#imperfect whumpee

[ashintheairlikesnow]

💊 Forced to swallow pills - Kauri

CW: Drug use, drunkenness/alcohol use, dubcon, Kauri's Poor Life Choices

-

No one even tells him what it is before there's a hand at his mouth and then a cup to his lips, liquid forcing something smooth and small down his throat as he reflexively swallows.

Kauri doesn't ask, either.

He doesn't even care.

He just coughs against the burn of the sickly-sweet liquor, apple-flavored vodka that tastes like those hard candies he sucks on sometimes when his panhandling isn't going well and he can't afford dinner.

The whole reason he came here is because they'd promised him free pizza, and they definitely kept that promise. He'd eaten plenty earlier, and then there's been some fooling around, and now there was some kind of movie night and potentially an orgy? He hasn't figured out if there's going to be an orgy yet.

In training, there had been some, sometimes. He remembers how it felt to have them all around him, some trainees like him, some demo pets to help them learn, handlers directing all the action, grabbing and jerking and slapping.

Kauri had aced the orgies.

At least, until Owen found out he was being trained for them and put a stop to it, because he wanted his little pet to only ever pine for him. Kauri had missed getting to see the other trainees, whisper to them, hear news or just talk to someone who felt as bad as he did.

But he doesn't feel bad right now.

He's already drunk, and he thinks a little high just from the smoke in the air in the small room, the press of bodies around him. No one's doing anything, really - just laying here for now, with a movie playing to no one in particular in the corner. Maybe some people are wearing less clothing than they should, but that's normal.

He keeps seeing Vincent fucking Shield on the screen, making serious faces while solving a mystery. Vincent fucking Shield, smiling brightly and kissing a woman with false passion, and Kauri wonders if he'd kissed Owen like that, ever.

Every time he feels himself getting angry about Vincent fucking Shield and his perfect fucking movie-star life, he takes another drink, or runs his hand up someone's thigh, or lets someone kiss him with their own vodka-soaked tongue sliding into his mouth.

Maybe there isn't an orgy.

Maybe Kauri is the orgy by himself.

He can handle that.

He's seated on the floor, between some stranger's spread legs, the denim of the guy's jeans bookending him, seams rubbing rough against his bare arms. Kauri's shirt is off - he has no fucking clue where it is. He might have left it in the one guy's bedroom, or in the bathroom. Or the kitchen.

Where did someone ask him for it first?

Can't remember.

Not important.

"Give that about half an hour," Someone says, half-shouting to be heard over the din, "And you're gonna fucking fly, gorgeous!"

For a second, Kauri has no clue what the asshole next to him is talking about. Then he remembers the pill, the something down his throat, and he laughs, bright and brittle as light shining off sugar cooked as thin and clear as glass.

"Hope so," He breathes. "What is it?"

"Don't worry about it!"

That should probably bother him to hear. It doesn't. He just giggles some more. The guy whose legs he's nestled between leans down and offers him a joint. He takes a hit, and wonders idly what Jake is doing right now. It's close to midnight, but Jake barely sleeps. Probably studying for some fucking test or writing an essay, the kind of shit you can't do when your brain has been made into malleable putty for someone like Owen to mold.

If Kauri called him now, he'd answer. Disappointed, and he'd tell him he shouldn't keep putting himself at risk like this. He'd get to hear Jake's soft voice chiding him for fucking his own life over after he just got to start it, and he's tempted.

Just to listen, because once Jake gets started on that lecture he'll talk forever, and all Kauri has to do is hum sometimes to show he hears it.

"Hey." The guy takes a joint back, blows smoke at him, giggles with an odd high-pitched tone that makes Kauri's teeth itch. "How many dicks you think you can suck before the movie ends?"

For one single solitary second, Kauri lets himself feel a well of loathing and shame that will shatter him to pieces the size of glitter flakes if he lets it. In a room full of strangers, they all know what he is as soon as he walks in the door.

Oh, they may not know why he covers his wrist in long sleeves and leather bracelets, but they know what he'll do, and that he won't say no.

They know Kauri Grant is always up for anything, or anybody, at any time.

For just that one breath, he thinks that if he has to keep going like this, he'll just turn himself in to WRU, because at least Owen doesn't pass him around. Owen wants his pretty little Vince-slut all to himself.

And fuck, wouldn't it be better than living like this?

Then he pushes it back down, reminds himself that if he goes back to Owen he won't get to talk to Jake or Nat or the little redhead that just showed up again. He tells himself to give it another few weeks, maybe it'll get better.

Just a few more weeks.

Kauri takes another long hit from the joint, sucking it from right between the guy's fingers, and when he exhales, he breathes, "Don't know, but why don't we find out?"

"Awesome! Kauri, you are the fucking best." The guy hands the joint off to someone else, and his fingers are on his zipper a minute later as he watches Kauri with heavy-lidded eyes. Kauri turns, shifting from seated to kneeling, pressing hands on the guy's knees to spread them even more, swallowing against the nausea threatening to boil back up his throat.

He can't. He can't throw up right now.

Not until that pill dissolves and he forgets to give a fuck about this anymore. Until he forgets that he hates these people, and the drugs, and the alcohol, and his entire fucking life that he has to live because Vincent fucking Shield didn't want to fuck Owen Grant.

He puts every ounce of training into it, and after the third guy his jaw hurts too much to think anyway, and the world has gone soft and glimmering around the edges. Everyone tastes like apples and sugar because of the liquor they keep feeding him, and everyone tells him how good he is, how sweet, how fucking pretty.

It feels good, or at least it feels less terrifyingly bad than he felt before, and that's pretty much the same thing when you're Kauri Grant.

The fourth guy's hands are in his hair and Kauri's sure he'll be done any second when the guy's eyes widen, staring down at him. Kauri sucks hard and he jerks his hips forwards and buries himself so deep that Kauri would gag... if he still could.

Nope.

They trained that out of him, just like they made sure he could never say no.

"Jesus," The guy groans, rolling his hips forwards, the others at the party crowding close and cheering him on or waiting for their own turns, "You're so fucking good at this. Mmmmn, baby, has anyone ever told you you look just like Vincent Shield?"

Kauri doesn't bite his dick off in reply.

But he thinks about it.

-

@autophagay @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears@cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes@whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

[hurtfortea]

Angry Whumpee

A whumpee who shouts, who fights, who screams insults at Whumper and refuses to be silent.

A whumpee who refuses to be touched or comforted or helped, because they're not a child- not a victim.

A whumpee who's angry at the entire world.

A whumpee who's angry at themself.

A whumpee who takes out that anger on anything and everything in their vicinity.

A whumper who locks Whumpee up when they get destructive because they need to get over the "fit" they're having.

A whumpee who growls and lashes out. Who doesn't want to escape so much as they just want to make Whumper pay for what they've done.

A whumpee who is a jerk to everyone, because they can do whatever they want now that they're free, and they refuse to be calm and sweet. They refuse to be what everyone else wants them to be.

A whumpee who hurts other people, because- damn it- they're all just like Whumper- they all look down on Whumpee. They think Whumpee is weak, but Whumpee will show them. Will show them just how strong they are.

...A whumpee who is so tired of being angry.

[cowboy-anon]

First sketch of the year, I guess! Lol, it was just supposed to be a sketch after @milk-carton-whump​ introduced me to a new oc of theirs, but, well, I kinda love it so I’m posting it!

CW: Drool, gag, scar, werewolf whumpee in wolf form

[quins-whump-stuff]

982 | Chapter 2: Ainsley

Contents: (institutional) pet whump, conditioned whumpee, dehumanization, imperfect caretaker, 1st person pov (whumpee's pov), lady whump (whumpee), whumpee calls caretaker her owner

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When the box lid finally slides open, relief washes over me. I am used to staying in a small space, but the box is significantly smaller than my kennel was. The sudden light stings my eyes, and I squint them.

"Uh, hi," my owner says in a quiet voice, "Let me give you a hand."

I grab the offered hand, and my owner pulls me out of the box. Once I am on the ground, I kneel on the ground, my hands folded nicely in my lap. Everything is blurry without my glasses, but I still look up towards my owner's face.

"I'm Ainsley. Yeah, uh, hi. I already said that but- ugh, nevermind. So... welcome?"

I nod gently. I haven't been given permission to speak.

