#institutionalised dehumanisation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maracujatangerine · 4 months

Text

The Gift Exchange, part 1

CW: institutionalised slavery, pet whump, dehumanisation

“Miss Lydia, Miss Lydia, what do you think about this?.”

Coriander jogged into the kitchen, brandishing a roll of wrapping paper patterned with abstract swirls in silver and dark green. The silver accents glittered in the pale winter morning sunlight falling in through the windows.

“It is really pretty!” Miss Lydia smiled, brown eyes warm. “Good choice, Cory!”

The blonde pet ducked his head, but smiled back from underneath his bangs. He wore a soft, green sweater with leather patches on the elbows that matched his chestnut trousers.

Lydia was dressed in a dark grey, knitted dress with red leggings. She leaned over the table to move the pot with the red and white amaryllis out of the way.

“Should we wrap everything into one present, or should we wrap each gift separately, do you think?”

“T-this pet thinks we should w-wrap one gift for Colton and one for Linden, b-but that all their gifts can be wrapped together.”

“That’s a good idea, let’s do that.”

Coriander spread out several seed packages on the table and studied them thoughtfully. Closest to Lydia was a packet with a picture of lush, green sugar snap peas labelled: ‘Mangetout, pea seeds 'Norli' ORGANIC’. Then, there were two packets both marked ‘Thunbergia alata, Black-eyed Susan’, the first one called ‘African Sunset’ in shades of red and apricot, the second one ‘Alba Oculata’ in brilliant white. The final was a handwritten envelope simply marked in Cory’s neat handwriting: ‘Chili, mix’.

“Are you happy with those seeds?”

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia. C-Colton will be able to grow them on the balcony, and i-it will be fun that we both can try to grow the same seeds. P-perhaps we can compare notes.”

Cory gathered the seed packets and tied them together with a neat red bow. Meanwhile, Lydia grabbed a hardback book. The blue dust jacket had brightly coloured leaves scattered all over the cover. The title stood out in bright white: When we were birds, by Ayanna Lloyd Banwo.

Opening the book, she wrote on the inside of the cover. ‘To Linden. Merry Christmas and best wishes for the new year.’ Signing it, she handed it over to Coriander to add his name too.

“‘It is a bit of a risky gift,” she admitted to Cory, “since I haven’t read the book yet, but it seems so good. I got a copy for myself too, and I hope I will get the chance to read it over the holidays.”

They added two bags of homemade butterscotch candy in green paper cups, and two reused milk cartoons filled with gingerbread cookies, the result of last night’s baking spree.

Lydia and Cory put their joint efforts into wrapping the gifts into two neat packages. The dark, red ribbon a nice contrast to the green and silver wrapping paper.

“Let’s go for a walk and send it off this afternoon.” Coriander nodded.

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia.”

Linden wiggled the pen between his thumb and index finger, deep in thought. Leaning back in his kitchen chair, he looked over at Colton, who was working diligently at the end of the table. With wholly unbroken concentration, he was pulling strips of sellotape from the dispenser and sticking them in a neat row along the table’s wooden edge. When Linden had done the altogether far more fiddly task of wrapping a gift up, Col could pluck a pre-cut piece of tape and stick it in place. It was, as Linden had said about fifty times, excellent teamwork.

“Hey, Col, have you ever seen this before?” Linden asked, lifting his hand for Col to see. With the pen held right in its middle, Linden wiggled it gently, until it looked as if the pen was bending at the edges.

Col’s eyebrows twitched, and for a beautiful second Linden thought he was going to burst out laughing. Instead, his mouth curved upwards into a tiny smile. “Yes, Sir. I have.”

“Ah, not too impressive then. Haha, no matter.”

“Do you need any tape for the envelope, Sir?” Col asked, eyeing the Christmas card laid out in front of Linden.

“In a second… I’m just trying to figure something out.”

“Ah, okay, Sir.”

Col took another breath, as if to speak, then stopped himself. Linden prided himself on reading Col well enough by now to know that it was because he wanted to ask a question. Probably what are you trying to figure out?

“I’ve written my part of Lydia and Cory’s card, but I’m not sure how to do yours. I’m not going to make you try and hold a pen. I was thinking - do you want to just dictate it? It doesn’t have to be much, just a little festive greeting sort of thing. I can be your text-to-speech robot.”

Linden was always cheery around Christmas time. Something about winter setting in, dark and long and rainy, and then being cut through by glittering lights, gifts and music. Today, he felt like he was on a veritable warpath to make Col smile.

“That sounds good, Sir… I can do that.”

“Great!” Linden said, overjoyed that Colton hadn’t taken issue with the idea of ‘dictating’ something to his owner, hadn’t overthought any possible rule-breaking that could come with speaking and forcing his Master to write it all down. “And instead of you signing the card the normal way, I thought you could do a fingerprint?”

“That’s a good idea, Sir, thank you for c-”

“Wait, no!” Linden said, making Col flinch. “Sorry, I’m sorry love. I just realised. We’ll both do our fingerprints. That’ll be nice. Then we’re the same.”

There it was again, the coveted half-smile. Col’s cheeks glowed. “Thank you, Sir, that’s really kind. I think- I, uh…”

“Go on,” Linden said warmly. “I want to hear what you think.”

“I think Lydia and Cory will like that, Sir.”

“I agree. Now, here’s what I’ve written.”

Linden pushed the card over. He’d written a short message making light of the strange way they first crossed paths, saying how glad he now was to know the both of them, wishing them a peaceful and happy holiday. He waited patiently as Colton gave his message some thought, then wrote it down exactly as dictated on the left hand side of the card.

Linden found some stamp ink in the back of a drawer, and the two of them rolled their index fingers in it until they could leave two bold prints, one below each message.

Once the card was sealed, it was time for the gifts. Lydia’s gift was a specially-made book embosser, which had EX LIBRIS - LYDIA WINTERTHORPE printed onto it. The embosser itself was a satisfying, weighty thing, and Linden hoped she’d get great pleasure out of stamping all of her most beloved books.

Cory’s gift was also a bespoke item: a brass door sign with his name, Coriander, printed on it. It had ornate rounded corners which gave the thing a rustic, rather stately look, and although Linden had never seen Lydia’s house he guessed it would fit right in. He had run the gift idea past Col first - would a pet such as Cory be okay with claiming the bedroom as his in this way? Col had given it a fair share of thought, ultimately telling Linden, in a way that sounded more like a sinful confession, that Cory would like it very much.

The two men performed their well-honed wrapping ritual, with Col sticking down the final piece of tape with a flourish.

This is a collaboration between @whumpzone and @maracujatangerine.

We would like to wish you all a Merry Christmas!

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#lydia and linden #lydia and coriander #linden and colton #whump fic #pet whump #pet whumpee #bbu #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #box boy whump #writers on tumblr #original writing #christmas whump #chirstmas

94 notes · View notes

whumpcloud · 1 year

Text

Delicate - Bad Pet

this applies to all pieces but i'll say it for this one in particular since it's heavy + plot important - if you can't read this for whatever reason but still want to know what happens, shoot me an ask/dm and i'll summarise it

content: attempted noncon (nothing actually happens but the intent is there), major character death, murder by stabbing, (institutionalised) pet whump, creepy/intimate whumper, dehumanisation, self-blame/degradation, self-inflicted drugging, referenced intoxication (alcohol and drugs)

Darling knows he's a bad Pet. He's the worst Pet in the world. He's a broken, stupid, worthless Pet but he's scared.

He's hidden the knife in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Master never uses it - he keeps all his medications in the top drawer, so only Darling goes in there anyway. It's an old knife that was buried in the back of the cutlery drawer, so Master hasn't noticed that it's missing.

Darling shouldn't need to do this. He doesn't need to do this! He's supposed to be good, that's the only thing that's expected of him, being good and perfect and obedient. But he can't be obedient about this. He knows he can't.

