Hi, I'm Eden I put all my oc masterposts in the links below. I try my best to stay organized. Warnings are usually given before fics or oc content.
Whump art tag~#whumplet's outlets
General warnings: I tend to write/depict a lot of non-con, dehumanization whump, hurt no comfort, oc whump, pet whump, nsfwhump, minor whump, slave whump.
Ocs/whump categories and a brief description are listed below.
Charlie's Chips
Charlie was fostered as a young pup by Arthur Moran. The rich ceo has high expectations for his new toy. A fashion model, a brand mascot, a footrest, Charlie is many things. But how long can he keep up?
General lore snippet
Charlie Moran (wip)
Dnd ocs
Ocs include a gloomstalker ranger named Isarok, An astral elf bard named Vesper , a wildman named Ovide and more. These ocs are connected by the fact that they were made with ttrpg in mind.
Vesper St. Seren
Isarok Caligari (wip)
Ovide (wip)
Bobcat and Hare
Ocs include a bobcat-human, Pich, and her ex-girlfriend Lucina. Toxic yuri where Pich is made into a lab experiment and Lucina gets to have fun with her.
Intro post
Bax and Leo
Ocs include a cat-boy brat named Leo and a big hunk named Bax. Bax is a friend's oc. Bax and Leo are both human pets who share the same owner. Leo is often fighting for attention, he's just a materialistic gay who wants it all.
"I cannot wait to get my hands on you. Oh, the things I will do to your body...there will be nothing left when I am done. Your sweet little voice won't be any threat once I tear your vocal chords out with my bare hands."
Birdie glanced across the table at Jay, who was watching her with their usual stoic frown. She glanced down into her mug of tea, un-drunk and cold now.
"Did he say anything else?" Jay asked, their tone making her flinch.
"I'm looking forward to the day we meet," Birdie muttered, reciting the rest of the words that had been burned into her mind, "It won't be long now."
She could still hear him - The Man in the Radio - she could hear his terrible, calm baritone coming through the static on her walkie talkie. No matter what channel she switched to, he was there. A shudder went through her.
Jay sighed, and set their coffee cup down a little too hard on the metal table. They'd been sleeping when Birdie got back to the bunker, and they slept so rarely that she didn't want to wake them up.
But she did, because The Man in the Radio had found her, and contacted her directly. Something he'd never done before.
"I knew this job was a bad idea," Jay said, getting up from the table and storming into the kitchen. "Damn it. I knew it -"
"- Okay, it's not as bad as it could be!" Birdie insisted, following after them, "I - I got out of there before anything else happened! I tossed the walkie, so he can't track us - "
"And what about that John in the hotel?" Jay asked, pulling the cannister of powdered coffee from the shelf, "Look at your throat! He choked the hell out of you, you don't call that bad?"
Birdie hesitated, and touched the tender bruises on her neck.
"I - I took care of it," she insisted, though more sheepishly than before, "my songs don't always work right if I'm distracted, or -"
" - Or getting attacked?" Jay finished for her, turning angry yellow eyes in her direction, "That's pretty much always, B, and the villains aren't gonna wait for you to focus up! What are you gonna do next time? Try to sing 'Kumbaya' and get everyone to hug it out?"
"Jay, come on - I'm - I'm doing the best I - !"
" - For fucks sake, Birdie!"
Jay's spark of anger flared with a zap of electricity that made her hair stand on end, and made the lightbulb hanging above the sink blow out. They groaned, annoyed, and leaned their hands on the edge of the counter.
A heavy silence hung in the air between them.
It had only been a few months since she had changed from Brianna the citizen to Songbird, the hero. She trained her powers every day, taking care of her voice, researching and testing song after song.
She could control other people with some songs, change her body with others. She could make herself light as a feather, invisible to the naked eye, or hard as steel.
But the one thing she could never do was get Jay to support her.
Before she got her powers, it was always Jay - always the hero JumpSpark - who was the one getting into dangerous situations. They had a masterful grasp of their powers, and they were even known by the local government and police.
