#Self-Deprecation

[whumpshaped]

tw addiction whump, alcohol, past trauma, pet whump, rocky recovery, flashbacks, emeto, paranoia, self-blame, self-deprecation, dehumanisation

Once Whumpee had gotten out and was allowed to make their own decisions again, they decided it would be prudent to make as many bad ones in as short a time frame as humanly possible. Their first trip out of the hospital had brought them straight to the liquor store, and they bought as much alcohol as their court settlement could pay for. They wanted nothing but to forget. Forget the trial, forget their captivity, forget…

Sit pretty for me. There you go, good boy. Aren’t you a good little pet?

They swallowed and threw the money on the counter, then grabbed their beverages and left without a word. They didn’t give the cashier enough time to recognise them from the news. 

The bottles kept clinking together quite obnoxiously as Whumpee struggled to bring all of them up the stairs to their apartment. They clinked even more as they tried to put them down one by one without breaking any so they could fish their key out of their pocket. They groaned when they realised they would have to repeat the whole thing again; pick up the bottles one by one, bring them inside, push the door closed with their hip, put them down one by one, lock the door.

They stared at the collection of all the different beverages they had laid out in front of them. Vodka, gin, whiskey, whatever they could find on the shelves, they’d bought. They had no idea what they liked. They doubted they liked any of it.

Whumpee glanced towards the window, shame immediately rising in their chest. What if someone saw them? Would the people judge them? Would the knowledge of their trauma make it worse in their mind or better? Would they accept them as just another failure of society, someone who had been too weak to handle the hand life had dealt them? Or would they scream and shout about the unfairness, the fact that someone as useless as them had been given such a large sum of money, only so they could blow it on substances?

They stepped up to the window and hastily closed the blinds. Nobody would see them like this. Not now, not ever.

-

Whumpee’s resolution to avoid others whenever they were wasted had crumbled in the first few days, because they’d thought it appropriate to go out and try to make friends. They had been so desperately lonely.

They’d woken up one day on a public bench, being watched over by a stranger. They had excused themself and rushed home, drowning out the memory with more alcohol right after having thrown up the last of the previous day’s shots.

But it seemed like their drunk mind wanted nothing but the tentative familiarity of that chance meeting to be repeated over and over again, because they found themself back on the bench every other day. Caretaker — as the stranger had introduced themself — was always kind to them, and always made sure no one else bothered them on their leisurely strolls. They were… different, odd, but a safe kind of odd, the kind of odd Whumpee felt comfortable inviting into their depressing little apartment after just a week of knowing them.

One week? Two weeks? Whumpee couldn’t remember. It hadn’t been a long time, probably, because their first supply of alcohol was still going strong.

“I don’t think I should,” Caretaker said awkwardly. “I mean… Are you sure you want me there?”

“Yeah… yeah, I… I don’t have anyone else, really…” they slurred, blissfully unaware of how much of a target they were putting on their back. It was nothing but luck that Caretaker didn’t jump on the opportunity to burgle the victim of one of the most famous legal cases, who, as everyone seemed to be aware of, was sitting on a pile of cash.

“Don’t say that,” they said quietly, and Whumpee instinctively assumed it was out of pity.

“Why? It’s true. Everyone knows, ‘cuz I walk around here every single fucking day, and I’m always fucking alone.” They gave Caretaker a lazy grin. “Not right now, I guess, but it’s not like you’re constantly with me, huh? And eeeeveryone hates me for it, they want me fucking gone, they want me off the public property, and away from their children, and they look at me like I’m no different than the pile of fucking trash they leave out every Tuesday!” 

“Alright, alright, but don’t fucking tell everyone that you’re constantly alone. At least lie about it.”

That made Whumpee stop in their tracks, their dumb smile faltering a little. “Huh?”

“There are bad people in this world, Whumpee. You should know that better than anyone. Just lie and say you’re going to a friend’s place, or going back home to your family. No need to make it known that you’re easy pickings.”

Whumpee stared at them blankly, trying to process the words. “Huh…?” Was Caretaker… not saying it as a means to comfort them? 

“I’ll explain one more time once we get to your place, if you still wanna bring me back.”

Of course they did. They wanted it more now than ever. 

-

“Pet me?” Whumpee asked abruptly.

“What? Like a dog?”

Whumpee tensed. Even in their drunken haze, the comparison sent them back to the place they’d so painstakingly escaped. “I… guess so.”

