#self hatred whump

[whump-queen]

I need a whumpee who’s straight up pathetic. a whumpee who hates themselves. give me a man with negative self esteem. a man with so much guilt, so much constant anxiety— someone who feels like they’ve messed everything up so horribly and they’re still currently messing everything up. give me a whumpee who has no time to correct for their past mistakes because life just keeps throwing more shit at them. give me sad, pathetic, irredeemable whumpees.

[whump-or-whatever]

Idk if I’ve articulated enough how much I love whumpees with somewhat dark histories.

As in, they’ve done some stuff they regret, maybe hurt some people. Perhaps they were angry in their youth and lashed out, or they were so preoccupied chasing their own desires that they didn’t stop to think about how their actions affected others.

Anyway, that leads to a lot of guilt when they finally change their ways, and the way they feel about their past then influences how they behave in the present.

Maybe that means whumpee overworks themself trying to help others and make up for wasted time. They’re far too willing to put themself in harm’s way. When something bad happens to them, they don’t take it seriously enough cause deep down they just sorta feel like they had it coming. They might not object to being mistreated or they might allow themself to be used/manipulated because they don’t think they have a right to expect better. They could be unwilling to accept help when they really need it because they think other people are more deserving.

Yeah, I just love guilty whumpees, especially when that guilt is never explicitly discussed but it manifests itself in the way whumpee behaves and it’s fundamental to their understanding of self.

[justbreakonme]

“I know that I’m…hard to deal with. I’m sorry…”

“What?”

“I’m not really fun to be around and all that-“

“Who said that?”

The accusatory sound in their voice made Whumpee pause, looking up from their hands in their lap.

“I- I dunno, it’s just- Everyone who has to be around me has realized it eventually.”

“Whumpee…” Caretakers voice had gone so soft now, and when their eyes met, something in them made Whumpees fill with tears.

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Charles & Ollie: Past

Hey guys. Um. It’s been a while since I’ve written. Sorry. Anyway! I really love this piece. It’s also much longer than most chapters I write, I’m pretty sure. Almost 2.8k words. So that’s fun.

Enjoy!

CW: pet whump, slave whump, refusing to use someone’s name, insults, perceived abandonment (technically not real), fear of punishment, self hatred, unreliable narrator, drug trafficking, drugging mention, police, starvation, escape/running away, homelessness, fear of death

Masterlist

— — —

It had been a normal day.

Wake up, make breakfast for Master, kneel quietly, and hope that he did well. Hope that he wouldn't have to spend the next few days tied up, bleeding, and starving in the basement. It was always his fault for being so stupid and deserving to be punished, but he could hope. Not want, of course, that'd never be allowed. But he could secretly wish and dream for a time when Master was forgiving.

Luckily, Master didn't find anything wrong with his pet's behavior that morning, so he set out. But not before giving his slave a strong kick to the ribs to keep him in his place. Pet preferred the kicks, the other choice for a daily reminder was a slap. Pet hated the hand marks. They made his already hideous face look even more ugly.

Pet set about his chores, washing the dishes and wiping the counter. He caught his blurred reflection in the polished granite. His collar was tight around his neck, the little tag hanging from it jingling.

He touched it gently, longing to hear his Master say the name written on it, just once. He knew that he needed the reminders because he was so stupid and useless. He'd forget his place if he wasn't called names all day. "Slave. Pet. Stupid. Ugly. Mutt. Useless. Fleabag. Bitch. Dog." On and on, all the cruelest things Master and his friends could think of, perfectly suiting for the crushed and bleeding thing that so often laid at their feet.

But Pet longed to hear his name, his real name, so badly. It had been so long, he knew it was bad, he knew he was selfish and worthless and dumb. But... no one would know, right? If he said it, just this once? Such a tiny word, only two syllables.

"Ol-"

The door flung open, and Pet jumped back, arms above his head. It was like the ground crumbled beneath his feet, and his stomach dropped. He fell to the floor, curled up, trying desperately to protect his most vital organs from attack. Had Master been waiting for this? He knew that his slave would mess up, didn't he? And he was just waiting to beat the living daylights out of the useless, worthless, disgusting piece of flesh that he owned.

"Hey, no, stupid dog. Come here." Master hauled him up off his feet and dragged him towards the basement. Pet whimpered but was in awe that Master was able to hold his fury in until they got to the basement. Usually, he'd just beat Pet wherever he was and make him clean up the blood from the floor and carpeting later.

"M-master, please, I-"

"Shush. You know what, hide! I'll be back in a few days. Some guys might come through, maybe a cop or two. Listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a dog." Master grabbed Pet's face roughly, fingernails digging into his cheeks. He was forcing Pet to look into his eyes, something that was rarely allowed. But it must be okay this time if Master was the one causing it.

"You have to understand.” Master said, “Do. Not. Come. Out. For. Anyone. However you need to do it, just get it through your thick skull. Don't stop hiding until I come back and say it's okay to leave, okay?" Master half-heartedly threw him to the floor, his slave more confused than he had ever been or probably ever would be. With one last disapproving glare, Master left.

Pet never saw him again.

- - -

It was true, he soon learned, that many people would be coming through the house. Pet feared he would feel lonely and bored while waiting, but there was a lot to keep his thoughts occupied and off of... other things.

First, cops searched the entire building. Pet heard them and dashed to a tiny closet in the basement, wedging a piece of wood in the handle on his side of the door. The police tried and failed to get in and even discussed cutting it open with an ax. Pet trembled, sweat dripping off his forehead while he tried to stop himself from hyperventilating.

Eventually, though, one of them protested, not wanting to do more work when they already had evidence. And so they left, making the house silent and (somewhat) stress-free once more.

Other people came and went too, talking and cursing. Most of them Pet recognized as the voices of Master's friends. He knew better than to listen to people's conversations, but they all kept mentioning drugs and pills, the type that had once been used on Pet. He remembered the experience, although things were still a little fuzzy.

