Mousepaw - Untitled - Tumblr Blog

I want whumper to start bragging to caretaker about what they put whumpee through. I want them to tell the tales with a smile on their face and watch grinning as caretaker's expression changes more with each one.

But see, I don't want caretaker to become disgusted, or call whumper a sadistic monster, or start thinking "poor whumpee" just yet. I want caretaker to look up slowly, and make unbreakable eye contact with whumper as they half whisper, "I'm going to fucking kill you."

And whumper shivers.

This is very true, be more like little kids!

🥲👍 right in the feels god-

Fingerprint

"Caretaker…"

Whumpee mumbled out. They crawled slowly to Caretaker, reaching for their dead body. "Answer me…"

Whumpee held Caretaker's hand, searching for any warmth but they found none. Caretaker was cold. So so cold. They put two fingers on the pulse point and exhaled shakily when they couldn't feel anything. Whumpee shook Caretaker's body, their tears dripping down onto Caretaker's face.

"Wake up…wake up…!"

Whumpee cupped their cheeks with their bloodied hands. They rubbed their thumbs around it, feeling the soft skin. "Caretaker, please…please…don't leave me…!"

Whumpee leaned in closer and before they could give Caretaker a goodbye kiss, a pair of arms wrapped around their waist from behind. Whumper pulled Whumpee into a tight hug. Embracing them, soothing them and comforting them.

"Let me go! Let me go!"

Whumper tightened his hug, sighing softly. "Shh…it's okay, dear." Whumpee kept kicking and thrashing in Whumper's grip. They didn't seem to calm down anytime soon so Whumper turned their body around, keeping them close.

"Let me go! Why are you doing this to me?!"

"Shh…shh…it's okay. I will take care of you."

"No!"

Whumpee placed their palms on Whumper's chest, pushing them away. Whumper sighed, tightened the grip around Whumpee's waist as he brought up another hand to cup Whumpee's cheek. 

"Listen—"

"No! Let me go! I hate you!"

"Listen! Hey, hey…dear, look at me. I said, look at me."

Whumpee teary-eyed looking up at Whumper. They sniffled as Whumper brushed away their tears. "I will take care of you, okay?"

Whumper said gently. His gaze softened as Whumpee's shoulders slumping down, finally relaxing around them.

"You will follow me, okay?"

"H-huh? To where?"

"To our house."

Whumpee lifted Whumpee up, carrying them in a bridal style. Whumpee tensed up again, they squirm around in Whumper's arms. "N-no please…please…don't take me away…!"

Whumper pressed a finger against Whumpee's lips, silencing them. "Shh…we don't want to wake up the dead now, do we?"

~

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @risk606 @heyyitsworld @htavin87 @jennyyy007 @electrons2006 @valravnthefrenchie @theforeverdyingperson

Goddamn-

Masochist whumpee who messes up simple tasks to get hurt by their master. When whumper notices this they get very angry and decide to show whumpee what real pain feels like

CW: torture, masochism, sadism, emotional and physical abuse

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single bulb casting eerie shadows on the walls. Whumpee stood trembling, their fingers fumbling, either in excitement or fear over the broken vase pieces scattered on the floor.

They knew the routine by now, the cycle of mistakes and punishments that had become their twisted solace. They longed for the sharp sting of their master's wrath, the only connection they had left in this world.

Whumper entered the room, their eyes narrowing as they took in the scene. "Again?" They hissed, the word dripping with venom. "You can't even handle a simple task like this?"

Whumpee's heart raced, a mixture of fear and anticipation swirling in their chest. "I'm sorry, Master," they whispered, their voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to..."

Whumper's hand shot out, grabbing Whumpee by the collar and lifting them off the ground. "Don't lie to me!" they roared, shaking Whumpee violently. "You did this on purpose, didn't you? You want me to hurt you, don't you?"

Whumpee's eyes filled with tears, their breath coming in ragged gasps. "Please, Master... I... I just..."

Whumper's grip tightened, their eyes blazing with fury. "You think this is pain? You think you know what real pain feels like?" They threw Whumpee to the ground, their voice low and menacing. "I'll show you what pain really is."

Whumpee curled into a ball, their body trembling as they awaited the inevitable. Whumper disappeared into the shadows, returning moments later with a thin, cruel-looking whip. They cracked it in the air, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

"Get up," Whumper ordered, their voice cold and devoid of emotion. "Stand up and face me."

