Daymares and Whump

“I’ll never get on my knees for you,” to having bruises on their knees from dropping into the position so regularly.

Fighting against whumper; scratching them, biting them, hitting them to crawling after them, cowering away from them, begging them.

Refusing to eat anything to desperately eating whatever scraps whumper gives them.

Never breaking eye contact to being too ashamed to look anyone in the eyes.

“F*ck you!” to “Stop!” to “Please, stop! I won’t do it again!” to “Please stop, Master, I promise I won’t do it again.” to “I’m sorry, Master, please don’t punish me,” to “I’m sorry, please punish me, Master,”

Constantly attempting to escape whumper to willingly returning to them.

Believing caretaker will save them to knowing they don’t deserve to be saved.

Loud objections to barely discernible pleas.

Don’t touch me to Please touch me, you’re the only one that will.

Only responding to their name to scrambling to obey whenever they hear their new “pet” name.

They’ll run till their lungs give out, they keep crawling until they bleed. And then you ride out on your horse and carry them back, each time patient as ever until they just stop.

They beg you to talk to them, to yell at them, to punish them, anything other than just ignoring them, watching them break slowly.

And eventually you throw them a bone, you acknowledge them only at the small cost of everything they were before.

The fever seemed to be all they knew, the dizziness, the hot cold chills, the nausea and disgust from literally throwing up everything in their stomach, some of which things they didn’t even remember eating.

Occasionally they heard someone standing above them whispering things, or they had to roll over to take medicine or even water. But they rarely remembered who they saw or what was said, just the brightness of the lights above them when they opened their eyes.

They had never seen a light so bright, a light so loud, it seemed as though the very gravity of the earth was pushing its full weight on them. Their skin was clammy, whether it was form sweat or the melting of the ice bag on their forehead. Overall it was a horrible experience.

Whumper however loved it. Whumpee was such a pain to deal with when they had opinions and resolve to run or refuse meals or direction. Whumper had had to punish them, a whipping that rose above all others, they back turned to shreds with just blood remaining.

At first whumpee was fine, sleeping more, talking less, Whumper thought the discipline had simply worked well, then it turned to whumpee refusing meals again, but they still tried to eat it, even tried to hide from whumper they were throwing up the foods or sick. Eventually whumpee fainted from the fever, and whumper had to call a doctor, who gave them antibiotics and everything. But the doctor said something strange that kept repeating in their head over the last week.

“I’d think it best if you simply keep your captive weak, then you wouldn’t have need for antibiotics again. Sometimes less is more”

Happy tie him up Tuesday!

Whumpee fell asleep in part of the car ride, they’d had too many drinks, per usual, and there driver simply helped them to the car and drove off. When the woke up, they didn’t recognize the street they were on, but then again, they wouldn’t recognize their own face in the mirror right now.

Whumper looked back at their prize in the mirror, splayed across the back seat, snoring softly. Whumpee would never know what hit them when they woke, Whumper couldn’t believe they finally had such a pretty thing all to themselves.

It took whumper years, years to get up the courage to even talk to whumpee. Two years ago they go a photo signed, but it wasn’t enough, they wanted whumpee to sign all their things, they wanted to own the hand that signed it.

They parked the car in an alley way a little less than a mile from their home. They carried whumpee bridal style, the sedative along with the amount of alcohol whumpee had consumed in the last three hours would have them resting peacefully for almost a day, they couldn’t wait till whumpee woke up.

—-

Whumpee came to slowly, they had a really bad headache, and they could tell they weren’t laying in their own bed, it was to uncomfortable, their mattress was made exactly for them, this was something else.

When they opened their eyes they found whumper’s face mere inches from theirs, they almost jumped back, but they found their arms tied above their head to the bedpost with silken ribbons.

Who are you? What is this??? You can’t just tie me up? Do you know who I am??

They flinched again, a normal human response to someone unsafe touching them, embracing them. But whumper told whumpee that eventually they’ll have to get rid of this bad habit of theirs, hard way or not.

But whumpee tried, oh how much they tried not to flinch. They couldn’t do it though, they couldn’t live in their skin with anything of whumpers near them.

The smell of their cologne and soap, the feeling of their warm hands on their arms, on their chest. They couldn’t stay still, not when they could feel whumper everywhere.

So they had to suffer, suffer in the cold, until whumper decided they had learned their lesson, until their body learned to accept that even their subconscious reactions are controlled by whumper, like everything else.

Also @oddsconvert

The nearest neighbor was mikes away, and whumpee wasn’t sure even sure if they would help if whumpee made it that far.

