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roccinan · 2 years

Note

“Blood? Oh, it’s not mine.” or “I’m good, I promise.” 👀👀

I decided to do both ;)

Injury and Illness Denial Prompts

Sergio lay awake, listening to the walls rattle and the drunken rambles of whoever stayed in the next room over. He flipped on his side, pyjamas stiff, the blanket too scratchy above his head. There was a musty smell to the bed he didn’t like, and a heater that he doubted could work. But he supposed it didn’t matter in the summer weather. And Andrés told him that they wouldn’t stay here for long.

It was better, he admitted, than the stuffy cab they’d sheltered in for the past two days, most of it spent playing the radio while Andrés rolled the windows down. Then the car broke down, and here they were. Andrés told him not to be too concerned because the taxi was never theirs anyway.

“Get cleaned up,” his brother had said, pulling Sergio’s suitcase out of the trunk, “have a nice long nap and we’ll be in sweet Paris soon enough.”

Andrés claimed to know a woman in Paris. Then the destination had changed to Brussels, and then bizarrely enough, St. Petersburg. Sergio was quite certain Andrés had no idea where they were going or how they were going to get there. And always, it was with the promise of lavish dinners and golden lights. (They shared a bowl of leftover gazpacho that night, under the shine of flickering neon from the tacky storefront across the street because the electricity had shot out in the little motel.)

Still, it was better than the hospital. His lungs worked and he wasn’t so weak he couldn’t take care of himself. Sergio curled his legs in, tighter into a ball. It was a trick Papa taught him, meant to calm his nerves. The night was dragging on, his stomach was since empty, and Andrés still had not returned.

His mind was already jumping places- go to the front desk, tell them your brother disappeared, your parents are dead, you have nowhere to go- and he hated himself immediately. Andrés was coming back. And he was going to take Sergio with him to Paris, or wherever else, once he had the means.

The door unlocked. Alert, Sergio lifted his head, the rest of his frame following as a figure stepped in. Andrés, heaving for breath, and smearing something along the inside of his jacket, a piece of brown leather that once belonged to a friend Sergio never knew.

“Andrés?”

But Andrés didn’t answer. He shuffled to the bathroom instead, steadying himself along the way, as if oblivious to Sergio’s presence.

Sergio pushed the blanket aside. He replaced his glasses, and swiftly, grabbed the box of matches Andrés left behind. He lit the candle (a cheap birthday decoration the front desk had given them when Andrés complained about the lights), and held it out.

There was something on the wall. He approached, swallowing as it made itself clear: blood, spread out in the shape of a hand. Smearing into the bathroom.

“Andrés,” he said again, meeker than he wanted, “are you okay?”

He backed up, startled by his brother appearing then. Andrés was in front of the candle, his lips pale, sweat clinging to the top of his brow, the collar of his shirt thoroughly ruffled. A faint bruise at the end of his eye. He smiled, sharp enough to make Sergio shudder.

“You missed me, hermanito?”

Sergio’s eyes wandered to Andrés’ waist, one of his hands still hidden under the jacket. “You were gone for a while, I thought-”

“You’re a big boy. You can sleep without me for one night.”

“That’s not-”

A sweaty palm ruffled his hair, Andrés chuckling like a tumbleweed. “I came back, didn’t I? As if I’d let my little professor spend the night alone.”

Andrés removed his hand, and again ignoring Sergio, moved to the chair in the corner. He fell into it with uncharacteristic clumsiness, and drew the jacket tighter around his sides. Sergio stayed standing, looking between Andrés and the bathroom. And the blood on the wall.

“Andrés, you’re bleeding.”

Without sparing him a glance, Andrés pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket. Wrinkled, crumbly, and stained with cherry red. “Hm?”

“There’s blood on you.”

“Blood?” Andrés blinked, as if now noticing the stains around him. “Oh, it’s not mine.”

Sergio did not find that any more comforting. He walked up to him, sticking a hand over Andrés’ forehead. “You’re sick.”

“I’m fine.” Andrés swatted him away. “Go back to bed, hermanito- we’re going to Barcelona tomorrow.”

It was supposed to be Paris.

Sergio wanted to say no. He wanted to drag Andrés over to bed and ask him where he was hurt. He wanted to tell Andrés, “you always do this.” He wanted to yell at him, stomp his feet, and say he never asked for any of this. But as always, Sergio nodded and climbed back into bed.

He shut his eyes but he didn’t sleep. Until he did.

In the morning, Sergio glimpsed a sewing needle in the trash, smelling of iron and wrapped in toilet paper stained with dried blood. The end of a thread still clung to it, the strand still fresh with red.

---BONUS---

“I’m good, I promise.”

Martín was still saying something on the other end, but Andrés chose then to end the call. He pocketed the phone, a flip burner that would soon be out of battery anyway. Maybe the divorce had gotten to his mind, or perhaps it was one cocktail too many, but- as the rest of his companions insinuated- he had hardly been in his right mind. The robbery had ended in disaster, their muscle arrested, and a fingerprint left at the scene.

