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IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

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“If f you’re not tough it’s hard to survive in this world; and if you’re not kind then you don’t deserve to survive.”

— Raymond Chandler

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what is a rival if not a crush ur mad about having

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oc asks that reveal more than you think

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Ask them to describe their love interest.

Do they look good in red?

Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech! Will they give one, and what about?

Who will they take advice from, no matter what it is? Who won’t they take advice from, no matter what it is?

Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Do complex puzzles intrigue or frustrate them?

Do they empathize with non-sentient things (dolls, plants, books…)?

What age do they most want to be right now?

They’ve won the lottery. Spend, or save?

Do they like romance in the books they read (or in the book they’re in)?

Name one thing their parents taught them.

Would they agree with the term ‘guilty pleasure’? Do they have any?

What would they consider a waste of time– other than school or work?

If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

Do they like children?

Kissing: tongue or no tongue?

Do they study before tests? Practice before job interviews?

What do they like that nobody else does?

What would it take for them to break up with someone? What would be the last straw?

Do they like being called pet names? Do they call other people pet names? What’s their go-to?

Stability or novelty?

Honesty or charity?

Safety or possibility?

Talent or effort?

Forgiveness or vengeance (or…)?

Would they date a fixer-upper?

What recurring dreams do they have?

What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

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What do you think I should do if I feel like my idea's been done a hundred times before?

Listen - every story ever has been done a hundred times before. That is the simple fact of storytelling - we have been telling stories since before we had writing. We have been telling stories since we first huddled around campfires and spoke in soft voices to hold off the terrible unknown of the dark. 

Has your idea been done a hundred times before? Almost certainly a thousand, maybe thousands.

But not by you.

You have never existed before this time and place - not this version of you, this exact combination of molecules and blood and firing neural synapses. Nothing identical to you has existed before, and it won’t exist again.

Your idea may not be original, but no one’s idea is.

No one’s.

What’s original is the way you tell the story, is the brain in your body, is the spark of thought that led you to the story in the first place.

Tell your story, Anon.

Join us at the campfire.

It’s dark outside, and we’ve never heard your idea before.

Not the way you’ll tell it. 

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HR pt. 2

Holden thought about it. He didn’t trust her (not before, certainly not now) and didn’t want to talk to her. But that may have been the only way.

― What do you want to know? ― he asked with such an unusually serious tone for him.

― Same questions as before. Why’d you fight with him? Why don’t you want to talk to me? How does it feel to lose your powers?

He could open up about those questions. But he didn’t want to and he was holding a gun. It was already done, too late to go back.

― I’m not telling you anything about me. Not now, not ever.

Now she was pissed for the first time since they met, Holden could tell from her red vampire eyes.

― Fine, shoot me then, I’m calling your bluff, ― she said suddenly, getting close fast and Holden didn’t even have the time to make a rational decision. He didn’t shoot, regretting it immediately after. If the situation was different, he definitely would have shot. But that wouldn’t have brought him any good. Still, now he had his back against the floor, the arm of the doctor against his throat, and a gun to his head.

― This is not pleasant, right? Only this can kill you, while it can’t kill me.

Holden didn’t answer, couldn’t breathe, eyes were watering.

― But I won’t. I’ll give you the same mercy you gave me. Almost ―. She put the secure back on the gun and threw it away. Left Holden’s throat just to hit him with her knee. Holden fell on the floor, breathless and in pain, but he did his best to get up fast all the same.

The doctor looked like she had been waiting for him to get up for an hour at least.

― I’m giving you one last chance. Why’d you fight with him?

Holden giggled at the absurdity of the situation, leaning against the desk in the middle of the room, trying to hold himself together.

― That guy’s a gasbag.

― I want a concrete answer!

― You’re not getting anything from me.

She hit Holden once again. He didn’t even try to defend himself anymore, knowing he didn’t have many chances but wouldn’t give her what she wanted anyways. He hit the wall for what must have been the third time at least but this time he crumpled on the floor. He closed his eyes for a second when he hit the ground and when he re-opened them, the doctor was crouched in front of him, watching him closely.

She put her hands above Holdens’ and he felt all the burn once again. He didn’t want to, but he screamed. The pain was unbearable, but he couldn’t get free.

