#SAUL WHUMP

[painonthebrain]

Waking Up In a Nightmare

Whumptober Day 10: Slurred words/Passing out from the pain

Masterlist

Content: Noncon body modification/surgery (aftermath), body horror, drugging, lab whump, nausea, excessive vomit, forced stripping, nonsexual nudity, delirium

Saul comes to, unseeing, the world dark and fuzzy, laying flat on his back. Everything is heavy and muddled, confusing. Something clinks in the background, coupled with a click-clack that he can’t parse the direction or source of.

He groans, and it sounds like it’s coming from someone else’s mouth, distant.

Where?– … Huh?

He clutches something made of fabric beneath him, attempting to lift himself up, forcing his arms back and extending them slightly, shaking. His back barely lifts off of the surface of… whatever he’s on. His chest aches with the movement, fiery and stabbing.

He can hear someone say “Stable.” The voice sounds… vaguely feminine.

The world begins to come into focus, blurry and blindingly white, making his eyes water. Saul takes in a shuddering breath. His lungs scream with the very movement. The feeling of taking in air is like that of glass shards lodging themselves within his innards.

“Implanted… successfully.” The voice continues. It sounds drifty and faraway.

Saul’s thoughts turn in circles, still half-sludge. It’s like he’s asleep and awake all at once, yet able to see.

He blinks slowly. Again, he tries to lift himself up.

“Fffuck,” he slurs, coughing, dropping onto his back once more. He tries again, and manages to sit up, unsteady, his head heavy on his shoulders. Someone pushes him back and weakly, he tries to resist. “No… no, jus’ let me fuckin’ … ssta- and. … Ssit.” His voice is small, but filled with conviction. It shakes ever so slightly.

“No. Lay back.” The voice tells him, no-nonsense.

“I hhave to… ssitup. Lemme.” Saul coughs again. It sounds wet and gross. He heaves, the wetness catching in his throat. He clutches at it sluggishly. Finally, he clears it out, able to breathe, gasping. His eyes open wide as he does. He can see her now. Dr. Greyson. Her figure is still a little blurry, but he can still identify her, the smudge of blue in his vision unmistakable.

His chest still aches.

“Whhhat— what did yyou…” Saul starts to say, blindly touching his chest. He’s clothed in something other than the experiment uniform, he can feel it. The fabric is different. Beneath it, his skin gives, sticking to it. It has the hardness of some kind of slime. “Th’fuck?!” He suddenly sits up, leaning forward as if his head is too heavy for his body. As he sits, he realizes he’s wearing a hospital gown. The barest shred of decency he can be allowed here.

Then his stomach turns.

Coughing again, he hacks up something. It drips down his chin, thick and sticky. Saul covers his mouth with one hand, using the other to keep his unsteady balance in check.

He groans and mutters something unintelligible. It’s clear through the tone of his voice that it’s something vile. “… hhurts.”  Saul doubles over without warning, grasping at his chest. “Ahg- shitshitshit—” He gasps, squeezing his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as he breathes, the air seething through his teeth. It’s like something has him within its jaws, biting him clean in two. It’s viselike, crushing.

Painkillers. He needs more painkillers.

He opens his mouth to speak and gags. Nothing comes out, but nausea crawls up his throat, pressing on the back of it. He forces himself to breathe deeply. He just needs to keep it together.

He opens his mouth to speak, soundless, and the world blurs in front of him again. The need to vomit is overwhelming. Saul’s breath is ragged.

During all of this, Dr. Greyson does nothing. She types on her screens and tends to her work and with unwanted tears in his eyes Saul almost wants to cuss her out — but he forgets the words, forgets how to ask her to give him some morphine or whatever the hell it is, all he can do is sit there with his mouth clamped shut, holding back his vomit.

Eventually, he throws up, black vomit staining the front of the hospital gown and pouring down the side of the surface he lays on, spilling onto the ground with a splatter. He throws up again and again, until there’s nothing left and he’s spewing up his own bile, a bright, noxious green. The smell is pungent.

Saul’s eyes sting and he blinks over and over.

Oh god. He’s crying. He’s crying and he’s covered in his own vomit. It’s dripping down his chin and it’s all over the hospital gown, greasy and jet-black, and his front is coated with it. It’s an absolutely obscene amount of waste.

