How about some robot whump, where Whumper is going all out on it with Caretaker forced to watch.
The android assures Caretaker, "Not to worry. I cannot feel it. There is no pain."
But that doesn't mean that Caretaker stops yelling at Whumper to stop tearing their friend apart in the most brutal way. Appendages ripped from its torso, wires sending sparks up, the humanoid features slowly but forcefully removed. Oil drips out, leaving dark puddles not quite unlike blood.
All the while, the android keeps diligently updating on its status:
"Sensory functions failing."
"Emotion recognition centre damaged."
"Visuals reduced to 30%."
"It's okay!" Caretaker shouts. "I can still fix you. I can fix it all!"
"Oh, can you?" Whumper croons, fingers teasing over loose wires and smashing a hammer to the core.
"Memory storage compromised," the android croaks, it's voice failing.
"Maybe you can fix it, Caretaker," Whumper says, raising the hammer again. "But will it get you your friend back?"
-
General whump taglist: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop (huh not sure if these tags are working..)
head injuries that cause a character to do something wrong before they know they're hurt. imagine a character with a concussion leading the team in circles by accident. the team gets mad at them for not admitting they're lost until they finally realize they're not really making much sense at all.
Whumpeeâs barely alive. Their eyes are partially open, slowly blinking up and down as their gaze tracks hazy figures. Theyâre in an ambulance swarmed by doctors, all shouting concerning call-outs, yelling at them to hold on.Â
-But whumpee seems unreactive to their voices.Â
They shine a light in their eyes, they ask questions, they tug their wrist: all of it and theyâreâŠÂ still unresponsive.Â
i just think it's a special kind of humiliating to force whumpee to refer to themself as a good boy. "yes sir i've been a good boy" "i'll be a good boy, sir" it's ridiculous it's embarrassing it's horrible but what are you supposed to do when your captor refuses to take anything you say into account unless you use their terminology
Caretaker awakens to a silhouette standing in their doorway. They flick their lamp on, finding whumpee with their arms hugging their body and brows knitted together.
"Hey, you okay?" Caretaker whispers.
"I..." Whumpee mumbled, their voice causing caretaker to shoot up in bed.
"-You need pain reliever." Caretaker finished their sentences.
Idea I've been rotating in my brain nonstop lately is a living weapon and their handler having like a weirdly loving relationship.
Affectionately cuddling but never losing sight of the understanding that orders matter more than wants. Gently tending to their wounds and cleaning them after a battle/mission/etc. but never acknowledging that they might be a person. It's obvious they both care about each other a lot but the handler still calls the weapon "it" and the weapon still calls the handler "sir." Do you see my vision
"What on earth are you doing on the kitchen bench?" Caretaker asked curiously as they stuck their head into the kitchen to see what was making noise. There, Whumpee sat on the island with their legs crossed, grinning from ear to ear despite their clear nervousness.
"You told me I was allowed to break Whumper's rules. They never let me sit on counters, so that's what I'm doing."
Caretaker's confused frown curved up into a smile, pride no doubt evident. They took a few steps into the room and leaned against the nearest wall behind them. "Yeah? How's it feel up there?"
"Great!" they chirped. "I always used to sit like this, before. It's only a small aspect of the freedom I'm trying to reclaim, but one I'm excited to have back nonetheless."
First day back from imprisonment/captivity/a long, forced separation of some sort, and Whumpee can't sleep -
But not because of nightmares or wounds or trauma or the noise of the hospital around them. It's because their friends or other members of their team keep sneaking into their room to check on them, as though Whumpee might disappear on them again if left alone for longer than ten minutes.
Every time Whumpee slowly starts to drift off, the door squeaks open again. Every time Whumpee blinks their eyes open and catches one of them at it, they grimace and apologize and quickly leave -
Until Whumpee just heaves a long sigh, throws one of their pillows at the door, and calls out "Hey, if you're all going to hover out there like anxious butterflies all night, can one of you at least make me some tea or something...?"
Aâs voice was low, deadly, their entire body hunched forward like they were ready to lunge, to attack. B held up their hands, placating and calming. Or tried to be. Their own patience was running thin.
âThat wound is not going to clean and wrap itself.â
âI donât need your fucking help.â A had their hands on either side of them on the mattress of the hospital bed they sat on, the plastic sheet crinkling in their white knuckled grip, ready to push themself up.
B raised a skeptical eyebrow. âYouâll slowly bleed out. Or it will get infected. Both very bad, very painful ways to die.â
âI know pain, I can handle it.â A spat back. They were repeatedly glancing at the door, eyeing the distance. B knew they wouldnât make it, with that gash in their leg and what probably was a broken rib, they wouldnât even make it one step towards the door.
B also had no doubt it wouldnât stop them from crawling out if they had to. Theyâd probably pass out trying, and then start it all up again as soon as they came to.
âDid you hear the part about dying?â
âIâm not gonna fucking die. Iâm not dying, shut up. I can fucking beat you and anyone who gets in my fucking way.â A was panting at the end of the sentence.
B didnât doubt Aâs words, they would fight tooth and nail. But they could also see through their vicious words. They could hear the hitch of pain in their breath, the nervous energy that gave way to anger. A was doing everything they could to hide the tremble in their body, their racing heart.
B sighed, defeated. They wouldnât be able to reason with this one.
