#the salesman whumper

[whumpsthings]

You CANNOTleave this in the tags.

I'm cackling imagining a door'salesman whumper with their whumpee on their lead in the 'had to do it to 'em stance.' Selling you a dilapidated dog house.

“Tie your Whumpee out in the cold with no shelter”- no.

Tie your Whumpee to a post, give them a few feet of slack in the chain. Make it pour, thunder, snow, whatever. Strip them to nothing but boxers and maybe a scrappy t-shirt, if you’re feeling nice.

Put a doghouse next to them. Close enough they could climb in and be fully out of the storm. But, do something to ensure it isn’t too comfortable. Hammer a few rusty nails through the boards, they won’t be able to see the jagged ends in the dark. Cover the floor with splinters or gravel that’ll dig into their flesh. Make it so that if they want to fit fully in the hut, the chain wrapped around the throat will be pulled a little too tight. Not enough so that it’ll choke them, but just enough so they can’t quite settle.

If they choose to go in the doghouse, have Whumper tease them relentlessly for it whenever they decide Whumpee’s had enough. Just imagine, they’re never getting out of that collar now. Or if they don’t, they choose to bear the storm rather than the humiliation, have Whumper walk out, tsk, and be all like “well, it couldn’t have been that bad, I guess you won’t mind another day or two”

Works particularly well with defiant whumpees, but really as long as they aren’t *fully* broken, it’ll have some effect

[redd956]

Mini Whump Prompt 162

Whumper double checked, yearning confirmation, "I have to get them both? What will happen if I don't."

"Very simple" The salesman patted Whumper on the shoulder, explaining, "They won't be nearly as efficient without one another. These weapons are superhuman communicators with each other."

Fluidly, they continued, whispering now to Whumper, "They'll get moody y'know?"

Whumper sighed, "Fine... I'll get them both."

[shattermind-8]

Whumper: *Slaps whumpee like a car salesman would the roof of a car*

"This bad boy can fit so much pain in it"

[cowboy-anon]

Quick CW: Black eye, bruises, partial nudity (non-sexual)

Finished rendering my sketch! (I think it’s rendered anyway? Lol, I mean, there’s shading so yeah.) Couldn’t decide whether I liked it better with or without the shadow on the wall, but aka the one where Auggie (Apple pre-Clay) is just not having a good time. Yes, it will get worse for him >:)

[cowboy-anon]

*vibrates excitedly* Today I’m going to share two snippets, because I’m currently working on two pieces. (Well, three counting the fluff piece, but these are the only ones I’ve really talked about :).) Pretty unedited as you might be able to tell with the brackets lol, but ya know.

First, a snippet from an Auggie (early Apple) piece. The Apple piece I’ve been talking about. AKA the brutal whump piece only I haven’t gotten to anything “brutal” yet so here’s a bit of a prelude to that. >:)))

Quick CW: Blood, cages, implied torture, pet whump

The salesman’s dusty, blood-caked shoes blearily step into Auggie’s field of view. He bites back a whimper and can’t tell if it’s to appear strong or if the training’s already working. Please please let it be silent strength. 

The door to the storage room only just now squeals closed on rusty hinges, and the salesman crouches down in front of him, slow and [word like damning] just like that door. 

Auggie shakes his head when their eyes meet through the wire grating, to clear his head just as much as to say no. No to whatever he has planned for today. No to pain. 

He doesn’t get to say no.

AND THEN a piece from the new Bust Your Kneecaps story! (I’ll more likely than not change the name, but that’s what it’s called for now.) Again, pretty unedited, but I’m excited to share!

Quick CW: Bound with rope, gagged, bag over the head (blindfolded basically), kidnapping

In this moment, Joe knows of nothing but the heavy hood over his head and the near-agonizing pins and needles in his bound wrists and ankles. Blind, breathing unsteady breaths through his nose, he works his fingers and pushes hard against the back of the chair to try to relieve some of the stubborn pain. It doesn’t help.

How long has he been tied to this chair? He groans and rolls his shrouded neck against a developing pinch, then slouches back in his seat. How much longer has it been since the man grabbed him?

And then, with a breath of hot air that barely escapes the cloth [word like shoved] between his teeth, he wonders what the man’s going to do to him. 

The hood comes off in a rush of cool air. Joe blinks against the sudden overwhelming light through his dark curls, sticky with sweat. And the realization hits him. It’s daytime. 

Joe, he was grabbed on his way to his car after the night shift. It wasn’t later than four in the morning, but the sunlight beaming through those curtained windows is no early morning sunshine. Just how long has he been sitting here? If the hunger in his stomach and the pressure on his bladder is any indication, it’s been hours.

