#mention of pet whump

[devourerofcheesecake]

My boyfriend has been encouraging me to write a silly little story about Insurance companies working with tax paying whumpers. I don’t really know anything about Insurance so this is just shit that I decided to spew on the internet, I’m just having fun here. Anyways, this is just a crack whump story.

Introducing:

Whump and taxes

Tw. Implied pet whump

“Well Jacob, everything seems to be in order! You’ve got the job! Congrats!!! You are still a noobie but as long as you can copy what the other insurance guys are doing, you’ll be a pro in no time!”

The tapping on the floor stopped as Jacob Reed finally relaxed that morning. He had stayed awake all night stressing about this meeting and making sure everything was in order. On top of this, the dyer wasn’t working and he had to stay at the laundromat to make sure his suit was clean and presentable.

“Oh thank goodness sir, this means a lot to me, I wont let you down. I really need this job, I promise I’m a fast learner.”

This was a partial lie. He really did need this job, and he was a fast learner. The issue was, as fast of a learner he was, he had a terrible memory. As much as he needed this job, he also wasn’t terribly thrilled about it. He felt bad for screwing Phillips over like this. As much as his future boss was a corporate douche, he could tell he was a passionate man that was easy to smiling. Jacob would’ve actually been friends with him in another life.

“Nonsense Mr. Reed,” the well groomed man said, sliding contracting agreements across the table, “you are a young man, and insurance firms are always understaffed. Really I’m the one that should be thanking you. I know how boring this job gets, it’s rare to find people interested in this position.”

Awkwardly smiling, Reed reached over Duncan Phillips’ name plate and grasped the papers eagerly. Jake was so engrossed by these papers that he didn’t even notice the paper cut that sliced the webbing between his thumb and pointer. This was his ticket out of debt. He began to read over the contract like a ravenous wolf looks at a baby lamb.

“Of course it’s going to take a couple months to get your own cubicle. One of my ex-employees is refusing to move out of the one I plan to give to you. I cant get too into it because it’s a whole legal battle, but it’s going to be a bit. I really am sorry about that, but I don’t suppose that’ll be an issue though, you will be partnered up with one of your coworkers to get a feel for the job anyways. If you need to get away though, there is always room in the storage close-“

“It says here I’ll be working in property management.”

Startled, Phillips looked at the despondent young man. “Will this be a problem?”

Jake looked up nervously. “I was actually planning to work in…. The building on the west side.”

Confused, Phillips eyed his new employee and sipped his coffee quietly. “Uhh, that doesn’t make sense kiddo. That’s the insurance and financial planning of human assets. Don’t you mean you want to work on the west side of this building? That’d be vehicle insurance. That field would take a bit longer to get the hang of, but I can get that handled for you. I would need to get you different forms though-“

“Sir, I guess you didn’t catch my meaning. I want to work… there.”

“…huh?”

Sighing, Reed resigned himself to the biggest choice of his life.

“Human assests. I want to work with the financial records of human…. Pets.”

“WOAH WOAH WOAH. We do not use the word ‘pets’, we say assests here, that could get you into sensitivity training”

“Sorry sir, I’m really new to this. But please? Can I work… there?”

Duncan looked as if Reed asked him to eat literal horseshit. Duncan would rather send this poor man to the gallows then let him work there. As much Phillips had that service, he wasn’t particularly fond of The Human Assets insurance division. That’s exactly why it was split from the main building where normal business was handled. Everytime he had to go into that building he never stayed there for more then a few minutes. He couldn’t stand the thought that he was managing finances for people keeping human captives.

“Kiddo. I don’t feel comf- oi Im gonna need a Jameson this. Uhm. Ok. Look here. So Jacob I’m gonna get really honest with you here. I don’t know you very well, but I can tell you are a good kid. I don’t want you to get caught up in all of that. This is still really unexplored territory and it has a LOT of legal…. Ambiguity.”

“Yes but that’s exactly why it pays more sir.”

“Son, I’m not following. I guess I’m confused as to why you want this job.”

Time to be really vulnerable here, it’s now or nothing. Taking a deep breath, Jacob Reed composed himself.

“Sir, I understand your concern but I’m aware of the situation. I understand that I’m taking a huge risk by encouraging this behavior. I understand that I could be taken to court if my… clients. If my clients aren’t happy with my services. But that’s exactly why this job pays more, so I can have the resources to defend myself in court if need be. That’s my understanding, am I correct?”

“Sigh, I can respect that kiddo. But are you sure you want to do this.”

“Absolutely.”

“There’s no going back. This is on your record forever.”

Without any hesitation, Reed stared pleadingly into the eyes of his new employer.

“I understand.”

Phillips had the look of a parent that just sent their kid away to die in war. He purposely fumbled the entire way to the cursed building.

Philips made sure that Jake did not miss the cake in the employee break room. He talked to Sharon from accounting about drag racing, a form of entertainment he had no interest in. Philips ‘accidentally’ led Reed into car insurance five times. Duncan asked his employees if they wanted him to make a stop at a local coffee shop real quick. He ‘subtly’ introduced Reed to everyone in business relations as they carried papers over to life insurance. There were several bathroom breaks, and even more stops to the water cooler. Jake at one point lost track of his boss. He looked over a corner, only to see him booking it down the corridor.

Finally, after 3 hours and 26 minutes of stalling, he led the young man out the front of the insurance building. They went down the steps, and across the parking lot to a smaller and less noticeable building. It didn’t have a sign displaying what was done there. The only indication that this was a business establishment was the glowing red letters spelling ‘open’ in the window.

As they approached the door, Duncan Phillips stopped. He took a deep breathe, prepping himself to send this young man into hell. With pleading eyes, Philips looked back at the 23 year old man behind him.

“And you are COMPLETELY sure you want this??”

“I already signed the Non-disclosure agreements three times. I need this.”

“Ok but you can cancel ANYTIME, with no notice. You just need to let me know. I will get you a cushy job as a receptionist or something until we figure something else out. I don’t want you to overwork yourself.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“I know but still. And you promise you will be reaching out to the therapist I recommended? She’s really good, she handles a lot of these employees needs. She’s discreet too, you don’t need to worry about any breach of confidentiality.”

“I will look into her for sure, I promise,” Reed lied. He knew he couldn’t pay her rate but he didn’t want to worry his new boss.

Sighing, Duncan finally relented.

He pushed the door open, albeit slowly.

They loafed leisurely into a corridor of cubicles, and they took their sweet time reading all of the name plates over each room.

They stopped at a cubicle that held a pudgey man with old coffee stains on his shirt. His hair was disheveled, and he looked supremely annoyed by the person on the other end of the phone he was holding.

“…Ms. Esther, while you are the legal guardian of your asset ‘Muffin’, he needs to sign his own paperwork handing all his money to you. He also needs to do this WILLINGLY. We would need you to bring him here so we can observe that he signed these papers of his own volition,”

The boss knocked quietly on the desk, and the man looked up and nodded at Phillips. He held a finger up telling them to wait a minute as he continued the conversation on the phone.

“….Ma’am you cannot do that. No, Ms…. Mad’am. Ok look it sounds like you are threatening Muffin right now, I’m going to let you call back later when you are more calm. Thankyou Ms. Esther for your time.”

Slamming his phone down, he looked at the two men standing there awkwardly.

“Hey there boss man, this is a surprise seeing you here! What can I do for you?”

“Hey John, this is Jacob. He’s a new coworker, and he wants to work in your… division.”

John stood up from his swivel chair and made sure to brush off some donut crumbs off his protruding belly. Once that was done, he offered up his hand for Jacob Reed to shake.

“Oh, that’s great then, nice to meet ya Jake. Welcome to the club kiddo.”

Taglist:

@zillastar13 @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

#whump #mention of pet whump #crack whump #Athena does silly lil writing because she’s weird

[oddsconvert]

Mute Whumpee having been forced into silence until they hear a certain “permission” code word.

Caretaker thinking that Whumpee is just mute from trauma now, and after about a week into their rescue they accidentally let that word slip and next thing they know, Whumpee is sobbing and apologizing and pleading-

Caretaker always liked the peace and quiet.

The sound of his own footsteps down an empty hallway, the creak of the floorboards beneath him, the soft whirring of the air conditioning unit in the corner. He liked the way the silence seemed to wrap around him like a blanket, shielding him from the outside world. He liked the way he could hear himself think, hear his own thoughts crystal clear when it was nice and quiet. When there were no distractions. When Caretaker could just be, without worrying about anything or anyone else.

Solitude is a blessing. Caretaker wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the whole wide world.

Caretaker used to like the peace and quiet…at least, before Whumpee fell into his lap.

The silence is now deafening, ear-piercing. The birds have stopped singing, the only sound is the wind rustling through the crunchy leaves scattered on the ground outside. The air is still and heavy, and the only movement is slow, steady drip of rainwater from the trees.

It is a silence that is full of fear and anticipation, and it is a silence that is waiting for something to happen. The quiet sounds like failure and disappointment. Another day blurs past in the blink of an eye - another day where he’s no closer to Whumpee speaking. Caretaker doesn’t even know the name of the man he rescued from the pits of hell, nor does he know his story. He doesn’t know the sound of Whumpee’s voice. If he has a family and friends, searching day and night to bring him home.

Whumpee is a mystery to Caretaker. And Caretaker is a mystery to Whumpee.

Caretaker peeks through the crack in the door, checking on Whumpee as he sleeps…on the floor. Whumpee lies huddled on the cold, hard ground, ignoring the perfectly made bed in the corner of the room. Like he’s not allowed to sleep in it. He writhes and flinches in his sleep, kicking his legs and whimpering like a dreaming dog. Whumpee is in there, somewhere, even if Caretaker can’t reach him just yet. He has tried everything he can think of, lost countless nights of sleep tossing and turning, and thought of every way to pull himself out of the darkness in his head, but nothing seems to work.

Whumpee suddenly awoke with a start, screaming and covered in cold-sweat, his eyes darting in horror around the room. Dark circles hang beneath his eyes, every inch of him vibrates in terror. When he spots Caretaker lingering in the doorway, he flinches and chokes on a sob.

“Hey, hey! Shhh, you’re okay!” Caretaker bursts through the doorway, rushing over to Whumpee’s side, “You were having another nightmare-”

Caretaker rubs Whumpee’s back as he heaves for air, “Would you like me to stay?”

