#past pet whump

[serene-cinders]

A Caretaker adopting a pet Whumpee from a shelter out of pity. Whumpee’s been abused. Maybe they can’t, or won’t speak, so their pain is a mystery, but it shows in their empty eyes, maimed form, scars running criss-cross all over.

Maybe Whumpee’s on the older side. Maybe they’re not conventionally attractive. They’ve been abandoned by the world, they’ve been at the shelter for years, and they’re slowly succumbing. Dying.

Caretaker never agreed with this ‘human pet’ business. They find it despicable, and wouldn’t support it. But… that wretched husk, so rigorously broken down, brings tears to their eyes. And they can’t bare the thought of somebody dying alone in this unfeeling, underfunded shit hole.

So, Caretaker makes the choice to give them the kindest few weeks of their life.

[honeycollectswhump]

Whumper's title

[masterlist]

It was the end of a lazy evening. Caretaker stretched as the credits of the last movie rolled. Whumpee was draped across her lap and had apparently fallen asleep somewhere during the movie. She wasn’t sure if he even witnessed the climax. Even asleep Whumpee had a soft smile on his lips; he seemed truly at peace. 

It hadn’t always been like that.

A year ago, serenity like this would have been unthinkable. Maybe he would have crawled into her lap if she ordered him to, but he wouldn’t have allowed himself to relax. He wouldn’t have been able to.

A year ago, he still called himself Pet or Mutt. He would beg for punishment, beg to be allowed necessities like sleep or food. But never for mercy because he’d thought he didn’t deserve it. 

A year ago, Whumpee didn’t even remember they lived together for years prior. 

But he did now, and that was all that mattered. God, how she had missed him and the time they spent together. Caretaker wanted to savor it all, savor every little moment she could spend with him.

With a smile playing on her lips, she brushed a stray piece of hair from his scarred face. She didn’t want to wake Whumpee up but she would have to. No matter how much she wanted it, they couldn’t spend the night like this. In the morning, his already aching back would trouble him even more. He was frankly too big for her couch, his feet already dangling over the side. With one hand she was playing with his soft curls, scratching the nape of his neck, and trying to grab the remote with the other – without success.

It had to be done. Caretaker softly whispered his name, tracing his jawline in an attempt to wake him up. He wouldn't budge.

“Whumpee”, the name came out as a soft chuckle. “Whumpee, you need to wake up.”

Again, nothing. 

This time she held him by his shoulders and started shaking him gently. Two bleary brown eyes stared up at her, blinking a couple of times. A sleepy groan escaped his lips as he struggled to sit upright. Somehow Caretaker doubted that Whumpee was truly awake.

She stood up and held her hand out to him. “Let’s get you to bed, big guy.”

Loosely, he took her hands and let himself be pulled up, almost immediately resting his head on top of hers. 

“Yes, Master”, he breathed into her hair. 

Caretaker could feel her blood running cold. She froze, waiting for any indication of what happened, any sign that Whumpee wasn’t feeling well. 

But he didn’t. He didn’t tense up or start shaking. He didn’t fall on his knees or stare at her in adoration and obedience or wait for her order. In fact, he didn’t seem to even realize what he’d said. Instead, he just nuzzled further into her locks, almost falling asleep on his feet. 

Slowly, she took a step backward, his hands still in hers, waiting to see if he’d follow. Whumpee shuffled along, although at a snail’s pace. Caretaker didn’t know whether to bring up what had happened but one look in his half-lidded eyes told her that any attempt at communication would just pass by him. Chances were he wouldn’t even remember how he got to bed in the morning. 

She took him upstairs where –at the sight of his own bed– he staggered forward and flopped down on his messy sheets. Caretaker followed him inside to tuck him in. While she was securing the blanket under his shoulders, Whumpee loosely grabbed one of her hands in his much bigger one and pressed it to his cheek. 

“G’night…”, he murmured into her hand. 

She couldn’t understand what he said after that and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

This is very much inspired by this post by @whumpadventureprompts (i couldn't find how you want to be tagged when people use your prompts so i hope this is alright)

[whumpshaped]

this is a disgustingly fluffy prompt so beware slfkdh

caretaker always calls whumpee a word in their (caretaker‘s) native language, which whumpee doesn’t understand. but since they are very self loathing they just assume it’s something negative, since caretaker has to spend so much time and energy caring for and „tolerating“ whumpee. one day whumpee gets too curious though and decides to look up the word, only to find out it’s a pet name and caretaker has been calling them something lovingly the entire time

(bonus points if you do it in your native language i love learning new cute pet names!!)

sorry to all hungarians i know seeing this will cause some whiplash

tw pet whump, past trauma, caretaker new master

‘Easy, szívem.’

‘Szívem, could you bring me some water?’

‘You don’t have to push yourself, szívem.’

Whumpee accepted the nickname as their own easily. Whumper had given them plenty, although never ones they couldn’t even understand; useless, stupid, mutt… who knew which one Caretaker was using on them?

They avoided asking about it for the longest time. They told themself they were prepared for the meaning, that they could handle whatever degrading thing their new master ‘friend’ threw at them, but in reality… They weren’t prepared at all. They didn’t want to know. They wanted to pretend it was something nice, a term of genuine endearment, dear, darling, honey… Something people said to each other with kindness.

But eventually, curiosity won out. Whumpee sneaked into the study one day, picking out one of the dictionaries from the shelf. They thought about using the computer, but they chickened out. It would’ve been a much more egregious crime than opening a book.

The issue was, they had no idea how to spell the word. They started at ‘S’, flipping through pages upon pages and finding nothing. See-vem. See-vem. None of the words looked right. They eventually crossed over into the next letter, ‘Sz’, unsure what sound that would even make. It was all so confusing… How did Caretaker even speak this?

“Can I help you?”

Whumpee flinched at the voice, slamming the dictionary shut immediately. “C-Caretaker– I– I wasn’t– I wasn’t doing anything! I was cleaning, and the book fell down, I was just trying to check whether it was intact–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” they said with a smile. “I’m not mad, szívem. But if you were looking for something specific in there, maybe I could help.”

“N-no, no, it’s… it’s nothing… I…” They took a deep breath, trying to ground themself. It was now or never, really. They wouldn’t get a better chance to ask. “Well… I, I was wondering about, um… The nickname, I guess. What you always call me.”

“Ah, of course. I’m sorry, I’ve never really explained it, have I? It’s just a term of endearment.” They pulled out their phone and typed something. “I’m pretty sure the dictionary only has the root word. Here.”

Whumpee took the phone gingerly, looking at the translation program. Original word, in Hungarian: szívem. Yeah, they would’ve never gotten that right. Translation, in English…

Their eyes widened in disbelief. Next to them, Caretaker chuckled. “What did you think it meant?” they asked cheerily, seemingly unaware of all the horrible options that had been swirling around in Whumpee’s head before.

“I… I don’t even know,” they breathed.

They definitely didn’t think it meant something as innocent as ‘my heart’.

[whereallthewhumpgoes]

Pet Recovery Counter-Conditioning Phrases

"I am my own person. I am allowed to prioritize my own needs and assert my own boundaries."

"I belong to myself and only myself."

"I deserve to be loved by others, touched gently, and treated with compassion."

(Romantic specific) "My body is mine. No one is allowed to do anything to my body against my will."

"I am a human being, and I am entitled to human rights, such as food, water, and sleep. My needs are not a privilege that I have to earn, they are human rights, and I will fulfill them when necessary."

"I can think for myself and take care of myself."

"I am a human being, not a slave. I am under no obligation to obey anyone's command."

"What happened to me was unjust. I did not deserve to be abused by my former master, and I will not tolerate abuse from them or anyone else."

"I am a good person."

"I have a right to be treated with dignity."

"I am not worthless. I have value apart from my master's attention."

(Romantic specific) "I am allowed to say no."

(Guard dog specific) "I am not a monster. In the past, I acted to protect myself, and I will continue to protect myself with or without my master."

"My rescuers are not a threat. My rescuers do not want to hurt me. My rescuers are safe people."

