#pathetic whumpee

[whump-queen]

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

[rizzoto-whump]

I really enjoy the dynamics of size difference in whump, especially when there's a smaller whumpee and a larger whumper. The contrast of a small and fragile whumpee, easily overpowered or defeated by a larger whumper—like a pathetic, sad wet cat they are.

[saccharine-suffering]

i really like it when the whumpee starts begging for their life. just an absolute mess, blubbering about how they don't wanna die, and how they're sorry, and how they'll do anything, just please, don't-

[whumpanini]

"You've disappointed me, whumpee."

Whumper sneers as they tighten their grip around the whumpee's jaw, fingers pressing in painfully to their cheeks.

"You couldn't even kill those weak, pathetic excuses for humans."

Whumpee's eyes well up with tears as they clutch desperately to whumper's arm and wrist. "I can do better, I swear it. I can learn!"

"I should just cut my losses and end you right here. Then you wouldn't prove to be such a stain on our kind."

Whumper tilts their head, observing whumpee curiously. "But there is a desperation in your eyes that I could kindle into a fire. Perhaps I'm not done with you just yet."

"Thank you! Thank you, whumper!"

"Don't thank me just yet. You'll be remade completely anew.

Don't disappoint me this time."

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumper didn’t want to care about the whumpee- but nobody was looking for them, hell, some were downright happy to take their position, so the whumper couldn’t help but get attached. The change was gradual, but eventually the whumpee went from being tortured to being comforted and cared for more than they had been before their capture.

[defire]

"You'll always be here for me, won't you?" Whumper sniffled, dabbing their eyes with a cloth.

"I..." Whumpee did not like to make promises they weren't planning on keeping.

Whumper's tone went from a pathetic whine to a feral growl in seconds flat.

"Say it." Whumper's teary eyes now held the threat of the cuts, sprains and breaks whumpee had endured any time they weren't the perfect "comfort animal".

Whumpee dropped to their knees and wrapped their arms around whumper, squeezing their eyes shut in a grimace of terror.

"Of course I'll always be there, whumper, of course..."

They just needed to keep whumper happy until an escape opportunity presented itself.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whumpril Day 30: You're Pathetic

CW: werewolf whumpee, captivity, poison whump, torture

Please, make it stop…it hurts…it hurts so much, and I can’t move…

The werewolf, curled up in the corner of his prison, can barely raise his head as whumper enters and shuts the door behind him. That grin. The way whumper looks down at him, gloating, so pleased that he has a werewolf in his possession. Whumpee wants to shred him. But the dagger wound in his left side burns with agony. And it’s not healing. Which can only mean—

I’ve been poisoned. The dagger…must’ve been laced with wolfsbane…

Whumper crouches down next to whumpee, clicking his tongue. “Dear me, you look pathetic. And I assume you’ve discovered my little secret by now, given that that nasty cut isn’t healing.”

“Wolf—wolfsbane,” whumpee stutters, fighting for breath between waves of fiery pain. “You tricked me.”

“No, no,” whumper scolds, standing up. ���I didn’t trick you. I merely did what I had to do.” His boot lands on whumpee’s side and grinds down.

Through the haze of torture, whumpee hears himself scream. Then another scream, and another. They burst from his parched throat in quick succession as whumper presses his heel into the poisoned gash.

Please, just kill me already…I can’t take any more…

Whumper removes his foot and steps back, and whumpee gasps for air, his chest heaving. Darkness crowds into his already blurry vision. And in the midst of it, whumper, standing over the werewolf’s wretched body, the grin gone from his face.

“Don’t you understand, whumpee? This is only what you deserve. An agonizing death, after what you did to me.”

[befuddled-calico-whump]

If you celebrate the winter holidays , maybe uriah wrapped up in ribbon on someone’s doorstep , as a gift?

If you don’t celebrate them , maybe Uriah left in the snow?

2pm vs 2am

[re-whump]

any lady whump recs? But like, actually a lady or other noble, not just an awkward term for whump involving a woman. royal’s good, so is fantasy. idrc if she’s the whumper, whumpee, or caretaker or multiple

[whomeidontknowthem]

Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 5.

Previous part. Masterpost.

Content: institutionalized slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, it/its for an inhuman whumpee, pet whump, whipping, blood, physical abuse, withholding of food, training, torture, intimate whumper, carewhumper, mentioned pet death, tell me if i missed something

Lord Teelo didn’t strike. 

