Whump blog, mainly. I'm mediocre at tagging stuff so proceed at your own discretion. He/Him. Adult. Literally nocturnal. Sometimes socially awkward so I apologize in advance for that.
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DO NOT SCRAPE OR GIVE MY WORK TO AI/LLMS/ETC. IN ANY WAY!
DO NOT ASK FOR DONATIONS IN MY INBOX/MENTIONS UNLESS YOU'RE SOMEONE I ALREADY KNOW. Strangers who do this will be blocked and reported as spam on sight.
content: second person pov, choose your own adventure, living weapon whump, living weapon whumpee, bodymod, comfort, conditioned whumpee
You hesitate a few seconds more, options running through your mind. You could just refuse. Or snap at her to stop trying to get information out of you. Even attack her— no, that doesn't seem right at all. You could run? But in your condition, she might catch up to you.
You eventually reach out, gingerly taking the tissue. What's the harm in a single tissue?
The stranger smiles at you. "There," she says, satisfied that you took her peace offering. "It's gonna be okay. My name is Winifred. Everyone just calls me Freddie. What's your name?"
So the interrogation continues. Your 'name' is #064. But you obviously can't tell outsiders that. Weapons who were good enough to take on outside missions got code names, normal, outside names they could be called by to avoid suspicion. You never reached that stage, so you never got a fake name.
You could always come up with one on the spot. Something unassuming.
No, this woman — Freddie — has no business prying like that. Just because you have been thrown out, doesn't mean you're suddenly ready to throw the whole organisation under the bus. They're your family. Your estranged family.
So you avoid her gaze and gently blow your nose. The tissue comes away bloody. Everything hurts. You don't feel like talking.
But Freddie doesn't get tired of waiting for a response. She stays like that, crouched down, intently searching your face. She seems to find something of interest.
"Your eye," she says quietly. "Your left eye. Why is it... Is that a fake eye? It's... red. I've never seen anyone with..."
Great. She spotted another one of your body-modifications: your prosthetic eye that functions as a built-in heat camera. Now you really have to change the subject. Or maybe not. Maybe if you stick to not talking, she'll just give up.
Being an inpatient in a mental asylum could fix them
An ice pick lobotomy could fix them
Love, forgiveness, patience and affection could fix them
Remaining time: 1 day 9 hours
Every poll on this blog is about fictional characters only. This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds
content: second person pov, choose your own adventure, living weapon whump, living weapon whumpee, past trauma, conditioned whumpee
The words get caught in your throat. You break down further. It hurts, crying so violently with a broken nose and aching face. She looks like she immediately regretted approaching you.
"Oh my, oh my, I'm sorry," she says with something in her voice you haven't heard in ages. Empathy. "I didn't mean to upset you. Are you... Are you okay? Dumb question. Clearly not. Do you have somewhere to stay? Did they lock you out?"
You can't answer. The tears just come and come, one after the other, snot and blood dripping down your face. You sit — collapse, more like — on the ground, hiding your ugly face behind your hands. You can't talk to her about the facility. You don't know for sure, but you're pretty confident it'd be a death sentence.
The woman approaches further. Slowly, like she's approaching a feral stray cat. "Here," she says, and you look up. She's holding out a tissue.
You shouldn't accept it. You shouldn't accept anything from outsiders. You don't move, but she doesn't get tired of holding it out for you, in case you change your mind.
A minute passes. She sighs and crouches to be at eye-level with you. She reaches out and you squeeze your eyes shut, expecting to be hurt further, but instead, she gently dabs your tears away with the tissue.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she says, as if reading your mind. "Please, take it."
What business does she have, trying to butter you up like this? She mentioned wanting to find out more about the facility. She must be the enemy you've been warned of while you were still in there — hostile outsiders who just want to bring the whole thing down. But she doesn't look hostile. She looks worried.
I've seen sex-averse vs sex-repulsed conceptualized several different ways. And while I don't think any one way is necessarily wrong or right I am curious which is the most common.
Aces, what do you consider the difference between sex averse and sex repulsed?
None/wording only; they're fully interchangeable/down to individual preference
Intensity; repulsed is stronger, averse is milder
Scope;repulsed include sex in abstract/3rd person,aversion only if self involved
Flavor; repulsed involves feeling disgust, aversion some other reason for avoid
The terms imply all of the above simultaneously
I distinguish between them some other way (share in the notes please?)
