When the caretaker knows they shouldn’t give into the conditioning, they should destroy the “good and bad” narrative, but the whumpee is so broken, so terrified and weak and literally will not move from fear that they’re “being bad”. So the caretaker gives in. Showering them with praise, telling them that they were being so good, just to get them to take some medicine, eat some food, and sleep. They tell themselves that they could start tomorrow, but right now it was better to keep them alive.

part one (not mandatory)

The day after the letting inspection, Jim came home to find that Ty had made the house spotless.

 For a few seconds, he marvelled at the pristine welcome mat, the neat and shining row of shoes, the sparkling mirror in the hall. Ty had done this, and it looked amazing, and…oh. Oh no.

 Jim left his bag on the floor, chucked his coat over the banister and called, “Ty?”

 A clatter, pattering feet, and Ty arrived into the hallway, coming to a stop within arms reach and then, to Jim’s horror, dropping to his knees.

Keep reading

BTHB: Not Used to Freedom

For: @whump-txt

(For clarification, red is what has been done, green is what has been requested)

The caretaker stood on the porch of their house, the whumpee frozen in the doorway.

“Hey, it’s ok, we don’t have to go out if you don’t want to, but I think it’ll be good for you.” The caretaker spoke in a soft, patient voice. The whumpee gripped the edges of their coat, too nice, too soft, they didn’t deserve it, and shook their head. They wanted to go out, but they weren’t supposed to want things.

“Mmm, it’s, i-it’s j-just…” The whumpee stumbled over their words, the whumper hadn’t like it when they talked back, and they still were learning it was ok to speak.

“Take your time, it’s ok, you can tell what’s wrong if you want.” The caretaker took great pains to not to make anything they said sound like a command.

“Nnnot allowed. N-not allowed to l-leave” They whumpee finally forced out. They trembled, they probably hated him, they were being bad, that means they were going to get punished and hurt so so badly. The caretaker interrupted their train of thought.

“Remember what we talked about?” The caretaker spoke gently. “You can leave, you can stay, you can make decisions for yourself, and no one will be mad. You’re allowed to do what you want to do.” The whumpee still looked scared. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, [whumpee], I certainly won’t hurt you.”

The whumpee nodded, took a deep breath, and took a step outside. They screwed up their face and tensed, they broke the rules they broke the rules they’re bad bad bad, but as the hit never came, they slowly opened their eyes to see the caretaker’s smiling face. “Great job! I’m proud of you, you’re doing so well!” The whumpee gave a rare and tentative smile. The caretaker extended an arm, and the whumpee gratefully latched onto it. It was comforting, and gave them stability. “Where do you want to go?” At the whumpee’s panicked expression over having to make choices, and decisions, and what if they were wrong and [caretaker] got mad, the caretaker simplified. “Park or coffee shop?” The whumpee liked coffee.

“Uh… um… c-coffee, please…” The caretaker smiled and led them the few blocks to the nearby coffee shop. The whumpee looked around in a combination of nerves and wonder, it had been so long since they had really been outside. Thankfully, the caretaker picked a time when they knew not many people would be in the shop. They led the whumpee to a quiet booth in the back, snagging a menu on the way over.

“Hmm, good choice [whumpee]! The food looks really good! Now, what would you like to have?” The whumpee stared down at the menu and the words started to swirl together. There were so many choices, so many options, they weren’t going to get force-fed whatever the whumper felt like that day? They finally picked out a coffee and muffin, to the caretaker’s encouragement. The waitress walked up to their table.

“Alrighty, what can I getcha?” She spoke, pen on her notebook.

“I’ll take a mocha, and a slice of your cheesecake?” The caretaker spoke, then looked at the whumpee, wanting them to feel confident speaking to others. The whumpee couldn’t look at the waitress, instead staring at the menu, and started to take shallow breaths in panic.

“C-can, uh, um, C-can I p-please…” The caretaker squeezed their hand in reassurance. “Um. C-coffee… with, with a muffin, ple-ease?” Their voice cracked at the end.

“Sure thing, sweetie, what kind of muffin you want?”  She said, writing what they said. The whumpee shook their head wordlessly, and looked at the caretaker in desperation.

“They’ll have a blueberry one.” The caretaker spoke, remembering that, before all this, that was the whumpee’s favorite. The whumpee let out a breath, looking relieved.

“No problem! It’ll be right out!” She walked away to put their order in.

“[Whumpee], that was great, I’m so proud of you! I know it must have been hard, but you were amazing!” The caretaker reassured, but the whumpee just put their head in their hands, embarrassed. The whumper’s voice sounded in their head, weak, worthless, you can’t even do one thing right. you’re a freak and everyone knows it. you’re horrible, awful, a burden. they all hate you, and you’re in trouble, this is all your fault, you deserve this pain, you deserve it. The whumpee shook, and flinched when the caretaker put a hand on their shoulder, but relaxed into the gentle touch. “Hey, hey. it’s ok. It’s ok. You’re good and wonderful, and you’re doing your best. It’s going to be alright.” The whumpee slowly calmed down at the caretaker’s soft voice. They straightened up in their seat.

“I-I’m sorry…” They whispered.

“There’s absolutely no need to apologize.” The caretaker smiled. “You’re good, [whumpee].” And, as the the food came, for the first time in a long time, the whumpee started to believe it.

