#animalisation tw

[emcscared-whumps]

:00000

genius that is delicious i must see this used

there's just something about it, lowering whumpee to the level of a dog that's just so damn good

ny fav thing ever and i will never stop drooling over it

Does vampire persuasion work across language barriers?

nope!

[highwaywhump]

BBU community days, day 3!

{Day 3} Writing prompt: Discipline

I really like how this turned out. 944 is the same guard dog as in this piece.

CW/TW for a lil whumpee being beaten up, mentions of blood and bones breaking, shock collar, prong collar, allusion to non-/dubcon, dehumanisation/animalisation.

-

“No, please, please don’t let him, please, I’ll be good! I’ll be good, I promise, please -”

944 tuned the trainee’s pleading out. He was short and skinny, and limping on one leg. He wasn’t a threat. Which meant, this wasn’t training. 

This was punishment. He was the punishment. 

He let himself roll forwards and back on the balls of his feet. His skin buzzed with excitement. He was alert. Ready. 

“Shut the fuck up, 732. You made your bed.” The trainee’s handler kicked the trainee at the back of the knees, sending him down to the tiled floor without warning. He cried out as his already bruised knees made unbridled contact with the hard surface. 944 watched in disgust as he laid there, halfway resuming an erratic version of the respect position. His begging subsided to meaningless blubbering in between heavy sobs. 

Can’t even show respect right, 944 thought, not without contempt. He leaned forwards again without really thinking about it, causing his own handler to grip his leather collar tighter. 

“Heel,” he said, and 944 yielded immediately. He was good, unlike the pathetic trainee on the floor in front of him. They’d stacked three collars on him for the occasion. The shock collar was standard issue, the heavy shock clip digging into the skin on the nape of his neck. Over it, a wide leather collar with a handle at the back, so the handler could control him. The rough leather pressed harshly against his adam’s apple whenever he’d pull on it. The last was a vicious thing made of several links of steel, hooked into one another to form a chain. Each link had prongs protruding from the inside, digging into his skin. His handler had placed it as high as it could go, tightening it snuggly right below his jaw. It was to make his reactions snappy, he’d say. 944 didn’t question it. 

“What’d he do, anyway?” another handler asked, nodding towards the bundle of shivering skin and bone on the floor. 

“Fucker bit me.” The handler who’d kicked him down winced as he gently touched the front of his pants. 

The first one barked out a laugh. “Nobody told you to use a gag the first time? Jesus Christ.” 

“He’s used it for a month. First time without one today.” 

“Hah! Well, he’ll learn. Ya hear?” he said, enunciating the question loudly as he gave the trainee a light kick with the toe of his boot. “You get an inch, you take an inch. No miles!” 

944 observed as the rest of the handlers raised their batons. “No miles!” they yelled, and it seemed like an inside joke they were all part of. He shook it off. He didn’t need to understand. He needed a target and a command. He had the first. The second wasn’t far off. 

“It’s time you got some discipline, 732.” His handler bent down to grab onto the trainee’s blonde hair, wrenching his head up towards 944. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, making his blue irises stand out like icebergs in a sea of blood. He wailed as 944 met his gaze. 944 looked calm in return. A picture perfect guard dog; collected until he was asked to engage. 

944’s handler tugged on his collar, and he bowed his head down, still keeping the trainee in his line of sight. His handler’s low voice was round with dark amusement in 944’s ears when he spoke. 

“Teach him a lesson, ‘44.” 

The grip on his collar disappeared, and 944 stopped thinking. He started acting.

He registered the sounds coming from the trainee under him and how they changed from wails and cries to groans and moans, coming in time with the movements of his fists as he swung them, over and over. He made sure to spread the hits out evenly, finding all the spots that could hurt, because this wasn’t incapacation, it was punishment. He registered the loud, raw laughter and excited yelling from the handlers around him, and it spurred him on. He registered bright crimson, stark against the white tiles and the trainee’s white shirt. He registered the deep and brittle sound of something breaking, and he registered loving it.

He didn’t register his own pain, even though his knuckles were scraped up. He didn’t register his handler snapping a command at him, then yelling it. He didn’t register the hand back on his leather collar, or how it tried to yank him away. 

He did register it when the row of metal teeth nestled just below his jaw suddenly dug into the soft skin there. He sprung back, his hands dropping everything they were doing as he moved backwards with the collar, desperate to relieve the pressure as he coughed and sputtered. 

“Off, I said!” his handler yelled at him, yanking the metal collar again. 944 yowled in pain, looking up at his handler with wide, terrified eyes from his position on the floor. He knew what was coming. 

