#caretaker new whumper

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Whumpee thinks Caretaker is their new master. Good trope, right? But check this out;

Caretaker doesn't notice.

Because the morning after the day they were rescued, all Whumpee did was get Caretaker a cup of coffee. It was only after then that Whumpee realized new master new rules, and Caretaker might not like coffee at all. So after an hour or so of a panic attack, Whumpee decides to stay put and not do anything.

But Caretaker didn't say anything about that coffee, so Whumpee should probably keep doing that?

And so, every morning, Caretaker gets a cup of coffee, says thank you, that's a nice gesture, and gets done with the day, while Whumpee tries to stay as quiet and unnoticed as possible. Not angering Caretaker is their top priority. Caretaker notices Whumpee is really, really quiet, but hey, they might just like it quiet. They do seem a little scared, but they've been putting off well, so Caretaker is positive that they'll get better with time.

Then Caretaker hears Whumper liked a cup of coffee every morning.

That's.. a strange coincidence.

I hope that's a coincidence.

And they finally try to talk to Whumpee about it, and Whumpee breaks into tears and Caretaker realizes what a mess this is,

#and I don't know how to end this post #this has been sitting in my saves for around three months #whump #whumpee #whump prompts #whump idea #whumper #whump prompt #whump ideas #caretaker #recovery whump #whump tropes #caretaker new master #bad caretaker #caretaker new whumper

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Whump Prompt

Whumpee spent the entire day cleaning. Their skin is cracking, their hands are bleeding, their back is breaking, their face seems eternally stained with tears.

They just want to collapse and sleep, but they still need to make dinner and then wash the dishes and then entertain Caretaker Master and then prepare Master’s pajamas and then fluff Master’s pillow and then make sure Master goes to sleep comfortably and then Whumpee can finally sleep.

Whumpee wants to beg for another break, but they’re terrified they ask for too many mercies. They’re terrified that one day Master will get fed up with their excuses and beat them for once.

#whump #whump prompt #whumpee #caretaker #caretaker new master #caretaker new whumper

[i-eat-worlds]

I’m back on my caretaker new whumper bullshit again.

Assuming that the person helping you is going to hurt you. Flinching at the touches. Crying quietly in the corner as they approach. Lashing out, snarling and screaming because you don’t want to be hurt again. Trying to hide your wounds so they can’t see your weak points. Kneeling in front of them, begging for mercy. Finding alterior motives for every kind action. Lying awake, wondering if tomorrow is when the horror with start. Expecting to be beaten and chained. Showing someone your messiest, most fearful moments, knowing full well they could take advantage of you. Easily.

But they don’t.

#worlds babbles #Mmmmm it’s delicious #whump #caretaker new whumper #caretaker new master #whump tropes #recovery whump #whump community

[a-whumped-tea]

{Nondescript Murder Mention}

Serial Killer broke into Whumper's house and killed them. After snooping around a bit they stumble upon Whumpee. Bloody, broken, and locked up.

They wouldn't kill a defenseless, hurt person like Whumpee, that'd be "unfair". That's not fun. There's no thrill.

Still, they also can't let them go, Whumpee could tell the police.

Time to figure out what to do with this unplanned person.

#idfk this was in my drafts #caretaker new whumper #Whumper new caretaker #whump writing #whump #whumpee #whump prompt #whump community #whump scenario #whump ideas #whumper #captivity whump #whump idea #caretaker #bad caretaker #serial killer caretaker #serial killer #new whumper

[honeycollectswhump]

Whumper's title

[masterlist]

It was the end of a lazy evening. Caretaker stretched as the credits of the last movie rolled. Whumpee was draped across her lap and had apparently fallen asleep somewhere during the movie. She wasn’t sure if he even witnessed the climax. Even asleep Whumpee had a soft smile on his lips; he seemed truly at peace. 

It hadn’t always been like that.

A year ago, serenity like this would have been unthinkable. Maybe he would have crawled into her lap if she ordered him to, but he wouldn’t have allowed himself to relax. He wouldn’t have been able to.

A year ago, he still called himself Pet or Mutt. He would beg for punishment, beg to be allowed necessities like sleep or food. But never for mercy because he’d thought he didn’t deserve it. 

A year ago, Whumpee didn’t even remember they lived together for years prior. 

But he did now, and that was all that mattered. God, how she had missed him and the time they spent together. Caretaker wanted to savor it all, savor every little moment she could spend with him.

With a smile playing on her lips, she brushed a stray piece of hair from his scarred face. She didn’t want to wake Whumpee up but she would have to. No matter how much she wanted it, they couldn’t spend the night like this. In the morning, his already aching back would trouble him even more. He was frankly too big for her couch, his feet already dangling over the side. With one hand she was playing with his soft curls, scratching the nape of his neck, and trying to grab the remote with the other – without success.

It had to be done. Caretaker softly whispered his name, tracing his jawline in an attempt to wake him up. He wouldn't budge.

“Whumpee”, the name came out as a soft chuckle. “Whumpee, you need to wake up.”

Again, nothing. 

This time she held him by his shoulders and started shaking him gently. Two bleary brown eyes stared up at her, blinking a couple of times. A sleepy groan escaped his lips as he struggled to sit upright. Somehow Caretaker doubted that Whumpee was truly awake.

She stood up and held her hand out to him. “Let’s get you to bed, big guy.”

Loosely, he took her hands and let himself be pulled up, almost immediately resting his head on top of hers. 

“Yes, Master”, he breathed into her hair. 

Caretaker could feel her blood running cold. She froze, waiting for any indication of what happened, any sign that Whumpee wasn’t feeling well. 

But he didn’t. He didn’t tense up or start shaking. He didn’t fall on his knees or stare at her in adoration and obedience or wait for her order. In fact, he didn’t seem to even realize what he’d said. Instead, he just nuzzled further into her locks, almost falling asleep on his feet. 

Slowly, she took a step backward, his hands still in hers, waiting to see if he’d follow. Whumpee shuffled along, although at a snail’s pace. Caretaker didn’t know whether to bring up what had happened but one look in his half-lidded eyes told her that any attempt at communication would just pass by him. Chances were he wouldn’t even remember how he got to bed in the morning. 

She took him upstairs where –at the sight of his own bed– he staggered forward and flopped down on his messy sheets. Caretaker followed him inside to tuck him in. While she was securing the blanket under his shoulders, Whumpee loosely grabbed one of her hands in his much bigger one and pressed it to his cheek. 

“G’night…”, he murmured into her hand. 

She couldn’t understand what he said after that and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

This is very much inspired by this post by @whumpadventureprompts (i couldn't find how you want to be tagged when people use your prompts so i hope this is alright)

#english isn't my first language so if you find any mistakes please tell me :) #this is beta-read by grammarly you can't fault me for anything :)) #i've been wanting to write something for this prompt for ages! glad i finally had the time #Holding Up The Sky #atlas/mutt (oc) #aveline king (oc) #honey's writing #past pet whump #pet whumpee #pet whump #recovering whumpee #deconditioning #recovery #caretaker new whumper #caretaker new master #whumpee thinks caretaker is new master #conditioned whumpee #whumpee and caretaker #whumpee x caretaker #honestly this is mostly just fluff #big whumpee #comfort

[pigeonwhumps]

Flinching

MD-264N masterlist

Febuwhump day 2: flinching

@febuwhump

Asim tries to introduce himself to Morgan. It doesn't go too well.

1.1k

CWs: self-dehumanisation, expecting to be punished, wanting to be punished, caretaker new whumper, bad caretaker (for a bit), conditioned whumpee

Morgan's looking out of the window when the new person enters.

