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tragedyinblue · 11 months

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BBU Community Days, Day 4

@bbu-on-the-side

{Day 4: Facility} Make a post linking a favorite facility / training piece (one by you, one by someone else) with commentary on what makes these ones special to you

In terms of one that really sticks out to me, I love “Signing Up” by @pigeonwhumps because of the glimpse it offers into a moment at which a person becomes a Pet (voluntarily). Instead of a violent encounter it’s a conversation (albeit with already obvious class/power differences from the get-go even before the collar comes on). The scene is calm, but the intensity/gravity is still there and becomes frightening as the handler’s persona changes on a dime.

As for one by me, I wrote a follow-up on the day 3 “Discipline” prompt. I didn’t intend to spend a lot of time in the training portion of C47’s story, but I couldn’t help but wonder: what kind of training separates a normal Platonic/Domestic from a Caregiver and how could it be used badly? Hence, this was born.

CW: dark, dehumanization, “it” as a pronoun, animalization, hand-feeding, shock collars and extensive use of shock collars, mention of blood, semi-death, whumpee forced to watch, whumpee forced to whump

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2. Practical Application

C47 counted out loud, punctuating each number with a compression on the rubber torso beneath it.

“Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty!”

It bent down to seal its lips against the dummy’s mouth and forced two long breaths into the sensor tube, eyes catching on the dull LED protruding slightly from the synthetic neck. If it didn’t light, C47 would need to do it all again and the timer was still ticking.

Two minutes. It had only two minutes to save a life. It understood the consequence of failure outside the facility: If it performed the motions too fast, its owner’s heart wouldn’t start. If it pushed too hard or in the wrong place it would shatter the sternum and possibly kill its owner instead. Both outcomes would mean grave threats to its own life, but as it breathed into the cold rubber dummy, it thought the shock collar buzzing around its neck right now was the more important concern.

Pet whined in the back of its throat. It deserved to be punished for such a despicable, evil idea.

At the tail end of its second breath, the light shined brightly. Handler Stott applauded from beside it.

“Congratulations, 47! You’ve successfully saved your Master without major damage with twenty-eight to spare,” Handler Stott said, her clipboard tucked beneath one armpit and the collar’s remote dangling harmlessly from her hip.

C47 assumed Position 2 and grinned up at her. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Its eyes followed her gloved hand as it dipped into a pouch on her belt, and held out a bone-shaped biscuit. C47’s mouth instantly salivated. Ignoring the way its bruised knees protested, it rose high enough to lick the treat up without drooling into her palm and pressed its cheek gratefully into the empty space.

“Such a good Pet,” she crooned, laughing when it shivered with pleasure. It Loved being told it was good, that such a lowly beast was worthy of praise.

The phone attached to the wall rang and she pivoted away to answer it. C47 didn’t listen in, instead leaning down to place the half-soggy biscuit on the floor to devour it bit by bit. The texture was grainy and a little savory but so much tastier than the single nutrition bar that it received every day.

C47 had just gathered the crumbs of its reward when Handler Stott approached.

“Well, given your performance today I think you’re ready for the next step,” she said brightly. The Pet cocked its head, confused. It proved it could perform CPR within ideal limits. What more could there be?

She clipped a leash to its collar and led it out of the room with a “Come.” C47 crawled after her, keeping its head down respectfully, though its eyes darted about beneath the curtain of its bangs. This corridor was unfamiliar but not the muted sounds and scuffles behind the doors at each side. The Pet tried not to shake as Handler Stott opened one to their left and led it inside.

“Heel,” she commanded, not noticing that C47 was already frozen in place at the scene before it.

A Pet lay immobilized in the center of the room, its limbs locked and back arched to breaking as electricity seized its body. Medical leads taped to its head and bare torso made the monitors along the wall scream the way the poor Pet could not.

Handler Stott sighed. “88 misbehaving again, huh?”

“Yep. Bit Daniels’ calf clear through his trousers and broke skin,” the other handler, Jenson, answered as she released the button on the remote. “This one just won’t quit.”

C88’s sweat-slick body slapped the ground, writhing and twitching with aftershocks. It keened weakly and a thin trickle of bloody spittle leaked from the corner of its mouth—probably from biting its tongue.

“Well, thanks for letting us barge in on your session,” Stott said.

“Of course! If 88’s gonna refuse its training anyway, may as well make it useful. With any luck today will break it.”

The Pet’s dull gray eyes found C47’s one second before its body jerked again, irises rolling back into its head until only the bloodshot whites showed.

The biscuit in C47’s stomach turned sour as it tried not to be sick.

This time when Handler Jensen released the button, the disobedient Pet dropped and the monitor let out a long, continuous tone.

Before C47 could react, Handler Stott unclipped its leash and snapped her fingers. Its eyes ripped away from the Pet on the floor, panic surely evident in its face. The handler was disturbingly calm.

“‘The patient is unresponsive and shows no signs of life,’” she recited, then smiled encouragingly. “Showtime, Pet.”

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Tag list: @maracujatangerine

#bbu #bbu community #whump event #day4 #bbucd #inheritance-story

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cryptidwritings · 2 years

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I forgot how much I hate eating in front of people, so here's some food related whump prompts/scenarios:

Caretaker wonders why Whumpee refuses food until they catch them in the kitchen at 2am eating the leftovers in front of the fridge.

Whumper withholds food from Whumpee then forces them to eat a huge meal in one sitting.

Whumper makes whumpee eat in a quiet room. If they hear them chew, they punish them. Whumpee now must always have noise when eating.

Whumper makes Whumpee eat a food they are allergic to

Whumpee eats a food they are allergic to on purpose to get away from Whumper

Whumpee gets their hands on a food Whumper is allergic to and tries to get them to eat it unknowingly.

Whumpee distrusts when Caretaker gives them food to eat - thinks it might be poisoned, or spiked.

Whumpee is given a small pet as a reward or for recovery and shares their food rations with it.

Caretaker keeps an eye out for what snacks Whumpee grabs and makes sure they have multiple bags, packages, or bottles so Whumpee never feels like they are grabbing the last one.

Caretaker makes Pedialite popsicles with/for a dehydrated whumpee.

Caretaker teaches Whumpee how to cook

Whumpee with sensory sensitivities is forced to eat the food they hate

Whumper blends food and force feeds Whumpee. Caretaker takes Whumpee out to eat, and they take a bite and realize it tastes exactly the same.

#whump writing #whump community #whump tropes #whump prompts #whump scenarios #tw food #tw force feeding #whump scenario #writeblr #originalfiction

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victimeyez · 7 months

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I have a whumper that enjoys breaking people into the heaviest form of submission possible but I genuinely don’t believe he’d be allowed to rent Tommy 😅😅😅

However I also have an Evil therapist Whumper who might enjoy just psychologically messing with him for a while. Perhaps it’s a break from the physical tortue (perhaps not)

This ask literally made me so rabid I had to publish the next chapter so I could reference it sodhweaoprgvhiewvow;ehlitg

Caius is fine with most anything people want to do to Tommy, because he is that cocky that he can keep him from breaking permanently. He balances all the bad shit with minor rewards that feel like lifesavers when the entire rest of your life is being in pain. Tommy is utterly miserable, but he does get breaks between clients to heal. He's imprisoned, but he can rest and read and listen to music.

I think Caius is enough of an arrogant asshole that he absolutely would let Tommy go to him and get totally broken in. He would be very amused to see him get broken down that completely, and since it's only one night, he believes Tommy could recover afterwards. With his generous help, of course.

I think Tommy might be stronger against the therapist, because he's far too jaded at this point to be that vulnerable with a client. He breaks down and begs Caius sometimes, but a brand new person that he knows paid to see him, he comes with defenses up. Maybe they could convince him though, even promising rewards or relief, which Caius would be happy to play along with as a lie. Caius is kind of like a "I majored in psychology so I'm as smart as Hannibal Lecter" bro, so he might be into it and assist in preparing Tommy.

As for the whumpees... Tommy has been very isolated for a long time. His best friend is Caius, and he hates him. He's also been consistently surrounded by people that he is considered subservient to, and he hasn't had much interaction with other victims or people closer to his caste. At this point, in terms of social niceities, Tommy is kind of an asshole. Not really maliciously, he's just been in survival mode for so long all on his own, that he isn't much interested in being nice. Lotta hate and anger built up that he's not allowed any outlet for.

If he met another victim, and thought for one moment there might be someone else in the world who could know what he's going through, and they asked him what he did to deserve this? He would probably attack them ngl lol. Consequences be damned. But that would just be too much.

In the first years, he did spend a lot of time wondering what he did to deserve this. He eventually came to the unfortunate realization that, well, he didn't do anything to deserve it. Doing something to deserve it implies that he had any level of control, and he had to deal with the maddening fact that he has absolutely no control over anything that happened. Or anything that will happen, probably for the rest of his life. He cannot earn a better lot in life, and they can do whatever they want to him.

Not sure if they would want that kind of attention from him lol. But if they didn't press any particular buttons, he wouldn't go out of his way to be mean.

Thank you for all of your interactions, they bring me so so so much joy!!!