Saul heaves. His ribcage feels like it’s snapping in two and his throat burns and his heartbeats are thudding in his ears, throbbing to the point his own skull feels like a claustrophobic nightmare.

This is a nightmare.

Saul’s head swims, vision turning dark.

…

Suddenly he’s back, seeing everything in double vision, held up by cold, slick metal. Dr. Greyson touches him, her hands gloved, untying the gown. The feeling is overwhelming.

His breath comes out quick and uneven.

She drags the soiled gown away from his body in one swift movement, and then he’s exposed. Blood rushes to his ears.

He stares at his own body, first mortified, then disbelieving.

He must be delirious.

Saul doesn’t even have the will to scream. The ugly stitches across his chest bleed blue and inky black, and in the center lies a thick, sticky membrane stretched across the skin. It looks like a patchwork of his own flesh and blood, like he’s been torn apart and sewn back up like a ragdoll. And like this, he really is a doll.

The pain makes sense now. It all makes sense, in a detached, confusing kind of way.

He’s been ruined. That’s what’s happened. Nothing will ever be the same anymore.

Dr. Greyson returns with a clean gown. It flutters like a ghost as she carries it.

Saul looks away from her, curling on his side. The room appears to crumble around him, flaking away. He breathes harder. What the fuck. What the fuck.

Dr. Greyson’s face is missing. She comes closer, gloved hands reaching for his arms.

“Get th’fuck away—”

She doesn’t.

Her touch is icy cold, clashing with the roiling heat in his chest. Saul’s entire body is on fire. He tries to push her away but he can’t.

The world continues to crack apart, and he begins to crack too. Right in his chest, where the ache is the worst. She clothes him, and the fabric is so light and thin yet claustrophobic and exposing.

He’s crying again. Or his vision is blurry. He can’t tell. He can’t tell anymore. He doesn’t know. It’s too much, it’s all too much —

Saul curls in on himself, dizzy and breathing shallowly. He’s going to die, isn’t he? He’s going to die, he can feel his chest collapsing on itself—!

… Everything goes black.

[faytalepsy]

Wips and Chains

I couldn’t help myself as soon as this idea sprang into my head I just had to draw it. There are now also a myriad ideas haunting my head and tempting me to write something.

TW: Following artwork shows blood and implied self-harm/suicide

Prompt

Farah was murdered by Rosalind but Saul cannot let go and uses ancient rituals to contact her spirit. Unfortunately all rituals have a cost and require a sacrifice but what is a little of his blood when he gets to see Farah again. All too quickly he grows dependent on the rituals and what started as a little bit of blood becomes much more as the cost steadily rises. Will he be able to say the final farewell or will the broken bond become his downfall?

Sacrifice

[myalchod]

WIP Wednesday

Share the last line of your WIP, with no context!

As always, going with “the last WIP I worked on” because I am the most distractible of murderbirbs and cannot work on only one thing at once. This one’s definitely getting somewhere, especially for a thing where I literally scrapped the entirety of it and had to recalibrate a few days ago. Longhand for extra fun, since that’s how I’ve been writing at work.

(In the back of her mind, within his prison, Saul stirs.)

Mixing it up a bit in the no-pressure tags: @lottiehenrietta, @septemberrie, @whenshesayshush, @foullightdiplomatcreator-blog, @somenamewithepineapple, and anyone else who wants to do it 😘

[aceofwhump]

Fate: The Winx Saga 2x04

[whumporpass]

My OC Saul

(Propaganda)

Guyloser

Trans/genderqueer & aspec

Comes from space and is an alien

DEAD PARENTS!!

Lab experiment (basically doomed to become one from the start)

Filled with yearning and dread and self loathing and other conflicting emotions

Body horror (gets goopy, absorbs people, has more organs than normal, etc)

Fun to cut open!

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 7

Uta

"Uta." Luffy popped his head in the treehouse, smiling when he saw his friend there sitting against the bark. "Uta!" He climbed onto the platform, going over to her. "You won't believe the treasure we got today-" Luffy paused, seeing the girl has made no reaction. He pouted and began poking her cheek. "Uta... Uta... Can you hear me?"

"What are you whining about now, crybaby?" Ace grunted as he climbed into the treehouse, followed by Sabo.

"Uta sleeping so I can't tell her about the treasure we got," Luffy huffed, sitting in front of her with his arms and legs crossed.

"Just wake her up dumbie."

"I can't, she's a heavy sleeper."

