#institutional pet whump

[quins-whump-stuff]

982 | Chapter 4: Not Again

Contents: (institutional) pet whump, conditioned whumpee, dehumanization, 1st person pov (whumpee's pov), profanity, emotional distress, food, imperfect caretaker, lady whump (whumpee), whumpee calls caretaker her owner, whumpee calls caretaker her master

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I'm still laying under the tree when my owner returns. Otis is curled up next to me, and I've been letting my fingers gently dance across his golden fur.

"Hey," my owner says, and I open my eyes. I move quickly to the sitting position, so that my feet are underneath me and my hands are in my lap again.

"Hello, Ainsley," I say.

"You can, ya know, relax. That doesn't look comfortable." I thank her and shift my ankles out from underneath me. "I've got lunch," she informs me, sitting down in the grass and placing two bowls in front of her. "It's not much, but I was going to make something special for dinner. If you're still hungry I'll, uh, get you something else though."

She moves one of the bowls closer to me, and I realize: she's giving me this food. Not the stuff they gave us for meals in the kennels, which tasted like cardboard. Not the treats which were sweet and sticky but vanished far too quickly. Real food. And it smells so good. It reminds me of the scents that sometimes lingered on the trainers' breaths after meals.

I realize that my mouth is hanging open, and I'm drooling. I shake my head slightly and then ask tentatively, "Ainsley, this is for me?"

"Yuh," she says, her voice garbled slightly by a mouthful of food.

“Thank you,” I say automatically, then try to figure out how to eat it. It’s liquid, so maybe I need to drink it? But it’s hot and since it’s not water, having it on my chin wouldn’t be very nice. I look out of the corner of my eye at my owner, who dips something metal into her bowl before raising it to her mouth and slurping. There’s another of the metal things in my bowl, and I pick it up to examine it. It’s thin, except for the end which is oval shaped and has a slight dip in it.

“So, uh, I thought of a possible name for you,” my owner remarks, “if you don’t like it or something, we’ll, err, find a different one. Or if you wanna pick a different one later too, that’s fine.” I nod. It’s not my choice, so I don’t know why she acts like it is. "Okay, um, this tree we're under, it's a willow tree, and you just looked so... peaceful and happy here. So I thought I could call you Willow, at least for now. Sound good?"

"Yes, Ainsley." Willow, I roll the name over in my mind. Willow, it sounds soft and gentle. Willow. My name is Willow. I like it.

---

She seems fine with the name, so I guess she'll be Willow, at least for now. She doesn't seem to have taken a bite of her food, but maybe she isn't hungry. She's just so timid and gentle, I can't imagine disliking her. I can't believe they called her defective. Her eyes are a silvery gray color that was slightly unsettling at first, but they don't really bother me any more.

When Willow picks up the spoon, she holds it awkwardly, hands shaking a bit. But, almost immediately, the spoon slips from her grip, tipping the contents into the grass. Suddenly, she looks up at me, eyes wide.

"I'm so sorry, Master! I will clean it up!" she says, lip trembling, tears welling in her eyes again.

"Yeah, uh, don't worry about it." Why does she keep panicking? What the hell did they do to her before? "It doesn't really need cleaned up, cuz we're outside."

My words don't seem to calm her very much, her frail shoulders shaking in fear. She seems worried that I will be mad at her or something, so I add, "I'm not upset." That seems to get her to relax.

"If you don't wanna use a spoon, you can pick up the bowl and drink from it. Like this," I demonstrate with my own bowl.

She takes a shallow breath, then follows suit.

We sit in silence as we finish our food, then I grab both bowls and spoons and stand to take them inside. "Willow, you should come inside," I say, "you got soup on your face. You might wanna, uh, wash that off." She nods, and gets on her hands and knees to follow me. I hold the door open as she crawls inside, then whistle for Otis to come inside too. I point Willow to the bathroom while I wash the dishes.

"I can't do this," I whisper under my breath. I wanted some company, someone I could talk to. And since nobody else will, I bought a clone, a human pet. I should have thought it through more. I was expecting a roommate who couldn't move out. I wasn't planning on this. I can't fix whatever happened to Willow. I can't even fix myself. This was a stupid, stupid idea.

But.

I need someone to talk to other than Otis. I need someone to talk back to me. I can't keep crying myself to sleep at night. I can't keep eating the same leftovers for three days in a row because I can't find a recipe small enough.

I can't be alone again.

[whumpandothercomfort]

Institutional pet whump where there are training and discipline companies specifically to take on unruly pets. Some of them have custom programs for owners who either can't stomach or don't have time to punish their pet themselves. Others buy up poorly-trained and defiant pets for cheap, then flip their behavior and sell them conditioned for a profit.

A defiant, violent pet who's been through three owners already. Every corrective measure seems to make them fight harder. They're honestly hoping to be killed rather than continue living like this.