It's been a strange few days. Rhian is nothing like its old handlers. Her gentleness hasn't left yet, and for some reason she expects it to share her bed. She seems happy with the arrangement, and Morgan doesn't understand why she'd be so willing to be close to it, to let it touch her, when she could just as easily store it elsewhere, but it's… a very acceptable situation.

When the door creaks open, Morgan scrambles away from the window and sits on the edge of the bed, back straight, arms behind its back, gaze on the floor. Exactly how a weapon should sit, subservient, ready to be taken out and used if the person entering wishes, dangerous hands safely out of the way. It's the best it can do with no safety restraints.

It's not Rhian's footsteps, or Asha's even. Morgan has no idea who it is. Its throat tightens. Is it to be used now?

The footsteps pause, before continuing, coming to a halt in front of Morgan.

"Er. Hi. I'm Asim. I haven't met you before, but Asha's ill so I'm going to change your bandage instead."

Morgan flinches back as Asim's hand reaches for its ankle, jerking its leg out of reach. It's not safe and it's a surprise and Rhian says it's allowed to move. It pulls its leg up to its chest, trembling.

"I'm trying to help you, Morgan," says Asim, sounding annoyed, and Morgan freezes. What if Morgan's only allowed to move around Rhian? Is it going to be corrected for this? It will be, it knows it, it's heard that tone of voice before.

The weapon doesn't know how correction works here. It doesn't have a control harness, so there must be some other method.

"You don't need to be so scared, I'm not going to hurt you." Morgan doesn't move. It knows that. It's a weapon, it can't be hurt, it's just going to be corrected. Asim sighs. "Look, I'm going to fetch Rhian. You just… stay here, yeah? I'll be right back."

Asim leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

Is Rhian going to correct it then? She must be, and for some reason Morgan feels a pang in its chest, its heart-rate increasing. It's malfunctioning again. If it's going to be corrected, it's not safe out here. It drops off the bed and crawls over to the cabinet, climbing inside. With the door shut behind it it's safer. It feels safer, even if that feeling is an aberration and not something it should care about. Even without a lock it's… better. Its heart rate is decreasing.

There's voices outside, and Morgan strains itself to hear, curled up in a tight ball. Its hearing isn't as accurate as it was, although it hasn't been obedient enough to bring that up to Rhian yet, but it can still hear Rhian and Asim open the door.

"... like I did you. And they just… where are they?"

"They're safe. I can guess where they are. But Asim, you can't treat us both the same. I might've been imprisoned for seven years but I knew you were on my side when I arrived. I was confident enough to ask things, even if it took a while to come out. Morgan… they don't know they're safe. They still think we want to use them, Asim, it's what they've been trained for. You can't just expect them to trust you."

"They thought I'd hurt them?"

"They wouldn't call it that, but yeah. Let me calm them down and then you can say hello."

"I'll leave them to you then. Let me know when they're ready."

"Yep."

The door shuts, and footsteps approach the cabinet. Morgan flinches hard when there's a knock on the door, hitting its head hard against the wooden ceiling.

"Hey Morgan. It's just Rhian here. You're not in trouble, but when you're ready to come out I have some food for you. I'll wait on the bed."

Rhian walks away, and Morgan takes a deep breath, then another. It pushes the door open before it can inconvenience people for any longer.

Rhian smiles at it. "Hey there sweetheart. Can I check your head when you get over here? That was a nasty bang."

Morgan nods before crawling across to the bed. Rhian makes a face but doesn't help, and that's a more than acceptable state of affairs. It has to do something on its own or it's entirely useless. It bends its head to allow Rhian to see.

"It doesn't look too bad. Bet it hurts like hell though."

"Weapons don't feel pain," replies Morgan automatically. Rhian raises an eyebrow, and it adds hurriedly, "It is an uncomfortable sensation though." In multiple places, actually, its ankle too, but it isn't going to mention that.

"I'm going to give you some painkillers then. It's about time for your next dose. And then you can eat."

Morgan swallows the pills and looks at the plate Rhian's holding, trying to disguise its eagerness. The sandwich smells so nice, and the nutrition – food – here actually has taste and texture. It rests the plate on its lap as it eats, just like Rhian does. She chuckles lightly.

"I knew you had a sweet tooth. Luckily we had some jam left." She pauses. "Asim's not the most tactful, but he really was just going to change your bandages and say hello. It's okay that you were scared, but you don't need to be. He's not going to… correct you or whatever it is you call it."

"Weapons don't feel emotions," whispers Morgan. Weapons don't feel. It can't forget that.

"It's only human to feel, there's nothing wrong with it."

"But it's not human, it's only a weapon, it's against this weapon's programming to feel." The weapon's malfunctioning again, it's arguing with its handler, but it can't seem to help it, she doesn't know much about weapons. It almost wishes it could be corrected, to be rid of these aberrations that just keep getting worse.

"Oh, sweetheart. You're so very human. I'm just not sure how to convince you of that."

They pull Morgan into a warm hug before it can protest again. Morgan buries itself in them. They might have some strange ideas about weapons but they really are very warm.

#whump #whump writing #self dehumanisation #dehumanisation #conditioned whumpee #conditioning #bad caretaker #hes trying though #wanting to be punished #caretaker new whumper #whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper #whumpee and caretaker #md 264n #morgan the weapon #rhian the fighter #asim the leader #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday2 #bbys still touch starved

[kim-poce]

Deaf Whumpee 2

First | Next

Masterlist

CW: deaf whumpee, pet whump, caretaker new master, reformed criminal caretaker, fear of punishment.

=-=

They arrived at the house, it didn’t look around, the grayish tiles on the floor was all it was allowed to see, Owner was taking out some things from the trunk, maybe toys if they were kind, maybe punishment tools if they weren't. If they are just a normal owner it was most likely both.

It knows it decided to be bad but… New Owner was just SO BIG, and it couldn’t bring itself to disobey, which doesn’t mean it gave up on this plan, it can obey and still fail at every given task. Owner will know just how useless it is and give it back, unless…

Unless there will be no tasks, unless it’ll become just a disposable punch bag, unless for the rest of its life it will be beaten and beaten again without earning any punishment.

It felt tears streaming down from its eyes. It was bad, if Owner sees they will think it didn’t want to be brought —it didn’t— they will think it is scared and ungrateful —it is—. They need to stop crying, they need to, they have to, they truly should be quiet.

Owner’s shoes came into view. Were they angry? it couldn’t know, it couldn’t look up. They crouched down, and it did what it should know better but not do; it closed its eyes.

It can only use two ways to communicate, either seeing or feeling it on their skin. Closing its eyes meant that if Owner wanted to pass on an order they would need to touch it, maybe force it through pain, it was a bad decision not to look, and yet… yet its eyes just didn’t open anyway.

It felt a light tug on its leash, and it shakinly changed from kneeling to all fours. It was still crying, it was still refusing to see anything, but at least it managed to crawl along while its owner pulled the leash. Owner wasn’t hurting it yet, it was weird, it was so much easier to hurt it than pulling it painlessly.

It crawled until the floor changed from cold title to… something soft, like a pet bed, maybe it was truly a pet bed because its Owner stopped and uncliped the leash, it was probably an unspoken order to stay there. It told itself that it was just fine, it is used to being locked in a small space all the time, it won’t leave that little space it swears it won’t.

Still, it was too scared to be good, so it lay down even when no one said it could, and curled up into a ball, it was being so ill behaved, it was going to be punished so harshly as soon as its owner decided.

It waited there, its eyes were still closed so it couldn’t know if Owner was there or not. Maybe they were there right this moment, uncoiling a whip, or taking off their belt or just getting ready to hurt it. Pain could come at any second now and it still didn’t look, it only froze there and waited.

