#looking for fellow whumpers

[unchartedperils]

If you’re a fellow whumper say I and hi to our sweet little guest Lara Croft before you leave, unlike her who can’t thanks to her New Daddy Conrad Roth’s debt with my Russian friends here in Liberty City.

[serickswrites]

Forget Your Name

Warnings: captivity, torture, rescue, amnesia

"Caretaker," Whumper said, their deep voice growling over the phone, "when I'm through with Whumpee, they're going to forget everything. Who they were before. Who they are now without me. They are going to forget your name, too, Caretaker."

Caretaker hadn't believed Whumper's words. Hadn't believed that Whumper would keep Whumpee for as long as they did. Hadn't believed they would torture Whumpee. But as they stood outside Whumper's compound waiting for the all clear to go in and find Whumpee, Caretaker knew they were wrong.

Guilt consumed Caretaker as they wandered through the corridors, calling out Whumpee's name. The only sound in the compound were their fellow soldiers and their bootsteps. No sound of Whumpee calling out to them. No sound of Whumpee's cries of pain. No sound but their own.

With a heavy heart, Caretaker shouldered open the door to the final room, doubting they would find Whumpee there. Whumper had led them on another wild goose chase. And so Caretaker was surprised to find Whumpee sitting in a chair in the center of the room.

"Whumpee!" They cried happily. "Oh thank God! I am so glad to have found you!"

Whumpee flinched and looked up. "Who?"

"Whumpee, it's me! It's Caretaker!" Caretaker rushed forward ready to embrace Whumpee.

Whumpee leaned back. "I don't know who you are, but my name isn't Whumpee."

Caretaker froze. "Your name is Whumpee. You've known me for years, Whumpee."

Whumpee shook their head. "My name is Prisoner. I have lived here forever with Whumper. I have never met you. Where is Whumper? What did you do to them?"

The desperation in Whumpee's voice had Caretaker's mouth going dry. What had Whumper done to make good on their threat? What had Whumper done to Whumpee and how were they going to undo this and get Whumpee back?

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat @artisticdemon

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ Marquis of Los Angeles: Ch. 2 - Domination

ཐི♡ཋྀ Thank you for the beta-read, @evrensadwrn! ཐི♡ཋྀ

Summary: LaCroix briefs Vincent on the new world he has just entered into, with the expectation that he will be an obedient ghoul. But Vincent is still struggling to gain the upper hand.

Author's Note: I made myself sad writing this - I want Sebastian to turn from Whumper to Caretaker already!

TW: mind control, emotional manipulation, strangulation, kidnapping

It was not LaCroix’s habit to keep his subordinates close to him. If it was wise to keep enemies close, then it was wiser to keep envious inferiors at such a distance that they had no opportunity to become enemies. Ghouls ought to have no knowledge of their master’s weaknesses, and no importance as anything other than pawns. They ought to view him as a solitary, impenetrable figure, above even their understanding. But Vincent Bisset de Gramont proved himself an enemy from the start, and therefore, an exception.

LaCroix repeated that name in his head and smiled, rolling it and playing with it, along with the bullet in his palm which he had decided to keep as a souvenir. Vincent had become so incensed when LaCroix refused to use his title that he determined on the spot never to use it again. The man had to be taught a lesson. “You are no Marquis any longer, let alone an ‘Autem Imperator,’ Vincent. Those titles have no meaning here. You will learn new titles. ‘Prince.’ ‘Regnant.’ ‘Domitor.’ And they will belong to me, not to you - as do all things where we’re going. Know your place.” He leaned back into the quilted suede of his seat, letting starlight and the dimmed glow of the cabin play across his features to what he hoped was a mysterious and intimidating effect.

“Your hubris knows no bounds, Prince,” Vincent spat back, clutching the arms of his seat as if his wrists were lashed to them. “They’re looking for me even now. Do you think you can walk into a High Table duel and make off with the highest ranking –“

“No one is looking for you, because no one knows you’re missing. Everyone who saw me believes they saw a kindly priest who said his respects over your body before helping that fellow – The Harbinger, I believe you call him – lay you to rest in a casket for your mortician to carry away. Tomorrow, that empty casket will be buried.”

A flash of panic before his pretty green eyes lit up again. “The mortician will – “

“The mortician wasn’t your man. He was mine. I sent a local friend to take his place, and to oversee the proceedings. You’re as good as dead, Vincent. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

He went as ghostly white as his travelling companion then. He remained very quiet while Sebastian explained to him the meanings of those important titles he’d mentioned, as well as other relevant words such as “Masquerade” and “Camarilla” and “Ventrue.”

LaCroix’s hope of entertainment during the flight was very much fulfilled. Vincent made for a captivating (if pitiful) image, with blood still smeared across his forehead and wetness sparkling in his eyes. LaCroix couldn’t stop staring at him and wondering whether he’d really cry or not. It filled him with a strange mix of sadism and sympathy that kept the Prince continuously in suspense. It sent him inexplicably trembling to hear Vincent say, “You’ll have to forgive me, Sebastian, I’m just so confused. Please…help me understand everything.”

He was coherent enough to ask intelligent questions though, and always seemed to latch onto those subjects that were a little too top-secret for a first conversation with a ghoul, whilst sighing that he was just so confused and scared. Clearly, he knew his way around a syndicate like the Camarilla and went straight for the vital information. When at last the Prince tired of this game and started to inquire about Vincent’s own organization, he refused to divulge anything.

It confused Sebastian a little. Every other ghoul he’d ever created had hung on his words in an ecstasy that totally drowned out the loss of their former life. They typically begged to repay him for saving them and fell over themselves to please him until he was either amused or disgusted. They certainly didn’t issue desperate pleas and threats about returning to their old life, or try to ply information out of him, or protect their old secrets. But Vincent? Well…there was no doubt that Vincent was affected by Sebastian. Sometimes his eyes lingered on LaCroix as if he wasn’t quite able to look away. But the look there wasn’t puppy love, it was…horror. Hatred. As if Vincent was looking at an old grudge who had wronged him grievously. Something wasn’t right.

He wasn’t in deep enough, that was all. He’d only taken the first sip of vitae – two still remained to form a full blood bond. And he was hardly a pliant individual, that much was evident. For now, Sebastian supposed he’d have to secure the ghoul’s cooperation via commands. “Vincent. When I ask you a question about the High Table, you will answer me directly, honestly, and without embellishments. Do you understand?”

A glazed, vacant look replaced the pitiful one. “I understand.”

There, good. Sebastian let out a breath, only just realizing how tense he had become, and began his inquisition.

He knew a little about the High Table already. It was not so different from the Giovanni, but even larger by membership the Camarilla, and impressive for a human construction. It was difficult to be anyone significant in either the human or kindred underworld without running across the High Table’s activities at some point. But the Autem Imperator (Sebastian might not call him by his title out loud, but he wasn’t forgetting it for an instant in his own mind) offered a unique view of its proceedings. Within minutes, LaCroix knew who held each seat, how communications passed between members, how those communications might be intercepted, into which countries their influence had spread (it was most of them), and even where the Elder resided.

It had been no idle tip, he realized, that suggested he should pay a visit to his home country and rest in the basilica that day. It had been, in fact, pure gold in the form of an anonymous email. He almost passed it up as an attempted ruse or ambush, even with all the power promised by the stranger on the other end. But it also spoke to a Masquerade violation, and even the Nosferatu could not trace it. The sender must have had a contact, someone who could encrypt on their level. So he went personally, just for 24 hours, with the resolution that he would return to the safety of LA as soon as possible.

Remembering at last to the original purpose of his visit, LaCroix asked his ghoul one final question, shortly before landing.

“Do you have an associate who would go by the initial ‘C’?”

Even under domination, he rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Sebastian held out the message on his phone. “Who could this have been?”

“Is it true that you can help someone live beyond death? If you really are I’ve been told you are, then come at once, to Paris. Come to the Sacré-Coeur Basilica just before dawn. If you’re lucky and I’m unlucky, you will find a man there who cannot escape death any other way. If you keep him alive, he will offer you knowledge and power equal to your own, pertaining to a human organization you may know as the High Table. Take him away from me, change him, disappear him, I don’t care. Only save his life and make him happy, and you will have my eternal thanks. He does not know, and will never know, what he means to me.”

