Tumgik
#pet whump reference
justplainwhump · 2 years
Text
Rebellion
( @whumpmasinjuly Day 12 // B, Dany and Ridley)
Guilt, unsaid things, and a tiny rebellion from an unexpected place. 
B and Ridley belong to @hackles-up, this scene is a collaboration. It is set after the events in [Lost] and directly after [Hold On]. 
[Dany Masterpost]
Content - aftermath of choking, referenced past noncon, locked in a cage, (referenced) manipulative whumper, BBU, pet whump. 
There's a bowl in the large cage, placed next to my head and filled with water. Ridley didn't leave me any food. It's fine, I guess. I'm not hungry anyway. Not after what happened. Not after what he has done. What they have done.
I don't move, stay laying on my back, with the stained plushie on my chest. Far above me, through the heavy bars enclosing me, I can see the stylish chandelier hovering under the living room's ceiling. I could crouch in here, maybe, but not sit up entirely. Of course not. I'm not here to be comfortable. I'm here to be punished, for speaking up, trying to defend B from Ridley's moods. 
Every breath I take hurts like hell. On the outside, where the too tight collar is digging into my bruised skin. On the inside, where my throat is sore and burning.
'How did it feel, to die at my Bee Bee's hands?', Ridley has asked.
Inevitable, I think.
Not even bad. I'm not naive. I know there's only one possible end to my torment. Only one way to freedom. Death. His, or mine. The odds have always been in his favor. And I've made my peace with death. Somehow, having B there made it better. Dying in his arms. Not in Ridley's.
I turn my head to glance over at where Ridley has left B, shaking and feverish, chained to a hook in the ground. 
He's looking back at me. 
I almost flinch under his gaze. There's a solemn softness in his green eyes, that the fever didn't take away entirely. That Ridley never managed to take away entirely. Not with all he did, nor with all he made B do.
'Kill her.'
'Use your hands.'
I press my thighs together, bite back the pain that's throbbing inside me.
'He fucked you hard enough to almost kill you a second time, you know?'
It hurts.
Before I turn my gaze away, B does.
This hurts, too.
"I..." I croak. My throat burns. I can't go on. I forgive you, I think. I forgive you. I can't form the words. It's not like he's free to answer, anyway. Ridley made him -
"He’s lying." B's voice is soft, almost inaudible, from the other side of the room. "I wasn’t … I’m not allowed to touch you…”
He's slowly getting onto his knees, the chain clinking as he rises.
"I-" My voice is stuck in my throat. I close my eyes, allow a wave of odd relief to wash over me. "Tha- Thank you."
There’s a soft rustle of movement, a sharp exhale. “Don’t… thank me. I’m… I didn’t want this.”
I swallow. It hurts so much, the places where B has closed his fingers around my neck, almost crushed my throat, choked me to unconsciousness.
"I know," I whisper.
I know. I know he wanted nothing of this, not ever. 
I also know the lines that were drilled into him, to take over everything he once was. I want to be good for my owner. I am a willing participant in my owner’s desires.
He's not allowed to want anything for himself. Most of all, he's not allowed to not want what Ridley asks.
Yet he said it.
I stare at him. He's still standing, shivering, hunched together as if in pain.
“‘M sorry, Dany.” His words catch on the back of his throat, and he crumples back to the floor.
"I know, B. B, I..." My fingers dig into the stuffed dog on my stomach. I want to say so much, but the words are stuck. It's too much, too heavy, too overwhelming. All I can settle with is a final, barely whispered, "I know."
Maybe he understands anyway. 
24 notes · View notes
astrowhump · 1 year
Text
Useful
Tw: torture (past and present), conditioning, asphyxiation, whipping, and just a bunch of other good stuff :)
11:00 p.m., master isn’t home yet, then it must be time for bed. Lucas pushes himself up from his knees, still trembling from kneeling on the cold tiles for hours on end, waiting for his owner to show up. He looks down at his kneecaps just to find them tinted red, caused by the pressure from his own weight.
The Canadian winter snow is still pelting, a ghost white blankets everything in sight. He’s lost in the panoramic scene for a moment, in the dagger-like icicles and the pine trees bending under the heavy shimmering carpet that covers their every leaf and the eery silence of stillness. Through the glass door and French windows, he watches as the moon shines on the pavement that’s covered knee-high, and for an instant, he imagines the tingling of the freezing snow on his legs. Before he knows it, his mind’s filled with thoughts of the unthinkable…the impossible.
The first obstacle would be the locked front door, hardly a challenge, he knows where master keeps the spare keys - where he keeps anything for that matter- Lucas has been the one keeping this place spotless after all, for a good chunk of the past four years and seven months and fourteen days.
He’s built up quite a tolerance to cold by now, thanks to master’s ‘seasonal torture techniques’. Apparently, keeping the poor boy out in -10 degrees Celsius temperature and frozen snow in nothing but his boxers until his body starts shaking violently and he bangs his trembling fists to the glass door as he begs to be let in, is just as much an amusement as burning him or drowning him or beating him bloody. Even though he could survive several hours in that weather, he’d most definitely lose all mobility within the first hour. He will need to cover himself up, with some of his owner’s winter clothes perhaps, not that a 6’ man with an athletic build’s clothes would fit perfectly on a 5’ 3” boy with a much smaller body, but anything that keeps him warm will do.
It’s gonna be an exhaustingly long walk before he sets foot outside the property and even then, they’re probably somewhere far into the woods, they couldn’t be more than a day of walking from the city though, master goes to the city quite often for work so it must be a reasonable distance.
The thought of escaping seems more and more like an absurd fantasy as his trail of taboo thoughts continues flowing. It was never gonna be anything more than that anyways. Besides, even if he did make it outside on his own, the owner would definitely find his astray mongrel somewhere along the way and when he does, he will make sure that ungrateful mutt knows the definition of real hell. First and foremost, he will bash in his kneecaps, turn him into the dog he is, just as promised. He’ll have to crawl on all fours for the rest of his pathetic life, And that’s not even all. The mere thought of the length of consequences that await him if he steps out of line makes him freeze in his place.
11:45. Did he just spend that long thinking about escaping? It’s almost funny; after years and years of training, this is where he belongs, this is who he is, he doesn’t have a purpose in life but to obey and please his master.
At last, his legs drag him to the upstairs bedroom where he changes into his sleeping t-shirt. The room is warm and his stomach is full, a fact he will never stop being grateful for. Just as he slides under the covers, the door to the living room is opened forcefully and then slammed shut and heavy shoes stomp downstairs. Lucas sits up in the bed, expecting to greet his exasperated master, but the footsteps never make it upstairs.
Naked feet touch the wooden floor and sneak down the staircase.
“S- sir?” He calls softly.
Light peaks out of the doorway to the study and that’s where his feet take him.
“Welcome home maste-“
An empty whiskey bottle flies towards him the second he steps through the door, but his head instinctively ducks and the glass shatters as it hits the wall to his back.
“Why the fuck is my whiskey bottle empty.” It doesn’t sound like a question but Lucas answers anyway.
“I’m not allowed in the cellar when I’m alone.” His voice is small.
“I’ll fetch you one right away sir, I’m sorry” he quickly adds as he feels the angry gaze bore into his quivering figure. He looks up to the vexed man and finds him fidgeting with his tie in a failed attempt to loosen it.
“Let me.” He carefully steps closer to help his master. He’s stepping on eggshells, every step he takes might be a step too far, but master allows him to get close and slowly hook his fingers around the tie and pull. He loosens the loop enough for the man’s head to easily slip through.
“Did you have a bad day, sir?” He speaks softly, placing the tie on the desk behind him and starts unbuttoning his owner’s white shirt.
Lucas looks up at him when he doesn’t hear an answer. The man’s mind seems to be rushing with irritating thoughts, however, his attention is grabbed as the busy hands on his shirt stop wriggling.
“Very.” He sounds tired. The hands continue undressing his top until his muscular form shows as the shirt is taken away. Big hands wrap around bony wrists.
“Weren’t you supposed to be asleep by now?” The pressure on his wrists increases and the boy’s nervousness along with it. He tries to back off a bit, but his movements are blocked by the desk behind him and master’s vigorous form in front. Helplessly sandwiched in between, he presses the palms of his hands to the tattooed chest holding him captive.
“I- I heard you enter and you seemed pissed. Thought that you uh…you might want to blow off some steam, sir?” His eyes wander off to the floor in shame, he does mean what he said, but he didn’t think it through, he shouldn’t have done anything before he was ordered to and now…now he has fucked up. Although, if he is to be punished, master might appreciate the distraction. His idiocy may prove helpful afterall.
He hears a chuckle, not threatening or derisive, rather…sweet.
The man’s breathing no longer seems ragged by irritation and his heartbeat calms under Lucas’s palms.
“Oh you sweet thing. You came to me willingly, to be used and abused. Such an obedient little puppy!” One of his hands let go of the little one’s wrists to card through his silky brown locks. Lucas moans softly into his touch.
He feels like a proud owner, turning that stray animal into this adorable domestic pet, ready to serve and please, needy for his master’s touch, ready to jump off a cliff without hesitation if master orders him so. He has been trained with such delicacy, his prized possession.
The hands in the pet’s hair firmly grip the roots and they pull and twist until he winces and looks up at him through defeated eyes, only to find a sadistic dark gaze thrown his way, he keeps his hands flat on his chest, there’s not much fight in him. The fingers pull until he feels his scalp tearing from his skull and he cries out. Master smiles at the sounds he makes, like a father watching his child sweetly speak gibberish. Finally, the hand lets go, but Lucas’s eyes stay leveled with his owner’s.
“On your knees.”
He drops to his knees like it’s instinct.
“Heel.” He starts stepping towards an empty wall between the bookshelves. On the wall hang two chained handcuffs, fixated by nails on the green wallpaper, his personal modification to make the study feel more like home to his precious little pet.
Lucas follows behind him with ease, used to the scratching of his knees as he crawls by his master’s feet, the hard wood beneath him gives its place temporarily to the soft wool of the Persian rug as they cross the middle of the room and then the uncomfortable wood again.
He extends his arms so that they can be restrained. An air of superiority lines his owner’s smile and he can’t help but pat the willing puppy on the head.
Once his wrists are firmly secured, the sheer fabric covering his upper body is ripped through. He sits there awkwardly as master pulls the remains aside.
His vision is limited to the wall in front of him now. Footsteps track distant and stop a few feet behind him. He listens intently now, all his senses heightened, they always are in these situations, when his brain knows something bad, something painful, is going to happen and his body is unable to do anything but stay still and notice every sensory trigger possible. Now even his mind won’t do anything but sit still and take it all in, defiance is no longer defined in his dictionary. The sound his hypersensitive ears catch next is that of a belt undone, followed by his next command.
“Stretch your back for me darling”
He does as told, moving his knees and elbows in opposite directions until every inch of his back - littered with wounds and physical implications of mental trauma - is exposed and stretched to full capacity.