"If I am ever mistreated, I will report it to my rescuers as soon as possible."

"I do not need to lie to protect myself."

"I am allowed to love myself."

"I am encouraged to form relationships with the other recovered pets, and they will not be hurt if I interact with them."

(Bonded pair specific) "I do not need to protect my bond. I do not need to depend on my bond. My bond and I are our own people, and I am allowed to develop my own interests and take care of myself before my bond."

"I am a person, not a pet."

[echo-goes-mmm]

Old Friends (Oneshot) #1

Masterpost

Next

Warnings: briefly implied non-con, off-screen torture

Ugh. What happened? The team… the warehouse… the explosion…

Oh god, the explosion!

Hero bolted upright, his head throbbing. He groaned, screwing his eyes shut. He fumbled for his lamp. But there was no lamp.

He opened his eyes.

He wasn’t in his bedroom at home base.

He was in a dim cell.

Hero was in a dim cell, stripped of all his equipment and chained to a stone wall. In Supervillain’s base.

Fuck.

Steps echoed down the hall. 

But instead of Supervillain, a small-framed man limped down the hall with a tray. He looked… vaguely familiar. Or maybe it was a concussion talking.

The man turned to unlock his cell. It was a hand scan opener, which was interesting. Very classy.

He definitely had a concussion. 

The man had dark eyebags and even darker hair. He looked like shit, a bruise on his face and his eyes dull. They were purple, so he must be Powered. Still, somewhat familiar.

“Hey,” said Hero, as the man sat down the tray, “Do I know you?”

The man shrugged. He shook two pills from a bottle, and offered them to Hero.

He eyed them. “What are they?” 

“Painkillers,” he said, voice hoarse. “Master wants you to take them.”

“Master? You mean Supervillain.”

“Mhm.” He jostled the painkillers in his palm. What the hell? Supervillain was involved, he didn’t have a choice.

He took the pills, and the man handed him a bottle of water. Thank god.

“Are you two enjoying your reunion?” Hero jumped at the voice. He looked up, and Supervillain was just inside the cell, smirking that horrible grin at them.

The man stood up with the tray, eyes downcast. He moved to stand next to Supervillain, who placed a hand on the back of his neck.

“Reunion?”

“Aw, you don’t remember? Little Laith? Of course, he’s just my dog now. Speak, pup.”

“Woof,” said the man, staring at the floor.

What? 

Laith was a snarky, arrogant thief, Hero’s first Powered arrest nearly a decade ago. He could literally disappear into shadows, and occasionally teleport through them. What did Supervillain do to make him so… lifeless?

“I- I thought he was in prison.”

“Anything’s possible when you grease a few palms, sweetheart.” Laith flinched.

“You two have fun.” Supervillain pushed off the wall, waving them off. Hero watched him go.

“Laith?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Oh.”

“If- If I knew you’d end up here- I wouldn’t have arrested you.”

“It’s okay.” Laith turned and left, sealing the door behind him.

___________________

“My team will come for me,” he panted. His entire body was an open wound, pain searing into his nerves.

“No they won’t, sweetheart.”

“Of course they will, there’s a tracker in my equipment, genius,” he spat.

Supervillain laughed. “You mean the one I had my pup plant on the body in your place? You’re dead, my dear, and all those gadgets are in my hands to study.”

“What- that’s not-” his head spun. Supervillain lit up a cigarette, as if he was enjoying a smoke after getting laid instead of after a torture session.

“Including your comlink. Congratulations on helping me take down your team, Hero. I’m sure you’ll see them soon. You’ll be cell neighbors! How fun.”

___________________

There was a commotion down the hall. Hero peered out past the bars. There was a yelp and a firm voice, but he couldn’t make out the words. Eventually the figures came into view.

Supervillain was dragging Laith by the hair, his heeled boots stomping across the stone floor. Hero shrank away from the sight.

Supervillain tossed Laith into the cell across from him, which had to be on purpose. But he didn’t stop there, pulling out a remote and a cattle prod. Supervillain pressed a button, and the hallway and cells lit up with floodlights.

They drowned out any possible shadows Laith could disappear into. Hero had used the same technique to catch Laith all those years ago. He felt sick watching his own strategy used for torture.

Supervillain pocketed the remote, and the cattle prod sparked.

Oh god.

“My dear pup,” he sighed, “you were doing so well.”

“Please, Master,” begged Laith, “I’m sorry!” 

It was the most energetic he had heard Laith in the week he spent in this hell hole. And it was spent begging Supervillain for mercy.

Hero screwed his eyes shut and covered his ears. It didn’t help cover up the screaming.

___________________

Laith brought him lunch, after. Just like usual. As if nothing had happened. Laith trembled, the cup of water rattling on the tray.

“Remember when you disappeared just to taunt me when I chased you? You’d make some comment about how I was an idiot or looked like crap.”

Laith sat the tray down in front of him.

“I remember.”

“What did he do to you? You used to be stealing diamonds and Rembrandts and now you're helping that monster.”

Laith glanced behind him. He sat down next to Hero. He tapped at the black choker around his neck, but on inspection it wasn’t a choker at all.

It was a slim metal power-dampener, a model he’d never seen before. A red light blinked at him. The only bulky part was a small box on the side, and Hero knew what it was on sight. A shock component.

“You can’t leave, can you?” Laith shook his head. 

“He hasn’t let me teleport for so long… I don’t know if I can anymore.” Laith was thin and ragged, bruises and burns up and down his face and arms. He shouldn’t be doing anything, much less using his abilities.

Hero didn’t have powers, he relied on his tech. Tech that Supervillain now had. He examined the collar. The lock was obviously in the shock component, and was a clear design flaw.

“I could get it off,” he said, “I’m sure of it. A minute with a piece of wire, and we could get out of here.”

Laith jerked away from him.

“It shocked me when I tired,” he said, despair in his voice. “I can’t take it off.”

“No I- we- could do it. C’mon Laith. You never hurt anyone back then, even when you could. Even when it was easier to than not. Don’t let Supervillain use you to murder innocent people.”

“I can't.”

“Please Laith,” be begged. “People are going to die.”

“He’ll kill me if I fail. Or worse.”

“How much worse can it get?”

___________________

Laith came to him a few days later, outside of the normal meal time.

He opened his palm to reveal a paperclip.

“We don’t have much time,” he said, tilting his neck. “He’ll know I opened your door, and he’ll know once it’s off.” Hero set to work.

“What made you change your mind?”

“I- he- he made me have sex with him again.”

“What?” Hero paused.

“Just work!” he snapped.

“What about my com?”

“What about it?” hissed Laith.

“Supervillain can’t have it.”

“It’s in the office, but-” the collar sparked, and he gasped in pain.

“Sorry!”

“-I don’t know if I have two teleports in me,” finished Laith.

“Okay, fine, we’ll just tell the team when we get back.”

“Wha- ‘we’?!”

The collar popped off, but they didn’t have time to celebrate before the hall lit up in floodlights.

Shit.

“Uh oh,” came a voice over the loudspeakers, “did my little doggy forget his collar?”

Laith whimpered.

“Laith! Focus!” said Hero, grabbing his arm.

“There’s- there’s nowhere to go! I can’t-” Laith gasped for air, hyperventilating.

Hero searched around. Surely there was something the floodlights couldn’t reach. But the whole place must have been designed around it, because- 

The collar lay on the floor, casting a tiny shadow.

“Laith, look!” His face lit up, as if he was seeing water in the desert. Laith grabbed Hero’s hand and reached into the sliver of shade.

A coldness overcame them both, and Hero immediately felt nauseous.

They landed in an office, clearly Supervillain’s. Laith snatched something small and white off the desk, and they were off again.

They wound up in the middle of an empty lot of overgrown grass.

“I thought,” panted Hero, doubling over. “You didn’t have two. Guess you’re still an adrenaline junkie.” he joked.

It was right up his alley, but Laith didn’t laugh.

Hero glanced over. Laith lay sprawled out, face down on the dry grass.

“Oh god,” Hero turned him over, and checked his pulse.

He was alive, barely, and still clutching the com.

