whump

she/her just a place to post my writing

[gottawhump]

I’m thinking about how often in BBU stories the compensation is designated to family members/loved ones.

And how sad that must be. Your loved one disappears. For a while, you don’t know what happened to them. You contact the authorities. You put out the posters. You put alerts online. Most likely every effort dead ends.

Then, one day, you get a check or a direct deposit from WRU. You finally know.

[whumpersworld]

The City of Arcadia: Cat and Mouse

CW: none for this particular chapter, if you have an aversion to drawn out descriptions of rain maybe look away?

next | masterlist

taglist: n/a

-----

The city of Arcadia had not been built to accommodate the constant influx of college students it experienced. I mean that in a literal sense, the government housing program put in place to provide university students with room and board was a joke.

Winslow Ataway was blissfully unaware of this. It hadn't concerned him before. He had been overjoyed that the had gotten in, he really didn't have any room to complain. To not be living in what was essentially a closet in his father's apartment was a freedom he wasn't exactly sure how to cope with. For now he's taken to bouncing his leg and gripping the bag that sat on his lap tightly, his breath coming out in short bursts, almost as if he had forgotten how to calm himself.

University was much crueler than he had thought it would be, and not just because he was the only tabaxi in all of his classes, and one of maybe three, on campus. It was the fact that he felt as if he was grade levels behind his peers. There wasn't just, perhaps, gaps in his knowledge due to him not originating from Arcadia, but there were entire concepts, base concepts, he had not been taught.

Winslow had always been one to persevere, his dad had told him he was bred for it. Mess with the kitty, you got the claws. University however, was proving to be an entirely different beast. It was as if he was swimming upstream, struggling to keep his head above water while everyone else flowed effortlessly downstream, on the intended path. He felt adrift in a sea of unfamiliar concepts, constantly playing catch-up with his peers.

After getting of the bus, awkwardly shoving past two men far bigger than him, Winslow Ataway began walking down 8th, the cool breeze of the evening doing nothing to ease his worries. This as far as any public transport would take him.

It was bad city planning really, to stick the new provisional housing off on the edge of it all. Or maybe Winslow just took it as a slight against him personally, making him walk long distances just so he could curl up in bed and hide away from the world, as if his opportunity to go to the best university in the tri-state area was personally victimizing him.

The walk home was always the worst part of his day, a constant reminder of how out of place he was. The streets were unfamiliar, the buildings towering and imposing. He felt small and insignificant, like he was being swallowed up by the city.

Winslow tried not to let it get to him, tried to keep his head down and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Every step felt like a small victory, every turn of the corner a reminder that he was still lost.

Winslow has never liked the rain. It reminds him of the days when his father would come home late, smelling like alcohol and cigarettes, his fur matted and heavy with water. He would huddle in his room, listening to the sound of the rain pounding against the roof and the windows, wondering if his father would come in and yell at him for something he didn't do.

Now, as he walks through the rain, he feels a familiar sense of dread settling in his chest. He wonders if he should call his father, just to hear his voice and feel a sense of comfort. But he knows that his father wouldn't understand the pressure he's under, the weight of expectation that hangs over his head like a storm cloud.

He knows that he'll get back to his room eventually, that the rain will stop and the world will keep turning. But for now, he's stuck in a moment of uncertainty, a moment where anything could happen and everything feels like it's falling apart.

Winslow spots a gas station up ahead. It's closer than his apartment, and he needs to buy something to eat anyway. He ducks inside, shaking the rain from his fur and feeling a sense of relief wash over him. The smell of gasoline and fried food is overwhelming, but he's grateful for the warmth and shelter.

He grabs a bag of chips and a candy bar, making his way to the cashier to pay. As he's waiting in line, he realizes that he's not alone. There's a man standing behind him, wearing a leather jacket and a scowl. Winslow feels a shiver run down his spine, and he can't help but wonder if this was a mistake.

The man steps closer, and Winslow can feel his breath on the back of his neck. He tries to ignore it, tries to focus on the candy bar in his hand. But his heart is racing, and he can't shake the feeling that something is about to go terribly wrong.