They didn’t know where whumper was taking them, whumper had been whistling and humming all morning, then they told whumpee to come outside. Whumpee was worried like hell, they tried to run through any mistakes they had made over the last couple days.

Had they broken anything?

did the flinch away from whumper?

did they forget to clean something?

The short “Whumpee?” In a tone that was more of an inpatient parent, than a captor shook whumpee out of their thoughts.

Whumpee sat in the front seat, they buckled in. Whumper started the car, and a drove down the long dirt paved driveway.

It was silent the entire way, whumper drove a nice cruising speed, and it was the silence which slowly ran whumpee up the wall. Whumper wasn’t saying anything, whumper wasn’t doing anything, if whumpee did something wrong, whumper should just punish them and get it over with right?

It takes almost 30 minutes to get in the city, those cars whumpee is seeing now, are the first other people whumpee has seen in months. Whumpee presses themselves against the window, almost as if trying to push themselves through the window to get out.

As they approach the downtown, whumpee feels more and more uncomfortable. Freedom is so close, if they got out and opened the door, so many people would see them, and they’d be able to get away.

But what would they do after that? They won’t know what city they are in, and this is definitely not their hometown. They have no money, no id, nothing.

The traffic slows to a stop and now there are cars close up behind and front. Whumper seemed a little antsy but nothing to different then normal. Whumpee tried their best not to stare at Whumper, but they truly didn’t know what else to do.

Whumper also uses the extra length of the tie as a leash, yanking Whumpee forward, adding to their shame.

Whumpee is a muffled mess, red lines around their mouth and their cheeks pink from humiliation. Their breathing is hard against the gag and they glare up at Whumper, who grins at their catch.

The rest of Whumpee’s outfit is in disarray. Their white shirt is stained with blood and several buttons are missing. Their hair is sweaty and draped across their face and their pants are torn.

They worked a normal job, a 9 to 5, they had been for ten years. They worked a bank in the city, owned an apartment down the street, at frozen dinners every night, picked up the newspaper every morning, faithfully at 8:30 at the corner coffee shop right next to their apartment.

They had gotten the promotion last week, their old boss was ready to retire and they couldn’t think of anyone more reliable, anyone more consistent.

They had just gotten the keys and codes yesterday, they hadn’t even had the power to open the safe or the lockboxes 24 hours yet.

They came in, 8:45, clocked in right at 9 on the dot, there were gunshots at 9:04, a gun to their head at 9:05, wrists in zip ties that same minute and the tie their mother gave them from their last birthday soaked in saliva, tied in the mouth as the robber dragged them around the bank, asking them a whole lot of questions they couldn’t answer.

It would be over quickly, just cooperate and the police and the insurance will handle it, easy right. That was until they were lead out back, through an alley way they had only seen once back when they were an intern and taking out the trash.

okay. completely doxxing myself here because this is absolutely worth it

we got five emergency kinship-placed foster boys two months ago with no notice, and it turned our lives upside down. I love them so so so so much, but we need to be able to afford to keep them just one more month until school starts and I can get a job again (I've been having to stay home to watch them since no daycare will take them)

They've been neglected and abused and forgotten, and I will NOT let them be separated. If we can't stay afloat and get into a new house (landlord just told us to move out. haha. isn't that great.), the kids will be split up into separate foster homes.

Absolutely anything you can give will help us, otherwise, reblogging would mean the world to me and these kids. We just need to get the word out there and get a little help to get past this month. We're already through all our savings and I've started selling all the furniture to keep up.

We have food covered for the kids through different programs, but rent and utilities has been / will be going up a LOT.

I will write quite literally anything you want. I don't care if it's a squick at this point. Or draw. Whatever you want. Commissions are open, the go fund me link is here. You have my kofi in my bio. If paypal or venmo works better, just let me know and I can get that to you, too. Anything at all helps.

Whumpee rubbing against Whumper's legs, whimpering for attention.

Whumper reaching down to pet their head—

Before grabbing them by the hair, dragging them onto the couch, laying on them and crushing them under their body, one hand on their throat, the other pinning their wrists above their head.

The cats made whumpee feel at home, the cats made whumpee feel safe, the cats were the closest thing that whumpee had to family now.

Whumpee ate with them, they played with them, the cats offered whumpee toys, like the torn, one eyed mouse plushie that whumpee now couldn’t sleep without.

So when whumpee found themselves beneath whumper, arms pinned above their head, of course their first reaction was to hiss like they’d been taught.

