Rebecca Brown

23-she/they-writer-amateur interior/event designer

[rebeccawritesbooks]

Day 13: A Little Sneak Peek

Y'all get a snippet of A Soft Place to Land today

TW: Foot injury, implied past SA

Running in the city barefoot hurt. The ground was rough, the residual heat of the day burned his feet, and he swore he had stepped on broken glass earlier. But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was that he had to get away.

Benji's lungs screamed in protest as his breath wheezed in and out. His heart slammed in his ears, drowning out the bustle of the roads ahead. Leo thankfully lived on a quieter street, so someone was unlikely to call the police on him. He doesn't need the cops right now. He needs Leo.

Tears sprang to Benji's eyes as he rounded the corner toward Leo's apartment building. Small drops of early rain spit on his face. His legs wobbled as he began to slow down, but the front door of apartment 1A on 822 Lakewood Avenue was in sight. He just had to get there.

Benji stepped a few more times, pain shooting up his left leg. His bag settled on his hip. One of his shirt's sleeves poked out from underneath the zipper. His breath shuddered. Swallowing thickly, he raised a shaking fist and pounded on the door.

Echoes of laughter came from behind the door. Benji's stomach twisted. He slammed his fist against the door, harder this time. The laughter abruptly ended.

"Who the fuck is that?" someone called out.

Benji's jaw clenched as another batch of tears threatened to spill over. What would the people in there think when they saw him? Could he even say what he needed to say? Would Leo just shove him away? Benji softly knocked again. Footsteps got closer to the door.

"Alright, I'm coming!" a familiar voice shouted.

The click of locks felt like a twinge in his chest. He couldn't back out now. The door creaked open, and there stood Leo. His long hair was twisted into a bun on the back of his head, two strands dangling in his face. The anger in his eyes vanished in an instant. His jaw unclenched, and his shoulders relaxed. Yet his gaze still darted all around, absorbing every inch of the person in front of him.

"Benji?" Leo asked softly. "Jesus, man, you look like hell. What happened? Your foot's all bloody!"

Benji barely heard any of this, muttering a small "hi" before stepping into the main room. Some of his friends from Nonfiction Writing spun around on the couch, their jaws dropping and eyes widening. A slight flush crept onto Benji's cheeks. Leo stepped in front of him, hands delicately bracing on his shoulders.

"Hey," Leo said. "Don't look at them; look at me." Leo gently pushed some of Benji's hair out of his eyes. "Benji, tell me what's going on."

Tears slipped down Benji's cheeks. Quiet, breathy sobs tore from his throat. He leaned against Leo, his arms wrapping around his best friend's waist. The grime of that night weighed heavily on his body, every bruise and scratch burning his skin. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Tell him what happened; say the word! But his voice floundered; if he said it, then it made it real. And then what?

"Benji?"

Benji gasped, a wail clawing its way out. "Alex," Benji gasped. "Alex, he—he—" Benji whimpered. "I said no, and he—"

Leo pulled away from him, his hands still on Benji's shoulders. His face paled, his jaw clenched. He turned to the people in his living room.

"Everyone get out of here. Now."

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[rebeccawritesbooks]

Whumpmas in July Lightning Round

Answering a lot of the prompts shortly because work has me drained of energy.

Day 2: Earliest Whump Memory

One of my favorite films since I was six years old has always been The Princess and the Frog. Love that movie, but it’s got more whump in it than I thought.

Day 3: Restraints (Y’all get a haiku)

Ropes burning against skin

Freedom is so goddamn close

But I cannot move

Day 8: Favorite Whumpy Media

Oooh, that’s a tough one. I’ve recently read Hazelthorn by CG Drews, and that had a good bit of whump in it. That was a great read

Day 11: Finding Community

I’m gonna be honest, this is a side blog for me, so any likes are coming from my main blog. Hence the lack of communication from me. And I’m also very socially anxious, so I haven’t dipped my toes in the community much.

