snakebites-and-ink - Tumblr blog

[snakebites-and-ink]

i used to be so good at writing strong, thoroughly-researched, thoroughly-edited essays.

as a kid in hs, my teacher literally came up to me, holding my 40 page essay on the intersection of the European witch hunts and capitalism/exploitation/gender roles (it was supposed to be 7 pages...whoops) and went like "this is literally a master's-degree level thesis. what are you doing?? you could literally use this as your final dissertation in a master's program, what the fuck."

NOW??? NOW?? you'd think I'd be oh so skilled. but alas. i can barely piece together two ideas. adhd skill-regression is so so real. im SOBBING

[snakebites-and-ink]

god i hate knowing i have stuff to do it's like bearing a curse

[snakebites-and-ink]

Infatuated with weird gender vibes. Reblog if you have weird gender vibes, want weird gender vibes, are also infatuated with weird gender vibes, or would like to have your brain surgically wired to a biohorror mecha.

[snakebites-and-ink]

[snakebites-and-ink]

[snakebites-and-ink]

capybara

[snakebites-and-ink]

  Any advice for new/beginning/young writers?

just do it. write the most self indulgent stuff youre really passionate about, and the audience who appreciates it will eventually flock to you.

and read! read the stuff you wanna be able to write and steal little pieces and put it into your own writing. thats how you get better and closer to the vision in your head about how you want your writing to sound

[snakebites-and-ink]

The Chosen One™ is on the brink of death in The Final Battle™.

They are struggling to keep themselves alive, telling themselves that they are a failure if they do die while at the same time denying themselves that they were only a living weapon.

The spirit of death coaxes the hero to finally give in and come with it, they need to rest and finally close their eyes, and they will be alright if they just finally let go.

content: hero whump i guess, injury, near death, living weapon whump

“They don’t care about you.”

Whumpee coughed, letting more blood splatter on the ground before them. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter whether anyone cared about them. They barely cared about themself — but what they did care about was the entire world that was resting on their shoulders.

“Shut up,” they rasped.

They’d seen the spirit of death before. They’d met her several times, in particularly gruelling battles, but she’d never spoken to them. Were they this close to dying now?

“I could show you a whole new world,” she went on, unbothered. She reached out a hand, almost close enough that Whumpee could touch it. “A world free of suffering and sorrow.”

“I have a world already!” they snapped. “And I’m going to save—” Another coughing fit cut their monologue short, and the spirit took another step towards them.

“Come with me, little hero. Come with me and rest.”

“I can’t!” They pushed themself up, stubborn as a mule.

“One day I’m going to claim them all, you know.”

Whumpee looked into her eyes with flaming determination as they wiped the blood from the corners of their mouth. “Not today.”

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA 7

CW for the series | Masterlist

You chose to explain that you’ve had a change of heart.

You’ve got to give them some explanation. Whumpee might not have reason to believe you right away, but they need to know regardless so they don’t have to be as afraid. Hopefully how gentle you’ve been today will lend at least a little credence to what you have to say.

“Whumpee, we need to talk.—It’s nothing bad, you’re not in trouble or anything. I just—there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Okay,” they peep softly. They meet your gaze, nervous as always but giving you their full attention.

How do you even say this? “I…don’t feel good about hurting you like I have been anymore. I don’t want to keep treating you badly. I’d like to treat you better now. Help you recover, hopefully. I’m not going to harm you anymore, you understand?”

“Yes sir,” they say, but you can tell it’s an automatic response rather than actual agreement. Still, they seem to mull it over after, searching your words for truth or hidden meanings, as if they are actually considering what you said regardless of how they first responded.

OK. Whether they fully believe it or not, at least they know. You've got another hour or so until you'll need to turn in for the night. And since you gave them time to rest earlier, Whumpee's not looking too tired yet. Maybe they could use a low stress activity now that their most serious needs are taken care of.

On the other hand, you could just let them go now that you’ve had the chance to explain yourself. But you are hesitant to risk them going to the police, and you’re not certain whether or not that would be best for Whumpee at this stage anyway.

