#and his very bad time at wru

[gottawhump]

Surrender

115

CW/TW: pet whump, BBU/WRU, euthanasia mention, Facility mention

He didn’t mean to.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep in her arms, in their bed, in the master bedroom. He’d been so tired, every muscle sore and aching from the night before, and their bed was so soft. Her hands stroking his brow were so soothing. So comforting.

He didn’t meant to still be there when the front door opened, when the bedroom door banged opened.

They both sit upright, hair disheveled, clothes in disarray, under the owner’s angry gaze. 115 rolls out of the bed, and falls to the floor, prostrating himself at the owner’s feet.

“I’m sorry, sir, so sorry.” He repeats it like a chant.

“Dear, we were just cuddling.” She presses her body against the owner, trying to distract him.

“Whores, both of you.”

“Dear, it will never happen again.”

“You’re right. It won’t.”

He tries to make himself as small as possible in the trunk. He tries not to think about the warehouse, and the fighting Dogs.

He thinks about the Facility, 
about a small room tiled in white, fulled with relentless white light, never dark, never safe. He thinks of the disappointment of his Handlers. Back again? Oh, 115.

He thinks of the Drip, its cold rushing through his veins, taking away his memories, rendering him ready for another refurbishment.

He thinks of loss, and mourns while he can.

“Out.”

He sees tears running down her face when he obeys. It’s not a Facility, or a processing branch that they stopped at. It’s not the warehouse.

“Please, sir,” he tries agin.

“Save it, whore.” The leash snaps on.

They enter the building.

“I’d like to surrender this pet,” the owner says to the receptionist.

Then he knows. Shelter. He’s being surrendered, discarded, not even given the mercy of the Drip.

“Please, dear,” she begs, “somewhere else. Not a kill shelter.”

“Hush,” the owner says, and she falls silent.

He listens to his number and designation, training, all the facts needed for intake.

“Reason for surrender?”

“Recalcitrance. Disobedience.”

His stomach lurches. He’s a bad pet. No one wants him. No one will want him.

The owner asks for a private room, “to say their goodbyes”.

“Last chance. Say whatever you want.”

She kisses him, long and sweet, for the first and the last time, and when it ends hot tears run down his cheeks, too. She whispers, “I love you” in his ear.

“I won’t forget you,” she says aloud.

“That’s enough, darling. Go back to the car. There’s a pet shelter down a road a bit. I’ll get you a cat to keep you company.”

“Yes, dear.” And she obeys.

The owner steps very close to him, and he catches his breath, expecting a kick, a slap.

But it’s worse than that.

“She will forget you,” the owner says. “I’ll make sure of it. I’ll send her back to WRU for a full wipe, and she won’t remember ever knowing you.”

115 is still sobbing when the shelter worker comes to take him to the kennels.

Old Friends taglist: @painful-pooch @justplainwhump @redwingedwhump @maracujatangerine @honeycollectswhump @tragedyinblue @taterswhump

[justplainwhump]

Warrant

Thanks to everyone who stayed patient with me regarding Tyler's story. Here we are.

Tyler's facility is raided by the police.

[Masterpost]

Content (warnings): Implied noncon, facilty whump, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee covering for whumper (idk if thats a thing to tag but anyway), (sort of) parental caretaker.

Time passed differently within the white walls of WRU. It affected even the handlers, who had strict instructions to leave their watches in their lockers. If they had to check the time, they could use their work-equipped tablets outside the cells. If they needed to tell time in a session, they set vibration alerts in their smart bracelets or earpieces. And even for handlers, it was bad enough. Tyler Parker remembered countless moments of leaving the building after work, uniform switched for jeans and T-shirt, squinting his eyes overwhelmingly confused by the position of the sun.

He'd have thought, that experience would have helped him. Given him ways to measure the passage of time without outside cues. 

It didn't. 

In the beginning, he counted. Handlers. Beatings. Showers. Orgasms. 

The voice counting in his head wasn't his own. It was hers. 238's. She'd counted, too. Her unit had been him. He'd caught her doing it, her lips moving, when she was sleep-deprived and high on something. He'd punished her, for wanting to know something that wasn't hers to know. She should only know one thing, he'd said, and that was how to be good for her betters. 

She'd stopped counting, then. At least, he hadn't caught her again. 

He wondered, at what exact number that had been. What her count would be, by now. At what number it ceased to matter. 

Tyler stopped earlier than she had. But then again, maybe she'd stopped twice, too. Maybe she'd thought the same thoughts before the Drip. Maybe he would, too, after. He almost laughed hysterically, thinking about it. About going through all this, again. Just that the people torturing him would be strangers then, the very same people whom he knew now.

People like Jared Grimm, Head Handler of the facility, Tyler's supervisor. Had Tyler counted, he'd know if it was the second time, or the third, that it was Grimm's hand in his neck, pressing him onto the padded table. Maybe even the fourth. 

Grimm wasn't sadistic in his fucking. He was methodical, cold, detached. Working through a routine.

"Fucking. Idiot," Grimm breathed into his ears between thrusts. "It didn't. Have to be."

It did, Tyler thought, as a strained whimper escaped his lips. It did have to be. 

"Jared," someone said, far away. "There's a call from the reception, they need you."

The hand in his hair vanished. The weight on his back. The breath in his neck. The strain in his ass. 

Grimm didn't even slap his butt. He was just gone, leaving Tyler exposed and cold.

Not for long though. "Hey, pretty boy," Dinah Richardson purred. "You look so lonely."

Tyler closed his eyes.

Time passed.

-

Jared Grimm stared at his knuckles, stark white as he balled his fist on top of his desk. He willed himself to unclench his hand. He was head of this facility, he reminded himself. He had worked hard to get to this position. He was capable. He had it under control.

"Say that again," he asked into his phone.

"The police," the receptionist repeated flatly. "FBI. They're here with a warrant."

Jared exhaled sharply. "Let them in. I'll meet them in the hallway."

*

The officer in charge was a tall woman, around his age, late forties, he guessed. Long, brown hair that started graying at the temples, tied back in a pony tail. A vaguely familiar face. And a chilling stare that bore right into his eyes. 

"Mr Grimm," she said. "I hope you don't intend to stop me or my colleagues. We have a warrant. And anything you do to hinder me will only make your situation much worse."

Jared raised his hands in an inviting gesture. "No, of course. We fully support law enforcement." Financially, he thought grimly. Enough to avoid situations like this, he'd wagered. This woman didn't seem to have gotten the memo, though. He forced his lips to curl into a polite smile. "What can I do for you?"

"I am here to arrest Ms Carly Thompson and Mr Tyler Parker, both WRU employees."

Jared blinked.

Parker. Fuck. No. That couldn't be a coincidence. "I…" Jared's mouth felt dry. He forced himself to keep his gaze level, not to double check the state of his uniform pants. He hadn't even had the time to wash Parker off of him. "I… I'm sorry, I don't know everyone's schedules, I… I can confirm they both work here, but I'm actually not sure they're in today. It's pretty early, and-"

"I am sure." Her smile was icy. "Your receptionist has already told me that Ms Thompson checked in for duty this morning. As for Mr Parker, he seemingly didn't, but I… I actually do have a hunch we can find him here, Sir. And that you know exactly where he is." She folded her arms. "Get. Me. Tyler. Parker. As in, Tyler Parker himself, him able to recall his name, his mother, his past, and the crimes he committed." She lifted her chin. "Not trainee pet 002243."

Jared flinched violently. What the fuck. She couldn't know. Not what happened here, not even vaguely. But definitely not in detail. Not in this detail. 

The muscles in her jaw tensed at his reaction. She'd guessed. A shot in the dark. And his reaction had just confirmed it. Fuck. 

How could she have made such a precise guess, though? She knew his number. Nobody who wasn't in this building right now did. How-

"We are in possession of a video that has been filmed in this facility." Her voice was hard. "It shows Mr Parker and Ms Thompson drugging and torturing Ms Zsuzsanna - Suzy - Kowalski, threatening to make her into a pet. Ms Kowalski had been reported missing some days ago, then showed up in a hospital with no memory and serious brain damage. She isn't in a condition be interrogated. But we have proof, on this video, that all of this happened in here, in your facility, Mr Grimm."

It couldn't be. They had people for this, people that made sure WRU management knew before the authorities showed up in one of the facilities. And they would, he told himself. WRU could set this right. They always did. 

Only question was, who would the company let take the fall for it. And this cop? She'd just put his name on top of that list. 

Fuck.

This time, Jared controlled his face better. "I don't believe that's-"

"Mr Grimm," she cut him off. "Again. I do believe that. That video is… not shy on the details. And I would love to bring you and your entire fucking company down for it. I'm a very good investigator, you know."

Jared busied his fingers with straightening his jacket and tried a confident smile. It didn't work out the way he wanted. Still. There'd been something in her phrasing, something not entirely final. "I feel like you are going to present me with another option."

She raised an eyebrow. "Only if I get both suspects, in a state that allows them to be tried. And if you need to go make an immediate call to make sure Mr Parker is taken off from whichever drugs you use to mess people up, please, do so. Because I swear, if he doesn't remember his mother's face, it's not him going to jail, it's *you*, Grimm, personally. And I'm not going to stop at that. I might not be as good as you and your company are at destroying a life, but for you, I'll certainly do my fucking best."

"I…" Grimm stared at her. She was dead serious. "I… I think I didn't get your name, Officer-?"

"Ashley Browne." She smirked. "I didn't take my wife's name."

Her wife. That's how he knew her, how that face seemed familiar. There'd been a photo they'd taken from Parker's and the journalist's apartment, the two of them with his mother and another woman, who- Yeah. That tracked.

"Parker," he mumbled. "That would be your wife's name, wouldn't it?"

"Indeed it would," she confirmed. "So you better hand my stepson over right now, or I will make sure we turn around every last brick in this building and see what else we find."

"Oh no. No no." He shook his head. "You don't have the authority to do that."

"You want to bet on it?" She lifted her chin and raised the paper in her hand. "While we're here, with this warrant, my guys will listen to me, not you. And I'll have them turn on their body cams. Let's see how much we can find - how much we can film - until your bosses call my bosses and my bosses call me; such a hassle, only with the same old result that you need fall guys and Carly Thompson and Tyler Parker must be it. The more we see, though, the more names add to the list. Higher up the ranks."

"I-" Jared's mind raced. It couldn't possibly be. Carly would keep her mouth shut, with the right payment, just sit her time, be released, take the money and burn through it in some seedy beach hotel at the other end of the world. Parker however. The stupid asshole was a fucking liability. The attack on Alex. The pet lib journalist. That video appearing from nowhere. They should've put him on the Drip right when they'd brought him in. They should've shipped him out to another facility. They should've - 

They shouldn't have played this lightly. But they had. 