#professional victim #professional//victim #captive whumpee #asks

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whumpitisthen · 2 years

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I like one very specific thing, which is Whumper locking the door after they enter the room Whumpee is kept in and wanted to expand upon i just a slight bit so:

Here's some fun ways to signal that pain is coming Whumpee's way (a ramble):

So in spot no.1 we got what inspired this post, which is the mental image of a Whumpee watching Whumper come in, then promptly lock the door behind them. It signals danger, it makes them feel even more stuck, so helpless. And the best part is that it signals that Whumper won't be leaving any time soon. When that door is locked, it means that it is time to hurt and I really can't explain any more why I have such an obsessive love for a locked door so utterly cutting Whumpee off from any hope of getting out of that room. Please consider the implications of something so simple and ponder on it for me

Another good signal is an alarm, or a specific time. Say Whumpee gets to endure horrific torture every day, but they are free to do whatever until that dreaded 7 pm comes when Whumper comes for them. They might have an alarm set up, which, if they ever manage to get away will haunt them for the rest of their life; or they might not, and they might not even know that it's already time before Whumper shows up out of nowhere and Whumpee gets this incredible expression of horror on their face and goes "Is it already time?" Chef's kiss, give me ten

We love our non-human characters and I specifically love non-human whumpers, so perhaps the signal for a whumpee who has the misfortune of being this terrifying Whumper's favourite is a quiver in the air when a supernatural all-powerful whumper enters Whumpee's home. A pressure on their body, a chill down their spine that comes right back up, a noise in their ears they can't get rid of, whispering in their mind. Hallucinations, inexplicable panic, a very specific smell, a distortion of their vision, the feeling of being watched, the feeling of another in the room though they are supposed to be alone, a feather/scale/puddle/literally whatever part of Whymper in the middle of their living room floor, the list goes on and on! I think we as a community should have more eldritch horror whumpers, it's got so much untapped potential and I for one could finally relate fully to the whumper as I am also a creature unbeknownst and inconceivable to mortals with a fondness for pretty little pathetic men crying on my floor :)

Oh here's a good one: Whumpee receives the signal from another person. "Whumper seems pretty frustrated." "Have you seen how angry Whumper got this afternoon? They looked about ready to kill." "Whumper wanted me to tell you they are waiting for you in their office." "Whumper keeps nagging me about you all the time. Why are they so obsessed with you today?" "I'm kind of worried about how long Whumper has been in their room for. I think you should check on them." Now doesn't all that sound just wonderful for out dear Whumpee, anxiously debating on whether they are going to survive today or not.

Of course, who's better to give the signal than Whumper themself? They could have a word they have taught Whumpee means nothing good. They could act a certain way, perhaps much too friendly or intimate, touching them, keeping them close. Maybe they don't even mean to send a signal, but Whumpee catches it anyway. That telltale glint in their eyes. The way they keep staring at them. Whenever they seem bored, frustrated, excited. When they call Whumpee's name in a specific tone that has an underlying want in it. Biting their lips a lot. Anything you can think of.

Rewards! When Whumpee recieves a reward, they know they are in for a bad time. I mean, they have to earn their luxuries, right? If they think they can just have that blanket or water without earning it it's really their fault for thinking that in the first place. Extra points if the reward isn't actually a good thing. Maybe Whumper got their Whumpee a new collar, or a new toy to try out on them, or they graciously helped them stay awake like Whumper told them to by electrocuting the hell out of them all night, and Whumpee dares to not even thank them?

And that is about as much as my brain can think of right now its late. If you wanna use any of these you are free to ofc though this isn't even a prompt list, more of just me rambling about tropes

Also the numbered list thing fucks with the readmore so i hereby apologize to anyone who will have to scroll past this seventy times on phone i legit cannot put one in there unless i wanna cut off the entire list and leave the first paragraph only. If it makes you feel any better I will also have to scroll past this

#long post #whump #whump ramble #whump prompts #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #my writing #whump writing #fear #sadistic whumper #I'm thinking again...#whump prompt #:)#im in a smiley mood

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pigeonwhumps · 2 years

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The interview

Sam and Lucan masterlist

Sam meets Caroline Jones and her pet-class slave Puck (aka Lucan, although Sam doesn't know it yet).

1.5k words

CWs: slavery, pet whump, non-human whumpee, dehumanisation, humiliation

The impression Sam gets when they open their door is red. Very red. Red dress with white polka dots, red belt, red shoes, red headband over her dark hair, red bag, red nails, red lipstick. Red-dressed pet at her feet.

She looks every inch the polished up-and-coming actress, model and prominent supporter of non-human slavery that she is. They glance down at her pet-class faerie, on his hands and knees in a red shirt and short skirt, red collar contrasting against his rich blue skin and long, white, red-streaked hair. His eyes are cast to the ground, and Sam’s beginning to regret agreeing to this interview already. They force a smile on their face.

“Miss Jones. Please, come in.”

“Just Caroline, thank you. Do you mind if I leave Puck’s lead on the coat rack?”

“Oh. Um... yes, of course.” They don’t think it’s their imagination that Puck’s ears darken at the name. They get the feeling he doesn’t like it overly much, which is understandable – Caroline clearly has a cruel sense of humour. But as much as Sam doesn’t want to call him that, even in their head, they can’t think of anything better. “Sit down in the living room. Would either of you like something to drink? Tea? Wine? Milk?”

“I’ll have some wine, please.”

They head to the kitchen, calling over their shoulder, “and for your pet?”

“Oh, Puck won’t have anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, he doesn’t deserve a reward. He’ll have a bottle later.”

Sam brings two glasses of wine into the living room, where Caroline’s taken the armchair, Puck kneeling at her feet. “A... bottle?”

“Mm. Our local supermarket sells these wonderful shakes for slaves that provide all the nutrients Puck needs without me having to cook. It’s fantastic. Would you like recommendations?”

“No,” replies Sam sharply, “I don’t have a pet.”

“Oh?”

“Can we get on with the interview? It’s been a tiring day.” They take a large gulp of wine, grateful for the alcohol. They’ve seen those shakes – flavourless, grey things. They look disgusting.

“Of course, my apologies. I get rather too excited when talking about Puck, everyone says so.”

“I understand. So, what is it you want to ask me about?”

“May I record?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” She pulls out a small recording device and sets it on the coffee table, pressing a button. “Well, my next project is set in medieval times and I’m playing the Lady of the castle. I was wondering what you could tell me about the life of a woman like that.”

Sam resists the urge to scream. “Well, although I lecture on medieval history my specialism is in the lives of magical beings at that time, not humans, but I’ll tell you what I know. A Lady’s main roles were to manage the castle’s estates while the Lord was away, and to look after household affairs and manage the servants. You know, tell them what needs doing, where to go, things like that. She was also in charge of the castle’s slaves, although non-human slaves were rare then, when non-humans were more respected and before human cities started encroaching majorly on fae land and werewolf territories, to name a couple. It would be more likely human slaves, but you haven’t given me a narrow enough time window to know for certain whether they would’ve even had them.”

“All I was told was medieval. What do you know about the fae of that time? I’d like to find out if I can include Puck in the project somehow. I don’t want to pay expenses for boarding him again, and I can’t leave him at home alone without fearing for the furniture.” She lets out a tinkling laugh and Sam gives a tight-lipped smile. Puck freezes entirely, even stiller than he already was, barely even breathing. “But anyway, they won’t let him on set unless he’s working. And it would be a real shame for him to miss out, wouldn’t it Puck?” He bows his head in apparent agreement, then pushes against her leg affectionately. Sam feels sick.

“I’m afraid the fae generally lived apart from humanity until around the 1400s. Occasionally a village would come into contact with some, but by and large they stayed apart, only properly coming together at times of catastrophe for either species. They were a respected and proud people, sometimes contracted to do important work for humans, and vice versa. Certainly a Lady wouldn’t have kept one as a slave.”

“I see. Not quite what I was hoping for, but it can’t be helped. May I use your toilet before we continue?”

“Of course. Straight down the corridor, on the left.”

She nods, rising. Once the bathroom door shuts behind her Sam grabs a tissue from the box on the coffee table and crouches down in front of Puck to hand it to them, before hesitating. Will he even accept it? They have to try. He’s been crying silently since Sam started talking about faeries being treated with respect.

“Do you want a tissue to wipe your eyes with? You’re crying.” Puck twitches his hands like he wants to take it, but holds himself still. “I’ll wipe them. If... if that’s acceptable?” The slave nods, and Sam gently wipes it under his eyes, brushing away the tears. More form immediately. They feel very awkward, having no idea what to do. They reach forward hesitantly and scratch the top of his head, like they’ve seen people do to unhappy pet-class slaves, or ex-slaves, before.

Immediately, Puck’s eyes droop and he pushes up into Sam’s hand. They smile uncertainly. “You like this?”

Puck doesn’t respond, and Sam hates themself a little for continuing, knowing it’s at least mostly his intensive training making him react like this, but if it helps him it helps, whatever the reason.

The bathroom door shuts and footsteps sound in the hallway. Puck’s eyes snap back open and Sam sits back on the sofa, trying to look for all the world like they weren’t just comforting someone else’s slave. They don’t think it would go well for Puck, if Caroline knew. Not if the possessiveness she displays in her interviews is real.

Caroline re-enters the room with a polite smile to Sam, eyes flicking over Puck appraisingly and narrowing at whatever it is she sees. “Right. One more question, I think, before we need to be heading home. Puck’s looking rather tired, and I have an early start tomorrow. I’ve had a last-minute interview request.”

Sam doesn’t miss the flash of fear in Puck’s eyes at her words.

“Very well. Ask your question.”

“What sort of hobbies would a Lady have?”

“Well, there were many things a noblewoman could participate in, for example embroidery, reading, dancing, and berry-picking, among others. They had a decent amount of free time, certainly more than the servants, and the money to indulge. Any more questions?”

“No, thank you. And thank you for giving up your time, I’m most grateful.”

Sam gives a half-hearted shrug, following her and Puck to the door, where she clips the leash back onto his collar. “You’re paying.” They hold open the door for the pair to exit, Caroline barely paying Puck a glance as he crawls along behind. “Goodbye.” They shut the door and put their head in their hands.

Jesus.

How anyone can treat another person that way is just... Puck might not be human, but he’s still a person, and even that name is offensive. Sam regrets that he took part in that system, even for a second, even if they had to to comfort her slave, even though Amanda has told them time and time again to stop feeling guilty when they shouldn’t. This world’s a fucking mess.

They pull themself together and head to the nearest window overlooking the street, watching Caroline stride across to a big black car, Puck struggling to keep up without being dragged. Sam swallows, and worries.