Their ownership transfers again; the new owner has them sedated prior to transport. They wake up already in their new cage, which is so tight it must have been assembled around them. They're bent over, kneeling, hands locked behind their back, collar locked to the floor. The bars of the cage prevent them from shifting or uncurling at all. They can't move. Their muscles are already screaming in pain.

A calm voice observes that they're awake. "Welcome to the training program. This is the first phase. You'll be permitted to move once you demonstrate your willingness to obey."

[uriswhumpchamber]

Whumpee who is used to having an extremely strict routine - they go to bed at a specific time, and wake up at sunrise. Their entire day runs on a schedule. They don't need to keep that routine anymore, but it brings them comfort to - or maybe they just haven't gotten to a point in recovery where it feels safe to break it.

They're very much not an early bird: going to sleep so early is almost impossible, and they're used to napping through the day, if they can. Being sleep deprived is not helping with recovery, though.

Their social group does not know why they're like this. Maybe they assume it's part of recovering, and not part of the trauma. Following the above: Maybe there's an inside joke about Whumpee's slight overuse of caffeine to stay awake during social outings/work/clases/etc.

There's a sudden change in their schedule. Maybe they have to stay up late, maybe they cannot have lunch at exactly the time they "have to". Maybe they oversleep. Of course Whumpee panics.

Following the above: someone notices and finds out why Whumpee follows that routine.

Alternatively: someone notices, but Whumpee manages to lie to them. Do they believe the lie?

[parasiticstars]

To Teach an Old Dog: #1

re re re re re re uploaded bc tumblr keeps fucking it up

TW: BBU/pet whump, casual mentions of dehumanization, institutionalized slavery, and suicide idealization, and me being very pretentious

Kavan’s back hurts. Of the numerous things wrong with his situation, this is what he decided to focus on in an attempt to stave off the impeding sensory overload— and this is the only familiar, non-Pet-fuckery problem he has.

The bit was fastened too tight and digs in the corners of his mouth. He can feel drool starting to crust his beard. He’s disused to the shoddy buzzcut his masters captors gave him in an attempt to make him presentable before auction; he'll certainly never take the feeling of hair on his ears for granted again. The ear tag is pulling on already mutilated earlobes, adding to a budding headache just behind his eyes. The concrete floors look and feel like they haven’t been cleaned ever. The auctioneer’s voice is solidly the fourth most irritating sound he’s ever heard in his life.

Alas, nothing Kavan attempts to focus on staves off the visceral, skin-crawling feeling of too much. No matter how many times the man gets shuttled in and out of auctions and captors like a head of livestock, he’ll never truly get used to the non-personhood, the sheer objectification of it all. Nor will he get used to an audience leering and inspecting him and the other Pets people around him like the products they’re advertised and sold as.

Nobody seems to be interested in him, thank god. Kavan’s getting too old for most people’s tastes— even as a labor Pet, being above thirty is automatically considered a liability, as if he’d crumple into dust the second he set foot onto a construction site or a plantation or wherever the hell else. Has he felt close to it? Definitely. But that didn’t mean he would; even though some places, water and breaks weren’t a given.

(Why would they be? Employers and contractors who use Pets rather than workers don’t need to abide by silly things such as OSHA and basic human decency.)

But regardless.

With the slowly increasing amount of times he’s talked about like his expiry date has run out, Kavan wonders when he’s going to just be taken out behind the shed.

He wonders if he’ll do it himself one of these days.

A prod to the small of his back forces him to straighten, making him nearly drop his sign in the process. His attention snaps back to the crowd, all crammed together in this dingy-ass building in those dingy-ass folding chairs betting on dingy-ass people.

Long had Kavan lost the naïvety that Pet owners were this special type of evil, so impossibly cruel and uncaring that they simply couldn’t be human. Regardless, the fact that everyone here is so unassuming still screws with him. He could hypothetically see any one of them, say, at a Starbucks bitching at the barista about their overpriced order, or shopping at Trader Joe’s, or working in their cubicle, or at a PTA meeting. That in particular jars him.

Nobody around them would know that said person was willingly participating in legalized slavery, lacking even the flimsy pretense of “rescuing” their aunt’s-grandma’s-brother’s-husband’s-neighbor’s-girlfriend’s-niece’s Pet or whatever else they’d want to virtue signal on their Facebook wall or status or whatever else.

(Are Facebook statuses still a thing? God, Kavan’s been out of the loop too long. He doesn’t even know how long.)

One woman in particular has set sights on him. Judging by the fine cut yet plain color of her coat, the disgusted-holier-than-thou glances she’d occasionally give whoever she was seated near whenever they did anything particular crude, the brand name Ceilos, she’s probably fuck-off rich trying not to look fuck-off rich. What would someone like her want at a low scale labor pet auction like this? Why is she eyeing him in particular? Why are her irises barely darker than #FFFFF?