Whumpee struggled to their feet, their legs shaking uncontrollably. They met Whumper's gaze, a mixture of fear and desperate longing in their eyes. "Please, Master... I..."

"Silence!" Whumper snapped, raising the whip high. "You want pain? I'll give you pain."

The first strike landed with a sickening crack, the force of it sending Whumpee crashing to the ground. They screamed, the sound raw and guttural, echoing off the walls. Whumper didn't stop, the whip lashing out again and again, each blow more brutal than the last.

"Is this what you wanted?" Whumper snarled, their voice growing more frenzied with each strike. "Is this what you needed?"

Whumpee's screams turned to sobs, their body convulsing with each hit. They could feel their skin tearing, the blood flowing freely down their back. The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that consumed every inch of their being.

Whumper finally stopped, their chest heaving with exertion. They looked down at Whumpee, a twisted smile playing on their lips. "Now you know what real pain feels like," they said softly, their voice almost gentle. "Now you understand."

Whumpee lay on the ground, their body broken and bloodied, their mind a haze of pain and confusion. They had wanted this, hadn't they? They had needed this. But now, as the darkness closed in around them, they weren't so sure. The only thing they knew for certain was that they were completely, utterly alone.

Whumper wasn’t done. They dragged Whumpee by their hair to the basement, each step down the creaky stairs echoing with dread. The basement was a chamber of horrors, tools of torment meticulously arranged on the walls. Whumpee’s eyes widened in terror as they were shoved against a cold, metal table. Their wrists and ankles were strapped down with cruel efficiency.

"Now," Whumper said, their voice a chilling whisper, "let’s see how much you can really take."

They reached for a set of sharp hooks, dangling them in front of Whumpee's wide, terrified eyes. "no..." Whumpee pleaded, their voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Ignoring the pleas, Whumper pressed the first hook into Whumpee’s flesh, just below their ribcage. The hook dug in with a sickening squelch, and the guttural scream that escaped Whumpee was animalistic to say the least.

"Shh," Whumper cooed mockingly, twisting the hook slightly. "This is just the beginning."

Whumper moved with practiced precision, embedding more hooks into Whumpee's skin, each one drawing fresh screams and rivers of blood. Whumpee's body was a canvas of suffering, each hook a cruel reminder of their tormentor's power.

"Oh but whumpee.. Do you not enjoy this..?" Whumper cooed making whumpee shake their head so fast, that their ears started ringing. Or maybe that was because of the blood loss. They weren't so sure now.

"Why do you do this, whumpee?" The whumper's voice cut through the haze of pain, his words a cruel taunt. "Why do you crave this suffering?"

Whumpee could only whimper in response, their mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear, desire, and a twisted gratitude that they couldn't comprehend. The pain was relentless, a symphony of torment orchestrated by their own hand.

"Answer me!" The whumper's voice boomed, shaking them from their stupor. "Or do you need more?"

"I... I don't know!" Whumpee gasped, tears mingling with the sweat and blood on their face. "I just... I need..."

"You need me to show you what real pain feels like," the whumper finished, their voice low and chilling.

As Whumpee's screams subsided into weak, shuddering sobs, Whumper pulled out a thin, serrated knife. "You've been such a disappointment," they murmured, tracing the blade along Whumpee's thigh. "Maybe this will teach you to do better."

They carved slowly, deliberately, the knife slicing through flesh with a sickening ease. Blood pooled around Whumpee’s legs, the metallic scent mingling with the damp, musty air of the basement. Whumpee's cries grew weaker, their body wracked with uncontrollable shivers.

Whumper stepped back, surveying their handiwork with a satisfied grin. "You see," they said softly, "this is what pain really feels like."

Whumpee's vision blurred, their mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. The pain was a consuming fire, burning away any coherent thought. All that remained was a raw, unfiltered agony that left them broken and hollow.

As the darkness closed in, Whumpee’s last thought was a fleeting wish for an end to the torment, a desperate hope that they would never wake to face their master’s wrath again.

Thinking about whumpees who are normally defiant.

Who spit at and throw insults at whumper.

Who occasionally slip their restraints and make a break for it, only to be caught and thrown back into a cell.

