Mr.Toad

[whumpaway]

Just watched “Caught Stealing” and I’m surprised our beautiful whump community hasn’t freaked out about it as much!

There’s SO MUCH WHUMP!!! We’re talking beatings with consequences, after care, torture, emotional whump… He really goes through it. And Austin Butler is amazing at it 🤌

[wonderwhump]

Yay, can’t wait. It’s already on my watchlist.

[justbreakonme]

Living weapon/slave/pet whumpee realizing they don’t have any baby pictures or their lost teeth or anything of their childhood at all. They barely remember it, and so it feels like they just, came into existence fully formed.

Feeling sick looking at other peoples pictures and realize that’s what a kid looked like, that’s what they looked like, while they were being “trained”, how could someone do that to a kid?

Not being able to understand references to movies or books or cartoons because they never did anything other than training, even their education was deadened and cold. After all, what would a kids book mean to a kid that never got to be one?

Hearing caretaker talk about their “inner child” and being confused because it didn’t feel like they had one. They felt like it was too late, that their inner child was snuffed out. Or that they were still just a child in some ways, confused and scared and out of their depth.

Confused when people do things for them without expectation. They had no experience with love of any kind, but especially not the giving, generous, selfless love that might come from a parent or guardian. It makes them uncomfortable, to be cared for. It throws into stark relief all that had been missing in their life, disrupts their sense of the world, but also… it feels good. Like getting into a hot bath after being out in the snow.

[chucktaylorupset]

“Irritated fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls.”

— Anne Jamison (via pen-in-hand)

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: Recovery, past conditioning, PTSD/trauma.

"I was always taught that someone inflicting pain on you meant that they cared about you," Whumpee softly admitted into the pillow beneath their head. Caretaker wordlessly lay by their side, staring up at the ceiling as they listened to Whumpee speak. "I know now that it isn't like that. I know, but- but I guess the rest of me doesn't?"

Whumpee sniffled and rubbed their nose with the back of their hand. "I'm relieved that I don't have to hurt anymore. Your hugs feel good and safe. I just... I don't associate it with love or care. So those cups aren't getting filled. Does- does that make any sense?"

[thesharpeningblade]

The tragedy of being a caretaker of a tiny whumpee.

I made a post earlier about the inherent horror of the world surrounding a Tiny Whumpee... but how about the inherent horror of being a caretaker of a severely abused tiny Whumpee?

Caretaker finds Whumpee shivering and covered in blood, bleeding out from somewhere on their body. Their cursed, shaking hands lay Whumpee down on a flat surface and try to strip off some of their clothes to find the source of the wound, but their fingers struggle with the tiny buttons. Suddenly, they realise their hands are too big and too strong to work with the delicate body of Whumpee, who they're actively losing.

How much blood can they actually afford to lose?

Caretaker doesn't want to hurt Whumpee further in hastiness but fears losing them from blood loss.

–

Whumpee has been abused for so long that by the time caretaker finds them, their spirit is so broken, they're willing to let caretaker do anything they want to their body with no resistance, despite the trembling of their hands. They know they cannot fight back. So when caretaker shows them softness for the first time in a long time, it takes them a while to realise thst its genuine.

They desperately need softness and intimacy to heal from the trauma, but caretaker can tell it takes concerted mental effort to do this because when Caretaker holds them, they have to remind themselves it isn't Whumper anymore.

–

Caretaker who sees Whumpee in pain and wants to hold their hand so badly, but Whumpee's hand isn't even big enough to wrap around their finger, so all Caretaker really can do is let Whumpee cling to the edge of their sleeve while they wait for the pain to pass.

–

Whumpee needing CPR and Caretaker faced with the dilemma of possibly crushing Whumpee in the process, or not doing it and having them die.

–

Caretaker weighing Whumpee on a kitchen scale and being unsure if they're actually gaining weight back because the scale isn't sensitive enough.

–

Caretaker having to make clothes for Whumpee by hand because Whumper took/ruined all of them and they don't know where to find clothes in Whumpee's size.

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

Could you write about an abused betta fish mer with a neglectful owner that sells them to a much richer more knowledgeable person who’s all like sniff sniff you didn’t even give them a filter or provide them with natural plants?

Thank you so much for this ! Actually felt inspired to write.

The water was a muddy shade of green– or was it just the glass ? The bowl was so small you could hardly tell the difference. And in worse condition was the fish inside. The betta mer. He was floating, his vibrant red and purple scales dull. The only movements were the quick, irregular flutter of the gills on his humanoid chest, and the slow waving of his fins. Caretaker frowned as he noticed something even more worrying, but not surprising given the state of the "tank". Patches of white fungus were stretched across his fins, eating at them and making their ends ragged, and worse, it was nearly covering the gills on one side. That explained the difficult breathing.

Caretaker stood from his kneeling position, a frown set on his face. His friend's daughter, whose name he had already forgotten, looked up excitedly and smiled.

"See how pretty it is ? I put plenty of shiny rocks inside. So it doesn't get bored. But he's not very funny."

The adult glanced at the pathetic amount of flashy pink, green and yellow fake rocks covering the floor of the bowl. Not even a fake plant.

"Dear, do you not clean his water ?"

It was another voice that answered, from the door. Caretaker's friend, who shrugged.

"I did, in the beginning. But it's very time consuming. And like, there's moss in the wild too, right ? I think it might just be eating it too, because when I toss its pellets, it doesn't even try to eat them."

Well, at least Caretaker knew now why the betta mer's stomach was caving in. With the fungus draining his energy, he probably didn't have the energy to move around. Caretaker sighed.

"A pump would help, really. It's not that expensive, I can even give you one if you want. You know I have a lot of tanks..."

His friend looked down as his daughter skittered away, her attention taken by the house cat. He shook his head.

"Well, actually, I was planning on flushing it. She's quite bored with it, you know. And it looks like it's gonna die soon anyway. It would be more humane to just let it go, wouldn't it ?"

