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oddsconvert · 9 months

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Shattered #9 - It's Cruel To be Kind

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Apologies for the wait!!! 🥺❤️

CW: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is new master/whumper, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, reference to vampire whumper/previous abuse/captivity, bloodbag whumpee, recovery whump, aftermath of nightmare, emotional breakdown/self doubt (August going through it!!!) [Pls lemme know if I missed any! 🫶]

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The wind is swept from August’s sails. It feels as though he’s adrift in the open ocean. Lost at sea with no waves or wind to carry him to shore. A storm rages overhead, lightning splitting through the pitch-black sky, dark clouds rolling in. There’s an island on the horizon, a glimmer of hope. It calls August - it beckons him. And he tries with all his might to paddle there, waiting for the gust of gaia’s wind to propel him towards salvation.

It never comes. The ferocious ocean waves sway August further away. Totally stranded and utterly helpless.

August skulks out of Declan’s bedroom in bruised defeat. The desperate screams for mercy and freedom fade until they’re nothing but a distant echo, swallowed up by the silence of the house. This isn’t working. This isn’t fair. They’re getting nowhere. The road they are paving for the human’s recovery is nothing more than them blindly stumbling in the dark and feeling their way around, and it’s to Declan’s detriment. At his expense. Torturing the already tortured soul.

It’s cruel, August thinks. He took an oath when he devoted his life to medicine; he swore to alleviate pain and suffering, to do no harm, and uphold ethical practices. This cannot be ethical. Surely. What he’s doing feels downright criminal and inhumane. Is it worth the healing of Declan’s body only to terrorise his mind? Leaving him in perpetual anguish and dazing confusion day in and day out. Keeping him hidden and isolated far away from his loved ones.

August slides his back down the wall, head buried in his hands. He can still hear Declan’s shrill cries ringing in his ears, piercing through his heart. Honestly? He always hears them. Day and night. Since that first day Declan woke up and nearly burst his eardrums with his terrified screams. August’s conscience won’t let him forget them, it’s harrowing.

Because Declan is scared half to death of August. The screams are because of him.

Home might just be the best medicine for Declan. That is the true cure August is searching for. Declan may not be held here with ropes and chains or kept under the lull of persuasion; but he is wholly and unwillingly dependent on August for his survival. Declan has no choice now but to rely on the vampire for his entire humanity - he’s too weak to fend for himself, let alone chase his own heart's desire. He is reliant on the vampire for his nourishment, for his health, safety and protection and even his communication. His whole way of life. The only way Declan can exercise his own free will, is if August helps him to.

And well…Declan keeps asking for home. Who is August to deny him that?

“He’s going to try some sleep again,” Lucas whispers across the hallway, careful to slowly and gently pull the bedroom door to. No loud or sudden noises. They’ve learned that the hard way. “I’ve promised him we’ll leave him to it for tonight. He just needs space to breathe.”

And then what? Declan jolts awake an hour later in floods of tears and hiccuping sobs again? Do they ignore it this time? Leave him be and let him cry it out? Or send Lucas back in…he likes Lucas. August knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s so envious of that. He’d never harm a hair on Declan’s head, he’s fought tooth and nail to save him. Why must he be branded the bad guy?

August knows the answer. That doesn’t make it any easier.

“I have never seen fear like that in my life,” Lucas slumps beside August on the floor, a far-away look on his face like he’s just seen a ghost. He stares blankly, dead ahead, at the floral wallpaper across from him, and shakes his head in disbelief, “What the hell do you put a man through to make him scream in his sleep?”

Hell. Exactly that. That’s what you put him through. You turn him into a zombie, living dead. A body forced to live when its mind is melted to a puddle. You send him to tango with death and live to tell the tale. Hurt him until he can’t feel it, and even then still hurt him some more. It’s impossible to comprehend the horrors Declan suffered, or fathom why or how someone could do that to another living, breathing being. But it happened, and August can’t change that no matter how hard he tries.

