#slave caretaker

[urlocalwhumper]

slave caretaker desperately begging their master to let them take their dying fellow slave, whumpee, outside.

whumpee is so weak, their illness/injury/infection quickly catching up with them, they couldn't possibly run or try to escape. it's so nice outside, warm and sunny with a relaxing breeze.

caretaker knows they can't save whumpee. whumper is going to let them die. all they can hope for is that whumpee will be allowed to spend their final moments lying unbound in the warm sun, instead of chained on the cold stone floor.

[mj-iza-writer]

I don't want to talk about how long this sat in my drafts waiting for me to figure out the ending 🤦- Mj

Whumpee adjusted how they were lying on their pedestal. They were bored to death for this last-minute dinner party Whumper planned. They hid a small yawn, not wanting to seem too bored.

"I saw that", Whumper stepped up, and handed them a plate of goodies, "a few more hours and you can be done."

Whumpee sat up and eagerly took the food, "thankyou master."

Whumpee watched as Whumper talked with their guest. The food they had just received made it worth being their master's eye candy for the guest.

Whumpee was considered a Chattel slave, Whumper had purchased them from the black market. A chattel slave was pretty much considered someone's property, no different than livestock or the couch in the corner.

Whumper used Whumpee as an ornament, an object of their money. The guest often marveled at just how beautiful Whumpee was. Whumpee had been conditioned by their traffickers for this type of work.

Whumper never laid a punishing hand on them, they didn't have to. That hell was all done by the traffickers. Whumper could just enjoy their doll... or honestly, their puppet.

Whumpee was often dressed in the most expensive, often revealing outfits Whumper could find. Whumpee looked down at the lacy skin tight outfit they had on. They had lacy wraps around their wrist to match, but to also hide the rope burns from last night's fun in the master's bed. Lastly, they looked down at the sparkly shackle on their ankle, that was followed by a sparkly chain cemented into their pedestal.

A lady came up and started to ask Whumpee questions about themself and Whumper.

Whumpee stared straight ahead, not acknowledging the woman. They wished she'd go away though so they could eat more.

"Look at me, and talk to me, you useless...", the woman comanded, "how rude", they took their wine glass and threw the drink at Whumpee.

Whumpee gasped as the dark wine spilled over them.

Whumper came running, two butlers followed.

"What the heck is going on", Whumper looked at the wine covered Whumpee, then the woman.

"They wouldn't answer me. It's just like you to have a rude servant", the lady answered.

"She came up and started asking me questions about you, and about me master", Whumpee also answered while awkwardly holding out their arms do to the wine dripping from them, "I didn't acknowledge her, and she threw wine at me."

Whumper's anger flared at the lady, "they are not supposed to talk to people. They are furniture to look at. They were doing exactly as they were trained", Whumper spoke through gritted teeth, "the only way they can talk to someone is if they have my permission to talk to them."

"So you purposely made them rude", the lady looked up at Whumpee, who now was looking right at them.

"No that is how they were trained, and who are you to think you have a right to talk to my property", Whumper argued, "I literally started this party explaining how to interact with Whumpee, and if you wanted to talk to them to ask me, I would have happily introduced you. Everyone else has followed that rule, and that is much appreciated by me and Whumpee. Whumpee enjoys talking to people under the correct circumstances."

"I'm sure they would appreciate being able to talk to whomever they want", the lady fired back.

"And they would want to talk to you because?", Whumper asked sarcastically.

Whumpee grinned a little, hiding a laugh.

"Well I've never", the lady gasped.

"Well, it's about time someone talks to you like that", Whumper frowned, "your invitation to my parties is being revoked, my butler will escort you out.

When the lady was gone, Whumper turned to Whumpee.

"I guess that outfit is done. There is no coming back from that grape wine", Whumper stepped up, and unlocked the shackle, "I'm relieving you for tonight, go get cleaned up and relax in my room", Whumper caressed Whumpee's face.

Whumpee leaned their face into Whumper's gentle hand.

Whumper looked up at a butler, "Whumpee didn't get to eat much thanks to the lady, have chef cook them something."

"Yes sir", the butler bowed.

Whumper gave a hand to Whumpee to step down from the pedestal. They watched Whumpee as they left the party.

"I'm sorry for the disturbance in our party. Please continue to enjoy yourself", Whumper looked around, "I do apologize. Whumpee won't be joining us for the rest of it though."

The crowd had watched Whumpee leave, they all seemed sorry to see them go.

Later that night, Whumper went into their bedroom. They smiled when they saw Whumpee resting on the bed reading a book.

"Master", Whumpee closed the book and sat up, "how was the rest of the party."

"You have no idea how many people asked about you once you left", Whumper walked to them, "all so concerned about you", they started to get undressed.

Whumper caressed Whumpee's face lovingly.

"I'm going to shower, then we can go to bed", Whumper grinned.

Whumpee leaned into the touch.

"Are you tired, my dear?", Whumper smiled.

"Yes sir, I'm sorry about the wine spill", Whumpee frowned.

"That wasn't your fault. You were doing what you were supposed to do", Whumper turned toward the bathroom, "it only means I need to find you a copy of that outfit. You looked stunning in it."

"Thankyou master", Whumpee smiled weakly.

That night, Whumpee was cuddled into Whumper's arms.

They moved up and down with every snore Whumper made.

Whumpee blinked away a tear.

"I wish I was free", Whumpee whispered before forcing themself to go to sleep.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Charles & Ollie: Past

Hey guys. Um. It’s been a while since I’ve written. Sorry. Anyway! I really love this piece. It’s also much longer than most chapters I write, I’m pretty sure. Almost 2.8k words. So that’s fun.

Enjoy!

CW: pet whump, slave whump, refusing to use someone’s name, insults, perceived abandonment (technically not real), fear of punishment, self hatred, unreliable narrator, drug trafficking, drugging mention, police, starvation, escape/running away, homelessness, fear of death

Masterlist

— — —

It had been a normal day.

Wake up, make breakfast for Master, kneel quietly, and hope that he did well. Hope that he wouldn't have to spend the next few days tied up, bleeding, and starving in the basement. It was always his fault for being so stupid and deserving to be punished, but he could hope. Not want, of course, that'd never be allowed. But he could secretly wish and dream for a time when Master was forgiving.

Luckily, Master didn't find anything wrong with his pet's behavior that morning, so he set out. But not before giving his slave a strong kick to the ribs to keep him in his place. Pet preferred the kicks, the other choice for a daily reminder was a slap. Pet hated the hand marks. They made his already hideous face look even more ugly.