Caretaker had to take a deep breath. He knew flushing dying fish down the toilet was a thing, but he hadn't realised that people also did this with merfolk. Given how humanoid they looked, he would've thought it wouldn't be as easy. He hesitated, unsure of what to do, his gaze sliding back to the twitching figure in the greenish water, his chest heaving as he struggled to drag water through his gills.

He didn't hesitate anymore.

"I could take him. I have a freshwater tank that's just finishing up the cycling."

His friend shrugged, relieved to see the euthanasia duty removed from him.

"Really? Hey, you know what, if you want to, go on. I don't think it's gonna live much longer, though."

Caretaker nodded. He didn't have anything to transport the mer, so he took the bowl as it was, sealing the top with a plastic bag and an elastic band that his friend, who was watching him with a doubtful eye lent him. Luckily, his apartment wasn't too far, and the betta mer wouldn't be jostled for too long.

He drove as slow and steadily as he could without being an annoyance to other drivers. The betta was limp in his bowl, the frantic pulsing of his gills being the only indication that he was still alive.

When they arrived, he rushed inside, checked his free tank's PH levels, which seemed fine, and made the final preparations. It was a ten gallons tank, which was ideal for a single male mer. He had prepared it for the mating and laying of his discus, whose eggs kept being eaten by smaller fishes in their actual tank, but it would do fine.

He never had a mer before. They were in a grey area concerning legal sentience matters, and he preferred to stay away from potential trouble. But he knew what you shouldn't do with one. And leaving one suffocating in fungus, in a dirty, unfiltered tank wasn't great.

The adaptation process was long; but in the betta's, the shock could be fatal if not done properly. He put him in a small tank, with the remaining of the dirty water he was used to. Then, every fifteen minutes or so, he added a few spoonful of the cycled tank's water.

It wasn't until a few hours later that he began the process of treating the fungus.

He added drops of a fungus treatment to the water, a 7 days course. The aggressive kind, not the salt bath, given how extensive the contamination is. It could be lethal, but it was the only solution.

The next day, when the small tank was mostly filled with the cycled water, caretaker came in and examined the betta.

He had survived the night, which meant the worst part was probably behind. His eyes were open, their edges looking a bit inflamed. Likely irritated by the dirty water. There were no visible results on the fungal infection yet, but the mer turned his head towards Caretaker, and visibly flinched away. This was objectively a good sign since it showed a better awareness of his surroundings, but the human still felt a pang of compassion for the small creature.

He used a small net to raise the betta out of the water, and submerged him in the bigger, fully cycled tank.

The mer stilled, his small hands grasping at the net. The water here was cool, so unlike the sickening warmth of the fish bowl. Clean too, a gentle flow coming from the pump in a corner.

Caretaker waited, his hand still holding the net. The betta mer was free, but wasn't letting go, and he couldn't force him without likely hurting his tiny form. He was likely overwhelmed, after having spent his life in such a small tank. His fins were ragged at the ends, damaged from the constant brushing against the glass. Here, they had room to unfold, surrounded by plants, real ones, plants and a long piece of driftwood. Hiding places.

After a few minutes of hesitation, while visibly nervous, the mer finally let go of the net. Caretaker watched as he slowly explored his surroundings, his movements careful and wary, but active. His gills seemed to move better than the previous day despite the fungus.

The mer hovered, and turned his gaze toward the glass wall where Caretaker was watching. His face was hesitant still, uncomprehending. The human gave an encouraging smile, suddenly aware of how huge he must seem to the betta. But after another look around, the mer's face opened with a shy attempt at a smile. It wasn't joy, not yet. Just the hope at the realisation that something more that plastic rocks was possible.

[thehopefulquotes]

“That’s the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it’s impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key.”

— Elizabeth Wurtzel

[cheesomancer]

Morning bite 🤭 Cropped. Full version: twitter, bsky

[cheesomancer]

Added the bsky link!

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Fairysong

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

Taglist: @whumpinthepotwhumpinthepot, @princessquinnella, @oldspruceinn

Author's Notes: See? She's fine.

Content Warnings: tiny whump, fairy whump, g/t, lady whump, royal whump, captivity, interrogation, torture, impaled, exhaustion, wound tending

----

Time has no meaning here.

Without the sun or stars as a guide, her suffering feels eternal, without beginning or end. Every second may as well be a year for how unbearable the pain throughout every inch of her body, every nerve on fire for every waking moment, and of those there are far too many. Proper rest evades her, and it is only in passing out that she finds an ounce of relief.

Myrie grows weaker by the hour.

The thin man visits frequently. He will choose a needle, different each time, and maneuver it about, pushing it this way and that, lighting fresh fires of agony in those wounds. He will ask her the same questions as before, and Myrie will writhe and scream and beg, but she will not answer. By the time he leaves she is delirious with pain, if she is conscious at all.

The young knight, Owynn, visits only once more to give her water, then leaves without speaking a word. Had she her senses about her, Myrie would understand that each visit is a new day. Two have passed and she is about to begin her third, when the young man enters again.

"Princess?"

His warm breath brushes across her chilled skin. Myrie startles awake. "Mmh?"

"I can take them out now."

She blinks slowly at him, her muddled, pain-drenched thoughts taking time to come together into something comprehensible.

Take...them out...

Myrie draws in a hopeful breath. Doing so jostles the needles; her chest flares up with pain. She whines pitifully, openly, well past shame. "Please," she demands, knowing full well he could be lying or mistaken.

But he settles two fingers on her arm, keeping it steady, and takes hold of the needle in her right hand. Before she can even register that this is really happening, he pulls the pin free. A moment's relief is quickly overwhelmed by terrible pain. More rasping whines are all she has left, her throat too raw to scream.

Owynn moves quickly above her, his motions a blur. He rinses her twitching hand with water, pats it try, and then pulls a small jar from his belt. He opens it and scoops a bit of something onto his fingertip, which he dabs carefully onto the wound. Myrie watches through the tears in her eyes, perplexed, until the pain in her hand dulls slightly, and she understands.