"You okay? You can talk, right?"

I nod again.

My owner looks confused, like she's racking her brain for an explanation. Doesn't she understand the rules for pets?

"So, um, do you need something?"

I take a second to think. I don't need to talk, but in order to talk I need permission. And it would be nice to have my glasses and be able to see. But maybe she is testing me. I shake my head.

"Gah, why did I do this? This isn't..." She sighs before stepping behind me. I stiffen, worried that I've already upset her. I don't dare move though. I haven't been given permission, and if she's already disappointed in me, I don't want to give her more reason to be displeased. But no blow comes. The tag in my ear doesn't light with electricity. After a few moments, my owner comes back in front of me. She places my glasses onto my face sloppily, and I almost sigh in relief. I'm used to going without my glasses, but I much prefer being able to see properly.

"Sorry, I shoulda remembered sooner. And, uh," she seems to shudder slightly, "you have permission to, err, speak. Whenever. Like standing permission, okay?"

I smile, "Thank you, Master!" If I could, I would crawl to her legs and wrap them in a giant hug.

"Don't- don't call me that."

"I'm sorry! Would you prefer Mistress?"

"No, just, call me Ainsley. Just Ainsley."

"Yes, M- Ainsley."

"So, what's your name?"

I furrow my brow. "M- Ainsley, you haven't named me yet."

My owner rubs her neck, "I know that's technically how it's supposed to work, but like, surely you went by something before now?"

"982," spills over my lips instinctively.

She takes a small but sharp breath, "Well, uh, we'll need to come up with a name. I'm not calling you... that."

She turns and walks into another room, leaving me where I am. After a few moments, when it's clear that I will be here for a while, I shift my ankles to the side, but other than that, I remain motionless.

"Hey!" my owner calls, and I flinch. She must not have wanted me to move to the more comfortable position.

As she re-enters the room, I cast my gaze down. "Are you coming or what?" she asks me. I look up and raise my eyebrows questioningly.

"You can talk, remember? Standing permission."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ainsley. You didn't tell me to follow."

"Well, uh, you can come with me if you want. And feel free to move about the house, just in general. There's someone else you should meet," my owner cocks her head to the side slightly.

"Yes, Ainsley." Why does she give me a choice? I'm her pet. Why would she act like she cares what I want?

I follow her around a turn into a kitchen, then to a glass door. Outside is a luscious, green yard. My owner opens the door, but freezes when she turns to see me.

"Can't you walk?" she breathes.

"I... am?" I answer, confused.

"No, you're crawling, like a... like an animal."

"I am a pet."

"No! I mean, yeah, but... Can you walk on your feet? Like a person?" she asks, flustered.

I purse my lips slightly before shaking my head. "No, M- Ainsley. I- we never learned. It's not necessary for pets," I swallow. My owner looks distressed, and I lean my head gently against her leg, in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture. But she jumps back a bit.

I stiffen, and a hot tear slowly rolls down my cheek. I've messed up, I think, I shouldn't have touched my owner, she never said I could. She'll send me back and I'll never, never get a home after all...

[a-living-canvas]

Today is my birthday so...

Imperfect Twirls

It's Whumpee's birthday. Today, they would be celebrating it with Caretaker after three years straight doing it with Whumper. They hoped they would get many gifts, a giant cake and a lot of quality time with Caretaker.

Where is Caretaker by the way? Perhaps they are planning for a surprise party?

Whumpee walked downstairs. They spotted Caretaker on the couch with paperworks full on the table. Caretaker seemed to be engrossed in their work as Whumpee sat down beside them, waiting for them to notice their presence. 

When they didn't, Whumpee poked their shoulder. Caretaker turned to face them, they had eye bags under their eyes.

"Um, are you okay?" Whumpee asked.

"Yeah, just a bit tired. Why? Do you need something?"

Whumpee beamed up at the question, their eyes filled with pure excitement. Whumpee scooted closer to Caretaker, smiling giddily. "Can we go out today?" (So you can prepare the surprise party for me)

Caretaker thought for a moment before they sighed softly. "I'm sorry, dear. I'm so busy today."

"But, today is my—"

"Shh…!"

Caretaker pressed their index finger against Whumpee's lips as they picked up the phone call. Whumpee stiffened for a moment as they watched Caretaker talking with their friend. Seemed like they were really busy today, maybe Whumpee shouldn't bother them in the first place. 

Whumpee stood up and made their way to their room. They plopped down on the bed, disappointment washed over them. Suddenly they felt lonely, having no one to celebrate their birthday with. Maybe just one simple greeting from Caretaker could lift their mood a bit.

Caretaker knocked on the door and Whumpee immediately sat up, feeling the excitement bubbling in their chest again.

"Come in…!"

Caretaker pushed open the door and smiled softly at Whumpee. They sat beside them, looking apologetically. "I'm sorry about earlier. You can say what you want, I'm all ears."

Whumpee shifted slightly, fidgeting with their fingers. "Well, nothing much. Just wondering if you want to do something for today."

Caretaker raised an eyebrow, "Today? Why should I?"

"Well, you know…"

Caretaker chuckled, pinching Whumpee's cheek. "No, I don't know. What about today, Whumpee?"

Whumpee was slightly taken aback by Caretaker, they looked at them in confusion. "Are you…serious? You don't remember what day today is?"

Caretaker shook their heads and Whumpee could feel the confusion growing into frustation inside them. "You should know that…! You should know that today is my— you know what? Forget it."

Whumpee huffed out a sigh, pouting as they laid on the bed with their back facing Caretaker. Caretaker sighed softly, "Well, I need to go to a very important meeting with the Team Leader. Would you be okay on your own?"

"Yes." (No)

"Alright…and oh! There's a parcel for you."

Whumpee sat up again, raising their eyebrows. "But I didn't order anything though."

Caretaker gave them a small box wrapped in a black wallpaper before leaving them alone in the room. Whumpee examined the box, wondering what could be inside it. 

Whumpee opened the gift wrap gently with their hands, removing the sellotapes around the box. The box finally opened and their eyes widened in shock. they should be mad, angry or scared even, but they couldn't help but smile at what they were seeing.

Typical Whumper. A greeting card that said, 'Happy Birthday, Pet' and a photo of Whumper smashing Whumpee's face into their birthday cake. Whumpee still remembered the day the picture was taken. It's when they first celebrated their birthday with Whumper. 

Whumpee chuckled, the memory made tears roll down their cheeks as they stared at the picture. A part of them couldn't help but miss at Whumper.

"Idiot…"

~

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @jennyyy007 @failgiao891 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @risk606 @heyyitsworld @valravnthefrenchie @theforeverdyingperson

@electrons2006♡

[whumper-whimsy]

The long awaited...

Back Home P3

HEED WARNINGS

Reference to noncon, nudity, kidnapping, captivity, ransom, abuse, pet whump, caretaker × whumpee, fatshaming(scrutinizing gained weight [char isnt overweight, just not to "standard"), brief mentions of cancer, animal death, and human death, force feeding, shocking, creepy/gentle Whumper, stockholm syndrome (?)

-

Whumpee had already passed out when Whumper returned. They awoke what they assumed was hours later inside their kennel. To their relief, a blanket had been thrown over them— they had been tucked in. They pulled the comforter further up their body, trying to cover their bare shoulders.

They were almost back asleep when the bedroom door clicked and careful bootsteps approached.

Whumpee kept still, trying their best to appear like they were sleeping.

"Oh, Whumpee," Whumper cooed, stalking closer. "Are you awake in there?"

Whumpee's eyes cracked open just a fraction, revealing a sliver of their anxiety-laden gaze. They could feel the weight of Whumper's gaze on them, and the unease settled in their chest like a heavy stone. Their mind raced, desperately trying to think of a way to protect themselves from whatever Whumper had planned next.

Whumper's fingers trailed over the bars of the kennel, and Whumpee tensed, their heart pounding in their ears. "I know you're awake, my dear," Whumper purred, amusement tainting their words. "No need to pretend."

Swallowing hard, Whumpee forced themselves to relax, letting their body go limp as if still in slumber.

With a sudden jolt, Whumper's hand gripped Whumpee's ankle and pulled them out from under the covers. Whumpee yipped in fear as their bare body was pulled out from under the covers. They scrambled to pull the blanket back over their waist. Whumper's eyes bore into them, excited like a kid with a new toy.