Who fight and kick, sometimes managing a blow at whumper.

Who bare their teeth in disgust every time whumper is near.

But then they’re given a drug, or sleep deprived, or made to be disoriented in some other way.

They blink up at whumper, a spark of recognition followed by as much of a glare as they can put on.

They weakly push away, barely able to lift their arms.

Just- tired and disoriented expressions, laced with defiance.

All the anger and frustration in the world, and they can’t stand up, can barely get to their knees.

Aww. Now do this with whumper. Better yet, take your most hated whumper, put two pieces of bread on either side of their head, and put them into a vice until they can't think enough to reply that they're an idiot sandwich

Caretaker, putting two pieces of bread on both sides of Whumpee's head: What are you?!

Whumpee, resigned: An idiot sandwich...

Caretaker, sighing: Try again.

Whumpee: A sandwich who deserved better, a sandwich who deserved to be loved and cared for, a sandwich who is a human being and not a killing machine.

Caretaker, smiling: Much better.

Turn based sex. Take as long as you need to think of a strategy.

the thing folks living in Christian dominant cultures gotta realize is that even if you’re not Christian, your basic understanding of religion and spirituality and morality is still being filtered through a Christian lens. your very concept of what religion is and does is filtered through that lens.

Yes

idk whether this is an underrated trope but man i love the kind of whump where the character passes out, like total dead weight, and the caretaker (bonus if it's their rival/enemy) has to carry them back to safety (whether it's bridal style, on their back, with their arms under whumpee's armpits)

Whumpees in traps

1. A hole in the ground

CW: gunshot wound, tranquillizing/needles, slightly intimate whumper

Whumpee stumbles through the underbrush, away from the shouting men and barking dogs. One arm, bloody with a fresh wound, is cradled to their chest by the other, making their escape a hip-swaying, unsteady affair. They can barely see in the cool blue light of dusk. The trees both aid their cover and disrupt their path. And then, the whole forest shifts up and away, and darkness surrounds whumpee before they feel the hard earth come up to meet them.

Dazed, they attempt to roll onto their back, but they only get so far before a wall stops them. Their legs try to kick out and earth crumbles there too, but doesn’t give — unlike their ankle, which feels tender and brittle. A halo of light shines above, not very far — but when whumpee gets to their feet, leaning on the sides of the hole for support, they find it’s too far for their current state. An arm’s usefulness lost to a captor’s gun, a body weakened by stress and captivity, an ankle sprained in the fall. The trap is a crude, unsophisticated thing, but obviously man-made. For wolves, or snakes, or maybe hobs. Not made for a whumpee, though now it may as well have been.

The barking starts up once more, close by. The shouts then, and bits of dirt rain down as a nose snuffles at the edge of the hole, encroaching on Whumpee’s fading light. The dog marks it’s prey with more barks. Whumpee cowers below, turning into the shadows and trying to make themselves invisible. Hopefully a whumper will fall in, and somehow become incapacitated, and whumpee can climb atop them to get out… but no. The whumpers see the trap.

“They’re here! Get a rope!” one shouts. “There’s no escape, whumpee. You come with us or you die down there.”

But when the rope is thrown in, whumpee refuses to cooperate.

“Take the damn rope, Whumpee.”

But Whumpee is frozen.

“Whumpers, hold the line. I’ll bring them up.”

The whumper scales the drop, wary of Whumpee’s attack when their back is turned. There’s barely enough room for both of them. Whumpee can only curl themselves away, as if they might melt into the dirt or sink beneath it. Whumper grabs the back of Whumpee’s neck, then their arm — the one with the bullet. Whumpee screams. Whumper lets go of their arm with a curse.

“They’re injured! Get me something to calm them,” Whumper calls to the others. “You’re a lotta trouble, you know that? They shouldn’t have used a gun on you though. Dammit…”

Whumpee is almost pressed against Whumper’s legs by the proximity in the small space. Whumper pulls Whumpee out of their huddled crouch, a little more gently than before. They fend off Whumpee’s hand as they make feeble, fumbling attempts to push them away. Then Whumpee is only sagging against the wall before Whumper, too tired to fight. Whumper puts an arm around their waist to keep them upright.

“Please,” Whumpee begs. “Whatever they’re paying you, it c-can’t be enough to-“

“Damn right it ain’t enough. Whumpers! Get me some light. And where’s that sedative?”