The man gently taps him on the shoulder,

“Are you okay? Did you walk here in the rain, it's pouring.” His voice is much gentler than Winslow could have expected, and like he didn't notice he had invaded his personal space before, he took an awkward step back.

Winslow feels a wave of relief wash over him as he realizes that the man behind him was just checking in on him. He nods, feeling a sense of gratitude towards the stranger. Maybe not everyone in this city was out to get him after all. He laughs a little, it's small and sheepish,

“Yes, I'm just, bus doesn't reach the new uni dorms.” He practically whispers, almost apologetic. His tall wraps around himself, and he can't help but wonder if he had been dripping onto this man's shoes previously

The man looks confused, and shakes his head at that, bewildered by the concept,

“That's insane.” Is all he says before going silent, his previously stoic face, stoic again.

Winslow reaches for his wallet and pulls out his card, handing it to the cashier to pay. But as the cashier runs the card, it's promptly declined. Winslow feels his heart sink as he realizes that he doesn't have any cash on him. He looks up at the cashier, feeling embarrassed and helpless.

The man behind him clears his throat, causing Winslow to jump a little. He turns around to find the man holding out a twenty dollar bill, a small smile on his face. "Here, take this. It's on me," the man says, gesturing towards the cashier. Winslow is surprised, but grateful. He takes the money, thanking the stranger before quickly leaving the store, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief.

Ah, bad decision really the more he he thinks about it, the overhang of the store's roof was keeping him dry enough but honestly he had been wet before and he still felt the wind chill.

The thought of smoking crosses his mind, not because he actually wants to smoke, but because he wishes he had a reason to still be standing in front of the store.

As Winslow watches, the man in the leather jacket exits and nods at him before heading to the vehicle in question. The cat man was bewildered. He feels a little silly lingering there, but he can't help but watch as the man finishes filling up the gas tank and climbs into the driver's seat of the black limousine. The engine roars to life, and yet the car remains in place.

Winslow is about to turn and head back to his dorm when he hears a soft voice calling to him. He turns to see a young woman sitting in the back passenger seat of the limousine, her window rolled down.

"Excuse me," she calls out politely. "Could I trouble you for a moment?"

Winslow feels a sense of unease wash over him. He doesn't know this woman, and he's not sure what she wants. But he nods anyway, feeling a sense of obligation to help her.

"Sure," he says, making his way towards the car. "What can I do for you?"

The woman smiles gratefully, and Winslow can see that she's holding a small piece of paper in her gloved hand. "I'm sorry to bother you," she says. "But I'm supposed to meet someone here, and I'm not sure where they are. Could you take a look at this and tell me if you recognize the name?"

Winslow takes the piece of paper from her, feeling a sense of curiosity. The name on the paper is unfamiliar, but he nods anyway. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize the name," he says, handing the paper back to her.

The woman nods, looking disappointed.

"Thank you anyway," she says, rolling up the window and signaling for the driver to continue on. The woman is clearly wealthy, or at least well-off. He takes in her carefully crafted appearance. Her hair had to be bleached, just given the shade of blonde it had been in combination with her skin tone. Her eyes were a soft blue, dewy, almost greenish. He thought of untreated pool water and pushed the idea away quickly, not understanding why his first thought had been to insult her, even mentally.

As the limousine slowly drives away, he feels a sense of confusion and unease. He wonders who the woman was, and why she was looking for someone in this part of town. But he shrugs it off, feeling a sense of relief that the encounter is over. He turns and heads back towards his dorm, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over him.

---

Thank you everyone who gave this a read, this chapter was more setup than anything but I thought it was important! I'm really excited about this series.

[demondamage]

Of course the law never did anything to Whumper; they were a model citizen, a good Samaritan, the kind of person you wanted in the community. No one important enough to do something would believe Whumpee anyways.

Whumpee so desperately wanted to leave this town, get out of Whumper's grasp forever. They just needed to save enough money to get an apartment and they were gone.

Until then... they had to deal with seeing Whumper every other day. Groceries, doctors appointments, hell sometimes the bastard just walked past their apartment complex. It would always send Whumpee racing back to their small bedroom, abandoning any task to hide.

Whumpee lived in constant fear, always planning for the day they inevitably have to face them. It consumes them, constantly checking exit routes and planning their actions. They have every motion rehearsed to survive that encounter.

