#dehumanisation

[unforgivenn]

16th HOUR #8: Flesh and Metal

Previous/ Masterlist

CW: violence, injury, trauma, severe self-harm, asphyxiation, Drug use, Emotional and psychological distress, panic, Non-con restraints and captivity, manipulation, abuse This one is gory af

Samuel’s breaths came in ragged gasps, each one feeling more desperate than the last. His heart pounded against his chest, and he could hear the loud ringing in his ears. The dim light overhead flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the cold stone walls that felt more like a prison than a room. He shuddered as he became fully conscious, his head pounding from whatever drug had been injected into him. It made his thoughts sluggish, his body heavy, every limb slow to respond. Of course the fucker had added drugs in the food..

It was working too well—his mind felt clouded, sluggish, like he was wading through thick fog. A dull metallic clinking echoed in the small space as the chain around his ankle rattled. His skin stung where the cold, unrelenting metal dug into it, sharp and cruel, biting deeper with every tiny shift he made. It felt weird. He wasn’t unconscious like all the other times. No, this one was worse—it was keeping him awake, his brain half-functional, aware enough to feel the panic creeping in but too clouded to think his way out. His limbs felt heavy, almost disconnected from the rest of his body. Each movement was like dragging his limbs through wet cement, sluggish and agonizing.

He blinked, trying to focus on the chains binding him. His vision doubled, then tripled, the room spinning like a carousel he couldn’t get off. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat, but he forced it down. The cold bite of the shackle around his ankle snapped him back for a moment, though the edges of his awareness frayed with each passing second. Every breath felt like it took a monumental effort, and his body swayed, barely able to keep upright.

His fingers brushed the chain at his ankle, fumbling to find some way to loosen it. The cold metal felt wrong, almost foreign, like his nerves couldn’t fully register the sensation anymore. It took a few moments before he realized the wetness on his hands wasn’t sweat—it was blood. He couldn’t feel the pain the way he should have; it was muted, distant, but there. Always there, gnawing at the edges of his senses. He tugged at the chain again, gritting his teeth as a wave of dizziness hit him hard, threatening to pull him under.

His breathing grew rapid, and he tried blinking away the tears. "No... no, no, no..." he whispered, the words tumbling from his lips like prayers to a god that wasn’t listening. His hand flew to his throat, clawing at it. Not now Oh god please not now.

Samuel forced himself to stop, pressing his hands into the cold floor beneath him. He was still alive. Well at least that was something.. is mind raced, replaying flashes of what had happened. The auction, the bidding, Marcus... Fucking Marcus.

His hands trembled as they reached for the chain at his ankle, desperate to find a weak point, something he could exploit. Somehow the chain felt as if it was choking him, as if it kept tightening every few seconds. Maybe it did. He wasn't sure.

It was like his mind was floating somewhere above his body, detached, watching himself suffer without the power to do anything about it. The chain’s tightness around his ankle felt both real and unreal, the metallic bite digging into his flesh while his senses struggled to fully process it. His ankle was throbbing, but it was like his brain couldn’t quite understand that it was his ankle, his pain. His breaths came faster, shallower, the air thick and cloying, suffocating him as his head lolled to the side.

He pulled at the chain, trying to wedge his fingers underneath to loosen it. It didn’t move. It was so tight that even the slightest pressure sent a sharp jolt of pain through his ankle. Samuel bit down hard on his lip, swallowing a groan, and tried again, his muscles straining with the effort. The drug in his system only made it harder for him to think. His breath came out in ragged gasps, the air around him thick and suffocating. Please Please Please...

The pain intensified, the metal biting into the tender flesh, but Samuel refused to stop. His fingers fumbled, slick with sweat and the beginnings of blood, as he tried to pry it off. He could feel the rough edges of the chain grinding into his skin, and a sickening crack told him something was breaking—not the chain, but something inside him. The pain increased, probably a sign that the drug was wearing off.

Samuel pressed one of his hands on his mouth, trying to drown out the noises of pain that slipped away. He pulled his hand away from the shackle trying to calm himself down, trying to repeat himself he could do this, that the pain was going to be worth it when he got out here. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks.

He took a shaky breath before closing his eyes and then yanking harder, his whole body trembling with the exertion. His ankle felt like it was on fire, the sharp, stabbing pain growing with each desperate pull. Blood trickled down his leg, warm and sticky, mixing with the dirt and grime that coated his skin. The stench of iron filled his nostrils, turning his stomach.