- C”

“My bodyguard, Chidi.” His voice was strained almost to the breaking point, and his eyes still fixed on Sebastian’s phone even after the email was closed. Sebastian had no questions about whether he was faking his tearfulness this time.

“A ghoul of your very own, of sorts! Where can I find him?”

Vincent closed his eyes for a moment before mustering an answer. “…He’s dead.”

“Ah, splendid. That saves me a great deal of trouble.”

And then Vincent did what no ghoul, whether on one sip of vitae or three, should have been capable of doing. He sprung forward and closed hands around his domitor’s neck.

.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸. ཐི♡ཋྀ.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.

It took Vincent much longer than it should have to recall that Sebastian didn’t need to breathe. By that time, he was already being dragged off by the enormous, visibly supernatural thing that Sebastian had introduced as “The Sheriff.”

“Get this brainless lump off of me!”

“Hey,” The Sheriff grunted. Vincent paid him no mind, and continued addressing LaCroix with exactly as much civility as he deserved, all the while straining against the boulder-heavy hands holding him back.

“You will not SPEAK to me that way and you will not – “ Fuck, he hated the way his voice was shaking… “You will not speak of my bodyguard’s death as – as ‘splendid!’”

“And you will not speak to me at all until you can behave yourself!” LaCroix retorted. “SILENCE!”

The voice seemed to go out of Vincent’s throat. All his resistance had been used up in the outburst and he sunk numbly back into his seat.

LaCroix was panting, a shaking hand against his neck. He adjusted his tie and recovered himself enough to laugh. “Imagine trying to strangle a vampire! And the one holding your life in his hands, no less. You’re one to talk of brainlessness. And just when I was beginning to respect your cunning.” Vincent opened his mouth and nothing came out, so he spat in LaCroix’s face instead.

“Oh for god’s sake - You don’t speak AND you don’t move!” Vincent smiled as he watched LaCroix wipe at his face with a handkerchief, scowling. But another wave of terrible compulsion spread through his limbs, and then he was paralyzed.

It was such a strange feeling, being “dominated.” It was the same magnetism that drew him to LaCroix when he first laid eyes on him (that must be the “vitae” he had spoken about), but stronger, and more concentrated. Making him capable of magnificent feats, making him motivated, drawing his focus, making things important to him. As if a power was bursting out from inside of Vincent. It wasn’t so unlike being high, and not wholly unpleasant. But it was not his to control, not a part of him. It was LaCroix’s, and he hated it for that, and he hated LaCroix for that too. Maybe, if he just held onto that hatred…

But LaCroix’s conversation with his Sheriff broke his concentration. “No, I don’t want him in a cell, much less his own apartment. He’s not fully dominated and it’s a security risk. I don’t understand it, but I need to maintain a tight hold over him even if I have to do it by manual override. He stays in the penthouse, with me.”

If The Sheriff understood that, he conveyed it only by grunting.

Damn it. Any chance to get out of LaCroix’s grasp was slipping away. Again, he struggled to protest, but it was useless. He couldn’t speak. His own body was refusing him. It felt traitorous and alien and there was no one to help him, no one looking for him, no Chidi ever again and absolutely nothing he could do. If he had a voice, he would probably be screaming, he realized. But instead, for the second time that day, he floated on a sea of bloody misery, gasping worse and worse by the second. As the jet went into final descent, its weightlessness hit him in the stomach and drove home a second wave of fear.

LaCroix was watching him, leaning over him, speaking to him, in much the same way one might speak to a broken printer shortly before kicking it. He lay a hand on Vincent’s chest to feel his shallow heartbeat and the very core of Vincent’s being rebelled against the way that it soothed him.

“Why are you not calm? You shouldn’t be feeling this way, I don’t understand why it’s not working…” He fixed LaCroix with the most hateful stare he could manage without moving his facial muscles. Why do you think, you useless fils de pute? He felt tears rolling silently down his cheeks. Fine. Good, even.

Again, LaCroix’s magnetic voice overpowered his will with a rush, even more hideously blissful than before. Perhaps it was more in harmony with him than the last had been... “Be calm, Marquis. I command you. Don’t be so afraid.”

And all the wild contents of his heart slipped away into a soft, empty, merciful void.

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Image Sources: One | Two

[literarystarfish]

April is the Cruelest Month 2025 Event

Prompts list by @aprilisthecruelestmonth

Day 3

Prompt(s): Paranoia-|-Framed-|-Can't Speak-|-"I don't want to hear it"

