whumperhive

[whumperhive]

a good grade in being brainwashed: wants and needs

Masterlist

tw: pet whump, bbu-adjacent, dehumanization, conditioning, references to drugging, references to dubcon

He was getting a good grade in being brainwashed, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve.

"He seems a little clingy, though."

B211's heart sank into his knees. He knew that was one of the absolute worst things a prospective owner could say about him, the very thing his handlers had spent so much time trying to train out of him. Don't cling. Don't be needy. Be affectionate, but only when your owner desires it. Be silent and still and obedient otherwise.

Don't be needy. Don't need. Don't want. Wants are for people. Your only wish is to please your owner.

He didn't miss the nasty glare that the salesman shot him before putting his customer service smile back on his face. "Yes, this one is very affectionate, which isn't to everyone's taste. Perhaps you'd be more interested in this Romantic…"

B211 fought down the whine in his throat as the customer removed her hand from his chin and walked over to one of the other Romantics, A797. He watched as A797 flawlessly executed each position, all with a smile that was just loving enough without seeming desperate. Just the way they'd all been taught.

God, B211 hated him.

B211 knew he could be the best Romantic in this whole damn showroom, if only he could be given a chance. He'd worked so hard at his training and conditioning, absorbing everything thrown at him, always striving to be the best in the room. He knew his quality -- he was eager to please any sort of master in any way they wished, ready and willing to become whatever they wanted him to be. Their lover, their fantasy, their toy, their shoulder to cry on. He was confident he could do it all.

And yet, here he was, left in the lurch yet another day. If things didn't look up, he'd spend another night in his cold bunk. Another night where his training headphones whispered to him about how much he craved touch and affection. Another day where he had to fight down his cravings so he didn't scare off potential owners. Another failure, another denial.

It was enough to make him want to pull his hair out, if that wouldn't absolutely ruin his appeal.

"I think I'm going to talk to your handler about another course of conditioning. I don't know how it's possible, but you've still got too much willfulness in that head of yours."

B211 scrambled down into a kneel, touching his head to the floor, as soon as he realized that the salesman was addressing him. "My sincere apologies, sir. I will endeavor to do better," he said, reciting one of his hundreds of programmed phrases.

"I can tell when a pet's more concerned with his own needs instead of the customer's," said the salesman disdainfully. "Honestly, you could probably do with another round on the Drip, wash that right out of your head. I think that's what I'm gonna recommend."

"Yes, sir," said B211, his inner elbow twinging with the feel of a phantom needle. He knew very well that he should accept whatever medication, training, or punishment he was given, as it was all to make him a better pet. But he hated the way the Drip made him feel, the way his mind was so slow and dim now, compared to --

No, that wasn't right. His mind had always been slow and dim. That's why he was well suited to being a pet. That's what they'd told him, why he'd signed up. He was slow, and dim, and unable to cope with life, unable to pretend to be a person. So he'd done the right thing and signed up. Instead of an endless cycle of pain and disappointment, he'd receive unconditional love and affection from an owner who truly wanted him. All he had to do was follow his training. Simple instructions. Practice these poses. Recite these mantras. Speak politely. Let go of your wants. Let go of your needs. Be perfect.

That was all he had to do.

He didn't actually remember signing up, of course, because the Drip had erased his memories (how many times). It was best for a pet to not remember (what didn't they want him to remember) so he could be blank and empty for his owner to fill with love (what was he before he was blank).

(was he ever loved)

He shouldn't be thinking those thoughts. That's why he wasn't getting bought. Stupid, stupid.

"Well, B211? Do you have a problem with that?" the salesman demanded, pulling him back to reality.

"No, sir."

"Oh, I think you do. I can tell you have something to say. Out with it."

It was a trap. It was always a trap. He'd fallen into it before, he thought, although his memories of those times were hazy and tinged with pain. "I think whatever you and my handler decide for me would be best, sir."

He was being hauled upwards by his shirt, the salesman glaring down at him. "That's your problem. You shouldn't think. You should just get it right."

B211's mind searched for a better answer. Slow, too slow. "I want whatever training I'm given, sir. I want to be the best possible pet for my owner. I trust in my handlers to make me the best pet I can be."

"Better," he sneered.

The ring of a bell indicated another customer had arrived, sparing B211 the salesman's wrath for now. This particular salesman always liked to take it out on the pets when they weren't selling like he thought they should be.

All he wanted was to be touched and loved. Wasn't that what he had signed up for? He couldn't remember, of course, but that's the only thing it could have been. Why didn't anyone see that? Why didn't anyone pick him?

Maybe the salesman was right. Maybe he should go back on the Drip. He was thinking too much. Of course he was right -- his handlers always knew what was best for him.

"Oh, I'm not sure a Romantic is what I'm looking for, exactly," said a voice that was so strangely familiar. "I don't need -- I mean, I don't really have those kinds of needs."

B211 strained to hear the conversation in the other room, beyond the curtain separating the Romantic showroom from the rest of the pet store. That voice. He didn't know why, but wanted to hear more of that voice.

"There are a lot of unfortunate misconceptions about Romantics, and I'd say that the primary one is that they're only for sex," said the salesman. "That's absolutely not the case -- maybe ten years ago, but modern Romantics are so much more. They actually have much of the same programming as our platonic Companions, and even some Domestic capabilities. They're the perfect choice for a busy man who wants a little love in his life."

"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to take a look at them…"

The customer pushed aside the curtain leading to the Romantic showroom, and B211's heart stopped.

The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark skin and darker curls, and large, sparkling eyes that he could get lost in. He was handsome, very much so, but that wasn't what caused B211's breath to catch in his throat -- he saw many handsome customers. No, there was something about this one that ran deeper than his looks. B211 was seized with an inexplicable, undeniable desire -- this man absolutely had to buy him. This man should be his owner.

(But pets weren't supposed to have desires.)

The customer was staring at B211, too, but not in the way he would prefer. He looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Oh, I wouldn't recommend that one," said the salesman. "He's a bit more high maintenance than our other Romantics, and you're looking for a pet that's very independent, right? I'm sure a lawyer doesn't have that much time to spend entertaining a pet, which is why I'm going to recommend this model…"

The customer, the lawyer, let himself be pulled away from B211's case, and B211 was filled with bubbling rage towards the salesman. Something flashed in his mind, a memory, perhaps, of fighting, of kicking and screaming, of having to be held down by four people as the IV was inserted into his arm --

No, that wasn't right. That wasn't right at all. He couldn't hate the salesman, or the handlers, who only wanted the best for him. If the lawyer wasn't a good fit…

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Why was this so important? He'd been passed up by so many people, what was one more to him?

B211 couldn't help but watch the lawyer out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he seemed bored with the other models the salesman was showing him. Distracted. He glanced back at B211, who quickly lowered his eyes to the floor.

"I think I have just the right fit for you!" said a bubbly saleswoman, emerging from the front of the store. She was leading along a man in a slouchy t-shirt and jeans, who was looking around the Romantics showroom in awe, as though he'd never seen so many pets. The saleswoman stopped in front of B211's case. "He's a refurb, so he's available at a discount! He's very affectionate and quite intelligent for a pet."

"Well, he's not bad looking," said this new customer. "Pet, introduce yourself."

B211 snapped to practiced attention. "Hello, sir, my designation is B211, and I'm a Romantic designation with additional Companion training. I enjoy cooking, old movies, and cuddling, and I'm always open to new adventures!"

"Hmm, I'm not sure. He's not really my type. I was hoping for something a little more… demure, do you have anything like that?"

"Certainly, sir, right this way!"

Normally, B211 would be devastated at losing another prospective buyer, but this time, all he could think about was the lawyer. The lawyer who was currently standing in front of the showroom's most expensive pet, being given the hard sell.

