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"IT WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE A ONESHOT!!!" i scream, desperately clawing at the floor, as the fic drags me back into The Depths to continue writing against my will for the rest of eternity

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Whumper being sick has so much potential. Does whumper heal in private, retreat into themselves, reluctant to let whumpee see them in a moment of weakness? Does whumper put on a brave face and pretend that everything is normal, carry on with their torment between sniffles and groans? Do they worry about passing the sickness onto whumpee - whether true worry for whumpee's health, or wanting to avoid taking care of a sick whumpee? If whumpee asks them how they're feeling, how does whumper react?

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ahhhhh typo in my last post! fixed now but yikes!

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Love for the whumpees who don't get better. Who don't get to experience robust recovery. Who are in and out of severe crisis for the rest of their lives. Who still have a soft place to land and people who will work with them. Who might not ever be able to reintigrate into society how they once were. Who might not get a job, make money, be able to live independently. Who have support systems nonetheless. So much love for them.

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i feel like an often-overlooked downside to 10-episode seasons and the death of the "monster of the week" format is that we get way less whump variety nowadays. used to be that there'd be dozens of opportunities for your fave to get punched or kidnapped or hypnotized or what have you. these days if it doesn't fit into the main plot, it just doesn't happen. this is a tragedy. we should be protesting.

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Five-Sentence Fics

I'm trying to crawl my way out of a writing drought, so I'm going to try a five sentence fic or two this weekend. Feel free to drop a prompt, word, scenario, question, anything in my inbox!

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brainwashing tropes are fantastic and I love a deep POV whumpee fighting against their own mind but I just had a vision of the team, weapons raised against a feral opponent wearing the face of their friend, turning towards caretaker/leader/whoever knows them best. "you're the only one they'll listen to. Tell them to stand down."

caretakers with hoarse, pleading voices, hands raised in surrender. "it's me, you know me! why are we fighting? you don't want to hurt us!"

leaders who hate their authority, commanding a firm, no-nonsense tone. "weapons down, Whumpee. that's an order."

brawn characters, arms outstretched, speaking plainly. "come on. y'know i don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to."

the rest of the team waits with bated breath. if this doesn't work, blood will be spilled. their last hope of getting Whumpee back relies on one character's words. that tense, pleading standoff, conflict in their eyes.

does it work? or does it take a fight to wake their friend from the nightmare?

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a disorientated whumpee at a party with whumper's arm uncomfortably thrown over their shoulder. Whumper’s fingers ghost over the curve of their throat, dipping along the scars on their exposed neck.

There's a spiraling fear that they can't quite name-- they're losing themself in this nightmare of insinuating whispers.

The music is pounding and Whumpee can feel it in their teeth.

Whumper pulls them into a dark corner to push a drink up to their lips. "Your friends are coming," Whumper's voice is low, it's calm, it's measured, and Whumpee's skin crawls. "You're going to tell them you want to stay with me."

"No--"

"Or one of them will take your place."

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Whump prompt: carewhumper makes whumpee write a cover letter.

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big big biggest possible fan of when a whumpee who sacrificed themself for their friends/teammates is publicly displayed for their friends to see. Like their capture is broadcasted, or a video sent to the team, or its some sort of public setting where whumpee follows whumper around on a chain or more humiliatingly, a leash and collar. Even better if whumpee was someone they used to look up to as someone stronger/ more powerful than them and. Is now reduced to a toy

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“Is there anything left of the old you?”

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If you're still doing the one-word prompts, maybe "soft" for Declan?

Hope you have a lovely day/night ❤️

cw:/ bloodbag whumpee, rescued whumpee, recovery whump, dubcon(?) drugging, mention of nausea/vomiting/sickness, whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, vampire caretaker

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Panic crashed over Declan the very second the needle slipped into his arm, muscles jerking weakly, eyes wild with the fear he couldn’t voice. What were they pumping him with this time? Another sedative? Something to keep him quiet, keep him still? His thoughts spun, chasing the memory of too many injections that had left him foggy, numb, obedient.

Declan rolled his weary head - just slightly - towards August’s hand resting near his pillow, a question in the gesture. The vampire mumbled soft apologies and endless promises that Declan would be a fool to believe. August’s hand settled on Declan’s shoulder, gentle and grounding, and his voice came careful.

“It’s just a little something to help with the sickness,” August soothed, “Anti-nausea. You’ve been throwing up so much, Declan…it’s making you weaker. This will ease that, I promise. Nothing more.”

Declan’s breathing slowed and his body stilled beneath August’s hand. The nausea still churned in his gut, his throat raw from retching and bile clinging at the back of his tongue. He hated how the promise of relief pulled at something deep inside of him - need, not trust. His lashes fluttered, a slow blink that was the closest thing to permission he could give. Whatever the leech had put in him, it was already too late to stop it - and this time, maybe, it would help.

August’s fingers softly brushed Declan’s sweat-slicked hair back from his pale face and tucked it behind his red-hot ear. “I’ve asked Lucas to bring you a glass of water for your bedside, okay? I may pop my head in from time to time to see how you are. Just try to get some rest.”

Declan’s throat worked, but no words came - just the dip of his chin, a nod so small it could’ve been a twitch. He let his eyes slip shut. He didn’t trust the drug, didn’t trust the hands that gave it - but he was so tired of vomiting, of the shakes and shivers, of feeling like his body was turning against him again. If this eased it, even a little, he’d take his chances.

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What they don't tell you about writing is that as you write, you discover scenes and entire plots that you hadn't accounted for that need to be written. So you can spend two hours writing and editing only to realise you're further away from the finish line than you thought you were when you started

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Well, it's been almost two months since I've been active on this blog. So. I'm alive. Don't become a lawyer. See you around sometime.

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my favorite genre of fictional character is like "i am terrifying to almost everyone, i'm very good at killing, i can endure anything, i've become exceptionally good at playing into my reputation, and if you try to give me positive social interaction i will react with confusion and cower in a corner like an abused animal. and i may try to shoot you. but there is also a chance i may imprint on you like a feral dog receiving its first loving touch! good luck."

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he just looks so torture-able . like it would be a disservice NOT to torture him.. . he WANTS to be tortured

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Daily affirmations

I am a freak and that is ok

Anyone who hates on me for my writing has never picked up a pencil in their life

I should be more self indulgent

My characters should suffer more