"Such a fragile thing, aren't you?" Whumper mused, pouting.

"You've had your nap. Come on." Whumper's voice was stern. Whumpee shuffled forward, sitting on their knees. The cold air of Whumper's house made their skin tingle.

"Good pet," Whumper purred, scratching Whumpee's head. Whumpee pulled away from them, goosebumps prickling along their skin.

In response, Whumper grabbed their hair, making them yelp. Their voice was more disappointed than anything. "Oh, Whumpee. Absolutely not. You'll accept the affection I give you, got it?"

Whumpee cowered beneath them, their heart thumping.

"Got it?" The hand in their hair twisted and pulled up. Whumpee had to take the weight off their hands and stretch upwards for fear of their hair being ripped out.

"I understand," they squeaked, falling back to their hands and knees as Whumper released them.

"Good, hun. Now come along, will you?" Whumper started to leave the room, and Whumpee scrambled after them on their knees.

Whumper strode confidently through the hall, the monotonous tip tap of their shoes on the hardwood floors echoing against the walls. Whumpee followed close behind, staring at the heels of Whumper's shoes.

"You hungry yet? You must've burned quite a few calories before you passed out earlier." Whumper didn't check behind them to make sure Whumpee was following. Whumpee was breathing heavily through their nose as they kept up with Whumper's swift stride.

Once in the kitchen, Whumper finally turned. Their intense eyes scanned over Whumpee, seeming to rake through them and study every imperfection.

"You're out of shape, dear," Whumper leaned down, pinching the chub of their cheek. "The hell was Caretaker feeding you?"

"I eat whatever I want," Whumpee retorted, looking up at Whumper.

"You've put on weight, love. It's a shame, really. You were in exquisite shape under my care..." Whumper rose back to their feet, snagging a finger under Whumpee's collar and dragging them forward into the kitchen. "It's okay, sweetie, it's not your fault. It's that wretched Caretaker's fault. They let you get like this. But it's okay. We'll get you back to your regimen, and you'll be back in shape in no time." They patted Whumpee's cheek affectionately.

Whumpee didn't respond, struggling to keep up as they were dragged through the tiled kitchen. They saw new installments in the house as they were pulled through.

Whumpee got a better look as they arrived. Right between the fridge and a counter, there was a fancy padded dog beg with a chain hanging from the wall that was long enough to touch the bed.

"Go on, sit." Whumper tugged them forward. "Then I'll clip you in, and you'll be nice and secure."

Whumpee crawled forward slowly, feeling their hands and knees sink into the soft bed. They heard a little click as the chain clipped to their collar and turned to see Whumper standing over them.

"Stay there and be good, kay? Dinner will be ready soon." Whumper rubbed Whumpee's chin affectionately, then pulled away.

Whumpee stayed absolutely silent, leaning back against the wall as Whumper began to pull ingredients out of the fridge, an assortment of vegetables and fish.

God, they were cold. Whumpee sat against the wall, refusing to let their guard down for a second.

Whumpee tensed up as Whumper approached them.

"Open. Try this." A fork prodded at Whumpee's lips. "I tried a new rice recipe. And yes dear, you're getting rice. I figured it'd help warm you back up to your diet."

Whumpee chewed the rice, eyes on Whumper.

Why are they being so nice?

Maybe if they stayed quiet, Whumper would get bored of them.

Where are you, Caretaker?

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

It took a lot to make Caretaker cry.

They hadn't cried when their first dog had been hit by a car. They hadn't cried like their siblings had when their grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. Hell- they barely cried when their dad kicked the bucket.

But here they were, clutching Whumpee's dirty sweater to their chest. Wrecked. That was the best word for it.

Every muscle screamed for them to go find Whumpee, to bring them home, wrap them in a hundred layers of bubble wrap and never let them go again.

They couldn't.

It took most of their energy to crawl through the house to the bedroom and dig the sweater from their hamper. Everything hurt. Their cracked rib screeched in fury every time they took a shuddering breath, their bruised cheekbones stinging against the white sheets.

Well- they had been white once. Now they were blotted with a grim, deep red where Caretaker's blood had seeped in.

You have to do something.

Caretaker went to sit up after a moment, pain shooting up their sprained wrist. They fell back to the bed, hissing.

Don't be a wuss, they scolded themself. Whumpee's in much worse pain than this. Do this for their sake.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Whumpee was being served a gourmet salmon filet with a plate of fresh veggies.

They stared down at the meal, picking at the stalks of celery disdainfully.

Whumper sat a few feet in front of them, enjoying the very same dish. Their eyes flicked up and met Whumpee's, and a grin split their face. "Enjoying your salmon?"

"I don't eat fish." They responded, averting their eyes and picking up a slice of cucumber with their fork.

"You eat fish all the time, silly." Whumper laughed, continuing to bore their eyes into Whumpee. "Go on, try it."

"I don't eat fish." Whumpee repeated, biting into the crisp cucumber.

Their wrist was seized, and their fork clattered across the tablecloth. Whumpee choked on their cucumber slice, quickly swallowing it down.

"You ate fish nearly every day I had you." Whumper said. Whumpee's wrist was pinned against the table. "What right do you have," Whumper hissed, "to refuse your nice, home-cooked meal?"

Now the steak knife was tracing across their palm. Whumpee's other hand gripped the table and they did their best not to whine.

Whumpee took in a deep breath. "No, please-"

Whumper ignored them, spinning the knife on Whumpee's palm. "Oh hush, now. That'll get you nowhere. I make you delicious, healthy food and I expect you to eat it. You're lucky I even let you eat at the table.

You know I don't like having to hurt you," they said. "Apologise, and we can move on, dear."

"I'll eat," Whumpee spoke quietly, unable to shake the waver in their voice.

"And?" Whumper traced the lines of their palm ever so gently, causing Whumpee's hand to twitch.

"And I'm sorry."

"Good." Whumper finally amended, releasing their wrist. "Get to eating, now. You'll need the energy."

Whumpee didn't reply, cutting into the salmon finally. They took a bite, forcing it down. It was good fish, but all Whumpee could think about was their previous time spent in captivity. The same perfectly prepared fish and veggies were given to them at lunch and dinnertime before their beatings.

"There you go," Whumper said smoothly. "You're doing so much better already. I can tell that you're remembering how things are supposed to be."

Whumpee looked up at them momentarily, then returned to their meal.

Stay quiet, stay predictable, and stay boring, they thought. Whumper will get bored of me soon enough.

After dinner, Whumpee was brought to Whumper's bedroom. They were praying that they'd be shoved back into their cage for the evening, but they weren't quite that lucky.

Whumper sat them in the middle of the room, standing before them.

"Do you remember all your commands, Whumpee?" they asked, and when given no response, they continued. "Tonight we're gonna go through them all again. And if you've forgotten, I've got a little friend here to help us jog your memory." Whumper held up a shock collar, waving it enticingly.

Whumpee looked up at them, frozen. "Y- you don't have to use that, I- I'm fine without it. I've already got my collar on." Whumpee touched their collar gently.

Whumper brushed their hand away and switched their collar out.

"Here we are. Now kneel," Whumper ordered.

Whumpee did as they were told, kneeling with their back straight and their hands on their knees. Whumper hummed, nodding.

"Bow," Whumper said next, fiddling with the settings on the remote. Whumpee slid down until their palms and elbows touched the floor. A shock ran through their body, and they cried out.

Whumper tsked. "Head in the carpet. Raise your backside higher."

Whumpee fixed themselves, shaking.

Sit. Beg. Lay. Roll over.

Like they were a dog.

They were shocked several times for being too slow, making too much noise, not showing enough emotion in their eyes, bad posture, and whatever bullshit reason Whumper could come up with to see their pet jerk and cry in pain.

Their pet.

Was that what Whumpee saw themselves as? A pet, doing tricks for Whumper's entertainment?

Maybe it would be easier that way. Submitting to their purred commands, shooting Whumper puppy eyes when they praised them, falling into positions when they were asked... it could be so, so much easier.

Whumpee looked up at Whumper, at the expression on their face. They were smiling down at Whumpee with an achingly gentle expression.