Hero pulled Laith towards him, cradling him close. He put the com back in his ear. Thank god for secondary trackers.

“I need medical!” he shouted into the com.

“Hero?! You’re alive? Wha-” God, he’d never been so happy to hear that voice.

“Just get here, fast!”

Laith whimpered in his lap, twitching. His head lolled, and Hero shifted to support his neck.

“It’s gonna be okay, buddy. I promise, it’s gonna be okay.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

Bonus: Laith, because I can't stop thinking about him

[astrowhump]

Useful

Tw: torture (past and present), conditioning, asphyxiation, whipping, and just a bunch of other good stuff :)

11:00 p.m., master isn’t home yet, then it must be time for bed. Lucas pushes himself up from his knees, still trembling from kneeling on the cold tiles for hours on end, waiting for his owner to show up. He looks down at his kneecaps just to find them tinted red, caused by the pressure from his own weight.

The Canadian winter snow is still pelting, a ghost white blankets everything in sight. He’s lost in the panoramic scene for a moment, in the dagger-like icicles and the pine trees bending under the heavy shimmering carpet that covers their every leaf and the eery silence of stillness. Through the glass door and French windows, he watches as the moon shines on the pavement that’s covered knee-high, and for an instant, he imagines the tingling of the freezing snow on his legs. Before he knows it, his mind’s filled with thoughts of the unthinkable…the impossible.

The first obstacle would be the locked front door, hardly a challenge, he knows where master keeps the spare keys - where he keeps anything for that matter- Lucas has been the one keeping this place spotless after all, for a good chunk of the past four years and seven months and fourteen days.

He’s built up quite a tolerance to cold by now, thanks to master’s ‘seasonal torture techniques’. Apparently, keeping the poor boy out in -10 degrees Celsius temperature and frozen snow in nothing but his boxers until his body starts shaking violently and he bangs his trembling fists to the glass door as he begs to be let in, is just as much an amusement as burning him or drowning him or beating him bloody. Even though he could survive several hours in that weather, he’d most definitely lose all mobility within the first hour. He will need to cover himself up, with some of his owner’s winter clothes perhaps, not that a 6’ man with an athletic build’s clothes would fit perfectly on a 5’ 3” boy with a much smaller body, but anything that keeps him warm will do.

It’s gonna be an exhaustingly long walk before he sets foot outside the property and even then, they’re probably somewhere far into the woods, they couldn’t be more than a day of walking from the city though, master goes to the city quite often for work so it must be a reasonable distance.

The thought of escaping seems more and more like an absurd fantasy as his trail of taboo thoughts continues flowing. It was never gonna be anything more than that anyways. Besides, even if he did make it outside on his own, the owner would definitely find his astray mongrel somewhere along the way and when he does, he will make sure that ungrateful mutt knows the definition of real hell. First and foremost, he will bash in his kneecaps, turn him into the dog he is, just as promised. He’ll have to crawl on all fours for the rest of his pathetic life, And that’s not even all. The mere thought of the length of consequences that await him if he steps out of line makes him freeze in his place.

11:45. Did he just spend that long thinking about escaping? It’s almost funny; after years and years of training, this is where he belongs, this is who he is, he doesn’t have a purpose in life but to obey and please his master.

At last, his legs drag him to the upstairs bedroom where he changes into his sleeping t-shirt. The room is warm and his stomach is full, a fact he will never stop being grateful for. Just as he slides under the covers, the door to the living room is opened forcefully and then slammed shut and heavy shoes stomp downstairs. Lucas sits up in the bed, expecting to greet his exasperated master, but the footsteps never make it upstairs.

Naked feet touch the wooden floor and sneak down the staircase.

“S- sir?” He calls softly.

Light peaks out of the doorway to the study and that’s where his feet take him.

“Welcome home maste-“

An empty whiskey bottle flies towards him the second he steps through the door, but his head instinctively ducks and the glass shatters as it hits the wall to his back.

“Why the fuck is my whiskey bottle empty.” It doesn’t sound like a question but Lucas answers anyway.

“I’m not allowed in the cellar when I’m alone.” His voice is small.

“I’ll fetch you one right away sir, I’m sorry” he quickly adds as he feels the angry gaze bore into his quivering figure. He looks up to the vexed man and finds him fidgeting with his tie in a failed attempt to loosen it.

“Let me.” He carefully steps closer to help his master. He’s stepping on eggshells, every step he takes might be a step too far, but master allows him to get close and slowly hook his fingers around the tie and pull. He loosens the loop enough for the man’s head to easily slip through.

“Did you have a bad day, sir?” He speaks softly, placing the tie on the desk behind him and starts unbuttoning his owner’s white shirt.

Lucas looks up at him when he doesn’t hear an answer. The man’s mind seems to be rushing with irritating thoughts, however, his attention is grabbed as the busy hands on his shirt stop wriggling.

“Very.” He sounds tired. The hands continue undressing his top until his muscular form shows as the shirt is taken away. Big hands wrap around bony wrists.

“Weren’t you supposed to be asleep by now?” The pressure on his wrists increases and the boy’s nervousness along with it. He tries to back off a bit, but his movements are blocked by the desk behind him and master’s vigorous form in front. Helplessly sandwiched in between, he presses the palms of his hands to the tattooed chest holding him captive.

“I- I heard you enter and you seemed pissed. Thought that you uh…you might want to blow off some steam, sir?” His eyes wander off to the floor in shame, he does mean what he said, but he didn’t think it through, he shouldn’t have done anything before he was ordered to and now…now he has fucked up. Although, if he is to be punished, master might appreciate the distraction. His idiocy may prove helpful afterall.

He hears a chuckle, not threatening or derisive, rather…sweet.

The man’s breathing no longer seems ragged by irritation and his heartbeat calms under Lucas’s palms.

“Oh you sweet thing. You came to me willingly, to be used and abused. Such an obedient little puppy!” One of his hands let go of the little one’s wrists to card through his silky brown locks. Lucas moans softly into his touch.

He feels like a proud owner, turning that stray animal into this adorable domestic pet, ready to serve and please, needy for his master’s touch, ready to jump off a cliff without hesitation if master orders him so. He has been trained with such delicacy, his prized possession.

The hands in the pet’s hair firmly grip the roots and they pull and twist until he winces and looks up at him through defeated eyes, only to find a sadistic dark gaze thrown his way, he keeps his hands flat on his chest, there’s not much fight in him. The fingers pull until he feels his scalp tearing from his skull and he cries out. Master smiles at the sounds he makes, like a father watching his child sweetly speak gibberish. Finally, the hand lets go, but Lucas’s eyes stay leveled with his owner’s.

“On your knees.”

He drops to his knees like it’s instinct.

“Heel.” He starts stepping towards an empty wall between the bookshelves. On the wall hang two chained handcuffs, fixated by nails on the green wallpaper, his personal modification to make the study feel more like home to his precious little pet.

Lucas follows behind him with ease, used to the scratching of his knees as he crawls by his master’s feet, the hard wood beneath him gives its place temporarily to the soft wool of the Persian rug as they cross the middle of the room and then the uncomfortable wood again.

He extends his arms so that they can be restrained. An air of superiority lines his owner’s smile and he can’t help but pat the willing puppy on the head.

Once his wrists are firmly secured, the sheer fabric covering his upper body is ripped through. He sits there awkwardly as master pulls the remains aside.

His vision is limited to the wall in front of him now. Footsteps track distant and stop a few feet behind him. He listens intently now, all his senses heightened, they always are in these situations, when his brain knows something bad, something painful, is going to happen and his body is unable to do anything but stay still and notice every sensory trigger possible. Now even his mind won’t do anything but sit still and take it all in, defiance is no longer defined in his dictionary. The sound his hypersensitive ears catch next is that of a belt undone, followed by his next command.

“Stretch your back for me darling”

He does as told, moving his knees and elbows in opposite directions until every inch of his back - littered with wounds and physical implications of mental trauma - is exposed and stretched to full capacity.

“You ready sweetheart?”

Lucas keeps his head down and squeezes his eyes shut as if that makes anything better. He belatedly answers when he realizes he is expected to.

