#antidepressant whump

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Antidepressants in Whump

TW: Depression, mention of suicidal ideation

Antidepressants that leave a hollowness even worse than sadness.

Antidepressants that change whumpee's life, administered by caretaker.

Whumpee recovering enough from their trauma (thanks to caretaker) that they can ease off of their meds - but the withdrawals are torture.

Caretaker learning whumpee is depressed when they find whumpee's meds by accident.

Caretaker finding out that whumpee has secretly gone off their antidepressants.

Dealing with side effects.

Running out of meds in a situation that doesn't allow them to get a refill, during an already emotionally overwhelming time.

Starting a new medication that doesn't work and triggers a suicidal spiral.

[whumpslut]

shivering for hours, days. for any reason

do you know how much that starts to hurt? how your whole body aches?

is the character injured on top of that? does the constant shaking jostle broken ribs, does it pull their stitches? will that be enough to drown out the full body ache or do they combine horribly?

[macgyvermedical]

Requesting a history of diphenhydramine! I read somewhere that it was the first discovered SSRI, but can’t remember where.

This will be the history of diphenhydramine as an SSRI and the drugs surrounding it. The history of diphenhydramine as a whole is longer than my standard post length and I would want to do it justice!

It was technically the first available SSRI (becoming available by prescription in 1946), but it's SSRI activity was not discovered until the 1960s, after the SSRI activity of brompheniramine (available 1955) was discovered.

Brompheniramine was the first antihistamine to be studied as an antidepressant, as it was noted to have antidepressant properties strong enough to be usable. Out of this research came the antidepressant drug zimelidine, which went to market in 1982. Two years later, this drug would be withdrawn due to reports of Guillain-Barre syndrome.

Diphenhydramine does not have antidepressant effects strong enough to be usable, but it does weakly inhibit serotonin reuptake. Out of research into the antidepressant potential of diphenhydramine, the antidepressant fluoxetine (Prozac) was created. Fluoxetine went on the market in 1986 and is the 25th most commonly prescribed drug in the US today.

[whumpfish]

Reference Post: Mood Stabilizers

I see way too many "how to write depression/bipolar" guides written by relatives of people who have it that talk about meds numbing emotions. Most of the time based on some conversation with an older relative, completely ignorant of how far psychiatric medicine has come just in the last 15 years. Today's stabilizers are more sophisticated, more subtle.

Mine don't numb my emotions so much as intercept them, box them up, and put them on a shelf in the back of my brain. They're still there, I just don't have the immediate physical response to them, especially crying. It's rare for me to end up crying about something in direct response to whatever it is. My meds swoop in, box that shit up, and say to my brain "we cannot do anything about this, and we still have to do normal tasks today, so let's not have a breakdown."

That's good! It's useful! I definitely don't miss crying a lot. But it does make me really self-conscious. I worry a lot about people thinking I don't care, or that I'm emotionless or there is otherwise something wrong with me because I skip the outward expression of things.

At the same time, if I don't have things to do, I have to be careful, because it's all still there. And something else can come along and dump the contents of that box all over the floor. Then I can't always stop the reaction.

It's usually music that will set me off, or a movie or something. I lost my dog of 16 years and couldn't cry for a year until I saw a Pixar short about a puppy who won't eat vegetables, and cried the rest of the night. I felt like crying, but meds said no, so I had to wait to get ambushed by Pixar.

I recently found out that a friend of mine died suddenly not long after I fell out of touch. Spent 2 weeks feeling weird and sad, then this scrolls by on Pinterest

And now I can't stop crying.

Antidepressants and mood stabilizers don't turn people into emotionless robots. They just affect the way we show extreme emotion, and the schedule on which those emotions arrive.

It is surreal to live through, and so much more complex than "I wish I could feel things but now I can't because meds."

[elspethdixon]

Even the “trashy” television the people OP is talking about like to judge you for can be too active depending on the person and the situation. If I get stressed enough, I can’t watch new-to-me television shows or fictional tv content in general. Nature documentaries and docudramas about prehistoric life only. “No fannish shows, only this obscure series about a wildlife refuge in Namibia,” sounds smart and worldly, but it’s actually the opposite. “No characters I might get invested in that could have bad things happen to them, no content I’m fannish about that involves emotional investment. It’s time to rewatch the collected works of Sir David Attenborough for the 46th time while fast-forwarding over the stressful bits where people talk about poaching/habitat loss/anything being endangered. Then we can rewatch the BBC Walking With Monsters series again. No need to have anxiety about how humans are destroying the planet and wiping out endangered animals when you’re watching something set before the Mesozoic! Humans don’t exist yet so nothing bad that happens to the fictionalized Devonian and Permian creatures is our fault. Oh look, the orphaned warthog in Namibia was successfully re-released into the wild just like it was every previous time I watched this program, how nice.”

The same applies to reading - when I’m stressed I’ll pass over new fiction on my tbr list in order to read nonfiction because it doesn’t require as much thought/imagination/emotional investment as something with fictional characters and a plot does. Worst case scenario, I’ll just reread the same three books about evolution over and over again. No sci-fi or romance novels, only Donald Prothero’s Evolution: What the Fossils Show and Why it Matters and Nick Lane’s book on the biochemical origins of life for the 14th times

[victimeyez]

The Balancing Act

Professional//Victim

Masterlist: x Prev: x Next:

Caius carries Tommy to bed, and muses on their precarious relationship.

TAGLIST: @suspicious-whumping-egg @  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter @whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery @thembology @2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

Tommy was passed out. Caius didn’t want to wake him though, so he held the smaller man in his arms and carried him into the house. (Just this once.) 

This one had been a rough one. Tommy never did well with the ones who wanted sex. Caius thought he would prefer those to the pure pain ones, but he knew those ones really shook him. 

He’d gotten quite good at reading Tommy. Keeping him balanced was a big part of his job, and sometimes that meant providing some niceties. He kept him on high-dose antidepressants to help manage his mood. It also helped with stopping him from trying to off himself, though they had been careful to remove any opportunity for it in his cell. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had replaced Tommy’s books, but now he had a whole box of them from a library sale. He’d also gotten Tommy a record player with a handful of vinyls. As long as he kept it quiet, he could have it. 

(At least, for now.) 

But some things had to get worse before they could get better. He hadn’t intervened, as the clients had seemed pleased, but he couldn’t let Tommy’s disobedience slide. He’d talked and fought back just the right amount, and he didn’t hold that part against him. 

Trying to communicate with Caius during a session, however, was very much against the rules. He would have to be punished for his indiscretion, but Caius was confident he could keep him from crashing too hard. A little time in punishment and then he could get his “rewards”. When a client clued him in that their session would be a particularly bad one, he prepared minor comforts to soothe Tommy with afterwards.