It made his head hurt for days afterward, but at the moment, everything had felt so nice and peaceful for a few minutes before the blackout. When he woke up, he was covered in bruises and cuts, but it had still taken a few minutes for the relaxation to wear off and the pain to settle in.

Master had gotten very upset that his friends wasted the pills on a pet, after "everything he went through to get them." Despite already being beaten just an hour ago, Pet was punished severely for taking the pills. He had wanted to protest that the men had made him, but he knew better. The men were superior to him. They couldn't be faulted for it. So the blame must lie with Pet. It must. Master was never wrong.

In the present day, after many days of hunger and freezing nights down in the basement, Pet felt like he couldn't go on like this. No one had visited in a while. He knew what he was thinking about was bad. He knew that if Master found out what he was about to do, he'd be furious. He made it absolutely clear that his pet was not to leave the basement.

And yet, Pet finds himself sneaking up to the kitchen. He filled two bags with dog food and then, with some careful consideration, took three apples. Master never liked fruit but would still buy it; Pet was never quite sure of the reasoning behind that. And Pet had already been so bad, a few apples that would've rotted away even if Master had been there was nothing.

Pet then made his way to the living room and took several blankets and pillows. Then, noticing the mail had been delivered, he also took the newest copy of Pet Paper. Most of the articles either were boring or scared him, but they usually had fun pictures and a few games.

Carrying all of his loot and feeling surprisingly okay for a disobedient mutt who may have been abandoned, Pet made a little camp for himself in the basement. He decided to put the pillows and blankets in the closet where he had previously hidden from cops. The tiny space felt almost like his cage upstairs and he knew now that it was suitable for hiding.

Then he sat on the floor, grabbed a handful of dog food to munch on, and started reading.

Several more days passed before Pet started to get incredibly worried. He had heard the garbage truck pass by this morning. That was the second time since he had last seen Master. More than two weeks had gone by and still, no sign of where he had gone. What was previously just another anxious thought had transformed itself into a legitimate concern. Had Pet been abandoned?

Of course, it didn't make any sense. Why would Master leave everything just to get away from his pet?

But he couldn't deny that something was wrong. Even Master's friends had stopped visiting too. He didn't get it. Of course, he was so stupid, he could never understand why humans do the things they do. But he just couldn't think of any other explanation. So Master must've abandoned him.

Pet waited another week before finally deciding to leave. The dog food was running out, even after he had made several more disobedient trips upstairs. And if Pet had been thrown away, shouldn't he get out of his Master's house? Maybe Master was waiting until he left to come back to the house. Pet was probably being bad for staying there for so long. He was so selfish, not wanting to leave the comfort of the building for the scary outside world.

But he had to now. At least there would be food outside. And also cruel people, the cold, sickness, and probably death. But a bad pet like him deserved all of that, surely. He was such a rotten animal.

Pet's first steps outside were cautious and weak. He nearly stumbled from the sheer shock of it all.

He had done it. Ollie had done it. He couldn't believe this... this... this whole new world.

but it wasn't new, not really. It wasn't new at all. He just hadn't been here in a very long time, if ever.

He felt like he had stepped into a fantasy world after only hearing of it in fairytales. The outside world, the land beyond the kitchen window, was never allowed to him before. It might as well be something that only existed in legend.

- - -

Ollie sat huddled under the bridge, violently shivering. He hadn't eaten in two, maybe three days? He didn't know.

He was cold, wet, tired, and starving. He deserved all of it for leaving his Master's house. He should've accepted his fate and died there.

He was horrible.

- - -

Earlier in the day, Ollie had run away from some police. It was only because he was so small and capable of hiding that he got away. His muscles were very weak as of late, so he could've been easily caught. He'll have to be more careful next time.

But now, because of all the distance he had worked hard to put between him and the officers, Ollie had found himself in an entirely new area.

It was late at night, so restaurants had probably thrown out their leftovers already. If only he could find a place and dumpster dive for spare food.

As he wandered, he spied yet another cop. He was so frightened that he ran into the first available hiding place he saw: a bright, bustling building. He hadn't been thinking. He was so stupid. He dashed in and joined the crowds, trying to hide himself in the large group.

When someone first noticed him, in his dirty, smelly, roughed-up state with no shoes, she shrieked and backed up so fast she bumped into a man, who fell on a waiter, who spilled two glasses of wine they had been carrying.

Soon enough, everyone was in a great commotion, trying to get away from Ollie and call security.

The pet began to cry, overwhelmed and tired and hungry and not at all wanting to deal with this. He was sorry, he was, and he would do whatever they wanted to make up for it. Just please don't hand him over to the police. Please. He didn't know what they'd do to him, and he wasn't eager to find out.

The guards approached Ollie and he fled, going deeper into the crowd, until he tripped over his own feet and fell. He curled up and lay trembling on the floor, sobbing and so terrified.

He heard a bunch of people shuffle and he looked up to see the crowd part as a man walked through, headed straight for Ollie. This man didn't look like a security guard but rather was dressed in an expensive suit and had a stern, irritated expression.

When the man saw Ollie, however, his expression changed a bit. Ollie didn't know how to describe it, having never been looked at with such a visage. But it seemed less upset than the previous one, so that might be a plus? Maybe? Maybe this man won't kick Ollie as hard as he could, or won't insult him while throwing him out.

The man looked around.

"Whose pet is this?"

Of course, no one stepped forward. The man looked back at Ollie and asked if his owner was here. He shook his head.

"Are you lost?'

"Um, yeah... I-... I was abandoned, sir."

"Oh. I am very sorry to hear that. So you need a place to stay, then?"