“Y- yes, master.”

The belt cracks in the air before it lands on his back. The leather is thick and heavy, and the pain that spreads through his bones and muscles is sickening.

His sweet voice breaks into a scream, so pleasant that his tormentor stops to appreciate it for a second. Another blow brings another sweet cry out of him. He could do this forever.

“Your body’s such a beautiful canvas, it would be a shame not to cover it with art.”

Lucas doesn’t move his composition an inch, offering his naked back for his owner to take his rage out on. However, he yawps as the belt whips his tender skin, one blow from the right and one from the left rhythmically, and the occasional cracks in the air just to make the already tremoring boy flinch even harder in anticipation of pain.

His tears slide straight onto the parquet and his head falls down between his strained arms, chin touching the chest. Master must see it because the next blow comes down on him harsher and faster than the rest and the edges of the belt cut into his skin.

His head rises, he shrieks and tears stream down his reddened eyes, his perfect posture is disturbed slightly. Such a sight. Though it is fun to break defiant brats, it’s even more enjoyable to crush an obedient mutt.

“M- master- “ he sobs. Several cuts on his back are bleeding now.

“What is it, pet?” He stops and walks closer to the bleeding trembling boy.

Lucas ducks his head back down. He had learned time and time again that asking for it to stop only brings him punishment. That word was involuntary, he regrets saying anything at all, even more so when his head is yanked backward by his brown curls drawing a wince out of him. Master’s dark eyes drill a hole into his blushing cheeks.

“Don’t be shy now boy. Beg me to stop. Cry for my mercy. All your wishes just might eventually come true.”

He smiles. It’s frightening and hits the naked boy’s body like a winter blizzard, sending visible shivers down his spine.

His head is let go just to fall limply between his arms again and he can hear footsteps retracting through loud sobs.

Suddenly, something soft grips his neck, silky…the tie. The loop he helped loosen earlier, tightens around his neck more than it should and it’s pulled up until he chokes out. Master looks at him with pity eyes as he loses composure and chokes himself even harder. He claws at the floor with his feet to keep his head up but the noose moves higher and higher, blocking all oxygen from ever touching his windpipe.

“If you want to breathe, ask nicely.”

His eyes turn in their place to stare innocently into those of his master. There’s not much air left in him to form coherent words.

“S- sir…p- nghh; please…Ah” only whispers leave his mouth. He gasps for air with his mouth open and a stream of tears down his messed-up face.

“-ease p-..mas- Ha- hngha.. mast- “ his face turns a dark shade of purple, matching the violet tie around his throat.

His owner only lets go of his lead a moment before he loses consciousness, or maybe one after. Either way the boy’s head falls to his chest, his weak naked body spattered across the room, only hanging up by tied-up wrists. The gradually fastening rise and fall of his chest is all the movement he makes. He mercifully undoes his restraints so the boy can catch his breath

Master pulls a chair to sit beside his panting mess of a pet on the ground and lights his cigarette calmly. Lucas slowly regains consciousness and pulls himself to sit on his knees, the tie still wrapped around his slender neck and vision still disoriented, back still hurting and bleeding, the exhaustion overtakes the pain by the slightest.

A snap of fingers. That means there’s an order to follow. His eyes look for the source of the sound. Master gestures for him to come closer.

His numb limbs are having a hard time trying to follow his brain’s orders but eventually, he pulls himself to all fours and crawls to the bigger man in the chair. The tie dangles around his neck like a runaway dog’s leash; except he could never run away, he has an extremely thoughtful owner, always alert and cautious, even after…four years and seven months and fourteen days - well fifteen now.

His sweaty palms make sticky sounds against the floor until he’s at his sir’s feet. He fits his body between his legs and rests his dizzy head on the lap of the other.

He knows this ritual by heart, after every single play or training or punishment or ‘let me take everything out on you because I can’ session, master smokes his cigarette as he winds down and then…zzzz…signs his brutalized body with the hot end of the cigarette. He hardly even flinches at the burning pain anymore, he’s way too beaten and it’s way too familiar. It almost feels reassuring even, a sign that agony is over for the time being. He’s relieved.

His body is carpeted in these marks, he couldn’t count them even if he wanted to. Most of them overlap, but master has his favorite spots, his neck and shoulders for example.

A loving hand sorts out his tangled locks and he dozes off to the touch, right there on master’s thigh. His eyes open sluggishly and look up for another order, or permission to pass out.

“Ah. Thank you pet, I feel much better now. Bring me that whiskey after you’re done cleaning yourself up, would you?”

“Mmhm…yes, sir”

He gently brushes off the stray strands of hair sticking to his sweaty face and bends his neck to press a gentle kiss to the boy’s temple.

“Up now. You’ve been such a good boy for me tonight. You can go to bed when you’ve done as I said. It’s way past your bedtime.” He whispers into his ears with a deep calm voice.

“Mmm..” Lucas nods and gets up on his feet lazily. He tries his best not to stumble over his own feet as he makes his way to the cellar.

Lucas is glad he proved himself useful for his master tonight.

Inspired by one of @whumpitisthen’s dialouge prompts.

[meraki24601]

would you write something where caretaker and whumpee are siblings (whumpee is the smaller) who haven’t spoken in years because of a fight. but the caretaker gets a new job at this rich man’s mansion (whumper) and finds that the little pet they keep talking about is actually human and guess what it’s their brother

Hello friend! It's a bit of a slow starter, but I hope you like it!

-----------*-***-*-----------

A New Pet

I finally found a decent job. After three years of living paycheck to paycheck, seeing a decent amount of money in my bank account felt terrific. Real adult money!

Things had been rough after I left my family. I can’t say I never regretted the way I went. Nearly a year had passed before I could admit my parents were abusive. But they weren’t the reason I left. My parents meant nothing to me. All I needed was Whumpee, my younger sibling. 

It’s ironic how Whumpee ended up being the reason I left.

Nothing could have prepared me for them to turn on me. We argued worse than our parents ever had. One loud, cruel argument. I honestly can’t remember what we were fighting about. It didn’t matter then and still doesn’t now. They abandoned me when I needed them, and that was that. 

Living is hard when you’re on your own. I found a couple people from school who liked me enough to let me live with them until I found an apartment. From there, I worked my way up. Fast food, temporary janitor, full-time janitor, temporary house management, and, finally, full-time personal assistant. Considering how things started, three years was surprisingly quick to make it as far as I have. 

Whumper definitely took some getting used to. They found me when I was still working full-time as a janitor in one of their buildings. I think they were just excited to find someone who liked animals as much as they did. We both loved rescue pets. At the time, they had just lost one of their older pets, and their newer pet was acting up. After I gave them some advice, they kept coming back to talk. Turns out, they liked how I organized my supplies and kept the other janitors on track. 

That first month in charge of Whumper’s house was a test run I passed with flying colors. Obviously, Whumper was super busy every day. I was able to ease some of the burden and made sure the giant mansion was always ready for anything Whumper could dream of. The others took to me quickly, listening to orders and getting out of the way faster than ever. Before the month was over, Whumper had invited me to take over as their personal assistant. 

My current job for Whumper is better than I ever could have dreamed. They’re a bit eccentric, but what billionaire isn’t? Most of what I do is make sure no one bothers Whumper. A majority of the household staff do their best to stay out of our employer’s way, so I don’t have to worry about them. Honestly, I’m not sure the others like Whumper. 

I was given a mini apartment and space for my cats in the mansion. Surprisingly enough, I get three days off every week. Whumper and I talk about our rescue pets and our past every day they’re home. (Whumper and I had similar family experiences.) I get to go on expensive trips when Whumper needs my help. They even gave me access to their drivers when I needed to go shopping. 

Yesterday, Whumper and I made it home from a two-week trip. A majority of what I did was talking on the phone. Taking calls, organizing meetings, coordinating with other people’s assistants, and ensuring Whumper had time to attend the club meetings for some rich person pet rescue association. 