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[cepheusgalaxy]

commission for @rebeccawritesbooks! it was very fun to draw your oc ellis <3

[rebeccawritesbooks]

Day 8: Create a Prompt

Oooh, here we go!

Whumpee waking up from a nightmare about Whumper. They try to go through their grounding techniques to convince themselves that it was all a dream. Then they notice something: their bedroom window is unlocked. They had locked it before going to bed

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[rebeccawritesbooks]

Day 6: Bloodbath

TW: Blood, graphic depictions of tearing injuries, cannibalism, past animal death

Note: This is not how the final chapter will look. Just a rough idea for the prompt.

Context: Aayron is the other necromancer who Azrael stayed with after escaping from the nobleman several years ago

Azrael sighed as he set his ale down. “Gods, if I have to walk any more today, my feet are going to fall off.” His feet twinged almost in agreement.

Ellis chuckled into his mug. “I know what you mean.”

Flames danced in the lanterns lighting the small pub they had settled in for the night. People pressed in from all sides, their chatter ringing loud in Azrael’s ears. Elbows bumped and shoulders brushed. He wanted to do nothing more than go up to the room he had rented for the night and collapse under the sheets. But Aayron insisted on talking to him later. He wanted to protest, but the desperation glimmering in his eyes told him that wasn’t an option.

Ellis rubbed the back of his neck and furrowed his brow. “What did they put in this ale? It’s going straight to my head.”

Azrael smirked. “Maybe you’re just a lightweight.”

“Can’t be,” Ellis said in a matter-of-fact voice. “I have a great alcohol tolerance, thank you very much.”

Ellis had been complaining about being dizzy earlier on today. Was he getting a headache? One of those debilitating ones Azrael’s mother got when he was younger? She used some sort of herbal concoction to help make her functional during those. Shit, what was it called?

Azrael jumped as a hand lay on his shoulder. He bit his tongue to keep a high-pitched yelp from escaping, ready to tell whoever it was to mind their personal space. But his shoulders relaxed at the sight of a familiar pair of brown eyes.

“Aayron,” Azrael sighed. “For the love of the gods, say something before you sneak up on me next time.”

But instead of a retort, Aaryon stared at him with something Azrael couldn’t read. His eyes darted to Ellis, who had taken to picking at his cuticles again. His eyes widened a little before his attention turned back to Azrael.

“Hey,” Aayron said, his voice low. “We need to talk. Alone”

Azrael’s stomach twisted as he turned to Ellis. The younger man’s lips were pressed into a thin line, the cuticle picking increased in pace. His foot tapped against the stool leg frantically.

“Ellis,” Azrael asked hesitantly. “Are you going to be alright in here by yourself?”

“Yeah,” Ellis said, his tone flat. “I’ll be okay.”

Azrael’s stomach twisted. He was joking just a few seconds ago; what happened? But before he could ask, Aayron was practically carrying him out of the stuffy atmosphere of the tavern and into the chilly night air. Azrael yelped, trying to pull his arm out of Aayron’s grip. But the older man’s fingers only dig in further as he dragged Azrael behind the stables. Aayron practically shoved him into a stall before closing the gate behind him. His shoulders were practically touching his ears from how tense he was.

Azrael’s eyes darted down to the tips of his boots. His fists clenched at his sides, unclenched, and then clenched again. He could feel Aayron’s eyes burning a hole into his soul. But it wasn’t an angry stare. No, this one hummed with anxiety.

“What?” Azrael hissed. “What’s going—“

“White Foxes,” Aaryon muttered.

Azrael’s heart sank. “What?”

“Some White Foxes members are here,” Aayron said. “They’re looking for Ellis. And you.”

“Aaryon—”

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Azrael?” Aayron asked, his voice slightly rising above a whisper. “Why the hell is the mob after you?”

