#yowt25m1w1d6

[sir-fenris]

Year of Whump Tropes - Day 6

January 2025 - Week 1, Day 6

Self-dehumanization | "just leave it"

(Drabbles' masterlist)

Content: dehumanization, self-dehumanization, conditioning, "it" as a pronoun at the end, self-deprecation, kneeling, trauma, recovery, overlooked public whump, living weapon whumpee.

They couldn't relax. It was a party, something meant to be fun, to be relaxing for a normal person. But Whumpee isn't a person. Whumpee is a weapon.

Weapons are meant to be storaged away when not on use, not meant to be walking around amidst people that try to politely not look at them. At least other people try not to acknowledge Whumpee. They knew that weapons weren't meant to be seen or to be in parties.

But Caretaker wants Whumpee to be a person, not a weapon. So Whumpee tries their best.

And they prove how much of a failure they are once again.

They couldn't keep pretending to be a person. So they bow their head, ignore the laughs and happiness of people around them, and pick a corner to kneel at. It's been months, but they still remember the position of storage. At least in one thing they aren't a failure.

Whumpee's mind goes blank then, resting and relaxing while not on use.

Until two of Caretaker's coworkers come to see them.

One of them, a woman they recognize as a pilot once they're alert again, crouches down in front of them with a pitying smile. "Hey, there. You're feeling ill? Want us to call Caretaker to come pick you up?"

It's always a shock how so many people here treat them like a vulnerable child or a scared animal, using soft voices and always mentioning Caretaker.

Before Whumpee has time to recollect themselves and decide what to answer, the man, who they don't recognize, had already spoken up. "Just leave it. Don't waste your time." When the woman glares at him, he glares back and hisses, "It knows it's a weapon, and it is acting as such. Come on, don't waste your time pampering it. Caretaker will eventually find it here."

Whumpee is more used to that type of talk. It is a weapon, and it is used to be treated as one.

The woman's glare only darkens at the added words. When she looks back at Whumpee, she tries to soft-speak again. "I'll go call Caretaker for you, okay, hun? Just wait here a little bit. They'll be on their way." It seems like she wants to say more, but Whumpee's lack of reaction makes her seem... sad? And she gives him a final pitying smile before she stands up.

Whumpee doesn't pay attention to the argument between the two as they walk away. It is a weapon, and weapons don't pay attention to human's talk unless it's for a mission.

So it just follows orders and stays put, waiting for its handler to come back and pick it up.

Oh. It- They did it again.

Caretaker will be sad if they know Whumpee fell back into calling itse- themselves "it" and seeing people as "handlers".

Just one more thing Whumpee is a failure in.

-

(Yes, it's day 8 already, shhh. I had a late inspiration. Pretend for a second that this was posted on day 6)

-

[fallenwhumpee]

Year of Whump Tropes, January 6, 2025

• Day 6: Self dehumanisation | Just leave it there • Masterlist •

Warnings: Self dehumanisation, blood, though of death

"Just leave it there," Whumper mottered, turning Scientist away. Whumpee didn't whimper. It didn't cry. It could slowly heal anyway. There was no need to draw attention.

Not that anyone would care to check on it, though. And it definitely didn't deserve it. It was just one of many. It wasn't the strongest or the fastest. It often thought about things when it wasn't supposed to. It felt— pain was just too much along with a deep ache that just came from not from their body but squeezed their breaths - too much, when it was only asked to give feedback.

It stopped thinking. It was spiralling again. It had to stop and just stay quiet, but just like its thoughts, its whimpers were getting too loud. It wanted to stop shaking because it was showing weakness. It would get punishment if it kept like this.

Whumpee tried to get to its elbows, their body trembling with strain. Blood dripped as it felt its wound open more, its breath getting stuck on its throat.

It crawled towards the supplies for a moment. It cursed. It wasn't supposed to be reaching those. That adrenaline shots were for soldiers. For humans whose lives were valuable. But Whumpee...

Whumpee was a weapon.