It waited for a long time, it waited for anything, it waited and waited and, after a long time, it very slowly opened its eyes and saw… nothing, it was alone inside a small room, there was a glass of water and a folded blanket on its reach (both too clean to be its), there was a small note on a yellow post, which it didn’t waste time trying to decipher, it was not like it knew letters.

It knew better than to touch things that weren’t its, Owner probably left the water and the blanket there to test it. It wasn’t its first rodeo, it was far from a naive fresh pet and such tricks don’t work anymore.

It was allowed to stay on the pet bed, and that’s it, that’s all it can do. It was exhausted, it, of course, wasn’t allowed to sleep, and even if it was it was too anxious to actually manage to, so it just curled up again, pretending it was still in the too small cage back in the shelter, and pretending it wasn’t terrified at what would happen now.

=-=

@extemporary-username @cupcakes-and-pain

#whump #pet whump #caretaker new master #whump fic #deaf whumpee #caretaker new whumper #reformed criminal caretaker #fear of punishment #my writing #A Brand New Life

[darlingwhump]

The Raid

CW: kidnapped whumpee, conditioned/helpless whumpee, pirate whumper, mermaid whumpee, anxiety, language barriers, whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, a teensy bit of dehumanization, character death

Whumpee shivers in fear as yet another blast sounds from above deck, rattling the entire ship and creating a ripple in the wooden tub that had served as her prison for gods know how long. She sinks as far underwater as she can get, taking deep breaths through her gills in a last-ditch attempt to calm down.

BOOM! Her sanctuary is shaken, and through the water Whumpee can make out muffled shouting. They sound angry. Her breathing grows quicker. THUD! A body falls to the ground right above the room where she is being held. In shock, she pops her head above the water as if she could see what was happening, and within seconds, another BLAST sends her underwater again.

She hugs her tail as best as she can with it being chained to the side of the tub. Whatever was happening up there, it wouldn’t end well for Whumpee. The Captain doted on her, claiming that she was their crew's most precious treasure, but she felt a lot more like a punching bag.

She had long since accepted her helplessness. If there was a mutiny, frustration would eventually be taken out on Whumpee. If the crew was being raided or attacked, and the ship sunk, she would not be able to unlock the chain that confines her to this cabin, and would be doomed to starve. Even if she was so well behaved, even when the crew was getting along and living lavishly, a reason would still be found to torment her. To pirates like them, treasure was nothing other than spoils of battle to admire and play with.

She is torn out of her thoughts by the sound of footsteps making their way towards the Captain’s cabin. There are no more blasts, but Whumpee hears unfamiliar voices arguing with Captain Whumper just outside.

“It’s over…” Whumpee has only learned a bit of the common tongue, Alman, since being in captivity, but she hangs onto every word she can, placing her hands on the edge of the tub to get closer to the door, “give...everything you have and we…allow…on a lifeboat…”

Whumper says something too quiet for Whumpee to make out, but it angers whoever is attacking. Blades are suddenly clashing against each other, and water sloshes as Whumpee jumps back. Oh gods, oh gods, Whumpee’s mind is racing and the ship is being raided and Whumper is upset and what if she’s stolen again--Whumper and the crew are going to be so so so mad either way.

She is so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t even realize that the commotion has stopped. After a few moments of silence, she hears shuffling around the room, no speaking, not any she can make out anyways. Drawers opening, keys jangling, and more footsteps up on the main deck. Uncertainty hangs in the air, seeping into her days-old water and making it feel acidic against her scales.

Keys are shoved into the door to her tiny cabin off of the Captain’s. Involuntarily, Whumpee whimpers and shuts her eyes. She typically dreads each time the door clicks unlocked, but this time, she really hopes it’s Captain Whumper. She can’t bear to be stolen again.

The door creaks open, and Whumpee holds her breath.

“Shit…” the unfamiliar voice muses, obviously taking in the sight of a mermaid before them. It was going to happen again, and just like last time, she had no way out. “Whumper…lying…quite the collection.” Whumpee tries to keep up with the Alman grammar, but the voice speaks with a dialect and she can’t understand. Would she have to learn another language now?

She slowly opens her eyes to see a humanoid figure with long, curly dark hair. Their hair, along with their face and clothes, are plastered with blood and soot, and in the distance, Captain Whumper has been impaled, laying face down on the carpet he once punished Whumpee for spilling ale on. Everything goes numb. Whumper is dead.

“...little one?” The figure asks, and Whumpee’s heart drops into her stomach. She wasn’t listening.

“U-uh, sorry,” she struggles to find the words in her haze. So many things are happening at once, and she can’t move or think. She averts her eyes to the water,  “did not…hear, sorry.”

The figure crouches down a bit closer, blocking Whumpee’s view of the dead Captain, and Whumpee’s shoulders tense. “It’s alright. I just asked…name?”

“Name…name is Whumpee…” she paused, unsure of how to address her new captor. Would they even capture her? Whumpee notices the glint of another dagger at the person’s hip. Or…would they just kill her like they did with Whumper?

“Alright, Whumpee…is that name Aquan?” The figure questions, and Whumpee nods sheepishly. “I never…Aquan…talk to our Captain later.” Whumpee’s eyes dart to where Captain Whumper is lying dead behind the figure. “Hey…it’s okay.” They pause, looking down at the bruises that litter her skin, the chain around her sprained tail, her swollen gills and bloodshot eyes, and let out a sigh. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”

Whumpee’s eyes well up with tears. She has been hurt. So much. She nods again, much faster this time.

“...Well listen, once…clear out…get some help…healing…okay?” Another nod from Whumpee. All she can do is nod now, her mind racing with thoughts of Whumper’s death and being punished for the blood on the carpet and this raider asking her questions and her water being dirty and being hurt for so long and it’s all too much. But healing and help…sounds nice. Even if it means being captured once more.

“Caretaker!” someone yells out, and the figure looks behind them.

Another raider enters the small room, glancing surprisedly at the mermaid before conversing too quickly for Whumpee to understand. The conversation ends with a hearty laugh from Caretaker and they turn to the wooden tub once more. “We…business…but I promise after…help get the chain off…to our ship.” Caretaker takes Whumpee’s frail hand in theirs and squeezes gently. “...be right back.”

Caretaker exits and shuts the door to shield Whumpee’s eyes from the dead Captain, but the clicking of the lock isn’t heard. Still feeling overwhelmed, Whumpee sinks under the water once more, curls into her tail, and lets out a sob.

#whump #mer whump #mermaid whumpee #pirate whump #rescue #morally grey caretaker #captive whumpee #abused whumpee #caretaker new whumper #language barriers #scared whumpee #pirate whumper #cruel whumper #helplessness #I got so many whumperflies while writing this #so I think I'm finally doing this right #darling writes

[wolfeyedwitch]

fluffy blanket for leta (dont have the emoji)

CW for minor female whumpee, thinking caretaker is new whumper

-----------

Leta shivered as the witch led her out of the prison. Velissa noticed, giving her an assessing look. Leta shrank under her gaze.

"It's warmer when we get where we're going," the witch said. "Come on, let's get out of this place."

Where are we going? Leta wanted to ask, but was too scared.

They left the prison, left the city entirely, and met with more witches. Their hair gleamed iridescent in the light of the flames that Leta's... guide? Jailer? Keeper?... held.

One of them, a man, looked at Leta and frowned. "I said no prisoners, Velissa."

His must have been the voice Leta heard originally, then.

Velissa gave a grim smile. "I know. That's the point."

