Lady Whump Diaries

a lady whump event run by @whumpshaped

[ladywhumpdiaries]

welcome to the lady whump diaries event!

this event will run in the month of june, with 30 prompts you can either complete or pick and choose from. any form of creating is accepted, be it writing, prompts, art, collages, whatever you fancy. original settings and fanfic settings are both accepted and encouraged. the only rule is: all whumpees must be women. (whumpers, caretakers, teammates etc. don't have to be, but if you want to..... door's open.....)

as for what counts as a woman, that is 100% up to you. trans women, awesome. masc/butch women, awesome. he/him women, awesome. amab women, awesome. if the character is a woman to you, they are a woman to me!

i lied, there are actually more rules. one important one is: please tag your fics thoroughly. especially if they're nsfw. another rule is: please don't use ai when creating. i can't check if you did, so it runs on the honour system, but i trust you guys.

2026 prompts!

FAQ

that's all for now, if anything more comes to mind i'll add it here! let's be the change we want to see in the world (see more fictional women tormented)

[libraryofwhump]

Dumb Whore

Lady Whump Diaries Day 30 - Dehumanization

CWs: Presumed cheating, physical abuse, dehumanization, misogyny, lady whump, force feeding, vomiting

@ladywhumpdiaries

She thought he cheated on her. She saw him with Samantha. She saw it with her own two eyes. There was no way it wasn't him.

Only he was telling the truth. His bastard twin brother stole his jacket and fooled around with her. And she was too stupid, too angry to listen. And now, she lost him. Probably forever.

A hard back hand brought her out of her own mind.

"You done daydreaming?" Jackson cooly asked.

Lori shrank into herself, trying not to sob again.

"Oh my god, again? Why do you females always cry? Where was that anger when you punched me?"

"Y-You..."

"C'mon now, Lori. Where was that fire? That confidence? Where was all of that?" He smirked. "I guess your species are all talk. You don't actually have the guts to take any of us down. You're too weak. You're all too emotional to think. All you care about is popularity, romance and your careers. It's disgusting." He pulled her up by the hair. "You're just breeding machines at the end of the day. Your only purpose is to serve us. We deserve to work and you deserve to cook and clean until your fingers bleed and your feet ache."

He shoved her face into the plate of rotting food. "Now I bet you're hungry. Eat. I made it especially for you."

Lori let out an involuntary sob.

"Why are you crying? I did all of this for you. You don't want all this hard work to go to waste, do you?"

She nodded. What else could she do?

He sat her up and petted her head. "Good dog."

She shivered. But she can't fight back. He's stronger than her. He'll overpower her. He opened her mouth and stuffed the liquid potatoes into her mouth.

"Good huh? Sorry. I'm not that much of a cook."

Lori's stomach turned. This is disgusting. She didn't want to eat any more of this, but Jackson kept forcing her mouth open. He kept forcing the rotten carrots in, forcing her to choke down this abomination of a meal. But of course, she couldn't keep it down. She wasn't halfway done before she vomited it back out. It splashed onto Jackson's lap, causing him to twist his face in disgust.

"Gross. Those were my new pants." He pushed her away. "Whatever. I'm gonna go change. You go clean it up." As he walked away, he muttered. "Dumb whore."

Lori let herself go as she wiped up her vomit with her own shirt. He's right. She is a dumb whore. She was too stupid to believe her own boyfriend. She didn't pay attention to any of their facial features, what they were like - even their personalities.

I'm sorry, Mateo... You don't deserve me. I'm just a dumb whore. I'll always be a dumb whore.

[watsonbee]

CW: female caretaker/ whumpee/ whumper expect the roles are switched around blurry lines, gun, death threat, cooperative caretaker, implied past murder, description of a corpse, blood, implied past abuse, stab wounds, suggestive innuendos, magic exhaustion, med whump, slight gore, inexperienced caretaker, toxic yuri

@ladywhumpdiaries

Day #17 of the lwd event: Psycho ex-girlfriend

–

Caretaker pictured the end of her day to be quiet, just her and whatever food she scrounged from the cabinet in front of the tv while it lulled her into much needed sleep. Never mind the pilling homework she still had to complete. She’d square that away for another day, when she had the space for a mental breakdown.

All she wanted was to watch the tv fuzz out in the background and nothing else.

But instead she got stopped in front of her door by an all too familiar face. Though that would come later, when the stranger angled their hooded face so she could better see them in the crappy hallway lighting.

She never got to step inside her room, didn't get to greet her roommate and lie that today was good. No, she got a gun pointed at her and a hushed voice telling her to keep quiet, it's barrel peaking out from under Whumper’s hoodie as she glared her down like she’d threatened her family, stepping into Caretaker’s space enough that she could feel, literally feel the weight of the threat through her thin shirt.

Hot breath fanned her face, making her heart stand still in her chest, “Behave, and I won't kill you,” she whispered.

“What is this, Whumper?” her mouth blurted against her better judgment, “A mugging? I’ve only got twenty bucks on me but you can have it—”

A jab of the gun and she shut up, “Think of this more like a…long put off booty call. But with a lot more foreplay.”

Whumper was always the first to crack a joke regardless of the situation. But with the lights playing with the moon’s shadow, catching the bruises and blood staining Whumper’s face, this joke was far from funny.

“Calm down, Caretaker. I'm not serious.” she added, rolling her eyes at Caretaker’s horrified confusion. “I need you to patch someone up for me. No questions, no running, and you get to live with the perk of never seeing me again.”

That's how Caretaker, dumbly, ended up in Whumper’s car and eventually through the doorway of her house.

The air smelled rotten. Stale like smoke and teased with something metallic as the last remnants of crisp, night air rolled in past the closing door. Whumper strolled ahead, easily dodging the various things thrown and broken on the floor, before stopping at the couch and turning back to Caretaker. She didn't have to wonder what that metallic smells was for long.

A body laid on the couch. It's—her hands were laid straight beside it, almost every inch of her covered in deep red stains to the point it was hard to tell where the initial injury was. Her legs were sprawled out over the cushions. Blood was on the floor as well, strokes running down the side of the couch, or more like up. The body had to be moved.

Caretaker’s stomach jumped to her throat. Her eyes bulged and when she went to look for Whumper, she was walking towards her with a med kit. She hadn't even noticed her leave.

Caretaker swallowed, trying to force herself to speak, “What– did you—what is this?” The kit was shoved into her hands, “Did you kill her?”

Whumper didn't meet her eyes, “Everything you need should be in there.”

“What? No she– she needs a hospital! Not a kit you can stash in a bathroom.”

The infamous gun made it’s appearance again, pointed straight at her as Whumper finally made eye contact, words burning with annoyance, “No, what she needs is for you to shut up and get to work. There's a time limit on these things, right? And that little oath you took? Well you're wasting her chances by asking stupid questions.”

She gestured to the body. Caretaker pursed her lips, another thing about Whumper is that she rarely settled for less than what she wanted. That was more than clear when a distinct click resounded in the room.

