#institutional pet whump

[whump-in-the-night]

My favorite flavor of institutional pet whump is when. Hear me out. Humans domesticate and keep nonhumans as pets (I'm particularly partial to vampires being the pets).

People parading their pet nonhumans around on leashes, showing them off at parties, etc. It becomes a sort of a bragging right to have one, even more so if someone has more than one.

Humans justifying it because "they were evil, now we domesticated them." And maybe the nonhuman pets really were evil, or maybe not, but it doesn't change how they're being degraded.

Some pet owners treat their pets gently and pamper them. Others... do not.

Regardless of how they're treated, the institution/organization (the government? A private company? Something else?) that "domesticates" the pets probably doesn't treat them too well and the "taming" process is probably unpleasant.

[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."

[mj-iza-writer]

Subject and warning: Institutional pet whump... naked Whumpee. Bathroom usage. Drugging.

"I hear you.. I hear you", Whumper sighed as they pulled their kettle off of the stove burner.

They paused for a moment to listen for their pet. They could often hear the pitter patter of Whumpee coming to investigate the sounds... and to see if they could con a treat off of their master.

"Hmm, that's not like them at all", Whumper chuckled. They paused when they realized what trouble their pet could have gotten into while they were fixing their tea.

Whumper quickly and quietly tiptoed out of the kitchen. They continued to listen for Whumpee.

They finally heard a small whine, and Whumpee pawing at something.

They leaned into the living room and looked around until they found Whumpee's naked bum pointed up at them. They laid with a downward dog position and looked curiously at the heat register.

They couldn't help but smirk at the site. Whumpee swayed their butt side to side as they were trained to. This was to copy a real dog's happy tail wagging.

Whumpee pawed at the register and whined again.

Whumper frowned when Whumpee finally sat and looked at the register sadly. They tucked their body in tighter after a few shivers.

"I suppose it is a little cold... especially when your naked", Whumper leaned back and looked at their thermostat.

After a few taps, they leaned into the living room again.

The heat turned on right away, causing Whumpee to fall onto the floor and slide as close as possible to the warmth.

Whumper held their hand over their mouth to cover up their laugh.

Whumpee happily looked up when they saw Whumper watching them from the corner of their eyes.

"Is my pet cold?", Whumper cooed.

"Rumph", Whumpee grunted.

"You don't say?", Whumper cooed again.

Whumper carried in their teapot and cup.

Whumpee still relaxed by the heater. It had turned off a few minutes ago. They looked up at Whumper and whined.

"It will turn on again in a few minutes", Whumper set their things down, "be patient."

"MmmMmm", Whumpee whined in annoyance.

"Be quiet", Whumper sighed.

"Sniff... achoo", Whumpee sneezed playfully.

"Bless you" Whumper reached for their first cup of tea, "I know what you are doing, but it won't work. I'm reading my book. We played earlier, and I will cuddle with you later."

Whumpee trotted to Whumper's feet and rested their chin on Whumper's lap.

Whumper sighed at Whumpee's puppy eyes.

"Alright fine", Whumper patted their head, "let's go to the bathroom."

Whumpee shook their head no and shivered.

"I know, but you are not coming up on the couch until you've gone potty, and I've cleaned you off", Whumper poked Whumpee's nose, "just be happy you use the bathroom inside. Imagine if you were outside trained."

Whumpee followed Whumper into the bathroom.

They sat and waited for the command.

"Alright Whumpee, use the bathroom" Whumper ordered.

Whumpee hurried to their space.

They had been trained to use a squat toilet, which is what Whumper had requested.

Whumpee started to get comfortable, they looked up at Whumper awkwardly.

"Oh your right... sorry", Whumper turned, "because this doesn't compare to me seeing you naked twenty-four seven. Somehow, the bathroom is still a solo act."

After a few moments, Whumpee whined again, telling Whumper they had finished.