"Eh? Seriously?" Sabo looked surprised. "But she always wakes up if we move too much in our sleep." He scratched his head looking at their sister.

"That's different," Luffy stated.

"How?" Sabo asked, only to receive a shrug from Luffy in response. Sabo deadpanned.

"Just yell in her ear like we do to each other." Ace went over to Uta.

"Wait, Ace don't-" Luffy tried to warn Ace but he already moved Uta's headphones.

"AHH!" Uta jumped awake, fearful eyes darting everywhere.

"Uta, Uta, calm down, you're just with us." Luffy reassured her while Ace rubbed his ears.

"Luffy?" The girl focused her gaze on him, slowly her heart rate return to a regular pace. She placed her hands over her ears, frowning when nothing were covering them. "Who took my headphones." All eyes fell on Ace who is currently finding that catapiller climbing the wall to be very interesting.

"Ace..." Sabo's tone hinted that the ravenette should probably apologize.

"Okay, I did it." Ace held out the headphones. "I didn't think anything bad would happen." 

He took a step forward, creaking a floorboard. Instantly, Uta hissed in pain as a thousand needles stung her ears. Using one hand to snatch the headphones as the other attempted to ease her ears, she hastily snapped the device back over her ears, sighing in relief.

"Don't do that again," Uta said, glaring at Ace.

"Why are they so important anyways?" Ace asked.

"Her ears hurt from all the noises everywhere if she's not wearing them," Luffy bluntly states pointing at her. Uta was about to protest but shut her mouth when Luffy technically explained it. The strawhat boy then turned the singer. "Can I tell you about the treasure we snagged today now?"

Uta nodded and Luffy cheered, leaving the other two brothers with more inquiries about their sister.

Tag: @roseoftrafalgar @bookandyarndragon

[aserene]

And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

For the amazing @junkshop-disco ---- here is Story I for the @winxsource HEX. Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year!

I promise story II will be up in the next few days, just working on a few things.

Thank you to @myalchod for their help and for listening to me scream about the gazillion ideas.

[septemberrie]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

😍😍😍 this is so fun, thanks!! I decided to do the same thing as you and exclude my longfics because obviously if I write 50k+ of something then I love love love it! so assume those are fully rec'd lol. But to recommend a one shot for each ship:

Run: [3k] Fair warning, this is dubcon, but I think I did a good job walking the line and setting up a dark alternate Season Two for Rivusa.

Antidote: [6k] I know "Fuck or Die" can be a squick for some, but it's Silrah, do they really need that much of a push?

Brewing Chemistry: [11k] It was fun to take Saundreas out of life-or-death stakes but still at each other's throats, unsure whether they want to fuck or punch each other first.

From Scratch: [5k] I wanted to write the "found family" Christmas fic, how traditions can link us to the past in ways that are comforting because they don't change and melancholy because we do.

Hostages: [1k] Ha, this one I just wanted to cause maximum psychic damage to Saul, Sky, and tumblr user skloomdumpster in particular.

[kitsu63]

And we fall - Kitsu63 - Fate: The Winx Saga (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

[painonthebrain]

Whumptober Day 20: “It’s not your fault”

It isn’t his fault. This had to happen.

The world twists and bends, and the feeling of his hands on the lab coat are so solid and firm, and then nothing as the scientist’s body parts from his fingers, the contact so short, so fleeting —

Me or him.

[lilac-gold]

Hey my birthday's on October 1st and on behalf on every October 1st birthdayers I'm offended by the existence of whumptober, I will be contacting my lawyer Saul Goodman.

afraid that's not a lawsuit you're going to win, Craig.

happy birthday for october though :)

[painonthebrain]

Wrote this in like one go bc I felt inspired

CWs: Implied body horror (two guys are sharing a body/a body fused to another but the other one is kind of just inside Saul’s at the moment so he looks normal uhh. Yeah it’s complicated), masc whumpees, experiment whumpees, lab whump (not actively occuring but. They’re in a lab)

Saul groans.

How many days has it been?

How many days in this blank white room can he even count?

He and Florence have each other, of course, but there’s not much else. There’s only so much time you can spend stuck to someone — literally. Being part of each other, fused on a molecular level.

…It’s understandably a horrible existence.

They sigh in unison, dual sets of lungs working at once, sitting on the floor and leaning back.

“Hey… Saul.” Florence says in their head. Hushed, despite not needing to be.

