#shameless-whumper

[echo-goes-mmm]

Echo's Writing Masterpost

Ambrose and Elliot Masterpost

Ongoing

A runaway slave finds roadside inns and taverns perfect places to hide from his old master. That is, until the next stop has already heard of him.

Hoarding Behavior Masterpost

Ongoing

A village in the mountains risks angering its neighbor, a dragon. Unfortunately for a certain human, he's been chosen to be the peace offering. Hopefully the beast isn't hungry.

Juno Collection Masterpost

Ongoing

An ongoing collection of one shots featuring Juno, a shameless self insert (because cringe is dead and I have killed it).

Note: These one shots are not connected unless stated otherwise

Moonflower Masterpost

Ongoing

A stolen fae is forced into slavery. Tortured into giving up his true name, he doesn't feel much of anything anymore. Until he's given to Queen Iris, who wants to make a deal.

Old Friends Masterpost

Finished, five parts

While captured by a notorious supervillain, Theo meets an old friend; one he thought was in prison.

(supervillain whumper + villain whumpee + hero carewhumpee)

Note: This was supposed to be a oneshot, but has expanded.

Second-Hand Goods Masterpost

Finished, seven parts

Emmett is the newest victim of a local serial killer. Or at least, he would be if the murderer hadn't gotten bored halfway through. But apparently someone is still interested in him.

Silas and Wren Masterpost

First version discontinued, Rewrite Ongoing

A lonely vampire decides to venture into the mortal markets to purchase a slave. He's sick of having no one to talk to, and maybe some company will make him feel better. It's just a bonus if they taste good, too.

Oneshots

Anniversary Present (vampire whumper + possessiveness)

Bandit Scum (multiple whumpers + arrested)

Circle of Life (vampire whumper + whumper turned whumpee)

Evening Entertainment (non-con + forced to watch)

One Week (vampire whumper + forced to watch)

Quiet Backstage (noncon body mod + captivity)

[nat-of-personifs]

Okay but like. What if we whumped personified places

(This isn’t directed towards most of my follower base so that’s why I sound different)

I say ‘whumped’ but they could fulfill pretty much any role. Of course there’s the usual stuff about sensitive issues and whatnot, but also, royal/political/iron curtain whump (@dresden-syndrome) are already established things and so is the existence of multiple fandoms dedicated to personifications that contain HEAVY angst. Countryhumans may be a cautionary tale but hers is not the only one we should tell.

She/her is the default for personifs who are not primarily located on the internet (such as fandoms), and all personifs accept being referred to with she/her by humans, regardless of their gender(s).

Personification as Whumpee:

-countryspirit trying to survive under the rule of a monarch who is incredibly oblivious to her needs, or a paranoid dictator carrying out purges of her best at random and leaving her confused and disoriented.

-Personif bodies are composed of the feelings and memories of the people they, well, embody. Removing a memory is removing a physical part of themself. Enter a dictator trying to rewrite history.

-environmental whump, as the victim of a natural disaster. ‘fire season fic’ is a whole ass genre in Welcome to the Table and it absolutely decimated me, go read When The Fires Burn by TWolf_XD on AO3 if you haven’t already.

-eternally, conquests and invasion.

-the personification’s own people persecuting her as a witch, or similar undesirable.

-cityspirit of fame struggling to keep up with the cameras.

-personification completely dependent on one person. extra spice if it’s the founder. (shameless plug for my Ira and Aaron series)

-unrecognized personification suffering under the weight of not being considered real.

-cityspirit in the process of being demolished.

-the victim of sacrificial rituals. they are the whole life of the community and can be beheaded as many times as is necessary, as they will not die, at least permanently.

-their ruler-to-be’s whipping boy (gender neutral).

-places where the government and society are conceptualized as a family—with the absolute monarch as father.

-personification forced to marry her despot. capital cities were once considered the wives of their patron gods.

Personification as Whumper:

-eternally, conquests and invasions.

-exploiting exchange with her leader to the point where they collapse from somatic burnout.

-laughing at the miseries of those she has outcasted.

-the ‘mother country’ and her ‘children’.

-the private torment of the ruler-to-be.

-cause of environmental whump; leaving her least favorite people quite literally out in the cold.

Personification as Caretaker:

-the entire concept of the mother/fatherland. she will be there, welcoming you home.

-the anger of a personification when you hurt someone she loves is *not* something you want to be in the way of.

-cityspirit becoming surrogate mother to an orphaned child.

-countryspirits sending aid to one of their own.

-personiftranslate Operation Yellow Ribbon.

-countryspirit taking care of her wounded ruler-to-be, providing them with solace and a window to the lives of the common people.

-personification literally just existing in a space where she is needed. she is made of the feeling of belonging the way we are made of connective tissue, so long as she accepts you.

-human finding a fandomspirit and answers to why they are the way they are (me).

I just finished a book about SA during wartime and I have Brainrot but I’m not sure if I should elaborate.

[teeth-n-ambitions]

Yours (pt 4)

This is all I have left. There's a gap in between because I'd lost motivation for that part and moved ahead, but I never got to going back and bridging it. So apologies for the incomplete story. Thank you all again for reading and I can't wait to bring these characters back in their new forms!

@deluxewhump @whumpyourdamnpears

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

TW: blood, nudity, vampire whump, lady whump, possesive whumper, manipulation, pet whump, discussion of noncon/dubcon, implied human trafficking, knives, stabbing

Two weeks’ time brought Venette back to the manor, both her pets in tow. Cassara hosted them in another sitting room this time, still with couches and the works, but this one missing a table, leaving more room in the middle to sit on the rug. Lila sat on the ground below Cassara’s couch. Venette lounged on her own, Bram and Marie on the ground as well.

Jealousy or unease, something Lila couldn’t quite pick apart, gripped her the moment she saw them. Venette took excessive pride in the perfect coordination of their outfits. They stuck with the same color palette; where Venette wore blue her humans wore white, and where she wore white they wore blue. The two also had matching string-laced tops, tugged somewhat loose, ends dangling on their chests, paired with the same tight trousers as well.

Marie was the taller of the two. Wavy auburn hair sat just atop her shoulders, perfectly framing her spotless face. Not a freckle, nor scar, nor acne, nothing. It was as if her skin was entirely new. Lila considered herself fairly clean, but Marie made her feel dirty, oily, unkempt. And, based on the slight curl of her mouth and gleam in her gray eyes, she knew it. Perhaps that was even her intention.

Bram, as Venette had introduced, was the eldest, both in age and ownership. He wasn’t older by much, but he’d been with Venette nearly three years before Marie came into the picture. Thus, though still young, signs of wear had already settled into his skin, whatever fire in his blue, blue eyes long exhausted. Most noticeably were the scars about his lips—two clean slashes starting just above the upper lip and intersecting just where his mouth opened, and ending just at the end of the bottom lip. Yet it didn’t take away from his regal appearance. He looked every bit as fresh as Marie did, with his platinum blonde hair tied into a small low ponytail by a blue bow, not a single strand out of place. Only the smugness was missing.

From behind, Cassara’s hand threaded through her hair, gently massaging her head.

“Go on, dear,” she said. “Say hello.”

Of the things she still hated, this new anxiety was one of them. Lila was certain she never had a problem with new people. So why, then, was her throat so dry? Why couldn’t she keep her eyes focused on them? Why did she want to hide so badly?

She swallowed, managed a quick “Hi,” just loud enough to hear. Sitting on his knees, palms flat on his legs, Bram slightly bowed his head.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he returned. Marie mimicked the action.

“A pleasure indeed.”

They turned their heads back to Venette who—sporting a shameless smirk—nodded curtly. Then to Cassara, Bram asked,

“May we approach her?”

