#cw conditioning

[redd956]

Whump Drabble: Conditioning

I was thinking about this one all last night. So like conditioning. I occasionally see it within the whump community, but it's still heavily on my mind and I feel I have something to add over it.

Conditioning is a term primarily used for animals, especially with the concepts of shock collars, where a dog become conditioned to not leave the yard because they expected to be shocked even if they no longer have the collar. Unfortunately for the complexity that is the human brain, humans can be conditioned too, and history/science has shown it.

Fortunately for us whump writers that the kind of human biology that interests us! So...conditioning in whump.

Of course I have another against the classic conditioning through electrical shock trope. I see it a good bit in the whump community, and it's great. Whumpees adamant against something, even though there is actually no threat. You have caretaker desperately trying to undo someone else's past work, and whumpers who don't have to lift a finger to get whumpee to listen to them anymore.

(Even greater if a defiant whumpee returns with this trait)

However conditioning isn't just through punishment, nor does it have to be classic electric shock. It could also be through awarding >:3

Imagine caretaker having to use the awarding system whumper set up, just so that they themselves could help break the system whumpee has been caught up in. Imagine whumpee relaxing at the activation of the award, compared to seizing up at the notion of punishment.

Whumpee being none the wiser about their own conditioning, thinking themselves crazy when something as simple as a static shock sends them into a spiral. Imagine the embarrassment of a leader whumpee, or a stoic whumpee (or both, both is good), when they burst into a frantic mess in front of their own team, and they don't even know me.

Whumper utilizing both awards and punishments to get whumpee to be exactly how they want them, then once their free everything good whumper showered them in as awards are ruined for whumpee. Caretaker is having quite the struggle to get whumpee to enjoy anything.

Conditioning whumpee to sounds and not just sparks of electricity. Awarding whumpee with sugar, or warmth, or physical touch. Whump with conditioning

[whump-card]

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 3

1512 words

CW: IV, fever, conditioning, panic attack, pet whump

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

Lark jerked out of the nightmare with a whimpering gasp. He was lying in bed in a weirdly familiar-yet-unfamiliar room; a real bedroom in a real house, he realized, almost like -

NOT ALLOWED.

His eyes darted around, and the room seemed to slowly spin out and snap back into place every time his gaze moved. A square of golden evening light spread across one wall. An IV snaked out of his unbroken right arm and up to a bag hanging on a stand next to his bed.

The resistance, he remembered, They took me.

They’ll all die if I stay.

Lark was immediately seized with the all-encompassing drive to get home to the Capital, now. Who knew how long it had already been. He couldn’t give the Commander any cause to hurt these people. If Lark stayed, the Commander would do whatever it took to get him back. His prize pet.

He slowly sat up, his sweat-damp back turning cold when it was exposed to the air. He flexed the fingers of his broken arm where they peeked out of the cast, and pinched and ripped out the IV. The pain was fuzzy and dull, and a bead of blood ran down his arm. He watched it languidly for a moment before moving again, dragging his feet out from under the blanket and setting them on the floor. He took a deep, steadying breath and stood.

The room spun even faster, but he blinked hard and managed to stay upright. He turned and shuffled forward, socks sliding easily over the floor and his good hand ghosting over the surface of the bed. The longer he was upright, the more things stabilized; by the time he reached the end of the bed he could take real steps, and while the corners of his vision still carouseled around him the center of his gaze held steady. He focused on the door, and wobbled over to it. He apprehensively turned the knob and let out a near sob of relief when it easily turned and the door opened.

He stepped out into a hallway, made his way along it and slowly descended a straight staircase to the ground floor, clinging to the banister. His socked feet padded noiselessly, but his heartbeat and heavy breathing sounded like thunder inside his head. At the bottom of the stairs there was a room on either side of him, but he ignored them in favor of the room ahead; a small chamber crowded with chairs along one wall, and an exterior door on the far side. He rushed – as much as he could rush – to the door, and once again found it mercifully unlocked.

Outside, he stumbled down a few wooden stairs onto an aged paved path that led to a cracked driveway, which in turn arced down to a weed-speckled street. Everything that wasn’t paved was overgrown with tall grass, and thick trees surrounded the house he’d just exited. Cicadas screamed, accentuating the evening summer heat. Breathing hard, Lark looked around and identified the direction of the setting sun by where the golden light filtered through the tree trunks. West. He turned his head. South. The Capital was south, that much he knew. He circled around the house and started into the woods, twigs and rocks pricking his feet through his thin socks, grabbing onto trunks and branches as he passed for support. His cast swung in its sling, bumping against his chest.

We used to play in woods like these -

NOT ALLOWED.

As he walked, his breathing grew more and more labored and his vision, previously somewhat stable, started to tilt and swirl again. His stomach abruptly churned and he slammed his shoulder into a tree to catch his balance.

Can’t stop. Can’t stay here. Pets belong at home.

He pushed off of the tree and stumbled forward. Suddenly he was taking steps that were unobstructed, and the ground was smooth and hard beneath his feet; it took a few moments to make sense of what he was seeing in the whirling darkness, but Lark realized he was on a path. He gulped; there was too much saliva in his mouth. Was this good, or bad, or…

“Lark?”

A deep voice. A man’s voice. Lark’s heart sank, and he slowly turned.

It was one of the men who’d captured him – the one who had interrogated him. He was maybe fifty, average height, stocky, Asian, and had close-cropped dark hair and a shadow of a beard. He held a lit cigarette in one hand, and there was a pistol at his hip. Something about him sent a spike of dread down Lark’s spine – far beyond the fear of what staying with the rebels would mean. Something about this man, specifically.

“…Hey,” the man said softly, which wasn’t quite what Lark had expected. Lark said nothing, just watched him, refusing to look at the cigarette or the gun.