Azrael’s mouth went dry. Where the hell should he start? When Ellis ate the raw pork and didn’t get the slightest bit sick? When he saw the terror in his eyes at the market? The rabbit? The dreams? The need for something to make sense? But all he could do was open and close his mouth uselessly like a fish gasping for air.

Aayron sighed and ran his hands over his face. He began pacing around the stall, the hay crunching beneath his feet. He muttered to himself about horses and rations, but something else caught Azrael’s eye, something that made the tips of his fingers tingle and his palms begin to sweat even more.

A hulking man stalked by the stable door, his lips twisted in a playful smirk. He was saying something Azrael couldn’t make out. He was heading for the woods with a smaller figure in tow, their wrist gripped in the man’s hand. Blonde hair shimmered in the moonlight. The man in tow was Ellis.

Except Ellis looked…off. He didn’t look afraid in the slightest. In fact, his pupils were so dilated that the green in his eyes was almost nonexistent. His eyes were locked onto the man with a yearning hunger, the way predators looked at prey right before they pounced. And there was a faint tremor in his body, whether that be from fear or adrenaline Azrael couldn’t tell.

“…ael. Hey!” Aayron gently shook Azrael’s shoulder, the younger man’s attention snapped back to the older. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Azrael glanced behind Aayron, his finger raising to point at the stranger and Ellis, but the two of them had disappeared into the woods. All that indicated their former presence was a parting in the bushes. Azrael dropped his hand and sighed.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just my sleep-deprived brain making things up.”

Aayron’s lips drew into a thin line. “We need to leave now. If that man is a member of the White Foxes, then he could be luring you into a trap for all you know.”

“It’s not like that,” Azrael insisted. “You should’ve seen how terrified he was of the other members.”

“He could be low-ranking!” Aayron hissed. “Azrael, you just met him yesterday. Why are you dragging him to Loudres’ sacred temple? What does he have to do with—”

An animalistic shriek tore from the woods. Aayron fell silent, his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates. Azrael’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. The scream was too low to be Ellis’. Another scream echoed through the trees before quickly dissolving into a gurgle.

Azrael shoved past Aayron, out of the stables, and into the woods. Thorns tore at his ankles and trees raked their branches over his skin. But he didn’t care, all he could think of was Ellis, Ellis, Ellis. Had he and the other man been jumped? Was Ellis already dead? His feet pounded against rotting leaves and wet earth. He was so stupid for leaving him alone!

Yet as Azrael got closer, his footsteps slowed. The gurgling had mixed with an almost silent gasp, a noise Azrael had only heard once. A man had been mugged in the middle of the night once, and the thief had stabbed him in the neck mid-scuffle. That man had died on the table in the back of his shop choking on his own blood.

Azrael slowed, his hand hovering over the hilt of his dagger. Heavy breathing mingled with the unmistakable squelch of wet flesh, like a wolf who had just torn into its latest kill. Only this didn’t sound like an animal. Azrael’s hands shook as he pushed aside a bush concealing him from whatever lay on the other side.

There, next to a small creek, lay the bulking man from earlier. His throat and chest were coated in red, chunks of flesh torn from his bones. Blue eyes stared blankly at the stars above. Though it was clear that the man they belonged to was long gone

And there on top of the man’s chest was Ellis. Blood soaked his entire front and dribbled down his chin. A section of the man’s flesh was clenched in his red-stained teeth. He stared at Azrael, eyes wild and distant, as his lips closed around the meat. He swallowed.

“What the fuck?” Azrael cried out.

A tear dripped down Ellis’ cheek, cutting through the blood.

“Help me.”

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[rebeccawritesbooks]

Day 5: Favorite Whumpees

TW: Mentions of kidnapping and domestic violence

It’a pretty hard because characters in my stories do take on different roles depending on the situation. But for now I’ll just go for the ones that I’m currently working on.

Benjamin “Benji” Chatura Shah (20, he/him): Benji is the main character of my contemporary fiction novel WIP A Soft Place to Land. The novel centers around Benji getting out of an abusive relationship with a man named Alex after a particular incident one night. Alex does attempt to choke Benji after finding out he went to the police. If recovery whump is your thing, this will be right up your alley.

