#living weapon

[violent-ultraviolet]

Okay guard dog whumpees or attack dog whumpees who are human but the little things about the way they interact with their environment gives them away.

They sit unnaturally on chairs, limbs tangled

They stalk rather than simply follow or walk

They tend to have little ticks like snapping at the air quietly when they're frustrated. Whumper knows it's harmless.

Whumpees who have that distinct human "etiquette" trained out of them :)

[dragyouthroughthewhump]

Living weapon, alone, no orders, unsure what to do.

What does it do? Nothing at all for a few days? Wander in straight line? Care for basic functions only? Try to find its owner?

First time that it can remember being without orders. Supposedly free, unsure of what to do except follow the last instruction from its not-owner. "RUN"

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hey, I love your work so much! Would it be possible to do a "living weapon" in recovery, possibly taken to a rebel base and one of the rebels being nice to the weapon and giving them affection, but the weapon has no idea how to act?

"Hey. You need anything?"

The weapon's head snapped up, sharp gaze fixing on them. They otherwise sat perfectly still where the rebel leader had left them. Lou had watched them, on and off, for the past hour.

"I brought you some tea. If you'd like it. I always find tea soothing when I'm in new, strange places." Lou offered a small smile as he held up the drink, stepping further into the room. "What's your name?"

"Name?"

"Yeah. What do you like to be called?"

"I'm the weapon."

"You like being called that?"

The weapon's head tilted the smallest fraction. "It is what I am called. It's what I've always been called."

Lou didn't let their smile slip, despite the sorrow-horror that notched through their heart at that. Now was hardly the time to push. "Okay," they said. "Well. Tea? I wanted to check in if you need anything?"

The weapon stared at them. It was the sort of stare that stripped a person to their component parts.

Lou cleared their throat. They crossed the room to set the tea mug down on a side table. "You hungry? Thirsty? Tired? You want - I don't know. A book or something? You don't have to just sit there."

"I was told you to stay here."

"Well, yes, but..." They didn't know how to explain that the difference been stay there, okay? and an actual command that had to be 100% followed. Lou took another step closer to the weapon. "You can stay there if you want to, but you're not our prisoner. You can wander around the base, you know? Go to the bathroom or...whatever. Get some sleep."

"You should stay back."

Lou stopped. "Sorry," they said. They held their hand up. "Not trying to scare you or anything. If-"

"-You do not scare me."

"Oh. Well, that's good!"

"I am dangerous."

Lou's brow furrowed slightly, because of course they knew that. They just weren't entirely sure what the weapon meant by the words. They didn't say it like a threat.

"You are kind," the weapon said. "I do not want to hurt you."

"Oh." Heat flooded Lou's face. "Well, then you probably won't, right?"

The weapon blinked.

"I mean," Lou said, after a beat, "you can control your abilities, right?"

"...yes." The weapon still seemed a little confused. "Of course."

"So you won't hurt me."

This seemed to be a new concept, judging by the look on the weapon's face. "I...won't hurt you."

"Yeah," Lou said. "You can choose not to."

"I can choose."

"Uhuh. But, hey. Even if you do hurt me, it's not the end of the world? Accidents happen."

"I can choose," the weapon said to themselves again, quietly. "I don't have to hurt people."

"And no one here is going to make you."

"You need weapons. You are losing."

"Yeah, but that's not why we helped you."

The weapon swallowed, hard. It was the most obviously human reaction that Lou had seen from them so far. As if all of the normal reactions, all of the emotions and pleasures and weaknesses of being human were something they had been forcibly trained out of having. They probably had.

"I don't have to hurt people," the weapon said, as if that idea had never occurred to them before. As if nobody had ever told them that before. They looked down at their hands, curling them in their lap. "Thank you."

"Oh, sure. Any time!" It didn't seem like enough to offer, after everything that the weapon had been through. "And if you need - if you want - anything else, just ask. Okay?"

The weapon stared at them once more. After a long moment, they gave a small nod.

"Would you like me to stay and sit with you for a while?" Lou asked, as gently as they could. "Or would you like me to leave you alone? Either one is fine."

"Stay." It was barely audible. Hoarse.

"Cool. Do you want the tea?"

"I am...very thirsty."

Lou brought the tea over, then took a seat next to the weapon.

