#hurtcember trauma

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Vague Details

|| Vi x fem!reader

|| Warnings; brief swearing, mentions of trauma, Vi's private about her past, little dialogue, very short drabble

|| Summary; another day goes by and reader still hasn't learnt anything of her girlfriend's past.

Requests closed!

Started; December 17th

Finished; December 17th

HurtCember2024; Day 15, Trauma

~~~

Vi's been through shit. You knew enough to know your girlfriend packed a lot of trauma in her mind. You would always try to get her to open up, tell you about what happened. A glimpse past the vague details. She never would. That didn't stop you from trying, though.

Today was another one of those days where you decided to just give it a try. Hoping to even just get a peek over the wall she'd placed between the two of you. You and Vi were cuddled up on your couch, just lounging and enjoying the rare quiet afternoon. You looked up at Vi, her eyes meeting yours. She could already tell what you were going to ask before it was even out. You always had that same worried look in your eyes.

"Not today, cute face," Vi told you. You huffed at that and she couldn't help feeling a little amused by your pouty lip. It's cute that you thought that would work on her when it never did. Her finger flicked your lip, a smirk tugging on her own," not gonna work, Y/N/N."

"Ugh," you whined. Slumping completely against Vi. Your arms loosely resting on her shoulders. Keeping your eyes locked on hers. Why wouldn't she tell you? Didn't Vi trust you? Part of trust was sharing your past with each other, right? You felt like you knew nothing about Vi. You knew she had a sister and that her parents had been gone for a while. Maybe as long as you'd been dating her, maybe longer. You hardly knew anything besides the basics.

It was like you'd been dating a stranger for the last year. Obviously, you knew all the present things about Vi. Her favourite colours, her passions, favourite foods, etc. Her past was a completely mystery and at this point.. you were sure it would stay that way. You were determined to get her one of these days.

[melpomenelamusa]

Trauma - Light & Darkness

~Original story~ Previous

Hurtcember DAY 15: Trauma

CW: Survival´s guilt, trauma, permanent physical injuries, past near death experience, animal cruelty (non explicit).

Ichkat survived, but most nights he wondered if it might have been better if he had died.

It took almost three days before they could pull his body out of the rubble of the hill. He was dehydrated and squalid, and looked like a gutted fruit that had fallen from a very high branch. The wound in his eye had become infected and they had to remove it completely. His legs were shattered, with broken bones sticking out of his skin like the spines of a cactus.

The next few days passed in a kind of trance, in which the boy went back and forth between the world of the awake and the sleeping. Sometimes he believed that the memories that were drawn like chalk figures in his brain were nothing more than the products of a feverish nightmare. He dreamed that he would wake up triumphant, knowing that the day in which he would fulfill the mission for which he had been born had arrived; But when he actually woke up, the reality was worse than any dream or curse he had ever imagined, and he only wished he could go back to sleep and never wake up again.

The first day he was conscious was the worst of all. He was horrified when he discovered that his field of vision had been reduced by half. A patch of soft cloth covered his left eye, or rather, where his left eye had been. The skin of his eyelid was now sunken, like rainwater taking over a hole left by erosion in the ground. The first time he looked in the mirror he almost vomited.

His legs were covered with cuts and scars that were still red. The veins and arteries stood out like paths drawn with crayon on his skin. They no longer looked straight as before, as if when putting them back together the doctors had not fitted all the pieces together properly and had to squeeze them together to form a kind of crooked and useless leg. He could not feel anything from the hip down, as if his body had been split in two, even if it was whole.

No, never whole. Never again.

The pain was constant. He spent hours lying in bed, without appetite and without spirit. Some people from the village came to see him, but their visits were short, as if they only wanted to check the veracity of a legend.

"The Lord of Darkness is very strong, it is a miracle that the child came out alive.”

"Maybe... Maybe he was not the Chosen One after all.”

"Was the prophecy wrong? What will become of us then?”

The word spread like fire in a forest, destructive. The whole village was upset. The Leaders said nothing, hermits in their daily tasks. When the sun set and Ichkat was left alone in his room, he cried. Being in the middle of the darkness made him remember the fateful outcome of his battle and he couldn't sleep without a light on next to him, for fear that the darkness would swallow him up. He still felt the sharpness of the obsidian cutting into his face and the oppressive weight of the mountain on his body. He still felt the dust accumulating in his lungs and the taste of blood on his palate.