Imagine a whumpee who's finally able to get a bath after they've been rescued. They sink down into the water with a content sigh, grateful for finally being able to get rid of the blood and dirt caked in their skin and wash the grease from their hair. They no longer need to worry about someone shoving their head under the water to try to drown them or electrocuting them while they're soaked. They never thought a bath could make them feel so human.

But then they’ve been conditioned to just know that’s going to happen. They’re terrified of standing water now. The caretaker has to sit with them and assure them it’s not going to happen this time and maybe the caretaker has to wash their hair because the whumpee is so terrified

Masters Part 2

Freya’s tension oozes across the crowd. Zero senses it, even at the other end of the room. He pushes through the crowd as best as he can, trying to reach her. Zero can see her tension as he gets closer, the rigidity in her posture, the carefully polite distance she holds. Zero thinks that if he had pride, he would feel it in his ability to recognize Freya’s discomfort, even masked as it is. But if Zero could feel, he knows that all he would feel now is worry.

Freya is always uncomfortable at these things, always on edge and smiling like she might be sick. But this…..this is different. Freya carries a warning in every purposeful curve of her body.

Zero holds back a growl of frustration as another human blocks his path, he can’t get into a fight right now, that’s not what Freya needs.

The man moves and finally, Zero can see her.

WARNING

If Zero could feel, he would call this feeling fear.

He….he can’t - can’t be here. He’s gone. For good. Freya said that - that - but humans lie. Zero knows this. But Freya promised, she promised. He can’t…..why is he here? Why is he talking to Freya?

Zero can’t move, can’t think, can’t process what’s happening. His body flashes distress signals across him, registering that something is wrong with him but unable to dictate exactly what. He’s not afraid, machines can’t feel therefore it follows that machines can’t be afraid.

But he is.

He is.

His feelings aren’t real, they’re gone, they were removed, it doesn’t matter what Freya says because he knows he can’t feel, he can be correct and proper and he knows that he can’t feel and he can’t be hurt and he’s been modified, he’s been freed, he-

DANGER

DANGER

SHUTDOWN IMMINENT

HE’S LOOKING AT ME

Zero can’t move because [Master] was looking at him and [Master] was smiling and - and - and -

ADJUST LEVELS OF -

He was smiling, his eyes already calculating and this was going to hurt but it couldn’t hurt because he couldn’t hurt. He, he, he needed -

TO RECOVER IMMEDIATELY LOCATE -

Freya.

Now she was looking at him, following [Master]’s gaze. Her face softens at the sight of him, her eyes going gentle. She holds out a hand to him, beckoning him over.

Towards her

Towards him

Zero finally finds it within him to move.

Her hand rests against his arm, his receptors recognizing her touch as warm.

As soft.

As vulnerable.

But [Master] is looking at him too, and he’s still smiling.

“This is your latest acquisition?” [Master] asks, smirking at a joke only he and Zero knows.

“Yes.” Freya’s voice stays carefully polite. “This is-”

“I know what it is.”

Freya stiffens beside him. “Pardon?”

“That was mine long before it was yours.”

“I see.”

“I was wondering where it ran off to.” [Master] says. All Zero can see is his eyes, hard, possessive, Zero should never have, but he didn’t, he didn’t run, he-

“I’d be happy to take it off your hands. It’s programming is faulty, I can make it better. I was on the verge of a breakthrough.”

“That’s very kind.”

Zero’s heart plummets. His energy screams warnings at him as it drops. His limbs lock him in place, warnings flashing through him like panic. He - he- h-he can’t go back, he can’t, he’ll, he’d, he’d do anything but he, he doesn’t, he can’t-

“But he’s mine now.” Freya’s grip tightens imperceptibly on his arm. Zero keeps his eyes locked up, but his sensors tell him that though she’s moving slow, her grip is turning tight enough to turn her hands white.

Zero doesn’t know if he should be comforted by the statement or not.

“I admit, you did quite well with his programming, he’s perfect.” Freya leans in towards [Master], not [Master], Freya said he was hers now.

“How did you do it? I haven’t been able to see anything too different in his programming.”

[Master]’s eyes flick towards him, questioning.

Freya smiles, turning back to Zero. “Fetch me a drink.” She says coldly.

[Master] smiles approvingly. “I could give you some pointers if you like. How to control it.”

“I’d like that.”

Zero is suddenly glad he’s too locked to flinch. His programming forces him to uncoil and glide back through the crowd, towards the drinks. His hands shake as he scans the table. Mistress Freya didn’t specify what she wanted. He doesn’t know.

HEAT RISING

He doesn’t know

WARNING

Is this a test? What does she want? What if he gets it wrong?

WARNING

What will she say?

WARNING

What will she do?

FAN ACTIVATED

He’s already taken too long. What does Freya normally drink? In the shop she sticks to water. At home she likes grape juice. In - in -in the shop she says water helps her cool down. Grape juice stains. It’s hot in here.

OVERHEATING IMMINENT

Zero grabs the water in a dainty glass.

During their captivity the whumpee was always allowed to sit at the table with the whumper to eat but they couldn’t touch their food until the whumper was done with theirs, a habit they can’t shake even after their friends rescue them