"You're doing good, Whumpee, better than I expected. Like I said, I don't like hurting you. I shouldn't really have to, honestly. Alas, you respond very well to this form of training. We'll be done with it eventually." Whumper's hand rustled and then smoothed their hair.

Whumpee bowed their head, letting Whumper card their fingers through their hair.

"Oh, Whumpee... my sweet thing. I really missed having you. It's been so lonely here without you." Whumper got down on one knee, sighing. "Those eyes... won't you look at me, hun?"

Whumpee looked up, anxiety pricking at their neck.

"There we are. That. Those beautiful, innocent eyes." Whumper smiled lovingly. "Just... exquisite. I don't think I can ever give you back. We're meant to be together, you and I."

Whumpee didn't respond.

"Dear? Can't you talk?" Something like concern etched its way into Whumper's face. "You haven't spoken much since dinner.

"... can I go to bed?" Whumpee said softly.

They were granted a pair of warm black sweatpants and were locked back in their cage. Tucking back under their blankets, Whumpee thought of Caretaker's words to them.

"Whumpee, don't let them get to you. You promised you'd stay strong for me, right?"

Whumpee bit their lip, squeezing their pillow.

I'm sorry, Caretaker. I'm sorry for failing you.

Maybe I'm just as much of a pathetic toy Whumper says I am.

-

-

-

aren't you guys excited to wait another 9 months for pt 4? >:)

This series is literally my baby though oml

[hurt-and-comfort-me-please]

Underrated detail in whump writing; Makeup

Makeup smeared and running down Whumpee's face as they're tortured,

Makeup used to cover up scars and imperfections caused by Whumper, or being forced to cover up bruises so they can look 'presentable' for Whumper,

The tenderness of Caregiver as they gently wash the makeup off of Whumpee's face, careful not to agitate Whumpee's broken nose,

Whumper doing Whumpee's makeup as if they were playing with a doll, or testing out makeup products on Whumpee because 'if its able to cover those bruises, It surely can cover my dark circles',

Whumpees and their horrible insecurities without makeup,

Allergic reactions, breaking out in rashes and hives and ruining their skin,

Eyeliner and mascara running down their cheeks so everyone knows they've been crying,

And so, so much more! It's great!

[sillygoose1777]

Chapter 1: Auction

Word Count: 3119

Trigger Warnings/tags : Auction sale, mentions of abuse, mild blood, whumpees kept as pets, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, carewhumper, og characters, supernatural/nonhuman whumpees, supernatural/nonhuman whumpers, mind reading whumpee, guard dog whumpee, muzzled whumpee, dehumanization (from whumpers), burns from silver, drugged whumpee, mentions of needles

Hudson observed everything with interest as they stepped out of the carriage. He stepped to the side and offered his hand to Zenith. He took it, using it to aid him down the steps. Hudson let go as soon as Zenith touched the ground. Zenith gave a small nod to the carriage driver and they shut the door before getting in the front to find a parking spot. Hudson assumed his position slightly behind Zenith as they walked into the building before them. 

Zenith was graciously invited to one of the biggest pet buying events. Every month he would scout out a few to be bought and retrained so that he could sell them at a much higher price. Hudson didn’t always go with him, but whenever he did he never enjoyed it much. It was hard to block out the thoughts of products. They were always in a lot of pain, at least the ones that were sold on the main floor. If Zenith wanted any of the pretty ones, they were at the wrong auction.

Zenith stopped in front of the door, looking over his shoulder at Hudson. “I want you to pay close attention to the products on display. Find something you like.” Hudson nodded curtly, no verbal response necessary. Zenith looked in front of him again and opened the doors wide. 

Immediately, Hudson was hit with a wall of fear from the products and pure smugness from the sellers. There were stands set up as closely to each other as possible to fit as many as they could. To the left of the main floor was a maze of stands selling creatures and objects alike. On the right was the auction stage with rows of seats set up in front of it. The auction wasn’t going to begin for another half hour, plenty of time to glance over a few stands. 

Zenith led the way pausing a few times to look at creatures or blades that caught his interest. Anytime Zenith inspected a creature in a cage, Hudson would pretend he couldn’t hear their thoughts. Couldn’t hear them hoping to be bought or the opposite, hoping that they wouldn’t. But then Zenith would move on and Hudson could truly push it out of his mind. 

As Zenith was talking to a stand worker selling different types of poisons, Hudson let his gaze wander. His eye caught on a small stand behind them with a small creature working furiously. They were molding molten metal with their bare hands, not a burn showing up on their skin. Hudson was fascinated, watching as they shaped it as they liked, then dropped it in a bucket of water. The hot metal instantly sizzled, cooling down before the creature pulled it out again. They examined it for imperfections before placing it on a table near them with nearly identical blades made. 

As Hudson continued to watch, he observed the creature more closely then he did its work. They were small and frail, their bones barely covered by a layer of skin and muscle. Bruises and unhealed cuts littered their body, making it evident that either they disobeyed often or their owner was unnecessarily cruel. They were muzzled with a silver cage that left red marks on their skin from how tight it was. Its ears were flat against their head, tail tucked between their legs, showing every sign of fear except in their hands. A silver collar was strapped around its throat that chained them to the stand, leaving no room for escape. 

“Do you want to look at that one?” Zenith asked. Hudson looked at Zenith and followed his gaze to the same stand he was previously looking at. Hudson gave a simple nod, so Zenith led the way over. 

Being closer to the creature, he expected to pick up on thoughts of fear, but he didn’t. Instead its mind was quiet with the thought of working. He couldn't even tell if the creature knew that they had walked up. Moving his attention away from the creature, he noticed all the finished blades laid out on the table. They were beautiful. All handcrafted and fused with some kind of pretty rock or gem. 

“Like what you see?” 

Even though Hudson knew the man wasn’t addressing him, he looked up anyways. He was rugged and mean looking, a stark comparison to the skittish creature off to his side. Zenith continued to admire the blades before responding. 

“Are all of these your handiwork?” Zenith asked. 

“Yes sir. Everyone of them,” the man said, clearly taking ownership of the creature's labor. 

Zenith picked one off of the table and examined it closely. It was made of iron and infused with amethyst. It was certainly a blade made for display and not meant to be used in combat. Nonetheless it was still impressive. Zenith handed it to the man's outstretched hands, intending to buy it. The man grabbed the creature, making them drop the metal they were modeling onto the ground, and dragged them in front of himself. The creature cowered in his grip but didn’t struggle. The man straightened their arm and brought the blade down from their elbow to its wrist. The creature hissed in pain and sank to their knees when the man let go of it, holding their arm close. The blade slightly glowed from the blood dripping from it, before it evaporated like it never had been there. 

Hudson was barely able to contain his astonishment while Zenith acted indifferent. Zenith took the blade with grace then walked away with Hudson at his tail. Hudson glanced over his shoulder and saw the man yelling at the creature to get back to work. Hudson turned his attention to what was in front of him. It wouldn’t do him any good to get attached. That was the mantra that he repeated over and over in his head. 

…

Kori was relieved when the blade-maker took off his collar and threw him into his cage underneath the table. He shrank away from the silver bars that lined the cage, careful not to burn himself. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he looked for his only possession. A measly blanket, dark blue with a yellow star pattern overlapping it. It was stiff and soiled with blood and god knows what else. But no matter how much it needed a wash, it was his. He had stolen it the first time the blade-maker brought him to the medics, and too tired from wrangling him there, the blade-maker let him keep it. 

The blanket was almost three times his size, though he was a small creature compared to most. Nonetheless, it made it easy to hide underneath. His shield against the world, against his makeshift darkness. Kori curled up underneath his blanket, making sure to not leave any limbs sticking out. 

A table cloth covered the table and most of his cage, blocking most of Kori’s view of the passerbys. He watched their feet walk past, never pausing to come close enough. It was cold, a lot colder than Kori was used to. It didn’t help that the blade-maker often isolated him away from any kind of fire or sunlight, giving him no opportunity to build up his magma. Kori knew better than to steal heat from the hot metal so he could heal his wounds. He had done it once and when the blade-maker found out, he beat Kori till he could hardly make sense of the world. He was immediately sent to the medics afterwards, but it was a lesson well learned. 

Kori wanted to go home, wherever that was. He was never allowed out except to the marketplace or to the medics. Otherwise, he was underground shaping and fusing blades. It was better than anticipating when a buyer would walk up and he would have to spill blood to seal the blade. The cut down his arm stung painfully, making him aware of it again. 