"Didn't have to use the bathroom", Whumper mocked as they set to work cleaning Whumpee.

Whumpee shivered as they leaned against Whumper.

"My poor baby is so cold", Whumper cooed as they stood, "look at all of that nastiness in your potty", Whumper frowned as they flushed.

"And that is why I wanted you toilet trained. Easy clean up", Whumper smiled.

Whumpee's teeth chattered together.

"Aww, my poor baby", Whumper hurried to wash their hands, "let's get you warmed up."

Whumpee jumped onto the couch and looked at Whumper tiredly.

"You've had a busy day, hmm", Whumper carried over Whumpee's favorite toy, "busy day being a pet?"

Whumpee yawned and stretched.

Whumper took a sip of their tea, "I'm surprised it's still somewhat warm. They gulped the rest down and poured more from their teapot.

Whumpee watched as Whumper grabbed a blanket and came over to them.

The blanket was flung over them, and Whumper tucked it in. They finished by tucking the toy into the blanket.

"Nice and comfy", Whumper ruffled Whumpee's hair lovingly.

"Hmmm", Whumpee hummed.

"Should we take your special treat before you go to sleep", Whumper smiled.

They reached for a white bottle that sat beside their chair.

Whumpee lifted their head slightly and cocked to the side.

"Don't worry it's just your vitamin... you like these", Whumper shook a gummy out onto their hand.

Whumpee sniffed it before opening their mouth.

Whumper placed the gummy onto Whumpee's tongue and watched them chew.

Whumpee quickly looked for more.

"No no, just one. You can have another tomorrow night", Whumper put the bottle back, "you just need one 'be good' vitamin to help your brain stay nice and sweet for me."

Whumpee tiredly rested their head while Whumper sat down and reached for their book and tea.

Whumpee slowly sneaked their head onto Whumper's lap.

"You're so sneaky when you want cuddles", Whumper set their cup down and started to play with Whumpee's hair.

Whumpee happily sighed.

After a while, Whumper's hand stilled, and Whumpee looked up at them.

"Humm...wh..wh", Whumpee whined lowly.

"Are you still awake?", Whumper sighed as they turned the page of their book and went back to petting Whumpee.

Whumpee reached into the blanket and pulled their toy out. They lifted it to their mouth and started to chew on it.

"Whumpee that isn't your chew toy", Whumper corrected with a sigh, "where is your chew toy anyways? I haven't seen it for a while."

Whumper scanned the floor.

"Huh, well, I guess you win. I'll have to find it later or buy a new one", Whumper laughed as Whumpee lifted their head and looked at them curiously. The toy still hung from their mouth.

"You're my silly pet", Whumper chuckled at Whumpee's antics.

Whumpee barked gleefully when Whumper set their book down and slid the empty tea pot away.

Whumpee was pulled up into Whumper's arms and squeezed tightly.

Whumpee wiggled around happily at their Master's new interests in them.

"Such a good pet for me", Whumper brushed Whumpee's hair back.

Whumpee nuzzled underneath Whumper's chin and sighed happily. Their cheek rested onto Whumper's chest.

Whumper rubbed circles along Whumpee's back until they could hear them snoring.

"Such a good pet", Whumper reached for the blanket and covered the both of them up. They then reached for the book again.

"It's a wonder how I got so lucky to get you", Whumper whispered, "long live our great institution."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @castiels-favorite-hunter

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @mylifeisonthebookshelf

@thenormalestever @whatwhump

@galatic-worm @starmoon-constellation

[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

[bilightningwhumper]

@ailesswhumptober 2024- Day 29

Torture Tuesday: Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

<<Previous . My AI-less Whumptober 2024 Masterlist . Next>>

"Royal Makeover" Masterlist --- TNEI Tumblr Masterlist

Summary:

Excerpt for "Royal Makeover" (Frog Prince retelling) Lorainne lays her claim on Wayland, permanently

Notes:

Characters: Wayland- Frog Prince Lorianne- Bad fairy/witch Warnings: branding, male whumpee and female whumper

Ao3 link

Word count: 261

Wayland PoV

Lorainne’s fingers running along his back made Wayland’s skin crawl. But she only laughed as he flinched.

