#bbu recovery

[justplainwhump]

Shoes

Felt inspired by the prompt by @worldofwhumpcraft I reblogged earlier - obviously, the part about shoes, mostly. I don't even know what this scribble is, or where in canon it would happen (rather early), but have it anyway. Just consider it a bonus scene.

[Pet Safety]

Bea gets her first shoes.

Content / Warning: BBU, BBU recovery, caretaker is new owner.

While handing Adrian the two huge packages from his hand truck, the doorman tried to look past Adrian’s shoulder into the apartment. Adrian raised an eyebrow and leaned to the doorframe instead, his broad shoulders blocking the man’s view - and maybe, probably also intimidating him the slightest bit. Adrian was big. It was only appropriate to use it sometimes. 

He signed off on the tablet the man was holding out to him.

"Anything of interest to you in my apartment?", he asked coolly, handing back the pen.

"I’m sorry, Sir, uhm, I…"

Adrian tilted his head. "Yes?"

"The… the pretty, uh, the…, she’s not actually a woman, right? I mean she is, but, like, do you still call it that, when they’re, you know…?"

"Her name’s Bea," Adrian said. "She is a woman."

"Is, she… there?"

"I got insurance for her, if that’s what you want to ask."

"No, I… I know that, it’s in the files, uh, yeah, thank you for providing it. I just… I’ve never seen one."

"A woman?" Adrian folded his arms, making sure to emphasize the muscles on his upper arms. 

The doorman actually blushed. "A…"

"I don’t think I want you to see her," Adrian said. "I think I want you to apologize for that intrusion into her - and my - privacy, and I think you’ll need to do without a tip."

"It’s…" He cleared his throat. "Sorry, Sir, I didn’t want to invade your privacy, I… I just thought they, … I didn’t know you’d be that sensitive, I… I mean, don’t you work for WRU?"

Adrian closed the door into the man’s face.

"You know, Adrian Delgado," Bea said from where she lounged on the couch and paused painting her toenails. "You are allowed show me off. I don’t mind. I…" She paused, gestured at the eyepatch. "I know I have this, but I can still offer everything I am made for. I am - we all are made to be looked at, you know?"

"Made to," Adrian scoffed. "I fucking hate that phrase. How about, conditioned or, well actually, tor-"

Bea frowned.

Fuck. He worked for them. He worked for them, he was a good employee, a loyal employee, and he really should stop letting his guard down in front of someone who’d been made to - conditioned to never lie to WRU.

"I don’t like it," he said. "It’s disrespectful."

"Because I’m yours," she said solemnly and nodded. "Nobody should get to look at me, but you."

Adrian carried the first box into the living room. "Not that, either. Because I think you should get to decide who looks at you."

"That’s stupid," she said and closed the yellow nail polish, wiggling her toes at him. "I cannot decide things."

"You did decide on a color for your nail polish."

"It’s yellow," she said.

"Your favorite color," Adrian replied.

"It’s my favorite color because of how you smile when I say that it is." She smiled at him, in a way that made his heart ache. "I don’t decide things on my own. I decide things for your sake. But…" She winked. "I am pretty good at it, right?"

Was there a right answer? Was it right to tell her she was being good? Was it wrong? Was he enhancing her conditioning, using it, breaking it? Fuck. He was supposed to know these things. 

"You are," he said. "You’re good at making me happy. I feel like you’re getting better at making yourself happy, too." He got the second box and stacked it onto the first.

She looked at the boxes with a nervous frown.

"I got you something," he said.

Her eyes widened a little bit. Not in excitement, he realized. In fear. "Thank… thank you, Sir," she said, voice dropping into a sweet lilt. "I’ll be good."

"It’s… It’s nothing bad," he hurried to say. "It’s… not for me. Nothing to hurt you. It’s-" He should just show her. He leaned over to pull a box cutter from his desk drawer. 

Bea froze, staring at the blade. Her smile became soft and pliant. "You are free to hurt me, Sir," she said. He thought he could hear her hide a sob. "Do… do you want me to scream?"

"This is for the box," Adrian said. "The box." He cut open the packaging tape and threw the cutter back into the farthest corner of the desk, as far from Bea as possible. "You hear me? I don’t want to hurt you. Ever."

"It’s what I’m for," she whispered.

"Not anymore," Adrian said with clenched teeth. 

"Then what am I for?" She looked at him, with a tint of hurt in her eyes. "Not for you to hurt. Not for you to fuck. Not to serve you, not to seduce you, not to serve the man at the door or anyone else. What do you want me for, Sir?"

"Adrian," he corrected her, more harshly than intended. "I want you to be-" Free, he thought. Free. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t free her. Not yet. 

This was such a mess.

"Happy."

"Happy?," she asked with a frown, that smoothed away once she seemed to develop an idea. "Then let me sleep with y-"

Adrian cut her off roughly. "I want you to know you can move around. That you’re not… restricted." He reached into the cardboard box and pulled out one of the smaller boxes inside. "I got you shoes. I… I didn’t know your size, so I got a bunch of different sizes." He pulled away the paper and lifted a pair of yellow sneakers. 

She looked at him, confused, then at her feet. Then back at him. "Pets don’t need shoes."

He knew. At the facilities, most trainees walked on bare feet. At the homes of their owners, it varied. Guards had shoes, of course, standard were heavy boots, equipped to fight. Domestics usually received these ugly clogs that wouldn’t allow them to run but stand stable when they cleaned the floors. Platonics, depended on their tasks. But Romantics? Either nothing, or insanely high heels that emphasized long legs and sinuous movements.

"I think you might find them… comfortable," he said. "It’s a good brand, they’re very light-weighted, and they allow you to run, walk, dance, they’re suitable for anything."

"I can do everything you need me to without shoes." She looked at him cautiously. "Do you want me to run, Adrian Delgado?"

"No, I…" He shook his head. "No."

Bea traced thin scars on the side of her feet with a finger. "Jack wanted me to run, sometimes. A game. Let the pack chase me, then. But he-" She tilted her head and glanced at the sneaker in his hand, almost longingly. "He didn’t give me shoes."

He reached out to hand the shoe over, and she took it gently, ran her fingers over the fabric, weighed it in her hand. "I," she began. "I would like to be better at running."

"You will be," he said. "Shoes will help."

She furrowed her brows, as if trying to understand if he was teasing her, then nodded and slipped into the shoe. 

Wordlessly, Adrian knelt down in front of her, to check the size. She stayed perfectly still for him. Of course she would.

"Too big," he said and handed her another box. "Here, try these. I usually go for a run in the morning, before work, twice a week. Around the marina. You can come. Train with me."

She unpacked the other size. "Why?"

Adrian looked up at her. "Because if there ever comes a next time, when someone chases you," he said. "I want you to get away."

"What if it’s you?"

He felt her toes through the fabric, checked how firmly the shoe sat around her foot. This one fit more snugly. Good. He nodded to himself, only then realized he owed her a reply. "Always, yeah" he said eventually. "When you’re ready, Bea, run away. Don’t look back."

"You’re strange," she said.

Adrian smiled, and settled back on his heels. "You know, Bea. You’re the only one from whom this sounds like a compliment."

"You know, Adrian." She reached down to rest her hand against his cheek. Adrian’s heart threatened to skip a beat, when she met his gaze. "Yes. I think it is one."

-

--

pet safety tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses @pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds @somewhumpyguy @whumpzone @tragedyinblue @theelvishcowgirl @light-me-on-pyre @whumps-and-bumps

#bbu #bbu recovery #pet safety series #recovery whump #prompt fill

[topsheepstudent]

#whumplr #whump community #whump #caretaker #conditioned whumpee #caretaker x whumpee #caretaker new master #whumpee #bbu recovery #box boy recovery #whump recovery #survey

[serene-cinders]

A Caretaker adopting a pet Whumpee from a shelter out of pity. Whumpee’s been abused. Maybe they can’t, or won’t speak, so their pain is a mystery, but it shows in their empty eyes, maimed form, scars running criss-cross all over.

Maybe Whumpee’s on the older side. Maybe they’re not conventionally attractive. They’ve been abandoned by the world, they’ve been at the shelter for years, and they’re slowly succumbing. Dying.

Caretaker never agreed with this ‘human pet’ business. They find it despicable, and wouldn’t support it. But… that wretched husk, so rigorously broken down, brings tears to their eyes. And they can’t bare the thought of somebody dying alone in this unfeeling, underfunded shit hole.

So, Caretaker makes the choice to give them the kindest few weeks of their life.

#whump #whump community #whump drabble #whump prompt #tender whump #recovery whump #kind of #fluff #angst #implied whump #no gore #I cooked this one up in 7 minutes #does it show #pet whump #past pet whump #bbu adjacent #not the biggest fan of the bbu though #bittersweet

[whump-blog]

Prompt 45

From the first day of his rescue, Whumpee had been difficult. He wouldn't talk to anyone, wouldn't come out from under his bed, wouldn't eat, and from the dark circles under his eyes it looked like he wasn't sleeping either.

Many workers at the rescue centre had tried to talk to him, but Whumpee didn't seem to trust anyone except Caretaker. Caretaker was the only person Whumpee talked to, ate or slept with in front of. But, Whumpee was nothing personal to Caretaker, just another rescue. So how, after all the progress Whumpee had made, would Caretaker be able to tell him that he was being transferred to another rehab centre, and they would never see each other again?

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #rescue #rescued whumpee #pet whumpee #pet whump #bbu #? #recovery #recovery whump #angst #conditioning #conditioned whumpee #trauma response #self neglect #whump prompt #prompt 45

[we-were-so-beautiful]

2. day six

holy shit hi! it's me! I'm back! I will be very surprised if anybody remembers me or this story given that it's been literally six months since I posted the first chapter. my motivation, interest, energy and amount of free time for this project all fluctuate, but... this story feels like it wants to be told, and I want to tell it. so hopefully I'll manage to pop up around here with an update for it every once in a while.

Content warnings for this chapter: box boy universe, pet whump, dehumanization, cages, blood mention. I'm still getting the hang of how to tag these so please let me know if there's anything I missed.

[masterlist] [chapter one] [chapter three]

Vanessa means to wait until an hour before closing time to go to the shelter. Really, she does. She wants to give this guy as much of a chance as he can get to go home with someone, literally anyone, who’s better for him than she is. But it’s lunchtime and she’s already practically vibrating. She’s not even used to being awake by noon anymore, much less having already been up for hours refreshing the site so often it’s making her nauseous. Or maybe that’s just the all-consuming anxiety of suspense.

What if the assholes at the shelter decide that six days is close enough, and take him away before she even gets there? What if she’s fucked up and counted the days wrong, and he’s actually scheduled to die today? What if the subway’s delayed, or the shelter closes early, and she’s too late, and another person dies because she made a stupid fucking mistake?

What if, says the voice in the back of her head that she refuses to listen to, somebody takes him who’s even worse for him than me?

“Oh, fuck literally all of this,” she says to the empty room, and grabs her coat.

—

“Uh, hey, I’m here to…”

“Sign in on the sheet.” The bored-looking shelter employee doesn’t so much as glance up from her phone. Vanessa looks around; the lobby is totally devoid of anyone save for the two of them.

“I just want to know if—”

“Sign in on the sheet.”

Vanessa breathes out through her nose until her hand stops ticking long enough to write. She scribbles her name and the time, and sets the pen down with a deliberate clack on the desk directly in front of the employee.