Pet set about his chores, washing the dishes and wiping the counter. He caught his blurred reflection in the polished granite. His collar was tight around his neck, the little tag hanging from it jingling.

He touched it gently, longing to hear his Master say the name written on it, just once. He knew that he needed the reminders because he was so stupid and useless. He'd forget his place if he wasn't called names all day. "Slave. Pet. Stupid. Ugly. Mutt. Useless. Fleabag. Bitch. Dog." On and on, all the cruelest things Master and his friends could think of, perfectly suiting for the crushed and bleeding thing that so often laid at their feet.

But Pet longed to hear his name, his real name, so badly. It had been so long, he knew it was bad, he knew he was selfish and worthless and dumb. But... no one would know, right? If he said it, just this once? Such a tiny word, only two syllables.

"Ol-"

The door flung open, and Pet jumped back, arms above his head. It was like the ground crumbled beneath his feet, and his stomach dropped. He fell to the floor, curled up, trying desperately to protect his most vital organs from attack. Had Master been waiting for this? He knew that his slave would mess up, didn't he? And he was just waiting to beat the living daylights out of the useless, worthless, disgusting piece of flesh that he owned.

"Hey, no, stupid dog. Come here." Master hauled him up off his feet and dragged him towards the basement. Pet whimpered but was in awe that Master was able to hold his fury in until they got to the basement. Usually, he'd just beat Pet wherever he was and make him clean up the blood from the floor and carpeting later.

"M-master, please, I-"

"Shush. You know what, hide! I'll be back in a few days. Some guys might come through, maybe a cop or two. Listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a dog." Master grabbed Pet's face roughly, fingernails digging into his cheeks. He was forcing Pet to look into his eyes, something that was rarely allowed. But it must be okay this time if Master was the one causing it.

"You have to understand.” Master said, “Do. Not. Come. Out. For. Anyone. However you need to do it, just get it through your thick skull. Don't stop hiding until I come back and say it's okay to leave, okay?" Master half-heartedly threw him to the floor, his slave more confused than he had ever been or probably ever would be. With one last disapproving glare, Master left.

Pet never saw him again.

- - -

It was true, he soon learned, that many people would be coming through the house. Pet feared he would feel lonely and bored while waiting, but there was a lot to keep his thoughts occupied and off of... other things.

First, cops searched the entire building. Pet heard them and dashed to a tiny closet in the basement, wedging a piece of wood in the handle on his side of the door. The police tried and failed to get in and even discussed cutting it open with an ax. Pet trembled, sweat dripping off his forehead while he tried to stop himself from hyperventilating.

Eventually, though, one of them protested, not wanting to do more work when they already had evidence. And so they left, making the house silent and (somewhat) stress-free once more.

Other people came and went too, talking and cursing. Most of them Pet recognized as the voices of Master's friends. He knew better than to listen to people's conversations, but they all kept mentioning drugs and pills, the type that had once been used on Pet. He remembered the experience, although things were still a little fuzzy.

It made his head hurt for days afterward, but at the moment, everything had felt so nice and peaceful for a few minutes before the blackout. When he woke up, he was covered in bruises and cuts, but it had still taken a few minutes for the relaxation to wear off and the pain to settle in.

Master had gotten very upset that his friends wasted the pills on a pet, after "everything he went through to get them." Despite already being beaten just an hour ago, Pet was punished severely for taking the pills. He had wanted to protest that the men had made him, but he knew better. The men were superior to him. They couldn't be faulted for it. So the blame must lie with Pet. It must. Master was never wrong.

In the present day, after many days of hunger and freezing nights down in the basement, Pet felt like he couldn't go on like this. No one had visited in a while. He knew what he was thinking about was bad. He knew that if Master found out what he was about to do, he'd be furious. He made it absolutely clear that his pet was not to leave the basement.

And yet, Pet finds himself sneaking up to the kitchen. He filled two bags with dog food and then, with some careful consideration, took three apples. Master never liked fruit but would still buy it; Pet was never quite sure of the reasoning behind that. And Pet had already been so bad, a few apples that would've rotted away even if Master had been there was nothing.

Pet then made his way to the living room and took several blankets and pillows. Then, noticing the mail had been delivered, he also took the newest copy of Pet Paper. Most of the articles either were boring or scared him, but they usually had fun pictures and a few games.

Carrying all of his loot and feeling surprisingly okay for a disobedient mutt who may have been abandoned, Pet made a little camp for himself in the basement. He decided to put the pillows and blankets in the closet where he had previously hidden from cops. The tiny space felt almost like his cage upstairs and he knew now that it was suitable for hiding.

Then he sat on the floor, grabbed a handful of dog food to munch on, and started reading.

Several more days passed before Pet started to get incredibly worried. He had heard the garbage truck pass by this morning. That was the second time since he had last seen Master. More than two weeks had gone by and still, no sign of where he had gone. What was previously just another anxious thought had transformed itself into a legitimate concern. Had Pet been abandoned?

Of course, it didn't make any sense. Why would Master leave everything just to get away from his pet?

But he couldn't deny that something was wrong. Even Master's friends had stopped visiting too. He didn't get it. Of course, he was so stupid, he could never understand why humans do the things they do. But he just couldn't think of any other explanation. So Master must've abandoned him.

Pet waited another week before finally deciding to leave. The dog food was running out, even after he had made several more disobedient trips upstairs. And if Pet had been thrown away, shouldn't he get out of his Master's house? Maybe Master was waiting until he left to come back to the house. Pet was probably being bad for staying there for so long. He was so selfish, not wanting to leave the comfort of the building for the scary outside world.

But he had to now. At least there would be food outside. And also cruel people, the cold, sickness, and probably death. But a bad pet like him deserved all of that, surely. He was such a rotten animal.

Pet's first steps outside were cautious and weak. He nearly stumbled from the sheer shock of it all.

He had done it. Ollie had done it. He couldn't believe this... this... this whole new world.

but it wasn't new, not really. It wasn't new at all. He just hadn't been here in a very long time, if ever.

He felt like he had stepped into a fantasy world after only hearing of it in fairytales. The outside world, the land beyond the kitchen window, was never allowed to him before. It might as well be something that only existed in legend.

- - -

Ollie sat huddled under the bridge, violently shivering. He hadn't eaten in two, maybe three days? He didn't know.

He was cold, wet, tired, and starving. He deserved all of it for leaving his Master's house. He should've accepted his fate and died there.

He was horrible.

- - -

Earlier in the day, Ollie had run away from some police. It was only because he was so small and capable of hiding that he got away. His muscles were very weak as of late, so he could've been easily caught. He'll have to be more careful next time.