Lila’s shoulders tensed.

“Of course,” Cassara chimed. Her fingers moved to scratch behind Lila’s ear. “Calm down, darling. I’m right here.”

Right there, right there. Yes. They couldn’t do anything to her with Cassara just behind her. That was supposed to be comforting. Not shameful. She was being good. Cassara would protect her if she was good.

So she willed herself to breathe, slowly dropping her shoulders as they crawled over. They stopped within an inch of her crossed legs and sat back onto their knees. Marie went straight for her hair.

“A braid would do nicely with this density,” she concluded. From her couch, Venette clapped her hands once, loud enough to make Lila flinch. Marie’s hand froze at the sound. She jerked her hand back into her lap, cast her eyes down.

“Sorry,” she muttered. Cassara waved her hand in dismissal.

“Oh, that’s alright. They may touch her as long as they’re careful.”

“But next time you’ll ask first. Right, Marie?”

“Yes, Mistress,” she answered. “Sorry, Mistress.”

Funny, Lila thought, as Venette herself touched her hair just last week without asking her or Cassara. Not that she would say so.

“Venette,” Cassara proposed, “Why don’t we give them some space to get acquainted? I have some dresses I wanted you opinion on.” 

Her hand retreated from Lila’s hair, pulling a small whine out of her. She chuckled.

“Just for a little while, sweet.” As she rose she bent to press a fragile kiss to Lila’s head. “You’ll be fine.” 

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” Bram twisted towards Venette. “Mistress, may I please have the chess set I asked to bring along?” And back to Lila, “I was told you didn’t know how to play. I can teach you, if you like.”

Venette made a point, when she came over, of not relinquishing the said chess set to Bram.

“Best behavior,” she said. “And no noise.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

She released her grip, patted his head before following Cassara out of the room. A few moment’s silence hung in the air. Probably to ensure they were truly alone. Marie ended it first, rubbing her neck.

“I’m in so much trouble when we get home.” She groaned. “I can’t believe I forgot that.”

“She’ll go easy on you.” Bram nonchalantly retrieved the wooden pieces from the drawer of the chess box, eyes fixed on the board. “You know she will. Especially if you beg how she likes.” On alternating squares he arranged the brown pieces on Lila’s side, the cream ones on his own. “She probably just wanted to show off, anyway. Don’t worry about it. I agree about the braid, though.”

“You can if you still want,” Lila offered. “Braid my hair, I mean.”

She scooted forward to give Marie more room to kneel behind her. It hurt a little, when she tugged to separate the strands, but her hands were warm, something she’d nearly forgotten was real.

“You don’t deserve to be punished,” she added. “She did the exact same thing to me last week.”

“Oh, but I do. Her rules are only for us, and if my mistake isn’t corrected I’ll start forgetting all of them. Bram’s right, anyhow. I’m her favorite.”

Marie straightened at the thought. Bram’s demeanor remained unchanged. Suddenly he sighed, long and heavy, hands pulling back to his lap.

“I know you want to ask something. Just keep your voice down.”

Lila licked her dry lips.

“Yeah, okay.” She tapped a finger against her leg. “How long have you been with Venette?”

“Five years,” Marie said from behind.

“Coming upon ten years,” Bram added. “Eight and a half next month. What else?”

“Do you like it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” came from both of them. Bram continued, “We’re grateful. No hard choices, every need met, constant attention—our Mistress cares for us well.” A pause. “We’re lucky to be hers.”

A final pull on her hair, and Marie flipped Lila’s new braid over her shoulder.

“What do you think?”

Lila took it in her hand and let her fingers run down to the end, thumbing where each section overlapped. Marie shuffled back over next to Bram and admired her handiwork.

“It would be better if your hair was longer,” she said. Bram actually lifted his head.

“Marie, it looks fine. You look fine, Lila.”

“Whatever,” Marie ran a hand through her own hair. “At least I know how. You still need help.”

Bram didn’t react, consciously or unconsciously. No eye roll, no mouth twitches. Nothing. As if he didn’t even know she was speaking. Instead he picked up one of the chess pieces, fiddling with it in his hands.

“Anything else?” He sighed. “Or can we play now?”

Lila held onto her braid, loving the novelty of it, watched Marie move on to mess with Bram’s hair. She undid the bow holding his ponytail in place and draped the ribbon over his shoulder, the end reaching a little ways below his collarbone, parallel to the exposed portion of skin where the shirt laces were loose.

Venette, uptight as she was, didn’t seem like one to let any extension of herself appear untidy, or disheveled. And she apparently liked to match, yet she hadn’t anything laced similarly on her own body. Or unlaced.

Cassara had finally given her trousers to wear, now that she was so close to being healed completely, but she was reminded of the big, formless dresses she would have her in…for ease of access.

She was suddenly awash with the sensation that something loomed behind her.

Nothing was there, when she looked, but her pulse picked up regardless.

“Does she ever—” How should she put it? “Does she ever, uh, tou—touch you?”

Bram’s eyebrows knit together.

“You just saw her pat my head not too long ago.”

“No,” she said, mouth growing drier. “I mean like—You know like—”

She balled her hand on her knee as her face screwed in concentration. Marie stopped braiding Bram’s hair to watch her flounder as he did, quirked an eyebrow.

“Like—like—” Her other hand flexed around her braid. “Cassara, she—sometimes, sometimes we—when she—I—” Her skin was burning at that point. Bram turned back for a moment to exchange some indecipherable look with Marie, then cautiously asked,

“Are you trying to say ‘intimately?’ Is that it?”

She nodded, unsure if it was better or worse that he understood.

“Well, of course,” Bram said. “That was one of the first things they told me before I was bought, that it’s common. Did your handlers not tell you?”

“Cassara found me. I never had a handler.”

Marie grimaced, sucking air through her teeth. Bram elbowed her behind him.

“What?” Lila whipped her head around, expecting someone to be behind her. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re lucky it’s just a soirée,” Marie said. “If it were a full-scale party…���

“What?”

“Next month,” Bram clarified. “One of Mistress and Lady Cassara’s friends is hosting a small gathering. You have to have a human to be invited, but it’s poor etiquette to do anything of that caliber in that situation. Others, not so much.”

“Oftentimes the ‘entertainment’ of the evening is just hurting whatever pets are around.” Marie went back to braiding Bram’s hair. “But sometimes they let each other get intimate with us. They think it’s funny when the newer ones beg and cry. Bram is usually one of the ones someone will take away for a little while.”

He seemed to age several years as soon as she said it. His eyes fell to the little wooden knight in his hand.

“Mistress says I’m prettier when I’m broken,” he muttered. “She likes sharing me because I’m scared of all her friends, and they don’t care what hurts or not. So by the time she wants me to herself I’m already a mess.”

Lila had the urge to hold his hand, or at least pat his knee, but his eyes were starting to glass over.

“Do you…want it?” Lila asked. “Cassara says I’m supposed to.”

“She knows how to make me feel good. And it makes her happy when I behave. I want her to be happy.”

“But, if you could, would you tell her no?”

Marie’s hands stilled again, this time keeping her gaze fixed on Bram’s hair. He licked his lips.

“I love her,” he said, more to himself than to Lila. “She bought me, she takes care of me. I wouldn’t dream of denying Mistress what’s rightfully hers.”

If they hadn’t looked towards it as well, Lila would’ve thought she imagined the crash somewhere outside of the room.

“Oh, here we go again,” Maire said. She ran her fingers gently down Bram’s hair, dissolving the braid, then took the ribbon and retied it into a ponytail. Bram pulled open the little drawer of his chess set.

“I guess I’ll just teach you next time.”

Closer now, Lila recognized both Cassara and Venette’s voices, though much louder than she’d ever heard them. The words “bitch” and “wench” caught her ear.

