t all be bad.” 

Jack is close, and Ivan knows it. 

Jack doesn’t want this. He doesn’t. He won’t. Not ever. 

But his body apparently doesn’t give a fuck, because he arches into Ivan’s punishing touch with another moan, and he can feel his spine starting to disappear, his bones dissolving into nothing. 

“That’s it, Jackie,” Ivan says. His tongue slips inside the pink shell of Jack’s ear.  

And it’s too much. Jackie. That’s for Joe. It’s only for Joe. Jack isn’t supposed to be doing this. Why is he doing this? Why does it feel good? It shouldn’t. It doesn’t. It does. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. He’s so close–

Ivan abruptly pulls his hand away, and Jack actually whines. His cock twitches between his legs, and he tucks his pelvis, trying to rut into the chair like a fucking animal. But it doesn’t work. He’s thrusting into empty air, and there’s no release. His face burns, and his tears overflow. 

“No!” Jack cries, but he doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know if he’s asking for more, or if he’s still trying to protest. And it scares him. “Please!” he sobs. 

Ivan moves to the other side of the table and returns to his laptop as though nothing’s happened. Like Jack isn’t a complete and total wreck. 

“Please. Again. Darling, I told you before, requests aren’t something you get to make anymore.” He smiles and looks at Jack. “Well, I suppose that’s not true. We’ll teach you how to beg. I can see you’ve got aptitude for that.” 

Jack can’t answer. He can still feel himself twitching and aching, and his gut is a knot of need and shame. 

“If you’re very good, perhaps I’ll finish you next time,” Ivan says, eyes back on the screen. “But we still have work to do, don’t we? Now, about Joe–” 

Jack sobs, the basement room blurring around him. But, eventually, he tells Ivan what he wants to know. What choice does he have? 

ADDITIONAL NOTES: Former partner encouraged Subject to “top” during intercourse, in an attempt to increase Subject’s agency and self-efficacy in terms of sexual behavior. This preference should be discouraged in order to promote Subject’s absolute obedience. 

---

Sweet, little Jack is barely clinging to coherence by the time their interview is done. His body has come back down from their little tête-à-tête. He sags in the chair, his dark hair sweaty and his breath shallow. He doesn’t move. 

But it doesn’t matter. Ivan got what he needed.  It’s all in the form. Jack’s family history, or lack thereof. His issues with anger and aggression. His early promise as a behavioral analyst. Each and every piece of information will be critical to Jack’s undoing. 

What’s more, Jack knows it. He knows he’s damned himself, and the pall of shame the boy’s wrapped around himself is exquisite. 

Ivan sends the form to his WRU contact and slaps the laptop closed. 

“Are you tired, sweet boy?” he asks. 

Jack doesn’t respond. 

“Or maybe you’re hungry?” Ivan tries. 

That, at least, elicits a ragdoll’s shake of the head. 

“Well, then, no need to keep this off any longer.” 

He slips the muzzle from the tabletop and stands. He moves behind Jack, and the boy obediently opens his mouth. Ivan stuffs the bit in and fastens the buckle, just a little looser this time. He clicks the padlock into place. Jack’s head bobs forward.  

“You were such a good boy,” Ivan says, like he’s talking to a toddler. “You told me everything I needed to know. But it’s bedtime now, isn’t it?” 

He unclips the boy’s wrists from beneath the table; Jack’s arms collapse, limp, from his shoulders. Ivan releases the boy’s ankles–nothing. Finally, Ivan gently unwinds the leash from the chair back. Jack slumps over himself. 

“Oh, you’re a tired boy, aren’t you, Jackie?” 

There’s the hint of a whimper, but darling Jack doesn’t even seem to be able to raise his head. 

“Let me help you,” Ivan says. 

Jack isn’t a large man, and it’s easy for Ivan to lift him into his arms. Jack’s head lolls against Ivan’s chest, and for a moment, Ivan considers laying him out on the table and taking him right there. He wouldn’t fight. Not tonight. 