“Lucas? Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

It’s a question that’s been rattling inside August’s skull for a while now. Guilt and sympathy fighting each other to the death. He only ever wanted to help Declan back on his feet, bring him completely back to himself and, help deliver him home all in one piece. August could never live with himself if Declan went home to his family, lifeless and comatose. They may as well have sent him with his casket too. And he can’t send him back as he is now; the tattered man weeping himself into another dread-fueled nightmare.

Or can he? Should he?

“Without a doubt in my mind,” Lucas asserts, certain as can be. He says it with his entire chest, and he seems almost offended by the question. He straightens himself from his slouched slump on the floor, sitting up against the wall and crossing his legs underneath him, “What makes you ask that?”

August opens his mouth, but no words come out. His jaw clicks shut before he can even dare try. If he says it, it makes it all real, doesn’t it? Every worry springs into existence, everything he’s frightened of is brought to life. August will have to face all his mistakes and misdeeds, every foolish mis-step he’s taken in Declan’s care. But he has to own up to it sooner or later. Face the music. So he can do what’s right by Declan.

“I fear… I fear we’re doing more harm than good to the boy.”

“August-”

“W-What if I’m getting this all wrong?” August falters, his voice thick with shameful, threatening tears. As Lucas shuffles closer to console him, August crumbles even more into the floor and wishes the ground would swallow him whole. “What - What if we’re hurting him, and sure maybe not hurting him like that vile monster who stole him but... in a different way?”

Declan still thinks and feels like a prisoner. He was trapped in Vince’s basement, and then he was trapped in his mind, his body and now trapped all over again. This time as August’s patient, stuck helpless in bed.

But Lucas shakes his head passionately, giving a reaffirming squeeze to August’s knee. Lucas is too good to August, too kind and forgiving. It’s more than he could ever deserve in this life or the next. But right now his words of encouragement fall on deaf ears, August needs to be told how it is. And it's plain as day that his presence is damaging Declan, not helping him. Declan is still suffering. He’s supposed to be free and thriving, and he’s still hurting.

“Were it not for you, Declan would have taken his last pained breath that first night you brought him home. Even worse, he could have died a broken shell of a man in that basement, alone and suffering. You revived him. You gave him a second life.”

It doesn’t feel like it. What kind of life is jumping at shadows and cowering behind blankets? Terrified of what’s around the corner. A thousand words trapped in his mind that he could never say.

“I bought him. Like livestock…he thinks he’s my property-”

It’s time to call it a day, and let him give up the fight and lay down his sword.

“He’s just scared, August. He’s so scared, and all alone and horribly confused. He’s been through hell and back. It’s not you.”

“It is me, Lucas,” August disagrees, “It’s what I am.”

A blood-sucking monster that stalks the night looking for its next prey to feed from and drain dry. August has spent his whole life trying to break free from that mould, to run far away from what he’s supposed to be and never look back. Somehow Declan sees right through him, right down to his core. He sees what August refuses and tries to hide from. His own blood, his very nature.

“How could he ever heal at the hands of something he fears the most?” August asks, disgusted with himself. He should rip out his fangs and run outside to bathe in the sun’s agonising rays. It sickens him that he is associated with the brute that did this to Declan. That August’s kind hunt and kill humans for food… for sport. Who could blame Declan for being scared of vampires. August is scared of vampires.

“He deserves better-”

“-Declan deserves you,” Lucas’ tone was clipped, as if his word was final and there was no possible room for discussion. But August had known him so long, he could hear the affection underneath the terse words. “You are the best thing that could have ever happened to him. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Lucas once looked at him the same way Declan looks at him now. With nothing but fear and disdain in his eyes. Backed into the corner like a scared small animal. August remembers the way he felt when they both locked eyes for the first time, terror meeting terror; it felt like he wasn’t worthy of breathing the same oxygen. That he was a monster, and should whittle the stake himself and hand it to Lucas with an apologetic bow.

Has August always mistook help for harm? He must be doomed to repeat the same cycle of pain. Maybe it’s just in his cold-blood. His vile, worthless blood. Vampires hurt humans. That's how the story goes. There’s nothing he can do to escape that fate.