Taglist: (split into fives because the tungle is being dumb)

@kabie-whump, @whumpanthems, @whumpsoda, @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz,

@taterswhump, @alivenova, @whumped-by-glitter, @expressionless-fr, @whumpycries,

@whumpsday, @moons-cozy-corner, @echo-goes-aaa, @whumplr-reader, @starfields08000,

@whump-blog, @ivymyers, @currentlyinthesprial

[snakebites-and-ink]

I know I’ve said this before but vampires

don’t show up on camera

can fly/scale walls

immune to bullets

can break into any safe by turning into fog or some bullshit

could probably hypnotize security guards as needed

therefore I am in dire need of a heist film where a group of vampires band together to steal back their old stuff from museums

[snakebites-and-ink]

Calling myself out with this meme tbh

[snakebites-and-ink]

"ai is making it so everyone can make art" Everyone can make art dipshit it came free with your fucking humanity

[snakebites-and-ink]

I get so excited every time I see your whump CYOA. It's so fun!

Aaa thank you anon, this makes me really happy to hear! I'm glad you're enjoying!

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA 7

CW for the series | Masterlist

You chose to explain that you’ve had a change of heart.

You’ve got to give them some explanation. Whumpee might not have reason to believe you right away, but they need to know regardless so they don’t have to be as afraid. Hopefully how gentle you’ve been today will lend at least a little credence to what you have to say.

“Whumpee, we need to talk.—It’s nothing bad, you’re not in trouble or anything. I just—there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Okay,” they peep softly. They meet your gaze, nervous as always but giving you their full attention.

How do you even say this? “I…don’t feel good about hurting you like I have been anymore. I don’t want to keep treating you badly. I’d like to treat you better now. Help you recover, hopefully. I’m not going to harm you anymore, you understand?”

“Yes sir,” they say, but you can tell it’s an automatic response rather than actual agreement. Still, they seem to mull it over after, searching your words for truth or hidden meanings, as if they are actually considering what you said regardless of how they first responded.

OK. Whether they fully believe it or not, at least they know. You've got another hour or so until you'll need to turn in for the night. And since you gave them time to rest earlier, Whumpee's not looking too tired yet. Maybe they could use a low stress activity now that their most serious needs are taken care of.

On the other hand, you could just let them go now that you’ve had the chance to explain yourself. But you are hesitant to risk them going to the police, and you’re not certain whether or not that would be best for Whumpee at this stage anyway.

Taglist: (split into fives because the tungle is being dumb)

@kabie-whump, @whumpanthems, @whumpsoda, @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz,

@taterswhump, @alivenova, @whumped-by-glitter, @expressionless-fr, @whumpycries,

@whumpsday, @moons-cozy-corner, @echo-goes-aaa, @whumplr-reader, @starfields08000,

@whump-blog, @ivymyers, @currentlyinthesprial

[snakebites-and-ink]

An Axe, A Forest - 3

The weapon had lost track of how much time had passed since that door opened. She'd slept a little. Maybe. But food hadn't been delivered so maybe she hadn't. Her stomach gnawed at her ribs like an unhappy animal at the bars of its enclosure and she bent over her knees to stifle the noise.

The darkness was oppressive, choking every thought that tried to form in her mind. She tried to recall the faces of her family, of the soldiers she was in basic with. Hell, she even tried to remember what she, herself, looked like. All she could find was formless smoke where her face should be.

Floating between dizzying sleep and motion sick wakefulness, Fugue became aware of the boots on the floor outside her door. Her heart started slamming a wild dance against her sternum and she pressed further into the corner, shielding her face from the white-hot rectangle of light that pierced through the dark.

“AEX-1307, do not move.”

The Handler. Voice sharp, command clear. The weapon stayed as still as she could, long dirty fingernails digging into the skin of her legs as she waited.

Steps. Her brows pinched. More than one set.

Pain studies were taught by multiple hands, multiple boots. This was training, then. She could handle it.