That club is the only thing Whumper keeps to themselves. They make sure I know when they have meetings, but they won’t give me any contact information to take care of things for them. They always drive themselves to the meetings instead of taking the driver when meetings are in town. All I know is they rescue animals and train them to be good pets. 

On this last trip, Whumper was really excited about their progress with their latest pet. Apparently, they had learned a new training method that was extremely successful. The animal they had rescued was taken from an abusive home. They had been treated terribly for years before Whumper saved them. At first, the animal had acted up, but with some “careful but intense” training, they had made great progress. 

During the flight home, Whumper was practically vibrating in their chair. “I did it, Caretaker.” They whispered in my ear with a giddy giggle. “The pet we were working with is mine. I decided to keep it. I’ve always trained them and sent them on to new homes. I found it, trained it, and this time they’re mine. It’s all thanks to you.”

Their new pet would be arriving in a week.

They wouldn’t let me help them with preparations. I had to clear Whumper’s schedule as much as possible because of it. Generally, I plan for a day or two of rest after a big trip, so those first two days, Whumper was able to fully focus and seemed to make good progress. Whumper was going to change their basement game room into a rescue shelter. 

“You’re going to love it.” Whumper grinned on the fourth day with a large box in their arms. They had skipped an interview to go shopping, and I had caught them red-handed. “I’ve got all the latest equipment. My pet is going to be so loved. So well cared for. I know I’m being difficult, but when you see them, it’ll all be worth it.”

The day before the animal was scheduled to arrive, Whumper paced outside the door to the basement. It was surprisingly hard to find in the large mansion. Hidden doors weren’t odd in the building, though. Passages turned in interesting directions. Some rooms weren’t on the floorplan. I still wasn’t allowed inside the room, but Whumper had gotten nervous and had called me to the door to calm them down. “What if they don’t like it here? What if they reject their training? We went through everything so quickly. Generally, it takes months if not a year to reach the point where new pets can leave one of the training halls. Do you think I’m ready for this? I’ve never kept a pet before.”

Mumbling and pacing in a small circle around me, they questioned themselves over and over again. Finally, I grabbed their hand, “Whumper. You’re ready. You are going to show your new pet they are loved and cared for. It will take some time, but won’t it be worth it?”

“You’re right. With your help, I can do it. I never could have come this far if I didn’t have you here. I… I know I’ve been hiding a lot of this from you. Thank you for your patience. One more day and the new pet will be here. Then, you can know everything. You can see the room. Maybe, I can even bring you to the next meeting! No more secrets. We can care for our pet together.” Whumper pulled me into a tight hug.

“Oh.” I flinched at the strength behind the hug, “Yeah. Yeah, I can probably help you.”

When the pet arrived, Whumper banned me to my room until everything was in place. It took nearly the whole day for them to decide everything was perfect. They even had the cook bring me my lunch, which, was a rather odd experience. The cook and I generally got along well, but they left without a word. I could have sworn they were crying. I just made a note to check on them later and closed the door. 

Finally, Whumper knocked on my door. “It’s ready, Caretaker! Come on. Let me show you.”

I don’t know why, but I had a very bad feeling as Whumper led me through the familiar halls. The whole mansion felt unusually cold. The staff was quiet as we passed. It was just wrong. 

The door opened on silent hinges as Whumper stepped aside for me to enter the room. A short staircase and another door stared me in the face. This door was metal and covered in locks. 

“They’re beautiful, Caretaker.” Whumper’s arms wrapped around my waist from behind. “I really hope you like the surprise. Unfortunately, they misbehaved during transport, so they’re not as perfect as I hoped, but they’re ours. Ours forever.”

Whumper kept their hold on me as they pushed toward the door. A large keyring jingled as they opened the locks. I wanted to run. This was wrong. Every sense I had was screaming danger. There was no way to go but forward. The door opened. 

The room was bright. Clinical. There was nothing in the room that grabbed my attention more than the cage. In the center of the room, trapped in a cage made of golden bars, was Whumper’s new pet. 

Whumpee. 

Not a dog or a cat or any kind of animal. Whumper’s pet was my younger sibling. Even as I looked at them, I barely recognized them. Thin and pale, they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Scars covered almost every inch of their exposed skin. Even worse, Whumpee’s eyes stared at the floor. The one thing we’ve known since we were small was never to lose track of the people in the room. Always keep your eyes on the enemy. Whumpee never looked up once.

“You weren’t lying when you told me what your parents were like.” Whumper sighed, finally releasing me. “When we rescued them, they had already been beaten within an inch of their life. They were wild. For a moment, I thought they were unrecoverable. I didn’t want to give up on them, though. They hurt you. They don’t deserve your love, but, you do still love them, don’t you? I can tell by how you talk about them. Don't worry, they'll never hurt you again or they'll suffer the consequences.

"We can help them learn. Teach them to be good. We saved them from your past, and together, we can keep them forever. You helped me so much, Caretaker. I was lost before I found you. This is my gift to you. Tell me, do you like it?” 

My skin crawls. Whumpee whimpers. Whumper picks up a knife.

“Come, Caretaker. Let me show you how well they’ve been trained.”

Part 2

[moons-cozy-corner]

Rescued Pt. 5

The apparently long awaited part 5! Thank you all so much for the love on this series, this was never expected!! <3

ALSO! I am trying to post every Monday from now on (when I can, I'm still getting used to college), so if you like this, perhaps you'll like my other stuff! Mostly whump, plus an original project that is in the works. The first chapter is already out, so please go check it out that would be awesome I'd cry happy tears: Arnin and Daren | First Impressions

Anyways, to the writing (currently eating gummy worms :P)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

TW: Previous captivity mention, stalking, explosion, ptsd, pet whump, dehumanization

Being the county's biggest villain wasn't much of a title, but it scared the hospital into kicking out their precious pet. One step closer to being back in their arms.

The organization would be a difficult break, especially with an angered Hero in range, but it would work. Whumper just needed to wait. They needed patience.

And patience was what the county's biggest villain was known for.

--------

The bed didn't feel real.

Really, nothing did. There were so many unfamiliar sounds, feelings, objects--things Villain remember knowing but simply felt foreign to now. Years in a dingy basement would do that to a someone, he supposed.

And he used to be a someone.

The Organization had no bedrooms, but Hero worked in his office so much after Villain's disappearance there was a mattress in there. Now that Hero took over Superhero's office, his old office was where Villain was staying. Villain was locked in, by request, and hidden in the corner, away from any windows, with his eyes clenched shut.

Still, it was all to bright. Too much noise, too much everything. It made his ears ring and head spin, even with his eyes pressed so hard against his own arm that his vision was turning white. The hospital wasn't any better, but at least Villain had the constant, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. The nurses were a huge annoyance, too, but at least their visits came with food. Unlike most of Whumper's visits.

They thought Villain hadn't heard; the nurses, that is. Or maybe they didn't think about it. But either way, Villain did know; Whumper was free. And Villain knew Whumper; smart, cunning, evil. They would get what they wanted. They always did, in time. And right now what they wanted was Villain. No, not Villain.

They wanted Pet back.

His body churned, and he curled into himself, grasping his stomach and holding in the cries. Holding in the tears, too. Whumper never liked tears. Whenever the pillow was wet, it would get taken for a week.

So instead he lay there, listening to the cars buzz by. There were no cars when they were with Whumper. All quiet, all the time. "All peace", as Whumper would say. Until they wanted Pet to break the silence.

Villain started nipping at his knuckles. The tears were coming, whether he liked it or not. He was never very good at this, even after years of being trained to be good at it. Stay still. Stay quiet. Pet had already messed up by talking to Hero. Opening their eyes. They had been humming, for Christ's sake. When Whumper got their hands on it, Pet was dead. Worse than dead.

It threw it's pillow against the wall, tears having fallen to the fabric. It didn't deserve a pillow anyways. It never did. When it got back to it's Master it would beg for forgiveness. Apologize, make sure Master knew that it knew it didn't deserve a pillow or mattress. Or blankets. Or any privilege Master had ever allowed them. And Pet would be okay with it. It deserved that treatment. It deserved worse.

"Villain?" A soft knock whispered against all the other noises, a voice lifting above it all regardless. "Can I come in?"