Focusing on one part of his pain only made the rest seem so much worse. He closed his eyes and pressed his head against the cool steel plating of his cage. Despite himself, he felt himself getting tired. His eyes heavy and breathing evenly, he hoped that when he woke up that he would be back in his basement bedroom. 

…

Zenith found a spot in the front row of chairs, giving him an excellent view of the stage. His guard dog sat in the seat next to him, though he figured Hudson wouldn’t be paying attention to the show. Zenith didn’t really care if he did. He eyed the stage, watching as workers of the event raced back and forth to get last minute preparations in place. Shortly after, a finely dressed man came on stage. The man picked up a microphone and began speaking to his audience. 

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to our monthly creature auction. We have over 30 creatures to display and auction off today, so be ready to bid. After all creatures have been displayed, speak to one of the staff and they will help sort out transactions. If any assistance is needed to transport your new pets, please speak to a courier outside. We will begin the show shortly.”

There was a small round of applause as the man left the stage. Zenith had already scouted out the creatures he wanted, most of them being breeds he had already worked with. A few of his clients were already looking for more pets when his stock was low. As soon as he could get ownership of a few creatures, he was going to send them to all his available personal trainers. By the next auction, he should have all these ones sold and waiting to buy the next batch. 

Though there was one creature that would be displayed that he had an extra keen eye on. He had been observing Hudson’s behavior for the past few months, and deduced that he was experiencing loneliness. Zenith already had another pet for Hudson to mingle with, though Hudson wasn’t one to be very social with others. He had tried spending more time with Hudson beyond his working hours, but it made little to no difference. So he decided he was going to get Hudson a companion, one he could truly bond with. Zenith was already wanting a third pet anyways, so it was practically hitting two birds with one stone. 

Zenith had allowed Hudson to examine the creatures on sale at the market before the auction to get an idea of what he wanted. Thankfully, Hudson found something. A small creature, one that looked like a fox. Its blade making skills and fire wielding abilities were definitely something that intrigued the both of them. Zenith figured he would have to retrain the fox given the conditioning it must have gone through. He thought about retraining the fox with Hudson, it could bring them closer together. It was certainly an idea to think about. 

Zenith brought his attention back to the stage when two workers pulled a cage into view. The announcer from before took his place on the stage. He took hold of the corner of the cloth that covered the cage before swiftly pulling it off. Inside was a standard Tursian, most likely already trained as a guard dog. It was tied down in a stress position to best display it while keeping it still. Zenith vaguely remembered Hudson being displayed the same way when he had bought him. 

The auction passed by as fast as it could for any bored onlookers. After buying a few creatures, Zenith reserved his attention for keeping a look out for the fox. Otherwise, he was thinking of who to contact for its first medical checkup. Zenith always benchmarked where his pets' health was when he first got them, if only so he could get an idea of what he was working with. Finally, as if watching a prized possession being passed around, Zenith eyed the last cage to be rolled on stage. The announcer picked up his mic and began to speak to the audience.

“This is the last creature on display for tonight's auction, I repeat, last creature on display.”

The announcer then quickly pulled off the cloth, revealing the little fox inside. It was on its knees with a collar tightly wrapped around its throat, a chain attached to it, tying it to the floor of the cage. Its hands were cuffed to its ankles, keeping the fox in place. Its tail was tucked underneath it, keeping it close to its body like its ears flat against its head. Zenith watched as its chest heaved with fear, barely able to voice a whimper with the muzzle clamped around its jaw. 

After a couple minutes of letting the audience observe what it was buying, the bidding began. Zenith quickly jumped in, not wanting anyone else to get a lead on him. Little by little he bought out his competitors, until no one else dared name a price higher than his. The auctioneer called it at forty-two thousand, naming Zenith the buyer. He grinned with glee, a rare sight to most.

The workers of the event cleared the stage and Zenith stood to leave. Hudson followed him as he made his way to a nearby staff member. They scanned his buyer’s ID and brought him to the back to let him have a closer look at what he bought. One by one, he was brought to each of their cages. He would sign all the necessary paperwork, write a check, then tell a moving staff where his trucks would be parked. When they reached the cage the fox was in, the staff member handed him a booklet. 

“What is this?” He asked. 

“It’s an infographic of this particular species. It is not one we commonly auction off, so health, safety, and training guidelines are different then what you might be used to,” the staff member informed. 

Zenith briefly flipped through the booklet. “A lynx?” he asked aloud, reading the title of the booklet. 

“Yes sir. They’re from the saturnine desert. They seem to act similar to foxes, if that gives you an idea of what to expect.” Zenith chuckled to himself at the thought that he wasn’t that far off for assuming the lynx was a fox. 

Zenith held out his hand for the clipboard to sign the paperwork needed. The staff member handed it over and he signed the pages quickly. He quickly wrote out a check for forty-two thousand dollars and handed both over to the staff member. 

“Would you like it to be placed with your other purchases?” The staff member asked, taking the items from Zenith. 

“Actually I have a kennel in my carriage I would like it placed in. Easier for transporting into the house,” Zenith mused. 

“Of course,” the staff member mimicked Zenith's tone. “Would sedating the creature be of help to you?” 

“What kinds of sedatives do you have?” 

“We have a wide range, from muscle relaxers to serums that’ll keep your pet out for days.” Zenith imagined he could hear the fox whimpering. 

“I think something that’ll keep it out till tomorrow morning will do.”

“Of course. We’ll have a courier bring your pet to your carriage, and a technician will meet you out there to administer the sedative. Sounds good?”

Zenith nodded and the staff member snapped at a courier nearby to get their attention. The courier came near and listened to the instructions the staff member gave them. They then followed Zenith out to his carriage, bringing the lynx with them. The technician met them there as the courier was unlatching the top off of the cage. The lynx struggled away from the technician as much as it could in the chains. In the end it was futile, as the technician stuck them in the neck with a needle. 

The technician capped the used needle and gave the lynx a small pet. “See? Wasn’t so bad,” they chirped. “Now you’ll get to sleep easy on your ride home.” The technician turned to Zenith, speaking to him in a normal voice. “Have a good evening sir, safe travels.” 

The technician left, and the courier followed shortly after once they had unchained the lynx. The lynx shrank into the corners of the cage, trying to fight against the sedatives. Zenith knelt down by the cage and offered his hand for it to sniff. The lynx tried to focus its eyes on him, daring not to move closer. Zenith gently pet the spot behind its ears, gently guiding the lynx to close its eyes. Once he was sure that the lynx was under, Zenith stood up and bent over the cage to pick it up. He noticed there was a blanket scrunched up underneath it, something hidden from his earlier view. He picked both of them up, realizing how disgusting the blanket was. He put it on his to-do list to wash it. 

Zenith waited patiently as Hudson opened the door of the carriage. He balanced the lynx carefully in his arms as he climbed up the steps, Hudson following in after him. They sat down on opposite sides, with Hudson sitting next to a kennel that Zenith had brought. He had intended to put whatever his new found pet was in it, but while cradling the lynx close, Zenith almost couldn’t bear letting it go. Then he heard his phone ring. Zenith grumbled and despite him trying to shift the lynx over, he couldn’t hold it and its blanket while trying to manage a phone call.

“Could you hold it for me?” Zenith asked Hudson, offering the lynx to him. Hudson quietly took it into his arms, wrapping the blanket around the lynx and holding it close. Zenith pulled out his annoying phone and answered the call.

As the other person talked, he looked outside the window and watched as the world passed by. In the corner of his eye, he watched as Hudson looked at the lynx with a new found sense of love. It was a look Zenith had never seen on him, and one that looked quite well on his dog. Zenith smiled to himself as he turned to look back at the window, glad of his brilliant idea to get a third pet. 

Thank you!!

(lmk if you want to be added to the tag-list)

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

I have spend the past few days dying because of severe acute tooth pain. Legitimately convinced that this shit would be an extremely effective easy torture method, I'd rather break a bone over this shit ngl. That said what type of whump senerios do you think could come out with teeth as the focus?

Teef!! TEEF!!!!