The man seemed to get far more meaning from that then Leta did, because he gave a decisive nod. "We'll talk about it more later. For now, see to her. She's in your care."

Velissa nodded back, then led Leta to one of the vehicles the witches had pulled out of hiding. She directed Leta to sit, then rummaged in a storage compartment.

Leta wasn't sure what it was she could be searching for. Some kind of shackles for her new prisoner? But no, she could have just left Leta's original manacles on if that were the case.

Maybe the rumors that they eat people are true, and she's looking for a knife and fork, Leta thought darkly.

"Aha!" Velissa said triumphantly. She turned around to show...

A little pile of fabric?

The witch shook out the fabric, which was apparently a blanket. She draped it around Leta's shoulders like a cape, making sure Leta had hold of it before letting go.

"There you go," Velissa said. "We fire mages tend to run hotter than normal, so you need all the warmth you can get after that cold cell."

Leta looked at her in confusion. Why did a witch care if Leta was cold? She was; she'd long since resigned herself to always feeling the chill of her cell nipping at her hands and feet. The blanket felt good, chasing away the lingering chill that had settled into Leta's bones. And it was so soft, too, as soft as rabbit fur on her exposed skin.

Velissa just smiled at her. It seemed almost... sad. That had to be wrong, though. It just didn't make sense.

"It's okay," Velissa said gently. "I know you're confused right now, and that's fine. I promise I'm going to explain more, but that has to wait until we're somewhere safer. For now, just... get yourself warm, okay?"

Leta nodded. She didn't understand what was going on, and she didn't know if this would be a worse fate than any she might have been sentenced to.

For now, though, she had simple instructions and a soft blanket. She was going to enjoy whatever small comforts she could get, while she still could.

----

Taglist:

@kim-poce, @cupcakes-and-pain, @badluck990, @livingforthewhump, @myhusbandsasemni, @appleejuice @fleur-des-lore, @extemporary-whump, @myhusbandsasemni, @heart4brains @kixngiggles

#no prisoners #leta the fire mage #velissa #caretaker new whumper #misunderstandings #comfort asks #comfort ask game #fluffy blanket #minor whumpee #female whumpee

[kjwriting]

when the whumpee’s back arches in pain.

off a table, the ground - anything.

it gets me.

every time.

#whump #whump writing #whump prompt #whumpee #whump community #whump scenario #whump tropes #whumper #caretaker #im completely new to this

[justbreakonme]

Whumpee liked many things about Caretaker.

They had a soft, kind voice, with soft kind hands, and even softer, kinder eyes.

They laughed a lot, and made him laugh too, and didn’t seem to notice when he laughed too long or too loudly or too gracelessly.

They gave him food, nice things, and clothes that fit, and a bed (a real bed, just for them!), but… There was one thing in particular that Whumpee liked the most.

See, Whumpee had never needed to be broken. They’d never dare intentionally step out of line, not even in their wildest dreams or most terrifying nightmares. But, they were flawed. Deeply. And made many mistakes.

But, where Whumper had attributed those mistakes to malice, Caretaker merely corrected him, forgave him, helped him.

He remembered fondly (oh how strange to remember anything fondly) the day Caretaker first brought him home. He had tripped over the edge of the welcome mat, and fell hard, knocking the coat rack down with him.

He had been braced for blows, or at best the yelling and screaming that always reduced him to tears, but, instead, Caretaker had crouched down and asked if he was okay. He had stared, blankly (stupidly), at them, covered in coats and scarves, until Caretaker had moved to help him. He’d flinched, and Caretaker still hadn’t struck him. Instead, they offered a hand, and helped him up.

Caretaker smiled, awkward and toothy and more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen, and apologized, (apologized, to him, of all things!) making a little joke about how welcome mat wasn’t very welcoming.

Whumpee had stared for a moment more, still braced for this all to be a trick. Then, it was like something inside him broke, like a rubber band snapping, and he laughed. He’d laughed, hysterical and ugly, till tears came to his eyes, and then couldn’t stop them.

He’d begged through tears that he was sorry, that he was trying to be good (an old habit that had still never died, despite having every reason to), but Caretaker still didn’t raise a hand against him.

He didn’t remember all the details, after that, only that Caretaker had brought him into the kitchen, and given him a mug of something warm and sweet, and sat down across from him. And had let him cry, only interrupting to assure him that he was not in trouble and to hand him a tissue.

Yes, Whumpee liked many things about Caretaker. Their heart most of all.

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #whump writing #lil Drabble #conditioned whumpee #thinking caretaker is their new whumper #whumpee thinks caretaker is new master #whump prompt #whump scenario #pet whump #also hi #I’m not dead or anything #things are going well #it’s just very busy #and I’m working on a lot of different stuff #but I’m trying to get back on here more

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Presents

Woohoo double update! Don’t get used to it tho lol sorry

Masterlist

CW: vampire caretaker, multiple whumpees, institutionalized slavery, caretaker new master, selective mutism, fear of punishment, panic attack, Roy being big of heart but dumb of ass,

———

The ride back was unsettling, but at least Master allowed them to sit in the seats. It was senseless kindness, one that they will have to repay, but at least it was comfortable. Dew hated punishment, but at least she could curl up on a cushy seat in a beautiful car beforehand.

The first thing Dew noticed when they arrived was that Master’s house was tiny for a vampire. She originally was astonished that he had such a huge building all to himself until he mentioned a landlady. Drop elbowed her in the ribs, wanting to ask a question. She tried to subtly shake her head “no” but he just. Would not listen. Typical.

“So, master, you have a landlady? What is that?”

“Oh! Yeah, you’ve probably only ever lived in mansions. Well, my place might be a little bit of a downgrade, but it’s still pretty big. It’s the penthouse suite and the biggest space of this entire apartment complex. It takes up most of the top floor.”

Master showed them around, but Dew started to worry. It didn’t even take up the last floor completely. Master would be able to hear them constantly and know what they messed and or spoke out of turn. They were totally exposed.

A quick glance at Drop told her that he knew it too. This house was much smaller than any other vampire, but perhaps Master knew that. He realized that his super hearing had limits and chose a house according. So sneaky. So cruel. Dew’s breathing began to pick up again, but she forced herself to stay calm. She couldn’t start freaking out, not right now! Not with so much at stake.

“So this is the kitchen, but it’s hardly been used. Oh, um, can you guys make food for yourselves?”

Dew nodded, and he moved on.

“Here’s your room. I hope only one bed is alright. Your bathroom is just down the hall. Any questions?”

“Yes Master. Firstly, may we enter the library? Also, where would you like to be fed? I noticed there is no dining room.”

“You can go pretty much anywhere in here. I’m not too big on rules. The only place that’s restricted is my room, I guess. And there was a dining room. It is what is now my library that I showed you. Heh, um, yeah.” Master seemed agitated. Plus, he had dodged her second question. Dew shuffled her feet nervously.

“I don’t know how to tell you, but I’m not hungry right now. Really, I’m not! There was a lot of, uh, stuff at the party. So you can just, like, chill I guess. Hang out. I’m going to be in my room. Call me if you need me.”

And then he was gone, briskly walking away. Just like that. Like he hadn’t left to terrified blood bags in his wake.

Dew took a deep breath, keeping the constant fear away, and lead Drop to the library. She had seen lose paper and pens in there.

They sat on the plush carpet. Drop looked around, but Dew was focused on writing down a note. She’d been caught with a note only once before, but vampires often underestimated how quickly a human could chew and swallow something. They’d be safe to communicate like this.

She handed Drop the note and he read,

This house is small, so he’ll hear us talking. You already know that though. If he comes to check what we’re writing, I’ll eat the paper. Nod to show you read it.