Caretaker seemed to notice the change in atmosphere too, and they put two and two together. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just surprised—”

“It doesn’t matter.” They pushed their head against Caretaker’s thigh. Admittedly, the alcohol made it easier to forget, even if not to forgive. “Pet me?”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“I’m asking you.”

Caretaker hesitantly lifted a hand and placed it on top of Whumpee’s head. They carefully carded their fingers through the soft hair, gently scratching their scalp as they went. Whumpee had the feeling Caretaker was being overly cautious, so they nuzzled against their hand as a way of encouragement. 

“It’s okay if you think of me as a dog,” Whumpee said before they could stop themself. It wasn’t okay, but they didn’t want Caretaker to hold back on the headpats just because they thought it might trigger something in them. Even if it might.

“It’s not,” they said anyway. “I’d never think of you as a dog.” 

Whumpee huffed. “Maybe it’d make everything easier, honestly. You wouldn’t fault a dog for being useless. You’d just coo at it endlessly, everyone would. ‘Aww, look at that adorable, useless dog. Who cares what it can do for me? All it has to do is lie there and be adorable.’” 

“Do you think of yourself as a dog?” Caretaker asked softly.

“I sank lower than a dog ages ago, I think. I’d have to work really hard to get back up there. I’m more like… a roly poly.”

Caretaker petted them mutely for a while, repeating the pleasant motions and slowly lulling Whumpee to sleep. “I like roly polies,” they murmured before Whumpee could’ve fully drifted off. “And I like dogs too. But…” Their petting stopped, and they let out a heavy sigh. “I like you so much more and so differently than any animal.”

-

“You’re gonna die of alcohol poisoning one day, you know.”

“I’m gonna die of withdrawal…” Whumpee made a half-hearted attempt to get the bottle from Caretaker, but they held it up and out of their reach. “You know you can’t keep it from me if you want me alive…”

“Oh, I can. We’re gonna work on it, bit by bit. And right now, you’re not getting any.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Nope.”

“You’re gonna kill me.”

Caretaker rolled their eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”

Whumpee rolled over onto their back, trying to ignore the nausea. The ceiling was swirling and morphing, and they had no desire to ever see it come to a stop again. “I’d rather get alcohol poisoning than die of withdrawal, I think. I don’t know how either of them are, but I know I don’t want to be sober.”

“Hopefully, you won’t ever know how either of them are.”

Whumpee scoffed. “I didn’t want to know what being a human pet was like, and here we are. Not only do I know, but thanks to the fucking trials, everyone else knows too.”

“That doesn’t mean everything you don’t want happening to you will suddenly happen. You don’t have to run head first into a wall just because you feel like it’s coming at you and you want to strike first. Walls don’t usually move. Not when you’re sober.”

“Huh?”

Caretaker sat down on the sofa next to them, gently rubbing their arm. “I think you deserve a better life, Whumpee. Even if you don’t want any.”

“I don’t—” The nausea suddenly became unbearable, and they pushed themself off the couch to stumble into the bathroom. They didn’t reach the toilet.

They had no idea what they’d meant to say before the accident. No one would ever know.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumptober Day 31

31 ASKING FOR HELP | Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well."

Whumptober Prompts List | Masterpost

Hero x Villain Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 800

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @doctorsawyer @pinkrangerv @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

CW: nightmares, insomnia, self-deprecation

A/N: Aaaaaaaaand that's a wrap for Whumptober 2024! Thank you so very much to all the lovely people at @whumptober who organized the event and helped reblog!

I felt like writing a sort of fluffy Hero x Villain snippet because I love seeing these two helping each other overcome their traumas after everything.

----------

The kitchen was silent, save for the constant drip… drip… drip of the coffee pot and the soft humming of the refrigerator.

Villain folded their arms and leaned against the counter, watching the dark brown liquid pool in the bottom of the glass carafe, ignoring how raw their eyes felt, how much their body craved sleep. Their body desired sleep, but their brain wouldn’t let them truly rest.

“Villain?”

They jumped as Hero appeared in the doorway, rubbing the exhaustion from their eyes. “Uh… ‘morning.”

“It’s…” Hero squinted at the wall clock, “it’s three a.m. What are you doing making coffee?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Villain replied matter-of-factly. “Happens from time to time. I usually just get an early start.”

