#recovery will be a bitch

[the-whvmp-dvmp]

AMOW Trope-a-thon Day 2

someone is not having a good time. sorry makoa! i quite like this one actually, it was fun X3

Word count: 1560

CW: Pet whump, electrocution, shock collar blood, vomit mentions (no real descriptions), creepy whumper, conditioning, dehumanization, brainwashing, petnames (literally!), big whumpee, big whumper, defiant whumpee

Prompt: Day 2 - Captivity ; Creepy whumper, conditioning, pet whump

Since arriving at the facility, Makoa had punched, kicked, scratched, kicked, and bitten just about every worker that had gone near him. He seethed in his cage, far too small for his large stature. He had no choice but to sit on his knees. The three workers assigned to him stared at him, unsure what to do.

"How are we supposed to train someone that easily beats the crap out of us when we even get too close?" The tallest of them spoke, holding a cup of coffee near his face. "He's not just fighting. He tries to beat us into a pulp everytime."

The smallest of them sighed, rubbing their side softly. "I know, I thought my kidney was gonna burst. At least he'll be a good guard dog."

"I think the challenge is kinda fun," the woman spoke up. The tall man scoffed as he put his cup down.

"Of course you do. You're the one that gets to hold the taser." The woman opened her mouth to retort, but the door swung open and they all straightened. His presence was so intimidating, they could tell who it was without looking.

Jack Huntington, built like a linebacker at 6'3 and 230 pounds. He wore an all black suit, real gold rings on his fingers. Makoa slammed against the cage, glaring at the man. It was not their first meeting.

"Fuck you! Let me out of this fucking cage, you disgusting excuse of !" He rammed against the cage again, targeting the side with the lock.

"Poor puppy. If you want it so badly." He pulled out the keys, bending to unlock Makoa's enclosure. Predictably, the man charged out and lunged at Jack, but the woman worker pressed the taser to his back. He spasmed and fell to the floor, twitching. "You'll learn your lesson. They always do."

Jack kneeled, signalling the small worker over. They complied, grabbing the back of Makoa's head and lifting it up. Makoa groaned against the strain it put in his neck. The boss clipped a collar around his neck, brushing the skin there as he pulled away. "Handsome puppy." Makoa genuinely retched, squirming on the ground. He needed to get the fuck away from this sicko. "This is just a training collar since you can't stop misbehaving. It looks like I'll have to personally oversee your training."

He stood up and the worker hauled Makoa up as well, obviously struggling. Makoa became dead weight in their arms, causing them to stumble and almost fall face first into the floor. Jack clicked his tongue and slipped a simple remote out of his pocket, pressing the single red button.

Makoa's nerves lit up all over as the prongs from the collar electrocuted him. It was worse than the taser. He screamed in torment, withering desperately, limbs flailing uncontrollably. It didn't stop until Jack lifted his thumb off the button and he could faintly hear the laughter coming from the other man through the blooding rushing in his ears. Makoa panted heavily, drool dripping onto the floor beneath him as he struggled to regain control of his limbs.

"Get the message now?" Makoa cleared his throat, gathering saliva in his throat until he spat it out with force at Jack's feet, narrowly avoiding his designer loafers. He watched as said loafer rose until it pressed against his head and shoved him into the tiles. Something in his forehead cracked and he yelped, gritting his teeth against the pain. Still worth it.

Makoa stood next to the scummy man, dwarfing him in comparison. Standing at 6'10, with his stoic face, he was almost as intimidating as the man to his right.

The walk to this room was uneventful, as he decided it'd be better if he didn't act out *too* much. He wondered if these people had any qualms about killing him or the others he knew they kidnapped. Didn't matter what terminology they liked to use, they were kidnapping people.

"Finally, the fun part." Makoa shivered, suddenly feeling chilly. Jack had seemed flippant before, but now he sounded cruel. Like he knew how much this would hurt and he liked it that way.

What could he mean by fun part? He already had been prodded roughly by the workers, spoken down to, beaten, even whipped once. And he'd only been here a few weeks. Makoa knew of the reason he was here, the workers weren't shy in telling him. He thought they liked the look in his eyes when they told him he would be turned into a dog for others to use how they see fit. He didn't understand how that was to be achieved, but this must be it.

