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whumpshaped · 8 months

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For something soft, a whumper turned whumpee/ex villain type getting actual forgiveness and affection and care on top of it, their poor guilty little soul getting the support they need so bad finally and just /melting/ in their caretakers arms, filled with new and true determination to make things right

i strayed a little from the prompt sorry. but i think it turned out ok :)

tw bullying mention, past trauma, injuries, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker

Whumper was barely conscious as Caretaker gently cleaned their bloody face with a damp cloth. They couldn't keep their swollen eyes open, nor could they force their dried up tongue and chapped lips to form any words. Even a questioning hum proved to be too much, sending them into a coughing fit.

"Hush," Caretaker whispered. "We'll talk when you're better."

They couldn't feel the bite of the rope around their wrists and ankles, and they wondered whether their body was too numb to register the sensation. They attempted, experimentally, to move around a bit; nothing was stopping them.

Caretaker didn't comment on it.

They blinked a couple times before giving up entirely, letting their eyes rest. It only took a few moments before they fell asleep.

"You need to drink."

Whumper squinted in the direction of the voice, finding it once again to belong to Caretaker. They struggled to sit, even with assistance, but they managed to down a few sips.

As they lay back down, they fixed their saviour with a look of disbelief. Caretaker pretended not to notice, staring intently at the worn-out blanket they used to cover Whumper's body.

"You sent me away," Whumper rasped eventually.

It was true. They had sent gifts, money, anything Caretaker needed. They had tried their best to make it right. They had showed up in person, asking for their forgiveness like a fool. Caretaker had shut the door in their face, but only after yelling and threatening to call the police.

Hell, they had made peace with it. They had made peace with the fact that what they'd done was beyond fixing, they were beyond redemption, and all they could do was grovel until their days ran out. Maybe then, after their death, someone would look back at their life and acknowledge that they'd tried.

And yet, after all that, Caretaker was washing the blood off their face and helping them drink water.

"I know," Caretaker replied, as if Whumper had brought it up because they thought they'd forgotten.

There was nothing to fill the silence but their own, ragged breathing. It wasn't a very pleasant sound, and Whumper wished Caretaker would just go on and explain what was happening. They didn't.

"So why–" They began coughing again, and Caretaker helped them sit and drink more when it subsided.

"I heard you talking to that kid. That's why. Just stop making yourself choke over it."

Whumper furrowed their brows, not sure what that had to do with anything. Caretaker huffed out a breath.

"Isn't that why you got all beat up? Because you decided to go 'talk' to those big bullies? Don't act like that's not super out of character for you. Like I shouldn't even be surprised or anything." They looked away, shrugging a little. "'twas nice of you, is all. The kid saw the entire thing. Rushed to me and asked me to help you."

Ah. It wasn't about them. It was about the kid.

Whumper slowly nodded, debating whether to waste their remaining breath on 'thank you' or 'sorry'. They settled on showing their gratitude, since their apology had already been rejected enough times. Caretaker still just waved them off.

"I didn't think you'd actually changed, you know. Like, at all." They shrugged again. It was probably a nervous habit. "Well, I suppose your methods are still the same, and I still don't condone violence or anything... But there have been worse reasons for starting a fight than getting back a stuffed animal."

They continued fidgeting for a while, then just stood up and left the room without another word. Whumper didn't stop them. They couldn't have, even if they wanted to.

"You look a lot better today," Caretaker said carefully. Their tone was measured, never betraying too much of what they were actually thinking.

"Thanks," Whumper muttered. "And thanks for helping out. I can just... leave now."

Caretaker hummed. "Stay another day. You still look like a summer breeze could knock you over. Just... maybe a bit of a stronger breeze than yesterday."

"If I see the kid, I won't tell them you kicked me out or anything. I'm sure they just meant for you to call an ambulance anyway–"

"Do you think this is about the kid?" they asked, seemingly very confused. In turn, Whumper stared back at them with the same expression.

"It isn't?"

Caretaker sighed. "Look..."

Whumper waited patiently. They were definitely looking, but Caretaker couldn't find the right words to express what they wanted to. "Sorry," they blurted out when the pause was starting to become uncomfortably long. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"I know. That's... part of why you're in my room. Because– because the thing is, the old you wanted to put me on the spot all the time. And you'd never catch me dead housing the old you. But..." They hesitated, chewing on their bottom lip. "You changed. You really did change. It's just– you had no... well, unless this is a super elaborate plan, you had no idea I overheard the conversation. Or– or any incentive to go get beat up for a plushie. You couldn't have known any of it. And it just... made me think more about... last year, and how you tried to fix things..."

"You're not doing this out of guilt, are you?" Whumper's stomach churned at the thought. "I get why you didn't forgive me, it's fine, I'm a grown adult, I realise–"

"God, no!" Caretaker snapped. They shrank back right after, rubbing their arm nervously. "Sorry. Maybe– maybe a little. Well... well, it's like, I don't regret not forgiving you then. I didn't know whether you were lying. You could've been."

"I could've been," they echoed, attempting to reassure them.

"But you weren't. And I think I know that now. So I think I'll forgive you this time around."

