Love me the trope of a nonhuman Whumpee, backing themself into a corner and begging Caretaker not to see them as dangerous after their past a living weapon comes out
Caretaker looking through the records of what Whumpee was put through and made to do as Whumpee pleads with them that they're still them! They're still the Whumpee Caretaker knows, that they've changed, that they aren't that monster anymore
And all Caretaker can do is look at them with a heartbroken expression, still holding the records of the torture Whumpee was put through as they whisper- "Whumpee, you were a child."
I wish more stories portrayed hypnosis like the altered state of mind that it is. It'd be hot.
For example, sometimes hypnosis is portrayed like: "Character gets hypnotized. They're fully aware, but can't stop themself from obeying the villain's commands. They're forced to just watch helplessly."
And sometimes it's portrayed like: "Character is basically asleep inside. Totally out of it. Once they snap out of it, they have no memory of what happened."
But I like the in-between. It's underrated and hot af:
Whumpee is just aware enough to know they're hypnotized. But they're too hypnotized to care that they're hypnotized.
Snapping out of hypnosis, rather than being like waking up from unconsciousness, is more like like suddenly snapping out of being drunk or high.
They remember being hypnotized. They remember feeling relaxed, and blank.
But they didn't even try to disobey, because trying to avoid being obedient when you're hypnotized is like trying to avoid being stupid when you're drunk.
In hindsight, you regret stupid things you did and said while drunk. But, in the moment, all your brain could do was go: "Hehe I feel silly."
Rather than keeping Whumpee in a barren room or dungeon cell, Whumper keeps Whumpee in a room full of mirrors. All four walls, the ceiling, even the floor. All mirrors, with nowhere Whumpee can look that doesn’t show their wretched, beaten, broken reflection. They can close their eyes, but if they do that, they’re likely to fall asleep, and sleeping means nightmares. Nightmares mean making noise, which draws Whumper’s attention, and then Whumpee gets punished. So the only thing they can do is stare at their miserable reflection and remember what they used to look like, before Whumper got them.
Until they’ve been with Whumper so long that they start to forget. Then Whumpee just stares at who they’ve become, aware that they weren’t always this way, but no longer able to escape into memories of life before Whumper.
I don’t know how to condense this into a catchy one-line title so trust me here
whumpee, who, at the beginning of captivity, was resistant, defiant, aggressive. Whumper would offer food and bed of decent quality: actual meals, blankets. Whumpee would refuse it all. “I won’t eat anything you’ve touched,” knocking away a plate of food.
over time, it becomes clear that Whumpee is starving and exhausted, finally willing to cooperate. But now Whumper isn’t being so kind. The meals become meager, disgusting or degrading. Scraps from the dinner table, uncooked canned food. A single blanket.
Suddenly, the treatment that Whumpee originally snubbed becomes a luxury and a reward, while they’re forced to lower themselves even further just to survive
Maybe Whumpee even blames them for their mistreatment, “this could have gone so much better if only you’d cooperated from the start…”
Since there's three spots open, Imma take my shot. How about a handler who actually doesn't immediately tell Riddle to rest when he's ill? Or kind of at least. They don't address it completely, but they don't ignore it either. They've set one baseline rule and its that if his fever is over 101 then he does actually have to go to bed or at least rest on the couch but if it's lower then that, he can continue working, albeit with restrictions. In the meantime, they'll make tea that helps with stress or has medicinal properties, get him checked out at the infirmary to make sure it isn't anything serious, and other stuff. Are they doing this on purpose to get him to rest in a way that he'll (hopefully) accept? Who knows. Or maybe it's because of how often he gets stress fevers since they do throw the rule out the window if he has something like the flu rather than a stress fever. Either way, it's how they do things.
(Yes, this is to satisfy my love of sickfics, it's my favorite form of torture for my favorite characters without getting physical. Please and thank you!!!)
TWST Soldier Au info
• Riddle, as always, does well with rules to follow. Having a clear, unarguable guideline for what he's supposed to do when makes the behavior feel a little more acceptable, even if "resting", even under your direct orders, still feels wrong. He's still prone to overworking himself as much as he can get away with, but if his fever comes back above the number you specified, he's too afraid of the consequences to do anything but give in and obey.
• He tells himself that this is your way of ensuring maximum functionality in your tool, that you want him to stay healthy because he's of more use that way. Thinking that you're actually concerned about his well-being doesn't sit right, so Riddle has plenty of mental justifications for why you care enough to make him rest.