They head to their bedroom, toying with the phone in their hand as they pull an old biscuit tin out from under the bed. It’s full of old badges and polaroid photos, from non-human rights protests and meetings and picnics. They pull out a well-thumbed photo of their parents kissing in front of a large banner. They remember taking this one, the day everything went wrong.

This flat only has one bedroom, but there’s space for one more person. Their parents would definitely approve of what they’re about to do, they think, unlocking their phone and calling a contact they’d almost forgotten. He answers on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi Luke.”

“Sammy. I was starting to hope I’d never hear from you again.”

“No such luck, you know how I feel about debts. You owe me a favour, and I’m calling it in.”

#whump #fae whump #sam and lucan #sam johnson #lucan oc #caroline jones #non human whumpee #whumpee and caretaker #whumpee and whumper #whumper and caretaker #whumpee x caretaker #whumpee x whumper #whumper x caretaker #slavery #pet whump #dehumanisation

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sola-whumping · 1 year

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I have a question regarding breaking pets in. I've just got two new pets, completely untrained and fresh from their previous lives, a couple. I was wondering where I should start? Should I go straight into breaking them? Should I try to explain what they are there for first? Curious to see what you have to say on the matter, thank you for your time and consideration.

I would always say to set clear rules and expectations from the start. You want to reward cooperation and punish unwanted behavior. That of course starts with them knowing what unwanted behavior is. You want your new pets to be able to trust you. When you make a promise you must keep it, if you threaten them you have to go through with it, if you say you’ll hurt them they should trust that you will. If you promise food that should also be reliable. You are your pets whole world now, and it’s a lot easier to follow someone who keeps their promises.

To start off I always like to get my whumpees into a more.. Vulnerable, mindset. Withholding information is a big part of this, and along with that comes manipulation. Making your whumpee think it’s been a lot longer or shorter then it has been can be a wonderful tool, especially if they are expecting rescue. Feeding them false information on people they knew in their past life or just cutting them off from all information on the outside world is just lovely, and if they ever do escape, that misinformation will impact their old relationships and who they think they can trust.

If they care for each other a lot I recommend punishing the other with a method that will leave a physical mark that will fade. Bruises work well for this and are very intimidating if your new pet isn’t a doctor or nurse. Electricity is also scary for first time pets, not many pets like seeing someone jerk or scream from a jolt. If you’re okay with marked up pets don’t be afraid to leave scaring, it will make them think twice before disobeying and earning a permanent mark.

You want there to be a visual to what will happen if they misbehave along with a pain stimulus. A good way to do this is to wire them both to electric collars so it will shock them both if one of them do something or to use a whip or knife. Make sure they know it’s their fault and if they just cooperated none of this would have to happen.

The most important point I have for you is to be reasonable. Your new whumpees might not know how to be good immediately and training a whumpee doesn’t always mean breaking them. You have to teach them to be good just as much as you punish them for being defiant. Start slow with your pets and don’t be afraid to meet them at their level. They’re more likely to obey if they know you’re a reliable handler with easy to predict punishments.

#nightshade talks #whump #whump advice #pet whump #somthing gabrial would say #I’m baaack #I really like doing whump advice it’s fun #this ask is from ages ago #long post #I missed writing

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soursagas · 2 years

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Cosset*ೃ༄

AUgust writing challenge day 9: Coffee Shop

yes this is late but better late than never lmao now my phone will be thrown across the Pacific Ocean after hitting post

Content: Captivity, pet whump, nonhuman whump, multiple whumpers/whumpees, implied sleep deprivation, burns

It would’ve been a strange request.

But as they walked down the impossibly large mansion, the Master led them to…what looked like a tiny—almost cute—little coffee shop; they realized that this shouldn’t seem out of the ordinary, given some of the many other rooms.

“Alright. Better get work!” Master wore a slight smile towards them, and walked away; not awaiting a response.

There was a big list taped to the counter, each step with some visuals was listed. Surprisingly (or perhaps, unsurprisingly) one cabinet held all the necessary ingredients. They took out the coffee grinder, measured the beans, and poured them in.

It took longer than they would’ve hoped, but they still felt a sense of accomplishment while they looked at the steam coming out of the mug. They went to flavour it with the sweetener left in the cabinet. Having prepared the coffee, they picked up the hot coffee mug with their bare hands. Suppressing the urge to immediately put it back down they began speed-walking their way to Master’s office, hoping they’d be there. They wondered, with the list of steps taped down, would this be a regular thing? Compared to some of the other…tasks, this would be easy. Hopefully.

“So”–master began– “a sweet little pet recently acted up”

They silently continued walking as Master continued, showing the slightest bit of interest, but listening intently.

“You know what happens when pets misbehave,” they nodded, they knew what punishments could entail. However, punishments and rewards were individualized to the pet, to an extent of course. A mug of hot coffee could be a punishment as much as a reward for a pet, although they weren’t so sure about ‘reward’ with this particular pet.

Master opened the door to the cell on the left. The pet that lay had obviously only been here a week at most, his skin mostly clear of any injuries. Although his wrists were bloody and bruised, likely a result of too much struggling. His clothes seemed a bit dirty, but not too bad. He held his hands close to his chest but was careful not to brush his shirt’s fabric. They looked at Master expectantly. “The coffee?”–They signed–“for him?” Gesturing toward the man laying across from them.

“Yes, my Sweet here has told me of his exhaustion,” they looked over him with a hint of sympathy “I was hoping you would help him wake up a bit”

They faced Master with a bit of a crooked smile. “Of course”

”Wake up a bit?” Any hope he had of being allowed to sleep diminished. As he looked up at them, he saw…coffee?

Coffee? He doubted that would do much to help with his exhaustion. He hasn't slept in days. He looked up drowsily, but fearful nonetheless. The..person? Creature? Definitely not human with their pointed ears, standing over the pet. Looking closely, he saw a collar with an outline of a heart at the center, around their neck. Master had mentioned those vaguely, he couldn't remember exactly what they'd said, and there was no inscription or anything that could give away what it meant. He had never directly interacted with them, only seen glimpses of them when they were near Master; Master being the only one he’s interacted with for the past week.

They set the mug down in front of him. “For you” they affirmed.

He did a double take and slowly moved his hands to grasp the mug. Sparing a glance at the person (creature? being?) above them; he saw them biting their lip in a small smile. He caught sight of a fang poking out, and quickly averted his gaze; the last thing he wanted was to seem rude and give them a reason to be upset. Looking down he saw what he thought to be a tail; it was difficult to make it out in the dim light. They shifted from foot to foot and he immediately grabbed the mug, not wanting them to become impatient. Holding it close and tight—attempting to ignore the heat of the mug; He faced them again.

Not even a second after he had grabbed it, their tail came into full view from behind them. The tip of it goes to the base of the mug, and with one swish flick, spills the drink over his red wrists, and down his chest.

The pet screamed. The ceramic mug fell from his hands, cracking in front of him; splitting chips into his legs. He couldn’t pay attention to it, too focused on the searing pain in his wrists. Terror clouded his mind as he frantically waved his wrists back and forth; tears spilling out of his eyes. He needed to try something—anything to relieve the burning agony. Pain flared up his body, but he was too lost in it to do much other than cry out. He was barely aware enough to notice them pick up the mug and leave.

Master - they/them (for now)

The pet - he/him

The Other One - they/them

#Cosset*ೃ༄#sour whispers #august writing challenge #AUgust #AUgust writing challenge #day 9 #AUgust Day 9 #Day 9 Coffee Shop #pet whump #captivity #whumpblr #whumpee #whump #tw burns #nonhuman whump #multiple whumpers #multiple whumpees #sleep deprevation #sleep deprivation

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set-phasers-to-whump · 2 years

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nowhere to run

prompt: cornered

whumpee: gereon rath

fandom: babylon berlin

hi what's up!! welcome to fic number two :) it's set probably post season 3 but gräf's partner isn't there. this can thus be read as pre ship or not, whatever suits you. hope you enjoy!

Gereon Rath is not a particularly big man. This doesn’t often present him with serious problems - and indeed is occasionally an asset - but today his size is certainly not doing him any favors.

He’s in a dark alley behind a worn-down bar. A single tiny window on an upper floor of a nearby building provides the only light. Broken glass crunches under his feet as he slowly and steadily backs away from a man who seems nearly twice his size.

He doesn’t even know what he’d done - he’s not currently investigating a case and he’d kept to himself for the entire hour he’d been in the bar. And then he’d stepped out into the brisk night air to clear his head for a moment, and the man had just been there. Gereon had tried to ignore him and go back inside, but the man had put out a hand and pushed him back, seemingly without effort.

“What do you want?” Gereon asks, attempting to step forward and hold his ground, to show that he’s not to be intimidated.

The man pushes him back again, stepping in so close that Gereon nearly falls to the ground. He says nothing. Gereon tenses up, preparing for a fight which he very much doubts he is going to win.

The man continues walking towards him and Gereon, for lack of anywhere else to go, keeps stepping back. He doesn’t have the time to fully observe his surroundings and half-assumes they’re going to end up on the street, or else inside one of the surrounding buildings.

And then his back makes contact with a corner. Bricks catch on the material of his coat and he knows this is not at all good. He’s completely boxed in and the other man’s body covers him so that he has no hope of escape. His heart is pounding. He takes a breath, tries to focus, and balls his hands into fists.

The other man punches him in the face with such speed that Gereon doesn’t even have time to register the movement of his fist until the moment has passed. His head snaps to the side. His cheek stings.

He shakes his head to clear away the pain, and the second it’s receded he gets punched in the stomach. The air leaves his lungs in a rush and he doubles over but doesn’t make it very far before he’s being grabbed by the shoulders and shoved upright.

He’s backed so far into the corner and the other man is so close to him that he can barely raise his arms, but he tries, and manages to hit the other man in the side. There’s almost no force behind the punch. All he gets in reward for his effort is a slap across the face.