Saul audibly mumbles a response.

He internally huffs. “Stop that.”

“… M’no.” Saul continues to speak out loud, slumping back further so the two are laying on the ground.

Florence concedes, letting him do as he pleases.

“Saul…”

“Yes?” He finally asks silently.

“Uh… I don’t know, I — don’t listen to me.”

Saul closes his eyes. “Hm?”

“No, I — I just felt like talking. It’s so… bland here.”

Saul laughs. “You tell me.”

“I want to make something.” Florence says with conviction. Their hand twitches.

“Then do that.”

“I can’t. There’s nothing.”

“Make a story. I do it all the time.”

“But —”

“We’ll make it together. How ‘bout that?”

“ … Okay.”

“That’s more like it.”

Whump Prompt 78

Write something based on this concept:

Whumpee is so bored, bored out of their mind, bored to death in captivity, with nothing to distract them or take their mind off their situation. So what can they do?

[purplehairedwonder]

Chapter 1081: Heartbroken

Me, reading this chapter:

Okay, let’s start with the stuff on Hachinosu:

Garp and his ship land in the wake of the giant explosion at the end of last chapter. He’s worried he’s losing his touch while everyone else looks on in horror at the thought that this is what losing a step looks like. (Just saying, Akainu should be sending Sengoku flowers and chocolates for saving his life at Marineford when he stopped Garp from attacking.)

Moreover, thankfully we don’t have to wait for Garp and Coby to reunite.

But there is a complication: turns out Kuzan is actually on Hachinosu after all (which leaves Lafitte and Catarina Devon to potentially be on the ship heading to Egghead). I am genuinely surprised by this; I felt fairly certain Kuzan would be at Egghead with all the Ohara references. But now I’m wondering if Kuzan will cross paths with the Straw Hats at Elbaf... which is also where Saul is. That would be something.

(Also, I still want to know where Smoker is.)

Kuzan announces his presence by freezing Hibari. 

So, this could be a coincidence, but there’s also a potential for something more dramatic here. There are theories floating around that Hibari is Akainu’s daughter, so Kuzan freezing her here could be a sort of revenge against the man who cost him the position of Fleet Admiral and his leg.

We also get a flashback to Kuzan joining the Blackbeard Pirates:

NGL, it’s pretty sus that Kuzan and Blackbeard just happened to end up at the same place. I don’t feel like this stops the speculation that Kuzan is undercover, especially considering some of the things he says:

Back at Ohara, he says

Later, when he saves Smoker from Doflamingo on Punk Hazard, he tells Smoker

(Side note, this is very much like what Law tells Smoker about why he became a Warlord--seeing things at a different angle.)

Kuzan, despite being with Blackbeard at this point, is calling himself independent. And he says,

Which brings us to what he says on Hachinosu:

He’s acting according to his own wishes, not the World Government’s and not Blackbeard’s. After all, consider what Blackbeard says when he recruits Kuzan:

Kuzan clearly has his own agenda here--one he’s had in mind and has been inspired by for a long time, only now he feels free to act on it--and if he has to fight Garp to keep up his place in their midst until his goals are achieved, he will do so. 

(I just want to take a moment to note that we have yet another contrast between Blackbeard and Luffy; Luffy’s crew is full of his friends who fight for one another and want to help each other achieve their dreams. Blackbeard’s crew is entirely transactional.)

The way he phrases the need to make sure Coby isn’t rescued is also telling:

The optics would be bad for his mission if Coby got out in his watch, and that’s the only concern. He’s not a true believer here; he’s doing what is necessary for whatever his mission is.

So, Kuzan is an immovable object and Garp is an unstoppable force. They collide.

AND NOW TO THE PART OF THE CHAPTER THAT WILL BE LIVING RENT FREE IN MY BRAIN FOR THE REST OF FOREVER.

Oh no.

WELL, THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY.

This panel... hit me like a physical blow. Law’s been on the Tang since he was 16. I’m emotional about it.

Law whumps so pretty, sorry not sorry. (Add this to the file with him on the Heart Throne in Dressrosa and being tortured in Wano.) Bepo is... really adorable? And I love that the two of them are together here? Bepo’s with his captain, and I cry. This was also a brutal fight since it was Blackbeard and three Titanic commanders vs. the Hearts.

And another Rocky Port mention:

So, this confirms that Law got his hundred hearts at Rocky Port, and they’re all still on Hachinosu.