“My friend,” August chokes up, grabbing Lucas’ hands to squeeze in his own, and stroking his thumb over his wrists. “I wronged you. I hurt you. Just like I’m hurting Declan now.”

A thousand apologies could never make up for what he’s done, the hurt he inflicted. Years down the line the shame and regret still plagues him, festers inside him deep down. Over and over he’s told he’s forgiven, more times than there are drops in the ocean. Again, it doesn’t change the fact it happened.

“You saved me,” Lucas gasps in awe, astounded by August’s confession. Something they’d both long agreed was water under the bridge. “ Just like you’re saving Declan. Would you have given up on me?”

“Never.”

“Then why give up on him? When he needs you more than I ever did?”

A fire lights inside of August, determination burns within him. This isn’t throwing in the towel, this is him fighting. Doing what’s right, even if it feels wrong. If it means letting go-

“I’m not giving up on him. I would never give up on him. I want to do what’s best by him.”

“I trust you, August. And I think if you just hold in there, Declan will learn to trust you too. It just needs time.”

Time does heal all wounds, as they say. And maybe Lucas is right. Maybe if they just play the waiting game, Declan could make it through to the other side, unharmed and unafraid. Yet August knows that these aren’t fresh wounds - not anymore - they’ve turned to ugly, withered scars. A permanent mark on the boy’s mind, body and soul. There’s no curing that. But could Declan learn to live with that?

“Tell yourself what you tell him. He’s not a captive. We’re going to take him home, yes?” Lucas quirks an interrogative brow, and August nods miserably in response. Declan is starting to feel like a captive against all intent and promises. “I think if we drop him off in human territory now - lame and pain-riddled, scared of everything that moves - that is what would be cruel. Us looking after him and building him back up for a little bit longer; that’s the mercy he’s begging for. Even if he doesn’t realise that right now.”

“How do I know which path to take?” August whispers with a wince, like the daunting thought threatens to implode inside his mind.

“Humans know so little of vampire persuasion, how it affects the brain and body. He could be stuck like this forever. His family will get half their son back at best. Who knows if his state will deteriorate? If he’ll ever walk or talk again. We can help him, August. You know that we can help him feel human again.”

“I don’t want to cause him any more unnecessary pain,” August laments, “He’s been through enough.”

August was never under any illusion this would be easy. He was prepared to weather the storm from the second he first laid eyes on Declan. Down in that basement; knelt and bound, small and fragile, unreachable and lifeless - drowning in Vince's power. August can help Declan, he’s got him this far already, he’s nearly out of the woods. They could do it, this could work. But at what cost?

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you,” Lucas promises, “Wherever you go, I’ll follow. Always…”

August had saved Lucas before, hadn't he? Perhaps there is still hope. Perhaps he can still save Declan.

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Thank you to @darkthingshappen for beta-ing this chapter!!!!

Next update will drop on Monday! (7/8) 🫶 Time for a lil flashback to how August and Lucas met... 🤫

Taglist: @octopus-reactivated @whatwasmyprevioususername @ramadiiiisme @darkthingshappen @whumpsday @thecyrulik @t0rture-me @redwhump @the-cryptid-finch @snowstuffscuff @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @wolfeyedwitch @interdimensional-chaos @termsnconditions-apply @whump-blog @leyswhumpdump @not-a-space-alien @onlybadendings @darlingwhump @sparrowsage @flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal @wolves-and-winters @ashh-ed @idkmansomeusername @whuarri @33-sdtr-45 @pigeonwhumps @canislycaon24 @the-whumpers-grimm @damienxozmoze @predacon-skydrift @morning-star-whump @neverthelass @espresso-depresso-system @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @mushroomlover554 @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @kadeee00 @that-one-small-world @doodlepoodle154 @sodacreampuff @cupcakes-and-pain @topsheepstudent

Let me know if you would like to be added or if I forgot you! 🥰

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feverdreamsanddelusions · 4 months

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[tw panic attack, past trauma]

Whumpee knew there was something wrong. They always knew. That had never been the problem.