He frees her other hand, cleans and dries and treats it. Myrie peers up at him, terrified he might stop there.

"All of them?"

"All of them."

She sobs with equal parts pain and relief as he removes the needles through each of her shoulders. The water stings, the press of a dry cloth is too rough, but then comes the salve. It does not eliminate the pain entirely, but numbs it into something almost endurable.

The needles through the skin of her chest, belly and hips come out next, all three in one swift pull. Myrie shouts a curse in her native tongue, hands jerking painfully when she starts to curl them into fists. He mumbles an apology while cleaning and tending the wounds. Suddenly the pain subsides and she can breathe again.

"Wait," she pleads when he reaches for the next needle. His hands go still. Myrie takes several deep breaths, each one free of the bite of metal shifting beneath her skin.

Then she nods and the next two go, freeing her legs, and then finally those in her feet. Those punctures are washed, dried, treated. Somewhere along the way, Owynn laid the plank of wood flat on the table so she would not fall. Though her position has not changed, suddenly she is no longer hanging, held in place with iron through her limbs, but lying down. Tension eases from her like a weight has been lifted.

Myrie is distantly aware of being carefully maneuvered, clumsily bandaged and dressed. Then she is lifted, cupped in a pair of large, warm hands. Owynn carries her to the other end of the table, where the iron box awaits. Though her eyes are closed, she can feel it as they approach.

Terror grips her heart. Too sore and weak to move, Myrie can only beg and hope he shows mercy.

"Not yet," she says. "Not yet, please, I - I'm so tired..."

He stops.

He moves again, but turns away from the box. Myrie feels herself lowered into a clean pile of rags, soft fabric gently cradling her aching body. His hands disappear, then return to drape another piece over her like a blanket.

"Just for a little while," Owynn says in a low voice. "You must tell no one." He pauses. "Not about the medicine, either. Or they will take it from me."

His voice fades to a hum. All of her senses slip away. Tears of relief roll down her cheeks. And Myrie sleeps.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

It’s too much. Too much, too much. Elbows scraped raw, knees bloody, palms pink and wearing down too. Hair swaying, head tipped down, tears and sweat dripping from his nose and brow.

The pain has Major squeezing his eyes shut and tight as he can, his mouth hanging open to punch out gasps. The blood dripping from the fingernail-gouges in his hips tickles up his navel, watered down by the sweat, until it drips languidly from his happy trail.

Something touches his cheek. Eyes flying open with a ragged gasp, paranoid that his face is being grabbed to be lifted so he can be fucking spit roasted - but no, he just sees Quinn. Lying on their back looking up at him with a concerned frown.

It would be awkward, being fucked on top of them, but he’s fucked them enough times that it doesn’t feel any more embarrassing than the being fucked itself. Quinn’s eyes are searching his, a dark pretty brown with a lighter, almost gold ring around the pupils. They’re clammy and pale under the thick scattering of freckles across the bridge of their nose.

“Too much for you?” Asks the spy, sweeping the side of their thumb across his cheekbone.

“Fu-uck, fuck, fuck you,” Major pants harshly. His core aches, his arms feel liable to give out. The man behind him loses his rhythm, going quick and brutal, before groaning so loudly that Major flinches and tips his head down onto Quinn’s shoulder. He shudders as the man slumps heavily onto Major’s back, lazily rolling his hips deeper a few more times.

When Major collapses, punching an oof out of Quinn that makes it hard to draw more breath in under the weight of two men, the man above him drags himself off. Hands reach under Major’s shoulders and hips, and set him up on all fours again, kicking at his knees to get them back into place.

He doesn’t really notice that he’s all out crying until Quinn wipes the tears from his eyes before they can splatter down. They shift, pulling their sleeve down around their hand, and then wipe the snot from his nose, too. “Is it too much for you?” They ask again, eyes boring holes into the trembling man hunched over them.

He’s already rocking with the new rhythm. No time was wasted pushing into him, forcing a desperate, cracking sob out of Major. He wobbles on his elbows and shakes his head weakly. “No. No, fuck n-no.”

So Quinn waits. They watch unhappily as Major is fucked past the point of wobbling, all the way until his limbs give out again, and no amount of propping him back up can keep him up. So he lies with his full weight atop Quinn, and the assault becomes so much more intimate to them. The spy grimaces in disgust as their friend is rocked against their hips, as the groping hands of the man on top find their way to Quinn’s sides, to their face. They endure the fingers poking at their mouth with gritted teeth and firm loathing in their eyes.

Finally, with a huff of frustration, Quinn slides their hand from Major’s shoulder to the back of his neck, cupping it and holding him close. Their fingers spread into his hair and they move an inch to get their lips close to the crest of his ear.

“Is it too much for you, yet, Miles?”

A violent tremor wracks through Major’s body. He’s been digging bruises into them with his terrible grip, and he crushes them harder, now, in a violent facsimile of a hug. “Nnh-... yeah. F-fuck. Yeah, too much.”

They sigh in relief at the indirect permission. Crushing him tight, Quinn closes their eyes and focuses on loosening the control on their magic, slipping it out into the air until it’s all but choking the air out of the room. Quinn’s magic forces pure terror into the room. At the same time, they force one knee up just enough to set their sneaker against the floor, then kick it forward and down as fast as they can, producing a high-pitched squeak. It sounds nothing like a police siren or alarm. It might sound like one, though, to a mind drowning in terror.

Quinn was concerned that the terror they’d force-feed to everyone would make Major flip out. That he’d tear their throat open with his teeth, break their arms, bash their head into the floor.

Instead, as the men in the room scramble to yank their pants up and race for the door, Major’s breathing just picks up. Panting faster, he stays lying on top of Quinn, digging his fingers into their bruised skin, hiding his face in the side of their neck.