Whumper's eyes widened when they processed the words. They were spoken so quickly, too quickly, like Caretaker was embarrassed to say them. "What?"

"I went to therapy, I read the self-help books, I know I should forgive you. That it'd make me feel better. Not in a hippie sort of way where we now hug and kiss, but like... sorry, I don't even know what I'm saying. It's not like I decided to forgive based on a book. God, I sound like such a weirdo."

"No," they cut in. "No, it's okay. You don't. You just sound nervous." Caretaker gave them a timid smile, the first they'd seen from them in ages. It was gone in a flash. "I... I don't even know what to say. I've imagined this so many times–" The tears came out of nowhere. They cut themself off abruptly so they could prevent a full on crying session, turning towards the window and blinking rapidly.

"Me too, I guess," Caretaker admitted sheepishly. "I didn't sound like a weirdo in my head."

"Stop saying that," they choked out, but it turned into a chuckle, which turned into a sob. They wanted to ask again and again, 'Do you really mean that? Do you honestly forgive me? Is this a joke?' But they restrained themself. It seemed hard enough to say once. "Thank you. I can't believe it. I really can't."

"Will you stay another day, then? We could talk a bit more and all that." Whumper nodded, and they were rewarded with another one of those elusive smiles. "Cool. I'll bring you a tissue."

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

#whump #whump drabble #comfort #forgiveness #injuries #bullying mention #past trauma #whumper turned whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker #recovery fic

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sleepyorchidmonster · 4 months

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Thinking again about the future Interschool Spelldrive competition, what if we get a second boot camp (it almost worked on Book 5, damn you Rook).

This time, things would be a bit more hectic, though.

Assuming the team would consist of all the overblotters + Grim, here's some headcanons:

- After a lot of arguing, they agree to name Vil the leader, with Leona acting as the coach and captain;

- To make things easier, they establish a few rules, only to remember Riddle is there. They settle for "No fighting or it's Off With Your Head for a day";

- Vil creates a skincare routine for everyone;

- Malleus and Leona are constantly bickering;

- There was an attempt to enforce a diet (it was just a ban on Idia's instant noodles), but Riddle got offended and we got this exchange:

Riddle: As you can see, I already follow a strict diet, so no need to worry!

Vil: That's way too unhealthy, you're starving yourself! You need more nutrients!

Yuu: Soooo, is this plus the overblot enough to call the CPS on Riddle's mom already? And revoke her license while we're at it?

Grim: Man, everytime we think we've seen the worst of her, Mrs. Rosehearts just finds a new way to show how she sucks at parenting...

Everyone: WHAT THE ACTUA-

Riddle: MOVING ON!!

(Azul also wanted to say a few things on the diet part, but Leona cut him off with a pointed look and a "You're fine, octopunk, remember, don't let the opinions of a bunch of jerks control you! Be yourself and be healthy!")

- They dealt with the Mrs. Rosehearts problem as soon as possible to avoid a murder on the day of the game;

- They wake up early for practice! Idia and Leona have to be dragged out of their beds. The others started a game over who could wake these two the fastest (Vil brough an orchestra while Yuu brought Adeuce and a kazoo, Jamil won) ;

- I sincerely don't know where Azul or Idia would be on the team due to their low stamina and hatred of brooms. Right now it's Riddle, Jamil and Vil on brooms, Leona and Malleus on the ground. Maybe Idia on the ground while Azul goes through his character arc and flies;

- Game nights for team building. Don't let them play Uno or Monopoly. Jamil is killing it on DDR though;

- To teach them the importance (and how to skirt the rules) Leona created a game where people have to break a rule and not get caught by the referee (Riddle). If you can escape his notice, you're fine;

- They exchange Spelldrive tactics, though most moves are familiar to the rest, Heartslabyul's "Throw the disk and the player into the goal" was new (it was inspired by the chandelier incident);

- Vil is designing a new NRC outfit (team spirit requires a good team outfit);

- They may or may not find a hidden catacomb in Ramshackle;

- Jamil has finally known peace, he just needs a set of headphones;

- Breakfast time includes a lot of yelling. Riddle can be seen drinking tea with the ghosts on the ceiling, trying to avoid the chaos. Malleus sometimes joins the group;

The rest of the cast pays them regular visits to make sure nobody died yet.

#twst #riddle rosehearts #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #tw eating disorders #it's just a mention about riddle's mom starving him and chapter 3 but I don't want to trigger people so here's a warning #jamil has experience waking up kalim #waking up leona and idia is a piece of cake #mrs. rosehearts found dead on NRC's parking lot. more at 11 #Vil is having a headache #but things are way calmer than he thought #the main conflict for this would be Azul facing his past bullies (Rielle) and surpassing his fears

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cursedzucchini · 1 year

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Well fuck me, i just spend an hour looking through my liked posts, to find that one angst Damian and Danny twins. Still didn't find it. Imma describe it lil more bellow, but if anyone knows what prompt I'm talking Abt pls tell me, imma tag it in the morning.

Prompt: Danny and Damian twins, but they hate each other. I think in the og post there were two versions, like Danny hoping Damian likes him now, but Damian tries to stab him, or both of them hating each other. I didn't take any route, i just wrote this prologue thingie. I think i might continue this, but if anyone gets inspired, feel free to add anything?