“You’re getting too comfortable, 44!” His handler dug into his pocket until he found what he was looking for. A small, black remote. 944 only managed to whimper the start of an apology before his shock collar went off, blasting white pain up and down his spine. 

His handler hit the button again and again, until the guard dog was trembling with the aftershocks of the punishment. He was on his side, breathing rapidly and shallowly, his tongue hanging loose and spilling out the side of his mouth. Like a dog. 

The handler went down on one knee next to him, his thumb still on the button, ready. “You listen to me!” he roared, only a few inches from 944’s face. He could feel the spit droplets landing on his cheek. “I decide how far you go! No miles! You! Listen! To! Me!”

Each of the last four words were punctuated by a shock. 944’s spine jerked in time with the words. His ears were ringing. On the tiled floor, 10 or 12 feet in front of him, he could see the contours of the other trainee. The other handlers were kneeling around him, looking like they didn’t know what to do. 732 was red, red everywhere, except for his piercing blue eyes. He was staring right at him. 944 could only stare back.

-

@bbu-on-the-side

[hellofears]

Tw / sexual slavery, slavery, racism,

I just learned about Sarah baartman or Saartjie and I feel so ficking sick. My heart fucking sank. I cant believe this shit. The reality of slavery of the inhumane treatment of black/indigenous people makes me feel ill. Hearing properly of the reality individuals had to face. It’s so upsetting. I never learnt about this in French class, in history class. Never. My memory is shit but no clear sentiments or lessons stick out to me. Not even a peep I don’t even remember slavery being properly addressed. Never would I have learnt about Britain’s europes involvement etc be it just about certain sick individuals if I had not searched myself, come across things myself and come across the information. She died at 26 I can’t fucking fathom I’m so sorry. In london Paris Ireland like how can this shit go un talked about? It took until the 1970s for her remains to finally get back to her home country. Slavery wasn’t that long ago. These atrocities aren’t as far back as people make it seem atleast not the way people tend to exaggerate. I’m so sorry Sarah I will remember you.

If you do not know what I’m talking about I suggest doing your own research, it’s extremely triggering though so so be careful and know it’s deeply upsetting with terrible subject matter that doesn’t get better ever. The only not negative thing was her remains being brought back to her roots even then the way her remains were treated and publicised the amount of disrespect and horror, it took years and years. She died in around 1815?? People r sick everyone has the capability to be, I will always hope for better. I will always try and be better. Fuck the people who did what they did to not just her but all the people who had to suffer and be tortured unnecessarily and those who still suffer now. The world has changed but brutalisation still happens to minorities, black people especially even more so when they’re queer. Bitches think and thank cuck that because people aren’t being literally tortured and dragged around nonstop constantly demeaned and animalised in such a blunt bold, shameless way in such a high degree of like societal walk down your street norm that racism is no longer an issue. Fuck off truly

[just-horrible-things]

Story: Mina and Marten [First | Prev | Next]

---

Phone Call

"Mum!" Mina exclaims, making her voice just sunny with cheer. "Fancy hearing from you! What a nice surprise." "Yasmine, we need to talk." Well duh, thinks Mina, it's not like you'd call me just to catch up. "What would you like to talk about, Mummy dearest? I could tell you how my day is going, or you could ask about my love life, or--" "You know what," Mum interrupts. Mina sighs dramatically. "I'm sorry," she says, "I can only read minds over video call." "The boy." "You mean Marten? He has a name, Mum, although I suppose that would be a lot to ask since you can't even remember mine. I thought you didn't watch my 'brainless non-content'?" "Your Aunt Kate told me what 's going on."

"Oh, of course!" Mina giggles, high-pitched, aware of how the phone line will mangle the sound. "Auntie Katie hasn't talked to me in donkey's years so I'm sure she understands all the details of my life." "I've watched the videos. You have a human being, wearing a collar, living in your apartment and sleeping in a dog bed for Christ's sake."

Marten likes his bed, he said so. He said it's comfy. It's what the promotional videos show, it's what you're meant to do for a Boxie. Some YouTubers keep theirs in cages. What's she meant to do, have him sleep in her bed?

What she says is, "Everyone's doing it, Mum. Didn't you want me to make money? This is where the money is. Viewers just love Boxies!" "Stop using that tone with me, Yasmine. Just talk like a normal person." "That tone, Mummy? This is just what my voice is like! Maybe there's something wrong with the phone line, hold on a second." She blows into the microphone sharply.