Whumpmas in July - Day 10

Day 10: Share a snippet from something you're working on

Calling all creators! Give us the sneak peek we're all dying for! An excerpt from your latest chapter, a sketch of some upcoming art, a behind-the-scenes look at your gifs in photoshop—whatever you're making, drop a little teaser here! And if you aren't making anything at the moment, peruse the reblogs and cheer on the creators who provide the whumpy content we all love to enjoy!

[octopus-reactivated]

Guys I have to choose one!

since i'm bad at writing new stuff, have something i made some time ago. Tw/cw: Pet Whump, multiple Whumpees, getting abandoned

_____

“Aww, look at him, he’s shy!” Whumper squeaked like a teenage girl. Whumpee, in fact, turned his eyes away, visibly terrified of the man.

Whumper let the boy's hair go and looked at the other one.

“But you look so cute!” he said, cupping his face. “I can’t! I can choose one!” He said to the salesman. “I have to choose, but I can't decide!”

whumpees looked at him with concern as Whumper danced around the room.

“OH! I know! I will take BOTH OF THEM” He exclaimed happily.

Salesman agreed happily. Whumper acted weird, but he had money and he just decided to go onto impulse buy so… why not use it?

“Sir, do you have accessories for them at home?”

“Uh - accessories?” Whumper stopped his happy dance

“Collars, cage, toys, bows…. all of that stuff?”

“Uhm… no I don’t have anything like that? Is there somewhere where I can get it?” Whumper took out phone and started searching for something, when salesman spoke

“Sir, we’re a Pet shop. We have all of that stuff”

“Oh, that’s great! What should I get?” a happy look returned on his face. Salesman returned a smile. This was going great

_____

Caretaker expected that Whumpers “quick trip to shop for one candy bar” would take longer than needed and it won’t be just a candy bar but what was that? Whumper came with two restrained boys behind him and a caravan of shop employees carrying cages, towers of bowls and bags of toys and i-don’t-even-want-to-know.

“Sir… what is all of this about?”

“Oh, you noticed?”

Like it was possible not to notice

“Yes Sir, did you impulse-bought something again?”

“You know me! I saw a cute pet shop and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about and they all were so cute! I want to be a Pet Owner!”

Poor Pets. Whumper had no sense of commitment. He would forget about feeding them the first week. He shouldn’t be allowed to have pets. Say nothing of Pets. But he was his driver not the boss, so he had no say in all of that.

“Sir, I think we won’t fit all of that to the car. Maybe you should call the transport company?”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. But the Pets go into the car!”

“As you wish sir”

_____

They were there in a new home, scared, one tried to hide it.

“Ah, I forgot to buy a candy bar!” Whumper screamed.

“Don’t worry sir, we have some sweets in kitchen”

“We do? WE ARE SAVED THEN!” He raised arms and marched into the kitchen. Caretaker looked at the trembling boys. They will have a hard time there.

_____

Should he leave the job?

He didn’t want to bodyguard someone who owns a Pet. Well, a Pets. He joined only because Whumper didn’t look like that kind of person. But if he stays, then maybe he will be able to protect them a little?

What do I do, what do I do?

Caretaker decided to stay just a little longer, to see how it would play out.

_____

“So this is….” Whumper said holding the remote control in one hand and instruction in the other. He pressed one button and one of Pets screamed in pain. “yeah, that’s the button to shock them” He saw Caretaker and waved at him.

“Look! I figured it out! All by myself” Whumper sounded really proud of himself.

“I see. Maybe let’s leave figuring out collars and stuff and go to eat?”

“YES! I want to do this thing when Pet eats out of your hand and…”

_____

As expected Whumper’s interest in Pets didn’t lasted long. On the first days he watched a lot of Pet Training videos, and subscribed to a lot of channels. Few weeks later he didn’t even remember he was supposed to feed them

“This man shouldn’t be allowed to take care of a cactus” Caretaker thought bitterly as he left some apples on top of Pets cage. He was the only one who gave them any food.

They were hiding in cages and didn’t dare to go out when someone was in a room. Poor souls.

_____

The resignation letter was ready but he was still hesitating… How and when should he resign? Was it good decision?

And then the perfect opportunity came by.

“Caretaker?”

“Yes, Whumper?”

“These Pets are over advertised. I’m bored. I thought it would be nice to have them eat out of my hand and squeak in pain but it’s all boring. What should I do with them?”

“Sir, are you sure you don’t want them?”