Samuel gritted his teeth, the copper taste of blood filling his mouth as he bit down harder on his soft lips to stifle his cries. He tugged again, harder this time, and something tore. A raw, burning sensation shot through his ankle, and he could feel the skin peeling away, layer by agonizing layer. His vision blurred with more tears sniffling to keep them in.

As much as he wanted to disagree he couldn’t stop now. He was too far in. His fingers pressed against the blood-soaked skin, trying to wedge the chain down. The more he pushed, the deeper it cut, and soon, the chain was buried in his flesh, disappearing into the bloody mess that had once been his ankle. His stomach twisted in revulsion and he gagged at the sight. He pulled his filthy shirt, twisting it and then biting down on it.

His thoughts raced, fractured and wild, as the pain tore through him. It felt like he was being split open from the inside, his flesh ripped apart by the unrelenting pressure of the chain. He wanted to scream, wanted to rip his own fucking leg off just to make it stop.

His whole body shook, his breaths coming out in strangled gasps as he yanked again, the chain slipping slightly down. A fresh wave of agony surged through him, so intense it stole his breath. His vision swam, the room spinning around him. Please lord just let it come off..

The chain slid another inch, pulling more of his skin with it, leaving a raw, oozing wound in its wake. Samuel’s body convulsed, the pain so overwhelming that he could barely think, barely breathe. His ankle was a mangled, bleeding mess, the flesh torn away to reveal the slick, gleaming bone beneath.

Biting down on the shirt wasn't helping so he bit down hard on his knuckle, his teeth sinking into the flesh to keep himself from crying out and distract him from the overwhelming pain.

Samuel pushed again, his fingers slick with blood as he worked the chain farther down. His skin peeled away in thick, wet chunks, and he could feel the warmth of the blood pooling around his foot, soaking into the cold, hard floor. His breath hitched, his whole body trembling from the exertion, from the sheer, overwhelming agony.

The chain slipped again, this time falling with a dull clink onto the floor. A wave of relief washed over him, but it was short-lived. Samuel’s ankle throbbed, blood oozing from the deep gash that circled it. His skin was shredded, barely hanging on, the bone exposed and gleaming in the dim light of the room. He looked down at the mess of his leg, nausea rising in his throat at the sight of it. Fucking move!!

His legs barely moved, his body not responding the way it should have. He wasn’t sure if it was the drugs or the pain—or maybe both—but everything felt wrong, like he was fighting through layers of molasses just to take another breath, to move another inch.

God, what did he put in me?

He dragged himself to his feet, biting back a scream as his injured ankle gave way beneath him. The world tilted dangerously, but he forced himself to stay upright, leaning heavily on the wall for support, breathing heavily. Every step was filled with agony, and his vision blurred with each jolt of pain that shot through him.

The room seemed to spin around him as he struggled towards the door, the smell of thick blood nauseatingly in the air. His whole body ached, every muscle screaming in protest, yet he pushed forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The door was so close—just a few more steps.

And then, a sound.

Footsteps. Drawing closer.

Samuel tensed up at the sudden sound, his heart racing as fear gripped him. No no no no no!!

And almost immediately, heavy tears began streaming down his cheeks with his eyes still wide open in shock. His breath hitched when the door creaked open.

Marcus stood in the doorway, his cold calculating eyes fixed onto Samuel. There was no emotion in them, no hint of sympathy or understanding. It was that same detached cruelty that daunted Samuel since Day One. A tinge of a smile curled up on the man's face as his eyes fell upon the mess his prisoner had made.

"No.."

Samuel’s heart sank, his breath choking his throat. The chain might be off, but he wasn’t free. Not yet.

And Marcus had come to remind him of that.

"Were you going somewhere, Sammy?" Marcus tilted his head, pouting as he stepped into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, as if some sort of predator closing in on his prey.

Cold sweat oozed down his face; his heart racing in his chest. He could feel the room shrink around him, the walls coming down, suffocating him. Samuel shook his head, shaking.

Marcus took a step closer, his gaze flicking down to the bloody mess that was Samuel’s ankle. A slow, cold smile spread across his lips. "Are you sure? It looks like you’ve been very busy."

Samuel jerked his body backward, his body with a loud cry as the pain flared through his ankle once again.