Catastrophizing is, it seems, a very time consuming activity. It muffles the rest of the auction, the auctioneer’s droning that would soon settle the man’s fate, the assistant taking away the sign Kavan was holding and tugging at the rope attached to his collar.

He stumbles as he’s led off the platform and into the pen for inspection. Through the buzzing of his ears, the sound of heels clicking follows.

[gottawhump]

What She Hates the Most

Maia

TW/CW: pet whump, abandonment, recapture, possibly implied noncon, bbu/wru, institutional whump(?)

Sorry for the long drought of not-writing. It will happen again. This takes place in the shared WRUniverse of Forgive and Forget, and Old Friends, and I’m sticking it in the latter (so also tagging that list).

What she hates most is taking the pictures. Some of the Pets automatically pose and smile when the camera’s on them, which makes it easy. Others need to be coaxed into shy, fearful smiles. Some won’t smile at all, or even look up.

She’s glad it’s someone else’s job to put them up on the website.

What she hates the most are the days when the WRU handlers come in to pick out Pets who can be refurbished and resold.

The whole shelter goes quiet at the sight of the black uniforms.

In the visiting rooms, she hears laughter, or sobs, or moans. Whether chosen or not, the Pets coming away from their time with the handlers always look haunted, afterward.

The money WRU donates for the Pets they reclaim helps keep the shelter running.

For days after the handlers visit, the pets behave perfectly.

But she hates how silent the shelter becomes.

What she hates most are the owners. Lifelong security is the promise made to prospective Pets. But their owners will surrender them for not matching the new furniture, or not fitting the latest Pet trend. For getting too old for their tastes, or getting too scarred.

Some don’t even bother with the shelters, tossing Pets out to survive on the streets however they can.

Some Pets are runaways, and the shelter is able to reunite them with their owners. But some owners just don’t care. Out of sight, out of mind. By the time the shelter calls, they’ve already replaced their runaway Pet.

She hates their indifference.

Old Friends taglist: @painful-pooch @justplainwhump @redwingedwhump @maracujatangerine @honeycollectswhump @tragedyinblue

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[whumpshaped]

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tw institutional/systemic pet whump, second person pov (and you're the pet!)

There's no way you're letting him drop it. You leave the cat food and dash out from behind the dumpster, caution be damned. You're too close to that delicious cup of soup to lose it now.

You snatch the plastic container from his hand and step back, taking a big gulp of the flavourful liquid inside. Oh, it's so delightfully warm. And tasty. Not as good as the soup at the shelter, but it's definitely better than the literal trash you've been eating.

The man reaches into his pocket and takes out several napkins. He places them on the frozen top of the dumpster, then puts the rest of the food on it. Honestly, he could've put the crackers and the sandwich on the ground for all you care, those are packaged anyway. Hell, he could've put the apple there. It's not like you have been living on fine cuisine. Still, you appreciate the care.

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @project-xiii @justletmereadmywhump @sariadragon @sowhumpful @books-are-everything @littlespacecastle @captain-bo-bob-bobby @morning-star-whump @a-formless-entity @nyooom @100percentevil @catnykit @whumpinthepot @snakebites-and-ink @expressionless-fr

[justplainwhump]

Season's Greetings

After last week's poll (thank you so much to everyone who participated!), here's the Christmas special for 238/training!Angel.

This is dedicated to and inspired by @angst-after-dark, Thane Barlow is their character.

As to be expected, it is pretty much leaning into smut. Enjoy!

[Making Angel]

Content/warnings: BBU, facility whump, institutional whump, nsfwhump, recorded whump, dubcon use of toys, male whumpers with female whumpee, whumper pov.

Walking through the hallways of facility 002 before Christmas was special, somehow. Even without any decoration among the sterile white, there was a festive mood to be felt, just from the way the handlers smiled when they greeted each other, or the spring to their steps.

The trainees wouldn't get any gifts for Christmas.

But the employees, they did.

As head handler, Jared Grimm had introduced various employee benefits; one of them a very popular Christmas tombola. Not everyone could get the main prize - taking home a pet over the holidays - especially not given the often more delicate nature of facility 002's acquisitions, but there were several more prizes: a full cleaning of the home before the relatives arrived, catering for Christmas dinner, a full styling and hairdo, all declared part of the facility's Domestics' training, all doing wonders for the workplace climate.

And there was of course, another choice group to receive Christmas gifts. Clients. Pretty much every case they handled in facility 002 was personal, meaningful for the prospective owners, and insanely price, too.

Personally tailored Season's Greetings were the least the facility could do.