He nodded and she wrote on the back.

We present ourselves first thing tomorrow morning. Be sweet looking. Don’t grimace or snarl. Don’t go into any room other than ours, the bathroom, and the library but only when I tell you.

Drop rolled his eyes and did an eating motion.

We don’t know if we can go in the kitchen.

Drop glared at her. She glared right back. They had known each other long enough, it felt like an entire conversation was going on through their angry looks.

Drop: how are we supposed to eat, then?

Dew: how should I know? Just don’t go there until we’re sure.

Drop: why show us a kitchen if we can’t use it!

Dew: shut up!

Drop: you shut up!

Dew: fine.

Drop: fine.

Dew huffed and started to stand. Drop swatted at her legs playfully and she returned it by hitting his leg with her shoe. They couldn’t be mad at each other for long and both humans started to giggle.

*Creak*

They whipped around. Master had left his room and was coming there way. Dew ate the paper so fast that she honestly surprised herself.

“Hey, sorry, but I just remembered a few things. Sorry to interrupt.”

They almost forgot to bow when he came in. Dew felt the constant terror clawing at her throat, threatening to make her sob.

“You did not interrupt. We are yours, we are here to serve. It is our fault for being distracted. Punish us as you see fit.”

Again, Master seemed tense one moment and fine the next. Dew’s metaphorically knuckles were white with how desperately and tightly she held to her calm exterior, which threatened to slip right out of her grasp.

“It’s really alright. I don’t- you aren’t getting punished. I just wanted to clarify a few things.”

There was a pause, and Dew hesitantly nodded, not knowing what else to do.

“Um, can he talk?” Master asked, gesturing to Drop. “Like, physically talk.”

And just like that, everything came crashing down, including her knees as she fell into a mix of a bow and the fetal position.

“Please, d-don’t punish him! Don’t! He’s done- done nothing wrong. H-he’s good. He d-doesn’t, um, doesn’t talk. H-he could, but please don’t- don’t make him! He’ll be good! We’ll be good. L-let me me t-t-talk f-for him…” She tired to continue, but her sobs got in the way. Instead, she focused on catching her breath and not flinging herself over Drop to shield him.

Even though she couldn’t see him from her curled up position, she heard Drop holding back tears, dry sobs escaping every now and then. She looked up at her owner, the cruel man who may have purposefully owned a small house to keep slaves constantly feeling scared. She expected more of his signature, creative evilness and cunning. She expected hate and anger.

But instead, his eyes shone with tears, like a triplet to their twin despair. A thick strand of purple hair had fallen in Master’s face and he didn’t bother to push it away. He was uncomfortable and tense, just like she had thought she’d seen before. He looked about half as utterly miserable as Dew felt.

“Hey, i-it’s alright. It’s okay. You’re alright. You’re safe. No one is in trouble.” He gave her a moment to collect herself and wipe her tears before crouching down to their level while maintaining a fair distance between them.

“No one is going to be hurt or punished. Neither of you, I swear. I just was wondering if there was an injury that I should know about. But it’s okay if he can’t or won’t talk, even if he could physically. I don’t mind. I swear. You’re good.” And then Master turned to Drop and slowly reached out a hand. The latter flinched away, but Master rested his palm gently on his slave’s knee.

“And you’re okay, Drop. If you ever want to talk again, that’s fine. I don’t mind either way. If you never talk, it’s all good. I swear. You are both good.”

And he stood, took a deep breath, and left. It was always the same. As Dew helped her friend up and they scurried away, she mulled this over. Perhaps their master enjoyed causing panic and confusion and then leaving. It was strange how completely upset he looked, but maybe it was an act. That’d be okay. They had dealt with worse in and outside of the farm. If this Master enjoyed playing with his food, that was fine. At least they had each other.

Drop hopped into bed and held his arms open. It wasn’t every day that they slept cuddled up and consoling each other all night long. But if they ever needed comfort, it was on the first day of a new, strange master. As Dew curled up in Drop’s arms, she thought about everything. They could face this new Master and any other. As long as they had each other, they would be okay in the end.

———

Tag list: @kim-poce @badluck990 @whumpy-writings @imagination1reality0 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @wolfeyedwitch @thecyrulik @nicolepascaline @whumpsday @whumpcreations

#whump #vampire caretaker #multiple whumpees #institutionalized slavery #tw institutionalized slavery #caretaker new whumper #caretaker new master #selective mutism #fear of punishment #tw fear of punishment #panic attack #tw panic attack #dew the human #drop the human #Roy the vampire

[i-eat-worlds]

Wow Birthday Whump Day 13: Natural disaster / Shock collar / "Shut up!"

*sighs in Immortal ALS* This was fun, though it did get kinda long. Hope y’all enjoy!

Related to Day 4

Content: floods, pretty detailed medical whump, gore (descriptions of serious injuries and dead* bodies), immortal whumpee, implied past abuse, briefly mentioned finger gore, fear of punishment, caretaker new whumper, medicinal drug use, feelings of suffocation

The stairs creaked under Joseph’s feet as he descended, and he hoped they wouldn’t give out. He could smell the awfulness from the top of them. Whatever the floodwater had washed in absolutely reeked.

It hadn’t all drained out yet. Several inches of murky water shimmered in the light from his headlamp. It sloshed as he stepped down into it, wrinkling his nose at the smell. This was going to be hell to clean out of his uniform. Once he was off the stairs, Eric came down behind him. He looked a little green faced at the pungent aroma, but they continued into the pitch-black basement nonetheless.

Joseph led the way, headlamp only illuminating one small portion of wall at a time. The stench grew stronger as they walked, and it was only a matter of time before they finally found the cause.

There was a body.

They were slumped against the wall, one hand shackled on a short chain. Their head was squarely below the line of grime on the wall that marked the crest of the water. Blood swirled around them, oozing from the open wound across their belly. Several loops of bowel were hanging out, and they were starting to turn a blackish-green color. Their unrestrained arm was puffy and swollen, and their clavicle protruded from their shoulder, stained a muddy color from the water. It was a horrible scene.

Joseph’s stomach dropped as he approached them. Despite the gray skin and blue tinge to their lips, they looked so young. Who the fuck had Darkstar been keeping in his basement?

He reached his hand out, sliding it under their jaw. As he expected, there was nothing there, just the sensation of cold skin. For another brief second, he stared down at their face, mouth unable to form the words to call in the report.

And, suddenly, there were two big, amber eyes staring up at him.

He did a double take, blinking a little in surprise. The eyes flickered wildly around the room before settling on him. This was real. They were alive.

“Unshakable,” he called, squatting down into the water while he removed his pack, and Eric quickly wheeled around, confused. “They’re immortal.”

His eyes flashed with understanding. “I'll call it in.”

“Can you cut them loose?” He pulled a pair of gloves on.

“On it.” He reached behind to grab his bolt cutters while he requested an ambulance.

His hands worked quickly as he wetted a pad and placed it up against their abdomen. “I’m Exhale, and this is Unshakable. We work for INSUPA. We’re going to help you.”

Their eyes widened at that, but they gave no other response. With a loud chink, the chain snapped, and their arm dropped like a ragdoll. A little splash went up as it hit the water. Once their wound was dressed, his hand flittered higher, feeling for a pulse again, and watching their breathing.

Both were entirely absent. Great.

He looked up to Eric. “We need to get them upstairs.”

*** Someone was touching them.

Nova could feel someone’s finger pressing under their jaw, pulling them back to consciousness. They tried to fight it, begging their body to descend back into nothingness, but they were unable to. Slowly, their eyelids slid open, and the awful sensation of their existence returned.