So, with a sigh, Caretaker knelt beside the corpse and got to work. Nothing she had ever studied could have prepared her for the smell. It clung to her throat like a thick fog, sour in a way she couldn't place, she had to distance her mind from it to keep from gagging.

Whumper’s pacing footsteps assisted in that, enough back and forth that Caretaker’s mind didn't have the time to concentrate on the smell.

More and more strips of bloodied gauze and torn clothes littered the ground. There was so much blood covering too many wounds of too many variations. Not to mention the bruising. She sewed up what she could and mentally marked what she couldn't for later, tracking Whumper’s trails across the floor while she did.

Eleven. Twelve. Too much bleeding, more pressure to that wound. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seven– “Aren't you done yet?”

“It takes more than three minutes to keep a woman from dying,” she snapped, the comment making her loose her place, “Why is her skin torn like this anyway? There's no way she survived all these stab wounds, did you keep going even after she was dead?”

Her fingers slipped on blood-slicked skin. Unsurprisingly, operating on an actual person and not a cadaver or a dummy was completely different; it was hard to keep a sturdy grip, the plastic gloves not helping. And her damn hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Liquid horror dripped into her bones. She wanted to ignore it, just get the job done so she wouldn't have more blood on her hands than she already did, but it was hard not to imagine what Whumper must've done to this woman.

“How the hell did you even—she looks like she got mauled by an animal.” Her breath shook as she exhaled, drawing her hands back with her mind racing over each ruffle of this woman's hoodie. Simply drawing it up wasn't working.

Caretaker grabbed a pair of scissors, bringing them to the hem—Whumper sharply grabbed her wrist before the blades could bite through.

Her eyes were intense, like they’d been the whole time, but now her gaze darted from Caretaker to the woman on the couch with something….different in her eyes. Wild. As if she was the one being held at gunpoint, “You can't do that,” her words fast.

Caretaker snatched her hand back, “I can't fix something I can't see.”

“That's her favorite hoodie.”

“You didn't seem to care when you tore her skin through it.”

Whumper straightened, stare once again taking on it’s edge, tone clipped as she spoke through her teeth, “Work around it.”

This is ridiculous. And Caretaker had half a mind to say so. But instead she huffed, giving the woman another once over, “Fine.”

So instead the hoodie was hiked up and her arms worked out of the sleeves. Whumper was surprisingly helpful, completely ditching the gun and lifting the woman's arms so they were able to shimmy the fabric over her head.

Caretaker hoped whatever she was behind those eyes kept her away from the feeling of her severed flesh extending and contracting.

But that thought was quickly replaced by another as she watched Whumper quickly draw back, hoodie in hand like it was something precious. At some point she had taken her jacket off, leaving nothing but a tank top underneath it. And a Picasso of bruises and cuts painted all over her body.

Where the injuries Whumper inflicted looked erratic and random, the ones on her own body were more direct, purposeful and targeted. The gashes weren't as deep, but they were placed in areas were a paper cut would feel like agony.

There were hand prints too, most the same shade as the absurd amount of hickies broken by small scrapes raked over them. Her arms, stomach, even dipping below the waist of her pants; everywhere, and yet so easily covered by her clothing.

Did she always have rings like that under her eyes? “What?” Whumper snapped.

Caretaker startled, immediately grabbing her supplies and turning her attention back to her work. Her eyes drifted to the injuries under her palms. Deep, but there was a hint of desperation at the edges of every cut. The bruises that were there weren't as frequent as Whumper’s, the deeper ones obviously caused by a foreign object.

There was no doubt that whatever happened to this woman was wrong, manic and inhumane. But among the cruelty was a story with worn pages, torn to shreds on both ends of the book. Was this why they drifted apart?

“Whumper,” her words hesitated as the string eased out of flesh, trailing red up the length of it. She didn't look up, “Is she hurting you?”

A bird cawed somewhere outside. Her knees started to ache on the floor and she understood why Whumper had taken her jacket off, sweat beading down her neck.

In an instant the gun was not only back in Whumper’s hand, but being pressed to Caretaker’s head. The cold metal was pushed painfully against her temple. A hand twisted in her hair, Whumper’s words biting right next to her ear, “I didn’t bring you here to ask questions. Now fix her or I’ll make sure you two get a proper introduction.”

So again, Caretaker swallowed her words and tied off the last stitch. She looked to Whumper uncertainly, who gestured toward the body, and Caretaker sighed.

She pulled of the gloves covered in viscera, hands hovering over the women's torn skin. She had never done this on a human before, just small animals in class. But if she didn't do this the woman might die.

So she held her breath, focusing her mind on her hands and the life below them while closing her eyes. A spark flashed from her hands, shocking her. But she continued until the spark turned into a flow of energy ebbing from her fingers. Her mind was never the easiest thing to clear, but the looming danger was enough motivation. She felt the body's heat—it's life radiating below her.

She relented just a bit, not wanting to char her, just take the chill from her body. Magic flowed from the woman's belly to her limbs, Caretaker couldn't see it, she could feel the energy seeping into the woman like a second consciousness. She spoke to it, nudging it like you would a baby's heartbeat, careful with it as if she was one.

At the same time Caretaker’s limbs grew heavier. Her mind picked up phantom pains like a radio station, sending signals to her abdomen like sharp lightning, confusing one body for the other.

Every book and professor warned of this; the mending body fighting off the other conscious like a foreign bacteria. Treating it like an invasion. Trying to kill it.

The best worse case scenario was that the healing didn't take and the body just gave up. She didn't want to think of the worst.

Her fingers were growing numb. Any ache she had before was being switched around with the other signals haunting her body; elbows suddenly feeling too stiff. Joints threatening to pop at any move.

Her eyes lolled in the darkness. Was she dead at this point? She shouldn't be. Because something—the body—twitched under her touch. A deep, rasping gasp of breath followed.

Caretaker collapsed among the bloodied bandages, rough carpet scratching her face as the sound of gurgled chocking filled her ears. She coughed on instinct, but nothing came out.

She blinked, trying to take in as much information about her surroundings as she could to steady herself between flashes of black. A couch that didn't match the rest of the room, chatter she couldn't decipher above her, something wet and bitter over her lip.

When she was finally able to pull herself up she saw the two talking, Whumper’s hands holding the now alive woman’s face while the latter wiped the last remnants of blood from her mouth. She expected them to hug or whatever they would do to prove to themselves the woman was alive.

What she caught was an angry face pointed at her and disgust forming the words rolling off her tongue, “Who the fuck is she?”

Whumper must have forgotten Caretaker was even there, “Huh? Oh, she stitched you back up.”

“Stitched–” she looked over her body and you wouldn't be able to tell she was in pain by the anger on her face, “Did you fucking kill me? You seriously did, didn’t you? I guess you weren't joking when you said you wanted be dead after all!”

Whumper pulled back, a mix of anger and frustration coming out in a scoff, “I fixed you, you should be happy! I’m the reason you’re alive right now!”