When she finally let go, Holden wasn’t screaming anymore, his head resting on his chest. She waited for some time, then she put a finger under Holden’s chin to lift his head and meet his half-gone gaze. He didn’t have the strength to scream anymore, but she could see the pain in his eyes and in his gritted teeth.

― Why’d you fight him?

She interrupted the touch to let him answer.

― He’s a gasbag.

She rubbed her forehead, smiling again.

― Well, I didn’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice.

She placed her hand on his chest and slowly went down, stopping in the lower region of his chest, a part Holden knew too well. That of his liver was a wound that never healed. Where it all started.

Suddenly, the adrenaline and the fear woke Holden up. He did his best to get away from the touch, though it didn’t hurt yet, since the clothes were protecting him from direct contact.

― What are you doing? ― he asked wide-eyed.

― I was told not to go this far with you. But, the great ones are the ones willing to go where other won’t right? You said it.

― You’re bluffing, ― tried Holden, ― you won’t do it.

― Try me, ― she said, pressing her hand on the wound. The pression was enough to make Holden scream again and curl on himself. ― If this is how bad it hurts now, imagine what the direct contact would feel like.

Holden definitely didn’t want to imagine and he wanted to experience it even less.

The doctor took off her hand and let Holden breathe for a while.

― Are you ready to talk now? ― she said gently. Holden was still huddled, eyes closed shut. He didn’t answer, considering his options, that were honestly not many but the pain was making it difficult to make a decision and the doctor probably thought it was time to give him a push. She carefully pulled up his t-shirt. Holden was completely still, frozen, and he only managed to say:

― Could you stop?

The doctor did stop. Holden felt her gaze on him and felt like he couldn’t breathe and he was panicking and knew she’d notice. That was… shameful.

― I can’t stop it. You can, ― she said. Holden was beathing hard but wasn’t saying anything, so that the doctor, who wasn’t backing down for sure, let her hand get near Holden.

― Please! Please! ― Holden said, tears strolling down his face. ― I’m… I’m telling you.

The shame was insane now. He was giving up. Years of training for what? To be destroyed by such a simple wound? That was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

The doctor didn’t lower her guard. She did not let go of the t-shirt and asked, for the millionth time:

― Why’d you start a fight with him?

― I wasn’t lying about that, ― he started, voice trembling. The doctor didn’t seem to like the answer. ― Wait, I’m not done! Uhm, he… he used to be the boss around here and then when I got here everybody started to consider me the boss, though I didn’t want to be! It wasn’t my fault! And that’s where the hostility started and I had to answer to his taunts, because…

While he was talking, the doctor had lowered his t-shirt, but Holden couldn’t calm down still.

― Why? ― she insisted.

― Well, I do not have much to lose, do I?

She nodded and went on to the next question:

― Why don’t you want to talk to me?

― Because I don’t trust you.

― I work here.

― You just spent the last hour beating me.

― You weren’t cooperating.

Holden went silent.

― This could have been much easier and we could have been done by now if you had just answered straight away. You made me hit you. And for nothing, because, as you can see, I always get what I want.

Holden felt the anger come back heavier than ever.

― I wanna leave.

― I know. You didn’t want to come here and you didn’t want to stay and now you want to leave. Of course. But I’m not done yet. We have to do something about your anger and this… not wanting to open up thing.

― I am opening up.

― Because I forced you to.

― Nobody wants to open up to a stranger!

― I can help you, I’m a professional. But only if you talk to me.

― I don’t want your help.

― Yeah, but you need it.

― I do not!

A tear went down Holden’s face and he wiped it as fast as he could, hoping she wouldn’t see it.

― You do, you just won’t admit it. And that’s because you do not want to show people that you’re vulnerable unless you’re forced to. But I can force you like today for as much time as needed, until you feel comfortable in this position, if that’s what you want.

― I don’t, ― Holden said.

― Well, you know what to do about that ―. She breathed in deeply and then asked, emotionless: ― Last question: how does it feel to lose your powers?

― Great, you know? Just what I wanted.

She glared at him.

― You already know how that feels! ― he snapped.

― Of course I know. But I want you to tell me.

