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whumpcereal

@whumpcereal / whumpcereal.tumblr.com

kay. real live grown-up. just a little place to dabble in whump writing. 18+ material likely; kink blogs DNI
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whumpcereal's master list of master lists

behavior modification WRU has hired renowned behaviorist Dr. Ivan Peters to refine their training protocol for Romantic acquisitions. When Jack Kenyon–the brilliant young partner of one of Ivan’s med school rivals–applies to be Dr. Peters’ research assistant, he has no idea what he’s signing on for.

the kennel Will and Tommy are headed on an ill-advised camping trip when they encounter some car trouble. Luckily, Doc Barker is there with a tow and some hot coffee. But when Will wakes at Doc Barker's place the next morning, he realizes that he and Tommy have far more than car trouble on their hands.

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oddsconvert

Play Pretend [Kurtis & Josh drabble]

CW: Yandere whumper, aggressive whumper, carewhumper, kidnapped/captivity, beatings, torture (whipping, not shown only aftermath), implied noncon, emotional and physical abuse, restraints, gags, whump/torture aftercare, wound cleaning, blood mention, adult language (I beg! Let me know if I have missed any!)

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God forbid, what the poor lad looks like now.

Kurtis paled at the thought of what may have become of Josh. When he first met him, back when he was first taken, there was fire beneath the fear. A determination that defied his pain. But now, Kurtis debated what could be waiting for him on the other side of the door. Whether the boy would be skin and bones…or ashes and dust. It wasn’t an impossibility, was it? Given Felix’s less than shiny track record.

With a four-pack of beer dangling from one hand and a stack of frozen pizza boxes precariously balanced and teetering on the other, Kurtis kicked the door open. Inside, Felix sat alone in shadowed silence, hunched over on the sofa, his head buried in his hands.

“Oi oi,” Kurtis chirped, his voice echoing through the empty room. “Where’s your better half hidin’?”

Felix didn’t bother to look back. 

“Basement.”

His tone was venomous. There was a dangerous stillness to him, a simmering rage bubbling just beneath the surface. Kurtis hesitated, knowing better than to poke the bear. As he edged closer, he noticed a series of deep scratches raking down Felix’s cheek - raw, red and angry.

“I could have fucking killed him, Kurt,” Felix spat, “Look what he fucking did to me.” His finger jabbed towards the inflamed wounds shredding through his face.

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Play Pretend - Devil's Night

A lil Halloween drabble for Felix & Josh because why the hell not?! 🦇🎃👻

CW: yandere whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, submissive/compliant whumpee, forced feminisation (clothes), noncon touch, noncon kiss, future noncon/fade to black noncon, restraints, kidnapped, captivity, forced relationship, adult language (let me know if I have missed any! <3)

Josh stares into the grimy bathroom mirror, and the mirror stares back. He looks right through himself, past the unholy phantom posing as his own reflection. Hollow eyes flicker to meet hollow eyes, and Josh feels nothing. A defeated stranger glares back at him, with their ashen and gaunt cheeks, swollen red eyes and split lips drawn into a thin line. A lifeless shell of what used to be a man.

What he truly sees is a toy; a living blow-up doll. His hair, for once, looks glossy and synthetic. His eyes are big, blue and empty. He’s sure that’s what Felix sees in him too - a plaything to bend and break to his every perverted will. A puppet enslaved by its strings, nothing without its master’s control. 

“Taking your precious time, aren’t you, baby?” Felix’s voice calls from the other side of the door. Shivers ripple down Josh's spine, his stomach twists and turns with cold dread. Josh will always try to steal every minute of privacy and savour every second of solitude. He makes no apologies for that.

“Come on now. Chop-chop. Come out and let me see your costume, my darling.”

Josh’s legs give out, and just in time, he catches himself with his sweaty palms gripping the sink. He wouldn’t be caught dead dressed like this. Scarlet shame colours his cheeks. It’s not quite what he had in mind when Felix picked out a Halloween costume for him, but then again, all the more fool him to not expect it. 