“By the looks of it you just watched someone clean up your mess! You didn’t do anything!” Though the comment implied her part in this, Caretaker was seemingly forgotten from the conversation again.

A growl escapes Whumper’s lips, gun fidgeting in her grip. Caretaker wasn't the only one to catch it, “What? You gonna kill me again cause I ruffled your feathers, princess?” She spat that last word.

“You wanna press your luck?”

Fatigue was winning over Caretaker and she had no desire to be a witness to what happens next. She got up, inching towers the door when Whumper levels the gun to her face, “Don’t leave.”

The woman rolled her eyes, leaning back on the couch as if this is just another regular week day, “Yeah, go ahead and add another body to your count.”

Whumper visibly bristles.

Caretaker throws her palms up, “We had a deal. I did what you wanted, now let me go.”

There's silence as Whumper seems to mull something over in her head. She huffs, dropping the gun as she looks over Caretaker, “I’ll drive you.”

[acelightningwhumper]

Period Cramps- Callisto

@ladywhumpdiaries - Day 9

Their Sacred Vow

~Disclaimer for all drabbles- none are considered 100% canon; the more recently made, the closer they are to canon, but these are mostly for fun for me to figure out the characters+plot!~

Author's note: in the Courting Years, sometime in their courting stage

Evangeline

"Hey there, princess."

Callisto's ears perked up. Evangeline?

"How're you feeling?"

"Like shit." she mumbled, looking up.

Evangeline was indeed standing there. In her room. Looking at her with an amusement that Callisto couldn't figure out if she found it irritating or endearing.

At least she decided to sit on the bed next Callisto so she didn't have to get up. And the hand she put on Callisto's forehead was pleasantly cool. "Well, it's good to know that monthly cycles take out even the strongest of people." she teased.

Callisto did her best to glare, but it felt more like a pout. "Careful or I'll bite you again." she muttered. Then leaned into Evangeline's hand as she scratched the top of her head.

"Mhm, I'm sure you will." Evangeline said with a giggle.

Huffing, Callisto peeked open an eye to look at her again. "What are you doing here, anyway?" she asked, wincing as another wave of pain reeked havoc on her abdomen. "Figured you'd spend today with Gareth or something instead."

"I'm supposed to be spending the day with you."

"But it's improper for you to be in here. Especially without a chaperone. And you hate being improper."

Evangeline's expression softened, her eyes lowering to the sheets. "Yes." she said quietly. "But I care about you more."

Callisto's eyes widened. Then watered. She sniffled.

"Oh dear."

She watched through her tears as Evangeline dug around in her dress pockets. Only to cry harder as her friend wiped at her face with her handkerchief.

"Fucking- stupid hormones." she sobbed as Evangeline shifted them both. Now she was crying into her friend's skirts. Gods, she was such a mess.

But Evangeline's fingers felt really nice in her hair.

"It's alright, Cali." Evangeline said, her voice soft. "You don't have to hide with me."

Their Sacred Vow Taglist:

@melpomenelamusa, @writinggremlin, @lesbianwords, @whump-ohmy, @galactic-worm

Also, if possible, if anyone could support me on ko-fi, that'd be much appreciated! Only within one's means, don't go broke to help me out.

[acelightningwhumper]

Scar Reveal- Callisto

@ladywhumpdiaries - Day 8

Their Sacred Vow

~Disclaimer for all drabbles- none are considered 100% canon; the more recently made, the closer they are to canon, but these are mostly for fun for me to figure out the characters+plot!~

CW/TW for scars made during mention of torture and starvation aftermath

Author's note: sometime after Evangeline is free, early-ish in their reunion during the War Arc

Callisto

She stopped as Evangeline hesitated. "You know, I have seen you naked before." she tried a gentle tease.

Evangeline turned her head, looking away from her. "Not like this." she mumbled.

Something in her expression and tone made Callisto's heart ache. She took Evangeline's hands in hers. Once Evangeline finally looked back up at her, she murmured, "Old scars, new scars, skinny or fat, I love you. No matter what you look like."

Evangeline gave her a small faint smile that quickly disappeared. Very slowly, she began to take off her shirt. Callisto ended up having to help when her wife's body began to strain with the movement.

Once her torso was bare, Callisto saw what she'd meant.

All of the previous scars she'd become so familiar with were somehow gone. Now they had been replaced with new ones. Spell designs now covered portions of her torso and arms. Some of them were still angry and red, despite all the healing she'd had. Other scars were evidence of past wounds that had caused pain beyond what any body should be capable of handling. She prayed Chandra had only inflicted one at a time. But she doubted that was ever the case.

Callisto had to hold herself back from hugging Evangeline tight. Her wife was already trembling enough just with Callisto's soft touches against her skin. So she remained as gentle and clinical as she could, taking mental notes while she thought about what ointments and medicines could ease Evangeline's pain. As well as thinking of what foods to give her to bring her weight back up. It physically pained her to see Evangeline's ribs and spine so prominent, her body closer to skeletal now than it had ever been, even under Agar and Natalia's abuse.

When she turned Evangeline around to look at her back, she bit her lip so hard, it almost bled. Where her wings had been were charred and poorly healed stubs of bone, muscle, and skin. Her back was a mess of intricate spell designs and more deep wounds combined. She almost didn't notice the words carved on her lower back, just under her waist.

My Angel

She couldn't stop the deep snarling growl that burst from her chest.

Evangeline's whimper immediately halted her angry spiral.

"Shit. I'm sorry, treasure. I'm not mad at you. I'm sorry."

Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around Evangeline, cradling her in her lap.

Miraculously, though, Evangeline didn't panic more. Instead, she clung to Callisto, her sobs shaking both of them with their force. Her words were incoherent through her tears.

"Shh… shh… I've got you. It's okay. It's safe." Callisto murmured, rocking them both back and forth. "It's okay. Cry it out. That's it."

Slowly, Evangeline's sobs became less frantic. They shifted more into tears than begging. Eventually she only shuddered and trembled, her face buried in Callisto's shirt while her hand stayed fisted in the fabric.

Callisto kept rocking and soothing her, even after Evangeline had fallen asleep.

Their Sacred Vow Taglist:

@melpomenelamusa, @writinggremlin, @lesbianwords, @whump-ohmy, @galactic-worm

Also, if possible, if anyone could support me on ko-fi, that'd be much appreciated! Only within one's means, don't go broke to help me out.

[acelightningwhumper]

Cool Girl- Callisto

@ladywhumpdiaries - Day 6

Their Sacred Vow

~Disclaimer for all drabbles- none are considered 100% canon; the more recently made, the closer they are to canon, but these are mostly for fun for me to figure out the characters+plot!~

CW/TW for implied depression and self-destructive behaviors

Author's note: in the Courting Years before Callisto has her depression and self-worth problems addressed

Callisto

Drink.

Flirt.

Fall.

Drink.

Flirt.

Fall.

Callisto felt numb. Ever since Jade had disappeared, she'd found it harder and harder to tolerate… being her.