A case is tossed into the hole, and a shaky light illuminates the two figures in the dirt. Whumper catches the packet, bracing it against their chest to unzip it and grabs a syringe. They pull the cap off with their teeth, expertly handling the dose and keeping Whumpee still at the same time.

“No, no— just leave me here! You don’t need me! You can just leave me here please—“ Whumpee struggles in vain as Whumper uses the side of their palm to turn their chin. With the same hand, they bring the needle to sink into the flesh between Whumpee’s neck and shoulder.

“Just lemme— let— jrss,” Whumpee blinks, eyes wide and unfocused before they roll away in a haze, “jus let— ff-mmh…” Whumpee’s head slumps, and their body goes slack.

“That’s it, sleepy time…” Whumper mutters, shifting Whumpee’s weight closer to their body.

“Christ, you went fast. Ok. We’re good, boys! Bringing ‘em up!”

Damn

"It didn’t have to be this way."

Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch @juneofdoom Day 2

cw: violence, beating, living weapon whumpee, implied captivity, see above

“You dumb, stupid girl,” Handler said, razor-sharp with disdain. This one always had a nasty look on his face, and he wasn’t particularly fond of her. Probably because mouthing off to him and his dumb lackeys had become muscle memory by now. “You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?”

She crossed her arms. It didn’t matter how many people were watching her— Handler and another handler, some of their lackeys and some of their minutemen, and Asset. The bodyguard that had been assigned to her. They always had this whole entourage with them, and these days she preferred it when it was just her and Asset. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it? Beat me, drug me, do whatever the fuck else you do to control the rest of them?” She laughed in his face. ”Try me. I know it’s all empty threats.”

Asset gave her a hardened look. One of warning. It was hard to think about how he was included in them— how he already had years and years of being beaten, drugged, so conditioned into place. Into being one of their best.

She probably shouldn’t have ignored that look.

“I don’t need to make empty threats,” Handler assured her, so dry and unconcerned that it made her want to turn into a spitfire, spewing flame and vitriol, a maelstrom too violent to contain even with all these fucking men around. “That’s what you don’t understand. Control is an easy thing.” He pulled out one of those fucking batons, so sleek and easy to extend. It slipped right into place. “Asset.”

She steeled her shoulders as Asset stepped forward. Her heart pounded and pounded anyways, a betrayal to her big stupid ego and all the false confidence that got her into this. What was Handler going to do, really? Force her own bodyguard to beat the shit out of her? Yeah, right.

“I don't need to touch you to make you suffer,” Handler continued. “You’ve already made it too easy for me.”

Asset gave a preemptive grimace. He saw it coming way before she did.

The baton cracked off of Asset’s face in one violent swing. Handler struck again and Asset stumbled back, shielding an arm across his head, but it didn’t matter. The baton struck him across the ribs next, and then his back, and then his face again. Again, and again.

She cried out. “No! Stop! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Asset desperately tried to stay on his feet, but then it was an onslaught. Three, four more batons extended, and suddenly all those damn minutemen were going at it. Strike after strike, each one more merciless than the next, metal cracking against muscle and bone until there were welts and blood.

It didn’t matter if Asset fought back, briefly, overwhelmed by violent instinct and blocking with a forearm, grappling a baton, swinging— only for one hard hit to land right up between his shoulders and send him crashing to the ground.

“Stop!” She screamed. It didn’t matter if she rushed forward, blind with desperation, caught in arms too strong even as she fought and kicked. “Get off him! This has nothing to do with him!”

“No, it doesn’t,” Handler agreed, standing back as his entourage took over the beating. “This is about you. This is your punishment. A reminder about actions and consequences.”

Asset grunted and cursed, trying in vain to shield himself curled up on the ground until a hard kick to the ribs had him sprawling onto his back. The batons landed again and again. At some point he stopped even defending himself, going slack all at once.

She kicked and flailed and screamed again. “Asset!”

“You’re just as simple as the rest. Forming attachments that make you weak,” Handler said, and he sounded so damn pleased. This was certainly playing out nicely for him. “Even worse for you to form attachments with things that don’t even belong to you.”