The woman barely raises her head. “How can I help you.”

Vanessa steels herself. “Is, uh… Do you still have…” God she hates talking about people like this she hates it she hates it she hates it. “Is pet number 414374 still here? I want to…” She wants to choke on the word. “...I want to adopt him.”

The employee’s affect goes duller than ever. “Oh, he’s still here, alright,” she mutters grimly.

Vanessa only realizes how much tension she’s been holding when it floods out of her so fast she almost loses her balance. “Can I see him?”

“If you really want to,” the employee sighs. “But I’m tellin’ you, lady, you’re not gonna like what you find.”

—

“That’s him?!”

“Told you you were gonna be disappointed, lady.”

Vanessa gapes. It’s not like she’s been expecting to be okay with seeing people in cages, but she sure as shit didn’t expect… whatever the fuck she’s looking at now.

The dude is filthy, caked head to toe in blood, dirt and worse. The hair that flowed around him in his picture is matted down his back now, littered with scores of dead and decaying leaves. His ice-blue eyes are dull and unfocused. His breaths are quick and shallow, and the way they rasp in his throat makes Vanessa twitch. 

He’s lying in a heap on the single layer of newspaper between him and the inch-wide mesh of the shelter-standard cage. Vanessa sucks at math, but she thinks it can’t be more than three by three by five. The shelter profile listed him at six foot two.

The employee bangs on the metal with the back of her hand, making a horrible clanging sound that makes Vanessa want to claw her own ears off. “Hey, look alive, refurb. You got one more interested owner. Maybe try to impress this one for a change?”

“Can he even—” Vanessa starts, but the guy surprises her by slowly, painfully lifting his head. The dirt that coats his skin cracks and flakes as he struggles to push himself up on his elbows. He reaches jerkily for the front of the cage, arms trembling violently with the effort, his breathing growing more and more labored as he tries to meet her gaze.

In the split second before he collapses again, she swears he manages it.

—

“I want him.”

The employee has already turned to go, talking over her shoulder as she ambles back toward the desk. “Yeah, so if you're lookin’ for a fancy one you could try the Manhattan shelter, they sometimes—hang on, you what?” She twists back abruptly as the words actually register.

“I want him,” Vanessa says again.

The employee stares at her for a long, long minute. Vanessa can almost see her fighting the urge to blurt out, “why?” Finally, though, she collects herself, with a wildly overexaggerated shrug of her shoulders.

“It’s your money, lady,” she says, and unlocks the cage.

#whump #pet whump #rescue whump #recovery whump #bbu #box boy universe #vanessa + juniper #disaster caretaker #imperfectly consistent #tw dehumanization #tw cages #tw blood mention #I am once again posting this to yeet it out of editing perdition #this chapter was supposed to be slightly longer #but this feels like a better place to stop #and I didn't feel like writing the other shit #so that'll be its own chapter or interlude later #assuming I ever update again lmao (this is legally a joke I very much do want to update again actually)

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim BBU AU #3: Erased

Previous / Kane & Jim AUs Masterlist

content: bbu, pet whump, rescue, recovery, caretaking, amnesia, whumper turned whumpee, starvation

takes place 10 years after Liz rescues 913/Jim. don't forget to read ⭐ this drabble ⭐ taking place between #2 and #3 first!!

@bbu-on-the-side BBU Community Days #13: Safety

-

Jim was a person. He'd been a person for almost ten years, now. It was hard at first, but he was used to it by now.

He couldn't legally work, but he'd been helping out where he could. In a way, he was still doing the same things he did as a domestic, just by choice this time, for his family. He was good at it, and even if he wasn't a fan of all of it, he liked cooking. Liz told him he'd always liked cooking, even before. He had no problem believing that. He even did some odd jobs around the neighborhood that worked in cash, babysitting and mowing lawns and shoveling snow.

He wasn't as involved in the pet lib stuff as she was. It scared him, even after he'd started being able to stand up to the voice in the back of his head that repeated everything his handlers told him. Too risky.

Life wasn't a constant walk on eggshells anymore. He still got scared sometimes, or fell into his old conditioning, but he was safe. He was free.

So when Jim was out grocery shopping, he almost dropped his basket when he saw him.

There, right down the aisle. He'd know that face anywhere. Practically the only face he saw for the first five years of his memorable life.

He almost bolted right away, but something was... off. Master didn't look like how he usually did. Gone were the expensive suits and bitter scowl, replaced with plain clothing and an anxious frown.

He was wearing a collar.

Jim ducked into the next aisle, watching him through the gaps in the shelves. There was no way, right? Master- Kane was wildly rich. He'd have no need to sell himself to WRU.

But Kane went missing years ago. No one knew where he was, or what had happened to him.

He watched Kane further, looking down at a list and plucking items off the shelves, eyebrows bunched together with nerves. Jim had never seen Kane look this... unsure of himself.

There was a barcode on his wrist too, sure enough. It wasn't clear enough to make out from this far, but he could see the number, something with a 4 in it.

He wondered if Kane's owner gave him a name.

It was stupid, Jim knew. But he had to. He couldn't just leave, not after seeing this.

Jim hesitantly approached, ready to run at any time. "Master?" he asked, voice coming out smaller than he'd have liked.

Kane turned, eyeing him up and down, only growing more tense. "My master sent me to do his shopping, sir." He shrunk away slightly, as if afraid Jim would hurt him after finding out he was alone.

"Do you remember me?" Jim blurted out, despite already knowing the answer.

"I'm sorry, sir." Kane's hands gripped the cart's handle tight, like it would protect him. "I'm- I'm bad at- at everything. I'm so sorry."

Of course Kane thought Jim was a person. He had taken care to remove every last trace of his tattoo, though the marks on his neck from the collar wouldn't go away, even after a decade. But Kane wouldn't be able to see that under his turtleneck.

"It's alright," he said softly. The words 913 had wanted to hear so, so badly. "I'm Jim. I knew you before."

That certainly got Kane's attention. "I'm- my designation is 110146. Do you mean... before I was a pet, sir?"

"Yeah." Jim could fully take stock of Kane's state, now that he was standing close. Dark circles ringed his eyes, bruises poked out from under his sleeve. He looked thinner than Jim had ever seen him, to the point it was obvious he wasn't being allowed enough food. And-

Something that looked like a knife mark, barely visible above his neckline.

"Yours hurts you?" Jim asked.

Kane seemed to study him, searching for a shred of mocking for a moment. He found none. "Master can do as he likes with his pet," he settled on.

Jim stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Mine did, too." His heart raced at the revelation. He hadn't told anyone outside of pet lib about his past, ever. And here he was telling Kane, of all people.

Kane glanced at his wrist again, but of course he found nothing. "Yours, sir?" he asked.

Jim tugged his collar down for a moment, revealing the faint outline of a collar that had scarred itself permanently into his skin. "Mine."

Kane's eyes widened. "Oh."

"You wanna get out of here?" Jim extended a hand toward Kane, even as every logical bone in his body screamed at him that he was being a careless idiot, throwing his life away for someone who never cared.

Kane looked around wildly. "I can't just- Master would be furious."

"Life can be better than this. I promise." Jim kept his arm extended. "No more hurting. And I can get you a good meal."

Kane stood there frozen for a long moment, just staring at him, before he broke down in quiet tears. He forced himself to nod. "I- I- Thank you."

He reached forward and took Jim's hand uncertainly, bony fingers wrapping around Jim's own.

"You're doing great," Jim encouraged. Despite a lifetime of resentment, all he could see was the terrified boxie in front of him now. Kane couldn't even remember how cruel he used to be. He couldn't even remember his own name. "Just try and calm down a little. You're gonna be okay."

Kane clung to Jim's forearm like a lifeline. "Yes, s-sir."

Jim tried to calm himself down, too. Having Kane on him like this flipped a switch in his brain that told him to cower and placate, that he was about to be hurt. But he managed to repress it, with some effort. He'd had a lot of practice over the years.

When Kane got himself to stop crying and wiped the tears from his eyes, he nodded. "Thank you for- for being patient with me. I'm ready."

"Good," Jim said approvingly. "I'm just gonna check out what I've got in my basket, and you can follow behind me and pretend to be... you know. We'll get outta here without a second look from anyone. Just follow my lead."

Kane did spare a glance for his nearly-full shopping cart, but nodded agreeably anyway. "Yes, sir."

God, that was still so weird.

Jim eyed the meat section they'd met in. Kane always loved steak. He couldn't afford the fancy stuff he used to make as Kane's pet, but he grabbed a cheap, on-sale cut and threw it in his basket.

"By the way, your name's Kane. Kane de Sang."

-

There was no issue getting out of the supermarket, and Six- Kane, now, or maybe again- followed behind Jim like his life depended on it. Jim from before. He wanted to offer to carry the bags, but he didn't. He didn't want to do anything to disrupt what was happening, this miraculous whisking-away.

He was being so bad. Master would be beyond furious. Master would punish him worse than he'd ever been punished before. But Six was so tired. He had no idea what was in store for him here, but it had to be better than back home.

Jim led him to an apartment building, opening the door and ushering him inside. "I'm home!" he called, setting the groceries down on the kitchen counter. He turned to Six and gestured toward the couch. "Have a seat there," he ordered, his voice gentle.

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Six sat, grateful for the simple, easy-to-follow order.

"We don't have a lot of extra space, so you're gonna be sleeping on the couch, sorry. I'm just gonna go explain what's going on to my sister. Don't worry, she's with us-"

"What the fuck!" a woman shouted as she came out from one of the rooms. She glared at Six, bolting protectively in front of Jim.

Six pressed himself back against the couch, putting his arms up in surrender. "I'm s-sorry, ma'am, I'm so sorry, I thought- he said-" He cut himself off with a sob. He was so stupid to go along with this, breaking the rules. He didn't even know why this woman was angry with him, but at least with Master he knew what to expect. He didn't know how to please these new people. How could he have thought this would work? "I'm sorry!"

Jim placed a hand on her shoulder. "Liz, it's okay."

"You can't have him!" the woman called Liz shouted at Six with a glare, only confusing him further.

"I don't- Ma'am, I'm so sorry, I don't understand!" Six cried.

"Liz." Jim stepped out from behind her and, to Six's great relief, got between the two of them. "Look at him for two seconds. Like actually look."

Liz listened, even though Jim was sort-of-a-pet. Her eyes lingered on Six's collar.

"He doesn't even remember," Jim continued.

Liz eyed him warily. "You're a boxie? You?"

"Yes, ma'am," Six answered, still pressed back into the couch. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that- that my presence here would be a detriment. I could go back?" He could still make it back to the grocery store and home with the shopping. Master would punish his lateness, but it would be far better than a punishment for an attempted escape.

"You're not going back," Jim said so firmly that Six couldn't possibly argue with him. He turned to the woman. "He's just another rescue. Could we host him? I just- I gotta make sure myself. That he's taken care of."

Another? he wondered.

"You sure? You don't have to deal with him again if you don't wanna. There's plenty of people who'd be willing to safehouse. He's put you through enough."

Six's stomach dropped. When Jim said he knew him before, Six had thought he meant they were friendly. Why would someone he's been enemies with help him?

"I'm sure." Jim stepped forward and gestured toward Six. "Liz, this is Kane. Kane, this is my sister, Liz. Neither of us are gonna hurt you. You're safe now."