“You might as well not try anything,” his attacker suggests. “Anyway, I’m not going to kill you. Not if you tell me what I want to know.”

Gereon wonders if he is ever going to escape the corruption that this entire city seems to be sinking into. Not that he has much choice one way or the other. “What do you want to know?”

“Why did you take it?”

Gereon blinks. He’d been expecting to have to answer some question related to an old case, or maybe to find information about another detective’s work. What is ‘it’ supposed to be?

“What?”

Another slap to the face. “You know damn well what. Why did you take it, and where did you put it?”

“I think you must have me confused for someone else.”

The man shakes his head. “I know a thief when I see one.”

“I didn’t take anything from -”

He’s cut off by another punch to the stomach.

“I’ll beat it out of you, if I have to.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I gave you a chance.”

The punches drive him continually backwards into the corner behind him so that his shoulders are forced to curve forwards, the rough brick walls digging into his back with every hit. At first, everything is sharp. The pain from each punch is distinct. His left side is hit and the pain is shocking, and then his right shoulder takes a punch and begins to burn like it’s on fire.

Eventually, though, the pain runs together. His whole torso alternately aches and burns and there’s blood dripping down his throat and leaking from his nose. His ears are ringing so that the noises from the bar and the street sound like they are coming from underwater. At some point he’d grown tired of bracing himself against the hits and had stopped putting up a fight. A few kicks to the shins and punches lacking any real force would hardly have done anything, anyway.

“Ready to tell me now?”

Gereon spits a mouthful of blood onto the ground. “I don’t know,” he says, and his own voice sounds alien to his ears. He wonders why no one has come back behind the bar, or left one of the other buildings, or stepped off of the street. He can’t imagine this whole thing has been especially quiet. He’d definitely shouted once or twice. He supposes people think that whatever is going on is none of their business. Maybe it isn’t, but it certainly isn’t his business, either.

“Fine.”

The man raises his fist again. Gereon closes his eyes as the punch hits him square on the jaw. After the brief respite, the pain feels magnified. He’d say anything, just to get away, but he has no idea what.

“I swear I don’t know, please…”

“Don’t lie to me!” Another punch to the stomach. He wishes he’d brought his gun. Wishes he was in a part of town where announcing himself as police would cause an attacker to flee instead of double down. Wishes he’d just pass out so that everything would stop.

His legs ache, even though they’ve mostly been spared the pain of being hit. He feels himself starting to sink down but then the man’s hands are grabbing his coat and hauling him back up and he’s hurting and exhausted and confused and angry and the blood in his mouth is making him feel sick and all the hits to the head have made him dizzy and he wants…

Someone shouts, and it’s not him and it’s not his attacker but it’s close by.

“Help!” he yells, nearly choking on his own blood. “Help!”

The hands pressing him into the wall are gone. He hears footsteps but can’t tell if they’re going towards or away from him. He doesn’t care. He sinks to the ground, back still pressed to the walls, and reaches a hand inside of his coat and fumbles for his medication. He opens the case and is met with nothing but broken glass. He drops it to the ground beside him and does not try to do anything else. No one comes, either to help or to hurt him.

He has no idea how long he sits there, never quite unconscious but not all the way present. He’s shaking, not like that, not like he’s cold, either, just shaking, and the taste of blood still fills his mouth though it no longer drips down his throat. Tears of exhaustion, pain, anger, have been tracking slowly down his cheeks with him hardly even aware of it.

Eventually he realizes that he needs to move. The still-muffled noises of the city have gotten quieter and the light in the building above him has gone out. It’s late, now, or very early. He slowly and clumsily rises to his feet, bracing his hands against the bricks behind him. He nearly collapses right back to the ground as soon as he’s upright, but fights the feeling off until his head stops spinning and he feels like he might be able to move.

It hurts horribly. Every step sends a wave of pain through his whole body. He wraps an arm around himself as though it will keep the pain at bay and staggers off into the dark streets.

He doesn’t really know where he’s going. He knows where he is, but it’s a far walk home and no public transit is running, not at this hour. The Castle is similarly far away and he doubts whether he could even get a hold of Lotte.

He spends several moments leaning against a different wall, orienting himself mentally, and comes to the conclusion that the closest safe place for him to go is Gräf’s apartment. He’s been there only once, but he remembers the building. It’s not far. He just hopes his colleague won’t be too angry at being woken in the middle of the night.

He needn’t have worried about that, apparently. After a horribly painful, long journey up the stairs, Gereon finds himself face to face with Gräf outside his front door, his cheeks still pink from the cold outside air.

Gräf simply stares at him for a second. “My god, what happened to you?” he asks eventually, his key still in the lock.

“Can we…go inside?” Gereon asks. His voice still does not sound like it belongs to him.

Gräf blinks, then nods and opens the door.

“Sorry,” Gereon thinks to say, as Gräf directs him to sit down at a small dining table. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a hospital?”

He hadn’t even thought of that. But now that he is here, he can hardly stand the thought of having to go somewhere else. He shakes his head, instantly regretting it when he gets so dizzy that black spots dance across his vision.

“Okay,” Gräf agrees. “But just so you know, I’m no doctor.”

Despite not being a doctor, Gräf has well-stocked cabinets. He wipes the blood from Gereon’s face, somewhat awkwardly, with a soft towel soaked in something that makes his nose burn and eyes sting. There’s blood on his hands, too - he doesn’t know from where - and his palms are scraped and dirty. Gräf cleans these with similar awkwardness, but he doesn’t do a bad job at all. In fact, there’s something rather comforting about it.

“Are you bleeding under your clothes?”

He doesn’t know. This seems like something he ought to make sure of, so he takes off his coat and shirt, Gräf helping with the buttons.

He looks down at himself and hears Gräf draw in a breath. He isn’t bleeding, which is good. But his entire torso is painted in different colors - some areas have already begun to bruise a deep purple while others are still red from the impact of dozens of punches.

Gräf’s fingers brush against one of the larger bruises, feather-light but still painful.

“Who did this?”

“I don’t know.”

Gräf takes a step back. “You don’t know?”

“He thought I’d taken something from him.”

“But you hadn’t?”

“No.”

“And he did this to you anyway?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”’

“Not really. Here, take this.”

It’s a medicine of some sort - Gereon doesn’t know what, exactly, but he takes it. The taste of blood still lingers in his mouth when he swallows. It makes him cough, which hurts very badly. Gräf hands him a glass of water. He drinks it so quickly that he starts coughing again, but the pain doesn’t feel so bad this time.

He is still shaking, he realizes, as he sets the glass down and it clatters against the table. He can’t make it stop. He can’t hide it, either. But Gräf hasn’t even commented on it. He’s grateful for that.

“Do you think you can sleep?”

Sleep has never sounded so good to him in all his life. “Yes.”

“I don’t have a spare bed, but I can sleep on the sofa.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m putting you out already.”

“It’s no trouble, really. I don’t mind.”

He’s too exhausted to argue, and simply agrees. “Thank you.”

Gräf helps him to the bedroom, his arm around Gereon necessary but painful, though the pain is at least beginning to feel further away. He lies down slowly and doesn’t realize until it’s too late that his shoes are still on.

He is in no condition to try and sit back up to remove them. He feels a bit bad for surely getting the bed dirty, and he doesn’t especially want to sleep with his shoes on, either, but he can’t do anything about it.

He closes his eyes and is asleep before Gräf has even left the room. The last thing he’s aware of is Gräf’s hands, gently untying his shoes.

thanks for reading! i hope you liked it :)

#whumptober2022 #no.2 #cornered #babylon berlin #gereon rath #fic #my writing #i say things #beat up #cared for #i wanted to find some like. generic 20's-30's painkiller but my research only turned up stuff on morphine addiction #which was not what i was going for lmao #it might not be accurate then but oh well #anyways i have had quite a busy weekend but hopefully my week will be calmer. we'll see.#love you all <3

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obsessedwithegos · 2 years

Text

Whump prompt

Whumper finally giving Whumpee the freedom they’ve been asking for but whumpee convinces themself it’s a trap to give whumper an excuse to punish them even more. Does whumpee still leave despite the fear of worsened punishment or does whumpee choose to stay to prevent any punishment? (And maybe even get a reward for proving how good they are?)

#once again a whump prompt inspired by something am working on <3 #whump #whump tag #whump prompt #owe whump #if the wording is confusing it's just #whumpee: i want you to leave me alone /whumper: ok i'll leave you alone/ whumpee: wait what if this is a test to see how much i'll follow #the rules without whumper around? and if i break the rules while they're gone then punish me so much more than they normally do?#its specific but i love it #im writing it with harmonia and death right now and it's fucking FUN #espc being paired with isolation ((bc harmonia is in purgatory which is essentially like isolation))#brainwashed whumpee #(implied)#i wonder if whumpee gets rewarded what the reward is #conditioned whumpee #(also implied)

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collapse-and-comfort · 3 years

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Love your blog! Can I ask for a sick fic with some comfort? The whumpee ignoring symptoms and pushing on until they collapse. So the caretaker carries them to bed, and looks after the whumpee the next few days. The whumpee is weak and scared because they’ve never been that badly sick. But they don’t want to go to hospital (maybe bad experiences before).

🌡🤒🌡Thank you so much!!! Sorry this took so long. It just kind of kept going and ended up being a little over 4K words! I hope you enjoy! (I'm going to tag @lurkingwhump because I know you were interested in a story like this! I'd also be remiss if I didn't mention @i-write-whump because her prompts were constantly on my mind while I was writing this.) 🌡🤒🌡

Whumpee watched their interviewee’s retreating back. They’d been less a lead and more an aggravation. The beat of an eighties pop song made their headache (and their mood) worse and they closed their eyes and pinched the bridge of their nose.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Whumpee said as they tapped a thumb on the table and tried to ignore the growing ache in their throat. “Let’s go.”