Something Abt Danny and Damian hating each other (or Damian hates Danny, Danny... Tried to survive, and later Damian regrets everything and Danny is bitter/scared of Damian) just scratches this part of my brain. Anyway yee that's all

Danyal al Ghul was gone.

His body was left to rot in some abandoded bunker. His grave empty, because Damian never bothered to bring his body back. His name deleted from every record, no failure has place between the best.

Damian didn't remember much about him. He knew his brother looked similar to him, they were twins after all. He was also pretty sure the younger one was shorter than him, though that couldn't be correct. There weren't any memories of Danyal being sick, so how could he be shorter than Damian? There was also the distinct impression of an awkward smile, but he might've mixed the memories up. Why would his twin wear such an unsure (pathetic) expression (grimace)? He was also the son of the demon, even if he was a failure. There is no such a place for weakness.

No, it must have been someone else. Damian had another clearer memory where his face was perfectly neutral. There is no reason to make such a face, if you are able to hide it.

Though that... Wasnt correct either?

Richard had recently taken to try and explain more about how their family functions. He reasoned that surely the League and Batman work diffefently, giving Damian many sound arguments. Yet he was sure the real reason for these... Lessons, was to explain more about the mundane side of things.

In one of the evenings spend arguing with the older man over the most idiotic things (if Drake was acting stupid, obviously he deserved a knife thrown at him), Damian somehow found himself talking about his annoyance, with his family uselessly emoting. How is Damian supposed to know, when they are truly proud of him, when they are truly disappointed, when they always show all of their emotions? How is he supposed to see which one is just them being weak, and which one is true?

His brother looked at him. There was pity in his eyes. And guilt. And pain. Damian wished Richard wasn't his brother.

Richard explained it. He spoke of emotions, and how they are natural, and none of them are false.

Damian didn't understand. He's not sure if understabds them now. But. If no emotions are false. And none of them make him weak. [Than why did mother taught them]

He doesn't like thinking about it.

But he hates thinking about Danyal more.

All his supposedly true emotions don't make sense. He... He feels his chest fill up with warmth when he thinks of him. He feels similar pain as when he is hungry in his chest. A strange mist falls and chokes his mind, whenever he is even reminded of his younger twin.

And there is bead of pure hatred inside his lungs, hating his crooked smile, detesting his small hands and despising his bright eyes.

[Wishing death on himself for not remembering their color. How could he forget his own twins eye color? Why does he only remembers the disgusting lightness making his stomach churn, their ugly staring at all his faults, wishing him fail]

Damian is quite sure Richard lied. There is no way all these foolish emotions are true. They don't make sense by themselves, how can they make sense mixed together? And after all they aren't strong enough to overcome hus brilliant self control, so they cannot be that true.

Or they weren't, until he caught the eye of a stranger.

A stranger with bright eyes.

With an awkward crooked smile, but other wise empty face.

A stranger with their hands playing with their shirt in obvious show of nerves

A little shorted than himself and...

A face almost the same as Damian's.

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seatoss · 2 years

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I played Alttp & LA HD for the first time this year and they were both GREAT!

When I picked the first one up I was kind of worried that I wouldn’t be able to appreciate the classic. I’ve played 2D games before but it’s been many years since I’ve touched one. I’ve also primarily grown up with 3D games, especially where Zelda’s concerned. Ironically though, that’s probably why the experience it created for me felt so special. It’s old with it’s own brand of challenges, and yet I really wasn’t expecting how much it would move me all throughout my playthrough. I was already giddy by all the charming details and character, so discovering just how deeply this game and it’s sequel has obviously inspired all the Zelda games I grew up playing with? I was floored. It all suddenly clicked and it was like discovering something old and completely brand new all at once.

I enjoyed both games so much. There’s so many characters and scenes that caught my imagination and that has been calling me to draw. For now, here are some illustrations of Link in the mountain regions of the first game. The Bully and Gumball in particular (and as I like to call them) were some of my favorite character encounters. It must of been so surreal for Link to run into them only briefly after getting turned into a rabbit. They were a really amusing pair, and it was really fun trying to reimagine them!

#a link to the past #legend of zelda #alttp #loz #bunny link #bully and gumball #lost old man #my art #fan art #I'm back to working a regular work schedule #should of anticipated how severely that would impact my art time #having the summer off made me forget how tough it gets to work on personal stuff during the rest of the year hhhh #I wanted to wait to post these until after I finished another related piece that I've mentioned in previous tags but #might not be ready for a while. So have these early. Probably should of just posted them sooner anyhow #Hey! so here's a fun fact:#Bunny feet look NOTHING like a dog's or cat's. They aren't padded at all and are actually just as fluffy as the rest of the bunny!#Found this out almost immedietly after posting a drawing including a rabbit and the truth has been eating me alive #I think I've only ever seen a rabbit once or twice in person. And never up close. How was I to know? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#But you think I would of noticed what with all the bunny photos I was looking at. smh big fail on my part #So yea anyway that's why Twi Bunny still has canine feet and this Bunny Link's got pillowy toesies