He was trapped.

Samuel's knees buckled and his body collapsed under him. The pain in his ankle ripped through him with the ferocity of wildfire, each nerve shrieking in protest as he tried to find his footing, but the blood-slick floor betrayed him. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, gasping for air and trying to suppress the wave of nausea rising in his throat.

“No…” His voice was barely audible, a terrified whisper as Marcus stepped back into the room, his expression unreadable. He hit his head against the cold floor, letting out a defeated sob. Samuel’s chest tightened, his breath hitching in his throat. The terror was so overwhelming it was paralyzing, his body locking up as Marcus approached.

He closed his eyes, clenching them shut so hard that it hurt, as if the act would block out the reality of where he was, of what he had become. But it didn’t. Nothing could. Not even the thick fog that was ever so slowly settling over his mind, numbing his thoughts, dulling the edges of his consciousness. The pain, though, remained sharp, ever-present.

“Still fighting, I see,” Marcus said, his voice dripping heavy with sarcasm. He crouched down, his face inches from Samuel’s, that sickening smile playing on his lips. “That’s cute.”

Samuel’s lips trembled, his breath coming in shallow, irregular gasps when Marcus’s fingers pressed into his skin. He wanted to pull away, to scream, to do anything to get away from that touch, but his body refused to comply.

Marcus’s hand slid down, his fingers curving around Samuel’s throat, just tight enough to make him feel the pressure, the promise of something far worse if he dared resist. Samuel’s pulse quickened, his chest heaving with panic surging through him.

“Do you understand why this keeps happening?” Marcus asked, voice soft and silky, as if trying to soothe a frightened child. “It’s because you don’t listen, Sam. You don’t learn. I’m trying to help you, and still you keep fighting me.”

Help? Dehumanizing someone with thoughts and feelings wasn't helping. Making someone go through pain without any reason wasn't helping. Fuck him, He wouldn't even know the meaning of "help". Samuel’s jaw clenched, his teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard that he tasted blood. He wanted to scream at Marcus, to tell him how much he hated him, how much he despised every word that came out of his mouth. But he couldn’t. The words were trapped in his throat, smothered by fear.

“You’re stubborn,” Marcus continued, his thumb brushing lightly against Samuel’s pulse. “But that’s okay. I’m not in a hurry. I can wait for you to understand.”

Samuel's breath caught as his body shook beneath Marcus' touch. He didn’t want to understand. He didn’t want to listen. All he wanted was for this to end, for the nightmare to be over. Apparently that was too much to ask in this world. Maybe in some other life he would be treated like a human with emotions and not just some doll.

The man leaned closer, hot breath against Samuel’s ear. “You’ll learn eventually,” he whispered, “One way or another.”

There was still a small part of Samuel that clung to the hope that this could end, that there was a way out, a way to escape. But that part was growing weaker with each passing day, each passing hour. And Marcus knew it.

Marcus always knew.

The man crouched down again, his eyes locking onto Samuel’s, his smile widening as he leaned in close, his breath ghosting across Samuel’s skin.

“You hate me,” Marcus whispered, his voice a low, dark murmur that sent a shiver down Samuel’s spine. “I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.”

Samuel’s throat tightened, his heart pounding against his ribcage as he stared up at Marcus, the hatred burning in his chest like a fire that refused to die.

“But that’s okay,” Marcus continued, his fingers brushing against Samuel’s cheek. “Hate is just another form of attention. As long as you’re focused on me, I don’t care what you feel.”

The words hit Samuel like a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs as the full weight of Marcus’s control pressed down on him. It wasn’t about love or hate. It wasn’t about what Samuel felt. It was about Marcus — always Marcus — and the way he could twist and manipulate everything around him, bending it to his will.

Marcus smiled. “You’re going to learn your place, Samuel. You’re going to learn that you don’t get to fight. You don’t get to resist. You’re mine now. And anyways you wouldn't like me to send you back to the facility would you?"

Samuel’s throat closed up, his vision swimming with tears. He wanted to scream, to fight, to tell Marcus to go to hell, but his body betrayed him. His voice was gone, swallowed by the overwhelming fear that was crushing him from the inside out.

Marcus’s grip tightened and he gritted his teeth widening the smile, his fingers digging painfully into Samuel’s skin. “You wouldn't right?”

