Hi there! I'm cowboy anon (but feel free to call me CB)! You might know me from @milk-carton-whump's blog. Foster got me into cowboy whump, and, well, here we are! :D
Last time I did this I ended up getting really motivated and actually finishing one of them, so Iām doing it again lmao
CW: pet whump, dehumanization, strangulation (wip three)
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WIP One:
Malachi had never felt so useless until he was here. He liked to think of himself as an intelligent guy, not entirely clueless to the world around him, but every day he was being confronted with a list of chores, forced to realize, he'd never done some of these things in his life. There was always someone else to take care of those things, he didn't think he'd even seen either of his parents wash dishes or do laundry once in his life, always passed off to someone kept around for the purpose of of doing all those things they didn't want to. He'd grown up watching pets rush around, completing chores, preparing meals, and though he knew it was wrong, he'd had yet to actually confront that by having to do those things himself.
Alton was not forgiving of his circumstances. He had laughed at Malachi the first day, he stood there with the written list in his hands, looking completely confused.
āThatās right, youāre spoiled!ā Alton laughed, clapping him on his back so hard Malachi stumbled forward. āAināt never had to lift a finger in your life, huh princess?ā
āN-noā¦ no sirā¦ā Malachi stammered out awkwardly, his face burning red with shame. He didnāt want to admit it, but it was true, he was spoiled.
āWell thatās too bad. You know, I wanted something a bit more useful when I told Nicholas Iād take a pet off his hands, I wasnāt buying something just to lay around the house.ā He told him. āEither you learn how to do what youāre told- and you do it right, or you know exactly where youāll end up.ā Malachiās blood ran cold, at the time his hands were still covered in dirt from digging that hole, smudged on the paper he held now. āUnderstand me, boy?ā
***
WIP Two:
āZander, stop.ā He said, his voice shaking as he grabbed his wrist before he could hit the door again. His knuckles would be bruised the next day, Wren could already tell, he knew it hurt but not even the pain was a deterrent to him. He froze when Wren grabbed him though, he looked at him with wide eyes, Wren expected anger, he wouldnāt have been surprised if Zander had reacted violently when he touched him, but he just looked scared, Wren could feel him trembling.
āI-I need my collar, he- he took it, he fucking took it!ā He cried, tears welling up in his eyes. It broke Wrenās heart to see him like this, he looked at him sympathetically, coaxing him to sit down on the floor with him, Zanderās back against the door. He was shaking so bad he didnāt know if heād even be able to pull him over to their bed.
***
WIP Three:
The fourth one fought him. He was kicking and screaming, he actually managed to scratch his nails across Nicholasā face, which had absolutely infuriated him. Heād held his hands around his throat, watching his eyes go big, watching his face go red, his lips turn blue, he was so angry he thought he couldāve held him there until the life left his eyes, but he let go once he fell unconscious. He didnāt go easy on him, he probably had the most visible bruises and injuries in the photos he took of him. He took more pictures of him than the first three, he was outraged that someone would put their hands on him like that, but at the same time, he found it exciting, it was more risky than the others, more thrilling, and it gave him an excuse to be more cruel.
***
WIP Four:
Zander turned on the lights of every room he passed through, the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, he hated being in dark rooms, unable to shake the awful feeling that there was something or someone lurking in the corners, waiting to attack him. They tried to remedy this by plugging in night lights all throughout the house, but when he got like this those werenāt enough for him.
Dark hallways and shadowy rooms always reminded him too much of that night, he was haunted by the constant fear heād turn the corner and find something horrible like what heād seen then, that this time it would be his moms, or Eli, that everyone else could be taken from him just as suddenly. When it wasnāt that, it was the fear that someone was behind him, waiting to grab him, any moment heād be held down and drugged and taken back to that place, and he knew there would be hell to pay for daring to escape. No matter what it was, it was ever present, a constant, suffocating feeling, heavy around his throat like a second collar.
You know what I realized that I really love? Intelligent whumpees. Whumpees that have a bright future ahead of them, who have the potential for greatness. They're always reading and always itching to learn something new.
And then all of that is taken away. They get kidnapped and suddenly reduced to a stupid pet, a worthless object, or - my personal favorite - a pleasure slave.