Whumpee smiles, but it does not reach his teary eyes. His muscles tense like a spring about to bounce, and still he nods his head in agreement. Or submission.

Somewhere, somehow - Whumpee must understand and realise that this is safety. Caretaker is safety. His wounds and gashes are scabbing and closing, dark bruises fading into his pale skin. His belly warm and full. The dog collar strapped tight to his throat when Caretaker found him - long gone. Caretaker burned it.

“I’m so sorry. I wish I knew how to help -” Caretaker holds Whumpee's face, cupping his cheek.

There’s that damn silence again. Whumpee sniffles and wipes at his nose, refusing to even look at Caretaker now. He has all the answers, just not the words to reveal them. So close yet so far.

“I want you to know I will never hurt you, Whumpee. I just want to help… I just…I just want you to heal-”

Whumpee’s eyes go wide with horror, and he freezes like a statue. Caretaker can hear their heart racing in both their chests. Before Caretaker could stop him, Whumpee is kneeling at Caretaker’s feet, wrapping his arms around his legs, clinging like a baby koala and bursting into tears.

“Th-Thank you! Oh, thank you s-sir - thank god!” Whumpee wails, his voice deep, hoarse and scratchy. Caretaker can hardly believe his ears. It feels like a fever dream. Whumpee just spoke. What just happened?! What changed?!

“Whu-Whumpee?!” Caretaker gasps.

“I’m so sorry sir!!! I waited - and waited and…and I tried! I tried so hard to be good. I thought you’d never say it- I thought you'd never release me-”

"Release-"

"Heel. You - You told me to heel-" Whumpee slumps back onto the heels of his feet, sitting by Whumper's heels, his hands folded limp in front of his chest - begging. "My release word. I-I did good? I didn't speak, sir!!!"

"No…" Caretaker falters, "No, you didn't."

---

Drabble taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername  @whumpsday  @sparrowsage  @whumperfully  @wolves-and-winters @canislycaon24 @happy-little-sadist @darkthingshappen

#SORRY THIS IS BAD #AND THIS ASK IS FROM LAST YEAR #BUT INSPO STRUCK #whump #whump writing #answered asks #whump community #whumpblr #whump blog #whumpee #whumper #captivity #caretaker #pet whumpee #recovery whump #mute whumpee #scar mention #whump drabble #whump prompt

[whumperofworlds]

#whump #whump polls #pet whump #gore #death mention

[cepheusgalaxy]

Living weapon/guard dog who doesn't really hate their job. Sure, they are not passionate about it either but it is more like... a chore. It's a little messy, but it's not like it makes them feel bad. Besided, they get rewarded after or punished if they do it wrong so it's fine, really.

Until caretaker goes along. Caretaker doesn't want whumpee to kill people because caretaker really cares about People in General. Whumpee really likes caretaker so they do their best to avoid killing until...

well. i suppose something bad happens

#oc ideas #im playing with the idea of them having low/no empathy #living weapon whumpee #whump prompts #whump scenario #whump prompt #not sure where they'd go tho #i also think that they'll be a woman #death mention #violence mention #pet whump #pet whumpee

[octopus-reactivated]

:D

Everyone! Look at this beautiful drawing made by @whump-blog!

It's a scene I had in mind for a long time - the day he got his scar. It was a punishment for misbehaving. His then-Master wanted to hurt his eye too, but luckily he changed his mind :)

I swear, I could write a whole essay about what I love about it. The pose is just right, that leaning back and his expression, the fear and sadness and pain and disorientation and worry and a hint of regret perhaps? and iergiherguherugihijustloveitsomuchimightdieaughiuaehguiehg

I often struggle to portray my Whumpees as more than soft cakes to be held and protect and you got this right, that in reality he's just a young man who was tossed into bad circumstances and he's not just abused blorbo, he's abused man and I might run out of letters to do keysmashes.

And the little details, the worn-down clothes (he was never for the show, just to clean around and as long as shirt didn't fall apart it was good enough) and the bruises, especially the hand-shaped bruise??? I didn't know I needed it, sigjhdirughaeiug. It's even on his left arm like right-handed person grabbed him and I love, I love it. I will zoom in and stare at it for the rest of the night.

I'm putting taglist on, because everyone deserves to have a chance to see it: @kim-poce @whatgoeswhumpinthenight @wolfeyedwitch @dont-touch-my-soup @obsessedwithegos @cicatrix-energy @jordanstrophe @pinkraindropsfell

#eye whump mention #whump art #Juli #title me miss #commission #pet whump #blood #blood tw #:) #💞💞💞💞💞💞 #😭😭😭😭😭

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Charles & Ollie: Past

Hey guys. Um. It’s been a while since I’ve written. Sorry. Anyway! I really love this piece. It’s also much longer than most chapters I write, I’m pretty sure. Almost 2.8k words. So that’s fun.

Enjoy!

CW: pet whump, slave whump, refusing to use someone’s name, insults, perceived abandonment (technically not real), fear of punishment, self hatred, unreliable narrator, drug trafficking, drugging mention, police, starvation, escape/running away, homelessness, fear of death

Masterlist

— — —

It had been a normal day.

Wake up, make breakfast for Master, kneel quietly, and hope that he did well. Hope that he wouldn't have to spend the next few days tied up, bleeding, and starving in the basement. It was always his fault for being so stupid and deserving to be punished, but he could hope. Not want, of course, that'd never be allowed. But he could secretly wish and dream for a time when Master was forgiving.

Luckily, Master didn't find anything wrong with his pet's behavior that morning, so he set out. But not before giving his slave a strong kick to the ribs to keep him in his place. Pet preferred the kicks, the other choice for a daily reminder was a slap. Pet hated the hand marks. They made his already hideous face look even more ugly.

Pet set about his chores, washing the dishes and wiping the counter. He caught his blurred reflection in the polished granite. His collar was tight around his neck, the little tag hanging from it jingling.

He touched it gently, longing to hear his Master say the name written on it, just once. He knew that he needed the reminders because he was so stupid and useless. He'd forget his place if he wasn't called names all day. "Slave. Pet. Stupid. Ugly. Mutt. Useless. Fleabag. Bitch. Dog." On and on, all the cruelest things Master and his friends could think of, perfectly suiting for the crushed and bleeding thing that so often laid at their feet.

But Pet longed to hear his name, his real name, so badly. It had been so long, he knew it was bad, he knew he was selfish and worthless and dumb. But... no one would know, right? If he said it, just this once? Such a tiny word, only two syllables.

"Ol-"

The door flung open, and Pet jumped back, arms above his head. It was like the ground crumbled beneath his feet, and his stomach dropped. He fell to the floor, curled up, trying desperately to protect his most vital organs from attack. Had Master been waiting for this? He knew that his slave would mess up, didn't he? And he was just waiting to beat the living daylights out of the useless, worthless, disgusting piece of flesh that he owned.

"Hey, no, stupid dog. Come here." Master hauled him up off his feet and dragged him towards the basement. Pet whimpered but was in awe that Master was able to hold his fury in until they got to the basement. Usually, he'd just beat Pet wherever he was and make him clean up the blood from the floor and carpeting later.

"M-master, please, I-"

"Shush. You know what, hide! I'll be back in a few days. Some guys might come through, maybe a cop or two. Listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a dog." Master grabbed Pet's face roughly, fingernails digging into his cheeks. He was forcing Pet to look into his eyes, something that was rarely allowed. But it must be okay this time if Master was the one causing it.

"You have to understand.” Master said, “Do. Not. Come. Out. For. Anyone. However you need to do it, just get it through your thick skull. Don't stop hiding until I come back and say it's okay to leave, okay?" Master half-heartedly threw him to the floor, his slave more confused than he had ever been or probably ever would be. With one last disapproving glare, Master left.

Pet never saw him again.

- - -

It was true, he soon learned, that many people would be coming through the house. Pet feared he would feel lonely and bored while waiting, but there was a lot to keep his thoughts occupied and off of... other things.

First, cops searched the entire building. Pet heard them and dashed to a tiny closet in the basement, wedging a piece of wood in the handle on his side of the door. The police tried and failed to get in and even discussed cutting it open with an ax. Pet trembled, sweat dripping off his forehead while he tried to stop himself from hyperventilating.

Eventually, though, one of them protested, not wanting to do more work when they already had evidence. And so they left, making the house silent and (somewhat) stress-free once more.

Other people came and went too, talking and cursing. Most of them Pet recognized as the voices of Master's friends. He knew better than to listen to people's conversations, but they all kept mentioning drugs and pills, the type that had once been used on Pet. He remembered the experience, although things were still a little fuzzy.

It made his head hurt for days afterward, but at the moment, everything had felt so nice and peaceful for a few minutes before the blackout. When he woke up, he was covered in bruises and cuts, but it had still taken a few minutes for the relaxation to wear off and the pain to settle in.

Master had gotten very upset that his friends wasted the pills on a pet, after "everything he went through to get them." Despite already being beaten just an hour ago, Pet was punished severely for taking the pills. He had wanted to protest that the men had made him, but he knew better. The men were superior to him. They couldn't be faulted for it. So the blame must lie with Pet. It must. Master was never wrong.

In the present day, after many days of hunger and freezing nights down in the basement, Pet felt like he couldn't go on like this. No one had visited in a while. He knew what he was thinking about was bad. He knew that if Master found out what he was about to do, he'd be furious. He made it absolutely clear that his pet was not to leave the basement.

And yet, Pet finds himself sneaking up to the kitchen. He filled two bags with dog food and then, with some careful consideration, took three apples. Master never liked fruit but would still buy it; Pet was never quite sure of the reasoning behind that. And Pet had already been so bad, a few apples that would've rotted away even if Master had been there was nothing.

Pet then made his way to the living room and took several blankets and pillows. Then, noticing the mail had been delivered, he also took the newest copy of Pet Paper. Most of the articles either were boring or scared him, but they usually had fun pictures and a few games.

Carrying all of his loot and feeling surprisingly okay for a disobedient mutt who may have been abandoned, Pet made a little camp for himself in the basement. He decided to put the pillows and blankets in the closet where he had previously hidden from cops. The tiny space felt almost like his cage upstairs and he knew now that it was suitable for hiding.

Then he sat on the floor, grabbed a handful of dog food to munch on, and started reading.

Several more days passed before Pet started to get incredibly worried. He had heard the garbage truck pass by this morning. That was the second time since he had last seen Master. More than two weeks had gone by and still, no sign of where he had gone. What was previously just another anxious thought had transformed itself into a legitimate concern. Had Pet been abandoned?