“You ready sweetheart?”
Lucas keeps his head down and squeezes his eyes shut as if that makes anything better. He belatedly answers when he realizes he is expected to.
“Y- yes, master.”
The belt cracks in the air before it lands on his back. The leather is thick and heavy, and the pain that spreads through his bones and muscles is sickening.
His sweet voice breaks into a scream, so pleasant that his tormentor stops to appreciate it for a second. Another blow brings another sweet cry out of him. He could do this forever.
“Your body’s such a beautiful canvas, it would be a shame not to cover it with art.”
Lucas doesn’t move his composition an inch, offering his naked back for his owner to take his rage out on. However, he yawps as the belt whips his tender skin, one blow from the right and one from the left rhythmically, and the occasional cracks in the air just to make the already tremoring boy flinch even harder in anticipation of pain.
His tears slide straight onto the parquet and his head falls down between his strained arms, chin touching the chest. Master must see it because the next blow comes down on him harsher and faster than the rest and the edges of the belt cut into his skin.
His head rises, he shrieks and tears stream down his reddened eyes, his perfect posture is disturbed slightly. Such a sight. Though it is fun to break defiant brats, it’s even more enjoyable to crush an obedient mutt.
“M- master- “ he sobs. Several cuts on his back are bleeding now.
“What is it, pet?” He stops and walks closer to the bleeding trembling boy.
Lucas ducks his head back down. He had learned time and time again that asking for it to stop only brings him punishment. That word was involuntary, he regrets saying anything at all, even more so when his head is yanked backward by his brown curls drawing a wince out of him. Master’s dark eyes drill a hole into his blushing cheeks.
“Don’t be shy now boy. Beg me to stop. Cry for my mercy. All your wishes just might eventually come true.”
He smiles. It’s frightening and hits the naked boy’s body like a winter blizzard, sending visible shivers down his spine.
His head is let go just to fall limply between his arms again and he can hear footsteps retracting through loud sobs.
Suddenly, something soft grips his neck, silky…the tie. The loop he helped loosen earlier, tightens around his neck more than it should and it’s pulled up until he chokes out. Master looks at him with pity eyes as he loses composure and chokes himself even harder. He claws at the floor with his feet to keep his head up but the noose moves higher and higher, blocking all oxygen from ever touching his windpipe.
“If you want to breathe, ask nicely.”
His eyes turn in their place to stare innocently into those of his master. There’s not much air left in him to form coherent words.
“S- sir…p- nghh; please…Ah” only whispers leave his mouth. He gasps for air with his mouth open and a stream of tears down his messed-up face.
“-ease p-..mas- Ha- hngha.. mast- “ his face turns a dark shade of purple, matching the violet tie around his throat.
His owner only lets go of his lead a moment before he loses consciousness, or maybe one after. Either way the boy’s head falls to his chest, his weak naked body spattered across the room, only hanging up by tied-up wrists. The gradually fastening rise and fall of his chest is all the movement he makes. He mercifully undoes his restraints so the boy can catch his breath
Master pulls a chair to sit beside his panting mess of a pet on the ground and lights his cigarette calmly. Lucas slowly regains consciousness and pulls himself to sit on his knees, the tie still wrapped around his slender neck and vision still disoriented, back still hurting and bleeding, the exhaustion overtakes the pain by the slightest.
A snap of fingers. That means there’s an order to follow. His eyes look for the source of the sound. Master gestures for him to come closer.
His numb limbs are having a hard time trying to follow his brain’s orders but eventually, he pulls himself to all fours and crawls to the bigger man in the chair. The tie dangles around his neck like a runaway dog’s leash; except he could never run away, he has an extremely thoughtful owner, always alert and cautious, even after…four years and seven months and fourteen days - well fifteen now.
His sweaty palms make sticky sounds against the floor until he’s at his sir’s feet. He fits his body between his legs and rests his dizzy head on the lap of the other.
He knows this ritual by heart, after every single play or training or punishment or ‘let me take everything out on you because I can’ session, master smokes his cigarette as he winds down and then…zzzz…signs his brutalized body with the hot end of the cigarette. He hardly even flinches at the burning pain anymore, he’s way too beaten and it’s way too familiar. It almost feels reassuring even, a sign that agony is over for the time being. He’s relieved.
His body is carpeted in these marks, he couldn’t count them even if he wanted to. Most of them overlap, but master has his favorite spots, his neck and shoulders for example.
A loving hand sorts out his tangled locks and he dozes off to the touch, right there on master’s thigh. His eyes open sluggishly and look up for another order, or permission to pass out.
“Ah. Thank you pet, I feel much better now. Bring me that whiskey after you’re done cleaning yourself up, would you?”
“Mmhm…yes, sir”
He gently brushes off the stray strands of hair sticking to his sweaty face and bends his neck to press a gentle kiss to the boy’s temple.
“Up now. You’ve been such a good boy for me tonight. You can go to bed when you’ve done as I said. It’s way past your bedtime.” He whispers into his ears with a deep calm voice.
“Mmm..” Lucas nods and gets up on his feet lazily. He tries his best not to stumble over his own feet as he makes his way to the cellar.
Lucas is glad he proved himself useful for his master tonight.
Inspired by one of @whumpitisthen’s dialouge prompts.
161 notes · View notes
Eden part nine
TW: Stockholm Syndrome, desire to self harm, misplaced guilt, implied depression, referenced physical abuse, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, referenced Christianity, referenced damnation, pet whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, referenced sadistic whumper
Ezra woke up cozy in Christopher's arms. He snuggled closer, enjoying the feeling of being gently crushed.
"Good morning sir," Ezra murmured.
"Good morning," Christopher answered. "How did you sleep?"
"Well." Ezra yawned. "But I'm so worried about Jay sir." Ezra realized his mistake far too late. "I'm sorry sir. I mean my friend. I know I'm not allowed to-"
"Ezra," Christopher gently interupted. "You're allowed to call them whatever you want. I'm very glad that you were caring enough to name them. I won't tell Colt."
"Thank you sir."
"I know why you're concerned. But there simply isn't anything to be done."
"Well, why not? I mean, I don't think Jay deserves that. Do you sir?"
"It isn't a matter of what Jay deserves." Christopher nuzzled his face into the back of Ezra's neck. "If it weren't Jay, it would be someone else. And if Colt didn't have captives to take his sadistic streak out on, it would be me, and his lovers I pretend not to know about. Believe me, this is better."
"Doesn't that worry you sir? That you're engaged to someone who might hurt you? That sounds awful."
"He won't, as I told you. He has other ways of dealing with those sorts of feelings."
"Do you actually love him sir?"
Please say no. God, please say no. Ezra wanted it to be just him and Christopher.
It was selfish, sure. But so was everything about their relationship. If Colt was dead and Jay was free, then Ezra and Christopher would have nothing to worry about.
And while Ezra was fully aware that Christopher was twice his age and viewed him as only a pet, he could help but hope for a broken engagement.
Christopher sighed. "Yes, I do. I know he isn't much, but I'm not either. We're both unlovable, all things considered. So we care for each other."
"I love you sir," Ezra said. "You're not unlovable. You're the best person I've ever met. You deserve the world."
"Thank you for saying that. But this is different."
Ezra sat up, and Christopher followed. Ezra stared up at Christopher for a moment, taking in his melancholy expression, before crawling onto his lap.
Ruthlessly digging up his nerve took Ezra more time than he thought strictly necessary.
All he had to do was say it. The worst that could happen is Christopher not returning his feelings. He never got angry.
"I love you sir," Ezra managed. "I know, I know, it's awful of me. You're engaged and I guess you're happy. But I can't help it."
Christopher petted Ezra's hair. "Oh my dear Ezra."
"I'm sorry." Ezra hastily wiped a tear from his eye. "But I had to say it."
"I want you to tell me about your thoughts and emotions," Christopher said soothingly. "I know your feelings better than you do, and I can help you through them."
"Yes sir."
"You are emotionally attached to me because I'm the only person to ever show you true kindness. You aren't in love with me. You're just confused."
"I-" Ezra sniffled. "But I thought...I do love you sir."
"And I love you. Just not like that."
"Oh."
"You believe me, don't you?"
"Yes sir. Of course I do. I'm...just confused."
With great difficulty, Ezra convinced himself it was true. He was only twenty-three and had never been in a long term relationship. What did he know?
Before Christopher, no one ever really cared about him. So easily had love and romance become interwoven.
"Come on." Christopher stood and offered Ezra his hand. "Let's have a good day."
They walked hand in hand to the kitchen, where the table was already set.
"I made blini," Christopher said. "I hope you like it."
Ezra sat down and tried to cut apart the stack of thin pancakes with his fork.
"Not like that," Christopher said with a laugh. "Here, let me show you."
He slathered butter on the top pancake, or blini rather, rolled it into a cylinder, stabbed the middle with a fork, then took a bite of one end.
Ezra mimicked him, getting his fingers sticky with butter. The blini was wonderfully warm, and tasted much better than Ezra's usual box mix pancakes.
"This is amazing," he said. "Thank you sir."
"You're very welcome. I can't believe I've waited this long to make this for you. It's one one my favorites."
Ezra continued eating, but the knowledge of Jay being starved ruined his typical contentedness.
"Try the persimmon," Christopher said, pushing a bowl of sliced orange fruit to Ezra.
He found them to be similar to apricots, but not as tasty. "Thank you sir."
Ezra realized that, for the first time since moving in with Christopher, he was emotionally crashing.
He had grown used to the emotional highs which came along with constant affection and adoration. Now that something had come along to disrupt his perfect life, he didn't know how his handle himself.
A crushing sense of guilt made a home in a carved out piece of his chest, nestled between his lungs.
He wanted to cut himself. To drag a blade across his wrist and watch the blood pour from his delicate veins. Or, better yet, tear the entire artery asunder and bleed out within minutes.
As Christopher cleared the empty dishes, Ezra rested his forearms on the table and laid his head on them, willing himself not to cry.
Christopher walked back over and rubbed a small circle on Ezra's back.
"I'm sorry. I should have realized how this would affect you. But Jay is coming back next week. We can give them a good night. And, knowing Colt, Jay will probably stay for longer than we have planned."
"Yes sir. I just wish they didn't have to go back at all."
"Would you like to take your mind off of things? I can continue reading to you. The Divine Comedy or, if that is too heavy, something else entirely."
"Inferno sounds nice," Ezra decided. "We were on chapter ten, right?"
"I believe that is correct."
Ezra followed Christopher to the livingroom and cuddled up with him, watching as he opened a large leather-bound book. It was older than either of them, and the pages were thoroughly bent and battered.
"Chapter ten," Christopher read aloud. "Now by a secret pathway we proceed, Between the walls, that hem the region round, And the tormented souls: my master first, I close behind his steps. 'Virtue supreme!' I thus began; 'who through these ample orbs In circuit lead’st me, even as thou will’st, Speak thou, and satisfy my wish. May those, Who lie within these sepulchres, be seen? Already all the lids are rais’d, and none O’er them keeps watch.'"