Naturally it falls apart the moment Whumper sits down across from them in their favorite cafe, the only place Whumpee had never seen them before. That coy smile, the glinting teeth as Whumper starts to speak.

Whumpee isn't checking the exits, not thinking of how to run away this time. As if it was instinct, the clench the steak knife they had been using to eat only a moment earlier, pressing it to Whumper's throat.

"No. No you don't get to do this again."

[whumpersworld]

The City of Arcadia: Cat and Mouse

CW: none for this particular chapter, if you have an aversion to drawn out descriptions of rain maybe look away?

next | masterlist

taglist: n/a

-----

The city of Arcadia had not been built to accommodate the constant influx of college students it experienced. I mean that in a literal sense, the government housing program put in place to provide university students with room and board was a joke.

Winslow Ataway was blissfully unaware of this. It hadn't concerned him before. He had been overjoyed that the had gotten in, he really didn't have any room to complain. To not be living in what was essentially a closet in his father's apartment was a freedom he wasn't exactly sure how to cope with. For now he's taken to bouncing his leg and gripping the bag that sat on his lap tightly, his breath coming out in short bursts, almost as if he had forgotten how to calm himself.

University was much crueler than he had thought it would be, and not just because he was the only tabaxi in all of his classes, and one of maybe three, on campus. It was the fact that he felt as if he was grade levels behind his peers. There wasn't just, perhaps, gaps in his knowledge due to him not originating from Arcadia, but there were entire concepts, base concepts, he had not been taught.

Winslow had always been one to persevere, his dad had told him he was bred for it. Mess with the kitty, you got the claws. University however, was proving to be an entirely different beast. It was as if he was swimming upstream, struggling to keep his head above water while everyone else flowed effortlessly downstream, on the intended path. He felt adrift in a sea of unfamiliar concepts, constantly playing catch-up with his peers.

After getting of the bus, awkwardly shoving past two men far bigger than him, Winslow Ataway began walking down 8th, the cool breeze of the evening doing nothing to ease his worries. This as far as any public transport would take him.

It was bad city planning really, to stick the new provisional housing off on the edge of it all. Or maybe Winslow just took it as a slight against him personally, making him walk long distances just so he could curl up in bed and hide away from the world, as if his opportunity to go to the best university in the tri-state area was personally victimizing him.

The walk home was always the worst part of his day, a constant reminder of how out of place he was. The streets were unfamiliar, the buildings towering and imposing. He felt small and insignificant, like he was being swallowed up by the city.

Winslow tried not to let it get to him, tried to keep his head down and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Every step felt like a small victory, every turn of the corner a reminder that he was still lost.

Winslow has never liked the rain. It reminds him of the days when his father would come home late, smelling like alcohol and cigarettes, his fur matted and heavy with water. He would huddle in his room, listening to the sound of the rain pounding against the roof and the windows, wondering if his father would come in and yell at him for something he didn't do.

Now, as he walks through the rain, he feels a familiar sense of dread settling in his chest. He wonders if he should call his father, just to hear his voice and feel a sense of comfort. But he knows that his father wouldn't understand the pressure he's under, the weight of expectation that hangs over his head like a storm cloud.

He knows that he'll get back to his room eventually, that the rain will stop and the world will keep turning. But for now, he's stuck in a moment of uncertainty, a moment where anything could happen and everything feels like it's falling apart.

Winslow spots a gas station up ahead. It's closer than his apartment, and he needs to buy something to eat anyway. He ducks inside, shaking the rain from his fur and feeling a sense of relief wash over him. The smell of gasoline and fried food is overwhelming, but he's grateful for the warmth and shelter.

He grabs a bag of chips and a candy bar, making his way to the cashier to pay. As he's waiting in line, he realizes that he's not alone. There's a man standing behind him, wearing a leather jacket and a scowl. Winslow feels a shiver run down his spine, and he can't help but wonder if this was a mistake.

The man steps closer, and Winslow can feel his breath on the back of his neck. He tries to ignore it, tries to focus on the candy bar in his hand. But his heart is racing, and he can't shake the feeling that something is about to go terribly wrong.