"In the chair." The male and female lackeys from before each grabbed one of Makoa's arms, the woman pressing the taser against his back in warning. He followed begrudgingly, sneering at them. If he was shocked one more time, he was sure his heart would stop.

He was restrained against the chair, steel cuffs cold against his skin. Directly in front of him was a TV screen. Were they really going to tape his eyes open and make him watch brainwashing videos?

"Enjoy the show, dog." Makoa thrashed against his restraints at that. Jack chuckled in response, gesturing at the screen. "You'll be watching our training videos. You'll watch them until you give in." Jack pulled up a chair and sat diagonally to the man. He shook the remote in his hand. "If I see your eyes closed, you get punished. If you're good, you'll get a reward at the end." The screen turned on as the boss got settled, smoothing out his blazer.

Dear god, these people were genuinely insane. They actually wanted to turn him into a dog. He looked at the restraints, but there was absolutely no way he was getting out. Maybe the videos would be short.

Soon enough, Makoa concluded he needed to do whatever possible to get the fuck out of this place. It must've been *hours*. He sat in front of the screen and watched the videos over and over again. His throat was dry, his stomach growling. He wanted to cry.

Makoa shook his head back and forth repeatedly, listening to the stupid voice from the TV. How to properly behave as a pet, affirmations like "You live to serve your master", "Always obey", and "You are beneath the humans". Jack grinned and watched him for a bit before speaking up.

"Tapping out, puppy?" He held the remote in his left hand, thumb smoothing over the button. Makoa felt his heart rate pick up significantly. He took a shaky breath, scooting his body around the chair.

"Let me out," he demanded, or rather, tried to. His voice was weak and it cracked on the last word. He needed water.

"What are you?" Jack suddenly asked, keeping his cold, detached eyes on Makoa's.

"A human being with a life and friends, freak. My name is Makoa Iona and I—!"

Agony. The scream tore from his throat, leaving it raw as every muscle in his body tensed so tight he feared they would snap. Or, he *would* fear that if his mind wasn't so preoccupied with the horrible fucking *pain*.

"I said what are you?" Jack stood up as the affirmations replayed in the background.

Makoa spasmed, back arching as much as the restraints allowed. The female worker watched in concern, stepping forward slightly.

"S-sir, you're gonna kill him—"

"Shut up." He let go of the button regardless. He gripped Makoa's chin tightly, shaking his head for him. "Dumb dog. What are you?"

Makoa seethed in silence, glaring at him hard. Jack pulled his hand back before punching the other square in the jaw. Makoa harshly exhaled, mouth twisting in a grimace. He spit onto the ground, a glob of blood landing on the tile. More blood rushed into his mouth, as he realized a tooth had been knocked loose. It was hanging on by a thread.

"It'll only get worse from here. I have so many ideas, pet. You seem so tough to break, but you're just like the others. A few mean words and a couple days of pain, you'll be grovelling at my feet. You fucking mutt."

Makoa breathed heavily, eyes unfocused. Jack reached his hand out and a baton was placed into it. He thrusted it forward into Makoa's stomach, where he knew a huge dark bruise had formed. He folded in on himself and dry heaved, but of course there was no food to come up. His throat burned and the bile rising up wasn't helping.

"Just say it and I'll go easy on you during the training. Be my good dog."

The huge man looked small in the chair, a mixture of drool and blood spilling down his chin and tears collecting in his eyes. A pathetic sob escaped past his lips and he heaved once more, thrashing against the restricting steel once more before his body went limp.

"...I'm a dog. A dumb dog. A... a pet." His upper lip curled, but he said it. He wanted to die.

Jack's mouth unfurled in a horrible, smug smile. He rubbed his thumb across the pet's hair, right behind his ear.

"There we go. You'll be so easy to train."