The problem was that nobody had ever listened.

So they stopped talking about it. Whenever they got sick, whenever the trauma got too overwhelming, they just bottled it up and swept it under the rug. Nobody cared. Not talking about it was less painful than trying and being ignored.

But it was really bad today. The delusions were strong, the hallucinations crept up on them way too fast, and soon they were overcome with the most debilitating terror they had ever experienced.

They sat on the edge of their bed, motionless, trying and failing to calm their racing heart. Everything was too much. Everything was terrifying. They were simultaneously trapped in and locked out of their own body. They couldn't stand up to call for help, they could only wait and hope it would subside.

And it did, if only a little. It eased up enough for them to push themself to their feet and stumble out of their bedroom. They made their way to Caretaker's study and knocked, then knocked again, knocking and knocking and knocking mindlessly until their friend opened.

"Whumpee?" They looked concerned, and it was nothing Whumpee had expected or ever experienced before. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

They couldn't answer. They whimpered softly, breaking down in tears instead of giving a coherent explanation. They were shaking badly, and Caretaker immediately took them by the shoulders and guided them inside to sit, pulling them into a hug on the comfortable sofa.

"Breathe, Whumpee, just breathe. I'm here." Caretaker held them tight and rubbed their arm as they cried, and it was the warmest embrace they'd ever received. "It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be just fine. Just breathe with me."

#whump #whump drabble #panic attack #past trauma #recovery fic #comfort #res writes

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steampunkserpent27 · 1 year

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Art by @biskueee for my WIP recovery fic. (Mature, currently 129K) -Do not repost/re-use-

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3-2-whump · 4 months

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TW/CW: post-trauma, very vague mentions of trauma, scars

I am absolutely weak for…

A whumpee who ends up looking after a child one day. Could be his, could be Caregiver’s, could be a friend’s, it doesn’t matter. One day the child happens to see his scars peeking out from the hem of his shirt as he bends over.

Innocently, she asks, “What are those?”

“They’re scars,” he answers simply.

“Can I see?”

What would’ve been an impossible task for him several years ago is accomplished within minutes as he takes off his shirt and turns around.

The little girl gasps behind him. “What happened?”

“I got hurt,” he explains.

“How?”

“Someone…hurt me…”

“Why?”

And really, how much should he tell her? She’s so young, she doesn’t need to know. More importantly, how much can he tell her? How can he answer that question when he himself doesn’t even know?

Sometimes kids are perceptive, though.

The girl stops asking, knowing when to quit probing. Instead she runs her tiny fingers over his back, and Whumpee is glad he didn’t flinch under the contact.

“They make you look like a tiger,” she says, her attempt at diffusing a tense situation.

Whumpee was not expecting such a compliment. “They do?”

“Yeah-oh!” The little girl scampers off, laughing to herself as she runs into the house, only coming back once she has her mother’s eyeliner pen in hand. She beckons him down to where she can reach, then draws haphazard lines across his bare stomach, chest, and face.

Sometimes kids are silly, he guessed.

“There” she beamed triumphantly. She grabs a makeup mirror and shoves it in Whumpee’s face. “Now you look like a tiger on the front, too!”

“So I do…” Whumpee can’t help but feel the smile creep onto his face. “And this tiger’s gonna eat you right up!” He pounced playfully toward the child, letting her get a head start before chasing her around the back yard, laughing all the while.

Sometimes kids are amazing.

#I promise I’ll use my OCs’ names one day #but until I open up some more I’ll stick to the formula #whump #whump writing #caregiver #whumpee #random child I guess #recovery fic #oh my god my verb tenses are all over the place #i’m so fucking embarrassed #but not embarrassed enough to edit it

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hellcheerficdatabase · 6 months

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How Not to Drown

Author: @wheremermaidsdwell

Rating/Warning: Explicit, referenced ED, child ab*se

Chapter Count: 19/19 (Part 1 of How Not to Drown series)

Description:

“You scared me. I'm glad you're-" Eddie switched sentences, "Are you going to be ok?"