He lowered his arm, eyes never straying from holding the creature’s terrified gaze. The room reeked of blood, now streaming down the lord’s fingers in a warm waterfall. He worked hard on pushing his fury back, taking it under control as many times before. He was in control. He would show it, careful and persistent and levelheaded. He would make sure it remembered the lesson forever. The crop was not meant for punishments, it was too short, too soft – he hadn’t meant to punish it. He was going to be a kind and gracious owner. It had left him no choice!

He opened the door, finding the redheaded guard still in the corridor.

“Get a proper whip,” he ordered. “More chains – gods damned handcuffs, whichever idiot thought of leaving it like this?! And a knife, scissors – or whatever, something to file its atrocious claws.”

The guard stared at him, not in the face – at his arm. Lord Teelo felt it – the consistent drip-drip-drip of his blood. He didn’t feel the ache yet. Nothing but the quiet, cold fury he couldn’t wait to unleash at the world. Haltingly, the guard started, “Should I bring someone to take a look at–”

“I have told you what you should do,” his voice came out as a hiss.

“Yes, my lord,” the guard saluted and hesitated only a moment before running down the corridor. 

Lord Teelo closed the door with a loud crash. He paced inside, steps echoing around the room, as the pain slowly started to radiate out. He hated it. Oh how he wished he could slice the thing’s skin just this moment, not waiting for anything and anyone. He picked up the crop once more, stoped before the creature – it cowered to the very corner between the wall and its cage, never letting its eyes away from him. Oh, now it was looking. It dared to look! 

“You think yourself smart?” the lord hissed. “Think you did something good for yourself? Oh, no, you’re gonna regret this. You’re gonna regret this so much.”

The pain seeped into his consciousness with every heartbeat, radiant and nauseatingly familiar. He held a handkerchief to the cuts until it filled with deep red. He threw it away – it landed in a wet disgusting lump on the table, by the bowl of wet disgusting meat. Oh how the lord had tried to be a nice host, how he had tried to accommodate this, this– 

“Damned, ungrateful, hateful beast!” Lord Teelo roared. The glass of the bowl nearly slipped from his bloodied fingers when he grabbed it, and then shattered to thousands pieces to the side of the creature’s head. Its dinner fell onto the floor, useless. Oh, it wouldn’t get any, it would have to work, to beg for any crumb from then on – it would regret, regret it so much!..

The door slid open soundlessly after a short knock, letting in the heavy footsteps and the clanging of metal. The lord turned on his heels, facing the guard. “And why in the world have you not brought a damned healer!” he hissed. “Can’t you see I’m bleeding out!”

The guard blinked. “But you have–” 

“YOU DARE ARGUE WITH ME?!” 

He was struggling to breathe, chest heaving with effort. The blood was still warm down his arm, still bright on the broken glass and light wood of his floors. How could the idiot not understand!

There were chains in the guard’s arms and a leathery length of the whip. Lord Teelo snatched it and demanded, “Chain it up!” The guard hesitated, opened his mouth. “NOW!” 

He did. The lord watched as he came to the beast, careful with his steps, cautious of it. It squeezed itself deeper into the corner. Lord Teelo could see it shaking. He was delighted to see it shaking. The guard reached out, the first cuff prepared, and Lord Teelo watched from a step away as it lifted its hands up, close to its chest. Its teeth were bared, pupils wide and eyes wider. It tried saying something, but what came out was only a mess of sounds with no meaning. 

The guard squeezed its arm even as it tried to avoid it. It whined and fought back, tried getting out of the grasp, tried pushing him away, tried and fought and struggled as he cursed under his nose. Its claws went through the skin of his palm ripping out a sharp hiss. It managed to raise its hind leg as the cuff clicked around its wrist, its claws scratching against the metal in an effort that only delayed the inevitable. 

Lord Teelo had little patience left. He stepped forward, connecting his heel with the middle of the creature’s tail. It yelped, flinched backwards – its head connected with the wall, and before it could regroup the second handcuff was in place. After that, restraining its legs was only a matter of time.

“Turn it around,” the lord ordered. Chains clang as it fought in an ever increasing panic. “To the wall, yes… yes, just like that.” The locks rattled, forced closed. The guard let the key fall onto the ground, forcing the creature to kneel. It hid its tail between its legs, whining as its head was pressed into the wall. “Is the chain short enough? Will it be able to move?���

“I don’t think so, my lord,” the guard answered. 

Lord Teelo played with the whip, trying it out. “Good. Go fetch the healer– wait. I need – something sharp, something – to secure on its tail. See how it hides it? I need something it can’t hide from.”