Hero frowned. “How often?”

Villain shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Hero sighed and crossed the room to stand in front of them. “Villain, this is the third time in the past two weeks you’ve woken up at ungodly hours. The last two times I wasn’t sure, but… it’s the nightmares, isn’t it?”

“I…” Villain hesitated, gaze falling to the floor. “Yes. Usually I can just go back to sleep, but this one… it’s better if I get up and be productive than lie awake in fear.”

They couldn’t see Hero’s face and didn’t want to make eye contact, but they knew Hero was biting their lip in an expression of concern. “It’s just a bad dream,” Villain said quickly, “nothing really to worry about.”

“A dream bad enough that you don’t feel safe falling asleep?”

“Uh….”

Hero turned and opened one of the cabinets, pulling out two mugs. “You need to stop trying to cope by yourself.”

Something in their tone made Villain inwardly cringe. They opened their mouth to protest, but as Hero poured the coffee from the pot into the mugs and moved over to the fridge, the words died on their lips. Hero grabbed the cream off the shelf and the sugar bowl from the counter before moving to the dining table, gesturing with the milk container for Villain to bring the two mugs over.

Villain complied, sitting silently as Hero prepared their coffee exactly how they liked it. Hero pushed the mug towards them before sipping from their own. Villain waited for them to berate them with questions, and accusations about what other coping mechanisms they were hiding from them. But Hero said nothing.

Another minute passed, and Villain couldn’t take it anymore. “Why do you put up with me?” They burst out, gripping the handle of their mug.

Hero raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Villain pressed their free hand to their chest. “Look at me! I was your sworn enemy for years, I don’t even have powers, I… I’m….” They looked away, eyes welling up with tears.

Something brushed against their knuckles, and Villain glanced back as Hero laid their hand upon Villain’s. “Broken? Unworthy? Worthless?”

Villain didn’t answer. They didn’t think their vocal cords were even capable of responding, let alone forming a coherent reply.

Hero smiled softly, a knowing, reminiscing smile. “You remember when you saved my life, so long ago, and I asked you a similar question?”

Villain blinked. It wasn’t that long ago, only… only a few months. A few months that felt like a lifetime. “...yes…” they managed to choke out, voice breaking.

“You remember what you said?”

Villain was silent for a minute, which could have been an eternity. They nodded, slowly, as the memory came back to them.

“I care about you, Hero. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I abandoned you.”

“You saved my life,” Hero said, “you gave me food, shelter, a friend. And, later on…” their fingers laced with Villain’s. “I put up with you because I love you. Because I care about you. We saw each other through things that others can barely imagine, and we made it out alive, together.”

“I’m alive,” Villain agreed quietly, “I’m just not well.”

“And you’re lying to yourself if you think I’m well. You can’t get the help you need if you don’t ask. And that’s a hard lesson to learn when you’ve gone so long having to rely only on yourself.”

“I know how to ask for help!”

Hero rolled their eyes. “Asking Antihero for an extra pair of hands for vigilante work is not the same as inner healing.”

Villain sighed. “You’re right…” they mumbled, taking a slow sip of their coffee.

“Describe the nightmare that keeps you from going back to sleep.”

“Why?”

“So I can help you affirm that it’s not real, that it was never real, that it will never be real.”

Villain hesitated, suddenly afraid to confide one of their deepest fears. Until they realized moments later just how silly hiding it was. If anything, Hero already knew. “Okay,” they began quietly, “it always starts at the collapsed building where we rescued Youngest….”

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

21

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."

[kittylittersmoothie]

photographical evidence of me fighting the urge to abandon my remaining and forming relationships before they all inevitably abandon me & i vanish from existence like a ghost because no one will ever love me long enough for me to mean anything to them <3

[the-healing-mindset]

What are your strengths? Look at yourself and be honest. If there is something that you're good at, then consider it to be one of your strengths. See, sometimes we may put ourselves down and disregard and devalue our strengths in an effort to show ourselves as humble. However, there is nothing wrong with knowing what your strengths are and being proud of what you are capable of.

When we downplay our strengths like that and tell ourselves and others that we "aren't good at something" even though we may be extremely good at it, two things happen. One of those things is that we begin to lose sight of who we are and of what we are actually capable. The second thing that happens is that we prevent ourselves from growing and from getting better at that particular thing, or at other things that we also may be good at but don't believe ourselves to be.