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bigcats-birds-and-books · 8 months

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*don't go to grad school out of spite, don't go to grad school out of spite, do NOT go to GRAD SCHOOL out of SPITE!!!*

#text #personal #grad school #char don't look #anyway not me being a spite and caffeine fueled being #anyway i mentioned i was trying to bully a friend into finishing his dissertation revisions to one of the PhD's i work with #said phd was like 'oh i can tell youve never been to grad school'#and im over here like i havent but i COULD #and i know i COULD i just dont know what i WANT #AAAND it bothers me when people bring up finishing dissertation vs how long its taken me to finish this gotdamn book revision #which #hnngh #BUT ALSO DO YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA HOW MANY BOOKS I HAVE WRITTEN IN THE PAST 8 YEARS!!!!!!#i always blank on that when people give me shit about it #i gotta quit blanking :(#plus its not like being a writer has been my only job for those eight years #(like my friend was A Grad Student for all that time)#ive written books WHILE participating in capitalism full time #this one in particular is so slow because of my fucking god awful living situation #im Upset lmao

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herawell · 5 months

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#financial cw #parent mention cw #not really a negativity post more like a funny post #so my parents have told me that i should always have six months' worth of savings at any time #and i've begun amassing an emergency fund #i created a new savings account for it #and every pay cycle i aotomatically transfer a set amount of $$ from my direct deposit checking account to my savings account #and my parents have been bullying me RELENTLESSLY (affectionate) about this for the past few months #not the emergency savings part #but the opening up a new account part and putting the $$ there #they say i should just keep it in my usual checking acct and not touch that $$$#they say that making a separate account is 'white people shit'#even though i like having my savings and my spending separate #they also make fun of me for calling it a 'rainy day fund'#which is also apparently white people stuff

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distinctlywhumpthing · 1 year

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In League — Dead Ringer, part III

Masterlist

Summary: (Continued from part II) The foreshadowed and promised caning. August is punished by Keats and loses any progress he might have made in making a friend. Takes place two years before August meets Wyatt. Beta-read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, indentured servitude, classism, degradation, manhandling, implied past noncon, burn mention, implied starvation, punishment (caning). Whumper pitting whumpees against each other and being a bully.

“It’s been a spell since I’ve seen you, Fionn,” Keats said, his back to August as he fingered Fionn’s bowtie. “I truly wondered if I’d gotten it right with this new one.” He circled Fionn, keeping an open hand pressed to his throat as he moved to stand behind him. A python holding its prey. “Isn’t he just perfect?” He leaned down, just shy of putting his chin on Fionn’s shoulder so their faces lined up as they regarded August.

Or, rather, as Keats did. Fionn started ahead unblinking, unseeing.

Their master must have been wise to his absence but rather than turn angry, he smirked and winked at August conspiratorially. “I think—” He pulled Fionn closer, forcing him to stand taller by the hand at his throat, and placed the end of the cane between Fionn’s feet. “He’s even better than the last.”

Fionn’s expression crumpled, something of a whimper escaping his lips. His hands at his sides were trembling fists.

Keats laughed, the movement shaking both of them for how close together they stood. His hand at the top of the cane between Fionn’s hips pulling him nearer still.

August averted his eyes, all too aware of Keats watching his every move, feasting on his reactions as encouragement.

“My, my, you have been missing me, haven’t you?” Keats continued, too loudly for it to be an honest exchange. All of this was just another game. “Poor wretched thing…”

How long had Fionn been up here alone? How long for him to be melting into the embrace as if it were salvation and not something wicked?

Some years ago, August had stumbled upon a tangle of limbs at Elmwood. A footman who’d always given him sour glances with one of the stablehands whom he wouldn’t have been able to pick out of the lot of them. He’d turned and run, abandoning whatever errand he’d been sent on and later refusing to return to complete it when he was discovered skulking in the servant’s hall. The footman had taken it on to make August’s life miserable, a display of influence and power, to dissuade him from becoming loose-lipped.

He didn’t realize that August was afraid to even admit to seeing the depravity, fearing any association with it. They’d all been warned about perversions at the workhouse. Had once watched a pair of boys whipped bloody on the racks before being dragged to prison for the crime. With little to look forward to after the workhouse, the boys often occupied themselves ranking the various types of labour they might find themselves indentured to. Among the worst were mining for the stories of being buried alive; factory work that would cost fingers at a time; being shipped to America only to drown on the voyage; and digging sewers whilst knee-deep in shit.

It was a taunting game to assign these wretched fortunes, same as it was an indulgent fantasy to allow themselves to wonder at being chosen by a tradesman, a farmer who’d never had a son, or a shopkeeper in the city in need of an assistant. But after that day, they had been armed with the ultimate derision, born of their shock and fear: Handsomer boys could be bought by twisted men and damned to suffer Hell twofold.

So, August was more than relieved when Keats said, “None of that today, Fionn.” Though the promise in his admonishing tone made August’s stomach flip. Fionn shivered as he was released but remained standing at sharp attention. “I’m not sure if August has informed you, Fionn, but he made a mistake earlier today and we agreed that the natural course of punishment would be the cane—”

“Sir, I thought—” The slap surprised August, a flash of pain on his cheek that brought tears to his eyes.