But no blows came.

The Handler was speaking again, his voice shifted into something quiet and poisonous. A shuddering breath, a shuffle of feet on the dirt. The snap of an ordered “Sit”.

There was a great thump of something dropped onto the floor before the booted feet walked one, two, three, four, five, six, back to the door.

“AEX-1307, meet DGA-67. Maintain ‘friendly’ command unless otherwise directed. Understood?”

“Yes, Handler.” The weapon croaked, still unmoving. Her throat burned with unspoken questions.

“DGA-67. Command ‘docile’ now in effect.”

“Yes, Handler.”

That was a new one. A new voice. From the middle of the floor. The weapon’s breathing quickened and grew louder as the door closed. There was someone else in the room. A person? Another weapon?

She wasn't sure what to do with this. The dark swallowed her once more and she fought with her body to quiet it as she listened.

Fast, wispy inhales. A wheeze on the exhale. Something scratching in the dirt. The rattle of metal. A deeper inhale.

“Hello?” The newcomer, DGA, spoke into the empty space between them. Fugue straightened her back slowly and turned towards the speaker.

“I'm here.” It was like she choked on a sob as she spoke. It had been so long.

“Where? I can't see.”

“Keep talking. I'll follow.”

DGA spoke in a tiny voice, not sure what to say but speaking anyways, as Fugue crawled towards them on her hands and knees. It was an achingly long moment before she got close enough to feel the puffs of breath from the other weapon.

Her fingers found a knee under ragged, scratchy fabric, then they found a hip, a stomach. DGA felt along Fugue's back and shoulders.

Both of them were shaking as they embraced.

The hug was tight, full of screams that wouldn't come and tears that came in quantities that would flood the world. Fugue could feel the newcomer's heart beating rapidly against her own. Her hand found the back of a closely shaved head and pressed DGA’s face into her shoulder and started rocking.

“What's your name?”

“I don't- it's Dog. They call me fucking Dog.”

—---------------

“Fugue? Hey.” The captain snapped his fingers before her face, making her blink and refocus her gaze on him.

“I apologize, sir. What did you ask?”

“I wanted to know about this individual called Dog. They have her listed alongside you on several training reports.”

Fugue felt her mouth going sour and she clasped her hands before her, squeezing them so hard it hurt. Dog. Friendly. Train.

Sacrifice.

“Yes, sir. What did you need to know?”

The captain eyed her reaction, humming in his throat before continuing. “How long did you work together?”

“One month.” The answer came quick, easy. Her previous Handler told her that was the right way to answer a superior.

“You both were trained in irregular warfare tactics and close quarters combat and were housed together. Does that feel correct?”

Fugue inhaled slow and deep, thinking back to the sessions at the facility.

The two of them, left alone in that room for what must have been days, were eventually pulled, washed and dressed, and thrown into a training session with only one directive: kill the red targets.

Specifically, the Handler said “AEX and DGA, we are working with a new command today. ‘Hunt’.”

The lights of that room dimmed to a merciless ultraviolet and the two weapons, each given a pistol and a knife, moved into the room with their bodies pressed close. Sound pumped into the room, low vibration making the floor shake under their feet with intense bass. Every 60 seconds, the Handler's voice rang out through the speakers in the corners of the room.

“Hunt.” Was all he said. When a kill was achieved, either by Fugue or by Dog, his voice would become warm and he'd practically purr “Good work” to them.

The exercise lasted 20 minutes.

All red targets were annihilated, but Fugue had taken a slice along her thigh. She was dragged from Dog to receive medical attention, rough hands holding her down as she was stitched closed, and she was returned to the closet where she found Dog waiting. They crawled to one another, whispering, discussing, soothing. Dog's fingers pressed into sore muscles and Fugue dragged her nails lightly over the other weapon's scalp.

It was in this way that their training continued for the month they worked together. Pulled, trained, treated, returned. Some days, the pain studies came for them both and they were forced to listen to the other as they were made to endure agonizing, torturous beatings. Fugue insisted that it was to help them learn to tolerate pain.