And Birdie was the one watching from the sidelines. Staying out of harm's way. Patching them up when they got hurt.
Just a citizen; a bystander at best and a liability at worst.
"I'm doing my best..." Birdie repeated, her fists clenched at her sides.
Jay didn't respond for a long while. Just stood at the counter with their back to her, staring down into the half-made cup of coffee.
"You're off the job," Jay finally said, "go back to training."
Birdie's heart sank, and she swallowed hard against the ache of tears in her throat.
"What? But - but I got the info, didn't I?" She asked desperately to Jay's back, as they finished preparing their drink, "I - I got in and out of the hotel and no one saw! I fought off that asshole with my powers! I brought the info back for you -!"
She realised she was shouting, and choked back a sob, following Jay out of the kitchen. "I did everything you asked me to! Isn't that enough?!"
When Jay didn't stop, Birdie screamed:
"Will you look at me?!"
Another spark of electricity jumped across Jay's body, betraying their emotions, and flashing brightly in the low light of the den.
Jay turned, slowly, until finally their tired eyes met hers.
"I wish you could sing to me..." they said quietly, "like you used to."
Birdie hesitated, then opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Jay's power meter which beeped a loud alert on their wrist, warning them about the electricity levels in their body.
Their eyes fell away again, checking the meter, and they sighed.
"Gotta top up," they mumbled, and left their coffee mug on the table.
"Jay..." Birdie called after them, "Jay!"
But they didn't stop again; they disappeared around the corner, and Birdie heard the heavy vault doors of the bunker open, and then slam closed.
With a scream of frustration, she smacked the full cup of coffee off the table. It shattered on the floor, splashing coffee, and lay dark and broken at her feet.
All my characters are autistic and I'm autistic for all my characters. This is my college boy Nicky. cw: may contain nsfw explicit and suggestive material, violence etc.
Hi hello i saw something about some "Koda" oc (?) somewhere and im really curious. Who are they?
I mean are they your oc. Or perhaps im mistaken XD
Yes they are my oc! He's a demi-human snow leapord. He's a whumperee of mine bc I like to whump him and he's a bully as well so. I'll also link the little intro i did for him.
Here's my snow leopard boi Koda. He was raised in the wild snowy mountains by his mother. His mother, Lila, taught him to fear captivity and
guy who’s stuck in a timeloop for so long he stops wanting to leave it. guy who started out trying to escape but slowly grew used to and became comforted by the familiarity of the repeating day. guy who is no longer who he was before the timeloop. guy who is offered a way out and violently refuses it because he can’t leave, doesn’t want to leave. guy who escapes the timeloop by chance or force or accident and doesn’t know how to live anymore. guy who keeps going through motions that don’t match the situation and keeps having conversations that aren’t actually occurring. guy who panics every time he realizes he can’t predict the next instant. guy who left the timeloop but still lives with it.
How does Jackson Boone train his pets, exactly? What process and tactics does he use? And what does he do with the pets he trains once they're considered finished?
so this is basically the process:
acquire the Turned vampire (some are sent to him for training, others he captures himself when he and his Master buddies go on hunting trips)
inject the vamp with a serum to mute them; they won't need their voice for a while
deprive the Turned of blood until they become Feral; this a primal, animalistic mindset that reduces Turned to mindless beasts
reward the Feral Turned with blood and other treats [like blood bites!] for good behavior so they learn Obedience = Feeding
repeat as needed; conditioning is easiest in the Feral mindset, but vamps who are obedient to avoid going Feral should be rewarded for their obedience
gradually establish trust with the vamp; it's not just about forcing them to be dependent on you, they have to want to depend on you because you treat them well [just not like a person]
when vamp shows enough obedience [even if it's still transactional at that point], allow them their voice back and teach them how to speak to a Master [this typically involves a shock collar]
reinforce structure, routine, and a lifestyle that eases the vamp into pethood; socialize and familiarize them with other Masters' pets in the process
continue to treat the vamp to nice things to help soften them to pethood; a Master who spoils his pets a bit is better than one that leaves them wanting and thinking of their former life
when the vamp is conditioned and adjusted to pethood, focus on command training, teaching tricks, and how to attend to their Masters (i.e. household tasks, sexual servicing, comforting, etc.)