They walked back to Whumpee’s apartment to review information. It amounted to tirespinning and tail chasing. The longer the evening went, the more difficult it became for Whumpee to concentrate. They tossed a file onto their coffee table with the rest of the information they were pouring over. They leaned back on their couch and closed their eyes. No matter how they tried to will their headache away, it continued to compound itself. An ache and a chill were working their way into Whumpee’s body. They didn’t need to look at Caretaker to know they were watching them with questions on their tongue and concern in their eyes.

“Getting late,” Caretaker said.

“Late” was several hours ago.

“Mmhhm,” Whumpee said without opening their eyes. They weren’t taking the bait. “You’d better get going. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Right,” Caretaker said with a dubious quirk in their brow. They left, but they gave Whumpee ample time to reconsider, to tell them they needed a break, or help. Or something.

Whumpee sat on their couch in silence as the chill in their body intensified. They refused to believe they were getting sick. Allergies, exhaustion. Had to be. They couldn’t even remember the last time they were ill. Whumpee groaned as they heaved themself up. The room spun and they closed their eyes until the dizziness passed. A string of expletives played in their head as they found their way down the hall and into the restroom.

They dry swallowed some pills that had likely exceeded their expiration date and they avoided catching sight of the flushed, hollow-eyed specter they would see if they looked in the mirror.

They didn’t bother struggling out of their clothes before curling up beneath their covers and dropping into a fitful sleep.

Whumpee woke to someone banging - no, just insistent, undemanding knocking the way their partner always did - on their door. They pawed at their nightstand in search of their phone, but it was nowhere to be found. They peeled their eyes open and wondered how long Caretaker had been knocking. They disentangled themself from their covers and slowly rolled their way off the mattress.

Too hot, they thought as they willed themself, one foot after the other, to make the distance from their room to their door.

When they opened up, Caretaker stepped in with a coffee in each hand. Their affable expression faltered when they looked at Whumpee. If Caretaker noticed Whumpee was wearing the same clothes they’d been dressed in the previous evening - and of course they did - they didn’t mention it.

“Shit,” Caretaker said as they handed Whumpee a cup. “Guess I should have brought you tea instead, huh?”

“As long as it had sugar in it,” Whumpee said before clearing their throat and grimacing at the sensation and the way their voice rasped. “Just give me a minute.”

---

“We can pass this off,” Caretaker suggested by mid-morning. They could. They knew several of their teammates were dying to sink their teeth into this case and there was no harm in letting them.

They watched as Whumpee rested their head against the passenger side window. Whumpee didn’t respond, but Caretaker knew what they would say. They couldn’t put this on hold; they had to finish it. Besides, I’m fine.

“Right,” Caretaker said. They felt as though that one, marginally passive aggressive word, was becoming their personal mantra. They couldn’t make Whumpee do something they didn’t want to do, and while they’d never seen Whumpee with so much as a sniffle, they knew Whumpee would run themself into the ground regardless of whether or not they had a job to do.

God forbid you take care of yourself, Caretaker thought.

The day wore on like that. Caretaker doubted the small measures Whumpee was taking to make themself less miserable - resting or rubbing their eyes, pulling their coat tighter around themself - were cries for help. Each time they asked Whumpee if they were okay, they were rewarded with a glare or a surly shrug.

The evening found them back in Whumpee’s apartment. Caretaker had grown genuinely worried about Whumpee. They watched as Whumpee stared at the same paper they’d been holding for the past ten minutes. They shut their eyes and slouched forward in their chair before closing their eyes. Caretaker frowned at the way Whumpee’s jaws were clenched, the way their shoulders were bunched, and the way their face was flushed. Whumpee’s clothes looked rumpled and uncomfortable. Not exactly surprising since they were the same ones they’d been wearing the previous day.

“You’re half asleep, Whumpee. Why don’t you at least change into some fresh clothing?”

They expected a brusque reply, but Whumpee put down the paper and nodded without looking at Caretaker. That set off warning bells.

Whumpee used the coffee table to steady themself as they rose and Caretaker reached out to help when they saw how badly Whumpee’s arms were shaking.

“I’m fine,” Whumpee muttered as they stood to their full height.

“Bullshit,” Caretaker said as they stood too. They’d spent the entire day watching Whumpee suffer needlessly and they’d had enough. “You can’t keep pushing yourself.”

Caretaker waited for Whumpee to tell them how they’d be better in the morning, or they’re just tired, or...

Whumpee swayed on their feet and their eyes rolled back before their knees buckled and dropped to the floor with jarring force. Caretaker swore as they quickly closed the distance between them and caught Whumpee’s upper body before they could fall the rest of the way. Whumpee let out a distant-sounding moan as their forehead rolled on Caretaker’s shoulder. As Caretaker held Whumpee’s chest against their own, they were shocked at the heat rolling off of Whumpee.

How the hell did Whumpee let themself get this bad?!

Caretaker didn’t berate Whumpee for neglecting themself. Rather, they gathered Whumpee in their arms. There was a flash of confusion, then annoyance on Whumpee’s face. Caretaker pretended they didn’t see the latter emotion.

“Just gonna get you to bed,” they said.

Then possibly to the hospital, they added in their head.

Whumpee didn’t put up a fight as Caretaker carried them back the hall and to their room. Caretaker angled themself so as not to run Whumpee’s head into a wall or door frame. They were unsurprised to find that Whumpee had left their covers a tangled mess. They set Whumpee down and helped them into a seated position while they straightened the covers as best they could. Caretaker circled back around to where Whumpee sat and all the aggravation they’d felt at Whumpee for not taking better care of themself fled them completely.

Whumpee’s arms hung at their sides, their mouth was part way open and their eyes were glassy. Without worrying about Whumpee’s sensibilities, Caretaker put their palm on Whumpee’s forehead.

“You’re burning up, Whumpee,” they said. That Whumpee was running a fever was far from surprising, but the sickly heat that was coming off of them was no less worrying to feel. “Jesus, how long have you been sick?”

“Few days,” Whumpee said. They looked up at Caretaker with wounded pride and they tried to pull away when Caretaker cupped their neck with their hands.

“Sshh,” Caretaker said as they gently pressed their fingers against Whumpee’s throat. They winced at how swollen Whumpee’s glands felt beneath their fingertips.

They frowned and idly swept a damp lock of hair from Whumpee’s forehead and decided what to do.

“Okay,” they said. “Is there anything we need to bring with us to the hospital?”

Whatever indignation and bravado were left in Whumpee disappeared. Whumpee’s eyes went a little wider and they shrank back from Caretaker as they drew in several sharp breaths as they shook their head.

“No. No hospitals.”

“Whumpee, you passed out and you’re running a high fever. I really-”

“No!”

Whumpee tried to stand, but Caretaker stopped them before they could land on the floor again. Caretaker put one hand on Whumpee’s shoulder and held onto one of Whumpee’s arms, trying to hold them as steadily and as gently as possible.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Caretaker said. They kept their voice low as Whumpee landed back on the bed and began to struggle. “Easy, Whumpee. Hey, it’s okay. Calm down. It’s okay. Hey, hey, look at me.”

Whumpee’s energy flagged and finally, their wary, fever-bright eyes found Caretaker’s.

“That’s it, Whumpee.”

Caretaker knew Whumpee had a thing about hospitals, but they never would have guessed it was this bad. Had their fever amplified that fear, or had it simply laid it bare?

“No hospitals.”

Caretaker sighed and nodded. It wasn’t going to do either of them any good to drag Whumpee, half out of their mind with a fever, into an emergency room. Maybe they could talk Whumpee into it if it came to that. Or maybe they’d call an ambulance. Caretaker let go of Whumpee’s arm and rubbed their shoulder. Their heart went out to Whumpee when they felt their breathing hitch beneath their palm.

“Okay,” Caretaker conceded. “No hospitals. But we have to get your temperature down. Where do you keep your thermometer?

“I’ve never been this sick before,” Whumpee said. Their voice was thick and apologetic as they dropped their gaze.

No thermometer, then, Caretaker concluded as they alternated between rubbing and patting Whumpee’s shoulder.

“Okay, what about some Tylenol?”

Whumpee paused and thought about it.

“Above the bathroom sink.”

Caretaker located the bottle. Empty. They sighed, discarded it, and moved to the kitchen. They rummaged through Whumpee’s fridge, but settled on taking them a glass of water. Whumpee sat where they left them.

“I want you to drink some of this,” they said as they pressed the glass into Whumpee’s hands. “I’m going to go pick up a few things, okay?”

Whumpee looked from the glass and back up to Caretaker. They nodded and took several sips of water before setting the glass on their nightstand. Caretaker took note of the way they winced each time they swallowed.

““Do you think you’d be more comfortable in different clothing?”

Whumpee gave them a tired mmhmm and tried to lift themself again.

“I got it,” Caretaker said as they put up a staying hand. “Let me help.”

Whumpee directed them to the bottom drawer of their dresser. Caretaker selected a pair of black athletic shorts and an overly large gray tee shirt. Whumpee didn’t protest when Caretaker helped them out of their old clothes and into the new ones. Whatever energy Whumpee had was depleted and they allowed themself to be helped down to the mattress without complaint. They used one arm to unevenly pull their covers back over themself. Caretaker refrained from helping them pull the covers more completely over them.

They didn’t want to leave Whumpee like this for any amount of time, but if they were going to help them, they needed to. Caretaker fetched Whumpee’s cell phone from the living room and put it on the nightstand next to the water.

“I’ll be back soon, but if you need anything, just call.”

All told, it took them about a half an hour for them to visit a drug store and a convenience store - both within walking distance - to gather what they needed and return. They organized everything on the counter, then took the immediate essentials to Whumpee’s room.

Whumpee was asleep beneath their covers and the water sat, untouched, on the nightstand. Caretaker regretted that they needed to wake them up. They put a hand on Whumpee’s forehead - still far too warm - then patted their cheek.

