A Whole Lotta Whump

They’re so well behaved, so docile, so broken that they’re safe to be placed in a touch tank. Little children are instructed to pet them with open palms, careful of filed down horns and claws, feed them little bits from paper cups for 3 dollars a pop.

Whumpee flinches for the first few days, trying hard to hold still when their handler glares at them from behind a bright, kid friendly smile, but…

After a while, Whumpee starts to relax. A little. There’s still older kids or toddlers who pull their hair, adults who find it funny to grab their horns and yank their head up for a picture, and they still have their handler watching them like a hawk for any wrong move.

But Whumpee had been touch starved for so long. Beaten and snapped at and starved and stuffed in cages too small for them to even turn around in.

In the tank, they were outside, they could feel the sun and the breeze and see the sky, god they’d missed it. Thousands of tiny hands patting them and stroking their fur, cooing and awwing at how calm and “sweet” they were, feeding them treats with careful fingers, if Whumpee had to be anywhere, they could take being here.

The purse dog: a pretty, pathetic, small thing, a mere toy for humans.

The hunting/guard dog: undying loyalty, willing to commit atrocities for their master.

The house dog: sad and bored eyes, staring out the window, longing for more.

Whumpee has made it abundantly clear in the past that they don’t want anyone to see their face. On every mission, they wear some sort of mask or helmet, and if they ever meet with Caretaker on a casual basis, they still find a way to subtly obscure their face.

But their injuries are severe. They likely have head trauma that Caretaker needs to treat quickly or else they’ll die. No chance to wait for Whumpee to gain consciousness to give permission, or for someone else to arrive so that at least it doesn’t have to be them.

Of course, Caretaker feels horrible. They’re betraying Whumpee’s trust and they’ll surely hate them after this. But they have to do it, they have to save their life, even if it means losing Whumpee’s companionship. They’d lose it anyways.

Bonus points if this reveals something very crucial about Whumpee. A scar that implies a life of far worse injuries than this that Whumpee has had to crawl through. Signs of an illness, curse, or magic clear on their skin or eyes. Maybe Caretaker knows Whumpee without the mask, and never put two and two together that their friends (or enemy) were the same person.

Luxuries such as blankets

Extra bedding that's there for comfort, such as double pillows, soft ones or plushies

Warm baths/showers

Food that tastes good just because

Clothing in bright colors

Music

A door that locks from the inside

Clothing that favours comfort over functionality/protection

Pets

Floor time

Books

Pain medicine

Lazy days where you can just take it slow instead of being always at a strict and unforgiving schedule for maximum efficiency always

Being able to leave their living space a little messy. There is no handler to come in for inspection and beat them bloody for not doing their bed

Sitting down in soft, padded couches instead of having to stay on their feet lest be considered lazy for "slacking off on duty"

Choosing how they want to be called

Consent. People only touch them if they ask first, and if they say yes.

Having their "no" respected.

Having their opinion on things considered and taken seriously in general

Being taken care of when sick or having a bad day

Being held and soothed through a difficult moment instead of yelled at and told to get it together

Normal routine completely thrown out the window.

Lots of Caretakers friends/family visiting who Whumpee doesnt know well or has never actually met before

Cue awkward introductions/conversations and (self-imposed) expectations to follow certain social rules in order to be polite. Being “rude” used to earn serious consequences with Whumper

Food/drinks being prepared out of sight or brought into the house by strangers to Whumpee (even with food made by Caretaker anyone in the house has free access and could have done something to it). They have to eat some as it would be rude not to

Heated card games or Monopoly resulting in playful yelling. But for Whumpee yelling is yelling

Being around intoxicated people. As the day draws to a close Whumpee has to decide to either stay in a loud and triggering environment until everyone leaves even though they are exhausted or to excuse themselves and be alone in their room, leaving them vulnerable to anyone who wanders by

Whumpee taking the whole event as “proof” that, not only are they are out of place in Caretakers life, but are also a burden. Caretaker had to keep checking on Whumpee rather than being able to fully enjoy themselves

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

-Whumpee stumbles through the door and just barely makes it to the couch before they pass out

-Caretaker finding Whumpee asleep at the dinner table, their head laying next to their plate with a fork in hand