We have the classic, the holy grail, of Whumper using pliers to pull out Whumpee's teeth for a myriad of reasons. Talking back? Biting? Making room for tubes to be shoved down their throat? The possibilities are truly endless, and of course, bonus points if the pliers are rusty <3

Whumpee losing a tooth from some kind of mouth trauma (a punch, a boot to the face, etc) is one thing. But what if that tooth only cracked? What if it chipped? Not only are they going to have to deal with the pain of an exposed nerve and jagged edge constantly being touched by their tongue, but literally anything is going to aggravate it. Food and water included. Yikes.

I've mentioned it before in my "gross and messy" whump post, but just general neglect would be enough of a catalyst for tooth pain. Months without brushing and constant vomiting can lead to rot and decay, which can lead to a further infection of the entire mouth. Whumpee practically feeling certain teeth disintegrate, spitting out blood and pus until finally they can pull out a blackened dead tooth from their inflamed gum for relief.

Got a vampire Whumpee? Why don't you just file those pointy chompers down, just in case :)

After Whumpee is rescued (or if...) and they finally get the care they need, they'll have to make peace with the fact their mouth is full of gaps that would cost a fortune in dental work to repair. And maybe they do and get the crowns or dentures they need. And maybe they don't. The one constant being they have to live with being self conscious over an imperfect smile. Not that they have much to smile about anymore to begin with.

This is purely aesthetic but I love the idea of a Whumper purposely replacing their own canine teeth with gold incisors to look extra menacing when they grin. Do as you will with that.

More aesthetic style, less scenario-based but:

Whumper with a mouth full of fangs that love to dig into Whumpee's skin

Teeth indentations all over Whumpee's body

Whumpee snarling with their teeth stained red from the blood pooling in their mouth

Spitting a tooth out, unperturbed by the hit

Open mouth gags being used on Whumpee that show their teeth on full display

Feral/Traumatized/Rescued Whumpee absolutely using biting as a defense on anyone that comes near them, including Caretaker

Whumpee with arms and hands full of scarred over bitemarks from where they've had to chomp down on their own skin to muffle their cries

[whumpsoda]

are you up for a continuation

https://www.tumblr.com/whumpsoda/734400660214366208/i-raise-that-anon-who-raised-you-vampire-keeps?source=share

WOHEO Masterlist

This ask wasn’t super specific, so I kinda just went with whatever idea I had, which was just a sort of normal?? Day for these two. I also named them, whumpee 2 is now Nevan, and whumper 2 is Darius!! So thanks to the anon who gave me those names! :D

Taglist- @softvampirewhump

cw: hints of past abuse, vampire whumper, human whumpee, pet whump, brainwashing, servant whump,

———————————————————————

Nevan adjusted the platter by only a smidge, studying the set up with watchful eyes. An expensive bottle of wine sat atop, along with a pristine glass of which he had poured the delectable liquid into. With just a finger, he pushed it a sliver to the other side.

It had to be perfect.

Once as satisfied as he would get, he stood back to his feet and surveyed the whole room. Several plush blankets were draped over the couch in the chance they got cold, Darius’ foot rest was just where he liked it, and his beverage was just in arms reach. Nevan had even grabbed a handful of DVD’s from his master’s small collection, displaying them in a dainty fashion on the table, just so Darius could choose what they watched.

It had to be perfect.

His nerves rattling him, Nevan swiftly made a beeline for the nearest mirror- really the only one in the home- that was hidden in one of the storage rooms. 

Every room he passed he was tempted to check through just one last time, having to remind himself that he’d already done a total sweep of the house probably nine times. Not a speck of grime remained in the abode, but he had to be sure of it.

As he reached the oversized storage closet, Nevan stood at attention before the tall mirror rested on a pile of junk. He intently dissected his appearance in the reflection, picking apart every possible imperfection. Smoothing stray hairs, shifting his dainty collar, and practicing his eager smile, Nevan tried to maintain deep breaths. 

Master was hard to please. Almost irritatingly so. 

Almost.

Any slight flaw could infect his gorgeous face with disappointment, and bring bitterness to his soothing voice. Nevan just couldn’t take it! Tonight was so important, he couldn’t risk any idiotic mistake ruining it for them. He valued Darius’ happiness over all else, and he couldn’t help but wish to see the vampire enjoy himself.

Maybe tonight, if all went along with his meticulously crafted plan, Darius would even smile. Even just a little grin, and Nevan would melt on the spot. 

And maybe, just maybe, the two of them would have such a wonderful time, his master would even grant him an extra feeding!

But he couldn’t get his hopes up. Darius agreed to have a movie night with his thrall, probably a once in a lifetime chance, and it would be a wonderful gift as long as Nevan didn’t stupidly ruin it.

Then he heard it. The sing-song ringing, even while distant filled his ears and consumed his brain. His worries instantly washed away with the reverberation of Master, Master, Master! Nevan’s entire body calmed against his will, and robotically his hands folded neatly in front of his chest.

He quickly strode to the sound, getting louder and more pleasing as he neared. The thrall was led back to the living room, where his Master had already made himself comfortable on the couch. Nevan stood before him, immaculately posed and made up, as Darius eyed him for just a moment.

“Are we doing this, or what?” He questioned, Nevan’s heart fluttering merely at the sound of his voice. Suprisingly, Darius’ words held no bitterness. Just calm.

“Yes! Y-yes, please. Master.” Nevan stumbled over his words for a moment, wincing at the sound. But Darius didn’t so much as scowl. 

His face remained the same. Neutral. “Sit then.” Darius was already studying the selection of movies, not granting his thrall a moment to digest his lack of irritation. 

Master must’ve had a good day.

A good day!

There was no other conclusion. Why else would he want to spend quality time with Nevan? His little blood bag? Good days for Darius happened so little Nevan could barely remember the last time he’d seen the vampire not on edge.

Lately though, there was just the slightest change. Nevan could only blame the slight lift of his master’s spirits on the more frequent company of another vampire, one he knew his master was exceedingly fond of. Nevan hoped they would see each other more often if it made his master even that much happier.

The vampire continued searching through the DVD’s, picking them up and putting them down, before holding one up for his thrall to read. “This one?” He questioned. The cover displayed some generic romance, and if Nevan had ever seen it in the time before he was a thrall, he surely didn’t remember.

Nevan stared back, wide eyed with no response. Was Master asking him? He had never done that before. He’d always said it himself that opinions weren’t in a thrall’s jurisdiction.

“Um,” Nevan swallowed thick saliva. “Whatever pleases you, Master.” That was an acceptable answer. It had to be. 

“Good.” Darius stated, to Nevan’s relief. He pushed the object to his thrall. “Set it up.” Eagerly, Nevan did exactly as commanded, while his master sipped on his drink and watched.

Once finished, Nevan carefully made his way back to the couch. Darius was lenient in that regard, most of the time allowing his thrall on the furniture. If he was ever in a mood where that behavior was unacceptable, Nevan would know. 

The thrall made a point to sit a comfortable deal away from the other man, as to not come off too presumptuous. He sat rigidly, making sure his form would be to Darius’ usual liking.

The movie droned on, filling the awkward silence, but Nevan could barely pay attention. He couldn’t stop himself from constantly glancing over at Darius, checking his expression for the slightest implication of annoyance.

The vampire kept his gaze glued to the screen, leaning back into the cushion behind him and taking a sip of his beverage every so often.

He looked simply magical.

“Wine.” Darius commanded, prompting Nevan to instantly rush to pour him more of the rich red. The vampire barely paid his pet any mind as the drink filled the glass between his fingers, splashing against the sides of the cup.

Once finished, he simply shooed Nevan back to his seat to resume his anxiousness.

Nevan needed to clean. Cleaning made him feel grounded and wanted, and cleaning made Master happy, so he needed to do it. He needed to clean, he needed to clean, he needed to clean, but he didn't want to. He wanted to watch the movie, he wanted to spend time with Master, but he couldn't help his endless fretting every passing second.

Nevan picked aggressively at the skin around his nails, an anxious habit his master hadn’t yet succeeded in breaking.

Darius must’ve noticed, as just a moment later his supple, icy hand begun stroking up and down his thrall’s agitated arm, shocking Nevan into stopping.

“You’ll ruin your nails.” He muttered passively, not even turning his gaze from the television.