The man gently taps him on the shoulder,

“Are you okay? Did you walk here in the rain, it's pouring.” His voice is much gentler than Winslow could have expected, and like he didn't notice he had invaded his personal space before, he took an awkward step back.

Winslow feels a wave of relief wash over him as he realizes that the man behind him was just checking in on him. He nods, feeling a sense of gratitude towards the stranger. Maybe not everyone in this city was out to get him after all. He laughs a little, it's small and sheepish,

“Yes, I'm just, bus doesn't reach the new uni dorms.” He practically whispers, almost apologetic. His tall wraps around himself, and he can't help but wonder if he had been dripping onto this man's shoes previously

The man looks confused, and shakes his head at that, bewildered by the concept,

“That's insane.” Is all he says before going silent, his previously stoic face, stoic again.

Winslow reaches for his wallet and pulls out his card, handing it to the cashier to pay. But as the cashier runs the card, it's promptly declined. Winslow feels his heart sink as he realizes that he doesn't have any cash on him. He looks up at the cashier, feeling embarrassed and helpless.

The man behind him clears his throat, causing Winslow to jump a little. He turns around to find the man holding out a twenty dollar bill, a small smile on his face. "Here, take this. It's on me," the man says, gesturing towards the cashier. Winslow is surprised, but grateful. He takes the money, thanking the stranger before quickly leaving the store, feeling a mix of embarrassment and relief.

Ah, bad decision really the more he he thinks about it, the overhang of the store's roof was keeping him dry enough but honestly he had been wet before and he still felt the wind chill.

The thought of smoking crosses his mind, not because he actually wants to smoke, but because he wishes he had a reason to still be standing in front of the store.

As Winslow watches, the man in the leather jacket exits and nods at him before heading to the vehicle in question. The cat man was bewildered. He feels a little silly lingering there, but he can't help but watch as the man finishes filling up the gas tank and climbs into the driver's seat of the black limousine. The engine roars to life, and yet the car remains in place.

Winslow is about to turn and head back to his dorm when he hears a soft voice calling to him. He turns to see a young woman sitting in the back passenger seat of the limousine, her window rolled down.

"Excuse me," she calls out politely. "Could I trouble you for a moment?"

Winslow feels a sense of unease wash over him. He doesn't know this woman, and he's not sure what she wants. But he nods anyway, feeling a sense of obligation to help her.

"Sure," he says, making his way towards the car. "What can I do for you?"

The woman smiles gratefully, and Winslow can see that she's holding a small piece of paper in her gloved hand. "I'm sorry to bother you," she says. "But I'm supposed to meet someone here, and I'm not sure where they are. Could you take a look at this and tell me if you recognize the name?"

Winslow takes the piece of paper from her, feeling a sense of curiosity. The name on the paper is unfamiliar, but he nods anyway. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize the name," he says, handing the paper back to her.

The woman nods, looking disappointed.

"Thank you anyway," she says, rolling up the window and signaling for the driver to continue on. The woman is clearly wealthy, or at least well-off. He takes in her carefully crafted appearance. Her hair had to be bleached, just given the shade of blonde it had been in combination with her skin tone. Her eyes were a soft blue, dewy, almost greenish. He thought of untreated pool water and pushed the idea away quickly, not understanding why his first thought had been to insult her, even mentally.

As the limousine slowly drives away, he feels a sense of confusion and unease. He wonders who the woman was, and why she was looking for someone in this part of town. But he shrugs it off, feeling a sense of relief that the encounter is over. He turns and heads back towards his dorm, feeling a sense of exhaustion wash over him.

---

Thank you everyone who gave this a read, this chapter was more setup than anything but I thought it was important! I'm really excited about this series.

[whumpasaurus101]

"If I knew better," Whumper cooed, leaning in close until their lips brushed against Whumpee's ear, "I would be thinking my little birdie is trying to run away..."

Whumpee froze, their breath catching in their throat as their hand instinctively tightened against the doorknob, "I- I swear I ca-can explain..."

The flick of a switchblade made Whumpee flinch, followed by a whimper, "Ple- please, I se-swear I'll be good-"

The tip of the blade was pressed against the small of Whumpee's back as Whumper leaned in, voice a low whisper, "Oh darlin', I think it's a bit too late for that, don't you?"