-Whumpee finding everything hilarious due to sleep deprivation

-Whumpee’s sentence trailing off as they doze off

-Whumpee’s head bowing as they fall asleep. The movement startles them and they quickly shake their head to try and wake themselves up

forced to become a concubine for the new ruler

using their skills of diplomacy and using words as weapons to try and bargain for better conditions. once whumper realises this, whumpee is beaten harder than ever before.

forced to dress in a mockery of their former royal clothes: cheap royal costumes, maybe from an outdated era

or forced to dress in rags from the beginning

or forced to dress degradingly revealing, kept on a chain by the throne for all to see

traded to a hostile kingdom as part of a peace treaty

the symbols of whumpee's power being repurposed to humiliate them (eg. their scepter being used as a cane to strike them, a crown repurposed to a collar, …)

pushed to their knees before the throne, head pressed to the floor by a hand in their hair, insults hissed into their ear

public punishments

paraded before their former peers and enemies, now degraded to something worth barely more than a stray mutt

a former subject using the opportunity to degrade and humiliate whumpee

still, something is distinctly wrong. caretaker can’t get over the apprehension in their voice, the constant tension, the flinching - surely their falling out wasn’t so bad that whumpee is now scared and thinks of caretaker as some kind of monster.

that is, until they bring this up to a mutual friend out of frustration, and the friend’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“oh… you don’t know.”

caretaker raises an eyebrow. “know what?”

-Nosebleeds. Never gets old.

-Coughing up blood. The good ol’ “cough into your hand and pull it back to see blood” also never gets old.

-Headaches. You keep fighting as your head pounds, desperately telling you to take a break. At first they fade within minutes when you stop using magic, but overtime, they become chronic.

-Fatigue. After a big battle, you stand triumphant, and then just fall asleep on the spot.

-In a similar vein, overuse causing you to straight up faint rather than just fall asleep. Darkness begins to overtake your vision in the middle of battle, unconsciousness abruptly looming over you.

-Any of the side effects happening to another person. Maybe two close characters are connected, and whatever side effects character A would normally endure are transferred to character B. When A uses a blast of magic B screams loudly because holy shit that hurt.

-Magic gradually deteriorating your mind. Using it too much eventually caused hallucinations and an inability to retain memories, or even larger scale memory loss. 

They had been tied to that metal grate for a week now. Their wrists twisted as to loosen up the ropes holding them down. Unable to move more than that. They looked at the sky turning red slowly going black.

It was finally nightime. Finally, the desolated street was filled with pedestrians. Human and others. Only seeing them with disgust.

They knew they were covered in rain, dirt and blood. Nobody liked that. Nobody would even attempt to get close or say a word. It was normal to see pets dying on the street everyday. They were nothing special.

Their master had left them and nobody would take them.

That was the price of their mistake.

That’s why they had found a way of at least getting food.

They were a shapeshifter. And they were in the red light district.

Many had approached them thinking they were a hot girl, a strong man, a weak elf, and a long etcetera. The rope was specially made for them. Gift from their master. The magic on it allowed them to shift alongside them. So, even if they transformed into a dog, they would be tied and unable to move away.

“Why here all alone?” They would ask them often after they were done. The shapeshifter would often hide their urge to puke with a smile.

“I don’t like people seeing me” they would reply. They always went for a kiss before hand feeding them. It was part of the service they would tell them. Then they would simply walk away and the shapeshifter would wait until someone else happened across.

It wasn’t always like that, however.

There were some that never paid and simply used them. Once they knew they were a shapeshifter, they would beat them to see all their forms. The gross, the beautiful, the exotic, the inhuman, the famous. And they would enjoy them in each of them.

The sun was going up after one of those beatings when they were feeling like passing out. Their head was carelessly hanging in front of them. The real clothes shattered and ripped around them. Sitting on the cold floor as rain started to pour over them, they closed their eyes. Their real ones. Purple colored with yellow irises. Blue bruises all over their body and peeled skin on their wrists, making even a single shift send sharp strikes of pain, felt a slight relief with the raindrops.

Their ears, deer like, hanged low. Too slow to perk up when picking up the sound of steps getting closer.