"…and he can do anything you want, sir. He'll be there for you when you need companionship, and quiet and out of the way when you need space. He's fully automated and intelligent enough to serve as a personal assistant or run a household. And when it comes to his Romantic skillset… he's very easy to please, and very eager and capable of pleasing others. If this pet is within your budget, I think he'd be the best suited to your needs, sir."

His needs. What were the lawyer's needs? Pets didn't have needs, couldn't have needs. B211 knew he could do whatever that so-called premium model could. But the lawyer probably had more than enough money to go premium, and why would he buy a discounted refurb when he could buy a brand-new luxury model?

"He does seem like an ideal fit…" said the lawyer.

"Would you like to spend a little time with him? I'm sure once you do, you won't be leaving this showroom alone."

"Well… maybe… but I'm still interested in that one. The one I saw when I first came in."

And the lawyer looked straight at B211.

It was impossible, wasn't it? Why would he be interested in B211 when a premium model was an option? Did he actually recognize B211's value? Was that why he'd been so drawn to this man as an owner?

The lawyer walked his way. B211 tried his hardest to read the expression on his face -- an essential skill for Romantics, to be able to read their master's smallest emotions -- but came up short. He couldn't tell what this man was thinking at all.

But his eyes looked kind. And B211 felt…

It was a feeling he couldn't place. It wasn't happy, or aroused, or quiet, or agreeable. B211 suspected it was one of those feelings he wasn't supposed to be having, one that the Drip was supposed to wash out of him.

"Are you sure, sir?" said the salesman, trailing after him. "This one is a refurb, you know. That's why he's on a discount."

"A refurb? Do you know why he was returned?" The lawyer's eyes never left B211.

"Ah, his original owner simply found a new relationship, and was displeased with the amount of attention this Romantic required. He's been wiped of those memories, and we've done our best to train out his unfortunate need for attention, of course, but he'd be a risk compared to our premium models, which can all be customized just for you for only a small additional fee…"

The lawyer wasn't paying attention to the salesman at all as he continued his pitch. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind.

And B211 finally placed what that strange feeling was. Safe. The lawyer made him feel safe. It wasn't something he had felt in training. It was something much older, something he shouldn't remember.

"I want to buy this one," said the lawyer abruptly, cutting off the salesman's patter.

The salesman couldn't hide his shock. "Are you sure, sir? There's no rush. We'd be happy to put a model on hold for you for a small deposit if you'd like more time to make up your mind."

"I've made up my mind. I want this one." The uncertainty on his face from a moment ago was gone, his voice firm. Firm enough that B211 dared to hope.

"If you're certain, then… I'll draw up the paperwork. But keep in mind that we don't accept returns on refurbished pets."

"I won't be returning him."

And the lawyer smiled at B211, actually smiled.

And someone had finally seen him. Someone wanted him. Someone was going to love him.

All he had to do was not screw it the fuck up.

Masterlist

[whumperhive]

BBU Community Days 2024, Day 13

April 26 / Writing Prompt: "MADE FOR IT" / Write a BBU story based on the prompt and share it!

CW: for institutionalized slavery, whipping, foot injury, blood, emotional abuse

Most boxboys were transported to their new owners after purchase in the boxes that inspired the term- long, narrow crates into which they were packed and shipped- but not KV1946. On the day he was sent to his Master, KV1946 was washed and dressed in slacks and a sport coat and ordered into the back seat of a car. He was careful not to wrinkle the clothing when he fastened the seat belt and he folded his hands carefully in front of him and sat very still during the ride.

He would have liked to spend more time looking out the window, but he had been instructed to sit properly, which meant straightening his spine and looking directly ahead. KV1946 tried not to feel nervous and instead focused on remembering his training. There would be cleaning to do, household management, serving at meals... he could do those things. He had been trained. Perhaps he would be able to please his Master.

It was slightly more than an hour before KV1946 saw a large house come into view. It was situated in the middle of extensive, beautifully manicured grounds and the car pulled up in a circular drive out front. KV1946 sat very still until the WRU employee who was driving ordered him to get out and stood to greet her client.

Someone had opened the door and his Master was coming down the wide front steps, smiling broadly. He was in middle age, dressed in a fine suit and adjusting his cuffs in a way that suggested he didn't need to adjust them but wanted the WRU lady to know he was the kind of man who wore cufflinks on a Tuesday morning.

"Welcome, welcome," he said, spreading his hands wide as if showing the WRU lady that the grounds were hers to enjoy, for the minutes she would be present on them. "Is this my young man, then?" He strode over to KV1946 and peered closely at him with a smile that was as much a show as the cufflinks.

KV1946 stood quietly, as he had been trained, with his hands clasped loosely in front of him; his new Master circled him very slowly, examining the merchandise.

"I'm told you did very well in your training," he said. "I was pleased to hear it. We hold very high standards, here." He looked KV1946 in the eye in a way that seemed to require a response. KV1946 lowered his eyes deferentially and said quietly, "Yes, Master."

The man gave a delighted little laugh. "Very good! Very good, indeed." Then he ignored KV1946 to speak briefly to the WRU employee and hand her an envelope with a discreet but substantial tip.

When KV1946's Master had finished speaking, even though the WRU lady was still right there, standing outside her car, he turned away from her and shifted his attention to the Pet as thoroughly as if she had never existed.

"Come inside," he ordered his newest purchase. "I will show you the house and acquaint you with your tasks. Referring to you by serial number is vulgar; you will be called Francis." And off he swept with KV1946- now Francis- following as quickly as he could.

The next hour was a whirlwind tour of the home and, to an extent, the grounds. Francis' responsibilities lay entirely inside, but Master wanted him to know where things were around the property, in case of some need. Francis hoped desperately that he could remember all of it and when he was told to go begin fixing lunch, was relieved to find that he knew the way to the kitchen.

Lunch was served without any particular difficulty and then Francis cleaned the kitchen until it sparkled. Afterwards, he retrieved Master's laundry and spent some time treating stains and loading the washing machine. After that, there was dusting in the office.

All the while, Master sat on the porch in the sunshine with a long-stemmed glass in hand. When he saw Francis, he looked very satisfied and said, "I don't know why I didn't get one of you a long time ago."

The satisfaction made Francis' heart leap. Master's happiness was his own sense of security and he found that he desperately wanted to hear another approving word. He would be perfect for Master. Master would like him and keep him and he would never be sent back to the WRU, like bad Pets were. Even the thought made Francis shiver. He had seen, at least enough to have an idea, what happened to Pets who were sent back.

Late that evening, Francis began to feel overwhelmed. It was hard to remember the long list of chores and the order in which they were to be completed. He wracked his brain, ignoring a slight headache, to remember whether he was to do the ironing before setting out Master's clothes for the following day, or after.

He guessed incorrectly and Master, now dressed in a smoking jacket, entered his room and frowned. "Where are my clothes?" he demanded of Francis, who froze and tried not to look as nervous as he felt.

"Master?"

"No, no 'Master'. You were to lay out a suit and then begin the ironing. I want to have my room all to myself, not spend my evening waiting on your pleasure to have clean clothes." He shook his head. "This is not what I was led to expect when I purchased you."

"This Pet is very sorry, Master." Francis hung his head. He could hear the rough, nervous edge in his voice.

"Finish the ironing and then go to the basement," Master said in a very firm tone.

Francis' hands were shaking as he finished the last few items and although he wasn't sure what would happen in the basement, he did know that he wasn't looking forward to finding out.

When he got there, Master was already standing at the bottom of the stairs, his arms crossed, with a small switch in his hand. There was a chair in the center of the room, away from the walls and the bit of bedding Francis was allowed- or would have been allowed, he thought. He would have to see if Master took it away for his infraction.

"I am going to be lenient on you, because it's your first day here," Master explained. "Sit in that chair and hold up one foot."

For a moment, Francis was mystified, and then he realized what Master planned to do. He sat and gripped the sides of the chair so that Master wouldn't see his hands trembling. Master took Francis' heel in one hand and raised the small whip, bringing it down on the sole of Francis' right foot with surprising force.