âOk. If you want to leave without getting treated, then go.â B stepped away from the door, giving A a free way.
Aâs eyes thinned in suspicion, then they glanced at the door again.
After a moment of hesitation A moved, pushing themself from the bed to standing and made a hasty step forward.
B was ready before A faltered and stumbled to the floor.
A growled against Bâs outstretched arms, immediately trying to push them away. But B was faster, needle already in hand. A didnât see it, they only felt the prick of it and B could feel them tense in their arms, see their eyes widen in shock, then fear.
âNh- No, you fucking- get away from me!â A scrambled to push away from B and B let them. This time they fell to the floor, unceremoniously crumpling to a heap. They cried out at the impact, but as B had predicted, they immediately started to crawl their way to the door.
B waited a beat, watching how one movement slowed after the other, how Aâs limbs got heavier as they struggled closer to their freedom. Then they bent down and picked A up, lifting them back up to the bed. A was struggling and pushing at B, even trying to turn their head and bite B when their arms gave way. But Aâs strength left too quickly and B all but slammed them onto the bed.
âNhh, no, no, you fucking bastard. Iâll kill you, you-â Aâs voice had turned whiny now, high pitched.
âTrust me, this is better than an infection.â
âNo, I donât want-â
âIt doesnât matter what you want. Youâre not dying on my watch.â
B watched as the last of Aâs struggles thinned out and how their eyes drooped closed but didnât let go of them until they were sure A was out.
Then they took a deep sigh and started to prepare their tools in blissful quiet.
A terrified whumpee whose body is exhausted from the intense trembling but they still canât stop quivering. Warmth cocoons them as Caretaker wraps a blanket around them and pulls them down onto the couch before their shaky legs give out. Once seated, Caretaker curls up behind the whumpee and wraps their arms around their shaking form until they feel whumpeeâs hands grab theirs and pull them close to their rapidly moving chest. Caretaker murmurs words of encouragement and keeps telling them that theyâre ok and nothing is going to happen to them. Whumpee mumbles something about having a living weighted blanket and they feel Caretaker smile against the back of their clammy neck.
then imagine caretaker being called in to try and calm whumpee down, but itâs too late. whumpeeâs voice lashes out like wind, speaking tongues only the ancients know, their power overtaking their own body, ichor dripping from gashesâno longer human, nor ever will be again. thereâs nothing caretaker can even do anymore, itâs far too late
but even now, whumpee softens around caretaker. through the mania, they remember the shape of caretakerâs soul and wish no harm upon them, even after laying devastation into the world around them
AUGH EVIL. Oh okay, I never really considered if thereâd be a point of no return. If whumpee could become so overcome with their magic that theyâll never fully recover from it, that they could lose their humanity to it.
Iâm sure the fate for such mages isnât pleasant. Are they allowed to burn out in an empty field, magic still sputtering out of their broken body? Are they shot and killed from a distance? Darted and held captive like a wild animal, prodded by scientists still trying to use them? Mages are already treated like ticking time bombs, like weapons with a human mind attached to them. Imagine how theyâd be treated if that human mind were to shatter.
I hope you know that I love your idea. Whumpee being gone, everything of who they were carved out and replaced with power and glee, and yet something of them remaining. A fragment, an after image burned into their hollow body. Sometimes the voice speaking in incomprehensible tongues sounds like them. Sometimes the way their body twitches, wracked with power, seems familiar. Sometimes their smile softens, if only for a moment.
Itâs not enough to save. Itâs just the residue of who Whumpee was, nothing more. But itâs enough to be recognizable. And it gives Caretaker just enough hope to march through the chaos and destruction to reach them.
Caretaker knows what theyâre supposed to do. They feel the weight of the weapon at their side, remember that itâs their duty to control Whumpee, not save them. Caretaker knows that a good handler would see that Whumpee is too far gone and put an end to the madness. Uncontrollable weapons need to be put down.
But then Whumpee looks at them. Thereâs nothing but madness in those eyes, but theyâre still Whumpeeâs eyes. Even clouded with magic, even covered with blood both their own and foreign, even fully overtaken by power Caretaker could never hope to understand, itâs still Whumpee. And at that moment Caretaker realizes theyâd rather die to Whumpee than kill them.
But they donât die. Even with the chaos around them, Caretaker is never touched. Whumpeeâs gaze moves past them, their magic does not harm them. They feel like theyâre in the eye of the storm, walking within a cocoon of safety while screams tear through the air.
Whumpee does not hear Caretakerâs pleas, their desperate demands that they stop. Caretaker never truly believed that they would have. But Whumpee doesnât hurt Caretaker either.
Caretaker knows what they should do, what the right thing to do is. Whumpee doesnât see them as a threat. Itâd be simple to kill them.
Caretaker lets the blade from limp fingers and reach out. They grab one of Whumpeeâs sparking, twitching hands and squeeze. They like to imagine that, when Whumpeeâs hand tightens around their own, itâs a conscious decision.
Theyâve never left Whumpee alone in their madness. If Caretaker canât pull them back, then the least they can do is walk alongside them.
And so they walk with Whumpee as the world is torn apart around them.
Bonus points if it's Caretaker handing it to them because it's the only pain relief available, and they're in a situation where they can't afford for Whumpee to panic.
Non smoker whumpee desperately smoking a cigarette to help null the pain/calm themselves down đ