Ezra closed his eyes and listened to Christopher enthusiastically read.
He pictured Dante and Virgil bickering with one another over the damned souls, and the grotesque environment Dante had so willfully described.
Yet, as he allowed himself to be fully immersed in the classical poem, he could not escape the perception of Hell smelling of lavender.
Taglist: @devourerofcheesecake @elim-flower @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whump-by-robin @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpshaped @seetheothersideofparadise @knittedeyebrowsandcardigans @whatwasmyprevioususername @boonasaurusrex @suspicious-whumping-egg @heavenly-whumper @melancholy-in-the-morning
93 notes · View notes
Text
Pet AU Anon Answer
Tumblr media
(Image description: Pet AU concept I just thought of: MC in the pet AU is actually the MC of Obey Me’s canon, but they and the brothers were all cursed to this awful alternate universe by one of Mammon’s witches
MC is the only one who has retained their memory of their real world
In order to break the curse MC has to reunite with all the brothers and help them regain their memories. The problem is finding them, and once they do find them, getting them to be able to trust the MC again, while also not absolutely murdering the miserable humans of this world for abusing her boys so badly
I picture the brothers’ false memories all putting them in the same “litter”, but they were separated years ago and never thought they’d see each other again
But then here comes this human, this odd, kindly human who loves them and dotes on them and treats them well. The human doesn’t snap or yell or hit them, and slowly, one by one, they’re reuniting this broken pack
And fiercely overprotective, tired MC, who can’t wait to get back to the proper universe so they can tear the witch who hurt them all so badly limb from limb)
Answering this here because while this stays mostly SFW, the pet AU is dark enough that I want to keep it on this blog. Also I’ve used GN Reader from this point on.
Warnings: Pet AU (so demons are pets), references to physical and verbal abuse, implied sexual abuse, brief violence experienced by reader (choking), trauma recovery. Mentions of financial difficulties.
Anyways my idea for the AU was also a gotta-catch-em-all style thing but the idea of a curse and MC having their memories but no one else is really tragic and interesting!
I’m going to MC gets them in pact order (though that wasn’t my AU idea) for simplicity’s sake.
———
The first MC finds is Mammon, through luck or fate - maybe their bond, even in this awful new world, has held them together. Mammon isn’t a good pet - he talks back, and he’s too needy, and MC discovers later he has a reputation for being bad luck. That people who buy him tend to lose all their money, go broke, get investigated by the tax authorities.
Mammon doesn’t trust MC but he clings, clings to any chance of affection and connection because Mammon was never meant to be alone. He tries not to talk back but he can’t keep his mouth shut. He tries not to take up too much space, but it’s hard when demons are so big, your apartment barely has enough room for you, and you seem determined to spend time with him. He’s so, so scared of being bad luck to you, because you’re nice and probably the last chance of a good life he’s going to get and you’re already only just getting by, he doesn’t want to ruin you too.
No matter how much you reassure him, he just can’t calm down, can’t get comfortable... at least, not until you get a scratchie from a work event and win the big prize.
Turns out he’s not all bad luck.
You make headlines as the person who won twice - once on the scratchie, and again on another scratchie the local news got you to recreate the experience.
Levi is next. You find him on an exotic pet website - aquatic type demons require special care, which makes them a lot less popular and a lot harder to sell, but expensive for specialty buyers.
By this time you’ve moved into a better apartment, money never a worry with Mammon around. He’s finally started to relax around you, and while it hurts your heart to see Mammon so nervous, for him to defer to you and lack his usual confidence, at least you’ve convinced him you won’t punish him for being on the furniture.
You let Mammon know you’re expecting another demon to arrive, named Leviathan, and it’s then you learn the brothers do know each other, even in this world. Mammon doesn’t say it, but he looks so painfully hopeful and waits right by you as the delivery van arrives.
If Mammon was nervous, Levi is terrified. It hurts you to see the confidence he’d slowing been growing back in your world gone, but it hurts worse to imagine what might’ve happened to him to make him like this. Mammon crowds around him instantly, pulls him into a hug, and Levi is too shaky to return it, all the muscles in his body held tight as he waits for what’s to come.
He can’t seem to decide whether to stick close to Mammon or push him away. He switches between hiding from you - in a little walk-in closet, because he’s scared of open spaces - and trying to impress you, cleaning house and trying to quiet down Mammon and kneeling with his back straight. You try to reassure him but Levi doesn’t trust you, and Mammon tries to help but it doesn’t work.
Mammon, Levi has convinced himself, is the more appealing pet - affectionate and brave and not needing you to help scrub his tail. Levi thinks he’s competing with Mammon for your attention.
...You suppose that hasn’t changed much from your world.
You turn to anime for help, and it works at least a little. He starts to believe he won’t be punished for watching TV instead of doing chores. What really helps is, now with Mammon’s passive ability providing you a steady income, you move to a house - a decent-sized house, enough room for you and your demons and hopefully a few more, with a garden and a pool, just for Levi.
You’re a bit reckless with your money. You have no intentions to stay in this warped reality, after all.
Beel comes next. You figure he’s a working demon, search for him in nearby farms, stating you’re looking for a garden hand. You can barely contain yourself when you finally find him, but you can’t tip your hand to the farmer. He might try and drive the price up, instead of down - he actually tries to warn you off from Beel, tells you he eats too much. You tell him that’s not a worry.
Beel follows you silently, obediently, from the farm. He looks confused but far too accepting, lost, and you worry how long he’s been without Belphie in this world. How long he’s been without his family. You do your best to reassure him on the way home - but you kind of want to surprise him, to see some feeling return to his face.
Mammon is out the front door as soon as the two of you arrive, throwing himself at Beel and wrapping him in a hug like he’s forgotten that his little brother is bigger than him. Levi is quickly behind him, keeping a bit more distance until Beel’s body catches up with what’s happening and pulls both his brothers into a hug.
Unlike the others, Beel’s nervousness is all around his size. You reunited him with his brothers - nothing you do after that could taint you in his eyes, and so he’s worried he’ll knock things over in your nice house. Anything of value has long since disappeared into Mammon’s room, and so he settles eventually. He likes to be active, so you let Levi make a plan for the garden based on some anime he’s seen and Beel does most of the physical work.
Asmo... you don’t like to think too hard about where Asmo’s been. He clearly believes not much has changed between his old home and your own, because he’s constantly batting his eyelashes, stroking your leg, trying to always be the closest to you. He’s sweet with Beel and Levi but he’s snappy with Mammon, and Mammon just takes it, and it might remind you of home but it’s worse here.
Asmo breaks down in tears one day when you call him out for it and you realise, pained, that you can’t talk to him about it. All Asmo can offer you are desperate apologies and promises to make you feel good, better than Mammon, and that gives you a hint but you have to send in his older brothers to help get the full story.
Asmo, like Levi, believes he has to compete with Mammon - his beautiful older brother and the only one of your pets that doesn’t seem to have a clear role. Compete for food, attention, affection, because if he wasn’t the favourite in his old home he’d get neglected. Asmo is a creature that cannot thrive on neglect, needs reassurance that he’s loved, and it breaks your heart to think he believed he needed to cut down his brother to secure his own safety. Guilt, too, has been weighing on Asmo’s mind. He wants Mammon to have a good life, but he’s seen what happens to the boring pets, and he was just so scared.
It takes time, but you teach Asmo that he doesn’t have to compete. That food and love are not things he has to earn in your home. He still sticks to you like glue, still clings to your leg and whines when you try to leave, but at least now it’s not out of fear - it’s just your normal, sweet, over dramatic Asmo.
Satan is a real struggle to find. You know he’s smart, so you hope he’s someone’s companion. Skilled enough pets can even be effective secretaries, and while that would make it hard to buy him, at least you’d know he was okay.
No such luck, though. You’d put in a description at most shelters throughout the city - not too strange, lots of rich eccentrics had a very specific idea of a perfect pet - and eventually one called up saying they’d got a demon with the blond hair and blue-green eyes you’re looking for, but a long list of behavioural issues.
The demon is blond, his body is lithe, a muscled chest narrowing to slender hips, and it looks so much like Satan but you want to pray that it isn’t. Not when he’s covered in scars, not when a growl kicks in as soon as you and the attendant walk into the solitary room.
But those beautiful blue-green eyes can only belong to him. Satan’s face is twisted in a snarl and it makes you want to cry seeing him like that. You ask the attendant for some time alone with him - the man looks at you like you’re crazy, but Satan is locked up and you don’t have the key, so he’s got no reason to refuse you.
“Satan,” you whisper, and the growls quiet for a moment, the demon looking at you curiously. You’re relieved to see that familiar intelligence in his eyes. “Satan, I’ve got some of your brothers back home. Mammon and Levi and Asmo and Beel-” you fumble with your phone, nearly drop it but finally show Satan a picture of them all together. Relaxed, happy, healthy.
Satan whines pitifully.
“They miss you. I want to take you home with me, too. So please, will you help me? They won’t let me buy you if they still think you’ll hurt me.”
“Could still hurt you,” Satan says and his voice is rough, underused, but it’s no threat. It’s a sad admission, and it breaks your heart because you know how much Satan hated the idea of being just wrath. Now someone’s forced that onto him.
“Your brothers told me all about how smart you are. How you were always helping them out.” You grip the cage with your hand, Satan watching as your fingers poke through the bars. “I trust you.”
A week is what it takes for the shelter to sign off on you taking him home. The workers compliment you, saying whatever you did seems to have calmed him right down. Reminded him how to act like a pet, not a feral creature.
Asmo flings himself onto Satan as soon as you’re through the door and Satan stays very still, muscles tense and looking at you for help. You pull Asmo back a bit and announce to the rest of your family - you won’t think of them as pets - that they need to give Satan some warning before grabbing him like that.
Satan eventually settles, though he still flinches at loud noises and tenses for a fight if something moves too suddenly. Levi is a big help, introducing Satan to some calming stories and giving him enough space to feel safe.
The neighbourhood cats do more work than you. Every time a stray lets Satan pet it, your demon ever so careful with his claws, you can see him remembering how to exist as a person, not a weapon.
Belphie is harder to find than he should be.
You search long and hard through local listings, through shelters, through fucking Facebook marketplace. Levi sets up an automatic alert based on key words. Asmo, too, accompanies you out regularly and charms any and all information out of shelter workers and local demon owners’ groups.
It’s exhausting. You miss him, especially when you feel his sin sapping away at your strength - you want him beside you. You want to nap with him.
It’s Beel who finds him.
You’re walking - you’ve been wondering through the suburbs, just hoping that Beel’s sense of Belphie will work. Beel still had a connection to his twin - even the witch’s curse couldn’t take that away. You think Belphie’s still in the same city, they’re all from the same shelter so it would make sense.