Francis let out a soft cry and then clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. Master looked at him with something like disgust.

"What are you crying for already?" he asked. "It can't possibly hurt that badly. You were made for this, after all." He didn't seem to want a reply, which was as well. Francis kept his hand over his mouth as the whip connected again with the sole of his foot.

On the third blow, Master let out a small cry of his own and jumped back suddenly, letting Francis' foot fall to the floor.

"I've cut myself," Master exclaimed. He was holding up his left hand, which was bleeding from a single laceration across the backs of his fingers. Master made a noise of frustration and pain and then said through gritted teeth, "Wait here, I don't want you making a mess."

He disappeared for a moment and returned with a plastic box, which he thrust towards Francis. "It's a first aid kit. Bandage my hand for me."

The absurdity of the situation never occurred to Francis; he simply opened the kit, found an individually wrapped wipe to clean the wound and then the gauze and medical tape. While he dabbed away the blood, Master hissed and swore under his breath and when Francis had taped on the bandage, he shook his hand as if it smarted.

Francis almost dared to hope he would give up on the rest of the punishment, but there was no such luck. "Hold your foot out," Master said. Francis did so, holding his leg up with both hands under his knee. Using only one hand, Master continued the flogging, ignoring the drops of blood that fell to the floor. Francis pressed his lips tightly together to prevent another upsetting display of emotion that would only make this worse and waited for it to be over. When he thought he might not be able to stand any more, Master finally straightened up and nodded once.

"Clean that up," he said, gesturing to the blood spatters on the floor. "And I expect you on duty as I told you in the morning." Then he stalked up the stairs, taking the whip with him.

In the basement, Francis sat in the chair and tried to collect himself. His breath coming in shuddering sighs but he squeezed his eyes shut and fought to stay quiet and controlled. When he rose to clean the floor, he walked gingerly on the outside of his foot. His vision closed to a pinprick of light as he worked, shutting him off from the pain, pushing it away so that it felt almost like another entity. But when he finally lowered himself carefully to his cot, the agony washed up over Francis and he hugged his knee to his chest and cried himself to sleep.

In the morning, Francis was woken early by the pain. He was still clutching his knee and his foot still stung so badly that he was almost afraid to look at it. When he worked up the courage, the news was not good. The foot and ankle were badly swollen and the sole of his foot was covered in dried blood.

When he dressed, slowly and painfully, Francis found that his sock fit, though tightly, but he couldn't get his shoe on over it. He pulled at the shoe, tugging at the tongue and trying to force the heel, until he was crying again and was about to risk being late for his duties. At last, Francis gave up and ascended the stairs, fully dressed except for his wounded foot in its soft, white sock.

Master wasn't downstairs yet and Francis began the first chores of the day, limping badly as he made the rounds of the house to water the plants and then headed back to the kitchen to begin breakfast. He cooked eggs, toast and sausage and fried some tomatoes and arranged it all on a large plate. He brewed coffee and set a place at the dining room table with understated-but-elegant china and a crystal glass for orange juice. He placed a newspaper above Master's place and kept the food warm until Master seated himself at the table and rang for it.

Francis brought out the plate and went back for a mug of coffee and then for the orange juice, ready in a clear carafe to be poured fresh for Master. It was on the third trip that Master, nearing the end of the page he was reading, caught sight of Francis out of the corner of his eye and looked up in displeasure.

"What is that?" He asked, gesturing dismissively at Francis' feet.

"This Pet was unable to get his shoe on," Francis said in a very small voice. He found that his mouth had gone dry and it was hard to speak.

"This Pet has orders not to appear above stairs in less than immaculate condition," Master corrected him coldly. "I took care that you would be fit to serve. Go below stairs at once and fix the issue. Do not appear above stairs under-dressed again. My guests will be here for a morning garden party in one hour. I expect the porch swept and mimosas staged on the table. There will be finger sandwiches for lunch and you will stay outside to serve." He turned back to his newspaper, which meant that Francis was dismissed.

Shaking in the aftermath of his fear, Francis limped back down the stairs and almost fell onto his pallet, where the odd shoe sat. He eyed it with distaste for a moment, but there was no time to waste. It was going to be a busy morning and he would need to use all of the time to prepare. Francis tried again to put the shoe on, but still without success.

He took a moment for a deep breath and a sigh and then began to unlace the shoe completely. With the laces off, he was able to place his foot inside it and lace the shoe up, after a fashion. His foot was already beginning to throb and when he stood, it took all his training to keep him on his feet and headed up the stairs.

Francis was driven nearly to distraction by the pain, but he was somehow still upright and had even managed to put out a clean, white tablecloth and a vase of flowers to display the mimosas before Master's guests arrived. As ordered, Francis stationed himself next to the table with a tray to collect empty glasses and to keep the table supplied with drinks and light canapes.

Master greeted the guests and showed them to the back porch, handing each a drink as they passed through the door to mill about on the flagstones of the porch. The hand he had injured while punishing Francis remained bandaged and Master had placed it in a narrow black sling to go with his morning coat.

"You poor thing!" one of his guests cooed. "Whatever have you done to your hand?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," Master said, clearly pleased at the attention. "Just a little cut, the doctor says everything ought to be fine before many weeks have passed." He waved the other hand languidly, dismissing the opinions of doctors who, he implied, fussed too much.

"You bear it very bravely, I'm sure," the woman assured him, patting his shoulder sympathetically. She finished her drink and held it out, secure in the knowledge that the help would be by to collect it immediately.

Francis moved away from the safety of the table to take the glass. He tried not to shuffle, which would probably make Master angry, but his foot was throbbing so badly that he could hardly think of anything else. He hoped he could go back and stand behind the table, in the shade, and put all his weight on his left foot for just a few minutes.

"Doesn't your pet mind just standing there like that?" another woman asked his Master. "Won't he get bored?" Master looked over as if he had only just noticed Francis standing there, as if he was so used to Francis that he was no more noticeable than the trees.

"I can't imagine so," Master said in a musing voice. "After all, isn't that what they're made for?"

The party lasted for a few hours and by the time he brought out the finger sandwiches, Francis was shaking and sick with pain. At each step, he wondered whether his leg would give way and drop him- and, more importantly, the sandwiches- to the ground, right there in front of all of Master's guests.

Somehow, he got through the rest of the morning and then the afternoon as well; luckily, Master seemed to be tired out by the effort of hosting and went to take a nap. Francis could limp as much as he needed and stand on his left foot only while he cooked and cleaned. The day went by very slowly, but in a strange haze. The foot went numb after several hours and Francis was a little relieved, although the numbness made it hard to balance when he walked.

At last, Master turned in for the night and Francis went back to the basement. He sat down on the top step and eased himself down with his right foot held in the air. At the bottom, he very carefully untied and unlaced the shoe and drew it off, his heart pounding uncomfortably as feeling came back into the swollen flesh. With feeling came terrible pain and Francis could feel the small supper he had been allowed turn over in his stomach. He hopped desperately to the toilet in the corner of the room, but nothing came up and after a few long moments, he finally collapsed onto his cot.

Later, Francis barely remembered that day. It was not so different from many of the ones that came after it and working while he was in pain became the most ordinary thing in the world for him. But it was one late night, in a different house entirely, that Master's words came back to him.

It had been a long day; Francis was still expending more energy than he knew in trying to understand his new home. Sir and Ma'am were kind, but could be confusing sometimes. Francis was always waiting for them to change, to become angry, to begin ordering him about. He did not expect to live without fear, but the relentless struggle to make sense of his new life was taking its toll.

That night, Sir carried Francis up to bed while Mikey and Nathan stayed downstairs with Ma'am. It was not so late, really, and the sun had only just dipped below the horizon, but Francis had been running hot all day and the pain in his feet was making him restless.

"I'm so sorry you aren't feeling better yet," Sir said, sounding like he meant it.

"Francis will be in working order soon," Francis replied. He hoped it was true.