But now, because of all the distance he had worked hard to put between him and the officers, Ollie had found himself in an entirely new area.

It was late at night, so restaurants had probably thrown out their leftovers already. If only he could find a place and dumpster dive for spare food.

As he wandered, he spied yet another cop. He was so frightened that he ran into the first available hiding place he saw: a bright, bustling building. He hadn't been thinking. He was so stupid. He dashed in and joined the crowds, trying to hide himself in the large group.

When someone first noticed him, in his dirty, smelly, roughed-up state with no shoes, she shrieked and backed up so fast she bumped into a man, who fell on a waiter, who spilled two glasses of wine they had been carrying.

Soon enough, everyone was in a great commotion, trying to get away from Ollie and call security.

The pet began to cry, overwhelmed and tired and hungry and not at all wanting to deal with this. He was sorry, he was, and he would do whatever they wanted to make up for it. Just please don't hand him over to the police. Please. He didn't know what they'd do to him, and he wasn't eager to find out.

The guards approached Ollie and he fled, going deeper into the crowd, until he tripped over his own feet and fell. He curled up and lay trembling on the floor, sobbing and so terrified.

He heard a bunch of people shuffle and he looked up to see the crowd part as a man walked through, headed straight for Ollie. This man didn't look like a security guard but rather was dressed in an expensive suit and had a stern, irritated expression.

When the man saw Ollie, however, his expression changed a bit. Ollie didn't know how to describe it, having never been looked at with such a visage. But it seemed less upset than the previous one, so that might be a plus? Maybe? Maybe this man won't kick Ollie as hard as he could, or won't insult him while throwing him out.

The man looked around.

"Whose pet is this?"

Of course, no one stepped forward. The man looked back at Ollie and asked if his owner was here. He shook his head.

"Are you lost?'

"Um, yeah... I-... I was abandoned, sir."

"Oh. I am very sorry to hear that. So you need a place to stay, then?"

Another nod. The man bent slightly and extended a hand. Ollie flinched away, bracing for a slap, but none came. He looked back and the hand was still there, just resting in the air. Ollie hesitated, but the man nodded encouragingly, and so Ollie took his hand and got helped up.

He whimpered as pressure was put on his ankle, then froze. He was bad.

His ankle must've been injured when he tripped, which was his fault, he shouldn't have run. And now he had the audacity to whimper?? He was so, so bad. This man would realize what a pathetic mutt he was and hurt him for it.

Glancing up fearfully, he saw that the man was indeed frowning. Ollie shrank back, hand slipping out of the man's grasp. He started shaking even harder.

"Oh dear, easy, it's alright," the man soothed. "I didn't mean to further injure your ankle by forcing you to stand. I will call a doctor for you immediately."

Did he think Ollie was upset because his ankle hurt? But.. why? Sure, the pain was intense now that he was trying to stand, but it was nothing compared to what he's been through.

"There's no need to be so concerned, sir. I'm alright. I can take it and more. I can take whatever you want me to."

The man frowned again and Ollie nearly cried.

"No, no, don't be ridiculous. I have no reason to harm you. You've done nothing wrong, dear. I don't want you to be unnecessarily hurt."

The man hesitated, then spoke again.

"That's not how I want one of my workers to be treated."

...

...what?

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I do not wish for you to be harmed, regardless of your status, but especially if you agree to work for me. You don't have a home or... employer, do you?"

"No, sir, I don't have either of those. But really, you don't have to, I'll only be a bother and a burden-"

"Nonsense. I have heard of how they train you guys. I'm sure you are wonderful. And besides, I am forgiving, I promise."

Ollie couldn't help but notice some of the crowd looked doubtful at that, which was very concerning. But at the same time, the man did not possess the same cruel glint in his eyes, the expression of deceit, the glee in waiting until the perfect moment to strike.

Of course, the man could just be better at hiding those things, or Ollie was dumber than he thought.

But what other choice did he have?

This person was offering him a lifeline, a chance at a new home and a new life. Ollie would die if he continued to be homeless. Maybe not right away, but he'd eventually catch an illness or upset someone or get caught, and then it'd be all over.

He didn't want to die.

"Okay. Of course, sir, I'd be happy to be your slave."

The man just nodded tight, and the pet was certain that he had already messed up.

But still, the man didn't do anything to him. Instead, he addressed the crowd.

"Apologies for the interruption," He announced, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "I have urgent business to attend to with my worker, so I must leave. Enjoy the showing, it will continue until 10:30 PM as planned. My accountant will be handling any further purchases. Good night."

Then, looking back at his new slave again, Master spoke much softer.

"What is your name, dear?"

Oh god. Oh no. He knew what he was supposed to say, he knew he had to be good. He should tell the man that he can call him anything, even horrible insults, and the slave would readily accept it. He had to show his new owner that he could be good. But the man had asked. Please. The pet wanted to be allowed his name, his real name.

"Ollie, sir. My name is Ollie."

The man nodded, not seeming angry at the slave's terrible presumption that he could demand a free person use a particular name for him.

"I am Charles Durand, please to meet you, Ollie. Come with me. I'll help you to a couch to rest until the doctor arrives."

Given no other option, Ollie followed him, allowed to dangerously lean on his arm as he hobbled along.

Hopefully, this man wouldn't be too cruel to him.

— — —

Tag list: @whumpzone @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpsweetwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @apples-and-whump @professional-idiocy @nicolepascaline @cowboy-anon @wolfeyedwitch @kim-poce @guachipongo @badluck990 @secretwhumplair @batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @morelikepainsley @catawhumpus @starfields08000 @mylovelyme

[the-baby-storyteller]

caretaker-new-master who just realized whumpee has been screaming internally this whole time.

[mmmmmmmmicrowave]

Ermmmmmm

Whumpers who treat whumpee oh so nicely, who act as a caretaker to whumpee, only to turn back around and torture them mercilessly

I CANNOT get enough of loving/caring whumpers

And whumpees who stick around willingly, who want to help whumper through the rage, who want to make sure whumper doesn’t do this to anyone else

Whumper who initially kidnapped or bought a kidnapped whumpee, only to slowly over time let them free. Maybe whumpee disappears for days, weeks, months at a time, but always comes back, unable to face the world after the years of captivity, like an animal snatched from the wild who can never be sent back

I need to figure out the motivation for my main whumper OC so I can actually write some of this stuff 😭

[justbreakonme]

It has to be perfect.

He drags himself up, forcing his trembling hands together as if in prayer.

It has to be perfect.