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peachy-panic

Dr. Collins Interlude

A rare third-party POV, this time from the perspective of Grayson's therapist. Consider this the preface to the joint-therapy arc, in the works now.

WARNINGS: Talk of captivity, talk of abuse/noncon, PTSD, referenced suicide attempt

Dr. Collins was twenty-six years old when he began practicing. In the private practice he operated alongside three of his colleagues, he had been the youngest by almost twenty years. For his first few years, he took on the heaviest cases that came through their doors; victims of child abuse and domestic violence. People with PTSD so severe that it impacted their daily functioning.

His older colleagues warned him against fatigue and burnout if he continued to shoulder such an intense workload, but he never once considered backing down. 

Their warnings weren’t baseless. The first few years were hard, and all the more difficult for the fact that he was in a new town, in a new state, without any kind of support system around him. There were a lot of long, lonely nights, and more than one unhealthy coping mechanism he used to shake off the weight of his dark days. 

Things got better, gradually. He made changes. He met the love of his life and married him just after his thirtieth birthday. They bought a home together and filled it with color and life. He learned the meaning of a work-life-balance and watched as his work became more rewarding than it was exhausting. Things got easier. 

He was no longer a young man when Grayson Dawning came into his life, but he was the first client in a very long time that stirred up those long buried fears of inadequacy. 

Dr. Collins knew about him before he met him as a client. It felt like everyone in the country knew. Definitely everyone in the state, and most especially in several-town radius of the church that had launched the disastrous mission. 

After two months of radio silence following the disappearance of the two young missionaries, most everyone began to assume that they would never come home. Dr. Collins had come to believe it, too, as much as he ever allowed himself the space to think about the missing young men.

And then, beyond all hope, word of their rescue reached their town. 

And soon after, Dr. Collins received a call from the pastor of the church, wanting to arrange a long term treatment plan for one of the rescued men. Boys, really. They were so young, still. Dr. Collins had not hesitated to take him on.

He hadn’t known many details, then, about the trauma Grayson and his counterpart had endured in their time away from home. After several months of intensive sessions, he regretted to say that he still didn’t know nearly as much of the story as he should. It seemed that the more he leaned on Grayson to open up, the more he closed in around himself. 

Guilt was the primary emotion Grayson exhibited in their months of sessions. It weighed on him, as if he had been the sole survivor. In some way, he thought Grayson might actually see it in those terms. Their captivity was framed, in his perspective, as something that had happened to Elijah, and something Grayson bore witness to. It was Elijah who was taken. It was Elijah who was tortured. It was Elijah who was raped.  

(There were private doubts Dr. Collins held but didn’t push too hard. There were too many blanks in the story. Certain territories Grayson refused to touch).

It was for this reason that he couldn’t be entirely surprised the night he got the call that Grayson was in the hospital after an attempt. It didn’t mean he felt the impact any less.

Seeing Elijah for the first time in the hospital that day—the trembling young man holding a bouquet of flowers in Grayson’s hospital room doorway—had driven home the idea he had considered pitching to his patient for weeks. 

He could admit that he didn’t know how it would go, putting them together in a session like this for the first time. He had even been a little surprised when both of them agreed to see it through. He wanted to do everything in his power to be worthy of that trust. 

TBC...

****

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whumpcereal

behavior modification, future snippet #5

Masterlist here. FLUFF. THERE IS FLUFF. And also angst. But please enjoy this flash into the future with Jack, Joe, and their sassafras baby girl, Hallie.

content warnings for memories of abuse, vague descriptions of a bbu-style system, adult language, and tooth-rotting sweetness.

years later, with their child: lucky

Joe knows something is wrong the instant he buckles an overall-clad Hallie into her booster seat; he should have picked up on it earlier, but he was juggling macaroni art and a lunchbox and her naptime blanket. But now he sees. Hallie’s cheeks, still blessedly round with baby fat, are red and streaked with tears. At first, he wonders if she’s been hurt, but then he sees the set of her jaw. These are patented Hallie Prescott-Kenyon Angry Tears. 

