Whumpee had permanent memory loss. There was no way of getting their old life back. But luckily, they had Caretaker with them every step of the way.

They had Caretaker to tell them what to do, how to act, and how to be. They had Caretaker to correct them when they made a choice they otherwise wouldn't have made back then. And they had Caretaker to patch up all the consequences of their frequent failures.

So... who was this other person, getting so upset at how Caretaker treated them? Why were they yelling? And why did they promise to take Whumpee away?

He knew this would happen long before the animal crawled up to him, tail between its legs and ears firmly pinned to the back of its skull, begging for forgiveness. In fact, he was counting on it. Anticipating an opponent's mistakes and turning them into opportunities is an essential skill for any businessman, and Vandermeer is no exception. Yet there is an undercurrent of amusement in the air, that smugness of someone who has been proven right, someone who has won.

That device was a wonderful little thing. To a human, the cravings would be hellish. To an animal, they were unbearable. The wounds littering Horus' entire body are at an assortment of healing stages. Seems our old friend really couldn't put up with you, after all. Curled up at his feet, the animal looks even more pathetic than usual. Henrik shudders at the thought of how much money he has thrown down the drain in trying to make this mongrel presentable.

"Please forgive me. Please." The voice is strained, weak. The animal shivers in terror, forcing itself to repeat the words it hopes would appease its owner. A regretful dog, begging to be taken back the moment it figures out it can't survive on the streets.

"Did your vacation not work out for you?" Vandermeer crosses his legs above the animal. It flinches. "Why are you here?"

"I didn't know where else to go."

Ah. There it is. He didn't think the doctor would have the balls.

"So he kicked you out."

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Pathetic.

Fingers slide into his pockets with a practiced motion. The animal looks at Henrik expectantly. The familiar dull ache at the base of its skull rears its ugly head again. The cartridge clinks against the metal arm of the chair. Taunting. Muscles tense up, yet Horus doesn't budge.

"What makes you think I'd take you back? Your existence is of no worth outside your genetics. But that's a bigger concept than you can understand, isn't it?" Every word drips with venom. A snake, baring its fangs before the inevitable lunge.

"Please forgive me."

"No. Get out."

"Do with me as you please. I'm yours to command. Please. Please forgive me." The animal is shaking so badly the words come quivering out. His killing machine, quivering. Outrageous. Vandermeer has no patience for weakness.

"And what am I to do with you if you do not behave?"

Hesitation. Terrified black eyes meet cold blues, struggling to hold eye contact.

"My life is in your hands. I do not belong to anyone else."

Nothing quite like repeated abandonment to humble an animal, huh? There isn't a single part of Henrik that believes the words of a desperate dog. But that dog is still an expensive Kalavinka asset, and he is still the one managing it. However inconvenient, he could certainly still find a way to turn it into an opportunity. He had done so countless times before.

"Good boy. Welcome home."

Lonely

Hi everyone, I'm alive! Have some Torley Era Jaime content.

This kind goes along with a (much happier) future piece I'm hoping to finish writing and post soon, so stay tuned for some better vibes. For now:

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-Adjacent, hunger, the sadness of stray cats (no animals were harmed in the making), brief suicidal ideations, gun mention, implied noncon

Restless. That is how Jaime thinks of the long weekdays in the Torley house, when the boys are at school and his Keeper is at work, and Jaime is left on his own until they return home to demand his attention. 

It is not that he is without work; Mr. Torley holds high expectations for his home, and Jaime strives to meet them all, even if it means double, triple, cleaning over a room he’s already scrubbed bare or taking all of the glassware out of the cabinets just to polish and arrange them again. But there are days when he finds himself with idle hands, in the time between completing his chores and his keeper’s return. That’s when anxiety creeps in. He knows it’s a conditioned thought, but it’s in him too deep to ignore. He can’t rest, can’t be useless, can’t be found being lazy when Mr. Torley comes home. 

It gets lonely, though, these pockets of restlessness. He is so fucking. lonely.

Sometimes he wishes that he had permission to go out on errands—collecting groceries, making returns, dropping off suits at the dry cleaner—just so that he can have a reason to talk to another person. He was trained to believe that many domestic contracts allow for that kind of thing, but Mr. Torley has made it clear that Jaime’s place is in the house. In the month that he has been here, he has never once been allowed to step foot outside, and he knows better than to ask. 