One of the men grabbed Asset by the collar and jostled him hard. Like he needed to wake up before the beating could continue. Asset’s eyes fluttered, dazed and already so swollen, a hand weakly grasping at the man’s as he sputtered out blood and saliva and a breathy broken, ”Fff-f’cker…”

The man yanked him right into his fist. Droplets of blood scattered once, then twice. He had to stop to shake Asset around again, and a horrible sound left him as he came to— like a groan and a whimper all twisted up in one broken jagged breath, like the next one would be too hard to come. His gaze wasn’t even tracking anymore, hazy and half-lidded, hands fumbling and slipping aside.

Another strike. And another.

“Stop,” she begged, everything blurred between tears. ”Asset.”

They had forced her onto her knees now, forced her to sit there and watch. Like some waking nightmare. Handler leaned in close and spoke gently. “It didn’t have to be this way, but I want you to remember this moment. This is what control feels like.”

Asset couldn’t even be roused. The man gave him a good shake and he just lolled, all deadweight, his head hanging back. The man let go and he hit the tile in one ugly heap. Blood smeared all over his face, blood slipping from his lips. So limp and lifeless.

“Powerlessness, cruel and swift. Doesn’t it seem effective?”

She sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

It's me. I'm the whumpee again. I dislocated my shoulder when I was 8, I got hit by a car. There were a couple of other injuries, had to wear a back brace for a while, but the shoulder was the worst one. My dad had to hold my other arm down and the paramedic had to sit on my legs because I kept trying to squirm away. It HURT.

My fiancee dislocated my shoulder again a couple of years ago, and I did the exact same thing Sam did. Slammed my shoulder into the wall to shove it back into place. My fiancee looked like she was ready to rip my head off. She's CNA certified and I was an EMT at the time. I'm well aware how stupid that was, but healthcare is expensive and I don't have that money.

Dislocated joints are actually very fun whump concepts. Think about it:

First you have the initial injury. Be it a dislocated shoulder, hip, knee, all potential locations are dehibilitating, losing the use of that arm or being unable to walk, etc.

Also that every time the whumpee tries to move the dislocated limb they risk making it worse and intensify the pain.

Then... then you have treatment. Forcing a dislocated joint back into place is NOT FUN. Not for the whumpee, not for the caretaker. And if someone inexperienced tries and messes it up... oh boy oh boy we making it worse!

And of course you have all the issues that might come about after the joint is fixed, such as strained muscles, sprained ligaments and tendons, nerve damage, vascular (blood vessel) issues, stiff joints/osteoarthritis... the list goes on.

Anyway thinking about this bc someone I know irl dislocated both their knees on separate occasions, (and it took like four medical professionals to put it back in place). Also I remembered a scene in Mom's Night Out (2014) where Sam dislocates his shoulder and instead of letting a medical professional set it he slammed. His shoulder. Into a wall. And shoved it back in place. In the storming emergency room. In front of the receptionist. I cringe every time.

OH SHIT! OH THATS GOOD STUFF RIGHT THERE. INSTANT FOLLOW, OH MY GOD

Mind control that doesn't dominate your thoughts, it just... is your thoughts. Perfectly rewriting your will and everything it embodies. Not a single trace of resistance because this is just what you want. Why would you resist your own thoughts? Why would you disagree with your own motivations, your own desires?

Mind control that doesn't shatter once it's done, it just disappears. You don't snap back into awareness. You barely even notice. You just continue as if nothing ever happened. Maybe one moment you look back and you frown, because thinking on it, you remember when you happily followed that person out of town, and you remember what you did, you remember wanting to... but that's crazy. Why did you think that was okay? Why did you want to do that?

Or maybe you were under this mind control for so long that even once it's over you look back and say, "Oh, of course I did that." As far as you're concerned you've always held the beliefs you do now. You've always wanted to do these things. You don't remember why, but you've never had to think of why, and it doesn't matter anyway when you've always been so confident that you're right. It isn't until you're challenged on it all and reminded that you never used to be like this, that you were different before, that something has changed that you finally falter. And you try to think of where this all started, try to figure out why things changed -- and all you can really remember is an entrancing pair of eyes, and a gentle suggestion, and then your own mouth responding, "That's a great idea. Let's go."

And suddenly, you realise that you have no idea how much of what you are, what you were, and what you believed you always have been is just a lie. You don't know whether any thought you have now is really yours or just another preciously placed prompt. You don't trust your impulses, you don't trust your desires, you definitely don't trust your judgement.