“Pumpkin, you’ve got your angry eyes on.”  

Hallie sighs and stares out the window as Joe straightens her harness. Her little chin trembles ever so slightly. “Kaitlyn said something mean.” 

Ah, yes. Kaitlyn. Hallie’s Kindergarten nemesis, and, much to Joe’s chagrin, the child of a pair of WRU higher-ups. Joe knows it’s wrong to punish a child for the sins of the father, but if he’s referred to Kaitlyn Halstrom as “Pol Pot in pigtails,” he’s not going to start feeling badly about it now. Especially not when Hallie’s so clearly upset.

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oddsconvert

Play Pretend #11 - Dead Ends

CW: kidnapped whumpee, missing whumpee, search for whumpee, implied panic attack, grief/despair, mention of yandere whumper, sensory deprivation, restraints, gagged/muzzled, conditioning of whumpee, psychological manipulation, adult language (I'm definitely missing some, let me know if any catch you! 💖)

I'd like you all to meet Alec! Josh's best friend since highschool! and love interest 🤫 This one's a little look into what's going on on the outside, and we see how Josh is hanging on too... 😌😘

-

“I’m sorry, the person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try again later, or leave a message after the tone-”

Voicemail. Again. Alec fights back the surge of nausea as he listens to that cold and robotic voice drone on for the millionth time. It mocks him with empty apologies and faux concern. He can’t bear it anymore. Each and every unanswered call chips away at his already fragile hope. Two weeks, it's been. A whole fortnight and nothing. Nada. Josh has seemingly fallen off the face of the earth, vanished without a trace.

The tone that follows isn’t the usual dull hum, the jarring sound that Alec has grown sickeningly familiar with; so much so that it haunts his sleep. This time, it’s a shrill and insistent whine that echoes the growing pang of panic in his chest. He cradles the phone against his cheek for a beat too long. The following silence is deafening but Alec doesn’t break it. Instead, he hangs up. Dozens of messages already clog Josh’s voicemail box, each one more frantic than the last. What good will one more do? 

The trouble is, Alec can't for the life of him decide at what point his worry is warranted. It's not like this is unusual for Josh. Not by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, radio silence is the norm - it's the ring of the phone that's the anomaly. Days stretching to countless weeks could pass by without so much as a peep. But Josh isn’t one to ever disappear without a heads-up first, and he always resurfaces…eventually.

Not this time. Something is different, something is wrong. Alec can feel it in his gut. It's a nagging - no -  a gnawing feeling that's eating him alive from the inside out. He paces his apartment, the walls closing in on him with each step. His nails are bitten down to the quick. His heart sits heavy in his chest. Images of Josh, hurt or lost, flash through his mind. Is he okay? Fuck. What if something’s happened?! A cold sweat prickles across his skin. Just for the sake of it, he desperately dials Josh's number for one final time.

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whumpcereal

⛑ - Some tender first-aid

FOR WILL

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part of the kennel. will's recovery arc, just to whet your appetites. masterlist here.

post-rescue snippet, tender first-aid

"Annie said you wouldn't let her change your dressings."

Will shrugs. It's true. He doesn't want Annie to see him this way. He doesn't want her to know everything that happened once he was sold away from Doc's, and as soon as she sees him in any state of undress, that's going to be pretty much impossible.

Could he have handled it better? Sure. But she got the message. She left. Just like he wanted her to. She shouldn't have to see him. Not like this. Not at all.

He doesn't really want Tommy to see him this way either. Tommy is still beautiful, just the way he always was. Will is--well, if he was a sad little mutt before, he's a junkyard dog now. A junkyard dog without any bite.

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Anonymous asked:

"I didn't know," for 5 sentence fics!

Um, so this is way more than five sentences, so we'll tag all the people for this one. Will's mama heads to the hospital...

part of the kennel. follows this five-sentence fic about will's mom. master list here.

content warnings for: hospitals, comatose whumpee, absentee parents

post-rescue, to see you through

“I didn’t know.”