He is usually good at avoiding temptation, but on one Friday morning, Jaime is caught off guard.

why he ourple tho.

Characters belong to Hirochuu & Coreath~

Struggling did no good. Whumpee was outnumbered in the alley, two large lackeys gripping their arms hard enough to bruise while Whumper stood pointedly between them and their only way out. Whumpee’s cell phone and camera were on the ground nearby, crushed beneath the deliberate weight of heavy boots.

“You shouldn’t follow people,” Whumper said mildly. “All sorts of danger in a bad habit like that.”

A retort itched on Whumpee’s tongue. They were helpless to the urge, even like this. “Try telling me that at a different angle,” they suggested, breathing hard around bruised ribs. “This really isn’t your good side.”

They didn’t know what they were expecting—anger, violence, another swift, painful beating—but to their shock, Whumper laughed. A soft, sudden sound, as if Whumpee had managed to surprise them. They came closer until their shadow swallowed the light at the end of the alley.

“You’re not the first reporter I’ve had to take care of,” they said, eyes glinting in the dark, “but you’re certainly the most fun.”

The dull clanging of the hollow metal pipe filled the air as Baxter dragged it slowly behind himself. Rust and dried blood pepper the bent and gnarled metal, matches to the wounds on the captive man tied up across the room.

"You still with me?"

No response. Whiskey doesn't even look at him. Rather, his eyes seem completely lost and unfocused, as if he is unable to comprehend his own predicament. That mangled ankle is getting to him faster than he expected.

Or he's pretending. Waiting for a chance to strike. He already did it once, didn't he? He will do it again.

The thought upsets Baxter. His cybernetic fingers tighten around the pipe. He's holding his rage in check by an ever-fraying thread.

"I'll give you one last fuckin chance. How many fingers am I holding up?"

With one swift motion the impatient man slaps Whiskey across the face, so hard his artificial joints nick the already bruised skin. He groans in pain and clenches his teeth, struggling against the ropes for any hope at retaliation.

"Eyes on me now, prick. I know you're not as sick as you're pretending to be. Now answer the fuckin question."

"Fuck… yo..u"

This is going to be fun.

tw implied murder, implied captivity, sadistic whumper, psychological whump

"Do you know that game, two truths one lie?"

Whumpee nodded nervously. "Yes, sir."

"Why don't we play a little, then?" Whumper's saccharine smile did nothing to ease their anxiety, but they forced themself to return it anyway. "One. I have every intention of hurting you and your friend horribly."

Whumpee swallowed and nodded. That one was likely a truth.

"Two. Caretaker will walk out of here alive."

They opened their mouth to say something– and then closed it. They hoped that was a truth.

"Three. You will walk out of here alive."

they're watching big bang theory (:

No good sharks

Enjoy a lil comic for a collab with @darkthingshappen !! They wrote this fic and it just GOT ME----

Go check it out on their account!!! It's worth the read!!!!

Art tag: @whump-tr0pes @whump-queen @whumpsday @whumpinthepot @kixngiggles @onlywhumpcomments @project-xiii @quietly-by-myself @ka1imba @suspicious-whumping-egg @cyborg0109 @whatwhumpcomments @whumpcomica @i-eat-worlds @blood-and-regrets @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @burntcoffeewhump @lonesome--hunter @scribbelle @oddsconvert @painsandconfusion @whumpasaurus101 @sadcatjae @kiratheperson @studyofwhump @sunshiline-writes @emmettnet @just-a-silly-little-whumper

This one is probably my favorite pose. Big fan of chairs @figuwhump

Day 23

Haziel loved guard duty. SUre, it meant sitting in an often cold room for hours at a time, but he had his leather jacket to keep him warm and Aziphem to keep him occupied.

VERY rushed inks but getting 2 figgies in a scene has been helping me INCREDIBLY!!!

For @figuwhump day 24

Art tag: @whump-tr0pes @whump-queen @whumpsday @whumpinthepot @kixngiggles @onlywhumpcomments @project-xiii @quietly-by-myself @ka1imba @suspicious-whumping-egg @cyborg0109 @whatwhumpcomments @whumpcomica @i-eat-worlds @regrets-realization-acceptance @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @burntcoffeewhump @lonesome--hunter @scribbelle @oddsconvert @painsandconfusion @whumpasaurus101 @sadcatjae @kiratheperson @studyofwhump