But Master is so, so insistent. This is his only option to stay safe. He won't hurt Master. It's just a threat, it's just a message because Darling can't bring himself to voice how much he hates it.

Master is being sweet about it. He's finally sat Darling on the bed, said that today's going to be the day, while he's awake and sound of mind instead of every other time he tried this, when he was drunk or high on new medication or half-asleep. Darling isn't sure if he'd prefer just being held down and used, but he knows he really doesn't like this.

"Shh, Darling," Master murmurs, gently pressing Darling back into the mattress. "It's all okay, love. I just want you to relax."

"M-Master, please," Darling begs, trying to twist away. "You didn't train me for this…"

"I know, I know," Master says, and Darling wishes that he wasn't trying to be reassuring, that he'd just be violent in the way that Darling knows he can be and take what Darling knows he wants. "I'm going to, I'll take you back and I'll get you all trained, but I want to do this properly now, love, I want this to be special the first time 'round. Just us, just us at home."

"No!" Darling cries, before he can think about it.

"You don't use that word, love, not like that," Master says, and somehow his voice becomes more terrifying, even though it's softer. "Don't make me remind you."

"I-I'm sorry, Master, I- I just want this to stop-- to end, to end!" That's two words now that Darling has used that he isn't allowed to. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry--"

"Shh, shh." Master gently presses a kiss to Darling's forehead, and it's somehow the worst thing he's ever done. "You're not used to this, it's okay. I won't punish you for it this time. I want this to be nice, okay?"

It isn't nice, it will never be nice. There's a horrible feeling curling in Darling's gut.

"Please, Master," Darling says, disguising the panic in his voice. Fine! He'll change strategies. "C-Can you drug me? Please?"

"There's no need for that, love," Master says. "I want you awake. You'll enjoy this, I know you will. All you have to do is relax."

"P-Please," Darling whines. "I- I'm scared. I'm scared I won't be good, a-and I want to be good, Master, I want you to be happy…"

Master sighs, but brushes Darling's hair out of his face and nods. "Alright. Just wait here."

Darling bolts upright and gasps as soon as Master leaves the room. He's seen Intimates, when he was in training, the way they're made to be so desperate they'd do anything and all he can think is I don't want to want this.

The knife is so solid in his hands, unlike the world around him, and he grasps it desperately as Master opens the door.

Master stares at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Don't touch me," Darling whimpers.

Master takes a deep breath, and laughs softly. "Darling… come on."

"I- I mean it!" Darling thrusts the knife forward, as if to emphasise the threat. "Don't touch me!"

"Darling," Master says, so softly that Darling's hands shake. "Put the knife down, love."

Darling shakes his head, and he swallows back tears. It feels like there's ice coating his skin.

Master's face twists for a moment, but then it lands on a gentle half-smile. "Sweet thing…"

Master steps forward, and Darling steps back, hitting the bed with the back of his knees and falling so that he ends up sitting on the mattress.

"What did you think was going to happen, huh?" Master asks, and he's getting closer but Darling has no method of backing away. "Come on. Put the knife down, love, and we can talk about this."

"I don't want to talk!" Darling shouts, but his elbows curl inwards. "I don't want this, please!"

"And you think that matters… why, exactly?" Master has that cruel edge to his smile now, even though his voice hasn't sharpened a bit. "You're just a Pet, love. You're my Pet. I think you're forgetting that."

"I'm not, I'm not forgetting, please." Darling's resolve almost crumbles, but he keeps his hands on the knife. "You didn't train me for this, M-Master, please, I don't want this because you never made me want this!"

"I said I would train you, love," Master says, and he's close enough now to wrap his hand around Darling's wrist. "But that doesn't matter, does it? You want what I want, regardless of what it is, because you're a good boy. Aren't you?"

Darling's lip trembles. He wants to be good, he wants to be good so badly. Why is he threatening his Master like this? He softens a little as Master's other hand reaches into his hair.

"Drop the knife," Master says gently, and leans in close, breath on Darling's cheek. "Drop the knife, and then you can take the little pill and relax, okay? Doesn't that sound nice, love?"

Nice.

It isn't conscious - or at least, Darling doesn't think about it before he does it. He doesn't say anything, and neither does Master. Master lets out a choked gasp, and stumbles backwards.

Darling doesn't think he's ever seen Master truly scared.

Darling is still holding the knife, had held it so tightly that it stayed with him when Master moved back, and now all Master can do his clutch his bleeding stomach with wide eyes. Shouldn't Darling feel something?

He feels horror, but only at the fact that stabbing Master felt like nothing at all.

Minutes. It takes only minutes for Master to drop to the floor and let a last agonised breath leave him. Darling just stares. He knew where he was stabbing, whether he meant to or not. Part of his training. Master's blood-soaked hand slips from his stomach to the floor.

Darling isn't so covered in blood, at least. A little splashed on his hands when it happened, but that isn't suspicious at all. He shouldn't be thinking about how suspicious it is. He should be calling someone. He slides off the bed, kneels on the floor, and shakes Master a little bit. Nothing. He gently closes Master's eyes.

He shoves a horrible feeling down. Feelings are no use to him. What's going to happen if people find out what he did? Darling doesn't know what happens to Pets like him, but he can't imagine that it's anything good.

What if they put him down? Fear numbs the ends of his fingers. He doesn't want to die. But a Masterless Pet isn't any use to anyone.

Bad Pets lie. And he's already a bad Pet, and Master isn't around to punish him for it, so he might as well lie. Darling chokes at the thought, his only reaction. No-one would ever know the truth if he didn't tell it. Who would actually believe that a Pet had killed their Master? He could tell them anything he wanted and they'd believe him, because he's the only witness they have.

Darling sinks the knife back into the wound. Nothing at all. Broken and worthless and stupid and violent, like he used to be. He pulls antiseptic wipes from the nightstand's drawer and wipes down the handle of the knife. Emotionless and practical, like he was trained to be, so he can hold onto some idea that the training made him a good Pet, because maybe he can be a good Pet for whoever buys him next, because maybe they'll even look at his information and training and not ask more of him.

Darling pulls the pill from Master's pocket. His tongue curls around it before he swallows. He doesn't remember anything, he was drugged, he's just a Pet. He fishes for Master's phone, and calls emergency services, slurs his words so that they'll think he was drugged earlier, and drops the phone a little distance away.

Blood pools underneath him. He curls up on the floor, buries his face in his Master's hair, and begs for forgiveness.

taglist: @whumpsday @roblingoblin285 @whumpycries @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @clairelsonao3 @dislexiher @whumpingwithclara-alt

#polly's prose #delicate #peter (darling)#westley santana #whump #whump writing #pet whump #YEAH THIS ONE IS A LOT. SO UH. HAVE FUN. OR DON'T.#i am skirting the line of my own comfort very slightly tbh afsfd. but it being about this is important to me.

