#whump recovery

[slippedtheknot]

"I Didn't Mean to,"

Whumpee sobbed as their shaking fingers grabbed pieces of porcelain. Blood dripped onto the floor from the sharp edges.

Heavy boots were coming down the hall and Whumpee tried moving faster; no doubt that Whumper would be pissed that Whumpee broke his plate. Whumpee swallowed when the boots stopped in front of them.

"Uh oh, what happened, Whumpee?" Whumper's voice was an eerie type of calm.

Whumpee tried to still their breathing so that they would be slightly coherent: "I...I broke a plate. I promise that I didn't mean to though! It...it just slipped from my hands when I was putting dishes away and I tried to clean it up. Not to hide the fact that I dropped it just-"

"Hey hey, it's all okay." Whumper's hand rubbed the back of Whumpee's neck and they froze; waiting for Whumper to slam their head into the floor. "Can you look up for me, Whumpee?"

Whumpee tilted their head up and was met with minty green eyes. That's odd...as far as Whumpee knew Whumper had cold and distant blue eyes that would stare into their soul. As far as Whumpee knew, Caretaker had the minty green eyes.

Whumpee blinked again and looked into his eyes. The eyes definitely belonged to Caretakeer, but then, why were they in Whumper's kitchen?

"You aren't there anymore, Whumpee." Caretaker's hand moved to Whumpee's shoulder as he pulled them into a much-needed hug.

[paingoes]

Rubies - Hangover

drunk delta makes an appearance

alt title: DIFFICULT AT PARTIES

(Content: living weapon whumpee, conditioned whumpee, rocky recovery, past trauma, alcohol, flashbacks, guilt, begging)

“Do you wanna come out with me tonight?” Kitty asked. She was only half visible within the shared bathroom, but she popped her head out to see if he’d answer. Delta looked up from his laptop. He was up on the top bunk, a couple pillows propped up behind him to shield his spine from the wall. His typing ceased.

“…Do you want me to?” he asked.

He had refused the first time, then the time after that. His associations with the word party had been less than positive. What he thought of first was thick smoke and deafening music. What he thought of next was clean yellow floors and the unbearable sense that everyone in that room would steal him away if they had half a chance. He’d had to bite back his own sense of betrayal when she’d asked. He was so sick of being arm candy, just a toy to be shown off or a silent threat to levy.

He hadn’t told her that was why. After a few hours, he had rationalized that that was not why she had invited him to go. But he’d still said no, once he was certain he was allowed to.

He could’ve said no again. But he knew there was a reason she kept asking — she wanted it. There was so little he could offer her in return for what she’d done for him. He could do this, if she really wanted him to.

He was curious, after all.

~

“House partyyyyyyy,” Kitty told him in the car. “My friend Nora’s house. She’s nice. You’ll like her.”

“Please don’t leave me alone,” he begged.

“I won’t!” She wrapped her hand around his own. “Prommy.”

“Prommy?”

“Different way of saying promise.”

“Okay.”

She pushed the door open, not releasing his hand as she stepped out into the street. He followed her, keeping close. He liked the way the wet asphalt reflected the street lights. It was still strange to be out so late. He’d so rarely been given the chance to before — and certainly not in places like this. 

They walked up the rusted stairs of the fire escape. Other people were already crowded in the cage-like structure of the entryway. They blew smoke out through the bars, letting it dissipate into the cold night air. Kitty squeezed in between them. Delta tracked behind— nervous, but less so when he had a target to follow. 

Inside, it was about as loud as he’d expected it it to be. His eyes traced over the bright purple lights cast up against the white-washed walls, the less than enthused but still rhythmic motion of bodies. They were all silhouettes. He took an effort to make out their faces, but it was a half-hearted one. His attention was still drawn back to Kitty, who seemed to have found her friend.

Despite being the ostensible host, Nora did not seem particularly interested in hosting. She sat back against what looked to be a fainting couch, with a few other students scattered around her in a semi-circle. She waved lazily as Kitty approached, but leaned forward into the hug she was met with. Kitty chirped happily before bouncing back to Delta’s side, looping one arm through his own.

“This is Delta. He just joined.” She smiled, showing all her teeth. These people weren’t in Galatea, but they’d know what she meant when she said it.

“Cute,” Nora said in low approval. 

He blushed a bit, hiding further behind Kitty, following her as she moved to sit. He still got the overpowering urge to kneel at her feet. It still felt intensely inappropriate for him to be sitting beside her, to be at any of their levels. Even as he did, he felt nervous that they might kick him back down onto the floor. He wouldn’t have even protested. Sometimes the pain was not half as bad as the suspense. 