And now, the police officer in front of him nodded at her uniformed colleagues, lifted her hand in a sweeping gesture. "Search every room, every cell, every office. Turn on your cams, get a good look on every face you can find, trainee, employee, service worker, every single face, until we've found our guys. Clear?"

Jared had no choice. That woman was a fucking nuisance, but he couldn't take any other risk.

"Wait," Jared called. "I… I think I know where to find them. I'll make a call."

Browne stepped back and lifted her hands. "Good. Lead the way."

-

It was even worse than she'd expected. And Ashley had seen the videos. She had expected bad. 

The boy - even at 24, even a head taller than herself and twice her weight, she'd never brought herself to seeing him as a grown man - was curled up on the oddly colorful tiles of a shower room. He was naked, his light skin mottled with bruises of various colors and shapes. Some from weapons, bats or batons, she figured. Most from hands. 

She had to force herself to stand still. Not to fall to her own knees besides him, to run a hand through his wet blond strands, to hug him and shield him. Not to draw her gun and empty it into the smirking handlers around them.

"Our handlers sometimes get handsy with each other, after a stressful shift," Chief Handler Grimm said from behind her. His voice had a nervous pitch to it, but still, she swore she could hear a kind of glee in it. The knowledge, that this blatant lie, like so many others, would stay unchallenged. "We condemn any sexual relations at the workplace, but- I guess you know how it is."

"You don't get to assume what I know, Mr Grimm," she said flatly. "I'm a cop. What I know is what sexual assault looks like."

"It was consentual," another man said, and idly kicked a piece of soap over to Tyler. Ashley flinched, when it hit his side, the boy too weary to react. "Tell them, T. We had fun."

"It was consentual." Tyler's voice was all but a hoarse croak. Ashely's stomach turned. "It was."

"See?" Grimm said to her, and to him, "Clean yourself up, Parker, and get dressed."

Tyler struggled to push himself up to his knees, his hand shaking as he weakly reached out for the piece of soap.

It took Ashley a second to remember her duty. To remember that she was here to betray all her beliefs in law and order. Making a deal that was far from any justice. Saving her wife's boy. Who - given what Tara had told them - might as well have deserved all of this. But Ashley wouldn't be the judge of that.

She was here for Diane. She was here to get him out. Whatever the price.

"Tyler Parker," she said, a part of her wondering when she'd addressed him like that the last time. Tyler Frederick Parker, you call that cleaning up your room? It felt like yesterday. It felt like another lifetime. "Tyler. You are under arrest."

He sobbed.

Ashely told herself it was with relief.

[maracujatangerine]

Hi I'm thinking a normal amount about Absalom today! Snooty Good PetTM who still (at least in Brutus' nightmares) moves to shield the others. Could we maybe hear a little about him and Brutus interacting (do they get to interact??) or how they first met or their first impressions of each other or. Anything like that? I love they and your writing is always tasty. -@secretwhumplair

86. Introducing Pets

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

”Do you really want to put them together, love? I mean, Brutus can be a bit high-spirited, and he is quite a lot stronger than your pet.” Wayland Jones shook his head. “I don’t want anything to happen.”

“Ah, don’t worry so much, dear. That nice WRU consultant did recommend for them to get some alone time together to suss each other out. And…” Cecilia twirled around gracefully, making her red skirt swirl out around her. Playfully, she put her hands on his shoulders, reaching up to give him a light peck on the cheek. “… since we are going to live together now…” She beamed, and turned to continue onwards down the corridor. “…we can’t really keep them apart for ever. Besides, we’ll just give them a few minutes, how bad can it get?”

“Let’s try it. I left Brutus in the hallway.”

“And Absalom is in the bedroom. I’ll go and get him.” She went eagerly, heels clacking against the floor.

Brutus and Wayland arrived first. The black-haired guard dog obediently went to kneel on the floor next to the unlit fireplace. His casual attire of dark grey sweatpants and t-shirt matched in colour, but clashed in tone, with Wayland’s dark grey suit and white shirt.

“I really want this to work, so make sure that you don’t mess it up for me.” Wayland’s hash tone made Brutus flinch. “She likes her pet, so be sure that you are nice to it. Understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good. In fact, I count on you to keep an eye on Absalom. Romantics are smart enough to get in all sorts of trouble, but stupid enough to not get out of it again.”

“Yes, Master.”

Soon, the door swung open and Cecilia entered, Absalom half a step behind. At his mistress order, the pet knelt on the other side of the fireplace. He was elegantly dressed in a light blue vest over a white shirt, matching blue trousers, and his wavy, brown hair tied at the nape of his neck with a brighter blue ribbon. His collar was soft, grey leather, in sharp contrast to the black, synthetic material around the guard dog’s neck.

“Absalom, this is Brutus.” Cecilia said, grinning at the formality of introducing the pets to one another. “Brutus, this is Absalom. We want you to get to know each other better, so we’ll give you a few moments to talk.”

Both Cecilia and Wayland went towards the door.

“Have fun, pets.” She smiled. Wayland caught Brutus’ eye and mouthed; ‘Behave’.

As the door fell shut behind them, both pets stared awkwardly at each other for a moment.

Then, Absalom rose gracefully to his feet. The small scar on his upper lip emphasised by his sneer.

“Well, well… look what the cat dragged in….” In an undertone he added. “Though of course it would have to have been a fairly large and weight-bearing cat.”

He danced quickly backwards when Brutus also came to his feet. “That was a bit of a joke.” The pet said quickly, blue eyes wide. Finding himself, he tilted his head and tried a winsome smile. “I’m not usually meeting guard dogs. You are very imposing close by, darling.”

Standing face to face, they were almost the same height, but Brutus’ muscular heft compared with Absalom’s lithe build made the guard dog probably twice as heavy. They watched each other warily. Then, Brutus broke the silence with a shrug and a smile.

“I’m not used to your sort either.” He admitted, and scratched his head. “Actually, Tte last time I saw a romantic was when we got an old one as bait. He was just running around like a headless chicken and Jazz almost crushed his head when he knocked him out.” He chuckled. “It was actually quite funny… he…” Brutus looked up and finally seemed to register that Absalom’s somewhat condescending smile had frozen and turned into something more resembling a rictus grin. “Eh… He was all right, though… or at least he survived.” He swallowed, and tried again. “I wouldn’t do that to you, though. My Master has told me to be nice with you.”

“Okay then.” Absalom went for a forced, chipper tone. “We’re going to live together, we need to get along.”

Brutus nodded and held out his hand. “Truce?” Absalom studied his face for a moment, hesitating. Intensely blue eyes searching dark brown.

Then, carefully, he reached out his thin, carefully manicured hand, and clasped the the guard dogs darker, larger hand in his own.

“Truce.”

*

Everything feels a bit dark and scary in the world at the moment. Especially when things feels like they are going the wrong way, I think it is really important to involve yourself with actually trying to improve things, preferably together with other people in the world out there.

It is, however, also important to keep your own spirits up, so I took this advice, and decided to make something today. I have been twisting and turning this wonderful ask by @secretwhumplair in my mind for a while, and it finally clicked together in a way I’m happy with. I was also inspired by this ask. Thank you so much for the ask, @secretwhumplair, I hope you’ll enjoy Brutus and Absalom’s first meeting! ❤️

*

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[dishushu]

i remember it, all too well.

42!miles g morales x reader

summary: you've been dating someone for a year and slowly you realize they've become distant. barely texting you, not showing any admiration, always out clubbing. until you went to their place and see something unspeakably wrong, you snap and they try to come back to you. months later, still broken. you met miles and you two become very close. one day you see them again and you can remember the memories all too well.

warnings: super angst (fluff in the end of COURSE) cursing, bad spanish (i’m so sorry y’all😭) creepy ex bro, cheating.

a/n: WHOOP i started listening to atwtmv for like a 100 times and it gave me the idea to write this (all hail taylor swift!!) this is gonna be so angsty i swear like im so sorry yall 😭 but lemme tell y’all i swear 42 miles has rizz i’m not lying

words: 2.2k

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

your life was pretty fine the past few months since you’ve met your partner.

they were, everything you wanted. they loved you to the moon and back and you said the same thing too.

but a year passed and things started to change, drastically.

they stopped paying attention to you, stopped hanging out with you, was always on their phone and most of all, always went clubbing.

you’d be at your place and it was around 12:45 in the morning, he was supposed to come by.

the first thing that came up to your mind was text him, they were probably busy anyway?

…..

love<3

12:46 am

y/n: babe, wru? you were supposed to come to my place an hour ago.

seen 12:48 am.

y/n : hello?

seen 12:50 am.

……

you sighed, tossing your phone to the side of the bed as u curled up in ball, thinking why they left you on seen.

you decided to go check up on them yourself, so you put your shoes on and walked over to his apartment.

you knocked on their door, seemingly waiting for an answer, there was none.

so you opened the door which was seemingly unlocked, and scanned around the room, calling out their name.

when you heard loud music from his room.

you knocked but there was no answer as you thought the music was drowning your knock so you opened it.

and oh boy were you in for a surprise.

you dropped your purse on the floor as you stood there as if you saw a ghost, but instead you saw them making out with someone else.

“so that’s how shits going huh.” you said bluntly with tears in your eyes as your words jolted both of them up and your partner turned to look at you.

“it’s not what it seems like bab-“ they were protesting, pushing the other person away and walking to you but you cut them off and pushed them away.

“there’s nothing to fucking explain!” you screamed. “its all right infront of me, dont even bother.” you said as the tears flowed out of your eyes, looking away.

“please love im sorry i- just- give me another chance” they tried to grab your hands and you pulled away quickly.

“so you just can call me up again just to break me like a fucking promise huh? i expected better from you.” my voice cracked at every word as i walked away and slammed the door shut.

i was home, on the floor. in a ball of sadness. tears, snot, everything flowing out. while they kept texting me.

…..

unknown number.

1:15 am

un: babe please

un: please im sorry

un: i won’t do it again

un: forgive me

seen 1:20 am.

…..

you knew damn well he was lying so you blocked the number, shutting off your phone and sliding it across the room.

that day, your whole heart broke, you never felt anything anymore, love was completely just a game to you

but do you think everything will change soon?

it was your usual day. wake up, get ready for work, walk, get to work and actually work.

you worked at the cashier in some convenience store.

you’d felt numb and dull the past few weeks and didn’t really have the motivation to do anything, but you had to so you did. but you just remember everything all too well.

you were doing your job as normal and nothing around changed honestly, it was just your average normal day until someone came in that caught your eye.

it was a boy about your age, he was wearing sweatpants and a sweater, the way his jawline stands out and his braids touching his shoulders.

you thought he was cute but you shook off your feelings and went on with your day.

you noticed he was catching a few glances from you, you thought of it as nothing when he paid normally and went out the store.

but he kept coming back to the store every single day for the whole week and you two start to talk a bit more, but not your actual huge conversations.

but this one time. he was in the store picking up a few stuff and bringing it to the counter.

you scanned the items as you put it in a paper bag,

“15.44.” you told him the price.