Whumpers laugh was sickenly sweet. “You really have gone feral haven’t you?, I never thought my fur babies would have such an effect on you, I’m not sure if I like it or not”

CW: Gags, mouth whump, pet whump implied

The embarrassment as drool drips down around the gag from the corners of their mouth

Bruising and chafing that is very difficult to hide

Whumpee wearing a mask to cover it up

Or Whumper taking them to an event and forcing whumpee to wear a mask to hide the gag, while people at the event marvel at how ‘well trained’ and ‘quiet’ Whumpee is

Taped mouth. Duct tape pressed over lips. The smell of the adhesive. The residue it leaves behind. The tightness of it, the way it pulls at the skin.

The immediate control it gives Whumper. Pinch Whumpee’s nose shut and suddenly you have a writhing, spasming victim.

Or better yet, tape their nose shut. Make them believe this is how it ends, suffocating behind that plasticky scent, helpless

Sew their lips shut. The intimacy of it, the wincing every time the needle pierces their flesh — or maybe Whumper numbed it first, and Whumpee can only watch in the mirror as their mouth is stitched up, utterly silenced

The little noises Whumpee makes. The breathing around the gag. The whines, the panicked “mmmph”s as they realise the words aren’t coming. Maybe they try anyway, sounding stupid as they fail to hurl insults

Caretaker carefully removing a gag, horrified at the thought of Whumpee humiliated like this, their autonomy stripped

Caretaker gagging Whumpee to keep them quiet while they escape. The quiet “I’m sorry”s. The betrayal in Whumpee’s eyes; or maybe it’s acceptance.

Whumpee waking up to realise they are muzzled, the immediate dehumanisation, the panic to realise they can’t move their jaw, the laboured breaths to the thick leather or even metal strapped and pressing into their face

Cut out their vocal cords. Do it. Whumpee can't even make a sound. And they never will again.

Or cut out their tongue, the feeling of something wrong in their mouth, the horrific stump it leaves behind, the shapeless screaming it causes

they are forced to go through painful maintenance of these features that they never asked for.

claws? they get grinded down to bloody stumps lest they start rotting and cause gangrene to set in.

fangs? removed periodically or else there's a high risk that they cause permanent damage to their mouth cavity. and everytime the whumper needs to run experiments involving them, they have to go through the agonizing cycle of regrowing them— aided by specific drugs. bonus points if whumpee begs the whumper to not de-fang them until the last possible moment, and they agree because that will only prolong the pain.

wings? groomed painfully— plucking out all the feathers set wrong, applying unnecessary force on the delicate bones and brushing through the spread using combs with teeth too sharp. bonus points if during molting whumper doesn't provide any help whatsoever and whumpee has to go through excruciating pain all on their own.

i like to think about living weapons. mostly, living weapons by choice. in revolution. in superhero teams. anywhere, really. so long as they joined of their own volition. somebody has to protect the land, the realm, the world—it might as well be whumpee. whumpee can take it. whumpee has always been a punching bag. at least now its for the good of the world, instead of meaningless suffering.

the training, however, is harsh.

theyre soldiers. it makes sense. but... whumpee never anticipated it to hurt this much. perhaps whumpee is a child—or just naive. perhaps whumpee was wrong. maybe this isnt a life they want to live. perhaps they can still leave?

no. they pledged their life, their body, their heart and soul, to this task. to this army. to this revolution.

theyre on the floor. lying down, breathing heavily. their handler tells them to get up. they try. pain shoots up their hands. regret settles deep in their stomach, filling it like no rations ever did.

handler is dismissive, stoic. looks at them with something resembling pity. they have to be cold for this job—its not easy to watch children suffer through this training. they ask whumpee something. whumpee doesnt hear through the ringing in their ears.

handler crouches next to whumpees trembling body. repeats themselves.

"does it hurt?"

whumpees vision blurs, their eyes welling up. they nod.

handler sighs. "no, it doesnt."

what?

"it doesnt hurt," handler repeats, almost exasperatedly. "people feel pain. weapons do not. you shed your personhood the moment you put on our uniform."

regret wars with disbelief. regret wins. solidifies. its a cold stone in their stomach.

handler looks almost sad, for just a moment. they get up, brush the dust off their knees. they look down at whumpee. bored, dismissive, stoic.

"now, does it hurt?"

whumpee takes a moment, a sob caught in their throat. gets up on their hands and knees. their legs tremble, and threaten to give out. everything in their body screams.

pain shoots through their skull as they shake their head.