82 notes · View notes

dustypinetree-reblogs · 1 year

Text

My Masterlist of Favourite Works, so I can reread them whenever~

——————————————————

• Pet Whump:

1: WRU: Pet 205-843 (No official title) — 29 Chapters &C (Ryan/843/Pet/Joey - Human Pet, Pet Whumpee, BoxBoy Universe, WRU, Extreme Conditioning, Dehumanisation, Institutionalised Slavery, Physical Whump, Medical Whump, Compliance, Sir/Master/Handler, Reluctant Caretaker, Regression)

Written by @highwaywhump

2: Unintentional — 25 Chapters &C (Whumpee = Aiden/839, Clueless Caretaker = Leo - Human Pet, Pet Whumpee, BoxBoy Universe, WRU, Trauma, Recovery, Experimentation, Drugging, Dehumanisation, Institutionalised Slavery, Medical Whump, Conditioning)

Written by @distinctlywhumpthing

——————————————————

• Captive Whump:

1: In The Woods Somewhere — 36 chapters (Whumpee = Buck, Whumper = Fletcher - Held Captive, Torture, Physical Whump, Mental Whump, Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Training Camp, Whumper Turned Caretaker)

Written by @knivestothroats

2) Behave — xx Chapters (Medical Whump, Hospital Whump, Drugging, Experimentation, Whumper Turned Caretaker)

Written by @jordanstrophe

3) The Basement Whumper — xx Chapters (Torture Whump, Sadistic Whumper, Violent Whump, Captive Whump)

Written by @jordanstrophe

——————————————————

• Uncategorised:

1: MD-264N — 13 Chapters &C (Living Weapon, Dehumanisation, Conditioning, Whumpee Escape, Caretaker)

Written by @pigeonwhumps

2: A White Rose — xx Chapters (Non-Human, Kidnapped, Put On Display, Physical Whump, Loss)

Written by @itsleighlove

#whump writing #whump community #whump fic #whumper #whumpee #conditioned whumpee #whumpee and caretaker #bbu whump #pet whump #pet whump bbu #cw wru #medical whump #torture whump #sadistic whumper #noncon drugging #conditioning #dehumanisation

36 notes · View notes

belacqui-pro-quo · 2 months

Text

I wasn’t naive enough to think that suffering ennobles or empowers the victims of a great atrocity to act in a morally superior way. That yesterday’s victims are very likely to become today’s victimisers is the lesson of organised violence in the former Yugoslavia, Sudan, Congo, Rwanda, Sri Lanka, Afghanistan and too many other places. I was still shocked by the dark meaning the Israeli state had drawn from the Shoah, and then institutionalised in a machinery of repression. The targeted killings of Palestinians, checkpoints, home demolitions, land thefts, arbitrary and indefinite detentions, and widespread torture in prisons seemed to proclaim a pitiless national ethos: that humankind is divided into those who are strong and those who are weak, and so those who have been or expect to be victims should pre-emptively crush their perceived enemies. Though I had read Edward Said, I was still shocked to discover for myself how insidiously Israel’s high-placed supporters in the West conceal the nihilistic survival-of-the-strongest ideology reproduced by all Israeli regimes since Begin’s. It is in their own interests to be concerned with the crimes of the occupiers, if not with the suffering of the dispossessed and dehumanised; but both have passed without much scrutiny in the respectable press of the Western world. Anyone calling attention to the spectacle of Washington’s blind commitment to Israel is accused of antisemitism and ignoring the lessons of the Shoah. And a distorted consciousness of the Shoah ensures that whenever the victims of Israel, unable to endure their misery any longer, rise up against their oppressors with predictable ferocity, they are denounced as Nazis, hellbent on perpetrating another Shoah.

#Link #Politics #History #Ideology #Nihilism

3 notes · View notes

sunriseverse · 2 months

Note

Since you asked for questions...

7, 13, 17, 19, 21, 33, 39

thanks so much for the ask!!!

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

i love putting the images in my mind into words, and i love being able to construct a cogent narrative from what starts as only scraps of those images. i love my writing style, love the way it sounds and the way it paints pictures so vividly. i'm by no means the best writer in the world, but i like the way i write. also, hearing peoples' reactions to my writing! i love when people engage with me and tell me what part of something particularly hit them.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

hardest would probably be involuntary institutionalisation/psychiatric mistreatment/abuse. i've never written anything in this vein (to my memory, at least), and while i think i have a lot of interesting concepts in that vein, i..............don't think i'd probably ever be able to properly manage to write it. as for easiest..................basically everything else? if you're just talking about subject matter, i think i'm fairly skilled and can pull off most things. the easiest would probably be various types of mental health issues, internalised dehumanisation, and intense longing and pining, which is a little bit of a funny combination on its face.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

okay i will not make you sit through my ramble about sunrise because it is literally thousands of words long, so i'll just link my sunrise crash course post. that said, a short thing i can say is the zhang sect's formative history is steeped in the tragedy of familial infighting and murder, and the later generations, especially after zhang ruitong's period as zhang qiling, really hold up the murder as a good, righteous action, when the murderer was devastated and horrified by what she had done and essentially became a recluse and a shadow of herself because of it, and zhang ruitong is maybe, possibly, heretically killed by a snake that's a reincarnated version of the murdered brother in question.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

oh, this is a long one. so, i've been writing for..............a bit more than half my life, now. i started out writing fanfic by hand as a kid, and then migrated first to ffnet , where i spent a good few years mostly lurking until i finally got an email and was able to post my own writing (i did briefly use lj and quotev before ffnet, but i never had an account on them). i wrote a lot of warriors fanfic, since that's what i was mainly into, as well as a good deal of guardians of ga'hoole and inheritance cycle fanfic by hand (none of this was ever digitised and is probably lost to the ages). after this, in 2017, i finally made the shift to ao3, after having heard about it for years but never making the transition, because an author i read a lot of talked about migrating over there, and began posting my own writing. by that point, i'd been writing for a good portion of my life, and my writing skills weren't too shabby, so some of the stuff from that period is still intelligible, even if it's bad. then in 2018 i began taking prompts for a fandom i'd just gotten into, pacific rim, and i was a serial promptfic writer between 2018-2021, which is where i credit my rapid improvement of skill to—i was writing sometimes two or three prompts per month, and generally the reaction was positive. however, a combination of events almost led me to stop writing entirely in 2021—people had started calling me a big name fan, which made me incredibly uncomfortable, because i felt like i was being put up on a pedestal and people were treating me as an idol rather than just...............you know, another fan. i also had a falling out with another big name fan in the fandom over a "joke" they made. i actually never talked about this publicly, because i genuinely don't think it was like................something worth dragging into public, especially since as a so-called bnf myself, i was aware that if i were to talk about it, people would be very polarised about it. after i blocked this person, they went and left a massive ao3 comment on one of my fics, which freaked me out pretty badly, and for about a year afterwards i had really bad shutdowns and paranoia surrounding that event and fanfic generally that made writing really hard for me, because i found it really hard to extricate my writing from the harmful ways i was practising and thinking about my writing. but after a series of url changes, making new friends, and finally getting medicated for the plethora of mental health issues i apparently had had most of my life (shocking, who could have guessed), i was able to finally begin seeing writing as something for me and something i did for enjoyment. moving into cdramas and cnovels as my main types of fandom also helped a lot, because it took off the pressure i felt to write a certain way, since a lot of the english fandoms for them are much smaller, and i've purposely tried to ensure that i never wind up in another situation where i'm being called a bnf again. also, my writing now is probably the best it's ever been, and that makes me really happy and helps stave off any issues i might have with falling into a bad mental state again.

21. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

uh. not very. i have a notes app folder with jotted down fanfic ideas i'll sometimes go through, but most of the time i just start writing in a google doc with some stupid title, and i rarely use outlines—mostly my "planning" process consists of either 1. rambling to my friends to help solidify my ideas and copypasting that conversation into the docs for reference, or 2. a singular rambling line detailing the points i want to hit in the fic. once it's finished, i toss it into ao3 and call it a day. i'm an adult who's also been in university and college for years and i have a lot of things to do, and fanfic is something that i do for fun, so i don't really bother to be too meticulous about it—unless you count sunrise, which is just generally an outlier in my life overall.

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

yes! i draw and (very occasionally) make amvs. usually though my art isn't tied to any of my writing, and my amvs are separate too. i would love to illustrate my writing, but my art is..........not that good. mostly i just use my art for character design/redesign these days.

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

spite, mostly. my life and other people have taken a lot of things from me, and writing is the one thing i've stubbornly held onto since i was a child. it's in my marrow by this point; i wouldn't be myself if i didn't write. also, there's something so satisfying about drawing together a concept over thousands of words—and i love trying to figure out how a concept would work while still keeping characters, well, in character.