Then, when they're eventually rescued, they lose all confidence in their intelligence. Every mistake they make is just proof to themselves that they're too stupid to be worth anything. Their dreams of going to an ivy-league school are gone, replaced with their unrelenting need to be quiet and obedient. Their affinity for learning has been destroyed by the mentality that they're more useful as an empty-headed slave.
They've been completely destroyed, and the greatness they once seemed destined for is now nothing but a distant, impossible fantasy.
Thank you to @honeybees-125 for the idea for this piece!
Contains: Captivity, referenced mind control, referenced manipulation
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Inside of his study, on a dark mahogany table carved with intricate reliefs and patterns, Lord Denholm kept a small bonsai tree.
The small notion of something natural almost felt out of place in the carefully kept castle. The tree itself could have been something wild, if not for its size, with how its trunk twisted smoothly up towards a sky it would never reach. The needles were the perfect shade of green and contrasted beautifully with the ashen grey-brown of the gnarled bark. There was even a touch of moss that grew at the base of the trunk, another touch of life and nature and the relationships between the worldās creatures.
Though it was folly to assume that such seemingly incidental was anything other than deliberate. For such a thing to exist in this state must have taken years, decades, centuries of careful planning and pruning and precise cultivation.
How it survived in the castle, Elzeāith knew not. There was no sunlight here, only the illumination of candlesāno changing of the seasons, only the perennial chill of the castle air. Yet undeniably, inexplicably, the little cypress tree lived all the same. Through some magic or resilience or sheer serendipity, it had not withered into dust. It persisted, tenderly refined into a shape far smaller than it would have taken if left to its own devices, deprived of the very things essential for it to thrive.
Though he had no fondness for Lord Denholmās study, Elzeāith would linger there sometimes just for the chance to regard the little tree. There was something achingly nostalgic about being in the presence something he once knew in abundance, of seeing the familiar and the magnificent reduced to something small and modest and knowable.If he was feeling particularly indulgent, he would imagine himself shrunken down to a size where he could sit underneath it, reading and resting and relaxing. Usually, though, he just took in the curve of every branch, the color of the needles, and tried to pretend that the freshness of the air was anything other than a trick of his imagination.
Sometimes, though, he couldnāt bear to look at it. The little cypress tree was just too pristine, too sculpted, too perfect. There was just something so bleak about its existence, a life so resilient and autonomous contorted into this unnatural shape. The prospect filled him with a profound dread that chilled his very core.
How long did it take Lord Denholm to cultivate this ideal specimen? How many times did he have to trim off stray branches, or wire the trunk, or prune excess needles? How long ago did he last pay his now-perfect project any real attention?
Perhaps it was a silly thing to fret about. It was, after all, just a tree, a source of solace as much as strain. As familiar and haunting and resonant as it was, there was nothing in its existence that should give Elzeāith cause for fear.
Not even when Lord Denholmās unyielding hands felt like they were molding him into a shape he never should have taken. Not even when his thoughts vanished into smoke like excess growths trimmed off of a tree. Not even when he felt like he had been transplanted, uprooted from fertile ground and forced to try to survive in soil that would keep him alive but never truly flourishing.
Not even as the gnarled, thorny tangle of emotions in his chest grew too thick to extricate his heart from, and he began to wonder whether this complicated snare was some awful attempt at self-preservation, or whether it was another way of contorting everything he was into a simulacrum of himself.
No, the bonsai in Lord Denholmās study was just a tree. There was no reason for Elzeāith to feel anything about it at all.
Okay, I know Iāve been MIA for a while lol, but does anyone have any good whumpy book recs? I need something for a roadtrip and I thoroughly enjoyed Stephen Kingās Misery, soooo if anyone has read any like, majority whump novels, let me know!
Oh..... hey. Uhm... It's only been since 2023 that I posted a lil story. Anyways...enjoy!!
CW: magic healing, shared pain, brief mention of death, headaches (like if there's any i missed)
Ibin the Wizard
His head ached, the throbbing stabbing pain never seemed to ease. It was a pleasant distraction from the searing white hot pain radiating from his right arm. To be perfectly honest, the headaches were something he welcomed and almost craved.
Back to the matter at hand though, he finally looked down at the deep wound that was creating itself on his arm. His exhausted eyes drifted to the person across from him whose arm was mending a similar wound. He managed a small smile as he got gauze and a simple DIY'd sling to dress the deep wound.