You don't trust yourself. And you never can again.

Wish I had resources like this when I was a teenager. Reblogging because I hope someone who was in a situation like mine was makes it out alive.

Ah yes. The good shit. Wanna take a big ol bite

oh but that woozy little sway they do after getting hit a little too hard, sitting upright just enough, leaning over like their head is too heavy for their body, clinging to consciousness as tight as they can. kneeling down in front of them, grabbing their shoulders to steady them. "easy, hey, look at me. you're alright."

Ohp- oh no. Don't torture Caretaker, Whumpee will be sad!

Whumpee paced up and down, leaving a trail on the dirt road as they peeked out from under the arch of the bridge, didn't spot anyone yet, and walked back again, almost in a constant circle. They fiddled with the phone in their hands, checked their messages again.

Caretaker - 08.13 Will meet you there. On my way.

Well, hurry... They didn't feel comfortable here. They'd never been here before, didn't even know it existed, and not a soul had walked past yet. But it didn't take long before they heard footsteps approaching and Whumpee lit up.

"There you are! What too--" They stopped dead in their tracks. Fell back a step. Breath faltering and voice weak as they brought out, "What are you doing here?"

Whumper strode up and merely gave a shrug. "Well, what are you?"

"I'm waiting for Caretaker! And he'll be here soon so you'd better--"

"What a coincidence," Whumper cut over them. "Because Caretaker..." he pulled a phone from his pocket and Whumpee immediately recognised the case, "...is also waiting for you."

-

General whump taglist: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink

@painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop

👀👀❤️👍

Whumper torturing whumpee with a shock collar? Even better if caretaker is watching. ❤

Do I really have to make a new plot for every single one of these requests? Yes. Yes, I do. Will there ever be conclusions to these plots? No. No, there won’t. 

“Boss? There’s something here you might want to see.” 

Caretaker raises their eyes from their work to one of their teammates. They’re standing at the door of the office, holding a flashdrive. 

“And what’s that?” 

“It’s the footage from that warehouse we stormed yesterday.” 

“Is there a lead to where they might have gone?” 

“No. We managed to get a couple of license plates, but that was about it. But… There’s something else in this footage. You just… You have to see it.” 

They go around the table and plug the flash drive into the computer. Thirty days of footage are divided into sixty files. The team mate clicks one of them, jumping to a certain point in time. When the cursor scrubs the player, Caretaker sees quick movements around the warehouse, until team mate finally stops. 

There is one chair in the middle of the warehouse, directly under a light. There is one person sitting on it, fighting restraints. Their face is battered, and they’re leaning like they can’t hold the weight of their own body. They raised their face, like they’re looking for a way out. Caretaker grabs the arms of their chair, losing their breath. 

“Whumpee.” They look at their team mate, looking for a confirmation. “They’re alive?” 

Whumpee had gone missing three months before. Their apartment was torn down, there was blood all over. When they weren’t found, Caretaker had assumed the worst. 

“I don’t know, boss.” They say, without moving their eyes from the screen. “But they definitely were three days ago. Take a look.” 

Someone arrives, walking slowly, cockily. Caretaker’s hands close into fists. They’d know that silhouette anywhere. 

“Whumper,” they growl. 

And it is them. Whumpee freezes when they see them, sinking into the chair. 

“Not again. I told you, I... ”, Caretaker hears, although the audio is bad. They raise the volume on the computer.

“No. No, no, no…” Whumper shakes their finger, shushing Whumpee. “You’ve told me nothing. And I told you that nothing is inacceptable. So I thought we could try something different.” 

Whumpee starts to struggle again and Caretaker feels like cheering them on like a football coach would. They know this was days ago and if Whumpee had managed to escape, their team mate would have been able to track them. But knowing Whumpee is alive again… It’s almost too much hope to bear. 

Ignoring their fight to escape, Whumper takes something out of their pocket, unravelling it. Caretaker squints to see, but from afar it looks like a strap of fabric with some sort of device attached to it. 

“What is that?” Whumpee asks, right on cue. 

“Ah, you’ll find out.” They obscure Whumpee for a second, hovering over them. Caretaker tries to see what they’re doing, why Whumpee is screaming and thrashing. Then, Whumper steps aside and Whumpee spits on the ground next to them. 