#ask #ask meme #c.txt

2 notes · View notes

justplainwhump · 2 years

Text

Job satisfaction

Tyler struggles to keep a facade in front of his colleagues and learns the whereabouts of Tara's informant.

Written for @whumptober 2022. Will be continued soon.

This is for Day 16, "no way out" and day 19, knees buckling.

A part of Tyler's arc.

Cw for BBU, institutionalised whump, facility whump, a bunch of professionally horrible people (WRU handlers and managers), referenced dehumanisation, (newly) reluctant whumper pov, shortly referenced noncon/dubcon (WRU romantic training), referenced torture

Tyler took the bus to work. He'd drunk too much vodka last night to be able to drive safely. He pressed his forehead to the window, greenish suburbs passing by the windows in a blur until the gray buildings of the industrial zone took over. Facility 002 was located far outside the city.

Hard to reach. Easy to control.

In his pocket, his fingers fiddled with his access card. It didn't say his name, didn't even say the company name, just a plain number, but still he had always kept it hidden. Odd, he realized. He'd told himself over and over again that he just did a job. People in his generation did what earned them money, and tried to be good at it. Nobody identified with what they did, or their employer, he was just like them, right?

Then why had he never told anyone? Even when it had all technically been legal, when he'd been working with voluntary acquisitions. Security, that's what he'd said when asked about his job. Corporate security for some high tech lab. Nobody had ever waited to know more.

The bus' doors opened with a hiss. "Industry Park South Entrance," the automated voice announced. "Last stop. This bus terminates here."

Tyler started, needed a second to find orientation, before he grabbed his backpack and got off. There were just a handful of other passengers left. All here for the same destination. A janitor, a receptionist. Did they tell others where they worked, he wondered.

Did it matter? They didn't do what he did. They weren't handlers. He remembered 238's screams last night, played to her over and over by him. He remembered the countless times he'd slept with her. He remembered her brown eyes, serious and solemn, when she'd told him 'I don't think I signed up for this'.

He'd taught her to never say it again.

Tyler wanted to scream. Instead, he put on an easy smile, nodded to the security officer at the entry, as he swiped his card. It hurt. The edges of the plastic card had cut into his palm, after clutching it too tightly. The pain felt oddly comforting.

"You're late."

Tyler looked up, meeting the gaze of Alex from Client Relations. Squinted dark eyes took him in critically, no doubt noticing the rings underneath Tyler's eyes, the slight trembling of his hands.

"Had a long shift yesterday," he mumbled. "Didn't sleep well."

"I know. Log out at 12.37 am," Alex said without even looking somewhere to check. They weirded him out. "No idea what you did that long, nor do I want to know, honestly. Anyway. Senior Handler Nguyen wants a word before you go in. He's in his office."

Shit.

Tyler nodded numbly. "Yeah. Uh. Thanks."

When he turned towards the office floor, Alex' hand stopped him. "I really don't care," they said. "But he didn't seem like he'd care much, either."

Tyler frowned at them, but they'd already pulled back their hand and were staring at their tablet.

"Oh. Important call. First product specification with Judge Nicholls." They rolled their eyes. "It's her fourth pet, and she's always such a diva. Anyway." Alex' looked Tyler down once again. "If you're sick, don't stay too close to me. There's a cabinet full of prescription drugs at Doctor Wood's office. She'll get you up to peak performance in no time."

"I'm goo-"

"Shhh." Alex was on the phone already, gesturing for him to shut up and pointing impatiently at Alan's office.

"238's a mess today," Alan said, without any preface. He didn't even look up from his papers. It felt odd, standing here still in civilian clothes and waiting for a uniformed handler to judge him. "You deviated from protocol, Parker. Why?"

Because it was easier to beat her and cause her pain than to fuck her while she pretended to enjoy it. Because like that, at least, they'd both known it was fucking wrong what was happening.

"Protocol for her current training phase is to simulate a domestic environment, Sir." Tyler crossed his hands in front of him and looked at the tips of his sneakers, hoping Alan wouldn't watch him too closely. His boss was insanely good at spotting a lie. Tyler could just hope that right now, he wasn't looking for one. "I've read her file and that on her prospective owner's other pet. He'd use pain in a domestic environment. So I prepared her for that."

"Huh." The rustling of paper indicated that Alan had put the file down. He hadn't been reading it anyway, Tyler wagered. Alan was playing mind games, always. And even though Tyler saw it happening, he usually got caught in them anyway. Alan was a master on his playing field.

He remembered, that on their first meeting, he had aspired to be like Alan one day. It felt ages ago. "I appreciate the initiative. Bold move though, to not discuss it with me beforehand." He paused. "Bold move especially, coming from you, Parker."

"I… I like to do things right. This, um. This didn't seem bold to me. It was within my scope of decision. I thought."

Alan chuckled quietly. "Well that does sound more like you for sure. Next time, write that reasoning down in your report, too."

Tyler nodded, trying to hide the relief in his voice. "Of course."

"I ordered solitary for her for two days or three. The uncomfortable kind. I think your intuition was right. She needs to take any attention her owner gives her as affection. So we lock her up, let her crave any human touch, and you'll get back to her the day after tomorrow and give her both. Fuck her and hurt her. Fuck her hard. And if she doesn't get it, she'll get one more day of solitary, and we'll try again."

Tyler felt a hard knot in his stomach. Fuck her and hurt her. Again and again and again. That was his job. In contrast to her, he had signed up for it.

Alan didn't seem to register his discomfort. "We have all the time, her prospective is overseas for the next six weeks."

"Good."

It wasn't enough, it seemed, because Alan paused for a moment. "Everything alright, Parker? I'm giving you praise, and a break for today. You're unusually passive about it."

Tyler cleared his throat. "Bad night. Personal, Sir."

"Huh. Don't let it interfere with your work." Alan tilted his head. "I was thinking about filling you in on one of my other cases today. But in that case, let's postpone it. You can go ask Handler Thompson if she's got some work for you while 238 is on hold. Heard her bragging about some special assignment."

Carly. Tyler had to hold back not to grimace. He'd tried to befriend her, in the beginning. Always important to be on good terms with the colleagues, after all. But she was… something else. Something he never wanted to be. He should've understood back then, already.

"Sir, maybe I should-"

"Her methods are very different from mine. I don't think highly of her. But you can learn from her nonetheless."

Tyler swallowed. "I… Sir, I thought I might just call in sick for the day."

"Huh." Alan raised an eyebrow. "Well. If it's that bad, I guess there's no better day than today either. Good work, in any case." Something fell on his shoulder, and Tyler flinched before he realized it was Alan's hand, in a rare gesture of reassurance. "You're on a good path, Parker. Keep that private life separate from work and vice versa, look closely at how things work in this facility, and your next career move won't take long to come. You have a lot of potential. Use it."

Tyler didn't feel like it.

He managed to pull himself together as he left the office. Still in his civilian clothes, he felt the weight of his phone in the pocket of his jeans. He'd go home and call Tara. He'd meet her and come clean with her and he'd convince her to be safe.

"Hey, T!"

Tyler almost flinched when he heard Carly's voice. She was sitting in Alex' office, lounging in the visitor chair with her feet on their desk, pointedly ignoring their eye roll. "Short day, or have you pulled an all nighter with that raunchy trainee of yours? She as flexible as she looks?"

"Very," Tyler said.

Carly grinned. "Too bad your boss doesn't let me touch her. I'd love to give her some... specialty training." She put two fingers to her mouth and finished the gesture with a slow flick of her tongue. As if they wouldn't have understood before.

"Not on her training plan," Alex' voice was flat, almost a little bored, but Tyler still noted some annoyance. "She's in the box today anyway. Tyler is off duty. In contrast to you."