There was a crushing weight on their chest, and it felt still and empty and wrong. Panic surged through them as they were reminded that they couldn’t breathe. Something was lodged in their throat, suffocating them, and they couldn’t do anything to get it out and- A cool, wet bandage pressed against their belly. Right. There was a person here. People? Maybe.

Their eyes flickered downwards. He was saying something to them. They should be listening, shouldn’t they?

“…Exhale….We….INSUPA…..going to….”

No. No no no. Darkstar was too late. They’d been captured. Fuck. And Exhale. The name was familiar but they couldn’t place quite where…

Oh. Oh no.

That was why he was here, looking for them in this half-flooded basement. Revenge.

It didn’t matter, though. Their body was still dead and it wouldn’t move or respond or do anything. He was going to do as he pleased. Did it really matter? Was Darkstar any different?

They still couldn’t breathe. They wanted to breathe. Why wasn’t it working?

Suddenly, the chain pinning their arm to the wall was cut and their arm flopped down into the water. They glanced over and found another person standing by them. He was holding some sort of long handled tool.

Please, please no. They couldn’t speak to beg for mercy, but maybe the pleading look would work. Darkstar liked to lop off their fingers when they’d been bad. Hopefully Exhale wasn’t the same. Or, maybe he would wait until they healed? Did it matter?

It wasn’t like he wasn’t justified.

They’d tortured him, because Darkstar had asked them too, and they really didn’t have any integrity, did they? And they’d failed Nebula, and Darkstar had kicked them out, and they’d failed everyone and hurt so many people and it was all for nothing.

It would be hard for them to argue that they didn't deserve this.

Suddenly, hands seized them, hosting them up out of the water. They tried to gasp in surprise but they couldn’t.

They just wanted to breathe.

The movement was agonizing, pulling at their injuries and sending waves of pain rolling through them. Neither of the heroes touched their shoulder at all, steering clear of the limb entirely. It was odd.

Exhale started to ascend the stairs, light slowly growing brighter as they neared the top. The fabric of his uniform was grating against their skin as he walked through the safehouse’s hallways, each step jostling their body.

Stupidly, they tried to breathe again. It didn’t work, their lungs still empty of air and the choking, suffocating sensation still stuck in their throat.

The cold air stung as Exhale carried them out the door, laying them down on the pavement. Not dropping. Laying.

He dropped his bag down next to them, and the hero they didn’t recognize took up a spot by their head. His lips moved, and he was obviously trying to tell them something, but they couldn’t hear it. Everything was a blur.

Two fingers slid under their jaw again, and he bent down low, his cheek right by their unbreathing mouth. It stayed there for what felt like a small eternity, and he straightened up, locked his fingers together, leaned over them, and pushed.

Their eyes went wide as his hands came down in their chest. He was crushing them, pushing their sternum down again and again and again. They wanted to fight him away, but their limbs still weren’t cooperating and their chest felt empty and they couldn’t breathe.

While Exhale beat into them, they could feel the hero working behind them. There was the ghost of something against their cheek, and then something invaded their nostril. They could feel the slime coated tube slithering down the back of their throat, eventually coming to a stop.

Exhale’s hands finally let up, and he leaned back on his heels. They didn’t get a break, though. Immediately, their head was yanked back and a piece of thick plastic clamped over their mouth and nose. Air was forced into their lungs, but it didn’t feel like enough.

The mask fell to the side and Exhale was back on them, pumping their chest. It hurt. They almost wished for Darkstar’s loppers.

There was an incessant drone in their ears, loud and screeching, and they were finally able to place it as sirens. An ambulance was charging down the road, lights visible out of the corner of their eye.

Exhale pulled away from their chest again, and air was pushed into their lungs. He leaned over them, ready to start, and they strained to stop him. All they could manage was a dull twitch of their hand.

He went back to pushing down on their chest, slamming his weight into them relentlessly. In the far field of their vision, they were able to see several more people approaching, laden with many bags. That couldn’t be a good sign.

They swarmed around them, voices swirling while they exchanged information. Exhale tilted back and the mask descended over their face again. They tried to resist, straining to breathe on their own, but they couldn’t do it.

Once more, he brought his hands down repeatedly, slamming his body weight into them repeatedly. More hands worked around him, a pair sticking things to their chest while another tugged at their wrist. The touch was overwhelming, and they tried to get their limbs to cooperate.

This time, though, was more successful than the first.

They raised an arm at Exhale’s body, weakly trying to fend him off. They noticed that their wrist was a little less swollen as they slapped it against his side. It probably wouldn’t end well, but they needed him to stop, even if it was just for a moment.

“Rhythm check!” someone called out.

Surprisingly, his hands pulled away, and everyone’s eyes turned towards something they couldn’t see. Two fingers came to rest under their jaw.

“Back in sinus.” Was that good? “Still not breathing.”

They tried to pull a breath in, but they still couldn’t, their lungs refusing to pull in air. The hero quickly brought the mask back down over their face, his fingers pressing up against their chin.

Exhale looked down at them. His face was calm, almost thoughtful, not angry. Why? He’d just beat their chest into pieces. He was supposed to hate them.

“We’re going to move you up onto the stretcher now,” he said, voice far too gentle. “I know it's scary, but we’re going to take care of you.”

They couldn’t detect any malice in the statement, but they also couldn’t bring themselves to believe it. He had to be lying, right? He had to be.

The people around them shifted positions, and then, on the count of three, they were lifted into the air and quickly deposited on the stretcher. It was agonizing, their legs jerking and kicking on instinct.

“Stay still for us,” Exhale said. “I know it hurts, let us help.”

They were quickly loaded onto the ambulance. It was the warmest they could remember being. Exhale disappeared from their vision, but the other hero stayed by their head, keeping the mask on their face, steadily pushing air in and out. They were hungry for it. Every pause felt like an eternity.

One of the medics was messing with their arm again. They could feel a tight band around it, the ends ticking their bicep. The other was clipping something to their finger and covering their legs with a blanket.

“Sharp scratch,” a voice said, and then something burrowed into the crook of their elbow. Several seconds later, a rush of cool washed up their arm.

Exhale reappeared. “You got access?” He sounded surprised. There was a pause, presumably for a response they couldn’t make out, and then he turned away.

“We’re going to get you something for the pain now,” the medic said. They nodded weakly, still unable to speak. Another chilling wave rolled up their arm. Exhale kept breathing for them, and try as they might to resist, they couldn’t do it. It just wouldn’t work. He looked away from their face, eyes flickering over to the monitor and back down to them. What was he going to do?

There was a brief discussion that they couldn’t follow, and then he bent down to speak with them. “Hey, you with me?” he asked. They blinked in response, tears welling in their eyes for some reason. “Good. We’re concerned about your breathing, so we’re going to put you to sleep so that we can breathe for you. It’ll be more comfortable for you, yeah.”

His voice was calm, but it struck horror in them nonetheless. Darkstar had threatened them with this before, reminding them that the drugs wouldn’t work. But they couldn’t talk, beholden to the hero moving air in and out of their lungs.

People were shifting around them, preparing for something. The painkillers were starting to dull the agony. Even though everything still hurt, it was further away. Exhale swapped out for the other hero, still squeezing the bag in time. They half expected him to stop, forcing them to feel the crushing sensation of suffocation.

He didn’t though, his face still free of any malice. It had to be fake, considering the awfulnes they knew was coming.

There were two more consecutive rushes of cold. “Ket’s in,” somebody said.

Exhale looked down at them. “You might start feelin’ pretty tired soon, and that’s okay.”