“Are you kidding?! A collar?! Did you just collar me, you sick bastard?”

“I’d say it’s what you deserve. If you had been more collaborative, this wouldn’t have to happen. I’m just trying to make ends meet.” Whumper takes something else out of their pocket and shakes it in front of their face. “Are you familiar with these?” 

“No. I’m not a psychopath! What is this shit?”

Whumper sighs. 

“It’s for other people concerned about non collaborative animals.” They press a button and Whumpee lets out a scream. Caretaker almost jumps out of their chair.  Whumper merely laughs. “Sorry, did I startle you? I think you got the gist of it now, didn’t you?”

“What kind of collar is this?” Whumpee tries to look down, but it’s too tight for them to see anything.

“A shock collar. For disobedient pets. Of course, bigger pets require bigger shocks. I had someone make some changes for me.” Whumper pushes the button again, just for the joy of it. 

Whumpee screams louder than before, their body lifting slightly from the metal chair. When Whumper let go of the button, they fell to it, breathless, head sinking forward. 

Caretaker slams their fist against the table. 

“How long does this go on for?” 

Their team mate swallows. 

“A while.” They scrub over the next scenes. The shocking goes on and on for at least thirty minutes. Team mate finally pauses. “I- What… What should we do? What are the orders?” 

Caretaker rubs their face. 

“Find them. End Whumper. What it’s always been.” 

“But… If they’re keeping hostages now… They could force us to retreat.” Team mate retrieves the flashdrive. “If it was between Whumpee and the mission… Could you do it?” 

Caretaker feels their heart twisting. It was a twist much like the ones they felt every single night they went to sleep thinking they’d never see Whumpee again, that they were gone for good. They know what Team Mate is asking, and they’re right. The mission should always be first. 

Caretaker stands up and extends their hand to their team mate. The other took it. 

“Take care of the team for me.” 

“W- What? What are you— What will you…” 

Caretaker takes out their insignia and their weapon, leaving them on the table. 

“I’m going rogue.”

As always, my askbox is always open for requests. If you enjoy what I do, please consider getting me a ko-fi!

Gut punch reading this. Familiar

Whumpees who don’t get a Caretaker, who have to keep themselves together because no one else will.

Whumpees who become Caretakers, who are everyone’s friend but no one’s priority.

Whumpees who consider returning to Whumper, who crave familiarity enough to sacrifice safety.

Whumpees who are painfully aware no one would notice if they went missing.

Whumpees who lay awake, wondering whether surviving was worth it.

Lonely Whumpees.

forever thinking about recapture

whumpee getting grabbed on their way home and dragged into a car thats hauntingly familiar

whumpee getting chloroformed again while a familiar voice is telling them to relax

or alternatively "did you really think i'd let you run?"

whumpee realising their home has been broken into and finding a threatening message somewhere. even just a found you scribbled on the wall

whumpee attacked while they're fumbling with the key to get inside, then promptly shoved inside the apartment and being tied up in their own bedroom

whumpee approached in a public setting, frozen in fear and unable to alert anyone because they know whumper has the ability to cause a bloodbath and they don't want to get innocent civilians involved

whumpee approached in a public setting and whumper showing them a photo of a tied up caretaker in a room that has served as whumpee's prison for months. "how about a trade?"

whumpee waking up in a familiar cell, having panic attack after panic attack, sobbing and screaming their throat raw because this can't be happening again

whumpee going docile and quiet as soon as they realise what's happening, their conditioning kicking in to protect them

"i'm so glad you still remember me"

"you haven't forgotten your manners, have you?"

"i heard you went to therapy, hm? i hope they haven't stuffed your head full of too many lies"

whumper bringing out their most common torture instrument. "for old times' sake"

caretaker realising that whumpee didn't send them their daily text, the one they agreed on specifically so they'd know whumpee was okay

whumpee not picking up the phone for the third time

whumper picking up whumpee's phone. "oh, thank goodness whumpee, i thought-" "i'm awfully sorry, they're a bit preoccupied at the moment." caretaker can hear whumpee's muffled cries and screams in the background

caretaker arriving home and finding the apartment ransacked and empty

caretaker finding a letter from whumper. "thanks for watching them while i was dealing with the police <3"

caretaker finding a stack of photos of whumpee being subdued in their own apartment

“I’m [name].”