Pet stayed silent. The door slid open silently, and Hero walked in. Pet imagined behind shut eyes what Hero would see; a skeleton of a man, abandoned of any protection from his skin other than a loose shirt and shorts given to it by Hero. The silence told Pet all they needed to know. Hero was disgusted, and it made Pet's guts swirl.

His voice was apprehensive. Not soft, exactly. Not calm. Apprehensive, as if talking to a skittish cat. A dangerous animal. A starved Pet, that could either go mad or break at any given second. "Villain, do you need another blanket? It's cold in here... Why are you on the floor?" Pet could feel Hero's warmth next to it, making it realize how cold it really was in that tiny office.

Hero didn't make any moves to touch or bother Pet. He seemed to notice, however, that Pet wasn't asleep. "This... this is okay. If this is what you need to heal--to stay quiet, keep your eyes closed, whatever this behavior is--that's okay. Just remember you don't have to. You're allowed to talk and to see and- and to be warm, baby. You're safe here."

Villain's knuckles shook, the bitten parts throbbing. It's not safe here It's not safe here It's not safe here It's not safe here It's no-

Strong hands took Villain's wrists and he screamed. He screamed and flailed before correcting itself, falling to an apologetic heap on the floor but the grip didn't relent. "You are safe here, Villain! Gosh- get up off the floor, please, just- c'mere."

The warmth that surrounded it was extreme. It wasn't soft or subtle. It was harsh and suffocating. Hero's chest moved up and down slowly, but Pet's did the opposite. The only reason Pet didn't struggle was because they couldn't. Stay still, Master had said. Stay quiet.

Until I find you.

It was hard to behave in such strange circumstances. Maybe Master would be merciful if Pet begged for forgiveness hard enough. If they explained how hard they had tried. It knew the only thing that could bring it mercy was to not screw up again, but it found itself seeping into the warmth that suffocated them.

I just want to be better. I just want to be safe.

And then it passed out.

----------------------------------------

Villain went limp in Hero's arms. His eyes were wet and red and raw. So was the expression on his face. A face that used to be soft and happy, sly with smirks and big smiles when he would successfully prank the hero. Nimble hands that once tended Hero's' wounds now cut up and bony.

Hero just wanted Villain back.

But Villain wasn't Villain anymore, and that was the sad truth. It would take a long time for their lover to heal physically, and even longer mentally. But whatever happened, Hero promised himself and Villain that he would be protected from Whumper until the ends of days. So that maybe Villain could be happy once again.

Hero set Villain back down on the mattress, the same one Hero had spent countless nights sitting restless on trying to find Villain. The thrown pillow was placed back under his head, and a blanket placed over his brittle limbs. Hero watched as his lungs slowed to a normal speed. Far from a calm speed, but better than it had been. He hoped Villain would at least sleep for a few hours. He deserved that much.

Hero didn't move either way. He sat in the office chair and watched his lover sleep less than peacefully. And as they watched Villain, all other worries seemed to seep away, all focused on him. Just him.

So when the alarms started blaring all around them, when the lights flashed red, when Villain began to scream, covering his ears and clenching shut his eyes, Hero cursed and ran. He ran, locking the door behind him. Locking away his love, for his own safety.

And as he ran down the halls, guards moving this way and that, a burst of light came running towards him. A flash of orange, of red, of white. It was blinding, but a single shape penetrated the blinding fullness of light. A shadow of a person leaning over Hero, muttering words he could barely understand. But he did, through the ringing of his ears and the smoke in the air.

Take this as a warning, Hero.

Then all went dark.

taglist: @alwaysalilhigh @nicolepascaline @whumped-inc @littlespacecastle @hollowgast1 @edkore @ramadiiiisme @writereleaserepeat @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @robinwrites @aswallowimprisoned @whumblrwork @cepheusgalaxy @tedrakitty @delicateprincepaper @alwaysalilhigh @0eggdealer @subval01 @ifthisislifeidontlikeit

[honeycollectswhump]

All That Matters

[masterlist]

prepare for very silly and self-indulgent 1800 words of comf... with some slight alluding to ava's past :D this is a callback (call-forward??) to Warmth! they cuddle so often that he instinctually remembers it post-recapture

CW: drunkeness, past pet whump (implied)

“Attie, wake up. We're home.” Aveline calls over her shoulder, while Atlas just grunts, his face sleepily mushed against the window of her car. 

After a moment, he stirs, leaning away from the window and looking around to search for her. It takes a while for his eyes –half-lidded and hazy– to focus on her, but he visibly relaxes as soon as they do.

It’s not far from her car to the front door, but the distance barely matters with Atlas’ state. Plus afterwards, they’ll still have to conquer the stairs, and Aveline can only hope that everything goes smoothly, that there is no accident, hope that she is prepared for an accident, and–

She stops that mental list from spiralling further. She doesn’t need to worry about accidents, everything is fine. 

Instead, she heaves Atlas out of the car, putting one arm around his waist to stabilise him and begging to God that he will at least try to help with the walking. In comparison to her Attie, she has always been small, and that has rarely ever helped her.

His head immediately lolls to the side, resting on top of hers, and Atlas sighs deeply, almost sinking into her embrace. It’s awkward, the way his hefty frame bends and leans on her like a puppet with its strings cut.

Carefully, Aveline directs and announces every step for him to follow as he clumsily tries to get his legs to cooperate. Despite what she considers his best efforts, Atlas nearly pulls them both down multiple times. Her never-aching bruises serve as enough proof for the frequency, and Aveline would really prefer to avoid more of those.

No amount of covering is able to hide freshly forming bruises from Atlas, who has spent enough of his lifetime receiving them. And without fail, seeing them would drive him near tears and to endless apologies for pain he wouldn’t be able to cause even if he wanted to.

Finally, they reach the front door of her cosy home, which Atlas has also made his. Aveline is already out of breath and rests Atlas against the wall to get her keys out. Immediately, he slides down in a fit of nonsensical giggles.

It’s warm inside, thankfully. Aveline can still feel the chill on her skin from Atlas’ freezing touch. He had been lying in the grass for God knows how long, drunk and left alone by his so-called friends. Or maybe it was his own foolish decision to go home alone, even though he knows how dangerous that is and she just cannot understand why he’d do it anyways!

She takes Atlas’ hands to pull him up again and he looks at her, confusion creasing his brows again, even though he can barely keep his eyes open.

“Wha…what ‘m I”, Atlas pauses as if willing his tongue to form the words, “doin’ ‘ere?” 

She hates this, she really does. But it doesn’t matter.

“You’re home.” Aveline sighs. “It’s like four in the fucking morning and you called me.” She stops herself. “No, forget that. It’s good that you called me. The rest doesn’t matter, let’s just get inside, please.”

“M’kay”, he slurs, his eyes closed. 

For a second Aveline thinks he will fall asleep right then and there, but then he gets on his hands and knees and starts crawling inside. Still, he is swaying heavily and crashes into the doorway at one point, when she offers him help. 

“I can… I can do… this! Bes–besides, I’m used…”, Atlas swallows thickly, “I… know this.”

Something about that makes her sleep-addled brain feel… off?

Aveline closes the door behind him, taking in a deep breath. Now that she is surrounded by the welcoming warmth of her home again, her exhaustion comes back crashing in, and she is barely able to stifle a yawn. 

Atlas is already losing the battle against his shoelaces, with clumsy fingers grabbing at nothing. His head keeps falling forward like it weighs too much for him to hold up and he is blinking repeatedly, as if that would clear his blurry vision. Only with her help is he able to free himself. 

“You think you can make it upstairs, big guy?” Aveline asks, laying one hand against his cheek to stabilize him. Almost instinctively, Atlas leans into her touch. His body follows, slumping heavily against her.

Sometimes, it confuses her how such an imposing guy can make himself so small, when he curls up against her, seeming to chase any warmth possible.

The thought makes her heart ache and she wraps Atlas in a one-armed hug, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. 

Her Attie. 

He lets his head drop against her chest, as she plays with his hair. It’s the closest thing to “petting” him that she will do and it calms him quickly. It usually does. 