Words: ~860

Cw: pet whumpees, punishments

I’m not super thrilled with this one but my brain was being a butt for inspiration so it is what it is.

~~~

Whumpee never liked when Whumper gave any of the other pet whumpees punishments. Despite all of Whumper’s attempts to pit them all against eachother, Whumpee couldn’t find it in themself to hate any of them. Even when the others gladly sent Whumpee to the wolves for things they, themselves, should have been turned to the teeth for instead.

Whumpee never gave up their fellow pet whumpees for a lesser sentence. Not once. Not even if it meant taking a punishment they hadn’t truly deserved.

So when Whumpee’s eyes flicked to the other pet whumpee kneeling behind Whumper— having followed Whumper into the room attempting to look obedient, they knew they were slated for punishment.

“Who was it?”

After presumably denying fault over the broken dishes in the kitchen, Whumps, the other pet, obediently knelt behind Whumper as Whumper liked their pets to do. Looking innocent yet so so guilty.

Whumps’ head was bowed but their lip twitched a bit at the corners. Into a smirk they had trouble keeping off their face. It was clear they had done it. Surely they wouldn’t have done it on purpose, even if they really wanted to frame them. None of the pets would ever risk actually angering Whumper more than they usually were. Least of all Whumps, but it was evident as they knelt there that they had somehow broken the dishes whether it was by accident or not. And it was clear they were happy not to be the one taking the blame.

Whumper likely knew Whumpee wasn’t the one to have broken it. Whumps was the one tasked with the kitchen duty today. But Whumper was probably waiting for them to throw the other under the bus.

They hadn’t yet broken Whumpee enough to double cross the other pets like the other pets do to Whumpee and that angered Whumper more than any disobedience.

Whumpee had been here long before the others. They had endured Whumper’s cruelty far longer. They had been the sole focus for every beating and outburst that Whumper had had for years before them. They could take the pain. They knew they could. And they would endure it for the others as well. Even if they would never do the same for them.

Somehow, it also felt like disobedience, doing this. Even if it benefited the other pets far more than themself, it still gave them the satisfaction that they were doing something Whumper hated. While they couldn’t decide the punishment, they were the one deciding to take it on in the first place.

It wasn’t true control, but after having no other control of their life— always under Whunper’s thumb, waiting to be crushed like a bug at any outburst— this manipulation to make Whumper punish them on their own terms? They would take the little bit of defiance they could get. They would never truly be safe from the beatings. Not while they were still with Whumper.

But this was their decision.

Theirs.

Not the other pets’. Not Whumper’s.

Theirs.

“I did.” Whumpee watched Whumps’ attempt to keep their smirk from showing break down. They smiled as they made eye contact with Whumpee. Malicious. They knew Whumpee wouldn’t rat them out. They had once again gotten away punishment free at the sake of Whumpee instead.

But it wasn’t their decision. It was Whumpee’s.

“Well, Whumps,” Whumper didn’t even turn to the kneeling pet as they addressed them. Instead, their narrowed eyes pierced Whumpee’s. Almost like they knew what Whumpee was doing. And they hated it. “It seems you were right. What do you think we should do to such a clumsy pet so they remember to be more careful, hmm?”

This was another thing Whumper enjoyed doing. Forcing the pets to come up with the punishments for the others. If they chose a something that Whumper thought was inadequate, they would be the ones to take the punishment instead. One that the other then also got to decide. And if they also chose something inadequate, they would both receive punishment. It was in the other’s interest to choose harsh punishments to avoid it themself.

Pit the pets against each other.

And Whumpee always took the fall.

Of their own decision.

“Perhaps push their hands into the glass shards they made of your nice dishes, Master. Leave a few scars on their hands to remind them to use them more carefully.”

Whumper smirked at Whumps’ suggestion.

“Well, now, Whumps,” Whumper chastised, despite looking thrilled at Whump’s answer. “I don’t think leaving them unable to use their hands for any length of time is beneficial for me. However, the glass isn’t such a bad idea.” Whumper’s smirk was evil. Whumps’ was no nicer. Especially after receiving Whumper’s praise. “What do you think, Whumpee?”

Whumpee was terrified to know what Whumper had planned.

They took a deep, steadying breath.

My terms. Mine.

Whumpee smiled, small and obedient, and nodded their head.

[whumpitisthen]

Limbo

Previous I Masterlist I Next

CWs: dissociation/derealisation [whumpee thinking they aren't really alive], mentioned torture, mentioned character death, a candid conversation about death with Death the jolly fellow himself, angel whumpee, deity whumper, religious themes, carewhumper, the poor boy has no idea what's coming the boy is not doing so well :/ if only there was someone who cared :pensive: ( <- actively making him worse)

“Am I dead?”

The angel looks far away, grey, foggy under his skin. He perches on the bed he was provided, in the lavish guest room he was given. It's an emperor-size bed; it makes him look little with his bruised-up legs hanging off the edge.

Sitting at the long dinner table, legs propped up as he leans back in his chair, Grim hums distractedly. — “Hm?”

“Am I dead?” — Auden repeats after a swallow of consideration, this time at least managing to sound like he wasn't just talking to himself.

The Reaper’s lips curl with a slow hum. He forgets about the pen he was twirling — always playing, always busying his hands with something. A pen, a blade, someone's hair. His hand pauses only briefly, then he continues spinning it between his fingers like he never stopped. — “Mm. It feels like that, doesn’t it.”

There is the sound of thunder, far away, but close enough that Auden can hear it rumble. The sound of his Fall. It scares him so much he can barely breathe. His hands dig into the heavenly soft sheets, feeling undeserving. A moment passes.

“Mori,” — he starts quietly, voice breaking, — “they um… I did not mean to, I really didn't, but I asked them how uh, h-how they got,” — he gestures vaguely in the direction of the intimidating double doors leading into the bedroom, — “...here.”

He feels so similar to how he felt on the day Grim brought him home. Weak and hazy, no particular colour to him. Just tired. Shaken, commanding about as much presence as a ghost.

“It was really stupid, I know. It would be insensitive to ask anyone that, right? Especially so out of the blue, like I did. But I did not m-mean it um, literally. I just thought — I thought they were so nice. So kind. They, I, I did not expect anyone here to be nice. Not to me. I-It surprised me.”

They never found out what he really meant. He meant it to be a compliment. They took it as an order. — “That is what I had meant,” — he tells the Mori in his memory, a small murmur, as if they could still hear him, still trying to explain himself.

“They had gone quiet, and I um, I told them they didn't have to t-tell me anything they didn't want to. I felt horrible. But I asked them, so they answered.”

Now Auden is the one going quiet. He doesn't know how to continue, or if he even wants to. His melancholic rambling isn't even fully directed at the Reaper. Grim’s interest has been piqued, however. — “And what did they tell you?”

Auden squirms, frowning. — “Not pleasant things.”

“Is that so,” — muses the deity, expecting this to be the end of the conversation. For a minute it was, but then the angel finds it in himself to continue.

“They told me they came close to dying, many times. They told me they did die, but not literally — that confused me a little, but I’m, uh, I think I am starting to get it.” — Stealing a glance at the Reaper, he sees a bit of humour glint in his vermilion eyes. He must know the story as well as Mori, though, unlike them, he clearly finds the tale a lot more amusing. — “They said they barely remembered who they were before… before you um, saved them.”

The way he is saying all this makes it seem like he has some sort of conundrum he must solve. Like every bit of information Mori had relayed to him is a puzzle piece. However, while it is fun hearing about how Mori remembers their meeting, Grim does not enjoy long roundabout tangents that go on forever. Setting aside the pen, he stretches, swinging those heavy boots off the table, and fixes Auden with a questioning look. — “This is a lovely retelling darling, but is there somewhere you are going with this? Or did you just feel like sharing with me something I already know?”

The thunderstorm flies ever closer. Static ruffles the feathers on Auden's wings. His shoulders hitch higher, hiding him.

“You saved Mori…”

“Mhm.”

“And you saved me, from the, the dragon lady.”

Grim laughs. — “I did.”

“S-So, since Mori was saved by you when they were dying, and I was saved when I was near death, and we both ended up here, here w-with, well, with you…” — he trails off, hesitant to finish his train of thought. It's like he can't even bring himself to say it.

Finally, Grim's expectant gaze forces the words to tumble out of his mouth anyway.

“I was wondering if maybe… I did die.”

The silence is so loud Auden doesn't even dare to look up, afraid that all he would find is a pitying, mocking grin. His guess at the Reaper's expression is not far off.

“Are you asking me?” — Grim asks belatedly. The fanged smile is clear enough in his voice.

“...Nothing really felt real since then,” — Auden finishes vaguely, weakly, eyes stuck to his own shaky hands clasped around each other in his lap. He feels silly, now. Saying it all aloud made it sound like it's either the most obvious or the most stupid assumption in the world. He can't tell which one it is from the Reaper's mood, but shame sears his cheeks nevertheless.

It takes another moment of cruel silence before he is granted a curious reply; — “Where do you suppose you are right now?”

Auden curls up a little more. — “Somewhere between alive and dead.”