Tyler raised his eyebrows, but didn't inquire, how the hell Alex managed to get their hands on information that quickly.

"Oh, I have plenty time." Carly smirked. "Got my pet lib bitch strung up in a nice little stress position. She's going to be soft as a kitten when I get back with her."

"Technically, she's not pet lib," Alex corrected coldly. "These potential sign-ups she made trouble about, they weren't pets. She's anti WRU. There's a distinction."

"She messed with our business. And she is working with pet lib, I'm sure about that. Two or three hours more with her, and I promise she'll spit out some names."

Tyler leaned to the door frame as casually as he could. He feared his legs would give out. "Who -?"

"002242. Our latest acquisition. Social worker. Seriously interfered with recruitment down town."

'My informant was arrested', Tara's voice echoed in his head. 'WRU recruiters all but hunting homeless kids. Tried to do something about it. Now she's gone.'

He didn't feel well.

"We...," Tyler cleared his throat. "I thought involuntary acquisitions meant custom orders."

"It is a custom order. Internal one. Director Fisher's. He's unhappy with pet lib and anti WRU sentiment in this town. Need to smother some voices, re-educate some others. Luckily, it's just a small number compared to the ones that actually bring us money. Financially, each of these trainees is a disaster. Can't offer them via our website, can't give them to anyone who keeps their pets in public - at least nobody local, and shipping pets overseas is such a hassle."

"Your perspective is so cold, Al." Carly rolled her eyes, ignoring Alex' quiet correction, "Alex."

"Talking like they're objects, not people, with real feelings." She swung her legs off the table to lean in. "Feelings, Al. Pain. Despair. Fucking bleak and hopeless sadness. And that little, devastating moment when they understand that this is it." She all but moaned. "Fuck, I could drink that in with a straw."

She checked her watch and got to her feet. "Time to work on that, I guess. Cheers, Al. T, you coming? I could need a hand."

"Actually, Tyler has signed o-"

"Sure." Tyler talked over Alex, feigning a grin of his own. "Yeah. I'm in."

Carly bumped her fist into his shoulder. "Great, buddy. I promise, working with these assholes before the Drip, it's even better than fucking them later." She let out a chuckle. "And doing it both? Man, that's the real thing. Fuck, I love my job."

I don't, Tyler thought, with the dawning realisation it was far too late for that.

#whumptober2022 #no way out #knees buckling #no.19 #no.16 #oc #bbu #facility whump #reluctant whumper #noncon reference #tylers story #handler tyler parker #Alex Nadler #Alan Nguyen #tyler parker

38 notes · View notes

revolutionarysuicide · 1 year

Text

ID:

Twitter thread by Mallory Moore @ Chican3ry

The first tweet quote tweets May Peterson, Transsexual Healer @ maidensblade:

Study any actual detail of the TERF movement for about five minutes and it becomes startlingly plain that “man-hating” could never capture their function in the world of gender politics

@ Chican3ry's thread then proceeds:

Extending this:

Misogynists (including women who buy into this masculinist bullshit about TERFism bring rooted in man hating) make this error specifically because they do not take women seriously enough to try to understand their ideology.

This is a problem across the left.

I talked about this at feminist fightback last weekend, the reason the GC backlash has been so successful is entirely because most of the left don't take women seriously, don't bother putting the effort into understanding what's going on, just tick box "oh ok girl power whatever"

When you point out there's this reactionary movement brewing where former radical feminists are now saying that the pill was a mistake and we should return to the traditional family and marriage as women's social contract (Harrington 2020,2021, Perry 2022) they still don't care because women aren't taken seriously as capable of being leaders of a significant reactionary movement.

The roots of gender critical reaction are the same as the EDL/etc obsession with the "white working class".

A group who are used to being dominant within a marginalised population are reasserting their dominance and appealing to higher powers to intervene on their behalf.

People within this group are particularly radicalised to carry on the scapegoating of trans people (or Muslims in the case of the EDL) because of austerity conditions squeezing their economic comfort level. But rather than recognising this squeeze comes from above they take up a political identity with the status quo and set to work scapegoating other groups feeling the squeeze that they consider naturally inferior to them.

You'll notice that contempt for BLM, blue haired lesbian, young women etc have also characterised the GC movement.

Gender critical and TERF movement women hate women and want to dominate the rest of women as a class.

The TERF movement originally I think this comes from their history largely running the women's sector and becoming institutionalised into a managerial role over women's issues. The GC movement more recently just from slightly more privileged conservative women feeling austerity.

This theory of mine isn't just evident in their transmisogyny but in eg their attitudes towards women who sell sex for a job and the whole "fallen women" thing, the violently sexually dehumanising way they talk to them being awful.

End ID

3 notes · View notes

radio-charlie · 1 year

Text

Not all diaspora have the same experiences where they are and so - if u are curious - i dont think malaysian-chinese would care v much if u are a non-chinese trying to incorporate chinese elements into ur wedding, be they traditional or contemporary practices. this is not to say the chinese diaspora who do care are being ‘sjws’ or ‘oversensitive’. its more to do with ur experiences w anti-chinese discrimination where u live, the larger culture’s (meaning society’s, as opposed to just the chinese community’s) notion of what cultural appropriation even is and whether its objectionable, etc. Although its gotta be pointed out that the openly dehumanising and genocidal rhetoric the malay majority here slings at the chinese as well as our long-institutionalised racism, which keeps non-malays and many non-bumi malays out of certain elite institutions, social benefits etc, probably wouldn’t fly in amrika :P. less explicit barriers yes of course. but it does mean something that you can get away with saying “no if you are non-malay you can’t study here. this is for malays only. we must preserve our special rights.” and not only in informal/non-professional contexts either.

Anyway its really up to you whether u’d like to err on the side of caution. to me, as long as you’re not acting like stuff is just a bunch of cute props or a joke, its fine. and if its just the start of you wanting to learn more abt us, all the better.

1 note · View note

whumps-and-bumps · 3 months

Text

The Masterlist

Okay so I don't have much yet, but this is where I plan on linking all my various chapters, drabbles, ideas, and so on :) I want to at least try to keep things organised from the get go!

It's worth noting that some posts may contain implied noncon, and others explicit. Both will be marked at the beginning and tagged. All take place in a fantasy BBU-adjacent universe unless otherwise specified.

OC Masterlist -`♡´- Art Tag -`♡´- Mood Boards -`♡´- Tag/TW List

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Xenophobia ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

[18+ content, BBU-adjacent, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, violence & abuse, gun violence, nonsexual nudity, humiliation, rescue, recovery]

Xen was a regular, boring old human, with a regular, boring old life - at least they were, until they found themself kidnapped and shipped to North Irades. They're quickly sold to a criminally wealthy man, and along with several other humans, are taken to his private island to be hunted for sport - but not before they're shown what their role in this society truly is.

The Lure

The Date

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Lambs to Slaughter ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺

[18+ content, BBU-adjacent institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, violence & abuse, slave/pet training, often explicit noncon/dubcon, pet whump]

Once upon a time, she was a model and a dancer. Once upon a time, she had a life and dreams. Once upon a time, she was free - but when a casting call went terribly wrong, that was all stripped away. She no longer has a name, for it is up to her new master to give her one, if she is lucky enough to be bought at all. Only time will tell. Until then, let the training commence.

[First]

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ Title TBD ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺

[18+ content, BBU-adjacent, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, violence, pet whump, whumper-turned-caretaker, chronic illness, bloodplay, guilt]

Rune Sauvéterre de Vaillancourt is a proud, headstrong demon, but despite his family's terrifying reputation and immense generational wealth, he likes to say he is self-made. In a world where it's not only acceptable but expected for someone of his race and wealth to own several human pets, it's strange it's taken him so long to buy his first one.