It didn’t happen. He sat at her side anyway, reflexively pulling his legs up, curling up slightly. He listened idly to their conversation, what little he could make out over the music. It was…nice. He liked the way people spoke outside of Empire. He hadn’t realized that people weren’t always mean. It felt like he was living in a parallel reality sometimes.

They tried to include him in the conversation. It was an effort he appreciated, but not one he really responded to. His voice got caught when he tried.

“You’re in Intel too?” Nora asked him.

“Yes, miss.” He nodded. Kitty had told him he didn’t need to use the honorific anymore, but she hadn’t said he needed to drop it. It was hard to break the habit.

“How’d you get into that?” She smiled — and he saw that she had fangs too.

He shrugged. He was okay at it.

There wasn’t much he was allowed to talk about — and even fewer that he was inclined to. Levon had given him explicit orders not to mention his powers. That was technically his only restriction. But when so much of his life had traced back to it, he found himself more prone to mutism than ever. He hadn’t thought of a good cover story yet.

“Can I go?” he whispered to Kitty.

“You wanna leave?” Her eyes widened. “We can.”

He shook his head. “Just wanna walk around.”

“No prob.” She squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to ask permission.”

“Thank you.”

He drifted away from them, without any real direction. There were a lot of rooms in the apartment, far more than he would’ve expected there to be. 

The alcohol lay unguarded within the busy kitchen. 

Nobody stopped him. He’d been expecting someone to, really. He guessed he was always waiting for someone to yell at him, to cut him off. This was a time honored tradition in his life. 

One of the boys of the half-circle had followed him, much to his surprise. He poured himself a drink, then one more for Delta, though he hadn’t yet finished the first. Delta swore the music was getting louder, because he didn’t hear any of the words that came out when the boy moved his lips, but he nodded as though he understood.

The boy moved over to the kitchen table and he found himself following him.

~

He was too drunk. He knew he was drunk and it felt dangerous, uncomfortable and ominous. There was a soft nausea forming in him. He watched the lights dance as if they might send him a message. The music was loud enough to be painful, but he could still hear the braindead chatter all around him. He’d been guided and abandoned, time and time again. 

He liked the new girl the least. 

“Like, I know,” she complained to the table. “It’s not like I’m fucking dumb.”

Both her hands flew up in frustration. She was even drunker than he was, but she seemed more adept at handling it. He got the sense she was like this even when she was sober.

“I just wish they weren’t so fucking nosy, you know? They’re such helicopter parents, I feel like I can’t even go anywhere without them telling me I’m gonna get chopped up. I’m a fucking adult!”

“At least you have parents,” Delta muttered.

He was vaguely aware of everything that quieted in the space around him after he had said it, but he could not be bothered to care.

“Oh,” she said. 

His eyes practically glazed over as he dug himself in deeper, deliberately.

“No, I think it’s like. Reallllly cool. That you got to have that experience. It’s really awesome that had parents that loved you. And that you were allowed to develop as a person. I can see you really made the best of that opportunity.”

He cracked a small smile. It was such a bitchy thing to say. He didn’t know where the impulse came from, but he wanted to indulge it. As a treat, sometimes. 

Her eyes widened with surprise, some mock-up of offense. For some reason, this annoyed him.

“You don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about. Do you even hear yourself? You have no idea what it’s like. People are living in war zones right now and they don’t complain as much as you do.”

I never complained as much as you do.

It wasn’t fair.

~

Even from across the room, Kitty could hear Delta’s voice rising in agitation. She was shocked he was speaking at all. Loud or agitated were not qualities she would have ever expected in his voice. It set her on edge immediately.

She crossed the room to find him gripping the table so hard his knuckles turned white. His eyes were squinted in disgust. She caught only the tail end of it, but was surprised to hear just how much venomwas in his tone. She’d never heard it from him. It was so hateful.

“Delta,” she whispered, gripping at his elbow, “C’mere.”

It wasn’t that she meant to pull him around. She didn’t want to. But as she studied the faces of the people gathered around him, it was clear things were turning hostile. He was too fresh for it. She had to get him out.

He dead ignored her, still focused in on the completely one-sided argument he’d engaged himself in. It was only once she’d pulled him a good five feet away from the scene that he seemed to even realize he was moving. He rounded on her in frustration.

“Whaaaaaat?” He hissed. “I said it was cool. I think it is fucking awesome.”

“C’mon,” she nudged him out the doorway, out into the hall. He spun around, ripping himself free of her grasp. None of the disgust or the anger left his expression.

“What? You’re gonna hit me for it?” He challenged. “You hit me for everything, it doesn’t even matter what I do. I don’t care. I don’t even care.”