"Yeah," Chrissy nodded, knowing it might be a lie. If she couldn't get things under control it could get worse. “I just have to be healthy."

After almost dying in Eddie Munson's trailer Chrissy decided something in her life had to change. If she was going to recover from her eating disorder before it killed her, then she needed to fix her life of enablers, and trashing her reputation seemed like the way to go.

If Eddie Munson and the Hellfire club was the fastest way to ruin her popularity, then all the better. Eddie helped her once, maybe he'd do it again.

Tags: Alternate Universe- no vecna, falling in love, recovery fic, angst, so much angst it hurts, Lux why did you recommending (kidding, it hurts so GOOD), angst with a happy ending, fluff, smut, Chrissy is recovering, Chrissy needs a hug, Eddie is a sweetie, strangers to friends to lovers, hurt and comfort, Chrissy POV, multiple chapters, part of a series, status: completed

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thesakurainrain · 1 year

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Liability

"Everyone here knows you’re not a monster. What’s so wrong with them seeing you as a man?"

My new fic is up! Of course, featuring the Elena Stidham special of angst between Lorde lyrics. I hope you like it!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44545321

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msilverstar · 4 months

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Author: @dreadnought-dear-captain Date: 18 Feb 2017 finished Chapters: 24/24 (148,010 words) Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Captain America (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Clint Barton, Wanda Maximoff, Scott Lang, T'Challa (Marvel), Original Characters, Arnim Zola, Vasily Karpov, Aleksander Lukin, Natasha Romanov (Marvel) Additional Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Psychological Trauma, Brainwashing, Teamwork, Science, Bucky Barnes-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Tension, Internalized Homophobia, Bad Parenting, Intergenerational Trauma, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Past Bucky Barnes/Various Female Characters, Sexual Content, Medical Torture, Psychology, POV Bucky Barnes, Hydra (Marvel), Emotional Roller Coaster, Stockholm Syndrome, Introspection, Unreliable Narrator, Trust Issues, Lots and lots of psychotherapy, Homophobic Language, Period-Typical Homophobia, Heavy Angst, Vomiting, Gaslighting, Anxiety, Depression, Recovery, Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, parasuicidal behavior, Therapy, therapy fic, complex PTSD Summary:

Therapy's a bitch, but PTSD is worse. An in-depth character study of Bucky Barnes as he reconciles his years with Hydra in the wake of Civil War.

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I don’t really know who I am. I do know that James Buchanan Barnes is dead. He’s a pile of bones at the bottom of a ravine. He’s a side bar in some other guy’s museum exhibit that might not even exist anymore. James Barnes would puke if he could see what he became. His parents and sister and friends would cry.

I don’t know what’s left over now, but I know it’s not good. And I don’t think it can ever be good.

Bookmarker's Tags: Therapy, Bucky Barnes Goes to Therapy, Psychotherapy, Armchair Therapy

Bookmarker's Notes:

Extra-intense very long recovery in Wakanda fic, close Bucky POV, with explicit Hydra torture and brainwashing. Lots of how therapy can help Complex PTSD

#bucky/steve #steve/bucky #stucky #switching #canon divergence #therapy in fic #recovery fic #MCU fanfic rec #fanfic rec

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kelzebub · 1 year

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Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Zombies Run! Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Sam and Five, Sam and Peter, Sam and Maxine Characters: Sam Yao, Peter Lynne, Maxine Myers, Runner Five, Sara Myers-Cohen-Yao, Paula Cohen, Tom DeLuca, Jody Marsh Additional Tags: Aftermath of Violence, comment about hypothetical sexual violence (but nothing actually happened), Hurt/Comfort, Family, Found Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture, Canon Compliant, Trauma Recovery, Healthy Coping, Supportive Relationships, Angst and Fluff, tags may be added regarding sexual identities, Asexuality, Aromanticism, ace/aro Five, maybe demisexual and demiromantic Five, she's not sure yet, speaking Five, Female Runner Five, There Was Only One Bed Summary:

After raising the flag at Abel, Sam's going to need a while to recover from everything that's happened to him over the past few days. This is an exploration of how that happens.

