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The interrogation subject blinked slowly, arms limp against their restraints, eyes focused on the middle distance. The interrogator snapped his fingers in front of their face. They didn't react.
The interrogator slapped them. They flinched in pain as their head snapped to the side, and let out a small mewl of pain, but offered no other reaction.
The interrogator sighed. That last round of electricity must have been too much. He wouldn't be getting any information out of them now.
Oh well. Some of the guards had been getting restless lately--he could give them permission to have some fun with the subject before disposing of them. The subject was in no position to offer any resistance. At least this way they wouldn't be a totally wasted resource.
Whumpee has to go under anaesthesia, there’s no other option, and then they don’t wake up. Its friends worry about it constantly, hoping with all their hearts that it’ll wake up, but it never does, as days turn into weeks turn into months.
Opt: Until a decade later, when everyone has already mourned it and the world has gone on without it
When Whumpee is finally rescued/reunited with their team, they refuse to let go of caretaker. Like refuse refuse. Like caretaker starts to get scared of how tightly Whumpee is clinging to them.
Sure we all love it when caretaker asks "are you okay" and stoic whumpee goes "I'm fine" when clearly not. But what if whumpee is so out of it that they just shake their head and lean on caretaker's chest.
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nonhuman characters reacting to the loss of some unique sense or function the way a human would to being suffocated—with unthinking panic. to other people, it seems like an overreaction to a mild inconvenience, but there's no amount of reason or scolding or coaxing that can talk them down from their instinctive fight-or-flight response.
you've heard about whumpee for whom cigarette smoke is a trigger get ready for whumpee for whom cigarette smoke is a comfort. caretaker smokes. and caretaker is the nicest person they know.
content: past trauma, smoking, recovery fic, comfort
Whumper used to tell them smoking was undignified and dirty. With a disgusting smell to boot. Whumpee believed them. They had no comparisons.
So the first time Caretaker took out a cigarette and lit it, Whumpee made a face.
"What?" Caretaker asked with a laugh.
"It's dirty and smells gross," Whumpee said, a trained line from when they had been with Whumper. Whumper wasn't nice, or kind, but they had always been right.
"That's okay," Caretaker said. "I'll smoke outside from here on out."
"Your clothes must smell like smoke as well."
"Well, I can't promise I'll strip every time I come inside."
And so their truce began. Caretaker never smoked inside the house again. Not until Whumpee got so attached to them that they'd accompany them on their trips outside, on their smoke breaks, secondary smoke inhalation be damned.
"I thought you hated the smell," Caretaker said with a smile one time.
"I do," they lied, kicking a rock, not looking at their friend. Because Caretaker had become a friend, despite their habit. Caretaker was... nice.
And Caretaker, nice that they were, didn't press them on it. They put out the cigarette on the little ashtray attached to the trash can in front of their house, and threw the butt inside.
"Let's go back inside."
"Yeah. Let's."
Whumpee would curl up by Caretaker's side on the couch later, breathing in the smoke clinging to the fabric. They'd lie and say they hated it.
Smoke wasn't always gross, they'd decided a while ago.
It's... not as bad as it was, but it isn't good either. It still hurts and now there's a constant throbbing of pain in the background. It's exhausting. And when they need to clean the wound, there is nothing to take the edge off either.
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whumpee is rescued, but they've lost most of their memories. they only have a vague idea of the life they used to have, from before they were captured— and almost nothing from that time.
so when whumper shows up, smiling a little too wide, holding a bouquet of flowers with the rest of their friends, whumpee feels nauseous. their hands tremble imperceptibly— and they're unable to put a reason to this terrible sense of premonition.
whumper didn't expect whumpee to survive at all, but the fact that they did— and that too with no memories of their time together— it feels like a gift from the universe.
they'll have so much fun retracing their steps, reminding whumpee of what they're missing, after all.
okay. okay wait i can be normal about this one. I Can Be Normal. here are the prompts that came to mind.
Living weapon who failed a vital task in the middle of a mission, lifting a shaky, bloody hand to their earpiece and hearing the voice of their handler filter in. "I--I am compromised."
Alternatively: a living weapon who, somehow, is convinced to leave a mission with the hero's team, and their handler shrieks through static and spittle. "Compromised! Damn it all!"
Leader suddenly turns on their team while on the field, blank eyes and guided hand. Their friends scramble to wake them up from an unknown brainwashing spell, but end up scattering, running away, the new inexperienced second-in-command shouting, "Leader's been compromised, we need to retreat!"
Ooh... zombie apocalypses. Right when everything seems calm. "Hey, guys," Whumpee says, too casual to be safe. Heads swivel, eyes find the bite mark, hearts pound. "Sorry. I... think I've been compromised."
Robot whumpees with glitches and viruses infiltrating their system. "I am compromised, but f-functional. D-do not worry?" Especially with an unprepared teammate when they've all been scattered, doubly so if said teammate doesn't like Whumpee.
Missions where the team splits up, it goes wrong, and someone has to inform the rest of the group that one of the members is compromised--does that mean drugged? Restrained? Convinced to give up the mission? Hell if the team knows. Whumpee's just compromised.
feather....... this trope is unbelievable............ compromised my beloved. i have SO MANY THOUGHTS
i kind of love when whumpee has no physical indicators of what they went through but i also do love a whumpee whose appearance is drastically different before vs after whump. maybe its not by choice, like scarring or other visible indicators that theyve been hurt, or maybe it is by choice, like cutting/dyeing their hair or completely changing their style. like just imagine someone who whumpee knew pre-whump running into them and hardly recognizing them because they look like a completely different person.
Very big fan of when a whumpee (especially a living weapon who has committed serious crimes) escapes/is rescued and then there is a huge legal situation to deal with.
Was there any point during the whump where they wished for something as mundane as boring paperwork? Because there's going to be a lot of that now!
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if your story has a Caretaker you need to give them soul-crushing amounts of vicarious trauma and stress and misplaced guilt. then you need to give them their own Caretaker to help them through it. hope this helps <3
after the whump has ended, either an individual event or ongoing captivity or abuse, the whumpee is carrying a lot of damage. there’s physical damage of course but there’s also the trauma that’s taken away their sense of safety around other people. in their own body.
and they decide they want it back. they’ve found some kind of solid ground with barriers up, and the people who have been helping them recover are careful to respect those boundaries, but whumpee wants to try something different now. they want to try and get something back, at least one thing: the safe, comforting touch that whumper stole from them.
so they start trying to replace the traumatic associations with better ones, asking for caretaker(s) to help (either verbally or by silently, embarrassed, guiding caretaker’s hands to places they had earlier made clear they didn’t want to be touched).
and they start working to dull the traumatic associations with better ones. strong, protective hands cupping the back of their neck where whumper had choked them. gentle fingers stroking hair that whumper had yanked repeatedly. a firm, comforting touch rubbing their back, now scarred from a whip. holding the hand whumper broke. massaging shoulders that carry lingering pain from being kept in stress positions. an arm draped around them keeping them close after they’d been manhandled and physically forced where whumper wanted them to go or stay. sometimes they have to stop abruptly, get space to breathe rapidly and wait for their heart to slow, but it stops when they need it to. caretaker backs off, lets go. and it helps. slowly, it helps.
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turnnoffyourmind
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gummygunk
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