Whumpee closed their eyes, mouth opening but only a whisper escaped. Tears began to stream down their face and their body shook, "'m s-sorry..."

[whumpersworld]

Whump Prompt: "The Alien Experiment"

Muse A, an alien scientist, had always been fascinated by humans and their complex emotions. One day, they decided to abduct Muse B, a human, and take them back to their home planet for experimentation. Muse B, understandably terrified, struggled against their restraints, but Muse A was captivated by their reactions. As time passed, Muse A's fascination turned into something more akin to attachment. Muse A started treating Muse B more like a beloved pet than a test subject, going out of their way to make sure they were well-fed and comfortable. They even took the time to play with Muse B, cherishing them like a loyal companion.

Despite Muse B's initial fear and resistance, they began to see glimpses of kindness and empathy in their alien captor. But they couldn't forget that they were still a prisoner, subject to Muse A's whims and experiments. Would Muse B ever find a way to escape the clutches of their alien captor? Or would they eventually succumb to the comforts of their new life as a pet of an alien scientist?

[whumpersworld]

Whump Prompt: "The Obsessive Lover”

Muse A has taken a romantic interest in Muse B, who works at a local coffee shop. Muse A starts coming in every day to see Muse B, making their day, tipping them heavily, and joking that they should quit their job. Muse B is flattered by the attention and enjoys Muse A's company. However, when Muse B gets fired from their job and kicked out from their home, they realize they have nowhere else to go.

Desperate for a place to stay, Muse B calls Muse A, who eagerly offers to let them stay the night. That night turns to days, days turn into weeks. Little does Muse B know, Muse A has become increasingly obsessed and possessive of them. Once Muse B moves in, Muse A starts to control every aspect of their life. They are not allowed to leave the house without Muse A's permission, they are not allowed to leave at all, and they are forbidden from talking to anyone outside of the house.

As the days go by, Muse B realizes that they are trapped in a dangerous situation. They must figure out a way to escape before it's too late.

[lestatbf]

in a parasocial relationship with the sea

[lestatbf]

she is all uncaring mouth but i'm giggling and twirling my hair over being swallowed whole

[smallfrogpleasedtomeetyou]

i love characters with an innate ability to just fucking survive

bestie you should be dead but you arent fucking how

[fullyautomatic]

I can’t keep pretending I don’t just wanna full force bite somebody’s throat out of their neck

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

A Whumper who, in the eyes of a traumatized Whumpee, is a Caretaker compared to the absolutely horrendous treatment they had been subjected to prior to being kidnapped by them

[narcissus-nsft]

Part One

TW: implied/referenced prior torture, captivity, kidnapping, dehydration, nudity, conditioned whumpee POV, intimate whumper

The whumpee couldn't hear the sounds of fighting outside, the breaking glass of shattered windows, the curses and insults, the furniture being knocked over, the bullets ripping through walls and flesh-

-or the last words of the whumper.

No, the first thing the whumpee got to hear were footsteps coming down the basement stairs.

He sat in the corner, trying to look pathetic. Displaying the perfect doey eyes the whumper was so fond of and holding his cuffed hands out in front of him.

The man who entered was not the whumper. He was taller than him, with dirty blond hair and a ripped bloodstained suit.

He gave the whumpee a cold once over. "I wasn't expecting anyone else down here."

The whumpee didn't say anything. He hadn't been trained on how to act in front of a stranger.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" The stranger asked.

"I- I don't know, sir."

The whumpee wasn't sure if he was allowed to call anyone but his master sir, but it seemed appropriate.

"Don't you have a name?" The stranger snapped.

The whumpee shook his head vigorously.

"Really?" The stranger mused. "The man who lived here, who I assume was holding you hostage, is now dead. I killed him. Cooperate and I won't do the same to you."

The whumpee knew very well not to ask questions. Even if his master was dead, he knew the stranger would still punish him for it.

"Can you stand?" The stranger asked.

The whumpee braced his back against the wall and pushed himself up. It took a minute of straining without the use of his hands, but he was finally on his feet.

"You are coming with me," the stranger said. "You will obey all of my instructions. If you try to escape, I will kill you. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

The stranger pulled a knife out of its hilt and began sawing at the ropes binding the whumpee's arms.