“Why so scared, pet? It’s only me.” she taunted, dragging her nails into him now.

He just glared at her. Well, at her arm. It was hard to move his head from how she had restrained him to the metal table, spread out like a starfish. And she’d gagged him with a leather belt so he couldn’t bite her. Again.

“Now, hold still. This will hurt more if you struggle.”

And that was all the warning he got before something searing hot was pressed into his lower back.

Wayland screamed, blacking out.

Before he was woken up again by a bucket of ice water being dumped over his head. He almost fell off the table in shock when he registered just in time he wasn’t pinned down anymore. Shivering, he sat up, wrapping his arms around himself, just trying not to cry in front of her. Which was even harder to accomplish as Lorainne put a big warm towel around him.

“You did very good, Grof.” she crooned, kissing his forehead while latching the collar back around his neck. “Do you want to see?”

She didn’t wait for an answer before showing him her phone screen.

His skin crawled as he saw what was emblazoned in raw blistering red welts right above where his pant-line would rest.

Property of Lorainne Rosewood

Caressing his cheek, she gave him that possessive smile he’d come to despise. “Now everyone will know that you’re mine.” she said. “Forever.”

TNEI Taglist:

@scoundrelwithboba

[serene-cinders]

A vampire trainer Whumper who was once a fresh-faced innovator who was endlessly curious about them. A researcher, perhaps, or a student lobbying for social change. For stricter laws about the treatment of demihumans in wider society.

There’s a change in the law that states that certain species need to pass a training program in order to keep their lives. (To stay in the homes of other people trying to ‘do right by them’). Whumper, with all their expertise and desire for conservation, becomes one of the few practitioners offering to get any vampire through the rigorous ‘taming’ process. After all, it’s all for the greater good. These creatures would be culled, if not for the good will of struggling academics, right? I mean, *somebody* has to do the dirty work…

This would work well in a pet whump scenario. Maybe vampires aren’t capable of higher order thinking because of the horrific turning process. Or maybe that’s just what the majority of humans think.

[mj-iza-writer]

I like this

I just had an amazing pet whump dream

Tw: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, medical facility(similar to a psych ward), dehumanization

Okay, so, picture this; a lost whumpee without identification has been found out in the world by themselves, all alone! Like the Good Samaritan they are, even though they can’t care for the pet themselves, they take the whumpee to a certain facility.

This facility is like a kind of daycare/clinic. They nurse the whumpee back to health with warm towels, blankets, and simple bean-and-noodle soups. Then, once the whumpee is healthy enough, they check for identification. Oh, no identification is found? No collar? No microchip? Well, then…

The whumpee is boarded with two other whumpees. They have their own room (for three) so they can become friends. They are on a strict bedtime and morning schedule, including timed showers, timed teeth brushing, and careful, instructor-led beauty regimens. (Gotta make sure the whumpees clean their face properly, after all!)

Between those routines, the whumpees are let out into a friendly common area. There’s an outside play area, there’s a comfy living room, there’s a dining area; it’s all just like a big house! Just like they would have if they all had the same master.

Whumpees get to color, play fetch, read if they can, and even learn to skills like cooking, cleaning, or playing instruments. All of them are made to feel comfortable as possible so they have a positive learning environment!

In my dream, there wasn’t an end goal, really- or, at least, I didn’t reach that point. But it’s easy to assume that this was a kind of daycare facility for secondhand pets… it was eerily similar to psych wards I have been to in the last. The focus, though, wasn’t in ensuring a safety net for mental crisis; the focus of this place was to make happy, compliant pets.