“keep the change.” he said giving you a 20 and his spanish accent had you rolling on the floor (metaphorically).

you mumbled a thank you as he walked out, you were going to put the 20 in the cash box but suddenly, you saw a note attached to it.

* xxx-xxx-xxxx, my number. text me soon hermosa. - miles:) *

you were shocked to the brim as u held the paper in hand profusely blushing as you started to smile a bit.

did a guy just really give his number out to you?

you kept the note in your pocket, still blushing and went on with your day. until you came back home

you held the note in your hand again, still contemplating if you should put the number in your phone.

you did it anyway.

as you shakily typed the number in your phone, you added his name in the contact number and pressed the message button.

…..

miles(?)

10:05 pm.

y/n: hello?

*minutes pass by and you were doubting a message back from him. but your phone dinged.*

miles(?): hey

*you were shaking in your bed as you saw his reply.*

y/n: you’re miles right?, the guy from the store?

miles(?): the one and only. miles(?): and you’re…?

y/n: sorry.. i’m y/n

miles(?): nice name ;)

*at that point you were shocked by the little winky face he put*

y/n: the same goes to you :)) y/n: so.. weird question but why’d you give me your number?

miles(?): just thought you were cute.

*his reply literally had you in shambles and you didn’t know what to reply with but it hit you. it could be your ex’s friend again trying to get on you for breaking up with them.*

y/n: are u sure? because i swear to god if you’re one of my ex’s friends trying to shit on me for breaking up w them i will literally murder you.

miles(?): i swear, i don’t know who your ex is. but are you okay though?

*i sighed in relief, knowing that they stopped doing it.*

y/n: yeah, sorry i’m just paranoid. y/n: i gotta go, talk to you soon?

miles(?): alright, see ya soon hermosa.

……

you closed your phone and start to smile, but it feels like everything that went down happened was only yesterday, time won’t fly for you. it’s like your paralyzed in your own heartbreak.

you lay down in your bed, thoughts drowning in you as you start to fall asleep.

days turn to weeks and you and miles start to become closer friends. and you wouldn’t deny to admit that you liked him, ALOT.

but you never told him. you were scared of commitment ever since it happened.

you never told him, you never bothered to say anything because he never asked you and you were fine with it. until one day.

you both were on the rooftop at his place laughing about anything and everything, talking about what happens.

until he asks a question.

“so, that day, the day you first messaged me about your ex’s friends shitting on you for what happened, whyd you think i was one of them?” he looked at the stars slyly, glancing at you at times.

“well.” you sighed, fiddling around with your fingers,

“i didn’t know who his friends were, so they would come around at work, giving me their number and i would text them obviously and they would always tell me i was cute or something but the next second they just shit on me saying mean stuff and i kinda just couldn’t trust anyone after that.”

he looks back down to look at you , with an apologetic look on his face, when he went to scoot a bit closer to you.

“can i ask what happened?” he asked as his hand was slightly touching yours as you looked at the stars.

“we were happy for a year, everything was fine but they grew distant. they stopped talking to me and always went to clubs and came back home drunk. they seemed off for so long and i went to their place and saw them making out with someone else and i just kinda lost it, because they did this twice and i lost my shit at that point, i haven’t felt love ever since. i just kinda lost motivation, i really want my old self but i just can’t seem to find it.” tears filled your eyes to the brim as i told him everything.

as the tears start to flow out, he hugged you tightly and rubbed your back. “lo siento mucho querida.” he whispered.

“you did nothing wrong okay? it was all them.” he hugged you tighter.

as he pulled back from the hug, wiping the tears from your eyes.

it was silent for a moment after he pulled away.

“i could change that.” he spoke up after the brief silence that filled between us.

you locked at him surprised, “what.. do you mean?”

“you said.. you would never feel love again right..?” his words were soft when he spoke.

you nodded slowly as you turn to look at him looking at the stars.

“well, i could change that.” his head lowered down to look at you but you looked away.

“how will i know you end up the same as they did?” you looked down looking at your knees when you felt his hand grab your chin and pull you in closer for a kiss.

you were shocked at first but then you slowly melt in to the kiss, finally realizing he was the one.

as he pulled away, he held your hand tightly. “i promise i won’t break your heart mi amor.” he whispered. "ill give you the world, the stars if possible, anything for you."

you felt this wave of love you’ve never felt before and it made you feel full, you went to hug him tightly as you never wanted to pull back

“i love you, miles.”

“te quiero también, mi amor. más de lo que sabes.”

after that day, you and miles started dating and it was nothing like you experienced before.

it was always flowers here, flowers there and he was just a straight up gentleman to you.

you just closed up your shop early tonight to go on your first date with miles, and when you both were walking there, you bumped into someone and both crash to the ground.

“oh my god im so sorr-“ you were frantically picking up their stuff to give it back and when you both look at eachother, you stopped talking. it was your ex.

everything, every single memory of you both flowed down your mind and you remembered it all too well.

“amor are you okay?” miles bent down to check on you when he noticed you giving a dirty glance at your ex, and it hit him.

“yeah i’m fine let’s just go.” you tried to stand up but your ex’s hand pulled you back down and restraining you from standing up.

“what the fuck do you want?” you screamed and it grabbed miles attention.

“please, im sorry i didn’t mean it can things just go back the way it was?” he protested and was on their knees begging you to stay

i pulled my hand out of his grip as we both stood up “i already told you, a million fucking times, no.”

“please i’m sorry, i- i was drunk and i wasn’t thinking straight.”

“so you’re telling me, those both times you were drunk and you weren’t thinking straight? those both times you fucking cheated on me and you weren’t thinking straight? you choosing pleasure over our goddamn relationship and you weren’t thinking straight? you could’ve thought for a SINGLE moment, will this affect my relationship? of course it fucking will you asshole. get out of my sight.” you stood back up and walked opposite where your ex was, but they wouldn’t stop and grabbed your hand again.

“just forgive me plea-“ he was about to get on his knees but miles stood infront of you and grabbed their arm tightly so they could release your arm

“back up bro, y/n already told you they don’t want you. don’t make it harder for us. one step closer and you’re gone got it?” miles let go of his hand as a warning and they nodded and ran away and miles turned to you.

“are you okay querida? you aren’t hurt anywhere are you?” he put his arms on your shoulders, scanning your body for any wounds.

“i’m okay, just a bit shaken up." you sighed, fixing your clothes.

miles was genuinely worried about you and you told him everything's fine as long he was with you.

"i'm so sorry amor that they keep doing that to you." he grabbed yout waist and pulled you in a hug.

"you know ill protect you always right?" he pulled away from the hug.

"promise?" you held out your pinky for a pinky promise and smiled softly.

"promise querida." he took his pinky and hooked it with yours and shook it softly and pulled you in another hug.

although you still remember all the heartbreaking memories all too well, you had him and that was enough for you.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ 　　°

© hearts4hobie.

do not steal, translate, and rewrite without permission.

[snakebites-and-ink]

Positions - Part 2

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

CW: BBU, pet whump, conditioned whumpee, Stockholm syndrome

Sounds like someone isn’t a very good pet.

The guy shouldn’t have been able to get in Asher’s head so well, but it seemed he actually had a point in one regard. What kind of pet refuses orders from a person? Not a well-trained one, usually. None of the other pets who’d been trained at WRU would have refused to get into a position…unless they were being bad.

Asher’s Master was fine with him refusing orders from people at work. But parts of that sometimes did go against aspects of his training. He couldn’t help but wonder what his handler would think about how he acted these days. How much of it would count as being good, and how much really did deserve disapproval. Doing what his owner said was the most important thing, right?

The issue churned in Asher’s head for a while, and by the time he went home, he really wanted some reassurance.

Eventually he broached the topic while he and his owner were together in the living room. “Master?”

Master looked at Asher. “Yeah?”

“Is—is it…bad, that I don’t act like other pets? That I’m more independent, and…act like some people are my peers?”

“Of course not, buddy. Where is this coming from?”

Asher looked down and fiddled with a seam. “Well, earlier today, someone tried to invoke my training, and ordered me to get into the positions I was taught, and I, I didn’t. I wasn’t obedient.”

“Oh, Asher bud, that wasn’t bad of you. You’ve always been acting how you’re allowed. You’ve never had a problem being obedient for me. See, here. Position 4.”

Asher didn’t have to think about it. He went to his knees right away and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Position 5.”

Still kneeling, Asher folded forward with his face towards the ground and placed his palms flat against the carpet.

Master pet his hair. “See? Look how good you are! Come here.”

Asher lifted his head up. He saw that Master was sitting with his arms open. Asher got up and climbed into Master’s lap with a soft smile. Master closed his arms around the pet, and Asher curled up against his owner.

“Asher, love?”

“Hmm?”

“I never want you to feel like you're being bad for standing up to people who are trying to mistreat you.”

“Yes, Master.” He nuzzled against his owner’s chest. “But sometimes my training kind of makes me think that way anyways.”

“I know. And that’s okay. I just want you to know that you don’t have to think that way. You’re not in the WRU anymore, you’re with me, and I want you to be happy more than I want you to act like a conventional pet.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Of course, Asher. I’m here to comfort you anytime you need, yeah?”

Asher nodded.

His owner smiled gently. “Good boy.”

[cutwhipburn]

Mistake (Chapter One)

WARNINGS: Mental Fuckery, Dehumanization, WRU/Box-Boy Universe Themes, Medical Torture, Mental Torture, Human Expirementation, Dissociation, Alluding to Food Withholding, Fake News and the Spread of False Information, Illiteracy/Illiterate Whumpee

Mistake’s legs burned. It felt like millions of fire ants were biting into their legs-no, like a million fire ants were burrowing into their legs, biting and crawling through their skin and deep into their muscles. Into their bones, even. The latest of their mother’s inventions was proving to be a success, unfortunately for Mistake. 

It was a shot, one that Shannon planned to have used on boxies who failed escape attempts. Mistake could confirm that it would undoubtedly be very effective. Just two needles, one in each leg, and that boxie would likely never want to run again. Mistake didn’t think it would even be able to stand for at least a few hours afterwards, let alone walking or god forbid running.

Mistake winced, crying out in pain as her mother prodded them, writing notes in her inventions notebook. They wished it’s mother would let them be finished for the day, preferably sending them to their father so they could curl up in a ball and let him hug it until the pain passed. But they knew that was wishful thinking. They had been in pain for so long they’d cried out all the tears they had, had screamed themself near hoarse. 

Shannon would keep them through to the very end of the pain, and probably still have critiques on their reactions after. But Mistake didn’t know what else to do. They were hurting so much.

Time dragged on like molasses, until eventually the throbbing pain died down enough for them to stop silently crying, and they were able to curl up into a ball on the floor.