“I—” Samuel choked on his words, his voice barely more than a whimper. As bad as Marcus was, anything would be better than returning to the facility. “I-I… No..”

“No what?”

“No… sir.”

Marcus’s smile widened, a sick, satisfied grin that made Samuel’s stomach churn with disgust and shame. His hand released him, and he stood up, looking down at him.

“Good boy,” Marcus said, his voice filled with a twisted sense of pride.

Samuel wanted to die.

---

Taglist: @electrons2006/ @anutz1234/ @ash-reh/ @whumped-by-glitter/ @catnykit/ @morning-star-whump/ @paperprinxe/ @octopus-reactivated/ @whumpdemonium/ @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees/ @noeul-whumpppss

@whumpifi/ @fable-bug-real/ @cheesemctoastnuggets/ @deputydeputyp/ @thelazywitchphotographer/ @isntthisblank/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234

@nuriiz134/ @fox-fox234/ @carosbee/ @writingphoenix @carolinethedragon/ @possumhoe/ @evagran/ @somebody327/ @someoneoninternettt/ @classyanchorlove/ @kiratheperson/ @boahamcock/ @pyromaiow/ @imarandomgamer/ @edward-mybeloved/ @skribl/ @aleki-lives-here/ @roskarovio/ @pentagramstars/ @ossknsma/ @abbyreader23/ @cluelesscameraman/ @alphabet-egg/ @cheesemctoastnuggets/ @deputydeputyp/ @thelazywitchphotographer/ @isntthisblank/@demetercabingreen-thumb/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234/ @electrons2006/ @demetercabingreen-thumb

@vampiresprite/ @lucas--43/ @defire/ @mylifeisonthebookshelf/ @whumpwhittler/ @taterswhump

(lmk if you wanna be added or removed <3)

[whump-in-the-closet]

whumpee characterizations ? and what it takes to break them

thief whumpee: silver-tongued/ can't keep still/ uses humor as a coping mechanism-> gagged/ stress positions/ a casual whumper whose indifference immobilizes whumpee

royal whumpee: stoic/ proud/ seeks revenge after their imprisonment-> forced to kneel/ public humiliation, dragged around like a trophy, collared, branded etc/ enough scars to look like a constellation on their skin

healer whumpee: kind/ keeps up an image for the sake of others/ skilled in their trade-> pushed to the edge/ others have to take care of them/ hands or fingers so badly damaged they'll never be able to help anyone else again

innocent whumpee: naive/ trusting/ hopeful-> "no one is coming for you"/ left to die/ a whumper who twists whumpee's anger against their friends

bitter whumpee: apathetic/ shrugs off what they've been through/ exhausted-> "I'm fine." followed by collapsing/ vivid flashbacks where they wake up screaming/ refuses to fall asleep after their ordeal

leader whumpee: independent to the point of isolation/ tries to protect everyone/ mentally well-adjusted (mostly)-> set up to fail/ forced to hurt their teammates/ they come back changed, and everyone avoids them

villain whumpee: defiant/ insults whumper every chance they get/ so many failed escape attempts-> non-con drugging, left a shadow of their past selves/ conditioned to obey/ kneeling next to whumper at a press conferences

[sayruq]

[defectivegembrain]

Hello person, allistic or autistic, who wants to make a point about autistic social behaviour. You must now find a way to describe autistic people, either as a whole or as individuals who happen to have different experiences from you, without using any comparisons to non human beings or objects. Or I will...throw you in the alligator pit or something idk how saw traps work

[bloodybloody]

Whumper who records the process while the experiment is occuring✨✨✨

Whumper is checking the equipment and medical devices after tying the whumpee down to the operation table. They gaze upon the camera, which is in the corner of the room, and start the voice recording. They plainly state the date, time, whumpee's number, which is determined by whumper when they are captured, and the experiment's subject. Then they inject muscle relaxants in order to hold the whumpee still.

Despite the medications they've taken, whumpee is in excruciating pain. They can't save themselves or even move; they merely cry and scream in pain. Whumper is unable to record their voice properly because of whumpee's wails, so they shush and calm whumpee down with comforting words, caressing their hair and holding their hand. Whumpee is barely fighting the urge to scream; all they can do is sob and whine while clutching whumper's hand tightly.