• He is indeed prone to stress fevers, and they make him miserable. Dizzy, shaky, almost delirious— hanging on to his ability to work through the pain by a thread. He'd push himself to the point of passing out (and then some) if no one stops him, more concerned with maintaining his reputation of perfect compliance than how awful he feels. It's fine. He's fine. He worked through being sick just fine before your orders, and he could keep doing it if he needed to. Admittedly, though... it's a relief to be able to stay down for a while, when he's so sick that staying on his feet would be agony.
I have a few pieces in my backlog from other places- might as well upload this here.
This is the prettier? better? one of the og piece I uploaded a few weeks ago on X. I made the text boxes a lil nicer and fixed the text, though I'm still getting use to making this comic thingys
from latest art you made, is reader forest ranger? :0
quick scenarios, I can imagine reader and Ford going at adventure capturing some anomalies or strange things. Reader can remember well the forest so it really helps for Ford
Sorry for bad grammar 💥💥💥
wait omg HAHAHA i thought noone would guessed what i had in mind there!! But yes!! I haven't figure like exactly how'd they met but this!! This sounds like a good way for them to meet i love ur idea!
And yeah totally, reader is like aware of the weirdness in the town but like chose to ignore it cus i'm sure you'd get pretty used to seeing anomalies from time to time with that kind of job lololol
First time meeting reader found him stumbling around the trees while on night patrol
Tagging @yan-randomfandom just wanna share some thoughts on posessed ford maybe.. hehehe 😼😼
unrelated but i might aswell tagg hope u dont mindd! @yan-randomfandom
I kept thinking back to this alot sm cus of seeing other arts of this idea
Sureee Ford's content for now with just taking pictures, but bill's just tired of no action!! And went "let me show you how I, your great muse do it 😼"
I love when it’s Whumpee’s seemingly-irrational fear towards something that the team/Caretaker thinks is normal/mundane that suddenly gives team/Caretaker a small look into the absolute horrors that Whumpee had experienced while with Whumper.
Bonus points if the team/Caretaker had no idea (or very limited idea) of what happened to Whumpee while with Whumper and Whumpee refused to talk to them about it. And now Whumpee’s panic towards certain things was their first understanding of Whumpee’s horrific experiences.
Or perhaps Whumpee had been good at hiding their fears and panic attacks before but a particularly bad day had them breaking down and pulling them into horrific memories as the team/Caretaker helplessly watches them fall apart, finally realizing how badly Whumper truly affected them and start to understand Whumper had done more to Whumpee than they ever could have imagined.
Mentioned/implied under cut: non-con, water torture, lap whump, needles, drugging, pet whump, gagged, punishments
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Whumpee scared of loud/sudden noises? A dropped bowl? And book set down too loudly? Loud voices? - Whumper didn’t like noise and punished Whumpee for every noise they made and if they ever dared to speak or talk back they were gagged
Horror when someone ELSE holds a knife to make dinner? - sharp objects in the hands of others usually meant pain for Whumpee
Won’t take/make themself food without asking someone first and gets nervous even when they’re given a plate? - they couldn’t eat without Whumper’s permission and certainly not the same kind of food as Whumper ate
Whumpee panics if they make even a minor mess or freaks if a room is a bit too messy? - anything less than spotless perfection meant Whumpee was punished and forced to clean while still in pain from the punishment
Panic at doctor appointments/medical settings? - Whumper had an affinity for using drugs and needles during the whumping or they were in a lab-whump scenario
Whumpee afraid of showers/baths? - Water torture of some sort, repeatedly had their head forced under water and almost drowning as punishment or non-con while naked and vulnerable
Whumpee terrified of sleeping in a bed or sitting on furniture? - (pet)Whumpee not allowed to use ‘human’ furniture or perhaps more non-con whenever Whumpee was ‘allowed’ in bed
Scared to fall asleep at all? - Whumper never allowed them to rest or they’d wake up to awful things happening to or around them
Whumpee escapes captivity from an evil religious whumper. Whumper may have tried to assimilate whumpee into religion. Caretaker helps whumpee recover. Whumpee finds out that the caretaker is the same religion as the whumper, becomes terrified of caretaker. Caretaker explains that they are very different from the whumper and how the whumper has twisted the religion all up for their evil purposes. Whumpee recovers, joins religion and learns to forgive (?)
so whumpee doesn't join or forgive but. here :)
content: religious whump, past trauma, rocky recovery, recovery fic, comfort
Whumpee didn't know. They couldn't have known. There was no indication of it, even now if they thought back — maybe aside from the fact that Caretaker had never cursed around them, carefully replacing every 'oh my god' with 'oh my gosh'. And come to think of it, they did leave Whumpee alone on Sunday mornings. But there, hidden in their nightstand drawer, was a Bible. The evidence was clear as day. Caretaker was Christian.