Oh, the poor thing is lost, in more ways than just one.

Grim thinks for a minute, leaning his temple onto his fist. The angel's reality has been all but turned upside down, and now his mind is fracturing. Perhaps the shards could be built into something vastly different. His Lord does find moulding minds especially enjoyable, though such a process can be unfathomably delicate. Still, for now, the safest way forward may just be care and patience. The angel is confused enough as it is, and while hilarious, he doesn't want his lamb losing all touch with reality before meeting his new master. He will have a difficult enough time keeping track of what is real under his care anyway.

“Where do angels go when they die?” — he inquires instead, half interested in Auden's answer himself.

“They don't…”

Grim rolls his eyes. Of course. — “Where do Fallen go?”

“To Hell,” — Auden answers promptly, but then thinks further, and finds the answer insufficient. He doesn't really know what happens to Fallen Angels besides ‘eternal damnation’, since that is just a sentence, not reality. He just never thought to think further than that. Because Fallen can die. They do die, swiftly, once they reach here, once demons find them and tear them apart. — “But, but when they die… I am not sure.”

“Would you like to know?” — the Reaper asks with an easy smile.

Auden lifts his head, a little surprised to be offered to be let in on such secrets of life and death. Asking questions rarely lead to straight answers back up in his Heaven. Most of the time, he was met with disdainful expressions and waved off, told that these kinds of matters should not interest him, or, more humiliatingly, that he should already know the answer. Embarrassed, he learned not to ask questions, and only now is he starting to realise how much of his present knowledge is made up of his own assumptions.

To think he would be learning of death from Death himself — and for his silly question to be met with an unexpectedly straightforward desire to answer; no mocking, nor judgement, nor annoyance…

A small glimmer returns to his eyes as he looks to the deity intently. — “Yes please,” — he whispers, amazed, a little reverent.

The Reaper lifts a claw and beckons Auden over. The angel slides off the mattress and begins walking over obediently, only to stop in his tracks all of a sudden, hesitating.

“W-Wait, no, no I don't,” — he stutters, waving his hands out in front of him, seemingly swiftly having changed his mind. — “You don't have to, to show — I'll, I'm sorry…”

Grim is confused for a moment, not understanding the sudden reluctance, his outstretched hand sinking ever so slightly. Then, he chuckles, light as a cloud. He waves his hand dismissively. — “Oh, no, not like that. That did sound somewhat threatening, I will admit. No need to fear; you are a smart boy, you do not need such demonstration.”

Being beckoned to come closer by the Reaper after inquiring about what happens to Fallen when they die — Grim can't exactly fault the angel for hesitating. Nevertheless, with a small bit more encouragement, the nervous dove sulks up to him cautiously in the end, keeping his hands close in front of him.

“Choose one,” — the Reaper says, motioning to the jade porcelain vase filled to the brim with fresh roses set in the middle of the table. Auden saw so many bouquets arranged in large pots lining the hall as he was looking for a way out. He wonders just how much work it takes to keep every one of them filled and replenished in such a massive mansion.

Once he has made his choice — sliding free the flower that least upsets the balance of the rest as he takes it out — he looks to the Reaper. The Reaper picks one for himself and lifts it to his nose.

“When angels die, their souls float towards Heaven.” — He flips the rose downwards, letting it flop on the table. — “When demons die, their souls remain stuck here. And when Fallen die — ”

The radiant red petals are suddenly wilting, growing limp and dark, then dry and ugly in the Reaper's hand. Auden watches the healthy, beautiful flower rot, and then finally completely erode into black ashes, floating in the air like smoke after a wildfire, leaving nothing behind. Some sort of twisted awe leaves his mouth open and raises the hairs on the back of his neck in seeing the effects of Death's touch. Obliteration, destruction, extinction — with just a single touch…

He held that same hand from Miss Thu’lin’s palace all the way here.

“When Fallen die,” — Grim repeats as he rubs the pads of his fingers together to rid them of the flower's remains, — “their souls have nowhere left to go, so they disperse, just like that. Like a warm breath on a cold winter night.”

Auden clutches his own rose close to his chest, far, far from those deadly talons of shadow. — “Do they just… cease to exist? Permanently?”

The angel's wide eyes bring fondness to the Reaper's smile. He asks, instead of answering; — “do you think you exist?”

“...I don't know,” — Auden admits, a hushed whisper.

The fondness remains as he puts his hand out, scaring a flinch out of the angel. Auden goes to carefully place his rose into Death's hand, but he takes hold of Auden's wrist before he could, plucking it from him and returning it to the vase. He holds his hand gently, but firmly, feeling resistance. It's hard to tell the difference between his silver jewellery and icy skin.

“You are alive, my dear,” — assures Grim, making sure Auden hears him, looking directly into his eyes, — “you are here with me, and that should be all the evidence you need that you still exist as, if you didn't, I could never find you again.”

The young angel's lips quiver, his eyes growing misty, but he listens, and tries in earnest to believe those words. His eyes flicker down as the Reaper's thumb runs across the back of his hand. Back and forth, slow and gentle. Auden's face never crumbles fully, his tears silent as they flow.

Death's frigid kiss presses onto his knuckles like a curse, and the angel forgets to pull away.

<3

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpifi @sordayciega @a-miscellaneous-number-of-rats

Taglist (tagged in everything I write): @morning-star-whump @whumprince @a-living-canvas

[whumpusgumpus]

WHUMP/SNZ/COLDS COMMISSIONS OPEN‼️ STARTING AT JUST 8$🗣️‼️

So I’m in a tough spot in life rn, and a fellow freak like y’all needs some help! Starting at 8$ per sketch, I’m opening up my whump/sck/snz commissions. I don’t have a comm sheet yet, but I’ve drawn tons of whump and am going to be uploading much more in the near future. The prices are as follows:

Each comes with a lil doodle: pictured above in the 3rd and 4th slides

8$ digital torso and up sketch (pictured above in 2nd slide, but erm digital

12$ torso and up digital sketch+color

18$ torso and up digital sketch+render (pictured above in 1st slide)

(From first to last +5,+8,+15) for an additional person (whumper or caretaker perhaps 😏)

I take Cashapp and paypal! I ask for the payment of each commission before it’s finished 😊

Sorry for the lack of examples, a beotch is in a PICKLE 🙂‍↕️ but ty y’all for reading, and I look forward to hopefully drawing some yummy stuff for y’all 😏

Pictured above: Drew konr/ad struggling w a fever. Although nervous at first given Konr/ad’s grumpy mood, Blathnat steps up to take care of him =)

[bbu-on-the-side]

BBU Community Days 2024! In April!

Thank you, BBU community, for existing! To celebrate this community and our shared universe, I'll host a second instance of the BBU Community Days.

The event is open to everyone who enjoys the BBU. You don't have to be a writer or a long time participant, or anything, it's enough to just be someone who is fascinated by the universe! There's also no need to fill in all the prompts; no completionist badge will be awarded. The only "rule" is: if you want to boost your own content, please always boost someone else's too.

This year's prompts are in parts similar to last year's, some even stayed the same due to their success and popularity. Looking forward to seeing your new takes to it.

[Rules]

All prompts and a transcript of the image can be found under the cut as well.

April 14 / Community Prompt: (Re)Introduction / (Re-) Introduce yourself and give a little overview about your BBU writing / creations, favorite tropes, and the like.

April 15 / Worldbuilding Prompt: Questions (and Polls!) / What's an open question you've always asked yourself about the BBU?

April 16 / Writing Prompt: "RULES" / Write a BBU story based on the one-word-prompt and share it!

April 17 / Showcasing Prompt: Boxies / Talk about your current favorite boxie OCs (one of your own, one or more by someone else) with commentary on what makes them special to you!

April 18 / Creation Prompt: Memes & Prompts / Create a BBU meme (that would work in-universe or as a meta commentary - your call!), or curate a little BBU prompt list to inspire fellow writers, artists or roleplayers!

April 19 / Community Prompt: Favorites New & Old / Talk about the writers, characters or stories that most inspired your BBU journey - and if possible include a "new" favorite that you discovered (or that has only been been written) after last year’s event!

April 20 / Worldbuilding Prompt: Inspiration / What's an idea about the BBU worldbuilding that particularly inspires you, be it to daydream or to write?

April 21 / Writing Prompt: "OUTSIDE" / Write a BBU story based on the one-word-prompt and share it!

April 22 / Showcasing Prompt: Handlers or Owners / Talk about your current favorite BBU whumper OCs (one of your own, one or more by someone else) with commentary on what makes them special to you!

April 23 / Creation Prompt: In-Universe Media / Create a piece of media that could exist within the BBU!

April 24 / Community Prompt: Fanwork / Create a piece of fanwork (fanart, fanfic, moodboard, playlist…) for someone else’s BBU story, character, setting, pairing, or whatever inspires you about them!

April 25 / Worldbuilding Prompt: Archetypes / What’s a standard element of BBU worldbuilding you love to come back to in your own writing, and that makes you happy to see in others’? What are potential spins to it?

April 26 / Writing Prompt: "MADE FOR IT" / Write a BBU story based on the prompt and share it!

April 27 / Showcasing Prompt: Caretaker / Talk about your current favorite BBU caretaker OCs - be it pet lib activists, kind (?) owners, a boxie's loved ones... - (one of your own, one or more by someone else) with commentary on what makes them special to you!