Oh yeah and in the dream I was like “Man! This place sucks!….. I wanna throw a whumpee in here when I get out” and the whump writer I was boarding with was like “right? same” So that’s what I’m gonna do I guess

[maracujatangerine]

91. A conversation

CW: institutional slavery, pet whump, dehumanisation, box boy universe

“Cory… I think we need to talk.” Lydia’s tone was cautious. Carefully gentle. “What do you think?”

Coriander had been sitting slumped against the wall on his green pillow in the kitchen. When Lydia spoke, he instantly straightened up.

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia. T-this pet needs to talk. It has been thinking.”

“Okay.”

Lydia sat down in her usual chair, facing him. For quite some time now, she had been more relaxed around Coriander. She had felt able to trust their report and that also he would be less vigilant in interpreting any gesture of hers as a sign of displeasure or censure. Now, however, she once again felt herself hyper aware of her own body language. Do not cross your arms, she reminded herself. Shoulders turned towards him, heart open, posture welcoming. She smiled, and nodded.

“I’m listening. We can talk about whatever you want.”

“T-this pet has been thinking about what.. what has happened to it. About why it is here.”

Coriander rose to his feet, perfectly graceful as usual.

“Miss Lydia, This pet did volunteer, it did. It knows it did.” He pulled a shaking hand through his blonde hair. “T-there w-was a signature, on a paper, and… and…” He shook his head. “T-this pet cannot remember. But.” He looked down at Lydia, grey eyes suddenly fierce. “B-but this pet knows that it wouldn’t have volunteered if it knew. If it knew what it was going to be like. Nobody would volunteer for that.”

He started to pace the kitchen, back and forth, his shaking hands drawn tightly into fists.

“The cold, the beatings, the starvation, the experiments, the violence, the abuse, the contempt, the neglect.” His whole body shaking, he stared unseeing out the window. “The way you are never good enough.”

Lydia could feel her whole chest ache in phantom pain as her heart hurt for him. She wanted to reach out to Cory, but she was also afraid to disturb whatever path he was on. This was probably the first time ever he named the things he’d been going through.

When he just stayed silent, breathing hard, staring out the window, she eventually said, as gently as she could.

“Cory. This is terrible, and I am so sorry that it happened to you. I’m really glad that you can start to talk about it, though. I’m here, and I’m listening to everything you want to talk about.” She paused, and when he showed no sign of even having heard her, she added. “I just want to remind you that this is never going to happen to you ever again. You are safe here.”

He whirled on her, then.

“B-but, Miss Lydia. If nobody w-wanted to buy it, this would not have happened to this pet.” He paused and swallowed. “This would not have happened to me!”

Looking down, he continued. “You have been kind to this pet, that is true. But there is a paper in the drawer there…” He pointed, his whole arm an accusing arc. “That says that you own it. Whatever you want to do to this body…” He hesitated and plunged on. “…to this soul, it is your right to do it.”

Coriander shook his head slowly, grey eyes boring into hers. Very slowly and steadily he said. “Miss Lydia, i-if it wasn’t for you - a-and many more people like you - t-this pet wouldn’t be here.”

He hung his head, then. Exhaustion and a spasm of pain flickering over his face for just an instant. Gritting his teeth, he met her eyes again.

“Miss Lydia, t-this pet needs some time alone. May it be excused to go for a walk?”

Lydia nodded quickly, biting her lip.

“Of course, Cory, whatever you need.”

The blonde young man inclined his head respectfully, but the fire in his grey eyes did not die down.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

Lydia held it together while Coriander went out into the hallway, put on his shoes and coat, and walked out the door.

It was only after she heard the sound of the latch clicking closed that she leant down on the smooth, wooden surface of the kitchen table, hid her face in the crook of her arm, and cried.

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[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.

[sir-fenris]

This is a short scene inspired by this post of @floral-comet-whump 's whump ask game.

"Agreeing to be your handler was the worst mistake I've ever made..." + living weapon + "You're lyi-...no, you're not. This is why, isn't... isn't it?")