Six- Kane, he was Kane now, he had to remember- bowed his head. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am."

Liz wouldn't stop looking at Kane like he was a bomb that could go off at any moment. "We've met," she said coldly.

"C'mon, be nice. He can't even remember," Jim pointed out.

Liz sighed. "Yeah, sorry, you're right." Her gaze softened. "It's good to meet you too, Kane." She headed to the kitchen. "I'll put the groceries away before I head to work."

"Thanks. I'll save you leftovers." Jim sat next to him. "So, you got any questions? I know this is a lot, believe me. I've been through it, too."

"What will be expected of me here, sir?" Kane asked. That was the most important thing. He couldn't do what he was supposed to without knowing what it was first. "What will my duties be?"

"First, you can just rest and recover. It's been a while since you've had a break, I bet, and you look like a strong gust of wind could blow you over. Take a breather. Once you're better, we can split work around the house and some odd jobs I do in the neighborhood, which is mostly just stuff you know how to do anyway. Domestic stuff. If there's anything I want you to do, I'll let you know, so don't worry about trying to guess."

Kane nodded, a bit nervous about not having duties to fulfill. He wanted to make a good impression.

"I mean, I assume you're a domestic, 'cause you were doing the shopping. Unless I'm wrong...?" Jim asked cautiously.

"I am, sir," Kane assured him.

Jim gave him a wry smile. "I was, too."

Liz bopped Jim on the head as she passed by. "See you later. Uh, have fun." She stopped for a moment, looking at Kane quizzically. "Can I see your shoulder for a sec?" she asked, pointing at his right.

"Liz-"

"Yes, ma'am." Kane pulled the neck of his shirt down, exposing the scar there.

She brushed her fingertips against it, gentler than he'd thought she would be. "Does it hurt?"

"Only sometimes, ma'am, when I strain my shoulder too much. But usually not. I've always had it," he reported.

Liz tapped the scar. "I did that." She stepped back.

"Oh." Kane had been told it was a bullet wound. This woman had shot him? Why? Was she going to do it again? His mind raced with fear.

"I don't regret doing it. But I'm sorry it still hurts." Liz nodded at him before leaving the apartment.

Jim shook his head. "She's too much." He stood up. "Let's go to the kitchen. I'll make your favorite. 'Cept I can't get the fancy stuff like you used to get, but I hope you like it anyway."

Food. Kane was going to be allowed a meal, that was what Jim had said, instead of just the scraps. "Thank you so much, sir."

"No problem." Jim led him to the kitchen and indicated for Kane to sit as he started preparing food. It felt wrong. Kane was the pet, he was supposed to be doing the chores. But Jim said he wasn't supposed to yet, so he didn't.

"Any other questions?" Jim asked as he worked.

"What are the rules?" Kane ventured, trying to suppress a shudder as Jim picked up the knife. But he didn't come at Kane with it, he just started peeling a potato.

"Don't hurt anyone or destroy other people's stuff on purpose. Don't go tattling to WRU, obviously. Pretty much as long as you're not hurting anyone, no one's gonna have an issue with you. No discipline. You don't have to be scared of messing up. And you're allowed to want stuff."

It sounded far too good to be true. "Okay," he said, a bit choked up with emotion. "Please let me know if it's rude to ask, but when- when you first got away, was it easy for you, sir?"

Jim paused for a moment, then continued. Kane tensed, worried he'd offended his... new master? But Jim just kept talking. "It wasn't. I was all messed up. I was happy to be out, but I had no idea how to be my own person. And shit was... complicated with Liz. She kept expecting me to be someone I wasn't anymore. And I missed- my master, sometimes. He wasn't good to me, but he was everything I knew. And there were good times too, mixed in with the bad. So it made everything real complicated. But it all worked out eventually. I'm... actually happy now. I'm not the guy I was before, but I'm better." He smiled at Kane.

Kane didn't think he would ever miss his master. There weren't good times too. It was just pain and fear. "I'm glad you're happy now, sir."

"Me, too."

As Jim cooked, it was hard for Kane to restrain himself. When he cooked, he made use of everything he had. Potato peels that he would have eaten raw as he worked were dumped in the trash. He wondered if he would get in trouble for digging those out later. It wasn't against the rules, as far as Jim's description of them went.

At last, dinner was ready. Jim brought over two plates, piled high with food, and set one in front of Kane. He could hardly believe it.

"This is all for me?" he asked, just to make sure.

Jim's eyes fixated on him, watching intently for his reaction. "Yep, dig in."

Kane cut off a bite of meat, practically melting at its delicious taste. It was more than that- it tasted... familiar, somehow.

"Do you like it?" Jim prompted, an anxious look in his eyes that Kane knew all too well in his own. Seeking approval.

"It's the best thing I've ever tasted," he said emphatically.

Jim beamed, picking up his own fork. "I'm glad."

Kane had never eaten this much at once in his life. Everything was so good, better than anything he'd ever been able to make. When he'd finished his plat, he felt full for once, full with food he was allowed to have. It was the best feeling in the world.

"I- I'm sorry if I've wronged you," Kane said. "I didn't know. Thank you for helping me anyway."

Jim stared at him with an unreadable expression. "Oh." He shook his head. "Yeah, I mean, yeah. 'Course. You're pretty much not even the same guy."

A sneaking suspicion had been creeping up on Kane, and he was growing more and more certain of it by the minute, no matter how much he hoped it wasn't true. "Was I...?" He touched his own collar.

Jim glanced away. "Yeah."

Mine did, too. Jim said his master hit him, too. Had Kane been just like Master, but to Jim? Was that why Jim was so anxious for his approval? That's who he was before, that was Kane de Sang?

"I'm sorry," he said again, now feeling the weight of what he'd done. "You didn't deserve that. You're so kind."

Jim wiped at the tears starting to form in his eyes. "Thanks. I never thought I'd- thanks."

"Sir?" he asked, since this seemed to be going well. "You said I was... allowed to want things?"

"Yeah. You're allowed," Jim confirmed.

"I don't think I want to be Kane de Sang anymore."

-

in canon, liz has a good-sized 3-bedroom house, because housing by the vampire territory border is dirt cheap since no one wants to live there. in a world without vampires, i am whisking their comfortable house away. apartment be upon ye

and that's the final part of this AU miniseries! hope you enjoyed!

taglist in reblog!

#kane and jim au #kane and jim bbu #whump #bbucommunity #day13 #safety #bbu #my writing #pet whump #rescue #recovery whump #caretaking #whumper turned whumpee #starvation #whump writing

[writereleaserepeat]

Hear No Evil - Chapter 5

Previous // Next

CW: bbu, bbu-adjacent, pet whump, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization, dehumanizing intent by using it/its pronouns, ableism, blood mention, scar mention, non-sexual nudity

It felt wrong to touch the boy’s face. It felt wrong to touch a person who had been endlessly abused into mindless submission, someone who had been trained through pain and suffering that they had to exist at the will and command of another. It felt wrong that the boy was still sitting naked, all but skin and bones, entirely unmoving on Rowan’s floor. 

What other choice did Rowan have? Was there another way to communicate with this boy, one  that wasn’t as direct as physical contact? Necessity, Rowan reminded himself as the boy’s face turned upward in his palm. I’m doing this out of necessity.

Even as he gently guided the boy’s face to look upwards, he refused to meet Rowan’s eyes, his gaze directed towards the floor. That was alright. It was going to have to be alright for a while, Rowan suspected. 

After a moment he let his fingers fall away from the boy’s chin. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but he was relieved when his new houseguest held the position rather than dropping back to the ground. 

“Hey there,” Rowan greeted. He did his best to smile. “I don’t know if you remember, but my name’s Rowan. I know this is new for you, but it’s new for me too. It’s new for both of us. I’m sure you’re probably scared, but we’re going to get through this. We’re going to have to learn together, alright?” 

The boy didn’t even blink. 

---

Master didn’t seem upset that Pet was holding still and looking up at him. By the hint of a smile on Master’s lips, it seemed that he was pleased by the unusual posture. 

It didn’t dare meet Master’s eyes, of course, but now it could try and read his lips. Even if it couldn’t decipher the words that Master was speaking, it had already come to enjoy the soft murmur of Master’s speech. The kindness and warmth was enough for it to relax. 

New… new… new for both of us… learn together…

Pet knew that it could do that. Pet was happy to learn new things for its Master, and it was going to try its very best to do them well. Failure meant punishment, but even worse, failure meant disappointing Master. Disappointing its old Master is what got Pet into this mess to begin with. It could handle any amount of pain, however Master chose to train it, but disappointment always burned the deepest. 

Pet can be good. Pet can learn with Master. 

---

It struck Rowan that now only was the boy still naked, but the stench of waste and sweat clung to his body. The putrid odor of the liquidation event had begun to seep into the room at no fault of the boy’s own. 

Of course - Rowan privately scolded himself for forgetting. The facility never gave its victims the luxury of proper hygiene, and this one had been stuck at the liquidation event for days, before eventually being stuffed in a box. There was no wonder that the boy’s curls were slicked down with grease and dirt. 

Rowan attempted a smile. He knew it didn’t reach his eyes, but how could it, when he knew how much pain this person had been through? 

“How does a bath sound, yeah? Can we do that?” Rowan offered this enthusiastically. Rowan also knew that his bathroom was a bit of a disaster, scattered with half-empty shampoo bottles and skin care products he hadn’t used in weeks. He tried to soothe himself by rationalizing that the boy wouldn’t particularly care about the room’s cleanliness. 

There was no reaction to Rowan’s offer, not a nod, not so much as a twitch. It was all he could do not to sigh, worried that any sighs would be interpreted as misplaced frustration. The last thing he wanted to do was set the boy on edge. 

He remembered what worked earlier, the very gestures that had lured the boy to his bedroom in his first place. After giving himself a determined nod, Rowan took a few steps backwards, and gestured with a low hand to invite the victim to follow along. 

Much to Rowan’s relief, the boy understood. He scampered forward on his hands and knees, eyes glued back to the ground, every bone on his gaunt frame showing. As much as Rowan would have preferred him to walk on two feet, this was going to have to do for the moment. Just enough to get him cleaned and settled in, nothing more. Then they would begin work on rehabilitation. 

As soon as Rowan opened the door to the bathroom, the boy bolted forward and into the tub in a tangle of limbs and apparent enthusiasm. Rowan hadn’t spoken a single word or made a gesture. He smiled in spite of himself, and cocked his head to the side.  

“Alright, I guess baths are okay? That’ll make this easier.” Rowan thought about the many victims that had been tormented by water, scalded or frozen at inhumane temperatures, or held beneath the surface until they drew mouthfuls into their lungs. To have a victim who was at least amiable to the cleaning process would relieve the burden on them both. 

The boy had resumed the typical kneeling position in the tub, seemingly unbothered by the hard porcelain. Rowan figured it was best not to try and correct that for the time being. One step at a time. Be encouraging. 

Rowan leaned over to the spigot and slowly turned it on, carefully easing the handle towards “H,” and diligently checked the temperature as water began to flow. Once it was comfortably warm he plugged the drain and watched as the clear liquid began to pool around the boy’s legs. Rowan almost swore he heard a contented sigh as the boy’s eyes slipped closed. 

For the first time in more than a day, Rowan felt himself smile, a genuine smile. And for the first time, he felt that maybe he was cut out for this. 