The weapon cradled the mug in their hands like they were afraid it would shatter. They swallowed again. Their hands shook the smallest, barely perceptible fraction.

"Careful," Lou said. "It's-" The weapon's gaze snapped to them once more. "It's hot," Lou finished. "I don't want you to get hurt. Scald your tongue."

The weapon took the most careful sip. Then they relaxed, the smallest fraction, at Lou's side. "It's nice." They hesitated, then smiled themselves. Tentative, fragile. "You're nice."

"Well, I certainly try to be," Lou said, with a weak laugh. They rubbed a hand over the back of their head. "We should all try to be."

The weapon drank their tea in silence, watching. Listening, as Lou filled the space with idle chatter about the base and the people there and their favourite kind of tea that their grandma always used to make.

The weapon quietly followed them everywhere around base after that.

[vivulapom]

living weapons !!!!

a living weapon so heavily conditioned that they don't even talk (unless ordered to, of course.) bonus points if they're put in a mask or helmet or something, and it's ripped off in the middle of a fight to reveal their soulless blank stare. bonus bonus points if they're fighting someone they once knew

living weapons no longer used as weapons, but they're almost unrecoverable. they just don't recognize that they should have the ability to make their own decisions. they still have to be ordered to do anything, even sleep and eat

living weapons turned against people they once knew !!!!!!! now they're feral and unrecognizable but can they really be blamed for their actions when it's whumper puppeting them?

there is no relationship more intimate than that between a living weapon and their handler. it's about loving someone who would kill you without a second thought if ordered!!! someone who knows nothing but duty!!! seeing into the jaws of a monster and clinging rather than running!! you're in love with a living weapon in the same way you're in love with a fancy sword.. they're beautiful and do their job well but could slit your throat just as easily as anyone else's..

living weapons who treat their own inanimate weapons like people... hugging them kissing them biting them not letting anyone else touch or maintain or sharpen them.. mmmm

[redd956]

ideas for newly rescued living weapon whumpees?

>:D Of course

Newly Rescued Living Weapon Prompts

Caretaker failed to notice that Weapon woke from their drugging. It wasn't until they were being held against the wall by their throat that they did.

Two newly rescued living weapons are proving to be dangers to each other. Caretaker isn't strong enough to break them up shit hits the fan.

A muzzled Weapon won't allow Caretaker to remove their constraints, citing that they promise they'll be a danger.

Caretaker removes the heavy armor Weapon always wore, unveiling thickened scars lashed across their back.

Living Weapon accidentally draws Caretaker's blood. Before Caretaker can even convince them that an accident is simply that, Living Weapon takes their leave.

Screams and hollered commands woke Caretaker from a deep sleep. They immediately knew who it was coming from.

Weapon doesn't cry, peep, or really do anything as Caretaker tends to them. Caretaker is worried that in their poor healthy they're going to fall dead on them without saying a word about it.

Caretaker acted gently, tightening weapon's bandages, asking them if it hurts, cleaning old wounds. They were shocked at the tears that Weapon started to weep in silence.

Whumpee doesn't understand what's fully going on. They've assumed themselves as caretaker's new weapon, guarding them wherever they go. They're even starting to get aggressively protective.

Weapon's dangerous features (fangs, sharp tail, claws, robotic attachments, etc.) need some TLC too. Caretaker has to put their entire trust in Whumpee to help them, as in such a position Whumpee could easily finish Caretaker off.

Weapon only eats, drinks, and sleeps to specific commands. Caretaker either has to get things forcefully into Whumpee's system, or figure out these commands before it's too late. Weapon is growing thin.

Caretaker traces their fingers over all the scars Weapon has accumulated. These can't be from battles.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumper used the whumpee as a tool for their goals- they were a weapon they had trained for years after all. The whumper never gave the whumpee any comfort, or anything resembling a normal life, as they didn’t want the whumpee to get the idea that they were anything more than a means to an end.

[abhainnwhump]

[theinsomniacindian]

New dynamic idea: Touch-starved living weapon x haphephobic human experiment

[emptycalories-splitlip]

The weapon kneels, dirty, blood covered, shaking

Fingers find the pulse in her throat, counting, observing

It's far too quick, the skin too warm

But the task is completed. Mission over.

