#deconditioning

[justbreakonme]

Signs of Change

Whumpee didn’t like it, when the seasons started to change. It still made him uneasy, knowing just how cold the nights could get and just how precarious his position could be. He was only safe as long as he was good, and the outdoors had no mercy.

But Caretaker did.

“Hey, Whumpee, why don’t you come in here? It’s warmer, since the stove’s going.” Caretaker’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he obeyed.

When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, the warmth enveloped him immediately. There was a large, silver soup pot boiling away on the stove, and the smell of onion and garlic and herbs and all sorts of things instantly made his mouth water.

“It needs to simmer for a bit longer, I think. Do you want to come sit with me?”

Whumpee nodded, and took a seat where he always did, across from Caretaker at the old wooden table.

“Not a talking day, huh?”

He shook his head, rubbing a fist in a circle over his chest.

Sorry.

“It’s fine, you’re good. I just like to check-in so I know.”

Whumpee couldn’t ever explain why sometimes words just, failed him. But, after his old owner, after being silent for so long, he sometimes felt…stuck.

“Do you feel like playing cards? I think we have enough time for a round of war…”

Whumpee nodded, dutifully turning to grab the cards from the little shelf in the corner. He liked cards. War was the first game they had played together, back when he’d first been bought rescued.

Caretaker had made it very clear that he wasn’t owned, anymore.

But he hoped maybe, maybe if he was really, really good, he could be. He had tried, once, to ask what he could do, if anything, to earn being owned again, but, the words had died in his mouth and he’d gone silent for days.

He understood why they didn’t want to own him, he wasn’t really worth very much. But, sometimes, he let himself believe that between him trying his very hardest and Caretakers inexplicable mercy, there might be a chance. Someday.

Caretaker handed him a stack of cards, and he brought the tips of his fingers to his chin, hand open and palm towards himself, then moved his hand out in front of him, almost in a swinging motion.

Thank you.

“You’re welcome.” Caretaker smiles as they play their first card, and he follows suit.

The game goes by quickly, and soon, the oven timer went off, making them both jump.

“Here, we’ll just scoot these over a bit and we can play while we eat. Would you grab the spoons?”

He nodded, carefully moving his pile of cards to the side and heading for the silverware drawer.

As Caretaker ladled out the soup, he placed a spoon at each of their spots, then, unsure if he should sit or wait for the next task, he hovered between the drawer and the table, wringing his hands.

As they turned to grab the bowls, they noticed his hesitation. “Go ahead and sit, I’ll bring the bowls over.”

Another tap-then-outward gesture of thanks, and he sat back down, watching as they carefully ladled out two bowls of steaming soup.

Carefully, they carried one bowl at a time to the table, oven mitts on.

“Ooh- don’t try to hold it, it’s super hot.” Caretaker dodged where Whumpee had tried to help set the bowl down, instead opting to set it down on the edge and scoot it over so it didn’t spill.

He rubbed his fist over his chest in a circle again, more frantic this time.

Sorry, sorry!

“You’re good, I just didn’t want you to burn yourself,” they returned to the table with their own bowl, tossing the oven mitts onto the spare chair after settling in, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

He tried to mimic Caretaker, who was blowing gently on their soup, but the lump in his throat got in the way.

He wished, as he often did, that he could speak without speaking, in more ways than literally. He wished he could make them know things.

If he was patient and waited for his voice to return, or if he went to get one of the whiteboards Caretaker kept laying around for him, he could tell him that he would do anything for them. That they had his loyalty and devotion, his mind, body, and soul.

But he couldn’t make them know it the way he did. It snuck up on him, in moments like these, then hit like a tsunami.

His stillness must have caught their attention because they looked up. “You okay?”

He nodded, swallowing hard and smiling, then gave a timid thumbs up.

You don’t own me, but, I belong to you.

They grinned, giving him a thumbs up back, and another tsunami took his breath away.

But, that was fine. He’d let the soup cool on its own, and they would play cards, and for the first time in a very long while, he was able to forget the changing seasons and the morning frost.

It couldn’t touch him here.

Caretaker wouldn’t let it.

#non verbal whumpee #occasionally non verbal whumpee #??? #if there’s a better tag please let me know #whump #whump writing #caretaker #whumpee #comfort #whump scenario #pet whump #deconditioning #whump comfort #whumpee ​wanting to be owned #rescue

[martyr-inthedark]

When the nightshift nurse entered the hospital room of the recently admitted John Doe, they expected to see them still lying on the bed, semiconscious at best.

Instead, the Whumpee was curled up in a shaking ball at the corner of the room, back to the wall and brows furrowed behind crudely bent elbows. They appeared to have been crying.

"Hey there," the caretaker started gently, softly approaching Whumpee. Still, Whumpee flinched at each fall of Caretaker's shoes on the pristine white and blue tiles of the ICU.

As they came closer, they noticed that the multitude of bandages had been ripped off, the cast on their left wrist scratched at, and the poor thing had been bleeding where they had removed the IV drip. Caretaker sat down on the floor in front of the Whumpee.

"Hey, I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to help you out. My name is Caregiver. I can see you're bleeding there. I have clean bandages. Or we can talk?" The room was silent save for some sniffles and whimpers. The caregiver needed to get what information they could from Whumpee.

"Wh-where am I? Where is Whumper?"

"We are in the hospital, off the main highway. The sixth exit. You are safe here. What's your name?"

"Whumpee..."

"Okay, Whumpee. How old are you?"

"26, I think. Or I was. I don't know how long... it was dark."

"I see. Do you mind if we move this conversation to the bed over there? This cold floor must be pretty uncomfortable." Once again Whumpee fell silent for a second, and looked at the bed like they were calculating something. They shook their head no, and made no effort to move.

"We can sit here for a few more minutes, but I am going to ask that we go over there at some point tonight, okay? I don't want you to get an infection."

"I...I can't. I'm not..." Whumpee gulped. Saying this to Whumper was one thing—they were used to that by now. Saying it out loud to a stranger brought a shameful blush to their face as humiliation snaked its way through their intestines. They briefly remembered a time where they knew how silly this admission was. "I'm not worthy."

#whump #conditioned whumpee #deconditioning #caretaker #whumpee #aftermath of whump #recovery whump #hospital whump

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee had been conditioned to believe that any mistake would land them in severe punishment, that any wrong step would result in their torture- and this mentality stayed with them even after rescue. The whumpee would freeze when they broke something on accident, hide when they lost something else. They knew they were free now, but a part of them didn’t believe it.

#whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #aramis stabs someone #whump prompts #conditioning #deconditioning #past whump

[echoingalaxies]

Content: self-punishment/injury, conditioned whumpee, trauma

Whumpee got up before dawn to prepare breakfast. For so long now, it had been their routine, something they'd gotten used to doing no matter their condition, no matter the amount of pain or exhaustion weighing them down. Coffee with two sugars, and three fried eggs, would have to be ready to be served precisely at 6, and Whumpee would carry them to Whumper's room where he would still be sleeping, wake him up, and stand there, head bowed, wait until he finished his meal and then take the dirty dishes to the sink.

The few times Whumpee had missed the 6 am mark, even by a couple of minutes, hadn't ended well. Whumpee ran their fingers over the scars they'd received for those mistakes, wide and raised under their shirt, as they waited for the food to cook. They kept glancing at the clock, anxiously, shivering at the thought of being late, but they also couldn't hurry too much because the punishment for undercooked eggs would be just as cruel.

