trigger warning: this is a whump blog, which means that the main focus is fandom tropes. before you go into my blog makes sure you know what your getting into. there is non-descriptive intimate whump on this page.
disclaimer: none of this is made to glorify anything I write. personally, I believe that it is critical for people to be able to write about ‘bad’ topics to avoid censorship, and everything I write about is fictional. I am not inflicting my content on anyone, or doing anything to any real people, and no one needs to be hurt by it unless you let yourself be. fictional characters have as much consciousness as the fictional chairs they are sitting on, which is why I feel comfortable writing whump.
I don’t have any OCs or ongoing works yet, when I do a masterlist link will be put at the bottom of this page.
all posts are tagged accordingly. if you feel I’ve missed a trigger warning, drop me a comment and I’ll add it. I can’t control the content you decide to consume, and it’s not my fault if you eat the dead dove and think it tastes gross.
oh also if you see me reblog things that don’t make sense with the blog gimmick bc I forgot to make sure I was posting on my personal blog, no you don’t
my main blog is @piniatafullofblood. Mainly fandom stuff, (cough cough supernatural) lately a lot more (us) politics, and also occasionally live-blogging about my life.
this blog is inactive right now. if you want to see more of me i’ll be there.
whumpeee who was kept with limited mobility restrictions for a long time as like a servant or smth like that who still had to do tasks who’s rescued and in recovery going around and doing things and just having periodic ‘wow this is so easy when i can move my hands’ moments
what if sunshine and grumpy are codependently bonded because they went through a war together and they share a dream of living their lives together and then sunshine ends up not being able to do that so grumpy fights and works to make it happen even after sunshine gives up on it and then it DOES and immediately grumpy starts succeeding where he had been failing out bc their dream was to do it with sunshine and he couldn’t. what then
hi everyone, perhaps you've seen the posts about my budgie saga before. unfortunately yesterday i found out devastating news. maus (my baby budgie) is terminally ill and likely only has a few weeks left. what started out as slight concerns for her breathing suddenly turned into her liver being both damaged and so oversized that it constricts her breathing. she is not in any pain currently but sadly it is only a matter of time before her liver fully stops working.
while we have moved her to palliative care, i am determined to give any treatment i can, to give her a bit more time and keep her comfortable.
i hate to be doing this, but as a full-time student her vet bills are a lot for me. if anyone has any money to spare, i'd really appreciate the help!!
I do not see inspiration coming anywhere near me right now. my main is @piniatafullofblood, if you want to see more of me I’ll be there. I will be inactive most likely for a long time.
they’re completely disoriented, and trapped. something is going to happen and they don’t know what. manhandled somewhere, with a blindfold tied to the back of their head and their arms behind their back.
they don’t know who’s taken them or why they’re here, or what’s gonna happen next. they’re totally unprepared; a sitting duck. they don’t know who’s taken them or where they are, and anything could happen. all they know is that they were knocked out and taken somewhere new.
They have no idea where they are, and somehow it’s entirely silent outside. They don’t get any hints; no birds chirping or sounds of other people, no metal clanking, not the jingle of keys to presumably whatever cell they’re in. they don’t know what’s gonna happen.
It’s like the best combo. It’s supposed to be the happy time of the year. But you can completely ruin it by torturing a poor soul with no remorse.
Take them away from everything they know and love. Make them lonely. Condition them to believe the holidays are the scariest time of the year and that something bad will happen to them if they try to leave. Condition a Scrooge into loving the holidays. Chain them down in Christmas lights. Tie them to a Christmas tree. Burn them with candle wax. Make their loved ones have to see them in a hospital bed with multiple wires attached to them, barely breathing.
i love this because it permanently ruins the holiday season for the whumpee. no matter how much better they get, they’ll never go back to really thinking about it the same way.
I find vampires that live comfortably off animal blood to be so eye-rolling. You're taking away the fundamental tension of the concept! They're killers, even if they don't want to be. They have a terrible urge that must be satisfied.
A vampire that feasts on animals should, at the very least, be unhappy about it. Eating animals instead of humans should be heroic act of self-denial, a diminishment, a course of last resort.