Master was touching him. Not viciously or violently, like when Nevan needed to be punished, but soothingly. Even if the purpose of the contact was to keep his silly thrall from damaging his body, Master was practically petting him. 

The motion was repetitive and sweet, casting a wash of  contentment through him. Nevan could sense his breaths evening, and his posture softening. 

Master was so kind.

Any form of worry or discomfort was swept from his mind, leaving only the entrancement of the television’s glow. The noise of conversing actors and actresses were like a muffled buzz that desensitized him to the world around. 

After sitting in mindless contentment for however long, Darius began to slide a blanket from its folded spot on the couch’s back. Nevan almost offered to get it for him, before realizing the vampire would have most likely accused him of thinking he needed a feeble thrall to do everything for him. 

Darius unfolded it elegantly, before draping it across his slender legs. Nevan could simply see how fluffy and comfortable it was, and just a hint of jealousy sparked. 

“Come here.” The vampire’s words were sharp and powerful, cutting through Nevan’s haziness like a knife. The thrall stood instantly, making his way swiftly to his master’s side. “Down.”

Nevan dropped to his knees, gazing upward with puppy dog eyes. Darius didn’t even look back at him. Instead, his large hand sat at the back of Nevan’s head, brushing against his chilled neck. The pressure was firm yet gentle, and guided Nevan’s head into his leg.

Nevan’s breath hitched with each new touch to his flesh, particularly the feeling of plush skin on skin. The sensation was still so unfamiliar, but so nice he had no want to pull away. His cheek pressed up on Darius’ cotton pant leg, and he eagerly nuzzled into it like a kitten. 

Warmth built in his chest, drowning his mind in a pool of liquid pleasure as Darius lazily stroked his hair and scratched at his scalp. A hazy, purring mewl escaped his lips.

Nevan wrapped his toned arms around his owner’s leg, effectively hugging it in a tight embrace. He could practically feel the drumming of his heart, and each beat acted almost like a pulse of pleasure that ran through him.

Everything was so good, better than any time he could ever remember.

“I, um, I,” He stammered, tripping over the delight overtaking him and the fear of speaking. “I, I love you Master. I love you.” 

Fearfully, Nevan lifted his head to meet Darius piercing eyes. Thankfully, there was no evident anger in his expression. 

Just a smile.

Nevan could’ve vomited from excitement.

“As you should,” the vampire said. Master’s satisfaction alone could make his thrall’s entire week, but what he continued with could’ve destroyed Nevan then and there.

“Good boy.”

Darius barely ever praised him. He really didn’t need to, Nevan’s purpose was obedience, but his heart couldn’t help but soar when his master did.

A wide, dull eyed smile beamed across his face, and he cuddled even closer to Darius’ leg. “I love you. I love you Master, I love you, I love you.” The affection spilled from his mouth, an overwhelming need to express his adoration. 

Normally, Darius would’ve ignored him. Maybe called him an idiot. This time, he continued to just smile down at his human, tenderly petting his freshly washed hair.

Nevan couldn’t think of any other words to explain the overwhelming endearment he had for his master, most cognitive abilities seeped dry by Darius’ current touch, but the vampire didn’t seem to mind. “I love, love, love, you. I love you, I love you.” Nevan repeated, until the words jumbled together and became incoherent.

“Perfect.”

Even if tomorrow Darius would go right back to punishing him for the slightest of mistake without batting an eye, which he probably would, Nevan couldn’t help but bask greedily in the warmth of the moment.

[hurtfortea]

AI Whump

An AI whumpee who feels things differently/thinks differently from the way humans do and so the things that traumatize them or hurt their feelings are different. Maybe things that humans would see as a negative experience, they enjoy.

(I.e. they don’t mind complete isolation, it will never leave negative affects, but not being able to work constantly does stress them out, so being unused would cause trauma.)

The typical: whumper says and does whatever they want to AI whumpee, because they “can’t feel.” I.e. taking their anger out on whumpee.

Whumper simply misuses whumpee, perhaps they don't know how to properly clean or handle them.

Whumper locks them away because they fear AI whumpee.

Caretaker being the kind of person who gives personalities to most unalive things and so is kind to whumpee just because.

Caretaker who is kind because they fear AI whumpee, even though whumpee could never do anything to them.

Caretaker who is a collector and treats AI whumpee not like a person, but still with respect and care, as one might any unalive thing they cared about.

[whumpshaped]

whumpee who's loud. prideful. egotistical. always going on and on about how great they are. how they're better and faster and stronger than anybody else. how they're the best suited for the job, how they're doing amazing at everything on the first try, how everything is so easy and they're so good at it.

everybody is annoyed. everybody is hellbent on knocking them down a peg. and truthfully? it's not that hard to do. whumpee is... quite average. but whenever the others point something out, whumpee acts totally delusional or makes up an excuse. it's infuriating.

caretaker is whumpee's only friend. their childhood friend. they seem to have a dynamic no one understands: caretaker seems genuinely loving and fond of whumpee half the time, but kind of bitter, resentful and angry the other half. whumpee's not even exceptionally nice to caretaker, not enough to warrant them sticking around for so long... and yet, well, it seems to work for them.

in truth, both whumpee and caretaker had a rough time growing up. they were both required to be the best at everything. anything less was a failure, anything less meant losing the fickle warmth of the home. they both put in the work, but only whumpee managed a part-time success.

whumpee was the best at some things, allowing them to experience some sort of acknowledgment and praise. it wasn't a lot, but it was enough to be the carrot on the stick, a high whumpee never learned to stop chasing. when the fountain of success dried up and it became obvious that they were woefully average, or at least something was standing in the way of them living up to the expectation, whumpee continued coping the only way they learned how: loudly exclaiming they were the best, hoping that if they repeated it enough it'd become true, get back to their family, and earn them love. they lie and lie and lie and tell everyone of how great they are even when they know it just makes them unlikeable, even when they know it's not true, even when they know it's so horribly easy to humble them. they lie and say it anyway because if they can't offer being the best, then what can they offer? and they used to be the best, once. they can be the best again. they can be loved again.

caretaker never met the expectations. they grew up jealous and resentful, they grew up angry and feeling slighted. they grew up rebellious, because their imperfect existence in itself was considered an act of defiance, so what difference would it make if they swung in the other direction? of course they longed for approval, but they never had it, they never lost it. most importantly, they saw what losing that approval and placing all their self-worth on being successful had done to whumpee. jealousy still plagues them from time to time, but what they feel is mostly pity nowadays. pity and utter rage towards the people who made both of them this way.

of course caretaker yells at whumpee every now and then. they're so much further ahead in their journey of trying to untangle self-worth from unattainable perfection, even if not by choice. even if their childhood dreams were violently shattered, it ended up serving them in the long run. but now they have to watch whumpee be stuck in that mindset they'd left behind decades ago, and it feels like dealing with a child, it feels like dealing with their own younger self, and it's impossible not to grab whumpee by the shoulders and shake them.

but at the end of the day, that bond won't be broken. they've gone through too much together not to have unending compassion for one another.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Wedding whump, as the couple or simply as a guest.

Being under so much pressure to be perfect for this *special day*

As a guest, being so freaking overstimulated because weddings are sensory hell even when you haven't been locked in a dark basement for months.

Whumper being a bride/groomzilla and controlling every aspect of the celebration. Especially whumpee.

Being legally and/or publicly bound to your torturer.

Being punished for an imperfect performance or lapses in etiquette.

[and if you want to go really dark, the looming threat of the wedding night]

tw: implied/referenced sa, dv, human trafficking (all fictional)

yes !!! to !!! all !!!! of! !!! this !!!

bonus if whumper and whumpee were enemies before whumper conquered whumpee.

bonus if whumpee’s hands are physically restrained behind their back. but since it’s the special day, the rope (or chain) is pink and decorated with ribbons and glitter, etc.

bonus if they aren’t even hiding whumpee’s restraint because all the guests know what whumpee’s role is.

and the looming threat of the wedding night? yes. whumpee is unable to keep their own body from trembling in fear during the entire ceremony, thinking about what’s going to happen to them tonight.

[quins-whump-stuff]

982 | Chapter 4: Not Again

Contents: (institutional) pet whump, conditioned whumpee, dehumanization, 1st person pov (whumpee's pov), profanity, emotional distress, food, imperfect caretaker, lady whump (whumpee), whumpee calls caretaker her owner, whumpee calls caretaker her master

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I'm still laying under the tree when my owner returns. Otis is curled up next to me, and I've been letting my fingers gently dance across his golden fur.