At 5:58, Whumpee had everything set up, and taking the plate and the large mug of coffee in their hands, they started to head toward the stairs, moving slowly for their aching body. Whumpee had become really good at counting in their head, so they knew they were right on time, as they balanced the mug on the plate for a second to knock on Whumper's door.

They pushed the door open, flicked on the lights - so much brighter than Whumpee remembered... He hadn't changed the lightbulb, so had Whumper had to do it himself? How come hadn't he told Whumpee to do it? - and went next to his bed.

"Your breakfast, sir," they said, trying to sound chipper but gentle, humble and happy to be there. "Good morning, sir," they added quickly after, almost having forgotten the proper way of greeting. What has wrong with them today?

Whumper, usually waking up to their voice and demanding to have the food immediately, just pulled the duvet to his chin, face deep buried into pillows. He grunted something inaudible, and Whumpee was left standing there, unsure what to do.

"S-sir? It's morning, sir, time to rise. Are you feeling ill?"

"Shut up," Whumper growled, and his voice was odd, but Whumpee pressed their lips together tightly, afraid to make a sound. "What the fuck are you doing, it's so damn early..."

The plate and the mug were shaking in Whumpee's hands as they began to breathe heavily, panicking. They'd been on time, but they'd made a mistake. They'd made some kind of mistake. Whumper was upset, and oh, when he'd wake up, hell was awaiting for them...

"Please," Whumpee whispered. "I- I'm so sorry. So sorry, sir..."

After a few mess-ups, Whumper had introduced Whumpee to an alternative option when it came to punishments of slipping off schedule or not completing their tasks just as Whumper had told them to. Quicker, easier, and for Whumper, even more fun than getting to carve marks on Whumpee's skin.

He'd love to watch Whumpee be humiliated.

"I don't want to waste my time on you when I have better things to do," Whumper had once said. "Make it simpler for the both of us. You know when you mess up. Why not get the consequenses out of the way? Use whatever's available, as long as you clean up the blood."

Whumper was still under the covers, perhaps falling back to sleep. Whumpee was still confused by the situation, but it seemed like he should've somehow known to not bother him this morning, oh no, they'd done gravely wrong, and there was only two ways out...

And they'd made their choice which route to take.

Whumpee set the plate on the nightstand, and closed their eyes, when with trembling hands, they took the mug of still steaming coffee above their head and spilled it all over themselves. Even as cried out in agony, they kept reminding themselves whatever Whumper would have done to them would've been worse, and with any luck, this would be enough.

Whumper was once again woken up by Whumpee's cries, and bolted up from the bed like he'd been electrocuted. Whumpee felt a sting in their heart. Of course they'd want to watch. Why would they miss the show? Maybe they'd be unsatisfied with their pain and make Whumpee throw themselves down the stairs for good measure.

Whumper cursed loudly and grabbed Whumpee's arm, pulling them out of the room and to the nearest bathroom. He shoved Whumpee under the shower and turned it on, turning the temperature cold. He squeezed Whumpee's arms, shaking them lightly.

"Oh god, Whumpee, why would you do that? What were you thinking?"

Whumpee coughed, the water getting into their mouth. They shivered, from cold and from fear.

Another mistake.

Nothing made sense.

Why was whumper helping him? What was all of this?

Whumpee tried to pry themselves away from Whumper's grip and out of the shower, but Whumper held them still.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry -"

"Wait," he said, sounding concerned rather than angry now. "Oh shit, Whumpee, no, stop that. Look at me. I'm not him."

Whumpee did as they were told and raised their gaze to meet the eyes they expected to be gray and cruel, and was shocked to see hazel, and nothing but kindness.

"I'm not him," he repeated, and Whumpee blinked a few times, letting their eyes take in the rest of the person's face. "Everything is okay. You're home, remember? Safe."

The person had dark circles under their eyes. They had a friendly face, although right now, they wore a worried expression. Whumpee wiped water from their face to see better... their eyes must've been lying to them...

"I..." Whumpee begun, stammering. "S-sorry... I should've let you sleep... I didn't know... I'm sorry..."

"Whumpee, shh." The person reached to turn off the shower and then let go of them to grab a large, thick towel they spread on Whumpee's shoulders. "Don't, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realise it was you. You shouldn't even be walking! I thought it was Teammate just annoying me, I was barely awake, I didn't mean to be harsh towards you."

Whumpee pulled the towel around them, turning their head to look around. They knew this bathroom. They'd been patched up here many times before, years earlier. It was Caretaker's.

They looked at the person in front of them. They knew them. It was coming to them slowly, but they knew them better than anyone.

"Caretaker?"

They smiled. "Yeah. It's me. It's okay. You've been home for a few days now, remember?"

"I... guess."

Caretaker helped Whumpee out of their wet clothes and let them shower privately, washing the coffee off their hair and ease the pain in the burns on their scalp, their face, their shoulders.

When whumpee was ready, they opened the door to let Caretaker in once again. Caretaker sat them down on a little stool and started to treat their injuries, talking in a calming matter throughout the process. Whumpee was still feeling lost, his brain struggling to understand what was real and what was not.

"I'm still so sorry, Whumpee," Caretaker said, spreading something soothing over his burns. "I never should've allowed things to go so far that you'd do this to yourself."

"I didn't want you to hurt me," Whumpee said quietly. Caretaker stilled for a second, then continued rubbing the lotion on Whumpee's skin. Whumpee bit their cheeks. Caretaker, and everybody else, didn't know much about what he'd been through with Whumper. They hadn't had many opportunities to talk that much yet.

"I would never do that." Caretaker leaned in and pressed an unexpected kiss on Whumpee's forehead. Whumpee blushed, though they were grateful it probably was hidden by their already reddened face. No one had done that for... Whumpee didn't even know how long. "No one will ever hurt you here. And you never have to hurt yourself, okay?"

Whumpee wished they could keep that promise. But who was to say what happened this morning wouldn't happen again?

"Yeah," they said. Caretaker's touch was gentle and comforting, and Whumpee remembered them as a trustworthy person.

Only it all wasn't up to Caretaker.

And it wasn't up to Whumpee. They didn't decide to forget they were not living in that nightmare anymore.

But if things were to be like this, would they ever truly get out?

#only quickly proofread #self punishment #implied torture #past torture #trauma #conditioned whumpee #aftermath #obedient whumpee #deconditioning #accidental bad caretaker? #whump #whump writing #caretaker x whumpee #protective caretaker #post rescue #caretaking #whump scenario #physical whump #writing #whump prompts #writing prompts #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #whumpblr #writeblr #whump fic

[bitchaknso]

Imagine an extremely conditioned Living Weapon Whumpee, whose only thought is to kill and destroy. They're extremely aggressive and feral. They have tattoos with skulls and scary stuff, that they were forced to have by the whumpers. Everyone's scared of them, not wanting to come closer.

Years later, when they healed, they're literally the calmest shit you've ever seen. Not just that. The Whumpee, who used to wear a black armor, wears soft pink sweaters. Who used to destroy the forest, plant small flowers. Who used to swear and scream, now barely talks, and when they do, their voice is hesitant.