"Thank you sir," the whumpee said, desperate to please.

The stranger cupped the whumpee's face with his hands, tilting his chin up and forcing eye contact.

"How long have you been down here for?"

"I don't remember. Honestly." Panic rose in the whumpee's throat. "I'm serious. I don't remember anything. I'm sorry sir. Please, I-"

"Did I ask for an apology?" The stranger asked.

"No sir."

"When I ask you a question, I expect a concise answer. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir. I don't remember how long I've been here."

"Very well. Follow me."

The stranger spun around and swiftly left the room. After a moment of shock, the whumpee followed after him.

Keeping his balance after weeks of sitting proved nearly impossible, but he knew better than to disobey.

The main floor of the building was wrecked.

Every window had shattered, littering the ground with shards of glass. Bullet holes scarred covered the plaster walls.

The whumpee wasnt sure whether the stranger wanted him to cut himself walking on the glass, or whether he was supposed to keep himself in good condition until the stranger had a chance to sort him out properly.

So, he walked just behind the stranger, who mercifully took a mainly clear path to the door.

The stranger, no, the rescuer lead the whumpee outside.

The whumpee couldn't remember the last time he had seen the sky, or the grass, or the trees, or even the concrete roads.

The rescuer opened the passenger side door on a shiny black car. "Get in, and don't make a fuss."

"Yes sir."

The seat of the car was the most comfortable place the whumpee had ever been allowed to sit.

The passenger seat wasn't cramped, or filthy, and it certainly didn't have any sharp edges for the whumpee to cut himself on.

The scenery outside of the whumpee's window shot past in a blur, but it was still the loveliest thing he had ever seen. He only wished he could touch it.

No. He needed to be grateful. Being let out of the basement was far more than he deserved. Having desires only brought trouble.

"I want to make your position very clear," the rescuer said.

"Yes sir."

The whumpee reluctantly turned away from the window to look at the rescuer as he continued speaking.

"I own you, and I expect complete obedience. "

A wave of relief crashed over the whumpee.

"Yes sir." Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes, even as he smiled. "Thank you sir."

The rescuer gave the whumper a baffled look. "Would you care to explain what you mean by that."

"Yes sir. I mean, thank you for rescuing me. I promise I'll obey you. I won't be difficult, or talk back, or try to escape. Thank you for not abandoning me. I don't know why I'm worth it, but I am so very grateful sir."

A small smiled crept over the rescuer's face as he considered his answer.

"You're welcome. Truth be told, I don't think you're worth it. You'll have to prove that to me. But I'll give you some time."

"Yes sir."

The rescuer popped the compartment between the driver and passenger seats open.

"Do you see those water bottles?" He asked.

"Yes sir."

The whumpee knew he wasn't supposed to want things. But he hadn't had a drop to drink in more than two days, and his throat ached all the more for the thought of water.

"Pick one of them up, open it, and drink it. Your voice sounds awful."

"Wait, really sir?"

"Did I stutter?" The rescuer snapped.

"No sir."

It took the whumpee's shaking hands a few fumbles before he managed to unscrew the cap. He tried not to appear greedy as he drank the water, but he knew that he had guzzled it far too quickly.

"Thank you sir."

"Much better. Now I can actually stand listening to your voice."

"Yes sir." The whumpee set the empty bottle on the floor, where a few others already laid.

The rescuer pulled into the driveway of a house. It had a rustic design, fashioned from dark wood and adorned with brass hand railings and doorknobs. It perfectly suited the woods it nestled in.

"Don't run," the rescuer repeated. "Or I will punish you."

"Yes sir. I won't sir."

The rescuer stepped out of the car, walked around the front, and opened the passenger side door to let the whumpee out.

The whumpee was overjoyed to be outside once again. Massive trees towered over his head, their foliage providing cool shade. Soft grass grew beneath his bare feet, far more comfortable than the concrete he was accustomed to. The vivid blue of the sky was almost overwhelming in brightness.

And the sun, by Jove, there was a sun.

The world felt alive.

The sunlight warmed the whumpee to his very core. Small bugs crawled through the grass and flittered through the air, delighting the whumpee with their bright designs and tiny bodies. Bugs had been his only real companions for years, and he had grown very fond of them.