Especially at the beginning, he had to learn the hard way with Tommy’s limits.Times he hadn’t given him enough of a break always ended up one of two ways: with Tommy catatonic for a month, or pissed off enough to get stupid. He’d try to make an escape or swing on him, and then he’d have to be beaten hard enough that he’d remember why he stopped trying ages ago. It was an ugly affair, and thankfully not one that had been repeated for over a year now. 

He laid him down on his bed, already regretting carrying him as his back ached.. 

He locked his chain lead on. They didn’t always use it, but the chain was bolted to the floor and cemented around the base. Tommy was always kept in high security, one of the only things they had done right when they started their business. Sometimes newbies would try to give their people small freedoms, which inevitably lead to escape attempts and attacks. It partially depended on how meek they’d been made yet, but the psychological aspects could not be trusted like a chain could.

He leaned over to grab his sheets to tuck him in, but Tommy began to stir. Caius pulled the blankets up and bleary red eyes met his.

“You ruined my life.” 

His gaze was unfocused and he spoke quietly. It wasn’t said with an accusatory tone this time. He just sounded so tired. His tone was filled with an aching acceptance, and all the grief in the world.

“You took everything from me.”

“I know.”

[mypoorocs]

I came across a quote taken from a Vox article today. And, first of all, the article is an eye-opening read. I highly recommend checking it out (for non-whump reasons).

But, secondly, and more importantly, imagine your Whumper saying this:

If you had to make a rat depressed, how do you think you’d go about it? So to test your new antidepressant, you need an efficient method of making a lot of rats exhibit anhedonia — that is, making them lose interest in things they used to enjoy, like sugar. How do you think you’d do that? It turns out you don’t need to traumatize them. The most reliable protocol is “chronic mild stress.” There are many methods of making the lives of experimental animals mildly but chronically miserable — a cage floor that administers random electric shocks; a deep swimming pool with no way to rest or climb out; a stronger “intruder” introduced into the same cage. One neuroscientist actually nicknamed his apparatus the Pit of Despair. But they’re all variations on the same theme: remove all predictability and control from the animal’s life. Then take notes as they gradually lose interest in being alive.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Hiiiii Maggie 💕💕💕💕💕💕

I wish you would write a fic where Eddie takes antidepressants or other mental health meds to help with his PTSD/panic attacks.

-❤️🪐

Hiii Saturn 🩷🩷🩷

Perfect opportunity for angst! (And whump, because it's me 😁). Just after the breakdown, Frank prescribes an antidepressant. Eddie doesn't want to take it, he knows the side effects will probably suck especially in the beginning. Buck talks him into it because he knows it's going to help him, so Eddie gives in. Like he suspected, the side effects suck. Just... not the way he expected they would.

Buck jumps at the sound of a clatter in the bathroom. "Eds? You okay?"

Panic bubbles in his chest when he hears no answer. He tosses his book aside and runs to the bathroom. His heart jumps into his throat.

Eddie lay on the floor, convulsions wracking his body. His eyes have rolled back in his head, which is dangerously close to the cabinet.

"Eddie," Buck gasps out. He falls to his knees and maneuvers Eddie onto his side, putting himself between Eddie's head and the sharp corner of the cabinet. His pulse thunders in his ears as he watches, helpless. With shaking hands, he grabs for his phone and dials 9-1-1.

(It's not an OD, or Serotonin Syndrome (that I just learned about). It'd be an allergic reaction. The possibilities this kinda fic has!!!)

What kind of fic do you wish I'd write?

[bellysoupset]

Masterlist Part 2

-> Masterlist Part 1

Sicily Mini Saga:

Part 1 - Vince receiving the invite + carsick Bella + caretakers Luke, Vince. Part 2 - Bella super motion sick + Jonah sympathy sick. Caretakers Lucas, Vince, Wendy. Part 3 - Lucas stress sick + some backstory. Caretaker Bella * no emeto. Part 4 - Hungover Jonah + sunburnt Lucas. Caretaker Leo + Bella Part 5 - Bella and Luke babysit little Liva. * no emeto Part 6 - Leo gets hit with a stomach bug. Caretaker Mrs. Monacelli. Part 7 - Vince's birthday night + he gets a purposeful tummy ache and gets frisky with Wendy Part 8 - Bella and Luke's wedding. * no emeto Part 8.1 - Jonah's reaction to Leo catching the bouquet.

Leo gets motion sick from spinning in Jon's office chair + Jonah caretaker

Wendy getting food poisoning and getting really upset + Vince caretaker

Leo wearing lingerie & Jonah drooling over him * no emeto

Leo getting sick + Jonah caretaker + Wendy caretaker

Bella gives Lucas food poisoning with her cooking + caretaker Bell

Wendy has allergies + Caretaker Bella * no emeto

Jonah has a panic attack over Leo possibly being hurt + caretaker Wendy

Jonah and Wendy get sick during flu week + Luke, Leo, Vin, Bell

Jonah has appendicitis - Part 1 + Caretaker Leo

Jonah has appencitis - Part 2 + Panic attack Leo

Vince has pneumonia + Caretaker Wendy + Lucas

Jonah gets sick with a cold and super clingy + caretaker Leo * no emeto

Halloween Mini Saga:

Part 1: Leo eats too much halloween candy when upset + caretaker Jon . Part 2: Jealous!Lucas has a migraine during Wendy's halloween party + caretaker Vince . Part 3: Jonah drinks too much and Wendy gets roofied + caretakers Bella and Leo. . Part 4: Bella gets a concussion + caretaker Lucas . Part 5: Wendy deals with the aftermath of getting roofied + Vince caretaker . Part 6: All 5 dealing with Bella being comatose, at the hospital. ** no emeto . Part 7: Bella waking up + Wendy pressing charges + Jon&Leo fluff . Part 8: Lucas' breakdown with Vince + Bella and Wendy talking

Bella coming home after brain surgery + caretaker Lucas * no emeto

Leo gets food poisoning at work + caretaker Jonah (cuddling in the bathtub)

Vince meeting Wendy's parents in NYC + lactose intolerane/learning of her eating disorder + caretaker Wendy

Leo getting carsick when they roadtrip + Caretakers Jon and the whole gang

Leo continues to be carsick even when they stop. Bella gets sick because of the brain surgery + Jon&Luke fight

Leo's carsickness turns out to be appendicitis + whole gang caretaker

Leo and Jonah cuddling while Jon's stressed about graduation * no emeto

Leo accidentally overdoes with fever medication + antidepressants + Jonah caretaker * no emeto

Bella goes Christmas shopping during Black Friday and gets overwhelmed + Caretaker Luke

Friendsgiving Part 1: drunk Jonah + the whole gang

Friendsgiving Part 2: Vince overate + caretaker Wendy (NSFW)

Wendy has a migraine + Caretaker Guilty!Jonah

Jonah gets sick with nerves as he waits for his residency roll out + caretaker Leo

Lucas overeats and gets sick while helping Vince move to Wendy's place + caretaker Vince

Graduation night + panick attack Lucas and caretaker Bella + Leo meeting Jonah's dad

Jonah getting sick when going to spend Christmas with his dad and sister + Caretaker Leo (Angelina Banks introduction)

Lucas feeling queasy and depressed during holidays, Bella seeing his childhood house for the first time ** (no emeto)

Jonah getting sick with vertigo when Leo is out, Lucas as the sole caretaker.