Just, a 180° turn.

#living weapon whumpee #whump tropes #whump prompt #whump #writing prompts #idk man #deconditioning

[whumpshaped]

tw bad caretaker, bad de-conditioning, pet whump, trauma, panic attack

"I asked a single thing. I've been asking the same thing for a month. I'm not even asking you to do a backflip- I'm asking you to sit on the couch."

Whumpee had never seen Caretaker so angry. They crawled back until their back met the wall, trembling and muttering apologies while their wide, teary eyes stayed fixed on Caretaker's imposing figure. They were so much bigger than Whumpee. Stronger.

They had been afraid of that, at first. Then, they had learned to trust it, to feel protected by it. Now they were afraid again.

"In fact, I'm doing the backflips. I'm bending over backwards for you and your ridiculous needs, trying to accommodate for your every irrational fear and arbitrary rule. And you can't even get on the fucking couch after a month."

"Pets- p-pet's c-can't-"

"Stop with that already!" they snapped, and Whumpee ducked their head between their knees, shaking. They were sorry, they were sorry, they were sorry- "You're getting on the damn furniture today!"

Soon, they were yanked up by the arm, and no matter how much they cried or pleaded, Caretaker shoved them down on the soft, comfortable couch. Whumpee made themself pass out hyperventilating.

~

@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @dustbunnywhump

#whump #whump prompt #pet whump #deconditioning #recovery #bad caretaker #trauma

[honeycollectswhump]

Whumper's title

[masterlist]

It was the end of a lazy evening. Caretaker stretched as the credits of the last movie rolled. Whumpee was draped across her lap and had apparently fallen asleep somewhere during the movie. She wasn’t sure if he even witnessed the climax. Even asleep Whumpee had a soft smile on his lips; he seemed truly at peace. 

It hadn’t always been like that.

A year ago, serenity like this would have been unthinkable. Maybe he would have crawled into her lap if she ordered him to, but he wouldn’t have allowed himself to relax. He wouldn’t have been able to.

A year ago, he still called himself Pet or Mutt. He would beg for punishment, beg to be allowed necessities like sleep or food. But never for mercy because he’d thought he didn’t deserve it. 

A year ago, Whumpee didn’t even remember they lived together for years prior. 

But he did now, and that was all that mattered. God, how she had missed him and the time they spent together. Caretaker wanted to savor it all, savor every little moment she could spend with him.

With a smile playing on her lips, she brushed a stray piece of hair from his scarred face. She didn’t want to wake Whumpee up but she would have to. No matter how much she wanted it, they couldn’t spend the night like this. In the morning, his already aching back would trouble him even more. He was frankly too big for her couch, his feet already dangling over the side. With one hand she was playing with his soft curls, scratching the nape of his neck, and trying to grab the remote with the other – without success.

It had to be done. Caretaker softly whispered his name, tracing his jawline in an attempt to wake him up. He wouldn't budge.

“Whumpee”, the name came out as a soft chuckle. “Whumpee, you need to wake up.”

Again, nothing. 

This time she held him by his shoulders and started shaking him gently. Two bleary brown eyes stared up at her, blinking a couple of times. A sleepy groan escaped his lips as he struggled to sit upright. Somehow Caretaker doubted that Whumpee was truly awake.

She stood up and held her hand out to him. “Let’s get you to bed, big guy.”

Loosely, he took her hands and let himself be pulled up, almost immediately resting his head on top of hers. 

“Yes, Master”, he breathed into her hair. 

Caretaker could feel her blood running cold. She froze, waiting for any indication of what happened, any sign that Whumpee wasn’t feeling well. 

But he didn’t. He didn’t tense up or start shaking. He didn’t fall on his knees or stare at her in adoration and obedience or wait for her order. In fact, he didn’t seem to even realize what he’d said. Instead, he just nuzzled further into her locks, almost falling asleep on his feet. 

Slowly, she took a step backward, his hands still in hers, waiting to see if he’d follow. Whumpee shuffled along, although at a snail’s pace. Caretaker didn’t know whether to bring up what had happened but one look in his half-lidded eyes told her that any attempt at communication would just pass by him. Chances were he wouldn’t even remember how he got to bed in the morning. 

She took him upstairs where –at the sight of his own bed– he staggered forward and flopped down on his messy sheets. Caretaker followed him inside to tuck him in. While she was securing the blanket under his shoulders, Whumpee loosely grabbed one of her hands in his much bigger one and pressed it to his cheek. 

“G’night…”, he murmured into her hand. 

She couldn’t understand what he said after that and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

This is very much inspired by this post by @whumpadventureprompts (i couldn't find how you want to be tagged when people use your prompts so i hope this is alright)

#english isn't my first language so if you find any mistakes please tell me :) #this is beta-read by grammarly you can't fault me for anything :)) #i've been wanting to write something for this prompt for ages! glad i finally had the time #Holding Up The Sky #atlas/mutt (oc) #aveline king (oc) #honey's writing #past pet whump #pet whumpee #pet whump #recovering whumpee #deconditioning #recovery #caretaker new whumper #caretaker new master #whumpee thinks caretaker is new master #conditioned whumpee #whumpee and caretaker #whumpee x caretaker #honestly this is mostly just fluff #big whumpee #comfort

[sevenseptember]

Deconditioning happens one moment at a time.

In this very moment you can: decide to be intentional, and to move from fear to courage. In this moment you can decide to express your truth. In this moment you can stop avoiding the discomfort.

#deconditioning #healing #human design

[montammil]

I love oblivious Caretakers who have no idea what the hell they’re doing. Even more so, two Caretakers-- one who hardly know what they’re doing at all, and the other who seems like the professional caretaker.

Imagine Whumpee is more close to the clueless Caretaker, constantly asking them to give them some kind of order, whether it’s a chore or something more nonsensical, like “speak in a funny accent all day” or “stand on only one leg for the next thirty minutes”.

When the more responsible Caretaker finds out, they’re angry and scolding clueless!Caretaker for giving them orders, regardless of Whumpee asking them to.

And then when responsible!Caretaker and Whumpee have a conversation about it, it goes like:

“You don’t need to be ordered around all the time, Whumpee. You shouldn’t want that.”

“But if no one tells me what to do, then how am I supposed to know what to do?”

“...you don’t always need something to do, Whumpee.”

“...what.”

#whump #whump prompt #whump idea #two caretakers #whump aftermath #deconditioning #deconditioning whump #conditioned whumpee #bad caretaker #but not on purpose

[the-baby-storyteller]

self harm tw, conditioned whumpee, fear of punishment

"I was just," Whumpee sniffed, shoulders curled inwards, "I was just trying to be good."

Caretaker's face spasmed in pain. They rushed down to Whumpee and held their shoulders. They felt Whumpee flinch.

"No Whumpee, you are good. You're-," Caretaker paused, huffing. Dealing with Whumpee was an ordeal that had them walking on eggshells. "You're not good or bad. You're not a possession or an animal. You don't have to be good or bad." They ducked their face down to try to meet Whumpee's eyes, but Whumpee steadily avoided them. Caretaker sighed. "You're just you. Nothing you do can be bad."

Whumpee refused to meet their eyes, shaking anxiously.