"Don't worry about working," Sir said, for some reason, but it was in a cheerful tone that might almost have been a joke and Francis was more confused than frightened by the words. He wasn't sure how to respond, and so he didn't. Instead, he lay still and watched Sir bustle about.

Sir straightened his blankets so they laid across his shins, not over his bandaged feet where they would feel heavy and hurt Francis. Then Sir put a thermometer in his mouth and waited patiently for the result. After three minutes, he removed it, peered at it, and shook his head.

"It's about what I expected," he said and then placed a cool water bottle on Francis' head. It was soothing to his hot skin and racing mind and almost made Francis feel like he might be able to fall asleep.

Maybe it was the high fever that made him so bold, but Francis looked up at Sir, sitting there quietly, watching him with such worry on his face and he dared to ask a question.

"Sir- if Francis might be permitted- er- why are you and Ma'am doing all of this?"

"What, taking care of you guys?" Francis nodded and worried that maybe he shouldn't have spoken, in case Sir thought he was ungrateful.

Instead, Sir smiled and shrugged a little. "Humans take care of each other- it's just what we do. I guess we were made for it."

Master List

Notes: Some backstory for Francis!

Tag list: @pigeonwhumps, @cepheusgalaxy, @i-eat-worlds, @honeycollectswhump @taterswhump,

@starfields08000 @whumpsday, @fruitypinapple00, @currentlyinthesprial

[whumperhive]

whump writers: what if I made a little guy really sad

[whumperhive]

Companion De Trop

Package

Content: Morally dubious caretaker, Mentions of stalking, Chronically ill caretaker, Pet whump, BBU universe, it/its used to dehumanise.

Word Count: 1.9k

Oh, what the fuck.

No, no, like — what the actual fuck.

Avery was shell-shocked, standing in the rain, clothes becoming soaking as he stared wide-eyed at the wooden box in front of him. His breath fogged as he approached, hand grazing over the smoothed surface and feeling the dips and crevices of the burnt-on symbol. It wasn’t uncommon for WRU boxes to be on campus, though usually they were cardboard boxes; things for peoples’ pets that they already had before attending the college. Items and commodities that were given as some sort of monthly subscription or a bonus for giving the company good rep or something.

Not a wooden box settled right on his doorstep, though not alien to him, it was… unheard of people getting a pet during college. Responsibility and all that.

Especially since he hadn’t even ordered a pet, much less thought of getting one while he’s still taking classes for his Biomedical Engineering major. He was already staying up late some nights studying, he certainly didn’t have enough time to pay attention to a pet.

…Still, it’s cold out here. And his joints are starting to scream at him.

Heaving a sigh, the college student stepped around the box, taking out his keys with a jingling tune. Pushing the door open, he turned to the box, finally taking notice of the plastic-covered set of papers on top. At least they thought about the weather beforehand.

Man, he’s gonna hurt after dragging this in. Lamenting about his later pain, he clutched the two corners and began pulling, grinding down on his teeth in his strain to at least get it past the doorway. He was never the strongest person, and with his chronic illness, it made it all the more tough on him. His hands slipped, and he landed with a heavy thud on his back, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment of contemplating his life, he sat back up, carding his hand through hair swirling with several shades of reds and browns. Alright, he’s gotten it inside.

Using the box as a brace, he stood, growling under his breath at the sharp shooting of pain from his left leg up into his lower back. He closed the door against the increasing winds, locking it behind him as he turned to the box and hovered over the paperwork.

…Well, it wasn’t a mistake; this box was clearly addressed to him. Full name and all. He hummed confusedly, tearing the package from the top and scanning it over before he took it out of the plastic. It seemed to be all up-to-date, the box was shipped out three days ago, express shipping and all paid for, not a penny taken from him. He let out a sigh, shoulders sagging and dropping the plastic bag and paperwork on the floor beside the box.

“Alright, guess I gotta go get my box…” He mumbled to himself, turning on his heel to walk to his room. It took a moment of rifling through his desk before he uncovered the suitcase-like toolset. And in a second-moment thought, he turned towards his kitchen, opening the fridge. He’s heard of boxies being dehydrated, and he didn’t want to neglect the poor thing.

The box remained the same as he left it when he returned, setting down the water and toolset as he slowly got onto folded knees. As his knee braces pressed into the carpet, he winced at the aching in his knees as he crouched over the box in order to look over the screws — looks like they were Phillip's-head. It took a few minutes of attempting to get the correctly-sized attachment before he could unscrew the top. Once again he winced as he stood, placing the screwdriver to the side and sliding the top off with a thud.

Within the box was a pet curled up, wearing a thin pair of shorts and a white tank top. Its black hair looked to be unwashed and a bit matted, its pale skin having a few scars; likely from its time during training. Avery hummed worriedly, he had always worried about how pets were treated when they were training or being refurbished. He knew that pain was one of the ways they learned but, well, still. It made him feel bad.

It took him for a moment before he realized the pet hadn’t moved, blinking rapidly.

“Oh, uh, shoot. You can sit up, do it slowly though, I don’t want you to get dizzy.” He ordered, watching as the pet slowly sat up, its hazel-green eyes meeting his own making his blood turn to ice.

“...No.” He recoiled, slowly standing up. “No, no, no this has — this can’t be real.” He muttered. The pet’s — no, Kaine’s eyes widened both in fear and confusion. He hadn’t seen this asshole in, what, months? But, well, it made sense. He’d suddenly disappeared quite a few months back, and it usually took a long time to train pets, but…

“God, this has to be some kind of sick joke.” Avery practically spit, continuing to back up. This guy had stalked him for, what, almost a year? He thought he had gotten rid of him when he disappeared, but, well, here was the reason he was gone. He was given to WRU and then given to him as a pet. Who would do such a thing? Why?

Avery suddenly felt hot, unbalanced and dizzy, leaning against the wall as his vision fuzzed. He wasn’t unused to his stress-induced syncopes, but usually he would be sitting down if he felt his heart speeding up. He struggled to find his grip for a moment before leaning on the wall and gently sliding down to the floor. Good, okay, he wouldn’t hurt himself this way. He allowed his head to drop onto his knees as his consciousness gave out, the world draining to black.

Black and numb, nothing to bother him. No pain, no staring eyes, no judgement… Just… darkness.

…When he came-to, something cool was on his head, and he was laying on the floor. Staring at the ceiling, he gathered himself, clearing his throat. How did he get here? Hadn’t he fainted against the wall? Reaching up, the coolness on his forehead revealed to be a wet washrag. He sat up slowly, looking around.

The pet — god, he’s a pet now — was kneeling next to him now, head touching the ground. There wasn’t anyone else around… had he — it? — done this? Why did he position him on the floor? Was this some sort of punishment for him or Kaine? God, there were so many questions he had, and too little answers. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he resisted a shiver as he watched the pet stay stock still. He glanced behind it and noticed the water bottle had gone untouched, and took in a breath.

“Um, you can… you can sit up.” He said, watching as the other followed as he ordered. He looked fairly different since Avery last saw him, but he’d recognize the eyes that stared at him from afar for months on end anywhere, not to mention the scar under his eye matched the one he had gotten when Lych had socked him.

Sure, he was so much thinner than he was before, and there were several new scars across his skin, his eyes slightly sunken in and cheeks hollow from dehydration and likely starvation. His eyes showed no recognition, just obedience, reverence and… the slightest look of fear. Even despite this, Avery couldn’t help the sickly feeling in his stomach that settled there as he looked at the other. Taking in a breath, he sighed. This… wasn’t ideal, but Kaine wasn’t, well, Kaine now. Sure, he still felt uncomfortable around him, but he likely didn’t remember what he did. He’d heard of the “Drip”, a drug cocktail they made to have the pets forget their pasts as humans, and, well, the other’s eyes didn’t hold a drop of recognition.