Of course, it didn't make any sense. Why would Master leave everything just to get away from his pet?

But he couldn't deny that something was wrong. Even Master's friends had stopped visiting too. He didn't get it. Of course, he was so stupid, he could never understand why humans do the things they do. But he just couldn't think of any other explanation. So Master must've abandoned him.

Pet waited another week before finally deciding to leave. The dog food was running out, even after he had made several more disobedient trips upstairs. And if Pet had been thrown away, shouldn't he get out of his Master's house? Maybe Master was waiting until he left to come back to the house. Pet was probably being bad for staying there for so long. He was so selfish, not wanting to leave the comfort of the building for the scary outside world.

But he had to now. At least there would be food outside. And also cruel people, the cold, sickness, and probably death. But a bad pet like him deserved all of that, surely. He was such a rotten animal.

Pet's first steps outside were cautious and weak. He nearly stumbled from the sheer shock of it all.

He had done it. Ollie had done it. He couldn't believe this... this... this whole new world.

but it wasn't new, not really. It wasn't new at all. He just hadn't been here in a very long time, if ever.

He felt like he had stepped into a fantasy world after only hearing of it in fairytales. The outside world, the land beyond the kitchen window, was never allowed to him before. It might as well be something that only existed in legend.

- - -

Ollie sat huddled under the bridge, violently shivering. He hadn't eaten in two, maybe three days? He didn't know.

He was cold, wet, tired, and starving. He deserved all of it for leaving his Master's house. He should've accepted his fate and died there.

He was horrible.

- - -

Earlier in the day, Ollie had run away from some police. It was only because he was so small and capable of hiding that he got away. His muscles were very weak as of late, so he could've been easily caught. He'll have to be more careful next time.

But now, because of all the distance he had worked hard to put between him and the officers, Ollie had found himself in an entirely new area.

It was late at night, so restaurants had probably thrown out their leftovers already. If only he could find a place and dumpster dive for spare food.

As he wandered, he spied yet another cop. He was so frightened that he ran into the first available hiding place he saw: a bright, bustling building. He hadn't been thinking. He was so stupid. He dashed in and joined the crowds, trying to hide himself in the large group.

When someone first noticed him, in his dirty, smelly, roughed-up state with no shoes, she shrieked and backed up so fast she bumped into a man, who fell on a waiter, who spilled two glasses of wine they had been carrying.

Soon enough, everyone was in a great commotion, trying to get away from Ollie and call security.

The pet began to cry, overwhelmed and tired and hungry and not at all wanting to deal with this. He was sorry, he was, and he would do whatever they wanted to make up for it. Just please don't hand him over to the police. Please. He didn't know what they'd do to him, and he wasn't eager to find out.

The guards approached Ollie and he fled, going deeper into the crowd, until he tripped over his own feet and fell. He curled up and lay trembling on the floor, sobbing and so terrified.

He heard a bunch of people shuffle and he looked up to see the crowd part as a man walked through, headed straight for Ollie. This man didn't look like a security guard but rather was dressed in an expensive suit and had a stern, irritated expression.

When the man saw Ollie, however, his expression changed a bit. Ollie didn't know how to describe it, having never been looked at with such a visage. But it seemed less upset than the previous one, so that might be a plus? Maybe? Maybe this man won't kick Ollie as hard as he could, or won't insult him while throwing him out.

The man looked around.

"Whose pet is this?"

Of course, no one stepped forward. The man looked back at Ollie and asked if his owner was here. He shook his head.

"Are you lost?'

"Um, yeah... I-... I was abandoned, sir."

"Oh. I am very sorry to hear that. So you need a place to stay, then?"

Another nod. The man bent slightly and extended a hand. Ollie flinched away, bracing for a slap, but none came. He looked back and the hand was still there, just resting in the air. Ollie hesitated, but the man nodded encouragingly, and so Ollie took his hand and got helped up.

He whimpered as pressure was put on his ankle, then froze. He was bad.

His ankle must've been injured when he tripped, which was his fault, he shouldn't have run. And now he had the audacity to whimper?? He was so, so bad. This man would realize what a pathetic mutt he was and hurt him for it.

Glancing up fearfully, he saw that the man was indeed frowning. Ollie shrank back, hand slipping out of the man's grasp. He started shaking even harder.

"Oh dear, easy, it's alright," the man soothed. "I didn't mean to further injure your ankle by forcing you to stand. I will call a doctor for you immediately."

Did he think Ollie was upset because his ankle hurt? But.. why? Sure, the pain was intense now that he was trying to stand, but it was nothing compared to what he's been through.

"There's no need to be so concerned, sir. I'm alright. I can take it and more. I can take whatever you want me to."

The man frowned again and Ollie nearly cried.

"No, no, don't be ridiculous. I have no reason to harm you. You've done nothing wrong, dear. I don't want you to be unnecessarily hurt."

The man hesitated, then spoke again.

"That's not how I want one of my workers to be treated."

...

...what?

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I do not wish for you to be harmed, regardless of your status, but especially if you agree to work for me. You don't have a home or... employer, do you?"

"No, sir, I don't have either of those. But really, you don't have to, I'll only be a bother and a burden-"

"Nonsense. I have heard of how they train you guys. I'm sure you are wonderful. And besides, I am forgiving, I promise."

Ollie couldn't help but notice some of the crowd looked doubtful at that, which was very concerning. But at the same time, the man did not possess the same cruel glint in his eyes, the expression of deceit, the glee in waiting until the perfect moment to strike.

Of course, the man could just be better at hiding those things, or Ollie was dumber than he thought.

But what other choice did he have?

This person was offering him a lifeline, a chance at a new home and a new life. Ollie would die if he continued to be homeless. Maybe not right away, but he'd eventually catch an illness or upset someone or get caught, and then it'd be all over.

He didn't want to die.

"Okay. Of course, sir, I'd be happy to be your slave."

The man just nodded tight, and the pet was certain that he had already messed up.

But still, the man didn't do anything to him. Instead, he addressed the crowd.

"Apologies for the interruption," He announced, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "I have urgent business to attend to with my worker, so I must leave. Enjoy the showing, it will continue until 10:30 PM as planned. My accountant will be handling any further purchases. Good night."

Then, looking back at his new slave again, Master spoke much softer.

"What is your name, dear?"

Oh god. Oh no. He knew what he was supposed to say, he knew he had to be good. He should tell the man that he can call him anything, even horrible insults, and the slave would readily accept it. He had to show his new owner that he could be good. But the man had asked. Please. The pet wanted to be allowed his name, his real name.

"Ollie, sir. My name is Ollie."

The man nodded, not seeming angry at the slave's terrible presumption that he could demand a free person use a particular name for him.

"I am Charles Durand, please to meet you, Ollie. Come with me. I'll help you to a couch to rest until the doctor arrives."

Given no other option, Ollie followed him, allowed to dangerously lean on his arm as he hobbled along.

Hopefully, this man wouldn't be too cruel to him.

— — —

Tag list: @whumpzone @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpsweetwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @apples-and-whump @professional-idiocy @nicolepascaline @cowboy-anon @wolfeyedwitch @kim-poce @guachipongo @badluck990 @secretwhumplair @batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @morelikepainsley @catawhumpus @starfields08000 @mylovelyme

#Charles & Ollie #Charles Durand #Ollie #whump #pet whump #slave whump #whumpee #caretaker #pet whumpee #rich caretaker #refusing to use someone’s name #insults #perceived abandonment #abandonment #fear of punishment #self hatred #unreliable narrator #drug trafficking #drugging mention #police #starvation #escape #running away #homelessness #fear of death

[3-2-whump]

The Auction Floor: Thomas Costa’s POV

Hi all,

In exchange for a chapter on the current timeline (a chapter I am still working on/fixing up before it is posted), I am posting a prequel chapter. Any and all prequel chapters will be found under 'Eternal, part 0.' They won't have nav arrows, but they will have an explanation to when in the story they take place, and a link to the masterlist to read more. Hope this system works for everyone!

This chapter happens slightly before, concurrently, and a little after The Auction Floor

TW/CW: death of a minor character (briefly mentioned), institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, nonconsensual nudity (nonsexual), minor whump (at time of story), creepy/intimate whumper(s) (sort of a multiple whimpers situation), manhandling (nonsexual) (towards the end)

Mob boss Luciano Antonio Costa – Boss Tony - had died, leaving mafia to his grandson, Thomas, to control. The newly-appointed heir didn’t look much like a typical Italian mob boss. With his blonde hair, steely blue eyes, and freckled fair skin, he hardly even looked Italian. However, the old boss never had any legitimate male heirs to pass the helm of leadership to, having only one daughter before his wife died. Although he begrudgingly accepted his daughter’s marriage to Tom’s father, an inconsequential gangster from the Irish mob, he had always intended to pass the family business onto his surviving grandson.

“I’m so sorry for your loss” began to lose its meaning after the fourth well-meaning chump, and unfortunately, Grandpa Tony’s funeral had a good turnout. “That was a beautiful eulogy,” one of many nameless faces sniffled. “You two must have been very close,” they’d said to him. Were we ever close, though? Thomas wanted to ask, remembering only the time they last fought. It may as well have been a lifetime ago when he was a teenager who turned his back on the family to try and live a straight life, but the guilt hung over him like a curse no matter how hard he had tried to run away from his fate as the next boss of the Costas. It was always about what he wanted me to be, not what I wanted. Never once was it ever about what I wanted to do with my life, he bitterly remembered. Even now, it was all about Grandpa Tony’s wants, as he accepted his role in leading the Costas. He cast a baleful glance at the casket as it slowly disappeared beneath the earth.You won, old man.

His underboss and a few of the capos, men that he had grown up with and who now supported him in running the large criminal organization, caught on to their new boss’ sour mood. Admittedly, it wasn’t hard to notice how intensely he scowled at the freshly filled-in grave. They suggested celebrating Thomas’ ascension to head of the family with drinks and a night out, but their idea of a night out was attending a black-market auction and maxing out the organization’s funds on frivolous shit. Powerful drugs, illicit weapons, plundered antiques, and –dear god, did Jaime just buy an arowana?! Thomas looked over the side of his whiskey glass disapprovingly.