“Hey, Whumpee,” they said. “I need you to wake up for a minute, okay?”

“Mmm?” Whumpee mumbled as they looked up at Caretaker with bleary, half-lidded eyes.

“Just gonna get your temperature,” they said as they held up the oral thermometer they’d bought.

Whumpee frowned.

“It’s clean,” Caretaker said, though they doubted that was Whumpee’s objection. They leaned down and put the tip of the thermometer to Whumpee’s lips. “C’mon.”

Thankfully, Whumpee did as they were asked.

“Keep it under your tongue,” Caretaker told them, letting memories of their mother be their guide.

Whumpee kept their eyes closed while the thermometer worked, but they opened them again when the beepbeepbeep sounded. They reached for the offending instrument, but Caretaker halted them.

“Just leave it for a sec,” they said. Part of them didn’t want to see the reading, didn’t want the numbers to force their hand with Whumpee’s care.

They removed the thermometer and turned it so they could see the segmented, digital numbers.

“One-oh-three point nine,” Caretaker said, frowning at the thermometer as though it were to blame.

Not great, Caretaker thought, though they knew it could be worse. They tried to remember if they’d seen Whumpee eat anything the past couple of days. They picked up the new bottle of Tylenol, but paused when they saw Whumpee’s face. Whumpee’s jaw clenched as they clumsily wiped a tear away, They crouched down at Whumpee’s side - the pills rattled as they did so - and they put a hand on Whumpee’s arm.

Caretaker cursed themself for not stepping in earlier, for not seeing just how sick Whumpee was, for not making Whumpee take better care of themself. The latter was easier said than done, of course, but now it seemed the confirmation that they were sick was too much for Whumpee to bear.

“Okay,” they said, speaking more gently than they could ever remember speaking to Whumpee. Overt tenderness, or any other sort of tenderness for that matter, had never been a part of their dynamic. Whumpee let themself sniffle and that led to a coughing fit. Caretaker seated themself on the mattress next to Whumpee and patted their back as they waited for the coughing to pass. “It’s okay. I know this sucks. We’ve gotta work on getting your temp down, though, so I want you to take these pills.”

Caretaker helped them lean up and take the pills.

“You need to drink more, too,” Caretaker said, careful not to sound like they were scolding them. They wondered how much longer Whumpee would have let themself go without some sort of aid. A niggling thought worked its way into Caretaker’s mind. There was the very real possibility Whumpee had never had anyone to care for them in this way.

Caretaker gave Whumpee’s forearm a squeeze and then stood.

“Be right back,” they said.

They returned with a cool, damp washcloth. Caretaker swept Whumpee’s hair back and put the cloth on their forehead.

“Cold,” they murmured without opening their eyes.

“I know,” Caretaker said as they sat down on the edge of the bed. “Just don’t want your brain to get cooked.”

Whumpee hummed in agreement and laid still. Their breathing evened out and Caretaker removed the cloth when it had taken on as much of Whumpee’s body heat as it could. Whumpee didn’t stir while Caretaker repeated the process several times.

Once they were sure Whumpee was resting soundly enough, Caretaker went about the business turning their case over to other, equally competent hands. They didn’t look forward to telling Whumpee, but they’d cross that bridge when they had to.

When Caretaker returned to Whumpee’s room, Whumpee was curled on their side. Their mouth was open and their breathing was deep. Caretaker risked placing the back of their hand on Whumpee’s forehead. Still warm, but it was better.

All was quiet until just after one in the morning. Whumpee stirred and Caretaker sat upright in the recliner in the corner of the room. Whumpee rolled onto their back and pawed at the covers.

“Hey,” Caretaker said as they walked over to the side of the bed. They put a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder and shook it a little bit. “You good, Whumpee?”

Whumpee’s eyes slid open and settled on Caretaker. It took a moment, but Caretaker could see the memory of the evening return to them.

“Too warm,” they rasped.

“Fever’s breaking,” Caretaker said with a nod as they helped Whumpee off with the covers. To Whumpee’s chagrin, Caretaker got their temp again, though that time it was a much more agreeable ninety-nine point eight.

“Don’t have to stay,” Whumpee mumbled as they rubbed a hand over their face.

Yes I do, Caretaker thought.

“It’s no problem,” they said with a shrug. “Besides, I know your WiFi password. Can I get you anything?”

Whumpee swallowed and grimaced as though there was a bad taste in their mouth.

“Drink?”

Caretaker brought them ginger ale, more pills and chapstick. Whumpee was quick to fall back to sleep after that.

Whumpee’s fever spiked again in the morning, though it was nowhere near as harrowing. What worried Caretaker was how pliant Whumpee had become. Just more evidence of how run down they’d let themself get.

After they took a shower, Whumpee set up camp in the living room and Caretaker took the opportunity to change the bedclothes. It was a small thing, but sometimes those provided the most comfort. Caretaker knew they were well on their way to becoming a mother hen, but they couldn’t quite bring themself to care.

Caretaker waited for the inevitable questions about work, but they never came. Caretaker wondered if Whumpee already knew what they’d done. The day wore on and Whumpee alternated between dozing and trying to watch whatever brainless actioner Caretaker opted to play. Their blanket was on. Their blanket was off.

Caretaker intermittently cleared away tissues when they began to accumulate around Whumpee. Caretaker plied them with a steady stream of drinks (Tea with honey seemed most effective.), and in the early evening, despite their declaration that they weren’t hungry, Whumpee managed to eat some soup. Caretaker extended a hand to take the dishes away when Whumpee was done. Whumpee started to say something, but their words fell off and they looked down at their lap when Caretaker took the dishes from them.

Caretaker wanted to reassure them, but they knew whatever they said in that moment would sound useless and patronizing to Whumpee. Maybe the best thing they could do was give Whumpee some alone time. At least for as long as it took Caretaker to pick up some things from their own place.

When Caretaker got back Whumpee was ready for bed. Caretaker regarded them. Their cheeks were flushed again and their eyes were glassy. Caretaker asked them the same questions they’d been asking them all day. How’s your throat? You okay? Do you need anything?

“I’m just tired,” Whumpee said as they started off with shuffling steps towards their room.

“Okay.” Caretaker calculated the time they’d remind Whumpee to take more pills like the world’s most proactive medi-minder. They chewed their lip as they watched Whumpee go. They hoped they got some rest. “Let me know if you need anything.”

That night, Caretaker dozed in the couch, but a single whimper from Whumpee’s room woke them. They crossed the room and fumbled for the lamp’s switch. The golden light revealed Whumpee, sweating and tangled in their covers. Their eyes were dazed and frightful; their mouth opened and they let out a pathetic groan as they pulled themself toward the edge of the bed.

“Whumpee,” Caretaker said as they put a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder; they were looking at them, but they weren’t seeing them. “Hey, Whumpee.”

“Nonono,” Whumpee said. Their voice was far off, but it sounded no less distressed. “Stop Don't Please. It Hurts. N-”

Whumpee came awake and they panted as they braced themself on their elbows. They recoiled from Caretaker’s touch with a whimper and their feet worked at kicking their covers away.

“It’s okay, Whumpee,” Caretaker said. “Ssh. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe, Whumpee.”

They risked putting a hand back on Whumpee’s shoulder. They reminded themself to stay calm for Whumpee’s sake. A sob escaped Whumpee as they fell onto their side, breathing hard. Their feet stil moved ineffectually under the covers.

Caretaker pulled the blankets off of Whumpee and they stopped trying to escape whatever was hunting them. Caretaker grabbed the thermometer and the tissue box before sitting down next to Whumpee and began rubbing the curve of their shoulder.

“It’s okay,” they repeated. “Shshsh. Just a bad dream.”

Was it, though? How dramatically had their fever spiked?

After a bout of coughing, Caretaker offered Whumpee a tissue. Whumpee blew their nose before Caretaker tried to get them to take the thermometer in their mouth. Whumpee turned their face away and pursed their lips. Caretaker might have found humor in the sheer petulence of the gesture had Whumpee not looked so scared.

“C’mon, Whumpee. I’ve gotta see your temp.”

“No,” Whumpee said as they reached with a weak hand, trying to bat away the thermometer.

Caretaker caught Whumpee’s clammy hand and lowered it to the bed.

“I’ve gotta know how bad it is, Whumpee. It’ll just take a minute.”

“Don’t…” Whumpee said as they looked at Caretaker with unfocused eyes. “Don’t take me to the hospital. I can’t be there.”

“I’m just-”

“I can’t.”

Caretaker took a breath. They couldn’t let Whumpee work themself into a lather.

“You’re just coming out of a nightmare, Whumpee. Just give things a minute to make sense.”

“I-”

Whumpee cut themself off; Caretaker hadn’t said whatever they’d expected to hear.

“Just focus on me for a minute. Can you try to do that?”

They nodded, blinked and looked at Caretaker as though they were actually seeing them. Silence fell between them. Whumpee took a deep breath and rested their head back on their pillow and stared at the opposite wall.

“Okay,” they said finally. They allowed Caretaker to place the thermometer under their tongue. It seemed to take an eternity for the thermometer to beep. Caretaker took it back and before looking at it, they prayed to whoever or whatever might be listening that they didn't have to get Whumpee to a hospital.

“One-oh-two point six,” Caretaker said with relief. “That's not so bad. Just a bad dream that did a number on you.”

The lines of Whumpee’s face relaxed and they rested on the pillow, but some sort of melancholy had taken the place of Whumpee’s fear. It was an equally disheartening sight.

“Need anything?” Caretaker asked after they went through the routine they seemed to have established in nursing their friend.

“No.”

“Okay, ” Caretaker said. “Just let me know if you do.”

Caretaker stood and pulled a blanket back over Whumpee, who took its edge in their hand and pulled it to their chin.

“Wait,” Whumpee said when Caretaker turned.

Caretaker paused and looked back at Whumpee.

“Can you…” Whumpee looked at them, their eyes begging Caretaker to understand. “Can you stay?”