“Stay here.” Slowly, Avery stood, making sure he didn’t swim with dizziness again. Thankfully, he didn’t, walking past the pet and grabbing the water bottle he had gotten. It was still cold, so he likely wasn’t out for long. That was good.

He returned to the pet, opening the bottle and looking up at it.

“Do you think you could drink this by yourself?” He asked, to which it gave a timid nod. Passing the water to the pet, he watched as it carefully drank. Once the plastic bottle was empty, he held his hand out for the bottle and then capped it, sitting in front of the pet cross-legged.

“Can you speak?”

The pet worked its mouth slowly, clearing its throat before speaking.

“Y-Yes, Master… this pet can speak.” Avery ignored the way his skin crawled at the label, gripping the legs of his pants for a moment before relaxing. It’s just what they have the pets call humans, it’s no big deal, it’s no big deal…

“Cool.” Taking a deep breath, he sighed, looking the pet over. “What’s your number?”

The pet’s spine straightened, holding out its wrist for Avery to see.

“637826, Designated Combination Domestic and Companion.” Avery nodded as it responded, glancing over the barcode tattooed on his wrist. Subconsciously, his shoulders slumped, thank fucking god it wasn’t a Romantic. He wouldn’t be sure what to do with it if it was.

“Okay, well, for now, until we find you a name that suits you, we’ll call you ‘826’ for now. That okay?” Avery asked, to which 826 nodded. Good, maybe this would go better than he thought. In another thought, he spoke again. “And — uh, don't call me Master,” It was weird to him to be called that by someone who used to practically obsess over him. Made his skin crawl. “call me ‘Sir’ or ‘Sir Avery’. Got that?”

There was a flicker of confusion, 826 slightly tilted its head before straightening back up. Avery watched its throat work as it swallowed nervously, likely thinking that the questioning movement would be seen as disobedience. The pet nodded, taking in a slow, shuddering breath.

“Yes, M —” A flinch. “S-Sir.”

“You're fine.” He reassured it, shifting about on his place on the floor before looking at the pet; he's a pet now, not a person. It'd take a while for that to sink in, honestly… “Think you could help me up?”

“Yes, Sir.” It responded, following the outstretched arm with a breath of hesitancy before the action seemed to click in the pet's mind. Crouching down, it let his arm rest on its shoulders as he moved to rest on his knees. Slowly, surely, he brought his feet beneath him, and came to a stand. His joints still ached, so he nudged his head towards the well-worn couch in the center of the living space.

“Set me down over there.” His voice was dredged in tiredness, the kind he felt down in his bones. What he wouldn’t do for this day to start over, so he could avoid this happening. How would he have avoided this? …He isn’t exactly sure, but, well. Here he was.

He sighed heavily as he settled into the couch, shifting about to get into an awkward position that helped ease the pain off his knees. He leaned against the arm of the couch, legs bent and just barely stretched all the way out. He flicked his hand at the bag of papers he cast aside.

“Grab those for me.”

—

@whumpinthepot wanted to be tagged! Here you are! I actually plan on turning this into another series so <:3c

[whumperhive]

the most pitiful sad wet cat pet whumpee who can barely form words and always scrambles to complete any order or command within seconds. but then caretaker finds out about Their Past and turns out they used to be the most horrible person they'd ever seen

[whumperhive]

Whump prompt

Stalker obsessed with person A turns themself in to become a boxboy and be delivered to person A so that stalker can be owned by them and loved forever

[whumperhive]

I bet Adrastus wakes Malak up w soft murmurs in their own native language as they stroke his eyes, hair, and cheek

Darius simply snaps and Nevan is up

WOHEO Masterlist cw: hypnosis, pet whump, servant whump

———————————————————————

“Mmmnn…” Malak hummed lightly, the brush of fingers frolicking through his curls stirring him from heavy, weightful sleep. Curling into the embrace of stuffed toys and blankets that scattered his body, his cheek deepened it’s succumb into his cloud soft bed.

His master, with care and delicacy, crawled beside him, hands trailing over the cusps of his plump skin. “Wakey, wakey, love.” They whispered, lips nearly kissing his ear, spreading over with the warmth of their breath.

“Mmmngh… mmm…” he groaned, shifting further to drowsy comfortability, rather than their call of consciousness.

Adrastus giggled, sweet and soft, a song that swept through his open ears. “So silly, you. Sleepy boy. Sleepy, sleepy… alas, we must awaken for the night. A pity, really.” They circled his cheek, touch following to a path down to his belly. 

“Nngh…” He flopped over and onto his back, allowing them full range to rub the flesh of his plush stomach. They slithered around him, smile kind and entrancing. Drool beads dribbled from the corners of his upturning lips as he snuggled into them.

“You mustn’t truly get up just yet, baby. Just allow your little mind to unfold from sleep.” They murmured, settling their head atop his own, and nuzzling against his cheek, only eliciting more quiet purrs out from his lips.

For what felt like an eternity they whispered supple, magical mumbles through one ear and out the other, honeydew coos that graced his mind with cotton candy clouds. Malak wished he would never have to get up, and his master would just allow him to simmer in bliss for a lifetime. 

Really, they did.

…

Only one single chime of an- his-  insistent, ringing bell was needed to stir Nevan’s mind from drooping unconsciousness in that of an instant, ripping him quick out of slumber. Breath hitching, he lifted from the cushion that was his bed, frame swaying with drowsy dizziness as he neatly clasped his palms together. Master, master, master, his mind shrieked, obeying dutifully to the call of the bell.

“Up.” His master commanded, towering below the doorway, an elegantly green robe tied perfectly around his slender waist.

Nevan blinked slowly, adjusting to the world around him. Admittedly he should’ve been immediately up and ready to go, should have been much used to the repetition of their morning routine. “Sure, um, Mas… ter…” he stumbled, wiping at his eyes and yawning with casualty as he shifted to kneeling.

Frown firming, Darius grimaced with tense disapproval. “Again.”

“Yes, Master.” The words rolled right from the thrall’s swift tongue, no hesitancy blocking the way of his speech. Nevan made a beeline to his feet, resuming his expected position. 

He couldn’t believe he had been so insolent. So unforgivably and disgustingly disrespectful. Toward his master, no less. Yawning? Sure? His master even had to wake him up himself!

For the rest of morning chores, bouncing about his brain Nevan chastised himself for making such an idiotic mistake. He hoped his master could find it in his heart to grant him undeserved forgiveness, but he knew a punishment would be awaiting him.

[whumperhive]

PT51734 - Rules

@bbu-on-the-side

Contents: Guard Dog whumpee, Pet whump(?), Nonhuman Whumpee, Male whumper (offscreen)

Takes place in the same universe as Double A! Woagh, two Days in one?? Amazing!!!

They didn’t mean it.

Truly, they didn’t.

They had rules, a routine, everything good and simple. Something a pet should know.

Something they should have known.

9:00 AM, sharp, they were to patrol the grounds. Usually they were paired with another Guard, something about having a pair of eyes behind you, Mrs. Altringer had said.

The morning was cool, the dew on the blades of grass from the mist that was fading in the slices of sun rays that cast from between the trees that surrounded the estate. Elody made a mental note to inform Mr. Altringer about the height before it got too out of control. He liked it being at a certain height, and they knew that this was becoming a bit too long.

Their ears twitched as they looked around, a small cloud of wariness settling over them at the feeling of absence behind them. Markus was sick this morning, Miranda and Orion were patrolling the other side of the estate, and August…

They pushed aside the sickly feeling pooling into their stomach at the thought of the fellow Guard. He had made the mistake of becoming distracted a few weeks ago when the Altringers were out; poor little Anastacia had nearly become lost in the large market they had attended. The last time they had seen him was the night they had come back; the whites of his eyes visible, canine ears pinned against his head, muzzle all too-tight around his face and brows pinched in pain. He had been dragged to the back, Mr. Altringer’s booming voice nearly snarled as he berated him.