He glanced over at a corner of the auction house that seemed to gather a large crowd. He shrugged and decided to join them to see the display. The crowd surrounded an entire floor-to-ceiling wall of glass, behind which stood people from all around the world, each divided into their own little compartments within the glass wall, each of them completely naked. The way they were displayed in those little glass tanks was oddly reminiscent of how fish were displayed at a pet store.

Get a pet, people had said to him. It’ll be good for you, they said, help lift your spirits, they said, if you’re responsible for keeping one little thing alive, maybe you’ll be more motivated to take care of yourself, they said. Surely those people had meant a cat or a dog or a python, and probably not an actual human being. Although, Thomas remembered the people giving him that advice were part of the major crime families of the city, too. Perhaps this was what they meant all along?

Regardless of what those people meant, it was a whole different thing to actually commit to owning a person. He’d never seriously considered it before, but now he found himself thoughtfully observing the merchandise behind the glass. Though there were a few people who were obviously adults, most of them were teens, and most them were girls, though there were a couple boys, too.

Whichever one he’d pick, they would have to be relatively attractive, if he was going to have to bear looking at them at the end of every day. He eyed a glass cell with a stunning blonde girl futilely trying to cover herself with her hands and ignore the gazes directed within her cell. Thomas pushed past the crowd and moved on; pretty girls like that would be swiped up immediately, so it wouldn’t even be worth the trouble to place a bid. The next cell held a freckled boy who leaned into the glass, fogging it up with his breath and writing ‘HELP ME’ over and over again with his finger. Thomas passed on that one, too. One by one he would find something wrong with the human assets behind the glass cases. Too shy, too desperate, not my type, that one just stares ahead and doesn’t even move…

He finally stopped around the last few cells, where a crowd had dissipated from in front of a glass cell with discontented murmurs. Inside that one crouched a small boy, knobby knees drawn to bony chest, thin, tan arms wrapped around his shins, and a head of messy dark hair resting on top his knees. The boy dared to look up from his hiding place. Loose, unruly waves of hair and thick, dark eyelashes nearly covered his expressive dark brown eyes. Those eyes hid nothing as they shone with fear. Thomas gripped the whiskey in his hand a little tighter. The child cut a striking image inside the glass prison, reminding him of a time and a place and an incidence he never liked to think about for long-

To his misfortune, his subordinates caught him staring. “Got your eye on the little slave, Tommy-Boy?” Luca asked as he sauntered up to him.

“Don’t call him that.” Even if that was technically what he would be, the whole concept still took a while for him to get used to. “I just think he’s cute is all,” he mumbled into his glass, draining it of the rest of the whiskey while he tried to convince himself the pink in his cheeks was only from the drink.

“Why don’t you place a bid?” Thomas whipped around to see Jaime lurking behind him. When did he get here? His eyes traveled down to the large picnic cooler on wheels, supposedly where Jaime’s new fish was. “Boss Tony, God rest his soul, left you quite the inheritance, I’m sure you can afford him,” Jamie snickered. He pointed to the sign above the glass cell, where the serial number and QR code were displayed prominently. “142225,” he read.

“Doesn’t he kind of remind you of-”

“You shut up. Right now,” Thomas warned.

“We’ll shut up once you place a bid, now come on! At least look up the little slave!”

Thomas sighed and whipped out his phone; the sooner he scanned the QR Code with the app the black market had made him download, the sooner his underlings would shut the hell up. A profile popped up on his phone screen, the men crowding comically around him to read over his shoulder. 142225 had been collected in Pakistan, was 5’1”, and weighed barely 90 lbs. at the last weigh-in.

“They like to starve the kids here,” Luca explained nonchalantly. “Makes it easier to control them.” Thomas glanced briefly at the thin boy inside the glass, frowning a little as he let that unsettling fact sink in. He quickly scrolled past the blood type, known allergies, and other information he deemed irrelevant to hover his thumb over the ‘PLACE A BID’ button.

“Well, go on, you know you want to!”

“He looks easy enough to take care of, and easy on the eyes, too!”

“We saw how enviously you stared at Matteo’s pet at the last New Year’s party, won’t it be nice to finally have one of your own?”

 Eventually, their peer-pressure resulted in the new mob boss placing a bid, becoming $30k poorer, filling out some ridiculous form about any last-minute body mods he may want, and waiting until the end of the night to collect his new slave and go home. His companions had left hours ago, and every other buyer had gotten their slave already, so it was just him waiting alone in an emptying warehouse, trying to make small talk with one of the event coordinators.

“So, does he have a name?”

She didn’t even look up from her tablet. “He’s named whatever you want to name him.”

“Where is he from? Besides the collection point, where’s he actually from?”

“We don’t know.”

“How old is he?”

“We don’t know.”

Thomas barely suppressed a groan. “Is there anything you do know?” he ground out impatiently.

“Yeah. He looks even cuter when he cries.” The woman smirked over her tablet, looking over Thomas’ right shoulder. “He’s here.”

Thomas turned around to see the boy, now clothed in a white T-shirt and bluish gray sweatpants. He kept his eyes downcast and his hands folded in front of him. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy looked up briefly before dropping his gaze back to his bare feet. “Khaled,” he replied, voice timid and heavily accented, “but you may call me whatever you want, sir.”

Khaled. He silently rolled the name around on his tongue as if savoring an exotic sweet. Khaled. Thomas cast what he hoped was a reassuring smile, not that Khaled saw it with his gaze fixed to the floor. “Luckily for you, I like your name.” He strode decisively toward the exit, gently placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder to direct him. “Come with me, Khaled.”

In the nearly three-hour car ride back to Thomas’ home, the mob boss learned three things about his new purchase. Firstly, Khaled was shy, only speaking when spoken to and even then, using as few words as possible. Also, Khaled probably didn’t speak much English; how much of this was because he was shy, and how much of this was because he literally couldn’t understand him? And –finally, -Khaled could run. Since the moment the car parked, Khaled dashed out and sprinted into the street. He nearly got hit by a truck before Thomas could chase after him, pull him back, and drag him inside the apartment building. The scene of a grown man dragging a distressed kid who was screaming bloody murder probably shocked some residents, but fortunately the doorman was part of the Costas and did not bat an eye.

“It is too damn early for this!” Thomas complained to himself as he practically threw Khaled into the awaiting elevator. “Do you want to be leashed up like a dog, you little shit?! Cause that’s what’s going to happen if you keep trying to run away!”

“Let go of me, please!” the boy cried, his voice brittle and panicked like a scared, caged animal as he tried to twist out of the punishing grip on his arm.

“Like hell I’m letting you go, not after maxing out my personal credit card on you and pulling an all-nighter for the first time since Kandahar!” He violently jammed the buttons that would take them to the top floor of the high rise.

Soon the elevator dinged, doors swooshing open as they reached the floor of his penthouse. “Come on!” Thomas continued to drag the boy through the hallway, ignoring him begging in that endearing accent of his. Khaled’s complaints all but ceased as soon as he opened the door to his penthouse and let the boy step inside. His eyes widened, sparkling in awe, and his jaw dropped as he let out a reverent “whoa” that transcended any language barrier.

The living room to the penthouse itself was light and spacious, with large floor-to-ceiling windows that let in plenty of natural light, and minimalist décor to accent the living room. A large L-shaped couch dominated the living room and looked over the expansive rooftop and the cityscape beyond it. The rest of the room terminated sharply into a dining area with a large oak table and a wood-floored kitchen with two large granite countertops. An imposingly large door –the door to Thomas’ bedroom, -stood closed to the left of the living room. A hallway to the right branched off into an office on one side, and a guest bathroom opposite. A small staircase right outside the laundry room led to a storage loft spanning above the entrance. Thomas toed off his shoes at the door. Khaled, who wasn’t wearing any shoes, hesitantly walked in. Tom frowned when he noticed the dirty footprints left behind on his beige rug.“Would you like a bath, Khaled?” he suggested. The fact that Khaled didn’t reply made him again wonder how much English he truly understood. We can work on that. He sighed in exasperation as he gripped the boy’s arm and dragged him off to the guest bathroom. Once inside, Thomas deposited him at the entrance and turned on the lights and the fan. He got the shower head running next. Khaled stood silently watching him by the door as he tested the water’s temperature with his hand a few times. He nodded in satisfaction as the water finally reached an agreeable temperature. “Come on in,” he beckoned. Khaled inched closer to the bath tub. “Can I take off your clothes?” he asked. The boy blinked, then shook his head as he quickly took off the shirt himself. The drab sweatpants soon followed, and he quickly stepped into the shower. Thomas drew the curtain to prevent water from spilling and to give him a shred of privacy. As the boy showered, he soon realized Khaled had nothing to wear but that depressing little t-shirt and sweatpants. He took them to the laundry room and chucked them in the hamper, making a mental note to buy some clothes for Khaled as soon as possible. Cute as the small naked boy was, he was still a minor, and Tom didn’t need any extra distractions while he was adjusting to his new role as Boss of the Costa Family.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump

#whump writing #whumpee #creepy/intimate whumper #multiple whumpers #tw death mention #institutionalized slavery #pet whump #tw dehumanization #tw nonsexual nudity #nonconsensual nudity #tw minor whump #at time of story #manhandling #near the end there #I think I got all the tags but if i'm missing any do tell me

[oddsconvert]

My brain: make friends! Send asks! Exist in more then just your blog!

Me: but what if I'm scared of friends!?!?!

Anyway, can I request Ronan catching Issak hurting Henley?

Flowers for author. 💐💐💐💐💐

Friends!!! It's official! No being scared! <3 I am so sorry for the delay with this but I hope this ticks your boxes! :D

---

“How do you sleep at night?”

Henley stirred awake, his world a blurred mess of throbbing pain. Crusted sleep clung to his lashes, he blinked fiercely to chase away the haze. He could only just about make out a hulking silhouette looming over him. When his vision finally sharpened, he instinctively clutched his scratty blanket closer to his heaving chest - his futile shield.

Cold dread flooded Henley as he saw Izaak, free of the chains that usually rattled with every twitch of a muscle. The chains that kept Henley safe and sound, out of harm's way. Far from Izaak’s reach.  Izaak's fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white, his face contorted in a feral snarl. Panic squeezed Henley’s chest like a vice. He was a rabbit trapped in a fox's den. 

“Wha-?” Henley’s voice was a hoarse rasp. He’s half-convinced no sound left his lips at all. 