― Why? ― he said, but it came out with a hurt tone that he didn’t want to recognize.

― You need to know how you feel. Hiding behind a strong look won’t give you the answers you’re looking for.

― I know how I feel.

― Then tell me.

Holden sighed and looked away while answering:

― It feels like I’ve lost a part of myself. Like I need protection now. Like I’ve fallen twice, like you said.

― We all need protection from others. If we were anywhere else, without the guards, you would have probably shoot me with that gun until I wasn’t a threat anymore. But I have others’ support, so that did not happen.

― If you need protection, that doesn’t mean I do. I work alone, always have.

― What about Ruben? He protects you.

― I hate it.

― But you let him.

Holden met her gaze but did not answer.

The doctor got up.

― We’re done for today. I’ll see you in a week, hoping we do not have to get through this again.

― In a week? This was supposed to be our only appointment!

The doctor had slid her card, opened the door, and was now telling Ruben:

― Put him in solitary.

― Hey, what? Why? ― Holden complained.

― You need discipline, ― was the only thing she said before leaving.

Holden tried to get up, but everything hurt. Thankfully, Ruben came to the rescue.

― What happened here? ― he asked, looking at him worried.

― You didn’t… hear?

― The walls are soundproof.

Holden leaned on Ruben to stand completely. He wasn’t feeling very well.

― Take me back to my cell, ― he asked, begged almost.

― I have to take you to the infirmary. You don’t look well. And then… in solitary.

― You’re not going to do that, are you?

― I have to.

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HR pt.1

― I’m not going in there, ― said Holden. Ruben rolled his eyes.

― I didn’t ask you. You’re going in whether you like it or not. Maybe next time you’ll think again before starting a fight.

Ruben held on Holden’s arm tighter, expecting him to try and escape. Holden didn’t. He was perfectly conscious of his condition, cuffs on his wrists, guards all around him. Nonetheless, he definitely wasn’t seeing a therapist. That was a big no. Though, there wasn’t much he could do in that moment, so he did get into the dark room, Ruben not leaving his arm.

The first thing he saw was a lady sitting at the other side of a desk. She was probably checking her phone when Holden got in and even after she noticed the guest, she didn’t give him much attention. Holden didn’t know how to feel about that.

― Close the door please, ― she said, still not looking. Ruben left his arm and squeezed gently on his forearm. Holden had gotten quite used to those small signs of affection, probably the most they could get out of that situation.

The door closed behind him and Holden didn’t move. He wouldn’t have said a word to that woman. How could he trust her? He didn’t know her and wasn’t going to talk about his past or anything.

― Sit, please.

She had a weird voice. Kind, but firm. Strong. That was enough for Holden to up his guard even more. He sat though, thinking he would probably spend the next hour in complete silence, letting her do the talk, waiting for it to be over.

― So, Holden Temane, right? Nice to meet you, I’m doctor Taylor, ― she introduced herself, finally looking at Holden.

Holden didn’t like her gaze and didn’t answer. but nodded. He didn’t want to make a fuss out of the whole situation, so he thought he’d cooperate, playing nice just to get by.

― I’ve heard you started a fight with another inmate the other day. Want to tell me why?

― We don’t get along, ― Holden answered immediately.

― Sure, that I was quite convinced of. But in the specific? How did the fight start?

― He proposed a fight, I accepted.

― Sounds very civil.

― It was.

She lowered her gaze and smiled. Holden had no idea what she was smiling about but if there was something funny, he didn’t quite catch it and if there wasn’t, then that was at the very least creepy. Both ways, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like her.

― So you just fought until the guards intervened, correct?

― Yes.

― Do you regret it? ― she asked, slowly. It sounded like a serpent and it sounded like a test. If it wasn’t for that particular tone, Holden would have probably given up to the temptation of telling her how much he enjoyed the fight and beating the shit out of that guy. But, he remembered he wanted this to be over soon.

― Of course, ― he replied then, as kindly ad he could. That was probably the reason why it sounded so fake.

― I’ve heard you didn’t want to be here today, ― she said after a few seconds. She was holding a pencil between her fingers and started fidgeting with it. The sheet of paper in front of her was completely blank.

― I’m not very sociable.

― I noticed.