"Hey," my owner says, and I open my eyes. I move quickly to the sitting position, so that my feet are underneath me and my hands are in my lap again.

"Hello, Ainsley," I say.

"You can, ya know, relax. That doesn't look comfortable." I thank her and shift my ankles out from underneath me. "I've got lunch," she informs me, sitting down in the grass and placing two bowls in front of her. "It's not much, but I was going to make something special for dinner. If you're still hungry I'll, uh, get you something else though."

She moves one of the bowls closer to me, and I realize: she's giving me this food. Not the stuff they gave us for meals in the kennels, which tasted like cardboard. Not the treats which were sweet and sticky but vanished far too quickly. Real food. And it smells so good. It reminds me of the scents that sometimes lingered on the trainers' breaths after meals.

I realize that my mouth is hanging open, and I'm drooling. I shake my head slightly and then ask tentatively, "Ainsley, this is for me?"

"Yuh," she says, her voice garbled slightly by a mouthful of food.

“Thank you,” I say automatically, then try to figure out how to eat it. It’s liquid, so maybe I need to drink it? But it’s hot and since it’s not water, having it on my chin wouldn’t be very nice. I look out of the corner of my eye at my owner, who dips something metal into her bowl before raising it to her mouth and slurping. There’s another of the metal things in my bowl, and I pick it up to examine it. It’s thin, except for the end which is oval shaped and has a slight dip in it.

“So, uh, I thought of a possible name for you,” my owner remarks, “if you don’t like it or something, we’ll, err, find a different one. Or if you wanna pick a different one later too, that’s fine.” I nod. It’s not my choice, so I don’t know why she acts like it is. "Okay, um, this tree we're under, it's a willow tree, and you just looked so... peaceful and happy here. So I thought I could call you Willow, at least for now. Sound good?"

"Yes, Ainsley." Willow, I roll the name over in my mind. Willow, it sounds soft and gentle. Willow. My name is Willow. I like it.

---

She seems fine with the name, so I guess she'll be Willow, at least for now. She doesn't seem to have taken a bite of her food, but maybe she isn't hungry. She's just so timid and gentle, I can't imagine disliking her. I can't believe they called her defective. Her eyes are a silvery gray color that was slightly unsettling at first, but they don't really bother me any more.

When Willow picks up the spoon, she holds it awkwardly, hands shaking a bit. But, almost immediately, the spoon slips from her grip, tipping the contents into the grass. Suddenly, she looks up at me, eyes wide.

"I'm so sorry, Master! I will clean it up!" she says, lip trembling, tears welling in her eyes again.

"Yeah, uh, don't worry about it." Why does she keep panicking? What the hell did they do to her before? "It doesn't really need cleaned up, cuz we're outside."

My words don't seem to calm her very much, her frail shoulders shaking in fear. She seems worried that I will be mad at her or something, so I add, "I'm not upset." That seems to get her to relax.

"If you don't wanna use a spoon, you can pick up the bowl and drink from it. Like this," I demonstrate with my own bowl.

She takes a shallow breath, then follows suit.

We sit in silence as we finish our food, then I grab both bowls and spoons and stand to take them inside. "Willow, you should come inside," I say, "you got soup on your face. You might wanna, uh, wash that off." She nods, and gets on her hands and knees to follow me. I hold the door open as she crawls inside, then whistle for Otis to come inside too. I point Willow to the bathroom while I wash the dishes.

"I can't do this," I whisper under my breath. I wanted some company, someone I could talk to. And since nobody else will, I bought a clone, a human pet. I should have thought it through more. I was expecting a roommate who couldn't move out. I wasn't planning on this. I can't fix whatever happened to Willow. I can't even fix myself. This was a stupid, stupid idea.

But.

I need someone to talk to other than Otis. I need someone to talk back to me. I can't keep crying myself to sleep at night. I can't keep eating the same leftovers for three days in a row because I can't find a recipe small enough.

I can't be alone again.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I am LIVING for the Chris reblogs. He truly is one of my favorite whumpees of all time. You have mastered the art of a subtle “perfect victim” with him. I may be dead wrong but realistically, what has he done that was even controversial through his whole storyline, you know what I mean? Like just as a few examples of your wonderfully written Not Perfect victims and (this isn’t to victim blame or shame at all,) Jameson did sign up for WRU, his and Kauri’s recoveries were FAR from smooth or perfect, and don’t even get me started on Antoni, yikes! Even Nat, who is doing the lords work now, has a shady past! But Chris genuinely perfect. Even the things he thought were his fault weren’t. And like I said it’s not his main character trait is being THE perfect victim, it’s one of those things that was nicely left not outright said, and for the readers to use critically thinking and I LOVE IT. I think that’s a really difficult feat to pull off and you did a fantastic job.

Also like I said I may be dead wrong but I genuinely can’t think of one true misdemeanor committed by Chris.

Having said all of that I also love all of the character flaws you bestow upon the rest of the gang! Either them being fucked up before, or the aftermath of all of the traumatic experiences leaving them fucked up and with significantly poorer judgements that lead to them getting in situations they maybe would not have if it wasn’t for having a new and definitely not improved way of thinking! Okay, yap over. Keep up the great work!!

So this is kind of an interesting thing for me, because I really do try as much as I can to steer away from that "perfect victim" archetype, but Chris kind of fell into it despite how hard I tried not to have him do that.

His basic disposition was always going to be a sweet kid who had been absolutely tortured and who had nonetheless come out of it with a resilience that would allow him to start rebuilding from that shattered foundation.

Unfortunately, it does mean that he didn't end up with a lot of the more kind of exciting to write and interesting faults and imperfections and occasionally outright malevolence that I have in other characters who are not bad guys, they're just people who had to do bad things to survive horrifying situations.

But of course, the biggest impact there as far as Chris's story is that he never saved himself. He didn't do anything against his own moral code to escape. He was saved by a woman who realized what she was looking at, driven several hours in the middle of the night by a man he'd never met before, and dropped on the doorstep of a whole new group of strangers he had no idea whether or not he could trust.

So Chris does hit that damsel in distress archetype in a way that I don't normally like to go for in main characters. But he really insisted on it, and I think there's this thing about archetypes where we see them so often that we get kind of tired of them, but one of the reasons we do see them so often is because they resonate. And there really are people like that in the world, not everybody of course.. probably not even most people put in the same situation would react the way that he reacted to things. But people do.

And what Chris did to survive was pull back inside of himself so thoroughly that when he started to come out of his shell, all the basic goodness in him was more or less intact and untouched. They could destroy so much of him, but they could never make him anything less than inherently a good kid in a bad situation.

If you were to ask chris, he would probably tell you that the biggest character flaw in him is cowardice, because even as an adult he doesn't really fully understand why he has the freeze and fawn, and hates himself a little for never having been able to fight in any real way. He would call himself a coward, not just for not fighting back but also for the times he's been too afraid, like when he walked away from Rafael the first time they met. That he was able to screw up the courage in the museum to talk to him then was an enormous feat of bravery for Chris. He was absolutely wrecked for days afterward. It took everything he had in him to do it.

[oliversrarebooks]

That "I am your Maestro." line was actually so interesting. The way you write him is really good ambiance too. Everything about him is just powerful, dedicated, perfect.

And why wouldn't you want to be perfect?

Letting Lex walk away, for the express purpose of showing him he can't. Lex thinking he's being defiant, bold even, only to find out, that's not possible anymore.

Because that had to be so purposeful. So filled with intent, and it was probably extra satisfying after listening to Lex's sighs, groans and rebuttals the whole time.

And sure, he could have had Lex repeat it a bunch of time to get an accurate count, but now both he and Lex are aware that he can follow orders given. Just some pesky imperfections to hammer out.

Loss of control whump is just so good. Whumpee just can't go back to who they used to be after that, if they even remember.

Thank you for this awesome analysis! You've got the Maestro spot on. Particularly how he is carefully manipulating Lex throughout their first meeting. Sure, his powers alone can make someone feel helpless, but he wants to break them psychologically as well. Making Lex repeat the song so many times is definitely just a power play.

Lex certainly will never be the same.