She threw herself into every party without restraint. She trained harder, got better. Smiled and charmed. Worked hard. Played hard. Anything to fill the gaping void threatening to swallow her whole.

Cool. Confident. Poised.

She just had to act okay. In control.

Then she would be.

Their Sacred Vow Taglist:

@melpomenelamusa, @writinggremlin, @lesbianwords, @whump-ohmy, @galactic-worm

Also, if possible, if anyone could support me on ko-fi, that'd be much appreciated! Only within one's means, don't go broke to help me out.

[acelightningwhumper]

Silk Hiding Steel- Evangeline

@ladywhumpdiaries - Day 4

Their Sacred Vow

~Disclaimer for all drabbles- none are considered 100% canon; the more recently made, the closer they are to canon, but these are mostly for fun for me to figure out the characters+plot!~

Author's note: in the Courting Years, before the forced marriage arrangement happens between her and Thomas

Evangeline

Before he could step closer, Evangeline had drawn her fan and pressed the blades against his ribs. "Don't go any further or I'll gut you like a fish." she said, eyes hard and voice low.

Thomas froze. Then sneered. "You wouldn't dare." he drawled.

"Try me."

Something in her expression or tone actually made him pause. Her lessons with Callisto must have paid off.

He stepped back, eyeing her. "Your parents won't be pleased about this." she growled. "We had an agreement."

"You have an agreement with them. Not with me." she replied coolly. "I do not belong to you. And you are not the only one courting me. Respect that or I will report you to the council."

His eyes flashed. "This isn't over, bitch." he hissed. "I'll make you regret this."

She waited for him to storm off out of sight before she retreated back into the ballroom. As soon as she saw Callisto, she bee-lined over to her. She just about sobbed in relief when she saw Gareth standing there, too.

"Hey, how- are you okay?"

Callisto's immediate concern and worry made her heart warm.

"I'm okay." she reassured her. Now. "What are you two up to?"

The twins resumed their conversation, something about trade routes. They made sure to include her in the discussion, which she was grateful for.

She knew she would regret her actions later. Natalia would make sure of that.

She'd just enjoy what she could until then.

Their Sacred Vow Taglist:

@melpomenelamusa, @writinggremlin, @lesbianwords, @whump-ohmy, @galactic-worm

Also, if possible, if anyone could support me on ko-fi, that'd be much appreciated! Only within one's means, don't go broke to help me out.

[whumpawaydarling]

amor vincit omnia | bonus - undetected

we're so back. a little bit of backstory for rosie ! takes place shortly before or in arc ii of avo :)

written for @ladywhumpdiaries day 15 - disabled whumpee

cw: medical setting, chronic disease, covert whump (implied), suicidal ideation

---

PRIOR: This disease will be the end of many of us, but not nearly all, and the dead will be commemorated and will struggle on with the living, and we are not going away. We won't die secret deaths anymore. — Angels in America

-

The sound of her name cut through the waiting room silence, startling Rosie out of her stupor. She’d had her eyes closed, unwilling to look at the few other transient occupants of the clinic. The window was not much more appealing, a dull grey day illuminating the other half of the hospital. Rain had been stopping and starting all day; her hair was still a little damp. But Rosie always felt cold, so this was not a novel sensation. She picked up her bag, took out the one earphone she’d been using, and didn't make eye contact with anyone as she walked towards the doctor who’d called her name.

Leanne held the door open for her. It felt wrong, but she let it happen. That was how most of her life worked now. She just let things happen.

“Take a seat,” Leanne said, gesturing to the chair. Would she sit if unasked? Probably. It was convention. She’d become accustomed to a different one.

As she sat down, Rosie fixed her gaze to the poster on the wall, the same one that'd been there every year she'd been coming to the clinic. A reminder to get your vaccines. She did, even though it would be borderline miraculous if K let her die to something like pneumonia. But it got her out of the house and meant that she could say she'd had them, so this appointment would be over quicker. She didn’t always want that, but she did today.

Leanne faced her, smiling as always. She had a few greys coming in, ageing gracefully. A wedding band had appeared on her hand in recent years, a while after the pictures on her desk of a little boy and girl. It all made Rosie jealous in a way she couldn’t understand. She’d never wanted that, so why did it hurt that she couldn’t have it?

“How are you getting on?”

“I'm good.” Sometimes she felt the urge to pretend, to act like she was normal and happy. Today, she was tired. A lot of sleepless nights recently. A lot of pain that she had been present for. And some that she’d dissociated away from. Not all of it hers, but all of it replayed.

Leanne had been talking. Rosie tuned back in.

“Do you have any concerns about your medication? Managing to have it on time, side effects okay? Anything getting too bothersome? You mentioned nightmares last time.”

She had? “No, those are - I think it was just then.” Liar. But then again, Rosie had a feeling she’d get the nightmares either way. “And I have an alarm. On my watch.” She held it up as if to prove it.

“That's good,” Leanne said, with a warm smile that Rosie couldn’t bring herself to return. “I'm glad to hear it.”

She waited for a moment, as if Rosie would find more things to say. Then, after a soft sigh, she moved on.

“Well, your blood tests all look good. CD4’s never been better. That anaemia from last year is gone, which is great. I hope you're feeling more energetic. You mentioned feeling a little tired last time?”

Rosie gave a little hum in reply. “Yeah. I think the iron helped.” Did she really think so? It was hard to say the last time she’d actually said something she believed, rather than what she knew that the people around her wanted to hear.

There was another expectant pause. Rosie felt her hair stand up. It was strange to feel the sensations of a body. A heartbeat, a breath, a cry, a clenched muscle. Most of the time, she felt like she was floating, severed from herself.

“How were things at your last smear?”

Rosie had been expecting the question and still froze up when it came. “Fine, yeah. Normal.”

More writing. Was this really all necessary? They had her records. What was the point of including her in this information-sharing session? Rosie realised why she was thinking that in the same moment, and shut it down. It was nice. They were trying to help.

“Last we spoke, you weren't taking anything for contraception. The GP records don't seem to have changed, but just to check for our records, are you taking anything now?”

Rosie flushed. “No. I'm not with anyone, so I - don't need to. It's - I just take something the morning after. If I'm not sure.”

Leanne frowned. “Right, of course. Whatever works for you. On that note, did you want to have any STI tests?”

Rosie shook her head no. She knew the routine by now, could probably recite the questions she would be asked in her sleep. She didn’t like to think about how long it’d been.

Leanne tapped out a few notes. The clock ticked on. Outside, the world may as well have ceased to exist.

“If you ever change your mind, feel free to call us or your GP, okay?”

Rosie sighed. She felt the way that Leanne took in her posture, her silence.

“We spoke about talk therapies and chronic illness support groups last time. Did you -”

“No,” Rosie said, cutting her off.

“Oh. Was there a reason why?”

Rosie shrugged, even though she knew exactly why. “Just didn't seem like it'd be helpful.”

“Um. It could be worth a try. Just one session of either, or both, see what you like. I think it would be useful for you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Please do.”