Beel freezes outside a small, regular-looking house. His eyes fix on the front door.
From inside, you hear yelling begin.
It’s mostly indistinct, raised voices until you hear one word clearly, in a voice you’ve longed to hear.
“Beel!”
You grab Beel’s hand before he can bolt to the house and rip off the door - you know you’re no match for the demon physically, but just the reminder of your presence is enough to snap his attention to you.
“Stay here,” you order and Beel shakes his head, the one time you’ve ever seen him be disobedient.
“Beel, stay here. Let me handle this. Please,” you ask. You know that walking up to someone’s house and asking to buy their pet is insane. But the sounds coming from inside don’t suggest Belphie is loved here and you need to get him out.
Beel might scare them. You’re already at a disadvantage - you can’t hide that you want Belphie, specifically Belphie, and his owners hold all the bargaining power. You can’t risk them thinking you’re trying to intimidate them with Beel. The last thing you need - all of you - is any authorities involved.
You knock on the door to a man scowling at you. You try and keep a bright smile.
In the end, it’s almost laughably easy. You pay for Belphie’s life with a couple hundred dollars. Practically nothing with what Mammon’s luck brings you.
Belphie looks- Belphie looks exhausted. The man hands his leash to you and slams the door and Belphie just kneels at your feet, shaking and not meeting your eyes. He keeps glancing off to the side at Beel, but doesn’t move to approach, like he’s afraid if he makes a move you’ll-
You don’t want to think about it right now.
You gesture Beel over and he sweeps Belphie up without a word. The first sound you hear from Belphie, without the door between you, is a strangled sob.
Beel carries Belphie home.
Unlike his brothers, Belphie adjusts fairly well. He may not trust you, but he trusts Beel, and you know some part of him trusts his other brothers too. They know they’re safe with you, and so he accepts that he is too.
Belphie is spoiled by his brothers right away, finding all the best spots to nap. He likes to stick close to Beel, laying in the sun while his twin works. You catch him watching you, one eye open, tail swishing lazily back and forth.
You remember not being able to breathe. You swallow back phantom pains and continue with your day.
Lucifer is the last. Just Lucifer, and you can get back home.
By now you know the brothers have started to remember, though they haven’t confronted you directly. Levi makes reference to anime that doesn’t exist in this world. Asmo mentions a party that never happened. Beel talks about a recipe with ingredients you can’t buy in the human world.
But you need Lucifer before it can be done, before you can get your demons back, and you’re already so, so tired.
And Lucifer is - he’s a rare demon with feathered wings, gorgeous, surely worth a lot of money, maybe more than even Mammon can get you. You’re pretty sure all the brothers only need to be together for a minute for the curse to break, but doing anything drastic still carries risks, to you and your demons, and-
And you need to find out where he is before you can worry about how to get him.
You fall asleep at your desk and wake up in your bed, Beel curled up by your side.
Asmo begs you to get him face masks and then demands you do them with him, helping you wash them off.
Belphie arranges the pillows on your bed - and on the couch, the lounge, the floor - into their comfiest possible configuration, until you can’t help but stay there.
All the while, their big brothers try to help you with the search. Mammon points out events that you might find a few rich pet owners at, helps you style and carry yourself like one of them. You’ve given Levi three laptops and all of them are running some sort of search in the background. Satan scours through public records of transactions - such things exist, for high-class pets - and identifies collectors who might be most interested in Lucifer’s unique traits.
Every lead was a dead end, and you and the brothers are fast approaching a breaking point.
Lucifer might not even be in the same country anymore, you think dully. It was a big wide world out there, and Lucifer could’ve been swept away anywhere.
You’re seriously considering a world tour.
In the end, Lucifer finds you.
You wake up in the night to a presence in your bedroom. You roll over, mumbling to Beel or Mammon or whoever it is to come on in, but you’re not getting up.
The growl that follows your words pumps enough adrenaline through you to finally notice the tall figure, the silhouette of curled horns, four wings-
A hand around your throat is familiar, but the face that hovers over you as you struggle to breathe is not - red eyes flashing, even in the dark, your struggles utterly useless as your fingers don’t even leave a mark on his skin.
“And why,” he hisses, voice more dangerous than you’ve ever heard it, even at the dance, the tomb, the library, “would my brothers be in your bed?”
You can’t answer because you can’t fucking breathe.
You try to choke something out but Lucifer doesn’t actually care about your answer. There’s just enough light from the window to see patchy feathers, horns all scratched up - Lucifer isn’t just angry, his expression is broken in a way you’ve never seen, could never imagine from him.
It’s Satan who finds you first, which is possibly the worst outcome - because Satan still has all those instincts from his time as a fighter, still sees a powerful opponent hovering over you, and he still reacts the way he’d learned to in that pit. Quickly and violently.
Lucifer is stronger - you know this, Lucifer knows this, and you’re sure Satan knows it too, on some level that’s not buried under instinct.
But for Lucifer to stop Satan, Lucifer would have to hurt Satan - and you’re relieved to see that’s a line he won’t cross.
Lucifer flies back in a scatter of feathers - and you’re sure he’s not supposed to shed so many in such a simple movement. Satan’s on the bed, crouched between you and Lucifer, a low growl filling the room. You scramble back against the headboard, torn between relief - you found him, he found you, he’s here - and fear - because he could kill you.
When you flick the lamp on you’re only more certain that Lucifer is going to kill you. The look he sends you past Satan’s shoulder has you shuddering.
“Satan,” he softens as he addresses his brother, movements slow. Satan is still growling, snarls when Lucifer takes a step closer - you watch hurt flicker across Lucifer’s face. “Satan, it’s me. Please, I came here for you. For our family.”
Mammon is the next one who sprints through your now open door, the sound drawing the rest of the brothers in. Beel is next, Levi puts himself between Asmo and Belphie and whatever the threat could be.
“Lucifer?”
You’re not sure who says it first, but Mammon moves to meet him - tackles him into a hug. It’s the first time you’ve seen Lucifer smile in this world. It doesn’t last long.
“I’m glad you’re all together, at least.” Lucifer loosens his grip on Mammon, pushing his brother to the side - his eyes stay on you. “That makes this easier.”
“We looked for you everywhere! Where were you?” Asmo whines, either not noticing the tension in the room or trying to distract from it.
“You won’t find me on any registries.” Lucifer puffs himself up, looking almost like the demon you made a pact with. “I destroyed my owners. I’ve been searching for you all...”
It’s only because you’ve known Lucifer for so long that you can see the pain in his expression. The false memories of this world - he’s been separated from his family for who knows how long, probably decades at least, never knowing whether they were in pain, afraid, or even alive. Your heart, from where it is beating wildly in your chest, aches.
Any minute now the curse should break, right? The brothers are all together again, reunited. Surely their memories will return and you’ll be back in the House of Lamentation soon.
But it’s not happening. Things remain tense, Lucifer’s eyes settle on you once more - Satan crouches further, ready to pounce, and Mammon quickly ducks under his brother’s arm to put himself between Lucifer and the rest of the family.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through, bro, but don’t- don’t-” Mammon chokes on his words, Lucifer’s furious expression shifting to him. But his fury is directed at you, so Mammon finds it in himself to continue. “They brought us back together. We were looking for you. They- they ain’t never hurt us, or used us, or did anything to us, so-”
“Don’t kill them!” Levi cries, rushing to Mammon’s side. Levi looks nervous, shaking, but he’s always had a strength to him that comes out when his family’s in danger - you see it now, as he stands before his brother.
Beel doesn’t say anything, but places himself in the middle of the room, glancing between you and Lucifer nervously. Asmo and Belphie both creep to your side, checking that you weren’t hurt when Lucifer broke in. Your throat stings.
Lucifer is still glaring at you. You’re sure he’s thinking the worst. That you did something to his brothers, manipulated them into defending you. That you’re a threat, that you’ll take his brothers from him. You could laugh at how familiar this all is - you could, if you weren’t certain that Lucifer would tear you apart for it.
You’re tempted to tell them to go - maybe if they’re together and not about to fucking fight, the curse will break.
But the curse didn’t specify the brothers being together. It was about family.
“L-Lucifer,” you manage to find your voice. The room tenses further, especially with how rough your voice is after his hand around your throat. “I want to make a deal.”
A month. He’ll stay for a month before he’ll take his brothers and leave. You have a month to fix things and that’s pressure like you’ve known it. It took you months to win over Lucifer the first time, and now you barely have a fraction of that-
It takes two weeks.
Lucifer isn’t trusting. You have no idea what he experienced, and you’re not asking questions, but it was bad - bad enough to affect him physically, bad enough that he can’t be calm without all his brothers in sight. For days he stalks through your house like a lion - on the hunt for his brothers, making sure they were safe, fed, happy.
You avoid him. You know you’re wasting time, but it’s partially for the brothers’ benefit too. Satan and Mammon don’t leave your side. Satan in particular seems discomforted - you know he hates losing control, hates going back to the days of the pit.
Lucifer observes your interactions with his brothers. You feel his eyes on you almost constantly.
The rest of the time, he’s trying to get closer to his brothers again. The twins and Asmo are first - they catch him up on what happened to them, how you found them, and are the first to cuddle up to Lucifer. Even if Belphie pretends it’s only in his sleep.
Levi is next, if only because Mammon and Satan are harder to get alone. Levi is shy, uncertain with the brother he hasn’t seen for so long. Lucifer speaks softly with him, asks him about his interests. Levi shows off some of the anime merch you ordered for him.
Eventually you catch Levi babbling Lucifer’s ear off about the latest episode of his new favourite show, in the dark, in the lounge, half-asleep while Lucifer pets his hair. You sneak off before you can interrupt them, but you’re certain Lucifer sees you.
Mammon and Lucifer seem to slip into an agreement pretty easily. Mammon tries to talk you up to Lucifer - he never does it in front of you, but you overhear him enough.
Satan, on the other hand-
You try to convince him to speak with Lucifer. You’re not sure if his resentment holds across worlds or if he’s just... embarrassed about their reunion, with Satan falling back on his instincts. Either way, Satan is resistant to the idea.
You’re certain Lucifer will understand. Satan went through - well, went through hell. Lucifer isn’t as strict from what you’ve seen so far, acting much softer with his brothers. You suppose he’s accepted that they’re safe here, at least for now.
Mostly you want to convince Satan to make the first move before Lucifer pushes, which usually ends badly. If you can get them to talk to each other, maybe that’ll fix things. Maybe you can go back home.
In the end, they meet halfway.
Lucifer sits by Satan on the couch. Waits for Satan to speak first.
You retreat to the kitchen, giving them their privacy.
You don’t understand why the curse isn’t broken yet. The brothers are together, not just physically but as a family. Hell, it’s closer than you usually see them, all piled up on the couch together. They’re watching a horror movie, Mammon is proving how totally brave he is by ‘protecting’ Beel and Belphie, Satan is telling them to hush, and Lucifer is relaxing back while Asmo preens his wings. Levi is on the floor, settled with his head leaning against Lucifer’s knees.