Elody took a deep breath, feeling the collar around their neck tighten as they did. The familiar feeling brought them back to reality, brushing away the memories. Of course he’d be fine, training was necessary with the ownership of pets. Still, they had remembered their days down in the basement, begging cries going unheard, the gnawing ache in their stomach, the itchy feeling of drying blood against aching wounds struggling to scab over. They clench and unclenched their hands, focusing on the thudding of their hooves beneath them, tilting their ears this way and that to analyze the surroundings. Not the time to get lost in thought, not now.

Instead, they focused on their schedule, reminding themself of the rules given to them by Mrs. Altringer.

9:00 AM: Patrol the Front of the Estate.

They will follow every command anyone of the Altringer family gives them. Without questioning.

10:00 AM: Take post at the front gates to the estate.

Speak when spoken to. Dogs do not have voices.

12:00 PM: Return home for lunch.

Keep a strict workout regimen, Mr. Altringer has provided you and the others with what will be acceptable.

12:30 PM: Take post at the back gates of the estate.

Muzzles will be used at our discretion, it will be our choice if we feel the need to —

Though the reminders are calming, familiar, they accidentally distract. Elody comes-to when their body instinctually jolts at the sound of a branch snapping as if a gunshot had gone off. Their eyes snap to the foliage close to the house, grand bushes blooming with flowers that smelled so strongly they weren’t sure if the noise was a stray animal or a threat.

Ears pinning back, they went on the defensive, stomping towards the noise. The noises alerting to others unseen, nonexistent. They feel the need to lower their head, shake around the small antlers resting in front of their ears towards an unknown threat. They don’t, of course, but the feeling, the instinct, the need, is still there like something heavy hanging in their chest.

Suddenly, another snap, this time to the right. Their eyes hone in on where it comes from, closer to Mrs. Altringer’s garden. The lady of the house hates having it messed with, and that sends a spike of fear through them like a dagger. They grit their teeth behind thin lips as they approach, heart hammering in their chest. It feels strange, wrong, to be the one sneaking up on a threat. They feel the need to turn tail and hide, to run away from whatever this was, unseen, unknown. All of it screamed of danger, danger — run run run run and hide and flee and protect and snap and bite —

They dig their hand into the bushes covered in sickly-sweet smelling, soft pink flowers and yank back something screeching and kicking and yelling. They let loose a growl that comes from their throat, unfamiliar and unnatural feeling to use.

Their vision is tunneling as they throw the figure to the side, nose and eyebrows pinched and teeth shown in an attempt to seem threatening as they stomp a hoof once more. They can feel their tail displaying the striking white against black to warn, for a nonexistent group to run and hide and find safety.

“Dude, what the fuck?!”

Elody blinks and their eyes clear as their heart drops.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

Laying on the ground is the eldest son of the Altringers, Elias, holding his arm and face wrenched in a pained, shocked scowl. Dirt is smeared on his freckled face, jet black hair that usually is clean and shining covered in leaves and petals. The penned up suit he usually wears is discarded for a hoodie and sweatpants, now littered with a few tears.

But what makes them freeze is the cut on his cheek, a thin crimson line dripping down to his chin.

“Oh — Oh goodness, I didn’t —”

“Shut up.” The order is followed by their jaw snapping shut with an audible click, a barely-hidden wince as they bite down on their tongue.

“Do you know what you just did?!” His voice is raised now, and he should quiet down, Mrs. Altringer needs her rest and Anastacia wakes in an hour and God only knows how long they’ve been out; they need to get to the front gates, that’s at 10, and they need to go because that’s rule 6, to be on time, and they follow rules: rule 1, rule 2, rule 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7 days are in a week and 4 weeks in a month and 5 months until —

Elody nearly falls to the ground as they’re manhandled, pin striking down their skull as Elias grips one of their antlers harshly, pulling on the outermost tine. Even if he’s told them to shut up, they’re begging, blabbering like some child about to be punished, chest rising and falling in heaves as they stumble over tile. Their hooves aren’t made for such surfaces, they’re meant outside, they’re meant to be guarding, it’s their purpose, please, please!

“P - Please, I didn’t mean i - it! I thought y — an outsider! I thought you were an intruder — please, please, sir! Please, it was an accident, please!”

Their pleads go unheard, and soon it’s back to the darkness, the cold, the aching.

And what irony was it that their company was one and the same with them.

Rulebreakers.

[whumperhive]

BBU Community Days - Questions & Polls

Okay but how exactly does the legalities work, do you know how much PAPERWORK it'd take to legally sign away your individuality? How much it'd take to basically wipe you off the face of the earth? How does WRU (or other companies) go about that? What do you guys think?

@bbu-on-the-side

[whumperhive]

Adrien and Sawdust part 25

masterlist

cw: pet whump, male whumpee, torture (sleep deprivation), animal death

--

Sawdust ate as much as he could handle, knowing that tonight would be the night he’d prove to Ma’am and Master Adrien that he could survive out in the wild. He could be like a real dog, self sustaining and capable. Though, Sawdust never pictured himself as capable or anything of the sort. No, when he looked at himself in the mirror, he saw something to be used and thrown away. He didn’t know why Master Adrien still kept him, or why Ma’am wants to keep him now.

Nonetheless, he would persist. He ate and then waited until everyone was asleep. It was killing him inside to not talk to Master Adrien about his grand plan. It felt like a betrayal to not tell him. Yet this was something that Sawdust had to do on his own. Once he could prove to Master Adrien that he was a good dog, then maybe he would be less stressed.

Sawdust was curled up in Ma’am’s room, pretending to be asleep in his dog bed while he thought of his plan. He could sneak out of the front door, maybe, but he could remember Ma’am needing a key to unlock it from the inside. She must be really protective of her house if she needs the door to lock from the inside and the outside! He would need to get that key if he wanted to leave that way. He had no clue where the key was. 

Maybe he could try the windows? He waited until he heard Ma’am snoring softly before he crept out of the room. He made it to the kitchen and looked around for windows, but his attention was caught by a sound. It sounded like a cough coming from Master Adrien’s room. Sawdust couldn’t ignore his curiosity, he crept over to the door and kneeled on his knees and paws, looking through the keyhole.

Sawdust… didn’t understand what he was looking at.

Master Adrien was laying down on a bed of some kind. It was hardly a bed, more like a table, and it looked like he might be strapped down to it, but Sawdust couldn’t tell. His head extended off the top edge of the table, with the rest of his body on the table. On a stool under Master Adrien’s head was a wide bucket. It sat with its top rim not even an inch away from the tip of Master Adrien’s nose.

Sawdust sat there just long enough to see Master Adrien nod off, falling asleep just for a moment and letting his neck relax just for his face to fall into the bucket. Sawdust heard a splash, then Master Adrien pulled his face out and sputtered, his hair and face dripping. Whatever was happening there made Sawdust even more resolute in his actions, he had to prove to Ma’am and Master Adrien so that the tensions in the house could ease.

Sawdust checked every window in the kitchen and living room until he found one that was unlocked. He pushed it open, then climbed through and closed the window once again.

The outside air was chilly, but not biting. It didn’t sting his skin or his eyes. He tried his best to stay on his two paws, rather than four. It would be quicker to move on two paws, and he did not want to hurt his front paws on the long, rough, gravel road that led to and from Ma’am’s home. 

He wobbled as he walked towards the sparse woods that laid down the road a bit. If he could go there, maybe get some kind of proof or item to bring back with him, spend the night, and then get back to his owner, maybe that would be enough to convince them that he could take care of himself. Then maybe Ma’am would focus more on making Master Adrien happy. He deserved it far more than Sawdust did, after all.

The night was far from silent. Owls hooted, small creatures rummaged through the grass and bushes, and yet Sawdust was so far from the rest of town that he could not hear any cars. The same could be said for Master Adrien’s house and the woods that surrounded it. That was not the case for his old master’s home, however.