[Prologue]

4 notes · View notes

bloghrexach · 27 days

Text

By:LaillaB, founder of “Reclaim the Narrative”, from LinkedIn …

🇵🇸 … “Palestinian resistance is a decolonial struggle against Israeli settler colonialism and U.S. imperialism. This resistance is also confronting the brutal nature of colonial modernity, which is exemplified in Zionism.

Colonial modernity is the development of modern social, economic, and political life in and through the European colonial project from the 15th century onwards, which is marked by the genocide, enslavement and exploitation of millions of colonised people.

Zionism, as a modern political ideology, is a child of this colonial modernity and arguably its most clear manifestation in our world today.

Zionist ideology dates back to the late 1800s when it emerged in Central and Eastern Europe. This occurred during what may be described as the apex of colonial modernity.

During this time, the colonial racialization of human beings into distinct races that ranked them in a clear hierarchy was well underway and had become institutionalised.

Eventually, this form of racialization in the colonies, institutionalised and operationalised in ways never seen before in the history of empire, turned inward into Europe.

Long cast as the scapegoat for Europe’s problems, European Jewish communities, who were as European as any other European, became racialised as an “inferior race of Semites” that is “diluting the purity of the superior Arian white race.” S

This form of racialisation would culminate in Nazi Germany’s unforgivable “Final Solution.”

Well before the Holocaust, Zionism sought to address this racialization of Jewish communities and answer the “Jewish Question” of antisemitic Europe.

The problem with the answer of Zionism, however, is that instead of challenging the spurious and violent radicalisation of Europeans into “Semites” and “Aryans,” instead of standing up to the European colonial project and joining together with colonised and racialised communities across the world to dismantle colonial modernity and the Euro-American colonial project, Zionism proposed an answer whereby they would join the project of colonial modernity.

They proposed that European Jews should leave Europe and establish a European-style state in the Muslim, Arab majority Middle East.

Without the British empire, which saw the Zionist project as an asset for its imperial interests in the region and as relieving it of the “Jewish Question,” this would’ve been impossible to achieve.

Hence began the “special relationship” between Western imperial forces and the Zionist project.

They were “special” because they were both part of the same project of colonial modernity.

The exact same methods of racialisation and settler colonisation that marked the British Empire and the U.S. Empire came to mark the Zionist project.

The racialised dehumanisation, the genocidal violences, and the techniques of concealing the brutal reality of racism and colonialism are essentially what we see in GAZA today.” … 🇵🇸

#reclaimthenarrative — 🍉🕊 — #mondoweiss

@hrexach

#dr rex equality news information education #graphic source #graphic #graphics #hortyrex ©#horty #facebook #quote #it is what it is #Zionism #british empire #Israel #the west bank #West powers #naziism

0 notes

maracujatangerine · 2 months

Note

I woke up thinking about this so I'm asking! How would Cory fair if, for some unimaginable reason, Lydia had no choice but to have Wayland watch him for the weekend??

84. Unfortunate Circumstances

CW: NSFW, non-con, institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

“Of course, dearest. You and Lydia should enjoy your girls’ weekend together and I’ll keep an eye on the pets.”

“Are you sure you are all right with looking after Cory-boy, too?”

“No problem, Ceci. It isn’t more than right considering your friend took care of Brutus for our trip. We should help her in return.”

Mistress Cecilia pouted prettily.

”But that sounds so boring and full of drudgery, dear. Perhaps I should stay to keep you company?”

Wayland gave Cecilia an affectionate kiss. “Don’t you worry! I’ll have some fun too. I might have a few friends over tonight.”

“That sounds better.” She wrapped him in a quick hug. “See you in a couple of days!” Looking at Absalom, Brutus and Coriander all kneeling in line, she added. “Be good, pets.”

And then she was out of the door.

Handcuffs clinked as Wayland locked Cory’s hands behind the pet’s back. Then, he pushed him down to kneel on the cold floor. Brutus watched helplessly as Coriander, naked, lowered his head. His scarred back, the vulnerable arc of his spine, the blonde hair falling freely around his face. The fair-haired pet looked… broken.

Wayland rubbed his hands together, grinning.

”Don’t worry your sweet little head, pet. We are going to have fun together. First, Absalom is going to make you feel so good. He is a wizard with that mouth of his. He knows exactly what to do.” He smiled languidly. “And then, Brutus here, will take you from behind.”

Wayland reached up and patted Brutus’ upper arm a couple of times. Just like you would pat your horse or your hunting dog. For once, Brutus didn’t feel the elation that praise from his Master usually gave. Instead, he felt a sick, cold dread roiling in his stomach.

“You’re going to pop some pills, boy.” Wayland said. “So that you can stay nice and hard for a long, long time.” He chuckled to himself. “This will be a show for me and the lads to enjoy. I have heard from Cecilia that your dear Mistress Lydia doesn’t even play with her boy toy.” He spat. “Just what you could expect from that fridgid bitch, am I right?”

He reached out to smooth over Coriander’s hair in a mock caress, only to violently fist his hand into the silken, blonde tresses and force the shivering pet’s head up. Tears glimmered in Cory’s grey eyes, catching the lamplight, but the pet did not let them fall.

“Hmm.” Wayland almost purred at the sight. “But that should mean that you are nice and tight.” He laughed. “Perhaps too nice a treat for a simple guard dog, maybe all of us should have you? Brutus can get his chance when we are all done.”

He looked up, behind Brutus’ shoulder. “What do you think, Absalom? You little whore. I’m sure you have all the experience in the world when it comes to these matters, don’t you?”

The romantic gracefully sidestepped Brutus’ hulking form and sashayed into the room. When he passed the guard dog, he turned his head and locked eyes with Brutus. The eye contact somehow electrifying, meaningful, as if he wanted to share a message. But Brutus had no idea what Absalom meant to convey, and the moment passed.

“That’s right, Master.” Absalom stepped close to Wayland, let his hand glide lightly down the bigger man’s chest. He looked up at him through his eyelashes. “But..” Absalom said slowly. “Why would you bother with these… amateurs?” The pet tilted his head upwards, as if inviting a kiss. “I can give you and your friends all the entertainment you need.”

He turned his head slowly towards the door. Again, that meaningful glance towards Brutus. An expression of urgency flickering over his face, only to be completely erased when Absalom looked up towards Wayland again. “You can send them away.” He suggested, coyly. “We can have some privacy to enjoy ourselves before your friends arrive.”

“Aha, I know what you want.” Wayland said. “You just want to have the chance to curry some extra favour for yourself.” He laughed. “That’s kind of sly. Smart for a pet, at least.” He grabbed Absalom’s chin, forcing the pet’s head further upwards. “It will be fun playing with you. But me and the lads, we probably want some novelty as well.”

He looked over all the three pets with a calculating expression that chilled Brutus’ blood.

”Maybe..” he said, and the glint in his eyes held no hint of clemency or compassion. “Maybe I’ll just take all three of you at once.”

Brutus awoke, heart still beating fast with fear. The familiarity of the sparse room. The shapes of his weights on the rack at the end of his bed, each of them glistening silver in the light from the street lamps. The hard cot beneath him. It all brought him back to reality.

Coriander was safe, at home, with his owner. Absalom probably asleep upstairs.

It had all just been a dream. But the uneasy feeling stayed with Brutus for a long time.

The ‘it was just a dream’-trope is a bit of a cheap cop-out, I agree. Sorry about that. ☺️

I don’t think Lydia would ever leave Coriander with Wayland. She would rather leave him to stay home alone.

Thank you for the fun ‘what-if’-inspiration, Anon! ✨💖✨ (I love getting asks, but I am very slow in responding to them.)