Never be afraid just to give a simple "thank you" when you receive compliments on your abilities or on your good qualities. It is very likely that you have worked or are working hard to maintain those skills. You deserve credit for that.

[geometricfractal]

I’ve been thinking about the thing I’ve heard said, about how you shouldn’t put down your skills not only because of yourself but also because you don’t know who will hear you. And you know what?

They’re right.

I’ve been talking to someone at least two or three times in the last few weeks, someone I value a lot, and they were impressed by my prowess at something, like “wow you’re so good”. And I was like “no I’m not, it’s not really that complicated, I’m just dabbling, I’m not very good at all, yadda yadda yadda”. And like? That’s not very nice of me. I am pretty good at that stuff. And I did put in effort to get there. And it benefits none of us for me to pretend that isn’t the case. Because is the other person going to hear “no no I’m not bragging or self important” like my anxiety was saying with those words? Or are they going to hear “wow maybe if you were just better at stuff you could do this too”? It’s probably the second one. And I never, ever want to say that to anyone, especially the people I care about.

So I’ll try to be nice to myself. It’ll probably make me happier too.

[cyhyr]

Whumptober No. 19: “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Bakugou and Deku, dialogue only! Because I'm liking these little dialogue-drabbles and I'm writing these for me <3 Could be read as platonic bkdk or not, but I'm always leaning towards not with these two ;) Tagging for Whumptober: @atereal @oneinist

~

“When did I ever say that?”

“You were looking at me!”

“Deku. I look at you a lot. We’re literally partners.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

“You had that, ‘oh look, he’s got a dumb idea messing around in his head,’ look.”

“What sort of bullshit, low self-esteem garbage—y’know what, we don’t have time for this.”

“You’ve always thought my ideas were dumb!”

“Right, because that’s why I follow your lead so often, because you have stupid ideas and I live to see you fail.”

“Exactly!”

“No, you shit—what the fuck is wrong—did you hit your head?!”

[kinuskikakku]

I should date someone working in waste disposal.

They are used to taking out garbage.

[polyanthea]

I hold neither Plutarch’s, nor none of these ancient short manner of writings, nor Montaigne’s, nor such of this latter time to be rightly termed essays, for though they be short, yet they are strong, and able to endure the sharpest trial; but mine are essays, who am but newly bound prentice to the inquisition of knowledge, and use these papers as a painter’s boy a board, that is trying to bring his fancy and his hand acquainted.

-William Cornwallis, Essayes (1600)

[whumpshaped]

Whumpers not allowing whumpees on furniture (and caretakers ALLOWING them on furniture).

That's it. That's the ask.

tw dehumanisation, self-blame, self-deprecation, conditioned whumpee, pet whump, past trauma

Whumpee had fallen asleep. They'd only meant to rest a bit on the sofa, just a couple hours before they resumed their chores, and they'd fallen asleep.

They'd already taken a risk when they'd curled up among the fluffy throw pillows, but they'd thought it was a risk worth taking for a speck of comfort. A mere hour on a soft surface had sounded too good to their abused mind and body, too damn good after months and years of hardwood floors and their own shirts for pillows.

They'd thought they could avoid Caretaker catching them. And now here they were, standing in the doorway and staring at them with open surprise on their face.

Whumpee scrambled to get off the sofa, knowing well that pets weren't allowed on furniture, already thinking about all the horrible punishments they'd have to go through for violating such a basic rule.

"I'm sorry," they cried desperately, crawling over to Caretaker and bowing so deep their forehead was resting against the floor. The floor on which they should've been sleeping, instead of their master's soft couch. "I'm so sorry, please, I don't know what I was thinking, please forgive me! I'm so sorry!"

Caretaker quickly threw their bag on the floor and crouched down, gently nudging Whumpee by the shoulders to sit up. "Hey... Hey, Whumpee... It's okay, come on..."

"I'm s-so sorry, I was bad, I was disobedient, I knew I shouldn't do it and that's why I tried to do it behind your back... I'm sorry... It's, it's better that I failed, because otherwise I would've gotten away with breaking rules and lying and–"

"Oh, sweetheart..." They sighed, and Whumpee could hear the disappointment, and they couldn't believe they'd betrayed the trust of such a kind master.

"P-please, mercy," they whimpered. "I know I d-don't deserve it, I know..."

"There's no rule that prohibits you from using the furniture, Whumpee."