Another nod. The man bent slightly and extended a hand. Ollie flinched away, bracing for a slap, but none came. He looked back and the hand was still there, just resting in the air. Ollie hesitated, but the man nodded encouragingly, and so Ollie took his hand and got helped up.

He whimpered as pressure was put on his ankle, then froze. He was bad.

His ankle must've been injured when he tripped, which was his fault, he shouldn't have run. And now he had the audacity to whimper?? He was so, so bad. This man would realize what a pathetic mutt he was and hurt him for it.

Glancing up fearfully, he saw that the man was indeed frowning. Ollie shrank back, hand slipping out of the man's grasp. He started shaking even harder.

"Oh dear, easy, it's alright," the man soothed. "I didn't mean to further injure your ankle by forcing you to stand. I will call a doctor for you immediately."

Did he think Ollie was upset because his ankle hurt? But.. why? Sure, the pain was intense now that he was trying to stand, but it was nothing compared to what he's been through.

"There's no need to be so concerned, sir. I'm alright. I can take it and more. I can take whatever you want me to."

The man frowned again and Ollie nearly cried.

"No, no, don't be ridiculous. I have no reason to harm you. You've done nothing wrong, dear. I don't want you to be unnecessarily hurt."

The man hesitated, then spoke again.

"That's not how I want one of my workers to be treated."

...

...what?

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I do not wish for you to be harmed, regardless of your status, but especially if you agree to work for me. You don't have a home or... employer, do you?"

"No, sir, I don't have either of those. But really, you don't have to, I'll only be a bother and a burden-"

"Nonsense. I have heard of how they train you guys. I'm sure you are wonderful. And besides, I am forgiving, I promise."

Ollie couldn't help but notice some of the crowd looked doubtful at that, which was very concerning. But at the same time, the man did not possess the same cruel glint in his eyes, the expression of deceit, the glee in waiting until the perfect moment to strike.

Of course, the man could just be better at hiding those things, or Ollie was dumber than he thought.

But what other choice did he have?

This person was offering him a lifeline, a chance at a new home and a new life. Ollie would die if he continued to be homeless. Maybe not right away, but he'd eventually catch an illness or upset someone or get caught, and then it'd be all over.

He didn't want to die.

"Okay. Of course, sir, I'd be happy to be your slave."

The man just nodded tight, and the pet was certain that he had already messed up.

But still, the man didn't do anything to him. Instead, he addressed the crowd.

"Apologies for the interruption," He announced, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "I have urgent business to attend to with my worker, so I must leave. Enjoy the showing, it will continue until 10:30 PM as planned. My accountant will be handling any further purchases. Good night."

Then, looking back at his new slave again, Master spoke much softer.

"What is your name, dear?"

Oh god. Oh no. He knew what he was supposed to say, he knew he had to be good. He should tell the man that he can call him anything, even horrible insults, and the slave would readily accept it. He had to show his new owner that he could be good. But the man had asked. Please. The pet wanted to be allowed his name, his real name.

"Ollie, sir. My name is Ollie."

The man nodded, not seeming angry at the slave's terrible presumption that he could demand a free person use a particular name for him.

"I am Charles Durand, please to meet you, Ollie. Come with me. I'll help you to a couch to rest until the doctor arrives."

Given no other option, Ollie followed him, allowed to dangerously lean on his arm as he hobbled along.

Hopefully, this man wouldn't be too cruel to him.

— — —

Tag list: @whumpzone @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpsweetwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @apples-and-whump @professional-idiocy @nicolepascaline @cowboy-anon @wolfeyedwitch @kim-poce @guachipongo @badluck990 @secretwhumplair @batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @morelikepainsley @catawhumpus @starfields08000 @mylovelyme

[whumpetywhump]

Flowers For Algernon - Ep. 1

[tales-of-magic-and-chaos]

The probability of Loki having a gigantic crush on Stephen upon meeting him is 100%.

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1108

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

The whumpee having near godlike powers, but as a result hates them and holds back because they don’t want people to be afraid of them. But ofc because they’re unused, the powers start leaking out painfully in other ways until whumpee loses control when fighting the whumper

and the caretaker watches.

and is terrified.

I love this. Because the whumpee suppresses them so much they’re causing themselves pain - and they’re terrified of themselves. Maybe after the fact they run and hide - panicking because everyone will now see them for who they truly are: a monster. 

But despite the initial terror, the look on you caretakers face could’ve been misread by the whumpee: it was actually the shock and worry at just how long your whumpee has been suppressing their power for there to have been a near catastrophic display. 

In the end, they find your whumpee, because the caretaker always knows where to find them. 

“Please... please don’t look at me - I-I’m a monster.” You whumpee says, because maybe using their true power causes their appearance to change. They’re also groaning in pain. 

In the end, the caretaker lifts their chin, and stares at them as though they were all the stars in the sky. 

“No. You’re beautiful.”

[catnykit]

𝔽𝕝𝕠𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕡𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 #𝟙 𝔸 ℙ𝕆𝕆ℝ 𝔻𝔼𝕍𝕀𝕃

𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠 𓃬𓃠

AHJSOWNXOQNIXNQ I CANT BELIVE I'LL FINALLY WRITE ABOUT MY OWN CHARACTERS AAAAAAA

TY ALL MUTUALS AND PEOPLE TO INSPIRE ME TO DO THAT

THIS IS JUST A BLOOD LOSS WHUMP DRAFT,BUT WHO CARES AAAAAAA

pls tell me if you want to be tagged for more stuff like this idk

Word count: 1674

𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠

Warnings

;Suicide/suicide attempt

Blood loss

Torture hints/mentions

✨️Trauma,Of course

Mourning(????? Mild mourning???