---

Pet was grateful for the washing before it even began. Its old Master was so particular in keeping Pet clean, and would have his servants scrub Pet down every day beneath a stream of hot water. Sometimes the soap was floral, other times it was citrus, but it always left Pet smelling wonderful. Handler never gave it such luxuries when it was sent back to the training facilities. 

The water rose ever higher, first over its thighs, then over the pale skin of its stomach, until the water finally came to a stop right above its navel. It could have groaned with how pleasant the warm water felt on its aching legs and bruised knees. For a moment it nearly dared to speak, express its gratitude for the kindness, but knew better than to open its mouth without being told. 

Still, it was a treat to have Master wash it rather than a servant.

Master gently cupped warm water over its head, and Pet closed its eyes tight to keep the water out. With each new splash of water Master continued to talk away, his voice nearly as warm as the water, wrapping around Pet’s shoulders along with the suds. Of course, the words were still indistinct, and Pet listened in case there was a command it could discern, but it was already starting to think that maybe Master just liked to talk. Pet wouldn’t mind that at all. 

---

“I’ve never really had anything to name before,” Rowan mused aloud as he worked his fingers through the boy’s curls. The texture was so much deeper than his own, the ringlets rich with weight. He made a quick mental note that the dollar-store shampoo he used for his own pin-straight hair would most certainly not do in the future. 

“You see, I had to name a goldfish when I was a kid,” Rowan continued as he began to rinse the shampoo out. “I had to name it, and I stalled for weeks. My parents kept asking me, and my sister kept bugging me about it, but I just didn’t have anything. My mom eventually suggested ‘Goldy,’ and I just went with it. But if you can’t tell me what you want to be called, at least not yet, you deserve a name. A proper one, something with a bit of dignity.”

He wondered if there were websites to help with such a thing. namesforyourbrainwashedhumanslave.com? It wouldn’t surprise him. 

“You’re going to have to learn to wash yourself in the future.” Rowan gently wrung some of the water from the boy’s thick head of hair and hoped he wasn’t pulling on the roots. “It’s okay if that doesn’t happen right away. I’m more than happy to help, but I want you to feel comfortable doing things on your own, without having to ask me. You can come in here and have a bath whenever you want. The apartment incorporates the cost of utilities into the monthly rent already, which means we can use as much as we want at no extra cost. It’s nice to have almost unlimited heat in the winters, especially this far north.”

As he began to carefully wipe away the grime on the boy’s face with a warm cloth, Rowan nearly startled when the boy leaned into the touch. He hadn’t expected to feel pressure returned against his hand. After pausing long enough to pull himself out of the shock, Rowan pressed on and began to scrub at the dried blood on the side of the victim’s face. Flakes of muddy brown and deep crimson scabs covered the deep gouges that ran from his temples, down his ears and jawline, almost down to his neck. Given the extent of the damage, it was a wonder there was any skin left. 

“I hope one day you can tell me how these got here,” Rowan murmured as he got a good look at the wounds for the first time. Blood flaked away and fell in hues of brown into the water, mixed with fresh red from the most recent and still-weeping wounds. 

“I’m sorry,” Rowan whispered before he could stop himself, because he knew he had to be hurting the boy, no matter how gently he tried to proceed. The wounds were deep, and Rowan wondered if they needed stitches. How was he supposed to tell? Maybe they were too wide for stitches, maybe the scar tissue was already too well-formed. 

They were different than the scars that Rowan had seen on other victims before, and he had seen the aftermath of many instruments of torture in his time. These scars were jagged, and they were as wide as three fingers across, as though they had been continually torn open. It was the first time Rowan saw them this close up, and he noted that the cartilage of the ears was warped and knobbed. Again, something like he had never seen before. 

The water had turned a translucent copper color, and Rowan tried not to be sick as he reached in to drain the bathtub. A quick hand gesture and the boy got out of the tub and knelt back down on the bath mat. 

Right, towels. Dry him off. 

“Let’s get you dry, huh?” Rowan spoke. Maybe it would help ease whatever tensions were running through the boy’s mind if Rowan kept narrating what he was doing. He imagined it would be beneficial to take away some of the nerve-wracking suspense, and instead replace it with vocalized certainty. 

Forcing a smile on his lips, Rowan grabbed the freshly-laundered towel he had set aside, and held it out in the boy’s line of sight. 

“I’ve got a clean towel here. If you want to do it yourself, just grab the towel, and I’ll stop. Otherwise, here we go.” 

As soon as the terry cloth made contact with the boy’s shoulders, he leaned into the touch, his upper body shifting a few centimeters closer to Rowan’s own. Again. This time, Rowan didn’t startle quite so easily. In fact, he was surprised at himself, and the happiness that blossomed in his stomach. 

He knew he couldn’t take happiness in this forever. There was no joy to be taken in a human being that acted on inhumane training, a human who sought other human contact because they were told to, not because they wanted it. But if the boy wasn’t afraid of him and his touch, that was one small victory. Rowan had a feeling he was going to have to take the little victories for what they were. 

“You’re doing great,” he said, not for the first time that hour. But this time, Rowan knew he might have been talking to himself as well. 

---

Taglist: @honey-is-mesi @aswallowimprisoned @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @honeycollectswhump @rekiroyalstraightprincemaru @tragedyinblue @clairelsonao3 @octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @peachy-panic @whumplr-reader @dislexiher @cc1010foxy @onlybadendings @panstardalia @tempoghast @whumpzone

#hear no evil #whump #whumplr #whump community #pet whump #whumpee and caretaker #recovery arc #bbu adjacent #mind the cws #anyway this chapter is just slow af #if I rewrote this front scratch I'd probably take it out #next one gets more exciting I swear #...maybe #anyway thank you all so much this taglist just has me in shock #some of y'all are authors I really respect with a lot more skill than me #it's really humbling #anyway I love you all thanks so much for reading #'updates on tuesday' is a lie btw #at this point it updates whenever my life isn't in shambles #last month of grad school is rough ngl

[maracujatangerine]

71. Unexpected Gifts

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump, illness

Lydia felt it immediately, as soon as she opened the front door. The absence.

She had unconsciously gotten so used to Coriander always coming to greet her. He seemed to have an almost uncanny ability to know when she was coming home.

His silent footsteps, neat appearance and bashful smile, they were all such a familiar part of her everyday routine that she keenly felt the lack of his presence.

She took off her shoes, coat and scarf and went into the kitchen. After washing her hands she unpacked her groceries, gathered everything she needed and quietly walked upstairs.

The door to Cory’s room stood ajar. Lydia knockad on the door frame and he looked up from his place in the bed. Large, fever-bright eyes, fair hair curling damp with sweat around his face.

“Hi,” She said softly, forestalling his next move with a raised hand, “you don’t have to get up.”

The pet obediently stilled in the bed, just silently looking up at her.

“How are you feeling?”

He swallowed dryly, painfully.

“N-not that good, Miss Lydia.” He admitted. “T-this pet didn’t do a-any chores today, it is sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Cory. I’m glad you stayed in bed today. That was a very good decision.”

“Look, I brought you a smoothie.” Lydia moved to sit on the edge of his bed, placing the drink on the bedside table. She reached out to gently caress his shoulder. “Mrs. Phan came by the shop today. She bought a few more books by Frances Hardinge, and she said that Hoa really enjoyed A face like glass.”

Lydia rummaged around in her cloth bag. “She liked it so much that she wanted to give you a gift.” She pulled out a small, stuffed oriental dragon. “Mrs Phan said that they’d just got a shipment of these and that Hoa had asked if she could be allowed to give one to you. Mrs Phan was a bit worried that you would feel that it was too childish, but I said that you’d probably like it.”

Lydia bit her lip, hesitating. “That is, it is totally all right for you not to like it. We can give it to someone else if you don’t want it.”

The blonde young man in the bed looked at the cloth dragon toy, with its scales in blue, green and silver, long tufted moustache and amber eyes. He slowly shook his head. Looking up at Lydia, his grey eyes were filled with tears.

“T-this pet loves it.” He said quietly. “It… it was very nice of them.”

“It was.” Lydia agreed. She reached out to gently pet his hair. “When you get better, we can go and visit them and you can thank them yourself, okay?”

“Y-yes, Miss Lydia.”

“You should drink your smoothie.” Lydia said. “Would you like to use the electrical blanket for a bit?”

Coriander nodded. “T-that would be nice. T-thank you, Miss Lydia.”

“No problem, it was very nice of Ev to send it to us. It is very handy now, don’t you think?”

*

A while later, Coriander lay in bed. The pet could hear Miss Lydia moving about downstairs, faint music from the radio in the kitchen, some magpies chattering to each other in the trees outside. The gentle warmth from the electrical blanket seeped into the whole of the pet’s body, quieting the pain from sore muscles and aching joints.

The pet knew that this was just a flu. It counted itself very lucky, a few days of discomfort and kind attention from its mistress, and the illness would pass. It didn’t even really believe that Miss Lydia would be angry with it for not being able to work.

Still, there was something with being weak and in pain, however fleeting, that awoke old, bad wounds that never seemed to heal. Nebulous, unnamed fears lurking in the back of its mind. It made it even more grateful for the warmth and weight of the electric blanket.

On an impulse, the pet reached out for the stuffed dragon on the bedside table. Hugging it, Coriander drifted slowly off to sleep.

*

This post is a response to a previous ask from someone who wanted to give Cory a plushie (The ask is here!), and this ask. Thank you both so much for the inspiration! 🌸

(I love getting asks, I’m just really 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 @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#pet whump #pet whumpee #bbu #sickfic #caretaker #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #box boy whump #conditioned whumpee #recovery whump #rescue whump #box boy #lydia and coriander #original writing

[justplainwhump]

Files

Adrian plans to move against Jack.

In the timeline, this connects the pieces Gauze and Choices.

[Pet Safety]

Content: BBU, BBU recovery / pet lib setting, vaguely referenced past facility whump, vaguely implied past whump of minors.

Adrian stayed up long. It hurt the wounds in his neck to lay down anyway. As in the nights before, he’d sleep upright in the armchair in his living room. And if he was sitting already - well, he could read up on Jack Donnell.

He’d pulled the files of all Donnell’s pets before the inspection; he still had them saved on his work tablet. He knew the database queries by all WRU’s employees were recorded "for compliance reasons". He just hoped they weren’t paranoid enough to also regularly check their access of files on their own computers. If they did, he’d tell them it was about Bea.

Her case file was the first in the dossier, because she’d been Donnell’s latest acquisition. Adrian had only skimmed through it, back then. His job was to check the Guards, not the other designations; and he’d long learned that reading too many case files would make him angry and restless and lose the focus he needed.

Especially those about Romantics. 

Especially those about second hand Romantics.

He did take the time to read it now.

Romantic pet 400168. Taken in eight years ago, at age 18. His stomach revolted already. It was almost 50-50, he knew. The chances, of an 18 year old trainee being, in fact, 18. It was illegal to process minors. So everyone was always of age. 

She looked tired on the first photos. But stunningly beautiful already. And… almost happy. Relieved, to be at WRU. Adrian wondered, how long that had lasted. He didn’t want to know. So he scrolled on.

Specifications looked like a classic case, except for one line. 'English language training. Defamiliarization with native language (Spanish).'

Some training notes, that sounded smug and highly satisfied. 

Sale to a corporate lawyer, who paid extra for someone 'who looked like a virgin and fucked like a whore'.

Seven years with the guy.

Then refurb.