Whumper leaves whumpee immediately after finishing the experiment to examine the record while whumper is writhing. They notice whumpee's desperate but resigned gaze at them while watching the record. 

They thank whumpee for being a good lab rat while treating, headpating, and kissing them.

Whumpee watches whumper for a couple days studying the results of the experiment while they wait for whumper to finish their work on their knees. Whumper randomly asks questions about what they've felt in specific moments and makes them remember the pain they've felt, intentionally or unintentionally.

[whumpshaped]

pampered whumpee in a gilded cage. no one understands what's so bad about their situation, they're pretty, taken care of, in the nicest clothes all the time, eating the best foods.

except they cannot leave. they're dolled up against their will while strapped to a chair and drugged out of their mind. the clothes are things they'd never wear, uncomfortable and revealing. the best foods are always carefully measured and handpicked by whumper in order to keep whumpee's body looking the same.

and has anyone ever even heard whumpee speak? not even once?

well, it's whatever. pretty things like them usually have nothing inside that pretty little head anyway.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumper treated the whumpee like an animal. Punishment was given whenever the smallest rule was broken, and the whumpee didn’t get basic human respect- no bed, no plated food, the whumpee was just chained up and treated like dirt.

[thetempestechoes]

Actually, Es is their own person.

I see a lot of people treat Es like an audience self-insert, a complete blank slate for the audience to project their thoughts onto. But I think there's more to Es and their character than that, and I think that if you treat them as characterless, you're doing their character a massive disservice. Here's a (relatively) short post about why.

From the very beginning, Jackalope encourages Es to accept Milgram as their identity, wholly, and encourages the audience to look at Es like a blank slate. Jackalope even says in one of the Milgram timelines that the only way the audience can affect events in Milgram is through Es (how this interacts with the voices heard by the prisoners is for a different post). From the very beginning, Es is presented to the audience as a vessel for them to look at Milgram through.

But Es isn't a blank slate. Es did accept Milgram as their whole identity very early on, but it's important to remember that they are a teenager who remembers almost no personal information except for their age, who wakes up in a completely unfamiliar environment with no frame of reference for the sort of situation they've ended up in. That makes it much easier for Milgram to become Es's identity, because they have almost nothing else to latch onto. Any questioning of this causes them to be mentally barred from thinking about it further, even progressing to breakdowns when pushed (such as in Muu's first VD).

Es and Amane are remarkably similar in their perspectives in that sense. Amane justifies her actions by using the rules of the cult she's grown up in; Es is doing their utmost best to follow the rules laid out to them by Milgram. Even when Fuuta points out just how similar Es's situation is to the rest of the prisoners, Es rejects this - simply because they are the warden, and by Milgram's rules, that means they're in charge. Es and Amane's agencies are both downplayed or even outright denied by people within Milgram or the audience, mostly because of their ages, and they both resent this.

Es physically isn't allowed to doubt Milgram, and not only that, but doubting Milgram means doubting themself, because it's become their entire identity. They are the warden, that is what they do, that is their job, this is irrefutable and doubting this means doubting their very being. Even if doubting Milgram didn't push them into breakdown territory, I think it's understandable that doubting the thing that has become the core of their identity would give them an existential crisis. Whoever Es used to be is suppressed as much as possible. Milgram wants Es to be that blank slate, that audience vessel, but Es is also a person. And no-one is a complete blank slate.

[koinotame]

on the topic of fucked up sagau thoughts, I'm still really really fond of the idea that rhinedottir created albedo to be to your taste, and this extends once he meets you. in particular he finds himself emulating the traveler, your first and most important vessel—maybe he'll stick some flowers in his hair, or unbutton his shirt a little when you're around so his tummy shows through the bottom of it. he's not sure how to feel when you button it up for him so intimately because you think he'll get cold in the frigid dragonspine weather—your care makes his entire body feel warm and tingly and leaves him aching for more, but it also means he isn't perfect. it also means he's failed you. despite everything, he isn't good enough yet. you don't treat the traveler like some frail thing that needs to be taken care of. it's easy to notice imperfections, but fixing them is much harder. the pitiful mark on his neck setting him apart from other humans, setting him apart as a success at alchemy but a failure at humanity, his hair being the wrong colour, his movements and emotions and expressions unnatural and stiff, wrong wrong it's all wrong—

...maybe he isn't so different from his prototype after all. just luckier. the lengths that thing was willing to go to to be loved and cared for... albedo understands now.