They waited, but nothing happened. He didn’t seem too shocked by this, and he told the medic to push more.

It took a moment, but eventually they felt their eyelids start to grow heavy. Were the drugs working? They hoped they were. Please. Please.

Exhale’s face hanging above them was the last thing they saw before everything went black.

*** It took nearly a double dose of ketamine to get them out, but their eyes finally slid closed. The look on their face was strangely peaceful as he instructed the paramedic to push the roc. That one took a less dramatic amount to work, but it still irked him a little. After a minute had passed, the BVM was removed, and he began.

Using his right hand, he scissored their mouth open, then went in with the laryngoscope. He moved past their teeth and pushed their tongue away, descending further into their throat. It was coated with secretions, thick and slimy and a little bloody. “Suction,” he called out.

The tool was placed in his hand, and he quickly swept it back and forth across their mouth, vacuuming the goop away. It revealed their vocal cords, still and unmoving. “Bougie, please.” He kept his eyes on their glottis as it was passed to him.

He threaded it into their mouth and down their throat, feeling it click as it moved past the rings of their trachea. Once he felt the bougie stop, he asked for his tube. He’d just gotten it past their teeth when their face jerked.

Oh fuck.

They slowly pulled their eyes open, and it was obvious they were immediately aware of what was happening. “They’ve regained consciousness, I need another dose of ket in.”

He kept sliding the tube down as their eyes flitted around frantically, eyes watering. “We’re going to get you to sleep again.” Tears started to flow down their cheeks as he pulled the bougie out. “I know, I know, but I have to.”

They were obviously terrified, eyes wide and begging for relief. “Ket’s in.”

“Good.” He inated the balloon, then attached them to the ventilator while the paramedic used tape to secure the tube. “We’ve got the medicine in now. I know it's scary, but you’ll be asleep soon.”

Slowly, it started to work, and their eyes slid closed once more. They pushed another dose of roc, since they’d eaten through that too. Immortals were always hell to keep out, and this one wasn’t going to be any different.

Once they knew it was placed correctly, they got off to the hospital. Everything else that needed to happen could be done en route. They were eating through meds at a ridiculous rate, but the procedure had done its job, and their vitals were less awful.

They looked less dead now, somehow, and as he studied their face, looking for any signs of consciousness, it hit him. He knew them.

That was Darkstar’s sidekick.

That was Nova.

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump@painful-pooch@snaillamp @rainbowsandwhumperflies @whumperofworlds

#worlds babbles #whump #wow birthday whump #wow birthday whump day 13 #natural disasters #medical whump #gore #immortal whumpee #caretaker new whumper #finger gore #drug ment tw #whump writing #I love this one so much #eeeeeeeee

[will-o-the-wips]

okay inspired by another prompt but-

A prince that acts all high and mighty and well to do and overly confident. Someone - maybe a noble, or maybe a commoner, could be anyone that doesn't live in the palace with him - decides they hate his attitude and wants to take him down a notch or ten, so they kidnap him with full intent to torture him.

They get him somewhere alone, toss him around a bit. The prince's behavior has changed like the flip of a switch. His confidence and regal bearing is gone, replaced with cowering and feeble, half-formed pleas and teary eyes. The kidnapper thinks it's just an act to get them to let him go, and they get even angrier about it, so of course they take their anger out on him.

At some point they do strip him down...only to find the evidence of past abuse. Not anything simple either, nothing that could be caused by accidents. His clothes covered whip marks and scars, old and new. And an intricate pattern of brands spanning his shoulders, which looked to be a piece still be in progress.

The prince's change in behavior makes a bit more sense, but does the kidnapper actually care? Or maybe they feel vindicated, believing they're not the only one who thinks the prince needs a behavior adjustment.

#whump prompt #whump #kidnapping #abuse #scars #implied torture #whump ideas #royal whump #whumper turned caretaker (potentially) #howl hurts someone #just gearing up to actually (maybe) write things #whumpblr #whump blog #whump scenario #hey if i tagged this wrong pls tell me things to add - im new here

[pigeonwhumps]

Knife to the throat

MD-264N masterlist

Febuwhump day 4: knife to the throat

@febuwhump

Note: For avoidance of confusion over pronouns, Blue is genderfluid, and is using he/him pronouns in this piece. This takes place a couple of weeks after Flinching.

Blue accidentally triggers Morgan's conditioning, with Rhian as the target.

771 words

CWs: dehumanisation, self-dehumanisation, conditioned whumpee, living weapon whumpee, held at knifepoint, bad caretaker (one of them), caretaker new whumper, gun

"Morgan, put the knife down," says Rhian softly, hand in the air, trying to avoid cutting their throat on the sharp knife held against it.

She silently curses Blue. She and Morgan had been talking, and then Blue had barged in, not even looking at Morgan, and said something to Rhian. Rhian's not sure what it was now, it's not important, but some part of it triggered Morgan.

And now Rhian has a knife at their throat and Blue, the idiot, is pointing his gun at Morgan. As if any of this is Morgan's fault.

"Blue, put the gun down, please."

"Not while the weapon's an active threat."

Rhian closes her eyes, praying for patience. "Morgan. Please, put the weapon down. It's only Rhian, I'm not going to hurt you."

Morgan's arm trembles slightly but it doesn't waver, their gaze blank. They've entirely been taken over by their conditioning.

Rhian hears the click of Blue's gun. "For the love of god, Blue, don't you fucking dare shoot them."

"It's a tranquilliser. And I won't let you get knifed in the throat."

Well, at least Morgan won't die if he shoots. She decides to try a different method.

"Sweetheart. It's Rhian. There's no danger, nothing to attack. I don't want you to attack. Let go, sweetheart." Morgan trembles harder, tears welling. Clearly, no-one's tested their conditioning by being kind before. But it's not working enough. Rhian swallows. There must be a phrase to stop it. What would they say in the military? What did the guards used to say, in the mandatory exercise yard at the re-education centre, during their escape, every time they wanted something to stop?

Stand down. Stand down, student 7583, or I'll shoot. Shoot to kill, no prisoners.

Rhian breathes out shakily and hardens her tone, imitating the guards easily after all the practice she's had.

"Stand down. Morgan, stand down." That doesn't work. She grimaces. "MD-264N, stand down."

Morgan drops the knife immediately, hand swinging down, and Rhian steps forward, shielding them from Blue. "I'm going to touch you, Morgan, don't panic." She takes another step forward, and once Morgan's within arm's reach she reaches out, pulling them into a tight hug. "Come back to me, sweetheart, come on. You're Morgan, remember?" Morgan shudders. "That's it. You're doing it. Come on, sweetheart, I've got you. You're doing so well."

Morgan gasps, clutching Rhian's upper arms tightly as their knees start to buckle. "This weapon is– it is–"

"Breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe."

Morgan takes a deep breath, copying Rhian. "This weapon is malfunctioning. Its eyes are leaking and its heart rate is still increasing and–"

"Shh. It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay. That's okay, I'm not mad, not gonna correct you. Just breathe, concentrate on calming down. Blue messed up, you did nothing wrong, it's okay. It's okay to cry, sweetheart. You're not leaking, you're crying, and that's okay."

Morgan looks helplessly at Rhian for a second and then throws themself forward, burying their head in her chest, shaking with sobs. Rhian's breath catches at the look in their eyes, the speed at which they threw themself at her for comfort.

"Hey sweetheart."

"I, it is sorry, it apologises, this weapon injured you and it is displaying aberrant behaviour, it is so sorry, it–"

"Shh, you're okay. The cut doesn't hurt anymore, it's not even bleeding. Cry all you like, let it out. Yeah? You're okay, you're safe."