He’d flown too high, like Icarus upon the sun. And now he was trudging through backlit streets, clutching broken ribs in place and trying to ignore the bullet in his arm. The worst part was the mud on his shoes, designer leather that he would never clean out at this rate. He supposed the second worst part was Martín lecturing him in a tone irritatingly similar to Sergio’s on his most pedantic days, the two of them for once not on the exact same wave of thought.

“You could have gotten all of us killed, or thrown behind bars. We talked about this, Andrés- I mapped out everything for you-”

“But I didn’t get anyone killed, did I? If you’ll recall, I was the only casualty.”

“La concha de tu madre! You could have gotten yourself killed and where would that leave the rest of us? What the fuck, Andrés-”

“And here I thought you thrived on spontaneity. Or was that just an act?”

“You know what was an act? Whatever the fuck you were doing today-”

And so on. Until Martín’s rant circled back to the state of his battered body and whether or not he could make it back to the safehouse on his own. I’m good, I promise. It was true enough. It wasn’t a lie. He could walk. He could breathe. Perfectly cognizant of his surroundings. (And he’d been humiliated enough in one day as it was; he was not going to let Martín pull him over like some kind of injured dog on the road. Andrés was more than happy to rescue, he was not going to be rescued.)

He was about to turn out of the alley when a grip closed around his torn arm, the pressure producing a cry in spite of himself. It pulled him back into the dark, and then his back slammed into bricks, head cracking against the wall in a flurry of red.

“Hijo de puta,” a heated voice huffed, “don’t go to sleep-”

An arm pushed over his chest, pressuring the broken ribcage with such malice his breath cut short.

“You left me to die,” the voice hissed, “piece of shit-”

Andrés managed to spit a chuckle into the bastard’s face. “You knew what you were getting into, my dear friend. Nothing stipulated that we had to babysit you.”

The pressure grew, practically pushing his ribs into the wall behind.

“-So you only have yourself to blame,” Andrés wheezed.

His companion evidently took offense to the answer, because he was met with a punch to the nose, cartilage splitting under an angry knuckle. The next blow met his cheekbone before cracking over his mouth. He tasted mouthfuls of blood, head absently spinning side to side as the punches continued.

The bastard’s other hand kept him from slumping forward, kept pinned to the wall. Andrés stared at the blood on his collar, quite aware of the rouge still trailing from his nose and coloring his jaw. His vision blurred again when another fist struck him in the gut.

This time, he did slump, unceremoniously buckling into his associate’s arms. And judging from the fingers digging into the bullet wound, the son of a bitch had no desire to let him go any time soon. He hit the wall again, bricks scraping his face as the bastard folded his arms behind his back, a burning grip on the injury. Hot blood leaked out.

“By the time I’m done, you’ll wish you were dead,” was the ensuing threat, followed by elbows digging to his shoulders, shoving him flat.

He stifled a moan, shattered ribs grinding under the weight of it all. And still, he heard himself grit out, “I look forward to it.”

He very much did not.

(Andrés was somewhat sure he was more broken bones than man by the time the inconvenience had passed. Uncertain which parts of him still worked and which were now shreds. Each breath shot a needle into his lungs. The less said about the blood soaking his limbs, the better. Crawling, let alone walking, was currently too daunting a task, and he’d forgotten the taste of anything except iron. But when Martín called again, he still picked up- on twisted fingers- and said, “I’m good, I promise.”)

#a. for apple #applpapel #thanks for the prompts and hope you enjoyed these!#with you there's no question of who the whumpee for these needed to be LOL #drabble #injury denial prompts

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extemporary-whump · 2 years

Text

Archive

just a big list of whump stuff I've read/am reading. Just to keep track cause my memory is almost non-existent (also kind of a whump rec list? idk)

Title (with link to the masterlist) - @creator

synopsis of the ones that have it on the masterlist / tags for the ones that don't have one

Lunar is @wolfeyedwitch , sideblog (sorry if its not the best nickname) is @sideblogformindtrash , not gonna tag u on the list cause its a lot & i don't want to flood y’all

Also gonna go ahead and skip @kim-poce cause ive read 90% of your stuff and that's way too much to add

Pet whump (institutionalized)

Lydia and Coriander - @maracujatangerine

Set in the Box Boy Universe, a broken man arrives on Lydia Winterthorpe’s doorstep. Will she and her friends be able to help Coriander regain his sense of self? Pet whump with a strong focus on recovery.

Apple the Whumpee - @cowboy-anon

Multiple whumpees, neglect, pet whump, Stockholm Syndrome

Orfeu & Haru - sideblog

no-con (mostly insinuated), dehumanization, conditioning, slave/pet whump, institutional abuse, mouth whump, some instances of minor whump.

Blue’s Life - sideblog

Blue messed with the wrong people and ended up as a pet. His owner produces snuff films with the pets he purchases for a living. His life is largely on the hands of an invisible audience that enjoys his suffering. And yet, all he can do is try his best to please them.

Sunflower - sideblog

Sunflower is a pet whumpee who belonged to a influencer named Abby, who was friend’s with Blue’s owner, IF.