Self hatred

Major character death :)

All warnings happen almost randomly,But not immediatly,Like— I gotta first explain and then the fuss happens you know

𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹 𓁿 𓁹

The dizzness was starting to became hard to ignore

Damm,It was expected,You cant lock yourself in the bathroom after accidentally torturing an innocent and then go free like nothing

Well,In her defense,Carmen did not knew that liam was innocent

Now she was the monster here,Isnt she? She had good meanings,The suspect's actions were too much to get ignored by the police Even if she was there,All by herself,She could still hearing her friend's cries that night....

She didnt know what happen in the woods until she saw wesley,Her best friend,Cover in a blanket while sitting in the border of an ambulance

They were shaking,All bloody.Carmen couldnt let the things like that!! Since childhood carmen was told she was 'way too impulsive' And why would they care?! She only did what was needed

Blood didnt stop coming as the yells didnt stopped. They wanted her to go out of the bathroom. Now.

Of course,The needed was to kidnap liam and torture them just like he did with wesley....

So one good day,She grab choloform and kidnap him in the middle of the night

How fun!,Guts,Blood,Burns,And a little syringue to make sure they dont pass out

The begs where even more satisfactory considering that,It was probabily how wesley beg in liam's hands,he deserve it!

What was not fun Was the call....

After being done with liam,And without any more ideas She decided to call wesley!,Yay!

Little problem,She did not tell wesley anything about her little plan ....Carmen was sure they would accept no matter what.

Or maybe she fogot it? In all the rage?

Staying awake was hard,Breathing was hard. She deserved it thought. They were always right and this wasnt the exception.

or Atleast thats why she throught

It didnt matter now

God,Wesley was mad.

So,So mad :(

And they had the right to be it! It was the wrong person!! Carmen is the heartless monster In here.....Atleast that was Wes said.....

"B-But I did it for.... you!"

"YOU'RE A MONSTER— I CANT BELIVE SOMEONE CAN BE THIS...TORTUROUS!"

God,And they used to be friends

Dear fucking God,It was truth....

Liam was aslo bleeding out,Atleast kind of

Carmen was so careless that she sewed up the wound with the first Thing she found,It wouldnt last forever

But the diference is that wesley was there for him

Such a backstabbed!,Or was she?

Did it care anyway?

Why was wesley yelling at her to get out?

Why did they wanted her alive?

Wesley was just there,Outside the bathroom,Trying to get who was once his friend out,For their own fucking sake

Liam was still there too,Watching quietly the blood stain the floor under the bathroom's door;All while squirming slighty In pain

The sedatives of the first aid kit did barely anything,Atleast he wasnt crying

Wesley was scared too,Goddamit,They were way too scared of anything that happen

Why the fuck did they told carmen about it? Knowing how she was?

It didnt matter now,They went mad and they know it.

They aslo knew that she was way too sensitive for reasons that they told eachother on countless outings to eat, walks, just being together

The worst part it was how close they were from eachother,And how that somewhat end in this absolute Mess

Now wesley has to cope with Not one,But two persons bleeding out.

Why do they always need to be so rude?

They felt way too guilty too

Guilty about the person in the couch who didnt hurt them,But everyone thought against it because they say "He look similar"

Well,They didnt know it was gonna end like this.

They didnt know how Mad carmen was for someone hurting them

How much Rage in order to find someone to blame

It wasnt till then that they noticed The stain that they relized it. All the restroom was quiet since they kick the door open to the basment And find their best friend torturing an innocent person,Liam They didnt think carmen could do this and yet? It was there Just there And the worst part its that All was Her fault,Thats what she thought. Carmen was alredy blood-stained when she run upstairs trying to hide from wesley,Who didnt stop yelling at her how much of an horrible person she was And in part,It was right,The problem is that She alredy knew that. She alredy knew that So when wesley saw the blood under the door,open the damm bathroom door, He wasnt ready. He had to leave liam just to... Just to see it? How one of the most important persons in his life was laying om a pool of her own blood.

Well,She regret it.

How do you deal with the thought that you're a monster who deserved to be put down?

Its not like somebody would care anyway,Is not like they would care anyway

by this point,The blood lossed was enough to just

Pass out

Wesley was terryfied. Standing there,In the bathroom door....

Liam was still laying on the couch,In pain after Everything that carmen put them throught horryfing torture...

How was they supposed to fix this?

Was it any way to do it,Was it possible?

And now they were crying.Over the dying figure of someone who tried to be a good person And failed.

𓃠 𓃬𓃠

Carmen was...confusing

A year ago,They were the one in an ambulance

And they werent that...bad

wesley remembered how bad it was... They remember a strong hand dragging them to the white van They do remember the pain,They got beat up and starved But that was nothing compared to what carmen did to liam

What was most heartbreaking it was that there was no "villian" to blame

The ones who actually kidnap them were in fact,An entire gang.

They got confused following instructions and end up getting the wrong guy

Wesley

The gang promised them that,If they didnt say a word they would free them and never meet agaim

Wesley accepted

And now they're here

With two people on the ambulance

All because they didnt talk...and because carmen went insane

was it her fault tho?? Wanting revengue for her friend??

Was it wesley's fault? They were too focused on trying to keep liam alive they didnt notice when carmen— ... Carmen was only concern. It was her fault the way she decided to be ruthless about it But she didnt deserve...death. She thought she did tho That was wesley's fault.

Wesley was shocked when carmen,Practically drunk called him to say to him that she kidnap one of the suspect and gut him alive.

And other unspeakable stuff that left Liam way more broken than Wesley. All in one night.

The second worst night!— who would guess it...

Wesley tried to get an first aid kit being on the restroom, trying to atleast help liam

Even so,They did not measure their words....

Carmen felt hurt. Attacked,Even so!

by a Friend. That she thought she could trust... But could she? They instead called her inhuman and disgusting Because? Just for wanting revengue? Camen felt alredy sick when she lock the bathroom door and got left alone with her thoughts... Thoughts that didnt stop ominously chanting what wesley said. Liam was innocent you heartless monster.