But Ivan knows that would disrupt his procedure. Instead, he carries Jack to the corner of the basement, where Jack’s new quarters have been arranged.

“You know,” he says, leaning Jack against a cabinet door, “eventually, you’ll sleep with me. I have a special spot for you all set up in the bedroom.” 

Jack says nothing. Not that he could, anyway. 

“But for now, until you learn your place, this is where you’ll be.” 

Ivan unhooks the latch of the crate. He wonders if Jack will even notice in the state he’s in; Seligman said it’s the same crate Jack had for his dog at home. Seligman certainly has a unique sense of humor. 

“Can you get yourself in there, sweet boy?” 

Jack looks at the crate with red, empty eyes. And then, to Ivan’s delight, he crawls into the cage and collapses on the wire floor. 

“Good boy,” Ivan murmurs, petting Jack’s hair. He reaches into the crate and unclips Jack’s leash. Then, he gently takes Jack’s hands and guides his wrists to the O-ring at his collar; once he’s locked them into place, the boy looks appropriately penitent. Like he’s praying–or begging. 

It’s beautiful. 

---

Jack doesn’t bother to fight Ivan’s touch, and he doesn’t try to keep his tears at bay. He wonders distantly if tears can wear away flesh over time. At this rate, he’ll have trenches in his cheeks before long. 

God, he’s so fucking weak. 

Joe would be disgusted by him. Already Ivan’s whore. Willingly caged. Ivan’s right: this is always how it was going to end for Jack. 

“We left you a little present from home,” Ivan coos. 

His hand slips between Jack’s back and the edge of the crate, and Jack feels soft cotton brushing against him. Ivan settles the fabric around him. 

Jack is ashamed at how relieved he is to be covered. He clings to the fabric with his bound hands, dropping his nose into its folds. He takes a breath, and he catches spice–ginger, basil, a hint of sandalwood. 

He chokes on another sob. It smells like Joe. Joe can’t be here. Joe can’t see him like this. But still, Jack can’t let the cotton go.

“Seligman told me you were wearing it when he brought you in. Of course, he had to cut it open to get you ready for me, but I thought it might help you get comfortable in your new surroundings. It does get awfully chilly down here.” 

Joe’s hoodie. At once, Jack is grateful for the muzzle, that Ivan can’t really read his expression; if Ivan knew the shirt was Joe’s, he would take it away. 

Ivan’s fingers card through Jack’s hair for a moment. Jack buries his nose in Joe’s scent and squeezes his eyes shut. He can pretend it’s Joe touching him, even if he shouldn’t. 

“I know today was hard, Jackie. But, for the most part, you did very well. Maybe this isn’t what you expected when you agreed to work for me, but I promise, it will be worth it. You’re going to help us learn so much. And I’m going to take such good care of you.” 

The hoodie is already soaked through with Jack’s tears. 

“We’ll start tomorrow,” Ivan says. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Jack’s hair; this time, Jack flinches. Ivan chuckles. “Sleep tight, sweet boy.” 

The crate door swings shut, and Ivan secures it with another padlock. Then, he withdraws. The basement goes dark. Ivan’s feet trip up the stairs. And Jack is left alone, wrapped in all that he has left of Joe.

next >

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Homesick

CW; Some dehumanizing language (not much, and not purposeful), nonhuman whumpee, lab whump aftermath, blood, medical whump, mer whump, needle references, clinical depression

Signs of the Sea Masterlist

-

BAHRAM’S NOTES

Written on paper with pen, kept folded in a copy of Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

January 15th, 20XX

1:42 am

Mer in Residence: 93 Days

He’s homesick. I mean, of course he is. I’d be homesick too if they’d taken me away from my parents when I was a kid and dumped me in an enclosure that looks like the uncanny valley version of my life, surrounded me with things who don’t speak like I do and had to learn to communicate by force just to beg for mercy I don’t get

I’m dwelling again. Maman keeps telling me not to dwell, that that’s how everything fell apart before. Why I ended up dropping out, how I fell headfirst into the universe’s oddest babysitting job in the first place. I mean, she doesn’t say that, exactly - she doesn’t know just what I’m doing. Maman and Baba think I’m watching an orca calf. 