Hadn’t looked or felt like a virgin any longer, Adrian thought grimly; but then reassessed.

'Runaway. Rebellious behavior. Disloyal. Refurb and disciplinary measures necessary.'

'Intended sale to family friend.'

'Specification: Strict defamiliarization with Platonic/Domestic WRU Pet 278017. Strongly discouraging bonds with other pets. Fear response (new prospective’s wishes) ; to be enforced by training with Guard trainees.' 

Adrian stared at the closed door to his bedroom, behind which Bea was sleeping. Good for that first owner that his name was blacked out in the files, and that Adrian couldn’t access it without risking his own life, and hers. 

Bad for Jack Donnell, that Adrian knew his name.

The contract was simple; it included that there’d been some faults about her second wipe, issues with discipline and short term memory; and the buyer’s response that he knew her well enough and he’d still take her.

The photos on that contract were different. Still a perfectly pretty face, still barely any marks on her body. But the look in her eyes, this time was… haunted. Afraid.

Just as Jack had ordered. 

Teeth clenched, Adrian swiped to the next files.

The Guards’ documents he’d seen before, had had his suspicions about before as well. Before Bea had confirmed them. 'They all fight.' 

Background of experienced fighters, all of them. Former soldiers, mercenaries, martial arts fighters, gangsters. Some had been recruited directly into WRU from prison, instead of serving long sentences. The missing one, the one Bea had called Mac, was one of them. His former self’s list of crimes was impressive. Adrian was pretty sure it had only grown longer during Jack’s ownership. Including assault on Bea. At least in a better world, where hurting someone like her wouldn’t be a misdemeanor at best.

Whatever Mac had done to her though, whatever the others had done, in this life or their past - the one who controlled it all now was Jack.

Adrian’s hands were tied to come after Jack in his official capacity as Pet Safety Inspector. But there was always another option. Pet lib. If he could find out, where this arena was, where Mac was held, where the others fought sometimes as well, if Marta could send a team there, if they filmed and found and published evidence, even his boss would have no choice but to allow Adrian to act. 

Seizing all his pets. Revoking his pet owner’s license. Smile at him, while dictating all the fines he’d have to pay.

It was far less from what Adrian truly wanted to do to the man. But at least, it would be something.

*

"You know, Adri, you’d also save the pets." Marta said, after he explained his plan to her, a soft frown on her face. "Which is, what pet lib do, right?"

"Um." Adrian tilted his head. "Yeah, I mean, yeah, of course. That’s why I’m talking to you."

"No. You’re talking to me about revenge."

"Revenge would be for me to-" He stopped talking with a side glance to Bea and the runaway he’d helped during the raid, Noor, at the other end of the room. 

Marta and he spoke Spanish, so he was painfully aware that Bea wouldn’t want to listen in - but she could. And she shouldn’t hear these things from him. He was a better man than her owners had been. He swore, he’d keep her from violence. 

"Revenge would be more violent," he settled.

Marta scoffed, not convinced. "Sure. So. Anyway. If we do this, I don’t want you to confiscate them. I want to get them out for good. You find out where and what this place is, when they have their next fights. I find a safe space for a handful of recently freed, traumatized Fighters. It’ll take a while. So you take it slow, too, alright?"

He looked over at Bea, and she smiled back on instinct.

He would need her help to make out this place. She’d been there before, and it would hurt her to remember. Taking it slow was the best he could do. For her. After all, this was all for her.

And of course, to also save the other pets.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Yeah, alright. I will take it slow."

-

---

Pet Safety tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @gottawhump @flowersarefreetherapy @whumplr-reader @highwaywhump @tauntedoctopuses @pigeonwhumps @whumppsychology @labgrowndemon @whumpinggrounds @somewhumpyguy @whumpzone @tragedyinblue @theelvishcowgirl @light-me-on-pyre

#bbu #bbu recovery #pet safety series #bbu pet lib

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Try

Wow a new Jesse! I've finally been thinking about him more. Not a ton happens in this piece but hey content!

CWs: bbu, grief, OCD, anxiety, references to noncon

Masterlist

———————————–

Jesse couldn’t take it anymore. He had been at the safehouse three weeks -- almost four -- and he had hardly slept more than four hours a night the entire time.

His whole chest just ached. He felt so -- he had no idea what he felt, but it was bad. It was as if all his insides had gone rotten. He was decomposing from the inside out, and it started with his heart. The heavy hole in his chest couldn’t be explained any other way. 

He could hardly function at all. He couldn’t pay attention when people talked to him or during group. They all thought he was simply still ‘adjusting’, but Jesse was never going to be adjusted. He couldn’t, it wasn’t in his DNA. He was always going to hurt, always going to be scared and sick and unsatisfied.

He just needed to know. If he knew they were okay, he would breathe easier, he knew it. An integral part of him was ripped away -- as important as his heart or lungs, and he needed to know his girls were safe and okay and alive --

Of course they’re alive. Why wouldn’t they be? They had to be because if they weren’t and it was all Jesse’s fault then he wouldn’t be able to live with himself and -- well. He just couldn’t do it.

Jesse kept being told he was so lucky for getting out, so brave for taking that step. What step? Abandoning his family? It wasn’t brave it was pure hostile cowardice. Contessa said it mostly. She won’t stop saying she’s proud he left -- especially because he’s a Platonic. But he wasn’t brave and he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t stay in that house.

If being free was constantly feeling this awful, he didn’t want it.

Even if Mr. Bakeman took him back to WRU… At least they would get rid the memories and free him of this torment.

So Jesse was leaving. He had to, he couldn’t stay anymore. He couldn’t bear the pain. He didn’t let himself think through how’d get there. He was far away -- hours of driving. He had no idea how he’d make it on foot, but surely he’d hitch rides from people. He could…. He could pay them somehow. It made him shudder to think how, but if it was necessary he’d do it.

He saved all the food brought to his room for a couple days prior. It wasn’t much, but it would do. He hadn’t really left his room in a week or so, he hardly left before that either. No one would miss him.

Well. Maybe August, the other platonic. He tried to talk to Jesse whenever he had the energy to leave his room. Jesse could tell he wanted a friend. That made him feel a little guilty. Not enough to change his mind, though.

The stairs creaked as he hurried down, but Jesse tried not to care. He’d be gone so fast no one would have time to come looking. He thought anyway.

He had hardly pulled the thrifted coat he was given over his shoulders when he heard the footsteps behind him.

Jesse whipped his head around, heart in his throat. Would Cooper stop him? Would he  drag him upstairs and lock him away, yelling about how ungrateful he was? Would he finally hurt him? Jesse should run, he needed to go now before hands wrapped around him, dragging him away from freedom--

“Jesse?”

It’s not Cooper. It’s Gwen. Jesse hadn’t really talked to her since that first day, when she had a migraine. She was better after a couple days, Jesse could hear her melodic voice and laughter through the door to his room. Even though his palpable misery, Jesse could see how the orange nightlight lit up her skin, casting shadows on the gentle curve of her jaw, her round nose. She wore a baggy t shirt and sweatpants, hair tucked up in a bonnet.

“Are you leaving?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of herself.

Jesse faltered at the sadness in her voice. How could she be sad for him? She didn’t even know him.

“I--” he cleared his throat, eyes darting to the stairs. Did others hear him come down? “I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“I need to go back. I need to -- I just have to go back.”

“To your owners?”

“Yes.” He took a step back, one hand on the doorknob. Leave. Run. Go before you can be stopped. You have to see them.

“Wait!” Gwen took a couple steps closer, but not too close. Jesse got the distinct impression of trying to get a stray cat to come to you without wanting to scare them off. That’s how he felt, prickly and terrified. “Don’t go.”

Jesse raised his free hand, turning his collar around. One, two, three, four. He was the only one still wearing a collar. He couldn’t make himself take it off and lose that last connection to Abi, Eva, and Harper. His girls. “You don’t get it.”

“I know. It’s different for platonics. But August gets it. And Cooper can help--”

Jesse was shaking his head before she was even done talking. “No, no August doesn’t get it.” His voice was suddenly thick with tears, and he did his best to swallow them down. “No one gets it. I have to -- I have to do this.”

It’s not a Platonic thing. Even he knows it wasn’t supposed to go this far. It’s Jesse. It’s just a Jesse thing. He’s broken, something’s wrong with him. And he has to do this.

“Even though they hurt you?” His eyes snap up to hers. “Isn’t that why you left? They hurt you too badly? That’s why I left.”

He mind flashed to that night, the one he didn’t let himself think of, the one that made him leave. He’d see his girls if he went back, yes, but… but what if Mr. Bakeman didn’t decide to kill him or send him back? What if… what if he kept him and forced him to endure what he did that night? Rented him out, strung him up naked and terrified, allowed others to destroy him again and again for the rest of his life? The pain from that night was finally gone, and the thought of being used like that for as long as Mr. Bakeman wanted made the tears he was holding at bay fall.

Jesse swallowed, trying to soothe the tightness in his throat. The brass doorknob was warm in his hand.

“Will you stop me?” he whispered. He couldn’t tell if it sounded like a question or a plea. “Are you going to get Cooper?”

Gwen shook her head. “Even if I did he wouldn’t stop you. I won’t either. You can do as you please. I don’t want you to leave but I won’t stop you.”

Jesse should’ve opened the door and run then. Guilt ran hot and heavy as tar down his back, coating him in a thick layer of it. He felt ill. “Why don’t you want me to leave?” he found himself asking.

Gwen shrugged, suddenly shy. One of her hands went to instinctively push hair behind her ears, instead just pulling down the edge of her bonnet. “I want to know you, Jesse. And I -- I think you can get better. I know you can. If you give yourself a chance.”

Jesse sniffed. He twisted his collar round again, thinking of his positions like a good little pet. Good little pets don’t live in safehouses and run away from home. His hand was starting to slip off the doorknob. “I just miss them,” he confessed miserably. “I need to know they’re okay.”

Gwen nodded. “The children?”

Fresh tears fell. “Yes.”

“What will happen to you though? I don’t want you hurt. You just got here.”

Jesse’s eyebrows raised in -- he didn’t know what emotion. Everything inside him was so tangled up there was no telling which way was which. He couldn’t think through anything, just feeling the overwhelming despair and misery and confusion and confliction -- what could he possibly do?

Gwen stepped closer. “Try. Or just try to try. Talk in group. Go to therapy. Give it -- give it a month at least. Four more weeks and see how you feel. Please, Jesse?”

“What do I do?” he said aloud, voice weak and desperate.

Jesse had spent a good portion of his time in this house crying and panicky, eyes red and throat raw. He started to fall apart again, right in front of Gwen. His hand slipped off the doorknob, hanging uselessly beside himself as he struggled to get ahold of his breathing.

But Abi and Eva and Harper and Mr. Bakeman and WRU and Abi and Eva and Harper and the house and safety and pain and suffering and Abi and Eva and Harper and rape and pain and death and Abi and Eva and Harper--

How can I ever be happy again?

His face screwed up, eyes on the floor. He slumped his shoulders, backpack falling with a muted thump. Gwen closed the distance between them and helped Jesse out of his coat, hanging it back up. She led him upstairs, back to his lonely room where he fell into the bed unceremoniously. Gwen was the only thing holding him up on the way there.

Gwen left, closing the door behind her. Before it clicked, Jesse heard her speak. “Just try Jesse. I hope you’re still here in the morning.”