In one ear, out the other. Of course there was. It was so obvious, it was common sense, it had been drilled into them, and they'd knowingly violated it. Still, they stayed quiet, too afraid to argue with their owner.

"Can you sit up?" they asked gently, and Whumpee tore themself away from the floor, terrified of facing their master. "Good, that's good. Let's just calm down for a second, yeah?"

Whumpee had never felt less calm in their life. They were sobbing uncontrollably, unable to comply with even the simplest of orders, such as 'breathe'. They were making it worse, they were sure of it.

Yet... Caretaker didn't seem particularly angry. Of course, anger wasn't needed to dish out some horrendous punishment, Whumpee had learned that the hard way. But this felt different. Caretaker felt patient.

"I'm sorry," they blurted out again when they felt less frantic, and Caretaker smiled sadly.

"I know. But there's no need. You didn't do anything wrong in my eyes."

"B-but, but I– I dirtied the furniture–"

"Whumpee, listen to me." Caretaker cupped their cheeks, looking completely serious. "You're not dirty. You're not dirty for being you, you're not dirty by virtue of being a pet, or whatever that sick fuck has told you. Yeah? You can't just dirty my sofa, or the guest bed, or the plates in the kitchen, or anything just by touching them, unless you're deliberately smearing mud on them or something. Have you done that to the sofa? It doesn't look like you have. You're okay."

Whumpee swallowed and nodded, eager to agree and appease their master; despite the fact that their sentiment was in direct opposition with what they'd been taught over years. "I– I understand."

"Good. That's good. I'm glad. I'm not going to force you to use the furniture if it's too scary for now. But I want you to understand that it's not forbidden."

They nodded again, and Caretaker seemed pleased with their reaction. Pleased enough to let go of them and stand up, extending a hand to pull them up as well. Whumpee took it hesitantly.

"It'd make me very happy if we could get to a level where you're comfortable using everything in my house," Caretaker went on. "I know it'll take time, but... just know that that's the goal I have in mind. Today has been a step in the right direction, I hope."

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps @anonymous-tiangou

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom Day 6

"They don't care about you." / Flinch / Broken Promise / Abandoned

Prompts List | Event Masterpost

Hero x Villain Masterpost | <- Previous Part | Next Part ->

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1600

Tag List: @juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf @doctorsawyer @pinkrangerv

CW: PTSD, breaking and entering, sabotage, self-deprecation, swearing, harsh words, denial, mentioned injury, crying

A/N: Introducing a couple new characters: Antihero, a part-time hero, part-time villain who owed Villain a few favors, and Youngest, the most inexperienced member of Hero's old team. Also the first appearance of Hero's powers! They're a telekinetic.

----------

“...are you sure the distraction’s gonna work?”

“Antihero knows what they’re about, love. Trust me, we’ll have all the time you need.”

Hero shifted uneasily in their seat, watching the lights of the city streak by outside the car window. “I do, but… what about Techie? Won’t they alert Shapeshifter, Sound Gun and Leader once they find out we’re inside?”

Villain sighed, eyes fixed on the road. “I already told you, I’ll handle it.” Hero opened their mouth, but Villain raised a finger from the wheel, silencing them. “And don’t worry, I won’t kill them. If all goes well, they won’t even suspect what we came for until it’s too late.”

“Okay….”

Villain turned onto a side street, close to Hero’s former team’s headquarters, but not close enough to draw attention. They eased the car to a stop and put it into park before turning to Hero. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? If things don’t go as planned, it could end very badly for both of us.”

Hero gritted their teeth and nodded, thoughts whirling. “Not just us, but Techie and Youngest and maybe Antihero and—!”

Villain gently put a finger on Hero’s lips. “Hush. It’ll all work out.”

“But—!”

“Trust me?”

Hero slowly exhaled, trying to soothe their racing nerves. “Trust you.”

Villain smiled. “Good. Now, let’s break into your old headquarters, shall we?” They removed their hand and swiftly exited the car. Hero stared after them for a long moment, painfully aware of the spot on their lips where Villain’s finger had just been, just barely brushing against their skin. Villain shut the car door, and Hero jumped, quickly following suit, heat spreading across their face.

Their mask would hide the worst of the blush, probably. And the rest was hopefully covered by the darkness—

“…Hero?”