During the day he desperately sought the protection of the sun, even when its burning embrace caused sores on his pale skin and hurt his delicate eyes. It didn't matter, any pain was better than returning to the darkness.

Life in the Communal House became even more boring than before. Ichkat spent his time rolling around in his wooden wheelchair from the patio to his room and from his room to the patio. His only entertainment was looking for figures in the clouds or trying to identify birds just by the sound of their songs. "That one is a grackle, that one is a chiltota," he would say.

The Leaders did not lend him books to read, which they kept in locked cabinets, and he never had toys to entertain himself with like the other children, nor balls or tops to play with. He only had swords and knives, which he trained with until he was tired, cutting off his fingers and hands until he learned to be familiar with the blade.

There always had to be someone on hand at the House who could help him wash, go to the bathroom, and bring him food. Usually, these people would just do their assigned tasks and then leave, leaving him alone, without a hint of interest in asking the boy how he was, if he wanted to talk about something or simply if he would like some company.

They had also forbidden him to go out into the village. The Leaders said it was because they "didn't want to cause him more stress with the bustle of the people," but Ichkat knew they were lying. He knew they didn't let him go out because no one wanted to see him, to see what the "Chosen One" of the village had become.

As the days went by, and then the weeks, he began to get used to taking care of himself in his new physical state. It was not an easy task, but he was achieving it, with effort. It was inside, in his heart, where the wounds were still open and pulsating.

On that occasion, settled in his wheelchair in the backyard of the Community House, intending to receive the last rays of sunlight, Ichkat saw a rabbit. The little animal came hopping out from between some bushes, moving its pink nose in a comical way. It was a cotton-white rabbit and its eyes were like a pair of passion fruit teeth. Ichkat reached out and picked up the animal when it got close enough. It was small and warm. It moved restlessly in the boy's hands, but after sniffing them for a while, it seemed to calm down.

Ichkat had always been a lonely boy. He never had a chance to have friends, because he grew up isolated. Things that come with "being the Chosen One." He had never had a pet or played with other kids. Now he felt more alone than ever.

"You will return to your normal life, it is all a matter of time," people told him. But how could he return to his normal life if his normal life was to spend his days training for the big day, for his big battle? In fifteen years he had done nothing but prepare for when he would finally face the Lord of Darkness and save his people.

And he had failed.

And in this state, defeating him was impossible.

Suddenly he felt like he wanted to protect that rabbit. Maybe the little animal had escaped from some garden or a farm, where it could have ended up as lunch for a person or a coyote. The boy decided that he would take care of it and protect it from that moment on.

The Leaders, seeing him, did not agree.

“You cannot be distracted by such things.”

“Why not?! I can't even train now as I am.”

Ichkat couldn't help but feel angry, raising his voice.

One of the Leaders slapped him.

“You obey us. You should be thankful that you made it out alive when the Lord of Darkness could have easily killed you. It just shows how weak you are.”

"Well, I wish I was dead," the boy replied, one hand caressing his swollen cheek and the other hugging his abdomen.

The Leaders exchanged glances with each other, their lips pressed into a thin line at the bottom of their stern faces.

"No," they said, taking the rabbit by the ears, while the animal screamed and kicked in terror, unable to free itself.

Ichkat screamed and cried. He didn't care if his behavior was nothing more than a childish tantrum. Without his legs, he couldn't try to go after them and save the little animal, so his act of rebellion was limited to hitting the mattress with his fists and throwing the pillows on the floor. He almost accidentally blew out the candle that he always kept lit next to his bed. No one answered his calls, and he had to shut up when his throat got tired of pleading.

The next few hours passed with agonizing slowness, as the day distilled into the realm of shadows. A woman brought him a plate of dinner around seven. The boy bit into the soft meat, chewed it a few times, then spat it out.

It was rabbit.

Ichkat slept on an empty stomach.

Next

Thanks for reading! 🌙

[tatteredgod]

when youre writing about a charas trauma and then somehow (!!) tap into your own trauma and you have to cry in front of the keyboard for like 2 mins then clean yourself up and keep on writing this is like. am i a Real WriterTM now

[hurtcember]

Above is the official Hurtcember 2024 prompts list.

Below are alternative prompts in case one doesn't want to do a few of the prompts (but still do the whole challenge) or for those who just want to write/draw more.

Both lists are typed out at the bottom of this post.