“Um,” She looked between the nearing shouts and the two unfazed people in front of her, calmly lining up the chess pieces inside the drawer. “Are you sure there’s going to be a next time?”

“They’re always doing this,” Bram puffed. “You watch—next time they see each other it will be like it never happened.”

“I give them two and a half weeks maximum,” Marie added.

Suddenly Cassara was behind her, hefting her to her feet by her braid while Venette fumed in the doorway waiting for her own pets to gather themselves. Neither of them would even sneak a tiny glance in Lila’s direction on their way over. No, they kept their spines straight and their eyes trained forward. They trailed behind her as she stomped to the front doors, obedient ducklings in tight formation. Cassara wanted to see them out, and so pulled along a grunting and cursing Lila by the braid, forcing her to hunch forward as she tripped over her unhealed ankle.

Just at the threshold Venette pivoted round and took a few large steps back towards Cassara, shoulders raised and arched back.

“You know,” she snarled. “It takes an obscene amount of nerve to rebuke an expert’s guidance when you know next to nothing about the subject.”

“And it takes an obscene amount of narcissism to assume you’re any more an expert than I am simply because you taught your stupid ‘pretties’ to cry on command.”

“I only offered to help you! Just to get her fully controlled so you can handle her better! But whatever,” she scoffed. “Have fun with that carrion you call a pet. I’m sure you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Nose in the air, she huffed her way back to the entrance, making a point not to turn around before the doors shut behind her little entourage.

Lila thought the calm, collected anger was frightening. But Cassara’s fist quivered in her hair, the vibration racking through Lila’s body like an earthquake. Her chest tightened.

“Cassara?” she tried. “Is ev—”

“Quiet.”

And so she hauled Lila back down the hall, fast enough that Lila actually tripped, her hair taut from Cassara’s grip, making her yelp. Cassara scowled down at her.

“You’re pathetic,” she growled. “Get back up or I’ll drag you just as you are.”

“I need help.”

Lila reached up, only for Cassara to yank her to her feet by her hair and ignore her cries as she immediately resumed storming through the manor. Lila’s stomach dropped as soon as she recognized the door they eventually stopped at.

“Absolutely ridiculous.”

Cassara flung her through the doorway and onto the stone floor of what Lila had affectionately deemed the torture room. Like last time, she was ignored in favor of the wall (to which some shelves had apparently been added), though with less calculation and more impulse. Lila unsuccessfully tried to rub her aching scalp and ankle at the same time.

Atop one of the shelves sat a black box with a little bronze latch for Cassara to flick open and wrench several throwing knives from. They glinted in the light, most likely newly acquired. Wordlessly, she put them all into a hand, went back over to Lila and yanked her by the hair again to her feet, and pulled her to the back of the room to slam her back into the wall, keeping an arm’s length between them.

“Stay put,” she ordered through her teeth. “I don’t want to see you move a centimeter unless I say to.”

She let the braid fall down to Lila’s head and returned to the opposite end of the room before giving Lila the chance to respond. From her grip she took a knife, tossed it up.

“I invite her to my home,” caught the handle, reared it back. “Con—" this she grunted with the exertion of hurling the knife towards Lila. “—fide in her,” it jammed itself into the wall just above Lila’s head. “And what does she do?”

Another one thunked beside her ear.

“Get her fully controlled,” she scoffed, throwing three more in rapid succession. “Yellow trollop can’t even pretend she isn’t the biggest two-faced brat to walk the earth.”

Every knife struck the wall exactly an inch from Lila’s body, though the precision failed to calm her in the slightest. Head to toe she trembled, straining not to jump as she was gradually outlined in blades.

When the quick footsteps replaced the whiz of flying projectiles, Lila pried open her eyes, clamped shut as if she worried someone would rip them out. Her heart lunged at the sight of Cassara coming back.

“My lady,” she breathed, aching to collapse to the vampire’s chest and be held. “Are w—”

“Shut up.”

Cassara stopped, again, an arm’s length from her, fixed her eyes on the knives as she yanked each one from the wall. The command was curt, skirting the line between a growl and a hiss. Lila shrank back.

“My la—”

A bouquet of knives pushed to her throat. Her breathing shallowed.

“I told you—” Definitely a growl this time. “—to shut up. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret, mutt.”

Lila tried to meet her eyes, look for the tenderness (or, rather, an approximation of it) that she’d begun to associate with their color. Instead the sharp emptiness triggered the awful swell of tears beneath her eyes. She let her gaze drop in place of a response.

Cassara huffed, but pulled the knives back, returned to her place across the room.

“Spread your arms and legs out.” Her fingers flexed around the handle of one of her weapons. “Make an X.”

Lila obeyed, and Cassara rolled her shoulders.

The next few shots were more haphazard, severing stray hairs, grazing skin. It’s not long until she slipped back into her vent.

“As if I would just hand over my hard-earned trophy for her voyeuristic foolishness.”

Bram’s face flashed inside Lila’s mind. The thought of him among malicious strangers, of his eyes turning foggy before being shoved somewhere hidden. And then it was her, dragged by the wrist by someone who wasn’t Cassara. Cassara letting her be taken away. Being touched by someone she didn’t belong to.

She was hyperventilating. She wasn’t sure if she’s done that before. She—she needed—

“Cassara!” She would make her head stop swimming. She had to. “Please,” she begged through tears. “I ca—”

“Do you want your tongue cut out?”

Cassara stormed over, seconds away from strangling her. Lila resisted the urge to run to her.

“Please touch me,” she cried. That’s what worked last time. Cassara was safe. Cassara loved her. “I need you, I need you. I’ve been good. Please.”

The words had hardly left her mouth before Cassara, a knife in each hand, pulled her hands back over her shoulders and, with every last bit of force she could summon, thrust the blades straight through Lila’s palms.

Her scream managed to disrupt her breathing, but the fire consuming her hands made her forget that problem entirely.

“How many times do we have to go over this?” Cassara had yet to let go of the knives pinning Lila to the wall. “You don’t need anything unless I say so. You don’t do anything unless I say so. I decide whether you’ve been good. You really think you deserve to be touched after disobeying me twice? Are you honestly so brainless as to think that’s being good?”

Lila was crying now, biting her lip to keep from making any more noise.

“Your life is mine, remember? I could take you into the darkest part of the wood and leave you there, if I wanted. Let the beasts pick your bones clean.” Cassara took one of the knives from the wall, pressed the tip of the blade to the hollow of her jaw beneath her chin. “I could make you watch me open your pretty torso and yank out everything inside you. Start right here,” She just barely broke skin. “And go all—” She drew out the word as she glided the blade down her body. “—the way down…” With extra pressure, she pressed the knife to the skin just beneath her stomach. “Here. And no one would stop me. No one would pity you. Because you’re my little plaything to do everything I want with. My pet to pamper or punish as I please.”

Cassara pushed the blade a little harder, a little sob bubbling out of Lila’s mouth.

“But I’m going to be gracious and let you learn from this instead. If you want to, that is.”

 “I do,” Lila wheezed.

“Beg.”

Her impulse was to drop to her knees, but the tug on her hands sacrificed more nerves to the blades impaling them. Out leapt a shuddering gasp as her tear ducts doubled their efforts.

“Please…” Lila’s faced screwed in pain. The initial sear was deescalating to a persistent burn, much easier to manage, yet still throbbing and spiking in waves. Distantly, Lila felt her leg muscles ache to move. A different kind of burn. Cassara slipped her knife just beneath Lila’s top, digging the point into the fat of her stomach.

“Beg me to teach you a lesson,” she ordered. “To remind you of your place. Otherwise I’ll kill you right here.”