“Yeah. Take them to a shelter or something”

“I think i can give them to someone ….or take them myself”

“Whatever you like”

Wow. Whumper was really bored right now.

“Can you sign the ownership for me then?”

“Sure, sure” Whumper said “But what will I do now? I’m bored. BORED!”

“You can fill your time looking for a new bodyguard, sir”

“Mayb… wait what?”

_____

I'm gonna tag people from my other taglishts in case someone would like it: @kim-poce @whatgoeswhumpinthenight @kween-pinescales @heathenwhump

[ceph-the-ghost-writer]

Ankaris, The Memory Salesman

Content Info: he/she/they/it | creepy | inhuman whumper, she/her | defiant | morally gray whumpee, restraints, captivity, noncon touching (not sexual), abrasions, first aid, mention of breaking bones

“Go on. About face.” The mind worm made a twirling motion with one long finger.

Gooseflesh prickled up Neva’s spine. She knew what it meant to do. Nothing terrible had happened the last two times, but she didn’t trust things to stay so benign. Still, resistance would gain nothing at the moment. Mindful of her chains, she turned her back to the creature. She tensed but didn’t jump when its cool fingers landed on her wrists. Thankfully, it couldn’t see her wince as it slid the handcuffs up her forearms.

The mind worm tsked. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you? Even if you could slip your hands loose how would you get your ankles free? Break your bones?” It gave a measured, customer service chuckle that set Neva’s teeth on edge.

She wouldn’t break her feet in half, no. But now that she’d worked out how to fold and pull her hands out of the cuffs during the night, she’d have a better chance of wrapping a chain around her host’s neck and slowly strangling it to death the next morning.

--from "Preferred Customer"

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Pickett

*bangs spoon on pot* NEW OC NEW OC i can't be tamed

CW: Magical whumpee, branding/scarification, burning, scalding metal, Whumper as caretaker, ... nice? whumper, implied nudity for a second, restraints.

(Pickett can transform into a marten but will never be whumped as an animal.)

The magician smiled as he walked through the market, taking in the sights of the bustling coastside Town. There were stands and carts, open shops and peddlers selling their wares. He could see the docks from the stone streets, could smell the foul salt in the air.

This was the last stop before the wild, before the world opened to those brave - or stupid - enough to explore it. It was a place of last chances, of hastily made decisions and half-thought through plans. Just like all the others, he was there to make his name.

One such salesman waved him over, encouraging him to spend his coins for the compasses and maps that could guide him to riches and fame. He waved him off, continuing on his walk. A girl offered him a handheld loaf of fresh bread, but he waved that off as well. The little creature sitting on his shoulder lifted it’s head to see, slowly following the girl with it’s blue eyes as the Magician kept walking. He smiled and scratched under its chin, more than happy to stop at another stand and buy the little furry thing some fruit as a treat.

~~

The moment the door was closed and bolted behind them, the creature jumped down from its perch around the man’s shoulders to the floor. He turned to busy himself with his organization, putting away his hat and bag with a dim blue light glowing behind him. When Errold turned, he threw the boy that had appeared in a wam brown robe.

Pickett wrapped it around himself quickly, hissing in a breath. His wrists - his wrists ached fiercely. Everything hurt, a dull pain that settled along his spine and across his hips. He had spent too long in his animal form, too long with bones and muscle and sinew out of alignment. He leaned side to side, trying to stretch out as quietly as he could. Something popped and his breathing hitched.

“Pickett? Are you okay?”

“Oh! No, I’m-I’m-I’m okay,” he said quickly, smiling up at Errold. He didn’t want him to know, didn’t want him to catch on. If he did, he might try and fix it and he, he couldn’t handle that right now.

Errold looked down at him, brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

Pickett nodded a little too quickly, and winced. Errold raised a brow.

“I’m, it’s- I’m a little sore,” he finally admitted, pulling the robe closed tighter. He looked up apologetically to see the magician’s concerned face. “But I’m okay! It was just a long time.”

Errold hummed, walking over to the dreaded bookcase. “Not all that long, Pic. Let me see what I can do.”

“No!” Pickett tried to stand, to reach out a hand to stop the man, but his legs couldn’t hold him up and he fell forward. He hit his nose on the way down, and even though it didn’t hurt much, there was still blood on his hand when he drew it away. The Magician tutted and went down to his knees.

“Look at you, making a mess of yourself,” he muttered, examining the boy’s face. For some reason, Pickett shivered under his gaze.

“What, what, what if I, what if I just walked-” the man sighed loudly, interrupting him. Pickett cowered further into himself, avoiding eye contact. He knew he wasn’t supposed to ask, but what danger could they really be in here?