Sick Wendy with the stomach flu, while spending the holidays with Vince's family. Caretaker Vin + his fam

Sick with a cold Luke + Caretakers Jonah, Bella and Leo

Sick Luke with the cold + sick from nerves Leo, caretakers Bella and Jonah. + Emotional whump on Bella

Hungover Vince + Wendy finding out about Vince leaving.

Leo sick with the flu after the holidays + caretaker Jonah *no emeto

Wendy telling Bella about the "break up" w/ Vince *no emeto

Wendy and Vince deciding to be long distance *no emeto

Luke sick in the middle of the night and the middle of the day due to antidepressives + Caretaker Bella

Jonah catches the stomach flu from Leo + caretaker Leo

Vince is hit w/ the stomach flu + caretaker Wendy and Bella (+ talk with Leo about leaving)

Bella is hit with the flu + caretaker Luke

Vince's stomach flu + caretaker Luke

Wendy visiting Vin's new place + sleeping at Jon's**

Leo wakes up with Wendy in his bed**

Vince's first day of teaching + Max introduction

Luke sick due to medication + caretaker Wendy

Lucas finally feeling better + Lukebell smut**

Strep Throat - Leo gets hit and runs out of the apartment

Bella has a full tummy + food baby talk flustering Luke

Strep Throat 2 - Leo is sick + caretakers Jon, Wendy and Vin**

Strep Throat 3 - Wendy gets Leo's bug and he takes care of her

Cabin - Leo gets carsick on their way to a weekend getaway

Cabin 2 - Jonah gets an upset gurgly belly at the cabin**

Cabin 3 - Bella gets her period + Vince caretaker

Max gets sick in class + Vince caretaker

Max has the stomach flu - Part 2

Vince gets Max's bug during Wendy's bday

Vince with the stomach flu - Part 2 - Luke caretaker

Vince with the stomach flu - Part 3 - Wendy caretaker

Jonah burpy after Wendy's bday **

Leo's super hangover + Jonah hungover/caretaker

Max gets an upset, burpy tummy during a field trip + Vin caretaker **

Jonah gets vertigo with Luke & Vin, while picking Leo's engagement ring (Proposal Fic!)

Aftermath of the proposal - Leo seeing the ring **

Wendy gets the stomach flu + Bella caretaker

Bella gets airsick while they travel for honeymoon + Luke caretaker

Vince gets sick (lactose intolerance) + Max as an unwilling caretaker

Angie gets sick + caretaker Jonah not knowing what to do

Jonah gets a nervous stomach over a fight with Angie.

Wendy meets Max. Vince decides to overeat - Part 1

Vince overeats for Wendy on purpose - Part 2

Leo eats too much/gets food poisoning at his birthday

Jonah gets food poisoning (cont. of Leo's birthday)

Jonah and Leo sick with food poisoning + caretakers LukeBell.

Luke and Bell taking care of Jonah/Leo + hungry Bella

Minific: Aftermath of one of Jon's vertigo episodes + Worried Leo

Minific: Leo sick at court

Drunk Luke and Vince + caretaker Max

Wendy walking on Jonah/Leo sexy times - Not emeto, just funny

Drunk and burpy Luke + caretaker Bella

Leo drinks a piña colada and gets sick because he's allergic + caretaker Jonah

[echoingalaxies]

I've been whumping one of my characters an insane amount, mentally and physically, for over a year now probably and only just now did I think to have her be prescribed antidepressants and other medication for mental health she severy needs... like just didn't think about it before lmao... sorry girlie I hope these help a little (they don't much but it's the thought that matters right?)

[shion-yu]

Ears Ringing

Cliff can't afford his meds and can't keep anything down anymore. My fill for my @badthingshappenbingo space "Ears Ringing." OC work, 2,816 words. TWs parental abuse, emeto, chronic illness whump, detailed hospital descriptions.

For years now. Cliff's neurological symptoms have been all over the place. Sometimes he's eloquent and polite, echoes of his former brilliance shining through. Other times he can't remember the names of simple objects or can't stop crying. Sometimes he walks fine, and then the next day he needs his wheelchair. It's inconsistent, frustratingly so, and Cliff can't stand it.

He's depressed. He knows he's depressed, but he can't do anything about it because he's already taking antidepressants and he's scared if he says anything they'll stick him in the psych ward. Phoenix always used to tell him he was crazy, and Cliff worries he is. He sees shadows in the corners of his eyes all the time and hears people in the apartment that aren't there. One time Elliot catches him with a knife in his hand in the middle of the night hunting for some unknown threat. It's bad, really bad. He's never hallucinated before but he is now nearly every day. It’s getting increasingly difficult for him to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not.

Bothering other people with his problems is the last thing Cliff wants to do. Elliot's busy writing his album with Alex, Moira’s got her baby and Matt’s in law school. So Cliff's alone a lot of the time, which he doesn’t really mind but sometimes it’s easier for him to pretend everything is fine when he has someone else to pretend for. He dropped out of law school a year ago and he still hasn't figured out an alternative career path. He tutors people online to take the LSAT, which is enough to pay the rent on his tiny condemned apartment, but that's all. He can't take Elliot out and treat him because it seems his parents have washed their hands of him and he can barely keep up with the copays on all his medications. His parents haven't officially disowned him - yet - but when they found out he dropped out of law school they stopped sending him monthly support checks. 

Cliff's started halving his pills to make them last longer, and the first to go completely are the antidepressants and anxiety meds. After that he cuts out the ones that he knows don't necessarily keep him alive, just feeling better: the antiemetics and pain medications. Eventually all the ones that were giving him any sort of quality of life are gone, but he's still sort of okay until he starts running out of his steroids: it's when he starts halving his prednisone that the hallucinations begin.