They wait a moment, after the men have fled and the room’s gone quiet. But Major stays, gasping still, weeping harder and harder. Hesitantly, Quinn lays a hand on his back, ignoring the unpleasant slime there.

“I mindfucked you, I’m sorry,” They rasp into his frizzy hair, hoping that some rage might get him moving. Might get the normal Major to come back out. But Major only whimpers.

They desperately need the sticky, hot weight off of them. Their own chest is heaving for air. But this is fragile. He is fragile. The lump in their throat makes swallowing painful. “You need to move before they come back. You don’t want them to start again.”

That gets him moving. Rolling onto his side, sliding off of Quinn, with a groan and a sob low in his throat. The spy drags themself up to sitting, using their clean sleeve to frantically wipe gross things off of themself, before they slow to a stop staring at Major.

Arms bent over his head, sobbing. Sobbing quietly, no less, like a scared little boy. One knee drawn up toward his stomach. A lot of blood.

Nose scrunched up, Quinn reaches out to lay a knobbly, tender hand on his shoulder. Major flinches like a hot iron was lain on his skin. Quinn’s hand remains. “You need to heal yourself.”

His fingers are twisted in his hair. Pulling hard. The healer tries to curl up smaller. It only seems to make him hurt worse.

“I kept asking if it was too much,” They nag, inching closer on their knees. They work his fists out of his hair, massaging where his scalp must be burning from trying to rip his own hair out. “You kept saying no.”

Major’s shoulders are up around his ears, his body lurching with each weepy gasp. He tries to form words for a minute, stopping and starting, choking on air. Quinn waits patiently.

“Ple-... please,” Is all he says, finally.

Concern deepens Quinn’s frown.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

The Cycle series | Discovery (pt.62)

They’re squeaky.

Major knows that, from fucking them. Quinn croaks and yips and squeaks in bed, their voice gives out in pitchy rasps. They told him, once, that that’s what happens when you scream too much, and Major knew they said it about the Hunter. Still, he always thought it was kinda cute, when it wasn’t annoying.

Hearing them do it under Master feels different. From the cage, he can see their legs folded up – they’re on their back, thighs up near their chest – and it sounds like they’re barely breathing. Every strangled rasp sounds like agony to suck down.

Them getting fucked sucks, he knows it does. But he knows them well enough to be sure that that’s not why they’re hiccupping and crying like a bitch. It’s because – here it is again – because he’s slowing the rocking of his hips to roll deeper into them, grunting with effort as Simon tips up their head with one hand, and when Master says, “Yeah, more, choke ‘em with it,” obediently pours another glass of amber liquor down their throat. Quinn chokes on it, spluttering and whimpering as Simon presses his hand over their mouth to encourage them to swallow the last gulp.

Poor loser. Major’s stomach turns in discomfort, knowing how Master’s dosing feels. Dizzy, nauseous, loopy, lost. Quinn is triggered. It should be funny, but it’s not.

“You’re good now,” Master grunts, rutting like he’s trying to split Quinn in half. “Broke quick. Good. Good.”

Head down, Major presses his palms to his ears, growling softly in frustration.

“Good.”

Quinn is whimpering with every strained gasp. Leaning into Simon’s hand as if it’s held against their cheek to comfort, not to hold them in place how Master likes.

If he’d stayed, when they got him back home, they wouldn’t be here.

Their pink, crooked hand keeps pressing to Master’s shoulder. Trying to push him away. It trembles, it withdraws from the pain of the pressure – but Quinn keeps trying, over and over, to get him away from them.

Major recognizes that, too. They’re too hot. Overwhelmed. It’s too much, the heat and sweat and weight and suffocation. But Master doesn’t care. He likes it. He props himself up by pressing a hand to their broken elbow, and Quinn writhes, choking on their sobs, breathless attempts at screaming muffled when Master slams down and makes out with them.

~

“Hey, ugly,” Major murmurs as he climbs onto the bed. The mattress dips with his weight. His arms wobble with nerves.

Sprawled on their back, Quinn takes a shaky breath and turns their head away. Their left arm lies useless off to their side, and their right bends over their face to hide their eyes.

“Y’wanted in on the fun?” With a glance over his shoulder to make sure Master and Simon are still out of the room, he reaches for that swollen arm. They let out a pitiful whimper, twitching with the need to escape it, as the rough healer grips their forearm and inspects the break. “Huh? Say something.”

“Mmh,” They mumble, flushed with shame under a scattering of freckles. “Can’t… hard to think.”

“That’s what happens when you get caught, and fucked, and drugs poured down your throat. Idiot.”

The self-proclaimed spy gives a nauseous whine. “‘m sorry…” Hiccups set their chest spasming and jerking with agonizing attempts at breathing. Major tries not to feel too bad for them as he looks over their lithe, trembling, naked body, bruised and stained with blood.

“Yeah? I’m sorry for you, too. You got any ideas about getting outta here?”

Chest hitching worse, they hum uncertainly. “Mnh… not… not with…” An aborted sob, choked back and swallowed.

“C’mon, if you came here, you had a plan.” He drops their broken arm, unimpressed by their startled croak, to pull the other arm from their face. Major blinks, confused by the sight of teary red eyes, a quivering bottom lip, and terror at being exposed. “What?”

Eyes skittering away, desperate to avoid his puzzlement, Quinn tries to clear their throat and only manages to eke out another failed sob. “I’m sorry,” They rasp again. “Deserve… I deserve this…”

“Yeah.” With scar-roughened hands, he scrubs their face clean of the tears and snot. “Yeah, probably. What’d you do?”

Their black-and-blue chest shudders again. “Don’ ask. Please.”

And they look like they need him not to. Major knows not to trust Quinn Mae’s lies. “What’d you do, Quinn?”

A groan of frustration, of overwhelm. They try, without looking, to reach for a blanket. Something to cover up with. Major lends a helping hand by pinning both of their wrists and catching their avoidant eyes in a determined stare.