She reached up, blade tip just peeking out the collar, and slowly dug a little red trench down through skin. Lila swallowed.

“Please help me,” she whimpered. “H—help me remember m—” She hissed when Cassara abruptly slashed the rest of the way down. “Please teach me my place. Please, please I’m just—I’m—I’m just—”

“Stupid,” Cassara said. “A stupid animal. A stupid, stupid little whelp who needs her master to keep her in line. Say it.”

“I’m a stupid ani—” Lila sobbed. Cassara was dragging the blade back up through the wound she’d made. “Animal and I need you to keep me in my place. Please, my lady. Please help me be good. Please.”

Though not much, a thin line of blood soaked through her top, some of which clung to the knife pulling back from her body. Cassara turned it in her hand, licked it clean with a single swipe of the tongue. Lila could feel the bile wanting erupt from her stomach.

           

(This is the outline I'd written for what happened next. Sorry it isn't more.

[Cassara puts the knives away and takes a pitch fork off the wall, and tells Lila she can scream and cry all she wants but if she hears one more word from her she’ll rip her throat out] [She shoves it into Lila’s torso and punctures it, though not deep enough to hit an organ] [With the prong in her flesh Cassara asks Lila why she had spoken when she’d been told not to] [Lila at first worries if this is a test, and Cassara tells her, calmer, that she may speak now. Lila says she was scared of the idea of Venette taking her and wanted Cassara to hold her to make her feel better] [Cassara pulls the knives out and Lila crumples to her knees] [Cassara is delighted that she sought her out for comfort and tells Lila she would never let anything like that happen to her] [The she puts the pitch fork to her back and steps on it, and adds as long as she behaves. Venette wanted her bad, but Cassara loved her too much. But if she can’t learn to obey she’ll have to give her away.] [Lila is quiet, so Cassara presses harder on the pitch fork and says speak] [Lila apologizes and begs her to keep her, and that she’ll be better, that she doesn’t want to leave her] [Cassara smiles at this, having finally gotten exactly what she wanted from her, and pulls out the pitch fork and puts it away]

And resume)

“You will heal. This, however,” Her nails just barely grazed Lila’s neck, over the bite wound that had just begun to seal itself, and Lila shuddered. “I want to be permanent. Much prettier than a collar, I think.”

Cassara tilted Lila’s head up ever so delicately. She wanted to wrap her arms around Cassara’s middle, or try to kiss her, or bury herself in her silken hair, anything, as long as she was touching her. But this was the end of it. Perform a little bit longer, let Cassara satisfy whatever hunger she was indulging. And then it’d be over.

Cassara gently needled the wound with her fangs, barely there, and Lila moaned, low and hollow, and it reminded Cassara of a puppy trying to howl. She pressed harder, and Lila sucked in a shuddering breath.

And then she forced her fangs through the bruised skin, tearing it open anew, deep enough that her gums were close to touching it. Lila shrieked, and Cassara smiled against her neck.

But she didn’t feed (much). Lila would likely lose consciousness otherwise, and Cassara wanted her awake for all of this, so she only held for a moment. Just enough to make it scar.

“There,” she said, drawing back. “Now everyone who sees you will know. And every time you see yourself you will remember. Tell me, what would that be, darling?”

She kept her hand on Lila’s cheek, gently pinched with her thumb and forefinger to get her to open her eyes.

“That I’m yours.”

Cassara watched the blood trickle from Lila’s neck, watched it mix with the tears running beneath her chin.

“I do hate to punish you,” she murmured. “But, there is a certain beauty in it...”

Her hand glided down Lila’s face and down her neck, nails following along her stream of tears. “How your pain cascades down your body.” Down to the sweet blood rolling beneath her shirt, dark and tempting against her skin.

“Making patterns on its own accord, natural, intricate.”

Ran her hand over her torso, trace amounts of blood staining her skin through the fabric.

“The way you tremble, so frightened, so desperate.”

Then back up, she cradled her face with both hands.

“And your sparkling eyes.” Kissed each one. “The gorgeous flush of your cheeks.”

Lila’s eyes were still watering, the pain static but still great, and Cassara licked off the salt as soon as they spilled over.

“You truly are a work of art, my starlight. My greatest masterpiece. How lucky you are to be so chosen by the universe.”

Lila felt more like she had been sacrificed. Yet, what little warmth she learned to detect was on her, cocooning her as she was gathered up in her captor’s arms, and it was her entire world. It hurt to move but she wanted to curl into Cassara’s chest until she was lost entirely. And she tried, letting out a weak cry, a stinging returning to various cuts. Cassara shushed her.

“Oh, I know sweetness, I know. You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

Lila sobbed, gripping her dress, and she nuzzled the crook of Lila’s neck.

“Don’t worry, pet. I’m here. I have you.”

[lektricwhump]

i swear this about has a funny title guys trust me

howdy! been using this blog for a bit now but i’m finally making a proper intro. i go by the names beck, mac, and flynn. i’m 19 and use she/him pronouns (my gender identity is butch woman). proud representative of the bi butch community.

i like and follow from @lektricfergus, and my avatar is by @midlangley. i’m not gonna list any specific dni but i’ll block people if our vibes don’t jive. i may post/reblog nsft content here, properly tagged (as #nsft and/or #nsfwhump), and i ask that minors not interact with those posts.

on to the fun stuff. here’s what you probably will see a lot of on this blog:

- gore and body horror

- defiant whumpees

- whumping the whumper

- substance abuse

- dehumanization

- organized crime

- weirdo immortals and magic users

- urban fantasy

- BUTCH CHARACTERS!!!

of note is that if i tag ladywhump it’s so people can find it, not as a trigger tag. if you need to avoid it i respect that, but my blog may not be for you

here’s what you probably won’t see a lot of, if at all:

- vomit/emeto in detail

- whump of minors

- heavy animalization

- societally normalized bbu/trafficking

that’s it for the important stuff, but there’s a small non-whumpy about under the cut with supplemental beck info

stuff i like:

- ethel cain

- team fortress 2 (shameless plug for my tf2 blog @fineredmist)

- doom engine games and mods for them

- comics/graphic novels

- movies, especially horror and disaster—i’m planning to minor in film and/or screenwriting! some specific movies i love are: the thing (1982), near dark (1987), brain damage (1988), 28 days later (2003), the day after tomorrow (2004), annihilation (2018), and the menu (2022). i also happen to claim school of rock (2003) as one of my favorites, but that doesn’t really fit in that list.

- relating to the above, body horror and practical effects

what else to put here

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumpmas in July Day 1: Reintroduce Yourself

Hi all! I’m @snakebites-and-ink. I’ve been on whumpblr about a year and a half (tho for the first several months of that I was mainly lurking). I like many different kinds of whump—some of my favorites are pet whump, living weapons, slavery, and almost anything involving heavy conditioning or altered mindset. I can also get quite a kick out of whumper-turned-whumpee and revenge whump. I’m always looking for new series that scratch the right itch, so if you write something that features a fave trope of mine feel free to hit me up. (I am a shameless-self-promotion-positive reader lol.)

I’m a little socially awkward so I might sound a bit weird when I talk to people, but I promise I don’t bite, and I welcome interaction! I rarely initiate because of my social anxiety, but I really am happy to talk with anyone who drops into my ask box or dms.

If you want to see my writing, you can check it out on my masterlist! I have both OC and generic whump in series, miniseries, and standalone drabbles. I am an amateur, but so are many of the other people in this community so I am trying to beat back the self-consciousness. ^^'

I think that covers all the basics, but if you want to know more you can check out the info posts linked on my main masterlist (or just ask, if that’s what you prefer.)