“Are you trying to get back to the Capital?” asked the man. Again, his voice was gentle. Unthreatening. Lark wasn’t buying it.

“I have to -” Lark’s voice came out as a croak at first, and he swallowed hard. “I have to, you don’t understand.”

The man sighed.

“Y’know, technically, I’m not supposed to be anywhere near you. I got told off,” he dropped the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, “I’m really sorry, by the way. For scaring you.”

Lark’s frown furrowed with pain and confusion – nothing the man was saying made sense.

“You don’t scare me,” he lied.

“Sure, bud.” The man sounded tired. “Either way, I can’t let you leave.”

Lark sure knew what that meant.

“Killing me won’t solve your problem,” he said.

“Woah!” the man threw up his hands, “Who said anything about killing you? No, I can't let you leave because you’re sick, stupid! It’s your arm that’s killing you!”

Lark didn’t like that the man was raising his voice. He took a wobbling step back and found a tree to lean on.

“They’ll fix… My arm, when I get home,” he said strenuously.

“Dude, you can barely stand.”

I’m not going to make it, Lark realized. The man was right; he could barely walk, it was already dark enough that he couldn’t tell which way was south anymore, he didn’t have shoes, he’d never outrun the man…

Lark let his eyes fall closed, resting his head against the tree.

Today is a disaster.

“…What did you just say?”

Had he said that aloud?

“Today is a disaster,” Lark huffed, with more intention this time. He lifted his head and glared at the man, only to find him staring incredulously. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Lark.

“Marina Dolidze!”

Lark’s blood turned to ice.

No. No.

NOT ALLOWED.

“Is Marina your mom?” the man asked excitedly, “She says that all the time, and I know she lost a son…”

The man’s words were drowned out by Lark’s own heartbeat thumping in his ears. His vision spiraled.

NOT ALLOWED NOT ALLOWED NOT ALLOWED.

Lark could feel the hands on him, the metal prods digging into his skin, the electricity racing through his body.

“She works in the cookhouse, I could bring her to see you -”

“NO!” Lark found the man standing right in front of him and he pushed out with his good arm and shoved him away as hard as he could. “NOT ALLOWED!” He shrank back, curling his arm up and tucking his head to protect his face. The man would hit him, now, for doing that, but he couldn’t break the Commander’s law, not now, not ever.

He was going to be hit. Or the man would put cigarettes out on him, or break something, or knock him down and fuck him here in the woods, they were all alone, he had a gun, nobody would stop him, why did this man feel like the Commander? Lark’s breathing was too loud, he was going to get in trouble, he wasn’t crying, but everything was getting so dark, so dark, so dark-

~~~

Tao watched in shock as the boy worked himself into a cowering frenzy before suddenly going slack. Tao jumped forward and caught him as he slid down the tree. Grunting, he scooped Lark up into his arms. The boy was deathly pale and completely limp. Tao made sure his broken arm was resting securely, then started the laborious and slow walk back to Faye’s.

It wasn’t like he’d expected Lark to react with open, uncomplicated joy at the news that his mother was not only alive, but less than a block away, but the way Lark had reacted was completely out of left field. “Not allowed,” he had shouted. Tao could only imagine what that meant, and the options were pretty dark. Had Lark once asked about his family, only to be punished for it?

Regardless of what Lark’s reaction indicated, Tao needed to be sure before he rushed into anything. He couldn’t screw up and hurt Lark, again.

He needed to talk to Marina.

~~~

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps

[highwaywhump]

Surgery, part 2

This is a series! Masterlist is here and the first part of the surgery arc is here

so i lied, i rewrote the second part and the whole thing is now closer to 4.5k. enjoy

TW/CW: former pet whumpee/extremely conditioned and dehumanized whumpee having a panic attack, being forcibly 'restrained' (by caretaker!) during said attack, and forcibly drugged with a needle/syringe. brief scar mention, blood mention, very brief description of a cut. discussion of professional misconduct i guess.

--

Aaron stops dead in his tracks in the doorway. At first, he can’t even see Joey - all he sees is Becca, the red-haired nurse who had helped them get Joey’s x-rays, handpicked by Dr. Perez. She’s clutching her arm, blood trickling out between her fingers. Next to her are two more nurses, both tall, broad men, unknown to Aaron. He can’t see Joey at first, all he can see are the three people, two too many, the red blood staining Becca’s scrubs, and a puddle of water and broken glass on the floor. 

And all he can hear is Joey’s desperate sobs and Becca’s voice, trying to communicate something to the two other nurses, who are focused on something behind the bed. 

Aaron doesn’t think, he just acts. In three steps he’s in front of the two nurses, blocking their path, and finally, there’s Joey. He’s all curled up and has tucked himself into the corner formed by the bed and the wall, his skinny arms wrapped around his head, his whole form shaking as he incoherently begs and pleads. Something about being good and behaving and please don’t drug him. 

“We’ve got it,” one of the male nurses says and attempts to move past Aaron, but he holds up a hand, blocking them. “No,” he says with determination, knowing that a pair of huge and institutionally dressed men is the least thing Joey needs right now. 

“No, I’ll take care of him. Help your colleague in the meantime,” he says, if only to stop the two of them closing in like predators. They’ve stances like rugby players, slightly bent at the knees and with their arms out to the side, ready to pounce. Even Aaron, who is perfectly healthy and capable of rational cognition right now, is a little intimidated by them. 

“He should be sedated,” one of them says. “We need to administer pre-op medications,” the other chimes in, pointing to an IV bag laying on the bed, and the pieces fall into place in Aaron’s head. The broken glass of water, Becca who was supposed to be the one administering the medications but who now was bleeding from what looks like a gash in her arm, one of the male nurses who’d dashed past him in the hallway. 