Kitty frowned. He wasn’t even talking to her anymore. She didn’t know where he had gone in his mind, but she knew it was miles away from the party: She felt a pang of guilt. She’d just wanted to try taking him out. It wasn’t even a crazy party. But it’d been too early. At some point, he’d gotten dead drunk, and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Delta.” Her tone was more pleading now, less irate. He didn’t respond to it either way. He wasn’t listening.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He snapped, then seemed to trip over himself. He braced his back against the wall for support as his hands fumbled by his waistband. He struggled with it. She realized with a start that he was attempting to peel his shirt off — though he was getting visibly frustrated with how little success he was having. 

“Stop.” She said as she slid both her hands over his wrists. She knew she was stronger than him. His own fingers unhooked from the fabric of his shirt, going still.

“It’s not fair,” he said. “Everyone else can do whatever they want. No one ever corrects them. No one cares if they hurt me. But the second I say anything back-“

The speech giving way to a frustrated growl. He’d cut himself off, then tore his wrists free. She let him go. He moved both hands to cover his face.

“It’s not fair,” he whined. “I didn’t do anything.”

~

The place he woke up in was warm. His eyes fluttered open to find soft morning light shining onto the pink comforter. It was bunched up around his face. He’d nestled himself protectively beneath it. It wasn’t his bed, though. 

It was the closest thing to it. He was on the lower bunk, which was Kitty’s section, and he slowly realized it was because she probably couldn’t get him up the ladder last night.

Dread descended on him wraithlike and frigid. He blinked a few more times, unmoving. He did not know how long he stayed like that. After years of being denied adequate rest, he was reluctant to give it up for anything. And no one ever forced him awake here. There was a dull throbbing in the back of his skull - it laid there dormant, menacing. It only erupted into real pain as the door opened and he shot upright in response.

Kitty closed the door gingerly behind her. Her tail curled low beneath her legs and all her limbs hung with neither tension or enthusiasm. Her face was marked with a visible displeasure. Though he’d seen it on her before, he knew it was different this time. It was purely his own doing.

He was on the floor in an instant. The sudden motion caused his stomach to lurch. More vividly, all the colors flashed behind his eyes at once as the migraine aura engulfed his vision. It was a biting pain. Each motion was dizzying, but not enough to destabilize him. He’d been trained better.

“I’m so sorry, Kitty. I’m so sorry.”

Maybe not that well-trained. His nails dug into the flesh of his thighs in a desperation motion. He was talking over her. He was speaking without permission, which he was not supposed to do if he was apologizing. He had learned to let the body language speak for itself since he wasn’t truly allowed to beg. He’d learned it well. Nobody could’ve denied that as he bent his head forward, kneeling down on the floor. But he had to say something to her aloud. He meant it.

She stood in front of him and something truly awful was conjured up in his memory, his own nausea intensifying tenfold just the same as his shame. He couldn’t look at her. Before, when he tilted his head down, his hair would’ve obscured his vision like curtains. It’d been a kind of shelter, even if all its protection was imagined. Here, even in the soft, warm light, he still felt exposed. There was no hiding from it.

“C’mon,” she said softly, “you don’t have to beg.”

There was no chance of that. Not after what had happened. Delta couldn’t bring himself to unfold from the kneel. Through the fabric of his pants, his nails scraped close to drawing blood. He was so sorry. He’d fucked up so bad.

Kitty lowered herself to her ground — and the shock of her presence alone was enough to rouse him. He glanced up nervously, though kept his chin tucked close to his chest, his body still recoiling in anticipation of a slap. It was the absolute least he deserved. He didn’t have the right to cringe away from it. 

But she didn’t touch him. He could tell she wanted to — it was weird for her not to — but she was holding herself back. Her eyes searched him instead.

“How are you feeling?” She looked him over again, as though she might be able to see the migraine aura for herself if she stared long enough. “Your head okay? Are you hungover?”

He was, badly. Without meaning to, his hands slid out of his lap and up along his arms, wrapped protectively around himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly.

“Okay. What are you sorry for?”

He winced. It was a familiar question. He answered immediately.

“I was disrespectful.” The safest option, always, the most broadly applicable. “To you. To everyone. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“ -I’m not allowed to- “—talked to you like that.”

She sighed. His heart sunk to see she was not pleased with that answer.

“C’mere.”

Again, the words were familiar. But the action was not. She pressed one hand to the nape of his neck, gently pulling him closer. To his surprise, he let her. He pressed his head into her shoulder. The scene of smoke and liquor had been washed away, replaced with lye and jasmine. She was still being careful with him. Nothing hurt.

“You were being kind of an asshole.” She said as she stroked his hair back. “But I’m not mad at you, okay? You’re not in trouble. Do you get that?”

He believed her, if that was what she meant. He trusted she wouldn’t hurt him. Even if she should have. Even if he had without a doubt earned it this time. He nodded slowly, without removing himself from the embrace. She kissed the crown of his head.