I have no idea man/results
Allosexual button
Remaining time: 4 days 14 hours
Longer versions of answers because of that character limit:
None/wording only: they're fully interchangeable, or only distinguished by which an individual prefers to use
Intensity: repulsed is stronger, more intense, or more extreme; averse is milder, less intense, or more moderate
Scope: repulsed includes a negative/unpleasant response to sex in any context including abstract/fiction/other people/etc.; aversion only includes a negative/unpleasant response to sex involving one's own self
Flavor: repulsed involves feeling disgust or a visceral reaction, aversion covers other reasons for avoiding sex
The terms imply all of the above simultaneously, and all of these things should be considered when determining which term is appropriate
Report under "other", select "scam", paste in their url and write up the details of the scam. I had this scam yesterday and the account that messaged me has already been taken down because I filled out a proper scam report instead of just hitting the "report spam" button like I do for most bots.
Mind control that doesn't go away. Sure, they're out of Whumper's hands, but for whatever reason, the control doesn't lessen entirely.
It's not noticeable at first, but something is undeniably happening.
Their face will go blank sometimes, and they'll snap to attention.
They only speak when spoken to, and even then, they're much too quiet.
Offhand comments are followed to the letter, they let themself be touched and handled and do whatever they're told, no complaints.
When (if) their team figures this out, it complicates things. They can't be as casual around them as they'd like to be, have to monitor everything they say to make sure they don't take advantage of Whumpee.
Carefully phrasing questions to make sure they aren't misunderstood as orders, always leaving comments open for questions or objections... the vulnerability of caring about someone who can't consent to... anything, right now. Even the seemingly normal things.
Did you know that you're not supposed to pet birds under their wings, or they might believe you're mates?
Anyway. Winged Whumpee who VASTLY overestimates their relationship with ace+aro caretaker.
#372
content: nonhuman whumpee, winged whumpee, avian whumpee, rocky recovery, recovery fic, emotional whump, past trauma, bad caretaker because you really should've looked up bird stuff before taking in whumpee
Whumpee was sitting on one of the chairs in the kitchen, swinging their legs back and forth, watching Caretaker prepare a meal of assorted seeds for them. Their wings were tightly tucked behind their back so they wouldn't bump into the back of the chair, and they were quietly humming to themself. They felt happy. Who knew that right after the tragedy of having been kidnapped and kept in a zoo for months on end, the people who rescued them would place them in a home with someone who would become their mate?
Caretaker had never officially said it out loud, but did they need to? It was obvious from the way they gently scratched Whumpee under the wing, in their gentle touches, their soothing words. So Whumpee was happy.
"Here," Caretaker said with a smile, placing the seeds in front of them on the table.
"Thank you," Whumpee chirped, and they blushed a little at just how high-pitched their voice sounded. Caretaker could still embarrass them with such simple acts of kindness. As their mate, they really should've gotten used to it by now. "Will you eat with me?"
"Ah, no. I'm kinda in a rush. I just put together your food and now I'm off to work."
"Oh." Don't sound disappointed. Don't sound disappointed. Don't sound disappointed. "I see! Well, I hope you have a wonderful day. But our date tonight still stands, right?"
Caretaker furrowed their brows and let out an awkward little laugh. "Our date?"
"Yeah, in that take-out restaurant you keep mentioning. You told me you'd take me out?"
"I did, yeah, but it's not… It's not a date."
Whumpee blinked. But when mates went out on outings like that, they called that dates, didn't they? Maybe Caretaker was just uncomfortable with Whumpee being so direct. It'd make sense, given Caretaker was too shy to even call them their mate so far. "Oh. Right. Not a date. Just an outing."
"As friends," Caretaker added, kind of emphasising their point. Whumpee froze entirely.
"I don't understand," they said quietly, rejection blooming in their heart like a bush full of of thorns. "But we're mates, aren't we?"
"Whumpee— What? No. I don't— I'm not interested in you like that," they said gently. "I'm not interested in anyone like that. I'm ace."
"What's that mean?"
"Asexual, like, not interested in anyone sexually. And aromantic, not interested in anyone romantically. But especially not you."
Oh. Especially not them. "What do you mean…?"
"You're traumatised and vulnerable. I would never take advantage of that." Well, that made the previous statement a little better, but it still stung.
"It's not 'taking advantage' to court someone and then enter a relationship!" they insisted. They loved Caretaker. It not being reciprocated was shattering the tiny world they'd managed to rebuild.
"When have I ever courted you?" Caretaker asked, baffled.
"You do things only mates would do! Like petting me under the wing! And I let you, because I felt safe with you, and I wanted it too, and, and—"
"Oh." Caretaker rubbed the back of their neck awkwardly. "I think… I think there's a misunderstanding here. I never thought of that as courting."