“You poor thing” a man’s voice went kneeling down to meet teary eyes.

The shapeshifter inhaled and pulled strength out of their inner selves to shift into a beautiful human girl with bright red dress. “What you looking for mister? I’ve got them all cheap. No silver or gold, just for a bit of food” they said in a cheery tone hiding almost perfectly how much pain were they in. The man simply stared at them before standing up. They allowed themselves to collapse and shape into something else. “Mister has more refined tastes I see. I can do as many as you can think of. I can be whoever you want” their voice changed with each word. Not stopping shifting until a hand was on their wrists. Taking out a growl they didn’t know they were holding.

They were in their original form. Bruised and covered in dirt and blood. They pulled their knees up to their chest hiding their face. No hands trying to hold them down or anything.

He didn’t like that form. Their former owner said it was disgusting. It was because they transformed back into it without permission that they were tied there.

A simple mistake like that...

They felt warm hands and less pressure on one of their wrists. Their eyes flew to the place the human was untying the ropes. Not even a sign of it being difficult on his face. Had it always been that easy? The human passed to the other wrist as they, for the first time in a while, moved their hand freely in front of them. Then they felt the other hand being freed.

They were free.

They twisted their wrists. Curled and straightened their fingers. Was it a dream? Had they lost consciousness and were dreaming? They didn’t wanna wake up. They looked up to the human once again kneeling down to see them eye to eye. Coat now on his hands covering their naked greenish body.

“Can you stand?” They asked them simply. They tried to pull themselves up immediately. They didn’t want to look ungrateful. But their right leg was broken and were too exhausted. They shook their head embarrased. “Its ok. Hold on to me. Lets get you somewhere dry ok?” He said pulling one of their arms over his shoulders and standing up swiftly.

They walked away slowly. When they reached somwhere with a roof and a bench the man carefully sat him.

“What’s your name?” The shapeshifter shooked their head. The man made their lips a thin line. “Im guessing you don’t have anywhere to go now” they nodded slwoly “how long were you sitting there?” He asked him taking out bandages and improvising an splinter with cardboard from discarded boxes.

“A-A week” they said sensing the rage on the man as he gently pulled a knot on their leg and sat next to them.

“I see” they limited to say. The shapeshifter tried their hardest to stay awake but they were falling on their place. “My friend will take a while to pick us up. You can rest if you want” the said allowing them to rest their head on their shoulder.

“Thank you sir” they replied closing their eyes. Wondering if it was safe to do so. “Thank you so much” their voice came out strained. They wouldn’t stop mumbling thank you even when they passed out.

The man stared into the distance waiting for his friend’s car to show up. When a man suddenly started touching the shapeshifter’s neck.

“Oh you taking them with you? Some guys around won’t like you taking away free merchandise” the man smiled with a crooked smile. Their hand now under the coat “I would have taken them myself when I saw them. Tied them up, put a gag and...” he couldn’t finish whatever he was saying because the man threw him away flying with powerful magic. He stood up shakily and ran away screaming.

He pulled the shapeshifter closer to him. And then pulled their hand up to make the man on his back come to his hand. Choking under his wrip.

“Tell your friends that if they touch them, see them or even smell them one more time, they will suffer the consequences” he stared deeper into the terrified man’s face “Understood, rat?” The man nodded and ran away histerically once he let go.

He waited on the bench unbothered. When a blonde on a black car pulled in front of him.

“What was the rush, Bernard?” The boy pulled down the windows to see his friend with a shapeshifter on his shoulder “Oh...Are-Are they alive?” They asked opening the back doors for Bernard to delicately lay them on the sit. Then he entered the car and closed the door. “Are you gonna keep them?” The boy said driving away.

“They’re not an animal, Swift” he said with a humbre tone. Swift pulled their hands up. “Im just gonna help them until they can walk on their own” the blonde choked in laughter.

“I remember you said the same about me” he smiled glancing back at him for a second. The tattoo on his neck was an intricate ancient spelling. But the boy was no magician. The tattoo served the purpose to hide the numbers on his skin. “And the others. Well, they look cute. Hopefully they’re easy to get along with” he replied smile still on his face.