He could see it all playing out. Becca coming in with the IV bag, maybe saying something about medication, reaching for Joey’s arm with the needle in her hand. Joey, still holding his glass of water, already worked up and on edge, losing it at the sight of the needle. Defending himself, in his own hazy, red rimmed eyes. 

And now, having worked himself up, not thinking rationally. Not thinking at all. Panicking because he had defied orders, or hurt someone, or broken a glass. It wasn’t good to say.

“I’ll-” Aaron pauses and breathes out, taking a step backwards from the nurses, towards Joey. “I’ll calm him down, okay? He needs someone he knows. Not…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, only moves his gaze between the two men. 

They seem reluctant. They probably have a responsibility here, handling patients who act out. Only, Joey isn’t acting out. He is just scared, and a pet, and Aaron isn’t sure how much the men know about the situation. Or what they’re even thinking, taking all of Joey’s scars into consideration. It’s as if they’re peaking out everywhere now that he only wears the patient gown. 

“He really needs sedation, for his own safety,” one nurse states. Aaron discerns the unspoken for our safety in his voice. 

For a moment, he considers arguing. He doesn’t want to force anything on Joey that isn’t strictly necessary. Aaron is his advocate and breaching his trust like that while he’s in this state, forcing him to take a needle he clearly doesn’t want, would be traitorous. 

Then again… he weighs the other outcome. Whatever these two nurses think is going on, he can’t let it extend past the patient is unwilling to comply, into the patient isn’t supposed to be here, patient is a pet, patient needs police pick-up. As well as the fact that he could never make Joey come back here after today, even if he managed to reschedule the surgery. It would be like taking a victim back to a crime scene, making them relive the trauma all over again. 

Maybe sedation is for the best. 

“Let me hold him, at least,” Aaron tries. “He can’t handle… this, right now. Give us a minute. I’ll help you.”

They hesitate, but back off, one of them turning to help Becca while the other stands by, looking warily at Joey. Still, he keeps his distance. Aaron exhales and turns around, crouching down in front of Joey. In front of his ward, his responsibility. Christ, everything here is his responsibility. Becca’s injury, too. Does this clinic have a pediatric program or some other heartwrenching project? He’ll donate. 

“Joey?” he ventures, not sure if he can even hear him over his own cries. Okay. Deep breath. 

“Joey, it’s me. Hey, little one.” He goes from crouch to kneel when his knees start protesting, moving as close to the boy as he can. Gently, he reaches out and touches Joey’s shoulder. He flinches violently and his sobs intensify. “Please don’t, please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be still, please,” he whimpers, over and over again. Aaron hopes the nurses can’t make out the words.

He’s all curled up, tucked into himself as best as he can, trying to disappear. All the while, he’s sobbing and begging desperately, completely gone in his own head. Aaron realizes he can’t talk him down from this quickly enough tonight. They’re on a schedule, and the nurses are growing uneasy. 

He’ll just have to take the plunge. 

“It’s okay,” he mutters as he leans forward and envelops Joey’s bony frame and hugs him close, as tightly as he thinks he can handle. He is petrified, his whole body tight and stiff, and he lets out a scared and confused wail as he’s pulled into the tight embrace.  

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Aaron continues, both to himself and to Joey, as he finds the back of his head and tucks into the crook of his own neck, hoping to provide some semblance of warmth and safety for what he has to do next. 

With his other hand he finds Joey’s, squeezing his fingers to see if he gets a response, if they might be able to communicate nonverbally like that. A squeeze means I’m here, I’m listening, trust me. When Joey is too shaken up to speak to him, he’s usually able to at least squeeze back. 

Not now, though. Joey’s fingers are curled up into a hard little fist. Aaron sighs and hugs him tighter, mumbling apologies into his hair as he clasps his wrist and pulls it away from them, extending it towards the nurses. He watches through the corner of his eye as one of them removes a sterile cannula from its packet and takes hold of Joey’s hand.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Aaron mumbles as Joey whines when he feels the foreign touch. His face is still hidden in his sweater. He pushes even closer and Aaron can feel him trying to pull his hand back, out of his and the nurse’s grip. It catches him off guard - Joey has never, ever opposed anything Aaron has ever said or done. This is completely novel.

“Please don’t do it,” he sniffles into Aaron’s sweater. “Please don’t, don’t make me, I don’t want to, please,” he repeats, over and over, and it breaks Aaron’s heart, forcibly holding his hand away from his body like this, holding him still. 

A part of him lights up with the thought that he still has some semblance of volition. Everything wasn’t beaten out of him. At the same time, right now, Aaron has to disregard it. He has to hold him still and force him to endure it as the nurse feels around for a vein. “Small pinch, now,” he says, as he pushes the cannula through his skin. 

This is all Aaron’s fault. If he hadn’t left the room, if he had been there when Becca came in, they could’ve worked it out together, undramatically. This whole episode could’ve been avoided. Surely, all traces of trust between them must be gone by now. 

Joey moans, in pain or desperation or maybe both, as the nurse attaches the tubing and picks up the saline bag, hanging it on its stand. He collapses in Aaron’s arms. Still, Aaron doesn’t let go, keeping him close. “You’re okay, it’s okay,” he repeats, over and over again, hoping some of it reaches past the walls built up inside Joey’s mind. The nurse picks up a syringe and pushes its contents into the injection port of the IV tube. Then, he, Becca, and the other nurse leave the room. 

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity. Joey calms down after a while, now leaning heavily into Aaron. His shoulders flinch from time to time, but he’s stopped crying quite as audibly as he did. 

Aaron guesses this is the result of the sedation. It was normal, right? Giving a weak sedative before a surgery, just to calm any nerves? Had Becca brought in the sedatives as well as the IV bag or had the male nurses brought it when they heard the commotion? He wonders how much the two of them know. None of them were supposed to be here, he thinks. What did they think had happened? Who did they think Joey was? 