You wait in the doorway for a moment, watching the brothers with a smile.
Lucifer notices you first, and reaches a hand out.
You take it, and-
You’re home.
704 notes · View notes
generic-whumper · 8 months
Text
Hello Whumperoos! I’m new to this community, but have been immediately obsessed with this whump genre since I found it a couple months ago to the point where it has re-sparked my inspiration to start writing again- something I lost many years ago. Anyway, I am going to school to study art right now and am trying to force myself to study anatomy and practice figure drawing.
What better way to practice than to do some whumpy poses?!
Please feel free to use these reference models for your own Whumpee scenes! I’m a COMPLETE noob to 3-D modeling (not like I actually 3-D modeled this myself, I just don’t know what else to call this?), but the app I am using is MagicPoser on my iPad (I will include the app icon for anyone interested). Send me any pose requests, I would love to get better acquainted with this app and would love to help make a collection of reference poses for people to use!
Happy whumping!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
44 notes · View notes
blackrosesandwhump · 2 years
Text
Uncommon Whump Tropes
I compiled the answers to my recent uncommon whump trope question into a list for everyone's reference. Enjoy!
CW: very brief mentions of teeth whump, minor whump, female whumpees, noncon body modification
Feral hissy kitten whumpees, the bitey scratchy ones who scream incoherently at their rescuer/caretaker rather than use their talking words. The ones who can’t be made to understand they’re not going to be hurt anymore
Medieval fantasy dungeon/torture chambers
Female whumpee and platonic male caretaker
When person 1 passes something to person 2, via kiss or other pda, to help P2 escape somewhere, especially if there had been some kind of prior misunderstanding between them
Good old-fashioned chloroforming
Mind control and mind control-adjacent tropes like hypnosis
Whumpers who are subtlety scary
Childhood trauma/minor whump
Whipping
Teeth whump
Older whumpees
Whumpees who aren't conventionally attractive
Non-“innocent sweetie” whumpees: bastards, confused himbos, feral ladies, baffled aristocrats, tormented monsters, traumatized immortals, frightened Everyday Gals who react by throwing things and yelling, questionable antiheroes
Whumpees who turn bitter. Whumpees who are angry and complicated. Recoveries that are tough. Caretakers that don’t know what to do because a little nice touch and sweet words aren’t enough
Captive whumpees that slowly manipulate the situation they're in, gaining enough favor and trust with the whumper till it's the right moment for the tables to be turned and whumpee can get their revenge
Snakes used on the whumpee
Female whumpees
Small whumpers
Whumpers that aren't the physically stronger ones
Whumpees who aren't honorable, who lie and scheme and cheat their way out of their bad situation
Whumpees who aren't defiant, because they're smart enough to know all that defiance will get them is more pain. They aren't stoic because they know the whumper wants to hear them begging and crying
Manipulative whumpees. They bend, pretending to break, until their whumper gives them an opening
Villain whumpers who aren’t interested in captivity. They just love to antagonize the hero, do they care about stealing or blowing up the city, no not that much. But they love getting on hero’s nerves and beating them and mentally dragging them down until they can hardly do it anymore, and then just moving onto a new hero when it gets to boring for them
Androids, or human whumpees inside mech suits that get ripped to shreds during a fight so that the circuitry is exposed
Average whumpees, whumpees who aren’t super muscular and have more realistic proportions, whether they are large, medium, or small
Caretaker with some sort of trauma already in their past, and they’re desperate to protect whumpee, who’s probably someone older.  The caretaker— having been scarred and trying to grasp at any bonds they have made as comfort— takes care of the person who should probably be taking care of them, and then, when the whumper comes in and does what they know best, the caretaker goes ballistic. They do unexpected, dangerous things to themselves behind whumpee’s back. They get themselves so deep in their deals with whumper just to be able to get whumpee out, because caretaker would inflict pain on an entire continent before letting whumpee go. And when the whumpee’s out, caretaker is too far in to turn back now… maybe they’ll force the whumpee back, they’ll be safer with them anyways…
Monster whump. More claws, wings, fur, long ears, tails
More queerplatonic Whumpee/Caretaker relationships
Female whump (that isn't non-con). Ladies can break their arms and get kicked in the gut too
Being conditioned into submission and having trouble shaking it, i.e. even days after the shock collar has been removed they still almost never speak unless spoken to
Human experimentation
Unique stress positions, especially ones where the pain builds up over time
Noncon body modification, but more extreme than piercings & tattoos, e.g. wings/ears/tails/etc, or cybernetic things
Sci-fi themed whump that's not about androids
Whump involving timelines, time loops, alternate universes and other stuff like that
Physical signs of whump for supernatural whump that aren’t scars or lost body parts, like changed eye colors or new appendages or like marks on your soul
Forced mind control self-whump while the caretaker watches but doesn't know they're under mind control, or even a non-consensual situation because it's just barely mild-looking enough until the caretaker leaves because they really thought they were doing the right thing by trying to step in but they were told they were just interrupting and now they feel bad. And the whumpee has no idea what’s going on but when they come to and are being weakly willful to the whumper but they are informed that the caretaker saw and didn’t care, breaking the last part of the whumpee’s will that was barely holding out
More accidental trauma reveal
Lab whump
Lady whump (and lab lady whump)
Feral whumpees
Spitting blood
That trope where the group has to explore their loved one’s mindscape to save them and secret trauma is revealed in their memories
Being presented with a fear that is wholly mind numbing and the annoying character not poking fun at the one that's scare
“Phantom pain” but not in the traditional amputee sense, e.g. whumpee’s arm gets cut off in a corrupted video game and he still feels the pain of it IRL despite his real-life arm being intact…or alternative forms perhaps being: sharing a soul with someone and feeling the pain that they feel, characters with past lives feeling old injuries from their predecessors, or a mecha story where damage done to the mech is felt by its pilot
The plot allowing enough time for a newly disfigured character to process and grieve over their new appearance, e.g. Spiderman 3; the worst/best part is Peter did this to him, which adds that best-friends-do-permanent-damage-to-each-other-but-they-remain-good-friends layer. They could overcome that sense of betrayal, even if Harry ended up dying
Character getting kidnapped while sick
Teams saving someone from hypothermia
Colleagues as caretakers
Seizure aftercare
Dehydration after a long spell somewhere hot, like working hard outside, and whumpee doesn’t feel the heat exhaustion and dehydration creep up on them, which can lead to a fever
General extremes of heat, when someone pushes their own body to the limit and doesn’t realize until it’s too late, and their coworkers and friends have to pick up the pieces, leading to some pretty difficult conversations about looking after yourself and listening to your own needs
Whumpee leaves or disappears and after some time is found again with a big injury by caretaker with no context
Brainwashed Whumpee randomly switching between their brainwashed personality and their original one. Top tier: the original is stoic and grouchy but the brainwashed is either really goofy or lovey-dovey - and their loved ones go from finding this funny, to finding it unsettling because the original personality is reacting to it with terror
Shapeshifting whumpers. Whumpers that can effortlessly infiltrate and adapt to whumpees' friend circle even before (or after) whump. Whumpers that shapeshift into whumpee's loved ones during whump. Whumpers that basically catfish whumpee by turning into multiple different people and all "befriending" Whumpee, just to see the look on whumpee's face after the "I have friends who will find me" moment
Older pet whumpees, e.g. pets on the verge of being put down or past their prime time of use being berated for being so slow and weak and useless. Pets knowing they’re on borrowed time and knowing that their master is so merciful as to keep their worthless ass alive
Impalement through the neck/strung up by the neck
Being forced to apologize to everyone for making them worry while you were being tortured/otherwise suffering
Whumpees who aren't male and white
Redeemed villains that are too scared to ask for help and they end up hiding all their injuries from the hero(es)
TW: noncon/abuse/nsfw
Tickling, either consensually dubcon or against whumpee's will
More nsfw/dubcon (basically noncon but the whumpee doesn't really have a choice to resist)
Noncon touching (SEXUAL)
191 notes · View notes
generic-whumperz · 7 months
Text
💜Whumpy Reference Pose 💜 pt.3
Tumblr media
Made using MagicPoser app
14 notes · View notes
kim-poce · 1 year
Note
Full House/Pet-verse question: How do people become pets? Eri pretty much immediately clocked Day and Night as guard dogs, so were they born for that purpose (how German Shepherds are bred to be attack dogs) or were they rounded up somehow and, because of their size, designated guard dogs and trained accordingly?
BBU Worldbuilding. Heed the warnings.
CW: BBU (boy box universe), pet whump, institutionalized slavery, human trafficking (including children), kidnapping (including children), child abuse in general just to be sure, talks of sex slavery, racism, classism, ableism, noncon body modification (includes mutilation), food control, near death experience, torture, brainwashing, long term captivity, minor whumpee. If I forgot to tag anything PLEASE let me know.
Officially, pets are people who signed up to the facility. There are laws for it; adult applicants must have a witness, underage applicants as young as 12 years old must have the guardian’s permission and at least three witnesses; after a test, the applicant can choose which, from the given option, kind of pet they wish to be. No children under 12 allowed.
Unofficially, there is a lot of illegal human slavery, the consent papers are often fake or forced, and children really young go to the facility often and the register about it is erased.
The facilities avoid illegal acquisition because there are several people against the BBU system, people who jump at them at any given chance. There are however circumstances that makes them more prone to illegal acquisition:
Children: Easier to train and more moldable to whatever the client wants. 
Foreign people: Some clients want specific races that do not always come by so they don’t lose a chance when they get one.
Neurodivergent people: Again, some clients have specific tastes.
Pretty people/People with unique features: For obvious reasons.
Training and Customization
The training is personalized both to the client's tastes and to the pet needs. Touch starved pets are sold to not-touching clients, pets allergic to fur are sold to people with no animals and so on.
In matters of customization, well, as long as the client pays, the facility will make ANY body modification asked: tattoos, piercings, removal of vocal cords/eyes/hands/etc, sewing the mouth and make the alimentation integrally IV, and so on. The more hardcore modification the less it is shown to the public.
Another important point is alimentation: To the underaged pets (the ones who are still growing) the alimentation is controlled. Guard dogs's rations are really nutritious and meant to make them big and strong. Lapdogs are feed enough to survive so they can be small and cute. Domestic and General pets are fed in an irregular way so they can work under any circumstances. Romantic Pets are usually also kept small, but the future owner can "customize" them (feed less if small, more if big, if they want the pet thin or fat, hair length, etc). 
Guard dogs: Torture with no regard to scarring. Trained in martial arts and weapon use over stamina and strength training. Kept 24/7 with a shock collar and when the client pays enough they are implanted with a kill switch. During training, the torture often gets them in the brink of death, this happens so whoever owns them after it’s “merciful” in comparison, so the pet will see them as a “savior” and don’t try to fight back.