April 28 / Creation Prompt: Collaboration / Create a piece of BBU content together with another community member! 

[whatawhumperfulworld]

Hello fellow whumpers,

I'm sorry I hardly post anymore, I just don't have time but I couldn't resist sharing Sunday's trailer of the next episode of this series with Aras just looks like it's going to be full of whump and I had to share it with you haha! ❤️‍🩹

[sorrowful-hyacinth]

Tag Game: Author Ask Tag

Thank you @melpomenelamusa for tagging me! I'm going to use "Voyagers" just because it's the one fresh in my mind right now.

1. What is the main lesson of your story? Why did you choose it?

Honestly, my stories rarely ever have a message behind them. They're very self-indulgent. I just like seeing my boys suffer. I'm also just a big stickler for whumper-turned-whumpee tropes and this was a good story to try. If I had to guess a theme or a message that might come out through the story later, it might just be as simple as learning to be more humble. Maybe learn to be more kind, you know, the whole "karma is a bitch" thing, well just don't be a bitch. Lol

2. What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding?

Probably "Pirates of the Caribbean", especially for the setting, attire, and slang. Also siren folklore, but putting my own creative spin on it along the way. Like Caspians lack of a siren voice traded off with godly powers that very few royals in a generation are born with.

3. What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness or help the reader grow as a person?

There was nothing to teach with this story, just trying to put more whump into the community so we can all have a good time making silly blorbos suffer. It's also a little interesting, choosing who the main character is because in my head both Malik and Caspian are the main characters of the whole story. They'll both be the most fleshed out characters and interacting with each other, but I think in my head I'm leaning towards the ending being with Malik, so for now let's just consider him the main character. He's just trying to have a full-filling and meaningful life. building a legacy for pirates of generations to look to for inspiration. His ruthlessness and daring personality are what have gotten him out of his dead-end life and become the captain he is. By the end, I guess we'd expect a lesson from him being to appreciate whats been in front of you and understand that kindness goes a long way.

4. How many chapters is your story going to have?

I have no idea. A million if I could, lmao. It'll basically end whenever I feel the story is conclusive enough, but that also doesn't include side stories, AU's, or prompts that might become canon.

5. Is it fan fiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Original work! I'm not a big fan fic person when it comes to writing because I always feel like I can't get into the character. Like, I don't know what quips they'd have, what their internal thoughts would be, stuff like that. So original characters make me feel more confident since I know them, I made them. I only ever post here on Tumblr, I do have an AO3 account so maybe I'll post there too one day.

6. When did you start writing?

For this story specifically, it was around Fall 2024. In general, since forever, but for shits and giggles. Never serious, fleshed out stories with characters that have actual backstories.

7. Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers do you follow?

I don't think I have a lot of advice to give, let alone super insightful advice. I will say that I've seen a lot of writers struggling with feeling obligated to put out something for their audience under a deadline and the pressure builds up. Don't feel pressured. Write when you want to, when it comes to you, when you love what you're writing. The people who actually appreciate your work will wait patiently and be there when you publish your work. There will always be someone nagging you and saying how you should put out more faster. Everyone works at a different pace and life gets in the way. Don't stress. The only ones who need to suffer here are our characters because we love them :)

I don't know who's been tagged already sooo I hope I don't repeat too many people: @turn-the-tables-on-them @whumpsday @paperprinxe @skittles-the-whumpee @gala1981 @hollowgast1 @darkthingshappen

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

ID. An inbox title that reads: *tips hat* Fellow whumpers. End ID

I just came look at ur blog since u reblogged a post out of curiosity and found this. Its so graceful. Comedic. Elegant. Amazing. Keep up the good work

Oh, thank you so much! Funnily enough I forget about that most of the time since I’m primarily on mobile. I’m glad you enjoyed it!

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Beautiful Blood -- Sadistic Vampire Whumper Keeping Human Pets part 20

TW: violence, blood drinking, intimate vampire whump, forced servitude, sadistic vampire master, recovery whump

Anonymous asked: Is it possible if you could continue beautiful blood it's soo gooddd and I really love Nyx lol

Anonymous asked: Heya urm just asking is it possible if you could continue beautiful blood but more on Nyx pov lol

Here you go, peoples! The Beautiful Blood series is BACK!

The aftermath of the fight with Lily's freakish brute of a werewolf was pure chaos at Nyx's mansion, and Nyx. Was. LIVID. It was hard to tell if all the damage in the foyer was all caused by the actual fight, or if it was from the rageful rampage Nyx went on after Lily escaped with her two favorite bloodbags.

She'd taken the full extent of her wrath out on her surroundings, and even her fellow vampire guards didn't dare cross her in such a violent mood. She rarely got this way, but Lily had snatched her two most valued possessions from right out under her nose. She was outright furious.

There'd been one servant foolish enough to get in the way, and Nyx had shredded him on the spot in her anger -- but in the end it only made her even more frustrated, because it left yet another bloody mess to clean up. Eventually she'd stormed off to her living quarters to fume alone.

How DARE Lily steal her prized pets. Nyx had to get them back... she'd stop at absolutely nothing. Especially to get her hands back on Asher. She needed his blood, a deep craving had formed in her gut after his escape. His blood was like the sweetest nectar, the most fulfilling wine. She could still smell his presence lingering in the air, tempting and mocking.

Have fun with him while you can, Lily, Nyx thought venomously. Because I WILL get my toy back... and when I do, I have a long and painful death waiting for you. When I catch you, I'll take my sweet time...

Nyx stayed holed up in her room the entire rest of the ray and well into the night, until finally she summoned a servant to feed on.

And while she waited for her meal to arrive, she pulled out her phone -- and dialed the number of a vampire she knew well. It was time to call in a favor.

"What is it this time?" An exasperated voice answered after a few rings.

"Augustine. I'm calling to collect that debt you owe me."

"Seriously? That was two whole centuries ago! I thought you would have forgotten about that by now..."

Nyx could practically hear the groan in Augustine's voice, and she laughed childishly, propping her ankles up on a quartz coffee table. "Aww, don't be like that! Aren't you excited for the chance to see my pretty face again?" She teased. "You should know by now that I have a very long memory."

There was a soft knock on the door, before it cracked open, and a young male servant came nervously shuffling in, eyeing Nyx with unbridled terror in his expression.

Nyx's hungry eyes lit up at seeing him, and she beckoned him to come to her as she continued talking on the phone. "Look, Augustine... something unfortunate happened. Two of my best servants were stolen, and I need help tracking them down and bringing them home. And I know you have an abundance of resources at your disposal."

"I've never known you to let a servant escape," Augustine's voice said in her ear. "How'd it happen?"

Nyx's ears tinted red with shame. "I... got greedy and careless. Too loose with security. That's all you need to know. So, think you can help a fellow vampire out?"

The human servant finally made it to the couch Nyx was sprawled on and sat on the edge. Nyx could already hear his heartbeat racing with primal fear. She grinned and snaked her free arm around his lower back, forcefully yanking him up against her side.

The boy let out a surprised yelp that turned into a frightened whine as he instinctively tried to pull away from the invasive contact, but Nyx only tightened her grip in warning, and he quickly stopped trying to escape.

"Is someone else there with you?" Augustine's voice drawled. "Don't tell me you're trying to feed while talking on the phone with me. You always get woozy after drinking too much."

Nyx laughed, a cold, cruel sound that made her servant flinch hard. "Don't worry about my life choices, Augustine. We're almost done with our conversation anyway. Name your price for your services hunting a lost human down and I'll pay it in full. Deal?"

Augustine's answer was a satisfied grunt before he hung up, and Nyx set her phone down, turning her full attention to the human quivering in her grip.

"Now I can have some alone time with you," she purred playfully. Her talk with Augustine had given her new hope. She was still angry that she'd let Lily get away with the crime, but her mood was certainly better than it was five minutes ago.

Nyx's eyes narrowed like a deadly predator, and between one heartbeat and the next she had her fangs locked deep in the boy's throat without warning, one hand on the back of his neck to hold him still. Her free hand clamped tightly over his mouth, muffling the bone-chilling shriek of agony as she started drinking fast, too fast to keep up with. This was a disposable servant, she didn't care to be gentle or cautious with the feeding.

The servant thrashed at first, desperately writhing, but his struggles rapidly lost power as the life was sapped from him with every swallow Nyx took.

There was a vibrating buzz that interrupted the situation, and Nyx lazily took her teeth out with an eye roll, picking up her phone to check the new message that had appeared. It was from Augustine, as expected.