“Can I see papa now?” Mistake mumbled into their legs, their body shaking in exhausted pain. Their legs still occasionally jolted with aftershocks.

“If you can get up and walk there on your own.” Shannon allowed with a nod, turning to her assistant. “Lets get this to the lab. I need to test the effects on a few of the boxies, see if it differs based on age, weight, and gender. Pick out some troublemakers for me.” The assistant nodded, turning quickly on their heel and speeding from the room.

Mistake started to slowly drag their body across the floor, it’s body aching too much to even try standing. They supposed they would maybe feel embarrassed, if they weren’t so used to the humiliating feeling of needing to get out of the lab, now.

They found its father Norman, predictably as ever, standing in Shannon’s enormous kitchen, spaced out and distant. Mistake felt cold sweat down their back, leaning against the cool cabinet and tiles.

“Papa, I’m here,” Mistake said, childishly quiet. “Mama let me be done now.” They tuck their head behind their curls. “I'm tired.”

“Missy?” Norman snapped out of his daze, hurriedly bending down to lift them off the floor. “You’re shaking.”

“Mama tested a new shot,” Mistake mumbled, curling into their father’s chest. “Supposed to punish bad runaways.” They were careful with their words, softly methodical and clear. “Made my legs hurt for a while.”

He carried them into the living room, laying them down on the couch. “Want to watch cartoons, love? Do you want something to eat? I-I can make something as soon as I ask your mother if you’re allowed.”

“Not hungry,” Mistake said quietly, curling up in a ball and shaking their head. “Just wanted to be with you.” They latched onto him again like a small koala bear. “I feel better when I’m with you.”

Norman looked like he was about to be sick. “Oh-Okay, but I have to sit on the floor, remember. I’ll just sit by you, okay?”

Norman wasn’t allowed on the couch. 

Mistake whined softly, sliding themself onto the floor next to him and nestling into his side. “Wanna be with you,” they mumbled stubbornly. The carpet was plush at least. Mistake was used to sitting on it with their father, though even the plushest carpet starts to hurt when you’re ordered to kneel on it in complete stillness for half a day.

“Missy, please, the couch.” Norman begged, but his voice wavered, already used to loosing any argument he dared have. “I’m sure it feels a lot more comfortable, and you’re in pain.”

“I want you, not couch,” it insisted quietly.

Norman was silent for a moment. “Cartoons?” He asked again, his voice dulled. The only cartoons Shannon allowed them to watch were the ones with a silly little box-boy constantly getting into trouble, usually with the reminder at the end that staying indoors and with your owner was the only safe places to be. Or there would be the episodes where the box-boy’s owner would randomly shout out a command for the boxies watching, just to make sure that even when relaxing a boxie should be ready to obey their owner and listen to their authority.

“No thank you,” Mistake mumbled. “Too tired. Just wanna rest.” Norman wrapped his arms around them, gently playing with their hair. Mistake drifted asleep in his comforting arms, only awaking to the sound of Shannon’s return. It was not quiet or pleasant, but it rarely ever was.

“Norman, get dinner started!” Shannon called from the front door as she took off her coat. “We have company coming. Get Mistake upstairs and into a nice outfit when you’re done.” Mistake rubbed its’ eyes as Norman gently removed them from his lap, placing them back on the couch and hurriedly going to do as he was ordered.

Mistake could feel the pain subsiding more from their legs, lightly dangling them over the edge of the couch. It wasn’t so painless they could walk yet, pressure still sent an electric pain running up its’ legs, but they could tell it almost was the case. They fidgeted with its  hands, waiting patiently for their father to return and hoping their mother left it be for now.

Shannon, thankfully, didn’t even seem to notice them as she breezed past the living room, going upstairs to change herself, most likely. It was after a long time of silence before their father joined Mistake again, carefully lifting it back up and going upstairs to the attic.

Mistake had exactly two nice dresses. A black one and a dark blue one. Still, Norman rifled through the two in its’ small closet, pulling them out and holding them up as if it was a big decision. “Which one do you want tonight Missy?”

“Black, please,” Maddie said, reaching out to grab the dress themself. In truth, they rather wished they had more colors of clothes, and maybe even some nice outfit to wear that wasn’t a dress. But they couldn’t be ungrateful. These dresses were nice, a great privilege. “Thank you papa.”

“Remember not to talk at dinner unless anyone sitting at the table speaks directly to you. Ask if you want to speak otherwise. Eat what’s on your plate but don’t ask for seconds if you want them. If you do, find me afterwards and I can get them to you when no one's paying attention.” Norman prattled off, all the rules long memorized. Mistake nodded their head carefully to each one as they slipped the dress over their head, wriggling out of their dirty lab clothes. Norman gently finished it off with a bow in their hair, slightly shabby but not too noticeable,

“I understand, papa,” Mistake said softly and clearly. “I’ll do what you said, promise. I’ll be good.”

“And if Shannon tells you to go to bed, you have to come right up, brush your teeth and change, and go to sleep.” This one Norman seemed nervous, almost on edge about. He always did. He said it was the most important rule Mistake had to worry about. “I mean it Missy, right to sleep. No book. No window.”

Mistake pouted softly. They rather liked their book, staring at the pictures and the stories they’d made up to go along with them. Ignoring the black squiggles on the page that it would never be able to read. That they’d never be allowed to learn. They liked the window just as much. It was nice, a way to imagine a world where Mistake wasn’t a mistake, but a normal child with a normal life and two whole parents who loved them very much. But they knew how important this was to their father, so they still nodded.

“Okay, papa.” They folded its’ hands on their lap. “I will.”

“When whoever she’s expecting gets here, remember to say hello ma’am or sir and then-” Norman mimed zipping his lips. “I have to get the food out of the oven. Can you please set the table? Remember to ask your mother how many plates you need to set out.”

Mistake pushed off the bed, standing on unsteady, wobbling legs and nodded its  head. “Yes papa,” They brushed off the dust from their dress, walking unsteadily down the stairs and hesitantly hovering outside their mother’s office. “Mother? How many plates should I set out on the table?”

“Three on the table set out nicely, four in the center.” Shannon said, not even looking up to acknowledge Mistake’s presence. Mistake tried not to wilt at the lack of attention, nodding their head.

“Alright, mother. Thank you.” Mistake ducked their head and hurried down to the kitchen to grab the appropriate table settings.

They set the table with a clean precision their father had taught them well, not a thing angled or out of place, before sitting down.

On the floor.

The dining room floor was wood. It hurt their knees more, but Mistake had a little pillow to sit on while they ate. That helped a little bit, even if it was only for a little while.

Their father didn’t take long in the kitchen, carefully bringing out the food so none would drop on the floor, and arranging it nicely on the table. Mistake watched him closely, taking care to mind his actions. They were to learn from their father as much as possible, their mother had insisted.

They noticed him pause briefly, eyes moving over the table. He was counting the plates. His face fell at the number, uncomfortable and tense.

“What’s wrong, papa?” Mistake asked softly, careful not to speak too loudly and have their mother overhear.

“It’s just…I think it’s Evelyn coming over.” Norman admitted. “If there’s three plates out on the table and four that will go to the floor.”

Mistake felt themself cringe inward. They didn’t like Evelyn much. Her daughter, yes. Her daughter seemed kind, and curious, and interesting and Mistake  longed to speak with her as though they were equals. But Evelyn, Mistake hated.

Anytime Evelyn came over, Mistake got into extra trouble and was punished. And besides, Cyrus frightened them. He was rather big, rather scary, and not quite nice. Papa said that was his job, since he was a designated Guarddog boxie. He was the only one Mistake had ever met.

The doorbell rang, echoing throughout the house. Norman hurriedly helped Mistake to their feet, muttering his own rules under his breath as the two walked towards the door.

The idea behind a Box-Boy cartoon was inspired by: @ashintheairlikesnow Post here:

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [11]

chapter eleven, act two: anobrain

masterlist

April 7th 2013

America is kind of borning.

They’d been touring for months, meeting boring people at even more boring places. 

Everything is the same, everyone feels entitled to correct you as if you’re not speaking the right language.

And if Tommie hears the question, ‘you live a whale?’ one more time, she’s going to commit a very violent crime.

But they’ve left America now, which they’re all a little glad about. Having a break back home for a couple weeks with their families before their next round of gigs.

Tommies in their apartment, alone with everyone else at their families homes.

George has gone on a weekend trip with his sisters, Ross has met up with his brother for the weekend, Matty’s with his father and Adam’s gone to his father’s side of the family.

He did invite Tommie but she felt a little awkward since she doesn’t really know them.

Not that she’s been completely alone, she spent a couple days with her aunt before she had to get back to work. So instead of staying in her house moping around in self-pity Tommie decided to mop around in self-pity in her own flat.

It’s time like these that she feels alone.

She’s surrounded by people, the most people she ever has been yet she feels completely alone.

She misses her mother a lot, and she debates flying out to France to see her grandparents for a couple days.

She misses her brother, who she had to leave behind when she left.

When she left things went bad quickly with her dad, and if she didn’t have Matty she’s sure she never would have had the courage to do it.

Her father had seen them driving out of the village and stopped them, trying to physically pull her from the car until Matty got out and shoved him away.

They could both smell the alcohol on his breath, he was drunk, and that’s what hurt the most. The fact that she knew he wouldn’t have cared if he was sober hurt more than him showing up drunk, again.

Matty had turned to her as they left, his hand on the gear stick moving to grip her own hand.

He said a few simple words that made her close her eyes and look away, ‘how long has he hit you for?’

She didn’t pretend like she didn’t know what he was talking about, and she didn't beat around the bush. She simply looked down and told him the truth. ‘All my life.’

She watched as he rubbed a hand across his jaw to hide the way he clenched it, only to regrip her hand and say, ‘you did the right thing.’

But now as she sits in her bedroom, staring at the only picture she has of her brother which is them side by side outside his mother’s house in matching WRU jerseys, she wonders if she did.

If she did do the right thing.

She left him behind.

Of course, she never would have if he wasn’t safe. But her father never hit him, in all his twelve years of life.

She just wasn’t good enough. He wanted a son, that’s why she pushed herself into football and boxing and other sports she hated.

She loved hockey in school but wouldn’t play, not when he said the sport was too ‘girlish’.

She pretended she didn’t like sitcoms, acted as if WWE was her favourite thing to watch just so they could spend time together. 

The truth was that she wasn’t a son, like he wanted, and she never would be.

That’s why she wasn’t safe.

But JJ Fern was a son, and for that her father wouldn’t harm a hair on his head.

She misses Millie.

Her childhood dog died just two years before she officially joined the band.

She misses her baby sister who is too young to even remember who she is now.

She misses her mother.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts she doesn’t hear the door go, or the distant shout of her name.

It’s not until she hears a soft ‘hey’ as the bed dips that she snaps out of it, looking over to the fluffy hair beside her.