He straightens his back, even as it makes every whip mark shift and crack, reopening the wounds that had just started to scab over.

It has to be perfect.

This was his last hope, and he was throwing every ounce of strength he had left into it.

It has to be perfect.

He looked up and out, over the sea of potential buyers, and forced a smile.

It has to be perfect.

If he wasn’t bought today, he was never going to be. So he needed to be anything that would get him a second glance.

A tool, a trinket, a bargain, a bitch.

His performance has to be perfect. It didn’t have to last. It just had to be enough for him to escape.

[generic-whumperz]

The Aid: Chapter 9–Special Sauce (Part 1)

Full list of general conent warnings here.

No additonal chapter CWs for once! This is the lighter part in The Aid’s (Whumpee) POV. This is about as ‘nice’ Wyatt gets!

Aid’s abilities: EMPATHIC READING | ‘premonition/intuition’

Word count: 1,220

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Wyatt disappeared into The Aid’s adjoined walk-in closet—this door, too, was ripped off its hinges. Doors represented privacy and privacy alone, and that was a thing reserved only for free people. 

But the lack of a physical barrier didn’t mean there wasn’t one at all—The Aid’s prison bars were invisible, his freedom nothing more than a taunting illusion. 

A state-of-the-art satellite GPS device preinstalled with geofencing software was connected to The Aid’s RFID implants. Every square inch of the house and surrounding property was uploaded to the device’s database and accounted for, his every movement tracked and documented. The device pinged and lit up with an alert if he crossed a room’s perimeter without prior authorization. He couldn’t go to the bathroom or have a mental breakdown in the comfort of his closet—muffling his sobs in cashmere sweaters and Himalayan wool— without Wyatt knowing about it. 

Wyatt shuffled around some hangers, stomped into the connected bedroom, and slammed around some drawers with the usual amount of curses and huffing, then reappeared with an armful of The Aid’s clothes. 

“I ain’t putting ya’r fucking chonies on for ya. I don’t care how to beat to hell ya are.” Wyatt handed him a clean pair of boxers, sat the rest of the garments on the counter, and then rummaged through the first aid caddy. The Aid—more than happy to oblige—as quickly as his broken body would allow, slid on his underwear beneath the safety of the towel covering his lower body. 

He was running out of gas, and quick. The long-awaited suppression of feelings warmed him in what little way it could. The Klonopin was behind schedule this morning, but it finally arrived at the station—all aboard the Numb Dumb Express, destination: Apathy.

He kept his head down, staring only at the plaid squares decorating his boxers while Wyatt started re-bandaging his wounds. He couldn’t risk another mirror encounter with his demonic parasite or bring himself to look at Wyatt’s dumb face any longer, hence his sudden fixation on such a worn pattern. His eyes ran the length of the geometric lines and he debated color theory—his way of fighting off the swarm of monotonous fears. ‘Why were men’s undergarments always so drab and boring? Did the fashion industry think shades of earth tones defined masculinity?’ 

The Aid’s wavering focus floated upright, he dared to break the silence with a question. “Sir, do you miss Madame Eleanor?” 

Wyatt stopped mid-peel of the gauze pad wrapper and blew a harsh puff through his nose. His head swiveled to face his servant to exchange a long, unbroken stare. Wyatt’s lip twitched as his eyes swam with sorrowfully churned emotions. He turned back to the spread of medical supplies on the counter, plucking the gauze pad between the two strips of wrapper, and sighed.

“She was my mom, Pup,” he said quietly. Not a growl. Not a hiss. Not a grumble. Just a plain voice with a twinge of reminiscent sadness. The Aid didn’t often see Wyatt like this, vulnerable and showing him something other than his infamous brand of wrath or obscene mockery. 

The Aid felt sadness, too, a deep, grieving sadness. He would never admit it out loud, and certainly never to Wyatt, but the empty void left in his heart from his Madame’s passing oftentimes surpassed the grief of losing his own flesh and blood. Maybe it was recency bias. Maybe it was the guilt gnawing at him and a need for redemption instead of plain grieving heartache eclipsing his mourning when it came to the fatal accident costing the lives of his Dad and older sister. Maybe—probably, it was a combination of both. 

What was supposed only to be a thought slipped from his mouth, “You never talk about her...”

Wyatt side-eyed him. His eyebrows scrunched together as the unmistakable flush of irritation needled his features.

Time to course correct. “I miss her too—”

“Why?” Wyatt snapped. Distress marinated beneath the word, piping hot and steamy.  

“I served her for five years—”

“If she died after a year of ya knowing her, would ya grieve her just the same as ya are now?” Wyatt interrupted, turning back around, cold eyes beaming onto his.

The Aid gulped, his face pinched with concern. 

“Yes, Sir,” he said in a feigned confidence he hoped didn’t sound as disingenuous as it felt.

“Ya’ve served me for over a year at this point. Would ya grieve my death?” Wyatt’s voice sharpened to bitter resentment, knowing his servant hated him and preferred his dead mother over him—he had plenty of scars and bite marks to prove The Aid’s detestation towards him just as well. 

Whoomp, there it is. And he walked right into it. Fuck. 

“In my own way, Sir,” The Aid conjured up on the spot. Not a horrible save; hopefully Wyatt would accept it.

A few agonizing beats passed before his Master’s mouth slanted up into a smirk. Thanks to his winning reply, it looked like he got away Scot-free.

With that, Wyatt held out an open palm and threw a nod at The Aid’s mangled hand—a signal to quite literally hand himself over to him. The Aid complied, dutiful as ever, carefully placing his upturned wrist onto Wyatt’s expectant one. He couldn’t shake the tingles running up his spine accompanying the gesture. Every complaisant movement felt like another shred of agency was peeled off him and devoured by the man in front of him—like he was another step into a never-ending maze as Wyatt watched him fumble in the dark behind a double-sided mirror.

Wyatt surveyed The Aid’s wound stitching on the side of his wrist—much like The Aid did only an hour earlier—before the older man ran his index finger down the scar on The Aid’s palm. Wyatt knew this scar was different; this one meant something. It bound them together in some sick way. A mark illustrating Wyatt laying claim to what was rightfully his and his alone. A memory shared.

A wave of nausea rippled in The Aid’s stomach. 

POSSESSION

A sickeningly warm sensation burrowed under his skin, the thing fevers and cold sweats are made of. His mind muddied around the edges, the vibrancy of his internal and external thoughts colored over in a greenish tint. He was too weak to throw up his mental guard rails or to cut the link between him and Wyatt’s emanating emotion. Imprints of emotions he never felt himself firsthand were the ones hardest to shake. Part of him became intrigued, drawn in to the foreignness of it. But most of him—the rational, seasoned parts of him—knew better than to lose himself in the prickly throes of it. 