Jared looked down at the instructions on his tablet. Alex had prepared a little script for each of the greetings. 238's prospective was to get a video. Technically, her primary handlers was meant to speak the opening words, but Alan Nguyen hadn't as much glanced at the notes, just lifted the Santa hat with two fingers and handed it back to Jared. "I did my professional due. Humiliating the girl. I will not humiliate myself for that douche and be his clown in a Santa hat. You do that alright."

Jared rolled his eyes. Arrogant douche himself. But Jared couldn't afford to annoy him - plus, he was the best handler they had, and there could be worse than spending some quality time with one of his trainees.

He pulled the hat over his head and nodded at the cameraman, waiting for his prompt to start speaking. "Good day, Mr Barlow! I'm Jared Grimm, WRU head handler, and it's my honor to send you Christmas greetings in the name of the entire company! We have a little something prepared for you behind this door, in honor of holiday season! Let's have a look!"

Jared got how it could feel little degrading indeed, playing the cheerful entertainer, but he was a WRU handler - he'd gone through worse for a lot less.

The door opened at a swipe of his card with a beep and a click, and cameraman panned to the door, filming through the crack where the dim flicker of christmas lights filled the room.

Angel, Alex had noted. Client seems to like angel analogies for this product (quote: "Make her be my Angel, and make her love it").

And they had taken this literally today.

Jared stared for a second, giving the cameraman time to slowly, carefully catch every detail of 238's flawless presentation.

She was wearing sheer white lingerie, that covered nothing yet emphasised everything. Her golden hair was curled into soft locks and crowned with a glittering halo, and small feathery wings strapped to her back over a short golden cape. Golden glitter was applied to her body as well, shimmering on her collarbone and chest.

She smiled at Jared, flirtatious and confident, curving her body in just the right ways for the camera to catch her.

She didn't kneel, though, to his slight dismay. It made sense for the order, of course. A luxury pet. For a demanding client.

Jared was a stranger to her - and she wouldn't kneel for just anyone.

"Well, good day, 002238," Jared said. There wasn't a script for her. Trainees didn't need to be told to act. Their entire being was a performance, and he expected her to excel at it. "You're special, aren't you? A very precious, very special pet for a very special owner." He reached out to clip a golden leash to the soft golden leather collar around her neck. (Prospective: "She will look better in a leash.")

"Of course I am," she whispered, and Jared was struck by the perfect counterpoints of the almost confident smile tugging at her lip and her gaze devoutly cast down. "I'm special for you, and I will be perfect for my owner."

Jared felt the pinpricks of an urge to discipline her, make her perfect for himself. It was part of her configuration of course, just like the part about not kneeling. A slight air of arrogance, but always submissive to her owner - and only him. Showing off her master's luxury.

Nguyen had outdone himself.

"You will be," Jared assured her, lifting her chin towards him. Glitter was smeared over her cheeks, too, sparkling between her freckles. "You're a beautiful product. Why don't you smile at the camera, tell your owner yourself? Season's greetings."

A soft blush blossomed on her cheeks underneath the gold, perfectly crafted, and still so natural. "He's... is he watching?"

"He is," Jared said.

Shivering, she sank to her knees. "Happy holidays, Sir," she whispered into the camera. "I can't wait to be yours."

"Why don't you show him just how much?"

"How?" She looked up at him, her dark eyes seeming even deeper among all the glitter.

"Get... Get on that table, 238." Jared didn't even try to hide the hoarse roughness tinting his voice. The product worked. It was always something else, if you hadn't trained them yourself. Even after more than two decades on the job, feeling that power over the entirety of another human was thrilling.

She got to her feet, with a grace that would seem natural to any outsider but perfectly matched that of any other WRU product, and swung herself on the edge of the table, legs dangling, upper body leaning backwards, presenting her cute breasts once more.

Jared's own trainees, back in the day, would've all been trained to be on their back already, presenting a whole different view.

This one was still keeping eye contact. Not with Jared, though. With the camera. "I hope I fullfil everything you desire." Her voice was tinted with arousal, and Jared couldn't even tell if it was fake or real. It didn't matter. Her hand ran over her body, playing with the straps tied around her, fingers idly circling her nipples.

The cameraman shifted his weight nervously, pressed his thighs together, and Jared smirked. She worked just as she should.

"Here," he mumbled, as he stepped in with the finishing decor - golden clamps, adorned with tiny bells that jingled when he fixed them to her nipples. The noise was lovely, but even more so was her sharp little gasp.

"238 isn't trained for pain," Jared said to the camera. "But she promised us, she'll take it for you."

"Anything," 238 said. "I love you, Sir. I love to be whatever you want me to be. I'm ready."

They hadn't told her to say that. Or what to do. But as any well trained Romantic should, when told to perform while none of her betters made a move, she did it on her own. She let herself sink onto her back on the padded table - finally - crossed her hands above her head and slowly, almost teasingly, opened her legs. This time, the gasp came from the camera man, staring at the diamond nestled in between her folds.