Takes place immediately after s5m40, spoilers up to that mission.

Chapter in which Sam was doing better, and now is doing worse.

#sam yao #runner five #maxine myers #Paula Cohen #sara myers cohen yao #zombies run #angst #recovery fic

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enden-agolor · 5 months

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i have nothing else to offer but this little doodle page 😔 i don't have much time to draw as of recently so i hope this pleases the gay minecraft man audience

#my art #recovery fic #mcsm #jesskas #mcsm jesse #mcsm lukas #minecraft story mode #mcsm fanart

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whumpshaped · 5 months

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this is a disgustingly fluffy prompt so beware slfkdh

caretaker always calls whumpee a word in their (caretaker‘s) native language, which whumpee doesn’t understand. but since they are very self loathing they just assume it’s something negative, since caretaker has to spend so much time and energy caring for and „tolerating“ whumpee. one day whumpee gets too curious though and decides to look up the word, only to find out it’s a pet name and caretaker has been calling them something lovingly the entire time

(bonus points if you do it in your native language i love learning new cute pet names!!)

sorry to all hungarians i know seeing this will cause some whiplash

tw pet whump, past trauma, caretaker new master

‘Easy, szívem.’

‘Szívem, could you bring me some water?’

‘You don’t have to push yourself, szívem.’

Whumpee accepted the nickname as their own easily. Whumper had given them plenty, although never ones they couldn’t even understand; useless, stupid, mutt… who knew which one Caretaker was using on them?

They avoided asking about it for the longest time. They told themself they were prepared for the meaning, that they could handle whatever degrading thing their new master ‘friend’ threw at them, but in reality… They weren’t prepared at all. They didn’t want to know. They wanted to pretend it was something nice, a term of genuine endearment, dear, darling, honey… Something people said to each other with kindness.

But eventually, curiosity won out. Whumpee sneaked into the study one day, picking out one of the dictionaries from the shelf. They thought about using the computer, but they chickened out. It would’ve been a much more egregious crime than opening a book.

The issue was, they had no idea how to spell the word. They started at ‘S’, flipping through pages upon pages and finding nothing. See-vem. See-vem. None of the words looked right. They eventually crossed over into the next letter, ‘Sz’, unsure what sound that would even make. It was all so confusing… How did Caretaker even speak this?

“Can I help you?”

Whumpee flinched at the voice, slamming the dictionary shut immediately. “C-Caretaker– I– I wasn’t– I wasn’t doing anything! I was cleaning, and the book fell down, I was just trying to check whether it was intact–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” they said with a smile. “I’m not mad, szívem. But if you were looking for something specific in there, maybe I could help.”

“N-no, no, it’s… it’s nothing… I…” They took a deep breath, trying to ground themself. It was now or never, really. They wouldn’t get a better chance to ask. “Well… I, I was wondering about, um… The nickname, I guess. What you always call me.”

“Ah, of course. I’m sorry, I’ve never really explained it, have I? It’s just a term of endearment.” They pulled out their phone and typed something. “I’m pretty sure the dictionary only has the root word. Here.”

Whumpee took the phone gingerly, looking at the translation program. Original word, in Hungarian: szívem. Yeah, they would’ve never gotten that right. Translation, in English…

Their eyes widened in disbelief. Next to them, Caretaker chuckled. “What did you think it meant?” they asked cheerily, seemingly unaware of all the horrible options that had been swirling around in Whumpee’s head before.

“I… I don’t even know,” they breathed.

They definitely didn’t think it meant something as innocent as ‘my heart’.