Ellis William Dabro (21, he/they): Ellis is the secondary protagonist of my horror-fantasy novel WIP The Epic of the Necromancer. Born to a family of cattle farmers and tanners, Ellis was given healing magic by the god of medicine Vitus when he was five years old. His parents, fearing for his safety, lied about him being sickly and kept him relegated to the family farm and the market. However, word gets out about Ellis’s magic, and he is kidnapped at seventeen years old by a large criminal organization to become their personal healer. After four years, he finally escapes only to be murdered. However, he’s brought back to life by our final whumpee…

Azrael Luis Marroquin (24, he/him): Azrael is the primary protagonist of The Epic of the Necromancer. He was born to an architect father and pharmacist mother. His father was murdered when he was ten by bandits. He became a necromancer at twelve in exchange for the death god Loudres sparing his mother from dying of pneumonia. Happy ending right?

Wrong. He gets kidnapped at eighteen years old so a nobleman can marry his daughter to Azrael for power. Azrael escapes and goes into hiding, living with another necromancer for a few years. When he comes out of hiding, an anti-magic village tries to burn him at the stake. He then goes into semi-hiding again in another village, opening up a tea shop while practicing his magic discreetly. Things are quiet until a couple barges into his shop one night, the body of a young man in tow.

And those are my favorite whumpees that I’m actively working on right now. There’s more in my brain vault, but I have to start prioritizing things.

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[rebeccawritesbooks]

⛓️ Name: Rebecca

🩻 Pronouns: She/They

🪓Years of Whumpmas Participation: First time for everything!

⛓️ Favorite food: Anything with mushrooms on it

🩻 Average amount of sleep: Five to ten hours depending on the day

🪓 Dream Job: Author and theme park designer

⛓️ Username/blog meaning: I've dreamed of writing books since I was six years old, and I just figured I'd use my name to explain what I do.

🩻 Your blog's birthday: I have no idea TBH. I think I made this in 2024?

🪓 Hobbies: Drawing, reading, writing, and baking

⛓️ A quote that's stuck with you: "I may not be a smart man, but I know what love is." -Forrest Gump

🩻 Anything to add: I may not be able to do every prompt every day, but I'll give it a shot!

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[malwarechips]

"i think", i say, about my own ocs, who i made,

[rebeccawritesbooks]

Or: this is my headcanon. Like my sibling in Christ, they’re YOUR characters! You can make it canon!

[writingblus]

i dont "go on walks," i dont "use character sheets" and i dont "plot before writing," i raw dog it, and if it doesnt flow, I FUCKING CRY.

[rebeccawritesbooks]

@whumperofworlds I am trying so hard to crank out snippets related to your birthday prompts, but work is not giving me a day off until next Friday. Help

[whumpkink]

sometimes I get asks to rec lady whump and I only have my own stuff that it's currently living as files on my ellipsus because I have issues find lady whump + I have an icky that apparently 1 out of the 7 people that genuinely like lady whump does (aka I'm the weird one that doesn't like male whumpers and want 100% lady whump)

so if you have 100% she/her, lady, female, women whump, drop it here. I do accept non-women platonic caretakers tho.

[rebeccawritesbooks]

You’re gonna love my steampunk adaptation of Rapunzel then

[rebeccawritesbooks]

AI-less Whumptober 2025, Day 19: Broken Bones

TW: Domestic Violence. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list

It always started over something small. And tonight, it began over him being home late.

It wasn't like Benji was trying to make Alex angry. He just got caught up in hanging out with Leo and he didn't realize what time it was. The second he saw it was 10:30 in the evening, he rushed back to the apartment.

Benji tried to tell himself that it was okay, that Alex might be asleep by the time he got there. But the sweat on his palms and his quickening heart rate told him otherwise.