The guard looked puzzled. He eased his hold in a test, and the creature threw its whole weight backwards, fighting the chains. They held. Kneeling, with its tail hidden and only back visible, it looked strikingly like a human. “Perhaps clothespins, my lord?” It wasn’t what he had in mind. What he wanted – it wasn’t that. Not this easy, tame solution.

“It would work,” he drew out. He would go to the smith when he had time. He had an idea, oh, that would be a genius idea. “Just this once."

He flexed his left arm and rubbed his right. It hurt as all deaths, but it had stopped bleeding. He failed to crack the whip the first time but managed it the second, inches from the creature’s back. The guard bowed, taking it as a sign to leave. 

The creature mumbled and mumbled more, sounds a meaningless mush falling from its tongue. If Lord Teelo was generous, he could see it as an apology; he would not even entertain the possibility of giving in to it, of course. 

The second crack was right by its ear. It flinched and curled up further but couldn't hide.

It wailed when the whip connected with its back – so loud, so quickly, taken by surprise. Lord Teelo bared his teeth in a smile and struck again, violent purple already flowering on the gray of its skin, and struck again without waiting – three, four, six, twelve hits in a row, as it flinched and writhed and cried out.

He paused afterwards, and saw as it tensed, first, its whole body shaking with the effort of breathing, hiccupping in what sounded almost like sobs. He waited, watching how it trembled more and more. He let it marinate in the anticipation, the fear coiling and coiling with no release, the stinging of its sore back growing as its patience ran thin. 

When it raised its head, just barely, as if to look, the whip snapped through the air again. 

It screamed out. He didn’t give it time to recover. 

The lord hit it with no pattern, pausing and continuing at his leisure, until his arm grew heavy with pain and the creature nearly silent. Lord Teelo could only hear its labored breathing, air forced out of its body with every strike. Its back bloomed with purple that gave way to red when the skin opened, the new lines covering the rainbow pattern in an unstructured, repulsive mess.

Oh, he nearly pitied it, trembling pathetically in the corner. Then he rubbed his arm and the sharp pain was enough to remember why he didn’t. 

He struck for the last time, lazily, with his left, and then a few more for a good measure. When a polite knock announced the guard’s return, he felt pleasantly tired, like after a good work out. He called out for the man to enter. 

The guard did and the healer, an old woman the lord knew for most of his life, followed in. She looked the room over with stony, unreadable expression, and Lord Teelo met her gaze with a nice enough smile. “You’ve got your toy,” she stated and that was all the attention the creature got from her. 

She made a quick enough work of the wounds: cleaned and bandaged them up after applying that miraculous numbing cream the lord appreciated since early childhood. The creature would appreciate it even more, he thought, glancing at the pathetic thing. It had shifted at some point, stretching its legs just a bit but keeping its head hidden. Its body shook violently, trembling so much it in itself looked tiring. 

“Should I look it over?” the healer suggested, all business. 

The lord huffed, “What would the point of a punishment be then?” 

The woman looked him over with that annoying, unreadable gaze. “Call me whenever you change your mind,” she bowed and left when he dismissed her. 

Lord Teelo tried the clothespins with interest, forcing the spring to coil and then letting it go softly around his finger, just a tad, until it started hurting. “Good enough,” he concluded finally and got up. 

The creature flinched when his boots stopped by its form but didn’t try anything. “Poor thing,” he drew out and crouched, ran his fingers along its back lightly, brushing fingertips over the painful ridges of future bruises. Its breaths hitched, but it didn’t make a sound. “And all you needed was to not act like a brainless brat to avoid all this. You have no one but yourself to blame, silly thing,” he told it. It didn’t answer, shivering under his touch but not attempting anything stupid. 

“But maybe you can learn,” he hummed and moved his hand down to where its tail started. It tensed even further, if it was possible at all. “Let’s just make sure the lesson sticks, huh?” It curled up even further as he tagged on its tail, releasing from under the creature’s body. He flickered it back and forth and rubbed between his fingers and was satisfied when it sobbed and shuddered but remained motionless otherwise. 

“Like this, yes,” he muttered. With the softest touch of his second hand, he stoked its head. “But look at me now. Eyes on me,” It didn’t understand. He caught a fistful of its fur and tagged. “Eyes on me.”