Lapdogs: Trained to be as touch starved as possible. Torture usually leaves little to no scars. fed and touched as little as possible so their owner may be their only source of comfort. The training is usually about being as still as possible, acting cute, identifying tricks and traps and acting as such, and makeup and hairstyle. Also, they learn to undergo pain in silence unless told otherwise.
Romantic Pets: Torture leaves little to no scars. Trained to be silent until told otherwise. Kept touch starved all the time but during sex, they have stamina training, and acting lessons so they look as if they are really enjoying it. Their interaction with everything and everyone in a non-sexual setting is cut so sex can be their only form of comfort and contact with other people. Training includes long periods of torture with no apparent reason, where the pet is kept in constant pain, the pain only stops during sex training so they make the realtion of “no sex=pain.”
Domestic Pets: Torture with no regard to scarring. Punished for every sound they make. Not allowed to talk until said otherwise, choke collar activated by speech (and it is kept on n moment they are obligated to speak so even allowed words hurt). Training includes cleaning and cooking lessons, made to overwork with little to no food, hours and hours of repetitive tasks.
General pets: Torture with medium scarring. Usually they sign up as adults and aren’t conventionally attractive so they go into basic training for all types of pets and are sold at a cheaper price.
The Full House pets:
If you want to know about other's series pets, please ask.
Beige: He is a Domestic Pet who voluntarily  signed up when he was a young adult. He had no family.
Pink: He is a Lapdog who voluntarily signed himself when he was a teen. The money went to his father. One trainer tried to make him into a Romantic Pet but the facility didn’t allow him to.
Purple: He is a Lapdog who was forcibly sold by his uncle when he was a teen, it was so he would protect his brother. Money went to his uncle.
Day: He is a Guard Dog who was kidnapped when he was a really young child. No one got the money. He was meant to be a lapdog at first (he was cute) but he grew up too much so his alimentation and training was changed.
Night: He was kidnapped in his teens for political reasons and made to be a guard dog because they couldn't tame him enough to make him a Romantic pet.
Little One: He is a Lapdog who was sold by his parents as a young child. Training was customized so the “ugly” autistic traits were not shown and the “cute” ones were encouraged. At first they tried to make him touch starved, and since it didn’t work, they made him a dancer. Was meant to be sold to a non-touching owner but his first mistress wanted to “fix him,” she signed a document declaring she was aware that she was buying a touch repulsed pet and took responsibility for any defects about it.
45 notes · View notes
ashintheairlikesnow · 11 months
Note
'I don't fucking care if you cry'
For Luke Petrus?
CW: referenced noncon, BBU, Luke is a piece of shit, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, captivity
"Go on."
Luke kicks up his feet, resting heavy boots on the table, crossed at the ankles. He should light a cigarette or something for the effect, but he doesn't have any on him and getting up to go get some would undermine it. Instead, he just smiles.
The trainee, backed up against a wall across the room, won't look at him. Those huge, gorgeous bright green eyes are focused off to one side. Eyebrows so pale they seem nearly invisible furrow. There's a little wrinkle in his forehead, showing his confusion. Cute, but they'll have to work on showing emotions he wasn't asking for.
"... Go on...?"
The trainee's voice is hoarse. He fucked up, a couple days ago. Luke ruined his throat, and he sure apologized until what was left of his voice was gone after. It's coming back, but there's something sweet about it now, raspy and every sound halfway a whisper. Makes Luke feel sentimental, a little sappy.
"Yeah. Go on. Do it."
The trainee, swimming in the plain white shirt and black shorts they all wear, hugs himself tightly, shivering in the chill. Luke normally keeps the room warm, but he wants this trainee desperate for the warmth another body can provide. And he'll be rewarded once he seeks it out.
Until then...
The trainee blinks - once, twice. Then, hesitantly, he rasps, "... Do, do what... Handler Petrus?"
Luke catches that stammer. They'll fix that, too. He smiles and tips his head to one side. "Cry. Go on, do it. I can tell you want to, that lower lip's been wobbling all day."
"But... t-tears are for... f-fucking, Handler." The words are carefully, slowly pronounced. Trainee doesn't want to say them, but he does it anyway.
Soon he'll forget he ever didn't want anything at all.
"I know, I know." Luke waves a hand in the air, dismissing the words. "Normally that's true. But today, I don't fucking care if you cry. Get it out of your system. We have a lot of work to do, today, and I don't want to deal with it when we're training. So. Cry now, and you can hug me after. Cry when I'm in you and I'll use that whip on the wall and make you cry harder. Thoughts?"
The trainee looks at him for a long pause. The little wrinkle in his forehead deepens.
"Well? Questions? Comments? Concerns?" Luke's smile stretches wider. He opens his hands, encompassing the room. "Anything to say at all?"
The trainee swallows - Luke watches him wince with delight. He mulls over whatever two brain cells still bounce around that emptied-out little head.
Then...
"... I can have... a hug?"
Luke laughs. "Yes, you needy fucking whore, you can have a fucking hug."
Sure enough, the pretty little thing drops to the floor, face beet red as Luke laughs until his sides are sore, and starts to cry.
Again.
87 notes · View notes
Eden VAU part two
Masterlist linked in my pinned.
TW: breifly referenced eating disorder, captivity, referenced racism, referenced Islamaphobia, nonsexual nudity, referenced nuclear weapons, referenced war, pet whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, human whumpee, vampire whumper
"You may bathe, if you wish," Christopher offered. "And I have made you food."
Ezra stood and stretched. His back cracked loudly, releasing a great deal of pent up pressure.
"Yes sir," he said with a yawn. "Can I turn on a light?"
"I do not have electric lights," Christopher said apologetically. "Instead, I will start a fire for you. However, I have running water, for convenience. A quite spectacular invention."
"Thank you sir. Where's your bathroom?"
"Follow me." Christopher strolled down the darkened hall, with Ezra just on his heels.
He opened a door, and gestured for Ezra to walk inside, before lighting a candle on the counter.
An antique porcelain bathtub stood in the center of the rather large room. Ezra had never bathed in a tub deep enough to fit an entire adult body, and the idea appealed greatly.
"There are clothings in the cabinet," Christopher said. "Along with towels. I found shampoo and conditioning to work with your lovely curls. I hope everything is to your liking."
"I'm sure it is," Ezra said. "Thank you sir."
Christopher swept from the room, closing the pale wooden door behind him.Ezra stripped, thankful for the plentiful darkness shrouding his dreaded female body from his own view.
He turned the ornate brass tap, bringing the water to a warm temperature. He sat down in the tub, as it filled quickly, soon submerging him to his neck.
Leaning his head back, he relished the splendidness of the simple act. He slathered shampoo in his hair, then scrubbed his body clean with a sponge covered in lavender soap.
The longing to bathe for hours overcame Ezra, but the water soon grew chill, and he was forced to drain it. He considered filling the tub once again, but remembered that Christopher was waiting for him, along with his offer of food.
Ezra found a towel in a drawer of the standing cabinet. Getting his thick curly hair to stop dripping took quite some time, but he managed.
In the drawer below the towels, he found clothes. The textures were all lovely and soft, exactly to his preference.
His new binder, one of many, fit him much more comfortably than his old tattered one, bought secondhand like most of his clothes. The fuzzy cotton sweatpants and long sleeved shirt kept him quite warm against the chill air of Christopher's home.
Finally, Ezra noticed the lack of mirrors in the bathroom. It made perfect sense, of course. Especially if Christopher's home wasn't frequented by humans.
Brushing his hair was a bit tricky without a reflection to aid him, but on the other hand, he didn't have to look at his feminine face, far too thin from years of starving himself.
Perhaps the absence of his reflection was for the best.
Ezra carried the candle on its tray down the hall, feeling like a character from a period film, and found Christopher in his kitchen.
He was stirring a large pot of stew over a wood burning stove. Rough wood crates full of potatoes, onions, dried meats, and other food stuffs lined the walls.
"Dear Ezra," Christopher said with a large smile. "How are you feelings?"
"Better sir." Ezra sighed. "So, what's going to happen now?"
Christopher took up a ladle and filled a pastel painted, wood bowl with stew. He handed it to Ezra along with a brass spoon.
"You are to eat," he said. "Please, sit down."
Ezra sat up to a small round table and, Christopher sat across from him.
"How does it taste?" he asked. "And please be honest in full. It is for you, and I cannot taste it."
Ezra scooped up a piece of beef, a bit of onion and shredded cabbage, then took a bite. It tasted salty, yet not unpleasantly so. There was something oddly nostalgic about a home cooked meal, even though his family had never made borscht specifically.
"This is amazing," he said, as soon as he had swallowed. "I don't know how to cook, so I don't get to eat anything like this very often. Thank you sir."
"I will teach you," Christopher offered. "It is important to have such skills."
Ezra scarfed down the warm beef stew, hardly taking the time to breathe.
"Slow down," Christopher said. "You will choke yourself."
Ezra forced himself to eat at a reasonable pace. He noticed that his eyes were now adjusted to the darkness, aided by the fire, allowing him to see muted colors.
"I am glad you like it," Christopher said. "I will make you dessert later, yes?"
"Yes sir, thank you."
The fire began to die down, dimming the room. Christopher walked across the kitchen, kneeling down in front of the stove. He piled a few more logs, not needing to bother with carefulness handling blazing wood.
Ezra wanted nothing more than to fish for information. But where to start? Vampires lived for so much longer than humans, Christopher could have so much more to tell.
Ezra supposed, as Christopher sat down, that would make a perfectly fine starting point.
"If you don't mind my asking sir, how old are you?"
Christopher smiled at Ezra. "Three hundred and fifty six. I was born in the year of our Lord sixteen sixty seven. And you are twenty three, born in the year of our Lord two thousand. Which seems to me very strange."
"I guess so. I mean, a I watch a lot of sixties TV. Nineteen sixties, I mean."
"Television did not exist until the twentieth century. I understand when you are referring."
"Oh yeah. Well, anyway, tons of science fiction started with 'in the distant future of two thousand five' or something like that. Which seems bizzare now, comparing their version of the future with how things really turned out. I imagine it's even stranger, having grown up in the sixteen hundreds."
"How correct you are. So many things of your time delight me. Medicine able to cure the worst of pestilence, or prevent it entirely. Plague and smallpox eradicated. Electric lights and automobiles in place of fire and horses. Moving pictures showing people even after they have moved on with their lives, or even passed away. Devices capable of producing sounds from nothing, though such sounds were produced at one point for later listeners."
Christopher strolled across the room and gestured to his record player, which still played faint soothing music.
"I could go on for hours. It is so spectacular. I remember when man sent a dog into space, then themselves. I also remember when the cosmos were considered untouchable, a place of gods and angels. Humans have grown no more intelligent, by any means, but have now the capabilities to perform miracles, leaving no room for their gods."
"Yeah," Ezra said quietly. "I can't imagine."