He only got up when she encouraged him to, ushering him back onto the mattress instead of on the carpet. He only did it because she told him to. He didn’t feel right about it. It didn’t feel fair. There was little he could do to ward the guilt from his demeanor. His own body language had turned sulky, the way it did when he’d been punished, or when he expected to be. 

Kitty seemed to cultivate a deliberate form of inattentiveness. She was still going through the room, straightening up, not looking directly at him anymore. He waited, sensing there was more. He was right. After a while, she added:

“I wish that wasn’t the first time you talked about it.”

Was that what she wanted as conciliation? For him to talk about it?

He didn’t like to. He tried hard not to think about it at all — even though it always burned in his brain. Even if he thought of it every night. He still went mute at each opportunity.

But he’d speak if she wanted him to. If he owed it to her, which he knew he did.

“Um. Last time-“ He hesitated a lot. “-Last time I got too drunk, I got really hungover. And I was. Um.”

He lowered his voice. The tone was becoming progressively less certain. It was harder than he expected.

“I got whipped for it,” he managed, “Until I bled. I wasn’t allowed to. Uh. Sleep. Or eat or anything. Just had to stand there, like, on display. Just to show I’d been punished. Or that I was being punished. Whatever.”

He didn’t realize it until he said it, but he was offering her ideas. If you wanted to… hung just by the tip of his tongue. If you wanted me to…

But she did not accept the invitation. She just looked sad. She crossed the distance between them — he still flinched — just to sit down on the bed beside him.

“I don’t know how anyone could ever hurt you,” she said. She sounded like she meant it, too. He shook his head.

It was arguably one of the more justified punishments he’d be given. He really had talked back in an awful way; he didn’t resent Paris for it. The opposite, really. That was why it had hurt so badly at the time, the same reason it hurt so bad now. He was sorry. He’d deserved it. 

“Drink,” she said, pressing the water bottle into his hands. He nodded obliging, not realizing how badly he needed it until he drank.

He’d never be grateful enough.

“You’re really not going to hit me?” he asked quietly. There was no real surprise in that question anymore; he didn’t expect it from her. It was guilt alone that informed it.

He didn’t even need to be hit. He’d have done anything. Starved. Held still, let himself be chained until his muscles ached. But she wasn’t even yelling. He’d upset her again with the question, but she wasn’t punishing him for it. He felt a strange sense of absence. She did not let him dwell on it.

“Never,” she promised, “We’re gonna go get pho - helps with the hangover. You can come along if you want. If you wanna sleep it off, that’s cool too.”

He pulled his legs up onto the bed, hugging his knees close to his chest. His head felt empty, but raw and stinging about its hollow edges. He took another sip of water.

“Can I come? Please?”

“Yea! Yeah.” She grinned, tousling his hair. “Yeah, I’ve never taken you there before. You’re gonna love it.”

~

The place was small, but not cramped. Large windows let the morning light stream in the same easy way he’d now grown to expect from this planet. He found it a comfort now. The sun would always rise.

Laminated menus laid flat atop the plastic table. He let Kitty order for him, because it was all written in a language he couldn’t read, and because it felt nice to give up control to her. He trusted her enough for that.

He’d been surprised to learn that the we in question had been Kitty and Nora. Nora sat across the table from either of them, shifting the small spheres within her purple drink, eyes red with exhaustion. But if she held any resentment for the night before, she didn’t show it. She didn’t look upset to see him.

Delta drank the tea Kitty had suggested for him and found that he was right to trust her on it. It was sweeter than he was used to, but not unpleasant. It was a soft color. The caffeine in it eased the edge of his headache. His head felt clearer and cleaner the longer he stayed.

“I’m sorry for last night,” he said timidly to Nora. He felt a new shame about his own reticence, aware now that it only appeared as a cover for a secret ugliness in him. He’d proven it to her. He didn’t expect her to forgive it.

“Oh, yeah,” Nora barely looked up. “You’re good. Worse things have happened at my parties.”

He blinked. Was that it? He’d been prepared to get onto the floor and grovel for it, but she’d given it like it was nothing. Delta glanced sideways at Kitty for confirmation. She squeezed lightly at his arm in reassurance. 

The soup came out shortly after. The broth was clear and aromatic. He poked at it idly, still self conscious about his own feeding, his mind still fixated on denial and absolution. But Kitty looked sad when he did not eat and even Nora seemed to raise an eyebrow in concern, so that he had no choice but to indulge them. 

He was glad that he did, though. It was warm and saltier than he had expected, which he appreciated. The headache ebbed away even further and the raw tension in his stomach began to fade. He was grateful. 

He hoped she knew that.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

[cravesunconditionallove]

Whumpee who wakes up in the ICU, disoriented, panicking because there’s a tube in their throat and everything hurts and they don’t remember what happened. Caretaker soothing them, holding their hand(s) to keep them from pulling at the things keeping them alive.