Rosie, not for the first time, felt guilty. “I’m okay. Seriously. Just not a people person. I prefer just… getting on with things alone.”

Leanne pressed her lips together, nodding a little. “I understand. There’s nothing wrong with that. But living with HIV isn’t easy, and sometimes it’s nice to find some community. People who you can relate to, in that aspect. It sounds cliché, but being able to talk candidly is more fulfilling than you’d think.”

Rosie hadn’t been able to talk candidly in years. “Okay,” she said quietly. “I - yeah.” Maybe it would help, she thought. But maybe it’d just be another thing that could be taken away from her. Another person, another source of joy. Rosie had spent so much time scrubbing herself raw from anyone that could possibly be hurt by association with her, so why add more pain to ruined skin? She wouldn’t go. She'd made up her mind, but lying was simple now.

Leanne sighed. The feeling of being disapproved of sat heavy in her stomach, but Rosie didn't know what else to do.

“Okay. Well, if there’s nothing else. Your checkups are the least complicated of any of my patients, you know.”

“Hm,” Rosie replied. She got up, ignoring the ache in her back. She always ignored it because it was always there.

Leanne’s smile dropped slightly, giving way to mournful eyes. The kind of eyes her own mother had worn for years. “Take care of yourself, Rosie.”

With one hand on the doorknob, she suddenly wanted to weep, right there in the threshold. “Okay,” she forced out instead. “You too.”

Rosie wished someone would take care of her for once. But she’d just walked away from the only people who had ever tried. It was all inadequate, incomplete. She lived like this and would die like this, in absentia from her own life. She’d slip away and there would be less notice taken of her death than that of a single raindrop falling in a puddle. She walked the whole hour home. She cried most of the way too.

---

taglist: @morning-star-whump @cepheusgalaxy @inhurtandincomfort @days-on-the-road @whumpologyy @weibun-art @whump-until-wretched @00blackbirdwrites00 @palinoiahart @mxrr0rball @looking-to-consume-sugarskulls @aromanticsky @koleopteros

note: world AIDS day is december 1st, but more information about HIV/AIDS can be found here and here :)

[acelightningwhumper]

Caretaker- Callisto

@ladywhumpdiaries - Day 5

Their Sacred Vow

~Disclaimer for all drabbles- none are considered 100% canon; the more recently made, the closer they are to canon, but these are mostly for fun for me to figure out the characters+plot!~

Author's note: Another for the War arc. This got a bit more fluffy than whumpy, but it's still hurt/comfort at least, lol

Callisto

"Really, Evee, I'm fine. You don't-" Her words stopped short with Evangeline's sharp look in her direction. Sufficiently scolded, she sat down on the edge of their bedroll.

Evangeline soon came to her side with a water bowl, cloth, and medical kit. She didn't say anything as she began to tend Callisto's arm, her lips pursed into a thin line.

The wound stung as it was cleaned. As Callisto had thought, though, it was deep and long enough to require stitches before it could be bandaged. Still, she had to admit Evangeline was much quicker and neater at making those stitches than she would have been able to do herself.

Once Evangeline finished, Callisto leaned forward to press a soft kiss onto her wife's forehead. "Thank you for taking care of me." she murmured.

Before Callisto could move away, Evangeline caught her and pulled her into a proper kiss. Callisto melted into it, a little dazed when they parted.

Evangeline's thumb brushed against her cheek. "Take care of yourself and I wouldn't have to."

Callisto couldn't help but smirk. "Well, I did try, but you insisted."

With a sigh and roll of her eyes, Evangeline flicked her nose. "You know what I meant, princess." She shot back a look as she stood. "Besides, I've seen your stitch-work. You'd have given yourself and infection if I hadn't stepped in."

"Oh, come on, I'm not that bad."

Evangeline shot her another look, so Callisto decided to know better and shut up.

Their Sacred Vow Taglist:

@melpomenelamusa, @writinggremlin, @lesbianwords, @whump-ohmy, @galactic-worm

Also, if possible, if anyone could support me on ko-fi, that'd be much appreciated! Only within one's means, don't go broke to help me out.

[libraryofwhump]

Break the Ice

June of Doom Day 10 - "Where am I?" | Blind | Overthinking | Handcuffs

Lady Whump Diaries Day 10 - Ice Queen

Content: Restraints, blindfolded, branding, lady whump, cocky whumpee

Feeling came back to Wendy as her eyes fluttered open. Instead of her room, there was only darkness. When she tried to rub her eyes, she was stopped by something cold around her wrists.

"The hell...?"

She tried to pull her hands up once more, but she couldn't move them more than a few inches. There was only the clinking of metal. Are those handcuffs?

"Okay, this isn't funny. What the hell is this?" She shouted, hoping that someone would hear her. Hoping that what was happening to her was all some sick joke.

"Ah, you're finally awake."

Wendy should've been afraid, but she could only roll her eyes at the soft voice.

Why did it have to be him?

"Oh great. It's you. What have you done this time?" Wendy hissed.

"Well, uh, I didn't really have any ideas for dates."

"Oh wow. Kidnapping a girl instead of taking them out on a date. How romantic." She said, the sarcasm evidently clear. "You better spoil me with money then. I'll be the happiest girl ever!"

"Oh Wendy... My darling. You really have no idea, do you? I've been chasing you for so long... Trying to get you to talk to me. Trying to get your affection. But you wouldn't even look at me. You treated me - all of us - like we were bugs. Sad, pathetic little bugs."

Wendy gritted her teeth. So her admirer is crazy. Wonderful. "My dad will find me. He'll come for me and he'll throw you in jail! You have no right to keep me here!"

The man just chuckled. "Daddy's not gonna come for you." She heard him walk a little further away and picked something up. "I made sure of that."

Wendy scoffed. "Made sure of what? You're just a puny nerd who couldn't even lift. How in the world could you possibly take down my strong dad? He has multiple guards! They would tackle you to the ground in no time! If anything, I'd be surprised if your string bean arms could land a punch!"

There was silence aside from the crackling of a fire.

"Aww. Got nothing to say? Did the little mean Wendy finally get to you?"

The footsteps came closer.

"Aren't you gonna say anything, bean pole? I'm waiting!"

Wendy felt her shirt being lifted up and before she could say anything, a white hot pain suddenly shot through her body, making her scream in pain. Tears filled her eyes, soaking through the blindfold.

"Sorry. I was just trying to find a way to break the ice." He said.

He never thought he would get a reaction like this out of her. She tauted herself as an independent woman who didn't need anyone. She barely showed emotion, only talking to people she clearly didn't like. He thought he would be the one to melt her icy heart, but she had hurt him for far too long.

Wendy continued to scream as the flesh on her stomach melted and sizzled. What was he doing to her? "Stop!! Stop it!! It hurts!"

"But I barely touched you. You need to toughen up a bit, sweetheart." He pressed the object tighter on her stomach, making her cry out.