Whumpee slammed the drawer shut, their breathing picking up. They backed away from the nightstand, what they'd come there to do long forgotten.
Memories of lashings intruded their mind, Whumper reciting the Lord's passion as they beat them, their blood pooling around their feet as they cried and begged for them to stop. They begged Whumper, they begged God, a God they were forced to believe in but who never ever helped.
"Whumpee?"
Whumpee whipped around, expecting a harsh punishment for having unintentionally snooped around. Because Caretaker was the same. Their God was the same God that told Whumper in dreams how to best correct Whumpee. The bloodthirsty God.
"Please don't," Whumpee said in a small voice. "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. I looked. I saw. I understand, I know it wasn't right, but I looked, and I saw your Bible, please, forgive me, I didn't mean to—"
"Whumpee, what are you saying? It's okay that you saw it. I wasn't hiding it or anything, that's just where I keep it."
Whumpee wasn't listening. Blood was rushing in their ear, the ringing drowning out everything. Caretaker had been so nice, but now it would come crashing down around them because Whumper couldn't correct them enough.
"Whumpee!"
They came to when Caretaker shook them by the shoulders. There were tears streaming down their face. They were still muttering apologies. Caretaker didn't seem to care for them.
"What's wrong? Talk to me."
"I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your servant. I am no better than swine, I—"
"How do you know all these verses? I thought you said you weren't Christian—"
Whumpee fell to their knees, clinging to Caretaker's pants. They bowed down until their forehead touched Caretaker's feet. "I am! I am Christian! I profess the one true God, I know Jesus Christ is Lord, I proclaim the Holy Spirit, I—"
"Whumpee, stop—"
"Please, I know better, now that I know what you expect of me, I can be better, I'm so sorry for lying, I am Christian, I am, I promise, I am—"
Caretaker gently pried their fingers off of their pants, crouching to try to be at eye-level with them. "You don't have to be," they said softly. "Whumpee, what happened? You were okay just an hour ago. I am Christian, yes, but what does that have to do with anything? I would never force it on you."
"No need to force," they said through choked sobs. "I know better. I know the verses. I know the rules. I will behave."
"Whumpee… Was… Was Whumper a Christian? Did they force you to— to convert? Did they hurt you with it?"
Every question was more horrified than the last. Whumpee didn't understand. Wasn't that the point of the religion? Make disciples of all nations and baptise them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Wasn't that what Whumper did, dunking them in water over and over again until they were sure they'd drown? Wasn't that the point?
And what about the suffering servant? From Isaiah? Wasn't Christianity's whole point imitating Christ? And you did that by suffering, by joining your suffering with His passion and death. Wasn't this all the point?
Caretaker must've seen the confusion in their eyes. "Oh, Whumpee," they said so unbearably gently. "Come here. Come here. I'm so sorry. It's okay now. There are no punishments in this house. No forced conversion. No hurting." They brought Whumpee into an embrace, and Whumpee just cried and cried and cried because this couldn't be real, there was no way Caretaker wouldn't hurt them.
What followed was hours of talk of religion, hours of Caretaker trying to untangle the mess Whumper had caused in Whumpee's head. Whumpee was told that Whumper was wrong — how could Whumper be wrong when Gabriel was bringing them messages straight from God? — and Caretaker assured them multiple times that Christianity wasn't about abusing others.
Whumpee didn't believe them.
Caretaker swore to prove it.
Days passed. There were no punishments. The Bible stayed in the drawer, Caretaker being careful not to read it around Whumpee. No quoted Scripture. No beatings. No scourging or crown of thorns. No crucifixion.
Slowly, Whumpee relaxed. Caretaker was still the same Caretaker they'd met on the day of their rescue. It looked like the only thing they shared with Whumper was a religion, and even that was so different that Whumpee wasn't sure they could call it the same religion.
Things settled down. Whumpee wasn't terrified all the time, now. They even told Caretaker that if they wanted to pray before meals, they were okay with it. In turn, Caretaker asked if they wanted to accompany them to church next Sunday, because there would be free food and a good community. Whumpee must've looked terrified, because they quickly walked the offer back.
Whumpee wanted to give back to Caretaker. They wanted to accompany them to church if it would've made them happy. All they did was take and take and take and there was no way for them to give back, and they couldn't even do this simple thing…
"C-can I come to church with you?" they ended up asking one Sunday.