Against her touch, Atlas’ breathing starts to even out, his eyes slipping shut. It’s as good as any sign that it’s now or never to get him into bed. Aveline can just barely manage the task of moving him when he can stumble along. It becomes all but impossible when he is fully asleep.

With a smile on her lips, she nudges him a couple of times, until he blearily opens his hazy eyes again, making a confused noise that disappears into a hiccup.

“Come on, Attie. Up you go.” With that, she hoists him up again, slinging one of his arms over her shoulder, holding it tight with her own. Atlas overcorrects, throwing their fickle balance off-centre sending them stumbling into the nearest wall and Aveline prays to God that it won’t leave any unfortunate bruises this time.

Atlas braces himself against the wall and it takes her a moment to find a more secure position with her other arm wrapped around his waist before she continues their journey up the stairs. Sometimes, Aveline wonders if Atlas even guesses at the worry this brings her every time. 

What if they fall down? What if she slips and sends him tumbling down the stairs? What if anything happens and he breaks something or ends up with a concussion or hypothermia if she can’t get to him fast enough? What the hell is she supposed to do when she can’t even bring him to a fucking hospital?! 

Doesn’t matter. Stop.

This Atlas, the one that is not in her thoughts, dying hundreds of frightening deaths she couldn’t prevent, seems completely oblivious, babbling on about what Aveline assumes is a drinking game they played. However, she is pretty sure he is mixing up at least two if not three different games and frankly, he is not explaining them well. 

When they reach the top Aveline is panting with exhaustion. Atlas is already quite hefty and it doesn’t help that he is as good as dead weight in her arms, his legs just barely cooperating. 

She tries to steer him into his room, the old floorboards creaking under their feet, but Atlas resists, shaking his head vehemently.  

“No… no, please… I don’ wanna… no”. 

Oh. Right. 

Even blackout drunk, Atlas is eerily good at begging, the words sounding too desperate to fit the playful lilt of his voice. The reminder makes her stomach drop. 

He stumbles out of her grasp and away from his room as if he can’t stand the sight of it. He barely makes it down the hall, clinging to her doorframe after just a couple of unsteady steps.

“Atlas, what…? What are you doing?”

Atlas, her dear Attie, flinches so hard he tumbles back onto the floor, lowering his head and fixing his gaze on the ground.

“‘M sorry. I wanna sleep… wanna sleep here. ‘M sorry. Please?” 

It breaks her heart, the way he avoids her eyes. Even without seeing it directly, she knows there are tears in his. It feels twisted to hope that he hides them from some sense of embarrassment, but it’s better than the fear that tears are forbidden.

“Please, Ava… I don’ wanna be ‘lone.” Atlas pleads, mistaking her silence for rejection. In an instant, Aveline kneels down in front of him, closing the distance he surely imagines to be greater.

She can try to pretend that she gives in just for Atlas, to calm him down in what she already knows is a too-vulnerable state. But it would only be a sad attempt at covering the truth that Aveline will already spend half of her night checking up on him, to make sure that he is still breathing. In the end, that’s the only thing that matters.

“It’s alright. Of course, you can. I won’t leave you alone, Attie, I promise.” As if the decision is any trouble for her. As if it doesn’t calm the ever-present worry gnawing at the back of her mind.

The effects are instant though. Immediately, his shoulders slump in relief and his features relax. Atlas meets her gaze with tears shining in his eyes and lets himself fall back into her embrace, squeezing her tightly. Aveline can only just catch herself before she topples over from the unexpected weight, but it’s worth it. 

It takes even more energy she hardly has anymore, but Aveline manages to lift Atlas up again, just enough to sit him down on her bed. Promptly, he flops down, somehow worming his way under her blanket despite his incoherent state.

After a moment, she changes back into her pyjamas that she left haphazardly lying on the ground after she got the call to pick Atlas up, and joins him under the warm blanket. Atlas is still in his day clothes but she has decidedly not the energy to do something about that, and much rather deposits the responsibility of cleaning onto her tomorrow-self.

In no time at all, he wraps her in a loose hug, sighing into her hair. Aveline doesn’t mind, even if his breath carries the biting scent of alcohol.

“Missed you tonight,” Atlas mumbles. “Was nice… jus’ not the same.” A sigh escapes him. “You wouldn’t… wouldn’t let it get… this bad. ’M sorry, Ava.” 

Aveline can’t bring herself to say It’s alright. It just isn’t. But he can’t change what he’s already done and she loves him anyways, always.

She pulls herself closer to her Attie, pressing her ear to his chest, right above his heart. The exasperation, the worry, the exhaustion, none of it matters if she is just able to hear his heartbeat, to feel his breath on her hair. He is alive.

Atlas is alive and that is all that matters.

taglist: @octopus-reactivated, @sodacreampuff, @topsheepstudent let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

[whumpshaped]

Could you make a pet whumpee that was trained to act, to obey, when they hear a *click*. And a Caretaker always and -by accident-, clicking a pen when he's stressed, making Whumpee comfused and scared.

tw pet whump, accidental bad caretaker, conditioning, past trauma

Click.

Click.

Click.

Whumpee perked up more and more each time, looking around for the source of the sound. It was Caretaker, but... they didn't seem to be paying any attention to them at all.

Click.

What did they want?

Click.

Whumpee was starting to tremble a little.

Click.

They didn't know what to do.

Click.

They whimpered despite themself, out of fear and frustration. They wished Caretaker had established what the clicks meant before they started clicking, like Whumper had done. Then they would've been able to just obey.

They froze when Caretaker stopped and looked up, realising their stupid voice had disturbed them. "I'm so sorry," they breathed. "I– I just don't know– I didn't know what it meant–"

"What?"

"The c-clicking, I didn't know, I couldn't figure out–"

Caretaker looked at the pen in their hand like it was a snake, and promptly threw it on the desk. "Fuck. Whumpee, I'm sorry. It doesn't mean anything. I'm so sorry, I keep clicking every pen I touch. Are you okay?"

"I, I am, I just need to know, I need to know for next time– Please, I just need to know–"

Caretaker pushed their chair back and rushed over, kneeling by Whumpee to give them a hug. "Shh, it's alright. It's alright. It doesn't mean anything. You don't have to do anything. I'm so sorry it stressed you out so much."

The tension slowly drained from Whumpee's body, and they allowed themself to melt into the embrace. "Does it... does it really not mean anything?" they choked out.

"It really doesn't. I promise. You're not a dog, Whumpee. You're not being trained."

[urlocalwhumper]

caretaker hummed quietly to herself as she strolled down the halls of the pet shelter. she was surrounded by options, but to be entirely honest, none were just quite catching her eye.

she already had a pet at home, just the sweetest little puppygirl, but she knew her beloved pup got lonely when she was at work all day. so, she'd decided that she'd get her a companion, another nice animalperson for her to play and snuggle with.

but first, she'd have to actually pick one. which was where her dilemma laid.

at least, that was, until she turned the corner.

curled up in a kennel at the near end of the next hall, was a big doggirl. if she were to stand on two legs, she'd probably be significantly taller than caretaker.

but instead of putting that size to use in any way, she was curled up in the corner of her kennel, looking like she was trying to make herself as small as possible. and caretaker could pretty easily guess why.

the most striking thing about her, beyond her size, was the way her body was absolutely littered with scars. from the thick, ropey scars of whip lashes across her back, to the horrible rough burn scar taking up almost half of her face, revealing a shallow, empty indent where her left eye should have been.

this poor pup had clearly been through hell, and caretaker's heart ached for her.

caretaker knelt beside the kennel, hooking her fingers into the chain-link fencing.

"hi, girl." she said softly. the doggirl looked up, her single eye staring warily at her.

"oh, are you interested in whumpee?"

caretaker almost jumped out of her skin, whipping around to see a slightly apologetic looking shelter employee standing behind her.

"i'm sorry! i didn't mean to scare you." they said. "i just got a little excited. it's not often anyone shows any interest in whumpee."

"is that her name?" caretaker asked, turning back towards the doggirl, who seemed to have perked up a little at the sight of the employee.