He had a hard time understanding when his grandparents complained of new fangled technology and explained how they grew up without as much as a land line phone or television. Now he was speaking with a man who remembered the invention of electricity and vaccines.
"So." Ezra cleared his throat. "Are you from Russia sir?"
"She is my motherland, yes. In great misfortune I had to flee. I lived in a time of Tzars, not self appointed tyrants slaughtering millions. I came to the United States of the Americas, where I was just as unwelcome. I listened on radios as men built nuclear weapons and threatened mass destruction. Such a terrible thing. I appreciate proper combat. Men on foot and horse, weilding bows and swords. Not business men in offices pushing buttons and issuing orders which dishonorably steal millions of lives."
"Woah..." Ezra contemplated this as he finished off his stew, wishing he hadn't cut history classes so often. "I can't even remember nine-eleven."
"A misfortune, as you surely remember the cruelty shown to your people for it."
"Well, I don't know about my people. My grandparent's people maybe. I was raised Christian, not Muslim. Oh, but the kids at school were just horrible."
Ezra sighed. God, how he liked to ignore the existence oh his childhood.
"Yes," Christopher said, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice. "I want to safe keep you from those sort of undeserved troubles. You are such a precious thing."
Despite himself, Ezra liked the compliment. He loved being reminded that he didn't deserve everything he had went through. And he especially loved being treated like he was special and better than those who had hurt him.
It seemed a misfortune that the only person who saw how "precious" Ezra was happened to be a vampire who had kidnapped him. But at the moment that aspect was secondary to how wonderful he felt.
"Your smile is simply brilliant," Christopher complimented. "Thank you for allowing me to enjoy it."
"Thank you sir. If you don't mind my asking, what time is it?"
"Five AM. Nearing sunrise. I will soon have need of rest."
"I'm pretty much nocturnal anyway sir."
"I know, and am glad. Now, do you require anything more to eat?"
"No sir. Thank you though."
"I shall show you to your room then."
Christopher stood, and offered Ezra his hand. After a tense moment of hesitation, Ezra accepted it, and they walked down the hall.
Beautiful art pieces lines the walls, ocean storms capsizing sailing ships, and peaceful bays full of swimmers. The subjects were in conflict, but complimented each other in design, color, and placement.
Christopher opened a door, and entered the room after Ezra, who took waited for his eyes to adjust before taking in his surroundings.
Warm looking fur blankets covered a large bed. The wardrobe was painted maroon with light purple highlights, Ezra's first and second favorite colors respectively. The soft woven rug felt wondrously soft under Ezra's bare feet.
"You may rest in here," Christopher said. "There are clothings for you in the wardrobe."
"Thank you sir." Ezra sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand over the fur, smoothing down the appealing texture.
"Every dawn I am compelled to return to my burial place and sleep until dusk," Christopher explained. "For convenience, I moved a great deal of grave soil home, along with my casket. However, it would take intense physical injury to wake me, something you are quite incapable of. If you require my attention, it must wait until after nightfall."
"Yes sir."
Ezra's mind buzzed with questions about vampires. They were a subject he always wished was handled more thoroughly in school.
The folklore, books, and movies were all so contradictory, being all created by human hand alone.
Ezra's knowledge of vampires came largely from Bram Stoker's Dracula and its many subsequent adaptations. Though he knew they must have gone awry on some points.
After briefly wondering what Christopher would think of the Count, Ezra decided to make even more of an effort to project onto Jonathan Harker.
"Good morning," Christopher said. "I will speak to you in the evening when we both awake."
Christopher swept from the room, and Ezra heard the old brass lock click. He buried himself in the fur blankets, delighting in their comfort.
Sleep took him quickly, interrupting his regret of never having learned shorthand.
Taglist: @devourerofcheesecake @elim-flower @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whump-by-robin @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpshaped @seetheothersideofparadise @knittedeyebrowsandcardigans @whatwasmyprevioususername @boonasaurusrex @suspicious-whumping-egg @heavenly-whumper @melancholy-in-the-morning @suck-my-clit-loser @anomalys-taxonomy
43 notes · View notes
comfy-whumpee · 1 year
Text
Tyler
Implied past abuse, homophobia and alcohol. BBU.
If you’re just here for the epistolary material, scroll to the end! Preceding piece: Everyone.
“See you later, Phil.”
The last person left the office. It was Friday night, and Roman had gone home with Dillon, Joel and Phil had finished up, and Tyler was left working late with Charlie on this stupid urgent Christmas thing. The world outside the windows was a dark void, speckled by street lights. The office was weirdly quiet without Roman washing up or pottering around tidying. Hell, if they stayed late enough the cleaner would show up.
Charlie had been quiet all week. Roman was fucking limping from his stress. They needed to make sure everything was sorted before they closed and all took the week off. Charlie didn’t want to be fixing shit while he was having Christmas with his girlfriend.
Tyler would probably go visit his mom. She got lonely at this time of year. Maybe he’d be able to take Ro, as well. Give him a proper holiday. Introduce him…
“Let’s stop there,” Charlie said, leaning back and running a hand through his flattened quiff, as if trying to coax more life into it. He always over-oiled his hair to keep it in shape. Shaking his hand now would feel greasy.
Tyler closed his notebook gladly, dropping his pen on top. Most of their clients wouldn’t be doing business during the festive period, but they also didn’t want the app to break. It was their first time closing the office for a week; last year they’d barely taken seven days off between them. Planning around the issue before it happened was how Charlie liked to do things, but it was a headache.
“I wanted to talk to you about Roman,” Charlie said.
His voice was low and calm, or it sounded calm. Tyler knew Charlie never let everything out at once. He built up to it. When he called Roman into the office, he started off venting, and only smacked him around after he’d worked himself up. It was cathartic, he said.
“We all know you’re gay.”
The statement was so fucking far out of left field that Tyler almost laughed. “What the fuck?”
“Nobody cares. Roman turns you on. Whatever. But we’ve all seen how you’re looking at him these days. Coming in early to hang out with him. Giving him hugs.”
Tyler sat very still, feeling his body start to burn. “Shut up,” he protested, but his voice had fled. His face was on fire. His blood was pounding.
“I’m trying to be nice,” Charlie snapped back. His eyes were dark, so dark. He was furious. Tyler knew it. It beat in his pulse. Like watching his dad neck a bottle of beer. “I’m trying to be nice,” Charlie repeated, voice calmer but harder. “I heard you talk bullshit about freeing him. Taking him away with you.”
He listened to them. When did he find out? Had he snuck in one morning to eavesdrop? Was there a day they didn’t hear the door?
“I haven’t told the others. I don’t need the hassle. But this is your one fucking warning, alright?”
Charlie still sounded so calm. He wasn’t calm. He couldn’t be. Tyler watched his hands, folded on the table in front of him. They’d move. Any second now. They’d throw the first punch.
“You stood there and planned to steal the most expensive company property we have. Over some fucking scratches on his hand. If I see you doing any of that shit again, treating him like your little boyfriend, having your breakfast dates and whatever, you’re out of this goddamn company. Alright?”
Tyler watched. Charlie’s hands didn’t move. His engagement ring would sting harder than the punch. Light shone off it.
His father had always said he had to be a man, and take his hits like one. Failed on both counts. The old man would have an aneurysm to know Tyler was a pet-liberating queer.
“Alright?” Charlie repeated. Anger pressing up against the word, threatening to break through.
“Alright,” Tyler repeated back mechanically.
“He’s not going home with you anymore. I see you taking him off this property, I call the cops. You don’t talk to him or get alone with him. Stop being such a fucking moron.”
“Alright.”
Charlie sighed. “Alright. Go home and download Grindr or something. Get outta here.”
Tyler got up feeling like every muscle was hardened clay. He picked up his notebook and pen. He walked to his desk, scooped up his bag and jacket, and left the office to walk to his car.
Charlie had been quiet all week. Charlie had been beating Roman every day. Had screamed at him, red in the face, embarrassing to watch. He’d stopped apologising after. Stopped feeling guilty.
Tyler hadn’t noticed. Still stupid. Still slow.
He’d have to stop talking to the lawyer. She’d want him to push on, be a whistleblower or some shit. Throw everything away to take these guys to court for an outcome Roman didn’t even fucking want.
What was the point?
They knew. They knew everything he’d tried to keep secret. We all know you’re gay.
He hadn’t. Not until he’d started getting close to Roman.
Tyler drove on autopilot, gaze skittering across the road and back again for hazards without consciously processing it. It was only when he passed a billboard with two dressed-up pets, blown up larger than life under the electric lights, that the dam broke.
Make a positive change this season.
Humiliation and anger took over, and the tears rushed up. He pulled over and cried like a child, alone in his car, three days before Christmas.
-
Tumblr media
@neuro-whump​​, @rosesareviolentlyread​​, @mylifeisonthebookshelf​, @pumpkin-spice-whump​, @whumpsday​ @kira-the-whump-enthusiast​, @firewheeesky​, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question​
31 notes · View notes
Note
How old is Leo, and how old does Leo think Aiden is? - whumpinthepot
Previous ask about Aiden's age — Masterlist
CW: BBU-adjacent, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Explicit language. Whump of a minor mentioned.
Leo took a steadying breath. “Delia?”
“Yeah?” She didn’t even look up from suturing, so focused she’d thankfully missed the half-dozen times he’d opened his mouth and closed again, not quite ready to pull this thread.
“I—uh…”
That did it. Her hands stopped moving and she glanced up, eyes tracing his face. 
“Actually, maybe I don’t even want to know…”
“Leo, out with it.”
“Look, it’s just—Please, tell me he’s older than he looks.” He resisted the urge to glance at Aiden, convinced he’d find those dark eyes watching him, maybe even looking betrayed by this line of questioning. 
Delia did look because of course Aiden was still peacefully sedated. A state that was necessary but felt like another break of Aiden’s trust. “Well, he’s not exactly your peer…”
“Fuck, Deels. He looks about half my age though, not a day over sixteen. Tell me I’m wrong?”  
Delia sighed. “I trust you didn’t get far asking yourself?” 
He shook his head. 
“They’re trained not to answer truthfully, even if they enter the system at a legal age. So, even if he had wanted to tell you…”
His stomach felt heavy. 
“Look, if we get an MRI later, we can make a fairly educated guess. Short of that, we can see what molars he has but that’s only reliable if he hasn’t had orthodontic work to remove any and still has a margin for error of a couple of years if they came in early or late…”
Leo kneaded his brow with his fingertips. 
“What will it mean to know how old he is? Would it change anything?”
He sighed, dragging his hand down his face. The events of the day and night were really starting to hit him. “I don’t know…I guess I had hoped he wasn’t subjected to all of…that when he was so young. He just looks so young, Delia, like he never got a chance at anything.” 
“Would it be any less sad if he was your age or mine? If they had waited until he was eighteen like they’re supposed to? Because in that case, chances are he was in for a decade at least.” 