“Ya wouldn’t forget me, would ya?” Wyatt flashed a half-suppressed smile, a viper’s grin.

The Aid warred against the shiver fizzing under his skin from Wyatt’s gliding caress and the emotional baggage that stowed away with it, just as much as he fought to hold in a shuttering sigh.

“Never, Sir,” The Aid’s reply came breathless. It was the inescapable truth. He could never completely shut out the terrors swarming his mind or scratch out the face of the man who caused it all. 

‘There’s a forecast of yuck moving in’

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Taglist (first 5 here then the rest in comments because they aren’t tagging right): @sacredwrath @the-name-is-reaper @little-rat-dragon @pirefyrelight @whumpyourdamnpears @3-2-whump @potterhead5ever

If ya wanna be added or removed from the tag list, just let me know! Leave a comment or message me! :)

[clickerflight]

Whump week: Nobody needs to know

@week-of-whump

Master list

Part 2

I watched Joseph: King of dreams when I was younger, and I have never been the same about scrubbing floors since.

Content: Child whumpee, demon caretaker, whumpee thinks he's still a slave, blisters and hand sores, lost in a delusion born out of fear, recovery whump

................................................

Souka woke in the dark. He was warm and comfortable. For a long moment he didn’t know why he had woken up, but a creeping strangeness pacing at the back of his mind kept him from going back to sleep. 

Why was he so comfortable? Whatever he was laying on was so soft, nothing like the floors or hay stuffed sacks he was used to sleeping on. He wasn’t allowed on anything this nice. He was just a slave. He knew that. 

He looked around the room, his chest tightening to see if he had been caught. He slowly peeled the blankets off and got off the bed as quietly as he could, his heart thumping. He wasn’t allowed to be on something so nice. He knew he wasn’t. 

He laid down in the corner, shivering as his sleep warmed body was now faced with the exposed air. He hoped daylight would come soon. As he laid there on the floor he kept thinking someone would come in and see what he had done. They’d beat him for hours, surely, to remind him of his place. 

He got up and quickly made the bed, pinching the blankets to try not to leave any dirt on them. He knew how dirty he usually was. Still, he was probably leaving signs of what he had done as he went. Now they would know he was trying to hide that he had been in the bed. 

Tears streamed silently down his face as he went back to laying on the floor, shivering as he wrapped his arms around his stomach. 

He needed to do something. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep and he couldn’t wait for morning. Sometimes he got praise for working through the night, so perhaps if he did so he would be forgiven for sleeping in the bed. 

Souka got up and, in a daze, left the room he was in. The door wasn’t locked. 

He saw no one as he found a floor covered in some form of tile. He didn’t quite know how, but he soon had a wet rag in hand, a bucket of water by his side, and he scrubbed the floor like his life depended on it. With his luck, it might. 

He wished he could remember where Ichimaru was, but everytime he tried to remember, more tears spilled down his face and his already limited night vision would vanish. He pushed all thoughts out of his mind and scrubbed. He ignored his aching knuckles, the sores already forming from the cold water and the mindless scrubbing, and just put all his energy into this one mind numbing task, desperately hoping the pain in his chest and behind his eyes would go away. 

………………………………

Laurance didn’t sleep much since he became a demon. He sat and read through some papers for an upcoming mission. He liked spending his sleepless nights reading the reports and then sharing all of the information he gathered with the others through the bond when it came time. It was a good use of time and the others had a tendency to do things for him as thank you. 

Laurance paused to take a note of something to look up later when he heard something. He froze, ears ringing as he listened carefully. Someone was moving upstairs, something with small lungs and hiccuping breaths. 

He got up quickly, heading upstairs to see what was wrong. He didn’t spot the newest addition to the household at first, but he found that the floor was wet under his bare feet in the kitchen and dining room and finally found the small boy working by the kitchen island, scrubbing hard as hiccupping sobs bubbled out of a permanently damaged throat. 

“Souka?” Laurance asked softly, approaching slowly so as to not scare the boy. 

Souka flinched back, his lips moving and sounds escaping his throat, but there were panicked whispers and rasps soon muffled as he threw his arms over his face to protect himself. 

Laurance hesitated before grabbing another rag and getting onto the floor, dipping his rag in the bucket and scrubbing. 

Souka moved his arms, watching him with a far away gaze before he went back to cleaning the floor like nothing happened.

Laurance sighed softly. Souka was really gone, then, if he thought Laurance was a fellow slave. Still, Laurance would rather pretend to be a slave than have Souka think he was a master. The boy had been through enough as it was. 

It wasn’t until they finished the floor that Souka seemed to shake out of it. Laurance stood up to dump the buckets in the sink, turning around to see Souka staring at him, eyes wide. He looked around, as though waking from a dream. Perhaps he was. 

He looked down at his reddened hands, blisters already popped and even bleeding in places. 

Laurance set the bucket aside and knelt beside him, taking his hands to look. Souka trembled under his touch and Laurance hushed him, running a hand through the boy’s long hair. “You’re safe now, remember?” Laurance asked gently.

Souka nodded, tears welling up in his eyes and Laurance helped him up, setting him on a stool at the island before getting him a cup of water. 

Souka grabbed Laurance’s shirt and Laurance leaned in, putting his ear near Souka’s mouth. His voice was too damaged to speak, but he could still somewhat whisper. “Sorry. You have been ge-generous. I know… I’m safe. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, Souka,” Laurance said, putting the cup in the boy’s hands. “It’s okay to still be scared. It was all you knew. Drink that water and we’ll bandage your hands.”

“I don’ want her to know,'' Souka managed in a hoarse whisper. “It would m-make her sa-sad.”

Laurance sighed, running a hand through his hair. It would make Anisha sad to know that Souka had been desperately cleaning the floors at who knows what hour. “I won’t tell her. Nobody needs to know. Now, drink the water, and we’ll clean up your hands and I’ll make sure you get to sleep in.”

Souka nodded and lifted the cup to his lips.

Part 4

@whumpsday

[whump-or-whatever]

Caretaker and whumpee being united/reunited…

Whumpee entering a room and immediately being pulled into a teary-eyed hug by caretaker

Caretaker showing up to free whumpee, carefully undoing their restraints

Caretaker: “Its alright, I’ve got you now. You’re gonna be okay.”