"Oh, did I interrupt your sweet dreams, Henny?" Izaak's voice was a low growl, sending shivers trickling down Henley's spine. That nickname. The way it dripped with mocking familiarity, but years of ingrained fear hid within it. It made all the hairs on Henley’s arms stand on edge. 

Izaak suddenly lunged forward. One massive hand clamped around Henley's throat, squeezing every last drop of air from his lungs. Henley's wrists burned in protest against his chains, straining as he fought for a sliver of slack, a desperate inch to reach his throat and fight Izaak off. "You," Izaak spat, barely containing his rage, "are the reason for my suffering. The cause of my anguish. Every scar on my body has your name written on it.."

Tears pressed from beneath Henley’s eyelids, and he shook his head furiously. Passionately. No. It’s not true. He’s not responsible for this. He didn’t land them here, he didn’t start all of this. This is all Izaak’s doing. This is the price he has to pay. 

“So answer the question,” Izaak demanded, now nearly crushing Henley’s windpipe as he choked and wheezed, “How the hell do you sleep at night? No. Scratch that shit. Better yet. How do you live with yourself? After what you’ve done to me?”

“I-Izaak, pleas-”

Izaak’s fist came at Henley with such speed it was like a cannonball. It connected with a sickening crunch as Henley felt his nose cave in, and hot-white pain erupted. The force of the blow sent him sprawling, the floor rose up to meet him with a jarring thud. He lay helpless. Cool blood dripped from his nose and pooled on his lips, he could taste the metallic tang. 

“You dare call me that again, and I’ll put you six feet under this fucking cement. Understand?” Izaak seethed through gritted teeth, with spit spraying and a vein pulsing from his temple. Izaak didn’t even give him the second to respond, Henley was still reeling and seeing stars. “I SAID, “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” he roared. 

“Yes!” Henley wailed miserably. Tears mingled with blood and dirt. He sniffed pathetically and whimpered as new pain flared through his obviously broken nose. He stayed glued to the floor. Too afraid to move, to even dare lift his head up. Henley didn’t see Izaak reaching for his long curls of hair and wrenching them in his fist. Yanking his head back, Henley’s Adam's apple bobbed against his collar as he gasped and gulped back the fear.

“‘Yes’, what?” Izaak whispered. It was hard to miss the element of enjoyment in his voice. It sounded like old times. Must feel like it to him too. 

But Henley immediately knew what he was looking for.

“Yes, sir!” Henley gasped out. There’s not a beat of hesitation. Izaak can say many things about Henley. A bad pet, he is not. 

Henley’s head smacked to the ground, his forehead banging against cold, unforgiving cement as Izaak threw him out of his hand. He’s on a warpath. He paced back and forth, contemplating what to do next. 

Izaak's foot then swung into Henley's gut. The air whooshed from Henley's lungs in a strangled scream that ripped free from his throat. The world lurched sideways, a wave of nausea crashing over him. Bile rose in his throat as pain lanced through his abdomen. Izaak unrolled Henley from his cocoon and straddled his hips, slamming his palm over Henley’s mouth, “Shut the fuck up! Don’t you dare make a sound.”

Henley obeyed. He forced himself to seal his lips, now sobbing silently and huffing through the pain. 

“You got us into this fucking mess. You deserve everything you’ve got coming to you. I’m going to make you wish you were never born-”

“I already do-” Henley croaked.

Izaak doesn’t hold back anymore. He unleashed a flurry of punches, raining blow after blow down on Henley. Henley’s already-battered body convulsed with each hit - he twisted and flailed in a desperate bid to shield himself from the onslaught. It was no use. Darkness cornered his vision, and ringing screeched in his ears. His entire body was slowly growing limp.

Henley squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the sweet relief of unconsciousness. He waited for the next punch. And waited. But it never came. Confused, Henley cracked open a swollen and purpling eye.

Izaak was no longer looking at him, and a flicker of raw terror replaced the unhinged rage that had plagued his eyes before. Henley groaned as he lifted his pounding head, and turned to follow Izaak’s petrified stare.

A shadow shifted at the top of the stairs, a tutting sound emanating from the darkness.

“What are you doing to my boy?” Ronan asked, cool as a cucumber on the surface, but fury bubbled below. The calm facade didn’t last. Ronan flew down the stairs, and pulled that oh so familiar remote from his pocket. In the blink of an eye, Izaak was a quivering, jittering wreck as his shock collar lit up and shocked him stiff. He collapsed from Henley’s body like a tonne of bricks. His screams pierced the sound barrier - his fingers scrabbled and ripped at the collar, kicking his legs and bucking his entire body. Ronan punched the button again, and again until the screaming stopped. It’s just silent gargles, with drool dribbling down the edge of Izaak’s blue lips. 

Ronan threw Henley a single, and quick look as he bolted past. It wasn't a look of reassurance, but a quick flicker up and down to acknowledge him. Reaching his locked cabinet, Ronan fumbled with the combination and finally, the cabinet swung open, and he snatched a vial and syringe, and a length of rope.

He wastes no time in racing over to where Izaak is heaving and panting on the floor, and stabbing the syringe in his neck. Izaak roared, a sound that curdled the blood, but it was cut short by a weak gasp as the muscle relaxant began to take hold.

“There, there. That should settle you down, big-un,” Ronan chuckled, patting Izaak on the chest.

“F-ffuc- fuckk y-yoou,” Izaak slurred, his eyes rolled like pinball machines in their sockets. Henley watches as all the tone in Izaak’s muscle depleted and he flopped lifelessly. Izaak lay sprawled on the floor, a pathetic mew escaping his lips as the muscle relaxant coursed through his veins. His previously violent thrashing had dissolved into a pathetic trembling, his limbs heavy and unresponsive.

Henley's cry echoed through the basement. Now that the threat was neutralised. "You didn't tie him tight enough, sir! He almost—!" His voice choked on the rising panic, his gaze locked on Izaak's slack form. “He was going to kill me.”

Ronan paid no mind to Henley, the shivering wreck that he was. Instead, he focused on yanking Izaak’s arms behind his back. With rough rope, he bound Izaak's wrists together with a vengeance, the knots pulled tight, drawing a choked gasp that did little to faze Ronan. Next, he secured Izaak's ankles with another length of rope, the slack yanked out until Izaak's legs were splayed uncomfortably wide. Finally, with a cruel twist, Ronan bound Izaak's ankles to his secured wrists, hog-tying him in a position that screamed discomfort. Izaak's gasps faded to choked moans as his body contorted in a way it wasn't meant to, forced into an arched bow.

Ronan left Izaak on the ground and approached Henley slowly. With a touch that could have been gentle or cruel, he cupped Henley's bruised and bloodied cheek. Henley flinched at the contact, a hiss escaping his lips. Ronan’s eyes flickered over the damage and he tsked, disappointed. Then his eyes met Henley’s and locked in. “Do you really think I’d let him break one of my favourite toys?”

“He - He got pretty close, master.” Henley snivelled. He flinched as Ronan’s arms moved, expecting another blow, but instead, his arms wrapped around Henley’s tiny frame in a sudden and suffocating embrace. Ronan’s grip was tight, possessive, leaving no wiggle room. Defeated, Henley sagged into the hug and rested his head on Ronan’s chest, letting his eyes flutter shut. It was always easier to give into this than brave the pain. Ronan began to stroke Henley’s hair, twirling it in his fingers. It wasn’t a gesture of genuine affection and Henley was never under the impression that it was. It was Ronan’s sense of ownership. Like Izaak’s claim was the bruises and scars. Ronan’s was more inside than out. For Henley, at least.

“Shh Shh. Come with me. I’ll get you patched up, little one”. Grunting with effort, Ronan hoisted Henley to his feet, a hand wrapped under his armpit to guide him up the creaking stairs.

Ronan turned at the very last step, leering at the sight of Izaak, bound and subdued. "That little temper tantrum of yours was cute, pet" he called down, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "But playtime's over. Now, you get to lie there, nice and quiet, and contemplate all the fun things I have planned for you when your little cocktail wears off. I want you to feel every second.”

----

Taglists!:

Henley taglist: @livelaughwhump @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth

Ronan taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

Izaak taglist: @emmettland @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth @whumpsoda

Drabble taglist (which I forgot existed and have recently rediscovered assdfghjkl so will be using from now on unless you would like off it <3 ): @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumpsday @sparrowsage @whumperfully @wolves-and-winters @canislycaon24 @happy-little-sadist @darkthingshappen @whumping-in-the-dark @vagabouund @turn-the-tables-on-them

#thank you for this!! <3 #It was a lot of fun! #whump #whumper turned whumpee #whumperee #pet whump #whumpee #whumper #multiple whumpees #tw beating #tw blood mention #shock collar #noncon drugging #dubcon touch? #creepy whumper #whump writing #answered asks #whump community #whumpblr #whump blog #captivity #a taste of your own medicine #henley allen oc #izaak silvera oc #ronan ellis oc #ATOYOM

[whumperofworlds]

#whump #whump polls #pet whump #gun mention #knife mention

[gottawhump]

Choices

Maia

CW/Tw: pet whump, institutional slavery, BBU/WRU, death/euthanasia mention

It takes forever for the rich kid to decide who he’s taking home, like it always does, but she’s not surprised when he chooses the little dark-haired Romantic.

When the shelter gets a Romantic, they usually get snapped up quickly. Usually, they’re eager to go, trying out all their practiced charms to win over a new owner.

Not that one. He’d been an owner surrender. He was being replaced by a cat, apparently, from the pet shelter a few blocks down. His skin was heavily marked by hard use, with signs of past owners. Any potential new owner would only take him to destroy him, not to cherish.

She hopes that won’t happen to him with the rich kid.

He shrunk into himself in the shelter kennel, refusing to interact with staff or possible adopters. Eventually refusing to eat, which slated him for the end-of-life section.

She hopes he’ll be okay, in his new home.

Now there are only two in the EOL section. The Guard Dog, due to be put down for inappropriate aggressiveness, and the Domestic, because they need more space.

Their adoption fees are heavily discounted, but even at the employee rate, she thinks she can only afford one.

She has to choose.

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

#pet whump #institutionalized slavery #bbu/wru #euthanasia mention #old friends #Maia the shelter worker

[kabie-whump]

✧･ﾟRipe, About to Fall - Part 5 ✧･ﾟ

This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance.