The words are inadequate, and they both know it. There’s nothing that Casey can say that will bring her absolution; she isn’t sure that she wants it anyway. She didn’t want the life she had with Brian; she knew she wasn’t the mother Will deserved. At least, that was the explanation she gave herself. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to be his mother, or anyone’s, in the first place. 

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Anonymous asked:

Can you write a few lines of how Izaak would react to being forced to eat blue cheese? I miss his voice so much!!

"If you think I'm eating mould, you've got another thing fucking coming," Izaak spat. His tongue curled, and his stomach churned like the ocean's tides. The sight of it, the stench of it - revolting. Izaak would take the ravenous rumbles and cries of his empty stomach over this any day.

"Don't be so damn precious," Ronan hissed. "This is a luxury, pet. A treat. You'll be grateful for whatever I give you. The little one is-"

Ronan turned back to Henley, pressing another nub of blue cheese to his lips. Henley obeyed, obviously, quickly swallowing it down. His doe-like eyes beamed up at Ronan for validation. Izaak couldn't decide what's more disgusting. The smell of the cheese, or how much Henley reeks of desperation.

"Think I'll stick with the usual stale bread," Izaak scoffed, his eyes narrowing.

Ronan erupted like a volcano. Henley flinched into himself as Ronan shot up to his feet, the plate of cheese in his hand clattered across the floor. "Choice is another luxury," he growled, "one that you don't get nor deserve."

A barely stifled chuckle fills Izaak's cheeks. He shook his head. "Not eating it."

"Yes. Yes, you are."

"Try and make me," Izaak grinned from ear to ear. His fists clenched in their chains, every muscle taut and ready to pounce. Adrenaline coursed through his veins.

Ronan stooped down and picked up a grimy crumb of blue cheese from the floor, completely ignoring the dust and stray hairs clinging to it. He held it up to the light, examining it with a curious grin. 

“Look at that,” Ronan smiled, pulling a hair off the cheese, “Extra flavour.”

Henley and Izaak dry-heaved in unison. Ronan lunged at Izaak, snatching his shaggy hair and forcing his head back. He held the crumb of blue cheese inches from Izaak's face, his eyes filled with rage. "Open. Your. Mouth,” he snarled.

Izaak’s jaw remained clenched, his lips clamped shut. He shook his head stubbornly. 

Ronan leaned in closer, holding the cheese underneath Izaak’s nose. He felt his throat close up as the pungent smell assaulted his nostrils. He pulled at his chains, trying to break free.

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. It’s an order. Open your fucking mouth.”

Izaak’s eyes flashed with defiance, huffing furious breaths through his nostrils. This time he didn’t even shake his head - just a dead stare.

“Fine. Want it your way, Izzy? Let’s do it your way.”

He reached out and pinched Izaak’s cheeks together, making his lips pucker. A low groan rumbled in Izaak’s throat in protest as he swung his head violently from side to side. His nostrils are pinched together, cutting off his last vestige of air. Still, he doesn’t relent, refusing to open his mouth. Even as his complexion morphs to a bursting, breathless blue. Even as stars danced in his vision.

Izaak’s world dipped as the shock collar lit up. A bolt of electricity wrapped around Izaak’s throat, constricting like a serpent. It surged through his veins - his body trembled with exertion, his face contorted in agony. The chains binding his wrists rattled and clattered as he clawed at them, desperate to reach his throat. Finally, he let out a silent, strangled gasp of air.

Ronan stole his chance, quickly popping the cheese inside whilst his mouth was wide open, forcing his jaw shut with his hand. He held Izaak's head steady, forcing him to chew until the cheese was swallowed. Izaak’s eyes watered at the taste, and his tongue recoiled. It was as if he’d licked a mouldy stock. A vile blend of tang, bitterness and a hint of decay. Ronan slammed his palm over Izaak’s mouth as he gagged and tried to spit it back out, the sound of his heaving echoing in the room. 

“Swallow. Be grateful.”