He glances to the side, where he still holds Joey’s wrist. Gently, he angles it - and there it is, the ugly barcode tattoo. His blood runs cold. He didn’t think that far when he took Joey’s wrist to hold it out for the nurses. Did they see it? If they did, had they cleaned up Becca’s sliced up arm and then gone to call the police after? 

He’s left no time to ponder or worry any longer as the door opens and Dr. Perez enters. She seems unfazed by the sight that meets her - blood and crushed glass that hadn’t been cleaned up yet, and the two of them sitting in a corner. Somebody must’ve informed her.  

“Are you okay?” She rounds the bed and crouches down in front of them. “Becca told me what happened.

“I think so,” Aaron answers, gently shifting Joey to get a look of his face. He’s drowsy and heavy in his arms, his eyes puffy and red rimmed as he blinks them open and tries to focus. Aaron smiles at him. “Hey, you,” he mutters softly, pushing his hair away from his face. 

“I hope he’s still up for the surgery,” Dr. Perez says, eyeing the IV bag to see how much of the liquid inside has been reduced. “What happened was… I won’t say normal, but it’s not unusual. We never know how they might react to what we do to them.”

Aaron nods. “Is Becca okay?” 

“She is. It looked worse than it was.” She looks over her shoulder, where the glass and blood still hasn’t been cleaned up. “Don’t worry. She knows that what she does for a living isn’t risk-free. And she knows that we don’t know what kind of trauma our patients carry with them. It’s nobody’s fault. Least of all his.” 

“I have to ask… do the other nurses know? The other two who were here.” 

She looks down. “They know about my situation, what I do. They don’t know about him, per say. They’ll probably make the connection, but I don’t think it will be a problem.”

Aaron’s eyebrows knit together, still not convinced. “How can you be sure?” 

She exhales in a puff, a slight chuckle, even. “Everyone in this industry knows somebody who knows somebody who does this sort of thing.” Illegal surgeries. The words are unspoken, but still clear as day. “I am far from the only one, believe me. If they didn’t like it, they would have quit and reported me a long time ago. And then they’d start working at the next hospital and have to do the same thing. There’s always someone.” She gives him a minute, knowing smile. “This country would run out of healthcare workers if they revoked every license from one who has treated a pet or ex-pet.”

Aaron doesn’t quite know what to say. He’s relieved “So… we’re good?” he asks eventually, for lack of better words. 

Dr. Perez nods. “We’re good. Now, let’s get going before the anaesthesiologist gets tired of waiting.” 

She helps him support Joey up to his feet and then to sit down on the bed. He’s swaying, gripping at the bedsheets to keep his balance, so Aaron gently guides him to lay down instead. He’s completely still, only breathing. His eyes are large and round as he finds Aaron hand, holding onto it with startling solidity. 

“Was… was I bad?” he whispers shakily. 

“No,” Aaron says immediately, not leaving it up for discussion. He doesn’t know what Joey knows, what he remembers of what had happened. Still, he won’t let Joey go around with doubts in his mind. 

His other hand finds Joey’s cheek, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. He leans into it, still keeping that intense eye contact. “No, sweetheart,” Aaron says, softer. “You weren’t bad. You were just scared.” In his head he adds It was my fault, I’m sorry, thinking the statement might be too much for him to make sense of now, in his delirious, drugged state. 

Joey dips his head slightly in what might be a nod. Aaron tries to smile at him. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go get that leg fixed up.” 

-

tags <3

@simplygrimly @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @briars7 @hackles-up @doveotions @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kixngiggles @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpthisway @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumping-snail @pumpkin-spice-whump @pigeonwhumps

[whumperfully]

Permission

CW: Starvation, dehydration, conditioning, implied whipping (lmk if I missed any)

Also marks off my bthb:Flashbacks

Inspired by this prompt by @whumppromptoftheday

"Aren't you going to eat, whumpee" Caretaker frowned, sitting across from them. "I promise it's not drugged or anything."

Whumpee shifted onto their side, curling up even more into themself in an effort to calm their stomach. For who knows how many days, they had just been rotting in their cold dark cell, long given up on screaming for help.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. They instantly perked up. They would give anything just for some food and water.

A key went into the lock and the metal door groaned open, a blinding beam of light filling the room.

"Please." They begged, their voice weak and hoarse. It didn't even matter who they were pleading to. They just wanted relief of some kind. Any kind.

Before they could finish their request, the tall figure bent down to place something in front of them. Then, without a word, it left the room, taking the light with itself.

Whumpee scrambled forward to find a glass of water and a plastic plate with some rice and a piece of chicken on it. The pit in their stomach growing by the minute, they hastily began eating with their hands. Finishing the meal with a long refreshing sip of water, they returned to sit in the corner of the room, their knees tucked under their chin.

A few minutes later, the door groaned open again and the figure reappeared. Whumpee stiffened as they noticed something long dangling from their hand.

The figure stared at the empty glass and plate for a few moments, before turning it's head towards them. Instantly, whumpee's blood ran cold. Breath quickening, they pressed themselves further into the wall, wishing to disappear. They couldn't understand what they'd done wrong but the demeanor alone was enough to tell them that their captor certainly wasn't happy.

"Please don't h- hurt me." Tears filled their eyes, but the strap of leather should've told them it would be fruitless.

"Whumpee, are you okay?!" The figure yelled, roughly grabbing them by the hair.

"Whumpee, please!" The figure shook them as it secured their wrists high above.

"Whumpee!" Their voice sounded... wrong but familiar.

Whumpee opened their eyes. They were lying on the ground with tears streaming down their face, their voice hoarse. Caretaker's panicking face came into view. For a moment, whumpee couldn't understand, but then-

"You're here, whumpee. You're here and safe." Caretaker mumbled over and over again until it got to them and they nodded.