He swallowed. “See, now? This is why I thought maybe I was better off not knowing. It’s lose-lose either way.”
“That’s the system, Leo.” She picked up her instruments and resumed mending what could be fixed while Leo let himself be swallowed by thoughts of the damage he couldn’t even begin to touch.
— Masterlist —
@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeish @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7  @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch@skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings @peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump @aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @the-magpiesystem @pigeonwhumps
32 notes · View notes
whumpqin · 1 year
Text
Desperation
HELLO IT'S BEEN OVER 2 YEARS SINCE THE LAST ACTUAL CHAPTER! I hope you have all been doing great! <3 This chapter is a bit out of chronological order (and based on a prompt) but the more I wrote it the more I realized that it had some important plot details so here we are lmao
Link to Masterlist (I'm going to be redoing my taglist. If you want to be added please let me know!)
Characters: Elisha (Caleb) (POV), Aridai
TW: Sadistic/Creepy/Intimate whumper, nonhuman whumpee, pet whump, conditioning, brainwashing, blood, hallucinations, begging, pressing on wounds, brief noncon reference, reference to eye removal, reference to broken bones / broken bones, reference to torture / whipping / beatings, broken whumpee, fucked up thinking in general, kneeling on concrete, knives (there might be more that I forgot, just let me know)
Word Count: 1,974
Based partly on this prompt also:
Tumblr media
He barely moved when the basement door slammed open, or when calm footsteps descended the stairs. He kept his eye firmly fixed to the basement wall, back turned to the exit, to the escape that he wasn’t allowed to have, and stared at the blood on the wall, dried up and stained from multitudes of sprays.
“Good morning, Elisha,” That saccharine voice said. Full of cheer and a good night’s rest.
All of the aches on his body stung anew as if salt had been pressed onto them. Bitter and merciless, and all Elisha could do was count a simple mantra of one, two, three, four, five, counting his slow breaths while he tried to remind himself that he could still breathe. His arms and legs were unable to move, they were traitors, and refused to listen to him. One too many shocks and they’d gone as limp as if he’d fallen asleep. But sleep was the one gift they refused to give him. He hadn’t earned permission.
“Are we not going to answer today?” Elisha’s Master hummed. Footsteps drew closer. Something cool prodded against his shoulder, digging hard into the deep whip marks against his back, forcing a weak keen from deep within him. “There you are. What’s the matter, pet? Don’t feel like answering to the name you think you have?”
That cool metal dug into his back, pulling at the dried blood on it and ripping open the wounds. Elisha couldn’t help but to jerk, mouth parting in a weak cry as short gasps of pain stretched his bruised and broken ribs. Despite so desperately not wanting to, pitiful sobs welled up in his throat and they had the gall to spill out at his Master’s command.
Please don’t cry, Elisha thought to himself, trying to will the tears to dry and his horrible sounds to shut up. Just let them get bored. Let them walk away.
He tried his best to curl inwards. Legs and tail coiling in on his sensitive torso, hands sliding across stone to cover his head. All Elisha could do was twitch as something prodded him, unable to even lift his head.
“Get up,” Aridai commanded coldly. 
Just leave me alone, he couldn’t help to think, unable to will the words out. They’d probably come out chopped up anyways. He’d probably get hurt for that, too. 
Another prod, this time further down his side. It forced a gasp from him while fresh tears slid down his face. A hair’s breadth to the side and it would have jostled one of the ribs they broke a few days ago, when Jeremiah slammed his boots into his side for trying to get up when he wasn’t told. Elisha couldn’t imagine what Aridai would do to him if he couldn’t.
Long, red hair brushed against his shoulder as his Master leaned down, lips just barely touching the shell of his ear. “You get the fuck up, Elisha, or I’ll give you a damn good reason why you can’t. I’m not in the mood for games today.”
It was no different than any threat they’d said before. But even a reminder not to fuck up still had his mind racing for what they could possibly do to him like this. Were they going to kill him? Would it be slow? Please, god, don’t let it be slow. Elisha had a hard time wondering what would be worse. He never wanted to die slowly, like a withering plant left too long without water. He was sensitive and it would be so pitiful that even angels might not bear to look at him.
Elisha forced his eyes shut to try and gather the bits of his mind still present. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to be strong enough to get the fuck up just like Aridai had told him to. He was a good boy, and he could be so, so good for them. Maybe he’d even get a treat of water or food scraps.
As fingers began to dance against his bare thigh, walking themselves teasingly down his leg while metal rang against the floor of the basement, Elisha slid his hand over to his head. He curled in his fingers a bit while he forced his leg to rotate to allow his pads to touch the cold stone he lay upon. Claws from his hand and foot dug small, indiscernible grooves into the floor as he pushed, willing all of his might into raising up to his knees. Elisha wasn’t sure if he could stand, and he hoped his knees would be good enough.
“There we are. There’s my good boy,” he heard the low rumble of his Sir in his ear, the touch of Jeremiah’s gentle hands across his shoulders that didn’t hurt.
Once he was up to his hands and knees Elisha looked up to see only Aridai. Only his Master. They watched him with that cold expression, and narrowed their eyes when he paused.
“Keep going, devil,” they hissed. Elisha cringed at their sharp tone.
He did his best to distribute his weight so the stone did not hurt his knees so much, but all he could feel was pain. Hot and angry pain that gripped him tight like barbed wire. Elisha could taste dirt in his mouth, wet with iron and tears. And god he ached, his entire side was so numb it hurt, and his back cracked painfully as he finally sat upright like he was supposed to. He looked up to his Master with a terribly sad look, begging without any words on his tongue.
Aridai’s expression did not falter or change. They stared at him, into his eyes, and Elisha couldn’t help but to allow his gaze to drop to the floor out of fear. His eye grazed over white scrawlings, cuts into the basement stone that were barely legible, with splatters of blood filling the grooves that were made. One word for every crack of the whip against his back.
ELI SHA EL IS H AEL ISHA ELISHA E LI S-
He flinched as he almost heard the sound of his own screams and snapped his eye shut. They stayed closed until the metal rod pressed against his chin and lifted his head up, and curiosity drug his tired eyelid back open again.
His Master was watching him with a studied eye. Forcing him to sit still while another ache - the one that spread pain from his knees all the way up and down his legs - was added to the bunch. He shook with an obedient fervor; in an incredible amount of pain but wanting still to be so so so good that his loyalty was never questioned again that he dare not move until he was told.
Eventually they bent down to be eye level with him. “Are you ready to be good for me, Elisha?”
A frown twisted his face. Discomfort brought tears to his eye as he did his best to understand what Aridai meant. Why were they calling him that if they wanted him to forget so badly?
He didn’t want to forget. He wanted to remember who he was forever. It was his birthright to be Elisha and nothing was supposed to take that from him.
But Elisha was dead. His Masters had killed him a long time ago when wire wrapped around his limbs, and they held his head still so they could drive metal through his skull to pry out all the disobedient bits. He had to live with the remains, with the cuts of the eye they carved out, with the sting of broken legs, with a name that only brought him agony every time it was spoken. And now Aridai wouldn’t stop calling him by it.
Fingers wound around his horn to still a woozy swaying he hadn’t realized he was doing. “Well? What’s it gonna be?”
“Pl-ple-ple-please… d-d-don’t, don’t, don’t-”
“Don’t what?” Aridai interrupted. “Spit it out already.”
He swallowed back the whine as their grip tightened. “D-don’t, c-c-c-call mm-me that, that,” he finally got out, in a warbly, cracked voice that he knew Jeremiah would have hated.
They finally blinked with all the urgency of the setting sun. “Call you what? Elisha?” Aridai sneered at him. “Is that what you’re so worked up over? I thought you wanted to be called that.”
“No! No, no no no, mm-Master, please,” he cried, uselessly flailing his hands in an effort to hold his horn, where pain was beginning to blossom. He couldn’t hold himself up anymore - at least that’s what it felt like. But he couldn’t stop his babbling. “Pl-pl-please, please, please, Master, no no, no mm-mm-more, no more, no more.”
“Then what am I supposed to call you, hm?”
“I-I-I wa-wa-want, I want to be, to, to, to be Caleb. Please. Pl-please l-let mm-me, please.” Then in a quieter voice, hidden behind rivulets of tears, “I ca- I can be, be, good.”
“Mm… but how am I supposed to believe you?” Aridai hummed. They released him and rose to their full height, crossing their arms. It took everything he had to stay upright. “You’re a liar, pet. A dirty liar. You’ve been lying to me and Jeremiah for years. How am I supposed to believe that you’re telling the truth now?”
“I-I’ll, I’ll do, do anything, pl-please, Master!” The words slipped out before he stopped them, but he couldn’t have thought of anything else. Instead he painfully lowered himself down into a bow, curling his back in just the right way to make him cry out from the pain. He could feel warm blood running down his side as he pressed his horns into the stone floor. “I’ll, I’ll be, be sss-so so so so g-good, Master. I can, I can, I can, just… nn-no no no mm-mm-more him. Please.”
He heard Aridai hum again in thought but he didn’t dare look up now. He merely closed his eye and awaited his fate, whatever it would be. Though he questioned whether he was desperate enough to do anything, if it got him out of the basement, away from this pain… wouldn’t it be worth it? It wasn’t like he had much dignity anyways. It had all been beaten, broken, or fucked out of him by now. 
“I’m still just not sure.” Broken sobs very nearly bubbled out of him, halted as Aridai continued. “But… I have an idea for you to prove yourself. You do this thing for me, and I’ll be merciful. I’ll take you out of here. Take care of these pesky wounds. Does that sound nice?”
“Y-yes, Master. It, it does. I’ll, I’ll be g-good,” he responded immediately.
The sound of a small metal object clattered to the ground.
“Pick that up and get up on your knees.” He looked up to see a knife lying on the ground. Pristine and sharp as always, and he glanced up to his Master. “I want you to carve your name down until I’m satisfied. And not on the stone floor this time. Understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
Their words were like crystal to him. He remembered this game from a long time ago - still stared at the scars on his legs from time to time. Even if it had a different purpose, it was the same. It would hurt, and he would cry and sob and scream. Over and over and over. But this was what Aridai wanted from him so that he could prove himself. A little more pain for them to watch with amusement. He swallowed. I can be good. I can be so good for you, he pleaded in his mind to them.
I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I’ll be good.
Caleb forced himself up to his knees, and picked up the knife as he was told.
16 notes · View notes
montammil · 11 months
Note
Inhuman AU sounds great 👀 would Lawrence be more interested in having Marshall as a kind of pet, or as an lab rat to discover what kind of creature he is?
Likely a pet, but not in the traditional pet whump sense, but more like Lawrence would treat Marshall like an actual pet, like a cute cat or dog.
Also Lawrence would totally call himself a cat dad or pet parent, referring to Marshall.
(I really do want to do a lab AU with them too tho XD)
9 notes · View notes