“Pic, you know better than to ask that. Again,” Errold muttered, picking up the boy and depositing him onto the low table. “You know why, you must still remember how dangerous it is out there for people like us. They’d lock me up, take you away from me.” He paused, lifting his chin gently until they finally met eyes.

“You don’t want that, now do you?”

Pickett blinked up at him and took a deep breath before he shook his head. No, no he didn’t want that. Errold laid a hand on his chest and pushed him back flat against the wood. As the man walked around, back to his book and supplies, Pickett’s heart was slowly starting to race. While he was distracted by his own fear, a hand slipped under the boy’s shirt near his stomach.

Errold cried out, jerking his hand back and shaking it to get rid of the spark of pain. Pickett sat up on his elbows, eyes wide. The older man glared at him, hand smoking faintly.

“Wait, wait wait wait, I can explain! I can!” Pickett tried, crawling backwards off the table. Errold didn’t bother to respond, striding forward and pinning him down. The boy squirmed and wiggled, but was no match in his exhausted state. Soon enough there were long strips of linen securing his wrists and ankles to the table legs, two more going over his collar bone and hips.

Gruffly and annoyed, Errold wrenched up his shirt to examine the intricate lines of gold that covered his body. Pickett tried to interrupt, to distract him, but was shushed harshly. With a sigh, the man ran his fingers along one line that had been scratched and inched and the gold picked out of the scar. He gave Pickett a disappointed side-eye.

“Pickett-”

“I’m sorry!” Pickett cried out, eyes glossy but no tears spilling out yet. “I’m sorry! I am! But, but it itched and, and Errold please it felt better when I took the rune out. I can control it this time, I really can. I know I can!”

Errold leaned down and cupped the boy’s face in both hands. Poor thing was shaking, scared of what was going to happen. He hated to see him this way, hated that this was really the best way to apply the runes.

“I know, I know Pic - and I’m sorry, Sweetheart. But you can’t just claw them out. They’re there for a reason, and you need to respect that. I know you don’t want to, but I have to put them back. Shh, don’t cry, Shh I know, I know it hurts. But you need them, Pickett.”

He brushed his hand down the boy’s dark hair, looking into light eyes as the tears spilled over and down his cheeks. Poor thing. Pickett shut his eyes and laid back against the wood, trying hard to stifle his crying. Errold was right, he was always right. But it would be okay, he could do it. He had survived the other hours upon hours it took to bind the rest of his body, he could make it through re-placing a few lines on his side.

And whatever other ones Errold would add.

When the muzzle was placed against his mouth, he didn’t buck or try to fight it. Honestly, it was almost welcome. The process hurt, and others would be disturbed by his cries of pain. Errold pet his hair back one last time with an affectionate look before he lifted the boy’s shirt all the way and went to light the small fire.

The rods of gold were long and thin, small as a delicate sprig from a rosebush. They were expensive and shined even in the leather pouch Errold kept them in. It had to be a good quality gold, one that was pure enough to handle the weight of the magic. As harmless as they were in this form, Pickett still shivered when he heard them clink together.

Errold used a bit of dusty chalk to paint the correct lines across his skin as he waited for the fire to build. This part never hurt, but the sensation of it still made his heart race. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to wait.

The magician could see how hard the boy was trying for him, and he smiled sadly. Poor thing, but it really did try and be good for him. He would of course care for it afterwards, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. Donning thick gloves, Errold picked up a rod of gold and placed it in a specially crafted pipe. He’d had to make all these tools himself, designing them to work for what he needed. This pipe would not only help him melt the gold, but also apply it in even lines.

When it was ready, he returned to the boy bound to the table. He laid a hand on Pickett’s stomach in sympathy, then began his work.

Pickett cried out the first moment the molten liquid touched his skin, back arching and struggling in his restraints. It was beyond painful, beyond words he knew to describe it. It was burning through him, searing away paths and lines to cool in his skin. He sobbed into the muzzle, tears streaming down both sides of his temple. Every line, every dash burrowed farther into his skin. The pain built and built, with no regard to how much he could withstand. It didn’t care. It had no stake in how hard his heart pounding in his chest or how his lungs heaved for air. He just had to get through it, had to survive it.

He curled his hands into fists until he could feel the bite of his nails.

Errold hushed him softly, focused on following his chalk outline. His heart ached lightly, but only lightly. Pickett knew better than to dig the runes out. Any pain from the re-working of that was his own fault. Errold was doing this for his own good, he understood that. Pickett needed these, and Errold needed them.