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#pet whump #bbu #box boy multiverse #box boy universe #pet whumpee #whump fic #writeblr #writers on tumblr #lydia and coriander #original writing

38 notes · View notes

whumpshaped · 10 months

Text

Memories 1: Disdain

Silence Masterlist

trigger warnings: institutionalised/normalised pet whump, it/its used as the default for pets, captivity, victim blaming, conditioning, manipulation, implied torture, past trauma, broken bones, dehumanisation

Sil was lying on the floor of the surprisingly nice basement. Of course, it hadn’t been ecstatic when Master told it that this was where it would spend the next several years of its life, regardless of its behaviour. It was better than nothing, certainly better than what it had expected, but the start was still a little rocky.

There were no windows, no sunlight to get inside. There was a little lamp in the corner of the room, only turning on half the time with the flip of its switch. Sil didn’t know whether the other times Master had done something to disable it and further plague its life, or whether it was simply old and not working properly. It didn’t really matter at the end of the day.

Its pet bed was thrown down the stairs after it - after its own body had been roughly shoved down the steps, resulting in at least one broken rib and a seemingly fractured ankle. Its shoulder had seen better days as well, but the pain was nothing compared to its swollen, throbbing leg. It was agony, every single second was more painful than the last, and it couldn’t walk anywhere. It had brought the pet bed over to where the little lamp was in an attempt to find some comfort in the dim lighting, only for the lamp to randomly turn off just as it had finally settled down in a position that wasn’t so unbearably painful.

There were some toys as well, broken ones like itself. Some dolls with missing limbs, puzzles with torn up pieces, picture books with the pages scribbled on. Sil didn’t touch them. Surely, they weren’t for it. Maybe Master had forgotten that he had been using the basement as his personal garbage disposal, and he was eventually going to come and get all of them to take them to an actual dumpster. It didn’t want to anger him by touching something that was meant to be thrown away.

It was odd to be so focused on a single goal. Something so unattainable at that. Master was always angry whenever it saw him. It was maddening to be so hypervigilant about someone else’s anger when its own had never been taken into consideration. Its anger had never fazed Master, yet it was being taught to fear the slightest signs of his annoyance.

The medicine tasted ghastly. Sil hated every single pill, and every time the bitter exterior touched its tongue it wanted to gag. It never hesitated, though, and never gave in to that urge. It swallowed every last one that it had been given, wallowing in helplessness for the night that followed and waking up with less and less memories of its life before. It had never been given medication for the pain, and the more it had to endure the amnesia pills, the more grateful it felt for that. It didn’t think it would be able to swallow a single other pill aside from the mandatory ones.

Its body slowly mended itself, as much as it had been allowed to. The pain of dragging itself over to the bathroom to take a shower whenever Master got tired of touching its grimy skin faded. Well, that might’ve been a bit of an exaggeration on its part. Master didn’t touch its skin. He never had. He wore gloves to avoid any physical contact, and he used canes and whips to inflict the kind of pain that would make him feel better in the end. Maybe it was just the sight of an unkempt pet in his pristine home that sent him over the edge, yelling at Sil to use the damn shower it had been provided.

Ungrateful, unruly, disgusting pet. Useless. Can’t even clean itself, can’t even do that one single thing so its owner wouldn’t have to look at something so unsightly.

But why would it? Sil was hidden. Sil had been hidden by the very master that now demanded it acted like it was being on display. The same master that had pushed it down the stairs, making it hard to even stand, that had shoved it inside a windowless room with a bathroom barely big enough to fit the shower, was now telling it to get up and get to work on its appearance when it didn’t fucking matter.

Sil lay on the floor of that room, fiddling with the wire of the little lamp. These were dangerous thoughts to have, the ones that criticised him, dissected his irrational behaviour, the ones that outright whispered he shouldn’t walk the same earth as everyone else. They fuelled its anger, and anger wasn’t an emotion associated with any good pet. But Sil wasn’t a good pet. Sil was an ungrateful, unruly, disgusting pet, hidden from the world, the sun, the people and the other pets. Sil was allowed to feel angry when no one was looking, because most of the time, there was no one looking.

The only pair of eyes on it were Master’s, and Master��s eyes were usually busy surveilling his other pets. The good pets. The ones without broken bones and lash marks on their backs. The presentable ones. The ones that were sometimes tasked with bringing it its lunch, so they came downstairs and laughed at its pitiful predicament - but only until Sil pretended to lunge at them and they ran upstairs, crying like the stupid little prissy, spoiled pets that they were. And then Master came downstairs, and Sil took its punishment with those dead eyes fixed on the wall it was turned towards so Master could tear its back open.

It put down the wire when it heard the basement door open. Heavy, purposeful steps signalled Master’s arrival. He was always angry when he came downstairs, and he never wasted a moment justifying the abuse he was about to inflict upon it. Same as ever, he reached the bottom of the stairs and gestured for Sil to get up and crawl over to the wall. He already had his chosen whip in his hand.

Sil glanced at him briefly before looking back up at the ceiling. It was tired that day, so awfully exhausted. It didn’t even want to think about getting up and moving its body in any way. Besides, its anger overpowered the anxiety that came with being disobedient.

“Come here, mutt.” Its owner was giving it a second chance with the verbal command. He knew that Sil knew damn well what he wanted from it, but still, he was merciful enough to just say it out loud, as a warning.

“I don’t think a disgusting person like you is fit to care for a pet, Master,” it said in response, without even looking at him, fully ignoring the command.

The silence that followed was threatening to suffocate it. It weighed heavy on its chest, making its breaths come shallower and shallower. It expected an instantaneous reaction, Master blowing up and shouting at it to apologise immediately, and when that didn’t happen, it was forced to actually turn its head and look at him to see what was going on. That was the first battle it had lost.

“Good. Now you’re listening,” he said coolly, sending shivers down its spine.

“Master’s voice even echoes in such a small room. It’s impossible not to.” Its own voice got quieter, a little shaky towards the end. That was the second battle it had lost.

“Tell me why you’re insulting your owner.”

Sil could’ve backed down from this third battle. It should’ve. It should’ve told him, ‘I don’t know, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking’. Crawl over, kiss his shoes, apologise again. It didn’t. “Is the truth insulting to you, Master?”

“It isn’t. I’m wondering why you’re not telling the truth. I’m wondering why you’re resorting to childish insults in an attempt to get under my skin.”

He didn’t move from his place in the middle of the little room. He didn’t make an attempt to drag Sil to its feet or even knees, and he didn’t force it to kneel where he wanted it to kneel. Still, Sil felt that pull in its body, the conditioned response. The right response. It tried to ignore it, but in the end, it justified itself sitting up, figuring it was better to be in a seated position when he inevitably decided to stomp right on over to it and punch it in the face.

In reality, it knew Master wasn’t going to take a single extra step to punish it. He was waiting for Sil to present itself for punishment.

“Do you think this is the way to take care of pets?” it asked, increasingly agitated by his nonchalance and its own sense of helplessness. “Do they teach this somewhere? ‘Grab a whole pack of pets, buy the entire shelter worth, then single out one of them and lock it in a dark basement.’ Do they? Do they say that? Is this the proper way, the right way, the merciful way to take care of me? Do you have cats, Master? Or dogs? Is one of them isolated somewhere?”

“I do think this is the way to take care of you.” He didn’t even hesitate to say it. He didn’t even… try to lie. “My approach to pets is rather individualistic, and your faulty self should be more than happy that I even decided to give you any sort of space in my home.” Sil opened its mouth to argue, but Master went on, silencing it entirely. “I would never treat another pet the way I treat you. I would never raise my hand at a pet who was able to be trained any other way, and who understood a single method other than pure violence. I would never isolate a pet who wasn’t hellbent on wreaking havoc in my home and scaring my good pets. But I don’t expect you to remember any of your previous misbehaviour, of course, or to understand the first thing about me as a person or owner. I don’t, because it’s very clear that you’re incapable of even understanding the simplest of commands. I treat you the way you deserve to be treated, because as an owner, I treat all my pets that way.”