"But—"
"I don't know a lot about your culture, admittedly… I didn't know, okay? I didn't know that was like a romantic thing for you. Look, I really have to rush, we'll have this conversation after work, okay?"
"But—"
"Be good! I'll be back in a few hours!"
Whumpee watched them rush out of the apartment, and they were left there, all alone. They had been left alone plenty of times in the apartment, but this was the first time they really felt alone.
"Okay…" they mumbled to themself, pushing their plate of seeds away. They weren't hungry anymore.
content: second person pov, choose your own adventure, living weapon whump, living weapon whumpee, no holds barred beatdown, lady whumper, conditioned whumpee, abandonment, bodymod, emotional whump, psychological whump
You've tried.
All your life, you've tried.
And it wasn't enough.
You don't resist as your assigned handler beats you with a ferocity so far unmatched. She wails on you, punches you, kicks you when you finally fall to the ground. You don't shield your face, and she lands a kick directly to your nose. It hurts. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as not being good enough.
All your life, you've been in this facility. You weren't even allowed to leave the premises, with limited outside time. All your life, you've been in and out of operating rooms, your handler wanting to enhance your performance with body-modifications. Your metal arm with a blade embedded in it that you can pop out on command probably wouldn't be enough to defend you from your handler's wrath.
And so you just lie there and take it. And take it. And take it.
You might die.
Dying would be preferable to not being good enough.
Your handler is talking, but your ears are ringing so loud you can't make out the words. She grabs you by the collar of your uniform and pulls you up so you're kneeling, but it's hard to keep your balance. Blood is dripping from your nose onto the floor below. Your eyes are nearly swollen shut.
"...failing to meet expectations..."
"...useless, absolutely useless..."
"...waste of money and resources..."
You take the verbal abuse just as well as the physical one. You don't protest, you don't try to plead your case. You just take it. And take it. And take it.
Eventually, she grabs you by the shirt again and drags you to your feet. You stumble after her as she makes her way through the winding corridors of the facility you've called home your entire life. Some other weapons look. Some turn away. No one steps in.
Eventually, the two of you arrive at the front door. You haven't been out of the building in decades, not counting the inner yard. All your life, your handler primed you to think of the outside world as alien and scary, a world you'd only ever need to infiltrate and take out targets in. You didn't belong in the outside world.
And yet, she opens the door and shoves you outside. The door closes behind you with a loud bang. You collapse on the doorstep.
Surely, this is just a punishment. Part of it. You'll be let back in once you learned your lesson. Right?
You spend the day lying on the facility's doorstep, trying to keep tears at bay. A good weapon is emotionless, strong, resilient. Surely, this is a test. And you are not going to fail.
At sunset, the door finally opens again. It's not your handler; it's a man, no kinder than her. He barks at you for having stayed by the door, orders you to go.
But go where? You have nowhere to go.
"Please," you try, but he shuts you down immediately.
"You're not part of this organisation anymore. Get away from the door and never come back. You don't want to end up dead for drawing attention to the facility, do you?"
Maybe you do. Death would be better than being abandoned. But the part of you that's still loyal, the part that has been thoroughly trained to follow orders from handlers, makes you get up on shaky legs and walk away.
Walk away from your handler. Walk away from your comrades. Walk away from your life.
You find an empty bench in a park and lie down. It's dark out by now, the bench only illuminated by a street light right above it. You have no idea how you must look. A bruised, battered body with a metallic arm in clothing that doesn't match the outside weather.
You don't care. It doesn't matter how you look. You close your eyes, trying to imagine you're still in your bunk bed, sleeping above #065. #065 snored. You found it annoying at first, but it soon became a comfort. It meant you were right where you belonged. The park, on the other hand, is quiet. A stark reminder that you aren't welcome anymore.
The tears start up against your will. You sob, hiccuping and sputtering, and you must look so pathetic, but your handler isn't there anymore to beat sense into you. It's just you, alone, and you haven't been alone in... ever.
The sounds of your disgusting wailing must've drowned out the sound of footsteps approaching the bench, and so you're caught entirely off guard when a gentle voice asks, "Hey, is everything alright?"
You immediately sit up, on high alert, your brain screaming DANGER. But the woman holds up both hands, and you see there's no weapon on her. You relax just a fraction.
"I heard you crying," she explains. "And you look..." She trails off. She doesn't know how to address your swollen face.
"Go away," you say immediately. You're not supposed to draw attention, that was one of the rules you lived by up until now.