———————————–

Taglist: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @boxboysandotherwhump @hold-him-down @winedark-whump @melancholy-in-the-morning @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @cyborg0109

#bbu #box boy universe #whump #pet whump #recovery #tw ocd #tw anxiety #tw referenced noncon #847481: jesse #gwen is sweet #coopers safehouse

[pigeonwhumps]

"Outside"

I wanted to introduce Somaia and Cecilia, so new characters for today's entry. Partially inspired by @gottawhump's post about some countries freeing pets automatically, which finally gave me the last link in Maia and Ceci's story (running a refuge in the Netherlands, Maia's home country, which is primarily for pets but does take in abuse victims and the like too sometimes) so ty for that!

Taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump @bbu-on-the-side

Ceci talks to Bless about going outside.

572 words

CWs: BBU, pet whump, dehumanisation (past and self)

"It's irresponsible and bordering on cruel to set people free with absolutely nothing, no legal identity, in many cases not even any knowledge of the language. Tortured into being unable to care for themselves. That's why we've partnered with the police, to give victims somewhere to go and someone to assist them as soon as their former owners are arrested."

Ceci places the mug of black coffee next to Maia with a pat on the arm where she's interviewing with the local news and squeezes past, towards the stairs and the balcony that accompanies the second floor.

Sure enough, Bless is sitting cross-legged out there, looking longingly over the beautiful bridges and buildings of Amsterdam. They've been doing that for a week.

"You can go out into the city, you know," says Ceci. "You're not property anymore. You don't need permission."

Bless is quiet. They're often quiet, but in a thoughtful way, like they're picking the perfect words. Perfect, perfect, perfect, all the time, and Ceci knows how they feel.

"It would be improper. I need supervision, because I'm too stupid to go out on my own. And pets don't get to go into the proper outdoors anyway."

Ceci closes her eyes for half a second. It hurts, every time a victim comes out with something like that. Even the ones who aren't pets, the abuse victims or runaways, their self-esteem is always so low.

She sits down next to Bless.

"Who told you that isn't the proper outdoors?"

"My Mistress' brother, ma'am." A pause. "Cecilia. My apologies."

"No worries. What exactly did he say?"

"That pets are too stupid to go outside properly. That's why there are places we can't go. And we need a leash when we go out in some places so really, we're not going outside properly."

"Well that's not true. There's plenty of restrictions on different groups of people, that doesn't make you stupid. Although regardless, you're not property anymore. You can go outside as much as you like."

Bless' wide eyes turn to look up at her. "Into the city?"

"Into the city."

"Can we go tomorrow?"

"Yes. Although I hasten to add that I'm accompanying you, not supervising you. You don't need supervision."

Bless' brow crinkles slightly as they turn back to the city. It's only the morning now, there would be time today, but they obviously need today to prepare, which Ceci understands.

Ceci makes a mental note to tell Bless later that pets are illegal in Amsterdam, and to take them somewhere that that's clearly labelled. Make sure that Bless knows they're not stupid, they don't need leashes and supervision. They should know. And it hurts to hear what they think about themself at the moment.

She's glad they picked up Bless straight from the police. It was Maia's idea to partner with them despite her distrust, and Ceci thinks it's helping. It's better than letting ex-pets continue to be abandoned when their owners are arrested, at least. That's what happened to multiple of their residents. Bless is the first to come to them through the partnership.

Maybe it's about time she contacted Theo and Max again. They're better at this than she is, maybe they have some tips for Bless. Or Anita or Ade might have advice for the increased publicity she and Maia are likely to receive now, after today's interview.

Increased publicity for them, and for their refuge. Oh, joy.

#whump #whump writing #bbu community #bbu #box boy universe #box babe #recovery whump #pet whump #lady whump #somaia oc #cecilia oc #bless oc #caretaker and whumpee

[ashintheairlikesnow]

You don’t have to write this if you don’t want to, but there’s an idea that has been on my mind lately and I just need to get it out there and share it with someone. Lately I’ve been thinking about a whumpee sitting in the passenger seat of caretaker’s car, being driven home after caretaker picked them up from the bar. Under the influence of alcohol, whumpee starts casually rambling about the fucked up shit that whumper did to them, all of which caretaker was completely unaware of. Whumpee wasn’t normally the type to open up to them. Caretaker is horrified, while whumpee is too drunk to even notice caretaker’s stunned reaction.

CW: References to domestic violence, drug use, derogatory self-talk, Kauri being a Drunk Mess. Takes place early after Kauri starts coming to the safehouse.

"I said, 'Oh my God, look at that face,'" Kauri sings, voice husky and cracking, boneless against the passenger seat. "You look like my next mistake-"

"Annnnnnd we're not listening to this," Jake interrupts, leaning forward to switch from the random dance-pop playlist to his own personal one. Kauri's glimmering smile fades into an overwrought pout in response.

"Boo. You have the worst taste in music."

"I do not. I just don't want to listen to you drunk-sing Taylor Swift, that's all. Not again. Last time you cried."

"Excuse me, Jakob Stanton, that was a private performance and you should be glad I didn't make you pay for the concert of the century." Kauri kicks his dirty Vans up on Jake's clean dash, crossing his legs at the ankles. He drops his right hand down to pull the little lever on the side of his seat, the back falling backwards until he's nearly lying down. "Not my fault I get carried away with emotions."

"Ever tried not doing that?"

"Yeah." Kauri smiles again. Jake pretends not to glance sidelong to watch his eyes move, like he can see the stars right through the roof of Jake's car. There's a hickey on Kauri's neck, bruising in the shape of teeth and tongue. Might be lipstick smudged on an earlobe. Kauri's own mouth seems too red in the dark, yellowed under the occasional streetlight.

It isn't the answer Jake expects. "What?"

"Course I tried. You think I let this pretty face be ruined by all those ugly tears before? It's in my training, you know. No tears unless he wants them, no screams he doesn't demand, nothing left that he didn't pay for. He wants a gorgeous face, not some asshole who feels things and has opinions."

Jake falls quiet. His music seems incongruous now, clashing with Kauri's soft voice. He takes a turn, driving out of downtown where he'd found Kauri giggling outside yet another bar, dancing with a group of people who looked just as wounded as he does.

He isn't as good as Kauri is at knowing, but he thought at least two of them probably had barcodes hidden underneath jewelry and long sleeves, too.

Romantics run away often, it's in Jake's literature. But they struggle once they're out. They don't know how to make a living. They tend to shoplift because no one showed them how to pay, they can't get a job anyway even when they know what to do. They get treated like shit and taken advantage of... and they go back. They're bad at hiding, at blending in. They get caught, or they go back.

"There's a lot in you that nobody made but you." Jake wishes he was better at this. He's still kind of new at it, and Kauri hasn't been coming around that long. He still has some bandages under his shirt, covering the fresh scar on his collarbone.

"Therein, Jakob, lies the problem." Kauri intones the sentence like a professor delivering a lecture. "Mr. Owen hated all those parts, because none of them were in the person I was supposed to be."

Jake tries not to grind his teeth too obviously. Mr. Owen. Fucking asshole.

"I tried not to feel things that I wasn't supposed to. I was great it, too, for a while. Even better at lying once the feelings showed up anyway. But that wasn't enough, because it was a lie and we both knew it. Love is just lying, for us. To ourselves. To the owners. To everyone. We don't really mean it. We don't know how."

Jake licks at his lips. They sit at a stoplight, and he wishes he'd told Nat to get Kauri instead. Or had told Kauri no, figure it out, it's late and Jake doesn't want to be doing this.

But Kauri called, and he came.

It's a bad habit he can't let himself get into, or he'll be who Kauri always calls on nights like this.

He hopes so, anyway.

"We lie." Kauri's voice is a haze, fog rolling in off the bay. Kauri sounds the way someone looks when they're far enough away that every edge has softened. "We manipulate, we steal, we plead and flatter and fuck like rabbits. And there's absolutely nothing underneath."

"Kaur, you know that isn't true-"

"Every time there was," Kauri continues, as if Jake hadn't spoken, "He hurt me, and then he put me back in my box."

The light finally turns green, and Jake presses down on the gas. "Your box?"

"My delivery box. He kept it, set it up against the wall. When I couldn't be empty enough for him, when he remembered it was all just the two of us lying to each other, he would put me back in it. In the dark... all by myself." Kauri blinks rapidly, and Jake sees streetlight gleam, dim and yellow, off the tears escaping the corner of his eye to soak saltwater into his hair, just above his ear. "Can't feel anything. Can't see anything. Can't hear anything. He'd leave me for hours. One time for-... for over a day. Once he even moved it around like he was sending me b-back."

"Holy fuck."

Jake thinks about that.

He thinks about the way Kauri flinches away from small spaces, sleeps outside because the doors don't lock when there aren't any.

"Jesus," He whispers.

Kauri doesn't seem to notice.

"I just got so tired of pretending I didn't feel it when he hit me," Kauri says, holding his hands up, looking at his own palms. The leather bracelet that hides his barcode looks like handcuffs at this angle, in what passes for light at midnight under nothing but tree canopies lining residential streets. "I couldn't keep it up and he couldn't keep remembering I'm not ever going to suddenly become Vincent fucking Shield, even if he killed me. And... and he was gonna kill me sooner or later, right? After the choking started, the..." He touches his collarbone over his shirt. "He was going to, soon. And nobody would care."

Jake swallows, hard. "That's not-"

"I almost didn't even care anymore, either."

There's no way to respond to that.

He just listens.

"I got so tired of being empty. I couldn't lie to him any longer. Couldn't keep lying to me, either. I'm a failure, a broken pet. I wanted to tell the truth. Just the one time, I wanted to tell the truth without being put in the box, Jake. I wanted to say that I could hate him more than I loved him. I wanted to get to hate him at all. But there's... there's a problem with that."

"Is there?"

What the fuck else can he say?

"Yeah." Kauri digs a hand into his pocket. He swallows something before Jake can stop him. Maybe it's just Tylenol to hold off the hangover. Maybe. Probably not. Kauri'd smile swims, uneasy and seeming oddly seasick. "The problem... is that the truth isn't what I want it to be."

"Kauri-"

"I am empty, Jake. I got away from him and there isn't anything in here. They're right. I'm not even a person. Just a face and a cock. Just the cold and the walls and... and the box."

"That's not true-"

"It's okay." Kauri, absurdly, lays a hand on his arm to soothe him. "It's okay. I don't even mean it. I'm just rambling, Jake. None of it means anything. I am so drunk, just ignore me, yeah? Just talking shit, that's all." He suddenly smiles, bright as any star, and jerks his seat back upright. "Hey, can we go to Burger King? I want some fries."

The sudden swerve of mood feels like driving right off a cliff but finding yourself suddenly flying a plane.

"What? It's twelve-thirty in the morning-"

"Drive-thru is open til one. Come on, Jake, please?" Kauri's eyes are absurdly wide, too blue.

Jake groans. "Yeah, fine."

Kauri claps his hands together with glee, half-lunging to grab Jake's mp3 player. "You're my favorite person on earth, Jake. Now, where is the list with the pretty orangey looking background color..."

Kauri keeps his eyes carefully unfocused so he won't read the letters. The guitar starts up for the first song in the list, and Kauri grins. Whatever he swallowed is already starting to work on him, pupils wide, wiping out so much of the gorgeous blue.

This time, Jake doesn't stop him from singing along.