Dilated eyes, dull with memories and fear, swimming with fresh tears, struggle to focus on the man above them. “You’re gonna kill me.” It is not a cry for sympathy, but a grim conclusion. Pale from their broken arm being held at this angle, Quinn tries to keep from closing their eyes and wallowing in self-pity. “He wanted to get you home. Now, today. Should’ve… I should’ve… mmh, Major, I’m sorry.”

“Who?” His grip tightens as he looms down closer. “Get me home? You bring one of ‘em here?”

“You can kill me,” Their tune changes, the moment he gets firmer, angrier. Smeared in blood, naked in Master’s bed, broken on day one. Major is hissing breaths from behind clenched teeth.

“Tank.” It would be Tank. Trying to rescue him, doing something dangerous like he’s indestructible. “Where is he? Quinn, where’s Tank?”

“You can kill me-e,” Is their only answer, warbled out like they’ve been dead for years and they only just realized it.

They only get like this about dead friends. Major shoves away, discarding them, looking around the room and heaving for air. Sitting up with soft keens, Quinn watches, biting their lip to keep from weeping audibly.

~

“Where is he?!”

The bellow startles Simon into dropping his glass of water. The scattering of shards across the linoleum floor is irrelevant to him as he scrambles out of the room, into the hall to see Major standing with his hands balled into fists, breathing hard, glaring at Master with wide, manic eyes.

No. He’s going to die today. Simon sees the fear in Major – the desperation, the pitch of his voice, the stance like he’s backed into a corner – but to Master, it is rebellion. Someone who is meant to be cowering rearing up and showing his teeth.

“Cupcake,” Simon tries, raising his hands in a calming gesture from well behind Master. “Stop.”

“Tank is here.” Major juts a finger downward. “He’s here. For me.” Shame, rage, worry, love, hatred, all thick in his throat.

“Get down. All fours.” Master’s voice is low. Amused, but tense. “One chance.”

Stormy hazel eyes flit to Simon, his mouth opening to argue.

As soon as he has Cupcake’s attention, Simon jerks his hands wider in a more desperate version of the gesture to calm down, get down.

Slowly, haltingly, Major gets down on his knees. “Is he dead?” He can’t bring himself to get on all fours, to be so obedient when he’s this furious.

Simon frowns at the blood on Cupcake’s knuckles. He’s either been punching walls again, or he did something to his friend in the bedroom.

Master grunts. Stalks forward to take Major by a fistful of his curls and shove down until his face is mashed into the carpet. “The big guy? He broke in here for you, the pretty one too… but they didn’t fight, so they get to be useful. He was already hurt when he got here. Wasn’t hard to beat him back. And then, when we got over there…” Master points toward the basement door. Major sucks down harsh breaths as his eyes follow, palms braced against the floor. “Tackled him, he fell down the stairs like a sack of bricks. There was this look of surprise on his face… He wasn’t used to losing, was he?”

“I’ll kill you,” Growls Major, low and grave. Even as he makes the promise, he tries to hold still under the heavy hand pressed to his skull. “I – fuck, fuck, he can’t be…”

Movement between them sends Simon jerking farther back toward the kitchen doorway, as Master hauls Major up and slams his face back down into the floor. A crack, a croaked yell, blood pouring from his nose. But Master isn’t done. He lifts Major’s head again to smash the rebellion right out of him.

Simon can’t watch. He can’t stop it. He skirts around, past the punishment, tuning out the sounds of Major struggling, crying out – of Cupcake getting dizzy from the blows, going still enough that Master can growl consequences into his ear.

Into the bedroom Simon sneaks, morbidly curious about Cupcake’s bloody knuckles. The bed is still a mess, but empty.

From the cage in the corner emanates low, raspy weeping. Simon approaches, crouching to see the new one,  Quinn, shoved in there. Curled up on their side, cradling their now more crooked hands close to their chest, the left side of their face swelling darkly.

“I don’t get it.” He sits on the floor nearby, focusing on the friend that Major doesn’t treat like a friend, instead of the sounds from the hall. “Why is he mad at you for it? Sounds like Tank was strong, but you’re obviously not.” His eyes appraise their slender build, the clear willingness to submit and curl up in defeat. “And you’re younger than both of them. You were trying to help. Right?”

Quinn lifts their head, face splotchy and wet. “Please,” They whimper, looking smaller than their height should allow for in the crate. One bare shoulder angled up by their ear, shivering. “I can’t, I can’t… please help me, let me get out, Si-... Simon, right? Simon, help me?”

He frowns. Tips his head. Smiles. “That’s a good act, there. I can see why he hates it though. Wow, you really lean into the age thing.”

They stare back at him, eyebrows still pinched up with desperation, chin still wobbling… and then it falters into a more tired, blank expression, and they let their head fall.

“Want some advice, Quinn?”

“Nnh... not really, Simon.”

“Keep being good. Put out for him. Say you’re sorry. Don’t let him see this side that thinks. If, if you somehow get a chance to get out, that’s the only thing you’ve got going for you.”

taglist: @morning-star-whump , @lthrboy , @apokolyps , @paperprinxe , @vampiresprite ,

@wollemi-whump , @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees , @whumps-and-bumps , @defire , @notactuallyluska

@neverthelass , @whumpr, @hellodecisionparalysis, @sir-fenris

[sixinchwonders]

A Bit of Fun

My favorite pass time is creating sideblogs for very niche things and then immediately forgetting about them! Anyway, enjoy this horny, unedited mess of random inspo.

Warnings: macro/micro, NSFW, noncon, cloth entrapment, dehumanization

I’m still getting used to tumblrs way of tagging and placing warnings so if you think there’s something I should add in the warnings/tags please let me know.

——————————————————————————

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Harvey blinked, eyes focusing on the tiny being on his desk. He towered over the tiny, arms crossed between them. His fingers twitched out of sight, eager to grab. The tiny backed away, keeping their eyes on him.

“Harvey?” They tried, “we’re good, right?” Their voice shook, and he smiled.