“Roddy?” She places the picture face down beside her and turns to look at him, “Thought you were introducing your dad to Gemma again today.”

“No.” He purses his lips, “I broke up with her.”

“Why?”

He shrugs, “Thought we could go back to how it was, but we can’t.”

“It’s only been three months, Matty.”

He shrugs his shoulders, leaning his head on her shoulder, “I don’t know, I’ve been on tour, and I feel like nothings coming of it. Doesn’t matter,” He shrugs, “It’s over.”

“You okay?”

“It didn’t hurt,” He mutters, “Don’t feel like anything has changed. I’m more annoyed that she still has the book.”

It takes her a second to realise but when she does she clips the back of his head and he pulls away with a groan, “What was that for?”

“I said you could borrow it, that book is the start of this band.”

“We were a band-”

“You know what I mean.”

He mutters an apology, falling back to lie on her bed, “What are you doing here anyway? It's your birthday tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“And you're travelling up in the morning?”

He shakes his head, “Not going up.”

“Why?”

He moves so he’s lying with his head beside her and wraps his arms around her waist, head awkwardly angled to lean on her thighs.

“Wanted to spend the day down here, with you.”

“Why?”

He huffs, “Don’t want one of Mum’s extravagant parties showing the world I’m getting old.”

She giggles, “You’re twenty four, Roddy.”

“Oh, God.” He groans loudly, burying his curly head into her stomach.

She laughs, holding his head to her, running her fingers through the back of his head, he turns so he’s lying sideways on the bed, legs hanging off the end with his head in her lap.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” She asks, “I’m not as good with things like that as you are, so you’ll have to guide me.”

He shrugs, “Been wanting to see that new film that came out few months ago, Inside Llewyn Davis? Wanna go?”

“Sure, is it still in the pictures?”

He shrugs, “One of my old school mates works in the local picture house, I’ll message him, see if he can do a special viewing just for us.”

“No,” She shakes her head, “I’ll message him, send me his number, I’ll sort it.”

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

April 8th 2013

Matty chuckles to himself, wrapped in hoodies and zip up jackets, sunglasses on his head, as he watches Tommie dig through her bag to get all the sweets she’d bought in Tesco beforehand.

“Why didn’t you just buy them here? Save time?”

“I ain’t paying that price for sweets when I can get ‘em cheaper with my club card.”

“Right,” He says, pursing his lips to hide his smile, “Sorry.”

She sits back opening them all and putting them in the cup holders so they can get to them better.

“Shh it’s starting.” He mutters and she rolls her eyes as if she had been talking.

She reaches over to push his glasses off his head and he smacks her hand away when they land on the bridge of his nose, making it difficult for him to see the screen.

“Stop it.” He mutters to her quietly.

She giggles but he grabs her hand, holding it in his lap as he pushes the glasses back on top of his head.

She grins to herself scooching over to be closer to him and resting her head on his shoulders, “What’s-”

He lifts his hand, covering her mouth as he shushes her once more.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Matty walks slowly beside her on solid ground, one hand in his pocket the other stretched out just behind her back as she walks along the flat rail, her arms stretched out to keep her balance.

“Don’t fall.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Why are we here again?” He questions, holding both hands out when she gets to the end of the rail, she grabs his hands using him to jump down on the floor then tugs him up the biggest ramp, gripping the edge so she can pull herself up and helping him when he loses his footing.

“Isn’t it my birthday?” He asks, “If I remember correctly it was you who said I could choose.”

She shrugs, “Fine, guess you don’t want the weed I stole from George’s stash.” She says holding the little baggie up between them and shaking it in his face.

He goes to grab it but she snatches it back, “Uh, uh.”

“Come on, you gonna take it away from me on my day?”

“No, I’m gonna roll one for you.”

He snorts and she shoves him in the side, “What? I’ve seen you guys do it loads, I can do it.”

“Okay.”

She side eyes him and he looks away trying not to laugh as he watches her struggle right away.

“Come here.” He says, feeling slightly bad.

He takes it from her, rolling one joint for them to share and pockets the rest, ignoring the look she sends his way.

He takes a lighter from his pocket but she quickly scrambles for her bag, “Wait, I have to give you your birthday present.”

She takes a small awfully wrapped box, he can tell she’d done it in a rush, then hands it over.

“Happy Birthday, Roddy.”

He unwraps it, the joint now tucked securely behind his ear, holding back his curly hair with it.

“What is it?”

“Just open it, god, you’re so impatient.” She laughs to herself watching carefully as his fingers rip open the paper.

He smiles to himself as he brings it out of the box, rubbing his thumb along the engraving of the zippo lighter.

‘You look so cool x’

He smiles, using the new lighter to light up the joint and puffs the smoke into her face once he’s done.

“Thank you. I love it.”

“Of course you do, I got it.” She grins, plucking the weed from his mouth.

Matty watches her carefully, as she places it between her lips and inhales, much better than her first time a few months ago.

He smiles, and when she turns to look at him, dimples showing, eyes slightly gazed over he lets his head fall to rest on her shoulder.

Satisfying his urge to kiss her with another long drag on the joint.

taglist

@thereisaplaceintheheart

@indierockgirrl

@sofaritsalrightt

@julezs-bl0g

-let me know if you want to be added :)

[whimpers-and-whumpers]

I had the wildest, whumpiest dream last night. I was having some sort of medical emergency and didn't have the strength to get to the normal ER. The closest hospital that I could get to and the only one I could get to without dying before I got there, was a WRU pet hospital.

They had me sign a bunch of forms. I thought that it was just permission to treat and maybe an NDA. A week later, when I was almost ready to go home, they told me that I had signed the forms to be WRU property as a pet. I argued that it was under duress, that it would never hold up in court, etc, but then they started calculating how much I owed them for the medical treatment and hospital stay, and how the insurance would cover zero because it wasn't an approved hospital.

So I said yes. I figured I would go on the Drip and forget, and because WRU's marketing/propaganda deptartment is great at their jobs, I figured it wouldn't be that bad.

Then it turned out that when I was in the hospital, unconscious, one of their clients was there to check on one of his pets who he had injured very, very badly. And he put in a ridiculously expensive offer on the spot for me, under one stipulation: that I would remember everything-- that I would never go on the Drip.

As soon as I was told this, I started fighting back HARD. Anything I could do to make it harder on the people who worked there, I would do. Until eventually, I cracked. I was starved, and beaten, and patched, and hit with electric batons, and finally I started to crack. I would do what they told me in the most malicious compliance way, until they started the punishments again. And I realized that they were going to keep doing this until I submitted completely, and that I would do that long before they would relent or fuck up and kill me.

So after a few months, I acted like the perfect pet. I knew all the positions, I kept my head down, I would do whatever they said without a moment's hesitation. I had all the tools I needed to get out-- I remembered my old life, I could read, I could argue that the original contract was invalid, I even knew a lawyer. But they had broken me piece by piece so that even without the Drip, I was terrified of stepping out of line.

The man-- my new owner-- also insisted on picking me up himself. I was packed in the trunk of his car, only to be taken out about half an hour later, where I was tied up and placed into a ferry. His home was on a very isolated island, with no way off but his own personal ferry. And I realized that this wouldbbe my life forever.

He turned to me just in time to see all of my hope crumble. He laughed, pressed a hard kiss to my lips, and then whispered 'welcome home'.

[itsawhumpsideblog]

The Safehouse, pt. 1

Had some ideas, thought I'd start writing. Here goes, I guess?

CW: for institutionalized slavery, mentions of abuse, treatment of people as things

The call came on their anachronistic landline while Angie was washing the dishes and it made her jump. She wanted to grab it right away, but she was in soap suds up to her elbows and had only gotten as far as toweling dry when Tim came skidding around the corner and grabbed the receiver off it's hook.

"Hello?" he asked, breathlessly, as though anyone else would call on that line. Parents and friends would have texted their individual phones; this phone could only ring for one purpose.

Angie finished drying her arms and walked over to lean against the wall, hoping to hear some of the conversation instead of waiting for Tim to hang up and relay the information. To her disappointment, he did a lot of listening and very little talking and there wasn't much she could glean until he thanked the person on the other end and turned to her.

"Well?" she asked anxiously.

Tim sucked in a deep breath as if steeling himself for something serious, which was more or less the case. "They're sending us three of them," he said. "Our contact says we should expect them to arrive tomorrow. They'll be delivered by WRU employees, so don't be surprised by the method of delivery, but he promised the abolitionists falsified records somewhere to get them sent here- no money changed hands. He was very clear about that."

It was no good asking who the contact was or how the delivery orders had been created. For the safety of the whole network, they would never know.

"We'd better get ready," Angie said needlessly. They had a checklist, but it made her feel better- more prepared- to say it out loud. "We'll have to make the beds, make sure we have food they can eat- did they say anything about allergies?"

"No, nothing." They knew better than to ask about preferences. The rescued box boys likely wouldn't be able to have preferences for some time, or at least not express them.

"So beds, food, soap and shampoo for their bathroom, fresh towels." Angie counted items on her fingers. "They'll need clothes- did they give you any information about sizes?"

Tim shook his head. "Just said they were coming tomorrow and that there were three of them- all men. They'll be with us permanently, until they're rehabbed well enough to live independently or in a halfway house. They're-" he winced slightly at the next phrase "-'second hand' so we should be prepared for them to be in... pretty bad shape. Maybe very bad. Our contact didn't know." Tim's voice had gone very quiet as he spoke and he was looking at his shoes.

Angie nodded. "We'll do everything we can," she said. "Do you want to split up and go shopping separately? Get it done faster?"

"Can I go with you?" Tim asked. He looked up at her through his bangs, smiling sheepishly. "I'm- I'm a little nervous. I didn't think I would be. But it would help to go together, maybe talk things over on the way."

"Of course," Angie said. "We can go together if you want. We should get started."

"I'll put my shoes on." Tim went to the front hall and returned a minute later wearing sneakers and a hoodie against the cold weather. He pulled keys out of the pocket and they let themselves out of the single-family home and got in the car parked out front.

The house was not really theirs and neither was the car; Angie and Tim had only known each other for a few weeks and both felt that it would be a while yet before they were comfortable living and working together. They had been paired up after training, a mostly-virtual affair offered in secret and only after volunteers had passed several levels of security and background checks and the like. The abolitionists could not afford to operate too overtly, but they managed to create and staff safehouses and Angie and Tim, along with others they would never meet, had been deemed to posses the qualities necessary to help rehabilitate rescued box boys.

And now, as of tomorrow morning, they would be the caretakers for three young men rescued from... whatever it was that WRU had done to them.

The pairing seemed to have been well made, or at least Angie and Tim thought it was. They had quickly become comfortable with each other and Angie's organized, energetic determination was a useful foil to Tim's quiet, gentle nature. She looked around and saw what needed to be done; his strength was in finding the right way to do it.