It was a price, along with a note: 'sorry, but this one's going to really cost you. I have to clear my whole schedule just for your job. I'll be at your place tomorrow night.'

Nyx smiled wolfishly, typing her answer: 'Look forward to it. Maybe once you return my missing servants, I'll let you have a taste of one. There's something special about one of them... I'm certain you'll find it fascinating.'

Her victim was breathing shallowly as he laid limply on the couch where Nyx had dropped him, blood leaking from his neck with every heartbeat. Groans and moans punctuated each labored breath, his fingers twitching feebly.

Nyx hit send on her message and turned back to the human servant with a pleasant smile, baring blood-stained teeth. "Right. Let's continue, shall we?" She hummed, and descended on him like a bird of prey.

There was something so disturbingly casual about it, texting while draining a bloodbag dry. But Nyx didn't care. She drank her fill until the servant beneath her fangs had stilled and stopped breathing, and she couldn't help wishing that it was Asher's regenerative blood instead that filled her stomach. Normal humans were so annoyingly fragile.

Nyx detached from the servant with a dissatisfied hiss, shoving the limp body off the couch to hit the floor. She didn't care if it left a bloody mess.

-------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, somewhere else...

The introduction had gone far better than Asher would have ever hoped. He'd partially expected Lily to go feral and attack his father or sister on the spot, but she hadn't laid a single finger on them. It was kind of unsettling, how frighteningly... human Lily acted and looked on the outside. The only things that would have given her away were the quicksilver eyes, the fangs, and the few times where her movements twitched just a little too fast to be natural.

He hated it when his father offered to serve the vampire dinner as a thank-you gift for her help 'returning Asher home'. Hated every second he had to sit at the table with a bloodsucker, right next to his family, who were completely oblivious of the danger. Even if Lily hadn't harmed anyone yet, that didn't mean she couldn't.

It was even worse when Lily glanced at him with a smug grin at hearing the word 'dinner' come out of his father's mouth, silently reminding Asher of his promise to the vampire.

Asher almost collapsed with relief when the dinner was finally over and Lily was heading out the door. But before she left, she pulled him into a hug, catching him off-guard. "See you soon," she whispered ominously into his ear, and Asher shivered.

A week passed without any further contact from her, but Asher was still paranoid that the time would come to fulfill his agreement to Lily, his blood for his continued freedom -- or worse, what if Nyx somehow found him again?? The odds were slim, but he could easily picture it, Nyx wandering dark alleys at night, hunting him down with a vengeance. He had frequent nightmares about it. The fear was so strong, he almost never left the house.

Sometimes his mind wandered to Callum, he wondered how Lily was treating him, if he'd become her bloodbag and if that was why Lily hadn't reached out to him in a whole week. Maybe Lily had forgotten about Asher.

But he should have known better than to hope. Because today there was a sharp knock on the door, and when Asher answered it, his stomach plummeted all the way to his feet when he found Morgan standing on the porch. The werewolf herself. Lily's closest ally.

"I'm assuming you've already figured out what this is about?" Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"D-Did Lily send you?" Asher croaked hoarsely. Morgan nodded, and he let out a shaky breath. "This isn't really a good time --"

"Lily won't be kept waiting on my watch," Morban interrupted firmly with a tone that brokered no argument. "That was your agreement. She rescued you from Nyx and granted you freedom under the condition that she could summon you at any time, no matter how inconvenient. So throw some shoes on, and come with me. Non-negotiable."

Asher gawped at her for a few long seconds before snapping out of it and scurrying off to get ready. What on earth should he bring? He was being taken away to be fed on, so maybe a change of clothes if his got bloody?? He definitely didn't want to have to explain to his family why he returned home with bloodstains on his clothes.

He threw random stuff into a bag, hurrying because there was no way he was going to keep a deadly werewolf like Morgan waiting long. He rushed back to the door with the bag slung over one shoulder, when he ran into his sister.

"Asher! Where are you going in such a hurry?" Sofia's eyes were wide and worried as she eyed the way he bounced anxiously on his feet, the bag he was carrying.

"I'm just going out for a bit, hanging out with a friend," Asher quickly excused, shrugging.

Sofia frowned. "But you look... scared. Are you sure you're okay?"

Asher nodded urgently. "Yes, I am. I'm running late, so I'm in a rush. I'll explain when I get back!" He brushed past his sister and strode out the door before he could chicken out, meeting up with Morgan.

"Are you ready?" Morgan rumbled.

Asher couldn't meet her gaze. "No. But... I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"

Morgan's expression softened just a hair when she nodded. "If it's any reassurance, Lily is one of the kinder vampires that I've met. She won't be like Nyx."

"Let's just... get this over with," Asher gritted out as he climbed into Morgan's car.

The entire car trip was made in utter silence, troubled thoughts clouding Asher's anxious mind. Lily had promised to be a better 'master' than Nyx, but what if she'd lied? What if it was all just a cruel mind game? He stared miserably out the car window, watching the colorful city lights whizz by.

His anxiety steadily crept higher and higher, and spiked hard when the car stopped outside a small mansion of a house. Asher recognized it as the one Callum had been taken to the day of the rescue. He stepped out of the car on wobbly legs, wordlessly trailing behind Morgan as the werewolf walked confidently up to the front doors, pushing one open and holding it for Asher.

Asher shouldn't have been surprised to see the large interior, but he still was. It was frighteningly similar to Nyx's mansion in that it was perfectly neat and clean without a speck of dust, all full of luxury and beauty. The only difference was that there was not a single human servant in sight.

"Asher! Glad you could make it!" A lively, sing-songy voice made Asher jump when Lily appeared out of nowhere behind him. He whirled to face the vampire, who giggled mischievously. And then his gaze flicked to who was standing next to her and --

"Callum!" Asher cried happily. Callum smiled brightly. He looked vastly different than Asher remembered, so much more confident in the way he held himself, no longer quaking with fear. Maybe Lily was a better master, if Callum looked this at ease around her. No worry lines creased his forehead, no fear etched into stiff movements.

"I'll give you two some time to catch up later--" Lily waved dismissively at Callum "--but right now, I'm here to spend time with you, Asher. So please, follow me."

The joy instantly evaporated, and Asher's face crumpled with dread as Callum nodded and obediently wandered away, leaving him at Lily's mercy.

"What's wrong, darling?" Lily's voice snapped him back to the present, and he realized he'd been staring blankly at the far wall. "I gave you a solid week to get adjusted and settle back in with your family before I called upon you. Was I not generous enough?" The corners of Lily's mouth twitched into a frown.

"Er--N-No! That was more than generous, Lily," Asher blurted, tripping over his words.

Lily smiled knowingly. "You don't have to fear me, human. I am not Nyx. You never have to lie to appease me."

Asher knew that, and yet every primal, atavistic instinct of his was still screaming at him to flee before this lethal predator. It was merely basic human nature, a survival thing.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal

[erdarielthewhumper]

hiiiii fellow whumpers

anyone wanna help me figure out the extent and other details of injuries (burns specifically) that my d&d player character got in a recent battle? :3

i do some out of session rp'ing with the other people in the campaign and so far i've avoided giving out the details but i wanna be prepared for the possibility of someone trying to look closer

[whumping-valentine]

🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 1 🦌

(Inspired by my post from last night)

Content: hunter whumper, captured whumpee in bear trap, rural setting, injuries, creepy whumper, environmental whump (kinda)

1,500 Words (so nice to write something short for once)

I plan to make this series progressively more and more creepy and paranormal as it goes on (introducing ghosts, demons, vampires, etc.) which even begin to freak whumper out. I came up with an entire plot while I was trying (and failing) to sleep last night. I told myself I was going to write something not fantasy and actually grounded in reality for once but noooo I just had to have my cryptids. And complex plots. I'm incapable of making something simple, I really tried, guys. But trust me, y'all have no idea how crazy things are gonna get.

I'll tag this series as #fawn and hunter so you can use that to search my profile for it (which will be their "names" going forward). Apologies if the writing isn't the best, I wrote this in like 2 hours. Btw they're both nonbinary because I've decided I hate gender. Fellow genderqueers rise up.

Anyways, enjoy!

       The woods were Whumpee's favorite place to be. The way the winds rustled through the leaves, and birds sang from their nests up high in the trees. They loved nature, they always had since they were a child. And today was a day just like any other.

       They were new to this area in particular, and were eager to take a walk through a brand new set of woodland. They were heavily geared and excited, taking their steps into a small, secluded nature trail early in the morning.