“There’s just, one more thing id like for you to do-“ He raised his hand as the tiny realized the danger and turned to run. He tsked, watching them flee across his desk. They slid and stumbled across paper and over pencils; arms flailing this way and that. Harvey had never seen something so amusing, so pathetic.

The tiny shouted angry curses when a giant thumb and index finger pinched their middle. They were effortlessly raised to eye level. Huge green eyes studied their minuscule flailing limbs; each hit to his finger nothing more than a light tickle. Harvey smirked.

“Come on, let’s have a little fun first!” The struggles slowed but didn’t stop. They were breathing heavy, glaring up at their now giant partner with rising fear and hopelessness. They swallowed thickly.

“Put me down Harvey,” they hated the obvious tremble in their voice as their worst fears swirled behind the giants eyes. “This isn’t a game. Put me down!” The struggles and pleading only seemed to widen the man’s smirk.

“Sure thing. I know just where to put you,” he ignored the next round of curses and lowered the tiny to his waist. His free hand wasted no time in lifting the bands of his jeans and boxers. The tiny flailed harder.

“Harvey!” They shouted, pounding on his fingers as he was moved into the dark cave of the giants boxers. Heat and overwhelming scent flooded their senses and cut their cries short. They were dragged through a rough forest of pubic hair before the massive fingers adjusted their grip to maneuver the tiny body around the base of the giant cock.

“Damnit! No!” They found themselves desperately reaching for the same fingers they’d been fighting to be freed from as they were released. The hand retreated from the boxers, leaving the tiny straddling the base of Harvey’s member. They pushed themselves up in disgust, trying to ignore the way the cock twitched beneath their movements. Their only thoughts were escape.

Above them, Harvey moaned with content as the tiny struggled to gain purchase on his member. He resisted the urge to reach back in and help the little thing out; but why not give them a chance? He relaxed back in his chair and slid his hips forward slightly. What was a small, casual move to the man was an earthquake to the captive in his boxers.

“Oh no,” the tiny felt it coming before it happened. They’d managed to find balance and turned themself towards the waistbands. Their hope was clamber through the pubic forest as quick as possible and squeeze through the bands. That is, if the giant let them make it that far….

It was then their dark world shifted, throwing them off balance and stumbling on the cock. One wrong move sent them sliding beneath the semi hard member, desperately holding on to the one thing they wanted to get so far away from. Fear had long taken them over in the scramble for freedom in the darkness, but now they shouted for help. They begged, then cursed, then pleaded; all the while struggling to prevent themself from slipping closer to the giant balls beneath them and continuing to add to Harvey’s pleasure.

“That’s it,” the man’s voice low and gruff as he imagined the tiny beings thrashing. So helpless, weak, adorable. His.

Harvey stood suddenly, chuckling as his tiny lost their grip on his now fully erect member and tumbled freely against his balls. He peeled off his jeans and cupped his balls through his boxers, prodding and massaging the tiny body against him.

Though muffled and hot and humiliated, the tiny continued to shout. Their struggles had weakened significantly and they quickly learned that it didn’t matter. Struggle or no struggle, there was no way to stop Harvey’s abuse. Yet, though they’d come to this conclusion, they couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope as the fingers relentless barrage let up. They peeled away from the giant balls, struggling to catch their breath. They didn’t even fight when those same fingers entered their prison to fish them out, raising their slack body to Harvey’s face once more.

“You know, I was having a pretty shit day before you came along,” the tiny stared hatefully, though at this point the man hardly seemed to notice them. “So, I thank you for that.” He lowered his tiny to sit on his bed, watching them stumble for balance on the plush blanket. They gasped for fresh air and spun to face the towering giant. Instead, they came almost face to face with the tent of Harvey’s boxers. A shudder ran through them at the realization those were the same boxers they’d been trapped inside just minutes before.

“No, no, no!” They backed up, charging up for another sad attempt to get away. Harvey used one finger to discourage them, pressing them back into the bed.

“Now, now,” he pulled his hand away and slowly, meticulously slid down his boxers. His tiny whimpered at the sight of Harvey’s fully erect cock towering over them. The giants eyes never left their tiny form.

“Be a good toy for me.”

[ashtreegt]

a classic cowgirl v. goliath story

[sixinchwonders]

A Bit of Fun

My favorite pass time is creating sideblogs for very niche things and then immediately forgetting about them! Anyway, enjoy this horny, unedited mess of random inspo.

Warnings: macro/micro, NSFW, noncon, cloth entrapment, dehumanization

I’m still getting used to tumblrs way of tagging and placing warnings so if you think there’s something I should add in the warnings/tags please let me know.

——————————————————————————

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Harvey blinked, eyes focusing on the tiny being on his desk. He towered over the tiny, arms crossed between them. His fingers twitched out of sight, eager to grab. The tiny backed away, keeping their eyes on him.

“Harvey?” They tried, “we’re good, right?” Their voice shook, and he smiled.

“There’s just, one more thing id like for you to do-“ He raised his hand as the tiny realized the danger and turned to run. He tsked, watching them flee across his desk. They slid and stumbled across paper and over pencils; arms flailing this way and that. Harvey had never seen something so amusing, so pathetic.

The tiny shouted angry curses when a giant thumb and index finger pinched their middle. They were effortlessly raised to eye level. Huge green eyes studied their minuscule flailing limbs; each hit to his finger nothing more than a light tickle. Harvey smirked.

“Come on, let’s have a little fun first!” The struggles slowed but didn’t stop. They were breathing heavy, glaring up at their now giant partner with rising fear and hopelessness. They swallowed thickly.

“Put me down Harvey,” they hated the obvious tremble in their voice as their worst fears swirled behind the giants eyes. “This isn’t a game. Put me down!” The struggles and pleading only seemed to widen the man’s smirk.

“Sure thing. I know just where to put you,” he ignored the next round of curses and lowered the tiny to his waist. His free hand wasted no time in lifting the bands of his jeans and boxers. The tiny flailed harder.