"Y-You sick fuck!! When I get out, I'll- AAAAAAAUGH!! STOP IT!!" She pulled at her restraints, trying to snap the chain so she could wring his neck.

The man just chuckled. They're gonna be here for a long time.

@juneofdoom @ladywhumpdiaries

[stopmyhearts]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86380481

Rachel and Allison, in between Series 3 and 4. Something is wrong, but Rachel just can't put her finger on what

With the prompts Mission Failure on tardisguide, scar reveal from @ladywhumpdiaries and protective by @juneofdoom. And also actually 'character realizes something is wrong with their world' from irl thing I went to

[watsonbee]

CW: female whumpee/whumper, no holds barred beat down, slight emeto, crying, begging, blood and bruises, slight emotional whump, sadistic whumper, pet names

@ladywhumpdiaries

Day #7 of the lwd event: Asexual career woman

–

Whumpee slings her bag over her shoulder, biding the passing graveyard of desks and chairs good night after a long day. Staying this late really wasn't working for her sleep schedule, but it payed off.

Speaking of, she stopped when her feet scuffed the worn carpet leading to the elevator, pushing the button before pulling out her phone to check it. The screen is almost blinding in the dark hallway she stands in, most of the lights shut off due to the hour, dramatizing the handful of unread messages with a burst of white ebbing into the default blue of the overhead lights. All from caretaker.

The most recent one was a simple ask to text them back when they got off. It wasn't unusual for whumpee to miss a few texts. By now her and caretaker had a game not unlike tag going between the two of them.

The elevator dinged, the dim light signifying it's stop popping up above her, steel doors opening wide. Her attention was still on her phone as she stepped inside and pushed the button to the garage.

A smile caught her lips as she typed her response to caretaker, completely ignoring the other texts, she was too impatient to wait till she got home to tell them about her promotion. All those late hours and early mornings, the work that numbed and cramped her fingers, it all payed off. And with the increased pay she could finally help out with the house more.

She shot the text off immediately. She didn't expect caretaker to read it right away, of course, but she kept her phone open for a few more seconds before closing it and returning it to her pocket.

Looking up, she caught a glimpse at her rippled reflection in the dull doors of the elevator. She looked exhausted. Her only saving grace was her wide eyes and the ghost of a smile she wore. But even that was hollow.

Her upright posture had been beaten out of her spine, clothes wrinkled and cascading over the hunch it left. Rings encircled her eyes like vultures waiting to strike, skin ashen, and she only just noticed the slight tremors that took her body.

She can't remember the last time she actually slept. Or herself in just a regular shirt and pants, not the put together image shown off in the office. She was so excited to talk to caretaker but when was the last time they did that without a phone in between them? Maybe that game of tag wasn't just a quirk in their friendship.

The yellowed light of the small space loomed over her, highlighting the shadows on her face, making her seem more a phantom than a person. She turned her head this way and that. It had to just be a trick of the light, right? But no matter how she angled herself the shadows stayed as if they had already claimed her face as their home long before she noticed them.

She sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing a hand over her face. The elevator dinged it's halt. It was too late for a self-analysis, she had good news to share. And she wasn't going to let herself ruin it.

She stepped into the expansion of concrete awaiting her, rummaging for her keys. Dinner was a better subject to think about, and a much needed one, she was starving. The vending machines only had crappy protein bars and trail mix now—

An acrid bite sparked across the side of her head. The ringing dulled around her ear and before she could blink them open something heavy slammed into her flailing arms, dragging her in one fluid movement.

Keys sunk to a muffled floor, clattering miles away, metal coating her teeth as she tried to shake off the shock and the spinning drilling into her head. She was thrown to the grown in a mess of limbs, nails scraping stone before her world was tossed in a loop again: a grip on her shirt pulling her up, pain exploding on her face this time.

She hit the ground again, a groan escaping her lips while she heaved through vision stained with tears. Red dripped on the blotch of gray below her. Some primal urge deep rooted in fear told her to run. And so she did. Or tried to, she barely scampered a few feet back before a shoe caught her coat, stopping her in her tracks.

A tsk sounded above her as she tried desperately to pull away, a scream building in her throat. But a tough hold around it chocked off what would've been.

Darkness loomed over her. A hand squeezing tighter with each second while whumpee’s eyes flew up, searching to make sense of the person that held her with the only available lights peering over their shoulder.

Her mouth gaped around the tightening pressure, hands clawing at her attacker’s wrist. Which pivoted at an odd angle, drawing back before slamming a fist into her throat in the next second.

Her throat convulsed around broken sounds before they had the chance to form. The scream that so desperately wanted her attention nowhere to be found. Whumpee grabbed at her own neck, grimacing as she tried, and failed, to produce anything from it.

Chest sealed with terror, twisting her heart upwards in the same motion of the stranger's eyebrows, slowly followed by a smile, “That's better.” the woman said, stepping off whumpee’s coat to let the latter jump to her feet.

Whumpee stood on shaking legs, the pain and the vertigo all taking backseat to the panic of what just happened—of what was going to happen by the looks of the woman rolling up her sleeves to her elbows—and the tugging of a voice that felt too intimately familiar.

“Wasn't sure if that would work. I mean, there was a good chance it’d just fuck you up, and not in the fun way. But I guess I'm more capable than I give myself credit.”

The light caught her features as she shifted; a smile that more often than not came with construction before encouragement, a nose that was always tilted in a way that made her feel smaller than she was complementing her smug poster, wrinkled hands whumpee could still feel patting her on the back encouragingly.

Eyes that narrowed in on her like all she saw was prey.

Whumpee’s eyes blew wide at the sight of her boss. Her hands dug into her pockets, then her bag, tossing out random items and any spare change or bills she could find. Backing as far away from her as she could.

But the woman apparently had no intention of letting her go. Instead she chuckled, gaze locked onto her’s in a way that could only be described as predatory, “I’m far from needing your money, but nice try.”

She wanted to combat that, to ask why the hell she would corner her in a garage parking lot then. But when it came out as strained wisps of air, she could only wince. Though that could also be attributed to her back hitting the wall, and whumper gearing up for another swing.

She swung, and whumpee ducked under it, bolting forward when a foot shot out to trip her. Her world blurred, nose hitting the pavement with a thud, pain flashing white behind her eyes. Nothing but a whimper in her chest to prove it. Head pounding as if a beast was trying to escape it with no way out.

Her fingers twitched at her side. Her mind trying to carry the heavy weight of her whole body and drag it out of here—far, far away from this woman.

But it was useless when a shoe collided with her side. The pain seemed to take it’s time reaching her head, before throbbing under her skin. Hands caught her by the collar of her shirt, in the way you would a cat’s scruff, and hauled her up off the floor.

The woman spoke, and the words slammed against a growing headache, “This isn't as personal as you might think. So don't think too much into it.”

The side of her face was shoved against the wall, blood slipping through cracked paint and chipping against her skin. Despite her struggles her wrist was caught in an iron hold, forcing it up between her shoulder blades and stilling whatever hope she still had for a fight.