He's spending more days in bed feeling sick than not at this point. He doesn't leave the apartment and Elliot seems to be getting increasingly worried despite Cliff's best efforts to put on a good show. He's losing weight by the day and he's vomiting nearly everything he eats up. Elliot tries to coax food into him but it's not working. Even Cliff's favorite Japanese and Chinese comfort foods cause him misery, so it's certainly not a matter of taste. At least he saves money not having to buy groceries. 

Cliff had promised Elliot that he'd never hide this stuff from him again back when they broke up. So he doesn't hide it and he never lies, but he tries to sound casual when he answers like it's not a big deal. If Elliot asks, Cliff admits that he's not feeling well, or that he's nauseous. Elliot starts keeping a journal of Cliff's intake and instances of vomiting, then realizes there's no way Cliff's actually retaining any nutrients. He makes Cliff an appointment with a GI specialist, but the wait is four months out. Elliot is worried Cliff can't wait that long and tries to convince Cliff to go to the emergency room, or at least tell his father and see if he'll order some tests, but Cliff refuses. He promised to communicate with Elliot, not anyone else. Lucky for Cliff, Elliot never seems to think to ask him about bills or voices that aren't there. And his dad is drinking again, so Cliff doesn’t bother talking to him.

It comes to a head when Elliot can't get a hold of Cliff. Their relationship is still young despite all of their history, it feels fragile, and Cliff isn't answering his phone. Elliot worries Cliff's withdrawing and doesn't really want to be in a relationship, but he can't bring himself to think that's true so easily. So he breaks into Cliff's apartment for answers and finds Cliff passed out on the bathroom floor soaked in piss and vomit. He doesn’t respond when Elliot shakes him and shouts his name, but at least he’s breathing. Elliot calls 911.

Cliff doesn't wake up on the ambulance ride to the hospital. Elliot's glad for that because he doesn't want how scared he feels to come out as anger. The scene is eerily familiar to how Elliot had found Cliff on the floor of their dorm room all those years ago, but Elliot tells himself it's not the same. He'll at least give Cliff the chance to explain why it isn't. Still, why hadn't Cliff told him how much he was struggling? He could have reached out and Elliot would have been over there to take care of him in a heartbeat.

"I didn't want you to worry," Cliff mumbled when he wakes up, before lurching forward and dry heaving into the emesis basin Elliot's holding. He has a high fever and Elliot thinks now's not the time to yell at him for being foolish. "I really thought I could manage," Cliff says through a single sob. Elliot's heart clenches in pity. Cliff's never known how to rely on other people thanks to his parents. Elliot wants Cliff to rely on him, but it's not something he can force. 

The doctors come in and ask if Cliff's been taking his medications as prescribed, especially the steroids. Their expressions are almost accusatory and Elliot doesn't understand why until Cliff looks down, face clearly ashamed. "Cliff, why not? Do you want to die?" Elliot asks, aghast.

His heart breaks when he hears Cliff whisper in the tiniest voice, "I couldn't afford them anymore." Elliot's still upset and worried, but suddenly he understands. Cliff starts crying; Elliot holds him close and tells him it's going to be alright, that they'll figure it out. He'll help Cliff pay for his meds as much as he can. When Shu comes by with food for Elliot he offers to let Cliff live with him for a while, in Alex's old bedroom. There's options. But right now, Cliff needs to focus on getting better.

The doctors tell them that Cliff's body went into shock from stopping his prednisone too quickly. He's lucky he's not in a coma. Not only that, but the granulomas on his lungs have grown and he has new ones on his brain. Does he have headaches, they ask him? Fatigue? Hallucinations? Cliff can't bring himself to look up as he answers yes to all of them. Has he ever fainted? Had a seizure? Cliff looks at Elliot for just a second, chest burning with shame. "I think I had one before Elliot found me."

After the doctors leave, grim faced and what Cliff feels is painfully judgemental, Elliot rubs Cliff’s back as Cliff begins to gasp for air and tears stream down his face. Elliot knows Cliff’s having a panic attack and tries to get him through it. “It’s gonna be okay, Cliffy,” he says sadly. “Talk to me.”

“I never lied to you, I swear,” Cliff says. Elliot feels his own eyes fill with tears.

“I know, shh,” Elliot soothes. “I wish you would have told me, but I know you didn’t lie. You’re going to get better and this is never gonna happen again.” Cliff just cries harder until he vomits. Elliot helps him shower while the nurse changes the sheets; it’s not how he had imagined their first time showering together after getting back together might go, but he’d rather be here than Cliff be alone right now.

Cliff's woefully underweight. His nausea is so bad that he can’t keep any oral medications down, either. They force an NG tube into him, which is one of the worst things Elliot's ever witnessed. He has to stand in the hall after the first failed attempt because it's so disturbing. It looks more like torture than treatment. Eventually they get it in and start the tube feeding, but the response isn't what’s expected. They haven't even brought it up to goal rate when Cliff begins projectile vomiting the tube feed all over like the fucking exorcist. The vomit makes him choke and he coughs the NG up less than twenty-four hours after they managed to get it down. Elliot holds him while he sobs and apologizes over and over. 

"I'm sorry," he cries, "I tried to keep it down, I really did." He's distraught and Elliot does his best to comfort Cliff, but he feels like there's so little he can do. He’s never seen Cliff cry this much and it’s breaking his heart.

As a result of the failed feeding tube, Cliff gets more tests and is diagnosed with gastroparesis: paralysis of the stomach. It could be temporary or it could be forever, they say. There's no way of knowing right now, but it explains why he hasn't been able to keep food down for a while. He needs a J-tube that will bypass his stomach to give him nutrition, and he gets that surgery two days later. 

The pain is unbearable. It takes days to get it under control despite finding no issues with the actual J-tube placement. Some people are just very sensitive to surgical pain and Cliff is unlucky enough to be one of them. He's so beat down by then that he just lies in bed clutching a pillow to his abdomen and sobs openly. Nothing really comforts him and Elliot doesn't know what to do. This is scary and he feels like he can't handle it on his own. Milo and his mom give him some support, but it's weird when neither of them are fans of Cliff to begin with. Shu and Alex come by to give Elliot a break sometimes. They sit with Cliff while Elliot takes a much needed rest at home where he can shower and scream in frustration a few times. 

It feels like whenever things start getting better for Cliff, some new aspect of his illness appears and they start over from the beginning. Elliot carries a certain level of regret that he wasn't there when Cliff was first diagnosed. Maybe if he was, he could have fought for Cliff to get diagnosed sooner. Maybe he could have protected Cliff from his father more. He tries to now, when Dr. Barrows comes not to help but to yell at Cliff for being so stupid as to stop taking his steroids. "Were you trying to kill yourself?" He snarls at Cliff, who shrinks back and can't answer. "Are you trying to humiliate me?" 