Meanwhile, Bepo (in another adorable panel) eats a new rumble ball from Chopper. (Can we talk about Chopper making this for Bepo? Chopper, bb, I love you so much.)

Law, stop being so pretty while you’re bloodied up.

Blackbeard knows about the Perennial Youth Operation, which is not surprising since he’s been hunting down Devil Fruits and Law’s is known as the Ultimate Devil Fruit. It’s interesting, too, that when Blackbeard ambushes Law, he says it’s for Law’s poneglyphs, but when Law is defeated, he talks about his Devil Fruit instead.

(Speaking of Law’s poneglyphs, did Blackbeard get them? With the Tang sinking and the captain and navigator escaping... wouldn’t it be ironic if he ambushed Law for his poneglyphs only to forget to take them in his victory.)

AND CHOPPER’S GIFT LETS BEPO GO SULONG WITHOUT THE FULL MOON. HYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYPE.

This bear, who is constantly apologizing for silly things, TAKES ON BLACKBEARD AND HIS TITANIC CAPTAINS to protect Law. I love their friendship so much.

Bepo takes Law and escapes in the sea. (Fun fact, polar bears can swim about 6 mph/10 kmh, and the longest known distance a polar bear has swum is 220 miles/354 km. So, Bepo is capable of getting Law to safety.)

Also, Law is leaving his hat and Kikoku behind -- two of his most visible signifiers. This... this hurts.

I am genuinely heartbroken by this moment. We know how much Law cares for his crew; he sent them to Zou to protect them from Doflamingo, and he gave himself up to be tortured in Wano to rescue Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin. He takes his role protecting his people very seriously, so he begs Bepo to turn around even though he’s in no shape to do anything. He just won’t abandon them (reminds me of him refusing to abandon Luffy if he were to die in Dressrosa).

But Bepo tells Law to trust in the Hearts. They’re tough and they’re survivors. This makes me think the Hearts will survive and regroup offscreen while Law and Bepo get away. (I can’t help but think, though, about the Hearts scattered on Winner Island and in the water and how Blackbeard is involved in the slave trade. Could you imagine the rage if Blackbeard sold the Hearts into slavery and Law had to rescue them? Or, if Blackbeard brings the survivors back as prisoners and lets the pirates with missing hearts at them... Yikes.)

Despite being conscious, Law must be in really bad shape for Bepo to be worried about him dying here. (I get that going underwater is safer against threats like Van Augur here, but Law is a badly-wounded Devil Fruit eater... he’s not going to be able to stay under very long, Bepo, heh.)

I want to examine, for a second, the way the defeat of the Hearts is framed versus the defeat of the Kid Pirates (versus the defeat of the Straw Hats in Sabaody).

“Winner Island, New World. On this day, the Heart Pirates, led by Trafalgar Law, were soundly defeated.”

“On this day, in the New World by Elbaf, the Kid Pirate crew, led by Eustass ‘Captain’ Kid, a man worth 3 billion, was completely eradicated.”

“Grove 12, Sabaody Archipelago, the Grand Line. That day, the Straw Hat Pirates, led by Captain Monkey D. Luffy, were eradicated.”

It’s quite noticeable how much more dramatically both the Kid Pirates’ and the Straw Hats’ defeats were described. For one thing, the descriptions of the Kid Pirates’ and Straw Hats’ defeats are more flowery. 

Plus, the use of the word “eradicated,” which sounds permanent. Obviously, the Straw Hats weren’t permanently broken up, but they are separated for two years. It’s a dramatic defeat. We don’t know what happened to the Kid Pirates, but it didn’t look good, as both Kid and Killer, who can’t swim, were thrown into the water. On the other hand, the Hearts are described as being “defeated” while Law and Bepo escape.

So, what comes next? On the one hand, it would make a lot of sense for Bepo to get Law to safety and then call the Straw Hats. This could be a great excuse to get Law back onto the Sunny for the duration, especially since his goal to learn about the Will of D. is aligned with Luffy’s without competing with his. Plus, you know Luffy wouldn’t hesitate to help Law.

On the other hand, if we think about where Law is in conjunction to the other two captains...

He’s closer to Elbaf than Egghead. It would not shock me if we start to see all these plotlines (Straw Hats, Kuzan, Law) converge on Elbaf.