Jared bit back a chuckle. Yeah. That one was a sight.

"Good girl," he murmured, reaching for the seasonal fastenings he'd brought - a rough rope, entwined with fairy lights - and fixated her ankles to the table before he moved on to bind her hands above her head. "You'll be so good for your owner."

Still standing behind her head, he pulled a vibrator from his pocket, as golden as herself, and presented it to the camera. "Mr Barlow, here's your gift. The card we delivered to you held a small golden controller. Would you push the upper button on it?"

It took a moment, before the vibrator hummed to life in Jared's hand.

The pet shivered at the noise, already conditioned so perfectly, and a soft jingle sounded from the bells on her.

"And now press the other?"

238 back arched, and she let out a surprised cry of pain, the bells rattling.

Jared reached out and ran a caressing finger over her breast. "There's electrodes in the clamps, at your free disposal."

Jared pulled back his hand a second up late, when she seizured again, his hand thrumming with the remainder of a tiny shock. Seemed like the owner's kind of humor. Great then. He'd hopefully enjoy this whole display.

"Be good, 238," Jared whispered to her. "He's watching."

The vibrator was buzzing in his hand, wildly alive, as he slid it into her with practised ease.

She was wet already. If Jared assessed correctly, she'd stay so for a long, long while. Her owner wouldn't make this easy for her.

But then again, that was exactly what they'd made her for.

Jared waved at the camera, now mounted on a tripod. "Merry Christmas, Mr Barlow. We'll leave you to it in private now."

The cameraman swallowed, as he stepped back, wiping his palms on his pants. "You can wait in the observation room," Jared said to him, quietly enough for the camera not to catch their voices. "There's tissues, if you need them."

Jared might tune into the livestream from his office he thought. Or not. After all, he'd definitely be the one to get the privilege of being with 238 after Barlow was done. He preferred being the only one in charge.

He pulled off the Santa hat and ruffled a hand through his hair, ignoring the pet's moans behind him. As he followed the cameraman outside and raised his card to lock the door, the last thing he heard was the pet's sincere whisper.

"I love you, Sir."

[quins-whump-stuff]

982 | Chapter 3: Willow

(I know none of these have been super whumpy yet, but I promise we're getting there. For now, whump will be in the form of flashback or lasting effects of what our poor whumpee has been through)

Contents: (institutional) pet whump, conditioned whumpee, dehumanization, 1st person pov (whumpee's pov), profanity, emotional distress, imperfect caretaker, lady whump (whumpee), whumpee calls caretaker her owner

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"Oh, god! Are you okay?"

I shift my gaze upwards, not moving my head. My owner looks worried, her hand clasped over her mouth and eyes wide in shock.

"You- you aren't mad?" I ask tentatively.

"What? No! I'm just... I don't like people touching me," My owner tells me. I let out a shallow breath.

"Oh. But... I'm not a person, Ainsley. I'm a pet," I say, quietly. I want to ask, So you won't punish me?, but I know better. I look up at my owner, another salty tear falling off of my chin.

"Please don't say that. And, uh, don't cry. I'm not mad, I was just, ya'know, startled."

I nod my head and sniffle. Then, she reaches out a hand, and awkwardly pats me on the head a couple times. Only then do I feel my muscles relax, and I start to calm down.

"So, um, you good now?" she asks.

"Yes," I whisper, with another small sniffle.

"Okay, uh, if you're ready, we can go meet Otis."

To my surprise, Otis is a slobbering, tail-wagging, yellow-furred dog that seems to be smiling.

My owner kneels down and scratches the dog behind the ears with both hands.

"Hello, sweet boy! I missed you!" she dotes on the dog for a full minute before remembering me. "This is... a friend." Turning her attention to me, she says, "You can pet him. He's a sweetheart, won't hurt you, unless you're allergic to drool."

I cautiously raise a hand toward the dog. He sniffs it for a second, before nuzzling his nose into my hand. I smile a bit, and shift my hand to gently scratch him behind the ear, like my owner had. Before I know it, a rough, wet, pink tongue is on my cheek. I feel a smile spread across my face, and a giggle escapes me.

"Otis is super friendly. And very energetic. He's a lab, and he only stopped chewing everything I owned about a year ago," my owner says, her mouth stretching into a small smile, "he's a handful, but he's a good boy." Realization crosses her face. "Oh you're probably hungry, aren't you! I was about to make lunch. You can hang out here with Otis while I fix something, and if you need me just give a holler. Or you could come inside with me."

She must be testing me. Pets don't make choices. She must be gauging how well I've been trained. I won't mess up. "Whatever you wish, Ainsley."

"I literally don't care."

I'm frozen. I don't know what to do. I don't know what she wants me to do. I can't do anything until she tells me what to do. If I do i'll get in trouble. I bite my lip a little.