Mum sighs dramatically. "Oh forget it. Don't you understand what you're doing?" "Boxies are perfectly legal, Mum. He signed a contract, I've seen it with my own eyes." "It's a thin veil over slavery! The corporations won't get away with it for long. The courts will come down hard on it, and then where will you be? Think about your reputation! You'll never get a real job if--" "I have a real job, Mum." "Legal or not, it's completely unethical. I'm ashamed to call you my daughter!" Another too loud giggle. "Oh I'm sorry Mummy, whatever will I do without your support? How about continue how I have been for the last ten years! Goodness, I don't know if I'll cope."

"He's a human being, Yasmine!" "I know that!" Mina snaps. "I never asked for this! Did you actually watch anything or did you look at a thumbnail and decide that you know everything? I didn't want some... stranger, living in my room! I didn't want a human pet! Someone else sent him to me!"

There is a silence. Mina sniffles, and fakes a little sob. Mum hates it when she cries.

"Well," Mum says at last, sounding affronted. "Can't you send him back?" "What a great idea," Mina sighs. "I sure wish I'd thought of that." "You could you just... set him loose. Doesn't he deserve to be free?" Mina is absolutely sure that Mum has not watched any of the footage. Probably she just looked at the video titles. She tries to imagine Marten on his own. Where would he sleep? What would he eat? He had a panic attack when he tried to ride the elevator down two floors to the laundry room for goodness' sake.

"Boxies have to be supervised, Mum. He'd be breaking his contract, he'd get into trouble! Do you need me to Google the rules for you? I could copy it out in nice small words if you'd like that." "Well you can't keep him. He's a human being!" "Mummy dearest," Mina's voice is cracking with emotion and she leans into it, overacting. "I am an independent adult, and I make my own choices. You ran out of excuses to control my life years ago! If you wanted a say, maybe you should have been nicer to me while I still cared!" "Oh Yasmine, do stop going on. It has nothing to do with our relationship. This is much more important." "I'm not even important to you?" "This is a person's life." "I know that, Mummy dearest! What do you even want me to do?" Mum hesitates. Mina pounces on the opening. "I know, I'll just send him back to the factory he came from, I'm sure the corporations will take much better care of him than I can, won't that be just fantastic?" "Why can't you ever discuss anything like an adult?" "I can! I just choose not to when it's you!"

She hears her mother start on another barb as she takes the phone from her ear. Her nagging voice cuts off as Mina ends the call.

Sniffling, she pulls a kleenex from the box and dabs delicately at her tears. It comes away black with makeup, and she wonders how badly she is smudged. Oh well. It's not like Marten cares.

Marten.

"Oh sugar."

Marten sits in his bed with his knees drawn up to his chest. Tears stream down his cheeks and over hands he has clamped over his mouth. He is shaking with silent sobs, staring horrified at Mina as if she might be about to murder him.

"Oh no, Marten!" Mina is mortified. "I'm so sorry, honey. I'm not mad at you, no one's mad at you. Marten, sweetheart, I was just on the phone to my mum, don't be upset!" She crouches beside him, worried, but he doesn't move. "Honey, you're not in trouble, what's wrong? I didn't mean to upset you, sweetie, talk to me?" “Don’t send me back!” he gasps, voice half-smothered with terror. “Please, please don’t -- don’t send me back!” "Okay! Okay, I won't! Don't panic, sweetheart!"

Without his hands holding them back, the sobs tumble out of Marten uncontrolled. Great ugly, breathy gasps of panic and despair. “I’m not sending you back,” Mina assures him frantically. Should she hug him? Give him space? "Oh honey, I was just saying that to my mum to make her go away, I would never! Don't be scared. You're so well-behaved, and so good for the cameras, and the viewers love you, why would I send you back?" ”I... I’m good?” “You’re very, very good. Poor sweetheart, how can I help you, I didn’t mean to upset you!” “Could, um, could you h-hold me?” Marten snivels pitifully. “Of course sweetie, of course I can. Come here.”

Marten practically throws himself into Mina's arms, knocking her back on her butt. She shuffles backwards to the closest beanbag, pulling him along with her, and gathers him into her lap. He clings to her clothes and sobs into her shoulder while she puts her arms around him and awkwardly pats his back.

"Shh, shh," she soothes, “There there, poor darling. It’s okay. It’s okay, you don’t have to be scared.” “Please don’t send me back,” he begs again, “I’ll be better, I’ll be anything you want, don’t send me ba-ack…” “It’s okay honey, it’s okay. I’m not sending you back. If you don’t want to go back, you don’t have to.” “Do… do you promise?” “I promise. If you don't want to, you don’t ever have to go back.” “Thank you,” Marten sobs, “Thank you, Mina.”