Ugh, this chapter has completely wrecked me.

[lindsay00000008]

David playing the harp for King Saul vibes…

…but make it whump.

CW: creepy/intimate whumper, noncon elements, manhandling, power imbalance, dehumanization kind of, m!whumper(s)

Whumpee is renowned for their musical skills — string instruments, wind, reed, even their voice.

Whumper has purchased them, or pays for their livelihood, and they need only to entertain Whumper and Whumper’s cohort. Whumpee knows what tunes please an idle, worldly man; what gaudy poetry to recite above the lyre, to make guests fawn over the delicate luxuries of Whumper’s household.

Whumpee is used to this life, having played for courts and theaters and even on the street — this is different, though. They are kept like a precious instrument themselves, brought out of their chamber only for a special occasion, or for Whumper’s own delight. They often have an audience of one, unless there’s a banquet being thrown, or a meeting of close friends, the halls full of the haze of heavy herbal smoke, the smell of strong wine, and the thunder of raucous laughter.

On quieter nights, Whumper requests soothing music to be played in his chambers. His position, though at times allowing him to be slothful and decadent, can also be stressful. That’s why he sometimes lashes out at Whumpee, smacks them if they take too long of a rest between songs, yells at them to play something else when their voice tires and they seek an easier, more familiar tune.

On these nights Whumpee’s responsibilities seem more vague. They’re responsible for helping Whumper relax, using their skillful hands and mouth, their well-honed dexterity, to assist Whumper in releasing the tension from his body. Whumper lays on his side, head propped in one hand as he sips from his fourth cup of wine — Whumpee knows, as they’re the one doing the pouring.

It’s not enough, tonight. Whumper is restless. He bids Whumpee to come closer. Sit beside the bed with the harp, sing me to sleep. When he can’t sleep, he requests— demands that Whumpee join him on the soft pallet, that Whumpee abandon their instrument to lay beside him, sing softly to him from the silk and fur.

The first heavy-handed touch, shocking in its brazen nature, it’s blatant ownership, makes Whumpee’s voice waver. That earns them a sharp pinch, a bruising grip at the sensitive, soft point of their hip. They keep their breathing steady, throughout it all — throughout the slipping of hands over collarbone and sternum, the press of Whumper’s hand at Whumpee’s ribs, following the motion of their song. Pinches of smooth skin, beneath the hem of Whumper’s tunic, the inside of their thigh. They sing until Whumper is satisfied with his perusal. Until his breathing is slow and steady. They wait a little longer, wait until they can trust their nervous, twitching limbs. They slip out from under Whumper’s arm, almost clumsily, their own breathing disturbed and their throat raw, their lungs aching from being so tense.

They take their beloved instrument in gentle shaking hands and move it to sit by the wall. The satin pillow, the one they use when playing, they take with them, clutching it close to their chest as they return to their own small room down the hall. They close the door and listen as the small latch clicks — no lock installed for their security.

Whumpee knows it’ll only get worse from here… do they pack up and try to run away? Maybe they’re paranoid, and Whumper was just lonely and drunk. Do they put on a happy face for Whumper and his friends, and try to weather the storm?

What happens when Whumper requests more from Whumpee, during a banquet later that month? Dance for us, he says. Whumpee adorns themselves with clinking metals and bells, dancing to the beat of their own steps and humming a song of their homeland. Sing for my guests, wash their feet. Whumpee kneels before them, hands working with water and cloth, wiping the dust and road-weariness from their skin. My guardsman grows weary. Massage his legs, kiss his aching hands. Whumpee sinks down beside the guard at his post near the doorway, using warm oils to pull stale blood up his shapely calves. They move to his thighs, massaging just above the knee, unsure of how to proceed. Their eyes meet, and the guardsman looks away, a menacing huff of his breath making Whumpee flinch and move to his hands. The man’s grip on the pommel of his sword tightens, then he releases the weapon at his side, allowing Whumpee to tentatively massage the rough knuckles and calloused palm. They feel Whumper’s gaze — they kiss each finger, feigning reverence, exaggerating their commitment to doing Whumper’s bidding. Their lips barely touch the guard’s skin. When finished, the guard’s hands flex and move slowly back to his sides, rolling one oiled palm about the leather pommel of his weapon, grasping it much more lightly than before. Whumpee washes their hands of the oil, and return to their instrument for another song.