Whumpee sank to its place, surfing up and trying to calm its breaths. It was going to be alright. It had to be. It had many more days to be used, on field or as practice. It wanted to believe it had days ahead. So it waited its body to put itself back together.

[teine-mallaichte]

Self-dehumanization

Day 6 @year-of-whump-tropes

Asset 84 is struggling with his identity.

CW: dehumanisation, conditioning, living weapon, emotional numbness, identity crisis, identity loss, forced compliance, trauma, self dehumanisation.

Complex 27 Alex YOWT Jan list

The fluorescent lights seemed to flicker overhead as Alex stood motionless in the small bathroom attached to his quarters. He could no longer remember why he had come in here. His entire focus claimed by the mirror. He’d seen this face countless times - but today it seemed… different.

His fingers hovered near the edge of the mirror, but he didn't touch it. This is who I am now, he thought. His face was unreadable, not even a flicker of emotion visible, not a hint of anything beneath the surface. He had perfected that mask over the years, learned how to suppress whatever humanity remained inside him.

This is what they made me.

The facility had stripped him of his past, of his family, of his identity. Everything he had once been—the farm, the laughter, the feeling of safety—was gone, erased. All that was left was this: a soldier, a weapon. His hands clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms, but the rage inside him was so deep it couldn’t escape.

I am 84. I am a weapon. I will endure.

The mantra rang through his head like a dull bell, constantly reaffirming the lie he had to live. But as he stared at the man in the mirror, he felt that tight grip on his chest loosen just a fraction. For the briefest moment, he didn’t see a soldier. He saw a child—someone small, vulnerable, full of fear and confusion, the boy who had been ripped away from his mother, torn from his family.

"Who was I?"

The question was quiet, almost imperceptible, but it was there, lodged deep in his mind. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to confront the part of himself that still remembered the warmth of his mother’s hands, the smell of the earth after a rainstorm, the laughter shared with his younger siblings. It felt like a distant memory now, vague, faded. Something he couldn’t quite reach. A life that had never really been his.

The man in the mirror, though, had no trace of those things. He was colder now, a perfect mask of indifference. The reflection was empty, devoid of everything that made a person human.

Nothing but a shell.

I don’t deserve to be anything else.

His hand finally touched the glass, his fingers pressing against it with the faintest tremor. The surface was cool, smooth, and it felt like a barrier between him and everything he once was. The glass separated him from the life he could never have again, the future he had been denied. It felt final—like the reflection was the only truth left, the only thing that defined him.

"Alex," the name echoed in the darkest recesses of his mind. It didn;t feel like his. Not really. But maybe once…

"84. Report to briefing room C."

The voice crackled through the intercom, dragging Alex back into reality. The shift in his posture was immediate, his shoulders stiffening as the familiar sense of dread settled over him. He had to go. He had to leave the room and perform, to follow orders, to kill, to survive.

He exhaled slowly, blinking rapidly to push back the feeling that threatened to drown him. He wasn’t allowed to feel anything.

Not anymore.

With one last glance at the mirror, he turned away, the reflection fading behind him, but the questions lingering—questions he couldn’t afford to answer.

"I am 84. I am a weapon. I will endure."

The door clicked open, and Alex stepped into the hallway, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the sterile silence. He was, after all, only a weapon.

The rest of him—what little remained—was irrelevant.

[unhingedcapybara]

2025 @year-of-whump-tropes // #006. Just Leave It

Rating: Teen and Up | Warnings: implied abuse, blood, denial of medical care, dehumanization, it/its pronouns for a person| Series: The Hellhound

The “weapon” didn’t seem to be bleeding too much, but was bleeding nonetheless. Robin’s hands were crimson.

“Just leave It, it’s a minor injury.”

“A minor- a stab wound isn’t a minor injury.”

“Violet will heal, just go.”

“But-”

“Go or I’ll make you have a couple of minor injuries.”

Robin looked between the Covenhead and the injured girl. Shirtless, she could see all the bruises and cuts, the marks that shouldn’t be there. Empty eyes had been following her movements, there was no protest when Robin rose to her feet.

Leaving was safer, she hated this. Everything about this.