for most vampires it typically takes between 1-2 years, with the younger ones and fresh biters adapting much quicker [and those are usually the ones Jackson gets since they cause the most havoc].
trained pets will either:
go back to their intended Masters (i.e. Dirk back to Teddy)
be sold off for anyone to keep as a pet (this is legal in most places)
be sold off to blood rings if they show fighting potential
Alice and Annabelle are exceptions to this, as they are permanent pets / considered part of the Boone Family
if a Turned is already showing obedience and a lack of the usual aggression, Jackson wouldn't waste valuable/expensive serum on them. it's kind of used 'as needed'. so if they start getting too mouthy, no talky for you.
it's just used most often in the Feral stage because most Masters don't want a constantly shrieking, growling, howling vampire on their hands. they're incapable of most speech, so they can't talk to get their needs across, and often tend to be loud as a result.
It's cold on the Trolltunga, a narrow slope of a cliff that looms about 2,297 feet above Ringedalsvatnet lake. Hikers make the formidable journey in search of the incredible view, standing on the tip of the cliff's 'tongue' to see miles of crisp blue waters and snow-painted mountains, like something straight out of a travel postcard.
David brought his son here for a similar reason. Not just for the view, but for the twelve-hour trek in the snow and steep terrain. He needed the physical strain, the sense of accomplishment that came with completing a difficult task. Mostly, he needed a distraction from Derek's death.
David knew it would destroy him. He knew that Logan would want it to. Let the grief cleave him open, let the rage fester. After hunting down Derek's killer, extracting all of the information he could before their brutal death, there was nobody left to take it out on. Not even a satisfying answer to his questions: all the killer revealed was that they had a personal grudge against La Diavolo.
David made sure of that when he hired them.
Now, they were at the seven-month mark. Logan was starting to show more promise. He still needed David to take the reins, steer him in the right direction, but he was getting better at anticipating what David wanted and do it himself.
Like a dog with a new owner, Logan was adjusting to life at home again. Learning not to bite the hand that feeds him, or touches him, or slaps him across the face when he's bad. Finally, his son was willing to be trained, and this time it would stick.
He clears those thoughts away as they reach the edge of the cliff, their breath coming out in white puffs. Only their faces felt the sting of the frosty air. The rest of their bodies were well insulated, thick sweaters under fleece-lined puffer jackets.
Logan exhales loudly, staring out at the lake.
"Wow," he says.
"Yeah," David agrees, lips curving. "Pretty impressive, right?"
Logan nods. Silence settled between them, like soft snow on the ground. That was another reason people came here, to experience true quietness. The only sound was the air flowing in and out of their lungs, the pull and squeeze of fabric when David raised his arm to rest a hand on his son's shoulder.
Logan sounds far away when he asks, "Erik brought you here?"
David's grip tightens slightly, before relaxing again.
"For my tenth birthday."
Logan hums.
"But you came back on your own?"
"A few times. It's one of the only places that I feel at peace."
Logan laughs. David hasn't heard him laugh in months. It sounds faded, like an old photo losing color. It disturbs the calm waters of David's mind, until something lost in the depths resurfaces.
Guilt.
He lets go of Logan's shoulder.
"It's funny," Logan says, even though nothing is. "I used to think a lot about how I wanted to die, and eventually I settled on falling to my death. Preferably from a mountain or a cliff, but I wasn't picky. All I knew was that when I go, I wanted to know what it was like to fly."
The past tense does little to reassure David.
"Logan," he says, gently. "Let's start heading back."
Logan doesn't argue. He leaves David standing there as he turns around, boots crushing snow.
David allows himself a small sigh of relief before taking one last look at the lake spilling into the horizon, splitting the Earth apart. Clouds sailed in the pale blue sky like massive ships, sliding over mountains.