What had they dreamed that had them so rattled?

“Of course, ” they said. They settled back down next to Whumpee and swept Whumpee’s hair out of their face. “Whatever you need.”

Whumpee slept late the next morning and Caretaker took the time to tidy the apartment and ask for updates on the case. It had been solved.

When Whumpee came out into the living room, they made a beeline for their recliner. Though Caretaker was constantly present, they exchanged few words and Caretaker could tell Whumpee was putting effort into avoiding their gaze. The news that the case had been resolved seemed to do little to cheer them.

After cleaning the lunch mess, and doing dishes Caretaker sat on the side of the couch that was closest to Whumpee.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Whumpee said without taking their gaze off of the TV.

“It’s no problem.”

More silence. Whumpee dozed off and Caretaker channel surfed.

Caretaker chose a book from Whumpee’s shelf.

Caretaker read the same sentence five damn times before giving up and putting the book on the coffee table.

Whumpee jolted awake with a gasp. Their fingers dug into the armrests and their eyes darted over the room as though they’d woken up somewhere entirely foreign. They cursed and let out a harsh breath.

Caretaker guessed embarrassment, and not sickness, colored Whumpee’s cheeks.

“It’s fine,” Whumpee said before Caretaker could ask.

Whumpee stood, shakily at first, then walked to the kitchen. Caretaker knew any attempt to help them would be rebuffed, so they waited for Whumpee to stare into the refrigerator before they selected a bottle of water before moving back to their seat.

Whumpee sat and sipped.

Caretaker needed to address the elephant in the room. Or at least let Whumpee know the elephant could stay where it was.

“We don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Caretaker said. “But I hope you know you can if you need to.”

Whumpee’s fingers worried at the armrests.

“I do. I do know. I’m just not used to...” Whumpee’s voice was low but solemn as they gestured toward all the signs of care that had been taken on their behalf. “... to any of this.”

Caretaker wanted to pull them close and tell them how sorry they were to hear that, that they never needed to hesitate to ask for help. They didn’t know what they could possibly say to make it better. Instead, they flashed the easygoing smile that had been missing from their features for the past couple days.

“Well,” they said. “Get used to it.”

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kaleidoscope-of-thoughts · 2 years

Text

I made a part two to this post :)

TW: reference to past torture

Masterlist - Part 3

Caretaker knew they had to get up and leave since Whumper would start getting suspicious soon, but looking down at the precious bundle in their arms didn’t make the decision any easier. Whumpee was so frail and helpless, Caretaker wasn’t sure how much longer they would last with Whumper. Their sleeping face was relaxed and peaceful, blissfully unaware of the pain their body must be in.

As much as it hurt Caretaker, they really had to go. They hoped to detach themselves from Whumpee without waking them, but it became apparent that that was not going to work when Caretaker shifted slightly and Whumpee tiredly opened their eyes.

“Shh, it’s okay, go back to sleep, I’m gonna come back for you,” Caretaker soothed and slowly set Whumpee back down on the closet floor. This did little to calm Whumpee’s nerves and they whimpered then reached out for Caretaker, only for the tension from the chains to stop them from moving their arms past their side.

“Okay, okay, don’t worry, I’m still here,” Caretaker shuffled forward and took Whumpee's hand in theirs, rubbing their thumb across the back of it.

“I need to get back to Whumper or else they might come looking for me,” Caretaker explained quietly, “but the next time I get the chance, I’m gonna help you, alright?”

Whumpee nodded as silent tears ran down their face. Caretaker gently thumbed them away and gave their hand a light squeeze.

“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart,” and Caretaker stood up and walked out of the closet, giving Whumpee a reassuring smile before they closed the door. Once they left the closet, all the emotions hit them full force. How could Whumper do this to someone? Whumpee must have been tortured like this for so long, their body was in such bad shape that Caretaker wondered if the scars would ever fade. They knew for sure that the emotional ones never would.

Caretaker needed to make a plan later, right now they had to get this book to Whumper. They picked the novel up from where they had set it back down on the dresser and made their way towards the door when it swung open.

It was Whumper.

“Hello, Caretaker,” Whumper drawled out with a smirk, “I was wondering what was taking my favourite servant so long.” Caretaker could see right through the innocent look on their face.

“Just decided to tidy up your room a bit, Sir,” Caretaker hoped their voice was steady when they spoke.

“Oh, is that so?” Caretaker swallowed hard.

Whumper walked past Caretaker and surveyed the room. They slid their finger across the end of the bed, checking for dust. Caretaker had never been more thankful that another servant had cleaned the room that morning.

“Well, it seems clean enough, now where’s the book?” Caretaker placed the book in Whumper’s awaiting hands.

“Thank you very much,” Whumper said and smiled showing their perfectly white teeth. “Come along now, I have something to discuss with you.”

Caretaker followed them out the door and shut it behind them. Whumper did not speak when the two walked down the hall, and it was making Caretaker uncomfortable.

“I was thinking I’d give you a nice surprise today, think of it as a reward,” Whumper finally stated, breaking the silence.

“Thank you, Sir,” Caretaker wasn’t sure whether this was a surprise they were going to enjoy.

“Yes, you're welcome, it’s about time I let someone else enjoy my pet,” Whumper chuckled, and Caretaker’s heart stopped.

Whumper leaned close to Caretaker’s ear and whispered, “just go to your room, I’ll bring them to you.”

“O-of course, Sir,” Caretaker kept their stride confident and quick until they reached their room, and when they closed the door, they couldn’t hold back any longer. Tears ran down their face and they slid down against the door to the ground, shoulders shaking and breath stuttering.

This would be Caretaker’s chance. Whumpee would be free from the chains and able to move around freely, they would be able to escape. But if Caretaker’s attempt failed, it could cause more harm than good for Whumpee.

This, more than anything, terrified them the most.

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #whumper #injury #I really liked the first one so I make a second part :)#idk where this is gonna go lol #also don’t like how it’s ended but….oh well #let me know if there’s anymore tw

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when-the-feet-hurt · 2 years

Text

cw: intimate whumper, past torture/abuse, pet/captivity whump

“I can’t believe that you were unruly at one point,” Whumper says, carding their fingers through Whumpee’s hair. “You’re so good for me.”** **

Whumpee doesn’t respond; they know better. Right now, Whumper doesn’t want them to respond—and Whumper always gets what they want. Always.

“Breaking you was worth the effort,” Whumper continues as they stroke Whumpee’s cheek, trailing their fingers down to the red collar around their neck. “Look at you now. You’re so well-behaved.”

Whumpee looks down at the floor.

Whumper lays a kiss on their forehead and pulls Whumpee even closer, burying their nose in their hair. Whumpee leans into Whumper’s touch, trying their best to ignore the nausea. Despite all this time, it hasn’t gone away. Nuzzling their head against Whumper’s chest, Whumpee closes their eyes.

Whumper’s fingers sneak underneath the dog collar. Whumpee stays still. Cold fingers trace over a raised, jagged scar that spans the length of their neck. It aches as the memory comes back to Whumpee: fresh blood trickling down their neck, mingling with their sticky sweat as Whumper smiles and licks the razor blade in their hand. Whumpee can still feel the sharp metal against their throat, even though it’s been… Even though it’s been…

How long has it been?

They know it doesn’t matter; still, they can’t help but wonder. Their ‘training’ seemed endless, day after day in that cold room where not even sunlight dared reach. Counting the days was what kept Whumpee sane, but they lost count somewhere along the way. After all, what was the point in counting if their torment would never end? Now, the concept of time is unfamiliar; they no longer know what sunrises or sunsets look like, nor do they know how long an hour lasts.

As Whumper plays with their hair, however, they can’t help but wish time would go by faster.

“I like the shampoo you’re using,” Whumper comments as if they didn’t choose it themselves.

��Thank you, Master. It’s very nice.” Whumpee speaks in that soft, shy voice Whumper likes.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Whumper says. “I can buy you some more if you like.”

Whumpee forces themself to lift their head. They smile. “Really? That would be amazing, Master. You’re always so generous to me.”

“You’re always so good for me, Whumpee, and good pets deserve rewards.” Whumper grins, squeezing Whumpee even tighter.

Whumpee swallows the bile in their throat. They hate this. They hate Whumper. Most of all, they hate themself. They’ve sacrificed their dignity to keep themselves safe—is that better or worse than the abuse? A small part of Whumpee wishes they’d died and bled out on the dirty basement floor. If they’d died, then they wouldn’t have to live such a shameful existence.

“Is something wrong, dear?”

Blinking away the tears, Whumpee looks up at their captor with a smile and answers, “No, Master.”

#whump writing #whump blog #pet whump #intimate whumper

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jordanstrophe · 3 years

Text

part 2

CW: Pet whumpee, conditioned, bruising, starving mentioned

Caretaker snapped the umbrella open to hide from the downpour. They walked past a wall covered brick-by-brick in missing posters of pet whumpees. Some offered a reward for the return of their precious slaves. You would assume the owners picked out the best picture of their whumpee, but all of them had an empty expression.

Empty eyes, empty faces, empty emotions.

None of them were even smiling.

Caretaker shook their head in shame. No wonder they were missing, they all looked miserable. Probably took off in the night.

Good for them.

Caretaker’s steps slowed when they heard something else other than tapping rain on the umbrella. Quiet sobs came from the alleyway, exhausted and heartbroken. They turned the corner, finding a shivering curled up figure hiding behind a dumpster, looking up at them with fearful eyes.

“Are you alright?” Caretaker asked.

“Hhn.. Mm...” Whumpee whimpered, their face painted with guilt as they could hardly look them in the eye. “Where’s your coat, sweetheart? Is there someone I can call for you?”

Instantly, their head aggressively shook, before staring dead at the ground. Caretaker could barely make out the black and blue bruises circling their neck as they sighed.

They were a missing pet.

“Hey, where’s your master?”