"Do you like it outside?" my owner asks after a few moments, and I nod my head. It doesn't matter what I like, I must be grateful. "Do you like it inside?" I nod again. "Which do you like better?"

But again I am paralyzed. I don't get to have preferences, favorites. Those are for people, not pets. Metallic warmth bursts through my mouth. I bit my lip so hard it's started bleeding. "Please just tell me what to do, Master," I whimper.

"Ainsley. And I just gave you the options. If you're worried I'm, like, messing with you, I'm just, not."

I look at my owner's face. She seems so genuine. She seems confused by my reluctance to choose. I think about it. Inside is much better than the kennels ever were. Warm and carpeted and quiet. But outside is so... beautiful. There's sunshine and soft green grass and the nice dog. I swallow, take a breath of the summery air, and tell my owner in a quiet, breathy voice, "I like it outside."

"Okay then. Let me know if you need me."

The second the door closes behind her, I sigh in relief, and collapse to the ground. It wasn't a test. I didn't fail. My owner isn't disappointed in me. I take a few deep breaths, calming myself.

After a moment, I look across the yard again. There’s a wooden fence that marks the outer bounds of the yard. One edge is lined with colorful flowers. Along the house is pavement and some furniture. In the far corner of the yard are three trees, two small ones with something stretched between them, and a larger one.

I think for a few seconds, my owner did say I could move about the house freely, before I make my way to the largest tree tree, and lay in the shade underneath it. Laying like this, my toes still feel the warmth of the sunshine, but my eyes, which haven't fully adjusted after so long in the dark, are protected by the tree's canopy. I consider cleaning my glasses, because the dog got some slobber on them, but I'm not sure if my shirt would scratch them up.

---

I make my way back inside, and let the door close behind me before I start whispering under my breath, "what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?" Why was she so scared? When she startled me and when I asked if she'd rather stay outside she seemed petrified. Why can't she even walk?

I walk into the kitchen, rubbing my temples. I know they say that human pets aren't really human, that they are "genetically engineered cloned humanoids," but she just seems like a scared young woman. The only weird thing about her are those light gray, almost white eyes. Other than that, she just seems so human. And the idea of her calling me "Master" makes me shudder. I'm no saint, but how depraved must the other people who buy pets be?

I wash my hands and then open up the small package that came with her. I read through the "personal" section of the info sheet to make sure she doesn't have any allergies, just in case I forgot. She doesn't, so I start cooking. I open a can of tomato soup and put it in a pot on the stove. While it boils, I dump various spices in. Then, I add some alphabet pasta. It's not a very filling meal, but hopefully it will hold the both of us over until dinner.

Both of us, I think, and I smile a little, I'm not alone anymore. I get two bowls and spoons, and after the pasta is cooked, I split the soup between the two bowls, and bring them outside to... well, I need a name for her.

She's laying on her back, under the willow tree. Willow, I roll the name over in my mind. I'll ask her what she thinks of the name. I hope she doesn't panic again. Willow.

[whumpandothercomfort]

I love the pet whump

Any ideas for someone who was publicly a pet of rich/famous whumper

There's a couple different possible setups... love imagining the logistics of a world with casual, accepted human/android/anthro/etc pets. Are celebrities bringing them leashed on the runway like purse dogs? Are they included in "no pet" signs outside establishments?

My first thought for this ask was Whumpee as the pet of a popular Youtuber/livestreamer. Like. Take every horrible thing that's ever proliferated from prank channels and "funny animal" channels.

Pranking my pet GONE WRONG!! (Pet becomes genuinely terrified and has a panic attack on camera)

Pet's been acting out.... Twitch chat gets to vote on how I punish them! On camera! 💕

Twitch chat votes to be nice to pet. Whumper makes them say thank you to the camera.

Whumper takes brand sponsorships from companies that make "training" (torture) tools for pets.

But they also make rewards like treats and nice pillows! So it's fine!

Humiliating videos of pet learning a new skill or trick. It's very cute and endearing how gently they're being condescended to.

A couple other Youtubers raise concerns that Whumper is mistreating pet; Whumper responds with videos of pet curled up asleep in their lap like, "Would a bad owner do THIS??"

Pet is eventually rescued by or sold to a rights advocacy group, but lives in constant fear of being recognized.

Pet has a really, really hard time believing in kindness for the sake of kindness. Whenever Caretaker is gentle with them, they start automatically looking around for a camera or a hidden trap.

[pigeonwhumps]

Contract 2

Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch @whumplr-reader

Introducing Bug's primary handler.

696 words

CWs: BBU, pet whump, whumper pov, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper (sadism only mentioned), dehumanisation, institutional pet whump, mentions of breaking people, mentions of torture

Bill jerks awake when the papers slap him in the chest.