#asks #whump #whump drabble #pet whump #past trauma #caretaker new master #recovery fic #comfort

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oddsconvert · 1 month

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omg this shattered chapter is gonna be so long..................eep

#okay but I'M TRYING - THE WORDS JUST KEEP WORDING #spent so long trying to get out of a writers block and now my brain is giving me too many words??#boo hiss boo /j #shattered #vampire caretaker #bloodbag whumpee #captive whump #recovery fic

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feverdreamsanddelusions · 4 months

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inspo by @whumpitlikeyoumeanit

[tw self-harm, self-deprecation, past trauma, implied past captivity, lashing out, anger as a trauma response, rocky recovery, argument between friends]

"This is so stupid," Whumpee muttered. "So fucking stupid. What the fuck is going on with this?"

"Whumpee, it's normal." Caretaker tried to take them by the hands to stop them from picking at their scars, but Whumpee flinched away before they could have. "Hey, it's okay. It's alright."

"It's not! It's so fucking itchy! Like– twice a year it'll get fucking itchy like it's brand new, for, for no reason! It's so annoying!" Whumpee kept scratching it until it hurt, feeling ridiculous that this small thing was making them lash out like that. "It's healed, it's fully healed! And not only is it ugly, it's itchy."

"You're going to make yourself bleed–"

"And? What's it to you? It's my body, isn't it? That's what you always say. Whumper never said that shit. They were upfront, they said 'your body is mine to perfect and mine to ruin.'" They made Whumper sound as stupid as possible just so they wouldn't have to deal with the tears. "But you're different, right? You're telling me my body is actually mine. I can perfect it and ruin it myself, right?"

"Whumpee..."

"No, no! Don't give me that! I can do whatever the fuck I want! I can most definitely scratch a stupid itch!"

Caretaker sighed and sat back, watching with a frown as Whumpee continued to rub their skin raw. It was a matter of principle at this point, and Whumpee was prepared to push it to the limits.

"I can do whatever I want," they repeated, quieter. "My ankle was flaring up earlier too. If I had enough one day and decided to chop it off–"

"Don't say that," Caretaker cut in, increasingly more nervous.

"Oh, now I can't even say shit. I can't do anything, I can't say anything. So much for autonomy. So much for–"

"Whumpee, don't... you're being ridiculous."

"Sure," they spat. "I'm being ridiculous."

"I don't mean that in a– look, I just... I want you to take a deep breath, okay? And just calm down a little. Clearly, you're not having a good day–"

"Yeah, I'm completely unfit to make decisions for myself. Because it's a bad day, and I'm fucking stupid."

Caretaker slammed their hand down on the table in frustration, and Whumpee finally stopped messing with their scars. Their eyes snapped up to their friend, fearful and shocked. They shouldn't have been shocked. They'd wanted to instigate, and now here was the fruit of their labour.

"Stop putting words in my mouth," Caretaker said as calmly as possible. "Yeah?" Whumpee nodded a little, still stiff as a board. "I'm sorry for banging on the table."

A small part of Whumpee wanted to go further. They wanted to make another comparison between their friend and Whumper, they wanted to push it, they wanted to see just how angry Caretaker would get. A much bigger part of them wanted to slip onto their knees and grovel.

They ended up doing neither of those. They stayed seated, unable to do anything but make a nervous attempt at wiping away their tears and shaking their head to signal it wasn't a big deal.

"Fuck, Whumpee..." Caretaker stood up and circled around the table, and Whumpee tried to push them away on instinct. "Whumpee... Hey. I'm sorry." They knelt down and finally took Whumpee by the hands, wincing when their eyes landed on the patch of raw skin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so upset with you. You're safe, I promise. I would never hurt you."

"I don't actually want to chop my leg off," they choked out. They had no idea why that was the first thing they wanted to address out of everything, but it felt like the most urgent matter at hand. Caretaker nodded.

"That's good news."

"I'm not fucking dumb."

"I know you're not. I know."

"You keep treating me like I– I can't even joke about it, or get angry, or– I... I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't... it's... I shouldn't get angry with you. I shouldn't be saying these things."