Caretaker paused. They furrowed their brows. "You wanna?"
"Yes." No. No. Dear Lord, anything but a community of monsters.
"Are you sure?"
Whumpee teared up. "N-no. No, I'm sorry, I just wanted to do it because it would make you happy—"
"What makes me happy is to see you happy, Whumpee," they said, taking Whumpee's hands in their own. "Stay home, okay? Rest. Watch some TV. Eat something if you're hungry. I'll be back after church."
Whumpee stood there, crying, and Caretaker just… didn't leave.
"You're gonna be late," Whumpee sobbed. "I'm sorry, I—"
"Shh. It's okay. I can be a little late. Cry it out. I'm here."
Whumpee hugged them, tight, clinging like a baby. Caretaker hugged them back, holding on equally as tight. There were no admonishments. No scolding. Caretaker just held them.
For the first time, Whumpee could imagine what it would be like to be held by Christ as one of His precious sheep.
"It's okay," Caretaker murmured. "It's all okay."
"I'm sorry I can't be what you want me to be."
"A Christian?"
"A good Christian. Someone who goes to church with you. Someone who prays with you. I… I'm broken."
"I don't want you to be anything you don't want to be," they said softly, petting Whumpee's hair. "The only thing I want you to be is happy."
Whumpee sniffled. "And I'm crying."
Caretaker laughed. "Oh, Whumpee. It's okay. I'm not mad." They gently pushed Whumpee away to look into their eyes. Whumpee saw nothing but love. "Drink a tall glass of water after such a good cry, okay?" Whumpee nodded. "Are you gonna be okay while I'm at church?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Okay." Caretaker kissed them on the forehead. "I love you. Never forget that."
I love the idea of Bunny hybrids in the sense that, everyone thinks they're demure and small and easy to top. You think getting one means they want only veggies and to be held, that you'll be their protector, and then you find a list of things no one's told you about.
-They bite like a mother fucker
- They curse up a storm
- DO NOT pet them until they like you
- Once they DO like you it's a hellish problem because they want to breed nonstop, and are incredibly strong. They can fuck into you while lifting you in the air so you can't get away. They can hold you down and ride you as they please. They have the upper hand and They're the ones to decide when you're done.
- They can launch at high speeds at anything depicted as a threat, and are quick to try and go for the kill. Incredibly skilled and athletic in these senses and needing all the more room to get the pent up energy out.
All of this and yet they still chew wires like roots.
Ok, inspiration credit goes to @beloved13579 for having such an amazing brain, but I'm combining their "Simon calls Grace 'Angel' as a title out of fear, like 'Sir' or 'King'" and my hybrid AU, along with like, SEVERAL headcanons I have (not all are mentioned here, some will be thrown in in later posts) :)
Tags: BloodyMary (obvs), religious trauma, fear, mild internalized homophobia if you squint, language barrier, repressing feelings, outbursts, hurt/comfort
Edit: there's a Grace POV now... Hope y'all enjoy :)
Simon being trapped, barely conscious, in the tree he tried so hard to save. The eel being just as conscious. Essentially sharing a body via the tree means they don't need to speak to hear each other. The eel berates him, telling him that only the light- the angel- can save him now, and he should be grateful if it ever chooses to.
The tree, meanwhile, has been searching for somewhere safe for the human who risked and paid everything to survive, to save the seed it grew from. It finds a haven in a not-so-distant universe, on a planet that doesn't exist in their universe.
Simon wakes up in a soft bed, hearing something like English, or Martian? It sounds... Biblical. Like the passages Father would read from that old book that was barely holding on, that had been digitized when the spine finally fell apart, and the holy book itself was made into fertilizer for the Last Tree.
He looks around, seeing clean, new equipment. An IV drip in his arm. He can still hear that ancient voice, but it's mixed with musical notes. He looks towards the open doorway, really just an arch to mark where one room ends and the next begins, and sees what must be the Angel that the eel wouldn't stop shouting about. It's humanoid, but it has golden wings, matching the gold hair on its head, looking like a halo.
Simon's eyes are wide, something is beeping rapidly, the Angel turns to him, looking... Worried? No. Maybe annoyed. But surely the Angel wouldn't be worried about the Butcher. Even if the Angel had decided that he'd repented for his sins in life, he has to behave now that he was in heaven. Or maybe it was somewhere between, while the Angel and God decided where to put him.
The Angel is checking him for something, he doesn't know what, but it's talking a lot, in the old English he barely understands.