I think that’s what I told them, anyway.

Honestly, things are kind of running together, and that’s scary - that’s what happened before. The days run together, I spend more time lying down than upright, and eventually the haze just gets heavier. I stop reading, I stop gaming, eventually I just... stop. I can't do it again. I can't.

I told Maman I might go back on my medication. She said, you know, that’s up to me. She wanted me back on it ages ago, but she never says I told you so and that’s why I tell her these things first, and not Baba. He always asks me why I can't just decide to be happier.

I would if I could, Baba.

Earlier today, after Dr. L was done with the mer, she just... cleaned herself up and then stepped right out. Left. Said she had to make a phone call.

The mer was still on his back, weeping blood all down one side from Dr. Lachlan’s work today. It was pooled all over the floor. At least she seems to have finally decided she’s taken enough of his scales, and his tail doesn’t look like such a mottled, reddened mess any longer.

She says we’re going to give him an MRI soon, and I am not looking forward to trying to get him through any of that safely. Not that safety is something Dr. L is remotely worried about. 

Safety or, you know, basic employment protocols to keep me from losing my mind. I’m on a 24-hour shift, and I should be sleeping right now, but even though I can barely handle standing up, I’m wide, wide awake.

I think it’s making the thoughts worse. I never sleep anymore, except when Miah comes in to give me a day off now and then. She can tell, I know it, but she’s nice enough not to say anything.

I should ask her out on another date, the first one was amazing, but... I don’t know. We kissed at the end and she asked me if I wanted to go inside with her and I said no. Because...

I don't know why.

Because I'm afraid I'll, what, infect her with depression? Who knows. I don't even know. Sometimes it's just too hard to do the thing I want to do. She's made a few attempts to talk since but I just can't seem to find the right signs to connect my brain with my hands.

I should tell her about why I dropped out of grad school, shouldn’t I? I should tell someone that it's happening again. I should tell someone I'm thinking about k

I’ll think about that later. 

Anyway... Dr. L left, and the mer was just... lying there, still strapped down to the examination table, looking at me with those huge green eyes. I thought they were eerie at first, almost emotionless, but I can see all the little shifts now, as he follows my movements. I know some of his clicks, what he’s trying to ask.

I know that he asks for help over and over again, and I know that I don't provide it. I can't.

I could

I can't.

I was pushing over the tub of water we use to move him around when he clicked at me three times, head tilted back. There was dark red blood, nearly purple, staining his white hair. She did some exploratory cuts along his neck, I think prepping for a full surgical look at his vocal chords soon.

She told me why. She did. It's just... I’m just having a hard time listening now. 

I keep looking at him and thinking of how I would feel if my life had gone from family and ocean life to being strapped down and made to bleed for the education - and probably entertainment - of creatures I couldn’t even begin to know.

We talk about alien abductions, but humans are the ones who sometimes just take things and cut them apart to look inside. To Kima, I’m the alien, the evil villain, the monster under the

Bahram you are losing your grip. Stop it.

The blood he lost pooled underneath him and it stained the water as I moved him from the exam table back to his tank. It stained his hair and my hands. He smelled like copper and seawater in those moments. He smelled like bloody tears.

I almost threw up but I couldn't find the energy even for that.

Dr. L told Miah’s dad that forced-captive mer don’t usually last more than a year, especially young ones. I was thinking about that, and how does she know? There aren’t even enough official captivities to begin to have expert knowledge on that, let alone of calves.

Right?

Is there something she’s not telling me about how she knows that kind of information?

Kima clicked at me three times and I just smiled at him. He’s getting used to smiles, I think he gets that they’re not a sign of danger or being angry at this point. He tries to smile back sometimes, although that mouthful of fangs is a little unsettling, even if he means well. 