"Come along."

The rescuer placed his hand on the small of the whumpee's bare back and steered him inside.

With the slam of the front door, the whumpee was once again a prisoner, kept by a stranger and with no certainty of the future.

No, the whumpee scratched his arm with his nails, drawing blood. He wasn't allowed to think like this. He had been rescued. He was allowed to drink water.

This stranger was nothing like his master.

His dead master.

A smile unfurled itself on the whumpee's face at the thought.

The rescuer unlocked the basement door and gestured for the whumpee to go through. He relocked the door behind them before following the whumpee down the stairs.

"This is where you will be staying. You are not to leave my basement without my explicit permission. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

The carpet under the whumpee's feet felt like a dream. Collapsing from pain would no longer bruise him, and kneeling before his new owner wouldn't bash his knees.

The rescuer pushed a pale wooden door open and beckoned for the whumpee.

The inside of the room was simple, but to the whumpee's mind it seemed as good as a palace.

A mattress was tucked into one corner. A pillow and fuzzy blanket neatly laid over clean sheets. A slightly ajar closet door took up part of the righthand wall. A small wood chair sat in a corner.

"You are to sleep in here," the rescuer said. "But having a bed is a privilege and one that can be revoked. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

A bed. He could sleep on an actual bed. This was further proof of his rescuers kindness. The whumpee would have been more than content to lay on the carpet.

"Before you lie down, we need to get you cleaned up," the rescuer continued. "You can't get that filth all over the sheets."

"Yes sir."

The whumpee trailed closely behind the rescuer, trying to prove their newfound loyalty.

"It's bad enough that you got that grime all over my front seat," the rescuer continued.

"I'm sorry sir. I can clean it."

"I may take you up on that later."

The room they entered was much different than the rest of the basement. The carpet cut off suddenly at the door, exposing concrete foundation. The walls were bare, aside from a few deep cracks and a wood cabinet pushed against the left hand wall. A green coiled hose was curled up in a corner.

The whumpee braced himself to be hosed down, preparing for the bruises and welts. It was between this and being splashed with the boiling water the late whumper had been all too fond of.

It came as a pleasant surprise when the cold water flowed gently from the garden hose. It gave the whumpee chills, but it didn't injure him like the late whumper's fireman's hose had.

The rescuer even brought the hose over the whumpee's hair, and scratched at his scalp with his nails, turning the whumpee's matted hair from a dark brown to a light redish hue.

The whumpee gave the rescuer his best smile.

The rescuer turned off the hose and left it curled up in the corner.

He walked slowly around the whumpee, assessing his progress. He gently tilted the whumpee's face up with his fingertips.

"You look prettier like that, clean and smiling."

"Thank you sir."

"Now, we need to get you dressed and have a discussion about your future."

"Yes sir."

Dressed? The whumpee couldn’t remember being allowed to wear clothing. The late whumper had kept him completely stripped, to make the beatings easier.

They walked out of the room, a grin still unfurled on the whumpee's face.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Sobbing crying cause I have ideas to write but I know when I get off work in 7 hours I won’t have the brainpower left to write

[adfamiliares]

mary karr/richard siken

[whumpersworld]

I'm back baby

[whumpersworld]

Hi! May I request a good ol' sedating the whumpee prompt or drabble?

Hey!! Thank you for the ask, it was really fun :>

Also, ask to tag maybe? I'm pretty new at this.

-

Whumper had an agenda, they couldn't be bothered to adjust their plans just to make things more convenient for Whumpee. Blood work needed to taken as well as a general health check and their constant thrashing was making their head pound. Whumper tried to be accommodating, or at least understanding, but eventually it just became too much for them. It wasn't Whumper's fault Whumpee was here after all, they were simply following the orders of their higher ups. The higher ups of course requesting they get a full health check before they could run them through processing for their big important project. Whumper snorted, they were supposed to have a more important role in this project and now they weren't even included in the board discussions. Maybe they'd be more patient with Whumpee if they didn't feel like their work meant so little.