“You will learn to hold your tongue and speak only when invited.”

He clenched his fists at his side.

“Where was I? We agreed the transgression was deserving of the cane. I’m sure you’ll agree, Fionn.”

“Yessir,” came his well-trained reply, face betraying no emotion.

August swallowed. He hadn’t imagined they’d formed any sort of understanding in such a short time, let alone some sort of alliance, but it still felt like something of a betrayal for Fionn to simply accept this course of events. Perhaps it was purely self-preservation, which August ought to imitate rather than resent.

Their master tapped the end of his cane on the floor. “On your knees now like a good boy.”

There was less shame in simply sinking to the floor. At the very least, he’d be able to hide his reddened face from—

Keats snapped his fingers and August found himself hanging by his bowtie and collar, the oaf holding him from behind. He scrambled to put his feet back under him and straighten, reflexively gasping in a breath as he did, though he wasn’t released.

“You are slow,” Keats observed, grabbing August’s chin in a bruising grip. He turned his head left and right, inspecting him with those beady eyes. “I hope you’ll wind up being worth all of this trouble.” He released August and stepped aside. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

Fionn was on his knees.

“What?” August should have expected the slap this time. Tears spilled down his cheeks but he did his best to ignore them. “He didn’t do anything. Sir, the…mistake was mine, the punishment should be as well.” Keats raised his hand and August cowered as much as he could with the lackey still gripping his collar.

Keats let his hand fall. He paced back and forth like he was having a constitutional through garden instead of threatening his kept boys, cane tapping along with his heels on the hardwood. “You were agreeable downstairs. You thanked me so graciously for sparing you from the cane.”

“Sir, please.” His voice notched higher, made thinner by the pressure on his throat. “I didn’t understand this to be what it meant. I never meant for—”

“You are astonishingly dull-witted.”

“Please, sir. I’ll gladly take the cane myself. He shouldn’t have to pay for my error.” Fionn hadn’t even spared him a momentary glance and August couldn’t blame him. There was little chance they’d find camaraderie after this.

“An admirable sentiment and certainly meaningful as we are learning that your shortcomings far outnumber your strengths.” August felt his cheeks burn, his blood boiling with hatred for this man who was so visibly sated by the suffering he could cause. “Perhaps next time you will employ more of your limited discernment to make a better choice.”

He seethed, holding tightly to his anger rather than dissolve into hot tears of defeat. He wanted to scream, to lunge at Keats and beat him with his own cane, but he couldn’t take a step – let alone hope to best two bigger men.

Keats was smirking. “Yes, best not to fight and make things worse for poor, old Fionn.” At that, Fionn let his gaze fall, just for a moment. Keats turned to see what August was observing but Fionn had already fixed his expression, returning to emptiness. “I was planning to be merciful. Rather than strikes to equal the worth of the item you lost me, just one for each hour that you’ve been here, succeeding only to disappoint.”

August couldn’t help but be relieved. It had to be less than ten, maybe fewer than six. Things really had gone downhill rapidly. Fionn had told him it was fixed, which explained how it could have all turned on him. He felt even guiltier. Fionn had tried to help him. Perhaps if August apologized enough, when this was over, explained that he truly had never intended to pass off the punishment and—

“Unfortunately, I have no way of telling the time…” Keats raised his hands in a theatrical shrug, cane swinging, hooked over one of his open palms. “We’ll simply have to take the whole day. Twenty-four hours.” August struggled against the hand restraining him, struggled to stop himself from swinging and kicking out. Keats grinned. “Perfectly reasonable, don’t you think, Fionn?”

“Yessir,” he whispered, no different than before but now he looked so small and frail, kneeling there, Keats looming over him. August squeezed his fist tighter, fingernails biting into the burn on his palm, pain radiating up his wrist.

Keats raised the cane. August wondered how Fionn managed to stop himself cowering or flinching. His obedience was frightening. Their master swung the cane up. August held his breath—

And Keats let the cane fall. “Can you count as high as twenty-four? Or shall poor Fionn have to take responsibility for that as well?”

August gaped at him. Fucking—

“Well?”

“Yes, sir,” August grit out. “I can count to twenty-four.”

Keats raised his eyebrows. “I hope for Fionn’s sake this isn’t more of your unfounded arrogance.” He turned his attention back to Fionn. “Jacket and waistcoat.”

Fionn removed the layers until he wore only his white shirt, buttoned up to the same fucking bowtie that was being used as a collar on August. He painstakingly folded each item before placing it beside him. Keats didn’t wait for any further sign once he had straightened again.

The cane whistled through the air and came down with a crack on the center of Fionn’s back.

“One.” August had almost forgotten to say anything. “Two—”

Keats wound up for every blow, putting his whole weight behind it. By the fourth, Fionn seemed unable to kneel upright and had sunk onto his heels, starting to bow forward. He was breathing through his teeth, tears streaming down his face, but he hadn’t made a sound.

Halfway, Fionn was doubled over, an even easier target with his back horizontal. His spine and shoulder blades caught the worst for how much they protruded. Keats delivered the blows even faster now that he didn’t have to pay so much attention to the angle.