"N-No, please Caretaker- Master-"

"Enough of that, Whumpee." Caretaker quickly cut off, standing. Maybe it was brusque, but they would not have Whumpee talking like that anymore.

Whumpee gave a light cringe and abruptly shut up. They looked like they wanted to cry but were holding it in.

Probably for fear of punishment, Caretaker dragged a hand down their face.

"Whumpee," they said, tone lighter this time and coming back down to Whumpee's level. They didn't touch them, seeing their fear, but made a point to try and get in their field of view. Whumpee was adamantly avoiding looking at them, though, and would turn every time they caught a glimpse of Caretaker.

That's fine, Caretaker convinced themself, as long as they listen to me.

"I am not your Master, no one is, and I don't want you calling me that. I do not have any control over you." Caretaker stated firmly.

Whumpee looked on edge yet almost forlorn at the same time, a wild, lost look appearing on their face. To Caretaker's surprise, they turned sharply to Caretaker. They looked like they wanted to say something, to refute, but Caretaker continued before they could begin.

"And, I don't want you hurting yourself. I know you think you were being good," They said quickly, "and I'm not angry at you or going to hurt you, but there is no harm happening in this house and that includes you doing it to yourself. Even if you think you deserved punishment."

Whumpee stared at them, confused, eyes filled with unshed tears.

"B-But Master," They stammered.

"Ah-," Caretaker countered, "No master remember?"

Whumpee flinched and reeled back.

"C-Caretaker," Whumpee muttered quietly. "I-I can't." They whimpered and bit their lip, quivering and looking down.

"If I can't do that, then I cant be good for you," they whispered, "And if I can't be good for you then I-I- please-"

"Whumpee, Shhh," Caretaker pulled their arms around Whumpee, pulling them in. "It's okay, shh." They started to rock Whumpee lightly as they sobbed and shook into their arm. They could feel Whumpee's tenseness, as if they still couldn't justify being in Caretaker's arms but didn't want to pull away. "You don't have to be good for anyone. I don't want you harming yourself. That won't make me happy."

Whumpee looked up then, eyes wide and glistening with tears. "It won't?" They asked.

"No Whumpee, it won't" It does the opposite, in fact, Caretaker thought.

"Then, what would?" Whumpee asked, staring up at Caretaker with the giant saucers they had for eyes and reminding Caretaker distinctly of an owl.

They chuckled, wiping Whumpee's tears with their finger, watching Whumpee squeeze their eyes shut adorably as they did so.

"The only thing I want is for you to be safe and happy. Not as a test or a trick. You don't have to try to appease me. Just, truly."

They stared down and Whumpee blinked, not understanding. They would in due time; Caretaker was set on it.

"It's okay sweetheart," Caretaker continued their rocking and started patting Whumpee's head, "Just stay here and calm down."

#conditioned whumpee #deconditioning #whump #whump snippet #whump drabble #caretaker #self harm tw #cute whumpee #writing #whump writing #could also be #pet whump #pet whumpee #the baby storyteller

[painsandconfusion]

Apathetic Caretakers

The bitches who don’t care enough to do their jobs well.

I swear I had a request for this?? where did it go?? Ah well, here's the content anyway.

[Promptlist Masterpost]

Caretaker constantly forgetting Whumpee’s injuries. Bumping them, moving them the wrong way, hugging too tight, etc.

Caretaker forgetting Whumpee’s intolerances and allergies while cooking.

“I’m paying for your therapist. Call them or something - I’m busy right now.”

Staying out past when they said they would. Or coming home earlier. Starling Whumpee or making them sit up with worry.

Not bothering to check the temperature of the soup before putting it to Whumpee’s lips.

“...seriously? Again?….ughh.”

Whumpee refuses to sleep, afraid of the nightmares, so Caretaker just rolls their eyes and forces the sleeping medication down their throat like a dog at the vet.

“ ‘Abuse’? Dude, did they even bruise you?? Did you even bleed?”

Giving Whumpee a play to stay for a night, but grumbling when they ask to stay another. Or the week. Or, gods forbid, longer.

Forgetting triggers.

Forcing Whumpee outside and into social settings too soon because ‘It’s good for you. It’s normal. Trust me.’

“Maybe you should talk to Whumper? Y’know, try to get some closure - see, the fact that you’re panicking just from me mentioning that proves you could do with a little exposure.”

Locking Whumpee in their room so they don’t sleepwalk to the point Caretaker needs to go get them.

“It’s there anyone else you can stay with?? Anyone?”

If Whumpee feels more comfortable in a collar, who are they to correct that? And eh, the kneeling is creepy, but they’re too fuckin tired to tell Whumpee not to. 

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbowsandwhumperflies @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @whumpsday @sonder35)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

#apathetic caretakers #bad caretakeres #abuse #scars #collar #deconditioning #conditioned whumpee #nightmares #sleepwalking #blood #gaslighting #victim blaming

[justbreakonme]

“M-Master?”

Whumpees soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts and into reality, where Whumpee was peeking around the corner to the office.

“Yes? Need something?” He tried to make his voice light, friendly, but noticed all too late the tear tracks down Whumpee’s face.

“May- May I ask for an indulgence, sir?”

“Of course,” he turned fully, now laser focused, a yes already waiting on his lips, “What would you like?”

“If-if you please, may I request a- an hour of-of-“ their voice faltered, tears starting again.

“It’s okay, sweet, it’s okay, you’re not going to be in trouble,” he coaxed, desperate for them to finish their request, “Take a deep breath, and just ask for whatever you like.”

They swallowed, nodding, and tried again.

“Master, may I request 1 hour without punishment?”

“Without- What?”

He had never punished Whumpee, ever. What did they mean?

“I-I know that you have been merciful- you have not punished me yet- I- I am sorry, I should not have asked, I am sorry Master, please forgive me-“

“You’re okay, hey, you’re fine, I just want to know what’s going on, alright?” he soothed, “So, you want a set time, without punishment? But- Whumpee, did something happen? Something that you think deserves to be punished?”

Whumpee frantically shook their head, crying harder now.

“Please, speak. You won’t be in trouble, I just want to understand, okay?”

“I-I know that- that I will fail you. I will always strive to meet your standards, but I know I will fall short and need to be punished,” Whumpee took a deep, shuddering breath, “But I haven’t yet learned all your rules, preferences, and standards… I- I have not been able to sleep for days, Master.”

He could tell that their courage was failing, and he couldn’t imagine how brave they were being to face him now… He was so proud of them…

“Oh…” it all made sense now, “You just want some time where you don’t have to watch your every move, right?”

Whumpee nodded, crying too hard to speak, and now he could see the deep circles under their eyes.

“Of course, sweet, of course…” he wasn’t going to punish Whumpee at all, he’d told them that already, but clearly they had a hard time believing that, “How about this? You go take a nap, and you’ll have no obligations or expectations till tomorrow at 10 am. No punishment, no worries, nothing. Just make sure you eat something, anything, for dinner and drink plenty of water, and get some sleep, okay? That’s all that I ask.”

He watched their face, hoping to have hit all the right notes, and for a sickening moment, they only sobbed harder.

“Th-thank you Master, thank you, yes sir, thank you-“ they managed, bowing deeply, their shoulders slumping in relief like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Okay,” he secretly breathed a sigh of relief, “Good. And thank you for coming to ask me, I’m very proud of you. You did a good job.”