Caretaker being captured by whumper and whumpee being both relieved and horrified to see them

Whumpee: “No, Caretaker, you can’t be here. Please, no…”

Whumper allowing caretaker in to briefly treat whumpee’s wounds or drop something off (in a hostage situation like a bank robbery)

Whumper allowing a phone/video call between the two

Whumpee showing up on caretaker’s doorstep

Whumpee: “I’m sorry if this is a bad time, I just- I didn’t know where else to go.”

Caretaker finding whumpee somewhere completely random, like in the forest or on the roof

Caretaker visiting whumpee in prison

Caretaker: “I’m going to get you out of here. It might take some time, but just hang in there.”

Caretaker showing up to free whumpee, but whumpee has dreamt/hallucinated this moment so many times they don’t believe it’s real

Whumpee: “This isn’t real, you’re not real. Just leave me alone.”

Whumpee having been in captivity so long that they don’t even seem like they recognize caretaker

Whumpee being scared of caretaker because whumper convinced them that caretaker actually hates them or is dangerous somehow

Caretaker randomly being thrown into whumpee’s cell

Caretaker showing up out of the blue at a meeting with whumper (maybe a business deal), while whumpee sits silently nearby and tried to calm their racing heart

Caretaker killing/defeating whumper in front of whumpee to free them, whumpee being conflicted about it

Caretaker buying whumpee’s freedom, with whumpee then behaving as if they belong to caretaker, which caretaker hates (Bonus: caretaker having to lead whumpee out on a leash)

Whumpee being extremely cautious of caretaker at first, flinching away from them and eyeing them warily

Whumpee: “Why are you helping me? I’m not worth the trouble.”

Whumpee immediately falling into caretaker’s arms with the trust of a child

Whumper having convinced whumpee that they are bad to the point that whumpee refuses to accept help from caretaker

Whumpee: “No, stay away from me. You don’t understand, I’m broken. I’ll destroy you.”

Caretaker realizing how bad the situation is when they ask if whumpee is okay and whumpee just stares back at them blankly

Whumpee being so strongly conditioned that they won’t leave with caretaker when they come to free them

Caretaker: “Come on, Whumpee, we’ve got to go. What are you waiting for?”

Caretaker seeing whumpee out in the street doing a job for whumper (once they’ve gained enough trust), whumpee trying to ignore caretaker and get on with the job so they won’t be punished for being late

Caretaker: “Oh my god, Whumpee, you’re okay! What are you doing here, why didn’t you contact me?”

Whumpee: “Caretaker… I’m sorry, I have to go before they see me talking to you.”

Caretaker: “Before who sees you? Wait, where are you going?”

Whumpee: “I’m sorry, I just- I’m sorry.”

[whump-blog]

The Name of a Stranger

Ch.1 - Masterlist

CW: BBU, slavery, implied sex trafficking/prostitution, nudity, abuse, low self-esteem, alcoholic character, dehumanisation

============

It was 4:50 p.m. and Trevor was leaning against his car waiting for Ray in the bar's parking lot. The last rays of sunlight were shining on the horizon and the sky was beginning to turn a bluish violet. The cold seeped through his jacket and with every breath steam escaped from his mouth.

As they had agreed the day before, at 5:00 p.m. he saw the guy coming out of the place dragging a dog carrier.

Through the metal bars of the cage, he could see that inside was the man he had seen the day before tied to the bed. As he relived the horrible memory, the anger, and the indignation he had felt also returned. But he needed to stay calm. He couldn't screw it up, not this time. So Trevor clenched his jaw and took a deep breath.

When Ray was standing just a few feet away from him, he let go of the dog carrier, causing the slave to whimper. The guy's response to this was to annoyingly kick the crate.

Before he lost his temper, Trevor interrupted the situation and asked Ray, "Do you have the box boy's documents?"

Ray took his attention off the person in the cage, turned to look at him and grinned, "I see you're hurried mate."

But the smile was short-lived as he saw the storm on Trevor's face. Ray promptly pulled several crumpled papers out of his jacket and handed them to him. "Here you go."

Trevor practically ripped the papers out of his hands and quickly read them. Once he was sure they were signed, he took a bag of money from inside his truck and shoved it into Ray's chest.

Ray didn't seem bothered by his attitude and opened the bag, smiling when he saw the content. "Hahaha, that's a lot of money for a fuck-toy! But," he chuckled, "you wanted this whore."

"Oh, by the way I almost forgot; here," from another of his pockets the guy pulled out an envelope and handed it to Trevor who looked at it confused, "What's this?"

"It's a little courtesy gift… I think you'll enjoy it" and without another word, Ray turned around and walked back inside the bar, counting the money as he smiled.

After that unpleasant moment, Trevor kept the envelope and took a few seconds to calm down with one of the exercises he had been taught in therapy. Once he could think a little more clearly, he focused on what he had to solve at that moment, and that was to free the box boy from his prison.

The poor thing was crumpled inside the cage, and like the day before, he had nothing on, except for a pink collar. Trevor was glad he had brought a blanket, which he was quick to fetch.

He approached the dog crate and struggled a little with the lock, trying to open it. From inside it, the man stared at him with large hazel eyes, framed by deep shadows that contrasted with his pale skin.

"Nice to meet you, sir" the pet greeted him timidly as he continued to struggle with the lock.

"Hi buddy," he replied nervous, "I'm going to get you out of here, just… just give me a sec-" The door opened with a clack, and Trevor hurried to place the light blue blanket around the man, trying not to look at him too much.

The pet clung to the blanket with one hand and crawled hesitantly out of the dog crate.

Once outside, Trevor offered him his hand. But the man looked at it, unsure whether to take it or not. He almost felt offended. But Trev thought that if he were in the pet's situation, he would also be cautious.

"Let me help you," Trevor offered, keeping his voice gentle.

When the pet finally took his hand, it felt cold and bony, like the hand of a corpse. And with that lifestyle, the poor thing probably hadn't been far from becoming one. Trevor said nothing and helped him to his feet.

Walking the few steps to the car was a slow process. The man was struggling to walk, and had only managed to reach the vehicle because he was leaning against his shoulder.

Once the pet was in the back seat, he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes sir. Thank you for your help, and… sorry for the inconvenience, it won't happen again," the slave replied politely, behind which a hint of nervousness was barely noticeable.

"You're all right, don't worry," he reassured him "make yourself comfortable, we're leaving" But as Trevor was about to close the back door the man raised his hand as if asking permission to ask a question.

"Yeah?"

"Erm… sir, don't forget the…" and without finishing the sentence, the pet pointed a slender finger in the direction of where the dog carrier had been left.