Liam was innocent.

Liam was fucking innocent

All this time it was wrong

Because liam. Was. Innocent.

There was no one to blame more than the monster that looked back in the mirror The monster that did all of that to an innocent person The monster that cried while hearing who was supposed to be their friend yell at her for all that she has done Nothing but a fox that deserved to be put down

She was gonna get killed anyway,If she didnt do it,The police would.

So...she did it

Eventually wesley give up and just stay,Trying to keep liam alive

Wesley thought that carmen would just hide in the bathroom

The police would kick the door open and all would be over

Carmen felt backstabbed.

Wesley wouldnt even care,Probabily.

He did.

He did when they understood that it went more far than that....

She was dying. Atleast liam was stable She wasnt. Wheb the ambulance finally arrived to the place,Wesley finally got to open the door snd rushed to her The cuts in the wrist were too deep. Too bad. While he tried to hold on her,To just try to stop the bleeding and made her sit up,To just have a last moment!... She lean in his ear whispered with hatred,Her voice straned because of the blooe loss

:"Hypocrite."

the whisper of the devil. A self-proclaimed demon

Wesley was destroyed

Liam was healing

And carmen died. That very night,Commited suicide

All because wesley went mad. All because they didnt say a word

All because carmen was impulsive,And ruthless

All the pain for revengue,All the death for guilt

All for nothing at all.

𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠 𓁹𓃠

YAYYYYYYYY I FINISH IT

TYSM ALL OF U

@theres-whump-in-that-nebula

@sillywhumpcreature

@whumpy-wyrms

(The ones who anwsered the last post :3)

:D

Pls tell me if you want a taglist,I think im gonna do more content if you guys like this <3

i gotta admiiit this wasnt what I had in mind buuut...again is just a draft sooo

Yeah

This is literally the First one

If

If this gets 10 notes or something imma start the next

[inquisimer]

whatever sins you've committed

for @febuwhump day 14: blood stained tiles

At the end of a trail of bloody footprints, Cullen finds Hawke and anger finds Cullen. Post-Act III ;-;

read it on ao3 here

Female Hawke & Cullen Rutherford | Rated M | 1122 words | CW: blood, injury, guilt, self-hatred, grief

-

Cullen tracked the bloody footprints with his sword drawn. Ashes and gore had obscured the trail since the recruit reported it, but his trained eyes easily found the outlines and imprints against the street. It was a relief to focus on something as simple—hah—as potential blood magic. It was a relief to do something right.

He followed the footprints from the docks up through Lowtown, past the Merchant’s Plaza and into Hightown proper. At one point they stuttered, pointing in different directions. Indecision. Cullen squatted and examined how they overlapped, then continued on toward the estates.

Not the Keep and not the Chantry, or what was left of it. Small mercies, as they’d repurposed both into hospitals and makeshift refuge for the displaced and frightened. His relief was short-lived, however. The bloody trail grew increasingly clear and it led straight to a familiar door.

The Hawke Estate.

A bead of sweat slipped down Cullen’s neck and his hand clenched on his sword. Maker, he wouldn’t have thought—Hawke was a mage, though. And she’d been at the center of the hell they’d just come through. Her and the abomination, her friend, who’d started all of this. Perhaps it wasn’t such a far-fetched idea after all.

Steeling himself, Cullen knocked on the door. It swung open at the first touch of his gauntlet—unlatched and unguarded. Not a good sign. He stepped into the foyer.

The bloody prints continued here, stark against the polished marble tile. Neither the dwarves nor the elf girl were anywhere to be found. By the Maker’s grace there were no obvious signs of demonic activity, nor the regurgitated ichor that would indicate they’d been eaten. Both Cullen and the footprints carried on into the living room and up the stairs.

“In here, Knight-Captain.”

He flinched, and frowned. Her voice, exhausted and weary, sounded otherwise normal. But how had she known it was him?

“You can’t walk around in plate metal and expect to sneak up on people,” she said as he rounded the corner into a small washroom. “And you have a very distinctive stride.”

She perched on a small stool, one foot propped against the edge of the tub. Cullen understood, then, and sheathed his sword with a wince.

Blood coated Siobhan’s legs like a pair of gruesome stockings. Various cuts and gashes decorated her skin from the knees down and they’d left streaks of blood all the way to her heels, congealed to varying degrees. The bottom of the foot that he could see glittered with shards of glass embedded deep in the skin. Based on the blood seeping from under the other, it must be in a similar state.

The small, dark part of him roared with vicious pleasure. Whatever she’d done afterwards, she brought him here, protected him, gave him the window to tear their precarious balance to shreds. She should be hurting.

“Lost my boots at some point,” Siobhan said. She bent forward and used a pair of tweezers to free a piece of glass. It clattered into a small bowl, alongside a dozen just like it. “Did you need something?”

“I—no.” Cullen shook his head. He couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her of the report that led him here, or his fleeting belief in her corruption. “I apologize for disturbing you, Serah Hawke.”

“You’d be the first.” Another piece of glass removed, a rivulet of bright red blood flowing in its wake. When she dropped it in the bowl, the tweezers slipped from her blood-slick grip and fell as well. She clenched her shaking hands into fists.

After a moment’s hesitation, Cullen picked the tweezers up. He removed first one gauntlet, then the other. With the ragged corner of his gambeson, he wiped blood and gore from the metal handle.

“May I?”

Hawke’s sharp face was unreadable, but she nodded. Cullen knelt at her feet and braced her heel against his palm. Her jaw tightened around a hiss as he jerked a large fragment from the arch of her foot; unbidden, that dark, shameful monster roared in Cullen’s chest.

Her pain felt good. It felt like justice and retribution and catharsis, all rolled into one. Whatever blame lay at his and Meredith’s feet—and a great deal of it did—Hawke was the only one who had even a glimmer of chance to prevent this. Instead she’d played the field, toyed with Orsino and Meredith and Elthina like pieces on a chess board.