It was hard not to see this as personal as whumper pressed her flush to the wall, the same woman that handed her the promotion she was so excited about a minute ago with a “Congrats, you've earned it,” now letting her breath fan over her ear, the same breath curling into a chuckle as she forced her arm in a way it was never meant to go.

A sickening pop followed. New tears mixed with old ran down her face as her mouth opened in a pathetic attempt to scream, rasping air empty with agony no one would hear.

It was hard not to take this personally when the woman she had admired rolled her to her back, crooked shoulder pressed painfully to the wall, and looked at her as if pitying an animal. And now, looking back, that might have been all she ever was to her.

Whumpee’s vision swam as her head met the wall, vision zeroing in on a silver rim that cut off a car’s blue, the way the tires sat as if stuck in quicksand, before snapping up to the woman. Brows too dazed for a furrow and she almost wished she didn't.

Her boss’s eyes held a joy that was betrayed by her pitying smile, almost drinking her in before she was torn apart. While she had the nerve to tell her that her pain apparently had nothing to do with her.

She sighed, “Everyone's just always breathing down my back for something, you know? I hardly get a moment to myself before another complaint comes knocking at my door. Or another deadline. Or an air brained smartass parading around like they know twice as much as me but have only been there half as long.”

Then see a therapist.

“And you wanna know what everyone's advice is? ‘You're too stressed, you should just get laid. Just try to loosen up more and quit being so stiff.’ What the hell is that even supposed to mean?” she rolls her eyes, shaking her head as if trying to banish a memory. And she wasn't doing a good job given how her grip tightened.

Whumper scoffs, voice higher than it needed to be for two people, “Why does everything boil down to sex, huh!? I can't even turn on my tv without seeing two people go at it every other scene and I’m so tired of it!”

“Really, all anyone wants is that adrenaline, that rush you get when you see what you wanted fulfilled. It's idiotic to think you can only achieve that through a fuck.”

She punctuates that with a knee the stomach, dropping her to the floor like a sack of rice. The pain is nauseating, everywhere and churning in her head as her arms refuse to hold her any longer, cold floor like a shock to her system.

It was hard having sympathy for her when the ghost of whumper’s grip was still biting into her flesh and spreading to her growing collection like a hive mind dead set on making her suffer.

“Anyway, that's were you come in. Since skydiving doesn't do it for me I figured I’d try a more…unconventional approach.”

The world’s tilting, slipping from her twitching fingers and she just wants to go home. She shouldn't have stayed so late. She should be home lounging in clothes she wouldn't change until the weekend was over and they earned their fair share of stains.

She shouldn't have wasted her time with caretaker, should have taken them up on their offers to hang out. She should have texted them back about dinner.

Whumper’s shoes click against the floor, filling the space of her consciousness while whumpee’s legs refused to move, her lungs wheezing and hitching with tears on every exhale. In her peripheral she could see the coins she’d thrown earlier, laid out to slaughter and yet they get to live,

“I'm sorry,” she screwed her eyes shut, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. She wasn't sure who she was talking to. Maybe whumper, possibly caretaker, or the ghost of self-pity finally reared it's head. “Pl-ease, I'm sorry.” because what else was there to say?

“Why are you apologizing hun? You didn't do anything.” another kick to her stomach.

She curled over herself, salt staining her lips, exhausted from more than just pain, “Then why…why are you doing this? Why me?”

Whumper shrugs, “Because I want to.”

[stopmyhearts]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

and for today, I offer you Allison post Dalek Gambit, meaning spoilers for counter measures. prompts are Last Kiss from tardisguide, cool girl by @ladywhumpdiaries and Forced to watch / Claustrophobia / Denial from @juneofdoom

[stopmyhearts]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Leela and Veega in their last night. For the prompts one last night together from tardisguide, caretaker from @ladywhumpdiaries and "It's no use." / Lost at Sea / Grief / Coughing Blood from @juneofdoom (all from yesterday though)

[libraryofwhump]

No Use

June of Doom Day 5 - "It's no use." | Lost at Sea | Grief | Coughing Blood

Lady Whump Diaries Day 5 - Caretaker

CWs: Blood, bleeding out, major character death, grief, alcohol use, lady whump

"It's no use. The wound's too deep."

She clutched her wine bottle, trying to block the memory out. She didn't need to be reminded of her failure. She knows she's a failure. She didn't want to fail her friend.

But the wound was too deep. She couldn't stop the bleeding. She tried her fucking hardest, but she couldn't stop her eyes from rolling back. She couldn't fight back against her comrades as the medics attempted to revive her.

Failure. That's what she'll always be.

She won't be able to see her smile, her laugh - Hold her in her arms.

She could drink her sorrows away, but it won't erase the pain.

Sometimes, on really bad nights, she would listen to old voicemails from her former friend. She just wanted to hear her voice again. It was the only way of keeping her sane.

"Hey..." Her friend whispered, clutching her hand. She coughed, blood dripping down her chin. "Promise me that you'll live your best life. Don't worry about me."

"No! I can't! I'm not leaving you!! You're going to be okay!"

Those were the last things she said to her. She stupidly thought she would make it like all the other times she made it. She was the toughest woman alive.

But even the strongest women had to stop fighting. Perhaps... It's what she would've wanted. She wanted to rest.

She spent all of this time taking care of her, being her anchor... She just wanted to help.

She has no purpose now.

@juneofdoom @ladywhumpdiaries

[libraryofwhump]

Don't Leave Me

June of Doom Day 4 - "I won't leave you." | Dragged | Natural Disaster | Blankets

Lady Whump Diaries Day 4 - Silk hiding steel

CWs: Mentioned poisoning, stabbing, blood, betrayal, unclear character status, lady whump

"Your highness?"

Princess Iris looked up. "Hm?"

"You've been looking off lately. Are you doing okay?"

She looked away, tightly clutching her fan. "Yeah. I'm just... Worried about what's gonna happen."

Her guard nodded. "Yeah, I know how you feel."

The looming threat of the assassination lingered in the air. It had only been a couple months since the attempted poisoning and the authorities still have no idea who tried to kill her. The princess had to be put on high surveillance after that. Iris shuddered at the thought of her drinking the chalice and dropping to the floor, blue in the face.

"Hey, your highness? It's gonna be okay. I won't let anything happen to you." She held her hand.

Iris didn't say anything. She just kept clutching her fan. Just a little closer...

Sell the act beautifully.

She can't trust anyone.

"Just... Promise me that you won't leave me."

The taller woman nodded once more. "Of course, your honor. It's my duty."

Iris had no clue when she hugged her guard. Perhaps it was after a few seconds or maybe it was after a few minutes of silence. All she knew was that she had her right where she wanted her. She knew the look on the guard's face when she was about to drink her poisoned cup.

That bitch was trying to hide a smirk, but she saw the tug of her lips at the dining table.

She needed to do this. She needed to get close to her so she could prevent her from trying to kill her again.

She slowly unsheathed the concealed knife from her fan and slowly raised the knife. Her heart was pounding in her ear.