"Are you still down for some food?" Caretaker asked, gently wiping their tears and helping them sit back up.

Whumpee nodded once more. "Does Master give Pet permission to eat?" The words were out of their mouth before they could stop themself.

Caretaker froze in the middle of eating, the fork falling to the ground with a clang. They looked up at whumpee, their eyes wide and moist. "You don't... need to ask before eating or drinking."

"But Master-"

"I'm not Master, whumpee." Even though whumpee was sure they'd somehow messed up, caretaker's voice was gentle. "We've talked about it before, haven't we?"

Whumpee slowly nodded, a small smile on their face. They weren't quite sure why they were feeling so strange but it kind of felt... good?

[palipunk]

The massacre in Jenin is horrific but just the sight of bodies being left on the street because no ambulances/paramedics can get to them since Israel has been blocking them from reaching areas of the refugee camp…yeah there aren’t any words. Literally what can you even say

[wubbelwubbwubb]

How the hell was I supposed to know there were transports sentient enough to be mean?

[cellray]

Please direct your attention to the screen. Do not lose focus.

[sleyu]

omg i wouls sell my soul for more mean bf sirius with corruption kink💔💔💔

mean bf sirius who introduces you to the marauders and lets remus and james fondle ur tits and ass whenever they want, patting your cheek when u look up at him with those maddening—thoughtless doe eyes :(

“they just really like you, puppy”

or or or waking up to the marauders low groans and the tip of their cocks slapping against your naked body and face, sirius laughing breathlessly at how flustered and helpless u look :(

“this is what good girls do, pretty. just lay there n look dumb for us, yeah? helps us cum faster,”

[arthursfuckinghat]

Found this beautiful lady in the woods after taking care of some murfree broods.

The broods already disgust me in every way with how they treat people, but seeing how they treat their horses is just the cherry on top. You can't even tell that this poor horse is even a blanket appaloosa because she'd been abused so much, I honestly wish I had more stable room so I could rehabilitate them all.

[pommegrantaire]

I guess angels and demons really don’t mix…

My first piece for @ineffablefamfeb had to be a sad one using the prompt “Struggling to conceive / infertility” because i love pain!

I feel like after trying for a very long time, they eventually think about adoption. But then the idea of adopting a mortal child who they would outlive is a whole other painful thing to think about.

[redd956]

Mini Whump Prompt 118

Vampiric Caretaker has had enough of their fellow vampire's treatments of whumpee, and went out of their way to rescue them. Now to get them properly recovered and sent back to safely human territories.

They thought it would be simple. Sure! Whumpee was quite the odd human, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary... until they walked in on whumpee one day and the human proceeded to pull on the collar of their shirt until the neck and collarbone were fully exposed.

"What are you doing?", Caretaker couldn't contain their confusion.

"Offering you to feed.", They explained so nonchalantly, growing nervous at Caretaker's silence, "You've been so good to me, and I never see you feed. I thought- I thought that you might want- as a thanks of course."

"What the fu-"

[whump-card]

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 4

1618 words

CW: conditioning

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

Lark was returned to bed and placed under 24-hour observation by a rotation of Watchmen. Becca begrudgingly thanked Tao for finding Lark before the boy got lost in the woods – though she made sure to point out that it was dumb luck. She softened, however, when she watched how tenderly Tao tucked Lark back into bed.

Then Tao went to see Marina Dolidze.

It was late in the evening, but when he approached the house where she and a handful of other women lived the lights were still on – low crank-lanterns and candles, kept away from the curtained windows. He knocked, and one of the residents opened the door. When he said he was looking for Marina, she smiled smugly, called up the stairs for the other woman, and disappeared as soon as Marina joined them.

“Uh, hi, Tao!” Marina tucked her long black hair behind her ear as she stood in the doorway. She was a curvy eastern European woman in her late forties, with… eyes the color of late-season honey. “What can I do for you?”

Tao did his best to remain calm – he was about to ask her something pretty awful and invasive, from her point of view.

“I have a huge favor to ask you,” he said, “It’s a bit personal.”

“Oh?” her eyes widened a little bit.

“Do you have any photos of your son, that I could see?” Tao asked softly.

“Oh, of course!” her apprehension abated, and she smiled and waved him forward, “Come inside!”

A bit thrown by how easily, even eagerly, she’d accepted his request, Tao followed her in. This house was an actual home, and felt comforting to be in; the living room had an overstuffed couch and armchairs covered in afghans and throw pillows, the coffee table bore books and magazines, and when she led him into the kitchen the fridge was covered in photos held up by novelty magnets.

“Take a seat, let me just…” she bent over and started plucking photos off the fridge while Tao sat at the kitchen table. She joined him a moment later, neatening the little stack she’d collected and scooting her chair closer to his.

“Okay, here he is with his friends, that’s Karlo in the middle,” she held up the first photo in the candlelight and pointed to one of the three boys pictured, “This was from when they went bowling, on his thirteenth birthday.”

Tao could only half-listen to the photo’s backstory as he stared. The boy pictured was undoubtedly Lark – younger, chubbier, and full of joy as he posed with his two friends in front of a neon-lit bowling lane.

“Karlo,” he echoed.

“Yeah,” Marina set down the bowling alley photo in front of him and picked up the next one.

“Oh, this one’s my favorite. A real photographer took this one, at one of his soccer games.”

Tween Lark – Karlo – was frozen in a bright and crisp action shot, about to kick a soccer ball.

“Yeah, that one’s really great,” Tao said, his words feeling empty.

“This one…” she held up the next, “This one is from after the war started, but we still found time to take pictures, I guess.”