āThank you! Oh! Thank you!! Your magic is truly incredible!ā The young man exclaimed.
āOf courseā¦ i'm glad I was able to help youā¦ ā the wizard said as he put his arm in the sling.
āI will tell everyone of your fantastic magic! Thank you again!!ā The man said as he stood and soon left, examining his healed arm on the way.
The wizard just nodded, giving a weak wave before slumping in his chair. He prayed to the gods that more didn't learn of his blessing curse. After taking a few minutes to recover his will, he managed to stand, then let out a pained hiss. He sighed to himself as a patch of red began to show on his shirt.
āUghā¦. What have you gotten yourself intoā¦. You know thatā¦ wellā¦ it takes ages. You need to stop helping all these people with their ailments, Ibin. You'll end up killing yourself one day.ā The wizard, Ibin, scolded himself.
He limped his way to his plush moss bed and flopped down, trying to avoid the multitude of bruises, sores, broken bones, and seeping wounds that covered his body. He pulled his knees in close to his chest. The pain overtook him in moments, forcing him
"How long will you keep me here?" whumpee asks.
They've been locked in a dark room for days, trapped with someone they can't see.
"Until it's safe to leave," whumper's voice tells them.
"Why isn't it safe now?" Whumpee asks. They're not so sure it's safe in here. They can't remember what clothing feels like and the room is always so cold.
"Don't you trust me?"
Whumpee curls closer to themselves. Whumper's voice is so close to them, their tone low and soft. And yet...
"...I want to...I want to see you."
A soft kiss presses to their neck. Another trails down their back. "If I show you, you will go mad."
Whumpee shudders under the kisses, starved for the attention. "But why?"
Suddenly, another kiss presses against whumpee's knee. While lips still graze their back. Whumpee stiffens.
"Oh come now, you knew I wasn't human," whumper's voice breathes gently in their ear. "You've seen it, haven't you?"
More kisses pepper whumpee's body, all at once. Fear pummels their chest, heart slamming against their ribs.
"I've seen you--?" they remember it now, the blinding light, the searing pain behind their eyeballs before they sank unconscious. Only to wake up in this darkness.
Panicked tears sting whumpee's lashes. "...Am I blind?"
Lips claim their's softly. "No."
Whumpee breaks the kiss, close to tears, "Am I insane?"
"A little bit," whumper's voice murmurs inside their head. Whumpee curls into themselves, sobbing as the warm breath covers their body, "But you're safe here...with me...until it's time to come out."
Have you considered: punishing whumpees for involuntary actions?
Threaten to cut out their tongue if they scream. Then hurt them until they do.
Tell them you'll kill the friend they were captured with if they fall asleep. See how long they can force themselves to stay awake.
Force water down their throat and wait. When they piss themselves, rub their face in it like a puppy.
Cut them, then punish them for bleeding all over the floor. Make them lick it up - wouldn't want them to inconsiderately leave bloodstains on your nice clean floor, after all.
Tell them they can earn food and water by staying perfectly still. Then give them an electric shock.
With your hands around their throat, order them to keep their attention on you. Choke them until they pass out. When they wake up, break a couple of fingers as punishment for letting their attention waver.
obsessed with the idea of two people traveling together who either arenāt close or just donāt do physical contact. one of them is clearly sick, trying to prop their head up with arms balanced on their knees, then folding all the way over, leaning against the window or the side of whateverās transporting them to their destination, but they just canāt get comfortable.
finally the other one gently tugs on their shoulder, saying āhey. just lean on me for a bit, okay?ā
and it doesnāt hit them how bad the other one is feeling until they slump over on their shoulder or drop their head in their lap without a word of protest, and all they can do is run their fingers through the sick oneās hair and pray that wherever theyāre heading has some very effective medicine.
I know I literally havenāt posted in forever lol but uh šš? Thank you!
Hallo!!!! Weāre always so happy to see you when you pop by! Youāre always bringing such good vibes Iām sure youāre just lighting up the world elsewhere! Which is great too!
Thereās a couple of art pieces of yours I still think of. The apple one thatās your pfp is one of them but also the one in the snow????? Itās just so CRISP and I know thatās skill.