The front door opened with a small pop. The lights were off, and it was quiet enough to hear his ragged breathing. Benji let out a small sigh. That was good. That meant—

"Where the hell have you been?"

Benji's heart sank to his feet. His breath hitched. He was foolish to think that Alex would be asleep. He should know at this point that Alex expected him to be back on time.

"I'm sorry!" Benji apologized. "I just got caught up in a class project with Leo, and I lost track of time. You know how I get when I'm honed in on something."

Alex's eyes narrowed. "A project? Sure."

Benji swallowed thickly. "I promise that's what it was. We were comparing drafts to see—"

"I don't want to hear it," Alex snapped. "You've been hanging out with him all the time. Am I doing something wrong?"

Yes. Benji shook his head, almost a bit too eagerly. "You haven't."

Alex stared at him, his eyes unreadable. "Then why are you avoiding me?"

Don't tell him; he'll only get angrier. The bruise on his hip from last week pressed against the waistband of his jeans.

"I've just been busy," Benji reassured. He walked closer to the couch. "I promise once midterms are over, we can do something. Just the two of us."

Alex nodded. "Benji, can you answer a question for me?"

Benji's stomach twisted. "Sure," he said.

Alex turned to him, his eyes dark and his lips pressed into a thin smile. "Are you sure that Leo is straight?"

The air in Benji's lungs vanished. "What?"

"You don't think I see what's going on?" Alex hissed. "You think I don't get it?"

Alex stalked toward him, his face contorted in anger. Benji's heel snagged on the rug. His hands pressed to his chest, his palms up. His breathing turned shallow.

"Baby, you're angry right now," he said, his voice wavering. "You need to—"

"What?" Alex snapped. "I need to what? Because it seems to me that you'd rather be with him than me!"

"Alex, please," Benji pleaded.

Alex got closer, his nose practically touching Benji's. He breathed heavily, his eyes blazing with fury. His hands gripped Benji's shoulders, his fingers digging into flesh. Benji yelped.

"Do you know what will happen if you leave me? Like this?"

Benji's face paled. "Don't. Please!"

"You want me to keep you safe?" Alex roared. "Then quit being a slut!"

Alex shoved Benji on the chest. Benji tilted backward, his head spinning. Before he could catch his balance, he fell, the coffee table getting closer.

Crack

Pain exploded in Benji's arm. Something snapped; something fucking snapped! He curled into a ball on the floor, cradling his left arm close to his chest. A scream echoed throughout the apartment.

In a split second, the fury on Alex's face vanished. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes widening. He bent over Benji, his hands shaking.

"Baby, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed. "I didn't mean to do that. I just—"

"You broke my arm," Benji gasped.

"Holy shit," Alex gasped. He gently sat Benji up. "How bad does it hurt?"

Benji hissed through gritted teeth. "Alex, I have to go to the ER."

Alex nodded. "Okay. God I'm so sorry, Benji. I just…I was so upset. I thought you were gonna leave me."

Benji shook his head, trying his best to push himself onto his feet with one arm. Alex fashioned a sling out of his jacket hanging near the front door. He guided Benji down the stairs and to the car, which was soaked fr the rain earlier.

They sat in silence for a while, nothing but the rush of the tires filling the car. Alex's eyes kept flicking between Benji and the road. Benji stared at his nails.

"Right," Alex said. "What are you going to tell the doctor?"

Benji blinked. "What do you mean?"

Alex laughs humorlessly. "Come on, baby. You know what'll happen if you tell them I pushed you. Bail might not be cheap."

"So what do you want me to say?" Benji asked, his voice small.

Alex sighed. "I think you know."

The emergency room was freezing. The lights were way to bright for how late it was. Benji shifted on the cot he'd been sitting on for the past half hour. Alex sit next to him, one leg crossed over the other. He looked at Benji, a soft smile spreading across his face. He reached forward and slid Benji's uninjured hand in his.

"You're doing great, sweetie," he whispered.