She looked at him for a time that felt way longer than it probably was. Holden held her gaze.

― Do you reckon we won’t leave this room until I get the information I want?

― I have no secrets. Ask and I’ll tell you.

― Still you haven’t said a honest word since you got in here.

― I don’t think that’s true.

― Do I scare you?

That was such a random question that Holden laughed a little.

― You find it funny? Usually prisoners don’t really liked having their power taken away ―. She pointed with her head on the table. Holden knew she actually wanted to point at his ankle under the table, circled by a thick black line. Inmates in fact were given a potion to stop their powers, and that mark on his skin was the sign it was active.

― I don’t love it, I admit. But I’m perfectly capable even without my powers.

― You really are a fallen Angel, aren’t you? A proud one.

― I’m just doing my time here. Not looking for trouble.

She ignored that.

― And what does your brilliant mind think about me? What’s my Shape? I may be an Angel, too.

― To be honest, I wouldn’t care much. Don’t know if you noticed, but I’m on the other side of the coin, compared to where the other Angels and Demons stand.

― Of course I noticed, that’s why I called you a fallen Angel. All the other Angels and Demons are fighting for Justice and then there’s you. You were known as the greatest assassin but here we are, how does imprisonment feel?

Holden was close to snap but he knew better. Years of training helped with that. He stayed silent.

― It’s funny, you know? You were a fallen Angel at first, when you became a criminal, and then it’s like you fell again now that you’re in jail! You’re like a bottomless pit, when you think you can get lower, that’s when you do.

― There’s a reason if I’m known as the best assassin. I can go further than others can.

She giggled.

― I like you. You’re smart and you’re funny. Such a shame we have to do this, ― she said while standing up and reaching for the door. She slid a card and the door opened. Outside, Ruben was still standing there.

― I need you to take off his handcuffs, ― she said. Holden couldn’t catch Ruben’s expression from his position but he could well imagine the uncertainty. Ruben uncuffed him anyway, looking at him for answers that didn’t come because he didn’t have them.

The door closed again.

― Since you didn’t answer my question before, and since I’m feeling charitable today, I’m telling you my Shape. I’m a Vampire.

A cold chill ran through Holden’s back. Fuck. Angels and Demons were extremely vulnerable to Vampires: direct skin contact could easily burn them and were poisonous. Could easily get infected. And Angels and Demons have very few possibilities of surviving the bite of a Vampire.

Holden wouldn’t have been worried if only he had his powers. He could have easily won that woman. But now, he was just a human, quite a tired one, who was very vulnerable to the touch of Vampires and if that wasn’t enough, Vampires were statistically very strong. Now, she was probably at least ten times stronger than him.

― I don’t care, as I said.

He didn’t believe, she didn’t either. But she worked for the police! She certainly couldn’t kill him. He probably could have found a way to kill her, but he also wanted out of jail. And Ruben wouldn’t have been happy if he killed her.

― You’re cute.

―I’m adding it to my repertoire? Smart, funny and cute.

She smiled again and moved closer to Holden.

― Come on, we’re fighting. Stand up.

Holden didn’t move.

― Is this some new kind of therapy? I’ve never heard of it, but…

A punch hit him directly on his cheekbone, before he could even realize. He definitely didn’t expect her to do that for real.

He fell from the chair, already feeling the burn on his cheek from the contact with the Vampire. He got up as fast as he could, ready to fight and quite angry.

― That was most certainly not the legal way.

― Since when do you worry about that, Mr. Outlaw?

Holden gritted his teeth. This was not good and wasn’t ending well for him, however it could go.

― I thought you were a greater fighter, was I wrong? The greatest assassin, ready to fight whoever stood in his way. You’re not that cocky anymore, are you?

― This is not a fair fight. If you want to test me, then I want my powers back and I want to know I won’t get in trouble for this.

― You think I’d want a fair fight with you? God, no. And you think I’m that easy to manipulate? Please, baby.

She got to him very fast, but he defended himself well. Took the decision to sacrifice his hands to protect the rest of him.

― What do you want?

― Honest answers. Am I asking for a lot?

― I gave you those answers already.

― You did not.