It was mutually beneficial, he told himself.

Right as he was on the cusp of passing out, Errold pulled the pipe away to show he was finished. The new lines of gold over the boy’s dark skin were practically still glowing red, not yet having cooled down enough to shine their signature color. The magician didn’t dare touch them, just laid a damp cloth over the area.

Pickett whined loudly at the feeling, still heaving for breath. He could barely tell if his eyes were open at this point, just feeling like the world was distant from him. A hand touched his face to remove the muzzle but he couldn’t muster the strength to respond.

“Shh, shh Pic, you’re alright. Here,” Errold started, lifting him bodily from the table. Pickett whimpered, totally unaware that he had been untied. He was gently placed in his hammock, gratefully on his unhurt side, and left there as the magician tidied the rest of the room. The boy got his eyes open a few times, but the world was still blurry. He huffed through his nose and rubbed his face against the fabric, itching at the tear tracks across his face.

“Alright then,” Errold’s voice came and Pickett raised his head up. The man gathered him back out of the hammock and laid him on the bed. With just the back of his hand to the boy’s forehead he could tell he was already getting the fever, so he laid a damp cloth across it. The other wounds were still too tender to apply anything too strong, so he just used a general salve.

Pickett remained mostly quiet through the rest of the bandaging, simply letting it happen. He was a little more aware, however, when the magician wrapped his unharmed hands in bandages as well.

“To keep you from messing with them, Pickett,” Errold chided at the boy’s confused sound. Picket hadn’t done it much, but it would have to be something he would have to keep an eye on now. Perhaps he would pick up some mitts somewhere.

By the time he was done, Pickett’s fever was raging and he had to replace the cloth. He then returned him to the hammock to rest while he turned to his real work.

A request for a spirit guide had just come in, and it was an offer Errold had no desire to resist.

~

Tagging @yet-another-heathen cause this idea actually came from a convo with them!

[whump-me-all-night-long]

Whumper turned Caretaker - 5

Requested by several anons and partly inspired by an ask @cupcakes-and-pain sent in!

---

Whumper stood there, feeling like a stranger in their own house, for a while. They lost track of time, only moving to collapse in a chair, holding their head in their hands.

"What have I done?" they groaned softly. They never meant for it to turn out like this. They'd only considered it a bit of fun, like some sort of game to play with Whumpee. They did scare so easily.

No. Whumper shook their head. They couldn't think like that anymore. Especially now that Caretaker was involved. Whumper knew Caretaker wouldn't put up with any of their less than angelic behaviors.

Whumper sighed. Why had they called Caretaker? All they knew was that they had needed help and Caretaker, well, they helped people.

And now Whumpee was gone.

The sound of a knock at the door was enough to stir Whumper into action, pulling them from their chair and towards the front door. They opened it, ready to dismiss whatever salesman or missionary had come to the door. Instead they found themself face to face with Caretaker.

"Uh," they managed, but Caretaker wasn't listening. They had already strode into the house, headed straight for the kitchen.

When Whumper recovered their wits enough to follow, they found Caretaker pouring themself a generous serving of whisky. The good kind.

"Can- can I help you?" Whumper ask quietly, nearly flinching back as Caretaker's steely gaze settled on them as they slumped down in one of the kitchen chairs.

"I currently have a deeply traumatized person sitting on the floor at my house, refusing to eat or sleep or even get on the goddamn furniture, and you're asking if you can help?" Caretaker let out a brittle laugh, like shattering glass before downing the rest of their drink, immediately refilling it.

Whumper cautiously settled down in the chair across from Caretaker. They took a deep breath before cautiously beginning. "I- I didn't mean to. I never, ever meant for it to get this out of control. It just, kinda, happened, and I-"

Caretaker raised a hand and Whumper snapped their mouth shut. Staring intently at their drink, Caretaker said in a low, dangerous voice, "So what? You finally got some morals? What do you want, a fucking award?" They swallowed the rest in one gulp before standing.

"I'll call you when I call you," they snapped, leaving Whumper sitting there, feeling worse than before.

[whatgoeswhumpinthenight]

My Apple-Sona: Pomegranate

Since every time I think of an Apple-Sona I usually rush to @cowboy-anon (So far I’ve given them 4) I felt I wanted too just write one for myself. (Also besides Pomegranate all characters are owned by Cowboy-Anon so go and show them some love.)