But he doesn’t stop crying.

“There you go,” Mina assures him, rocking him gently. “Poor thing. It’s okay. It’s okay to cry, just let it all out. I’m so sorry I scared you.” She thought he was crying hard before, but when she gives him permission he wails like a lost child.

And he doesn’t stop.

She holds him. She pets his hair and apologises. She rocks him and murmurs comfort words and he cries on and on and on, clinging tightly and bawling his eyes out.

Eventually, worried and a little exasperated, she pulls her head back far enough to see his face and asks “Honey, why are you crying?” He sniffles, and tries to stop sobbing long enough to answer. “I just want to be good,” he blubbers miserably. “I only want to be good for you, that’s what I’m for, I don’t know what to do.” “You are good, sweetie. You’ve never done anything bad at all.” He hides his face in her top and cries harder. “But,” he whimpers, “but you don’t want me…” “Oh, honey, no.” Mina feels awful. “Honey no, I didn't mean that, I was only talking to my mum...”

“I just want to be good.” The words seem to be spilling out of Marten now. “And good Boxies are, are wanted, they get bought and they go to nice homes with nice owners and, and they have happy lives fulfilling their owner’s desires and, and I thought I was good, I only want to make you happy, Mina, but I, I thought you wanted me and, and you don’t…” “Of course I want you, Marten, of course I do. I didn’t mean it like that, I, erm…”

“But you didn't even choose me,” Marten says softly. “You didn’t want a - a pet...” “I didn’t know that I wanted you,” Mina tells him. “That’s what I should have said. I didn’t know I wanted you. But Marten, you were a great surprise. It’s me who should be sorry. I’m not a very good owner. I don’t know how to keep you happy, and I don’t have a nice house or anything…” “You’re the best owner,” Marten blurts out with surprising vehemence. He starts crying again. “You’re so good to me and, and you’re kind, and pretty, and I love you, Mina. I just want to make you happy.” “You do make me happy, sweetie. You do.”

Mina has to hold him a good while longer, but he does start to calm down slowly. She stares solemnly at her posters on the wall, not really seeing them, as she murmurs reassurances on autopilot. Are these the right things to say? This is... such a huge responsibility. She wasn't ready for a cat, let alone a whole entire human being. He needs so much affection, all the time.

Mina is not cut out for this.

Eventually he stops crying. Mina waits another ten minutes before she tries to talk to him.

“Would it really be so very bad," she asks carefully, "going back to the company?” Marten stiffens instantly, hands tightening in her clothes. “Don’t worry!” she hurries to tell him, “I’m not gonna send you back! Not unless you want to go. I'm just asking, because I want to understand... why you’re so scared?” Marten is quiet. "You don't have to talk about it," Mina backtracks. "That's okay, I was just curious, don't worry about it. “If the owner sends a product back," Marten's voice is wobbly, "it needs to be refurbished. I… I don’t want to be refurbished…” “But you could have a better owner. A rich one, who can give you the luxury and stuff you signed up for. A big, tidy house. An owner who knows what they're doing...” “I don’t want anyone else,” he sniffles. “I want you.”

He’s starting to cry again. Mina sighs. “That’s okay then. You’ll stay here, and no one’s gonna send you back. Nothing to worry about. It’ll just be you and me.” She brushes the hair carefully away from his damp and sticky face. “And hey. If you keep bringing in the views, maybe some day we’ll have a nice house too.”

“I’m sorry I’m not better,” Marten tells her sadly. “I wish I was a smart Boxie so I could help you out and stuff…” “Oh sweetie. Shall I tell you a secret?” Mina smiles sadly. “I’m not very smart either. But it’s okay! You don’t have to be smart to do well on YouTube. You just have to look pretty. And we’re both pretty good at that!”

[Next]

[emcscared-whumps]

EMC'S MASTERPOST

This Masterpost will be updated with new works

Last updated: 12 Sep, 2024

SHIFTING PHASES

Ewrancore is a world where belunae are equated to demons; a danger to humanity. The Hunter Corps was formed to protect humanity and preserve its safety by ridding the realm of the belunae scourge. Pete Spencer, a young belunae nearing the end of his education and the beginning his life, gets caught. Will he make it out?