I said, “I know it hurts, but I promise I’ll put something on there for the pain in just a second.”

He made a sound very much like a chirp and settled back as best he could, but I could see how it hurt him. 

I hate this job.

I hate myself.

I rolled him back down into the tank room, past the computer and the couch and everything, but when it came time to give him an injection to sedate him I just... couldn't do it.

I had to sit down on the couch and just stare. I don't even know what I thought, or how long I did it. But eventually I heard a soft sound like rhythmic scrapes, and I looked up-

And there's Kima.

He was throwing himself against the side of his rolling travel tank to make it roll inch by inch across the floor, closing the distance between us.

When he got close, our eyes met.

I was in the water and out of it, breathing through gills and breathing air. I had rubbery thick skin and heavier weight and thin layers of delicate cells interlocking over muscle and bone. All of it at once.

In my head, I thought was told, Bahram sad.

"Yes." What else could I possibly say?

Kima watched me, solemn and still, with those enormous allover green eyes. Then he pushed upwards, hooking his arms over the side of his travel tank. Dark blood ran mixed with our imported seawater down from the cuts over his neck, staining grayish skin

Kima sad.

None of this was in words. All of it is simply... thoughts. Full thoughts, slipping back and forth like fins in water, slippery as eels. Thoughts that aren't words, but images, feelings, visions behind my eyelids.

I should tell Dr. L he talks to me this way.

I should absolutely not tell her that.

"I'm sorry," I said. My voice cracked, like being a teenager all over again. I could share with him how awful and guilty I felt. I could show that to him. "I didn't know. I didn't know you were... You could think."

"Bbhhh-rrrmmm," Kima said out loud. He tries so hard to make the sounds work. I can't possibly type them out in a way that actually reflects how he says it. "Bhhhh-rmmm. Heh-... ehp. Ulp."

Bahram help.

His brow furrows a little, head tipping to one side. White hair sticks to his cheeks and forehead, drips water down him. His nose slits flare as he breathes through lungs for the moment.

"I don't know how to help you," I said, and put my head in my hands. "I don't know what to do."

He was quiet, then. He looked confused more than disappointed.

After a while, I found the energy to put him back in his big tank and even dropped some fish in. After that, it took all I had in me to dump the bloodied travel tank water and make it back to lie down on the couch.

I've been here basically ever since.

I should read or study but I can't. I just physically can't make myself move. Kima watches me sometimes, and I watch him nurse the bruises and blisters and bloodied wounds Dr. L opened on him. The new ones starting to layer over the old.

He tries to think Bahram help but I don't answer. I don't even have the words to begin.

How do I tell him I need help, too?

If I do, I could lose this job.

Would anyone else talk to him? Miah, yeah, but she has school, she can't be here very often. Who else would take this job?

Would they be worse at it than I am?

Is that even possible?

The alarm just went off

Never mind. It was just Dr. L, she bumped one of the alarms with her hip. She's come back carrying a box. She said tomorrow we take some skin.

I didn't ask how much.

Just said okay, watched her head for the lab, and laid back down on the couch. Kima asked what skin is. I decided not to tell him.

I can't keep being the bad guy, I have to quit.

I can't quit, who would take care of him?

So instead of doing anything, I do nothing. Just like before.

I should tell someone it's happening again.

I should tell someone, anyone, that it's happening again.

Literally anyone.

I'm so tired.

Bahram help.

Okay, but could someone help Bahram, maybe, too?

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @thefancydoughnut @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @yet-another-heathen @fanmanga1357-blog @justabitofwhump @crystalrainwing @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @orchidscript @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up

[castlehillwhump]

What about caretaker who secretly feels like whumpee should have put up more of a fight. They’d never say it, and they can hardly really let themselves think it, but it feels so strange that whumpee would have given in so easily. After all, they were one of the strongest people caretaker had ever known. Why hadn’t they fought back harder? Why hadn’t they held out longer? It had only been a day. It had only taken whumper a day to break them.