TW: blood, blood loss, poor self care

A quick introduction

Pomegranate was never one too have a consistent Whumper, they were sold and traded hands fairly often due too their diagnosed hemophilia B, it was hard too harm them without Pomegranate bleeding all over, it does not help that they are a klutz thus falling over and dropping things leading too bruises all over. They are a nervous wreck due to never knowing how long their Master would keep them, how to act around them, their habits, so Pomegranate just stays quiet and as out of the way as possible; “make as little of a presence as possible and clean up your blood” became their life motto.

Pomegranate W/ The Salesman

At first the idea of a Whumpee that bleeds easily and bruises even easier seemed appealing at first but when he finally got his hands on Pomegranate did he realize how terrible it was, there was no effort needed to get Pomegranate into a bloody mess, there was no payoff of defiling perfectly clear skin into a mosaic of bruises, it was just disappointing.

Pomegranate was sold for cheap to a new Master who also came too the same conclusion and thus the cycle continued.

Pomegranate W/ Clay

By the time Pomegranate became Clay’s property he was emaciated, various shades of purple and blue, practically covered head to toe in his own blood, and left in a near perpetual state of anemia. Clay was patient with recovery and took care of Pomegranate by cutting his hair to a more manageable length from the rats nest it was upon arrival, Clay was somewhat surprised that Pomegranate’s hair wasn’t the lovely crimson it was before washing it, he decided to dye it the same crimson as a pomegranate since much like a Pomegranate seed if you are too forceful with them they will bleed.

Clay brought Pomegranate back to a healthier weight but still not one that would be considered healthy, Pomegranate felt a slight amount of happiness with Clay, he was cared for, fed, not beaten, and actively healed, Clay was perfect.

Except when Pomegranate overheard a phone conversation Clay was having, working out the details for selling Pomegranate too a new Master; Pomegranate realized he wasn’t loved, he was a project to turn trash into treasure. Pomegranate didn’t wish too be sold again and in his panic broke the rule ingrained into him with every Master; Do not run away.

Pomegranate W/ Jimmy

Pomegranate has no memory of where he ran too just that he ran as far as he could and when he awoke he was in the care of Jimmy who claimed found Pomegranate in a bloody pile while out.

Pomegranate starts taking what he deems as luxuries less often; he eats less so his scrawny form is less appealing to potential buyers, he bathes once weekly as too not smell nice too anybody that might take him away, he sleeps in the middle of the floor so he has an escape route if attacked. Jimmy puts up with Pomegranates paranoia and just accepts him, lets him get comfortable, and eventually Pomegranate starts to take better care of himself, open up too Jimmy, starts too sleep in an actual bed, and even helps out where he can (although there is a good chance blood will spill when he tries but hey “Made with Blood, Sweat, and Tears” has a literal meaning with him.)

Pomegranate W/ Apple-Sonas

I’ll leave that for others since I don’t dare try too mess with so many intricate characters.

[cowboy-anon]

It feels like I hardly post anymore but I’m proud of this! Lol, I’ll try to render it for a profile pic later but for now, enjoy Auggie (aka Apple with the salesman). He’s already regretting his decisions… but the salesman has barely even gotten started…

[cowboy-anon]

Currently thinking about a good ol’ fashioned kidnapping and some basement captivity.

[cowboy-anon]

The urge. To write a genuine Auggie/Apple freakout session

is so strong-

[cowboy-anon]

So... I decided to try digital art lol. Not *totally* happy with it but darn it, I’d say it’s pretty good for a first try! XD Plus it was super fun to try all the new brushes and stuff. :D Aka we don’t have a lot of content depicting Apple’s time with the salesman so I decided to change that. :))

(Fun fact, I actually like the original line art better than the final one? Lol, maybe because it’s not as thick and looks more rough I guess? So I decided to include that one too as a little bonus I guess!)

CW: Blood, bruises, crying, implied past flaying (injuries visible), implied past whipping (again, injuries), partial nudity (waist-up)

[cowboy-anon]

Whumpmas in July - Day 3

Prompt - Sleep

Introducing Auggie, AKA Apple before he was Apple.

CW: Blood, pet whump, self-harm, sleep deprivation, torture (both mentioned and implied)

Edit: Just realized this is kind of an Apple piece, so I’m tagging!

Tagging: @happy-whumper, @milk-carton-whump​, @sideblogformindtrash​, @whumperfulart​, @unicornscotty​, @starnight-whump​ (Let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

Sleepless

When his punishment is done, the salesman drags Auggie by the arm across the blood-slick back room floor and throws him back into his storage room cage. Auggie can’t manage any more than a whimper when his bare, split back hits the wire, so cold it stings, but… but it’s keeping him awake. 