Title from ‘Liquid Smooth’ by Mitski

Series Description and Warnings Masterlist, First, Previous Chapter Summary: Ventis gets better, and Onthyes takes risks. Chapter Content: Pretty light chapter. Suggestiveness towards the end and general mentions of abuse, exploitation, and objectification. Fingers in mouth, mentions of choking/lack of gag reflex. Mention of wanting to die.

Onthyes does not belong to me. He was created by my wonderful gf @sapphicccici and I have kidnapped him.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“I won’t do it.”

That was the conclusion that Athos reached after an hour of pacing Ventis’s bedroom, deep in thought.

“Releasing him may preserve his spirit, but he simply would not survive without me. He needs me. There must be other ways to heal his spirit, and I will find them.”

Onthyes just listened silently, pouring all of his energy into hiding his disappointment with Athos’s decision.

“Keep watching him, Onthyes. Alert me if anything changes.”

With that Athos swept out of the room, leaving Onthyes alone with Ventis.

Onthyes sat at the edge of Ventis’s bed, staring down at the genasi. He wondered how much of all this he had heard. Did he know what was killing him? Did he know that Athos was making the deliberate choice to not fix it?

“Ventis,” Onthyes whispered, watching the genasi stir at the sound of his voice. “I’d like to take you outside again.”

Ventis’s eyes cracked open, fixing Onthyes with a half-hearted glare.

“I know you didn’t like it, but… you were dying. I took you outside because I didn’t want you to spend your last moments in here. And then you got better, right before my eyes. Something about being outside fixed you.”

“It hurt,” Ventis rasped.

“I know. But it helped. You could die otherwise.”

“Then let me die.”

Onthyes’s breath hitched. He could see why someone in Ventis’s position might want to die, but he hadn’t expected him to say it so easily. “No. I can’t do that.”

Groaning, Ventis made a weak effort to sit up. Onthyes rushed to help him, placing a pillow behind his back.

“All you do is talk about how badly you want to save me,” Ventis hissed. Talking was taking a lot out of him, leaving his chest heaving for air, but he pressed on. “But you refuse to let me go. What I want doesn’t matter if it doesn’t match what you want for me.”

“Ventis.” Onthyes took his hand slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted. “I want you to live because I have hope for you. I believe that you can make it out of this; that you still have a chance of having your own life away from Athos.”

Ventis wouldn’t look at him. “You’re too late. It would be no different from freeing a statue.”

Onthyes could tell that he really believed that. Three years of constant drugging and conditioning had made him see himself as nothing more than an object.

“Would you let me try to prove you wrong?”

A long, painful silence.

“Alright. Do what you wish. I do not care.”

That wasn’t what Onthyes wanted to hear, but he would take it if it gave him a chance to save Ventis.

Athos returned later with a pile of books, declaring that all Ventis needed was some good old fashioned escapism. He took on the task of reading to Ventis, giving the characters voices and everything. Onthyes almost could’ve found it sweet if he wasn’t aware of every other detail of their relationship.

That night, Ventis got bad again and Onthyes picked him up as he gasped and shuddered and snuck him out to the beach again. It went similarly to the first time. First, Ventis got better, the wind and stars filling him with new energy. Then, he got bad in a different way. Every caress of the breeze against his bare skin made his breaths hitch on sobs and soon he bagan to beg quietly for Onthyes to take him inside.

Onthyes didn’t understand. It was so peaceful out here. Why was it causing so much pain?

He tried to hold out. Ventis got progressively more upset, but he also got stronger by the minute. Onthyes did his best to hold him and whisper words of comfort for as long as possible, but the constant crying got to him eventually and he carried Ventis back to his bedroom.

The next morning, Athos was overjoyed to see Ventis able to sit up and eat on his own.He had glowed with pride, going on and on to Onthyes about how his plan had worked and he might as well call himself a scholar on the ways of genasi. Onthyes and Ventis shared a knowing look, but they said nothing.

And just like that, Ventis started to get better.

Onthyes came to look forward to their little nightly escapes, especially as Ventis seemed to adapt to the pain of being outside until it seemed to be only mildly uncomfortable.

“It’s bearable now,” Ventis admits one night.

They’re sitting side by side on the sand, staring out at the waves as they kiss the shore in silver lines of foam. Ventis’s hair and scales glow brighter in the moonlight, healthier.

“It's just a reminder, I think. Of the things I’ve lost. I’d forgotten what the wind feels like. I didn’t know I missed it until it was on my skin. It’s like a physical ache. Here.” He gestures at his chest. “But it's bearable now.”

“You speak so informally when it’s just me around.”

Ventis tensed, his breath catching.

“Sorry,” Onthyes said quickly. “I didn’t mean… sorry.” He hadn’t meant to make that observation out loud. It was true though. Ventis’s speech - when he was allowed to speak - was always so formal around Athos or anyone else. But when it was just him and Onthyes he seemed to relax somewhat.

“It’s alright. I hadn’t noticed. You bring my guard down. No clue why.”

Onthyes couldn’t help but smile. “Sorry,” he said again. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Ventis returned his smile - toothy with a peek of fang, not anything like the sweet, demure smile he used on Athos. “Well cut it out anyway, Ventura. It’s dangerous.”

Onthyes’s heart did a strange little flip in his chest. Oh no. “I won’t hurt you. You can let your guard down with me.”

The wind carried Ventis’s laugh on it, not muting it but making it echo unnaturally. The signs of his elemental blood were nothing but visual inside the manor. But out here, underneath the vast expanse of sky, he seemed to meld with the breeze before Onthyes’s eyes.

“I know. It’s you I worry about. Athos can be… protective. And he’s already suspicious that you might be interested in me. If your father wasn’t captain of the city guard you would be out of here already I’m sure.”

“I’m not… interested in you. Not like that.” Sure, images of Ventis’s beauty kept him up at night, but he would never pursue anything. It would just feel wrong, knowing what he knows.

“Uh huh,” Ventis hums disbelievingly. “Everyone’s interested in me. It’s what I’m for.”

“No it’s not.”

Ventis’s eyes widened at the conviction behind Onthyes’s voice. “That’s very sweet of you to say, blondie. But it is my purpose. It’s undeniable. There’s a very long contract somewhere with my name at the bottom that lays it out quite clearly.”

“A contract?”

“It’s a piece of paper. A legally binding written agreement between two parties.”

Onthyes laughed, elbowing Ventis lightly. “I know what a contract is. I just didn’t realize there’s one between you and Athos.”

“What did you expect? Were you imagining some sort of violent kidnapping? I signed my own life away in exchange for drugs. This is all I am now.”

“He said he found you on the streets. You were high. You were vulnerable. He took advantage of you.”

“Please, Onthyes.” Ventis seemed to shrink into himself, pulling his knees to his chest. “Just don’t. I brought this on myself. It’s… easier to let myself believe that. It hurts less.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll drop it.”

Ventis’s fingers found the space between their bodies, pressing indents into the sand. He was quiet for a long moment before he broke the silence again. “Can we go inside now? I’ve had enough.”

“Of course. Let’s go.”

⋄✧⋄

A week later, Ventis was officially healthy again and Athos was considering publishing a book on genasi physiology. Onthyes was glad to see him feeling better, but at the same time he knew he would miss their nightly escapes. He felt like he had become privy to so many of Ventis’s secrets.

Ventis loved poetry. He’d always been naturally gifted at music and writing, but he couldn’t produce a sketch or painting to save his own life. Onthyes had made him prove it, asking him to draw a horse in the sand, and the product had left them both rolling on the ground, tearful with laughter. He used to ride, apparently. Dressage. His father hadn’t approved of such an impractical equestrian style, which was exactly why Ventis had practiced it. His horse’s name was Willow, but he had been forced to leave her back at his home kingdom and he didn’t even know if she was still alive.

Onthyes had asked him about his family. About if they knew anything of his whereabouts. Ventis’s expression had gone stormy, and he had quickly ended that line of conversation.

His eyes weren’t purple. They were a blue sky with pale pink constellations, and they blended to a plesent lilac from far away. His horns hadn’t always been so smooth and porcelain-like. Athos had had the texture filed away years ago.

Flashes of fangs accompanied by echoing laughter. Wrinkles that formed around his scales when he frowned. A scar on his arm from when he’d cut himself falling from a ladder in his family’s library as a child.

Onthyes was in trouble.

He stood at the edge of Athos’s lush courtyard, sweating in his armor on the hot day. Athos and Ventis sat nearby; Ventis at Athos’s feet like always while the man fed him fresh fruit by hand. Ventis’s lips lingered on Athos’s fingers, but Onthyes has learned to recognize the emptiness behind the look of mindless admiration he always fixed his master with.

“Come sit with us, Onthyes,” Athos called over his shoulder.

Onthyes did as he was told, taking a seat next to Athos on the couch.

“Would you like to feed him?”

Onthyes felt himself flushing under his helmet. “I’m alright, sir.”

“Oh please, I insist.” Athos held out the bowl of fruit expantly.

When Athos insists on something, there is no denying it.

Onthyes removed his glove and used a nearby pitcher of water to clean his hand off before he selected a piece of mango from the bowl. Ventis stared up at him expectantly, opening his mouth. His pupils were heavily dilated. Onthyes doubted he even knew what was going on, but that familiar emptiness was nowhere to be found as their eyes met.

Juice dribbled down his chin as Ventis took the mango and chewed with a satisfied hum. Onthyes wiped the sticky trail away with his thumb tenderly before he could stop himself.

Athos hummed, and Onthyes was unable to miss the disapproving tone. That had been a test. He hadn’t performed well.

“An interesting tidbit about air genasi for you,” Athos said as if nothing had happened. “They don’t need to breathe. It’s completely optional. And since they do not need to breathe, they also do not have an evolutionary reason to have a gag reflex. Observe.”

Athos took Ventis’s chin in one hand. Ventis opened his mouth obediently as Athos pushed two fingers between his lips until his third knuckles disappeared completely. Drool dripped from the corners of Ventis’s mouth, but otherwise he didn’t react aside from a flick of his tired eyes towards Onthyes.

Onthyes swallowed hard, pushing away a wave of discomfort from the display. “Fascinating, sir,” he said blankly.

Athos laughed, withdrawing his fingers and wiping spit on a cloth napkin. “Is that all you think? We’re friends, Onthyes. You may be honest.”

Another test. He could see that even without Ventis shaking his head ever so slightly outside of Athos’s line of sight.