Hero jumped. “S-sorry,” they mumbled, starting down the sidewalk. “Just… memories.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Hero couldn’t afford to lose focus. Not now. And especially not while inside their old headquarters, where every second that ticked by was one second closer to getting caught.

Caught.

And imprisoned.

And tortured….

“Hero?”

They snapped out of their thoughts as Villain gently touched their shoulder. “I…” Hero blinked and realized they’d almost walked past the side door, their ticket into the building. They smacked their forehead in frustration. “Fuck… sorry, I was just….”

Villain frowned. “If you’re not ready for this, we can turn around and go home. I’ll call off Antihero, and we can try again another day.” They glanced up at Hero’s old headquarters, and the frown deepened. “Your team did a lot of fucked up shit, and they deserve to pay for every damned scrap. 

“But…” they looked back to Hero, and their gaze softened. “We don’t have to do this now. Just say the word.”

Hero hesitated. The offer was tempting, it really was. But… they had the suspicion that if they backed out now, they would never muster up the courage to return. And that thought… that thought terrified them more than getting caught.

They shook their head.  “No. We’re doing this.”

“Alright.” Villain nodded slowly and gestured to the door. “Lead the way. This is your mission, after all.”

Hero took a deep breath, steeling their nerves against the memories that threatened to flood their brain and overwhelm them again. I’m coming, Youngest. They pressed their hand to the doorknob and reached out with their powers, grasping the inner mechanisms with insubstantial fingers.

The lock clicked. Hero allowed themself a small smile of victory. It had been a while since they’d used their telekinesis for something as complex as the lock. This was promising. They pushed open the door and slipped inside, Villain on their heels.

The side door opened into a hallway that ran along the entire length of the first floor of the headquarters, connecting to the lobby, a few unimportant storage rooms, and the service staircase. Hero led the way down the hallway, their powers seeking out and disabling the security cameras in the stairwell long before they reached the door.

“Alright,” Villain murmured as they ascended the stairs, “just point me in the direction of the surveillance room and I’ll be off.”

Hero nodded, passing the second and third-floor doors before stopping at the fourth floor. “Second door, end of that hallway.”

“Got it,” Villain moved past them, but Hero caught their arm.

“Just… don’t hurt them too badly. Please.”

Villain’s expression was unreadable beneath the mask, but they nodded. “Of course, love.”

With those words, they vanished through the door. Hero listened to their quiet footsteps for a couple heartbeats before they shook themself and continued up the stairs. Youngest would likely be in their room. Hero remembered from their training days when Leader would lock them in their room to prevent them from following on patrol before they were deemed ready.

The memory reared its head, threatening to drown them, but Hero shook their head and pressed on. Youngest. They were here for Youngest.

The lock was no more difficult to open than the side door. Youngest jumped up as the door opened, words already spilling out. “Is everything okay? Do you need me to…” Their eyes widened as their brain caught up with what they were seeing. “Hero?!”

Hero winced at the shock and disbelief in their voice. “Hey, Youngest.”

“I… you died! You’re supposed to be at the bottom of the ocean somewhere…” Youngest staggered, grabbing onto their desk for support. Frost spread across the wooden surface from their fingers, but they didn’t notice.

“Ah… is that what Leader told you?”

Youngest hesitated before nodding. “They said… they said you were taking a break, to go visit some family… but your plane crashed into the ocean…” They perked up and started moving towards the door. “We have to let everyone know you’re okay! Have you told Techie yet—?”

Hero didn’t move from the doorway, even as Youngest paused expectantly in front of them. “Listen to me, Youngest. I never went on a break, never went on a plane.”

Youngest blinked in confusion. “...huh?”

“I…” Hero’s voice shook as they sought the right words, “I was getting sloppy. Pulled one too many all-nighters. Let a couple big villains get away from me. Leader wasn’t happy about any of that. And… and when I asked to take a break, I think that’s when they snapped. There’s… there’s a reason why the lower levels are off-limits.”

Youngest stared at them, eyes growing wider by the second as Hero’s words sank in. They stepped back. “No,” they protested, “no, you’re lying!”

“I wish I was lying,” Hero murmured. “They don’t care about you. They only care about what you can do for them, and damned if you act like a person who has needs!”

Youngest shook their head, hands raised defensively. “How could you say something like that?! Leader took us in, trained us… they’re like a parent to me! They would never do that!”