When Keats landed a blow across the back of Fionn’s neck, the boy finally cried out. His scream cut off with the next and then he was breathlessly whimpering. Keats paused to wipe his brow with a handkerchief and spared August a grin that made him want to be sick.

“—Twenty-four.”

The air rang without the sounds of the beating. Keats was breathing heavily, more so than Fionn who hadn’t made a sound for some minutes and remained, still as death, curled on the floor.

Keats wiped his brow again, letting his handkerchief fall in a flutter to the ground when he finished with it. “You’ll still have plenty of time to think, to make sure this really sinks in.” He stepped closer to August, too close, so that he could feel his breath on his face as he spoke. “I’m sure you’re grateful for my merciful hand to guide you in bettering yourself.”

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud and spit in his face, but clearly a spoken answer was expected of him, judging by the oaf shaking him. “Thank you, sir.” There was nothing to be done about the bitterness that was evident in his tone.

His master chose to ignore it, straightening his jacket as he headed for the door. He paused in its frame, turning to look at August again, though he didn’t address him. “Fionn, be glad that you’ve no need for such corrections.”

“Thank you, sir,” he croaked, using his hands to push himself up just enough to bow his head at Keats.

August’s lip curled in distaste and Keats grinned, winking at him. He was glad Fionn couldn’t see the judgement he so poorly contained even knowing Keats had only elicited the response to get a rise out of him.

He didn’t breathe any easier when he was shoved away from the lackey’s grip. Nor when he and Fionn were locked back in alone. Even as the seconds stretched into minutes since their footsteps had disappeared, he still stood there rigidly, fingers balled into fists, seeing red. He thought of all the freedoms he’d enjoyed at Elmwood. His own time to walk into the village or on the meandering paths through the wood. The small shelf of books in the servants’ hall they could borrow from. Even at the workhouse, there’d been scraps of newspapers, empty cupboards and deserted corridors to hide away in, and his best friend. August really had found himself in Hell on earth.

It was Fionn that finally snapped him out of it. He whimpered, trying to unfold himself to replace the rest of his uniform.

August rushed to help him.

“Please,” Fionn whispered, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Please, don’t.”

Of course not. August was the last person he’d want to help him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, knowing it was no concession.

He retreated to the mattress Fionn had approved earlier, lying with his back turned to give the other boy what semblance of privacy he could. He stared ahead at the greying wood of the eaves and wondered how long it would take for him to match Fionn not only in looks but in spirit as well.

@whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake-deactivated20 @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash @peachy-panic @hold-him-down @poeticagony @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning

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nukenai · 7 months

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Rly funny that that hater ex friend of mine was super nasty to me constantly about liking SMRPG and having it be important to me, and would subtweet make fun of me when I would be in Bad Times (lots of difficult life circumstances back then) and would talk about the stars and watching meteor showers giving me comfort. They'd just like, indirect tweet "god you're such a stupid freak" immediately after I would, shit like that.

Well now SMRPG is getting remade and I hope they're constantly reminded of me and permanently annoyed at how vindicated I am 😘 bitch

I also keep enjoying good things MY bad ex enjoyed or even introduced me to because I am stronger than them and I am super cool 🤘

#I do not let the shitty people in my past control me #I have moved on and become stronger #and no btw I don't think discussing people means you are like Still Obsessed With Them #my ex was my closest friend for over a decade before spending too much time with weirdos like the mentioned person in this post #and that person started getting shitty after getting together w their partner who was this negative straight up MEAN BULLY of a person #so like idk I'm glad I escaped that poison well #and talking about this shit is good and important #bc it's made me realize how poorly I was treated #by people who called me a friend #and I won't let it happen again #and I don't want it to happen to other people

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hanzajesthanza · 11 months

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not to get all sappy but it is indeed inspiring how sapkowski wrote "witcher" as a 38-year old divorcee with a son embarking on his teens. and the story came in third place and it almost didn't even win because parowski almost didn't even read it, and it was too long and had to be shortened a bit and...

sometimes i feel like i have no creative potential and then i remember. i am in my 20s

#let me also mention: in a very intense and stressful political and economic time and place #and then he got bullied by fellow fantasy fans for being an old man :thumbsup: nothing ever changes ever /hj #/hj meaning he did not get bullied in the strict sense of the word but he was confused for a cop and #almost got kicked out of his first convention. i mean this is all allegedly from his account but...#txt #andrzej sapkowski #and by cop i mean authority of the government because it was common for the government to send someone to #monitor the convening and the kind of information and stories being shared #and WHY was he mistaken for an authority? well he not only was like 10 to 20 years younger than everyone else there #but he wore a suit and tie... and everyone was like. yeah. that guy's a cop #im sorry i just read about this past week and i lost my shit howling with sorry laughter #re: divorcee. he divorced in 1980 and remarried by the time boe was released in 1994 but idk WHEN he remarried to his current wife maria.

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fletcherwilbury · 8 months

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@sicktember Day 3: “What happened to your phenomenal immune system, huh?”

Warning for illness, food issues, bullying, and mention of past traumatic incident.