Following the conditioning was also not ideal, but clearly ideal wasn’t an option at the moment.

Whumpee seemed to light up at the praise, a few breathless thank yous escaping but then they were gone, dashing away hopefully in search of food and water before a well deserved night of peaceful sleep.

After all, that was all they were asking for. A night of peace…

He sunk into his chair and let his head rest on the desk for a few minutes, before pulling himself together and writing down every detail of their exchange.

This might be the way to help them.

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #whump prompt #whump scenario #pet whump #conditioning #conditioned whumpee #deconditioning #sleep deprivation #walking on eggshells

[justplainwhump]

No.

This is a jump into the future for Angel's and much more so for Tyler's story. There will be a lot more coming about his very current situation, fear not - but after him thinking about 238's forgiveness, this piece demanded to be written, and I'm not going to let it catch dust in my drafts. So here you go.

Angel Masterpost | Tyler Masterpost

Tyler and Angel meet again.

Content / warning: BBU setting (but far in recovery), BBU recovery, implied past noncon / dubcon and short but frank discussion of it, conditioning and the struggle to get out of it, former whumper trying to work on redemption. Also includes minor spoilers for Tyler's story, which I deem in no way relevant to the potential enjoyment of it, but still mention here anyway.

Some years later

Tyler had never thought he'd be able to find her again. Despite all efforts, not only by him, by an entire network of people, it had seemed like after the death of her owner, 002238 had ceased to exist. 

It had been more than a year since Tyler had come out of jail; two months, since Tara had finished filming her documentary. A bit more since she'd identified and contacted Danielle Hammond's father, who had financed the search for her with huge amounts of money and resources.  

It had been Tyler who finally found her, though. And on a hunch, he hadn't shared this with Tara and the others right away. He would - of course he would, but he wanted to talk to 238 first. 

So he'd approached her, just out there on the street, and she'd simply stared at him, from these dark brown eyes that followed him in his dreams and nightmares, held his gaze for long seconds, and then calmly suggested to get lunch.

And now here they were, Tyler and 238, sitting in a booth of a crowded deli, two young people in their late twenties, nothing unusual to spot for any onlooker. 238 looked good, confident and a bit distanced, in a way that only added to her stunning charisma.

She held the paper cup with fresh orange juice on the table in front of her, clutching it with both hands. A barrier between them. 

Tyler swallowed, staring down at it. He'd have punished her for that. Before.

She followed his gaze, and her fingers twitched, as if he'd actually done it, for the fraction of a second, before she settled them again. "Speak," she said. Her voice was a little raspy, less focused on smoothness than when he'd last heard her. Commanding, almost.

Tyler had thought about this moment for years. Every single night since he'd left WRU he had imagined finding 238 and talking to her. In the beginning, in these fantasies he'd been saving her from her owner. He'd show up at his doorstep, just buy her off his hands, whatever the price, and then he'd invest everything he'd ever learned to reverse her conditioning. He'd work and work and work, until he'd earn her forgiveness and his own. Later, when he'd learned about the asshole's death, he'd rescue her from the streets, find a safe place for her, help her get back on her feet. He was here for something else, now.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I… Angel, Danielle, fuck, I… I don't even know what to call you, really, I-"

"Angel," she said, very briskly. She didn't hide the pained blink of her eyes at the other name. The one he'd made her forget. Fuck. He wasn't off to a good start. "I kept it. Better than a number."

238, he thought, peering at her wrist. There was nothing there, perfect soft skin, encircled by a thin silver bracelet. It looked like a gift. He wondered who got it for her. He hated himself for wanting to know.

He hated himself for everything about this, suddenly.

"Why are you here, Handler Parker?"

He shivered and shook his head. "I… I'm not a handler any more. I left WRU, I went to jail, I… I'm not that man any longer. I... I regret everything. So much. I have been horrible. I've done horrible things. And I want to-"

"No." 238's face hardened. She was pale under her freckles - had it been him or had she looked like that when they entered the deli? "No, handler."

"I-" he stammered. "Hear me-"

"No." She raised her chin. "Do you…" Her voice trembled. "Do you even understand how hard it is for me to say this word, Handler Parker? Even now? After so many years? You should, shouldn't you? Because it's been you, who tortured it out of my vocabulary. Do you know how often I… how often I wanted to, but I didn't even know what it was that I wanted, because there was just nothing? Just a fucking void, where a voice should've been. I know everything would've happened anyway, because that's just what it is, but… do you have an idea what it means to just silently accept everything? I got out of the facility, I got out of my owner's house, I got out of the system, but I… I still can't properly say it." She swallowed. "No. No, Handler. I will not forgive you for what you've done. I don't care how you have changed. Because you know what that won't change? Me. I…" She blinked, and only now did Tyler realize the tears in the corners of her eyes. "I have to physically fight my urge to get out of this seat, in the… the most seductive way possible, and to get under this table, get on my knees, right between your legs, and play with your zipper and just…" Her jaw clenched. "I hate sex. I hate cocks. I hate you. And right now I still want nothing as much as your stupid cock in me and your voice calling me a good girl."

She got to her feet and slammed a bill on the table. "Fuck you, Sir. Find your absolution somewhere else. You're not getting it here."

"I…" Tyler struggled. "Wait. I… I want to go to Court."

She stopped in her tracks, raised an eyebrow, staring down at him in fury and confusion. "What?"

"Sue WRU," he said, words just tumbling from his lips. "You didn't sign up for it. I know it." You signed up for this, his own voice rang in his ears. Repeat after me. He shook his head. "You were kidnapped and tortured and... I… I will testify. I have files, I have names, I… I have memories. Sue me. Sue WRU." He pulled a business card from his pocket with trembling fingers. "This is my lawyer. Please. You can… We can… I can't make things right, but maybe there's a chance at… changing others' fates."

238 slowly took the card, looked at it and then back at him, with a breathless chuckle. "What tells me you're not cashing in a reward for bringing in a runaway pet?"

Tyler loosened his leather bracelet, before turned his own wrist towards her. The bars were still stark black against his skin, ink dark as on the first day.

She shook her head in disbelief. "You're… you're not…"

"I was never on the Drip. I didn't forget anything. But I… I have seen WRU, from all perspectives possible. I want them to go down. I know I'll be the first to be locked up for the things that I did to you, I don't care - but this case, your case, it's strong enough that I wouldn't be the last." 

He pulled the bracelet over his wrist again, before he pointed at the business card in her hand. "Sue WRU."

She swallowed. "I'll think about it," she whispered, before she closed her hands around the card and buried it in her pocket, voice dropping even further. "Fuck you anyway."

#bbu #bbu recovery #tylers story #angels story #tyler parker #angel the romantic #deconditioning

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The caretaker quickly discovered just how unfamiliar the whumpee was with simple comforts, like a reliable source of food, a good place to sleep, and physical affection. The whumpee was just scared and untrusting of any of it, as “rewards” were often tests from the whumper.

#whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #aramis stabs someone #whump prompts #past whump #caretaker #deconditioning

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Whump Recovery Prompt Warm Stew

"Here." Caretaker slid a bowl of steaming beef and potato stew over to Whumpee. "Eat this."

"I don't deserve to eat," Whumpee insisted.

"Are you disobeying me?" Caretaker asked with one raised eyebrow.