His old master’s home wasn’t in a busy city, but it was at the end of a dirt driveway just off of a big road with lots of loud cars. Sometimes the other dogs would get upset by the cars, or riled up by the sirens of emergency vehicles. Sometimes Sawdust would peek towards the road just to see another animal, some kind of not-dog, bloated and left on the road. Compared to the loud sounds of the road near his old master’s house, Sawdust far preferred the woods.

The dog stood at the edge of the forest, right where the gravel changes to dirt and sand. Pine needles lay scattered at his paws. The start of the forest was not dense, yet it was still imposingly dark. Sawdust trembled just a bit as he took his first step into it. He tried to breathe, to imagine that this was outside of Master Adrien’s home, that the warm yellow light of the windows was just behind him, waiting.

Sawdust hoped that this forest was truly as empty as he thought. He prayed that there would be nobody else here, that he could find somewhere dry to curl up and take a little nap. It was late, and he was tired.

Each step felt heavy. The tiredness coupled with the fear made it difficult for Sawdust to continue moving, no matter how much he envisioned the space as being familiar. He tried to focus on putting one paw in front of the other, and keeping his eyes peeled as best he could in the darkness. 

He walked a little further before he found a spot that looked suitable. A little hollow space, an area that was cleared between and under some bushes. It was just big enough for him to curl up in, and it was dry and the bushes could keep him relatively warm until morning. 

Sawdust adjusted his headband and his tail, curling his gangly limbs to the best of his ability so he could fit. He laid his head on top of his arms and closed his eyes. 

He drifted in and out of sleep for a while, he couldn’t tell how long. The sounds of the wildlife around him started to lull him to sleep. The trees rustled with the wind, small animals crept to their homes to sleep, and Sawdust was prepared to spend the night outside.

But something was strange. He moved in his sleep, skin crawling. He heard something. Footsteps?

Sawdust opened his eyes and squinted into the darkness, trying to discern what was in front of him. It wasn’t human footsteps, Sawdust counted four. It sounded big. He sat up and propped himself up on his paws, still trying to see.

It was only when the moonlight passed through the trees just perfectly was he alerted to what was truly in front of him. Sawdust shot up out of the bushes, standing up just outside of them as he stared down the creature that woke him up. A mountain lion crept closer to him, its ears pinned back as it let out a rumbling sound from its chest.

Sawdust turned and ran. He had to, he couldn’t fight that thing, but he wasn’t nearly fast enough to outrun it. He whimpered, hearing it thunder after him. It wouldn’t be long before he was caught, but he didn’t stop running. Sawdust could not stop running if he ever wanted to see Master Adrien again. Trees flew past him, his paws slipping on the leaves that covered the forest floor. 

His clumsy paws fell out from under him and he tumbled forwards, slamming down into the ground, at the mercy of the animal.

It jumped at him, thick claws digging and dragging down his lower leg. Sawdust screamed, trying to move back away from it. He could never escape it. He was a stupid dog, and he was even more stupid for ever thinking that he could rely on himself. And now he was going to die.

The animal did not waste time staring him down, it did not loom over him. It pulled back, got its massive paws underneath it, and leapt forward. Sawdust squeezed his eyes shut, body tense, only to be met with a loud bang ripping through the forest.

The animal dropped, heavy on Sawdust’s body. He began to cry.

His own blood flowed out freely, soaking his sweatpants and then pooling on the ground. The creature… Sawdust couldn’t bare to look at it. In the brief glance he had seen, there was a small red hole, just above its right brow, and a splattered red mess in the left-back of its head. Sawdust sobbed, he didn’t want to cover his face for fear of smearing blood all over himself. He moved out from underneath the dead animal, only to be greeted with more footsteps. Not animal ones, but those of a human. A man’s voice spoke up.“Now, I expect a you’re welcome, but let’s get you back to my camp.”

--

taglist :@starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @neuro-whump @whump-me-all-night-long @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone @whumpcreations @dancinglifeboat @pinkraindropsfell @looptheloup @cowboy-anon @meetmeinhellcroutons @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine @it-will-all-whump-out @theydy-cringeworthy @kim-poce @bluetheautisticrat @whump-in-progress @wh-wh-whu @mylifeisonthebookshelf @grizzlie70 @wolfeyedwitch @nicolepascaline @melancholy-in-the-morning @jumbledbyrd @batfacedliar-yetagain @no-terms-and-conditions-apply @scp-1269 @whumpdreamz @bees-among-the-okami @taterswhump

[whumperhive]

He got out! and then immediate ran into someone that doesn't look to mean him well....

Run away (Silas) Little Hunter

Uhhh... content; Silas gets drunk. Also, some sexual harassment. I think that's all?

Masterlist

Silas stumbled away from his sire's home, not bothering to glance back as he walked. His legs were shaking from lack of blood, and he could smell the drunks who've wandered too far from town.

It's been 2 years since Silas has been free to do as he wishes and he's currently starving. He sees a fallen log up ahead and tries to run towards it.

"Ow!" he yelps as he kicks an exposed root and falls on his front. He looks down at his left arm, it pulsed and bent a little funny at the wrist. "Crap…" he mutters. Silas crawls forward, trying to get to the log he hoped would be a nice spot to sit or lay down for a minute.

"Oi…" a voice from the right calls, "What's a p… perdy thin' like you doin' all the way out here limpin' 'n' shit…?"

The strange man reeked of alcohol. "I'm trying to get to town…" Silas quietly replies, his voice high in pitch from fear.

"Heh…" The drunk man picks Silas up, "I coul' take ye' home, girl… show ye' a good time…?"

Silas hardly heard what the man said, his fangs itching for some blood. Any blood to fill his starving body. He couldn't handle alcohol like this, but what choice did he have? "Uhh… why don't we sit on that log over there? Surely that could be fun…" Silas lifts his voice higher, more feminine.

"I like the way ye' think…" the drunk drops Silas on the log, and then climbs on top of him.

Silas' bloodlust finally catches up to him and he rolls over, pinning the man to the ground with his good arm and sitting on his chest. Lifting the man's bony wrist to his mouth.

The man goes to make another gross comment when Silas rips away the skin on his wrist, wrapping his lips around the wound and swallowing deeply as more and more blood rushed into his mouth.

The scream of the man was loud, but it didn't last long. With the man's dying breath, he said, "Ye'r a bi'ch…" though no one heard him. Or they mustn't have cared if they did.

Silas continued drinking until he couldn't get any more out of the arm. He licked up every drop that had oozed down his clothes and to the blood-soaked dirt. He almost shoved the soil in his mouth when he remembered he just had to change the human's elevation. Blood is affected by gravity after all.

Silas' head buzzed strangely and he tried to hoist the corpse, but he ended up stumbling to the ground again, just this time with a dead man on his shoulders. Silas rolled to the side and the body fell back to the ground and with a small smile on his face he spoke, "Oops… how did I forget…? Men often don't have long hair… and I'm so skinny… well, thanks for the meal, creep…" He admires his wrist, no longer damaged and crooked. He runs his hands over his feminine curves, laughing to himself and wondering if he could lure more icky men to their deaths.

Silas wipes his face and looks down at his clothes. Good thing it's dark. Those blood stains would scare anyone off. Ugh, he hasn't felt this warm in a long time. It would be nice if he was in more than a tattered shirt and shorts.

Silas continued stumbling towards town, no longer starved and weak, instead buzzing from that idiot's blood. Silas never drank alcohol back when he was human, so the new feeling was off-putting. The world seemed to sway in a wind that wasn't really there.

Silas blinked a few times and saw the town. And a man was looking at him. This man looked nice, and he smelt sober, thank fuck.

"Uh, are you okay there? Gotta little something on your…" the handsome man pointed to Silas' shirt.

"Ahh… just-! Ugh…" Silas stumbles and leans against a tree. "I'm- wow, you're pretty…" Silas' eyes droop slightly, "Hey… wanna go for a walk with me?" Silas stumbled forward.