Something in the handler wants to break

They want to hold the weapon, not in a grip meant for battle but one of comfort

They want to kiss her

Apologize to her

But, no. No, the tool has to be kept just that.

She is equipment. She is cold steel.

But she's shaking and bleeding and the flow of blood under her hot skin is still there

She needs them.

So the fingers leave the pulse, snap so she stands and follows.

There's a bath waiting. She could do it herself, but the handler chooses to help. It's only fair.

Blood turns the water pink around the weapon.

She dozes in the steadfast hands of her handler as they clean wounds, scrub tangled hair, massage aching muscles

She does not wake when she is lifted and wrapped in a towel. A quick check reveals a still beating heart and an exhausted but working pair of lungs.

The weapon is stored away, tucked carefully into her place, a bed far too large for one being

She'll be ready for the next fight. Of course she will.

It is her purpose. She is their weapon.

But for tonight? She is small and tired and weak.

The handler lays their lips on her brow, feeling the fever

"You're safe." They promise

"You did good."

[whumpy-daydreams]

For your own good

Masterlist

CW: needles, noncon injections, dehumanisation, living weapon whump

"Any symptoms to report?"

"No, sir."

327 didn't flinch as the needle went into their arm. It was just routine - emotional regulators that kept them ready for combat. The numb calm was good for them.

"Your training report states you're struggling to follow orders, is that right?"

"I am unaware of what Whumper writes in their reports, sir."

"Do you agree with that observation?"

327 frowned. If it was in the report it didn't matter if they agreed. "I need to improve my response time to be effective in the field."

"Don't you trust your superiors' orders?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'm going to give you another injection now."

327 looked at the doctor, already loading a new vial into the syringe. "What for, sir?" The doctor looked up, one eyebrow raised, and sighed.

"You should remember-" another sharp scratch at their arm, "-that everything we do here is for your own good. You are given all the information you need to do your job. But... I'm feeling generous. It's designed to enhance your cognitive abilities, improve your reaction times."

327 nodded. They wanted to know if this new injection would become part of their weekly routine, if there were any signs they should look for to see if it was working. That was a problem - always wanting to know things.

"Do you have a question, 327?"

"No, sir." Lying was also forbidden, but they knew it was the right answer.

"Then you're free to go."

[bltzgore]

@catnykit

.... why can't we have both? 😈

My favorite kind of caretaker, in fact. One with the guardian instinct, and then the raw POWER to back it up.

Some ideas:

- when whumpee is at the bottom of the food chain in a prison, or a lab, or gladiator ring. They get picked on by everyone. Broken bones on a weekly basis, and no where near enough food. Then they endear themselves to caretaker, and suddenly things change. One of whumpee's whumpers goes after them like usual and caretaker thrashes them immediately. Beats them half to death and announces to the rest of the occupants that they showed a good deal of restraint. Anyone to make a move against whumpee will face far worse.

- whumpee pleading with caretaker not to kill someone.

- whumpee being the only one who can calm caretaker down.

- "Lay a finger on them and I will take your arm off."

- "So whumpee, you've got yourself a dog."

- "What a monster."

- angst: whumpee comes sobbing to caretaker after being attacked and instead of stopping to comfort whumpee they rush off to go hunting for the perpetrator.

- coup de gras: the freeze of caretaker's blood when they hear whumpee scream (or scream their name.) And the storm that arrives when they reach them.

- caretaker's wrath makes the earth shake ♥️

Mood music

[pigeonwhumps]

Battle

Taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Angstpril: alt prompt 1: troubled mind

Inspired by these two prompts by @hurtmyfavsthanks and an anon ask she received. I saw the more recent one and just wrote this straight up within a couple of hours, unable to resist it.

1k

CWs: living weapon, outcast whumpee, magical whumpee, low self-esteem, betrayal kinda, mentions of battle and casualties, mentioned past discrimination

Whumpee doesn't remember much of the battle.

It went by in a haze. They remember red, people falling, screams, unsure which side they were on. They remember the glee, the euphoria, of using their magic. The high of it all.

Now they're starting to come down from that high, and they can see the fear in people's eyes. The injuries, the casualties. Vaguely, they wonder who caused them. Was it them again?