"Maybe if you guys spent just a tiny bit of your fortune on keeping your own freaking son alive, he wouldn't have to ration out his meds," Elliot spits at him. He doesn't care that Cliff's father is a famous surgeon. He's left his only son to struggle all by himself because of circumstances Cliff can't control, and so to Elliot he's the shittiest quack out there. 

"I don't remember Cliff ever asking us for help," Dr. Barrows points out coolly. Elliot can't argue with that. He doesn't know for sure, but it certainly wouldn’t surprise him if Cliff hadn't said anything to his parents. Even if they would have helped, who could blame Cliff when this was his dad? "And who the hell are you?"

"He's my boyfriend," Cliff says weakly. Something inside of Elliot is mended then. Cliff, who was once too scared to tell even a random passerby that they were together, is telling his father. Then, another piece of Elliot breaks when he watches Dr. Barrows cuff the side of Cliff's head with such force that Cliff's oxygen falls off. 

Cliff yelps in pain and grips his ear in shock, ears ringing. Elliot's horrified and frozen. Who the hell hits their own son while they're in a hospital bed? The pungent smell of whiskey probably has something to do with it. "You are not my son," he hisses venomously, then leaves. His hatred lingers in the air just as strong as the smell of booze. 

"Sorry," Cliff says after several seconds of awkward silence, breaking the spell. 

Elliot shakes his head as he jolts back to reality and rushes to Cliff's side, looping Cliff's oxygen back over his ears. He hugs Cliff close, shaking with anger. "There's no reason to be sorry," he insists. "The only person who should be sorry is your dad for being such a shitty person." Cliff flinches at Elliot's strong reaction, but he knows it's not directed towards him.

“Yeah,” Cliff says uncomfortably. “I guess. Thanks.”

It takes two weeks, but eventually Cliff is discharged: into the care of Elliot and the home of Shu, because the social worker says it’s not a very safe idea for him to live alone. Cliff hates feeling like he requires a round the clock babysitter, but he knows they’re right. He can’t walk more than a few steps and that’s with a walker, he’s not steady enough to use his crutches right now. Cliff promises he’ll keep quiet and not cause any problems, but Shu tells him that he should make himself feel at home. It’s a small two bedroom and Shu can’t help much monetarily, but he promises a safe and comfortable place where there’s always enough food on the table (figuratively, since Cliff doesn’t eat anymore). It’s what he promised Alex when he adopted him, Shu says, and he can promise Cliff that too now.

No matter how much he dislikes needing the help, being in Shu’s home makes a world of difference. It’s warm and homey there and Cliff likes how he can see into the backyard from the kitchen table. There’s a bird feeder and a swingset back there, which Shu says was from the prior owner but he never removed because he had wanted kids someday. Alex was twelve when he came to live with Shu, so a bit old for it, but Cliff imagines him there anyways. Elliot and Alex are around all the time since Shu’s garage doubles as their music studio, and sometimes Cliff bundles under blankets and watches them practice. Sometimes Alex’s boyfriend Ryo is there and he watches too. Elliot drives Cliff back and forth to doctors appointments, PT and OT in the same old car they used to have so much fun in back in college. He finds every co-pay assistance program available for Cliff to utilize, but then money starts appearing in Cliff’s bank account again every month from his parents. Elliot thinks maybe his words couldn’t do much, but they apparently did something. Well, his words combined with Moira giving their father absolute hell when she found out what happened.

It’ll be Christmas soon. There’s snow on the ground and the cardinals that visit Shu’s bird feeder look so lovely and bold against the white. Cliff’s sitting in Shu’s kitchen watching them as Elliot brews tea. “Can I tell you something?” Cliff says.

“Of course. Anything,” Elliot says, carrying a steaming mug over and placing it on the kitchen table. He sits next to Cliff and leans his cheek in his hand. His green eyes are so lovely, Cliff thinks to himself. 

“I miss living together,” Cliff admits. Elliot looks surprised, but then nods.

“I miss it too.”

“Living here reminds me of when we visited that cabin upstate, all the way back in freshman year,” Cliff says. “That was the best vacation ever.”

“Seriously?” Elliot asks, smirking a little. “Even though we both had terrible head colds and spent the entire weekend in bed?”

“Yeah,” Cliff said, smiling fondly. “It felt like a real home, for the first time in my life.”

Elliot stands and hugs Cliff, planting a kiss on his temple. “I’m not sure when we’ll move in together, but we can definitely go on vacation again,” he says honestly. He doesn’t want to rush things this time, like he felt like they had the first time around. 

Cliff nods. “I’d like that.”

Elliot rests the side of his head against the top of Cliff’s head. “You keep getting better and then we can go, deal? Maybe sometime after Christmas.” Cliff hums easily in agreement. He’ll keep working hard to get stronger so they can do the fun stuff they used to do together as soon as possible.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

♡ 𝕎𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕡 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 ♡

Altitude Sickness in Whump

Antidepressants in Whump

At Least: A Recovery Arc

Blood Transfusions in Whump

Bratting in Whump

Caretakerless Care

Caretaker Forced to Whump

Caretaker Respecting Whumpee's Consent

Cosmic Horror Whump

Dark Cathartic Whump

Dialogue Right Before They Break Down

Doom as Whump

Dust Bowl Whump

Emotional Vivisection

Exposure Therapy as Whump

Liminal Backrooms as Environmental Whump

Living Weapon Comfort

Living Weapon Whump

Protective Caretaker Trying to Hold Back

Rage as Whump

Rescuing a Stray Whumpee

Reverse Isekai Whumpee

Shock in Whump

Subtle Signs of a Caretaking Dynamic

Suicide Attempt Whump

The Sniff

Things that Whumper Can Do to an Undead/Immortal Whumpee

Whump in the Rain

Whump Plot Structures

Whumpee in Dress Clothes

Whumpee Looking…Not Okay

[stellawolfearts]

Tw whump talk and drugs and abuse. im just thinking about the possible darker aspects of the trolls world

idk why trolls brings out the whump writer in me. maybe it's just trolls three.

maybe its the idea that if you cut a trolls hair then they have near no way to defend themself against creatures bigger then them.

maybe it's the idea that their so tiny and can very easily fit into bottles like Floyd was in Trolls Three, that there are apparently laws in place so trolls aren't hurt. cause why else did Velvet and Veneer go to jail?

and that for laws to be put into place there had to be a substantial amount of troll abuse in this world outside of the Bergens. i mean HOW DID V AND V KNOW HOW TO DO THAT TO FLOYD? HUH? that ain't a coincidence.

lets not forget that canonically trolls have been used as two forms of drugs so far. and both can count as a stimulant.

first bergens used them as a form of 'happiness' yeah thats an antidepressant.

then 'talent'....singing steroids.

they have something people can take advantage of, they are tiny.

ik its a kids movie and world and everything but i find it fun to look at kids media and analyse the accidental darker aspects placed into it.