Do it.

Do it now!

Before she could drive it into her back, the guard suddenly pushed her away. She grabbed her arm and twisted it, making her drop the knife. "You think you're clever?"

Before Iris could recover, the taller woman sank the knife into her gut. A deep crimson began to blossom on the front of her pristine white dress. Iris struggled, but her guard dug the knife deeper.

"You think I don't know who you are? What your family is like?" She twisted it, making Iris cry out. "Your ancestors killed thousands of people. They were innocent and yet, you all snuffed them out without a second thought."

Iris wanted to tell her it wasn't that. Her ancestor had her lover taken away from her. They had been betrayed by their own people time and time again. It was the only way to regain control.

She wasn't like them. She swore she wouldn't be violent, but history repeated itself. She wanted to scream and kick. Not be the damsel in distress, but her legs had already given out. The guard grabbed her by the hair and dragged her down the hallway. "I must put a stop to your bloodline. I must put an end to all of you."

As her eyes grew heavy, Iris wondered. Was this what Princess Veronique felt? When she was betrayed by people she was supposed to serve? Was this why France had a massacre?

She wondered if she would have any more time to think.

@juneofdoom @ladywhumpdiaries

[watsonbee]

CW: female whumpee/ whumper/ caretaker, carewhumpee/whumper, multiple whumpees, bad caretaker, med whump, dissociation/ depersonalization, unreliable narrator, implied past whump (bruises, whipping), blood, dehumanization, “it” used to dehumanize, hair pulling, description of an infection and mutilation, self victim blaming if you squint, compliant whumpee

@ladywhumpdiaries

Day #5 of the lwd event: Caretaker

–

Caretaker pushed her door open. Keys were sat down, bag discarded then her clothes. The hallway walls blurred and distorted into the cold edges of a shower. She braced her hands against the colorless porcelain, letting the hot steam roll the day off her back. When she opened her eyes again she was in her bedroom.

Bed, sleep, wake up. Again.

The sole of her shoes stuck to her feet. Her skin wrinkled and loose like a flimsy white coat. She couldn't feel her heartbeat anymore, just sharp plastic with someone's face on it where she remembered it to be. The closest thing to a rhythm was a quick beep when she held it close to something.

Then she’d swap out one pelt for another. Sleep, wake up. Again.

To say it was a blur felt too simple. It was more a tunnel that spiraled into endless….something. Not nothing. Nothing would be better than whatever this was. This something started with a simple flick of a pen. Drowning desperation. Heaping bills she didn't have the means to pay.

She shouldn't be complaining. She hated people that complained in vain. She asked for this—stayed up night after night hoping for a job that couldn't come soon enough.

Now she had enough to buy more than the bare minimum. She had a good job, a good paycheck. She didn't even have to speak to anyone if she didn't want to.

Or, she didn't used to. There was another puzzle piece in her mirage of something; an intern. A trainee that always complained about the work despite barely having to do anything. Even though she needed this job just like caretaker did. Evidently not as much.

Big eyes would catch the shoddy luminescent lights whenever she’d whine about a task or combat caretaker’s words, staining them a dirty yellow that highlighted hued patches along her spotless skin; she though practiced tears would buy her a pity pass, Caretaker saw right through her.

Overgrown hair would fall in her face whenever she rearranged the tools. Caretaker could always find her pushing it out of her face at the corner of her eye, contaminating once sterile gloves that already didn't stay clean for long and wasting equipment, all because she refused to wear a hair tie.

She was jittery too. That was understandable—this job wasn't like any other. But at least caretaker tried in the beginning. She dug her hands into the bitter, squishy uncertainty, assessing what was necessary and driving her hands deeper still.

Their hands never came out clean. That was something the little pip-squeak would just have to get used to.

But caretaker wasn't one without patience. So she guided the girl’s hands whenever they faltered, ignoring her crocodile tears and reminding her why they did this in the first place. To survive.

An electronic heart beeped the door open, easily sliding it to the side before nothing was in her chest again. She ignored the smell of bleach burning her nose and clinging to the smoothed dermis. It kept it pristine; the only stain on it the straw light flickering overhead. No more purpled or green shades. She was better now.

Pip-squeak was already there, shaking like a leaf, hair still disobediently falling in her face while she stared at her feet, shifting scales like a small lizard, her attempt to save it by tucking it behind her ears unsuccessful.

The boss was there too, leaning back against the sink while she watched the scene unfurl.

She wouldn't need to be there if the girl would just get her act together. Caretaker only needed to be supervised in the beginning. It didn't last long. But now this girl that she didn't even ask for was making her look like a rookie again.

But she kept her tone even, unfazed, as she walked over to the girl, “What's the verdict on this one?”

The girl’s eyes flickered to the body on the table; laid on it's stomach, digits twitching while liquid dripped from it's face, it's back a complete mess of much needed patchwork. It would need to be cleaned first, everything her eye caught was covered by blood and oozing discharge, not to mention to crisscrossing, torn flesh that needed to be darned.

The girl stuttered out an answer, “Multiple..lacerations on their back,” and she used funny language like that. “Extensive bleeding and infection. Their pupils aren't responsive to stimuli.”

Caretaker felt a vein under her skin twitch watching her speak— at the small strands of hair brushing her neck with each shiver. In a swift movement she gripped the girls hair and pulled it all back into a ponytail.

She yelped, still so soft to anything and everything, screwing her eyes shut as caretaker took a hair tie from her wrist and secured the girls hair.

It felt like an itch had been scratched, like she could fucking breathe better. She leaned in, gripping her hair tighter for emphasis, “Keep this out of your face,” she bit before letting go and the girl nodded so fast her head might've popped off.

That was one thing she liked; the girl rarely needed to be told twice when a bit of force accompanied her words.

Caretaker straightened, staring at the girl expectantly while she donned that before-mentioned air brained look that made her eyes go wide. Caretaker deflated, “Continue..” she prompted.

A clue finally lodged itself in the girls head, “Oh, uh—no allergies. But their heart rate is lower than normal and they're having trouble breathing. Blood might be clogging their lungs.”

“Good. Next time that information should be shared first.” Caretaker walked over to the sink, turning the faucet on and scrubbing her hands clean.

The water hit the drain fast, dull suds sticking to her peeling skin, all while the boss watched on. The woman’s stare struck something deep in her from the sidelines, squeezing it out like puss from an infected wound. Painful but necessary. Better than dying. And caretaker was better.

Any semblance of her home skin was plunged down the drain. Every sound in her mind ripped from her till nothing was there. No, not nothing. Never nothing. Something without a name.

She shut the water off along with her thoughts.

Two fingers came to hold her chin. The grip was bruising as the woman turned her head this way and that, examining her as Caretaker kept her gaze still, never drifting downwards—towards the woman—towards her scrutiny.

Then the woman hummed and let her go, turning back to pip-squeak.

Caretaker grabbed another pair of skin and snapped it onto her wrist, “Alright. Let's get to work.”