Whumpee instantly covered their ears, curling up defensively. They didn’t even want to hear that name. “Come on, you gotta help me out here, I can’t just leave you out here like this. You’ll starve or somethi-”

“SO BE IT!” Whumpee shouted, taking Caretaker by surprise.

“I would ra-rather starve then go b-back! It’s more merciful than master will ever be! If th-that’s what I get in t-turn, then that’s what I want!” Whumpee shouted, curling up and hiding their head between their knees.

Caretaker was stunned, frozen in place. The only sound left between them was silence and trickling rain.

“Can I at least get you something to eat then?” Caretaker asked.

“M-.. Mh?” Whumpee poked their head out to find a hand extended to them. Their eyes were full of nothing but mistrust as they narrowed. “Oh come ooon, what else can you lose? I’ll get you a meal, and whatever happens next is up to you, okay?” Caretaker smiled.

As conditioned, Whumpee shoved their wrist into Caretaker’s palm, who quickly readjusted so they were actually holding their hand. "That's it, there you go." They gave a warm smile as they helped them to their feet, pulling them close to their side so they were under the umbrella.

"I don't w-want to go." Whumpee sobbed, wiping away both rain and tears falling down their face. "I know." Caretaker said sadly, knowing full well Whumpee thought they were going to be taken back to whumper.

And they were going to prove them wrong.

Part 2

Tag list: @grizzlie70 @alien-octopus @lave-whump @amethysts-sideblog @whump-it-like-its-hot @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @yet-another-heathen @princessofonward @whatwhumpcomments @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @mascmasochist @hamiltonwhumpdump @shokuhoemisaki @as-a-matter-of-whump

o(^∀^*)o Thank you for reading!

#pet whump #conditioned whumpee #whump #caretaker #whumpee #rescued whumpee #missing whumpee #tw starving

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whumpsabyss · 3 years

Text

“Wh- whumper?” Whumpee softly asked.

Whumper, who had their arm wrapped around them, half asleep, hummed, “Yes?”

“I… I did what you asked.” Whumpee was hesitant, worried how they’d react.

“Hmm,” Whumper sat up and rested their chin on Whumpee’s shoulder, “yeah, I guess you did.”

“Does… does that mean…?”

Whumper pressed a kiss on their shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“But I agreed! I did what you told me to!” Whumpee cried.

“Yes. You called your precious Caretaker and assured them you were okay just as I instructed. Although, there was an issue.”

Whumpee’s stomach dropped. They had done everything right! They had thrown away their chance at escape and Whumper was telling them they did something wrong?

“I heard that little sob you let out as you said goodbye. Caretaker might have heard it and taken it to heart. So I don’t think I should reward you.”

“No! Please! Don’t- I did it! I’m sorry! Please, I risked everything! Whumper, please!” Whumpee began to cry, their emotions getting the better of them.

Whumper touched their face, and they gave them a small smile. “You know I love it when you beg. Alright. I won’t hurt you for a week.” They rolled away from Whumpee, pulling the blanket up over them.

Whumpee sighed, but wondered if they had made the biggest mistake of their life.

#whump dialogue #whump scenario #whump things #whump drabble #whump prompt #whump #captivity whump #caretaker #whumper #whumpee #intimate whumper

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ironwoman359 · 3 years

Note

Completely agree on nagas being underutilized and having a ton of potential. Both as the whumpee and the whumper….

So now I have to know. Which do you prefer…(and maybe why…talk whumpy to me lol)

Naga whumper? Or naga whumpee…

cw: whump, captivity, dehumanization, possessiveness, abuse, torture, angst with little to no comfort

Oh, I am delighted you asked, friend...it's not like I just did a bunch of research on snake health for a bad things happen bingo fic* with a naga whumpee....it's not like doing so gave me MANY more ideas than I was able to fit into that one story...and its not like I have many thoughts on how nagas could fit into the traditional creature whump tropes (that I also was reading and rereading for 'research' while writing We Blankly Stare). This is going under a cut, because, like all my fics, it got longer than I meant it to. (also, to my regular followers who aren't into heavy whump, don't mind me as I go off on a tangent into a totally different fic community; you can skip this one if you need to; at the very least mind the content warnings <3)

SO, nagas. Beautiful creatures. Like centaurs, 'human' on the top and snake on the bottom. SO much lovely whump potential, either as whumpers or whumpees, but lets focus on the whumpee side for now. In no particular order...

Pet Whump:

Decorative collars set with jewels that compliment the pattern of their highly polished scales and delicate gold chains weaving their way along their body, equal parts jewelry and restraint. They are highly prized, beautiful things, and what is the point of owning one if not to show it off?

Inviting a crowd to come and watch them feed, demonstrating their dislocating jaws and sharp fangs as they toss rodents to them whole. Bonus angst points if raw meat actually makes your naga whumpee sick, or they can eat raw meat but cooked is better. Just because they look like a snake doesn't mean they eat like one

Is your naga whumpee poisonous? Have their owner remove their fangs or poison glands, leaving them utterly dependent on them for food (and utterly helpless if they do ever manage to escape)

Nagas bred in captivity, so the only life they've ever known is one of imprisonment. Do they even consider freedom as something attainable? Or do their owners have them convinced that they're better off like this?

Lab Whump:

Nagas that are actually human/snake hybrids created in laboratory experiments just to see if it was possible.

Nagas who are kept in order to produce venom, what the venom is for could be anything!

Nagas 'enhanced' with mind and/or body altering drugs or magic to serve in the military as the perfect warrior

Nags used for experiments and drug tests because they are seen as less than human

Torture Whump:

As is the case with most torture whump, the 'why' the whumpee is being tortured isn't really important here. Maybe they have information the whumper wants, maybe the whumper is trying to get revenge or hurt whumpee's team, maybe they're just cruel. This isn't really about the 'why' so much as it is the specific 'hows' that having a whumpee who is part snake provides.

Pulling/cutting off scales, pulling out or filing down fangs, clipping or tearing off claws (a creature whump classic)

Naga specific (this is more of a lizard thing than a snake thing, but nagas aren’t real, we make the rules here!) body part removal: cutting off the tail! It doesn’t matter that it grows back, it still hurts every time. (or maybe the tail doesn’t grow back, and the naga is left unable to ‘walk’ properly)

Rough iron collars around their neck attached to a ball and chain, bonus points if the length of the chain prevents them from rising to their usual 'standing' height.

Hang them from the ceiling with cuffs and chains by their tails; upside down, right-side up, however you choose!

My those snake bodies are long...I wonder how long they can stretch?

I have one word for you: thermoregulation. Reptiles cannot regulate their own body heat, they are dependent on their environment. This gives us a whole HOST of reptile-specific torture techniques:

temperature shock: dump them in freezing water or spray them with a high-pressure hose. Unpleasant for any kind of whumpee, for the naga whumpee this has the added bonus of being fatal very quickly if they aren't warmed up.

It's not good for a snake to be too HOT either, they need to cool their bodies off just as often as they need to warm them up (don't quote me precisely on that, snake tumblr). A whumper who keeps their naga under bright, hot lights nearly constantly so they're dehydrated, covered in blisters, and/or always feverish (can a naga get a fever? idk, up to you. snakes don't, but snakes don't have human torsos. we can be wishy washy with health issues)

So extreme heat and extreme cold are bad, but did you know that (while it's breed specific) most snakes lose its ability to thermoregulate at around 70 degrees Fahrenheit? When their body temperature drops below this (but not so low that we're in hypothermia territory), their movements are sluggish, they cannot/will not eat, and it is very easy for them to develop infections, scale rot, all sorts of problems. Does the whumper keep them in low temperatures to make them weak and pliable in their hands, easy to control? Does the whumper use these conditions as a punishment for bad behavior? Or give reprieve from them as a reward for good behavior? There’s just SO much that can be done with temperature alone! It’s one of the things that sets nagas apart from other creatures and THAT is one of the most criminally underused aspects, in my oh so humble opinion!

Other Fun Concepts:

Nagas with their tails trapped under rubble, unable to pull themselves free.

Nagas kept in a cage that's far too small for them, their body wrapped up so tightly they can barely move.

Did you know that when a snake's body temperature is too low, it can't digest its food? And that if it does eat something and then doesn't have the energy to digest it properly, it will either instinctually regurgitate that food back up or run the risk of the food literally rotting in its stomach? Take this knowledge into literally any of the pet or torture scenarios and you have some A+ snake specific whump

Tiny nagas! Like the western hognose snake or the ringneck snake, these little guys can fit in the palm of your hand! Apply literally any previously listed scenario to your tiny naga for instant fantasy g/t whump! also vore...that's not my scene but it was one of like, two things i found while looking for naga whump on tumblr earlier, so I feel obligated to mention it.

Giant nagas, YOU can fit in THEIR hands. Does that make them the whumper, or still the whumpee? You decide!

Water nagas! combine mer whump with naga whump and you’ve got a water snake to hurt!

Nagas with scale rot, respiratory infections, kinks in their spine, or other snake health issues, either from mistreatment from a whumper or natural causes.

As you can tell, I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, lol. I hope you enjoyed, and if anyone writes anything based off these, I’d love to see it! Also, HAVE I been considering making a whump sideblog for awhile? yes. Did writing this post convince me to finally do it? Also yes. So I'll be over at @ironwhumper359 if you'd like to talk more whump with me, I’d be delighted to have you :)

*if you would like to read said bad things happen bingo fic, know that while it is labelled Sanders Sides, because that’s the fandom I mainly write it, the first chapter only has one character from the series in it and is honestly much more of an original whump piece than it is a fanfic. The second and third chapters are more fandom specific (though you’re of course still welcome to read them even if you’re not a sanders sides fan), but that first one can be read as stand-alone whump!

#whump #naga whump #naga whumpee #pet whump #dehumanization #creature whump #whump prompts #lab whump #torture tw #angst #asks and answers #simplygrimly

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