“Harvey!” They shouted, pounding on his fingers as he was moved into the dark cave of the giants boxers. Heat and overwhelming scent flooded their senses and cut their cries short. They were dragged through a rough forest of pubic hair before the massive fingers adjusted their grip to maneuver the tiny body around the base of the giant cock.

“Damnit! No!” They found themselves desperately reaching for the same fingers they’d been fighting to be freed from as they were released. The hand retreated from the boxers, leaving the tiny straddling the base of Harvey’s member. They pushed themselves up in disgust, trying to ignore the way the cock twitched beneath their movements. Their only thoughts were escape.

Above them, Harvey moaned with content as the tiny struggled to gain purchase on his member. He resisted the urge to reach back in and help the little thing out; but why not give them a chance? He relaxed back in his chair and slid his hips forward slightly. What was a small, casual move to the man was an earthquake to the captive in his boxers.

“Oh no,” the tiny felt it coming before it happened. They’d managed to find balance and turned themself towards the waistbands. Their hope was clamber through the pubic forest as quick as possible and squeeze through the bands. That is, if the giant let them make it that far….

It was then their dark world shifted, throwing them off balance and stumbling on the cock. One wrong move sent them sliding beneath the semi hard member, desperately holding on to the one thing they wanted to get so far away from. Fear had long taken them over in the scramble for freedom in the darkness, but now they shouted for help. They begged, then cursed, then pleaded; all the while struggling to prevent themself from slipping closer to the giant balls beneath them and continuing to add to Harvey’s pleasure.

“That’s it,” the man’s voice low and gruff as he imagined the tiny beings thrashing. So helpless, weak, adorable. His.

Harvey stood suddenly, chuckling as his tiny lost their grip on his now fully erect member and tumbled freely against his balls. He peeled off his jeans and cupped his balls through his boxers, prodding and massaging the tiny body against him.

Though muffled and hot and humiliated, the tiny continued to shout. Their struggles had weakened significantly and they quickly learned that it didn’t matter. Struggle or no struggle, there was no way to stop Harvey’s abuse. Yet, though they’d come to this conclusion, they couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope as the fingers relentless barrage let up. They peeled away from the giant balls, struggling to catch their breath. They didn’t even fight when those same fingers entered their prison to fish them out, raising their slack body to Harvey’s face once more.

“You know, I was having a pretty shit day before you came along,” the tiny stared hatefully, though at this point the man hardly seemed to notice them. “So, I thank you for that.” He lowered his tiny to sit on his bed, watching them stumble for balance on the plush blanket. They gasped for fresh air and spun to face the towering giant. Instead, they came almost face to face with the tent of Harvey’s boxers. A shudder ran through them at the realization those were the same boxers they’d been trapped inside just minutes before.

“No, no, no!” They backed up, charging up for another sad attempt to get away. Harvey used one finger to discourage them, pressing them back into the bed.

“Now, now,” he pulled his hand away and slowly, meticulously slid down his boxers. His tiny whimpered at the sight of Harvey’s fully erect cock towering over them. The giants eyes never left their tiny form.

“Be a good toy for me.”

[whumpinthepot]

Hamster Interactive Story

Chapter 14. Questions

Prev - Masterlist

Content: Food mention, being trapped, emeto mention (in passing), infection mention (in passing), bugs, selective mutism and description of having a breakdown over it. Pet trope, giant/tiny, angst. Let me know if I forgot any. 

Pov: Hamster

Poll winner: (People sent in questions) 

ART, WRITING, AND POLL UNDER THE CUT!!

Info dump chapter we love to see it :)) also If you have any requests for the ending send them to me because im planning to end the story soon! 

—

“I know you don’t talk but… Can you talk? I mean physically. What's stopping you? Were you trained not to, or took a vow of silence, or what?” That is the first question Soap asks you, which catches you by surprise as you finish eating the last piece of grape. 

You breathe in deep, getting lost in thought on how you could possibly answer him. It's not that you can’t physically talk if you need to but… Something always stops you when you try. Like a wall that you can’t climb over, blocking your voice and closing your throat up. It makes your chest hurt and your cheeks blaze hot. Even now when you think of vocalizing an answer your head spins and the urge to run away pulses in your legs. 

“Uhh, touchy subject or what?” Soap snaps you out of the panic and you’re startled by his voice. 

Or maybe it is that you can’t physically talk, seeing as how when you try, the urge to throw up is greater than the urge to say a simple word. You cover your mouth with a plump hand and shake your head vigorously. Maybe he’ll stop asking about it and you can happily stop trying to answer him. 

“Okay...” He sounds unimpressed, like he doesn’t believe you. 

In an attempt to change the subject you ask him a question next, choosing an equally invasive one at that. You point at his doll leg, and tilt your head. 

Soap sighs, leaning against the bars of his enclosure, but he does answer, “I was bit by a bug and it got infected. End of story. Sorry to disappoint, it wasn't a cat attack or anything fun like that.” 

Your eyes go wide, finding a new found fear of bugs. If any ended up in your cage you would simply pass away. Your body shivers the feelings out of you, and you point at his hair next. It's short now… 

Soap scoffs, “Your owner is to thank for that. Thanks a fucking lot, Ashley!” He yells in a random direction, which is funny because Ashley isn’t even here. You cover your smile with your hands, knowing he wasn’t trying to be humorous even if it came off that way. 

“Well? Got any more snacks?” He asks, “I’m stuck with these stupid dry pellets. Does she know that's not food? She’s trying to kill me in here.” 

You doubt that Ashley is trying to kill him, since she promised you that you could keep him as a new friend. You’ll happily give him more snacks, especially if that’ll make him happy! You smile and nod, leaving him again for several minutes to go back to your food dish to scavenge. 

You come back with an armful of finds, offering him a carrot slice, and some cheerios. You smile away at him as he gingerly takes them, finding him a lot less scary when he’s stuck in his enclosure. He can’t hurt you in there, and your dreams came true! You have a friend your own size now. 