Although what he was really thinking was why a person would want to bring the object that was used to keep them trapped, he just replied "Oh, yes". Trevor closed the back door, picked up the dog carrier from the ground, placed it in the trunk and hurried into the car and out of the freezing weather. All he wanted to do was get out of there and go home.

He was in such a hurry that when he sat down in the driver's seat, he didn't notice an empty beer can he had left there. "Fuck," he cursed, throwing the can aside. I should clean the car, he thought as he observed how the rubbish had been piling up.

But more important, behind him, he heard the slave shifting nervously and hit himself mentally for acting like a noisy idiot.

Turning around and trying to play down the incident, he said, "By the way, my name is Trevor, Trevor Hale," his voice wavered for a moment, afraid he'd screwed up; worried that he'd scared the pet somehow, as he had done with others in the past.

When a few seconds passed without an answer he went on with a question "Do you have a name or… is there a way you would like me to call you?"

"Well, they call me Nicky sir," the man replied eagerly, "but if that name doesn't please you… you can call me whatever you wish, sir," he continued a little quieter.

"…well, I don't have a preference. If you like that name, that's fine with me."

After that statement, he seemed to have lifted a huge weight off Nicky's shoulders. As he was able to confirm with the pet's enthusiastic reply.

"Thank you sir, for granting me the privilege of a name."

Trevor opened his mouth to speak, but did not know what to say. He simply looked at Nicky in the rearview mirror and nodded. He put the keys in the ignition, the engine roared to life and the car shuddered. Trev turned on the heater and began to drive.

"Okay, we have a while until we get to the city, so if you want to lie down and sleep, that would be… fine."

Nicky didn't seem convinced by the idea at first, but it seems that exhaustion got the better of him. Not ten minutes into the drive and as he looked back once again, he could see the man asleep; clinging tightly to the blanket.

At some point it had become so dark that the road lights came on, adding a yellowish glow to the dark atmosphere.

============

Special thanks to @whumpinthepot for proof reading this chapter.

Here is a drawing of this chapter :)

Taglist: @whoopsitswhump - @winedark-whump - @whumpzone - @littlefantasiesofalittlegirl - @guachipongo - @batfacedliar-yetagain - @deusmor - @whumpinthepot

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: Slavery, slave caretaker, caretaker-turned-whumpee, past successful escape.

gonna be a part two to this little snippet when i find the motivation:)

-

Whumpee had been gone for several weeks now. No one knew where or how they'd escaped, but they all felt horrible for Caretaker when it happened. Partly due to how close they had been to Whumpee, and partly due to how much worse things were going to get for Caretaker.

Unfortunately, it did get worse. The beatings got harder and the rules got stricter, and Whumper began to interrogate them on a daily basis for information Caretaker absolutely didn't have. Whumpee hadn't even told them what they were planning.

Despite all this, Caretaker cried out of sheer relief as soon as they'd heard about Whumpee's successful escape. They didn't even care that things got worse for them. They didn't care that Whumper had plans to kill them as soon as they got bored. All that mattered was that Whumpee was finally safe, hopefully with people who could take far better care of them than they could.

[prismpanic]

So I made a whump OC...

WHUMPEE

NAME:

His name is Venus!

FROM:

He lives in a post-apocolyptic Cyberpunk universe. There's The City, for the "perfect" of society, and Outside the Wall. The Outside is a sprawling slum, thousands of miles wide, where The City dumps both actual garbage and people they consider trash. Venus was thrown out on the annual "Cleaning" on his 16th birthday, for having depression, (from the impossible standerds impossesed on The City people) and deemed "useless" to society.

WHUMP:

He was thrown over the wall and instantly traded any freedom he might have had to a stranger to heal his broken leg. The man took him to a massive underground mall/nightclub/auction house of blinding neon lights, threw him in a tube, knocked him out, and sold him to the highest bidder, which was a group that's basically "We rent people for dirt cheap because we're all terrible freaks!" He's been there for 5 years, and is becoming hard to rent out due to "rough treatment" He doesn't want to -CAN'T- be thrown out again. So for the first time in his life, he runs away, and comes to an odd...soft green patch of concreate? And passes out.

CARETAKER:

A 16-year-old named Mars, he's from The City. The City has no plant life or animals, but Mars found a small hole in the wall. He snuck Outside, and found the first plant their planet has seen in decades. Soon after, he had grown a small garden. When he came to water his wildflowers, he found a dude passed out in his daisys.

Sooooooooooooooo post more sometime if I get any feedback?

Oh, reblogs are epic btw!

[weirdcorewhump]

For The Fae { 1 }

( Finally starting a series! This is a whumpee/caretaker fic. The scene is set in an AU, for them the year 4516. Humans live in 14-1500s reminiscence with appliances. Some humans are born with a certain type of blood and eyes, the blood being a pinkish color and their eyes having a pinkish tint to them as well. No health issues or abilities come with this, and they make up about 1/3 of the population. The "normal" people believe them to be of the devil or witchcraft, so they turned them to slaves. Because of this, slavery is commonplace, though is treated like "saving" lower beings. Slaves are the children of other slaves and are not from free people except in rare occasions as punishment for crime. Cottagecore vibes with housing. Our scene is set with Marc, our slave whumpee, and Talan, our fae caretaker. Really short but just trying this one out. We begin! )

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His breath had caught when he overheard his master speaking with the mayor. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, really he hadn't, he was just cleaning. But they were loud, and he was there. He should've cleaned somewhere else, the mansion was huge after all. But he heard them. He heard his master offering him for the worst thing he could be. The sacrifice. The fae had been angry this year, sending bad weather and plaguing the crops with death, so the town decided to send a sacrifice. A person (wrong, he is not a person) goes into the forest with a basket of gold and goods for the fae creatures to appease them.

He tried to be better, to be good, to avoid his fate, but it did not change. That's how he came to today. Holding a heavy basket of gold jewelry and sweets in front of a forest. His eyes watered as an order was barked for him to enter the forest. His collar felt as if it was choking him. No one cried for his leave as he stepped into the forest and disappeared between the trees. In fact, they cheered for the idea of success and appeasement of the fae.

He stepped through the forest tentatively, terror flooding his mind whenever he heard a noise. I'm going to die here, he thought over and over, I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die yet. A shadow flew across his vision. He froze. " Hello? Is-Is someone there...? ". No response. A bird, or a squirrel perhaps.