[tragedyinblue]

BBU Community Days, Day 3

@bbu-on-the-side

{Day 3} Discipline

Welp, no better time like the present to introduce my boxie. This is my first bbu whump piece and was inspired by @shameless-whumper’s quote for things that are drilled into boxies during training:

“Discipline is a necessary and humane event ensuring the continued obedience and wellbeing of a pet.”

Eventually this will be a recovery story, but that means we’re gonna start in the bad place.

CW: whipping, dehumanization, conditioning, mentioned nudity, mention of blood, “it” as a pronoun

—————————————————

1. Humane

C47 let out a strangled yip as the handler struck the open welt on its naked flank with his instrument of the day: a thick, black extension cord. The soft patter of the Pet’s disgusting blood pooling on the pristine white tile beneath it somehow echoed over the ringing in C47’s ears.

“Again!”

It took a shuddering breath. “D-discipline is a nec-necessary eve—Aagh!”

A new line of fire streaked across its back, burning so intensely that its vision blacked out.

“What did you forget, C47?”

C47 whimpered, its stupid, pain-addled brain scrambling for its mistake against the invisible timer of the handler’s patience. As the silhouette against the wall raised the cord again it barked.

“I-it does not know, Sir! P-please t-teach this useless Pet its lesson!”

Handler Jones growled. “Repeat after me: ‘and humane.’”

The words were familiar to its ears but foreign on its tongue as it obeyed. ”’And h-huma’—UNGH!”

“Keep stuttering and we’ll be at this all day,” the handler said. “Again!”

Crack.

C47 wept. “‘A-and humane!’”

Crack.

“‘And human-ngh…’”

Crack.

“‘And humane!’”

Some faded part of C47 knew why it hadn’t been able to remember those words; knew that this torment was anything but. In its pathetic state, C47 couldn't help but wonder: Was this really what it signed up for?

The handlers all said so. They delighted in reminding it every time it begged for mercy that unlike others at this facility it had been eager for a Pet’s life; it had signed the paperwork itself then stripped like a good little boxie.

Tears slipped from beneath its swollen eyelids as it stamped down that faceless entity and its ever-demanding question of why, Why, WHY?!

After countless repetitions Handler Jones’ arm lowered and C47 barely leashed its sob of relief.

“Good. Once more, from the beginning,” Handler Jones commanded, swishing the lengthy cord like a cobra against the floor. “And don’t you dare fucking stutter.”

Next

[whumpawink]

My Favorite Whump (or whump-y) Series

@pretty-face-breaker ‘s Emir’s Masterlist (1973)

@deluxewhump ‘s The Blackmuir Reign

@deluxewhump ‘s True North

@whumpwillow ‘s Hazeshift

@whump-in-the-closet ‘s Liberosis

@ashintheairlikesnow ‘s Erase to Control

@whumpering-heights ‘s Behind the Masks

@deluxewhump ‘s Frathouse Boxboy (Z2) (some NSFW)

@whumpsday ‘s Kane and Jim

@/coldresolve ‘s Moneymakers (pls do not tag as whump)

@whumblr ‘s :

Home is Where the Hurt is

Custody Series

@painsandconfusion ‘s With You

@whump-world ‘s Deal with the Devil (NSFW)

@spookyboywhump ‘s Wren/Zander/Cain

@whumpshaped ‘s Devil... h-hot... (crack whump) (SOME NSFW)

@whumpshaped ‘s 7 Minutes in Hell

@whumpzone ‘s Linden and Colton (SOME NSFW)

Tomas and Rowe

@the-bloody-sadist ‘s Dancing with Death

@hurting-fictional-people ‘s Whumpee Betrays Caretaker

@whump-tr0pes ‘s Honor Bound

@whumpers-inc ‘s Who Wants To Be A Whumpee?

@thoughtsonhurtandcomfort ‘s Arrin and Alex (SOME NSFW)

@secretwhumplair ‘s No Warrior (some implied NSFW)

@whumpacabra ‘s The Black Knight

@ shameless whumper’s Jericho series

(since this is gonna be ongoing and constantly edited pls lemme know if every time i edit it tags yall again and i’ll unlink the @‘s 😅💖)

[painsandconfusion]

Shameless Plug-

I really like this series and I'm proud of it.

You should read it and spam me about it. It brings me the happies.

It's about a Whumper and his past Whumpee. Whumper learns that Whumpee has had multiple whumpers, and he lets Whumpee go on the condition that they hunt the other whumpers the fuck down. together.

Revengecore.

Very slow burn enemies to lovers with so much pain.

And here's our heroes-

Ethan on the left (past Whumpee), and Nate on the right (past Whumper)

They're gonna fuck some people up together as soon as Nate finishes cracking Ethan out of his shell and teaching him that it's okay to get a little bloody sometimes if they deserve it.

enjoy

[deluxewhump]

Cam, Alex, Zee: Guilt Rituals

CW: BBU, frat house, bloody nose, marijuana and nicotine, alcoholism mentioned, abuse mentioned, dysfunctional family dynamics mention, multiple whumper household, non sexual intimacy, Cam feels feelings, Alex and Zee do asmr

*Takes place back in the house, Alex’s senior year, Cam’s junior year.

Cameron was smoking less lately, but not out of some noble quest for sobriety. He was actually more convinced than ever that life would be completely unbearable without some sort of chemical buffer.

But there was a huge creeping problem with weed, and it was introspection. He’d switched to another strain, but the problem remained. Every time he’d get high, what should have been a quieter plane of existence slightly above the trench warfare that was his junior year of college turned into a nightmarish mano a mano with himself.

Alcohol was out of the question still. Having an alcoholic parent will ruin certain things for you, most commonly alcohol. He watched his peers get gloriously drunk every weekend with no introspection whatsoever, just shameless extroverted bad behavior, but couldn’t bring himself to touch the stuff. The smell alone made him curdle with disgust. And if he went into it feeling such contempt, such hate, it was surely not going to go anywhere he wanted it to.

But even with weed now, he felt wave after wave of highly specific guilt, overblown and looming beside him like a parade float. It would start with how things ended with his dad, never to be reconciled in death, then bleed into the way he’d treated his mom when she actually reached out to him. Eventually it would spread like the veins of a river delta into all the shit with the boxboy, and Alex, and Dominic.

He could get a hold of himself enough to say fuck Alex and Dominic, for sure, but the guilt about Z2 grew stronger every time, until the pathways in his brain that go to the dank basement of regret and anguish were so well worn it was like he could just slide right down them and end up at the bottom— faster every time. In fact, he’d hit the bottom a while ago and had since started digging.

He tried to asphyxiate it by smoking more, until his hideously loud thoughts melted to nothing and he fell asleep with his throat stuck together and his mouth parched for water, too unwilling to climb back up into consciousness to go get it.

Eventually though, it stayed his hand when he went to smoke. The thoughts were easy enough to keep at bay sober. He was busy with school and work and chapter meetings. Only when he was high did he not have the skill to escape them. He thought longingly of something stronger, but knew he couldn’t fall so far as to indulge in that. It wasn’t that he didn’t know who to ask. It was his resentment for his mother that pushed him away from the siren song of harder drugs, ever since highschool.

So he found himself sober, as on most weeknights now, studying extra for an exam or organizing recruitment workshops with his brothers. Tonight, he talked himself into a small hit. A little hit wouldn’t hurt. He just needed to stop smoking quite so much, his tolerance was too high. One pull would just take the worst of the edge off.

It did, until it didn’t. He abandoned his schoolwork, leaving his weed in the locked drawer of his desk so he wouldn’t be tempted to smoke more, and found himself wandering around the house. They’d implemented a new chore system that was going poorly, and the house was kind of dirty. Not the worst it had ever been, but not as nice as it was when they made Zee do most of the cleaning. That had eventually been voted out, because too many of them felt bad. Not that they were offering to pick up the slack, they just felt bad watching him try to keep up with their sloppiness.