Soap asks you another question while breaking the cheerio into more manageable pieces. “Is your name really Hamster? Like, that's the name you were born with? I somehow doubt that…” 

Your eyebrows crease, finding it odd how suspicious he is of you. His name is SOAP for heaven’s sake! You nod and shrug. Any name you had beforehand was just a placeholder. Hamster is your name now that's all that matters. You ask him the question back by pointing at him, hoping he’ll get the gist. 

“My name?” He asks. 

Oh good, he understood. 

“Of course it's my real name. Soap Scrub. I was named that because I slept in a soap dish as a baby. You wouldn’t know, but it’s a traditional way of naming in our culture. Or maybe you would- Hamster because you live in a hamster cage.” Now he thinks he’s humorous and smirks at you. 

You don’t get the joke, because it's true and makes sense. You just nod. It's cool learning about Tinies culture. You sit down criss-cross on the counter so you can listen to him more, resting your hands on your chin. 

“Where did you even come from?” Soap’s question has underlining skepticism, and he rattles out a few options for you to say yes or no to. “Were you captured like me?” 

You shake your head. Feeling kind of bad for him.

“Alright. I wouldn’t expect you to understand why I’m so pissed then,” he huffs. “Let's see. Born into the family? Ashley’s family I mean. Obviously.” 

You shake your head again. Trying to picture Ashley as a little kid. Would she have been a kid when you were? You don’t know how old anyone is so you guess it doesn’t really matter. 

“Bought at a… Pet store?” Soap lowers his voice, his shoulders squared with discomfort. 

You suppose that's a good enough answer, even if the truth is warped a bit. You nod. You came from Ashley’s work at a pet facility! 

“God…” Soap shifts uncomfortably and looks away from you for a minute. He seems drained from this question game. You’re not, however, and wave at him so you can ask him the same thing back. Pointing at him yet again with a hopeful smile. 

“Where did I come from?” His voice is strained and he brushes back his lack of hair. “Somewhere normal. A normal family, a normal life, something you wouldn’t understand.” 

He is trying to hurt your feelings. You just don’t understand why. You frown at him with a pouty lip. 

“Don’t give me that. You’re clearly not locked up, so why do you stay with her? Are you scared of her? Now that you can see you don’t have to be stuck with her. I could… We could leave… Together if you wanted. If you help me out of here.” 

He is trying to bait you, but his words hold a sort of desperation that struck a chord. You love Ashley. It would break her heart if you left her. You couldn’t. You shake your head in defiance and turn away from him. Maybe this conversation is over. You should go back to your cage and leave him alone. 

Just as you get up and start to walk away he yells after you, “Wait! Please-“ 

Then his voice lowers “I… I’m sorry. Don’t leave. I wanted to ask a few more questions… About tonight.” It’s clear in his tone that he’s scared. Maybe you’re not scared of Ashley, but he is. 

You give him another chance and walk back, waiting to hear him out. 

“Do you think she’ll make me do the photoshoot with you?” 

Ashley mentioned it before, so it makes sense that she would want to include him, but you’re not entirely sure if tonight is the night so you shrug. After all, the photoshoots slowed down when you had the cast on, and right now he’s covered in bandages. Still, you can’t promise anything. 

“Have you ever refused to do it?” His eyes are testing. Hopefully he isnt thinking of trying his hand at saying no to her. Ashley isn’t as forgiving with him… 

You have indeed refused to do them before, when you weren’t feeling well, but Ashley is always nice to you. You doubt the same results would show for Soap Scrub. 

Tentatively you nod your head. 

“And she let you?”

You nod your head. 

His brows crease. “Do you even like doing them? She’s playing with you like a doll…” 

You nod again after a pause at the strange retort. You love being a model! It’s so much fun, and beats being bored in your cage all day. 

He’s nervous and you don’t blame him. Though you’re unsure how to ease his nerves, so you sit with him and answer any questions you’re able to until Ashley comes home. Its then you go back to your cage so she’s not worried when she comes in. 

Ashley greets you and Soap when she comes into the kitchen, but otherwise leaves you alone until after dinner when its time for the photoshoot. 

Miraculously, Ashley doesn’t force soap into the shoot. She only has him watch so he can see what they’re like and what to expect. 

Its not for another week or two that she proposes the idea, and by then Soap has seemed to have accepted his position, from what you can tell. He’s less terrified over all, or hiding it better.

—

What theme should the photoshoot be?

Prince and Princess

Pirate and mermaid

Doctor and Nurse

Fairies

Generic Dolls

High Fashion

Devil and Angel

Food Themed

General G/t themed

Voting ended onAug 5, 2024

Gonna try clumping my taglist lmk if theres any issues please!

Tag list: @frogkingdom @verkja @whumpsday @octopus-reactivated @marvel-gt @rsitb-second-account @fallen-grace-smd @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @kyp-the-spacekiwi @ilasknives @hollowgast1 @redd956 @zobodahobo @alittlewhump @blackrosesandwhump @angst-after-dark @sandygarnelle @coppercoyoti @kim-poce @mayisreallygay @smoll-stace @demondamage @vickytokio @whump-in-the-closet @shadowsnowdapple @whumpy-wyrms @re-whump @cypresscove @whumpninja @highlighterwhump @taters169 @justagiantpotato

[foreverlurk]

Arrietty jumps to safety behind a rock, but instead of just laying low, she runs to Tom, right next to his shoe. Normally not a safe spot for a Borrower, which proves she trusts him completely to protect her. Just a little detail, but I really like that sort of interaction.

I love the way she reacts to the movement of his hand, look at the slight momentum shift when he brings her close. Once again, a tiny detail, but it makes it seem so natural. From "Les Chapardeurs" (2025)

[pelpolpet]

Forest creature & zombie guy ( @sick6gt ) again teehee

He’s bothering her as per usual