Hands cup their face, gentle, calloused. The only ones that will ever touch them anymore.

Caretaker's.

"Hey. Look at me, now. Not the camp. Me." Whumpee looks up hesitantly, into their loving, warm eyes. One day they'll change. One day... one day they'll harden. Fear, hatred. From all the people they've hurt, on all sides. One day it'll be too much. They're afraid of the day they'll see that, of what will happen then.

But it hasn't happened yet.

Caretaker wipes their cheek softly. "It's okay. Come on, rest. Lay your head down. You're done for today. Close your eyes and rest."

Whumpee crawls into Caretaker's lap. They vaguely register being carried, head being lifted until it meets Caretaker's neck. Whumpee nuzzles into it.

"Shh. You did so well. You're doing so well, Whumpee. I'm proud of you."

Whumpee doesn't want to be. They want to grow flowers. But this is what their magic likes, this is what their king likes, this is what makes Caretaker say those words of praise in just that voice, so they can't stop.

(They ignore the small voice in their head that says that they have no idea what Caretaker's reaction to flowers would be. This is exhilarating, even if they feel an ever-growing bubble of shame at the endless, ruthless violence.)

Caretaker runs a hand through their hair, combing out the knots from the day's work, using a little water to clean the worst of the blood. Whumpee has been through this so many times that they know what to expect without even a glance. He won't hurt them with those eyes. They know his expression, his feelings, and they curl their arms and legs closer around him.

He's so warm.

"S'okay buddy. I'm here."

"Hmm."

Whumpee closes their eyes. It's so... so... they don't think they can sleep yet but they find themself drifting on the exhaustion the magical high always brings.

_

The next morning is... the next morning. As it always is with a new squad, it is very different to the first one.

And as it always is, Whumpee feels a sharp stab of hurt.

The soldiers know who they are, what they are. Have done since the very beginning .They've worked with Whumpee on the preparations, the journey here, for weeks. They know them. Sat around the campfire, shared meals, joked and talked and laughed. They'd been wished good luck yesterday morning, hair ruffled, smiles and reassurances in abundance. Soldier had even fixed their horse's saddle after the straps started to break. Now...

Now, they won't come within arms length of them. Soldier ladles out breakfast to the rest, leaving an empty bowl several feet from Whumpee, not looking them in the eye as he leaves them to fetch their own. He flinches along with several others as they approach the campfire, more whose hands jerk towards their swords. As if they're going to attack. As if they're so out of control that they'd attack their own side on purpose.

They reluctantly let go of Caretaker's hand so he can fetch their breakfast and the healing potion alone. At least he looks them in the eye. At least he sits with them, and talks, and touches them. Helps convince them to take the potion, even though it's bitter and rancid and no-one will improve it for the likes of them, and they won't need it once the adrenaline and euphoria of tomorrow's battle kicks in.

The kindness is only for now. It will change, sooner or later.

Nobody helps the pair of them take down their tent, or pack their saddlebags, and the Sergeant looks about to stop Whumpee from replacing the emergency set of daggers they carry in their boots at all times. A gift from Caretaker.

It's like they have the plague. Or the Devil's Touch, as their old villagers used to say.

They're pretty much alone in the clearing now, the rest of the squad staying as far away as they can without letting Whumpee out of their sight. Just in case they explode or something.

Without a word, Whumpee settles down on the ground beside the smoldering fire, Caretaker sitting on the log behind them. It's a sharply cold morning, dew dampening their breeches, but their leather armour keeps them surprisingly warm.

Caretaker braids their hair quickly and simply, just enough to keep it out of their face. Battlefields aren't the place for complicated hairstyles. Which is a shame, because Caretaker takes pride in that skill, and Whumpee delights in being allowed to display the results.

Whumpee dries their face with the cloth Caretaker hands them wordlessly. They need to get it together. It's not like it's the end of the world or anything. They try to summon the ease by which they sometimes prepare, the eagerness instead of dread that comes with a lot of battles.

It doesn't come. Today is a day for dread, then, and there's nothing they can do about it but pray for a miracle. And a break in the hatred and fear, the violence with which everyone rejects them.

They can't help thinking, though, that the amount of damage they've done, it's no wonder people want them locked away. They are a weapon, after all.