RULES 1. You can write/draw for any fandom or pairing 2. You can write/draw SFW or NSFW content, just label it accordingly 3. Please tag any Tumblr posts sharing your prompt fills with #hurtcember2024 so that we can find and repost them 4. If you post your works to AO3, please add them to this collection and add "Hurtcember" and/or "Hurtcember 2024" to the additional tags of your prompt fill(s) 5. The challenge officially starts on December 1st but feel free to write/draw before then and/or submit things after the month ends officially, whatever works best for you 6. Be kind to other participants 7. You DO NOT have to do every single prompt if you don't want to. The point is to have fun and spark creativity, not to feel like you're doing a chore

Prompts List (Text Copy) 1. Collapse 2. Breakdown 3. Blood 4. Scars 5. Faint 6. Touch-Starved 7. Abandoned 8. Cuddle 9. Exhaustion 10. Touch Aversion 11. Caretaking 12. Cry 13. Nightmare 14. Near Death 15. Trauma 16. Bruise 17. Concussion 18. Fatigue 19. Desperate 20. Panic 21. Afraid 22. Self-Harm 23. Bed-bound 24. Dissociate 25. Accident 26. Guilt 27. Pain 28. Captive 29. Dehydration 30. Dizzy 31. Hyperventilation

Alt Prompts List (Text Copy) 1. "Don't leave" 2. "Help me" 3. "Leave me alone" 4. "It's my fault" 5. "Take my hand"

[aventurineswife]

“Don't Touch Me”

Tags: @lixhizy, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Touch Aversion, Hurt/No Comfort, Emotional Distance, Rejection, Vulnerability, Angst, Psychological Struggles, Unresolved Tension, Hurtcember 2024.

Warnings: Emotional Harm, Hurtful Rejection, Mentions of Trauma (Aventurine's Backstory), No Comfort.

A/N: First time joining a challenge, um yeah... 🧍‍♀️I'm not sorry

You had always admired his intellect from afar—Ratio, a brilliant mind that thrived in the pursuit of knowledge. But today, as you stood before him, his typically confident demeanor seemed at odds with his frayed composure. His hair fell into his eyes, and there was a tense energy about him that you couldn’t ignore. You had grown used to his aloofness, but today felt different.

"Are you going to stand there staring at me?" he asked, his voice sharp, a slight edge to it that made you flinch inwardly.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just thought—"

"Don’t think," he cut you off quickly, his gaze unwavering but cold. "It only complicates matters."

His words stung more than you expected. You could feel the cold distance between you growing, and yet, your heart twisted as his posture remained stiff, his arms tucked close to his body. His usual bravado was masking something deeper, but you could only glimpse the faint cracks in his armor. His eyes darted away from yours when you tried to make eye contact, as if uncomfortable with the vulnerability of being seen.

Without realizing it, you took a step closer, an impulse to offer support, but the moment your hand approached, he recoiled sharply. His gaze hardened as he took a step back, his body language signaling clear aversion.

"I don’t need your sympathy," Ratio snapped, the words laced with an emotion you couldn’t quite read—anger, frustration, or perhaps something more fragile beneath the surface. "Touching me will not fix your problems."

You hesitated, understanding now that it wasn’t just physical contact he was rejecting, but any attempt to bridge the gap between you. His need for control, his refusal to be vulnerable, twisted your chest painfully. You stepped back, unsure how to navigate the sharp divide he had created.

"I’m not here to fix anything," you murmured, but the words seemed insignificant in the face of his retreat. He didn’t respond, only turned away from you, as if dismissing the matter altogether. The silence stretched, suffocating, and you couldn’t bring yourself to break it.

You had hoped for understanding, but all you had found was the harsh reality of how little you truly meant in his meticulously ordered world.

Aventurine’s smile was nothing short of enigmatic—charming, yet distant, as he leaned back in his seat, casually surveying the room. The flicker of his eyes was unsettling, as if he could see through your very soul. You couldn’t help but feel an unease in his presence. It wasn’t just his sharp mind or the way he manipulated every conversation—it was his very presence that made you feel exposed.

"You seem… distracted," he remarked, his voice smooth, like velvet over sharp edges. His gaze lingered on you with an intensity that made you shift uncomfortably.

"I’m fine," you replied quickly, not wanting to admit the growing discomfort.

Aventurine leaned forward, his gaze never wavering. "You don’t seem fine. What’s wrong?"

You wanted to say something, anything to end the tension, but your words faltered. There was a distance between you, an invisible wall that neither of you seemed willing to breach. You tried to break the silence by stepping forward, but the moment your hand neared him, he flinched—just enough for you to notice, like a spark of fire quickly extinguished.