       They lost themself among the trees, the crunching autumnal leaves beneath their feet, the wind against their face. They hiked through the rocky paths, stomped down steep hills, and rested against the trees. They were an adventurer at heart. One who loved nature, and animals, and the outdoors. They respected it, thanked it, and appreciated it. 

       They hadn't even realized they had ventured off the path, far too amazed by the rushing river and fall scenery. They snapped so many photos on their camera, it was all so beautiful. They had been in the area for about a week now, and locals have called the woods haunted and dangerous. How ridiculous! Whumpee thought. They were really missing out.

       A few hours into their hike, they relaxed in the leaves against a tree near the river, kicking their bare feet in the cold water. It didn't bother them much. They took a drink from their cantine, feeling high and happy on these simple joys of life. This is what it was all about. This was living.

       Whumpee dried off their feet and continued their hike away from the rushing waters, where they spotted a white-tailed deer. A doe, to be exact. She was beautiful, and whumpee was careful to remain hidden and quiet as they peered from behind a tree. They took notice of a heart shape among her white spots, quietly snapping photos of the unique pattern. When she spotted the human, both looked like deer caught in headlights.

       Whumpee slowly, and carefully, pulled out a granola bar from their bag, kneeling down on the ground as they offered it to the cautious creature. The doe slowly approached them, as if she could sense something positive about the small human. She sniffed the oats and began to munch. When there was nothing left the two made eye contact before the doe galloped off into the woods, hoof steps disappearing off into the distance. Whumpee was stunned by the encounter. It felt magical.

       Whumpee continued on through the woods, where the peaceful tranquility was interrupted by a loud, metal clank, followed by a pained scream that echoed through the trees. Whumpee collapsed to their knees in the dirt in a state of shock. They looked to their legs and saw a massive, heavy bear trap clung to their right ankle. It dug straight through their thick boots, going all the way down to the bone.

       As the adrenaline and shock wore off, an unbearable agony coursed all throughout their leg, followed by an aching throb. Any slight movement they'd make with their leg would cause a spike of horrendous, sharp pain. They tried their best to fight through it and pry the contraption off of them, but it was no use, and just caused more turmoil to their vessel. Even if they could get it off, they weren't sure they'd even be able to walk.

       They pulled their phone out of their bag to call for help, but to their dismay they had no signal. How far out did they venture from the path? It couldn't have been that far… yet by the look of the sky, night was approaching. They had been walking all day. How could they have gotten so lost?

       They shut off their phone and their hand fell limp to the ground in defeat. Pure dread took a hold of them as their racing heart dropped to their stomach. All they could do was lie back in the dirt and leaves, control their breathing, and pray to god someone finds them. 

       When they calmed down enough, all that was left was that throbbing ache. They squeezed their eyes shut as tears leaked from them. They felt so stupid. How could they have gotten so lost? How could they have allowed themself to get caught in such a large trap?

       They packed plenty of snacks and water, but would it even be worth it to stay alive? Maybe they should just accept defeat and let the Earth reclaim their bones. They had made a foolish mistake, and this was how things shall end. Taken down by the very thing they love. Ironic, isn't it?

       Night approached quickly, and along with it came the autumnal chill. It was freezing, and there was nothing they could do. They tried their best to relax and rest, but it was difficult. They had been camping many times before, but never without a blanket, in the dirt, with a bear trap around their ankle.

       The cold wind blew the decaying leaves off the trees, rustling as they tumbled around the ground. At least whumpee had the comforting sound of the crickets and owls to keep them company. Even the distant howling of wolves and bats flying overhead helped put them at ease. At least they weren't alone.

       Somehow they managed to fall asleep. They were awoken by the morning sun shining down on them, greeted by the chirp of birds who still had yet to fly south. The sun didn't stay for long, quickly passing behind thick clouds, casting a grey darkness over the land. Whumpee sighed, and stared up at the sky, getting lost in their thoughts of death and decay, trying to accept their fate.

       They were snapped out of their macabre thoughts by the sound of crunching leaves. They firstly assumed it to be a deer, but quickly noticed— it was a person!

       "H— hey!" Whumpee called out, sitting up, "Help me, please, I need help!"

       The person was dressed in thick, layered clothing. They wore a trapper hat with a mask that covered everything but their eyes, gripping an old, dirty, wooden shotgun in both their hands. The hunter looked between them and the trap, surprise in their brown eyes. They walked over to them.

        "Help?" Whumper questions, pulling down their mask, and a slow smile begins to cross their face, "Oh, yes. So sorry about the trap."

       "This… is your trap?" Whumpee questioned in disgust, "I don't hate hunters, but these kinds of traps are cruel and illegal! I've been stuck here all night, and I'm in so much pain, and I'm cold, and— and— stop smiling, you sicko, you caught a person!"

       "I did." Whumper said, sounding almost proud, kneeling down in front of their capture. "But who's fault is that? What's a pretty fawn like you doing this deep into the woods? It's not like there's a trail anywhere around here. I would know. I've never run into another person out here before. Not until now."

       "Don't— don't blame me! You shouldn't even have these kinds of traps to begin with!"

       "Stop yelling, you'll ruin that pretty voice of yours." Whumper grabbed their chin and inspected their face. They had big, green eyes that were only made larger by their circular glasses. Their face was freckled and covered with dirt, "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

        Whumpee roughly pushed their hand away, "Don't touch me! I'm fine except for my ankle, all thanks to you. Help me get it off, and I'll leave, and— and won't report you for possessing illegal traps. Is that so hard to do?"

       "Mm, it's not that it's hard..."

       "Then what is it?! Just— just take it off! It hurts! And I'm hungry, and tired, and getting sick, just— help me!" They cried.

      "If you want me to help then you can stop yelling at me. You can do that, can't you?"

       "Yeah, sure, whatever, just make it stop."

       "I don't appreciate your attitude, but I'll let it slide for now." Whumper stood back up.

       "For now?! What do you—!"

       "Shut it." Whumper cut them off, pointing their gun towards them. They then stuck out their hands, looking at whumpee with a blank yet firm expression, "Come. I'll fix you up."

      Whumpee stared at them and their outstretched hands. They didn't trust this person one bit.

       But it isn't like they had a choice.

       Reluctantly, whumpee took their hands, and was helped to their feet. Well, at least their good foot. They leaned against the hunter for support, letting out a groan and scream of pain. Their ankle was still throbbing as the sharp metal teeth cut through flesh and bone.

       Whumper picked them up and threw them over their shoulder, causing a surprised and pained yelp to escape their prey.

       As whumper carried them off through the forest, it was then where whumpee noticed the woodland chatter had fallen completely silent...

( If you want more of Fawn whumpee and Hunter whumper please let me know!! I will be writing more regardless though lol )

Edit: More can be found on my profile by searching Fawn and Hunter 👍 Thanks guys

[redd956]

I know that you don't mass produce pet whump but I have an idea for you - intelligent creature that is stuck in a form of a domesticated animal (treat it very loosely, it can be anything from hamster to a horse). Can you think of any whump prompts for that?

Sure!

Pet Whump Prompt List

CW: Slavery, Dehumanization, Pet Whump

Whumpee paced daily in their confinements, wishing that they could see through the covers of their strange cell, to watch whumper live their life in order to experience envy in its purest form, yet even that privilege was beginning to become unknown. Whumper chose whumpee's new day and night, outdoors and indoors, everything.

Whumper wasn't afraid to show off their pet. They eagerly informed every guest about whumpee's dangerous abilities. Each new person wandering the walls of whumper's house would gawk and marvel at whumpee, as whumper explained how the muzzle and padded mitts made them a safe pet to keep. One day Caretaker listened closely as whumper explained this.

"Well look who it is! If it isn't Whumper's precious.", Whumpee's fellow nonhumans cackled with laughter. "No Whumper in sight to protect you now."

Caretaker waltzed from holding cell to holding cell of the adoption center. All the nonhuman creatures, sat miserable and bored, with nothing more than what would be given to dogs, minus the dog the toys.

"How about this one?" Caretaker asked pointing into a cell with particularly dim lighting, ignoring the euthanization date in front of them.

"Oh you won't want that one sir/ma'am. It's dangerous, and has been returned here on account of attacking several of its pervious owners."

"I think I could handle it."

Whumpee broke into whumper's house. Searching for anything of notable value, they'd find themselves wandering and pilfering around the house. With one last room to check they fail to notice the many warning signs through mangled dog bowls, shattered chain links, and inhuman scratches down the halls.

Soon enough they find themselves cornered by a humanoid creature, snarling underneath it's collection of chain restraints, it's bladed tail dragging a heavy weight down the floor. Whumpee sighed of relief noticing the creature's face encased in a sturdy muzzle, and hands hidden underneath improvised oven mitts.