Until a voice rang out. " WHO ARE YOU IN MY TERRITORY, FOR HE WHO SHALL TRESPASS SHALL SURELY NEVER LEAVE. " Pure fear shot through his body as he dropped the basket in front of him and fell to his knees, head bowed. " Sorry-Sorry, my name is Mar-Marc, I'm sorry, please don't kill me please, my master had me come here, please I beg you do not kill me ". He begged and cried, hoping for mercy from whatever creature was soon to emerge from the shadows as he saw a shadow step on the ground before him.

The creature picked up the basket and inspected it, before placing it down. " Marc. Your... what, made you come here? ". " My Master ", he stammered, " My master did. " Whoever was before him went silent, before a hand reached down. A human-looking hand. His head was tilted up to see the person, because now he could see it was a person. He thought. A man, with warm tawny skin and bright yellow eyes. His ears were pointed, and his face was angular but somehow welcoming. He looked young, maybe in his 20s, but seemed sad or shocked. " You. ", the man spoke, " have a master? ". " Yes sir I, I do. Master Callow, sir. " He tried not to make eye contact with the new man.

" Hm. Curious... ". The person grabbed Marc's hand. " Follow me. I will take you to my dwelling. For now, if you must have one, I decree I am your master. " He was shocked, but stood. " Yes sir, master- sorry- I'll follow you now, master. " He took a breath, forced back his tears, and followed the man deeper into the trees. Where no one could hear him scream.

[kim-poce]

Greek's Gift 6 - Wants

Previous

Masterlist

CW: slave whump, legal slavery, set-up to failure order (not really but whumpee thought it was), caretaker new master.

=-=

“Ira, could you get a book?” Victoria asked, without gesturing at anything or looking up from the documents on her table.

“W-which one, Mistress?” Ira asked nervously, suddenly all the books on the shelves covering a whole wall looked the same, the brows, reds, greens and eventual yellows mixing together.

“The… damn what’s the name? I think it’s “Study of False Freedom” or something like that, it’s a law-related book, boring necessary stuff,” Once again, Mistress Victoria didn’t gesture to anything, almost as if she expected Ira to guess the right book.

Ira glanced at the books, they all had intelligible symbols on the cover; letters, words, setences, nothing a dumb slave like them could ever understand.

It had been a couple of months since Ira was brought into this house, this was the first set-up for failure task they were ordered to follow, they swallowed their urge to cry, along with the hope they had build that things were different in there, more than scared they were sad, betrayed, they had truly thought Master and Mistress wouldn’t do such traps.

“Dear?” Mistress asked, her tone calm, almost worried, but Ira knew it was meant to hurry them to obey.

They took a deep breath, the probability of them taking the right book was low, but they still had some hope they would be able to pick the right one, that’s, if there is a right one, from all they know there might be no such book at all, and if there is Mistress may not say they picked the right, still, Ira didn’t believe Mistress would give them an order with absolute no way to follow right, she isn’t… she isn’t so mean, right?

They took a thick one, the leather covering it was tinted dark green, Ira knew it was the wrong one as soon as Mistress glanced at it and frowned. They would have fallen to their knees if Mistress didn’t say so often that she doesn’t like it when they do so.

Mistress Victoria ran her thing on the releved letters on the cover of the book, “Ira, dear, I should’ve asked it beforehand but, do you know how to read?”

“No, Mistress,” they answered immediately, literate slaves are better kepts, more worth, of course Ira was never among them.

“I see, sorry this was unthoughtful of me. Do you want to? reading, I mean, Do you want to learn how to read?” she asked, looking up, her deep and always full of determination amber eyes looking straight into Ira’s, her voice firm, but in a confident way rather than threatening, she didn’t say anything else but Ira needed time to answer, time she was more than willing to bestow.

Slaves don’t have wants. It was a lie, of course, slaves do have wants, but they can never follow or voice their wants, still here was Mistress Victoria, once again asking for Ira to break such a simple rule.

“I do,” they said before the fear stopped them, they wanted to, they wanted in an amount they were sure was wrong, it must be, because why else would they keep thinking about it while they should only think about their mistress? “Y-y-yes, Mistress, I want, I’m- I’m sorry.”

They waited, if it was any of Ira’s past owners in front of them they would wait for the yelling, for the violence and the pain, but now, in front of Mistress, they had a faint hope —they are growing way more hope than it’s safe lately—, they hoped she would allow them to learn, even if just to see they uselessly struggling against the unknown symbol they still wanted it.

“I’m glad you told me, dear,” Mistress said with a smile, “I’m a little busy right now, but in about one hour or so we can start.”

“S-start?” Ira asked, blood running cold. Start what? the punishment for daring to say something? Of course, doesn’t matter how kind Mistress is it’s still to bad and deserve-

“The lessons, of course, you want to read, I can teach you, so we’ll start later today. Is this okay for you?”

Ira’s eyes widened, in surprise this time rather than the usual fear, they were expecting some kindness, Mistress is kind after all, they were expecting to be given a pen and some used paper and that’s it. Lessons? That's more than they would ever wish to earn, more than they deserve for a whole lot.

“Yes, mistress,” they said, forcing themselves not to sutter, although they could do nothing about the tears leaving their eyes, “Thank you, Mistress.”

“Oh dear?” she gou up, “You are crying I should-”

“N-no, please, please this-” they started to wipe away the tears, they didn’t want —this time— to get help to stop crying, they wanted to do it on their own, “it’s it’s okay, it’s really okay, I’m just… happy,” they were surprised by their own words, “N-no need to worry.”

Mistress glanced at them for a couple of seconds, before sighing softly and sitting back down, she smiled softly and gestured to a yellow book on the shelf, “I believe it’s that one.”

“I-I-I’ll fetch it now, thank you mistress,” they said, going back to their work, thinking about how much more useful they will be when they learn the letters, they felt guilty at realizing but even more important than being useful, Ira pictured themselves just… alone, reading, writing just… being themselves, whatever or whoever they truly are.

=-=

Taglist: @extemporary-username, @rose-pinkie, @latenightcupsofcoffee, @whump-blog, @cupcakes-and-pain, @inpainandsuffering, @nicolepascaline, @inkkswhumpandstuff

[the-baby-storyteller]

Legally-owned Whumpee in a proprietary society saying, “I belong to Caretaker” when propositioned by Whumper as the only way for them to be able to “turn Whumper down” is to belong to someone else.

But Caretaker only owns them superficially to keep them safe and hates when they seriously refer to themself as property.

Caretaker finding out about this interaction and becoming severely pained.

[coline7373]

People going like "Obi-Wan understands slavery like Anakin, because he was a slave for a month when he was thirteen" is the equivalent of saying you can't be racist because you have one black friend.