A doctor swung the curtain back. His eyes darted up from the chart, then between Benji and Alex. The doctor cleared his throat.

"Well Mr. Shah, you've got a pretty clean break in your left radius. Nothing too bad, bit you'll still have to wear a cast for a little bit." His eyes flicked to the chart, then back to Benji. "How did you say this happened, again?"

Benji sighed. "I was picking up laundry when I slipped on a shirt. Fell on the corner of the tub and my arm snapped."

The doctor nodded, looking between Benji and Alex. "Well, accidents happen. We'll get together some plaster and put a cast on you. It should heal perfectly over the next three weeks."

"Thanks," Benji muttered.

"I'll go get the materials set up and back in a few!" The doctor swung the curtain shut leaving Benji with Alex again. Alone. Footsteps receded. Alex huffed a sigh of relief.

"That's good!" Alex said. "I'm proud of you, babe."

Benji forced a smile. "How would you feel about me being in red for the next few weeks?"

Alex chuckled. "I think it's a good color on you. I get first signing dibs, by the way."

Benji chuckled, pushing down the nausea threatening to rise in his throat. How could he say that after he was the one who broke it? How could he act like any of this was normal?

Benji wanted to scream at him, to make a scene and let the doctors know that this wasn't an accident. But what would happen when someone stepped in? Would Alex be able to convince them that Benji didn't truely know what he was saying? Would they even take him seriously?

No, it was best not to make a scene.

[whumperofworlds]

We need to talk.

TW IRL death, suicide, politics mention

In light of some sad news with what happened with @whump-in-the-closet , I feel we need to talk about this.

Suicide is a serious thing for me, and it hurt when someone, even a stranger, dies that way. It goes to show how depression, among other factors (like whatever the fuck is going on in my country and in other places), can do to others, even the most cheerful ones.

As someone who dealt with suicide ideation for two decades, I will say this.

It looks bleak right now, but. Like most of our stories pertaining to whump, we'll get to our recovery arcs. Do NOT give up. Talk to someone you trust the most, whether online or offline. If you have a thing that you're excited for (like a movie coming out later in the year, meeting someone at a con, anything!), live for that. Live out of spite of your enemies if you have to. If you, as another post said, that you have a life preserver, hang on to it for dear. Life. You're lucky to be alive in the first place, don't take it, please?

My suicidal ideation was so bad that I considered passive suicide. Until I met Robbie Daymond at a con this year. When I mentioned to him how meeting him is on my bucket list, he told me these words that effectively saved my life:

"Just because you can kick that bucket doesn't mean you should. So don't kick it!"

I hadn't had any suicidal ideation or thoughts ever since. And I believe that you, and the entire whump community overall, can do it. It will get better, I promise.

There are many resources out there for those who are suicidal (someone made a very great post about it here). So, if you feel like life isn't worth it, please, do something to let yourself live. It will be worth it. I promise you that.

*sighs* I've been thinking about this during my hiatus. I'll leave to continue it with this:

"Aim for the good ending in life."

I love you all. Always ❤️ Please take care of yourselves.

[pain-in-the-everywhere]

"It looks bleak right now, but. Like most of our stories pertaining to whump, we'll get to our recovery arcs."

I also want to add that even if your ideation or thoughts don't disappear, that doesn't mean that you can't get better or enjoy being alive. I have chronic mental health issues and cycle through good periods and bad periods, and when it's bad, it's bad. But in the bad there is always something tiny that keeps me here.

Sometimes that something is literally just the OC that lives in my head and nowhere else. I might be feeling ready to die, but he sure isn't, so I've stuck around to keep his story going. That single reason has kept me going for the last six years. And because of that, I've been around to experience the best moments of my life. My mental health issues and ideation haven't gone away, but you can learn to live with them. They don't have to win. It's gonna suck sometimes, but it won't suck all the time, and that's worth sticking around for.

Do not underestimate the tiny things. No reason is too small, I promise.