BB & Pastel - sideblog

Drabbles about Pastel, the pet that replaced Blue as IF’s video pet, and BB, a poor pet that just wants to be like their idol - Blue! And their unlikely Caretaker the ex-Whumper Farlan

Sweet Pea - sideblog

Farlan’s father new pet. A dancer :)

Star and Stunt - @unicornscotty & sideblog

This is the story of twin brothers who get purchased by a film director. Our star Castor gets to be the main Pet actor in all of his movies, while his brother, Stunt, gets to be his double and do all the dangerous scenes of film making.

Pet whump (not institutionalized)

Linden and Colton - @whumpzone (happens on a bbu but the whumpee is not a bb)

(mute whumpee, references to past noncon, ongoing, light on plot, approx. 25k)

O2 - @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

Len likes little lap pets. The soft ones that don’t struggle or squirm or move. Or Can’t, in little o2’s case. With constrictive collars and corsets and straps, every second of o2’s existence is spent struggling for air.

Pumpkin - sideblog

Pet whump; enviormental whump; cruel whumper; implied death

Pin the Pincushion - @milk-carton-whump & sideblog

Gonna go ahead and warn for Needle TWs, low self esteem, and pet whump

Heroes & Villains

With Bloody Outstretched Hands - Lunar

An injured villain makes their way to the heroes’ headquarters to beg for protection. No matter what the cost.

And Still - Lunar

Sidekick has been betrayed and left tied up for Villain to find. But when she does, she’s not what Sidekick expected. Who is truly in the right in this situation?

Secrets and identities - @livingforthewhump

An injured villain is taken in by Civilian, who has their own wounds to hide

(im sure i`ve read more of your stuff but i changed my username and im too lazy to check everything rn)

@hurting-fictional-people ‘s writing masterlist

(same as before, im sure i’ve read a lot of your stuff but im too lazy to check what)

Royal/fantasy whump

No Prisoners - Lunar

Leta’s community hates magic, so when they found out she was a mage, she knew that she wouldn’t last long. Locked away in a cell, far from the life she knew, she thought she had made peace with her inevitable fate. That was, until the prison was broken into.

Laz & Säel - sideblog

Fantasy classism; burns; dog bites; death themes; death discussion; death mention; domestic labor; multiple whumpers

Vampires

The Heart and the Hunger - Lunar

The bounty hunter didn’t mean to find an injured vampire, but sometimes jobs don’t go according to plan. And they can’t just leave it; that would be reckless, and put the whole town in danger. So they take it home.

Kane & Jim - @whumpsday

Jim had lived as the prisoner of a cruel vampire for years, forced to provide blood for his insatiable appetite, before finally escaping. A decade has passed since then, when he hears word of a vampire in the custody of a group of hunters matching the description of his former captor, Kane. Wanting closure, he negotiates to have custody of Kane transferred to himself. But when he finally lays eyes on the vampire, it’s like he’s a complete stranger: A sobbing mess begging for mercy, not the arrogant man he once knew.

Android/robots

An odd little thing - @mortifiedatbeingknown

To him, a cruel, horrid monster has plucked him up and stolen him away from his masters to scrap his parts. To her, a useless, half-damaged robot she’d scavenged from the trash sits on a shelf in her workshop, in desperate need of repair. Both need each other to heal. But will they be able to find that comfort in each other?

Others

Weapons Don’t Weep - Lunar

In a dystopian society controlled by an authoritarian government, a rebel group intercepts a convoy carrying The Weapon: an unknown device capable of destroying entire cities. When they investigate, they find not a machine, but a person: a living weapon.

#mis cosillas raras #whump #whump recs #masterlist #stole kim's masterlist layout for this #praying for the links to work #also sorry for tagging yall #also 2.0 im planning on adding colored tags for each story. so its easier to spot stuff like minor whump and such

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whumpshaped · 2 years

Note

hiii could you do a drabble of a whumpee taking food that there not suppose to have?

trigger warnings: starvation, fucky thoughts around food, humiliation, dehumanization, captivity, conditioning, guilt and shame around eating

Bite.

Breath held in, slowly, slowly chew.

Listen.

Swallow.

Bite again.

It's too loud.

They're on the other side of the house, they can't hear it.

Exhale, slowly.

Listen.

Swallow.

Whumpee can barely force the food down, their stomach tied up in knots and their throat impossibly tight. But they worked so hard to create the perfect opportunity where they could steal that single, tiny apple that seemed all but forgotten by their master.

Bite.

Juice explodes in their mouth, covering their tongue and rotting their teeth with acid. It's the best apple they've ever tasted.

It's too good. They can't keep being cautious and slow when it's so good.

Bite.

Bite again.

Chew.

Swallow.

Bite.

Bite again.

"You eat like a pig."

Master's voice makes them snap out of their hypnotized state, and they drop the remains of the fruit, startled and ashamed. "Master, I-"

"This is the exact reason why you're not allowed any food," they continue, unwavering, not at all interested in any excuse, and Whumpee feels like the food is about to burn through their stomach and fall out onto the kitchen floor for everyone to see. Disgusting. Dirty. Forbidden. "I hope you're proud of yourself. Your lack of self-control made me lose my appetite as well."