“Shh, you’re okay…. no no, don’t do that—“

[the-bar-sinister]

Recovering whumpee returning to a place where they were badly injured and being unable to shut out the memories of what happened to them.

Whumpee's eyes drawn to the spot where they lay, huddled and bleeding. Is there really still a mark there on the ground? Or are they imagining it?

Why can't they stop hearing the sounds of their own screams and pleading echoing in their ears?

Whumpee, shaking and swallowing repeatedly, telling themselves they should be stronger than this, they have to be stronger than this.

Whumpee jolting in surprise and whirling around in fear at a touch on their shoulder; caretaker coming to check on them.

[justwhumptypethings]

realistic ptsd in whump from someone who has (undiagnosed) ptsd

tw: flashbacks, mention of sh, whumpee in denial

whumpee who can trigger a flashback in themselves just by thinking about it, sometimes entirely unprompted

after that happens whumpee feels like this can’t be a flashback and they can’t be triggered bc there was nothing that triggered it they just thought about it

whumpee’s flashbacks and the subsequent panic attacks aren’t loud and noticeable, to the outside perspective it looks like their just staring off and breathing really slowly

flashbacks aren’t as much hallucinating that you’re back in the whump as it is just feeling the sensations you felt

like literally ANY mention of it makes whumpee freeze up, this works especially well if they aren’t dealing with their whump and are instead like. ignoring it and hoping it miraculously goes away

whumpee who’s body physically reacts to it whenever they try to talk about it, breaking out in goosebumps and shivers

whumpee who’s ptsd makes it virtually impossible for them to make progress in recovery

whumpee who has a lot of trouble grounding themselves out of their flashbacks and asking for help during their flashback bc it doesn’t look like you’d expect a flashback to look, they aren’t crying curled up in a ball or anything, but they can’t think or breathe

maybe whumpee ends up taking up sh to ground, digging their fingers into their palms or scratching at their arm or biting at the inside of their cheek

whumpee who’s caretaker doesn’t even realize they’re having flashbacks or trauma responses because they don’t look how they expect them to

somwtimes things trigger them or make them anxious that wouldn’t have before and it doesn’t actually necessarily put them back into the whump but instead just make them deeply uncomfortable. for ex if your whumpee was kept in a cage now they are claustrophobic about hugs. but it doesn’t necessarily remind them distinctly of the whump, like they aren’t like ‘oh I’m claustrophobic because I was kept in a cage’ it’s more ‘why is this freaking me out?? I’ve never been claustrophobic before’ and it’s not obvious it’s happening bc of the whump

whumpee in denial that anything is actually happening to them. it can’t be ptsd. why not? it cant

[morbidmira]

wholesome caretaking/recovery prompts

Changing bandages

"You've got visitors."

Cuddling

Displays of trust

Wheelchairs/Assistive devices/Helping them walk

"I made your favorite food."

Hot drinks - hot chocolate, tea, or apple cider

Tears of frustration

Witness protection (or canon equivalent)

Boredom

Washing/brushing/cutting hair

Fainting/collapsing from exhaustion

"You're safe now, I promise."

Sweets/baking

Forehead kisses

"Haven't seen you in awhile, where have you been?"

[yet-another-heathen]

On the topic of realistic conditioning/deconditioning,

If the trigger is something whumpee wouldn't hear often when they're with caretaker but whumpee still wants to break it because they might hear it elsewhere (like kneel being taken as a command)

Would whumpee ask caretaker to casually trigger them so they have the opportunity to challenge it in their own head and in a safe place? Would this be a good idea for recovery?

And of course being there with the praise everytime whumpee makes just a little bit of progress, or comfort when they don't.

Heads up, anon: your ask was an EXCEPTIONALLY good one, and I ended up writing another mini TED talk (~3-4 min read) in response. Thank you so much for sending it in!

...on Conditioned Whumpees - Part 3

[ Part 1 - Part 2 ]

That is a very, very good idea! You're spot on with all of it, particularly operating in a safe environment where whumpee is ultimately calling the shots. Having that comfort/support readily available will make a huge difference in how well whumpee can tackle the matter. And while the process isn't fun, approaching desensitization with this much intent is much, much more likely to result in success.