#sicktember #sicktember 2023 #sicktember day 3 #“what happened to your phenomenal immune system huh?”#tmnt #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 donnie #tmnt 2012 casey #tmnt 2012 april #jonatello #illness cw #food issues tw #bullying tw #mention of past traumatic incident cw

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pennycutenice · 1 year

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Please read the tags for content warnings / trigger warnings. This is gonna be very personal.

So I find myself thinking again and again about what being excessively bullied has done to me on a creative level.

At seven years old I composed music on the pc. The next year I was making what later would be called amvs but with my favourite SpongeBob episodes and, no kidding, medieval folk rock. I would design complicated menus to navigate these works and burn them onto DVD. The year after I was learning piano, drums, and guitar, additionally to my recorder knowledge. I would also further improve my craft in editing videos by doing incredibly unfunny but technically impressive redubs of movies and started writing poems. I also loved knitting and singing my own lyrics to my own instrumentals. And I remember how I created incredibly elaborate marble runs not out of prebuilt parts but creating my own. Finally I was doing combinatorics and stochastics on the side, as a fun project on a math level not even taught at german schools. Doing all this there wasn't much time for consuming stuff like video games but that didn't matter. I had fun. And then I changed schools.

I was proud of what I did and showed it to people. Big mistake. I would be harassed for the next seven years on the daily for even having dared to do creative shit. Name calling, to taking away my shit and seldom even physical abuse. Often my bullies called me the aggressor and they would be believed by the school. Because yes, they could push me to my limit until I went violent. But as a small and weak boy that would only make them laugh more. Creating these situations was then kind of a goal: It was funny for them and speaking of physical violence I was the aggressor. Later I fled school regularly, walking home when it got too bad, got into big trouble for that and got threatened with calling the cops on me. I now know I probably was (and still am) neurodivergent and did not have the social skills to do something about all this. It was hell and I was helpless. Eventually I told myself I deserved it for creating such shameful things. Actually I was pure evil right down to the core and them destroying my life was just the righteous consequence of my misdeeds.

So what do? Well, I stopped. All of it. The single thing that remained was doing let's plays which was kinda acceptable to have as a hobby at the time and isn't really new ammunition to bullies anyway. Also I needed to do something after school since I had no real friends to do stuff with and I was too ashamed of myself to regularly meet with the few sympathetic people. At the time I thought I had some friends, today with true friends on my side I know I really didn't. To this day I struggle with friendships because of this; I simply did not really learn how to do them. I got incredibly lonely (and to this day still kinda am) and they took all the joy out of my creativity. I gained weight and an unhealthy relationship with food. I vividly remember how at one point I realized, I hadn't met or talked to anyone outside of school for a year. To that a coke and some chips, fellas! Asked out some guys to the cinema and they only agreed when I told them I'd pay for everything. I didn't enjoy it at all because I realized I needed to bribe people to spend time with me. Later on I started walking home from school - it was good for my health (and weight) and the lost time wouldn't be missed if you have nothing else to look forward to. Plus it was a good opportunity to get in some secret cry time. That is how I started playing video games - a then very hot new one called "mine craft" for example, maybe you've heard of it.

I developed some internet friendships but none of them would last. Most of them were let's play colleges and stopped interacting with me when I, the person with the most (like two thousand) subscribers, had no project to do with them. Also we were never really close. One I kicked out of my life at about fourteen because I realized an 18 y/o should not send me porn.

All this time school kind of forced me into some creative projects and I would always impress the teachers. There was a mandatory reading competition and I wasn't just the best at school, I was the best in the entire federal state. At that point I dropped out the competition because of sickness but I'm really curious about what could have been. I also was "diagnosed" as gifted because of my impressive mathematical skills and got special education opportunities. My teachers were confused about me choosing creative writing classes, but I excelled at that too and got praised at the final presentation of the entire group for my great understanding of words, wit and sarcasm. Also I was a great presenter. (Sadly the course was too far from my home so I saw none of them again and no friendship of peers could form.)

It was honestly weird. I could not do really creative stuff anymore but any time I had to and it was socially accepted, I was the best at it. Without ever doing it in my spare time I was better at programming than my first computer science teacher within a school year and impressed him by disagreeing with him regularly and being right in the end - good guy for realizing that by the way. But I still did not do anything with my "gifts," I couldn't! The fun I once had was taken from me daily on the schoolyard and classrooms and the closets they'd put me in like movie bullies. Yes, that actually happened once. I honestly confused my teachers. One said, I was by far the smartest and laziest student he ever taught. I also remember getting a pity grade on a great art project I did in class which I was so ashamed of I threw it away shortly before we were supposed to show the results to the teacher.

I tried to start a school newspaper, bought and read a whole book on the matter and in the end failed because I feared telling people about it. The few I trusted and seemed interested did not show up. Later on someone with actual social skills started one and I joined, being a primary author of the whole thing shortly, with video game reviews mainly - there was nothing else in my life left I could talk about.

Later on at the upper levels it got a bit better. People at my level realized they could use my skills for their mandatory projects and therefore open hostility stopped. Passive aggressiveness? Yeah sure. Did the other levels still bully me relentlessly? Of course they did. It once stopped for a while after I just turned around to one of them and decked him so hard he fell over, but in the end life was still hell.