That sigh of relief didn't last long when one of the chains broken with an echoing clink.

[roseofithaca]

Ghost OC: Markus

Some facts about this bastard whumper oc of mine (art by @idiotwithanipad ). Tw: mentions of abuse, conditioning and SA.

Died 70 AD in his mid thirties from pneumonic plague. Served in the Roman army most of his life, reaching the rank of Legate, also served as an overseer for the armies captured slaves. Because of this, he carried a flagrum (whip) attached to his armor, which he took with him in death, as well as his dagger. Despite having left Rome as a young boy to travel with his father, he idealised his country and dreamed of returning as a hero.

Markus loved his Empire to the point of obsession. He only had respect for his fellow Romans, in particular his fellow soldiers. All other nations he viewed as savages or barbarians, destined to be beaten down and subdued, but he held a special contempt for Britons and was looking forward to finally leaving the wet, miserable country shortly before his death.

When he died, the ghosts who inhabited the land were Robin (then Rogh), Penelope the former slave-bard, and Gaius, a fellow Roman who died a few decades prior after the local tribe sacrificed him to their water goddess by drowning him in the lake. Markus respected Gaius, who had outranked him in life, and saw him as a close friend. He lusted after Penelope, but she refused to submit to any man with a whip again, and also had the protection of the other men there. He hated Rogh at first sight, disgusted by the sight of him, the epitome of a savage. But it was seeing Penelope happily let herself be touched and kissed by the caveman that boiled Markus' blood.

Despite hostilities, Markus concealed his feelings for the most part for Gaius' sake, who wished to keep the peace between their little group. Gaius was fond of both Rogh and Markus and never quite saw his fellow Roman's true colors. Markus would keep trying it on with Penelope but Rogh only became more protective of her, which made things more heated between them.

After Penelope moved on, Rogh attempted to make peace with Markus at Gaius' prompting, only for Markus to begin abusing Rogh. He discovered that it was possible for ghosts to hurt each other with enough force, even if they did regenerate quickly. As wild and capable as Rogh was, he stood no chance against a man in armor, with a sword and whip at his use. When Markus threatened to hurt Gaius if he spoke up, Rogh reluctantly agreed to let himself be hurt in secret. This was his biggest mistake.

By the time Gaius moved on, Rogh's sanity was already beginning to wear thin, but losing his last friend and being trapped with this psychopath was the last straw. Likewise, Markus was just as infuriated to lose his 'brother' and be stuck with a filthy savage. He saw it as his right to 'tame' the beast, just as he always fantasised he'd done to Penelope. Markus took advantage of Rogh's unstable mental health and conditioned him to believe this was what he deserved and that he was no better than a dog, not worthy to speak, stand or sleep on a bed or sit anywhere but the floor. Rogh, starving for any sort of human interaction, was eventually broken.

Markus had never been a stable man to begin with, but his time as a ghost made him start to go mad too. Instead of seeking company with the one other ghost he had with him, he chose to take out his pain on Rogh, beating him and whipping him and shouting him down for seemingly no reason. He started to fantasize about the gods coming to take him to Elysium, to see his father again, to know he'd made something of himself instead of being forgotten to history. Rogh could only cower in the corner and watch the other crazy man mutter to himself about his apparent glories, while waiting for his next random beating.

It's only when, after many decades of isolation and abuse, Markus begins to have other desires and tries to assault Rogh one night which makes the caveman finally snap. He left and sought company in a pack of ghost wolves who took him in, and Rogh was able to get them to help him attack Markus viciously, tearing beneath his armor and mauling him over and over until he ran and hid. Rogh's mind was gone, for now, given into becoming the beast Markus thought him to be, but at least he was free (don't worry, he got better).

No one saw Markus ascend. Robin is certain he's gone as he could no longer smell him, just over a year after he left him to join the wolves. But who is to say if he went up or down....or if he's still somewhere hidden on the grounds. Robin continues to have nightmares about the man and refuses to watch epic films about Ancient Rome (like Gladiator) because the sight of the armor gives him ptsd.

[willtheweaver]

Writerly queationaire

Thanks for the tag @paeliae-occasionally @the-golden-comet @the-letterbox-archives

Right, I’ll do my best to answer

About me

When did you first start writing?

It was when I was around 10-11ish. I have quite an imagination, and my childhood was full of inspirations (classic Disney, Studio Gibli, just to name the first two off the top of my head).

Are the genera/ themes you read different from the ones you write?

Not really. I like quite a few different genres.

Is there an author (or a fellow writer) you want to emulate, or one to whom you want to be compared?

No, or at least none to my knowledge.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)?( room, coffee shop, desk, etc?)

I write wherever I can. I also end up writing at odd hours, sometimes during the day, sometimes I could be writing in the middle of the night.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Sometimes an idea comes into my head. When I need some more motivation, I read, watch a movie, do some art, or do some tag games. A change of scenery also helps get the juices flowing.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Not to the best of my knowledge. There may be some subconscious influence and inspiration that I don’t know about, but otherwise I forge my own path when writing.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

I don’t know what is says about me, but I’ve noticed quite a bit of ‘found family’, ‘fish out of water’, ‘complex characters’ come up.

My characters

Would you please tell me about your favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc)

My current favorite would be Fen. He is such an interesting character to study and analyze.

Which of your characters would you be friends with in real life?

Most of them to be honest. Any character beyond morally grey would not be pleasant to talk to. Speaking of which…

Which of your characters would you dislike the most in real life?

Almost all of my villains and antagonists. They can be nasty pieces of work, manipulative, whumpers, war-mongers, warped beyond all reasoning and saving, or a combination of the above.

Tell me about the process of coming up with one, all, or any of your characters.

On my…strap yourself in then.

When I start a story, I try and figure out the what. Sometimes I forgo this…my mind comes up with an interesting idea for a character through dreams (day, or sleeping), or if I’m doing art, I come up with an interesting looking character. If that’s the case, then I try to build a story around them. From there, I then come up with a cast to inhabit the story world. This task can be both easier and harder. Easier in the sense that I have already established some ground rules, and these define the world of the story and who lives in it. But then my mind sometimes comes up with a character that is too cool not to include, but it requires me doing some revisions. Then it is simply a matter of turning the foundations into something concrete.

Do you notice any themes/ traits about your characters?

Sometimes. I don’t really notice until the end, when the story is finished, and all the characteristics are set in stone.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined/ as models/ actors that exist in real life/ as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

Well, I mentioned I do artwork, so I’d imagine my characters like this:

My writing

What’s your reason for writing?

I have an idea, and I want to share it with the world. If it makes someone smile, that’s a good bonus.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

Words of encouragement and compliments.

How do you want to be thought of by those that read your work?(for example, as a literary genius, or as a writer who ‘gets’ the human condition, as a talented worldbuilder, or a role model, etc.)

As long as I’m thought of as someone who wrote a person’s favorite story, I don’t really care much about how I’m thought of. Anything else is icing on the cake, but I’ll be happy is at least one person likes what they read.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

My ability to worldbuild, intrigue readers with hints at my story’s history, and creating atmosphere and emotion.

What have you frequently been told your greatest writing strength is by others?

See above. I’ve also been told that my characters are intriguing and have backstories that make people want to give them a hug.

How do you feel about your writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question)

I consider myself to be a good writer. Defiantly not trash, certainly better than any AI. As it can be hard sometimes to write, any word that sticks is a victory.

If you were the last person on Earth, and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

I would. I need something to stay sane, and keep me entertained. My imagination would require me to keep putting some out, and who knows? Maybe extraterrestrials will find my work and like what I wrote.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

I don’t preach to the choir, so to speak. I write for my enjoyment, and are not influenced by trends. I’m also not afraid to include or discuss ‘heavy’ or ‘sensitive’ topics. Censorship and restrictions are my enemies, and I will not limit my writings, even if others disapprove . There are bound to be people out there who will find my work and love it.

Whew! That was fun.

Tagging @somethingclevermahogony @kaylinalexanderbooks @honeybewrites @tildeathiwillwrite @winglesswriter

@poethill @mysticstarlightduck @autism-purgatory @oh-no-another-idea @xenascribbles

@the-ellia-west @agirlandherquill @indecentpause and open tag