#the bad scribbles

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sideblogformindtrash · 3 years

Text

Blue’s Life Masterlist

amazing moodboard by @newbornwhumperfly

General CW: NSFW, No-con, Medical, lost limbs, fingore, mouth whump; pet whump; ableism, heavy dehumanization, conditioning; ‘it’ as a pronoun, unreliable narrator; various instances of messing with comfort object;

Individual content warnings on each drabble. It’s darker than the rest of the things on this blog, so please take care people.

Also: I don’t write in chronological order nor is this really going anywhere but I’ll try to make this list somewhat chronological.

Cecil

...Tired

...Captured

Training

Ask: training;

Blue, With the first owner/Internet Fucker. That’s his name now.

Day ?? - Escape attempt

Day ?? - Punishment (extra warning with this one. It’s gory)

Day ??? - Corners

Day ????

Day ???? - First tooth

Day ???? - The Scars

Day ???? - BTHB: Disproportionate Retribution

Day ???? - Gift unboxing!

Day ???? - Basement Video

Day ???? - BTHB: Stress Position

Day ???? - Fine

Day ???? - Dresses

Day ???? - High heels

Day ???? - Bonnie getting punished

Day ???? - Bonnie getting punished part 2

Day ???? - Blue at the Zoo!

Day ???? - Q&A

Day ???? - Gameplay

Day ???? - Collab Video

Day ???? - Collab Video 2

Day ???? - SOW - Food Poisoning

Day ???? - Ranking Blue’s Scars

Day ???? - Apology Video

Day ???? - Failed Purchase

Blue, With the second owner/Warren.

Being sold

Day 1

Day 12

Day 32 - Hiding Bonnie

Day 40 - Sickness

Day 63- Getting Lost

Day 70 - Broken Camera

Day ?? - Hotel

Day ??? - Photos

Day ??? - Clarity

Day ??? - Bonnie/Plush hospital

Day ??? - Neglect

Day ??? - Mouthwash

Day ??? - Camera Shy

Day ??? - Drunk

Blue with Orfeu and Haru (This is canon now because my heart is week and I couldn’t handle not giving Blue love):

-Orfeu and Haru solo/introductions Masterlist-

(Greetings)

(Biting Orfeu for the Second Time)

(Haru’s POV)

(Haru getting a plush)

(Dentitst) (Dentist 2) (After)

(Sick)

(research)

(trying new food)

(Orfeu + videos)

(Orfeu with Internet Fucker)

(Blue’s old Coworkers Suck at this part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

(Haircut)

(Bonnie + Orfeu/Haru)

(Haru @ omg imma lose fingers)

(All his teeth fixed)

(Running away) (Running away 2) (Running away 3) (Running away 4) (Running away 5) (ending) (morning after)

(Future sneak peak)

(BTHB: Jaw Wired Shut)

(BTHB: Force-Feeding) ( Good shakes)

I WANT A BUILD A BEAR TOO

(Meetings)

Blue finding out about Orfeu’s work - continuation

Park

Reading

Just Orfeu doing sum random fuckery

Showing Blue Warren’s pic

How Orfeu fews about pics

Bonnie falling into a fire; Haru’s POV;

Home

Muzzle

FINE!

Blue and Haru at the Coffee Shop

Asks:

Questions -> (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

Commands and requests:

(Internet Fucker being Kind to Blue)

(Blue punishing itself)

(Resisting being touched)

(snuggles!)

(comfort)

(warren dressing blue up)

(Haru try to get Orfeu to sleep)

(Alyssa steal Bonnie)

(Farlan help Orfeu find Blue)

(Blue listen to Alyssa)

(Alyssa comfort Blue)

(Blue apologize for running away)

(Orfeu pretend to be upset with Haru+Blue)

(HIT WARREN WITH A TRUCK)

(Blue do some chores as a surprise)

(fuzzy sweaters)

(Orfeu coming home hurt)

(free love)

(more free love)

(Carrying too much weight)

(Orfeu punish Blue ) (Apologizing)

(Haru slapping Blue) (Blue taking revenge)

(Ripping Bonnie’s ear)

(Eating carrots and apples)

(Begging with IF)

(Blue being ~~the caretaker)

(Stilleto)

(Admiting to some personood)

(Haru running away)

(Blue biting IF)

(Warren stealing Blue back)

(Selling Blue back to IF) (Revenge)

(Taking Haru on a walk <3)

(Orfeu and some self care, please)

(hug)

(asking if he ugly)

(singing a lullaby)

CHOMP

Talking about the ~toy scar

Doll photoshoot

Orfeu biting Blue back

Blue confronting Warren

Spicy food for Blue~

Sunflower scar

red bull

horror games

escaping to the coffee shop

they running - they getting back

If getting beaten

Coffee with IF

Haru on the spinning chair

Haru doing the dishes

Cecil biting orfeu

Breakfast on bed

Scary movie

videogames

Memory games with if

Barbed wire

The Blue’s and the Bees

Orfeu ignoring Blue for a Day

Biting a random innocent person

Befriending a bug

Dropping an entire stack of plates - Continuation

Cuddling

Haru stealing Bonnie

Dissociation

Discussing Orfeu’s scars - Walking in on them

Alcohol with Orfeu

-under here to atualize on carrd.-

Humiliating himself

Watching a scary movie

Convincing Orfeu to teach him lockpicking

Bullying IF on a videogame

Telling Orfeu about it ^

Truth serum> Ranking his body parts; How Blue feels about Pastel; Orfeu with a third Whumpee; Orfeu and getting a pet; Haru getting back with old master; Say ur human;