They stared. Completely distracted, flustered, awed. “I’m so gay.” Then they realised what they’d said. “Oh, god. I mean-”

The other’s lip curled, a flicker of all too gorgeous amusement on their face. “You know, I can’t ask you out on a date before you tell me your name, I’m so gay.” 

They were screwed. Officially screwed.

FUCK, this would be my NIGHTMARE scenario. Jesus

CW: Intimate whumper, failed rescue, asking for death, gun, death threats, hostage situation

"Let them go." Caretaker snarled, aiming the gun.

"Ah, ah, ah." Whumper drew Whumpee close, using them as a human shield. "Don't shoot or you might just hit my little friend here."

Whumpee squirmed feebly in Whumper's hold. A quiet whimper escaped their lips.

Whumper snaked an arm around around Whumpee's waist, resting a hand on their stomach as the other hand curled around their throat. "They're mine now, so why don't you just back off a little, hm?"

Caretaker kept their aim steady. "You know we're ramping up the rescue efforts. You can't hold onto them forever. Why not just let them go now and we can talk about cutting you a deal?"

"No can do, officer. You see, I know that I'm not the most important target here. You may want me arrested, but you want them alive more. I think I can keep you guys off my back for at least another year. Maybe more."

Whumpee let out a weak sob, locking eyes with Caretaker. "Please... please just end it here— please, I'd rather die than— mmph!"

Whumper closed their hand over Whumpee's mouth, shutting them up. "Oh my dear, they're a police officer. They aren't allowed to put you out of your misery."

"Come on, Whumper, let's think about this rationally. You let them go today, we can make arguments about your cooperation and maybe get you a plea deal. If you keep them any longer people are going to start gunning for the death penalty once your caught."

"That's fine by me." Whumper shrugged. "I'll be a murderer by then, too, so I guess I'll kind of deserve it."

Caretaker's face paled a shade. "So you mean to say you'd rather kill them and die than let them go and have a chance at freedom in the future?"

"For me, a world where I no longer have Whumpee is not a world I want to live in." Whumper pulled a gun, pointing it at Caretaker.

Whumpee, who was still restrained with an arm around their waist, was trying to wriggle out of Whumper's hold, making it hard for them to hold the gun steady.

"Keep still or I'll put another bullet in your shoulder." Whumper hissed, causing Whumpee to still almost instantly. "There we go, that's much better, darling." They turned their attention back to Caretaker. "As for you, unless you have some hidden ace up your sleeve, you're going to have your team back off and let me leave for now."

Whumpee shook their head violently. "No— please no— don't let them take me— please, please just kill me!"

Caretaker hesitated. "Whumpee, you have to stay strong, okay? We're going to get you out, it's just going to take a little more time."

Whumper turned the gun to Whumpee's head. "If anyone tries to stop us, I'll kill them." Them, turning their attention briefly to Whumpee, "You know what I'll do to you if you don't cooperate."

Tears streaming down their face, Whumpee nodded.

Caretaker let out a frustrated sigh and pulled their walkie-talkie. "All units stand down. I repeat, all units stand down. Target is holding the hostage at gunpoint, over."

Whumper grinned, backing Whumpee away, slowly.

Yep. I can say with 100% certainty too that if I can do something about it, I absolutely will. Had to deal with a stalking situation for my baby sister (she was 9 at the time) a boy older than me comes asking for her. Told him to fuck off. He didn't. Not until I stepped outside with my pistol, made sure he could see me cock it, and he left a dust trail down the road. I was 15 at the time.

If I can do something about it, I will

A brilliant way to hurt older sibling characters is by messing with their younger siblings. I say this an eldest child - it is awful when there’s nothing you can do to help your little sibs. It feels helpless and infuriating. Doesn’t matter if you’re facing severe weather or someone is physically hurt or if it’s psychological. It sucks when you can’t help your little sibs.

Martial artist whumpee:

Dodges strikes to take them on another tougher body part (so they might have more endurance)

May be trained in talking down an aggressive whumper (and be flustered when that doesn't work!)

Being tied down would be more terrifying because they may emotionally rely on their ability to fight

"when I get out of here I'm gonna kick your ass/kill you"