He remembered that vote. Who had suggested it, Alex or Dominic? One of them. He’d voted against the motion, but that wasn’t one of the things that chased him around his own brain at night.

He didn’t realize he was looking for Zee until he found him, sitting on the counter of the bathroom sink holding a wad of toilet paper to his face. He was with Alex, and his nose was bleeding.

Cam paused in the hallway, but not before an old wooden floorboard creaked. Alex looked up into the medicine cabinet mirror and their eyes met. Zee didn’t look to see who it was. He closed his eyes.

“What happened?”

Alex swung the bathroom door wider so he could look at him directly, instead of his reflection. “Why, are you sorry you missed it?”

He was glad for the one hit he’d taken. Even a small chemical buffer was necessary for him to be around Alex Clair. He wasn’t going to get any answers from him, not if he was in a sour mood. But he and Zee had been doing better lately. They had a kind of truce working, only Alex probably didn’t know that. He knew Zee liked Alex better than him, obviously, but he thought maybe their working relationship had come far enough that Alex would see it, despite his near constant self-righteous indignation.

“Z2?” Cam asked, still a full step outside the doorway. “What’s goin’ on?”

Zee opened his eyes and tilted his head down enough to look at him. He grinned almost apologetically under the wad of tissue— alarmingly red in places with bright blood. “Nothing. I think I have allergies or something. Dry sinuses.”

Alex gave Zee a leveling look and Zee returned his gaze to the ceiling to avoid it.

“To the pollen, or Mike and Tyler?” Cam asked

Alex turned his disapproval on him. “The class is missing their clown tonight, huh? Aren’t you usually leading the pack? All the most fucked up incidents I can remember around here were your brainchild. Even before he got here.”

This further confirmed Cam's suspicion that Alex had never liked him, even before they were at odds with the boxboy dilemma. The sting of rejection was familiar. It bothered him less than it used to, but it still added another tally mark somewhere in his head, another scratch in a long line of reasons justifying the nagging disdain he felt for everyone, even the people who are supposed to be his brothers. Supposed to give him a chance.

Alex raised his eyebrows at Cam’s unusual silence. “So, what’s it to you what happened to him this time?”

From his perch on the sink, Zee nudged Alex’s leg with his foot.

“What?” Alex hissed at him, though there was patience right behind the exasperation, a gentleness that did not exist two seconds ago when he was addressing Cam.

“I just wanted to check on you, Zee,” he said, deciding not to answer Alex at all. “Here.” He pushed past Alex and bundled fresh toilet paper into a wad, handing it to Zee. He took the bloodied one from him and threw it in the wastebasket, which was filthy and had not seen a plastic liner in months, if not longer than that.

Zee thanked him with a genuine smile— fleeting and secretive, like he didn’t want Alex to see it but was willing to risk it to make sure Cam did.

He didn’t know if it made it better or worse that Zee had been so receptive to his small changes of heart. It made him feel better on one hand, like if he could repair something as fucked as their relationship to each other he could tell himself it couldn’t have been that bad. On the other hand it made him feel worse. It was that bad. It definitely was. Zee was just short on allies, and possibly a bigger person than he was anyway. He was open to the grudging, embarrassed little kindnesses Cam was willing to offer and was too noble to hold his past actions against him. It made his past behavior look even uglier and smaller.

It made it worse that he’d been so deliberately, calculatedly cruel to him in the first place. Sometimes he wondered if he realized that Z2 was a person at first, and that boxies weren’t all some Frankenstein’s monster, some lobotomized AI in a flesh and blood package. But that wasn’t really true. Of course he knew. Everyone knows, deep down.

“C’mon,” Alex said, and helped Zee hop down off the counter. “You’re good now.”

“Will you do the thing?” Zee asked him.

“Yeah. Hell yeah. I could use it right now, too.”

“Use what?” he asked, following them.

“Get lost.”

“I have a right to know,” he said lamely, though he sort of did. He had pitched in for Zee, Alex had not. Alex was not, as they sometimes put it, a boxboy shareholder.

But Alex and Zee had history together that he and Zee did not. He knew that. Alex had always tried to protect him, sometimes locking him in his room for fourteen hours at a time and not letting anyone take him out. Cam had objected at first, but because Alex was Alex, everyone else just sort of let it ride. Another reason to hate Alex Clair.

“He can come if he’s quiet,” he overheard Zee.

“He’s not gonna be quiet. He’s incapable.”

“Shut up,” he said ineffectually as he followed them to Alex’s room.

Zee went inside first and sat down on the bed. Alex turned and held onto the door, deciding whether to let him in or not. Cam held two fingers up by his chest in a peace sign. “I’m not gonna be a dick, dude.”

He could tell Alex was skeptical, but shrugged and let him inside. Once he was in, they proceeded to completely ignore him. Alex turned off the light and switched on a blue lava lamp, just like the one Cams’s cousin had in his room growing up. Zee sat cross legged on the bed, watching Alex with trusting expectancy as he went to his laptop and started playing some weird ambient shit. He slid a disposable vape and a pencil off the desk into his hand and joined Zee on the bed.

Cam felt awkward standing, and helped himself to Alex’s computer chair. He spread his legs and swiveled back and forth a few inches, affecting casual comfort even though he’d never been in Alex’s room for more than a second, and never with the lights off.

The two of them sat facing each other on the bed. Zee was propped up by pillows behind him and Alex seemed satisfied without, his spine pin straight and his athletic shoulders relaxed.

“Four counts,” he said, hitting the vape and then handing it to Zee. Zee hit it and set it on his knee. Alex started them off on some breathing ritual; in four counts, hold for four, exhale, hold for four, and then begin again. Cam tried to copy them without them catching on, inhaling quietly when they inhaled and waiting for Alex to give the cue to exhale. It was immediately calming, like Alex had reached to the back of his neck and hit an override button in his brain. He didn’t like it.

“You two just come in here and breathe weird?”

“Another word and you’re out,” Alex warned.

He laughed. “Understood.”

“Try it,” Zee whispered, opening his eyes just long enough to glance over at him.

“I’m good,” he answered, but something in Zee’s eyes made him think he already knew he had been, a moment ago.

“Hands first?” Alex asked.

Zee held out his hands palm up and Alex took them in his, a gesture so intimate but casual that it shocked him more than if Alex had slapped their boxboy in the face.

He held each of Zee’s hands in his as if warming them, rubbing over a wide surface area at first, followed by slower, massaging sweeps of his thumbs over the open palms. He spread each finger and rubbed the length of it, rubbing circles on the finger pads and back down over each knuckle til he reached old callouses, all the way to his wrists. He watched with growing agitation as Zee relaxed visibly.

When he decided he was done, Alex turned Zee’s palms down on his plaid comforter and picked the vape off Zee’s knee, hitting it before placing it between Zee’s lips for him. Zee took a drag without bothering to ever open his eyes.

He then picked up the pencil he’d brought from his desk and Cam made a face, wondering what in the fuck he was possibly going to do with a pencil and also feeling the agitation in his lower belly grow into an ache in his chest, a tingling of his scalp.

“Eyes closed,” Alex said gently, though Zee’s eyes were closed already. He meant it as a reminder to keep them closed, Cam knew instinctively. To stay still. He took the pencil and used it to draw along Zee’s face, using the soft pink eraser on his skin. Cam’s breath caught strangely in his chest. It looked gentle as tracing, light and maybe ticklish but also satisfying. He traced slow ovals around Zee’s face, over his cheeks and up to his hairline, down again beneath his chin. Zee breathed serenely, a grin pulling the corners of his mouth now and then. Alex lifted the eraser tip to do four points instead, tapping down oh so gently on his cheeks, forehead, chin, in first a predictable pattern and then an unpredictable one.