I MEAN COME ON. THE BERGEN ATE TROLLS AS AN ANTIDEPRESSANT THATS SO FUCKED UP-but hidden beneath the lens of a quirky kids movie really hides it.

Floyd was trapped in a bottle FOR TWO MONTHS. as far as we know there was no way of opening the bottle. only the little section for the talent magic to squeeze through. Did Floyd not eat for two months?! DID HE EAT HIS SHIRT?!?!?! IS THAT WHY HE HAS NO SHIRT DREAMWORKS-?! (idea from my friend Artemismoore im not tagging them cause i dont like tagging without asking im wierd ik shush)

i could go on. i want to go on cause im writing a trolls fanfic and i have a kin/self insert in there. i will traumatize him heavily.

but i will go on IN my fanfic. cause i love angst and i love hurt/comfort.

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives Part 30: I Will Not Let You Do It Too

THE ARC 3 FINALE!

~ 3400 words - a double feature!

CW: Carewhumper, attempted noncon, noncon undressing, noncon touch, use of the word rape, foot whump, disbelief of a victim, negative self talk

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

~~~

Where’s Matthew?

Matthew doesn’t want to be with you anymore.

Simon knew it was his own fault. He just knew it. He’d made the wrong decisions, over and over, just like Matthew said he did, and now he was ruined. Disgusting. Matthew was right to not want him anymore. Awash with sorrow and shame, Simon couldn’t even be happy that he was out of Summerwhite. He spent his first day in Christian’s house curled up in bed, weeping.

He didn’t have much time to cry after that; Christian took Simon everywhere with him. To the gym. To the grocery store. To work, where Simon was expected to sit next to him quietly and not offer his opinion on anything. Christian had a new researcher, after all - a whole new team. Gina and Devon were mysteriously gone, and no one would tell him why. Simon’s former co-workers throughout the rest of the building looked at him with pity, or not at all. Amber talked to him like he was a child.

Christian took him to therapy sessions after work, and sat next to him the whole time. Everyone thought Simon was lying when he said he hadn’t tried to kill himself - especially because he couldn’t remember what actually happened.

He had trouble remembering a lot of things, lately - especially now that Christian was supervising Simon’s incredibly high daily dose of antidepressants and antipsychotics that Dr Deckard had prescribed.

Simon knew the supposed suicide had something to do with Reeder. But they didn’t believe what he said about Reeder and Hahns, either.

The only time Simon got to be alone was at night, when he went to the room Christian was slowly but surely turning into his bedroom. Christian would see him to bed, then lock the door from the outside. Simon would lie there and cry, exhausted and alone.

Nothing in Christian’s house was helpful. He had no landline, and kept his cell phone on his person at all times. His computer was password protected, and moved into Christian’s bedroom pretty quickly. The doors and windows had an alarm system that was armed at nearly all times. 

The medicine cabinet had a lock on it, and Christian had replaced all the knives in the kitchen with plastic safety knives. Not that a knife or a cabinet of pills would be helpful to Simon - it was the lack of trust that bothered him.

He wouldn’t have had the chance to do anything, anyway; even at home, Christian expected Simon to be in the same room as him at all times. They watched TV together. He sat at the counter while Christian cooked. He sat on Christian’s bed while the captain answered emails on his computer. Christian would stand right outside when Simon used the bathroom or showered, and wouldn’t let him close the door all the way.

It was hell.

Especially because Christian was so utterly boring. Simon had almost forgotten what their initial relationship was like, after the hero-worship had worn off. Christian worked, and he played golf, and that was it. Simon’s time with Christian outside of work was either filled with silence or with dull conversation about work, or golf, or Simon’s therapy, how he was feeling, did you eat enough, do you want to watch a movie?

But Simon didn’t dare argue. Didn’t dare lash out. Even though there was an angry, screaming little animal clawing at his ribs, he knew that if he let it out, if he slammed the door when he wanted privacy, if he stood up and shouted superior tactical options at work, if he screamed at Christian that his golf shows were fucking boring, he’d be sent back to Fort Summerwhite.

Because Christian said so. Every little difficulty, every hiccup, and he’d rub the back of his neck and say “Maybe I made a mistake.” This would send Simon into bouts of pleading, but just the right kind of pleading, of course, not too hysterical, not too outraged - that would make everything worse. He had to beg logically, sensibly, promise that he wouldn’t lie again, wouldn’t argue again, wouldn’t be difficult or closed off or rude. And it was so hard, when his head was still fuzzy and painful sometimes. But he had to be perfect. To open up in therapy about the right things, but not the things that were dirty lies. To express his emotions, to cry a little but not too much. To enjoy his leisure time with Christian, to ooh and ah at the right moments of the golf game.

Maybe he’d rather go back to Fort Summerwhite. Maybe he’d rather be sucking dick.

Of course, it all fell apart eventually.

~~~

Christian waited just outside the half-closed bedroom door for Simon to change into his pajamas. When Simon opened the door all the way he stepped inside and sat on Simon’s bed - a real bed that he’d bought soon after Simon had moved in. He even had a bedside table with a nice lamp and an alarm clock. Simon folded his arms, then unfolded them, worried about looking hostile. He waited for the usual evening rigamarole. How are you feeling now compared to this morning. Is your stomach okay. Do you want any melatonin.

Instead, Christian patted the bed next to him. Simon sat obediently.

“Simon, I…” Chris lifted a hand. It hung in the air for an uncertain moment, then settled on Simon’s knee. The touch sent a pleasurable shiver up Simon’s spine. Christian had been so careful over the past three weeks to never touch Simon, especially in any way that could be… misinterpreted. Simon had mirrored this behavior to a tee, leaving himself lonely and touch starved. But he never dared to ask for physical affection - he didn’t want Christian to think he was trying to seduce him, as he had before.

“You know I… I want to do right by you.”

“Mhm.” Simon nodded, unsure where this was going. Was he about to have some restriction lifted? Or more piled upon him? Or worse - was he about to be sent back to Fort Summerwhite?

“I’ve tried to be an… impartial caretaker to you. To fill a role… of something like a parent. But that’s not a role that I think I can… confine myself to.”

His hand slid up Simon’s thigh.

Oh.

I can use this, Simon thought confidently - maybe a little desperately. It would be just like the orderlies, only easier; Christian had never demanded sex from him before. They would kiss, and touch, and go to bed separately, and then maybe tomorrow Simon could get something he wanted.