I can offer a few pointers that can add another few layers of realism, as well as some other things to think about while tailoring it to your story:

if whumpee is actively working through their conditioning in this way, memories of their trauma will become closer to the surface. As a result, all of their other PTSD symptoms will be elevated during the course of their practice sessions, as well as for at least a few weeks after.

flashbacks are a very common experience during times like this. engaging with triggers like this is going to cause their flashbacks to become more frequent and intense.

during such flashbacks, it is almost a given that whumpee's mind and body will enter a similar state to the one it was in during the time when the flashback was taking place. By that I mean that the fear they felt in that moment, where it was physically located in their body, will echo into their body in the present moment. Same goes for other all other emotions, and sometimes even phantom aches surrounding any injuries they received at the time...

while the emotions tend to be identical to the ones felt during the trauma, in my experience, the pain comes out distorted in a similar way to the way it does in dreams: less intense, and more "blurry" and imprecise in location. When we say that someone having a flashback is "reliving the moment", we mean that their body literally feels as though they're in the same immediate danger that it was in back then.

this is true even though they'll be aware to at least some degree that they're presently with caretaker and safe.

the flashbacks don't always happen immediately after the conditioning trigger is used. Often they flare up hours or days later, sometimes without warning, sometimes as a result of encountering a different flashback trigger. The whumpee's thresholds for what counts as a trigger will drop, which is part of what causes the flashbacks to happen more often. Something they could normally ignore is going to affect them much more while they're like this.

your whumpee is more likely to experience severe mood swings while in this heightened state. Especially feelings like irritability, frustration, anger, loneliness, and grief. This stuff ain't pretty, folks. Even your sweet cinnamon bun is most likely going to lash out at someone as a result.

PTSD episodes are also exhausting. your whumpee is going to feel mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. And, to add insult to injury, being tired amplifies the emotions listed above.

Now all of this said, your whumpee may or may not know that this is to be expected. If they've worked on processing their trauma before this, they'll have figured out that one often leads to the other. They'll go into the deconditioning practice knowing this is coming, and will approach it carefully, but with a fairly level head. Knowing that it'll suck, but they'll come out the other side okay.

If not, they're in for a rather nasty surprise.

For the latter, they will feel at first that the deconditioning practice is making everything worse. They're suddenly struggling the way they did when the trauma was fresher, and it can be tempting to stop and refuse to touch it again because the mental/emotional pain gets so intense.

If they do give up at this stage, it will make trying again far more daunting in the future.

But the trauma being stirred up is actually a sign that it's helping. It means that the whumpee is starting to process what happened to them, which is a fundamental step in being able to heal.

Note: All throughout the process, crying is a very good thing. It lets them physically get rid of a lot of the brain chemicals associated with these surges of emotion. Letting themselves cry over things they couldn't cry about back then can actually help them let go of those feelings in a similar way to if they'd been able to process them in the moment. [Which is the basis for much of EMDR, a specialized tool used in trauma therapy.]

Okay. So now we know what other effects can cascade from the actual deconditioning practice, now we have some things to consider.

First off, what time parameters are whumpee and caretaker working within while deconditioning? There are three basic options:

they sit down together and practice repeatedly using the trigger for [X amount of time; usually <45m at once] back to back. Once that time is up, caretaker will no longer use the trigger at all, the excercise will end, and they'll get up to do something else.

whumpee sets a specific window of time [X number of hours] within which caretaker will use the trigger word at random points. Once that time has elapsed, the exercise is over.

over the course of days, caretaker uses the trigger word at random points without giving warning. the excercise only stops after being ended by whumpee.

Now why is that important? Because of something called hypervigilance. It is another symptom of PTSD which, to put it into the simplest words, is whumpee waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's a heightened state of tension and wariness in which whumpee is expecting that something bad is going to happen, and is constantly searching for any sign to indicate when it's coming.

It is beyond exhausting.

Imagine knowing that someone is about to slap you as hard as they can, and you have to sit there with your eyes closed, waiting for it. The breath-holding, the flinchiness, the rigid tension in your body as you strain to listen for when they're coming.

Only now, stretch that moment out into hours. Days. Weeks. That is hypervigilance.

A hypervigilant whumpee is not going to be able to relax. Or rest. Or decompress. Or readily trust much of anything around them. They're MUCH more likely to flinch at sudden movements/sounds. They might start biting their nails or showing other signs of nervousness and distress.

These methods above have a gradually increasing chance of setting off whumpee's hypervigilance. If they know exactly when the next trigger is coming, as in example 1, then their 'waiting for it' tension will be low. But the more uncertain they become of exactly when it's going to happen, as in examples 2 & 3, the worse the hypervigilance is going to get.

The trade off is that the later examples are more effective in desensitizing them toward the trigger. The more their practice mimics encountering an unexpected trigger in day-to-day life, the easier it will be to fall back on that desensitization when the time comes.

Therefore, it would be a very good idea for a whumpee who's new to this to start with number 1, then gradually progress to 2 & 3 as time goes on. They should be the one to decide when the next step is made, and if/when they need to dial it back.