He felt soothed by proxy, an even more so than with the rhythmic breathing. Yet he was uncomfortable, almost alarmingly so, because it felt like Alex was the author of it, and he couldn't stand Alex, but watching him with Zee was intoxicating. They’d clearly done this little ritual before. If Zee was in half a trance, Alex seemed to be enjoying himself just as much, eyes low and a small smile on his face as he tapped and traced and tapped. Cam thought he would probably be able to hear his own heartbeat if it wasn’t for that music that was playing in the background. He was grateful for it now.

Alex finally stopped, drawing the eraser tip down the sloping bridge of Zee’s nose a few times before taking the pencil away. He squeezed Zee’s left hand, which seemed to tell Zee it was safe to open his eyes. He looked almost drugged, happy, eyes shining and low.

“I could sleep,” he said to Alex, who nodded.

“Go ahead.”

But he turned those glassy eyes toward him instead, knowing and cunning despite their alleged innocence. “You wanna try it, Cameron?”

“I don’t even know what I just watched.”

“You never did anything like that?” Alex asked, uncrossing his legs and stretching over his left hamstring. “It’s just made-up whatever. But if you add the box breathing, it’s pretty powerful. I had to think of some way to calm him down when he first got here. You guys were relentless. He was in fight or flight constantly. It was really bad.”

Cam set his teeth against the accusation, but didn’t drop his eyes from Alex’s level blue gaze. He knew it was bad. He held out his hand for the vape. Alex gave it to him and he pulled deep, lungs filling with candy flavored nicotine. Almost immediately, he felt the head buzz that came with it.

“You mean you want me to do it to you, Zee?”

Zee was nestled in a pile of Alex’s pillows like a housepet. “If you wanted. Or Alex can show you.”

Cam laughed reflexively. He glanced at Alex, who was giving Zee a funny look. “I’ll pass.”

“Yeah, me too, thanks,” Alex said dryly.

“You sure you’re gonna let me near him with a pencil? Or is that considered a weapon?”

“If he wants you to do it,” Alex shrugged, and handed him the pencil. “Whatever.”

Now that it was actually happening, he felt strange. His heart was pounding lightly, like it always did the first time a girl he’d never had before started getting undressed. It’s Z2, he told himself. Get it together. But it was Alex, too, and he was in their space, doing their weird thing. He sat close to Zee as Alex had and felt awkward that he didn’t have a plan for a preamble, like Alex did with the breathing and the hand thing.

“Wanna hold your hand out first?”

Zee did. He started there but with the pencil, tracing the eraser tip lightly over the lines of his palm. Zee smiled and squirmed on an exhale like it was a lot of sensation, and Cam paused. “No?”

“No, yeah,” Zee said, looking at him more directly than he had in the past, whenever Cam was being antagonistic. “It’s good.”

Cam had a sudden, bright memory of holding a fistful of his reddish brown hair as he buzzed the other half off in the bathroom sink. He continued with the pencil tip, like a feather.

Alex flipped onto his back on his bed, casual and composed as always, belonging everywhere he set foot— never awkward, or disliked, or challenged. He watched the two of them serenely as he hit the yellow vape. “Who knew you could act like a normal human being, Cameron?” was his only snipe. It was said in a quiet enough voice that Cam felt he could let it go unchallenged.

“Close your eyes,” he said, ready to trace Zee’s face.

Zee gave him a steady, head-on glance before doing as he asked.

[suspicious-whumping-egg]

TW: Talk of gun violence

Hey guys! Life update… my school’s gotten a weeklong shooting threat and we’re an open campus with shit security so we’re gonna see how that goes cause I gotta go, they fail you if you miss too many classes 😳😅 The threat is probably fake, but hey, this is America. Shit happens. I’m usually crazy active on here but I’d say don’t like worry or anything unless I have like. 48 hours of inactivity or smth. There’s a list of my IRLs at the bottom of this post that you can reach out to on tumblr in case that happens. Again, most likely they’re just gonna up security and it’s gonna be fine, but I don’t wanna leave y’all hanging if the worst happens. Love you all so much <3333 I’m gonna continue just as normal for now but again, want to be prepared.

IRLs: @mantaraygirls @randmwizard @psychedelic--spaceman @shameless-dumbass

Tagging some mutuals so y’all know what’s goin on: @killorbekillian @heavenly-whumper @hallowgendered @some-weird-queer-writer @save-the-villainous-kitty @whumpkitty @wizardemail @that-gay-jedi

[secretwhumplair]

The Banquet, p.1

1,175 words | Royal arms / Rat king timeline

Content | Captivity, slapping, humiliation, starvation, past torture, possessive & creepy whumper, shame, sexual harrassment, Cassio wants to kill people, mention of: past whipping

Notes | I read an royal whump (this one) so naturally I had to go back to tormenting Idalis a little.

This event was always planned for the rat king timeline so I'm happy I got around to it :)

(Also note that neither Idalis nor Cassio are actually boys, just much younger than Razolf who is being his best self)

Taglist | @whumpy-writings @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone @newbornwhumperfly @whump-cravings @whumpityy @nicolepascaline @whots-a-tag-precious @thegreatwhodini @shameless-whumper @neverthelass @wolfeyedwitch @onlybadendings @melancholy-in-the-morning @quietshae @whump-blog @whumpydaydreams

Idalis fell to his knees all too easily. But there was no point in being defiant. He would be punished, and forced to his knees anyway.

The hard, cold stone floor of the dungeons had become such a familiar sensation, and far from the worst, even though his knees ached.

He didn’t even look up as Razolf stepped closer. He told himself it was calculated, that he was doing what he needed to to survive until Cassio could extract him from this hell. He wasn’t too weak or scared to fight.

But in his bones he knew that truth was changing. Everything hurt, and there were times he would do anything for a break.

Razolf grabbed him roughly under the chin, purposely digging into bruises with sadistic glee.

Idalis didn’t give him the satisfaction of crying out. There were much worse pains in his body even now. And he knew he looked miserable enough anyway when he caught sight of Razolf’s grin.

»Look at you! What a good little dog you have become.«

Idalis said nothing; he hadn’t been given permission to speak, so he wasn’t even sure whether the slap breathing another wave of burning pain into his cheek was a punishment, or just a whim.

»I think you’re good and ready to serve at the banquet I’m having tonight.«

The mention of a banquet alone made Idalis’ stomach growl, and Razolf chuckled darkly.

Then he leant in. »You’ll be nice and well-behaved, do what you’re told, and not speak a single word. Every step out of line will get you an hour in the well. Do you understand?«

Idalis swallowed. He was not a coward. He wasn’t. And yet the mere mention of the well sent a shiver down his spine he could barely hide. He tried to cling on to his famed bravery, tried to think of ways to use this to his advantage, to escape.

But the thoughts remained faint and abstract, and burning shame at it joined the pain in his guts where he had been punched over and over earlier.

»Yes.«

The second slap hit him hard enough to snap his head aside; he barely managed to stay up on his knees. This time, he did cry out.

Razolf grabbed him a little lower, dangerously close to his throat. »What, little rat king?«

»Yes, your majesty,« he breathed, the words leaving a clinging sense of disgust in his mouth. And yet, with all disdain, he couldn’t help the fearful leap of his heart at the sudden attack. He could have screamed - with frustration, with despair, with fury.

Razolf smiled. »Very good. Let’s get you ready.«

* Cassio was not looking forward to the evening in the least. Razolf was going to hold a banquet, at which he, the little trophy Razolf had won off Idalis, would be paraded in front of all the wealthy and noble of the whole kingdom and several from its neighbours.