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Robot whump <3

Whumpee who used to be human but had their parts slowly replaced with robotic pieces—one by one—until they're not sure if they're even the same person they used to be

Whumpee gradually forgetting their friends and family

Overheating, electrical errors, short circuiting

Whumper reminding Whumpee that they're not human—why should they be treated like one?

[unforgivenn]

16th HOUR - #6: Under Hammer

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: Violence, Dehumanisation, Slavery, Drugging, Family rejection, Non-con Handling

Samuel’s pulse raced as the curtains parted, revealing a dimly lit room filled with rows of seats. The audience sat in shadows, their faces hidden, yet he could feel their eyes on him—cold, calculating, eager. The auctioneer, a tall man with a slick appearance, stood at the front of the stage, his voice booming as he introduced the event.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s auction!! We have a special treat for you—a handsome young man, in excellent condition! Perfect for your collection or personal use.”

Samuel’s heart pounded in his chest. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck His mind screamed in protest, but his body was paralyzed with fear. What the fuck, what the fuck, Somebody please get me out The room felt like a nightmare, the air thick with anticipation and depravity. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck Every step he took felt like a march toward doom, his chains clinking softly against the polished floor. What the fu-

“Present the item,” the auctioneer commanded.

A handler pushed Samuel forward, and he stumbled, the chains around his ankles preventing him from catching his balance. He fell to his knees, the rough wood biting into his skin. The audience murmured among themselves excitedly, some even squealing and giggling. Samuel’s face burned with humiliation, but he forced himself to stand, his legs trembling.

“Please... let me go,” he whispered, barely audible. The handler yanked him upright, ignoring his plea. Not like he expected the man to listen to him anyways.

“Head up,” the auctioneer snapped. “Show them what they’re bidding on.”

Samuel lifted his head, meeting the gaze of the audience. The best he could do right now was listen. He wanted to scream and shout as much as he could though that didn't seem like such a good idea in a place filled with strangers, and guards with guns across their chests. Especially if he wanted to avoid pain. The faces he saw were devoid of empathy, their eyes glinting with greed and curiosity. They saw him as a product, an object to be bought and sold. It made his stomach churn with revulsion.

“Look at his build, his complexion,” the auctioneer continued, walking around Samuel, gesturing at him like he was a piece of meat. “Healthy, strong, and obedient. Perfect for any household. We don't get such men much. I'd consider this a special one then.” The auctioneer winked and laughed, though Samuel felt like puking.

Obedient. The word echoed in Samuel’s mind. He wanted to scream, to fight, to break free, but he knew it was futile. The system was designed to crush any semblance of rebellion, to strip away every ounce of humanity.

The bidding started, voices rising from the darkness. Samuel’s thoughts swirled in a chaotic mix of fear, anger, and despair. How had it come to this? How had he gone from being a person with dreams and aspirations to a mere item on a stage?

“Do I hear one million? One million, thank you. One point five? Two million, excellent!!,” the auctioneer’s voice droned on, each number driving a nail deeper into Samuel’s soul.

He remembered his family, the way they looked at him when the classification results came in. The disbelief, the horror, and ultimately, the cold rejection. They couldn’t accept that their son was now livestock, a being stripped of rights and dignity. They didn't care. The memory was a knife to his heart, the pain as fresh as the day it happened.

“Three million, ladies and gentlemen. Three million for this fine specimen. Do I hear three point five?”

A wave of nausea washed over Samuel. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating under the weight of his helplessness. The air seemed to thicken, pressing in on him from all sides. He wanted to disappear, to escape this twisted reality-

“Three point five! Going once, going twice—”

“Four million.”

The voice was cold, authoritative. It sliced through the murmur of the crowd, drawing all attention. The auctioneer paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regained his composure.

“Four million. Do I hear four point five?”

Silence. The room was thick with tension, the bidders hesitant. No one else dared to challenge the new bidder. The auctioneer smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Four million, going once, going twice—sold!”

The gavel came down with a resounding thud, sealing Samuel’s fate. He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, the finality of it crashing over him like a wave. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, his chains rattling in the oppressive silence.

“Congratulations to the winning bidder,” the auctioneer announced. “You’ve acquired a truly exceptional specimen.”