Short ones (five sentence thing but I cant count):

Haru is bae

Haru is bae 2

CHOMP

Bonnie says be nice to your caretakers

“Get over here. Now”

Blue shouldn’t be allowed spray paint

A bad day

Blue trying to be nice

Blue trying to not be nice

Orfeu and Farlan as a dynamic duo

chair

Rumor game: (fluff) (orfeu’s gonna take their teeth) (orfeu’s not gonna take their teeth) (throw Bonnie out) (speech therapy) (blue’s getting sold)

D20 game: (no-con) (chainsaw)

Art:

pinterest (as Blue)

pinterest (as Cecil)

(x), (x), (x), (x), (x), (x) (+warren) (pastel) (x) (x) (x) (sunflower); (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) there is a lot more I lost control

IF and Warren’s houses

picrews: (x)

Warren’s photography: (x) (x) (x) (x)

Blue got fanart! He is so happy

(x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (RED) (x)

#Blue's Masterlist #OMG SOMETHING THAT LOOKS ORGANIZED???#ON THIS BLOG???

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freefallingup13 · 3 years

Note

1, 5, 7, & 11?

1. What are your favorite whump tropes?

Pet whump, captive whump, dehumanization, conditioned whumpees, "Pick your punishment", "it's a shame they don't really care about you", protecting the Whumpee, soft recovery, long recoveries, a whole bunch of things like that. Those are what come to mind rn anyways

5. Who is your favorite whumpee?

Of my series, my favorite is Toni. Of other people's series, I really like sideblogformindtrash's Blue, cowboy-anon's Apple, and milk-carton-whump's Niner. They're all adorable and deserve better. And more plushies.

7. What are the traits of your ideal whumper?

POSSESSIVE, sadistic (ofc), intimate whumpers are my jam. I love it when whumpers give their whumpees pet names and view their whumpee as something to play with rather than just a person. I also have a tendency to enjoy whumpers that display signs of obsession, whether it's obsession to "care" for the whumpee or obsession with the whumpee's expression when they cry out in pain.... Seriously, sometimes you just need to appreciate the details!~<3

11. How and when did you discover the whump community?

Lmao I think I found this community last December??? When I was doing writing prompts and made that kerosene one, I think I started seeing "whump prompt" as a thing. Then I started looking up more whump prompts and was like "oh hot reservoir this is my jelly". Eventually some hero x vilain drabbles I was reading delved straight into whump territory, and as I looked more and more into whump I was like "!!11!!! Finally!!! People that also like fictional torture!!!!!" and I've been going ham ever since

#whump #answering asks

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Karen Renford Comes Home

Just a drabble exploring a side character who is a whumper in a class all her own. I’m not tagging this as directly part of the Kauri story, as it’s not. Just a character study. Takes place within my variation on the Box Boy universe - original idea from @sweetwhumpandhellacomf.

Who is Karen Renford when she’s not at work? She’s this.

CW: Referenced violence and physical abuse, forced feeding/starvation, dehumanization, pet whump. Referenced/discussed whump of a minor/foster care whump (though none occurs directly within the piece, it is discussed from the POV of the whumper and could be triggering, stay safe)

Contains a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it reference to one of my favorite Whump storylines, @comfy-whumpee‘s Alistair and Ellis stories, and this excellent drabble I’ve returned to over and over.

Also includes Henry, who belongs to @spiffythespook and is used with permission, and her OC Wright Farling is referenced but does not appear directly.

When Karen Renford comes home at the end of the day, it’s Dex who greets her at the door.

Her oldest Boy isn’t a boy at all, of course; Dex turned 39 this year, making him only a few years younger than Karen herself. He’s dressed in a simple green sweater with jeans, tall and slim - she insists her Boys maintain their physical fitness even past the point they function as entertainment for friends and other guests - with short dark hair starting to pepper with silver and a hint of crow’s feet beginning around the edges of his dark brown eyes.

He wears a simple green leather collar with his name stamped at the front just below his Adam’s apple, as always. He has one to match every color of shirt he is allowed to wear, and he never forgets to wear the right one.

Dex has his hand out for her coat before she’s even fully crossed the threshold, and smiles for her just the way she likes; a slight expression of warmth, nothing false or overly effusive.

The expression never reaches his eyes.

Karen grants him a peck on each cheek, watching him gently lay her coat over his arm with a practiced, experienced grace. “Good evening, Dex. I assume no one started any obvious fires today?”

His smile might widen, imperceptibly, at the humor; it might not.

Dex’s only answer to the question is a nod, stepping back and out of her way as she enters the foyer. Pulling sleek leather gloves off her fingers one by one, Karen lets her eyes skim over the dark custom-ordered wood doorframes and cream-colored walls, the grand staircase that wraps up to the second floor.

Minimalist but with a subtle, simple lived-in look and feel.