Too drained to resist, it lifted its head as he guided it. “Eyes on me,” he demanded again, and it either guessed or truly learned – its gaze settled on him, focusing to the best of its ability – and, oh, what a pathetic mess it looked, eyes bloodshot and wet in ways he’d thought only a human's could be, dark lines from where it pressed into the floorboards marking its cheeks. There was something red around its mouth – did it bite itself, the poor thing? 

Lord Teelo clicked his tongue, smiled softly and released its fur. It settled back instantly, curling up again. Its tail remained in his hands. 

He picked up the first pin. 

It must have assumed at first that he was just playing like he had been, – at least, it didn’t seem to tense up too much, nor expect the sharp pain when he released the spring around its tail. It shuddered, head whipping up, staring at him once again. He smiled. Picked up the second clothespin. 

It tried to get its tail free – oh, it tried as much as it could without hurting him, but he tightened the grasp and played with the pins as it couldn’t help a new whimper, and hushed it and urged it to sit still. “That’s for you to remember the lesson better,” he told it pleasantly. It must have cried, body shaking again, and tried to kick just once, the movement stopped halfway through by a short chain. 

Lord Teelo wondered how many pins would be good for it – should he go with the whole set the guard had brought? He settled on five, at the end, a nice even number not even halfway through what he had. He was feeling rather merciful and forgiving, and it sounded just so pathetic. 

He called the guard in to urge it into the cage when it was done. It didn’t even try fighting, following the man's tagging and pushing until it was inside, drawing its limbs close and curling up to fully fit. Nearly immediately, its fingers itched towards the pins, human-like thumbs ready to work on the problem. Lord Teelo snapped his fingers to get its attention.

“No,” he said, words dripping with finality. He reached through the bars and tagged its tail outside. “The clothespins stay here for the night,” he told it. It probably didn’t understand – there was so little thought in its eyes. He let go of it hoped for its sake it understood what he meant. He didn’t want to have to punish it so soon for their lack of common language. 

When he went to sleep, the shaky breaths and the rare clanging when it tried to settle more comfortable sounded like a lullaby to his ears.

In the morning, his arm stung mercilessly and unendingly, and no melodies of birds and gentle sunrays could make his mood better. He turned lazily, letting his eyes fall onto the cage. The creature was curled inside of it, eyes shut tight and ears flickering restlessly. Its tail fluttered too, freed at some point from the pins, one of its hands curling around it protectively. 

Lord Teelo felt stuck between endearment and irritation. He moved and the cuts on his arm ached, and irritation won. 

“Hey… you,” he called and realized he hadn’t come up with a name. He should think about it as some point, he decided grimly, and banished the thought of the last pet he’d named, back in childhood. That was a just a cat, a stupid spoilt creature with too much attitude. The lord remembered the way it looked, painted red and unmoving, after crossing one too many lines. 

The creature didn’t move at his call, either. He picked up an extinguished candle from his bedside table and threw it towards the cage. “Hey!” 

There was no reaction. With an undignified groan, he forced himself on his feet and towards the cage. He rattled the key across the bars, the way that always seemed to get the creature’s attention.

It didn’t react. It was outright ignoring him! 

Had it learned nothing?!

He reached through the bars and tagged on its tail, finally getting some response in return – it flinched weakly and grimaced. Slowly, its eyes fluttered open, but didn’t settle on the lord. They looked as if through him, unfocused and dizzy, and a pang of worry cut through the just rage when they closed back and its chest heaved, struggling for breath. 

Something was wrong.

He reached through the bars and towards its forehead, forgetting for a second it wasn’t a human. The skin under his fingers was blasting hot and sickly wet. It moved closer to his fingers, all but nuzzling against him. 

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Updates every 7-10 days (depending on how much time I have and how obvious the poll result is) (unless something goes wrong and it takes me too weeks to get myself to write something. I'm so very sorry about the delay!)

@isikedmyself878, @fraugustends, @otterfrost, @fuchstastisch, @3-2-whump,

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Tell me to be tagged in the new parts!

[pixelatedraindrops]

Yuma Month: Day 24: Mirror

A mysterious and fateful first encounter…?

[starryybrained]

Whumpee who acts all mean and serious and is a bit of an asshole but really they’re just a pathetic loser on the inside

[sycamoray]

Mfers see a random character they adored in their childhood who’ve they’ve fallen back into and go ‘is anyone gonna write whump for this character’ and not wait for an answer.

[avvail-whumps]

‘guns for hire’ — wants and desires #24

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: mentioned multiple whumpers, intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, non-con touching (not really sexual), non-con kissing (on the cheeks), fear and discussion of non-con (not explicit), past torture, past injuries, recovery

Leo was quick to close the door behind him. 