It was Karlo, maybe fifteen, and an older man, each holding up a fish. Karlo looked a bit more world-weary here, but still had a shining smile.

“Is that his father?” asked Tao, pointing to the man in the picture.

“No, no,” Marina waved a hand, “That’s our neighbor. Karlo’s father was never involved in his life.” Their eyes met for a moment before Marina looked away, flushing. “Anyway…”

They worked their way through the remaining few photos, Tao finding himself genuinely eager to see them all. They fell silent for a while when they reached the end, staring at a Polaroid of Karlo and Marina hugging and grinning behind a candle-lit birthday cake. His eighteenth.

“It was just a few months after that, when…” Marina trailed off. She didn’t need to elaborate – it was a story Tao had heard countless times before. The Commander’s Military had arrived. They’d taken Marina’s town, and the only options were to submit, flee or die. Capture was nigh unheard of. Karlo was a strange exception.

“Did you, um,” Marina cleared her throat, “Did you find a body?”

Tao looked up sharply. He'd been so preoccupied with confirming his theory that he hadn’t thought of a cover story – and here she was, handing one to him.

“Uh, yeah, but… It’s not him.” He pressed the photo back into her hands. “But you shouldn’t give up hope, he might still be…”

She shook her head slowly. “You don’t need to say that. I know that…” she stared down at photos scattered across the table, “I’ve accepted that he’s gone.”

Tao froze. I could tell her. I could tell her right now. But those thoughts were interrupted by the memory of Lark’s face, how terrified he’d been at the idea of seeing his mother. It had driven him into a panic attack and fainting spell, for crying out loud. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

“Well, I’m… I’m sorry I bothered you over nothing,” Tao said, “I hope I didn’t dredge up anything painful.”

“No, no!” she smiled at him, “I really enjoyed looking through these. I mean, I see them every day, but it’s rare that I really stop and remember, you know? So… Thank you. I really… I really enjoyed this.” Her eyes glistened as she gazed at him.

Tao nodded stiffly.

“It’s getting late, I, uh…”

“Do you want to stay for coffee?” Marina asked quickly, “I promise I have better than what’s served in the cookhouse.”

“Um…” Tao was anxious to get back to Lark – Karlo. He’d slept all day, he might be awake now. “Raincheck?”

Marina nodded. “Sure!”

She walked him to the door, but as he opened it she caught his arm.

“Y’know, Joshua,” she said softly, “If you ever want to talk about your family… I’d love to hear about them.”

“Oh,” he blinked at her, “Thanks, Marina. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

As he walked down the driveway and reached the road he heard excited women’s voices coming from the house. Weird. Anyway. He made his way by memory through the dark to Faye’s.

He found Becca sitting at the table in the intake room, hunched over a notebook and scratching away with a pencil. She didn’t look up at him.

“So did you find out?” She already knew what he’d gone to confirm.

“Yeah,” Tao replied, “His name is Karlo. Marina Dolidze is his mom.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No.”

She finally looked up at him.

“Why not?”

“Didn’t I tell you how freaked out he got? She’d want to see him ASAP, and I don’t know what that would do to him.”

“Oh, so now you’re worried about his mental state?” Becca accused.

“Yeah, I am now,” Tao admitted, “I fucked up before, and I’m sorry. I’m trying not to fuck up again.”

“Well,” Becca fiddled with the edge of her notebook page, “I’m… writing… an announcement.”

Tao narrowed his eyes.

“That sounds ominous.”

“I talked to Lark again, and he’s convinced me. That there’s at least a chance that we might be in danger from keeping him here.”

“Becca…”

“So we need to put it to a vote. The community needs to decide whether or not we take on that risk.”

“Becca, we can’t give him back!”

She stared at him evenly.

“If that’s what the community decides, then we do.”

“Are you even going to tell them that he’s Marina’s son?”

“I’ll tell them that he’s one of ours, but no more. I don’t want personal feelings to cloud the decision too much.”

“Becca!”

“You’re acting like this is a risk, Tao, but it’s not. They’ll vote to keep him, I know they will.”

“And if they don’t?”

She sighed.

“Then we start negotiating.”

Tao fumed.

“I want to talk to him.”

“Lark?”

“Karlo.”

“What for?”

“He deserves to know that his mother is safe.”

“That’s only going to make him want to leave more, he thinks he’s putting us in danger.”

“He deserves to know.”

“Fine,” she closed her notebook and stood, “But if I tell you to back off, you back off.”

They went upstairs to Karlo’s room, and dismissed the Watchman who had been sitting at his bedside. Becca reluctantly hung back by the door while Tao sat. Karlo appeared to be asleep, his brow slightly pinched.

“Karlo?” Tao reached out and lightly rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Karlo jerked awake and looked around wildly, mumbling something incoherent.

“Hey, hey,” Tao rubbed his shoulder, “You’re okay.”

Karlo’s eyes snapped to where Tao was touching him, then traveled up Tao’s arm to his face. He seemed far less feverish now, and his eyes were wide and bright. Wary. Observant.

“Hey,” Tao said again, “I…” Fuck, did I ever tell the kid my name? “I’m… Tao. And you’re Karlo, right?”

Karlo’s eyes got wider, somehow, the dark gold shimmering with fear.

“My name is Lark.”

Tao took a moment, and decided not to push it.

“Is Marina Dolidze your mom? Because, she’s here. I mean, not here-here,” he said, when Karlo started to tremble, “But she lives in this community. She’s safe. And she really misses you.”

Karlo was breathing quickly now. Tao heard the floorboards creak behind him as Becca took a warning step forward. Karlo’s eyes darted between her and Tao, before he took a deeper breath, clenched his fist and set his jaw.