"Don’t," he said softly, his tone carrying a warning. "Touching me won’t make it better. It never does."

His words cut through the air like a blade. You froze, suddenly aware of the weight of the rejection in his voice. You had never seen this side of him before—the cracks in his facade, the vulnerability that he was so determined to hide. He quickly masked his discomfort with a strained smile, but it did nothing to soften the sting.

"You think you understand me," he continued, his voice taking on an edge. "But you don’t. Nothing ever does."

You could feel the hurt in his words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything that might alleviate it. The space between you was so vast now, so suffocating. The man who thrived on calculated risk and manipulation was now someone you couldn’t reach.

You backed away, knowing that any attempt to draw closer would only deepen the divide. The silent rejection felt heavier than any words could express, and all you were left with was the hollow space between you, where the possibility of connection was buried beneath his armor.

[whumpdreaming]

My introduction!

Hi! My name is Heather (they/them). I've been a lurker for some time, but I now realize what I've been writing has been whump all along, so.. hello!

My first encounters with whump were in Sunday school 😭😭 some of those kid's bible books were insanely whumpy for no reason at alI, and then it's only now I learn what the term actually is. I speak decent French (getting back into it after not using it for a few years), I intend to go to culinary school and become a professional chef, and my main fandoms include Overwatch, Baldur's Gate (not into it as much anymore, sadly), Epic: The Musical, and Ultrakill and FNAF (which I don't write much fic for).

This blog will never contain NSFW content! Kink blogs and antis please DNI!

What this blog will contain:

Whump (obviously)

My own writing (lots of drabbles, occasionally some of my more involved work ; aka my two big projects, a BBU story since that setting grabbed me by the brain as soon as I saw it for the first time, and various Overwatch characters getting whumped to hell and back --- I don't see enough talk about Cole Cassidy's big sad puppy dog eyes)

Lots and lots of reblogs since that's easier than actually writing 😅

Keep in mind that this isn't a NSFW blog and I won't be posting anything sexual/explicit, but I'm a fan of intense/graphic whump and things can get pretty dark. In those cases, there'll be a warning at the top of the post along with the content listings just to make sure everyone stays safe!

Some of my favorite tropes:

Living weapons!!

Gore (I'm not a fan of major character death, so I like it best when a healing factor is involved if it's very intense)

Parental caretakers

Transition/weight gain in recovery

Recovery in general, especially when difficult!

Lab whump!

Pet whump!

Chronic pain (totally not coping with this one)

Dehumanization!!

Vivisection!!

Panic attacks

Emotional distress of all kinds

Sickfics!!

If you send me any asks or requests or interact with my posts or say literally anything nice about me whatsoever I will give you my firstborn child

Some of my favorite whump blogs that inspired me to make a blog in the first place: @painonthebrain @whumpninja @defire @whumpwordsoftheday @sowhumpshaped

@sickfictropes @allthingswhumpyandangsty @writinglittlepains @whumpyourdamnpears --- sorry in advance if you didn't want to be mentioned! 😭

Btw --- check out my Widowmaker whump fic :)

Series:

Barbara Summers has a bad time with the mob (I'll update it someday I promise) ; also called "Consequences"

Intro

One

Two

Drabbles: (Electrocution+Unconscious+"Say Please") (Warm Bath + Fresh Bandages + "..Nothing. It just hurts") (Broken Fingers+Trying not to scream+"Aw, poor thing")

---

Crownchain

Character/setting introduction

"Foul Play"

"Pulling Strings"

Whump+Hurtcember: (Day 1: Collapse + Broken Bones) (Day 2: Breakdown + "This is your fault") (Day 3: Blood + Begging) (Day 4: "Help me" alt prompt + "This isn't my blood") (Day 5: Faint + Concussion) (Day 6: Touch Starved + "Please stop") (Day 7: Abandoned + Kidnapped) (Day 8: Cuddle + Fire alt prompt) (Day 9: Exhausted + Shaking) (Day 10: Touch Aversion + "Let me help you") (Day 11: "It's my fault" alt prompt + Manipulation) (Day 12: Cry + "I have nowhere else to go") (Day 13: Nightmare + Trauma) (Day 22: Self Harm + Hallucinations)

---

Hemopenia

Stages of blood withdrawal

Stage Zero

Pilot

Not Dead

Stage One

Lively

---

That's about it for now!! Thanks for reading!