Whumper finally yelled out, having reached their limit, "That's it," They half growled, their jaw clenched and their teeth gritted, "You're going under, I can't take it anymore, you're like a squealing pig. You're not going home, you're not seeing your family again, banging your head against the table isn't going to help anyone!" They couldn't help but raise their voice and immediately grab for their syringe they'd already prepped just in case. Their long nails pressed into Whumpee's arm as they inserted the needle, nearly missing the vein but not quite. Immediately it was like Whumper could finally exhale, the relief washed over them as Whumpee finally calmed themself down, tears cascading down their cheeks. Being awake meant they had some sort of control, and now their control; as well as their consciousness, was slowly slipping away.

[maniacal-ramblings]

Language Barriers

Whumpers, Whumpees and Caretakers who can’t understand each other? 

Including classics such as- 

Whumpers carefully worded threats falling flat as they realize whumpee doesn’t understand a word they are saying. 

Whumpee being forced to use a language they don’t understand, punished when they fail. 

Caretaker who is trying their hardest to seem nonthreatening, trying to use pointing, sign language, anything to communicate they wont hurt Whumpee.  

Whumpee who pretends they don’t understand so they can listen in for information. Reacts to something that is said, revealing their lie. 

Whumper needing to teach them a common language so they can get information out of them, get them to communicate. How painfully is this accomplished? 

Or, Whumper being the only one who speaks their language, so Whumpee can’t go to anyone else for help. 

Whumpee associating an entire language with their tormentor. Freaking out when it is used by their friend/caretaker. Slipping back into the ‘don’t hurt me, please, please don’t hurt me’ and no-one understanding what the trigger was. 

Caretaker and Whumpee filtering through languages they both know until they find something they both know a little of. 

Another person needing to be a Mediator. Maybe the information is lost in translation. 

Caretaker thinks Mediator is telling Whumpee what they are saying, that they are safe now. Mediator actually works for Whumper and is telling Whumpee just to ‘Nod along and no-one will get hurt. Don’t try and signal Caretaker or I will have to kill them.’ Or that ‘Caretaker works for Whumper too.’

Delirious Whumpee slipping back into their original language. Caretaker can’t understand, can’t wake them up enough to get them to speak a shared language. 

Delirious Whumpee slipping into their original language during torture, betraying some lie they told about their origins. 

[moving-blogs-aw]

Is this a prompt or an idea for myself? I do not know. But if you use it, please tag me!

CW// non human whumpee (vampire), pet whump (of sorts), non con body modification, crippled whumpee, creepy whumper, captivity, conditioning, broken whumpee, blood, cutting, muzzles.

Imagine a world where vampires are seen as lesser. They can barely live on without human contact, and theres so few of them that are actually strong enough to fight, they bent to humans for food and shelter from the sun really quickly, and a long, long time ago. Imagine a poor little vampire with their fangs taken out by an ancestor of yours, so they’re more docile and pliant. Relying on their benefactor to eat. Such vampire would make a really, cute whumpee. Maybe the person who caught them, laughs at the way they used to be, incredibly defiant and hissing left and right. Until hunger and pain swiped it away to give space to the new obedient and just grateful for any scrap of affection. The vampire that’s been on the family for generations, now given away, because they’re too boring to play with. You take them in and they cant be more thankful when you draw out some other poor bastard’s blood, animal blood if you wish to keep them on their place until they show you they deserve real blood.

So. You make sure to make them search for you. Play your own games until they feel like only you are safe and constant and the only comfort in the world. So when theyre sitting on your lap, they only have eyes for you. Waiting for your instructions readily. Waiting patiently for the knife to cut your wrist and offer it to them. They take it and with the most delicacy and deliciously perfect trained expression on their eyes, they ask if they may drink some of their god’s blood. As you laugh and grant them it, they kiss the injury. They might not have any fangs left, but the venom pooling on their mouth all the time, acting as a gloss when their lips touch your skin, takes away all sensibility. Now its more of a courtesy than anything, but they do it anyways. They drink, but not too much. You taught them well how to not be ungrateful. And so, when they pull away, youre met with your tamed beast adoringly thanking you. Nuzzling your hand before they let you put the muzzle with bit back again. Not because they would go feral, they know better than that.

Theyre to show you tonight, and for the rest of your children’s children and so on, how little agency they have on themselves. Forever.