Content: living weapon whumpee, handler whumper, whumper-turned-caretaker, kind of whump recovery, domestic comfort, institutionalized whump, mentioned surgery recovery, past dehumanization.

"Agreeing to be your handler was the worst mistake I've ever made," Caretaker says in the silence of the kitchen while peeling the potatoes deftly, eyes focused on the task.

Whumpee huffs with a forced grin. Why did Caretaker bring that up after so long? "You're lyi-" They cut themselves off once Caretaker's looks up in their eyes. "... No, you're not. This is why, isn't... isn't it?"

There has never been an actual explanation to why Caretaker had taken them out of the institution. To why Whumpee was now living with them. Whumpee has always believed this was a different type of decommission; they were no longer needed as a weapon, so they were kept as a pet, or maid.

But Caretaker has never actually asked them to do house chores like a maid, the two of them always did all of it together.

Whumpee still chose to keep the pet-maid narrative in their head. It was what made sense.

But looking back at Caretaker's face... Whumpee never felt dumber. The world cleared up all at once.

Caretaker looks down at the potatoes again, but Whumpee couldn't go back to washing dishes while they speak. "Taking you out of there was the only thing I could do. I thought I was going to take care of a machine. Not..." Caretaker trails off, though they remain calm and expressionless as always.

"...Not a sentient being," Whumpee completes quietly.

"Not a sentient being," Caretaker agrees, putting the last potato on the bowl. "Since the day you woke up from the arm surgery, I... couldn't ignore how you seem to feel pain as much as a human. How taking care of you and taking care of sick humans weren't so different."

Whumpee stayed silent as Caretaker got up calmly and put the potato bowl next to the other ingredients while still speaking, "Ever since then, I started noticing all the little details I had been ignoring before. And ever since, I regretted agreeing to the job more than I regretted anything in my life."

"Why are you telling me this?" Whumpee interrupts the monologue, eyebrows furrowed and eyes searching. They weren't sure what was the feeling in their chest, but it made it hard to breathe. Perhaps if they were a human, they would know what it was.

Caretaker looks at them again, but turns away just as quickly as before, starting to cut the ingredients. "Because you still look at me like your handler. Like I'll decomission you if you don't do something." They reach to the sink, closing the tap water, that had been running until now. "Don't waste water."

The casual way in which Caretaker was treating this talk was unsettling. Whumpee couldn't stop staring, couldn't go back to washing dishes, nor worry about the water waste. Caretaker had taken them out because of guilt, not because they were decommissioned.

"... And what will happen if I don't do something, then?" Comes the quiet question.

"It will not get done until I see it and do it," Caretaker says nonchalantly, cutting carrots in a steady rhythm of the knife hitting the wood. "But if you slack off on everything, I might not get everything done, and the house will start to become a mess."

"What will happen to me?" Whumpee emphasizes.

"You will live in a dirty and messy house," Caretaker answers without actually answering what they knew Whumpee meant. With the uncomfortable silence, they sigh. "That's all. Nothing else would happen. I'll ask you to help out, but I won't force you or punish you if you don't."

"You did it before. Both things," Whumpee whispers, and immediately tenses up with his bold words.

But Caretaker doesn't seem to care at all. "Yeah, I did. But I won't again. I'm no longer your handler."

"...What are you, then?" Whumpee asks.

Caretaker stops, slowly rests the knife on the wood board. "I'm Caretaker. Just that."

"And what am I?"

"You're Whumpee."

"Just that?" Not a weapon, not a pet, not a maid, not a slave, not a machine, not a number. Just their name? Just themselves?

"Yeah," Caretaker breathes out and gives a nod for Whumpee to keep washing dishes before going back to cutting ingredients,

"Just that."

-

[snakebites-and-ink]

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⚡ Technically Not Human (working title) Nolan signs away his freedom and goes to an institution that trains superhumans to serve the highest bidder.

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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.

~

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