Izaak’s eyes burned with hatred, but he reluctantly swallowed down the cheese. Nearly immediately bringing it back up. He coughed and spat bile as Ronan removed his hand, and instead began to gently card it through his tangled hair.

“I don’t know why I spoil you, pet... My kindness is wasted on you.” Ronan sighed, drawing a drooling Izaak closer into his chest, his voice filled with a deceptive warmth.

---

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deluxewhump

Thinking of the “forced to hurt” trope and wondering which OC would be the most disturbed by it if they had to hurt another OC they love (for some inescapable reason)

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whumpcereal

Joe. Jack would never want to hurt Joe either, but Jack is more guarded whereas Joe’s very tender hearted. He loves deeply, and he knows how badly Jack has been hurt by other people, so the notion that Joe might add to that when he’s promised to protect him—well. Crisis.

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I don't know what to ask! These things always intimidate me a little, like how am I worthy to be interacting with such amazing writers??

But let me think.... Ok can I ask how Jack and Joe's week has been?

💙💙💙

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This ask is from forever ago, but I meant to thank you for it when you first sent it. But after all the kind words you had for The Kennel last night, I want to 1.) thank you again for being so kind to me and 2.) try to answer this. I obviously haven't been around as often, but I do still check in and think about my boys. Here goes nothing!

"You're not serious."

Jack looks back over his shoulder, and he tries not to laugh. Joe stands in the kitchen doorway, his face frozen in horror and his eyes fixed firmly on the mottled blue-red lobster that Jack holds pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Jack should have known he wouldn't get away with this--or at least, that Joe wouldn't let the occasion pass without protest. This is, after all, a man who became a vegetarian because of his mother's highland cow wall calendar.

"You don't have to eat it, Joey."

"Neither do you," Joe replies. "You could let him go right now."

Jack sets the lobster back into the open cooler at his feet and closes the lid. "Where would you propose I do that?"

"We live on the water."

"I don't think he's from Long Island Sound. It wouldn't be very nice to abandon him so far from home."

Joe's lips purse. "You're going to boil that poor animal alive."

"That's how it's done, my love." Jack nudges the cooler with his stocking toe. "He's been chilling in there all day. He won't even feel it."

Joe stares at the cooler with disgust. "How do you know?"

"I suppose I don't. But Hallie--"

"--do not blame this on our child--"

Jack sets gentle hands on Joe's shoulders. "Hallie asked if she could try lobster."

"She wouldn't have asked if she knew that it was going to turn you into a murderer."

Jack snorts. "Well, she made a concession. I offered her crab--then I wouldn't have to do the killing--but she said Sebastian was a crab, and she didn't want to eat Sebastian."

"You walked her past the lobster tank, didn't you?"

"Yes. I am a monster. "

"Jackie--"

"She said they looked like big bugs. I guess no one's anthropomorphized lobsters yet."

Joe doesn't quite know what to say, and Jack knows it. He presses a kiss to his husband's lips.

"I promise, it will be over fast."

Joe looks down at the cooler with a sigh. "That's what they all say."

"If it's any consolation, I think Hallie only wants to try it because she gets to dip it in butter."

"Butter?"

"Yessir," Jack says, wrapping his arms around Joe's waist. "Drawn butter." He kisses Joe's neck. "I got some fresh sourdough for you," he whispers. "And your own butter warmer. They sit on top of candles. It'll be romantic."

Joe groans as Jack's teeth nibble at the meat between his neck and shoulder. Jack could certainly never be a vegetarian.

"Careful, Dr. Prescott. We need to keep it PG until Hallie's in bed."

Joe's hips buck forward. His voice is breathless. "You started it. You're just trying to--to--"

"Butter you up?" Jack says with a grin.

Joe laughs. "I love you, even if you're about to murder an innocent crustacean."

"I love you too. Now, get out of my kitchen. I want you to have plausible deniability."

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peachy-panic

BOOK ANNOUNCEMENT!

I’ve waited years to be able to finally say this to you—you, specifically, this wonderful group of people who have supported my writing for so long:

My debut novel, A SERIES OF ROOMS, will be available later this year.