As they passed through stores, they talked and debated and made choices as if intentionally demonstrating these choices. It was Angie who steered them directly to the linens and quickly put her hand to the best financial choices, while Tim made sure the items were available in different colors and patterns, so that the new arrivals would each have something to call their own. Later, he ensured that the towels did not match the bedsheets, so the young men would not feel color-coded. Thanks to Angie, they kept the whole thing under-budget. "That leaves more," she said, "that we can spend on them later, when we know what they need."

That night, they ate pizza and stayed up until the early hours setting up the bedroom and bathroom. There was a bunkbed and another single bed to match it, mattresses to haul upstairs and put on the beds, a bathtub to wash out and curtains to hang. The house had come partially furnished, but they had expected more time to get it ready.

No matter, though. By the time they went to their own rooms to sleep, they felt confident that they were ready for the new arrivals.

Next time: a knock on the door and the population of the house grows.

Master Post

[whumperwithwings]

BBU Community days April 16th/day 3: Rules

Words: Just over 500

Content: institutionalized slavery, BBU, oblivious whumper, experienced whumpee, lady whumper, self-deprecation for like one sentence, I think that’s it but tell me if I need to add anything else pls

“Okay. If we’re going to have a good time together, we’re going to lay down some ground rules.” The young lady in front of her new pet said, dressed in a white skirt and too-big pink sweater while she loomed over him, her long blonde hair drooping in front of her face.

“Yes, master.” The pet replied from where he kneeled on the floor, the box he had came in behind him. While probably years older than her, he had the air of meekness that was common for a pet that had been in the system for a long time.

“First off, can you ple-” She started to politely make a request of him, before stopping herself abruptly. “Stop calling me master. It sounds like you just got here five minutes ago and are still pre-programmed.”

Ignoring the fact that he had, indeed, just gotten here five minutes ago and was still pre-programmed, he dutifully replied “Yes, Ma’am.” She then immediately made a noise of disgust, prompting the pet to flinch away from her.

That was probably a bad noise, the pet thought to himself, thinking of a million things she might do to a pet that disgusted her not ten minutes after the men from the WRU left to go deliver other pets to their forever homes. If I were a better pet, I wouldn’t cause her to make such a bad noise.

“My gosh, that’s even worse!” She exclaimed, standing up straight “Don’t ever call me that. Call me… Miss. Miss is good.” Her voice took on a tone that was trying to be authoritative, while she used her entire five foot tall self to look down at the man kneeling beneath her.

“Yes, Miss”

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s do the other rules. No getting on the furniture without permission, no opening the fridge or the cabinets unless I tell you to, don’t touch my artwork under any circumstances, not even in a life-or-death situation, don’t interrupt me while I’m sleeping, what was the other one…” She trailed off, while the pet was relieved at the simplicity of her ruleset. He had rules similar to those before, and was prepared to deal with simple things like them.

His new master (Mistress? The pet wasn’t entirely sure) suddenly shot up, pointing two fingers in the air. “I remember! Wait here one second.” She said before rushing off, leaving the pet to obediently wait for her to come back. She did so a few minutes later, holding a box with wording he couldn’t make out on the sides.

“Sorry if it took me long, but my mom sent me this!” She said before pulling a pink piece of leather that the pet recognized instantly out of the box. “It’s in my favorite color, it’s very high quality, it even has your new name sewn onto it! Isn’t that nice?” She asked, seeming very pleased with the collar that her mother had brought.

“The last rule that I have: wear this at all times. That way, other people know that you belong to me!”

[stormyoceans]

>WHEN THERE WERE VERY STRONG EVIDENCE OF IT HAPPENING

wru talking about love? what happened in the spring?

well okay perhaps 'strong evidence' may have been just a bit of an overstatement BUT STILL. I STAND BY WHAT I SAID THE SIGNS WERE SIGNING AT THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR AND IF ONCE IS AN ACCIDENT TWICE IS A COINCIDENCE AND THREE TIMES IS A PATTERN THEN FOUR TIMES IS A FREE PASS FOR DELULULAND

okay so. im gonna start with a little premise: nomnoms have believed that jimmysea would get the ทำนายทายทัพ adaptation since we realized they were going to work with p'aof way back in november 2022, and that's because the novel can be seen in bad buddy ep 12 and because around that time both jimmy and sea liked a tweet that compared them to the characters (remember when we could see everyone's likes on the bird app? those were the times for delusional people). in the end we got last twilight, but during the final episode event, jimmy said that he thought he was gonna act in another project

after that we honestly got a lot of suspicious stuff, such as this interaction between jimmysea and the last twilight admin while promoting the flirting syndrome MV:

jimmy also used the 🔮 emoji in one of his mirror selfie with sea and I SWEAR TO YOU i remember so clearly to have seen a tweet where p’aof said that for his next series he would go back to the mountains, but sadly i have never found that post again ;;;;;;;;

speaking of mountains, at the end of 2023 jimmysea + p'aof and a few other people (namtan, arm, sing) [who are all gonna be at the GMMTV 2025 event may i add] went on a trip to chiang mai, which i mean. it could have definitely been just a vacation, but you know what chiang mai has? A LOT OF NICE SPOTS FOR A POSSIBLE SERIES ABOUT A DOCTOR AND A FORTUNE TELLER HIDING IN THE MOUNTAINS

and okay i know this all sounds like a crazy conspiracy theory kind of talk BUT. isn't it a bit too much of a coincidence that p'aof took a break from filming exactly during the time jimmysea were going to be unavailable?????? MUCH TO THINK ABOUT

[justplainwhump]

Bull

Meet B's opponent in his first big fight.

[Dany: Fighting Ring Arc]

This is adapted from an RP with @hackles-up, my beloved B (Beast) is her character.

Content / warnings: illegal fights, forced to fight, threats of noncon, humiliation and dehumanisation, broken bone, shock collar, whumpee x caretaker, bad guy pov. BBU setting implied.

Today's arena was impressive; even though it was as improvised as they all were. Set in the old sports area of an abandoned factory's rooming house, the organizers had invested in quite a bit of equipment and service to make the venue memorable.

Large stage lighting systems were installed on the long sides of the pool, spotlights that would later illuminate the fighting pit on the bottom of the empty pool now dancing over the expectant audience, the caterers flitting between them, and the fighters preparing in a cordoned-off area opposite the entrance.

Bull stood in the fighter's area with crossed arms, his back to the wall, the size of the empty half circle around him a good indicator for the respect he'd earned himself over the past years. He was a favorite; his owner's, but also, the crowd's. Every now and then one of the guests in their suits or evening wear would step in closer to the cordon, look at him, and nod contently before they pulled out their wallets and turned towards the betting stations. He allowed himself a short smile. More money meant more clout, meant more rewards. Bull had started as a desperate street fighter, but he had worked himself up to his own room in his master's house, his own chef, his own physical therapist.

Only thing he'd ceased getting, something other Dogs had, were Chewtoys.

Bull went through them too quickly, Master had said. He'd have to wait for the fights. It was an unspoken law, that everyone who set up an opponent for Bull, everyone who wanted to challenge the champion, added a prize for him as well. He hadn't seen tonight's one, yet. Not that it mattered much. He'd win. He always did. And after, there'd be someone scared and warm waiting for his cock.

Usually, these prizes were runaways, gathered from the street, or discount pets after a third or fourth refurb. Skinny, scarred, pathetic. Most weren't even Romantics. Didn't matter. Bull didn't want to be seduced.

They rarely made it long. Sometimes, spectators of the fights would pay Bull's master extra, to let them watch the aftermath. In those cases, they did last longer. Bull knew how to give a spectacle.

He figured they'd want a spectacle tonight, as well. Bull was the headliner, scheduled for the last fight of the night - as always -, but this time, they pitted him against fresh meat. One of Hank's, this place's head operator's, latest findings. The man was good at spotting potential; but setting his latest toy up against Bull in his very first fight? Risky, to say the least.

From the corner of his eye, Bull saw one of Hank's trainers pointing at him. Ryder. Arrogant, overpriced ass who wouldn't last a second in the pit himself. Only thing he could achieve was mess with WRU products conditioned minds. His Master had brought Ryder in as a trainer for Bull once, because he was meant to be the best. Hadn't worked out well. Bull didn't fight because of weird WRU drugs messing up his brain. Bull fought because he wanted to. Because fighting opened doors for him. Because he couldn't just do whatever he wanted, but was celebrated for it, revered even. His Master had a claim on him, sure, but both Bull and him knew, he could walk away whenever he wanted. He just didn't want it.

Bull's gaze rested on the Dog next to Ryder. Curious, that Hank let Ryder train the newbie. Quite the investment into someone who'd be obliterated. He watched the new Dog with a glint of lazy interest. Big, just like Bull himself. Lot slimmer around the waist, though. Built to be not only strong, but pretty, too. He was younger than Bull, but far older than the usual fresh meat they'd throw on the market.

And obviously pumped on drugs. Bull smirked and gestured at his trainer. Well then. He'd match that. His trainer raced to his side with a drinking bottle. Filled with the good juice. Bull took a big gulp. "What's that guy's story?"

"They call him the Beast. Runaway WRU they found on the trash and built up again."

"Guessed as much."

"There's more though. Something you should know."

"Hm?"

"Bait's his girlfriend."

Bull chuckled. "Pathetic. Dogs don't do relationships." 
"Maybe he's an unusual one. He's going to want to defend her."

Bull watched the pet from hard eyes. "I'll keep him alive then. Let him watch."

The trainer tilted his head, but his reply was drowned out in booming music, tuning over into an announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen! We have a great line up for you tonight, so get those bets in and let’s get this show on the road!”

The new Dog startled at the noise and the following roar of the crowd.

Bull chuckled half to himself. This would be easy. Still. He could make it easier still.

"Where is that prize?" Bull asked, over the cheer of the audience, unfazed by the noise. It would grow a lot louder, when he came up, later. "Get her here. Pay someone if you must. Gonna push some buttons before we're on."

His glance followed the trainer, wandering over the spectators, who cheered as the first fighters of the day were let down into the ring.

There he was, the ring's manager, Hank, standing next to his boss in the first row.

By their side, kept on a short leash, knelt a young woman in a tight black catsuit, her face pressed against Hank's leg.

From the distance, Bull saw Hank shake his head. His boss put a hand on Hank's arm, saying something into his ear, that caused Hank to lift his arm and throw an with an indignant gesture at Bull.

Bull grinned. He always got what he wanted. He made the money tonight, after all.

It was thrilling, to see the bristling Hank stomp towards him, the bait dragged behind him, struggling to keep his pace as she crawled on all fours.

The girl could've been conventionally attractive, Bull guessed, if that was what one was into. Tall, skinny, soft, cute little cat ears nestled in her short hair. She was also humiliated, terrified, and drugged just enough to make that terror plain obvious but render her unable to do anything. That certainly was something Bull was into. He smiled, flashing all his sharpened teeth.