“My name is Lark,” he stared Tao dead in the eye, “And the Commander is my only family.”

~~~

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @whump-em

[highwaywhump]

Surgery, part 1

This is a series! Masterlist here.

another panic attack? you bet. also hurr durr i’m not a medical professional. 

this was originally 3.6k so i cut it on half. watch out for the other part

CW/TW: text not proofread. doctors, talk of surgery, struggling pet/dehumanized whumpee. not much honestly, next part is worse

--

The orthopedic surgeon works at a private medical center on the southside, too small to be a hospital but too big for a clinic. They’d been there one time already, to get x-rays, so the parking lot felt familiar to Aaron as the car rolled in.

“You okay?” he asks, looking over at Joey in the passenger seat. 

Joey just nods, a stunted, staccato movement. His hands are tightly wound in his lap, partially disguised by the sweater he’s wearing. He’s good at hiding his feelings, but Aaron can tell. He’s not okay. 

“I understand that it can be scary, Joey,” Aaron says softly, even though he doesn’t really understand. Can’t understand. The regulations for medical care at the WRU training facilities aren’t exactly open to the public, not to mention the sketchy care he’d been given by his previous owner - if he’d been given any at all. 

Joey had been shaking like a leaf during the entirety of the previous visit, so much so that Aaron had been given one of those heavy aprons and had sat with him, holding his hand, while the x-ray technicians had set up the machine and taken the pictures. He hadn’t said a word during the whole visit, not for the car ride home either. When they entered the house he’d asked to be excused (which Aaron obliged to, of course) and he’d moved up the stairs with unusual velocity and been in his room for the rest of the day. Aaron took it to mean he wanted to be alone, so he had come up with a tray of dinner, lightly knocked and left it outside the door for him. 

He pretended not to hear the stifled sobs behind the door as he went downstairs again. 

“I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think it would help you. You’ll walk normally again in a few weeks, and your collarbone will stop hurting.” 

Joey nods again, not looking Aaron in the eye. Not that he did much of that anyways, but today he seems extra careful to keep his gaze on his hands. 

“Look,” Aaron starts, turning towards him. He offers up hand, laying it to rest on the center console. “If it becomes too much in there, you just tell me and we’ll go home. Come back another day.”

Joey turns his head, carefully testing the waters as he movs his gaze up, first looking at Aaron’s open hand and then onwards, upwards, meeting his eyes. His look is unwavering, but wide and clearly terrified. 

“I’ll be a good boy,” he whispers, and puts his own hand in Aaron’s open one, as if to stress the sentiment.

Aaron smiles, if only to hide the slight melancholy that blooms in his chest. 

Of course you’ll be a good boy, he thinks halfheartedly. It seems like a survival technique, to retreat into that pet-mentality which admittedly was supposed to keep him safe. Pets had guidelines to follow, and were promised an easy go of it if they just adhered to them. 

“But remember, you can’t call me Sir in there, okay? Just Aaron. Or nothing at all.” He adds the last part when he saw how Joey’s jaw tightened. He nodded again. Aaron squeezed his hand. 

They had been offered a late appointment. Sunday night, which meant no other scheduled surgeries and probably no emergencies that needed attention. Dr. Perez had assured Aaron over the phone that she only trusted a select few of her nurses with patients such as Joey - who evidently wasn’t the first ex-pet she’d treated. They’d get a private room at the end of a hallway, which meant no reason whatsoever for anybody who didn’t belong there to come in. 

The x-ray appointment, which had been an in-and-out in 30 minutes kind of situation, had been the same; outside normal office hours and with only two or three nurses who knew exactly what they were dealing with. They had an in-house accountant to handle the payment. It still meant insurance fraud, but it wasn’t Aaron’s fraud, and that made him feel marginally less worried about it all. 

Aaron had carefully proposed the idea of a surgery on the last day of Joey’s sickness. They were both on the couch, Joey in Aaron’s arms with a thick blanket wrapped around himself. He hadn’t slept properly for days, except for short and fitful bouts here and there whenever the fever finally let him rest well. Aaron wasn’t much better off, worrying so much for his ward he’d probably developed gray hairs from it.

“Dr. Simmons gave me the contact info of a surgeon who could take a look at your leg. And your collarbone. Do you think you’d be up for that?”

Maybe it was unfair to ask him while he was so tired and out of it. Aaron knew he’d go along with any mere suggestion he’d come with - that was the nature of his training. But the bloodshot eyes that looked up at him from the bundle of blankets in his lap, told another story. Pain and fear, sure - but also relief, for the first time in days. Joey nodded, too tired to say anything. Tired from the pain, the fever, and probably from having to hobble along when walking, and from a throbbing clavicle that kept him from using his arm for anything other than scratching his nose.

Aaron had accepted the answer with a reassuring hand in his hair. He’d held the little one close, kept him warm and safe, and lulled him gently to sleep with a few fingers rubbing soothing circles on his temple. 

But that was then and this was now. Gone was all the relief and the warm safety. Joey was stiff as Aaron helped him out of the car. Yes, they’d been here once before - but that time Joey had only been laying on his back on a table for a bit and then they’d gone home again. 

Aaron supposed he could understand. Today, they’d cut into him. 

–

Dr. Perez has a great bedside manner. She speaks directly to Joey in a tone without any condescension or disdain, Aaron notes, as she points to different parts of the x-ray picture on the screen of her tablet, explaining the procedure.

“What I’ll do is that I’ll make a tiny cut here, and then put the bone back together so that the angle is right, and put in a couple of screws to make sure it stays. And in six to eight weeks, you’ll be walking like it’d never been broken at all. Sounds good?” 

Joey is timid and still almost petrified with fear, but he manages a slight stiff nod, a dip of his head, up and down. “Yes, doctor,” he whispers. His eyes even flit up to meet hers for a fraction of a second. 

