#whump concept

Whumpee who knows they only have minutes, if not mere seconds, until Whumper notices their absence and all hell breaks loose.

Whumpee who knows they only have one shot at this.

Whumpee who’s running for their life—literally—not stopping when their breaths get shallower, when their throat starts to burn and their sides start to hurt, or when they start feeling as if they could pass out any moment.

Whumpee who runs through the yard, the forest, and onto a highway with no sidewalk, which they run along the side of until they finally come across a gas station.

Whumpee who barges in through the glass door, the “open” sign clanking against it with the sudden movement.

Whumpee who rushes to the underpaid cashier, their mouth moving faster than their thoughts, as they communicate the urgency of their situation, practically begging to be believed and helped.

Gas Station Employee who makes a few quick phone calls to the nearby police station, pausing to ask Whumpee for clarifications every few sentences.

Whumpee who meekly asks for permission to take a bottle of water from one of the fridges—as if they weren’t about to pass out from exhaustion and dehydration—as to which Gas Station Employee gravely encourages them to do so.

Gas Station Employee who does not charge Whumpee for the water bottle.

Whumpuary 2026 Day 15

Whumpee looks the same at first glance. Normal enough, for dying and returning.

But in time, the... subtler changes become apparent.

Their best friend looks them in the eye for the first time since they came back.

It's a different shade of blue.

Their touch is always icy cold, as if they never recovered the body heat lost during death.

They smile just a little too wide.

Or not wide enough.

Their teeth a little too sharp.

Sometimes Whumpee stares into the shadows, perhaps lost in memory, perhaps challenging a lurking entity.

The evidence of the wound that killed them is still there.

A jagged scar, messily healed.

The shoulder that was broken before the final blow still aches, healed, but not properly.

Yet pain doesn't affect them in the same way.

Whumpee stares at the blood running down their arm from an accidental cut numbly, as if it were happening to somebody else.

They walk off injuries that would have incapacitated anyone else, ignoring stab wounds, injuries to vital organs, blows that should cause severe concussions.

But the only wounds that bother them are the old wounds from the day they died.

Whumpee flinches at sudden movements.

When they sleep, they are tormented by nightmares.

In battle, they are a force to be reckoned with.

Enemies are found torn to pieces with no mercy.

Their teammates try to reconcile with the changes.

Whumpee is still the same person, after all.

Aren't they?

Whump: psychological abuse, mind control, manipulation, identity altering, (de)conditioning, paranoia.

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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.

no matter how much whumpee tries to shift their weight or walk on their toes or find a spot where the floor doesn't creak, it's impossible for them to move silently. who needs a tracking device when you can just listen for where your captive is at any given moment?

In a world where living weapons are commonplace, and there's a lot of them, they'd likely have their own culture. Because I'm a worldbuilding nerd as much as I'm a whump writer, I started thinking about what that could look like.

Here are my thoughts:

Obviously, loyalty and strength would be highly prized, particularly loyalty to the organization and to the handler.

If the living weapons work in teams or units, they would probably put a lot of emphasis on unity and working together.

Whereas a world where living weapons work alone would likely have a more competitive living weapon culture.

Weapons might view pain as something good, something purifying.

Maybe conformity is a virtue, being exactly like your neighbor means that you can all do the same job perfectly.

Failure hits harder in a culture that values perfection. Maybe the handlers use that to motivate their weapons. "You fail this mission, you fail your people."

Honestly, the idea of handlers and trainers using the virtues and vices of living weapon culture to influence their weapons is whumpily wonderful overall.

caretaker tries to comfort whumpee, it's okay to panic. lashing out is natural after what they've been through, but despire that they're cared for. even with all the afirmations, whumpee still strikes caretaker, yelling at them to go away.