But you aren't bound by those rules anymore. You have been kicked out. So what's the protocol in dealing with strangers now? Are you supposed just make up your own rules?
The woman slowly lowers her hands. In a way, she reminds you of your handler. The same high ponytail, the same brown eyes. Except she's looking at you with pity instead of rage. Your handler has always been angry with you for something.
You stare at each other for a minute or so, neither of you moving or saying a word. She looks like she's looking for the right ones to make you feel at ease — you, on the other hand, have no intention of speaking to her any longer.
You stand up from the bench. You start walking away.
"Wait!" she calls after you. "Please! Are you from the facility?"
You stop. The locals aren't supposed to know what goes on inside the facility. Does she somehow know anyway?
"I can see your arm," she says, probably meaning your prosthetic. Many of the weapons got enhancements at the facility, it's nothing special. Just a metal arm. With a built-in blade. "I've seen others with similar prosthetics come and go from the facility. I... Truth is, I've been trying to look into it. The facility. There's some shady stuff going on in there, I'm pretty sure. Maybe you can help?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," you say.
"I've never seen anyone from there be out after nightfall. Especially not... in your condition."
The stupid tears keep falling down your face. You're so pathetic. That's why you've been kicked out. You angrily wipe the tears away and turn back around to face the woman.
She's looking at you with concern written all over her face.
"I'm not interested in talking to you!"
"I don't know what facility you mean."
"Why are you in the park at night anyway?"
"Just leave me alone!"
"My condition is fine, I'm fine, go on your way!"
"I've been... I've been kicked out."
"If I talk, they'll hunt me down."
The words get caught in your throat. You break down further.
I've seen sex-averse vs sex-repulsed conceptualized several different ways. And while I don't think any one way is necessarily wrong or right I am curious which is the most common.
Aces, what do you consider the difference between sex averse and sex repulsed?
None/wording only; they're fully interchangeable/down to individual preference
Intensity; repulsed is stronger, averse is milder
Scope;repulsed include sex in abstract/3rd person,aversion only if self involved
Flavor; repulsed involves feeling disgust, aversion some other reason for avoid
The terms imply all of the above simultaneously
I distinguish between them some other way (share in the notes please?)
I have no idea man/results
Allosexual button
Remaining time: 4 days 14 hours
Longer versions of answers because of that character limit:
None/wording only: they're fully interchangeable, or only distinguished by which an individual prefers to use
Intensity: repulsed is stronger, more intense, or more extreme; averse is milder, less intense, or more moderate
Scope: repulsed includes a negative/unpleasant response to sex in any context including abstract/fiction/other people/etc.; aversion only includes a negative/unpleasant response to sex involving one's own self
Flavor: repulsed involves feeling disgust or a visceral reaction, aversion covers other reasons for avoiding sex
The terms imply all of the above simultaneously, and all of these things should be considered when determining which term is appropriate
Will humanity ever be free of the influence of Edna Mode? Can any of us so much as consider the character design for a hero or villain without her manifesting in the room, fully aware of our sins?
You know what, another layer of difficulty is when you’re thinking about villains, and the wise words of Megamind come into your head. You don’t just want your child to be just a regular villain. But how do you make your villain a Supervillain with no cape? Where is the drama? But Edna says no capes, you must deny them the flair. It is impossible to please them both, and it’s tearing this family apart.
"healing" magic that doesn't heal. it only supplements the patient enough to keep them alive through intervention. it just keeps the blood going where it needs to be, it keeps the lungs on a rhythmic cycle, it gives power to the organ systems, consciousness if necessary, et cetera. that way, a lethal injury becomes survivable, if only a healer is there to become their life support while the medics do their job. a deadly poison becomes curable if there's enough magic to keep the heart beating. torture can last forever with the right magic user, willing (or coerced) to keep a victim alive until they break.
Mind control that doesn't go away. Sure, they're out of Whumper's hands, but for whatever reason, the control doesn't lessen entirely.
It's not noticeable at first, but something is undeniably happening.
Their face will go blank sometimes, and they'll snap to attention.
They only speak when spoken to, and even then, they're much too quiet.
Offhand comments are followed to the letter, they let themself be touched and handled and do whatever they're told, no complaints.
When (if) their team figures this out, it complicates things. They can't be as casual around them as they'd like to be, have to monitor everything they say to make sure they don't take advantage of Whumpee.
Carefully phrasing questions to make sure they aren't misunderstood as orders, always leaving comments open for questions or objections... the vulnerability of caring about someone who can't consent to... anything, right now. Even the seemingly normal things.
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