On the night of his twenty-first birthday, a domino effect of unfortunate events leads Liam Cassidy to a chance encounter with a stranger: shared refuge in a bar bathroom. For a brief moment in time they hide away in the comfort of commiseration, each with their own reasons for avoiding the party outside the door. When they part ways, Liam expects that to be the end of their story.

He definitely doesn’t expect to find the same stranger waiting in his hotel room that night.

The young man is revealed to be a sex worker, hired without Liam’s consent—a thoughtless joke of a birthday gift from his friends. But it doesn’t take long to realize something nefarious lies behind the boy’s circumstances. Hungry, guarded, and jumping at shadows, it’s clear he is in need of a break, and Liam finds himself in the unique position to grant him one.

Drawn together by their mutual need for escape, the two of them fall into an arrangement of weekly meetings inside the cheapest hotel rooms Chicago has to offer. The encounters are not sexual in nature, but an unexpected intimacy blossoms between them over time.

For one of them, it’s a night of guaranteed safety. For the other, it’s the first real friendship he has ever known.

But soon, the realities that exist outside their secluded series of rooms begin closing in around them, reminding them that they can’t live in a bubble forever.

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oddsconvert

Shattered #10 - Happy Birthday, August! Part III

CW: kidnapped whumpee, captivity (kinda/kinda not), defiant whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper, forced to kidnap references, vampire caretaker, threat of violence/death, weapons, adult language (pls let me know if I've forgotten any!)

AND FINALLY! THE LAST PART FOR AUGUST AND LUCAS' BACKSTORY! 🎉 Thank you so much for your guys' patience, with this one - it means everything <3 We resume with our usually scheduled Declan next chapter! 😍 And a mahoosive thank you to @darkthingshappen for her beta and help!

---

August feels like a stranger in his own home. A prisoner in his own home; his sanctuary now nothing more than a gilded cage. He is forever and always a captive of his own compassion and a victim of his cowardice. 

But August curses himself for daring to think like that. It’s unjust to think like that, especially on a night like tonight. The frantic hammering of a human heartbeat upstairs is his bleak reminder that he’s not alone anymore, and yet somehow… he’s never felt more alone in his life. The quiet has never screamed so loud, and the walls stretch to endless empty space around him.

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Whumper is a therapist, and uses the therapy sessions to weed out potential whumpees they can kidnap, train/condition, and sell to other whumpers.

The conditioning starts during the therapy sessions, helping that angry whumpee channel through violence so they can become a living weapon.

The patient who feels like they’re not enough starts being told to have hookups and buy sexier clothes so they can become someone’s bedroom partner.

That patient who’s chronically stressed and burnt out is the easiest to condition, and gets sold as a pet fairly quickly.

Does anyone notice how all these missing people have the same therapist?

Do the whumpees ask to go back to their therapist? Do they continue to see their patients after they’re sold to help keep them conditioned?

How much is Whumper charging their patients? How much to they charge the other whumpers?

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the kennel, part twenty

part of the the kennel (masterlist here). long time, no write! a follow-up to this ask. the taglist isn’t working for whatever reason, so please keep this visible if you are so inclined.

content warnings for: extreme dehumanization, conditioned whumpee, heavily implied noncon, human trafficking, cages, brief references to mouth whump, cold exposure and related maladies

part twenty, two by four

Will’s cage is still empty when the evening feeding is over. The others are in the recreation yard, relieving themselves before they return to the kennel for the evening. Annie doesn’t watch them the way Doc does. She knows that it embarrasses them, and she knows just as well as they do that there is nowhere they can run. Pets get spooked sometimes, she knows. Sometimes, they take off without knowing where they are going. But they never get far, so Annie doesn’t need to worry. 

Instead, she stands at the deep stainless steel sink in the grooming annex, rinsing the dinner bowls of the rescues who aren’t on rations. She made a big pot of mashed potatoes tonight. Frozen peas and carrots. Things that are easy to gum or swallow as they might need to; some of their training makes soft food a necessity. 

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