Onthyes knew what he really thought. Despite his disgust with the way Ventis was treated, that information definitely invited some… images. He was only a man, after all. He hoped the redness of his face could be excused by the heat.

“I can imagine the uses of such a skill,” Onthyes admitted. “I’m sure you’re very proud to have him at your disposal.”

Athos laughed again, his teeth shining unnaturally white in the sun. “I will catch you lacking someday. Back to your post.”

Onthyes returned to his place against the wall quickly.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Part 6

Ventisposting taglist (aka a list of people who i want to bake cookies for):

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump

#whump #oc #whump tropes #original character #whump writing #dnd ocs #whump community #whumpblr #drug whump #whump series #whump scenario #whump ideas #whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #conditioned whumpee #captivity #pet whumpee #pet whump #dehumanisation tw #food mention #onthyes and ventis #tw sui ideation #nsfwhump #ventisposting #ventis

[we-were-so-beautiful]

2. day six

holy shit hi! it's me! I'm back! I will be very surprised if anybody remembers me or this story given that it's been literally six months since I posted the first chapter. my motivation, interest, energy and amount of free time for this project all fluctuate, but... this story feels like it wants to be told, and I want to tell it. so hopefully I'll manage to pop up around here with an update for it every once in a while.

Content warnings for this chapter: box boy universe, pet whump, dehumanization, cages, blood mention. I'm still getting the hang of how to tag these so please let me know if there's anything I missed.

[masterlist] [chapter one] [chapter three]

Vanessa means to wait until an hour before closing time to go to the shelter. Really, she does. She wants to give this guy as much of a chance as he can get to go home with someone, literally anyone, who’s better for him than she is. But it’s lunchtime and she’s already practically vibrating. She’s not even used to being awake by noon anymore, much less having already been up for hours refreshing the site so often it’s making her nauseous. Or maybe that’s just the all-consuming anxiety of suspense.

What if the assholes at the shelter decide that six days is close enough, and take him away before she even gets there? What if she’s fucked up and counted the days wrong, and he’s actually scheduled to die today? What if the subway’s delayed, or the shelter closes early, and she’s too late, and another person dies because she made a stupid fucking mistake?

What if, says the voice in the back of her head that she refuses to listen to, somebody takes him who’s even worse for him than me?

“Oh, fuck literally all of this,” she says to the empty room, and grabs her coat.

—

“Uh, hey, I’m here to…”

“Sign in on the sheet.” The bored-looking shelter employee doesn’t so much as glance up from her phone. Vanessa looks around; the lobby is totally devoid of anyone save for the two of them.

“I just want to know if—”

“Sign in on the sheet.”

Vanessa breathes out through her nose until her hand stops ticking long enough to write. She scribbles her name and the time, and sets the pen down with a deliberate clack on the desk directly in front of the employee.

The woman barely raises her head. “How can I help you.”

Vanessa steels herself. “Is, uh… Do you still have…” God she hates talking about people like this she hates it she hates it she hates it. “Is pet number 414374 still here? I want to…” She wants to choke on the word. “...I want to adopt him.”

The employee’s affect goes duller than ever. “Oh, he’s still here, alright,” she mutters grimly.

Vanessa only realizes how much tension she’s been holding when it floods out of her so fast she almost loses her balance. “Can I see him?”

“If you really want to,” the employee sighs. “But I’m tellin’ you, lady, you’re not gonna like what you find.”

—

“That’s him?!”

“Told you you were gonna be disappointed, lady.”

Vanessa gapes. It’s not like she’s been expecting to be okay with seeing people in cages, but she sure as shit didn’t expect… whatever the fuck she’s looking at now.

The dude is filthy, caked head to toe in blood, dirt and worse. The hair that flowed around him in his picture is matted down his back now, littered with scores of dead and decaying leaves. His ice-blue eyes are dull and unfocused. His breaths are quick and shallow, and the way they rasp in his throat makes Vanessa twitch. 

He’s lying in a heap on the single layer of newspaper between him and the inch-wide mesh of the shelter-standard cage. Vanessa sucks at math, but she thinks it can’t be more than three by three by five. The shelter profile listed him at six foot two.

The employee bangs on the metal with the back of her hand, making a horrible clanging sound that makes Vanessa want to claw her own ears off. “Hey, look alive, refurb. You got one more interested owner. Maybe try to impress this one for a change?”

“Can he even—” Vanessa starts, but the guy surprises her by slowly, painfully lifting his head. The dirt that coats his skin cracks and flakes as he struggles to push himself up on his elbows. He reaches jerkily for the front of the cage, arms trembling violently with the effort, his breathing growing more and more labored as he tries to meet her gaze.

In the split second before he collapses again, she swears he manages it.

—

“I want him.”

The employee has already turned to go, talking over her shoulder as she ambles back toward the desk. “Yeah, so if you're lookin’ for a fancy one you could try the Manhattan shelter, they sometimes—hang on, you what?” She twists back abruptly as the words actually register.

“I want him,” Vanessa says again.

The employee stares at her for a long, long minute. Vanessa can almost see her fighting the urge to blurt out, “why?” Finally, though, she collects herself, with a wildly overexaggerated shrug of her shoulders.

“It’s your money, lady,” she says, and unlocks the cage.

#whump #pet whump #rescue whump #recovery whump #bbu #box boy universe #vanessa + juniper #disaster caretaker #imperfectly consistent #tw dehumanization #tw cages #tw blood mention #I am once again posting this to yeet it out of editing perdition #this chapter was supposed to be slightly longer #but this feels like a better place to stop #and I didn't feel like writing the other shit #so that'll be its own chapter or interlude later #assuming I ever update again lmao (this is legally a joke I very much do want to update again actually)

[copaceticdaydreamz]

Shoutout to people/creatures who want/have/like collars!

You're amazing and valid no matter your reason for wanting to have your own collar!

Here's to

pet regressors!

therians!

alterhumans!

nonhumans!

otherkin!

system alters who are not human!

those who are into pet whump!

those who use it for NSFW things!

people who want a collar just because they feel safe or comforting!

You are wonderful, important, and valuable!

#positivity post #alterhuman #nonhuman #otherkin #therian #pet whump #pet regression #nsft #(not exactly nsft. but mentions it so i tagged it)

[lights-out-knives-out]

Blackouts

+++++++++++++++++++++++

“HOW LONG!?!”

“Whumpee, please”

“HOW LONG HAVE I BEEN HERE CARETAKER!?”

Caretaker sighed “a year”

“A YEAR!!” Whumpee snapped “You’ve kept me trapped here for a year!”

“Whumpee, listen..” Caretaker started

“NO! You listen! I had a family!” Whumpee gestures to the tv that was still playing the news. “I had a family that loved and cherished me! I had- I HAVE a boyfriend! Who’s spending every hour of his waking day trying to find me!! And for what?! Because you wanted to play house??!”

“I bet you even caused the accident, didn’t you?” Whumpee stomped up to Caretaker prodding them in the chest. “You planned this whole thing, so I would fall into your hands.”

“Did-Did you even love me?” Whumpee hiccuped, emotions finally catching up with them “Or was that just another lie to keep me as your little pet?” They snapped

Caretaker’s hands took a hold of their face, pulling them close “Of course I love you sweetheart, why would I lie about my love?”

Whumpee squirmed, trying to wretch themselves from Caretaker’s hold. “Because- you are a Sick! Manipulative! Bastard who’s lied about everything else! And if you truly loved me, YOU’D! LET! ME! GO!!”

Whumpee blindly punched upwards, there was a crack Caretaker roared in pain dropping Whumpee and staggering backwards.

Whumpee ran. Pushed passed Caretaker who had started to recover, Ran down the hallway to the front door. Caretaker never needed to lock the door, why would they when Whumpee always behaved?

“WHUMPEE!” Caretaker yelled as Whumpee escaped into the bitter winter night.

‘Almost there’, Whumpee thought as they ran down the icy path.

But then the world shifted, Whumpee slipped, fell, head cracking against the pavement.

Freedom escaped from their fingers, as Caretaker hauled their body back into the house, their prison.

@jazatronasmr

#whump community #whump #whump writing #whump writer #bad caretaker #caretaker turned whumper #intimate whumper #amnesia #tw mentioned kidnapping #Moss Covered whump #my writing #whump prompts #winter whump #pet whump #whumpblr

[3-2-whump]

The New Intern

<prev next>

A shorter chapter, set three months after Escape Attempt Last

Heckin' big shoutout to @whumped-by-glitter for helping me talk out some plot points and develop my OCs' struggles a little better, you're awesome for that!

TW/CW: minor whump, pet whump, physical abuse towards a minor (mentioned)

“So, I come home today,” Thomas began, drinking and playing pool with his underboss, consigliere, and capos late at night. “Exhausted from negotiating with that upstart gang on the East Side, stressing about our loss of gambling revenue from our partners, and generally just on edge, and what do I come home to find?” The billiard balls clattered discordantly across the table, rolling around on their haphazard trajectories. “Khaled, that little shit, had left all the taps on! Every last one! My apartment, flooded!” He threw back another shot as he let Luca have a turn at the pool table. “And after I finished beating him black and blue, the only excuse the boy could give was ‘I was bored!’ Can you believe that? Bored?!” he complained.

The rest of the guys exchanged terse glances between themselves.

“Well,” the Boss snapped, “I know you want to say something, so say it! We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

“Fine then, friend,” Consigliere Michael answered, “You’re an idiot if you didn’t see this coming!”

“I agree,” Jaime chimed as he threw back his shot. “The poor kid has been cooped up in your home, by himself, all day, for the past fifteen months; we’re all honestly surprised something like this hasn’t happen sooner!”

“Nobody would keep a dog in a cage all day,” Michael added, striking the cue ball into his intended targets. Thomas winced at the blunt comparison. He’s not wrong, though, he realized.

“Tom, buddy, we’ve known you your whole life, practically,” Luca appealed. “Some of us even knew you in those years, and we still stuck by you. We know you got him as a sort of penitence exercise, but we think you’re smart enough to know it is not enough for you to just keep him alive.” Meanwhile, Jaime chalked up the tip of his cue, then leaned over to make his shot. “The boy needs to see other people, to have structure, to be surrounded by English-speakers if his language proficiency is ever going to improve!”

Jaime sent the billiard balls clacking across the table. Thomas sighed, realizing (a little too late) that they were completely right. “Well, what do you suppose I do? It’s not like I can just bring him to work with me, right?”