Sil couldn’t respond. It… expected something else. It didn’t know what exactly, but it was different to what it had been given. Master didn’t stumble over his words, he didn’t even really raise his voice. He spoke with such confidence that it was impossible to think he could’ve been wrong. Sil was missing many memories. All of its clear memories were of Master hurting it and the other pets being scared of it, almost nothing from before.

It deserved to be hurt like this? Did anyone deserve to be hurt like this?

The defiance slowly drained from its body as it looked into Master’s unwavering, cold eyes, finding no solace, no sign of him regretting or rethinking any of what had been said.

It deserved to be hurt. It deserved to be locked away and beat on.

It slowly crawled over to where Master wanted it, ruined shoulder aching as it pulled its shirt over its head to present its barely healing back. “I understand, Master.”

“You don’t,” he said with as much disdain as was humanly possible. “But you will.”

taglist: @whumpsday @whump-queen @whump-blog @alexkolax @ha-ha-one @hidden-dreamland @looptheloup @batfacedliar-yetagain @oddsconvert @pinkraindropsfell @project-xiii @whumplr-reader @a-crumb-of-whump @cyborg0109 @dizzyteasroses @the-scrapegoat @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @dokidokisadness

#silence #whump #whump writing #pet whump #captivity #victim blaming #dehumanisation #conditioning #manipulation #implied torture #implied punishment #past trauma #broken bones #ngl i wanted to wait with this until i had another chapter written #but today is a decluttering day and i am decluttering my drafts so here u go lmao

46 notes · View notes

whumpcloud · 9 months

Note

Hi! I know you’re probably crazy busy with stuff but I’ve been really wanting to see some more content of Peter and Elio? Maybe some angst, maybe some fluff, maybe both? (If there’s any reason you don’t want to that’s totally cool just disregard this, I love your work btw!)

dw!! i'm always happy to take requests <3 this got way longer than i was intending asfdfsd

content: (institutionalised) pet whump, dehumanisation, carewhumper, manhandling, hangovers, brief discussion of seizures and mental health issues, references to shock collars

"Sir, I made you some tea," Peter says quietly, so as not to aggravate Elio's hangover.

Elio groans into his pillow in reply. Peter gently sets the mug down on the nightstand, and makes to leave.

There's a sudden snapping sound, and Peter turns sharply to see Elio clicking his fingers at him.

"What is it, Sir?" Peter asks politely.

"Um... thank you," Elio mumbles, his voice strained, like that was difficult for him.

Peter pauses for a moment, then his face lights up in a wide smile. "Y-You're welcome, Sir!"

Sir said thank you!

That means he meant it when he said he'd try, he really meant it! Peter has a skip in his step as he goes back to the kitchen to finish cleaning.

Elio is finally up in the evening, messy hair and slept-in clothes. Peter greets him with a grin.

"Good evening, Sir!" Peter says.

"...you're cheery," Elio mumbles, sighing and sitting himself on the sofa. "God..."

"Does your head still hurt?" Peter asks.

"No, I just feel... eugh."

"...helpful!" Peter says, trying not to sound too sarcastic. "How about we do something less... eugh?"

"I don't feel like it," Elio replies, closing his eyes again.

"What if we went out?" Peter suggests. "The fresh air might help you feel less sick."

"I said I don't feel like it."

Peter hesitates. He shouldn't ask, he really shouldn't, but Sir said thank you and everything today, so maybe he's in a good enough mood.

"...I'd feel better if we went out, Sir," Peter says tentatively. "Just for a walk. Please? I'll stay quiet and by your side the entire time."

Elio opens his eyes and gazes vaguely at Peter. "You can go without me."

Peter immediately shakes his head. "There's no reason for me to do that, Sir. I shouldn't be away from you if I can help it."

"You're so annoying," Elio grumbles, then catches himself. He can't say he didn't mean it, though. "Sorry. Really, Pete, it's fine. You can just go."

"But it would be good for you too," Peter insists, and Elio realises that, as always, this is a losing battle.

So he forces himself up and into some shoes and a coat, and Peter borrows the coat that hangs off his body the least.

"Can you take the collar off, at least?" Elio asks. "It's embarrassing."

"My... my collar?" Peter grips it without seeming to think about it.

"...nevermind," Elio sighs, seeing the hurt in Peter's eyes, and just zips up Peter's jacket so that it's hidden. "There. That'll do."

"Why is my collar embarrassing?" Peter asks in a small voice, as he follows Elio to the door.

"It just is!" Elio snaps, irritated. "Come on."

Peter doesn't push the issue. After all, Sir could still decide he isn't allowed to go out.

Elio is huffing about this whole thing like a teenager, because he hates to admit that Peter was right. The fresh air is making it easier for him to think, and the faint smell of rain in the air is oddly comforting. Peter is following slightly behind, and every time Elio turns to look at him, he's looking around as though his head is on a swivel.

"Pete, what the hell are you doing?" Elio asks.

Peter jumps. "Just... watching out."

"For what?"

"Anything."

"Is that something you did with your Master?" The word still feels gross in Elio's mouth.

"...no," Peter replies. "Master and I didn't ever go out. Except when he took me to work."

"What, was he a shut-in or something?" Elio slows his pace so that he's walking beside Peter instead of in front of him, and grabs his arm when he tries to move back. "Stay there."

"Y-Yes, Sir," Peter nods. "Um. Master was agoraphobic. He thought that it would be easier to go out when he was with me, but we only tried once, and he had a seizure, so we didn't go out again."

"Oh. Damn." Elio doesn't have much else to offer than that. Should he say something reassuring? "Uh... I mean, we can go out. If that's something you want to do more. I don't have a problem like that."

"Only if you want to, Sir," Peter says quietly.

He wishes Sir hadn't brought up Master. It's gotten easier to stop thinking about him, to stop thinking of himself as Darling, but every so often something makes it come flooding back and it becomes raw all over again. But Sir can't know that. Sir will only get annoyed, or think he's defective, and he only just got Sir to be kind to him. So he should keep his mouth shut.

"Maybe we should go back now, Sir?" Peter says, smiling weakly.

"Nah," Elio replies. "I could go a little longer."

"...alright, Sir."

But you didn't want to go! I had to push you, like I always push you, and I'm not being clear but you can't be so dense that you don't see that I'm really just asking for myself because I want-

Peter jerks, his body feeling phantom shocks. It's selfish to want. Selfish, stupid-

"Bad Pet," Peter mumbles.

Elio turns sharply. "Pete? Something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Sir," Peter says, but of course he does.

"...you're not a bad Pet," Elio tries. "You're really not."

Peter only nods.

With a quiet sigh, Elio puts a hand on Peter's shoulder and pulls him so that they're facing. "Pete. Do you wanna go home?"

Peter's lip trembles, but he shakes his head.

"I..." Come on, Elio! "Okay. If we went home now, would you feel better?"

Peter's nod is small and slight, but it's there.

"Okay," Elio says, almost softly. "Then we'll go."

Elio lets go of Peter and starts walking. Peter follows behind. He wants to say how grateful he is, but he can't find the words. He just walks, and the moment he's inside he rushes to his room and pulls the blankets over his head.

Going outside is too much. There's a reason why he never did. He doesn't know why he wanted-

He tenses, still expecting a shock that never comes. He didn't want.

taglist: @whumpsday @roblingoblin285 @whumpycries @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @clairelsonao3 @dislexiher @whumpingwithclara-alt @theonewithallthefixations @panstardalia @snakebites-and-ink @goronska

#asks #polly's prose #delicate #peter (darling)#elio zagata #whump #whump writing

38 notes · View notes