Caretaker knows they don’t have a right to feel this way. They know they can never really know or understand what went through whumpee’s mind. But to have other peoole tell whumpee that it’s okay to have given up the information, that anyone in that situation would have— it’s just wrong.

But caretaker won’t actually let themself think that. It’s not right.

[demondamage]

Haziel knew he was guilty of course. He had done- unforgivable things. Unspeakable things. And he knew that no matter what was done to him he would not be any bit closer to forgiveness.

But why was he the only one paying for it?

Everyone wanted their vengeance. Aziphem for- obvious reasons. His master for those same reasons, even if Kotarou was not the one who had suffered because of it. The council, stripping him of his apprenticeship, his weapons, and now his clothes as their act of punishment. Everyone felt entitled to their retribution.

And yeah. He deserved it. Every moment of agony and more. But he had been just one of the many aggressors. Kotarou had lead the project and Aziphem's final escape. Alejo had worked from the shadows to make everything possible. The various researchers had passed around Aziphem like a lab animal. A million hands had touched this atrocity. But when blood had to be paid, only his wrists were slit. It was easier to blame the hot headed apprentice. He could be a willing accomplice or a disobedient violent aggressor depending on what he was charged with. And every dirty hand could consider itself cleansed from his torment. This was retribution, reparation, and repentance all in one, even if it did nothing to fix any damage done.

But they needed a scapegoat; everyone demanded their pound of flesh. And as the icy desert night descended, even the coyotes would get it.

For @whumpsday 's new challenge! This is the Man vs Nature entry!!

Art Tag: @whump-tr0pes @whump-queen @whumpsday @kixngiggles @onlywhumpcomments @project-xiii @ka1imba @suspicious-whumping-egg @cyborg0109 @whatwhumpcomments @whumpcomica @i-eat-worlds @blood-and-regrets @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @burnticedlatte @lonesome--hunter @whumpifi @oddsconvert @painsandconfusion @whumpasaurus101 @sadcatjae @kiratheperson @studyofwhump @sunshiline-writes @emmettverse @just-a-silly-little-whumper @chaotic---calm @ladyjaye13 @befuddled-calico-whump @safetypinflavouredgrass @mottinthemainpot @to-be-a-bee

[rizzoto-whump]

"Whumpee, tell me one thing, don’t you ever feel the desire for freedom?"

The question dumbfounded Whumpee. Freedom was an elusive concept to them, nearly mythical. Their eyes widened, and they responded in their usual naive way, "Freedom? What could be better than being here, serving you?"

Interested in Whumpee's thought process, Whumper probed further, "Surely, you don't want to be serving me forever? What about your dreams, Whumpee?"

"Dreams, Whumper… are for free men."

[chiharuuu22]

Whumpee blinked when he felt someone pulling up the blanket. He saw the Team Leader there, smiling at him.

"Sorry to wake you," he said. "Go back to sleep."

Whumpee seemed to circle the room with his eyes because he felt something was missing.

"Where... where is Caretaker?" he asked in a weak voice.

At first glance, Team Leader looked sad, but his expression immediately changed, "She's a little unwell, so I'll be on guard. When she's well, she'll come here."

Whumpee didn't answer and chose to close his eyes again. Team Leader, who felt a little guilty about lying, could only sit beside the bed in silence.

***

"Whumpee is looking for you," said Team Leader to Caretaker who was sitting alone in the dark hospital lobby, handing her bottled tea.

Caretaker did not answer. Her hand accepted the offered drink. Her eyes looked puffy, as if she had been crying for a long time.

Yes, Caretaker just expressed her emotions. The anger, fury, hatred, and disgust she had been holding at Whumper's trial poured out all at once. Had it not been for the Team Leader and other members to be detained, Caretaker would have wanted to kill Whumper right then and there.