"I wasn't asleep, and they're secure anyway," he murmurs. Then he sees who's standing over him and scrambles backwards. "Shaniqua. You're 134U's primary?"

"The one and only." She smirks down at him. "You're lucky it is me. Sleeping on the job? What would people think?"

Bill shrugs. "The paperwork's finished, this sofa's comfortable, and the new pet isn't doing anything interesting."

"I didn't think you'd have finished staring at their tits yet. Apparently, I was wrong."

"You were. I mean they're cute, and their tits are gorgeous, but there's not enough fear there yet. There's only so long you can watch a pet stay in one place when you're unable to do anything to them."

"You should become a handler. We'd love to have you."

"But then I wouldn't get to watch the intake. That's the fun part, especially with defiant ones. Getting to watch their fear and resignation."

"Oh yeah, that reminds me." She whistles sharply. "726E, heel."

A young man trots into the room carrying two plates of food and a jug of water. Bill raises an eyebrow. Shaniqua doesn't usually eat while she works.

"The nachos are for you. And you'll see what I'm doing with the rest of it. 726E, place everything on the coffee table."

726E obeys, then kneels gracefully at Shaniqua's feet. She ruffles his hair.

"Good boy."

Bill remembers this one, he thinks. One of his most defiant intakes initially, but so quick to snap like a twig at the first hint of pain.

"Entertainment class, huh? What tricks can he do?"

Shaniqua grins. "Roll over. Play dead. Freeze."

The pet freezes like a statue, one arm and a leg in the air.

"Okay, back to default."

He moves back to a knelt position at Shaniqua's feet.

"You've done wonders on him," says Bill admiringly. "Final test today?" Shaniqua nods. "How do I help? Surprisingly, my shift has never actually ended up coinciding with one before."

She chucks a mostly-full notebook onto his lap. "Stay with him while he watches the new intake, and write down whenever he has any sort of reaction to it. I need to make sure they're in line with what his prospective wants."

"Gotcha. Can I play with him?"

"Later. If you promise to be extra good in bed tonight."

Bill grins, already relishing the thought of both. "Now that's a deal I can get behind."

"Excellent." She pats the carpet at Bill's feet, and 726E crawls over, kneeling there instead. Then she wanders over to the intake room (plate and jug in hand) and peers through the floor-to-ceiling window at the new pet. "Certainly cute. Good call on the hair, by the way. I'm surprised though. That's a lot of restraints, even for you. Your manipulation skills going?"

"The information their foster parents gave was sparse, and they don't have a lot that I can guess they care about. Brute force was the best way to go."

Shaniqua whistles lowly. "Okay, yeah, I get it. Not so easy to use that. Wow. I feel like I'm gonna have a lot of fun with them."

Bill chuckles. He knows she enjoys using the more advanced methods to break and rebuild pets, that's why she did extra training, but she doesn't always get much of a chance.

"Just... I don't know, be a little careful? We spent a lot of money on them. You remember how long you had to spend training on X-designated pets before you learned where to stop."

Shaniqua flips him off without looking, and he smiles. She gets irritated by him constantly bringing that up, but it's true. She probably has the highest track record of Xs entirely destroyed. It's a good thing that's why they keep them.

Shaniqua squares her shoulders, grins, and saunters into the intake room. The door locks automatically with a quiet snick, a sound all pets learn to be afraid of.

He picks up a cheese-covered nacho and pops it in his mouth, nudging the pet at his feet to make sure he's in his peripheral vision. Now to sit back and enjoy the show.

[gottawhump]

Choices

Maia

CW/Tw: pet whump, institutional slavery, BBU/WRU, death/euthanasia mention

It takes forever for the rich kid to decide who he’s taking home, like it always does, but she’s not surprised when he chooses the little dark-haired Romantic.

When the shelter gets a Romantic, they usually get snapped up quickly. Usually, they’re eager to go, trying out all their practiced charms to win over a new owner.

Not that one. He’d been an owner surrender. He was being replaced by a cat, apparently, from the pet shelter a few blocks down. His skin was heavily marked by hard use, with signs of past owners. Any potential new owner would only take him to destroy him, not to cherish.

She hopes that won’t happen to him with the rich kid.

He shrunk into himself in the shelter kennel, refusing to interact with staff or possible adopters. Eventually refusing to eat, which slated him for the end-of-life section.

She hopes he’ll be okay, in his new home.

Now there are only two in the EOL section. The Guard Dog, due to be put down for inappropriate aggressiveness, and the Domestic, because they need more space.

Their adoption fees are heavily discounted, but even at the employee rate, she thinks she can only afford one.

She has to choose.