She has worked hard for every inch of her success, signed up with Whumpees-R-Us fresh out of college and was part of the neurological engineering team to develop the first truly successful training protocol, and Karen Renford will never apologize for the wealth on quiet display.

She earned every cent.

Her position as Director of Client Success now is really a way to help her make her first steps towards retirement, not that she could ever imagine doing any such thing. Karen loves her job. She’s good at her job.

Every job Whumpees-R-Us has ever placed before her, Karen Renford has set new standards that the other employees must then meet.

But she is proudest of the Boys she has taken a personal stake in, starting with Dex himself. Dex was one of the first ten success stories, and she’d been the one to guide him right from his first day at the Facility (it was a different building, back then; much smaller, more cramped, but you make do and excel with what you have).

Dex had been her Christmas bonus, when it became clear that the training to make him seen and not heard had been entirely too successful and his intended owner returned him.

Dex hasn't spoken a word since the day, twenty years ago, when 19-year-old Dex (just called 10, before they changed to a random numbering convention), had slapped 24-year-old Karen Renford across the face and said you'll never shut me up, you fucking bitch, I'll kill you myself!

Now he smiles, with an empty gentle affection, as he takes her gloves and packs them away within the pockets of her soft coat.

He's a raging success, as far as she is concerned, in his pristine contented silence. Never so much as an eyelid flicker to betray any evidence of the thoughts she is sure she took away from him a very long time ago.

"Henry?" She asks, craning her head slightly to look around.

Dex gestures with one arm gracefully towards the kitchen.

"Ah, lovely. Did he invite himself, or did Seb ask him?"

Dex holds up one finger, then steps over to the foyer's closet, hanging her coat with nimble fingers, pressing it lightly with his hands to ensure there will be no wrinkles. Then he turns back to her and signs, quickly, fingers flying through names and words fast enough that even Karen must sometimes ask him to slow down.

This time, she keeps up, and nods. "Good. I'm glad they get on so well. Sweet boy." She moves in that direction, then pauses, turning back to Dex, who raises one thin dark eyebrow in question.

"Where is Peter?"

Dex's mouth quirks to the side in what might be meant as either smile or sneer. He signs again, curtly, ending the sentence with a flourish of his hands.

Karen laughs.

It's not much of a sound, short and quiet and a laugh devoid of affection or warmth, but it is a laugh nonetheless. "Well, if he learned his lesson, I don't mind him sitting with Henry. How is his back healing since the caning?"

Dex shrugs, and Karen moves away without asking for elaboration. If the careful set of his shoulders - and the tense expressionlessness of his face - relaxes when her back is fully turned to him, Karen does not see it.

She finds the other three in the kitchen, right where Dex said they would be.

Sebastian is her beauty - her personal chef and second Box Boy, her second large-scale bonus after she introduced a widely successful and lucrative change in price-per-position for the Romantic/Companion poses. Owners were buying their Boys (and Babes) for the purpose regardless, why not add some fun and extra profit into the options available?

She'd received Sebastian - and a promotion - for that one.

Sebastian stands at the counter chopping vegetables with a sharp chef's knife nearly a blur in his hands. At 34, Sebastian's youthful looks - blond hair with a cowlick, a sharp jaw, hazel eyes - have begun to deepen into a sharper handsomeness she appreciates, at least aesthetically.

Karen's never cared for much beyond aesthetics. In that, she is a rare pet owner indeed.

"Good afternoon, Sebastian," Karen calls.

"Good afternoon, Madam," Sebastian replies without missing a beat. "Filet mignon, tonight?"

"Sounds perfect."

She pauses.

There are two more young men in Karen Renford's house, and both of them sit with their backs to her, and neither of them has moved.

One is her Peter, the third Boy at 24 and a gift from a very good friend who had, she thought sometimes, played a bit of a prank by buying her a Boy who still needed correction - and Henry…

Ah, Henry.

Her foster son, 17 years old, sits with his head bent before an array of worksheets, chewing thoughtfully on the end of a pencil as he considers the formula he's working on.

Henry is not one of her Boys, but he is hers. And she will be soon correcting and removing all that need for independence, that sense of certainty in a future that Karen does not command. Once Henry turns eighteen, he will understand his place in her household is a permanent one.

But Henry is not the one she focuses on now.

"Peter," Karen says, with a hint of reproach. "Your Madam is home. Show some respect."

Peter, all soft brown hair with a hint of curl and a hopeless cowlick and warm brown eyes, pushes himself out of his chair quickly, turning to face her and falling to his knees into Position Two. His collar is a silver chain and she can still cut his breath with a single hard yank, and everyone here has seen Peter pass out at her hands before.

"S-sorry, Madam," He says softly, his voice trembling. She loves a good tremble, and her friend must have chosen Peter with the way his voice can shake so beautifully in mind. "I was, um, I didn’t hear you-"

"I know, beautiful boy. Your hearing hasn't been the same since that last repair, has it? Still. You can show more respect than that, don't you think?"

Peter swallows and nods, leaning further over until his face is parallel with the floor. She sees him wince as the motion pulls at the bandages layered over the vicious caning he'd received at her hands the day before. The sight makes her smile, but she says nothing until finally he bends completely in half, breathing harshly, to rest his forehead on the floor.