The man chuckles. "Are you drunk, doll? Do you need some help?" He walked over to Silas and hooked an arm around him. "Come on, tell me where you gotta go."

"Uhh…" Silas points to the woods. "Somewh- somewhere that way…"

The man starts helping Silas back into the woods.

"Gosh, you smell like blood and alcohol, are you a killer?" the stranger jokes after a few minutes.

Silas tears up and slumps to the ground, "I- I didn't mean ta' kill 'im…"

"Wait, what?"

"I was so hungry… 'n'… he-!" Silas reached loudly, "He didn' feel it-! I promise…"

Silas' body heaved and shook as the blood in his stomach spilled over the soil.

The small laugh came from the man, "Oh, I had a feeling you were a vampire…" The sound of metal reaches Silas' ears. "First time hunting?" he asked, hooking the knife to Silas' neck.

"Mmhm…" Silas leans back against the stranger. "I'm so hungry… I…" sobs echoed through the trees. "K-kill me if you gotta… I understand…"

The hunter let him go. Silas crawled towards a tree then stopped, facing the hunter and kneeling. "I was so hungry… sir, please… I- I won't kill you! I mean, you could just kill me first if I got close to it…"

"How long have you been turned?"

"Huh? Uh…" Silas blinked, tears hit the ground, "I… 2 years I think? My sire didn't tell me much on how much time passed…"

"And your sire… did they starve you?" the hunter nudged Silas' ribs.

"Mmhm… he-… he said I was prettier like this…" Silas' wobbled slightly, landing sideways in the dirt and trying to keep his eyes open.

"How about this… I feed you a little blood." Silas looked up at him instantly, "If… you beg."

"I can beg. I know how to beg… uh, do you want me crying? I can be pathetic! Or… or more desperate? Anything, just please… please I'll do an'thing for some blood, sir…" the words stumbled out of Silas' mouth, a few blending together.

The hunter smirks at him. And so the game begins.

Taglist; @whumpsoda @softvampirewhump

Yay! Silas got out!

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BBU Community Days - Introduction

Hey, hey, hello! Call me Bee, this is my first introduction; and I'm a bit late to these Days, unfortunately! But I'm here now!

I use they/them! I am 19, and generally just scampering around reading all of y'alls stuff before stuffing it in my mouth and scampering away like a lil' chipmunk!!!

I enjoy BBU for the worldbuilding, the loss and recovery of what makes a person them, the effects of trauma in general, and more! I also enjoy exploring non-human characters, in any role, and their views or how others view them in a BBU setting! And like I said earlier, I also enjoy reading such things as well, along with pet whump in general!

My one and only series is Amaranthine Apricity, a "Choose Your Own Adventure" series inspired by such similar series like "Stray" by @sowhumpshaped! You can find the Masterlist Here! My posting on here and on Double A may be sporadic, so I apologize! This blog is a hobby blog, and my motivation comes and goes!

I hope you all enjoy my writing here as just a little creature behind a laptop!

@bbu-on-the-side

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Amaranthine Apricity - Masterlist

A "Choose Your Own Adventure" style series with polls with main character being of a BBU-esque Universe mixed with Lab Whump and Non-humans. The main character is a whumpee under the identification of "RD20393".

1 - Awareness 2 - Feeling 3 - Recollection 4 - Wariness

PT51734 / Elody: BBUCD 3 - Rules

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Amaranthine Apricity

Does a little dance as my motivation comes and goes, but we have a next part!

Page 4

Contents: Lab whump, pet whump, whumpee pov, female whumper (nothing direct, though whumpee fears whumper).

What do you feel towards them?

Fearful. You know whenever this person arrives, pain is soon to come. You force the instinctive urge to scramble away like some animal — like a bad pet — from this person. You recognize her not from her face, but from her face, the way she carries herself, and worst of all: her hands. Rough and calloused and nails always kept long enough to dig into your skin and create crescent indents red and angry.

“Up, RD20393.” She calls, and though your mind, your instincts scream against it, you follow her command. Cold tile meets your feet as you do, a minute shiver wracking your muscles and up your spine. The short pause is enough for her to determine you aren’t quick enough for her, and she grabs your wrist. You wince under the tight grip, scrambling to purchase yourself as you’re yanked out of your room. Suddenly her grip releases, and you land harshly on your side, pain striking up your arm as you land.

“Get up.” Her voice is sharp, filled with venom as she orders. The faintest feeling of fear constricts your throat as you acquiesce, bearing yourself against the wall. Fortunately, thankfully, she allows you the time to get your balance and your breath that was previously snatched from you when your elbow stabbed into your ribs at the fall. Once you were upright and stable, she motioned with her hand in a silent command to follow; and you did.

The walk is relatively silent, only interrupted by the sounds of your fellow trainees in the Ward. Chirping, churring, chuffing, and other noises done idly or curiously as you walked behind the Handler. You feel eyes on you, but you ignore them for the most part. You still feel them burning, boring into you, but you avoid meeting the gazes of the others; instead you look at the opposite side of the hall.

Your reflection, something you haven’t seen in… who knows how long, stares back at you. And while you still walk, your brain takes pause.

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Amaranthine Apricity

Woooaahhhhh another post after how long??!!? This is what happens to my motivation sometimes I just. up and die. WHOOPS! anyways here's your 3rd installment of Double A!!

Page 3

Contents: Lab whump, Pet whump, Whumpee POV.

What do you taste?

Something sour, something funky that you want out of your mouth post-haste. You shiver at the taste, yes, you remember now. Or at least a little. Your memory doesn't reveal all of it, but you do remember something triggered you. You remember... fighting, screaming and lashing out. You think you bit one of the staff at one point. Eventually they had to shove some sort of liquid into your mouth, and everything... goes blank. Whatever you're tasting must be what it was.

The longer you focus on yourself the more your face feels... compressed, almost? You open your eyes again, going cross-eyed to stare at the thing on your face. One of your hands go up to tug at it, and your head moves with it. The bubbling panic in your chest dies down a little. Right, if you had bitten someone, it would make sense that they would have put a muzzle on you.

You sigh, sitting back against the cold wall, crossing your legs and staring across the room at... well, nothing. You might as well be patient, since it looks like they took away all your enrichment items — you hated calling them toys. It made you feel like a child. No puzzles, no colored cube, not even some paper to create little figures from. They really wanted to bore you out of your mind.

You tear your thoughts away from your longing when you hear the familiar sound of clicking. The sound of shining shoes hitting against the tiled floor. You look up to the person who stops by your room, looking between the bars to their nametag — not their face; never their face. It was disrespectful, that much you knew.

As you look, you can feel their eyes boring into you, and it makes you dig your claws into the thin sheets, your ears burning with... embarrassment? Fear? You're not sure.

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The Five Stages of Grief

Denial - "This can't be happening" // "I'm going to wake up any minute...it's only a nightmare..." // "None of this real, it can't be!" // "There's been a mistake!" // "They...they wouldn't leave me like this, they'll come rescue me, they will!"

Anger - "You can't do this to me!" // "Fuck you, you fucking psychopath!" // "I don't have to listen to you!" // "You're a goddamn coward!" // "Let me out of here so I can break your neck!" // "You'll be sorry when they come find me, creep!"

Bargaining - "Please, no, anything but that!" // "N-not the cattle prod, please, I'll do whatever you want!" // "No, don't hurt them! Hurt me instead, I can take it!" // "I'll let you touch me however you want just please don't use that!" // "I'll tell you whatever you want if you just let me go!"

Depression - "Do whatever you want, what's the point?" // "I don't think I have anything left to scream for you" // "Just kill me and get it over with" // "Just...just leave me alone..." // "Why are they taking so long to find me? Don't they care? Don't they love me?"

Acceptance - "I knew I deserved this..." // "I'll be good, I promise" // "I love you, too" // "They were never looking for me, were they?" // "Yes, sir/ma'am" // "What do you mean 'leave'? I can't leave, that's against the rules"

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