[popcorn-plots]

hurtcember 2024 masterlist

Ao3 series here

Day 1: Collapse | the drowned don't grieve | In another universe, it was 12-year-old Stephen who drowned instead.

Day 2: Breakdown | stoic tears | Wong is the one who always comforts Stephen when he breaks down. With the roles reversed, Stephen doesn't know what to do.

Day 3: Blood | deserving | The blood always washes away, but Stephen can still see it.

Day 4: Scars | there for you | The scars were long faded, but Stephen's hands still ached.

Day 5: Faint | syncoping just fine | Wong thinks he's taking care of himself, until he faints in the middle of a class.

Day 6: Touch-Starved (alt. "Leave me alone.") | doctor kangaroo | Peter is angry about his dad dating someone else after his mommy dies. Stephen, hurt that his boyfriend's kid hates his guts, has a little chat with Peter about what Tony means to the both of them.

Day 7: Abandoned | long-lost love | Victor's been alone for most of his life.

Day 8: Cuddle | chosen guardian | Stephen breaks down when Wong's down for the count. Jio steps up.

Day 9: Exhaustion | wounds like an albatross | In all the universes that Stephen saw, the ones where he abandoned his family and ran were the worst.

Day 10: Touch Aversion (alt. "help me") | fought god and won, losing to the laundry | Stephen had survived med school, only to survive fighting a titan, resurrecting half the earth, becoming the Sorcerer Supreme, and raising 6 kids. He also happens to be married to Billionaire Tech Genius and Iron Man Tony Stark.

Stephen has a lot going for him. Until he gets sick and suddenly he's bested by a basket of laundry.

Day 11: Caretaking | Wong is Healing | Stephen Strange is rescued. Wong takes care of him.

Day 12: Cry | Koschei's Death | Alone for the first time that night, Stephen Strange's temporal remnant breaks down.

Day 13: Nightmare | dreams of death | Donna was always dreaming.

Day 14: Near Death | the cold holds my soul | Wong doesn't realize how close he was to death until he's lying on the ground, cold seeping into his limbs and panic settling on his chest.

Day 15: Trauma |

Day 16: Bruise | bruised hearts never lie | Stephen shows up to school on day with a massive black eye. He says his horse bucked him off, but Tony's told enough of the same lies to know that something was very wrong.

Day 17: Concussion | concutere's will | Tony was fine. Until he decided to throw up on his doctor.

Day 18: Fatigue | take a break | Without Yao, it's hard to get out of bed, let alone take care of herself and everyone else at the same time. It's a good thing she has Stephen, then.

Day 19: Desperate | necromancy is forbidden, actually | Stephen almost dies, again. Wong is not responsible for what he said in the heat of the moment.

Day 20: Panic (alt. "it's all my fault") | if i was there | In the light of Stephen's death, Wong decides that he's the one to blame.

Day 21: Afraid | "Death is what gives life meaning, to know your days are numbered, your time is short." | The Ancient One was afraid of death.

Day 22: Self-Harm | scalpels and blood | The first time Stephen Strange picked up a scalpel, he was 15 and had just come out to his conservative parents. The last time Stephen Strange picked up a scalpel, he was 68 and had just watched his husband of 26 years slowly pass away.

Day 23: Bed-Bound | still alive but i'm barely breathing | The Ancient One reflects.

Day 24: Dissociate | everything at once | Tony Stark was everything that Iron Man wasn't.

Day 25: Accident | father kangaroo | Peter calls Stephen after getting into a crash because Tony isn't answering. Suddenly, all of Stephen's fears come rushing back.

Day 26: Guilt |

Day 27: Pain |

Day 28: Captive |

Day 29: Dehydration |

Day 30: Dizzy |

Day 31: Hyperventilation |

[zrisewrites]

Don't You Dare - A Victor Hunt AU

Summary: What if Victor hadn't been able to save Kat? What if he got caught, and was forced to watch as they broke her down...

This is probably the beginning of my figuring out the full extent of my MC, Katrina's, main trauma and torture... Northstar. So tommorrow's drabble will most likely be a continuation of this one (but from her POV ;)

Inspired from the @whumpcember and @hurtcember events (though... tmr's prompt will probably be more hurtful/whumpy XD)

Word Count: 500

Content Warnings: Blood, chained, mentions of injection

“Don’t you dare hurt her—” I jerk against my cuffs, ignoring the searing pain against my wrists. My gaze is locked on the screen in front of me. On Kat.