Other questions to ask yourself while plotting:

how mentally prepared is whumpee for worsening symptoms? what about caretaker? did either of them know it was coming?

how much of this heightened PTSD stress can your whumpee take before it becomes too much? how do they react when they do hit that tipping point?

if caretaker feels that whumpee is getting too distressed during practice even though they're not tapping out, would they call it off themself? Or would they ultimately leave that decision to whumpee?

based on the answer, how would whumpee feel about caretaker's decision? Relieved? Belittled? Betrayed?

does whumpee have any grounding tools they can use while practicing?

how does caretaker handle the mood swings and instability that come with whumpee's heightened PTSD? You should consider both their internal and external reactions on the matter.

how does whumpee prefer to decompress after a practice session? what things would help them calm down and recover?

how long do they need (hours or days) before the next attempt?

Even with all I've just written, there's far more to the resulting hightened state of PTSD than flashbacks and hypervigilance. PTSD symptoms that they're most likely to encounter in the background while doing deconditioning practice include:

Flinchiness, anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, exhaustion, emotional mood swings, outbursts, crying spells, depression, executive dysfunction, dissociation, numbness, racing thoughts, freeze responses, tremors, inappetence, muscle tension, and heart palpitations.

Yes, usually many of them at once, even those that contradict. Your whumpee is going to have a LOT going on at once, and it is not going to be a fun time. I recommend looking up any of the above symptoms you don't recognize, and looking for whump inspiration in what you learn.

(Because everyone experiences PTSD episodes differently, there's a lot of wiggle room in which ones whumpee will encounter. Don't feel pressured to use all of them, find what you want to write and have fun with it!)

Thanks again for the incredible ask, anon. And again, I want to congratulate you on how spot-on your original ask was. You nailed it. I know this was a lot more than you asked for, but I hope this provides helpful context for your whump! My inbox will always be open if you think of anything more <3

[a-class-attempter]

Caretaker sees Whumpee for the first time after their rescue. Whumpee is like a parent to Caretaker and to see Whumpee reduced to scarred flesh on a hospital bed breaks them.

Caretaker stays with Whumpee for days, barely getting any sleep. When Whumpee finally wakes up, they hold Caretaker close.

“Do you want to know what kept me alive?” Whumpee asks.

Caretaker, so overcome with a mix of terror and relief, can only nod.

Whumpee squeezes Caretaker’s hand. “You did, Caretaker. I lived so I could see your face again.”

[thinkingofausername]

do you think recovered curly would wear gloves over his prosthetics to gain back some softness? do you think he would move around in bed or feel unsettled because lying still would remind him of the past? would he watch attentively at all times, struggle to trust people or let them come close? would he flinch when someone's hand approached his face? feel sick when cutting bread? stay away from pills at all cost? get caught off guard every time he looks in a mirror? would he be torn between fearing people, fearing misreading them and feeling that he needs to do more for them, fight for them in ways he didn't before? is there any bigger picture left? or does he only notice details and hold back vomit at things other people don't look at twice?

[whumpberry-cookie]

During the aftercare, Whumpee's doing something that they want to apologise for.

(Cw: emetophobia - bodily waste, implied abuse, swearing)

And Caretaker instead of going "Noo, it's okay. It's normal!", decides to joke instead.

------------------------

Vomiting:

"Well... I didn't like this shirt anyway."

"I know. I don't like their cooking either. I bet it tasted better the second time"

"You don't even have anything in your stomach anymore! Where does that come from?! Do you puke your trauma out?!"

"Bruh.... you could warn me to grab an umbrella"

Takes a sip of water and spits back at them.

Dropping stuff:

Whumpee accidently drops Caretaker's favourite mug. So Caretaker ignores apologies, stands up, walks slowly to the cabinet and drops a plate, maintaining eye contact. It's so random Whumpee burts out laughing.

Something crushes and breaks loudly. Whumpee was the one who broke it. Caretaker just looks down and flips at it. "Yeah, exactly! Take this, fucker!"

-------------------------------

[cold1dead1eyes]

i love caretakers who used to be whumpees. a caretaker that’s covered in scars, who screams themself awake at night, who sees the marks on whumpee and has to look away because it’s too familiar.

and nobody else knows. caretaker is so put together, nobody would expect it, but whumpee can tell. they see the fear in caretaker’s eyes when whumpee talks about what whumper did to them. how sometimes they flinch when they’re touched. how they wake up shaking and covered in sweat, reaching out in a panic to shove their blankets off.

still, caretaker tries to be strong for whumpee. they know how it feels to be hurt and they want to be there for them, even though they still haven't gotten over their own trauma.

[chiharuuu22]

During the healing process, Whumpee needed many things, both for physical and mental healing. What are they?

Rest. Of course. There is no need to explain anymore. A good rest would restore Whumpee's body and mind after all his stress and suffering.

Calmness. From the environment and the people around Whumpee. Apart from the hospital, an isolation house far from the hustle and bustle of the chaotic city would be a good place to support Whumpee's recovery. Maybe a Caretaker's house would be better.