She does not require Dex or Sebastian to fall into Respect any longer. They haven't needed it in years.

Peter, though, still needs reminders.

Karen would never admit how much she enjoys providing them.

She waits until his breathing is ragged with the ache before she nudges him with the rounded end of one perfect black shoe. Peter swallows, hesitates perhaps a fraction, and kisses the pointed toe before returning to his position.

She nudges him with the other, and he repeats the motion on that shoe, too.

She lets out a slow, soft breath.

Karen requires little more than aesthetics from her boys - but there is something to be said for the curve of a neck and the flush in the face of someone doing something they truly do not want to do.

Peter is imperfect - but Karen is absolutely certain Wright requested him that way when he bought him for her. It had been such a lovely Christmas, that year...

“There, don’t you feel better, doing what you are meant for, Peter?” She asks in a soft voice.

“Yes, Madam,” Peter replies almost too quickly. She’s not convinced he even heard her, to be honest - he really is nearly deaf in one ear as a result of some defiance during his time in the Facility.

But the respect is what matters, and the willingness to literally kneel and kiss her feet.

Henry never moves, doesn't even turn his head. He keeps working, scribbling some formulas on the notebook he keeps for workpaper before carefully writing the answer in the provided space on the worksheet.

Henry has been living with her for not quite half his life, now. Seeing Peter kiss her feet is in no way unusual for him. He and Peter had gotten closer than she liked recently; Henry had been tasked with assisting her with his last caning and it seemed to have put the correct emotional distance back between them.

She hoped. She might need to speak with Dex and have them watched to be sure.

"You may rise and attend Henry," Karen says and moves carefully, casually away. Peter waits until she is over with Sebastian in the prep area before he gets back to his feet, sitting with delicate slowness back down at the table, face pale and teeth gritted. Karen wonders if blood will begin to spot through the back of his shirt again, if he will bleed through his bandages.

She loves the look of fresh red blood on a perfect white shirt.

The same year Wright had gifted her with Peter, she had given him a painting she had had commissioned of his favorite son at the time, painted from the back with bright red spots in a perfect aesthetically pleasing pattern, like a constellation of learning what you are.

Wright had been delighted.

Honestly, if either of them had been remotely attracted to the other, they could have made quite a marriage.

Sebastian hums to himself as he works, not quite tunelessly, his own collar a shining black leather that sits against the pale skin of his throat like he was born wearing it. He's already poured Karen a glass of her favorite dry red wine, and she lifts it to take a sip, eyeing the array of ingredients.

If Sebastian stands straighter when she looks at him, moves more carefully, if he smiles less and looks nervously eager to please her… it is only what she deserves. What she worked very, very hard for.

"How was class today, darling?" Karen asks Henry, turning her eyes to him.

Henry finally looks up, a little dazed and daydreamy from the math he's still working through. "It was good," he says, a touch curtly. One day he won't be curt, Karen thinks. He will have none of that left in him.

He is very nearly perfect now.

Nearly… but not quite.

"Lovely. Will you be singing tomorrow night for my gala? There are some very influential people in the industry who will be there. I'd love to show off what I've paid for."

And watch those pet lib assholes squirm knowing that you'll be mine, in just a few months. Mine like my other Boys. Mine for life.

Henry smiles for her, and she does love his smile. She'll be sure to train him to smile more often than he does now. Smile even through tears. "Of course, ma'am. Whatever you need me for. The black suit?"

"Hm, the blue one. I'm wearing blue. Vincent Shield will be making an appearance, isn't that exciting?"

"He hates your company, though," Henry says doubtfully. "Doesn't he? I saw it in an interview. And his girlfriend really hates you."

"That's half the fun of inviting him, darling," Karen replies, taking another sip. “The wine is warm down her throat and through her shoulders. “The studio head for his next project is a personal friend of mine. He needs to maintain ties with the important people in the industry.”

“His industry, or yours?”

“Both.”

"If you say so," Henry mutters, doubtfully.

She'll have him broken of that, she thinks. She detests muttering, but one must expect a certain amount of it in teenagers. Once he signs his contract, she’ll ensure that his handlers - and he will have two assigned personally to him, nothing but the best for Karen Renford’s Boys - know that he must never mutter or doubt her again.

She wonders, idly, what Henry will look like with a shock collar around his neck. All her Boys start with shock collars - they earn the pretty ones they wear now. By the time they’re good enough for her, they see anything as a mercy compared to that.

Karen lets her gaze move idly around her kitchen as she luxuriates in the simple daydream of her Henry, her good little son, as a Box Boy that meets all her expectations and then exceeds them.

He is not a crier - she loves that about him. She wonders if he will cry when they ink the barcode into his skin.

She spots something out of place - not at all where it should be - and holds up one hand. Sebastian freezes immediately, his eyes moving to her face. "Madam?"

"Why is there a small salad bowl by itself?" Karen points at the garden salad nestled in a spot nearly hidden by the angle where fridge and counter meet.

She sees, all at once, both Peter and Sebastian tense up. Then she understands.

"Ah. For Peter. He’s doing it again.”