Once my art class convinced my pretty cool teacher to watch some of my very rare non-lp creative projects I uploaded. I honestly could not tell you if they actually liked my stuff or if they wanted to humiliate me. So many people talked to me in this sarcastic or duplicitous tone I simply did not trust anyone to ever honestly praise my work. I left the classroom to shed a tear but at that time I was pretty much numb to all of it. Looking back on it it is really possible quite the share of people came around on me, maybe grew out of childish bullying and genuinely liked me. I couldn't tell you, I didn't really trust people anymore at that point and to this day have troubles doing so.

I got sick more and more often. Very sick. For weeks on end. Sick to the point of eating and drinking hurting. Badly. Sick to the point of losing myself and not really knowing who I really was anymore. It was the only time I was weak enough to cry later on in life. Also hunger does not hurt anymore after two days of not eating so I just stopped to end it all in a very painful way. Sadly, that was my opinion at the time and is not anymore, I always would eventually get better and feel hunger again. But physical pain was good in my mind. It was tangible. I knew why it was there and acute physical pain is usually stronger than chronic mental pain. So I started cutting myself. It is almost funny: I felt like a dramatic high school girl doing it for attention, even though I started wearing long sleeves and told not a single soul. But I liked that feeling. Would I have known what "transgender" means at the time my life could have been very different. It truly was the most fucked up gender euphoria and I didn't even know it was at the time. I was smart enough to not go so deep as to create visible scars and later changed to the thighs like a true pro. This didn't solve any of my problems so I really can't recommend it btw.

Anyway, at that point I had been at least passively suicidal for years and completely burned out of finding my own fun in creative projects. At the end of lessons I turned in "the most impressive" art project my teacher had ever gotten. Because of frequent illnesses it was too late; it wouldn't make an impact on my grade. And then soon after final exams I won my level's "biggest male bitch" award. Fuck you too. I didn't go to prom.

Studying computer science and not being forcefully surrounded by people who hated me was much better. I thought absence of hate would cure my mind in the long run. Nope. I didn't know I needed professional help to get better than a kinda sad kinda normal with monthly breakdowns and constant suicidal ideation. I tried to return to my previous creative output but I just couldn't. The youthful innocence and love of creating gone, everything had baggage now. I continued creating for a very toxic reason: To get approval from strangers on the internet via YouTube videos. I didn't know how else to get someone to like me. Content let me filter myself to be a lovable person and not the truly evil fuck I wrongly believed myself to be. Of course I wasn't a perfect person and I did do things I am not proud of and hurt people, but I wasn't nearly the irredeemable waste I thought.

I created incredible things on a technical level. It got me a contract for german state youth television. I was nominated for an award! (I didn't win it because I didn't upload enough videos. Okay?) But I created to feel loved and to overshadow my self hatred with the praise of strangers online. This runs dry. At some point the praise wasn't enough and I could not create anymore. Then I came out as trans and bi to myself and some close friends which made me find a loving community of cool queer people who actually love me. I even have enough friends to be able to choose to not spend time with someone if they're bad for me. In the end I even received depression medication and hormone replacement therapy! I'm working with a very nice neurologist who's trying to understand me better and believes I'm probably neurodivergent too and is gonna get me a therapist once he understands my needs better. My brain does not torture myself anymore and I'm working hard on breaking some self destructive patterns. I am well, comparatively.

But I haven't truly created in almost two years now. I am ashamed and don't even want to make music or write poems anymore or draw. I have no energy to edit videos. I am embarrassed of my maths and creative code solutions even though I am an A+ student with perfect grades that got a job in teaching and research because of these skills. I didn't even touch on me being a pretty good 2D animator (with given rigs, not really frame by frame)! But I cannot. The most progress I made is that in the last two years I started showing people what music I listen to - something I was especially shamed for in my youth - and with about four people on this planet I'm comfortable enough with to sing along to a song I like.

I feel like I loved creating but it was taken from me. And I don't know how to get it back. Or if I ever will. I will just have to do some healing. Some things are coming back. But I don't know what healing is to be done, how to do it and if I will ever get the opportunity to do so. I would love to be on top of my artistic game again, now that I'm happier personally. I don't know, man.

I see people around me doing amazing shit and I… am also there. Once able to do what they do. Being jealous of their joy of their own creative output and the output itself. The ones just a few years younger grew up with smartphones; having access to an accepting community at pretty much all times. Some just had people in their physical surroundings that liked, supported or even guided their creative endeavors. I do not want to say they had or have it "easy" or even think direct comparisons of suffering will result in anything except animosity. But looking at them now whatever they had could sustain their creative drive.

I didn't and still don't have it. And now that I'm able to be in touch with my emotions due to medication I'm just starting to realize and feel the scope of what I lost over a decade ago.

#cw bullying #cw trauma #cs suicidality #cw grooming mention #cw self harm #cw illness #cw medication #cw depression #trans #transfem #transgender #bisexual #my story #story time #whining a bit about my past #as if that would achieve anything ^^

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