Another punch, Holden used all his strength and precision to kick her while dodging the punch. Only, her defense as a Vampire was so much that she almost didn’t feel the punch and took advantage of the situation to hit Holden again. He was unbalanced from the kick and the blow hit his lower rib. He could swear he heard it break, his breath stopped for a while, he stumbled back and hit the wall behind him. His eyes were watering and the next punch his jaw was hit and he was spitting blood. She stopped a second, letting him catch his breath.

― I was expecting better.

He fought back. Tried to punch her, she blocked it but he didn’t stop. After a while of that, he was breathless and tired, but had hit her at least twice. Still, she didn’t have a scratch. Luckily, that was not Holden’s plan: he just wanted to move around the room unnoticed to grab the gun on the floor, the one he had sacrificed his rib for. When he kicked the doctor, he was aiming exactly at the gun, making it fall from her belt to the floor.

He finally reached for the gun and pointed it at her. She froze.

― Shoot me and everybody will know.

― Stop and I won’t shoot you.

― It won’t kill me.

Holden knew that: some Shapes are very resistant and bullets don’t get to penetrate their skin. Vampires were one of those Shapes, so were Angels and Demons. But even if it didn’t kill them, being shot was pretty unpleasant.

― Sure, why not trying then? You said you didn’t want a fair fight.

― If you shoot me you’re never getting out of jail. Why don’t you just answer me honestly? This would be much easier.

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no excuses writing meme, askbox version

(Nicked from iambickilometer):

drop one of these bad boys in my askbox and i will post, without editing

FIRST — the first two sentences of my current project

LAST — the most recently written two sentences of my current project

NEXT — the next line. meaning i will finish the sentence I’m on and write a new one, which you’ll get.

[insert prompt here] — you post a prompt, and i’ll write three sentences based on that prompt, set in the same time/setting as my current project

THE END — i’ll make up an ending, or post the ending if i’ve written it

BEFORE THE BEGINNING — three sentences (or more) about something that happened before the plot of my current project

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

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“One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters…But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.”

— Charles Baudelaire

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Number 12

A defiant assertive whumpee who gets back from their stay with the whumper and who suddenly becomes submissive and reserved. Caretakers heart just shattering when they see how much whumpee has changed. Wondering what happened to make them like that and if they’ll ever be the same again.

-Avoiding eye contact

-Avoiding conflict

-Keeps their head down

-Not expressing wants/needs anymore

-Change in posture/way they hold themselves

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“There are some feelings you will never find words for; you will learn to name them after the ones who gave them to you.”

— Maza Dohta

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Break the shit out of the whumpee and then give me their inner monologue of “I can’t break here, I have so much to go back to” but then slowly it turns into “I just have to survive” and then it’s “I don’t think I can survive” and then it’s “I just have to do whatever it takes to survive” and that’s when they’ll be broken.

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Fever Prompts: 01

When Whumpee has a 102 degree (F) fever, and cannot be covered in lots of blankets, but feels so cold and is crying and begging for one more to stay warm.

Completely delirious from the heat, and fading in and out, unable to comprehend what is happening around them, whether it is good, or bad.

When someone thinks that it’s a good idea to bathe Whumpee in ice cold water to cool them down, but it actually shocks their system and makes the fever even worse.

Temperature checking, just all of it.

Hallucinating from the fever, and seeing things and people they do not want to see [like from their past experiences; or Whumper]

Or, the opposite. Being someplace bad, and hallucinating that they are safe with the Caretaker.

Fighting the Caretaker because they can’t understand what is happening to them, and having to be held/strapped down to receive medical attention.

Passing out somewhere from a bad fever, and having to be carried to a place where they can rest.

Needing to drink fluids to stay hydrated, but the fever makes Whumpee so listless and tired that they can’t even swallow.

Having a fever during the worst time possible [like a fight; meeting; whumping session; argument; etc.]

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can you do an aesthetic for hair grabbing//manhandling please??? thanks!

Oooh, yes, that’s a good one!  Let me know if I got everything you were thinking of!