How could it not be? It was Whumper who captured Whumpee during their fight, held him hostage for almost a year, subjected him to experiments, and even harassed him. What's more, Whumper records all of it. The recording was also played in court and made many people sick to their stomachs. In fact, the judge also had to pause it several times. Not just Whumpee, but all of Whumper's victims were killed.

Whumpee managed to survive with great difficulty, even taking strong evidence to corner Whumper. Unfortunately, Whumpee also ended up languishing in the hospital and being critical for some time. Victims who survived also had the same condition; some even had mental disorders.

After seeing everything that happened to Whumpee, Caretaker was unable to meet him. Found Whumpee who was still lying weak and still had to be helped with medical equipment, even just to breathe. Caretaker didn't dare imagine what Whumpee was going through.

"Whumpee didn't say anything, but he noticed you were avoiding him," Team Leader sat down next to Caretaker. "He woke up several times and looked like he was looking for you."

"I don't dare go see him. I can't stand what I just saw, let alone Whumpee who experienced it," Caretaker spoke in a trembling voice. "I'll definitely cry if I see him."

Team Leader sighed, "At least he's safe and still has his sanity. I know you two need each other, and now Whumpee really needs you by his side."

Caretaker downed her drink.

"Go meet him; Whumpee will be very happy to see you." Team Leader patted Caretaker's shoulder to encourage her.

Caretaker nodded.

***

Whumpee woke up again when he felt something soft and cold touch his cheek. His eyes widened slightly when he found the Caretaker beside him stroking his cheek with affection.

"The Leader said you weren't feeling well. Are you sick? Are you okay?" Whumpee asked and slowly trying to get out the sound he managed to muster, his hand reaching for Caretaker's face. "Are you crying? Why?"

Caretaker started to feel a pinch in her heart; she wanted to cry again. "I'm okay. Just... just a little tired. Don't worry. I'm feeling better too; that's why I came here. Why? Miss me?"

Whumpee flashed a weak smile and said, "Yeah. Very."

Caretaker chuckled softly and said, "Don't worry. I'll be beside you."

Whumpee actually realized why Caretaker was acting like that. Whumpee knows today is Whumper's court, and he already expects that the indictment and evidence will be shown there.

"I'm sorry," said Whumpee.

"Why apologize? You didn't do anything wrong," Caretaker kissed Whumpee's forehead gently. "Go to sleep. You need it."

Whumpee squeezed Caretaker's hand. Just for that alone, Whumpee felt safe.

[finchbirb]

Whumpee being punished for a crime they don’t remember. Feeling guilty for something they’re not even sure they did. Whumper beating them up maybe for something they didn’t even actually do whilst whumpee believes they don’t even deserve the slightest hint of mercy

[veryspecificwhump]

Whumpee whose love language is touch. As in, they need to hug or be hugged pretty often just to stay sane. Whumpee who's so touch-starved and desperate that they crawl up to Whumper after being torture and cling to their leg, begging for a hug, to hold hands, something

I can see this going four ways, with one 'good ending'. First there are the smug options. Creepy Intimate Whumper who'ss smug because they know Whumpee won't fight them about crossing boundaries anymore. Whumpee's just too desperate. Regular Whumper who's smug because Whumpee just majorly overstepped,and now they have an excuse to punish them. (not that they need one, but it's nice to have evidence that Whumpee "deserves it") Who remarks every time there's a pause in Whumpee's screaming that they brought this on themselves. Then there are the shocked options. Whumper who's shocked and angry that Whumpee would ask for such a thing, and punishes them. (spur-of-the-moment as opposed to planned) Who is genuinely disgusted by Whumpee's whining and is willing to torture Whumpee into never doing that again. Finally, Whumper who is shocked, confused, and the slightest bit sympathetic. They hadn't realized how much Whumpee needed (benevolent) physical contact. Maybe they're whumping for a job and their heart isn't in it, maybe they don't really understand how much they're actually hurting Whumpee, but they're just the tiniest bit guilty and they hold Whumpee's hand. (While muttering about how high-maintenance Whumpee is, of course) Maybe they turn into a Caretaker, or a Carewhumper at the least.