Old Friends taglist: @painful-pooch @justplainwhump @redwingedwhump @maracujatangerine @honeycollectswhump @tragedyinblue

[bilightningwhumper]

Bruised Apple- Snow White Retelling

TNEI Tumblr Masterlist

Rating:

Explicit (18+ only)

Basic Premise:

F/F/F romance; female whumpee, female whumper, various caretakers

Summary:

[Under Construction] All main characters 18+ unless I specify otherwise (ie, certain flashbacks).

Notes:

[Under Construction]

(* for mature/18+ posts)

Tumblr posts:

Prologue (in progress)

Excerpts:

Coming in October!

[snakebites-and-ink]

!! This masterpost is out of date !! The new one can be found here

Masterpost

Hi, I’m @snakebites-and-ink! This is my whump blog and main blog. It’s semi-sfw, in that I never write or reblog explicit onscreen sex, but may include other kinds of mature content. This post contains navigation to my writing and other important posts, but if there’s something you can’t find feel free to send me an ask about it! You can find more about me, including favorite tropes and squicks, in my intro post.

Blog/Info

Whumpblr intro post

Current content warning system

Interaction policy

Ask/submission guidelines

Feel free to tag me/send me stuff

I also have a cohost, though I'm not as active on there

Writing

Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from any taglists :)

Technically Not Human (working title)

A superhuman signs away his rights and goes to an institution that will train him up for the highest bidder.

Prologue

Lore post

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Asher

A story about a pet who’s allowed to live the life of a person. Set in the box boy universe. (Fair warning: no rescue/deconditioning arc planned)

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Ch. 6

Ch. 7

Ch. 8

Ch. 9

Ch. 10

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA

What it says on the tin. Updates every Monday assuming I can stay on top of it.

Pt. 1

Pt. 2 (+ bonus)

Pt. 3

Pt. 4

Pt. 5

Pt. 6

Pt. 7

Whumpuary 2024

Standalones: #1 - #5 - #7 - #8 - #9

Multi-part: #3 + 4, #2 + 6, #10 + 12, #11 + 13, #14 + 15

Standalone Drabbles

Pet Whumpee + Broken Dish

Recovering Clone Whumpee

Already-trained Pet

Reluctant Whumper Whumpee

Hero Brainwashed to Living Weapon

My writing tag

My other posting tag

Ask and submission boxes are OPEN with anon enabled!

[whumpshaped]

Stray 8

prev masterlist

tw institutional/systemic pet whump, second person pov (and you're the pet!)

You nod. They've robbed you of your life, your family — did you have a family? — your home, your possessions, even your name... They've replaced it all with a factory number. And yet you cling to it, because you have nothing else to cling to.

"Alright, love. 13 it is." Rayan nods towards the half-eaten bag of crackers and the apple. "All done?"

You nod once more. You can't quite make yourself say the words 'thank you' again; you find yourself anxious about the next steps instead. You've eaten. Now what? Will he leave? Will he ever come back?

"You've been here a while, haven't you? You've been eating that awful cat food for so long... Can I make it up to you somehow?"

You blink at him. Rayan still seems awfully self-conscious about that little mishap, despite him having had no way of knowing what you were. You can't help thinking you might be able to take advantage of that guilt.

And well... Your life isn't very good right now. You're cold all the time, nice meals are scarce, your whole body is aching... You're desperately lonely and on the run... If he was able to help with any of those, why wouldn't you at least ask? He seems so willing.

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @project-xiii @justletmereadmywhump @sariadragon @sowhumpful @books-are-everything @littlespacecastle @captain-bo-bob-bobby @morning-star-whump @a-formless-entity @nyooom @100percentevil @catnykit @whumpinthepot @snakebites-and-ink @expressionless-fr @foresttheblep @honeybees-125 @marcotheflychair @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @idontreallyexistyet

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

literally, mason is one of the best whump villains i have ever read?? it would’ve been so easy (and understandable!) to take a standard route with him and make him completely sadistic or purely apathetic. but somehow he’s so so well-rounded - genuinely buying into his own bullshit worldview, thinking he’s LEGIT “helping” the pets when he torments them, being cruel and bullying while also wholeheartedly believing pets aren’t humans and it would be wrong to treat them otherwise…oh boy, it’s so realistic to administrative/institutional cruelty in real life. i never cease to be amazed by his weird nuance. (uhhhhh something about him feels very Evangelical Conversion Therapist, but we don’t have to unpack All That!) anyway, i love (despise) him 😩😩😩💖💖💖😈😈😈 - newbornwhumperfly

😭

RAYE

also yes he's def got some undertones but you're right we don't have to unpack all that hehe

I wanna hold this ask close and just.... hug it. or you. or both. yes both

you are a gift to every inbox you grace.

Mason is for a sure a whole conundrum in and of himself. He's so fun to play with. (and it cracks me up how many people who are like I WILL BE THE ONE TO BREAK HIM. Which, go ahead... be frustrated when he just... is irrational.)