"Hey, hey it's okay! Take a breath, okay? Can you do that?" The Angel asks, and Simon understands that it's not really a request, and he's glad he can understand enough to know what to do. He sucks in a breath, and let's it out harshly. Earning praise from the Angel and a request order to do it again.
Eventually, Simon's calm enough to actually listen to the Angel, understanding slightly more than before now that he's focused on listening instead of panicking. The Angel's name is Grace, as if it weren't already obvious that what's in front of him is his Devine Judgement. He tries to speak the Angel's language, introduce himself to his terrifying Savior. But his words are choppy, or slurred. It's been years since he's said a prayer or hymn.
The Angel is forgiving, smiling at him kindly, and thanks him for telling it his name, as if he had a choice.
A few days pass. The Angel is patient, letting Simon recover at his own pace. He supposes that redeeming a soul takes more work than just suffering for who knows how long; he has to be rehabilitated in order to be allowed inside heaven, even if this space already feels heavenly.
He learns how to speak English more fluently and, despite the Angel's protests, only gives him more epithets and titles.
Angel, Savior, Healer, Teacher. Sometimes, Simon thinks he could find a way to use Lover, if he were brave enough, if he truly thought the Angel loved him, instead of performing a duty.
The Angel doesn't seem to mind Teacher as much as the other titles, but it he says he still doesn't like how Simon says it, even though Simon doesn't know how else he could say it.
"Like a teacher is something to be feared. I don't want you, or anyone for that matter, to fear me. I'm a human, like you. No better or less." Simon's Savior would say, but he's just being humble, just like an Angel.
Simon breaks a rule once, almost a month in, and he begs forgiveness. He admits his transgression and hopes for but does not expect his Savior's mercy. He does not cry. Not until he's met with gentle touches and kind words and understanding and complete, utter forgiveness.
His Angel (his Grace, as he's come to accept that he's not an actual angel, but the last known avian hybrid was killed before Simon was ten, so this is still undoubtedly the afterlife) forgives him without a second thought, seeming mortified by the idea that they would cast Simon out over "something as small as not finishing his food."
Food, and water, and fresh air are in abundance here. But Simon still can't take them for granted. They could be taken from him at any time. Even if his Savior's name means mercy, he shouldn't expect it. Even as time passes he learns how to relax, how to play with the tiny living pebbles, and how to talk with the larger living rocks. He knows how to live here, he could do so forever and be happy.
He plays along, but Simon can't believe his Healer when he says he saved the stars and planets. That humanity is alive on Earth, only 16 light-years away.
His fear lessens, but doesn't leave him, not completely.
It's only after months of this that he's relaxed enough for his mind and body to start processing all of his trauma. He has nightmares. Night after night. Waking in a cold sweat and breathing heavily. He refuses to ask his Grace for more help, though now he knows it would be given not just willingly, but happily.
One night is particularly bad. He's woken up by something-someone? And his first instinct is to attack, thinking it's that damned eel again, or maybe one of his more violent cell mates.
But it's Grace. His Grace. His Angel. His blood runs cold. He's spilled enough of it, he didn't want to spill any more, and especially not Grace's. Never Grace's. And now his nose is bleeding, and the sight of blood on his Savior's face sends him reeling. He reaches out to touch, to hold, to comfort, to help the way Grace does often when Simon scrapes himself in the garden, and stops short when Grace flinches away.
Grace's eyes are glossy, shining with unshed tears. Hurt, betrayed, and Simon is sure he looks no better, but he swears to never be the cause of that look ever again- if he's ever forgiven for hurting something so holy. Permitted to stay in this equally terrifying and relieving plane of existence.
He mumbles and whispers apologies, his throat closing up as he tries to beg, curling in on himself, hoping his Healer will give him enough grace to leave him there, to not punish him, not yet, because surely this deserved punishment.
Just as the first time he had begged forgiveness, his fear and guilt are met with kindness. A soft voice, if a bit stuffy, and a gentle touch that he can't resist leaning into, desperate for that very human comfort of skin on skin. He feels soft wings wrap around him, shielding him from the world and, perhaps, judgement.
Maybe his Grace has begun to love him, enough to shield him from judgement. It must be a risky move, even if he's technically not an angel.
Armando patches Grace up, and they're both so tired that they collapse on the couch together.
Simon wakes in Grace's arms, both of them wrapped securely in those gorgeous wings. He can't bring himself to wake his Grace, not when he's being held so tenderly, like he's something precious and loveable. His time here had made him want more than he ever has before. He wants things he shouldn't be thinking of. Simon is selfish enough to know he's not worthy of such treatment, but he savors it anyway, hoping to stay like this for the day.