"Don't do anything stupid, Bull." Hank kept the girl on a tight leash, as he arrived just on the other side of the cordon. It wasn't only rope keeping them in, though.

Circuits were embedded in the floor, that would set off the collar of any Dog who crossed it before the time for their fights. Bull knew precisely where these are, and how to avoid them when he sauntered towards her.

He grinned, ignoring Hank's speech.

He could swear the bait was shivering already.

"So, Kitty," he snarled instead, making sure the new guy overheard. "I hear you're used to taking Dog cock?"

It was enough already. From the side, he heard an animalistic roar, alarmed screams from the handlers.

The new guy was lunging forward, gnashing his teeth together, all but dragging the two handlers desperately trying to pull back his leash.

"Dany!" His voice was harsh and raw.

"Dany," Bull all but purred. "They give names to the fucktoys? What a waste."

"Beastie! Stay!" Ryder was running towards his charge.

"Catch poles! Get the catch poles-" Hank yelled orders at the handlers.

The commotion in the fighters' area had stirred the audience, enough for their attention to shift from the fight down in the pit to tonight's main contestants. Murmurs and laughter erupted, even a cheer or two for Bull.

He grinned, taking in his surroundings.

Hank had pushed himself between the Fighters and the girl.

Not far enough though.

At the other end of the area, the WRU pet had shaken off the handlers trying to pull him back and charged towards Bull, letting out a guttural roar.

Bull knew exactly where he could step, and his arms were long enough. His left arm pushed Hank away, his right wrapped around the girl's leash and yanked.

The whore wouldn't have been any match for him in any state. Drugged as she was, she all but fell right into his arms with a hoarse scream, just as he spun back towards the charging idiot, the girl pressed firmly against his front, right in the Beast's path.

The other stopped dead in his tracks, inches in front of them.

"Easy, buddy," Bull taunted. "We're not on yet."

It sounded like the fight had been interrupted down in the pit. All eyes were on them now. Perfect.

Bull fastened his hold of the fucktoy, acknowledging the press of her warm, tense body against his, her frantic heartbeat against his chest, that caused a pleasant stir in his groin. She'd be fun, later. He leaned in the slightest bit, licked a slow, long strip over her neck, making sure his sharpened teeth caught the light just right.

"You've fucked her before, too, haven't you? Don't you think I too deserve a taste of what I fight for?"

"Bull," Hank hissed. "Step down."

Bull ignored him easily. Hank would acknowledge the rustle of bills around him just as much as Bull did. And even if he didn't - Hank's own boss sure did. All attention was good attention.

The other Fighter took another slow, predatory step towards Bull.

Behind him catch poles were silently, hastily being snatched up. Fingers hovered over controllers. Nobody dared to make a move though. It seemed as if everyone held their breath.

Then, the wannabe-Beast lunged forward, eyes glaring with unbridled fury, his first crashing towards Bull's face.

He had no idea what he was getting himself into. Too bad for him that Bull did.

The bitch screamed, when the pet's fist came crashing towards her. Bull had to leave it to his opponent - he was fast. Good to know. No chance for Bull to wrestle his girl in the line of attack, just to throw himself back and dodge. The "Beast"'s fist brushed over Bull's cheek, but failed to fully connect.

Before he could even withdraw his arm, his eyes widened. His body spasmed. He fell over like a felled tree.

For the tight fracture of a second, Bull expected a shock of his own. None came. So he just watched his opponent crumble in front of him. The whore's heart against him was racing, her shiver a tantalizing distraction on Bull's skin. He gently lowered his mouth over her neck, pulse under his enforced teeth. Her breath stilled. As did the audience's.

"Intermission," the announcer's voice crackled over the speakers. "We've decided to interupt tonight's program, and pull forward our main fight. Please, refill your drinks, adjust your bets, and be ready to see Bull vs Beast, starting in no less than five minutes!"

Bull locked gaze with his Master, in the first row, slight panic in his eyes, gesturing for him to let go. Bull rolled his eyes. Idiot. As if Bull would risk disqualification like that.

He slowly pulled back from her neck, felt the tension of the audience dissolve, just like his Master's.

"I'll finish with you soon enough," he murmured into the whore's hair, loud enough for those spectators around him to brighten up in anticipation.

"Fighters, step back," another announcement cracked.

Bull nodded his head in faux deference and set the prize down to her feet, ready to toss her back to Hank.

Not without a little signature, though.

A slight twist of his arm was all it took.

He felt her bone shift under her skin, heard it crack, just as he let go of her with a swift push.

She landed in a heap in front of Hank's feet, screaming in pain.

*

The audience slowly retreated, ushered back by Hank's security. Handlers rushed in to look after Hank's sorry ruffled Beastie, already sitting up, pale from the shock's aftermath, rendered unable to do anything but growl. What a throwback for the upcoming fight these shocks would prove to be.

Bull's own trainer appeared by his side with a bag of ice for his face, and he reached out to take it. 
His gaze rested on Hank though, and he relished the way the manager's lip formed an asshole. He'd never say it out loud, though. Hank knew where his boss' money came from.

And so he seethed in furious silence as he signalled for a medic to look after his pathetic fucktoy's broken arm.

"Waste of time," Bull mouthed, grinning at Hank and lifting a finger to draw a line across his throat. "She's done. They both are."


----

Dany tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @distinctlywhumpthing @Whumping-on-the-ridge @queenofthenoobs @ocean-blue-whump

[whumpcereal]

Hi! I absolutely LOVE your writing, I’ve reread both Behavior Modification and The Kennel more times than I can count and I am always devour your posts whenever you make them. You really have an incredible way with words, characters, and whump, and it’s absolutely INCREDIBLE. One thing I think you also do really well—and which I’d like to ask for some pointers on, if it’s not too much trouble—is writing Ivan’s perspective in a way that effectively portrays him as downright despicable, but also complex, engaging, and believable. I want only horrible things to befall him, but I do enjoy the parts of Behavior Modification that are written in his POV as much as the others, and I think it really adds to the work! There’s a part of my (private, unposted, never to see the light of day) story coming up that absolutely has to be written from the villain’s perspective or it’ll spoil a big twist. I’m not used to hanging out in my bad guys’ brains, though. It feels much easier to focus on the victims and their emotions, which are much more understandable and ofc more sympathetic. How do I give my awful bastard a feeling of depth and authenticity when I feel like I can’t relate to pretty much anything he thinks, says, or does? (For all that I do technically dictate his atrocities for that good whump…)

Hello, kind anon!

First of all, THANK YOU! I am going through a big dry spell with my writing right now, and I appreciate all of your kind words more than you can possibly know. Impostor syndrome is real, and we all need reminders to help us feel a little bit more confident, so--thank you so much for that. <3

Second, I think, when it comes to writing villains, the most important thing is remembering that they are their own heroes. Ivan is a shit, yes, but he believes in his own scientific mission, he believes that he has been wronged by Joe, and he believes that he is helping Jack fulfill a destiny that he might have missed. Ivan is just an instrument of science; this is what Jack was always meant for; and Joe deserves the pain of watching Jack fall away because he is the bad guy for not having given Ivan what he wanted back in the day.

If you find your villain's rational motivation for being a villain--for Ivan, it's science and little petty revenge; for Doc, it's a delusion that he's helping people who would otherwise be forgotten and doing it better than WRU--it's easier to write them with complexity. Your readers know your villain is awful, but your villains don't! Why didn't Joe love Ivan? Why didn't Doc's wife understand his rescue operation? They're just people out there peopling, and why doesn't everyone get what it is they're trying to do?

Real people who do bad things--unless there is something very specific amiss in their mental chemistry--sometimes don't understand why what they're doing is so bad. Sometimes they feel remorse too. But their behavior is driven by extremes that I think they either aren't entirely aware of or would believe are beyond their control. They aren't cartoon characters, and perhaps they aren't even inherently evil, but they are deeply flawed.

TL; DR--humanize your villains and see where it leads you.

[letstalkwhump]

Let's Talk Whump No. 10

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community. I’m Malice and I’ll be your host. 

Today we have @suspicious-pools-of-blood joining us to share his whump story!

Tell us a fact or two about yourself!

I'm a butch (he/him) and I enjoy rock climbing, leatherworking, and losing my entire goddamn mind over Xena: Warrior Princess. 

What does whump mean to you? 

To me it can range anywhere from a trope to a vibe involving some kind of hurt. I definitely consider angst to be whump.

How did you find the whump community? 

It was actually very straightforward; I was up one night and the word "whump" kept rattling around my brain, I'd probably seen it tagging a fanfic at some point, but I didn't know what it meant, so I looked it up and found a definition followed by the Tumblr community. Specifically, it was albino-whumpee's writing that came up, so I was introduced to whump and box boys and WRU all at once. I stayed up all night reading their stuff and then made a sideblog and dove in, dragging my OCs down with me. 

Do you think your views on whump has changed? Maybe the way you consume whump media?

This community was basically my first foray into reading original fiction online instead of just fanfic, and now that's definitely what I read most.

Favourite whump trope?

One of my favorite tropes is carewhumpers--not of the bad caretaker variety, but more whumpers who don't let whumpee have any caretaker but whumper themself. Relatedly, I like captor bonding (not sure if that's an actual term, but that's what I call it because the term Stockholm syndrome has a super gross history), as well as intimate whumpers, nsfwhump/noncon/dubcon, slavery, power imbalances, etc. Also a big fan of a whumpee who internalizes their hurt hard enough to become a whumper against a new whumpee, continuing the cycle of violence and abuse rather than the typical whumped-turned-whumper trope where the two characters just switch roles. I really like the mental/emotional side of whump, seeing how both whumper and whumpee feel about what's happening, why whumper does what they do, and how the whump changes both of them as people.

And your favourite piece you've written? 

Really hard to pick, but currently I'll have to go with Not You Too and its companion piece Wish . It's more angst than any physical whump, but it's an important piece for developing and understanding the psyche of my main character.

What's your writing style like? 

Oh man, calling myself out here on this one. Don't be like me, kids. Often times I find that not being sober helps me get over mental blocks that prevent me from getting the words onto the page. It depends on what I'm writing, but usually a couple bourbon old fashioneds or an edible get me into the mood to write, night time, lights off, candle lit on my desk, relevant OC or WIP playlist playing. I'm trying to get better about that though because needing to be intoxicated to write is not good. I try to write regularly but usually I just end up sitting in front of my Notion board for hours on end while procrastinating on work I should be doing.

Is there anything you struggle with writing?

Cisheterosexuality is fuckin impossible for me to write.  I have no experience with it so I'm profoundly confused when I have to write about it for plot reasons

Is there anything you're working on at the moment?