[whump-or-whatever]

40 Immortal Whumpee Prompts/Tropes

1. They never ask for help, having become self-sufficient out of necessity

2. They isolate themself to avoid the pain of losing people

3. They put themself in the way of danger because better them than someone mortal, right?

4. OR they put themself in the way of danger because it’s the closest they can get to an end to their suffering

5. They are genuinely confused when other people care for their well-being

6. “It doesn’t matter if I get hurt, I’m immortal.” | “Yes, but you still feel pain, don’t you?” | “Well yeah, but it will never do any lasting damage.” | “Okay, but it’s still just, like… not good for you to suffer constantly?”

7. They think nothing of going missing or zoning out for extended periods of time

8. They laugh in the face of whumper because no matter what they do, whumpee has survived worse

9. Captivity/servitude doesn’t really faze them much (practice makes perfect)

10. Alternatively, their past experiences affected them so strongly that they are terrified to go through it again

11. They fall into familiar coping strategies very quickly once introduced to a new whumper

12. They view whumper as little more than an amusing child

13. And yet they somehow view caretaker as an equal, if not an elder

14. Caretaker grounds them, reminds them of what it is to have a finite life, keeps them sane

15. They simultaneously abhor and relish in the fact that nobody will ever really know them fully

16. They have lived long enough to have made difficult decisions, made some mistakes, or outright done some bad stuff, about which they are endlessly guilty (they have a lot of regrets)

17. (If they have healing/regrowth) They are far too wiling to cut off a body part/severely injure themself to get free

18. OR (if the can die and come back) They are far too willing to take more drastic measures

19. (If they can die and come back) Whumper puts them in a situation where they die repeatedly (eg. chained underwater, buried alive)

20. Alternatively, whumper just locks them up and throws away the key, and they are stuck there alone as they slowly lose their mind

21. Maybe they use the fact that they can die & come back/heal to prank people… 👀

22. They take everything either way too lightly or way too seriously

23. They dedicate themself to a purpose, because it is the only thing that gives their life any meaning

24. Caretaker regularly has to remind them that there is more to life than just said purpose

25. Caretaker constantly pesters them to make sure they are taking care of themself

26. “Just because you won’t die if you don’t take care of yourself doesn’t mean you don’t have to do it!”

27. They have to stay in the shadows/only trust certain people with their secret in order to avoid people finding out they’re immortal

28. They have been betrayed before so they are very cautious about who they trust, and they are extremely slow to open up

29. When people do find out they are immortal, the reactions can be quite negative

30. They at times lose hope and fall into bad habits, such as alcohol or drugs (if those affect them), or fighting/self-injurious behaviors

31. They have to deal with the fact that everything they have ever known/will ever know will one day be gone

32. They don’t only outlive people regularly, they also survive through plagues, natural disasters, wars, major catastrophes, maybe even the destruction of their planet

33. (If they need need a thing to stay immortal, like a potion or talisman) Whumper denies them access to said thing and repeatedly brings them to the brink of death before finally giving it back

34. They are constantly looking for a ‘cure’ to their immortality, which caretaker simultaneously understands yet is horrified by

35. Alternatively, (if they can give away their immortality, say it’s a talisman) They have to decide when to give it away/who to give it to

36. And imagine, they had decided to give it to someone (maybe their child), but the person dies before they can give it to them

37. They gradually forget things and people which were important to them, such as their parents, significant others, children, and so on

38. OR they are so concerned about forgetting things that they obsessively record everything that happens in a journal or rehearse past events in their head

39. (If they don’t age or scar) They feel invalidated by the fact that their body does not represent who they are and what they’ve been through

40. (If they retain one scar, say the wound that first killed them) They are extremely distressed by what it represents and don’t like thinking about it, but they have to play it off and lie about it when people ask

[kaiwewi]

Some more Guilty Conscience please!! (Though now I feel guilty, because this is going to HURT me) haha, get it?