[inkskinned]

for months i had this obsession with wing shape.

the majority of feathered wings have an underlying musculature almost akin to a thumb. the primary feathers - sometimes called "flight feathers" - are those long feathers that seem to "hang off" of the wing. they're actually connected to the "hand" (literally the manus) of the bird and can be individually rotated. they are responsible for the majority of thrust during the downstroke, and while the number of them depends on speciation; the majority of birds will have between 9 and 11 of these feathers (as opposed to secondary flight feathers; their shorter partners, which vary from 6 to 40).

i started attaching them to the silhouettes of people, drawing angels tumbling out of buildings and running late to work and skipping class to smoke outside of a 7-11. i drew angels eating apples and doing their homework and pushing their hair back from their eyes and holding a pencil. the margins of all of my poems had feathers raining down the side of the page.

i was in the worst depression of my life and had decided i was giving up on the idea of freedom. i would be a happy wife to a mediocre husband and the angels would come and pass their wings over my eyes and let me feel nothing but numbness. i would have a life like an echo. i would never enter my body without knocking first - it would carry all this weight, and i would be sleeping peacefully, my soul somewhere out there, flying with wings.

she laughed and came over and sat next to me, and smelled of lavender. whenever she talked, a strange harmony stole into my heart; something that was only memory and no words. not an echo - an answer.

inside of her sketchbook were hundreds of pictures of birds.

[lousydrawingsforgoodpeople]

[jiraixprincess]

Why are people in ED spaces (typically anti recovery) so fucking mean? Like Jesus Christ you bitches are weird...

(this applies to none of my moots btw you guys are sweeties 🫶)

[brother-genitivi]

sorry everyone, I'm very much alive 🏃‍♂️

sorta homeless, staying with a friend. got a house in my name from the 19th onwards so that's chill! chronically ill, too fatigued to do a lot of things but I'm trying 🤟 kind of accepting that I'm joining the disability club.

trying my hand at art again, but very very slowly easing back into it. appreciate those who reached out to me <3

thinking about you all. missed my moots :)

[janeacular]

do u have a normal relationship with your mother or do you have to imagine yourself violently murdering her mid conversation in order to cope with her presence after everything she's done

[fallout-lou-begas]

isn't the halimede account a transphobic chaser

[plasma-packin-mama]

Working on a two page comic but I like this panel so I'm posting it. This is their dynamic right?

[crayonurchin]

A reminder to OCD folks that a trigger can come from something happy. I just got tickets to an event and I'm really excited, but it's triggered intrusive thoughts of being assaulted. I've gone from excited to nearly spiralling over thoughts of being hurt cuz triggers literally do not care where they come from and OCD will latch onto literally anything in the world.

And that's okay. It's okay that the happy thing is a bit shit right now. Don't engage with the thoughts, don't perform the compulsions. You can only get so upset and so anxious, and when you reach the maximum garbage feeling, it will have nowhere to go but back down.

Take some time to recover from the episode however you need- meditation, exercise, a comfort show, journalling, snacks etc. Just don't perform the compulsions.

OCD wants to make you miserable and even if it succeeds right now, it doesn't mean it'll succeed later.

No matter how shitty I feel today despite getting these tickets, when the time for the event comes, and I go despite my anxiety and intrusive nightmare thoughts, I'll be WAY WAY WAY happier for the experience of the show than I would be for avoiding it.

Everyone has a different experience and there will be always be nuance but for this?

OCD IS A BITCH AND YOU AIN'T A BITCH AND OCD WANTS TO MAKE YOU ITS BITCH BUT THE ONLY BITCH YOU ARE IS A

BAD BITCH

[mamalovedme]

[orbitposting]

A lot of my trauma healing as of now is speaking or typing traumatic things that happened to me in order to process or speak out and being like huh. That did happen. And that was not good.

I feel like a lot of people picture trauma healing as doing intense EMDR sessions, but that's not all it is. You can't start healing until you recognize what happened was trauma. Even before that, you have to learn how to trust your own perception.

Before I started trauma therapy, I didn't feel like a person with a worldview. I felt like a bundle of trauma responses trapped in a human body. Now I can weigh how people treat me against my own paradigm of reasonable treatment. If they go against what is acceptable, I can act accordingly. I also can be held accountable more easily since I have a concept of how I should act in relationships, too.

[goosegoblin]

the best part of being recovered from anorexia is that i no longer have to see a thousand pictures of those fucking engraved spoons

[elfsyellowflowerzart]

🔥

[4spooniesupport]

[x-psychotictendencies-x]

Throw back to when I was 11 or 12 and broke my own wrist on purpose because I needed attention, I needed someone to see me and take care of me for once. Even for a moment. My mother didn't believe it was broken and waited hours before taking me to the hospital. I wish she knew.