He had gifted Cassio clothes he wanted him to wear, with a sparkling, quizzical eye and a, »I hope you like them, dear,« to which Cassio could only smile sweetly and thank him profusely.

They were richly made, thickly embroidered, plenty of the best of fabrics - all in the colours and motifs of Razolfs crest. Had he had a gold-threaded »mine« emblazoned onto them, it would not have been less subtle.

Yet he had to obey. Winning Razolf’s trust was the only chance he had to get them both out of here - him and Idalis.

The King - his true king and love - was always on his mind. It had been weeks since he last saw him, when Razolf had had him publicly whipped until he broke down in front of all, and there was no telling when he would see him again. He would not get to wear clothes that befit him, or even kept him warm. While Cassio would feast, he would hunger on prisoner’s rations in the dungeons.

It was enough to make Cassio sick. He dreamt he had the power to just pull the castle stone from stone until he found Idalis, wrap him in his arms and never let him go again. But that was foolish; it wasn’t even what Idalis would want.

He would want revenge, and to show that his strength was unchanged.

Cassio so hoped that was true. Idalis’ cries from that whipping still haunted him every waking moment, and in many of his dreams.

It was maddening that all he could do was don the clothes that said Property of Razolf, and force a smile when after a brief knock, Razolf himself entered.

»You look stunning,« Razolf said, and Cassio endured his leer, leant into his hand on his cheek, permitted the hateful kiss and the hand grabbing his ass.

»You flatter me, your Majesty.«

»Shall we?« Razolf offered him an arm as if he were a feeble boy unsure of his manners, and led him to the banquet hall.

The guests were already assembled, and rose for their king. Cassio was given his left-hand seat, well within reach, he was acutely aware, of his wandering hands.

»Thank you, friends,« Razolf began after gesturing for all to sit, which they did like obedient dogs. »It is a joyous occasion indeed that brings us together here, the defeat of a boy whose mommy didn’t teach him better than getting a little too greedy.«

The assembled guests laughed, and Cassio forced out a snicker. If he is a boy, he thought idly - anything to distract himself from the picture he knew he made next to Razolf - then what am I, at his same age, doing in your bed?

»I have a special treat for you tonight.«

Cassio barely heard the rest of his speech when, upon his words, a servant - no, a slave - entered. There was no reason Cassio should have been able to recognize him as quickly as he did, with his haggard frame and bruised face and meek manner. But his heart cried out as soon as he laid eyes on him.

Idalis - for at second glance Cassio was sure it was him - barely looked up at the assembled company, only stealing a quick glance, yet Cassio felt certain he had seen him. He was wearing nothing but a waistcloth and a cover of bruises and cuts and welts. And, worse, he started to serve the table without hesitation, without the slightest sign of defiance, stony-faced and silent.

It had to be an act. Like Cassio, he must be doing what he needed to do to succeed eventually, even if Cassio didn’t know how. But he could not bear the thought that this was what his love was reduced to, and he needed to keep it together, keep his own act up. Already he could feel Razolf’s hand on his thigh as he leant in too close.

»What a sight, isn’t it?«

A nod was all Cassio managed, certain he would choke on any words he attempted, and then maybe lose his countenace and choke Razolf too.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

BBU Community Days

@bbu-on-the-side * {Day 6: Inspiration} How did you find the BBU, and how did you go down the rabbit hole? Are there any particular writers, characters or stories that inspired your journey?

-

So, I was around when the original sort of shit post meme about a whumpee in a box was making the rounds! (The person who did that original post asked to stop being credited because BBU is not their jam and they didn't like the constant tags, but it was sweetwhumpandhellacomf).

Then shameless-whumper, who has since deleted, began writing a story about a Box Boy named Colton who belonged to a YouTuber who had a serious streak of cruelty beneath their bouncy happy exterior. And I kinda wanted to get involved in the idea, too. And I swore to myself, I swore that I would just do a single one-off post.

Box Boy Kauri: Introduction is my first BBU post! And people really loved this gorgeous nervous man, and I decided to write just one more and just one more after that...

Three separate masterlists and a dozen OCs later...

@shameless-whumper was a huge initial inspiration and I am genuinely so sad that they deleted because Jay's work was incredible! Colton was such an amazing OC.

Other inspirations definitely include @hackles-up who did some amazing stuff with her OC B, and writes my Connor Manning in ways that just. Delight me. Also @comfy-whumpee, who originally wasn't writing in the BBU but who I think does some of the all-time best captivity whump and pet whump, provided a lot of inspiration on whump tropes I wanted to dig into. @deluxewhump's Z remains one of the best BBU OCs of all time.

There are honestly so many, we could be here all day. This collaborative universe has been so much fun to watch develop and be a part of, and I'm so glad I was here to see it happen!

[whumpsick]

I haven't written an intro post because I don't feel like I have much to introduce, but I would like to find more blogs whose whump interests intersect with mine, so to hell with it here we go:

I'm Kat, my main blog is @bringinghometherain. That is also my Ao3 username, and I've posted some (not-quite-shameless) Our Flag Means Death self-insert fic over yonder with whumpy elements.

My favorite whumpers are physics and mother nature. I do play around with some captivity/beating stuff but I'm not actually into, like, gratuitous interpersonal violence (idk if that makes me an oddball here, it's just how I feel man). Extended/repeat torture scenes just kinda tire me out, emotionally. But extreme temps, big storms, heavy objects falling about, the inherently uncaring forces of the universe wreaking havoc on a person who is utterly helpless to put a stop to it? I'm all in on that shit.

I'm also very much into the comfort side of hurt/comfort. A person who hates to be vulnerable in a scenario where they have no choice but to let themselves be cared for? Oh baby let's go. A caretaker who is just as uncomfortable with vulnerability? Hell yeah let's do this.

So! If you're a whump blog who's also into The Large and Indifferent Forces of Nature and/or some good emotionally-charged aftercare, please let me know you're there so I can give you a follow.

[whumpitisthen]

I keep seeing the term whump and I don't know what it means 😭 is it like an OC? Thank you for explaining if you do :)

whump is a genre (or trope if youre not in the community i guess but i would say its more than an enemies to lovers kinda deal) where fictional people get hurt in fictional situations. its kind of like hurt/comfort except the hurt is much more prominent and the comfort might not be a part of it at all. though it can be, it is not a kink, a fetish, or anything sexual at all for most people (lots of people think it's a bdsm thing bc of all the torture and such, when most of the community is in fact asexual). it also tends to be more physical than emotional pain, though in general any pain from any source inflicted on your oc is considered whump, even enviromental stuff such as a storm or car accident. whumpee is the character getting hurt, whumper is the one hurting them, caretaker is the one taking care of whumpee. it is all i write! finally, just because im a shameless sadist does not mean everyone is, the community is full of wholesome individuals who in reality would be physically incapable of hurting a fly as it has become utterly clear from all the choose your own adventure whump poll series where no whump ever happens because no one actually chooses any of the painful options take a look around in the main tag for more information but be sure to pay attention to content warnings and tags; theres some fucked up stuff you might not wanna see, which people are aware of, and so they tag accordingly

tldr.: the "put that guy in a situation. watch him struggle." genre of fiction. watch out for cws. have fun :3

[saccharin-simper]

I tried to draw @shameless-whumper’s Host!!!! It’s really messy cuz I have no supplies on hand ever but PFF—

[whumpiary]

“Go ahead, kill me… I don’t mind”

- (i was drawing @shameless-whumper‘s jericho and then my tablet cord died but then i decided i was kinda into the half-finished look so i added a bit of colour and here is the boy! the best reluctant whumper/defiant whumpee amalgam a guy could ask for)