Like a true politician, he thought bitterly. And there were already murmurs of making her Viscount. Well, he hoped she was happy.

Removing the last of the bigger shards from her skin, Cullen scraped the flat of the tool down her sole to catch any small, unseen remnant. Siobhan’s gasp aborted into a sob, her knuckles gone white where they clenched around the lip of the tub.

“Don’t need an infection caught under healed skin,” Cullen muttered. “Sorry.”

Siobhan exhaled, slow and shaky. Even with his head bent in focus, her keen gaze burned into him.

“Not as sorry as I am.” His head snapped up and he found her cracked-marble eyes burning with the same anger and regret that fed this ill-advised escapade. Ashamed, he looked away.

“Don’t be,” she said hollowly. “Take it out on me. Your ire and anger, and the rage of every person in this city. I deserve it.”

She swiped a damp towel over the freshly raw skin and the fluffy whiteness of it went pink with her blood. She wrapped it around the wounded flesh and secured it with a knot.

“Only three people bear as much responsibility.” She pulled her other foot up with a groan and the torchlight glinted off the chips of glass like diamonds. “And they’re all dead.”

Cullen didn’t speak. There wasn’t anything to say: he agreed. A better man would shift the blame, soothe her self-loathing with a balm of forgiveness. But, Andraste would have to forgive him, because he was not that better man today. Maybe not ever.

“You could have stopped him,” Cullen finally whispered, barely audible. He gripped Siobhan’s other foot and his trembling hands shook all the way up her leg. Then, louder, “You should have stopped him.”

He was not gentle. A waterfall of glass poured between them as he jerked shards free. The rough extraction tore the skin further and each one removed added to the growing puddle beneath them. Siobhan tilted her head back, face screwed up against the pain.

Good, Cullen thought again, savagely. And as tears slipped between her lashes and crept down her cheeks, he realized she was nodding.

You should have stopped him. You should have stopped this.

She agreed.

[callofdooty]

A Place To Get Away From All The Cold

A prompt fill I actually completed for Whumpuary 2023 - I did have a few others, but chances are I won't get them out by the end of the month. It's a miracle this one even got finished in time HAHA

For Whumpuary Prompts Hypothermia and "Stay with me"

Fandom: Call of Duty (Call of Duty: Ghosts)

Summary: Keegan ends up hypothermic and he goes through the five stages of grief from being cared for.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences (Lots of cursing)

Relationships: Keegan P. Russ & Everyone, Implied Keegan/Ajax (Can be read as platonic or romantic)

Warnings/labels: Fluff & Angst, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Ghosts as Found Family, Self-Hatred, Inaccuracies in most fields, Hypothermia Whump,

Can also be read on ao3 here!

The point is, Keegan liked to at least believe he was pretty durable, as Elias once said. Operation Sand Viper taught him many things, and that just so happened to be one of them. Sure, he came out of it feeling like he was made of glass - weathered down, one wrong move away from shattering irreversibly - but looking back it’s… a reassurance. A sign that he could get through anything. They survived. Fifteen against hundreds.

Keegan has been through a lot of shit throughout his life. That’s no secret; not to anyone that spends 5 minutes within his presence and especially not to the people that have known him for much more than 5 minutes. He’s “impossibly tough” (thanks Rorke) and “disturbingly durable” (thanks Elias) both of which are products of him going through the various personal layers of Hell a little too early in his life. 

Keegan was a survivor, a hardened soldier. He'd looked death in the face and he'd won.

Which is why it’s nothing short of mortifying to be in this situation. Hazy, confused and fucking cold. His shivers were bordering on violent, it’s a miracle his chattering teeth hadn’t bitten through his tongue yet. Simple things felt far too difficult; his usually sharp mind was well and truly dulled by the biting chill creeping through him. Of all the things, how the fuck was this the thing that overwhelmed him? Had him struggling to comprehend anything beyond the tremors barrelling through his body?

And the worst part? Rorke is the one bearing witness to his most pathetic display yet. He would’ve preferred anyone else, in all honesty. Even Merrick. Even Elias. Because while Merrick probably would’ve poked fun at his expense, and Elias would have  - no doubt - gone into full “fatherly” mode, they wouldn’t really judge him for it. Or at least, Keegan didn’t think they would.

But Rorke? He’s... Well. Keegan wasn’t exactly sure what to make of him. The man was his captain; impressive, reliable but also downright terrifying. Keegan didn’t want to say he was a hardass per se, especially considering some of the other superior officers he’d met in his lifetime; but he definitely didn’t have the same tact that Elias did. 

Rorke took shit very seriously, he expected the best - and only the best - out of them at all times. So him seeing Keegan at his worst? Seeing Keegan crumble over some chilly temperatures? Yeah, not exactly what Keegan would call ideal.  

This was so stupid. So fucking embarrassing. Why did Rorke have to be the one to get a front row seat to this shit? If the abyss looked him dead in the eyes and threatened to banish him to an eternity of nothing right now, he would take it up on the offer in a heartbeat. 

Actually, with the way he felt, the abyss might actually be here to do just that. 

Fuck he was tired. 

What was he thinking about again…?

There’s a light pressure on his wrist, right on his pulse point and then a faint muttering of expletives.

“Christ kid, you’re freezing.”

He sure is. 

His eyes flutter open just barely, it almost surprises him how heavy his eyelids feel. Should they feel this heavy? He doesn’t think they should. Was opening his eyes always this hard? 

“Y’seein’ me, Keegan?” Technically, yes he was. It's a little hard to focus but he can identify him well enough. He can’t even nod his head in reply, but the slight tilt must’ve been good enough. “Good. Stay with me, now.” the pressure on his wrist stays for a bit, until finally the captain moves to help him sit up.