It’s been three days, just three since he came to this store. Two since he last ate, one since he last had something to drink. Three since he last slept. 

Auggie, he’s barely awake as it is—barely alive it feels like. Paired with the exhaustion of these last two hours of torture and the low blood sugar and blood loss, he very well could fall unconscious at any moment.

The salesman must see it on his face, because after a click—the lock, Auggie reminds himself, the cage lock keeping him here—he repeats the same line Auggie’s come to dread but expect: “For every minute I catch you sleeping, I’ll add a unit to your punishment tomorrow. Could be a lash, could be a cut, could a burn. Whatever I choose.”

Today… today he had five long cuts carved into his back in addition to the belt across his back, so many times he lost count. “Starting slow,” the salesman had said. 

“I’ll be back in… eight hours.” The salesman wipes Auggie’s tacky blood on the sides of his pants. “Sixty minutes in an hour. Four hundred and eighty minutes. Four hundred and eighty potential cuts, lashes, burns, and far worse than anything else a dog like you could imagine.”

The fog that’s settled behind his eyes has Auggie nodding despite the severity of his situation. The words, they’re barely processing. It’s not tiredness, not anymore. It’s complete and total exhaustion. 

“I’ve got my camera set to record while I sleep,” the salesman continues, “to make sure you don’t. Night night, dog.”

Through the wire grating, those black slacks and leather shoes walk away, and the door out of the storage room swings open, then closed. The eight hours start. 

The fluorescent lights stay on when the salesman leaves. Auggie leans back harder onto the grating and sighs, grateful for at least that much. With the lights on, his natural clock might be fooled for just a little longer. 

That tiny relief doesn’t last long. Not ten minutes in, his eyelids go heavy with sleep, and his mind goes fuzzy with the effort it takes to just stay awake.

He tries everything. He counts the cages in the room,  the ones beside him and above him and across from him. Sixteen. His is the only one that’s occupied.

He tries talking to himself next, and humming, and singing, and telling himself stories. By then, he figures about two hours have passed, but really, he has nothing to base that estimate on. There’s no windows in the storage room, not anywhere, and no clocks either. For all he knows, the salesman could keep him locked up for eight hours or ten or twenty, and he’d be none the wiser.

The thought is terrifying. He goes back to mindlessly singing songs.

When he reaches what he thinks is the fourth hour, Auggie’s so out of it that he resorts to reaching around his back and digging his overgrown fingernails into the fresh wounds there. He feels sick at the smell of blood and the sticky film it leaves on his fingers, but he keeps at it, choking back his snivels and sobs because anything is better than falling asleep and having new ones opened.

The more tired he feels, the less he feels, the harder he digs—until he’s sure he’s doing more damage than the salesman did with his knife. It’s not enough.

Somewhere along the line, Auggie falls asleep. 

He swears he only binked, but when he opens his eyes, the salesman is in front of him grinning maniacally.

The night, it wasn’t over. The salesman shouldn’t be here, not for another few hours.

A few… hours…

Auggie’s stomach drops, and suddenly his insides are empty, replaced by a dark, all-consuming dread. Auggie, he slept—for who knows how long. 

The salesman lowers himself to Auggie’s level and peers into the cage, the smile never leaving his lips.

“I suppose we should get started early today.”

[cowboy-anon]

Whumpmas in July - Day 6

Prompt - Mistake

A day late (hence the birthday date and everything) and 100% lacking any fluff, but there’s no real whump either, so. Takes place seven days after Jimmy rescues Apple from the street. :)

[Previous] [Masterlist]

CW: A dash of PTSD, begging for punishment, brief breakfast mention (food), bruises, caretaker as new master, crying, low self esteem, mentioned cutting, whipping, and beating, pet whump, referenced past torture, scars, Stockholm Syndrome

Tagging: @happy-whumper, @milk-carton-whump​, @sideblogformindtrash​, @whumperfulart​, @unicornscotty​, @starnight-whump​ (Let me know if you want to be added or removed!) Apple’s Mistake

Apple wakes with the startling realization that Temporary Master Jimmy’s birthday was yesterday, He caught a glimpse of the date when he entered the apartment that first day, on the erasable calendar on the side of the fridge. “My birthday :)” had been written under July 5 in blue marker.

At the time, he’d had a whole week to plan. But his mind had been elsewhere, on Master Clay and Benji and everything he was missing about home. 

But he can’t think about that now. Apple flings the blankets off his body and scrambles off the bed like it’s made of fire. 

Stupid, he thinks harshly to himself. He smooths down the comforter and rearranges the pillows as quickly as he can. Stupid, getting so comfortable in a stranger’s home. 