-

@finder-of-rings  @endless-whump  @arlin-always-writing  @thefancydoughnut  @newandfiguringitout  @doveotions  @pretty-face-breaker  @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow  @boxboysandotherwhump  @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump  @burtlederp  @whump-tr0pes  @autophagay  @whumptywhumpdump  @whumpiary  @orchidscript  @outofangband  @eatyourdamnpears  @hackles-up  @grizzlie70  @mylifeisonthebookshelf  @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#whump #kauri's poor life choices #writing #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #trauma recovery tw #recovering whumpee #runaway whumpee #escaped whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #erase to control #jake the shelter guy #drug use tw #alcohol tw #drunk whumpee

[whump-blog]

List of Recommendations

Whump's Blogs

For those of you who follow me you have probably noticed that I never reblog anything, even my own posts. The reason is that I created this blog with the intention of keeping all my writing tidy in one place.

But seeing that just giving likes doesn't really support blogs I decided to make this list of whump blogs that have amazing content. I tried to add as many blogs as possible but I might have forgotten someone.

(If you want to be removed or added to the list feel free to let me know) (This list has no specific order)

-----

@sideblogformindtrash . pet whump - fantasy whump - multiple series - recovery whump - cute whumpees - whumper turned caretaker - whump art - masterlist

@whoopsitswhump . pet whump - recovery whump - AO3 - lovely whumpee - masterlist

@kim-poce . multiple series - a lot of content - pet whump - fantasy whump - others - nonhuman whumpee - masterlist

@whumpzone . pet whump - two amazing series - recovery whump - whump art - masterlist

@secretwhumplair . pet whump - fantasy whump - slavery whump - multiple series - very intresting stories - masterlist

@maracujatangerine . pet whump - heroes and villains - recovery whump - masterlist

@whumpy-writings . vampire whump - vampire caretaker - recovery whump - masterlist

@whump-a-la-mode . heroes and villains - multiple series - villain whumpee - lab whump - choose-your-own-adventure stories - masterlist

@whumpwillow . heroes and villains - inmortal whumpee - recovery whump - masterlist

@nicolepascaline . pet whump/BBU - reluctant caretaker - recovery whump - masterlist

@redwingedwhump . fantasy whump - BBU/pet whump - guard dog - multiple series - recovery whump - vampire whump - whump art - masterlist

@whumpering-heights . heroes and villains - inmortal whumpee - recovery whump - masterlist

@octopus-reactivated . pet whump - recovery whump - multiple series - masterlist

@breakyourwhumpees . pet whump - recovery whump - heroes and villains - masterlist

@hold-him-down . recovery whump - slavery whump - masterlist

@deluxewhump . BBU/pet whump - recovery whump - vampire whump - multiple series - others - masterlist

@wildfaewhump . BBU/pet whump - fantasy whump - nonhuman whump - lab whump - masterlist

@itsleighlove . multiple series - a lot of content - heroes and villains - recovery whump - others - masterlist

@cupcakes-and-pain . recovery whump - pet whump - heroes and villains - vampire caretaker - multiple series - masterlist

@whumpsday . vampire whumpee/whumper - recovery whump - human whumpee/caretaker - whumper turned whumpee - whumpee turned caretaker - nonhuman whump - masterlist

@sadcatjae . multiple series - fantasy whump - nonhuman whumpee - masterlist

@thecyrulik . BBU - vampire whumpee/vampire whumper - huaman whumpee - nonhuman whump - masterlist

@whumpflash . slavery whump - recovery whump - medieval whump - no masterlist - first chapter

@girlsjustwannadrawwhump . pet whump? - intimate whumper - whump art - masterlist

@jordanstrophe . multiple series - medieval whump - slavery whump - whumper turned caretaker - whump art - masterlist

@whumpthisway . pet whump - nonhuman whumpee - recovery whump - masterlist

@studyofwhump . scific whump - slavery whump - nonhuman whump - masterlist

@some-messed-up-writing-for-you . heroes and villains - recovery - masterlist

@iwhumpyou . scific whump - heroes and villains - fantasy whump - nonhuman whump - multiple series - others - masterlist

@ashintheairlikesnow . BBU/pet whump - recovery whump - vampire whump - nonhuman whump - lab whump - masterlist

@whimperwoods . fantasy whump - slavery whump - nonhuman caretaker - lady whump - fantasy whump - enemies to friends - male whump - fantasy whump - pet whump - male whump

@equestrianwritingsstuff . villain whumpee - heroes and villains - masterlist

@hurting-fictional-people . heroes and villains - recovery whump - lady whump - lab whump - masterlist

@finaldreams1106 . heroes and villains - lady whump - masterlist

@justbreakonme . recovery whump - pet whump - reluctant caretaker - no masterlist - Abby and Sky - Victor and Alcott

@clockworkwhump . fantasy whump - elf whumpee - slavery whump - heroes and villains - masterlist

@wolfeyedwitch . pet whump - heroes and villains - scific whump - vampire whump - vampire whumpee - lady whump - others - masterlist

@yet-another-heathen . heroes and villains - fantasy whump - slavery whump - nonhuman whump - whump art - masterlist

@stoic-whumpee . heroes and villains - recovery whump - left behind whumpee - masterlist

@whump-me-all-night-long . heroes and villains - BBU/pet whump - lady whump - vampire whump - multiple series - others - masterlist

@boxboysandotherwhump . BBU/pet whump - recovery whump - guard dog - masterlist in the blog description

@whumping-every-day . pet whump - vampire whumpee - vampire whumpee - recovery whump - masterlist in the blog description

@whumpurr . pet whump - recovery whump - circus whump - two series - masterlist

@haro-whumps . BBU/pet whump - scific whump - recovery whump - lady whump - masterlist in the blog description

@professional-idiocy . heroes and villains - fantasy whump - slavery whump - recovery whump - masterlist

@quietly-by-myself . fantasy whump - slavery whump - whumper turned whumpee - whumpee turned caretaker - nonhuman whump - recovery whump - masterlist

@dresden-syndrome . whumpee boys - historical whump - pet whump - military whump - whump art - no masterlist

@whump-blog . myself - BBU/pet whump - recovery whump - whump art - heroes and villains - masterlist

#whump #whump community #whump blogs #whump recommendation #pet whump #fantasy whump #vampire whump #villain whump #hero whump #nonhuman whump #recovery whump #bbu whump #box boy universe #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #slavery whump #nonhuman whumpee #vampire whumpee #vampire whumper #ampire caretaker #hero caretaker #hero whumper #villain caretaker #villain whumpee #nonhuman caretaker #nonhuman whumper #slave whumpee #conditioned whumpee #conditioning

[we-were-so-beautiful]

3. taxi

oh man, this one FOUGHT me y'all. so much cutting and pasting. I am not even kidding when I say that everything that happens in this chapter was supposed to be part of the last one, and I gave up and cut that one off early because I was sick of trying to finish this part. and now this is my longest chapter yet. you know, out of all three of them. at 1.3k. lol. I am not, how do you say, fast. but I was hoping I'd be able to get a chapter written over christmas, and I'm really proud of myself for finishing it!

Content warnings for this chapter: box boy universe, pet whump, dehumanization, cage mention, rampant classism. As always, please tell me if there's anything else I need to tag.

[masterlist] [chapter two] [chapter four]

“Okay I know they’re supposed to be expensive but what can you possibly be charging this much money for.”

“Adoption fees are to offset the cost of room, board and medical care while at the facility,” the employee parrots, without so much as the decency to look ashamed. 

“He does not look like he has had literally any of those things while he’s been here. Or possibly in his entire life.”

“Ma’am, if you cannot afford the adoption fee, then you cannot adopt a Pet.”

“Oh, I can afford it,” Vanessa growls, handing over a very shiny credit card before her mouth can get her in enough trouble to stop the employee from taking it. She bites her lip until she tastes copper to keep from saying, I’d just rather put it towards something that isn’t blatantly and obviously going right back into Worldwide Rehabilitative Un-fucking-limited’s pockets despite the fact that this is supposed to be a goddamn government facility.

Harm reduction, she reminds herself. Paying extortionate fees to kill shelters is still harm reduction. It’s the unsavory truth, but it doesn’t make the blood in her mouth taste any sweeter.

“Sign here,” the woman says, handing her credit card back along with a digital pad and stylus, and Vanessa cracks her wrist before she takes them. It’s sore and snapping like a glowstick from the mountain of paperwork she’s already been made to sign since the employee unceremoniously hauled the man on the floor behind her down from his double-high-stacked wire crate. She can’t decide whether to consider it an obscenely large amount, or an obscenely little one for all that it represents.

She can’t think about it too hard. Can’t draw too much of her own attention to the fact that she’s really doing this, or she might just run screaming back out into the grey-tinted autumn afternoon, and then where would this guy be? 

She scribbles her name on the touchpad, and just like that… it’s done.

—

“Don’t forget your leash and collar,” the employee reminds her.

“I won’t be using those,” Vanessa says, with all the imperious rich-lady self-assurance she can fake.

“You will if you don’t want to be liable for civil and/or criminal penalties up to and including the permanent forfeiture of your right to Pet ownership,” the woman drones like she’s rattling it off from a handbook, and nobody has the right to own a person but even Vanessa knows better than to argue the system with someone who literally works for it.

She grinds her teeth as she takes the lengths of bulky blue nylon from the woman. She crouches beside the man, who’s bent himself into an odd kneeling fetal position on the cold tile floor. “Sorry,” she whispers as she slides the coarse material around his throat, feeling his pulse beat harsh and rapid underneath. She hopes she’s being quiet enough that the employee won’t hear her talking to him like a person—because he is a person, goddamnit—but she knows better than to trust her own volume. Best if she can get the fuck out of here with him now, before she makes a mistake.

She really doesn’t want to lead this dude crawling down the street like an animal. Doesn’t want to imagine what people will think. But she asks him, “Can you stand?”, and he makes a sound like a choking dog, and so much for both their dignity, she fucking guesses.

“Ugh, fine, whatever, just… come on.”

—

Fuck standing, the guy can barely support himself on all fours. His joints threaten to buckle at every step as Vanessa urges him out onto the chilly sidewalk. Coat of dirt aside, he’s got nothing on him but a pair of boxers as filthy as he is and that godawful blue collar, and when his bare skin meets the frigid pavement his body clenches so hard she can practically hear his teeth slam shut.

She looks at the unwashed man before her, shivering hard enough to rattle his bones in the cold October air. Looks at her thick brown coat. Ugh, she likes this coat, the lining is stitched in in all the right places to keep the texture of the shell from making her want to climb out of her own skin and no amount of dry cleaning in the world is going to convince her to put it on again once it touches… whatever the fuck is all goddamn over this guy. She sighs and shrugs it off.

Fuck fuck fuck it’s cold. She’s shivering herself in just plain blue jeans and her second favorite Cure t-shirt. But a million “if you’re cold, they’re cold!” memes flash through her mind and she grumbles aggrievedly and drapes the wool coat over his massive, gaunt frame. This dude has like a foot on her standing, she remembers when the lapels will barely pull around his shoulders. She’s gonna have to shake Austin down for clothes.

God, it feels beyond fucked up to have a person on a leash, and it doesn’t help that the cheap blue nylon feels plasticky in her hand and she hates the texture. She can’t imagine how much worse it must feel around the throat of the shuddering man before her. She’s taking the damn thing off him as soon as she gets him home, she’ll get him a better one if Roselle can’t find her a loophole and she absolutely fucking has to, but when the fifth or sixth cab passes her by without even slowing down she starts to wonder how the hell she’s going to get him home at all.