There’s something almost funny about the way Rorke handles him. Almost like he’s trying to be gentle, though Keegan’s not sure he’d ever quite attribute such a word to Rorke of all people. It’s made quickly unfunny, however, when Rorke's jacket is gingerly shoved onto him, as well as the hat he was wearing. He was wearing his captain's jacket and beanie. Because he was beaten out by the weather.

At this rate he couldn't tell if the embarrassment or the bone-deep chill was more exhausting. 

"We need to get you out of here. Think y'can stand?" 

In Keegan’s defence, he did try. He tried his very fucking damndest to get his shaky legs to cooperate, but Rorke wasn’t having it, making him sit right back down after only a few seconds of watching him struggle. The apology he uttered under his breath barely caught Keegan’s notice before he was being (carefully) heaved up into Rorke’s arms.

If he didn’t wish for certain death before, he certainly did now. 

Rorke seems to understand, and rumbles an apology again. Keegan just hopes he didn't unknowingly pull a face to garner such a reaction. 

"Sorry, kid. It'll be faster this way anyway."

Perhaps luckily for him, the entire jourmey doesn’t exactly register in his memory. In fact, he’s pretty sure he ended up passing out at one point; one moment he’s staring blearily up at Rorke, and the next he’s suddenly coming-to in a helo, already curled into Ajax’s side with a comforting arm wrapped around his waist. No more biting winds to gnaw at him, but he still felt more akin to a popsicle than a person. 

There's some muttering around him that he doesn't have the energy to decipher. A hand settles on the nape of his neck, and he follows it to a sympathetic-looking Merrick. The look in his eyes is nothing short of soft, and Keegan would've bashfully ducked out of its path, had the dumb bastard not opened his mouth to ruin it all.

“Not doin’ so hot, huh?” That fucking–

“‘Sshole.” Keegan grumbles, pressing closer to Ajax. Rorke’s chortling loudly from somewhere, which only furthers his annoyance. Ajax swats Merrick's side with the same hand he had around Keegan, though he was failing to hide his amusement.

"He just came back around, man, give him a break." The chiding only gets an indignant scoff out of Merrick before he shuffles up, now pressing Keegan between them as he threw his arm around him in a mirror of Ajax's. Surprisingly, it's kind of comfortable. A steady, warm presence on either side of him, protective in a sense. He could almost fall back asleep if it wasn't for Rorke's distant order to keep him awake.

Great. 

"You okay?" Ajax asks more quietly now. There's not exactly room for a private conversation in this situation, but it's as close as they could get. Out of all the Ghosts, Ajax seemed to understand him the most; was always considerate of the fact that Keegan hated drawing attention to himself or got overwhelmed when too many people were focused on him. He'd lowered his voice, made a moment just for the two of them so he'd feel more comfortable to talk. Ajax was one of the few people to ever accomodate for him. It had his stomach flipping a little. No one had ever known him the way Ajax knew him. 

"'m tired..." he mutters lowly, burying his face further into the other's shoulder with a sigh. Ajax's thumb starts to run up and down where it rested on his waist; a small gesture but it's soothing all the same.

"We'll be back and through medical before you know it," Right. Medical. He caught his frustrated huff before it could leave, burying his face more into Ajax's shoulder. Sleep is all he wanted right now, but that's the last thing he was going to get. He's allowed to be a little miffed about it, he thinks, but there's no need to get huffy to Ajax about it. 

"Wanna play I Spy?" The sudden joking remark has Keegan grinning sleepily, unable to hold back the chuff of laughter that preceeded it.

"God no, please." He pleads in response, "Anything but that." 

"I'm sure a refined gentleman of your tastes must prefer 20 Questions," Merrick supplies, joining in on the conversation now that it wasn't hushed.

"More like the Quiet Game." The resulting snort that gets out of Ajax is every bit worth it. 

"He's saving 20 Questions for the medical team." 

"Right, right, so you just played a real long game of I Spy with Rorke, yeah?"

"Oh my god,"

"You having fun over there boys?" Elias calls softly. Their heads snap up to look at him, startled out of their joking pretty quickly. Well. The other two had quick movements. Keegan could barely lift his head, but he still managed to look at Elias. All he does is give them a fond smile. "Good to see you more alert, Keegan. Had us worried for a while there." 

Oh god, don't make him think about that. If there was one thing he was lacking, it was the mental energy he'd need to deal with everything that's happened in the past... However long. He's not exactly sure how long he was out for. Surely not more than a couple hours. 

"Thank you, sir," he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Definitely... doing better now." 

"Honestly kinda scared the shit out of me when Rorke carried you in." Ajax's brow creases, "Think that goes for all of us."

"I've never seen Rorke or Elias fuss over someone like that before." Merrick mutters quietly. He can tell it's Merrick's attempt at sparing Keegan a little of embarrassment, but he still feels his figurative hackles raise about it.

Jesus fucking Christ. Can they please not destroy the last of his dignity? A shaky sigh left him, frustration building in his chest.  "Not my finest moment."

"We all have our moments Keegan." Elias placates him, voice firm and strong but in no way demeaning or condescending. It's one of the things he appreciates about him; preferring to strictly build others up, rather than burn them down and rely on the slim chance that they can find a phoenix in the ashes. "There's no shame in that." He's too tired (and too smart) to argue with that; though he still feels terrible, still sits uncomfortably with guilt and an unhealthy dash of self-hatred, there's no point to really put up a fight about it. He fucked up. It happens. And he'll just have to prove himself later.

'Turn the sting of survival into fuel for bettering yourself.' As Rorke had once told him. Fuck ups are dangerous, but getting through one intact almost always guarantees that you'll be improving. (Especially when you're on Rorke and Elias' team.)

He gives a small nod and rests himself against Ajax's shoulder again.