“I’m sorry, Youngest, but it’s true. They’ll abandon you if they thought it was ‘for the good of the city’.” Hero’s voice turned mocking, remembering Teleporter’s words as they’d exacted the punishment ordered by Leader. “That’s why I came back. I didn’t want to leave you behind when you, too, caught their wrath.”

Youngest’s expression darkened. “Get out.”

Hero blinked. “What?”

“Get. The fuck. Out. Or I will make you leave. You’re not Hero. You’re something else, wearing their face, wearing their mask.”

Hero’s stomach churned, the earlier fear and panic returning at full force. “Youngest, I….”

“Don’t ‘Youngest’ me!” Youngest screamed, the temperature rapidly dropping. “Leave! Leave, or I might change my mind and trap you here so you can repeat your lies to Leader’s face! How does that sound?!”

Hero stepped back in shock. They wouldn’t… would they? “I’m sorry, Youngest,” they managed to say, voice shaking. “Just… I’m sorry.”

They thrust out with their hand, slamming the door shut with such hurried force that it rattled in the doorframe. The lock clicked, and Hero spun and sprinted back down the hallway, tears threatening to spill down their cheeks.

They were too late. 

Down the stairs.

They’d waited too long.

The fourth-floor hallway.

They failed.

The surveillance room. Hero barely glanced around the room, registering Techie lying unconscious on the floor before they dashed across the room to where Villain bent over the console. Villain turned in surprise, eyes widening as they noted the look on Hero’s face and the distinct lack of Youngest.

Hero mashed themself against Villain’s chest, the tears finally arriving in full force. “I… they… they thought I was… they didn’t want… threatened to…to….”

Villain slowly wrapped their arms around Hero, their fingers running through Hero’s hair. “Oh… I’m so sorry. You tried your best.”

“I… I really thought….”

“I know, I know.” Villain removed one of their hands, tapping on the keyboard. “If it’s any consolation, I got the other thing we needed.”

Hero continued to sob, Youngest’s words playing over and over in their mind.

“Hero… Hero!” Villain gently pushed them away and planted their hands on their shoulders. “We gotta get our asses out of here before the team gets back, okay? Plenty of time to sort through your emotions when we’re home free.”

Hero slowly nodded, removing their mask to wipe away the tears. “Okay…” they mumbled, voice still shaking.

Villain nodded, grabbing Hero’s hand. “Let’s go, love.”

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

Ohohoho I adore your Bad Caretaker ask game! If you're accepting asks from it, how about no. 14? <3

bad caretaker ask game

14. caretaker is victim blaming

[tw bad caretaker, victim blaming, abusive relationship, past domestic abuse, self-blame, self-deprecation, guilt]

"Hey, hey, what's going on? Whumpee?" Caretaker jumped up from the couch and ran over, making Whumpee flinch back and pull their borrowed jacket tighter around their shivering body.

"I'm home!" They tried to sound lighthearted and cheery, but their voice came out timid and shaky. "It's n-nothing, I... I just need a shower..."

"There's– there are bruises on your face, Whumpee... What happened? Whose jacket is this?"

"I, I don't know... I'll bring it back tomorrow, I don't know..."

"Who hurt you?"

"I don't know!" Whumpee stepped back, pressing themself against the wall. "I don't know... It was all very chaotic, I just wanna take a shower, please..."

"Are you hurt anywhere else besides your face?" Caretaker pressed.

"N-no, no, it's fine, I'm fine, please... I just want a shower, I just– I just need to take a shower." They pushed past their friend and ran up the stairs, ignoring the concerned yelling from behind. They locked themself in the bathroom and started running the water immediately, hoping it'd drown out the noise.

They just needed to clean their body. That was all they needed. A fresh start. Something pleasant after a very unpleasant encounter.

They spent at least two hours hiding in there before they ventured out into the hall with nothing but a towel and the jacket around their body. They slipped inside their bedroom and quickly threw on some pyjamas, jumping into bed right as Caretaker opened the door.

"Whumpee, we need to talk," they said carefully, and Whumpee knew there was no sense in pretending they were already asleep. "Please. I'm worried."

"I'm fine," they mumbled.

"Someone hurt you while you were out. And pretty badly, too."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Caretaker walked inside and sat on the edge of their bed, sighing heavily. "Okay, let me guess. You went to a bar, rejected some asshole, they hit you, someone interfered and gave you their jacket to cover up, and now we're here."