Features: Mer whump, shitloads of angst

Masterpost (WIP, 1st draft in progress, has some snippets)

LATEST WORKS

Shifting Phases, Chapter 7 - No Wish Without a Price (canon)

Shifting Phases, Chapter 6 - What One Desires Most (canon)

U for Underwater - (Artwork) My submission for the ABCs of Whump Zine

S.O.S. from the Depths - (Artwork) WLC 2024 Winter Exchange gift

Prompt - Another Starless Night (post-canon)

EVENTS AND CHALLENGES

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Whumpmas in July 2022

Whumpmas in July 2023

Whumptober 2021

Whumptober 2022

Whumptober 2023

WLC 2023 Multimedia Summer Exchange

ART

Art Link Collection

GENERAL

TAGS:

My art: #emc's art

My writing: #emc's writing

My asks: #emc answers asks

Me talking to the void: #emc's shit

Rb'ed writing: #other's whump writing

Rb'ed art: #whump art

((Everything is tagged appropriately from September 2022))

MAIN:

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My Writing Resource Collection

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PROMPT BRAINROT:

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Bog Mer Whump

Cattle Prod Electrocution Whump

Collapsed Lungs

TAG LISTS

Everything

Art

By Fic (currently only Shifting Phases)

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If you'd ever like to be tagged in any of my works, or would like to stop receiving tags, please be sure to let me know!

CONTENT TAGGING

To the best of my ability, I will tag for potentially triggering content. The format is #trigger tw . Please, if you need anything added to the list, feel free to ask, and if you need to block/filter anything, please don't feel guilty, I'll feel better knowing I can contribute to your safety <3

abuse, animalisation, death wish, dehumanisation, domestic violence, drugging, self harm, substance abuse, suicide, suicidal ideation

For my writing, other, less broad content warnings will be listed in the content will be listed in a section at the top of the post.

FANDOMS I LURK IN

Danny Phantom (DP)

The Talon Saga (TTS)

I don't participate much in fandom, especially on this blog, but occasionally you may see me reblog posts (and go rabid over them) on here.

MY OTHER BLOGS

@fj-is-a-dumbass (main)

@angry-blob (DP sideblog)

@very-kullah (general/family friendly art sideblog)

@skitterystash (i rb only art here)

(This is the blog I put the most effort into, the only other blog where I tag things properly is my gen art sideblog)

And, last of all!

If you're having a bad writing day and want to delete everything, please read (i will rb this sometimes bc u never know who needs to hear it and it is very important, and I'll leave it in this post because I think it's impotant)

(the link broke nooo, i promise you will regret it, please don't delete your writing. move it deep into a folder tree if you must and start from scratch, but don't delete your hard work)

[kity-connoisseur]

Whump scenarios #3

TW: [Slavery, dehumanization, Animalisation, physical and psychological torture, mention of blood, mention of deaths]

Big caravans of new slaves. Unwanted bastards, bandits or simply unfortunate passer-by in the wrong place at the wrong time. They all wear heavy metal shackles and collars, linked together at the same long chain constantly watched by slavers on horseback. Those deemed to be slacking feel the stinging bite of a whip on their back, kicks and barked orders.

When they finally arrive to the arena those too weak to fight are immediately sent to the upcoming shows. Their suffering lasts no more than a day.

Those in better shape are sold to pit owners and prepared to fight.

They are welcomed in their new "family" by heated iron and a delirious fever lasting days.

Between punishments and training sessions the gladiators are chained to each other.

Many of the most savage species are kept isolated from others. Caged in dark rooms, away from natural light for days. They fight and trash in their metal bindings, every yanking leaves a new cut on their bloody, swollen skin. Over time blood dries in dark streams over arms and legs. They are fed at different hours so that's impossible keeping track of the passing hours. At first they howl for their lost pack or loved ones, waiting for a response. Eventually they stop.

More than once a day they are tortured. Often whipped, scorched or kept by the hairs in buckets full of water to almost drowning. Tugged by the collar they are forced to eat from bowls, arms secured behind them.

Then they are left again in the dark gnawing the muzzle's metal bite to not cry or scream in pain.

As time pass they are constantly on the edge. They ear whisperings in the shadows. Accusations, threats, mockings. They growl and hiss at the voicesy, incapable of responding. Then with the voices come vague faces which they can't quite make out. They are familiar, yet they are not. Whimpering and sobbing to be left alone, they curl up in a corner burying the head between crossed arms.

After several months, they are unrecognizable. Unkempt hairs or fur cover faces with erratic eyes. Feral movements and behaviors. Wings have lost many feathers, if they weren't amputated.

After half an year they dragged again in the open. The light is blinding after so much time in the dark. Before being sent to entertain bloodthirsty crowds they are tested- being forced to kill other slaves or starved animals ri see how well they fare. Then they finally see the first of many encounters.