After a while, Whumper says Quit your grating serenade. You’ve used your voice past it’s limit. You yourself must rest. Whumpee sighs in relief, placing their blistered hands in their lap. They sit and let their eyes relax, staring blearily at the blurred outline of the vibrant rug before them. Until Whumper pats his thigh, waves Whumpee close. In front of Whumper’s loyal men, Whumpee is beckoned to approach.

It feels like a test. The intimacy Whumper requests, is it Whumpee’s place to acquiesce? To sit in Whumper’s embrace, as he chats and drinks and makes merry with friends? Friends who eye Whumpee with the same predatory awareness, waiting for them to bear their neck, to show weakness?

Whumpee decides — with the wild mind of a stalked prey animal — that weakness would be rejecting Whumper’s invitation. Their limbs creak and burn as they rise to join the man. They gather the fabric of their tunic as Whumper’s hands guide them to sit, pulling Whumpee close and sighing into the crook of their neck. Eat, he bids Whumpee. But Whumpee’s stomach is in knots. Drink, he demands. Whumpee chokes on the bitter wine. Kiss me, he whispers, when the others have become rowdy and distracted with lurid stories and jokes. What is Whumpee to do?

Do they reject Whumper’s advance, create a scene with their protests and jerking limbs? Do Whumper’s friends come to his aid then?

Do they instead submit to the pressure of Whumper’s request, garnering whistles and pinches from the men nearby? What happens when Whumper wants Whumpee to embrace the gaiety of the celebration, and share the entertainment with all others present?

[junkshop-disco]

Folded Paper Stars

Farah is back, hidden, and safe from harm. Now, all Saul has to do is make sure she stays that way. (Silrah angst, hurt/comfort, whump, 3k this chapter, 12kish total when I get around to editing the rest).

Chapter 1 here.

Written for @faytalepsy as part of the @winxsource HEX. I was so excited when the mods asked me to pinch hit this, since I loved the prompts and we had so many interesting conversations when we worked on the RBB together, I thought I could bundle them into something for you. I hope you like and merry belated Christmas x

[bettsfic]

This may be a stupid question but how do you get comfortable with wrecking your protagonists?

i don't think you should ever get comfortable wrecking your protagonists. i think if you're totally unaffected by the struggle or even suffering of your characters, something's not right. when your characters are at their lowest is when the audience can most plainly see the integrity in the work.

but it's tough, because you want your audience to know you love and respect your characters, but you also have to honor the story you're trying to tell. and sometimes those things conflict with one another. when that happens, you have to stop and assess as many possibilities as you can.

around this time last year i tasked myself with not writing antagonists anymore. i have no beef with antagonists; i think they're a necessary storytelling tool. you have a protagonist who moves the story forward and an antagonist to get in their way. but i wanted to challenge myself to see what opposing forces would arise in my work if i removed all antagonists.

the first thing i noticed was that it made everything much harder to write. like, what's a plot when you take away opposition? how do you develop interpersonal conflict when your characters are well-meaning, perfectly reasonable people? and to your point--what trials must a character go through and why should they go through them?

i know i cite these shows a lot, but breaking bad and better call saul are both phenomenal examples of well-wrecked protagonists. every character has individual motivations and they guide themselves through their story. their flaws steer them to their ends. in breaking bad, what i find phenomenal is that at no point is walter white boxed into a corner. he always has the choice to step away from making meth with no consequence whatsoever. but he never does, and that defines his character, and it creates his ending. jesse is another fully wrecked protagonist, except he's (somewhat) innocent, and yet he still determines his own fate. both brba and bcs are shows about tragic characters who make their own fate.

on the opposite end, the example i always turn to is the book a little life, which to me is the definition of torture porn. jude is a wrecked protagonist whose destruction is so egregious we can see the authorial strings pulling him. on one hand we're asked to perceive the story as realism (see: intricate if excessive legal details), but also we're supposed to believe that no one would have involuntarily committed him, intervened in his overt self-harm, or put him in front of a therapist ever in his life. from my perspective, a little life is a story of whump told without integrity or respect for the characters.

sorry to go on a little rant there but my answer is that to really put your characters through it, you have to know them really well--how do they put themselves in these situations and what do they do once they're in them? how will their faults lead to their tragedies, or how will their strengths lead to their success? what are all possible roads in front of them, and why might they choose the worst one?

this answer kind of got away from me but i hope it offered at least a little insight!