"N- no master," Whumpee stuttered. "Of course not. Please don't punish me. I didn't mean anything."

"I know," Caretaker said soothingly. "I want you in the best condition possible."

"Pets don't eat human food," Whumpee stated.

"Well, mine does."

Playing into Whumpee's conditioning was bad, Caretaker knew this.

But Whumpee had panic attacks whenever Caretaker tried to insist they were a person, worthy of respect and care.

After Whumpee's second time passing out from hyperventilation, Caretaker had decided that their first priority was getting Whumpee physically healthy.

The mental damage could wait.

Whumpee bent down to lap up the stew like a dog.

"No," Caretaker ordered. "I cant stand the sound or sight of that. Eat with a spoon. Or a fork for the bigger pieces of potato and meat. You have both next to you. Use them."

Whumpee slowly picked up the spoon. They dipped it into the stew and brought up a small amount of broth and a few corn kernels.

They put the spoon in their mouth, then pulled it out. Chewing the corn seemed to take mental effort, but they managed to swallow.

"See?" Caretaker asked. "It's good, isn't it? You need to eat like a human from now on. I won't accept anything less."

"Yes master."

Whumpee continued eating, and picked up the pace as they realized that they weren't going to be punished.

Caretaker smiled. Yes, Whumpee's physical health was more important than their weird pet training.

The mental issues could wait for another day. For right now, Whumpee was finally eating, and nothing else in the world mattered.

#Whumpee #Caretaker #Deconditioning #Questionable deconditioning #Bad deconditioning #Pet whumpee #Ex pet whumpee #Cw food

[comfy-whumpee]

Love Lets Go

The Birdhouse has occasional group therapy. CN: BBU, alcohol.

@neuro-whump​, @rosesareviolentlyread​, @whumper-in-training​, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpsday, @firewheeesky, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question, @highwaywhump

“Let’s talk,” Miss Kaur said, “about what love is.”

Avis sat on the edge of the windowsill in the living room. Beside her on the loveseat were Florence and Kamala, inseparable as usual. On the left, in the armchair by the old fireplace, Boo curled up with no apparent interest in the conversation around them. Against the opposite wall was the doorway to the dining room, and the dining chair that Miss Kaur had brought in for herself. Finally, rounding out the ring, was the green sofa with Tenten and Roman at opposite ends, sat in their identical straight-backed, hands-folded pose that was a mark of their similar training.

Group conversations were a new thing. It wasn’t strictly therapy for them, but it was a way to open topics of discussion and build connections in the group, as well as a way for them to learn from each other. They were trying it out to see who benefitted, who got nothing from it, and whether anyone would react negatively. Avis was mainly hopeful that being present would help Boo, even if they still refused to respond to anything around them.

They had picked a broad theme for the first attempt. One relevant for all involved, as best they knew. After the question, there was a long pause. They all had ideas to think through before daring to say them aloud.

Avis waited in silence for Kamala to speak. It was always Kamala. She couldn’t stand awkward moments like this. Her smile was kind and gentle. “Love is a strong feeling of care for others,” she answered. Avis would have bet money that it was the definition listed in the dictionary in the study.

Kamala didn’t seem to know how obvious it was that she often recited answers that she thought were correct, rather than give her own feelings. She also didn’t seem to realise how impressive it was that she could remember so many passages word for word.

“Love is being inc-cc-cluded in things,” Tenten offered after another hesitation. Avis thought of his occasional presence at other people’s activities. If they needed a second participant, Tenten was always willing. Perhaps that was love, to him.

The silence dragged on. Miss Kaur eventually broke it, looking at the others. “Does anyone else have any initial ideas?”

Roman stared at his feet. Boo stared into space. Florence was the one who spoke. “Love is when someone looks after you.”

Better than expected, Avis thought with relief, relaxing slightly.

“Thank you for sharing, Florence. Would you like to contribute, Roman?”

Roman glanced up, startled. His voice was whisper-soft. “Love is wanting something even if you try not to.”

Avis watched as Miss Kaur absorbed that response, nothing but the slight pause before her reply to give it away. “Thank you, Roman. Could you tell me something you love?”

“Attention,” Roman answered promptly.

“Beauty,” Florence supplied, sensing that the question was coming to the rest of them.

“Making other people happy,” Kamala put in.

There was a pause. Florence looked at Tenten while everyone else pretended not to.

He shifted in his seat, only a slight turn of his hips to give away his discomfort even as he held still in the formal sitting pose, the rest of his tics vanished under his focus. “I love - this house,” he said, looking at Miss Kaur and nobody else. “It-t’s old and has winding hallways and exp-posed beams. Everyone gets their own room and they’re all, all different. It, it-t has a range in the kk-kitchen and a fireplace in here, so it’s always warm.” He stopped, hearing himself talk, and scratched his cheek. “I’ve been um, been wanting t-to say that for a while,” he admitted.

Miss Kaur was smiling. “Thank you, Tenten, for sharing that. I liked hearing your reasons.”

Tenten smiled back, pleased at the praise.

Then, the seconds began to pass again.

Roman was checked out, staring at the floor with distant eyes. Attention was decidedly not something Roman sought in the shelter, but perhaps he was different before. Or perhaps he was told that he was, and believed it now.

Florence was playing with the hem of their skirt, drawing repeated attention to their bare thighs through the slight movements of their hands. The question had brought something up for them, too. Beauty and its form were always difficult for them to parse.

Reliably, Kamala spoke up. “I like this house too, but people are more important to me. I’m happy if I can make someone else happy.” She gave a picture-perfect Platonic smile. “And I want everyone to be well, of course.”

“Can you give us your reason for that, Kamala?” Miss Kaur suggested.

Kamala froze, briefly, subtly. It wasn’t an answer she had prepared, it seemed. “Well, that’s - that’s obvious.”

Avis knew the line. Platonic caretakers find nothing more fulfilling than being the best partner to their owner, and answering their needs with diligence and perfectionism.

“If people are happy I can feel happy too. It’s nice to know you helped someone.”

Tenten nodded in agreement.

Boo sat on the armchair, looking between them all without a twitch of an expression to show their thoughts. But at least they seemed to be following the talk, now.

“What do we think about the idea of self-love?” Miss Kaur said, when it became clear that the group had nothing else to add. “Roman,” she called his attention back, “I’d like you to start. What is your view on self-love?”

“Um,” Roman said, eyes skittering away. He wasn’t fully present, still. Some thought was catching at him. “Self-love is when you love yourself?”

“Yes,” Miss Kaur agreed, despite the non-answer. “What might that look like, to love yourself?”

There was a significant silence.

“I’d like us to think about what Kamala said,” Miss Kaur suggested, steering the ship back on course again. “Kamala said, and forgive me for paraphrasing here Kamala, that she loves people, and she especially loves looking after people and helping them. When you said that, Kamala, were you including the people in this room?”

Earnestly, Kamala nodded.

“I’ve had conversations with some of you about seeing yourselves as people. We have worked on that knowledge, that to survive the pet industry doesn’t mean you are no longer people. This means we are, according to Kamala’s principles, deserving of love, help and kindness.” She glanced at the woman in question, who looked alarmed by being used as an example. “That includes Kamala herself.”