When I see a scene of a vampire taking down a deer and then just being normal afterward, I get sad, because where's my juicy internal conflict gone?
some ideas for vampires who can survive off animal blood:
animal blood can sustain them, but just barely. they won't die, but they're severely malnourished, weak, and feel like they're starving.
animal blood can sustain them, but it hurts. it's like a starving person eating poisoned food because there's nothing else.
a massive amount of animal blood is needed to be equivalent to a modest amount of human blood. instead of a pint (or whatever) of blood from a human, they need two cows' worth of animal blood every day.
Life in captivity is not that bad.
Yes, it is miserable. It is unending. But it is bearable.
Every day, he wakes, and eats. He kneels and shows gratitude for what he is given.
He works. Sometimes it is grueling labor, other times, just tedious, repetitive, routine tasks.
It is exhausting. But he knows what needs to be done, and how to do it.
They taunt him, sometimes. That might be the worst part. A reminder of how far he has fallen from who he once was.
But he can take it. He knows how to tune out the noises, how to make his mind go somewhere distant. He knows how to play along, when it will appease them.
And each night, he is permitted adequate sleep, in the silence of a barren cell. Morning comes, and the patten repeats.
That is all there is, day after day, night after countless night.
It is bearable. The routine is familiar, almost comfortable.
Still, despair creeps up on him. Even that is routine - a question gnawing at the back of his mind, returning to his conscious thoughts each night. He lies still, stares up at the empty darkness, and lets the misery consume him.
Something is off today. Ashtray can feel it in his bones —not that it’s his purpose to make a judgement about the situation. He is only supposed to please his Mistress.
Kneeling next to her, his golden collar connected to a leash held loosely in her hand. It’s picturesque, her beautifully manicured fingers tapping against the shining metal in something he can only hope is not annoyance.
There is no visitor today, a surprise given the collar, but he is still on his best behaviour. Mistress is only watching the TV, decorated in a golden antique frame to be hidden at will. Only his beloved Mistress could come up with such a perfect concept, combining her intricate style with the comfort of modern invention. He hopes her servants appreciate the design when they clean it.
Mistress doesn’t seem to care much for it today though, just instead making a sound he’d never dare compare to a growl. Nevertheless, it makes him shiver. He can’t seem to stop, ever since she marked her own artwork —rightfully so!—, but he does his best to keep them under control. Barely visible to the eye, only noticeable when he is touched.
And nowadays he rarely is.
Suddenly, she tucks at the chain, beckoning him closer. She blows her smoke into his face, drowning him out in the cloud, his eyes stinging. Finally, something familiar.
Instead of extinguishing her still-lit cigarette, she pushes his chin with a single, slender finger until he leans back, the posture tugging at his many scars.
As gracefully as possible, almost sensually, Ashtray lets his head fall back too, light blond hair spilling over his face, getting caught in his long eyelashes, his eyes closed.
Suddenly, her nails trace the letters over his heart and they are sharp almost like—
like knives.
Sharp, honed, new blades, with the single purpose of splitting Ashtray’s flesh with ease.
Prolonged cutting he doesn’t dare call cruel, white lighting and red rivers.
He is right there. All over again.
It’s like his body reacts before he can, caught in a memory he should be grateful for if he wasn’t somehow broken.
The body flinches back, from his Mistress's holy touch.
For a moment, everything is silent.
Ashtray stares at the ceiling, a horrible feeling of knowing washing over him. Whatever his Mistress did, rightfully, he never flinched.
In the next second, his head snaps to the side, the loud bang of his Mistress slapping him echoing through the room.
Mistress is screaming at him, for the first time. He has never failed her before, not like this. And he can’t even comprehend her words.
Whatever she is telling him is lost to his mind that he never quite understood. He only knows he is inferior in a way even an ashtray shouldn’t be, and he can do nothing to remedy that.
Tears pool in his eyes, as the servants drag him away from his still-shouting Mistress. When did he get so useless?
When did his beautiful porcelain conditioning crack?