Whumpee swallowed. "Y-yeah."

There was a moment of hesitation as Caretaker tried to decipher whether they were being honest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, that's... that's what happened."

"That's not what happened. What part am I wrong about?"

Whumpee took a shaky breath and shook their head. "You're not wrong. And you weren't wrong when you said I shouldn't go to bars anymore. And you weren't wrong when you told me not to wear that dress. It was my fault."

"No... no, you're hiding something. I can tell you're hiding something." Whumpee could almost hear the gears turning in their friend's head, and it scared them half to death. But surely, they weren't that predictable, right? "Oh, fuck's sake. You can't tell me– It wasn't a random person hitting on you, was it? Were you going on a date? Were you meeting that fucking asshole again? That's why you were wearing the dress! Their favourite dress."

Maybe they were that predictable.

Whumpee shot up in bed, eyes wide. "No! No, that's not–"

Caretaker grabbed them by the face, finally getting a good look at the fresh bruises. "Stop fucking lying to me. Are you crazy? How many times are you going to go back? Are you enjoying this?"

"No!" Whumpee teared up as their friend dug their fingers into the tender flesh, but they didn't seem to care. "No–"

"Is it their jacket? Did they hit you and then apologise? Gave you their stupid jacket and called you a cab? You know they only gave it to you so you'd have to go back, yeah?"

"It's not theirs, it's not, I swear–"

Caretaker shoved them away and stood up from the bed. "Stop swearing. What's wrong with you? All you do is fucking lie. This is fucking ridiculous. Honestly, why did you even move out? Why did you move out and move in with me if you were gonna continue seeing them for a couple slaps every night?"

Whumpee didn't even have the words to respond anymore. It felt like opening their mouth was just going to make it worse, cause them to bawl, or both.

"You're... I don't even want to do this right now. Fuck this. Fuck you." Caretaker took a couple steps towards the bedroom door before turning back around, apparently not yet done with bashing them. "I did everything I could to get you away from Whumper. Everything. I made sure you could stay here, I took care of you, I listened to you cry for days on end, I would've helped you file a fucking police report. I would've fucking testified! How long has this been going on? How long have you been seeing them again?"

"I'm– I'm not–"

"Stop fucking lying!" they snapped, and Whumpee covered their ears with a small cry of fear. "Fuck it! Fuck it, then! I don't care! Maybe you two deserve each other."

Whumpee could hear the door slamming shut after them, and they dissolved into a sobbing mess. They didn't want this. They didn't want any of this. But Whumper had been so different the last couple times they'd met up, they thought... they thought they'd changed. Really changed. Even this night had just been a slip up. A mistake. Whumpee had been at fault anyway. Like always. Even Caretaker thought that.

They hugged their knees to their chest and tried to cry as quietly as possible. They didn't want to escalate the situation any further.

Maybe Whumper would take them back tomorrow, if they apologised for making them so angry while giving the jacket back. Maybe they could go back to living with them. Caretaker was right — they deserved whatever that house held in store for them.

[fromkenari]

Yeah, it's called Forecasting/Fortune Telling, a cognitive distortion. What do you expect me to do about it? I can only stop it once it's started, not before. Stopping it from happening at all is not how any of this works. Dr. Strange thinks handling that Time stone and seeing the billions of outcomes is burdensome. Buddy, my brain does that naturally. I have to medicate the brain and ground myself to even have a hope of stopping it once it starts, and some days I'm going through full-blown Butterfly Effect scenarios because I sneezed. Calling it "embarrassing" is actually not helping the situation. Call it an "internalized superpower" or something else that is at least vaguely positive because anxiety and shame go hand-in-hand when there is nothing to ashamed of in the first place.

Hmm. Bad time for me to see this shitpost, apparently.

[kinuskikakku]

It isn’t sad or pathetic if you frame it as a funny self-deprecating joke.

[batgovernor]

Short poem: RHL, 'The Self-Aware'

Most insecure are those, the self-aware: for all their acts are pointless and they know it, scurrying like ants on an eclair… the universe, indifferent, looks askance. This insecure mode breeds defensiveness and therefore arrogance, not least in poets who know their work especially valueless… even to other ants. ***** I think we poets, who can be so rude about other people, need to be rude…

[this-is-a-sideblog]

Huh, I never knew there was a word for what I spend most of my time doing.