And it wasn’t like he was betraying Matthew anymore.

Simon leaned forward and tilted his face up, letting Christian kiss him. Stubble brushed against his skin, and Christian’s tongue pushed between his lips.

Easy. This is easy.

Chris laid him down and climbed on top of him, still kissing him gently, persistently.

Okay. Perfect. We’ll make out for ten minutes and then he’ll get all guilty and leave. Then maybe I can shower with the door closed tomorrow. Easy.

Simon twined one hand into Christian’s hair and rested the other on his chest. Christian held himself up on his left arm, and slid the other under Simon’s shirt.

This isn’t fair.

Simon winced at the intrusive thought.

This isn’t fair to Chris. You shouldn’t use him like this.

Don’t prove yourself a liar.

Simon shifted both hands to press on Christian’s chest. Chris didn’t budge. Simon jerked his head to the side to escape Christian’s heavy kiss.

“Chris- mm!”

Christian quickly shifted and pressed his mouth over Simon’s again, preventing him from speaking. Simon’s pulse picked up speed, and he tried again when Christian paused to adjust his position.

“Chris, stop -”

But Christian was already back on him with a harsh, silencing kiss. The hand under Simon’s shirt slid down and began to pull at his pajama pants. The stretchy fabric moved easily and a bolt of panic surged through Simon. He rapidly tapped Christian’s chest and the captain finally shifted back onto all fours over Simon, breathing heavily, leaving the pants bunched dangerously low around Simon’s hips.

“Chris, I don’t want to have sex, I don’t want to have sex with you,” Simon babbled.

Christian seized the sides of Simon’s head and crashed their lips together, mumbling into Simon’s mouth.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, please just do this for me, I’ve been waiting three fucking years, Simon.”

He moved back, allowing Simon to suck in panicky breaths while he pulled Simon’s pants down around his knees, exposing him. Simon sat up and shoved at him uselessly.

“Stop it!”

Christian held him down with a hand on his chest while the other pushed and grabbed between Simon’s legs.

“Come on,” he said breathily, “You owe me this.”

Simon loved Christian. He really did. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this had never happened, not with Christian before, not with Matthew, not with Matthew as a vampire, not even with the clients; any resistance on Simon’s part with them was a requested performance. And he didn’t care about them, it wasn’t a betrayal when they fucked him.

There was only one other person that Simon had loved, truly loved, who had also pinned him down and stripped him and fucked him.

Rape, whispered the animal in his chest.

That’s what it all was.

Matthew said so.

And so is this.

(Matthew is always right.)

(Matthew is the only one who never…)

Christian was back on him, suffocating him, scraping Simon’s face with his stubble. Simon reached out to the side wildly, his wrist cracking hard against the bedside table.

Then he felt it.

The heavy ceramic base of the lamp.

He’d only get one shot at this.

He heaved the lamp up and smashed it over Christian’s head. Ceramic shards rained down, and Christian let out a cry and slumped to the side. Simon wiggled desperately out from underneath his weight and fell to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, pulling up his pants. He sucked in a deep breath, and screamed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

He’d been holding onto those words for a while.

Christian groaned, and started to move.

Fuck.

Simon turned and sprinted out of the bedroom, his bare feet thumping against the floor, through the small house to the front door. He jiggled the doorknob frantically, but it didn’t budge. Locked. He backed away, chest heaving.

Fuck.

Then he spotted Christian’s golf bag, and the picture window looking out onto the front porch, and put two and two together. He reached into the cluster of club heads with shaking hands and pulled out the heaviest, the lob wedge, and he hated and was grateful that he knew that. He climbed up onto the couch under the window, and prepared to swing.

“Simonnn…” Christian groaned from somewhere in the house.

Fuck.

Simon adjusted his sweaty hands and swung, just like he saw the professionals on TV do. It hit the window with a thunk and a thick spider web of cracks burst out  from the impact point, but it didn’t break. The alarm system started beeping loudly throughout the house. 

“Simon!” Closer now. And angry.

FUCK.

Simon swung again with everything that he had and the window shattered. He dropped the club onto the couch and leapt through the empty frame, and his feet landed hard on the broken glass scattered across the porch. He didn’t register the pain. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t look back. Every fiber of his being was propelling him away, away, away, as he sprinted off the porch, down the steps, and onto the sidewalk. 

Simon ran.

He ran in and out of the pools of light underneath the streetlamps, he passed perfect little house after perfect little house, until he reached where the homey neighborhood butted up against the man drag. His momentum carried him out into the street, into the dark, in front of headlights that honked and swerved as he crossed the multi-lane road. He didn’t hear them; he could only hear his own pulse and ragged breath. He made it to the other side and kept running, into taller and denser buildings now, more brick and concrete than wood and panel.

He hadn’t run, not properly, in a long time. He used to nearly every day, back in the VIU’s basement, on his treadmill. The memories felt far away, and he could feel the lack of practice in his body. Every impact of his feet against the sidewalk sent spikes of pain up his shins, but he didn’t care. His lungs burned and heaved, but he didn’t care. He ran past restaurants with sidewalk seating and the late-night diners barely glanced at him - what was another runner in the city?

He kept running.

He kept running.

He kept running.

He kept running until he felt like he was going to die. Building after building, block after block. Dodging evening dog-walkers and crossing streets without a care for cars.

Then, someone was looking at him.

A Black woman in a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette in the light of an open door behind her. She watched Simon approach along the sidewalk, growing concern on her face as she looked him up and down, noticed he was in pajamas rather than running gear, noticed the distress on his face, noticed his bare feet.

“You alright?” she called out.

Simon noticed her too, noticed her shaved head and her carabiner of keys and the colorful flag flapping above her.

“Please help!” he gasped.

She stepped to the side and spread her arms, directing him into the lit doorway. Simon ran in, his feet slapping wetly on linoleum, and fell to his hands and knees, gagging and dry heaving. He heard the door close and a heavy metal lock shunt into place. His arms and legs shuddered and he collapsed completely on his side, hands and feet twitching. He couldn’t get enough air, no matter how hard he breathed.

“Easy, take it easy - I need some help out here!”

Simon felt hands lift his head and slide soft folded leather underneath it. It smelled like cigarettes and honeysuckle.

“Holy shit.”

“Nora, who is that?”

Voices and footsteps approached while Simon heaved on the floor helplessly. What if they sent him back.

“Fran, can you check him out? Jacob, can you bring him some water? I think he ran a long way.”

“Is someone after him?”

“Gotta be, I’ll watch the door.”

A woman with a pixie cut and overalls crouched in front of Simon, filling his vision.