"yup!" they replied. "she's the sweetest, i promise. but because she's so big, and has all these scars..." the employee sighed. "not many people want to take her home."

"what... what happened? if that's alright to ask."

the employee's face hardened. "her old owner was a right piece of shit. liked hurting her for fun." they shook their head. "the burn is from when they shoved her face into their fireplace. it was so bad the vet ended up needing to remove her eye because of the extent of the damage."

caretaker was horrified, her grip on the fence unconsciously tightening. "just... because?"

the employee nodded. "just because." they crossed their arms. "that's how we ended up with her, actually. the vet reported heavy suspicions of pet abuse, and we took her in once she was healthy enough to not need constant medical attention."

the doggirl had started to inch closer to the fence as the employee spoke, shoulders hunched and head bowed, but peering up at caretaker with a hopeful look in her eye.

"oh- here, let me..." the employee unhooked a ring of keys from their belt, fumbling with it for a moment before finding the right key and unlocking the gate to whumpee's kennel.

they swung the gate open, and whumpee froze, shrinking back as her ears flattened against her head.

"oh, it's okay baby." caretaker said in as soothing of a tone as she could muster. "i'm not going to hurt you."

she slowly moved closer to whumpee, until she was close enough to touch her. at this close proximity, she could see that whumpee was trembling, poor thing, and she braced herself to be hit as soon as caretaker raised her hand.

but instead, caretaker rested her hand on top of whumpee's head, gently massaging her scalp with her fingertips.

"see, it's okay." caretaker said, going in to scratch behind whumpee's ear with her other hand.

whumpee leaned into her touch, single eye staring at her in awe. caretaker caught the motion of her tail starting to wag out of the corner of her eye and smiled.

whumpee tentatively stepped forward, and when caretaker continued lavishing her with affection, she kept getting closer and closer until she was curled up in caretaker's lap, the constant tension and anxiety she carried starting to melt away as the feeling of finally being safe washed over her.

"aw, you're just a big puppy, aren't you?" caretaker cooed, one hand continuing to scratch behind her ears while the other moved down to rub her belly. "such a good girl, you just needed some lovin', right?"

whumpee made a low noise, almost a bark, but not quite. caretaker seemed delighted.

"so," the employee piped up, "think you'll be taking her home?"

caretaker smiled up at them. "how could i not?"

[whump-card]

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 6

1171 words

CW: past abuse, implied past noncon, conditioning, self harm, pet whump, negative self-talk

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~~~

Tao and Marina raided Faye’s kitchen and made themselves chamomile tea; Marina’s idea, she was desperate to calm her nerves. They sat at the kitchen counter – meticulously clean, like all the spaces Faye occupied – and sipped their steaming mugs in silence.

Tao wouldn’t talk – couldn’t talk – because his head was full of the worst-case scenario. If the community voted to trade Karlo, Tao would have to get him out himself. Marina would have to come with, obviously, and maybe the three of them could make a run for Canada – but Karlo wouldn’t want to go, he would still believe he was putting Tao and his mother in danger. What would Tao have to do to force him to come with? How -

His thoughts were interrupted by the front door opening, and two sets of footsteps coming in through the waiting room. Becca and Faye were back. Marina and Tao exchanged a nervous glance, and rose to meet them.

The four of them convened at the bottom of the stairs. Becca wasted no time.

“We voted to protect him.”

All the air rushed out of Tao.

“Oh, thank God!”

Becca scoffed.

“It was fucking unanimous, Tao, did you really have that little faith in our people?”

“So what happens now?” asked Marina.

“Well, given that we learned from Lark – sorry, Karlo – that the Commander more than likely knows our location,” Becca’s eyes met Tao’s, “We’ve decided to give this place up and make our final push for Canada.”

They’d been nested in their current location for years, striking out and bringing home survivors and defectors. The little neighborhood had become their home, and Tao couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow at the prospect of leaving it. Making a final exodus northward had always been the end game, but the hope of finding more people to join them had kept them in place for a long time.

“So we need to start packing,” said Tao.

“We need to start packing yesterday,” Becca nodded, “We have no idea how much time we have before the Commander runs out of patience and brings down hell on us.”

“How long will it take to prepare?”

“Honestly?” exhaustion flickered across Becca’s face, “I have no idea. We’ve been here so long… It’s going to be hard for people to leave things behind.”

Tao recalled Marina’s home – her afghans, her books, her photos. He glanced at her, and found her looking fiercely determined.

“I can leave anything behind as long as I have Karlo,” she said.

“You gonna tell him?” Faye cut in, “He might make another run for it when he finds out.”

“I’m not lying to him,” Tao said immediately.

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘another run for it?’” Marina asked, frowning.

Tao sucked in a breath and reluctantly explained Karlo’s escape attempt. He left out the young man’s reaction to hearing his mother’s name. Marina listened silently, tears welling up in her eyes.

“He really thinks he has to go back, doesn’t he?” she said when Tao was finished.

“Yeah,” said Tao, “He does.”

~~~

Lark needed to go home.

The longer he stayed with the rebels, the more he was being… corrupted. Lark was a perfect pet. He never spoke about his life before, he was so infallible he never even thought about it. That was how he had survived.

There had been four of them, in the beginning. Four young men, taken from different conquered towns.

There had been four soldiers with cattle prods, there to teach them what the Commander wanted from them.

It took four months, in a little shack on the outskirts of the Capital.

Asked to go home? Shock.

Didn’t obey? Shock.

Called out for their mother? Shock.

Talked amongst themselves? Shock.

Didn’t submit? Shock.

Cried? Shock. Or worse.

In one of the brief moments they were alone, in the dim and grime, Lark had held their hands and told them, “It’s easier if you just don’t think about home. Don’t think about your family. Don’t think about anything.”

They’d looked at him like he was crazy.

Even him.

In the end, Lark was the one who walked out of that building, while the others were carried. But Lark was under no illusions. Karlo was dead, too. Lark was a walking corpse. A beautiful, incorruptible corpse that obeyed every order of its master.

A master he was going to return to, one way or another.

Lark needed to get home before Karlo was resurrected.

As soon as Tao and Marina had left the room – no, as soon as their backs were turned – Lark had started shaking like a leaf. He couldn’t control it. He was supposed to be able to, but he just couldn’t, nor could he stop the sob that bubbled out of him.

I want my mom I want my mom I want -

NOT ALLOWED.

Crying wasn’t allowed. Thinking about her wasn’t allowed. Lark was breaking the Commander’s law, and the rules he had set up for himself in order to function. But there was no one here to punish him.

“What do you do when I’m not around, pet?”

Lark viciously bit his teeth into the pad of his right thumb, drawing blood and nearly separating a chunk of flesh. He froze there for a moment, panting, like an animal making sure its prey was dead. Then he licked away the blood and closed a fist around the thumb to apply pressure. He held the fist in front of him, and it was steady and still. No new tears ran down his cheeks. He breathed, deep and slow.

My name is Lark.

I am a good pet.

I do not cry.

I do not think.

I need to go home.

He sank back into the pillows, rolling the mantra around in his head. He descended into a hypnotic calm, separating himself from the world. Either the rebels would trade him back, or the Commander would come and get him. He was going home either way, and there was nothing more he could do to sway the outcome. He was just a pet, after all.

He was nearly asleep when there was a soft knock on the door. He opened his eyes as Tao entered. The man crossed halfway to the bed before stopping.

“The community voted,” Tao said simply, “We’re going to keep you safe.”

So you’ve chosen to die. Lark almost said it out loud, but caught himself. Good pets aren't opinionated like that. Good pets don’t talk the way he’d been talking to Tao.

I can’t fall out of practice.

(But Mom -)

NOT ALLOWED.

Lark could see it clearly now; he needed to convince these people that he was not worth keeping. They had no idea what he was; once they did, why would they want a disgusting sex toy around?

So he nodded. And he lifted his fist, slowly uncurling it, the dried blood sticky and the re-exposed wound stinging.

“Can you help me, sir?” he asked softly.

~~~

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