Thanks for the request! Lol, pain it is, and there's enough for everyone xD

Guilty Conscience #4

[Masterlist: Renegade Rescue Squad] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Synopsis: Other Villain wants Villain's help with experimenting on the hero. Things take an unexpected turn.

tw: whump, captivity, talk about torture, knife, blood

All of this was Villain’s fault.

The hero had been caught in his trap – a cursed contraption he had built more for show than anything, convinced it would never activate, let alone outperform its purpose. But he’d miscalculated, and his naivety did not absolve him from his crime.

His trap, his responsibility. His guilty conscience.

He wasn’t an idle bystander – he was an accomplice.

Other Villain leaned closer, half turned towards him in something almost resembling a loose hug. The hand that wasn’t sitting on his shoulder slithered down his torso and came to rest above his hip, on the small leather sheath on his belt. Other Villain flipped the latch open and pulled out his knife.

He didn’t dare try to snatch it back as they held it up in the space between their faces.

“I’d like your assistance,” Other Villain said. “I need someone who can handle a blade, and rumour has it you’re some kind of surgeon or something.” With a final pat on the back, they removed their arm from his shoulders, grabbed one of his wrists, placed the knife firmly into his hand, and closed his fingers around the hilt. “So be a darling and skin one of the subject’s forearms for me.”

“You want me to—” Skin the subject’s… No way. He couldn’t – he wouldn’t. “Why?”

“Just an experiment, for science.” Other Villain smiled sweetly, glancing back at the hero. “I want to apply acid to both their arms and contrast deep tissue damage.”

The poor little hero shrank back as far as their bonds allowed.

“Wait,” they cried, voice raw and desperate, choking on their sobs, “you don’t have to do that. Please… I’ll talk, okay? Yeah? I’ll tell you… whatever you want to know, I promise, I’ll tell you. Everything… So don’t do that, please, don’t do that… please, just stop…”

Other Villain laughed.

“You misunderstood, birdie. I’m so sorry,” they said, and did nothing to hide their vicious grin, “I’m not all that interested in information. Fact is: you’re not going anywhere, and when I finally get to interrogating you later, I’m sure you’ll still be just as eager to share.”

Villain couldn’t breathe. The hero’s pitiful wailing may as well have been a punch to his solar plexus. The knife rested heavy in his hand like the weight of every bad decision he’d ever made in life.

He met the hero’s eyes and found that he couldn’t look away, no matter how much he willed himself to not stare at the tears rolling down puffy cheeks, drawing lines through the carnage of half-dried blood splattered across a face which had been reduced to an ashen canvas painted red and purple.

For the first time, the little hero looked truly shattered.

Maybe hope and Other Villain simply couldn’t coexist.

“Let me show you something, pretty bird.” Other Villain plucked a smart phone from their pocket and began tapping and swiping at the screen. “No. No. No…. Ah, found it!

“See, that’s what a chemical burn looks like. Nice, isn’t it? – I took that picture last year, when one of my guests had an unfortunate accident with my hydrochloric acid…. Well, at least it was all rather insightful, if you get my drift.” They swiped across the screen again. “There, half the skin on her hand practically melted away and we could see the ligaments and muscle fibres. And this” – they pointed at something, paused to zoom into the picture, then held the phone up in front of their captive’s face again – “this is a knuckle bone and here—”

Other Villain’s words cut off in a breathless gurgle.

The phone clattered to the floor.

Villain pulled his knife out of Other Villain’s neck and gave the blade a curious look.

He’d just stabbed them, hadn’t he? He couldn’t remember doing that – neither the action nor the intent – but here they were: Villain with the bloody knife clutched in his hand; Other Villain bleeding profusely; the smartphone on the floor next to Villain’s feet; and the hero on the verge of passing out in their seat.

“Not a surgeon,” he said softly into the sudden silence, “I’m a paramedic.”

[Part 5]