They clutch Morgan tightly, hearing Blue's footsteps finally fade down the corridor. Morgan's so distressed, Blue was so quick to act that Rhian suspects he's nowhere near trusting them yet, and Rhian herself is still shaken. It's the first time they've really appreciated that their friend was an actual weapon, the first time since Morgan woke that they've thought that way about them. If someone ordered Morgan to, even by accident, they could do a hell of a lot of damage.

Rhian doesn't believe they ever would of their own free will. They were wavering even with the conditioning today. But still. It's a hell of a lot of training (torture) to put someone through, to make them react like that to a few words. She didn't realise it was so thorough. She didn't realise they were so dangerous. Calling themself I, if only for a moment, was progress, but they're still conditioned, still so easy to trigger.

Still so damn small, as well.

And now that same person is soaking her t-shirt with sobs, clutching her like she'll disappear if they don't.

"You're gonna be okay, sweetheart. You're going to be okay."

They can only hope that it's true.

#whump #whump writing #dehumanisation #self dehumanisation #conditioned whumpee #conditioning #living weapon whump #living weapon #held at knifepoint #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday4 #whumpee and caretaker #bad caretaker #caretaker new whumper #whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper #md 264n #morgan the weapon #rhian the fighter #blue the engineer #tw gun #i really need something from blues pov dont i #one piece to go until we get more backstory on him #though thats not meant to be his pov but i guess i could change it #look i said team as family. theres always friction and people youre not particularly fond of in families 🤷 #found family #team as family #disabled caretaker #disabled character

[kim-poce]

34. Full House: Plan

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CW: pet whump, caretaker new master, use of the term 'put down' for killing, fear of death, fear of punishment, sickness, multiple whumpees.

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Purple was back into the small room under the stairs. Master Eri gave the lapdogs a room of their own but it was too large, too full of trinkets meant for people. If this was a test Purple wouldn't be tricked, and if it wasn't… Well, Master could punish him whenever he wanted if he was displeased.

For now, he sat down by the side of his cage. There was a small night light in the room, enough to allow Purple to see the pastel-colored dog beds and blankets of the same color, they were the comfiest pet beds in the whole house before Master Eri came, but now even the youngest had a room of his own. So much luxury from the start was frightening, and with each passing second Purple waited for the second shoe to drop. He also wondered where Pink was today, he seemed so busy just earlier as if a lapdog would have a chore.

As if to answer his wonders, the door opened slowly but loudly as the worn-out hinges cried.  Purple was already on his knees by the time someone walked in, he recognized Night's feet and allowed himself to look up. His eyes widened in a mix of confusion and worry when he spotted the small pet in the guard dog's arms.

“Is…”

“I found him shivering in front of Beige's room,” Night said, his voice filled with anger. “I don't know what Sir did, but Pink doesn't look hurt.”

Night put the lapdog down, and Purple wrapped his arms around the smaller pet. If Beige wasn't sick, for sure he would be coming with stolen water already, but he was sick, the more dangerous state for a chore pet to be, everyone knows what'll happen if things continue like this, everyone is trying to ignore, trying to convince themselves that everything will be okay but it doesn't matter how hard Purple tries his hands are still shivering around his friend and his heart is still raced at the thought of the future.

“Sir won’t picky on him,” Night said. “I have a plan.”

On the outside, Purple ignored the words: whatever Night was planning he can't officially know anything, he is a well-behaved pet, and if he spotted a pet doing (or planning) something bad he would immediately tell Master. So he didn’t spot anything, not at all. Inside his mind, he screamed at the guard dog to behave, to know his place to please don't get hurt.

Pink shivering worsened after Night left as if now that they were all alone he allowed himself to truly feel.

“He will be fine,” Purple tried, not believing his own words as he hugged Pink. “He is strong.”

“I I don't want to to to do it again,” Pink said with a pleading voice, talking more to himself than to Purple. “I I don't want to but if..  if..  what if I need again, I…. I don't I don't think I can I can't again I I-”

Purple caressed his back, not asking what he meant, for one he didn't think Pink would manage to answer and principally his instincts screamed that he didn't want to know for the same reason he didn't want to know Night's plans.

———

The fear forced Beige awake, the vague memory of passing out was still slowly coming back when Master’s voice rang painfully inside his mind. Beige had been too careless. He should've hidden away before passing out; Master was never meant to find him slacking off, sleeping in the middle of the hallway. He was done for, if Master was displeased before already, now for sure he was completely mad.

“I'm- it it's sorry,” he cried out, he was too tired to open his eyes, and never the no-eye-contact rule had been so merciful. “It it'll”

“Shhhh,” Master's voice rang loudly. “Don't speak, dear.”

Beige whimpered. So he can't beg anymore? So, since he'll be put down, even his begging isn't pleasant anymore? Was all he did up until now so worthless? Is he truly this broken?

I can be good. I can be good. I'll eat less, I won't steal anymore. I won't sleep so much. Please. The words died before they reached his mouth. Please let me live.

“Hey hey,” Master called, and Beige was grateful that at least he was still worth talking to. Even if it was mockery. “Hey, it's okay, the doctor said you'll be fine.”

Beige sobbed harder. He wanted to say the doctor was right, to promise he'll work harder, but he is far too old and defective to work as much as he should. Even if Master allows him to live it'll take a couple of months at most for Master to decide to put him down, buying a younger and fresher pet is the right choice.

The house was always too large, the punishment was always too harsh, and the food and rest too little. He broke long ago, he knew it, the last years he was barely surviving, but he can't drag his broken remainings any longer.

“Not not not the b-b-basement,” he begged, voice cracking. “p-p-p-please not not there please just just please…. Be fast. Just…”

The words were a lump in his throat. Had he earned a quick death? Had the years of torture and despair paid off enough to die painlessly? They hadn’t, had they? Beige had been so bad, so unloyal, so unpet-like, so-

“Shhhh,” Master tried again. “I’m not mad,” his silk-like voice, which once was comforting, wrapped itself too tightly around the pet, too suffocatingly tight.

Master touched a plastic cup on the pet’s lips, helping him drink the cool water. He half feared whatever was mixed in the clear liquid and half hoped that it, if fatal, was at the very least painless or quick.

“The doctor said you will be fine, okay? No need to be scared,” Master said.

Beige could barely hear him, his voice was foggy and far away,  but loud and close at the same time. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were heavy, as heavy as his shaken breath. He didn’t know how much of it was due to fear, but he was sure that the doctor was wrong. He is useless, no amount of resting would make him a proper pet ever again.

———

Eri’s mind was dizzy, and there was too much going on at the same time. The youngest pet was still sick, Beige was a thin line from having a panic attack over his own current poor heathy. He should say comforting words, but whatever filter the institutes put in the pet’s mind would only turn his words into nasty threats.

He fed the man some water, both because he needed it and to earn himself some time to get his words straight. Looking back, it was too optimistic of him to think he would have the time, it was foolish to hope that life waits for him to solve a problem before giving him another.

A loud thud came from downstairs. Eri flinched in surprise, quickly putting himself on his feet, and frowning at the door. He didn’t wait much for the next metal-against-metal clank. It was coming from outside the house, right under Beige’s window.

He approached the window as fast as it was safe to do. The clanks were becoming louder and faster, and the cause was clear the moment he looked out the window; Night was down there, in his hands a sledgehammer and in front of him Eri’s now broken car.

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#full house #whump #pet whump #caretaker new master #multiple whumpees #caretaker new whumper #fear of death #fear of punishment #sickness #whump fic #beige #pink #purple #night #eri #my writing #not a reblog