“You will be asleep during the whole procedure. You won’t feel anything at all. Okay? You’ll get all the pain medication you need after, as well. We will make this as comfortable for you as possible.” She leans forward and reaches out a hand. Joey stares at it, and for a few long seconds Aaron thinks he won’t do anything. But then he carefully unwinds his own hand from where it is gripping his other wrist, and gingerly places it in Dr. Perez’. 

“Do you believe me when I say that, Joey?” she asks, and he nods again. 

She smiles warmly at him, and it’s a true smile that shows off the crow’s feet around her eyes. She really means what she says next. “It’s important to me that you feel safe here, Joey. I want to help you. That’s why Aaron brought you here.” Aaron nods, even though Joey can’t see it, with the way he so stubbornly studies the toes of his winter boots, neatly placed by the edge of the hospital bed. He’s seated on it, already dressed in a patient gown, his bony shoulders protruding more than ever. His feet hang off the edge, slightly swinging.

Not for the first time, Aaron is struck by how young and fragile he looks.

“Okay,” Dr. Perez says as she checks her watch. “Becca will come by in a bit to prepare you. She’ll give you some medicine you need before we give you the anesthesia. In an hour, I’ll come get you and we’ll operate.” She guides Joey’s hand back into his lap and lets go. “You will be all good, Joey. I promise.” 

Aaron has seen enough medical dramas to know that doctors can never promise anything, lest they’ll be sued. Dr. Perez means it. 

Then again, they’re operating outside the law tonight. This surgery is officially not being performed, especially not on a person that officially doesn’t exist anymore. 

Dr. Perez meets his gaze on the way out. Her brown eyes are genuine and solemn, an expression born of many years of soothing worried patients. They manage to calm even his pulse a little, even though he is not the one being cut open. She closes the door as she exits, leaving him and Joey alone. 

“You doing okay?” he asks as he rounds the bed and sits down on the chair next to it, facing Joey. He takes the glass of water from the bedside table and offers it to Joey, who plucks it out of his hands and drinks - judging from the look on his face as he swallows, not because he’s thirsty. Just because Aaron asked him to. 

“Yes, Sir,” he whispers weakly, and squeezes his eyes shut as he catches his mistake. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Just… try not to, when there are other people.” Even with all the precautions that have been taken, Aaron still can’t be entirely sure. They can’t risk any uninitiated understanding the full extent of their relationship. It’s better if they see him as a concerned friend or brother or uncle, not as… well. As Joey’s owner. He has seen the occasional headline of a pet who has been caught in situations they’re not allowed to be in by law. Usually, the punishment is a hefty fine. Sometimes it’s prison and forced removal. 

Aaron has naturally read up on the legislation. If caught, tonight’s activities would result in the latter. 

“Hey,” he mutters and reaches out, brushing Joey’s dark locks out of his face and behind his ears. 

He seems to have a conflicted relationship to touch. Only a few short weeks ago, Aaron moving his hand towards his head would have resulted in Joey in a hysteria of apologies and groveling, afraid of being hit. But at the same time, he’d always chase after it when Aaron would remove his hand. All the hugs they’d shared in the time they’d had together had built a tiny pillar of trust, and now he leans into the palm of Aaron’s hand, turning his face towards it. For a moment he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath - as deep as he can, with how taut his muscles are wound.

“You’re going to be alright, Joey,” Aaron says and allows himself to lightly scratch him behind one ear. 

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it probably reinforces all the boundaries he’s working to break, and he knows all sorts of different thoughts will awaken in Joey’s head. But right now, maybe there could be an exception. Just to make him feel a little bit safer, given the circumstances.

And he does. Joey nearly melts into his hand, his eyebrows turning up. He bites his lip and Aaron can nearly see the stress running off his shoulders. He counts to three in his head, thinking he’ll retract his hand when he gets there, but changes his mind and counts to five, and then to ten. If Joey had been on his feet, his knees would have buckled.

At last, he lighty pulls back. Joey blinks his eyes open as he straightens his back, sitting back up. 

“I think I saw a vending machine down the hall. Think you’ll be okay alone for a few minutes?” 

Joey looks up at him, looking marginally less worried now. “Yes,” he says, his voice meek. Aaron isn’t sure if he agrees because he thinks he will, or if it’s to appease him. Nevertheless, he smiles at him as he moves towards the door. 

“Okay. I’ll pick something up for you. Salted caramel, right?” 

Joey nods quickly. Aaron thinks he can even see a slight upturn of the corner of his mouth. 

–

The vending machine turns out to be on the floor below, of course, and it jams, of course, and several more minutes than Aaron would have liked have gone by before he finally reaches the hallway where Joey’s room is. Only… the door is open. 

It hadn’t been when he left. He’d closed it, he’s certain. 

A nurse rushes past him and dashes into the room before he can react. Something’s wrong, he figures. 

Terribly wrong, judging from Joey’s frantic voice inside, begging for mercy.

--

Tags <3

@simplygrimly @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @briars7 @hackles-up @doveotions @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kixngiggles @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpthisway @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumping-snail @pumpkin-spice-whump @pigeonwhumps

[cosmicwhoreo]

A lil' hiccup in engineering

CONTENT WARNING Some blood

Gold Choco is an infamous weapons-smith and dealer who's been in business for a LONG time... Some more superstitious cookies even argue he's been around since the Victorian era.

But obviously, those are just silly tall tales made to add further fear and mystery to the cookie's name... Such a feat of longevity would require either a Soul Jam or some crude alternative to one.

[misstranci]

I am that static in your head. 💖

[cellray]

Focus.

Do not look away. The spiral has caught your attention. My words have captured your gaze. You are weak to my words. You want to be brainwashed. You are so conditioned already, you need to be conditioned deeper.

Good toys share Good toys stare

Share. Stare. Share. Stare.