The handler hauled Samuel to his feet, dragging him off the stage. The curtains closed behind him, cutting off the view of the audience. Samuel’s mind was a whirlpool of emotions—fear, anger, despair—all mixing into a nauseating cocktail that threatened to overwhelm him.

He was led down a dim corridor, the oppressive atmosphere pressing in on him. His thoughts raced, trying to grasp onto any shred of hope, but there was none. He was a prisoner in this twisted system, a pawn in a game he didn’t understand.

The handler shoved him into a small, windowless room. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the confined space. Samuel sank to the floor, his body shaking with silent sobs. He was alone, trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight.

As the hours passed, Samuel’s mind wandered. He thought of his family, his friends, the life he had lost. He thought of the government that had condemned him, the society that had turned its back on him. He felt a burning rage, a deep-seated anger at the injustice of it all.

"Why?"

There was no answer, only the cold, unyielding silence. Samuel curled up on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt to find comfort. "Why why why why why?!!" His thoughts drifted to the future, to the unknown fate that awaited him. "FUCK WHY?!" He tried to steel himself, to prepare for whatever horrors lay ahead, and to just not cry but it seemed impossible now. He was being sold. Like someone who had no life, no thoughts, no family.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. Samuel looked up, his eyes red and swollen from crying. The man was tall and impeccably dressed. He had expected some fat, old, pervert which this man was definitely not. He could still be a pervert but he wanted to cancel that situation out the most.

“Hello.” he said, his voice smooth and condescending slightly leaning down to see Samuel's face properly.

This fucker. He was talking to him like one would to a cat. Swears were burning up at his throat with tears that unfortunately only heavied when he saw the man. He wanted to punch, kick, swear, kill him but the only thing he managed out was- "G-Get away.."

The man’s gaze remained impassive, his eyes cold and calculating as he took in Samuel’s defiant posture. “Oh, come now,” he said, his tone patronizing yet unbothered by the hostility. “I’m here to finalize the details of your new life. You’ll find it’s quite different from the one you’ve left behind.”

Samuel’s heart raced faster, the blood pounding in his ears. The man’s words seemed to echo in the empty room, mingling with the remnants of Samuel’s fading hope. He could barely focus on the man’s features, his mind a tumult of panic and resignation.

The man continued, unperturbed by Samuel’s pleas. “You should be grateful. Not many get to experience such... exclusive treatment. Rather, you would've already been beaten down for not giving proper respect to your owner.” He gestured dismissively towards the door. “Now, we'll discuss the rules when we reach home.”

Grateful? How could he be grateful for being bought like an object, for having his humanity stripped away? How could anyone be grateful when being treated like this? His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to hold back the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“Who... who are you?” Samuel managed to choke out, his voice trembling.

The man straightened, a smile playing on his lips. “My name is Marcus Caldwell. And you, Samuel, are now my property.”

Samuel’s stomach turned at the word. He wasn’t a person anymore, just a possession, a thing to be owned. His mind raced, desperately and he almost didn't even notice the needle now in the man's hand.

"No no no no no noo get away!" The man was on him in seconds with the needle stabbed into his arm. Samuel screeched, his back arching at the rough treatment.

"Shhh.. It's for your safety, love. Just until we reach home."

That wasn't his home. His home was- oh.. he didn't have a home.. Tears filled his eyes with black spots forming in front of them.

Just how many times was he going to be drugged in this life?

Next(soon to come)

Reblogs are appreciated

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@vampiresprite/ @lucas--43

[sayruq]

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

whumpers calling whumpees dogs will never not be incredible. it's so simple. and yet so effective. throwing dog commands at them. telling others to keep their dogs in check. snapping at them to stop yapping and barking. joking about the proverbial (possibly literal) tight leash. it's just so good.

[blooming-bruises]

Caretakers that don't refuse to call Whumpee a dog or thing when Whumpee freaks out about being called a person or by a name (their name?).

Caretakers that let Whumpee sleep on the floor. Maybe adding a blanket to make it a little softer, but not forcing Whumpee to sleep in a bed.

Caretakers that let Whumpee continue to wear a collar until they're ready.

Caretakers that fight the battles for Whumpee to believe they deserve good things within the framework of their conditioning before challenging the conditioning itself ,,,

[whumpshaped]

tw past trauma, conditioned whumpee, dehumanisation, de-conditioning (gone wrong?), manipulation

“I… I’m not sure about this. It feels kinda mean.” 