Erik used to say they were close to Heaven here. A part of David, small and praying for salvation, still believed him.
The sound of a gun cocking cuts through the silence. David turns quickly, assuming Logan spotted a potential threat. That was the reason for them being armed; you could never be too careful out in nature. He starts to regret that decision when he sees that Logan's gun is aimed at him.
They were doing so well.
"Arms above your head," Logan orders. "Now."
He could try pulling his own gun out. But it was tucked away in his back pocket, and Logan's finger was on the trigger. He could shoot David faster than David could shoot him.
David slowly raises his arms above his head. He becomes hyperaware of the strain on his fatigued muscles, the spike in his heartrate, and the waves of heat that course through his body in an adrenaline-fueled panic.
The calm of his surroundings is offset by the unsettling look on Logan's face, his eyes cold and barren. Nothing like Lilian's.
"I know you hired the killer," Logan says, right to the point.
This comes as a shock to David. He did everything to make sure Logan would never find out. What could have gone wrong? What loose end did he forget to tie up?
It didn't matter. What mattered was talking his son down.
"Listen to me, Logan."
He stops, expecting Logan to interrupt him. That's how these confrontations go. Logan manages to get one step ahead of him and feel like he's in control, like he can finally break the cycle. But like a child throwing a tantrum, all he really needs is an outlet. A chance to cry and scream and wreck things without fear of punishment.
This time, Logan does not interrupt him. Just gestures with his gun for David to continue when the silence goes on too long.
David struggles to find the right words.
"He was a liability. Cassius' allies would have gone through you to get to him, and you were becoming too dependent on him to defend yourself. Logan, you lost the will to live after losing him."
"And yet here I am. Living. Why is that, Father?" Logan's head tilts to one side. "Is it because the only person you want me to depend on is you? Because you took advantage of my suffering to suck me right back into--"
He waves his gun.
"--whatever this sick thing is between us?"
He spits the word out like it's poison.
"You wanted it," David says, turning to old tricks. "You needed it. You need me, Logan, and the longer you keep lying to yourself, the harder your life is going to be."
"Because you make it hard."
"No. Because all I've ever done is look out for you, and you just can't accept that. You'd rather blame everything on me instead of taking responsibility for your own actions."
The corner of Logan's mouth twitches. "Look out for you," he repeats, dangerously soft. "Is that what you call raping your son and calling it love? That's hardly original, Father. Your dad did it first."
David's jaw tightens. "I made my mistakes, but so did you."
"You're right," Logan agrees. All at once, emotion floods his voice and drowns his eyes, like a dam bursting. "I made the mistake of trusting you, and forgiving you, and loving you."
It hurt to hear. Even after all the times Logan said he hated him, David always knew that it was out of love. That the one thing he could count on was Lilian's love and compassion passed down to her son, keeping her memory alive.
"I made the mistake of thinking you could change. That you could accept Derek in my life and move on." Logan's hand trembles, the gun wavering in his grip. "That we could finally be father and son."
He could work with this. Logan had reached his breaking point, and once he realized there was no hope, all of the fight would drain out of him. He could be persuaded to drop the gun, and David would kick it far out of reach, and hold his son tight until the tears stopped.
There are no tears on Logan's face now. Not as his face cuts into a smile, anguish spilling into his voice.
"But do you know what my biggest mistake was, David?"
He steadies the gun in his hand.
"Not doing this sooner."
The gunshot rips through the air, echoing in the vast stretch of space around them. David's body jerks back, arms still raised, as the bullet goes through his clothing and into his shoulder, a sharp sting followed by a sudden numbness in the area.
David looks at his son in shock.
"That's for lying to me," Logan says, voice brittle.
He aims lower. This time, when the gun fires, the pain is instant, forcing out a scream as his nerves burn from the shot taken directly to his groin. David's arms drop reflexively, his hands covering what was now a steadily growing patch of blood in his trousers.
"That's for killing my husband."
"Stop," David wheezes, chest tightening.