“Hi there,” she said softly, “My name is Fran, I’m an EMT, can you tell me your name?”

Simon used every ounce of strength he had to shake his head, still gasping for air.

“That’s okay. Just take deep breaths, okay? I’m going to look at your feet.”

She moved out of his sight, and now Simon could see two figures that had been standing behind her. Looking at him. Gawking. He flinched when a hand wrapped around his ankle and lifted his foot, turning it this way and that. The soles spiked and pulsed with pain.

“How long were you running for?”

“I don’t know,” he breathed. He turned his face into the folded jacket and brought up an arm to shelter his head, hiding from the staring eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“Can we take you to an ER?”

“No!” he whimpered, “No, please don’t!”

“Okay, guys?” It was the strong voice of the first woman - Nora. “Don’t just stand there and stare. We’re gonna need to wash his feet, right?”

“Yeah,” said Fran.

“Okay. Ollie, the tubs we use for tie-dye are upstairs, you know where -? Yeah. Thanks.”

“I got water!” A deeper voice.

“Great - okay, can you sit up?” Simon felt a hand settle on his shoulder. His breath was still quick and panicky, and his lungs still burned, but he didn’t feel like he was drowning anymore. He pressed a shaking hand into the ground and pushed, and with the help of multiple hands on his shoulders and back he sat upright.

Through his tears he saw Fran still looking at his feet, while Nora and an older round man with a pale face - Jacob, most likely - sat on either side of him. He was in the entryway of an old building, with doors on either side of him. He sensed an opening behind him as well. Between where he lay and the large wooden door to the street was a set of bloody footprints on the linoleum tile.

“Fuck,” he sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry -”

“It’s okay,” Nora said firmly, “You’re okay.”

Jacob unscrewed the cap from a plastic water bottle and handed it to him. Seeing it made Simon’s throat scream for moisture and he grabbed it and started chugging.

“Woah there,” Jacob warned, “Don’t make yourself sick.”

Simon lowered the bottle with a gasp.

“M’really sorry,” he said again, “I didn’t mean to barge in, I just…”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Nora rubbed his back, “We were just wrapping up.”

Fran was no longer looking at his feet, but at his face, with professionally concealed concern.

“You’re not on anything.” It was more a statement than a question. Simon knew she was referring to recreational drugs, not his psychiatric medication, so he shook his head.

“What happened that made you run so far?” she asked.

Simon shook his head faster, his lip trembling.

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

“I don’t know,” Simon sobbed.

Fran looked at Jacob.

“Can he…?”

Jacob nodded immediately.

“He can stay here for tonight. That’s what we're here for.”

“We got the tubs!” called a voice from behind Simon.

“Great - there’s a folding wheelchair in the closet there, can you get it out?”

Simon couldn’t keep track of all the people, and what was happening anymore. He was lifted into a wheelchair and brought further into the building, into a half-size gymnasium. There was a circle of chairs in the middle and a table with coffee and an empty donut box off to the side. His bloody feet were lowered into a tub of cool water, making him hiss and flinch. Fran crouched next to him.

“I’m going to let you soak for a while, then we’ll get all the grit out. You up for that?”

Simon had no other choice. He nodded.

She held up a cordless landline phone and a business card.

“We’re gonna give you some privacy, you can call whoever you like.”

She handed the phone and business card to him and stood.

“I’ll be back in fifteen, okay?”

Simon didn’t have the energy to respond. He just stared down into the rippling water and the pink ribbons drifting away from his feet.

Once he was alone in the large room, he read the business card: The Cambert Building, an LGBTQ community center. He looked up and around, at the motivational posters on the walls, and the cork boards overflowing with flyers.

Then he looked at the phone.

He didn’t know Matthew's number anymore. Matthew’s original phone and his burner phone were both long gone. He knew the VIU’s number, but there was no one he trusted there. They’d all helped send him to Summerwhite. He obviously couldn’t call Chris.

There were only two other numbers he did know.

One he’d heard a thousand times as she chatted on the phone with potential clients.

If you’re interested in booking him you can call me back at -

Simon punched in the number, the mechanical beeps echoing throughout the room, and held his breath.

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is not in service at this time. Please hang up and try again.”

Simon sobbed, hanging up.

The other number was from a long, long time ago. A treasured scrap of memory.

You remember my cell, amorzinho? Repeat it back to me.

Simon pressed the buttons hard, tears running down his face.

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is not in service at this time. Please hang up and try again.”

He tried the first one again.

The second one again.

The first.

The second.

He spent the next fifteen minutes calling dead women.

~~~

First, Previous, Next, Masterlist

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @sunshiline-writes, @seasaltandcopper

[whumpfish]

Now that I've had my antidepressant and some food, as well as some time to think about my Vietnam and Civil War and World War courses....

I think that in addition to my pain and my disabilities in general, part of why I turned to whump and dead dove/extreme fiction more and more is a way to cope with the secondhand trauma of the study of brutality. It's a necessary trauma, and it's one that we volunteer to undergo when we decide on this life course, but that is ultimately what it is. And like any voluntary trauma, you don't know how rough it's going to be on you until that first rough patch hits.

I think some people become flag-wavers after studying military history because they can't cope with that secondhand exposure to brutality, and the only way they can make peace with their bruised psyche is to justify and glorify. I think military families go through the same secondhand trauma, but it's not voluntary in their case. They grab onto the flag faster and harder because they weren't warned, and the only control they have over that secondhand exposure and pain is control of their personal narrative.

Like any trauma, you can choose healthier ways of dealing with it, but this country actively teaches people flag-waving as the best way to deal with any and all trauma from about the age of 5. I think we should all reflect well on this, and the fact that how you approach these folks has an influence on whether and how readily they open their minds to those healthier coping strategies before you decide to open your pie-hole on matters concerning war.

[muirmarie]

DAMN am I excited about you getting a bad things happen bingo card! I have become OBSESSED with your fics (McCoy is my favorite and I love whump and h/c, so to come across your writing has been the best thing to happen to me since I went on antidepressants) and after following your tumblr from your fics on AO3 I have been reading ever single thing you post and also ALL of your tags (please please please keep rambling in the tags it is wonderful and an absolute treasure) ANYWAYS, all that to say that you are amazing and I GREATLY look forward to whatever you have in store! :)

--Marzipan

Youuuuu are so sweet, thank you!!!!

A character realizing they're loved through h/c, and moreover realizing they have to LET themselves be loved because the people who love them need to be allowed to express that love.......truly my favorite thing lmao, and Leonard McCoy is truly the perfect vehicle for that hahaha (sorry, Bones!!!)

You're incredibly kind, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate you saying that!!! ❤️❤️❤️