—

“You want to go to the corner,” the employee says boredly, not so much as looking up from her newspaper when Vanessa shoulders her way back through the door.

“You what?” Vanessa echoes.

“The corner. Better if you go another block or two, even. Cabs don’t stop in front of the shelter.”

Of course they don’t, Vanessa thinks. 

She hipchecks the door back open and returns to the stupid goddamn hitching post they so conveniently provide along the front wall of the shelter, where she’s awkwardly strung up the loop of the stupid blue leash. “Hey, uh, dude? I’m gonna go up the street a bit, okay, I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

He barely acknowledges that he’s heard her, curled back up under her coat in that same odd position with his forearms tucked into his chest. “...not that you would,” she adds dubiously, before power-walking away to the next block.

Vanessa hisses through her teeth in the bleak grey air and rubs at her goosebump-riddled arms, but true to the employee’s disaffected word it’s only a matter of minutes this time before a cab driver catches her wave and pulls over. “Thanks,” she says as she tumbles in. “I’m going back to the Heights. Need to pick someone up first, though. Just on the next block.”

The driver looks skeptical, but he rolls down the quiet street all the same—until he clocks the shelter just as Vanessa tells him to stop. “No. Nuh uh. No way. I don’t let Pets in my cab.”

“I’ll double your fare. Up front.”

The driver shakes his head, staring revulsed in the direction of the hitching post. “Not worth all that crud on my seats.” Oh. Great. He’s seen him.

“What if I cover the seats. Newspaper.”

The driver sizes her up with a calculating gaze, one elbow propped on the back of his seat, and somewhere in the middle of wanting to punch him for looking at her she finds herself wishing for once that she’d dressed… richer. Finally, he grouses, “Triple fare. And the meter’s runnin’ while ya cover ‘em.”

“Fine,” Vanessa spits, and sprints out with the door wide open before he has time to change his mind.

She barges into the shelter one last time, hopefully the last fucking time in her life if she has any say in it. Leaning over the counter, with a grin that’s probably a little too smug for her to be proud of, she snatches the newspaper directly out of the apathetic employee’s complicit hands.

-

taglist: @maracujatangerine @pigeonwhumps @tragedyinblue @marchtothefuckingsea @octopus-reactivated @briars7

#whump #pet whump #rescue whump #recovery whump #bbu #box boy universe #vanessa + juniper #disaster caretaker #imperfectly consistent #tw dehumanization #tw classism #I feel like I'm writing more plot than whump here #like I could be leaning way more into descriptions of what dude's experiencing but I'm just trying to get through all these fucking scenes #the not leaning into whump part is unsurprising but the concerning bit is that I can't actually write plot. at all #so if that's what's supposed to be holding this together then well. uh. #we'll see how that goes I guess lol #oh I almost forgot! #points to whoever catches my wru mention #it's probably not subtle lmao #I just wanted to do something a lil different #ps idk what the fuck happened to my section dividers #but tumblr seems to have retconned it into my previous chapters as well #so it's probably not something I can fix lmao #btw if it wasn't obvious. I've never been to nyc in my life and I have no idea how anything works including taxis #just pretend they invented box boys instead of ride shares I fucking guess #@ my ass writing a novel in the tags instead of writing. you know. #the actual novel

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim BBU AU #2: Loophole

Previous / Kane & Jim AUs Masterlist / Next

content: bbu, pet whump, guns, rescue, begging, reference to holocaust, recovery, amnesia

@bbu-on-the-side BBU Community Days #8: Barcode

-

It had been five years since Master bought 913, and things had gotten marginally better.

Master still hurt him occasionally, but 913 had gotten much better at anticipating his wants and placating his moods. Blasphemously, he had eventually decided he didn't like Master very much at all, but that was okay, as long as he never said it out loud and did his job well.

He even found joys in this life. He wished he could read, but he was unable to parse a single word in the cookbooks in Master's library without getting a splitting headache. He experimented instead, teaching himself, building on WRU's culinary training. He could see himself getting better and better by the day, creating meals both Master and himself could enjoy.

As 913 finished up his evening chores and prepared to go to bed, the window unlocked.

His head whipped around at the sound. To his utter horror, it pushed open, and a young woman with a pistol on her hip climbed through.

"Jim?"

913 backed away, hands up. "You're not- this isn't your house, ma'am," he pointed out dumbly.

The woman stared at him like a long-lost treasure. "Just let me explain," she insisted, her voice low. "I'm your sister."

"I'm a box boy. I don't have a sister." Even as it came out of his mouth, he knew it was a ridiculous point. Of course he had a family out there somewhere, even boxies come from somewhere. He just couldn't remember.

The woman looked like he'd just broken her heart. "Yes you do. It's okay, I'm gonna get you out of here. You're gonna be fine."

913 backed even further away at that, heart racing. He was going to be stolen. He didn't know how to deal with that. He wasn't a person or a guard dog, all he was supposed to do was cook and clean.

"Master!" he cried. "Help!"

"Fuck!" The woman dashed forward and grabbed him, only prompting him to scream louder.

"Master, please help! She's trying to steal me!" 913's life here may not have been perfect, but this crazy person with a gun was not what he wanted to risk it all on. He knew well that things could be much, much worse than they were here.

"Shh! Shut up, shut up!" The woman clamped a hand over his mouth, and though she was smaller than him, she was much stronger. 913 couldn't wriggle out of her grasp no matter how hard he tried.

To his relief, he heard Master coming down the stairs. He burst into the kitchen just as the woman was attempting to manhandle him toward the window.

"Unhand him!" Master commanded indignantly. "That's my box boy! What do you think you're doing!?"

The woman shoved 913 aside and drew her weapon, pointing it squarely at Master, to 913's horror. "Don't move!"

"Don't!" 913 begged. "No, no, please!"

This only made Master more furious, heightening 913's fear. "How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?"

The woman glared at him. "Kane de Sang. I don't care. I'm taking him home and there's nothing you can do about it."

913 started to cry. "Master, please!"

"It's okay. You're gonna be fine," the woman assured him, like this wasn't the most terrifying moment of his life. Even back in the horrors of the facility, at least he knew everything was under control.

While the woman was distracted comforting him, Master made a break toward 913.

She didn't hesitate. Before 913 could move, she leveled her gun and-

913 startled at the bang, ears ringing as the smell of blood filled the room. Master screamed, clutching his gushing shoulder.

"That's what you get for messing with my family." The woman took 913's arm firmly, and led him back to the window.

He couldn't stop crying, looking back at the tear-blurred image of Master handling his phone with bloody hands, but he didn't resist. He was too scared his captor would kill Master if he did.

His breaths came hard and fast. "Wh-what's gonna happen to me?"

"Nothing, you're safe, I promise." She dragged him to her truck, buckling him into the passenger seat. "We're going home."

"I'm... yours now, ma'am?" 913 asked desperately, trying to get a handle on the situation. "Is Master gonna die?"

"I only managed to get him in the shoulder, I'm sure the paramedics will handle it," the woman said as she sped away. "You're not mine. You don't belong to anyone anymore, okay?"

Suddenly, things clicked into place. "You're pet lib?"

"Yeah." The woman drove like a madman, and 913 gripped the seat to steady himself. "But I'm not here because of that. I'm your sister. I'm sorry it took me so long to find you, I was only 15 when they took you."

"I s-signed up," 913 protested weakly.

The woman rolled her eyes. "You didn't sign up. They tried to recruit you and you said no, but they took you anyway and forged your signature. They do this shit all the time."

913 didn't know how to respond to that. He'd always wondered why he would submit himself to this, what his old self was thinking.

"I'm Liz," the woman offered. "Liz Lieberman."

"My designation is 100913," he replied quietly, fingers brushing over the numbers printed below the barcode on his wrist.

"Your name is Jim Lieberman. Short for James Lieberman," Liz informed him. "Just so you know."

A name. He'd always wanted a name. Master never gave him one. His bunkmate back at WRU training had called him Curls when the handlers weren't around, and that's the closest he'd ever had.

Liz glanced at him thumbing at his barcode. "The world is so fucked. Tattooing numbers on Jewish guys' arms again. How does no one see any fucking problem with this?"

"I'm Jewish?" 913 asked.

Liz got that look again, the same one she got when he said he didn't have a sister. Grief. "Yeah."

They sat in silence for a bit. 913 looked out as the scenery passed him by, getting farther from home with every passing second.

"Am I ever gonna get to see Master again?" he asked eventually.

"Nope."

Just like that, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"I saw him hit you last night," Liz added. "I was looking for a good opportunity to get you out. Do you really wanna go back to that?"

How long had she been watching them through the windows in the night? He didn't want to know.

913 shrugged. "It's the best I've ever had it."

"Doesn't have to be," she countered. "It'll be better. No more hitting. Get that stupid shock collar off you. You can be free again."

The shock collar could come off. The shock collar hadn't come off since it came on, the battery long-dead. He wanted that so much.

"Pets don't have wants," 913 parroted, chastising himself.

Liz grinned at him, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I never asked if you wanted it."

Ah. A loophole. Jim tried and failed to suppress a smile.

"Well then- I guess- I guess I just have to, ma'am."

-

taglist in reblog

#kane and jim bbu #kane and jim au #whump #bbucommunity #day8 #barcode #bbu #pet whump #guns #rescue #begging #recovery whump #my writing #whump writing

[honeycollectswhump]

Holding Up The Sky

Even though Atlas escaped the claws of his old Master a while ago and built himself a new life, far away from any reminders of his past as a Pet, old habits die hard. While Atlas tries to find his footing as a person, his old Master does not plan to let this offence go unpunished.

Since an accident in her childhood, Aveline hasn't been able to feel pain. After another tragedy strikes, she moves in an attempt to start her life anew. There, she meets Atlas, who seems to crumble under a secret he can't possibly share. The two grow close, and soon Aveline has to decide just how far she is willing to go to keep Atlas safe.

The chapters will be posted non-chronologically but are listed in order here. Most of them can be read as standalones but they fit into a bigger story <3

The Rise

Aveline and Atlas during their college days, as Atlas battles with the remants of his life as a Pet.

The Pet | The Pet 2 | All That Matters

The Fall

Atlas is recaptured and his old Master is intend on making sure he never, ever steps out of line again. Left without any support, Aveline decides to take matters into her own hands.

Gone, gone | Torn apart / away

The New Beginning

After the storm, Aveline is left to pick up the pieces of Atlas. Without any recollection of his past life, what remains of Atlas tries to regain his sense of identity.

Thorns of a Nightmare | Warmth | Whumper's title

Misc. Stuff: character info | picrew 1 | silly memes | commission atlas & aveline (by clickerflight) | commission aveline (by whump-blog)

taglist: @octopus-reactivated, @sodacreampuff, @topsheepstudent, @clickerflight, @rabass let me know if you want to be added or removed :))

#finally got around to making / finishing this masterlist #masterlist #honey's writing #Holding Up The Sky #aveline king (oc) #atlas/mutt (oc) #pet whump #conditioned whumpee #bbu inspired #deconditioning #dehumanisation #recapture #whumpee and caretaker #vengeful caretaker #sadistic whumper #torture #hurt/comfort #recovery whump