Hanging from her wrists in the middle of a dimly lit room. Her dark hair hangs in her face in tangled, dripping clumps. She’s shaking—I can see that all the way from here. Nearly stumbling, as she coughs, balancing on the tips of her boots in a effort to relive the weight on her arms.

My voice hits nothing but the dreary walls and deaf ears.

A light pours into my room. I twist around, eyes narrowing in an icy glare at the sillouette in the doorway. “Who’s there?”

“So fierce.” A voice hums. Female. Far too confident. And far too calm. “Even after pleading for her life… even after being caught so easily. The grand Victor Hunt… wolf of the Sectors…” She strolls closer, arms crossed. Heels clicking across the chilled concrete, as the white of her lab coat and the thick darkness of her hair comes into view.

“I could still tear you apart.” I snap, tightening my grip on my cuffs.

If only we hadn’t been caught.

She laughs. But she doesn’t come closer. “Oh, I doubt that. What with both you and your little kitty cat all chained up now.”

“Not for long.”

“Mmm… perhaps. Maybe if you beg me I’ll let her go. What do you think of that?”

I scoff. “Never.”

She smiles. Watching me for a long moment.

In a far too familiar motion.

“Fine. Then you can watch, while I try out a new treatment of mine. It’s quite fun. Do you know what happens when skilled scientists break down ammonia in the lab, Mr. Hunt? When we infuse that poison, untrackable to the untrained eye? Do you what happens when we inject that into a tiny, weak girl?” 

Her heels click closer. I bristle, against my best intentions, clenching my hands into fists as her hair brushes against my neck.

“How about we find out together, hm?”

I growl, jerking against my cuffs again. They hold me back just enough, just tight enough that I can’t ram into her. Despite every fiber of my being screaming at me to do just that. “Don’t you—”

She laughs, floating away and back towards the door. “Thank you so very much, Mr. Hunt. Enjoy watching the… process. I’m sure it’ll be quite the show.”

I growl, straining against the cuffs. Ignoring the metal biting into my skin, ignoring the beads of crimson sliding against the dark grey, ignoring the fact that none of this would help. I couldn't fail her. “Get back here! Don’t hurt—”

The door slams shut before I can finish, the noice echoing through my bones. Plunging my room into darkness.

And a few seconds later, on the screen, light spills into Kat’s room.

“Hello, dear one. How are we feeling?”

[rainofcolours]

the scars that bound my present to our pasts (7905 words)

[ (4/? clashes to ashes, trust to dust) | Kaijou/Puppyshipping | @hurtcember 2024 Day 4: Scars ]

Summary: Why was it even when Katsuya was alone, eons of light years away, his actions remained shackled by the scars of his past? (Or emotional trauma meets melon soda float banter meets dodgy bad friend.) Continuation of "hierarchy of collapse". (Myst's usual brand of hurt-no-comfort Kaijou; potential triggers in ao3)

Click below for a few preview paragraphs!

He lifted his head from the coffin of his own embrace, surprised his migraine had mostly departed, eyes still adjusting to the mise-en-scène of caliginous absence that had characterised most—, now all of his daily existence. Awaiting the commencement of his wordless soliloquy, he sat in desolation – ringed by the disintegrated ashes of a will conquered; framed against a foreground of cacophonous clutter that diffused the ambient light from the streets below until all of him was pulled into a desaturated monochrome.

After minutes, or perhaps an hour – the passage of time seemed to dilate non-linearly to Katsuya these days – of impassive passivity, holding conversations he should have had but never did in the language of blue; imagining the hypothetical splintering of their history into prisms of alternate hues, Katsuya forced his mind to replace the replays with static and awaited the thrumming of his heart to slow to a more steady cadence.

Katsuya cracked the soreness from his spine, feeling his lower back cramp in resistance. I really am gettin’ old, huh. Rationalising that cleaning up the aftermath of his outburst took precedence over the affordances of wistful fancies, he drove his knuckles into the floor to unhinge his legs, forgetting the injuries he had sustained the night before.

(Read the rest of the fic here!)