Caretaker squeezed their hands a little. "I can't really... deny that sometimes it gets scary when you joke about it. Especially when it doesn't sound like a joke, or when you're... already upset and in a bad headspace."

"But I wouldn't do it!" they snapped, then immediately shrank back and murmured an apology.

"I can't read your mind. I just can't. And I know you're more than capable of hurting yourself." They sighed. "Listen... Bodily autonomy, and, and your right to– to hurt yourself if you want to... I... I don't know how to explain..."

"I'll never actually have autonomy."

"Please don't do this. Please don't ask this of me. To– to prove that I mean it by letting you hurt yourself. That's fucked up. Surely, you realise that's fucked up."

Whumpee didn't say a word. Of course they knew. But they felt like a dumb kid, trying to find out where the limits of their freedom were by constantly pushing back against their parents' rules.

"I want you to be safe. Ultimately, I can't stop you from... from doing anything, really. I can't stop you from hurting yourself, not if you really want to. But– but it's not about stripping you of your bodily autonomy. It's about... me, as your friend, wanting you to be safe and healthy. That's all. And it sucks so fucking much that you treat it like I'm– like I'm forcing horrible stuff on you, when I've never done that."

"I know," Whumpee whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's not about apologies, okay? I know you're in a very tough spot. I know it's difficult. I just want to... I'm trying to explain my reasoning. I want you to understand where I'm coming from, since..."

"Since I'm so fucked in the head."

"Please, stop putting words in my mouth. Whumpee, I'd never think any of these things about you. Please, stop."

Whumpee wanted to curl up and die. They couldn't shut up about it. They couldn't stop putting words in everyone's mouths. All their brain did day after day was supply them with endless amounts of negativity their friends must've been thinking, even if logically, they knew it probably wasn't true. "I'm sorry," they repeated.

Caretaker let go of their hands and placed their own on Whumpee's knees instead. "I want nothing but for you to be happy and healthy. That's all I ever want. And this might sound rude as hell, but when you ask me to let you chop your leg off, it feels like you're a kid asking to eat two tonnes of candy and stay up for three nights in a row. I can't in good conscience agree to that. I know it's a bad idea."

Was that how people perceived them? Like a child, throwing a temper tantrum? They could feel themself checking out entirely, their mind refusing to grapple with all the things that had been said. I told you I didn't actually want to chop my leg off. "Okay."

"Okay?" Caretaker gave them a look of cautious and reluctant hope. "You understand where I'm coming from?"

"Yeah."

"Are you just agreeing because you're overwhelmed?" Whumpee hesitated, and it was enough to make Caretaker's hope shatter. "Well..."

"No! No, that's not... You didn't even let me answer!"

"I guess I didn't. Sorry. I just... I know when you're about to lie about stuff like this." They sighed and stood up. "Whumpee, I love you more than anyone in this world, okay? I hate to make you feel overwhelmed. Or like you have to agree with me. Why don't I get some cotton pads to clean that wound, and then we'll take a break from this conversation?"

The argumentative brat in them wanted to say no just for the sake of it. But they felt so exhausted all of a sudden, they just couldn't. They ended up nodding their agreement wordlessly, and then they sat in silence the whole time Caretaker was tending to them, letting their mind drift.

This was all so stupid. As they looked down at their many scars, they wondered whether they could even chop off a limb on their own. Had they been joking when they said it? Or were they actually considering it?

It didn't matter. As angry as Whumpee had been about restrictions just a couple minutes ago, they were quickly realising they at least made these thoughts kind of meaningless. It didn't matter whether they had it in them, because Caretaker said they weren't allowed do to it anyway.

"All done," Caretaker said all too soon. "Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit? Or do you want me to sit with you?"

"Sit with me," Whumpee said without thinking. The request sparked that sliver of hope in their friend's eyes again as they nodded and walked back to their own chair.

"No talking?" Whumpee shook their head. "Alright. No talking."

#whump #whump drabble #self-harm #self-deprecation #past trauma #implied past captivity #lashing out #anger as a trauma response #rocky recovery #recovery fic #res writes

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