Medical. Medication is consumed to support healing (antibiotics, vitamins, painkillers, etc.). Medical equipment was used during the treatment and healing period. Professional medical personnel will care for Whumpee until he is completely healed.

Foods high in nutrition. Of course, it's easy to digest. Healthy food usually doesn't taste good, but it's the Caretaker's job to make the food able to whet Whumpee's appetite.

Water. There is no need to ask. Hydration is very important for Whumpee's body as it recovers.

Snack. Taking medicine every day definitely makes Whumpee bored. A little snack will help. The cookies, candy, or chocolate that Whumpee eats after swallowing the bitter medicine will make him smile.

Fresh air and morning sunshine. Many people say that fresh air and morning sunlight are also good medicine for recovery. Taking a breath and basking in the cool of the morning would be great for Whumpee.

Clean clothes. Replace every two times a day.

Bathe. Bathing in the morning and evening makes the body fresh and clean. Maybe at first, Caretaker won't immediately pour water but will wipe Whumpee's body with soapy water.

Straighten hair. Maybe cut it when Whumpee starts to get better. Apart from making it look fresher, Whumpee will also feel comfortable.

Comfort items. Plusies, stuffed animals, pillows, blankets, photos, scent, or anything else that can keep Whumpee calm and comfortable during the recovery period.

A change of scenery during recovery will also be helpful. Occasionally moving Whumpee to the living room, sitting him in the dining room, accompanying him on the terrace, or taking him to sit on the grass in the garden will make Whumpee feel better.

Light and pleasant conversation. Don't expect to be able to interrogate Whumpee during the recovery period if you don't want to be shouted at by Caretaker.

Touch. Whumpee is definitely touch-starved. A holding hand, a caress on the cheek, a stroking of the hair, a light kiss on the forehead, a hug, or a backrest when sitting will be what Whumpee really needs.

Calming sentences. Simple sentences that make Whumpee feel safe, such as "It's okay, you're safe", "I'm here", "no one will hurt you anymore", "I will take care of you", "it was just a dream, it's all over", "just rest, don't think about anything", "go to sleep, I'll be here when you wake up", "you did a good job", "I'm proud of you", "thank you for coming back to me," "I'm happy you are here," "I love you," and others.

Caretaker. There is no need to ask. Caretaker is the "medicine" that Whumpee needs most for his healing.

Anything you want to add?

[whump-or-whatever]

Ways To Reveal a Character’s Traumatic Past

Dream sequence/nightmare

Flashback/resurfaced memories

Revealed by psychic reading Whumpee’s mind

Found footage/pictures

Someone finally asks and they explain

As the reason behind a thought process/assumption/belief

Whumper shows up and taunts them

Scars

Through conditioned behaviour

Finding an old journal

Hints dropped in conversation

Have someone who knows tell someone who doesn’t

• • •

Feel free to add others!

[urlocalwhumper]

living weapon/military experiment whumpee being shown that they can create, not just destroy.

at the command of their former masters, they've razed fields and gardens alike, but now their eyes light up with pride as they watch the flowers they planted start to sprout.

they clumsily hold a paintbrush in their rough, calloused hands. they're a terrible painter, but no one's great when they first start out, and they just enjoy the process itself.

they used to be a mindless monster, an unfeeling weapon who obediently followed orders. but now they've been taught to think, to feel, to love. and they're happy.

[the-bar-sinister]

Young, or inexperienced caretaker who doesn't quite know what they're doing but is trying their best to help recovering whumpee.

So whumpee just ends up absolutely covered in pillows and blankets and plushies, and surrounded by hot water bottles and ice packs and, and mugs of tea, and bowls of soup and anything else that caretaker can think of that might help.

[justwhumptypethings]

tw; dehumanization, disassociation, aftermath of conditioning

whumpee who’s just.. blank after. staring off, quiet like the dead.

they don’t only not speak unless spoken to, they don’t speak unless they’re asked a question. They could be having a conversation, and even then their answers are barebones and vague enough to not get them hurt. and as soon as caretaker says something that’s not a direct question, whumpee doesn’t answer.

they sit there in the back of the room silent. caretaker forgets they’re there sometimes. maybe they start panicking if their nose is clogged or their breathing is audible for some reason, because they can’t stop making noise.

their eyes are dull. they’re exhausted, nearly always disassociated or derealized, not focusing on their body or the world around them because they expect the people around them to pay as much attention to them as they would an object.

they don’t understand when people talk to them. they don’t react unless someone says their name like an order.

the way they talk is always vague enough that it could agree with whatever the person who’s talking to them says. they are hesitant to take any real stance. maybe they seen confused when someone asks them what they want.

they never really get comfortable with talking again. not the same way they were before.