The quiet click caused a pang of relief to steady his beating heart, keeping the furious Bran separated from him for now. His eyes flickered back to Roy, who was standing by the window and ruffling a hand through his hair. 

It reminded him of the first time he saw him. 

In Jacob’s office, firm stance and gun trained at his head. It was all because he’d been stupid enough to corner himself at his desk, instead of hightailing it out of there. Perhaps if he’d ran, or even hidden somewhere the man wouldn’t have been able to find him, he would have never found himself in this horrible predicament. 

He wouldn’t have trained mercenaries inflicting torturous pain onto him everyday. He wouldn’t have to deal with the mental strain and the emotional rollercoasters he’d find himself riding on. 

He could have been home right now. Calling his father, playing the violin, curling up under his blanket on the couch. Reading trashy newspaper articles and watering his plants. 

Leo miserably pressed himself against the door, trying to make himself small. He had seen Roy mad, like the horrible night he’d been caught attempting to escape, but there was something different about his eyes and the tone of voice he’d taken. It shook his nerves, reigniting everything he’d felt when he woke up in the chair in the basement. 

He couldn’t forget that Roy was more dangerous than he might ever know. 

The man finally let his gaze tear away from the window, and it landed on Leo’s pale, grimacing face instead. He didn’t smile like he’d often been doing. 

“Go sit on the bed, lion,” he spoke coldly, and the secretary winced at the command. 

He obeyed without question, shuffling over to the other side of the room and setting himself down on the edge of the mattress. The fluffy blanket was soft under his fingertips, gripping the edge and staring at him expectedly, like he was awaiting his next order. Roy approached him slowly, and Leo felt this ominous dread stir under his skin. 

The man’s hand came to rest on top of his head, and Leo couldn’t suppress the stiffening of his body and violent flinch. When his fingers began softly threading through his hair, he begrudgingly started to relax. 

“I don’t know anymore, lion,” Roy drawled, a disheartened sigh falling from his lips. His eyes were flickering over every little detail of his face. Every new cut, every faded bruise, the washed out paleness and the distinct bags under his eyes. Leo sometimes caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he knew he didn’t look good. 

Still, he remained quiet. Roy’s hand shifted under his chin, gently rubbing it with his thumb. 

“I don’t think I like it if it isn’t me,” he whispered quietly. Leo tried not to move from his spot, rigid and tense as he glanced up at him through his eyelashes. 

“What do you mean?” 

His fingers gently traced the assortment of injuries on his skin, smoothing over them with a gentle delicacy.

“All of these,” he hummed, tilting his head. His fingers trailed down his neck, touching the prominent bruises still there. “They’re not from me. So I don’t think I like it.” 

Leo felt his hands slipping under his jacket, peeling the fabric off of him smoothly. The action made him jolt, hands twisting into the blanket with a soft gasp. 

“Stop, please—” 

“Shhh, baby,” the mercenary whispered quietly. His hand pressed against his mouth. “Just be quiet.” 

His hand slipped into the collar of his shirt, gently tugging it down to expose his shoulders. Leo shivered under his delicate touch, Roy’s thumb circling the small, rounded scar from the cigarette Joey had put out on him. His skin jumped under each caress and each stroke of his body, his soft little whimpers muffled by Roy’s hand. 

Leo endured the painstaking act for each minute, before Roy’s hand shifted and clenched his jaw tightly instead, fingers digging into the flesh. He tugged him forward abruptly, causing him to throw his hands out to catch himself against his chest. 

“I like seeing you in pain,” he hummed, his brows furrowing subtly. His fingers squashed his cheeks, forcibly pursing his lips. “But what’s the point if it’s not me?” 

Leo felt tears running down his cheeks before he could stop himself. A scared keening sound choked in his throat as his trembling fingers gripped Roy’s shirt, the position craning his neck and pulling the sensitive, bruised skin taut. The mercenary made a soft cooing sound, and released the bruising grip on his jaw. Leo sucked in a shaking breath, shuddering on quiet sobs. He didn’t fight when Roy’s hands cupped the sides of his head, and leaned forward to kiss the tears away. 

“I-I wanna go home,” Leo pleaded, shivering at the absence of the jacket and the provocative way his shirt was hanging off his shoulders. The man’s lips fluttering across his face as his fingers tangled in his hair. 