The clock in the kitchen was audible through the doorway. Nobody else even moved. It was difficult for them all to think through this barrier, especially when she tied it to ideas of worth and support.

“We all have an idea of love,” Sunita said quietly, with the warmth she felt for this group suffusing her tone. “What we lack, and this is common of most people, is the ability to apply that knowledge to ourselves. When we love ourselves, we learn how to treat ourselves fairly. We learn how to make compromises and how to assert boundaries. We negotiate all of those things with ourselves, and it’s not necessary for us to do that before bonding with others, but it is invaluable practice for forming sustainable relationships in the long-term.”

Kamala nodded, because she thought she was supposed to. Florence looked lost.

“Only you can be your worst enemy, and only you can be your best friend,” Sunita summarised. “Learn how you like to be treated. Then you can teach those around you. Let’s take a pause now for reflection. Take yourselves off to wherever you’d like to be, and think, write or talk aloud through your thoughts. We’ll come back in half an hour.”

-

Florence sat doodling shapes on a piece of paper they’d found, with a stubby pencil Avis left in the kitchen for writing the shopping list. They were drawing hearts, one of the few symbols they knew. Hearts meant love. It seemed relevant.

It was a strange conversation they were having today. Loving others was easy for Florence; they had been made to, and the way that their love had changed hands was important to them finding their place.

They were made to give, not to keep. But they wondered if they could.

Could you love yourself without being able to see yourself?

-

It was too far to go up to their room. They could have gone up, and nobody would have said anything, but if they missed too much therapy, Avis would get involved.

They stayed in the armchair, staring at the emptied room as if nothing about it had changed. Their voice was miles away at the best of times, but today it may as well be on another continent.

No matter what they learned from Sunita Kaur, they didn’t know how to live differently. They would only learn everything that they lacked.

-

Kamala waited patiently to be allowed back into the therapy room, iPad on her lap. She had a comic book open, but between pages, when she could sneak glances, she was trying to find some information about the therapeutic conversation they were having together. Normally, Mrs Sunita followed a treatment plan or template exercise that meant Kamala could find all she needed, given enough time.

Searching what is love led to nothing useful. It was too common a question. She read some articles, but they all seemed vague and at times, in disagreement about what it was.

Still, she knew from Mrs Kaur’s expression that she had said some things right. There had been approving looks, and she had used Kamala’s words to explain something. So she was doing well.

She could be good. Good pet, good friend, and good at therapy.

-

The bathroom was quiet and private. Tenten liked bathrooms. They were designed to be easy to clean, and they were the only place nobody ever raised eyebrows when you locked the door. He could spend as long as he liked inside, and people would only give him vague, concerned questions about whether he was okay, without prying into specifics.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, resting his wrists on his knees. He breathed. He was doing well today, only his hand twisting erratically, everything else loose and behaving itself.

Mrs Kaur was asking hard questions.

He let the thought walk by. It wasn’t his place to try and predict what would happen, nor to practice what he would say. His job was to read and respond. Find what they want and provide it with the appearance of effortlessness. Mrs Kaur wanted his honest thoughts, and he could provide.

-

An arm goes around his shoulders and he doesn’t move. Carved from stone, he thinks to himself, as the lights of the television flicker over them both in the dim light. He doesn’t like that Tyler is tipsy. It makes him nervous, remembering the Christmas party last year where he got in a drunken fight with Phil. They were friends again the next morning, but it was still unnerving.

He has to be carved from stone. Unflinching, unfeeling.

But Tyler doesn’t hurt him. He just sits there, smelling of sweat and alcohol, watching the screen. They’ve gone to commercial, but Roman can’t leave now. He can’t pull away.

On the screen, two men are buying a house together, talking to a nice, smiley representative from a bank so they can get a mortgage.

“Are you gay?” Tyler asks abruptly.

It’s only after he’s processed the question that Roman realises that’s what the men on the screen are meant to be. His heart sinks. “I don’t…know,” he admits after a moment.

“Yeah, of course you don’t. You wouldn’t know unless you tried being with a guy, right?” Tyler’s voice is casual, but something shifts underneath, and Roman swallows. “You don’t remember anything, you wouldn’t know.”

“No,” Roman affirms, between numb lips. Dread is climbing up his throat with claws.

“Would you want to know? I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna date. But it’s – interesting, to know, right? It’d be good to know.”

Tyler still won’t look at him. Roman looks at his lap, feeling like the arm around him gets heavier every second, every breath, every word out of Tyler’s beer-stained mouth. “I don’t mind,” he whispers.

“’Course not,” Tyler agrees, except he doesn’t sound like he’s listening. “You don’t mind. You wouldn’t mind. And you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Roman opens his mouth to ask, tell anyone what?

-

“Half an hour is up, Florence.”

“Okay.”

They got up, leaving the scrap of paper behind. They returned to their seat, where Kamala had already returned on her own. Florence didn’t think Boo had moved.

Avis rapped on the bathroom door. “You ready, Tenten?”

“Yes, Avis.” The door opened. Neither of them commented on Tenten’s half-hour bathroom break. They both knew he’d needed the space.

With everyone else returned, Avis went looking in search of Roman, climbing the stairs. She had left him until last because she knew that, against her expectations, he had been hit the hardest by the conversation today. It would have, she hoped, a profound impact on everyone. But something had triggered for Roman, and she wasn’t yet sure what.

She didn’t find him in the bedroom. She checked the bathroom, and the music room. He wasn’t in any of them.

 She circled the floor to the big window, but he wasn’t in it. She climbed to the third floor.

 There, the library door was ajar.

 The Birdhouse’s library was a long room with a wider bottom half, taking a chunk out of the third bathroom, which could afford the loss. It was lined down one wall with huge shelves, each one containing multitudes. There was fiction and non-fiction, sci-fi, fantasy, realistic stories, mysteries and thrillers and crime, fairy tales, myths, legends, poetry and drama, illustration and photography, craft books, art books, comic books, cookbooks, books on gardening, DIY, health and wellness.

On smaller shelves around the room were the personalised collections: Kamala’s riot of colour for all her Marvel needs; Florence’s photo collections from places across the globe and their easy reading novels; Tenten’s recipe books and the two history texts he had shyly asked for. Boo didn’t have anything on their shelf, but Avis knew they used the library sometimes, when nobody else did.

 Roman was sitting in one of the eight armchairs scattered around the room. It was facing the window, but the curtains were closed from last night. He didn’t seem to be looking out of them.

 Perhaps, Avis thought as she sniffed the papery air, this room was the most like an office.

 She set herself down in the nearest armchair, nearly sinking into the plush fabric. “Hi, Roman.”

 “Hi, Avis,” he said, his voice barely audible.

 She sat for a minute, watching. He barely moved. He was sitting in the chair upright, feet on the floor, hands at his sides as though he’d forgotten to position them. His head was tilted down to place his gaze on the floor, but he wasn’t moving.

 “I like this room,” Avis ventured after it became clear he had nothing to say. “I think it’s lovely. Things can get hectic with the others around and all the things to do, but your reading time in the library is always special. Peaceful.”

 He didn’t unstick. She sensed that he wanted to, somewhere inside him he was straining to, but he wasn’t in control. He was being unobtrusive, that deadly word that both of her Help at Home rescues staked their lives on.