"Don't lose your head thinking about it now. We'll go through it once you're in the state to do so. Alright?"

"Yes, sir." Defeated. For now. He's sure this'll come back to haunt him for a while, but for now he'll try and let it rest, idly listening to the conversations that sprung up between his teamamtes, though it mostly ended up as background noise. As Ajax's head comes to rest on top of his (more comforting contact that he soaks up like a sponge) he starts going back into his own thoughts. 

...He needs to figure out the least awkward way to give the hat and jacket back.

[animangalover-writes]

Split Seams(And You Deserve It)

Also posted on ao3

Tw: Self Harm

Hannibal, does not believe he deserves to live, nor does he deserve death, and all its relief.

So he lays down somewhere, in his big empty house, with cuts on his wrists. Stinging. Throbbing. And he soaks up the pain. The burn. Watches the split skin, the uncomfortable trails of blood trickling down his arms. And he doesn't move.

Because this is what he deserves.

[whump-queen]

“You’re better than this.”

[tw angst, depression, self-hatred, sort of a whumper-caretaker combo, implied suicidal ideation if you squint]

They felt their throat close up.

Was this supposed to feel like a pep talk?

They could read between the lines, you know. They weren’t that thick. They could hear the sentences finish in their head.

‘You’re pathetic. You’re lazy—’

“I—I know." Their throat clenched down again, the muscles tightening and squeezing around their words. They nearly grimaced at the sound of their own broken voice.

As if to prove them right.

“Hey. Look at me.”

The edge of frustration in that tone sent their emergency signals on edge. They lifted their gaze from that spot on the floor.

Whumper could see them fully now, and whumpee loathed how they must have looked right then—eyes brimming with tears, trying hard not to blink—god forbid the heavy drops breach their eyelashes and make everything worse.

Whumper grabbed them by the shoulders, their frustration boiling over, and shook them hard. Whumpee's voice cracked.

"Come on, snap out of it!"

“You know you’re better than this. You know you are—fuck, I know you are.“

They felt the tears now, streaking their cheeks and cooling in the chill of the room.

'Look at how far you’ve fallen.'

Whumper's tone grew more frantic now, that frustrated edge in their voice giving way to a full on desperate anger—

“Come ON— where did that FIRE go?”

'What the hell happened to you?'

“you used to be so—“

What— so strong? So self-assured? So confident?

. .

Was I?

Was that why you first fell for me?

It’s been so long. I can barely remember now.

.

Was that why you looked at me so differently that night, all those years ago?

With all the reverence and adoration in the world in your eyes—

as if you'd raze everything to the ground at my feet.

Please—tell me what it was— What did you see in me?

What did you see when you looked at me like that?

What was I like?

Please—please tell me—I—I cant find it anymore—

Whumper released their shoulders, turning away exasperated.

“Nobody’s gonna pull you up but you now.”

Whumpee curled in on themselves, the sobs were impossible to hold back now.

'You've got no one but yourself.'

Too much.

It hurts.

'Nobody but a person you despise.'

They let the tears fall willingly now, grieving something they could barely grasp.

That person they must've once been—they felt no more real than a ghost now.

Long dead.

They couldn’t do it anymore.

It hurt to remember.

It hurt to grieve.

Please.

Let them melt into the walls.

Let somebody find them in a week.

• • •

if you need therapy like me you can read more terrible angsty shit here:

Regrets | Tile | In the blur of the rain

[whump-or-whatever]

Imagining a Whumpee who already hates themself so much that by the time Whumper gets to them there’s almost nothing to work with. Whumper can try to rile them up, but Whumpee just accepts every nasty thing they say. Whumper hurts them, but Whumpee just takes it in stride. The pain they feel is nothing if not deserved. So Whumpee doesn’t fight back, doesn’t try to escape, doesn’t beg for mercy. They just endure. Because that’s all they’ve every really known how to do.

[justbreakonme]

“Whumpee? What’s going on?”

When Caretaker found them standing stock still, staring into the mirror with a frightening intensity, they initially were going to give them a moment, until they saw the tears practically pouring down their cheeks.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Wh- Sorry? What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry you got stuck with me. You deserve- you deserve someone not…broken”

Caretaker has so many answers, but, no words came out. How could they make whumpee see this?

“I chose you.”

“What?” Whumpee finally broke eye contact with the mirror and turned, confused.

“I never got stuck with you, ever. I chose you, I chose you before and I’m choosing you now. You went through some awful stuff, but that doesn’t mean you’re broken, but-“ Caretaker took a deep breath, trying to put the feeling into understandable words, “Even if you were broken, I’m still choosing you. I love you, Whumpee. I’ve always loved you, and I always will.”

[witchering10123]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Hakoda & Sokka (Avatar) Characters: Sokka (Avatar), Hakoda (Avatar) Additional Tags: Branding, Good Parent Hakoda (Avatar), Protective Hakoda (Avatar), Hurt Sokka (Avatar), my search history is suffering because of this, You're Welcome, Hurt/Comfort, well as much comfort as you're going to get, Let's be realistic here, Beating, when you say something snarky, and get punched in the face because of it, ...you can't really argue against it, Whumptober 2023, Day Ten: Branding (Whumptober 2023) Series: Part 10 of a witchering's whumptober 2023 Summary:

Did… he didn’t deserve to move on, did he? That was what this was about. Making sure he wouldn’t forget, and making sure he was never forgiven. Sokka takes a deep breath. This is for the best, he’s realised. He keeps his mouth shut, his eyes down. He doesn’t flinch away as Nukilik cuts his tunic around his neck, and leaves it bare for the branding iron. He lets Dad’s incensed rage sweep over him like a wave. And yet...

-----

Arnook's final revenge on the man who watched as his daughter died.

Day Ten: Branding - can be read as a standalone

[whumpetywhump]

Flowers For Algernon - Ep. 4