Tears pricked his eyes. David Helterson couldn't remember the last time he cried, but his body was reacting to the bullet wounds and this was getting out of control too fast. This wasn't supposed to happen.
He never thought Logan would turn on him.
He drops to his knees with gasp, disturbing the snow. Before he can curl in on himself, attempt to protect his vitals from being damaged, the gun goes off a third time. A bullet lodges itself in his chest.
David's breath gets stuck in his throat. Wide-eyed, he looks up at his son, who silently walks closer with the gun still drawn, and looks down at David with pure, unfiltered hatred.
Is that what Erik saw, before his own daughter shot him?
The edge of the cliff feels closer, bitter winds lashing the back of his head. David didn't realize, didn't have a chance to get farther away before Logan pulled a gun on him. Now, he understands why, and the fear of his inevitable death sinks into his blood, spreading like ice.
Tears run down his cold cheeks. "S-Son," he pleads, reaching out with a shaking hand, blood fresh on his gloves. "P-Please...I'm s-so--"
Logan puts his boot on David's chest.
"And this is for my mother."
He pushes down.
There is no resistance. David is shoved back by the force of his foot and his body tumbles off the ledge, legs straight in the air. Too fast, the world passes him in a blur of white and blue, the wind tearing into him like a sharpened blade.
It doesn't feel like flying.
The last thing David sees is Lilian, beautiful and perfect. Her eyes are warm when she looks at him, her smile brighter than he remembers. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling her arms wrap around him before plunging into a world of cold.
The last thing David thinks:
Is this what you wanted, my love?
---
Logan watches his father's body hit the water with a dull smack. He steps back from the ledge, shoving the barrel of his gun against the bottom of his chin. It's still warm.
Without hesitation, he presses down on the trigger.
Nothing happens.
With a harsh laugh, he tosses the gun into the snow. Misfire. Of course. Because why would things ever be that easy for him?
But it's fine. Derek would want him to keep living. And now that the Red Wolf was gone, the King was going to have more subjects to rule when he got back to New York, merging the Heltersons with the Garders. It would be hard work, but nothing he couldn't handle.
Logan stands for a moment, looking at a world without David Helterson in it. Nothing had changed. The ripples in the water slowly faded, returning to a peaceful stillness. The clouds still meandered across the sky, unbothered by anything happening down below. The wind still licked his cheeks, like an overenthusiastic puppy.
Everything was fine.
Logan stooped down to pick up his gun. Reeling back, he chucked it at the lake with all of his strength, watching it disappear.
Everything was fine.
It was hard to start walking. His body felt chained to the ground, at risk of being left behind if he went back. The thought made no sense, but neither did the irrational fear that David would resurface at any moment, gasping and sputtering.
David did not resurface.
Everything was fine.
Finally, he forced his feet to move. One in front of the other.
His breath came out in short, uneven bursts, heart still pounding from the adrenaline. But it was fine. He would come down from it during his hike back, and when people asked where his father was, he would clearly be in a state of shock when he told them about the accident.
Nobody could blame him for not crying.
It happened so fast.
He didn't have time to process.
He picked up their packs of supplies. David had set them down away from the cliff, so that they could enjoy the view unincumbered. They were heavy, but Logan could manage. Nothing he couldn't handle.
He was born with albinism so his pearlescent skin is sensitive to sunlight. Laelius was always kept inside for his own safety. The people of his village feared him, believing he was a ghost or a demon based on his appearance. So his mother raised him on her own, keeping him safe at least until their village gets raided by slave traders.
Then he gets put into sex-work, a prized trophy and concubine. Draped in silks and dripping with jewelry, as depicted here, lying on the many velvet cushions. He never guessed he would end up here, plagued by prophetic dreams and gagging on an emperor's dick. I have some more art of him~
The butterfly tattoo was a form of branding from one of his owners. He's always thinking, whether it's an idle daydream, or debating if he'd get in trouble for retaliating against his captors. Despite not having a formal education, he's very witty and perceptive, a fast learner but he tends to be overly cautious more than anything.