The current piece I'm working on is my main character's first time sleeping with another woman. I am, if nothing else, committed to realism in writing, so I did spend more time than I wanted to today remembering my own first time and cringing but hey, at least I got the vibe!

Do you have any writing advice?

Make some lil guys and rotate them in your mind; literally no one can stop you

Shout out time!

@winedark-whumpk-whump has some truly fantastic stories and was really encouraging when I was struggling with engagement and feeling self-conscious about my original content.

Anything you'd like to add? 

Thank you so much for this interview, this was lots of fun!

Thank you for joining us, @suspicious-pools-of-bloodod ! It was great to have you here!

And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

[a-whump-muffin]

bad apple!! (1)

I’ve finally finished enough of this new bbu story to show the world!

bad apple!! is the story of a former trainee and former handler, both on the run from WRU for the last eight years. This piece focuses on their unconventional relationship, and the very real concern the people around them have regarding it…

CW: box boy universe, condescending and unhelpful caretaking, references to violence, murder, and self-harm

---

“You couldn’t have possibly chosen him of your own free will.”

Nate despises those words.

“No,” he says each time, barely able to stop himself from snapping. If he’s too defensive, they’ll dismiss him without a second thought. He suffocates the anger stirring in his chest before it crawls up his throat, each and every time. “I know exactly who I fell in love with.”

He can never find the words to convince them. In their eyes, they only see a broken man who had been a boy when his entire life was stolen from him. In their eyes, Nate will never be fully in control of his own fate. The memories that were stolen from him will never return and the pain he suffered while collared like an animal will always cloud his decisions.

It’s the most infuriating part of the pet liberation movement. No matter the pretty words they use, they clearly don’t see him as their equal. The rescues don’t always understand, either.

However, Nate can understand their concerns. He has grown used to deflecting them. He is used to having to prove his own competence. What he hates, and can’t forgive as easily, is when people like Stefan say those words where Roy can hear them.

“I don’t need people telling me who to love,” Nate says with a hint of scorn.

“That’s the point,” Stefan tries to convince him. “The handlers do it on purpose. They make themselves the center of your world, make you willing to do anything and everything to please them. You know how this works. Just think about it for a second!”

Nate shakes his head. If he had anything in his hands, he would have thrown it across the room in frustration. It’s not fair that he has to swallow his anger until it burns. 

He doesn’t know how to explain that he fell in love with Roy at his worst, long before he ever saw a glimpse of his gentle and considerate side. He fell in love with the man who didn’t so much as flinch when his colleague bled out in front of him, who is willing to dirty his hands again and again to earn their freedom.

Roy, who was supposed to destroy every last part of him but reminded him of the man he killed long after his name and memories were wiped from his head. He didn’t remind him as a form of punishment.

“Remember you killed someone,” he’d whispered at least once a day, out of sight of the surveillance cameras and too soft for his voice to be picked up. “Hold onto that feeling. And, one day, when you need it most…

“Don’t hesitate.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Nate says, finally irritated enough by the baseless accusations. He tries to keep his voice level. “You don’t know Roy. Yes, Roy, not ‘the handler’. He has a name, too.”

“You-”

“No, you listen to me.” Nate’s voice turns cold enough to startle, and Stefan has the sense to be wary.

He is reminded of something else Roy once told him, before they ran, before running was even a possibility.

“You and I, we’re not so different.” Roy was always quiet when he said those words. A distant, troubled look would cloud his eyes. He would never elaborate. Later, Nate knew what he meant without being told.

“Roy has risked more than you know to keep everyone safe.” Nate takes a deep breath. He is sick to his stomach with the knowledge that Roy can hear everything they’re saying. “He’s done some awful things in the past, and what he does now can’t make up for it. But he’s not asking for your, or anyone else’s, forgiveness. Who I choose to love, and choose to forgive, is my own business.”

Nate doesn’t let Stefan have the last word. He stalks away before the man can respond, effectively ending the conversation. He probably hasn’t convinced him in the slightest, but Nate feels better for having said it

He heads straight for the room he has been sharing with Roy, who treats it like solitary confinement. No one is forcing him to stay, but it’s also unbearably awkward for everyone involved when he shows his face around the common areas.

Nate finds him sitting against the wall next to the door.

“You heard all that,” Nate says apologetically, leaning down to tug Roy to his feet and off the floor. He follows without protest. Nate avoids his hands, which might still be sensitive from the night before when he scrubbed so hard he made himself bleed.

“He’s not entirely wrong.” Roy’s voice is soft but not uncertain, just a little tired. Nate makes him sit on the edge of the futon and stares until they meet each other’s eyes.

“Don’t say that,” Nate says, heart heavy with regret and affection towards this man who has probably defied all of his expectations for a life partner. He is sure that the boy he was would never have imagined himself with a guy like Roy. “Like I said, no one has a right to tell me who to love. Not even you.”

Roy’s eyes flicker with a bit of warmth. His lips twitch upwards in a half smile. He winds his fingers between Nate’s, and he sees now that Roy has been picking at the bandages. It’s a nervous habit, but Nate is relieved to see that Roy is comfortable enough to let him see it.

“Alright,” Roy says mildly. “I won’t argue with you.”

Nate rolls his eyes.

“I love you of my own free will,” he insists, careful not to squeeze his hands too hard. “I don’t appreciate people telling me that what we have isn’t real.”

He knows it’s real, not only because of his own feelings on the matter or the way Roy leans in to capture his lips in a kiss filled with just enough heat to steal his breath away.

The bandages are rough under his fingers. He traces the frayed edges gently with his thumbs.

If Roy didn’t love him, he wouldn’t tear himself apart doing all these jobs he hates. Roy became a handler to escape the family business. He had wanted a “normal” life - or as close to one as he could get.

Nate took that away from him. 

“They’re your family,” he’d said, once, when he’d had enough of seeing Roy’s hands tremble long after he came back from one of those jobs. Like every other time, he refused to explain why it left him so shaken. “Won’t they understand if you need a break? Or want to do something else?”

“Everything has a price,” Roy had said, as if it was an unshakable truth. “It’s just a matter of how much you’re willing to pay for what you want.”

Roy isn’t a good person. His family is probably way worse. 

Still, Nate doesn’t believe that they’re as uncaring and cruel to their own as Roy makes them out to be. He has overheard Roy’s conversations with his older brother and the light banter between them doesn’t sound like they don’t care about each other. His brother knows about Nate, and even asks about him sometimes. 

Roy reads into every remark and question his brother makes as a threat. Nate doesn’t know if it’s true or if Roy is just being paranoid.

The other pet lib members think he’s a ticking time bomb. That might very well be the case, but Nate knows he is more of a threat to himself than anyone else. 

“Don’t listen to them,” Nate reiterates. “I know what I want.”

[theheightofdishonor]

BL/QL Ask game : The Ugly, the Bad and the Worst

by @clara-maybe-ontheroad

This looked fun and it's been a second since i've talked on Tumblr about what i've been watching.

The categories are :

Worst soundtrack / weirdest song choice in a BL

Anytime they’ve made First Kanaphan sing. This includes Moonlight Chicken’s theme song, it includes Only Friends and it includes the Eclipse OS. The boy’s already talented as hell, why must he also be forced to sing?

Most cringe-inducing line (cute)

Gun’s roar in My School President. It’s adorable but it makes me cringe

Most cringe-inducing line (actually bad)

I was going to try to name scenes I hadn't done before but the bathtub scene in VV is still unmatched. For those of you who haven't watched the show, there’s this scene early on in Vice Versa where they’re sitting in a bathtub and Puen’s like “oh your heart looks like it’s been unused, let me wipe away the dust from it” and it’s so cringe, to the point that I still remember it vividly. I also think of this as the point where the show took a turn for the worse. My household refers to it daily.

Most stupid decision made by a character

When Wen Kexing decided to fake his death and expected Zhou Zishu to just shrug and move on with his life. What a fucking dumbass.

Worst plot line

In Tharntype 2 when Type made that whole plot to kidnap Fiat and make him think he’s going to be raped. It was so out-of-pocket and made Type’s character 10x worse than he’d ever been.

The most problematic show you've watched

Recently? I watched Double Mints which isn't a show but is ql. It was great, very fun.

A show people love but you find bad

2gether is bland and boring, I said what I said. But that's a basic opinion to have on tumblr so I'll admit to finding La Pluie boring. I tried to like it, I really did but it's a no. I also couldn't get into GAP the series which was devastating.

A show people find bad but you will defend

SCOY ofc is excellent. I have seen people criticize aspects of Bed Friend and I think that show was very good for the most part.

A show that is just objectively bad but you enjoyed it

The Shipper just is genuinely a bad show. I'd go as far to say that it's malicious though perhaps not intentionally so. Regardless, I did very much enjoy it. Tharntype too.

A bad show that you kept watching because you were intrigued/fascinated

Oh there's a lot I could name for this. VV obviously. 609 bedtime story wasn't necessarily bad but it was mediocre and disappointing so I suppose that counts. I liked the concept of My Sweet Dear, enemies to lovers is always my jam, especially when it's food-related but it wasn't that good.

A bad show that you kept watching because you were horny

Tharntype and WRU?. I didn't initially plan on watching either but I was so desperate after BBS to find something with good chemistry and I heard these had that so.

A bad show that you kept watching because of that one character

I watched the entirety of I Will Knock You because I was charmed by Noey.

The character that ruined a show the most

Puen in VV is still my least favourite love interest ever in a ql but Mork from FUTS also comes close.

Most awful character that you hated

The stepbrother from history 4. I like a good toxic relationship and obsessive love interests but he was too much even for me. (though as is the way of things, i think i've become slightly more fond of him over time, why am i like this).

Most awful character that you loved

Everyone in Only Friends, especially Nick. And the office worker Mitsuo from Double Mints. And Type from Tharntype. I like awful characters sometimes, alright.

A character that wasn't awful but that you just don't like

Neungdiao and Palm from Never Let Me Go both intensely irritated me for different reasons. This next one is also going to be unpopular but I couldn't stand Techno in Tharntype either.

A hero that should have been a villain

I'm still annoyed that Kinn turned into a classic bl protagonist midway through instead of staying terrible. Also Mork is a villain and should be treated as such.

A morally bad character you're into

Charn from Laws of Attraction is so my type that my wife laughed and called me predictable.

A morally bad character you're not into and you wish people would stop being into

I honestly don't care what other people are into but I find Vegas from KP overrated.

The show that disappointed you the most

Recently, Step By Step. I had very high hopes for that show. I've also given up on Dangerous Romance and have very little hopes that it can redeem itself.

The Worst Show of Them All Because of Your Own Reasons

The Bad Buddy Our Skyy eps. It's the one show that I 100% wish I had never saw. Did irreparable damage.

Well on that note, this was super fun to fill out. I'd tag people but I don't think i'm familiar enough with the ql community here on tumblr to do so.