The bed and the bedtime stories and the plushie, clasped tightly in his hand. Apple stares at it and its little apple stem, but the anger and shame and disbelief burn in his stomach, and he flings it across the room. All of it a distraction, gifts and toys and a false sense of security to trip him up for an excuse to punish him. 

Masters, no matter how temporary, have rules and expectations and ulterior motives. 

Master Clay would never do this to him.

But Apple knows he has to abide if he wants any chance of getting home to him, so rushes to Temporary Master Jimmy’s room across the apartment, bursts through the door, and falls to his bruised but healing knees. Temporary Master Jimmy, he’s probably been waiting for hours for Apple to realize his mistake. The least Apple can do is be accommodating. He can offer his body for punishment as he did Master Clay. He’ll appreciate that, won’t he? An accepting, eager pet?

Temporary Master Jimmy, who jolted awake and clambered up and back against his pillows and headboard the moment Apple crashed into the room, is staring at him with big, wide eyes. “Apple, what—?”

“Forgive me, Temporary Master Jimmy!” Apple bows his head in submission, then grabs at the hem of his shirt. “I forgot your birthday. Please punish me. As a gift! A belated birthday gift.”

His hands are shaking terribly. What will Temporary Master Jimmy do to him? Will he cut him or whip him or beat him? Worse still, what horrible ideas will he get from the scars decorating his back?

Apple shakes his head. He can’t think of that now, not while his temporary master is waiting. Quickly, so he can get it over with—so that Temporary Master Jimmy doesn’t have to wait, he corrects—he tugs his shirt up and over his head, then his arms out of the too-long sleeves. Once it’s off, he takes his shaking hands and buries them in it.

“I’m ready for you, Temporary Master Jimmy.” His voice is so much weaker now.

Temporary Master Jimmy slides off his bed. He’s staring. 

Apple understands. Underneath his clothes, he’s a… sight. Scars, dozens of them, hundreds of them—from the salesman mostly, he remembers with a shudder, but also Master Clay. He cherishes those. 

And he’s covered in bruises, too. Fading ones, like the big patch across his stomach from when Master Clay got back from a big meeting, stressed, and Apple offered himself to help. The last time Master Clay put his hands on him. His fingers absentmindedly graze over the tender blue skin. 

When Apple looks up again, Temporary Master Jimmy isn’t in front of him anymore. He’s behind him, still deathly quiet. 

He’ll do something to his back, Apple thinks, although that doesn’t lessen the possibilities much. The salesman did all sorts of things back there. He’d called it “abstract” once. Like abstract art, all splashes and sharp strokes and random, ugly mess—that and the big rectangular scar in the center, the “subject.” He said that any trained pet had these kinds of scars. But Benji didn’t. Still doesn’t. 

The salesman said a lot of things. 

Something wet falls into Apple’s palm. Blood is his first thought. Only it isn’t blood. It’s clear and warm but cold just as fast. Another drop and another. Sweat is the second thought, but of course he knows as much that it’s not. They’re tears. He wipes them up quick and fast, like he’d do for Master Clay, 

But Temporary Master Jimmy must see them, because he snaps out of whatever stupor he was in, and the next thing Apple knows, he’s staring into blue eyes. “What’s wrong, Apple? Can you… can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Apple shakes away the haunted expression he’s wearing and plasters a smile on instead. He pretends he’s talking to Master Clay. He pushes the salesman back into the deep dark corners of his mind. It helps. “Nothing, Temporary Master Jimmy. I’m ready for my punishment now.”

“What? No, Apple, I’m… I’m not going to punish you.” He eases the balled up shirt from Apple’s hands and shakes it out. “I— Where is this coming from? Here, put this back on.”

Apple reluctantly takes the shirt, searching Temporary Master Jimmy’s eyes for deceit. “I forgot your birthday. My punishment is your gift.” Like you wanted. 

“No. No, no… no, we don’t… we don’t do that here.” 

Temporary Master Jimmy isn’t looking at him full on anymore. His scars. Apple’s probably disgusted him. “...My mistake.” He pulls his shirt back on. 

Temporary Master Jimmy visibly relaxes when he’s done. “Do you… do you want some breakfast? Or I can run you a bath if you want.”

Apple almost doesn’t hear him, too lost in thought, because whatever punishment Temporary Master Jimmy’s building up for, it’s something big.

Master Clay would never toy with him like this. 

Still, Apple wears that fake smile. “Breakfast would be nice. Thank you, Temporary Master Jimmy.”