Dog said it was abuse.

Back in her new handler's office, Fugue smiled sadly and nodded. “Yes, that's correct. We learned a lot together. She was a good teammate.”

The captain didn't ask for more. He got what he needed.

“I want you to go and eat something, but you should stop by the med wing first. Tabor wants to run some tests with you before the day gets on too long. Is that clear?”

The weapon nodded. “Med wing, then food.”

“Good work.” Fugue felt heat blossom in her chest at the words. “You can find Tabor back down the hall, past the kitchen on the right. If he is not there, get breakfast and visit him after. Dismissed.”

Fugue stood, snapping to attention to salute her handler before turning on her heel in an about face and leaving to complete her tasks. Back past the kitchen she went, listening once more to the conversation of her fellow soldiers as they ate. Something in her belly ached to join them, to sit and be seen, but her legs forced her forward with such a pace that she was nearly panting by the time she made it to the medic’s room.

It was obviously a living room at some point, but it had been gutted and transformed into a miniature hospital. Monitors of all kinds decorated a wall above a hydraulic metal table. Towards the opposite wall, there were three empty beds in a row near a beautiful pair of glass doors leading out to a garden. By the table, a desk had been set up and Tabor himself was scrolling through something on the computer there.

“Be right with you.” He called, not turning his head. His accent was Southern, Fugue decided, lilting as it rolled over his tongue. She stood, hands loose at her sides, and took him in.

The man was tall, she knew that, and lanky as taffy being pulled by hand. His hair was black and left as long as he could get away with. He had a scar over his nose and down one cheek and, when he finally looked at her, his eyes were the silver gray of mercury.

And his grin was infectious.

“Well, our resident weapon has decided to grace me with her presence. Come in, please. Have a seat on that table, yeah? Let me get a look at you.”

The weapon moved to obey, hopping up into the table as the medic stood and approached her. He didn't come all the way to her, not right away. He stopped exactly 2 feet from the weapon and those soft gray eyes scanned her from head to toe.

“You remember me from last night?” The question was weightless, calm. Genuine.

“Yes, sir. You're the medic for the unit.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Good! And you're called Fugue. Is that a comfortable name for you?”

Comfortable? “It's… my name.”

“Hmm. You're right, of course. Now, Fugue, I'd like to come closer and give you an examination. I have records from the WSMT facility with your medical files attached but I like to collect that information myself for each of my teammates. Do I have your permission to do so with you?”

Fugue stared.

She watched the man tilt an eyebrow up towards his hairline as he waited for her reply. Her lips felt like they were buzzing. There was no answer for him.

“Fugue?”

“I don't understand the question, sir.”

“I was looking for your consent to come closer.” He clarified. The weapon sat still, hands braced on the edge of the table with her green eyes nearly vacant. Tabor sighed and held up both hands. He could see those eyes track over the width of his palms and the length of his fingers.

“I understand that was hard for you. It's okay. Let me try again.” He smiled, scars crinkling a bit. “I am going to approach you. I'm going to come to stand by your right knee. I am going to take your vitals first, so I'll be using this stethoscope. Do you understand?”

“I understand, sir.” There. Her expression switched, no longer vacant but now keen and willing. He almost felt sick.

“Good. Thank you.” He moved slowly, hands still plainly in sight. The man walked forward and did exactly as he said he would. The heat flowing off his body felt almost soothing on her knee as he unwrapped the stethoscope from around his neck.

“Now, I'll need access to your chest. Would you please remove your shirt if you are comfortable doing so?” There was that hesitation again. Confusion. But she pulled the shirt off from the bottom so she was left sitting in only a dark blue sports bra. Tabor's eyes widened as he took her in.

“Well, fuck.”

[snakebites-and-ink]

The amount of times I've googled something for whump and it's pulled up the suicide hotline....Like thanks, Google, but I'm not doing this to myself I'm doing it to a made-up guy

[snakebites-and-ink]

Shop , Patreon , Books and Cards , Mailing List