 She rested her arms on one side of the chair, making sure she was as close to his direct line of sight as she could be. “I’m getting the sense that you’re paralysed right now, Roman. That’s okay. It’s not unusual to get stuck sometimes, when someone is faced with something that they can’t handle. They adapt, or they suffer through it. Often, they suffer in the same way as they have suffered other things before.”

 Roman gave a slight nod, just enough to show he was paying attention. Was it genuine communication, or even a request for her to carry on? Or was it another trained motion? She wasn’t sure. He was still so new.

 “This is because your brain learns how to survive. That’s like its superpower, like Ms Marvel. Have you seen Kamala’s comics?”

 Another nod of five degrees.

 “Your brain adapts. It learns what was safe and got you through a hard situation, and when you’re put under stress again, it uses that same technique. Sometimes, that technique is freezing.”

 Sometimes, it was self-annihilation through service to others. Sometimes, it was emptying of thoughts and focusing only on sensory experiences free of trauma. Sometimes, it was becoming nothing at all.

 Sometimes, though, it was talking. Sometimes, it was Tenten gripping his elbows and trying to explain where his head had gone, so he could find his way back.

 Avis relaxed, reassured by the thought. If Tenten could do it, so could Roman. “Think about where you are, Roman. You’re in the library right now. You’re looking at the curtains. What colour are they?”

 His lips moved, almost soundlessly. “Purple.”

 “That’s right. A nice muted, dusky purple. What texture?”

 “C-coarse. Sturdy.”

 “Excellent. What about where you’re sitting?”

 He looked down. It seemed as though he hadn’t seen the chair before. “C-Cream.”

 Then his eyes went to her, and she waved. “Hi, Roman.”

 He exhaled. She wondered how long he’d been holding that one lungful of air. “Hi, Avis.”

 -

 Mrs Kaur nodded. “I’ll talk through it with him in private next time I see him. I expected there might be some difficult moments, but I didn’t foresee Roman reacting so strongly. It sounds like he needed some help to come out of his memories, but he was able to go about the rest of his day normally.”

 Avis felt tension drop away from her shoulders as Sunita laid it out so simply. “Yes. That’s true. How were the others after we left?”

 Her words were edged with concern, which Sunita politely pretended not to notice. “Oh, fine. Boo listened, the others talked. They weren’t quite able to express things about themselves just yet, but we had a good moment where they offered love to each other, and saw it reflected back. I think that’s a very positive start.”

 Avis chuckled softly to herself. “I can imagine. Kamala and Florence always have nice things to say about each other, and Tenten is nice about everyone.”

 Sunita smiled, the coy smile of someone who has a surprise to reveal. “It was more than that, actually. Florence wanted to talk about Boo.”

 Avis’s eyebrows rose.

 “Apparently, Boo helped them on a bad night some weeks ago. They needed company, and help getting food. Boo provided. Florence, by their own admission, loves very easily and very loyally… But there seems to be a connection there.”

 “That’s incredible.” Hope swelled in Avis’s chest as she tried to imagine Boo expressing feelings to Florence, even through pauses and movements. “That’s a big win from today,” she said.

 “Exactly.”

  -

 “And what is love?” Dr Cerasale asked.

 Her mouth hung open for a moment before she snapped it shut, folding her arms. Turn it back on her, would he? Typical. “Love is dedication, affection, patience and – and believing in them.”

 The therapist nodded. “And how might you describe your love for yourself?”

 Oh, doubly turning it back on her. He was good.

 Avis shrugged. “I don’t love myself or hate myself. I am myself. I just am. All my love is for my – rescues. And my son.” She cut him a look as he stopped before he could get the first syllable of his next question out. “Those are the most important people to me.”

 “Avis,” he said, almost warningly.

 “I know what you’re going to say. I didn’t replace my missing boy with them. I would have ended up here eventually, even if Florence hadn’t found me. I had to help. Even if I couldn’t help him. I know grief plays a part in it, but I won’t listen to you making it sound like grief is the only reason I’m doing such a good thing.”

 He didn’t interrupt when she paused, so she carried on.

 “Besides, no matter my reason, they’re getting help. I’m far from perfect, but I can give them resources and equip them for their new lives as free people.”

 “And how about when they fly the nest? How will you feel then?”

 Avis was about to say fine, but a sudden grief knocked her thoughts clean off track, and the word was lost. She took a breath and she felt herself circling the whirlpool. She fell still.

 Leaving the nest, letting them fly. Watching them soar. Seeing their plane disappear over the horizon, her baby leaving home for his first holiday without her.

 Kids left home to find themselves, not lose themselves.

 “I don’t know,” she said eventually. “We’ll see when the time comes.”

 Cerasale hummed and nodded. “When the time comes for them to leave, as they all will.”

 They might not, Avis thought to herself. Roman might not be able to cope with everyday living on his own. Tenten could always be vulnerable to exploitation. Kamala still recreated power dynamics that put her subservient to others. Boo was still mute. Florence was still barely literate.

 “How does it feel, to think about that?” he probed gently. “Your rescues leaving the sanctuary?”

 “Scary,” she said honestly. “Seeing them go. Not knowing what will happen to them, not being there if anything does.”

 “Do you think that is likely?”

 “Of course it is. Bad things happen to everyone, but ex-pets most of all. The survival rate in American shelters is horrifying.”

 “Permit my ignorance, but is the situation here comparable to that of the USA?”

 “Well, no. It’s better here, there aren’t WRU vans on every corner waiting to abduct them. They’re emancipated, they have distance, they have legal status. But it’s all in the data, and it’s bad. They’re gullible and overgenerous and don’t stand up for themselves. Letting them go isn’t just scary, it’s dangerous. Legitimately dangerous.”

 “But people do it. In the USA, as well as here. Do they not?”

 “Yeah. Yes, of course.” Avis frowns. “But my rescues are – the Birdhouse is for complex cases. Rescues who didn’t all want to be rescued, or rather, like, they wanted to be rescued but still want to be owned. Just in a different way. Rescues who wanted rescue, but wouldn’t have wanted it if their owners were different.”

 Cerasale nods, letting that sit for a moment. She’s stated her case. Her argument is pretty sound. But she knows he’s not just going to let that pass.

 “Again, correct me if I’m wrong. But I wonder if that description is accurate for all your rescues. You have often spoken, in admiration, of Tenten’s innate desire to be free. For example.”

 “Tenten would have stayed with his family if they hadn’t made him wear a collar.”

 He looks at her thoughtfully. She dodges his gaze.

 “For a while, anyway,” she mutters. She knows she’s not being fair, and guilt prickles at her for fibbing about Tenten to get her therapist off her back. “He wanted to try living independently. If he can’t, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

 “Think of Tenten,” he suggests. He’s gentle, but firm. “He won’t be the only one, but perhaps he is the one you can see most clearly right now. He has many life skills, he is interested in learning and growing, he participates in therapy, and he wants this.”

 She hugs her elbows, feeling chastised, the burn worse because she knows he’s right. She’s always known. Tenten will be the one who leaves first.

 “It will be a scary, bittersweet day. But ultimately a happy one.” He checks the clock on the table to the side, angled so she can’t read it. “We’re about ready to wrap up. I want to pick this back up next week. How are you feeling?”

 She thinks about it. It’s been a hell of a fucking week. They always are.

 “I miss my son,” she says.

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