Yes. Definitely one of the bad days.

Caretaker's their handler. They try not to think about it but it's true. He's the only one who might see it, might offer them a brief reprieve. So they summon up all their courage.

"Please..."

Caretaker finishes the braid and kisses their temple. "I'm so sorry, Whumpee. I really am. But you need to do this. We need to do this. The kingdom needs you."

Whumpee nods. They don't blame Caretaker, not really. They need to win this war. And Whumpee needs to use their magic.

But gods do they wish they could stop.

[redd956]

Living Weapon + Military Whump Ideas

Living weapon is discarded after taking one to many blows in war

Soldier who fights alongside living weapon, can't stand watching them suffer either, even if it's in silence. A comrade in arms, is a comrade in arms.

Enemy commander is a living weapon, and they only break when they begin to realize that they're losing, because they can't imagine what's going to happen to them

Ally thinks highly of their living weapon colleagues, their nation, and their military. They did so until they accidentally witnessed a living weapon being punished for something incredibly minor.

Civilian doesn't understand how the soldiers are living weapons, and bestows tons of kindness and humanity to an injured one that crosses their path.

Enemy and Ally living weapon snap, realizing that together there's more of them, than there are of the people who made them.

Enemy and Ally living weapon decide this life ain't worth it, and run off together.

Medic dives in to rescue a living weapon, after finishing up with the normal set of soldiers. The epiphany of touch starvation kicks in for the living weapon, when they feel the medic's hands acting as gently and carefully as possible.

Groups of soldiers are paired up with one living weapon. At first the soldiers despised this set up, and the seemingly lifeless living weapons, until they begun to realize how great they were protectors, and that they seem to bestow humanity in their own...unique ways.

Enemy living weapon plagues a crew of soldiers for a long time. When they finally defeat it, they're all incredibly shocked at the pure despair coming from it, as it believes worse is to come of it for failing it's task.

Very skilled soldiers are "promoted" into living weapons

Soldier needs patching up. They just so happen to hate their living weapon comrades, and are even more distraught now when their local living weapon unveils their medical training for this exact situation.

Deserting soldier gets chased down by one of their living weapons.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumper had meticulously and delicately shaped the whumpee into their perfect weapon- an attack dog that would hurt or kill anyone that dared go against the whumper. The whumpee was feared because of their ruthless nature, but there were some that knew more- some that wanted to help the whumpee, that is, if the whumpee would let themselves be helped at all.

[abhainnwhump]

Whumpee tugged their hand a little more. "Come on, Caretaker! We're almost there!"

Caretaker giggled with their friend. Whumpee said they wanted to take them to their 'super special place' and Caretaker was more than happy to see it. Whumpee wanted them to wear a blindfold to make sure they didn't peak. It was a little silly and childish, but they didn't think too much of it.

Whumpee has healed so much since they came home. No more kneeling at Caretaker's feet until they're given orders. No more belief they will be hurt or escape attempts. They were finally starting to live again and Caretaker couldn't be happier.

They ran down the park's path. Caretaker used their muscle memory to figure out where they were. It couldn't have been that far from the bridge.

Whumpee took a turn and Caretaker didn't know where they were anymore. Whumpee started to slow down. The air turned colder, which was impressive given it was a hot and humid day.

"Are you ready?" The excitement in their voice made Caretaker smile too.

"Whenever you are . . ." Caretaker droned on the r as the blindfold ripped off. They stood in front of an abandoned three-story mansion. The gray rotting wood matched the equally gloomy sky. They looked down past the porch and gasped.

Whumper tossed a coin in their hand, wearing the classy waist jacket and suspenders they always did. Their black hair was a tussled mess. They grinned at Caretaker before turning their attention to Whumpee.

Whumpee stepped closer and kneeled to the ground. Whumper ran a hand through their silky locks. "Good job, Whumpee. You're not so useless after all."

"Thank you, master. It was a pleasure to serve you."

Caretaker was speechless.

[mintflavouredwhump]

Thinking about a living weapon whumpee who has only known chaos and fear throughout their life, either from their victims or themselves when faced with their boss(es).

They've been physically, mentally and emotionally isolated from the rest of society and as much as they try to cover it all up with apathy, they can't help but want some comfort, someone to hold them and care for them.