Aesthetic: Manhandling

So there are the classics, the ones we know and love - being herded by a gun, hands in the air, moving slowly to stall for time and also because a trembling trigger finger will spasm at any sudden action.  A sword shoved in the hollow of a throat, head tilted back, eyes narrowed, a smirk as they swallow, as the swordpoint digs in a little deeper.  Being dragged with shackles and chains, resisting because of both pain and defiance, a glower on their face.

And then there are the ones that are special.  The ones that don’t use weapons.  The ones that use only bare hands.

A fist wrapped in long hair, yanking back (it’s always back, isn’t it, forcing the guard open and leaving the neck defenseless).  Do they grin, eyes slanted, a deliberate swallow to draw attention to the angles of their neck?  Do they snarl, tears almost forming at the corner of their eyes at the pain when they resist?  Do they cry out, trying to comply but moving too slowly, too weak, the movement tugging at old wounds?

A hand around the neck, just underneath the jaw, shoving them into a wall.  Not quite choking, but their windpipe is compressed and they shove themselves on tiptoes and talk faster and faster as they’re pressed against the wall.

Two guards on either side, forcing arms behind back and palms yanked up.  The position is beyond uncomfortable and the fingers are tight on their wrists.  It is almost too discomforting to pay attention to the conversation.

Tackling them to the floor.  A sudden expulsion of breath, fingers jabbed into pressure points, a heavy weight on their limbs.  They’re on their back before they realize what’s going on.  They are restrained before they can breathe again.

A hand on a wrist - deceptively casual, but the grip is strong, grinding bones together, and the wrist is weak.  A sudden yank to drag them closer, stumble-stuttering forward, a wince as their wrist is nearly pulled out of alignment.

A crushing grip.  A handshake that turns into a pissing contest, an easy smile as their fingers grind against each other.  The pain is unbearable and they drop to their knees, pleading for it to stop.

We don’t need guns or swords or chains.  We have hands - hands that can twist in hair, that can tighten around bones, that can push and pull and squeeze and break.  The human body is versatile at fighting, at dominating.  Make full use of it.  Of the intimacy in using hands, of the roughness, of framing power and strength.  

Tools are useful to even the playing field.  But sometimes they don’t need tools.  Sometimes they’re just stronger.  Stronger than your strongest characters.  And they will prove it by treating them like a toy.

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More Snarky Whump Prompts/Starters

“Bet you $100 that’s infected.”

“I’m not going to coddle you this time, you made the choice to overdo it. Suffer the consequences.”

“One of these days, you’re not going to get back up.”

“You can’t keep rushing headfirst into danger and not expect get hurt!”

“I don’t know who told you you’re invincible, but you’re not.”

“There’s a difference between being brave and being stupid! I don’t know why, but you keep picking ‘stupid!’”

“Um…that is not how bandaids work.”

“I can’t tell if I’m more relieved you survived or angry you almost got yourself killed in the first place.”

“The shape you’re in, you couldn’t even take on a feather duster!”

“What happens when I’m not here to patch you up anymore, huh?”

“Did you make a deal with the devil or is your guardian angel working overtime?”

“You said you had a ‘small injury!’ This is not small!”

“The way you were downplaying this, I thought you stubbed your toe but there is bone coming out of your skin!”

“Sometimes I swear you’re trying to get hurt…”

“I warned you it wasn’t going to go well, but you didn’t listen.”

“You’re looking at weeks of wound healing here. Literal weeks!”

“You’re not familiar with the concept of taking it easy, are you?”

“I’d be surprised if you could make it down the hall without collapse.”

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i can never get enough of the concept of they could if they wanted to

-a whumpee who struggles to relax around their tall, muscular caretaker who towers over them with their huge hands and and strong arms. it doesn’t matter how many times the caretaker reassures them that they would never hurt them, the whumpee just can’t stop thinking that if they ever decided to hurt them it would be so easy

-when the team find the whumpee chained up, chest exposed, and their whole body feels ice cold with fear because they’re so vulnerable and they could just hurt them right now and the whumpee couldn’t do anything about it 

-struggling to fall asleep once they’ve been rescued because then they’re powerless

-freaking out every time the caretaker has a weapon on them, even if theyre just innocently chopping vegetables or fixing their car

how does the caretaker get through to the whumpee? how do they convince them that friends don’t hurt one another? how do they get the whumpee to let their defences down and actually start to heal?