“I’m literally asking you to do it,” Whumpee said, rolling their eyes a little. Despite their attempts to seem nonchalant, though, it was very clear that they were nervous about this. “Please. I can’t live my life like– this. If I’m outside while some fucker is training his dog, I– it’s embarrassing. I need to do something about it.”

“And you think re-triggering yourself is… the way to go.”

“It’s exposure therapy. I don’t get why you’re the one being so weird about it. You’re not even the one who’s about to do the heavy lifting.”

Caretaker sighed, still uneasy about the concept. “I just don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t want to be rude, I don’t want to do any of that. I want you to be okay.”

“Well, I need this to be even remotely okay.”

Caretaker bit their lower lip as they thought about it, trying to convince themself this was fine, and they shouldn’t be making a fuss about it. Whumpee was right, they had to get over it at some point. It was just… Caretaker didn’t imagine they would be the one doing any sort of therapy. “Okay,” they said softly. “Um… then, uh, do you wanna start on the floor, or–”

“No. Come on. Tell me to– say the command.”

Fuck, this was so uncomfortable. Caretaker took a deep breath and closed their eyes. “Alright. Kneel.”

The sound of Whumpee’s knees hitting the floor followed just a few moments after. It wasn’t really a conscious reaction, from what Caretaker understood. It was instinctual. Reflex. They opened their eyes to see their friend looking at the carpet, flexing and unflexing their hands that were resting on their thighs. 

“Can you get up?” Caretaker asked gently. 

“I… Of course…” Whumpee swallowed audibly, and made no move to actually get to their feet. “I just need a moment…”

“This was a bad idea.”

“No! No, I can do this. This is so stupid. I can do this. I need you to repeat the command whenever I start getting up, though. Please.”

“I shouldn’t–”

“Can you just help me for once? Instead of coddling me endlessly? I want my fucking life back!”

Caretaker flinched a little at the yelling. “S-sorry. You’re right. Um… Go ahead, then.”

Whumpee slowly took their hands from their lap and placed them on the floor, then made an attempt at pushing themself to their feet. Caretaker hated to do this. They hated seeing their friend on their knees, they hated ordering them around like an animal. But what else was there to do? Whumpee had asked them for help.

“Kneel,” they repeated quietly. Whumpee’s resolve crumbled immediately, and they sat right back down: back straight, hands in their lap, perfect as ever. They seemed embarrassed by it. “If at any point you’d like to stop–”

“I can do this,” Whumpee insisted. “I can do this. They’re just words. Stupid words.”

They tried to get up again. Caretaker sent them back to the floor with a single word. They tried to get up. Caretaker told them to kneel. It was awful. It was so bad. Whumpee started crying after the fourth time, and Caretaker just couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m done,” they said, tears in their eyes. “I’m not doing this to you.”

“What the fuck?” Whumpee snapped. “You said you’d help!”

“And I said I didn’t want to hurt you!” they yelled back. “You’re sobbing! I’m not doing this. I want you to get better, and I’ll pay for as many therapy sessions as I can, but I’m not doing this.” They turned around and stormed off, wiping their eyes as they went.

[whumpitisthen]

Whumpers who have a personal toy <333

Whumpers who have a little whumpee following them around like a pet <333

Whumpers who control and humiliate and abuse whumpee at every turn for entertainment and still expect whumpee to behave perfectly and obey them and look pretty doing it <333

Whumpers with a whumpee who is deathly afraid of them but who has no chance of getting away or even to just be themself because all that matters is keeping whumper content so they might be hurt less <333

Whumpers who coo down at whumpee and hold them close and know everything about them and are so involved with them in every possible way it seems like the two are inseparable <333

Whumpers with a favourite whumpee who is pitied and hated by all other whumpees because on one hand they get to be outside and do things and see things unlike the ones living in cells but on the other no one has to spend more time with whumper than them and that thought in itself is terrifying <333

Whumpers with accomplices and friends and colleagues and family and people who know them who also know what whumpee is and they not only tolerate their treatment, but sometimes even encourage it, if not join in <333

Whumpees who are just whumper's little things <33333333333

Whumpees who are accessories and toys and pets and servants and slaves and they follow whumper around like a little dog and its like theyre a package deal and if you see one of them you'll surely find the other nearby <3333333

~

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