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

She Craves It, Once the Shock Wears Off

by newwwwusername

A thing about Vi being touch-starved

Words: 279, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 6 of Hurtcember 2024 + Alt Prompts, Part 7 of Angstober 2024, Part 12 of AUGUSTOFWHUMP'24 + Alt Prompts, Part 5 of Augusnippets 2024: Path of Comfort, Part 7 of queenofbaws Pride Month Bingo 2024, Part 36 of The Merry Whump of May 2024 + Alt Prompts, Part 7 of Alphabet of Whump 2024

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Touch-Starved, Skin Hunger, Touch-Starved Vi (League of Legends), Trauma, Vi Has PTSD (League of Legends), Good Significant Other Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi Needs a Hug (League of Legends), Fluff, Hurtcember 2024, Angstober 2024, painonthebrain's August of Whump 2024, Augusnippets 2024, Pride Month Bingo 2024, wormwriting & painsandconfusion's Merry Whump of May Event 2024, Alphabet of Whump 2024, Prompt Fic, Wordcount: 100-500

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

[newwwwusername]

Fic title : Fish and Rest

@hurtcember 2023 prompt : Starving

Rating : General Audiences

Fandom : The Last of Us (Video Games)

Pairing : Abby & Lev

Additional tags : Trauma, Starvation, Weakness, Exhaustion, Lev Needs a Break (The Last of Us), Good Friend Abby (The Last of Us), Caring Abby (The Last of Us)

Word count : 516

[whumpdreaming]

Crownchain Whumpcember + Hurtcember Day 13

Totally panicking because I forgot to post this yesterday 😭😭 I'll post 2 fills today to make up for it. Also fun fact, the "trauma" part and the "nightmare" part are not the same thing :D

Day 13: Nightmare + Trauma

Kyrie gasps awake.

She starts crying, immediately, in her bunk, alternating between gasping for breath and bawling her eyes out. She curls up, hugging herself tightly, trying to keep herself quiet so nobody notices. Hoping nobody notices, because then it means more discipline. She knows the Academy staff are just trying to help her be the best she can be, but it still hurts.

Kyrie gasps softly as someone touches her shoulder.

"Are you all right, dear?" A very soft voice.

Kyrie looks over, suddenly embarrassed to be crying, to be awake.

"Um.. I was — "

"I know."

Preceptor Sophia smiles at her, slowly lifting up the covers, inserting herself under the blanket, very close. She wraps her arms around Kyrie.

"So I'll make you a deal. You tell no one that you were crying, and I'll tell no one that you were crying. And then I don't have to discipline you," she breathes, warmly, into Kyrie's ear. "What do you think?"

Kyrie nods hesitantly. Slowly, she forces herself to feel comfortable, and close her eyes, and wait, and wait, and wait for sleep to come.

[whumpdreaming]

Crownchain Whumpcember + Hurtcember Day 8

All the other fills can be found in my pinned post! Another flashback, this one is still not necessarily explicit but it is certainly *implied* and Sophia is a very creepy woman and is responsible for actually a large amount of Kyrie's trauma and why she has such issues accepting comfort even years into the future :)

Day 8: Cuddle + Fire (alt prompt)

Kyrie stares very intently at the fire in front of her, burning on a tall, thin brazier, sitting in Preceptor Sophia's lap. The gentle touch feels nice, but Kyrie is too focused on the fire.

With one hand rubbing her shoulder, Preceptor Sophia guides Kyrie's right hand up close to the fire, feeling its heat, watching it flicker as it illuminates the small, dark chamber.

"You know what happens now. It'll be worse if you resist," Preceptor Sophia says.

Kyrie nods dimly. Preceptor Sophia's breath is warm on the back of her neck. "You have such nice hair," she whispers into Kyrie's ear. Kyrie's eyes begin to tear up.

Slowly, Preceptor Sophia guides Kyrie's pinky finger into the fire. Instinctively, she tries to jolt her hand away, but she's not allowed, and whimpers softly at the bright pain.

"Shhh. Shhh," Preceptor Sophia soothes, kissing Kyrie on the cheek. She moves Kyrie's hand further into the fire. Kyrie starts wailing, finally allowed to rip her hand away, a fair part of her palm and two of her fingers raw and blistered, stinging harshly against the comparatively cold air. She can't close them all the way.

"A little early," Preceptor Sophia whispers, right into Kyrie's ear, resting her head in the crook of Kyrie's neck, her other hand now under Kyrie's shirt. "But you've been a good girl. So I'll accept it."

Kyrie is proud of herself — she's a good girl — and is glad that Preceptor Sophia is being so nice to her. She nods slowly, and Preceptor Sophia smiles.