“None of that, lion,” he warned against his skin, the puffs of air making Leo shudder. “But, fuck. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.” 

Leo’s stomach sank when he was shoved onto the bed, pinned down by Roy’s hand pressing down on his chest. His recovering ribs almost screamed out at the pressure, somewhat relieved that the mattress was soft enough to support his head. His hands skittered against his chest as the man followed, one knee supporting his weight on the bed and the other remaining planted on the ground, but trapping Leo’s own. 

A terrified thought entered his mind. 

“No,” he whispered frantically, his hands surging forwards and attaching themselves to his shoulders in a vice grip. “No, no, no, please.” 

“Why?” Roy hummed under his breath. His voice reached those low baritones that were swimming with all kinds of implications Leo didn’t even want to think about. There was a devilish smirk on his face. “What do you think I���m going to do?”

Roy had said he wouldn’t do that. He said that he didn’t have to worry about it, but the moment his hands wrapped around his thin wrists and slid them above his head, Leo was stricken by panic. His legs were pinned underneath Roy’s own, but that didn’t stop him from kicking and thrashing and throwing himself into pleading screams and shouts. 

“Please, Roy, please!” He sobbed, twisting his wrists under his scrutinizing grasp. It did nothing to deter his strength; Leo hadn’t even been able to fight him off when he was healthy, so rationally, he knew it would be useless to even try like this. Unfortunately, that rationality was out of the question.

“Please?” Roy hummed coyly.

Leo frantically shook his head from side to side, ignoring the crushing pain keeping him pinned to the bed, too worked up to care. He choked on a violent sob, wriggling desperately.

“Y-You said you didn’t want to, please…” 

“No, lion,” he drawled. His eyes seemed to glimmer. “I do want to. But not like this. I just wanted to see you squirm again.” 

He let go of his wrists, and climbed off the bed. Leo scrambled backwards until his back hit the wall, biting back a pained hiss. He tried to calm down the panicked stutter of his breath, but it was impossible over the shuddering, uncontrollable sobs seizing in his chest. He was probably a pretty picture to paint with his clothes hanging off his body and his disheveled hair, but he couldn’t care. Roy seemed to be in a better mood than he did after dealing with Bran’s accident. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or not. 

“Go and clean yourself up for the night, lion,” the man ordered, amused smile dancing on his lips. “And don’t let anybody see you like that.” 

His petrified eyes watched him go like a hawk, only sinking back against the wall when the door closed shut behind him, and he was left alone in his room. He pressed his hands into his face and felt the tears trickling down his cheeks, curling up in himself in a shivering ball. All of those horrible memories resurfaced, making the hairs on this skin prick up. 

Leo raked his nails along his scalp, burying his face into his knees. He didn’t know how long he could endure this for. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go home. He just wanted to feel safe again, hating himself for being so torn towards Roy’s plethora of different personalities. He didn’t want him to be like the other mercenaries. He preferred it when he was nice, and he was kind, and he held him contently instead of when he was kicking and screaming. He wanted to have a normal conversation with Roy again, because when was the last time he’d had anything of the sort?

Leo pulled the blanket over his head, tucking himself pathetically in the corner of the bed against the wall. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to dream of blue skies and clouds again. 

In the morning, he hobbled into the bathroom to have a shower. The bathrooms were the only places he could freely go that had a lock, so he slid it quickly into place and released a shuddering sigh once he was finally alone. 

He wiped away the sweat and tears that had built up on his face during the night with relaxing warm water, stripping himself down and hopping into a lukewarm shower. He didn’t stay in for long, fearing his injuries would grow worse when wet, and so dried himself off and found himself feeling somewhat calmer. 

He slipped into some new clothes and donned Roy’s jacket. Nobody was downstairs, so he quietly poured himself a bowl of oatmeal with some blueberries and raspberries scattered on the surface, before wordlessly gulping it down. His eyes lazily stared at the metallic spoon, clinking it softly against the bowl in a mindless rhythm. 

Leo was tired. He wanted to go home.

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[the-three-whumpeteers]

There were no search parties, no worried people looking for the whumpee- and the whumper didn’t know what to think about it all. The whumper had been hesitant to hurt the whumpee in the first place- it was their job, but it wasn’t a job they enjoyed. Slowly but surely, the whumper began to care for the whumpee, giving them more food, giving them warm blankets- they didn’t want to hurt someone that had been so hurt already.

[justbreakonme]

Me after my hermit was telling me about Cole from Dragon Age by saying “He’s a sad one. You’ll like him.”