-

“Gentlemen, this is Khal, my new intern. He is going to be working closely with me for the foreseeable future.”

Khaled bristled beside him, feeling uncomfortable in the stiffly pressed black dress shirt and black slacks. Every eye in his master’s conference room was on him. Those that knew who he was arched their brows as they gave their Boss sly smiles of approval. Those that did not know who he was pared him down with their scrutinizing glares. He gave a curt nod, acknowledging the crowd of high-ranking members of the Organization. He replayed the Rules in his head as he tuned out the rest of the meeting. Lucky for me, Master only has a few: one, when invited to sit, sit on the floor, preferably at Master’s feet. He briefly paused his recitation to wonder just how much Rule One would be enforced while at work, with other people watching. Two, speak only when spoken to, especially at work. Three, speak English only. And the new Rules, he remembered, made specifically for their new circumstances: only refer to Master as ‘Boss’ or ‘Sir’ while I’m at work with him, and tell no one what I truly am. As far as they know, I am his intern, I was hired through a temp agency, and that is all they need to know.

“Khal…Khaled!”

He snapped back into the present, only to see Master –Boss, he meant –staring at him expectantly. His heartbeat quickened as he realized he zoned out longer than he intended to. Of course, there was the ever-present unspoken Rule, the Rule above all other Rules:

‘Don’t embarrass me.’

He gulped down the dryness in his throat. “S-sir?”

“Come on, I need to show you the rest of the office,” Boss said. Khaled looked around the conference room; nearly everyone had filed out at this point, leaving him dumbly standing on the far end of the room as the Boss gestured impatiently out the door. Wordlessly, he offered a quick nod and hung his head as he followed him.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter

#a bridge of sorts #whump writing #whumpee #whumper #tw minor whump #pet whump #tw physical abuse #only mentioned though #no beta we die like my protestant upbringing

[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane's Pets Chapter 98: Aftermath

TWs in the tags

Previous

Masterlist

Next

Puppy can't stop crying, and she doesn't know why.

This is good. Great, even. If Master could've prevented herself from healing, it would've come up by now, she's 98% sure of that. This is exactly what Master wanted. This means they won't be hurt anymore. She should be overjoyed.

But there's that 2% of doubt. The fear that this is a test makes Puppy want to put her muzzle and collar right back on. Every second she doesn't is another infraction, another reason for Master to punish her. Still, that's not the reason she's crying. It's something deeper than fear.

Is she grieving? For Master? She wanted to die. This is the best thing for everyone. The world has already gotten better because she died. 

Still, it hurts to look at Master's body. She looks the same as any mudered child would. Puppy had always thought Master's corpse would be smiling if she somehow managed to die, but it's not. She just looks like a corpse, like someone sleeping with their eyes open.

Puppy closes Master's eyes. She really doesn't know why she's crying. Why is this so painful? This is the good ending. The outcome so good that she tried not to even think about it as a possibility because hope just hurts. If she can't be happy now, will she ever be happy?

She supposes that if Master's death didn't cause her suffering, she wouldn't have been able to kill Master at all. Maybe this is just how the magic works. She hopes it doesn't last long, she's not much use to Kitty and Bunny like this.

Strong arms wrap her in a hug. 

"It's okay, it's okay." Bunny says, gently rocking back and forth. "We're safe, it's okay, it's okay for the first time in years. We're okay. And it's okay to cry. Let it all out, no one's going to stop you."

She lays her head on his shoulder and cries until she has no tears left, which isn't long at all. She's going to have to drink water without permission, eventually. She shudders.

“It would’ve come up by now if she could… leave her wounds open like that, right? In your opinion?”

Puppy nods.

“That’s what I thought! Like, I don’t think she had the patience for such a long trick.”

Puppy doesn’t either, but she's been wrong before.

“Um… I know it’s probably going to take a while for you to feel comfortable talking. That’s okay. It took me a while to feel comfortable without the collar, when I was… gone. And it’ll probably take a while again. So just know… it’s okay. There’s no rush. But also, I’m really excited to talk to you again, whether that’s today or years from now or anything in between. I’m excited to get to know you outside of Jane’s control— and to get to know Kitty outside of Jane’s control, and for you two to know me.”

It was just days ago that Puppy broke his hands. He was able to heal them, with Kitty’s help, but she still did it. It scares her, that he thinks there’s a real her hidden beneath what Master made her into. What if he’s wrong? It’ll hurt him so badly when he realizes he’s wrong…

Because she didn’t have to break his hands. Jane didn’t make her do that, she did that to stop Bunny from casting because she thought it was impossible for Master to die, and she was wrong. She made the wrong choice, and that’s not some simple mistake. She broke the hands of one of the two people she loves most in the world for no reason. She only made things worse.

She wants to apologize. She tries, but just the thought of speaking makes her throat close up with fear.

She thinks maybe this is part of why she was crying. She did so many horrible things under the assumption that there was no alternative, and it turns out there was. Master’s death is the death of her ability to justify how much she’s hurt people. She can’t push away her guilt without that justification, and it swallows her whole.

She should just die. She’s just like Master, the world would be better without her. Death was the answer to Master's problems, so it can be hers, too. She should just stay by Master’s side until she dies of dehydration like Master would want her to do. That would help the others, too, because Master would never let her die so quickly if she was just tricking them, so they could be even more sure Master is truly dead.

“I think… we should go upstairs.” Kitty says from somewhere behind her. “I don’t want to be here if we don’t have to.”

Puppy shakes her head. She’s not going to leave Master’s side. It’s the best for everyone.

Bunny hugs her a little tighter. “Puppy shook her head. Um… I don’t want any of us to be left alone right now…”

Kitty sighs. “Alright. So… what do we do now?”

Puppy wishes she could go upstairs. Obviously Bunny and Kitty don’t want to be here, and they’re staying for her. Just more suffering she’s causing them.

Bunny is quiet for a moment. "…What if it's not real? I feel so sure that if she could do that while she was alive she would've done it by now… but I felt so sure that Barron's magic could protect me, too. And that she was a safe person to follow home in the first place. And even after all the times I tried… it feels too easy."

"Well, you had doubts… you just pushed them away, right?"

"Well, yeah… Yeah, I guess that's it. I don't want to push the doubts away this time, and I'm afraid she's not actually dead." He goes quiet again, then starts laughing. "Fuck, I'm so stupid. If she's dead, magic won't work anymore, right?"

Bunny lets go of Puppy and gets up. "Magic doesn't work if you're trying to prove something, so I'll try to heal one of you. Um… I'm more certain that it might work on the Puppy's pressure sores than on acid burns, so I'll try that first."

Puppy lies down on the ground facing Master while Bunny collects his materials. Master's blood is mostly dry now.

Bunny says some words and does his thing, and Puppy doesn't feel anything change.

"We would definitely know if she could just… get rid of magic, right?"

Puppy nods. Master hated mages. The chance of her having the ability to get rid of all mages and not using it until now is even lower than the chance of her having the ability to not instantly heal and not using it until now.

"So– I mean, I could've wanted to prove she was dead badly enough to skew the results, but still. I also really wanted to heal you. This is– we have much more evidence that we're free this time than we ever had before, right? So we're not pushing away doubts, we're disproving them! Like, I ignored the sketchy things going on here when I first got here. I ignored how certain you and Puppy were that escaping wouldn't work, and how magic doesn't affect Jane the same way as it does everything else, when my only evidence I was safe was Barron's magic. I ignored evidence, but I'm not this time. The only evidence we have that she's alive is that she's tricked us before. And if we encounter more evidence, we definitely shouldn't ignore that, but for now… I think we can assume we're free. That's– that's what the evidence points to."

"Right, right. And… the worst that could happen if we assume she's dead and we're wrong is torture. Which is bad, obviously, but if we assume she's still alive and we're wrong… we'd torture ourselves trying to stick to her rules. And Puppy would die, because those rules include her not eating or drinking without permission. I'd… honestly prefer the former."

"Yeah, yeah!"

Their voices have slowly filled with excitement throughout the conversation. Puppy's happy for them. Once she's dead, they most likely won't ever have to worry about being tortured again.

"So– okay, I think our first step is– well, I'm thinking obviously we want to move out of here as soon as possible, right?" Bunny asks.

"Right. We can pack up some clothes and food, and Puppy will probably want to take her plushies. Everything else we can leave behind."

Puppy stops staring at Master's corpse for a moment and looks at the others. They should sell a bunch of this stuff, but how can she tell them that? She can't force herself to speak no matter how hard she tries. She turns back to Master.

"Where do you think we should go once we're packed?" Bunny is pacing the room excitedly.

“Well, Puppy knows how to get to the nearest grocery store, so that’s at least a start. Once we’re… around some other people… it’ll probably be easier to figure out our other options.”

“Hmm… Puppy, do you feel good about that plan?”

Puppy shakes her head.

“...Okay, so the first step is all getting on the same page. Do you want to keep living in this house?” Bunny’s voice is full of determination, the same way it was whenever he’d talk about killing Jane.

Puppy shakes her head. She doesn’t want to live at all.

“So we’re on the same page there, at least.” Kitty says. “Sorry for not checking sooner. Do you feel good about us packing up some food, clothes, and sentimental items before leaving?”

Puppy sits up and makes a 'so-so' gesture.

"Um… is there something else you think we should bring?"

Puppy makes another 'so-so' gesture.

"Hm…" 

Both Kitty and Bunny seem fairly stumped. Puppy guesses that's fair, she probably wouldn't be able to figure out what she meant either if she was in their shoes. Even if she can nonverbally convey that she wants them to sell stuff, how could she instruct them on who to sell it to avoid unwanted questions?

She'll have to write it down. The idea scares her, but not as much as the idea of speaking does. She guesses she's never actually been punished for writing or signing without permission, because by the time those rules were established she was already very obedient. Thinking of speaking without permission brings to mind burning hot barbed wire digging into every part of her body, but thinking of writing without permission just brings up a general fear of disobedience.

She can't die yet. Bunny and Kitty need her. She'll probably have to be the one to actually sell the stuff, too. She sighs and scoops Master's body into her arms, then heads upstairs.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

@fuckcapitalismasshole

#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #nonhuman whumper #multiple whumpees #pet whump #whumpee #whumper #man i might have to stop adding that tag soon... #whump caretaker #3rd person pov #torture mention tw #blood mention tw #child death tw #kinda #suicidal ideation tw #jane's pets