"Peter was a vegan before he came into service," Sebastian says softly. "He struggled with meat at lunch again today and I thought rather than force him to feel stomach pain-"

"Were you trained to think, Sebastian?" Karen's voice drops into a deep chill.

Sebastian stills even further, slowly setting the chef's knife down. "No, Madam. I was not."

"I did not think so. Peter," Karen says, pitching her voice louder. Peter doesn't react at first, until Henry leans over to nudge him and point in Karen's direction.

"Y-yes, Madam?" Peter turns to look at her, and his hands shake where they are laid flat on the table.

"You will eat two servings of filet mignon for dinner tonight, and nothing else. If you cannot keep it down, you will eat nothing but the nutrient drink for three days. Sebastian, dispose of the salad. Peter will have none."

Peter and Sebastian meet eyes, briefly, and them both of them nod.

"My apologies, Madam," Sebastian says softly. "Peter did not ask. It was my idea."

Peter looks over at Seb, worriedly. "No, I-"

"It was my idea entirely," Sebastian says, more firmly this time. "I will require correction."

Henry's eyes are up again, carefully reading the expressions of everyone in the room. Karen sits back, feeling the glow of the wine beginning to relax her shoulders and sink nicely into her veins. Dex moves through the room on his way to some other task, and Sebastian and Peter are frozen, waiting for her decision.

"Fine. You will take fifteen stripes tonight for going against my express directions to feed Peter meat with every meal."

"Yes, Madam."

"You may continue dinner preparations." Sebastian nods and picks the knife back up, returning to work. "Peter?"

"Yes, Madam?"

"You will return to your room until you are called to eat. You will receive five new stripes tonight for not reminding Sebastian that what you eat in this house is entirely dictated by your owner."

Peter swallows, already looking a little sick. “Of course, Madam. My apologies.” He pushes himself to his feet and nods, giving her a bow before he walks away. Dex shadows him, unobtrusive but ensuring he goes exactly where he is ordered.

Henry watches all of this carefully, then goes back to his work. He is a hard worker and good at studying, and Karen loves to see his mind rolling around in the math problems he loves so much.

He thinks he will study statistics and mathematics in college.

He thinks he's going to college.

In truth, he will be Karen Renford's newest resounding success - a placid songbird and piano player with all those memories and that annoying independent streak removed with surgical precision.

A new acquisition to stay with her, entertain her, be carefully honed into the final missing piece from Karen's idea of a perfect life of total, unending, complete control over her four Box Boys.

And everyone in this household knows his future but him.

#whump #box boy #box boy universe #karen renford #creepy whumper #violent whumper #distant whumper #referenced violence #forced feeding #tw: mention of force feeding #tw: mention of starvation/food control #reference to whump involving a minor but no minors whumped #collaring #pet whump #dehumanization #caretaker whumpee #broken whumpee #tw: foster care whump

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shes-some-other-where · 28 days

Text

“Don’t you dare.”

Contains: prison/labour camp, threat (implied)

“Don’t you dare.” Another prisoner was snarling at him. “Don’t you dare fall.”

If he collapsed, as his swimming vision and trembling limbs suggested he would, he’d take the entire line with him—every single convict, linked in a long column by chains on their legs. And what then? He’d have the guards cracking their whips or clubs over his back, and if the other prisoners fell, they’d be out for blood. His.

He took another staggering step forward, watching land and sky bleed into one another at the horizon. Breathe. Stay away. Step. Step again.

“That’s right. Keep fucking moving.”

suggested reading order | MWM event masterlist

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All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

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shes-some-other-where · 28 days

Text

“You’re nothing.”

Contains: prison/labour camp, chains, collars

The chief overseer stalked before the new arrivals, the low rumble of his voice dripping with disgust. “Welcome, scum. Let me tell you what your lives will be like from now on.”

The convicts, newly arrived from whatever courts or prisons had spit them out to toil away in mines and camps until their sentences or their lives came to an end—whichever came first—stood motionless, linked by chains at their ankles and throats. The iron collars, snug but not squeezing, choked away their air, anyway.

“From this day forward, you’re nothing.” The overseer smiled grimly. “You all belong to me.”

suggested reading order | MWM event masterlist

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All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

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shes-some-other-where · 23 days

Text

Rain and Apple Blossoms

[ID: a banner featuring bright red apples, prison bars, and medieval looking text of the story's title, Rain and Apple Blossoms. End ID.]

Contains: prison, prison camp, forced labour, abuse of power / full list at the bottom of this post

(in progress)

A nameless convict suffers in a prison camp, sentenced to years of hard labour for his crime. There, he is tormented by cruel guards and an even crueller chief overseer who seems to enjoy humiliating him. Eventually, he escapes, and he finds himself cared for by a kind stranger who is on her own journey of grief and self-discovery. With soldiers still hunting for the fugitive, every moment he spends in his unlikely caretaker's company is a risk to them both.

Heavier on whump than plot. Heavier on hurt than comfort. But it's all there.

Full list of CWs at the bottom of this post.

Written for The Merry Whump of May 2024. All drabbles, exactly 100 words. All connected, but many can be read as standalone pieces. However, if you want to read it as a full "narrative," the suggested reading order is below.