[rebeccawritesbooks]

Literally one of the few things keeping me here is that I need to see my story ideas pan out. Like someone else needs to know about them.

[rebeccawritesbooks]

What Once Was Snippet: Chapter 3

Giving you guys more content for this novel draft because I don't have a beta reader and I need someone else's eyes on it.

Marcus walked out onto the road and grabbed his phone from his pocket: 12:01 AM. Mom and Dad were already asleep at this point. He’d feel guilty calling them to pick him up. He ran his finger through his hair and sighed. Maybe he should just suck up his social anxiety and talk to people.

But right as he turned to go back inside, headlights came down the road. They were obnoxiously bright, and Marcus had to shield his eyes. A black SUV slowed to a stop right next to him. He backed away a little.

The window rolled down. A man smiles at Marcus, his brown eyes warm. He gestured for Marcus to move closer, and he did. He was older, probably around his dad’s age.

“Hey kid, you okay?” he asked.

Marcus nods. “Yeah, just trying to see if my friend’s ready to go home yet.”

The man looked at Marcus with an expression he couldn’t read. “Are you? ‘Cause I can give you a ride home if that’s okay.”

Marcus’s stomach knotted a little. When he was in kindergarten, there were so many stranger danger talks. He used to be terrified of strangers. Until he got older and realized that most danger was within your inner circle. Yet even now, he was still wary.

“Um…”

“It’s okay. I live down a little further that way,” the man said, pointing behind him. “Caleb’s family knows me.”

Marcus pursed his lips. He mentioned Caleb by name. And he looked friendly enough. The man’s eyes didn’t have any malice behind them. Marcus looked back at the house one more time; Christian definitely wasn’t coming out of there anytime soon.

“Sure, thanks.” Marcus popped open the backseat door. The car smelled like new leather and something he couldn’t quite place. The car gently chimed until he put on a seatbelt. There was a black bag in the passenger seat. From this angle, the guy’s hair looked kind of messy.

“So, where are we headed?” he asked.

“Uh, Lakemont. Do you need directions, or–”

“I know where I’m going,” the man said shortly. Marcus winced a little at his tone. The man glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem,” Marcus mumbled. The shapes of trees and brush crept by as they moved. A song played softly on the radio, but he couldn’t quite make out what it was. The man tapped his finger along to it and hummed.

“So, you look a little younger than the other folks there. How old are you?”

“I turned sixteen a couple weeks ago,” Marcus replied.

The man nodded. “Well, happy late birthday.” Marcus didn’t know how to respond to that. “So, you got anyone waiting up for you?”

Marcus snorted. “My sister, maybe. But my parents are definitely asleep.”

The man raised his brow in the rearview mirror. “Really?”

Marcus’s stomach twisted. His hands slowly crept to the door handle. “Yeah. My dad might still be working, though.”

The man hummed. His hands tapped against the steering wheel. “So, Marcus, how is your mom doing?”

Marcus’s heart practically stopped. What? “I didn’t tell you my name,” he whispered.

The man nodded. “I know.”

The car pulled over to the side of the road. Marcus’s hand latched around the door handle and tugged. Nothing happened. He tugged again. Nothing; it was locked. Panic began to surge in Marcus. Oh god, he’s going to die!

The car pulled to a stop near a bunch of tall bushes. The man turned around, the kindness in his eyes long gone. No, now they were cold, calculating. Marcus pulled at the door handle. 

“Who are you?” Marcus asked, his voice desperate.

The man smiled at him. “You don’t recognize your old man?”

[rebeccawritesbooks]

Medwhump May Day 1: Scar Reveal

I am notorious for not following prompt lists in order, so here's day 1 on day 30. It's once again featuring characters from my novel draft What One Was. I hope you enjoy!

TW: Memories of physical abuse

The evening sunlight lazily crept its way through the curtains and into Marcus’s bedroom, painting the room with oranges and yellows. Shadows from the blinds lined the adjacent wall. On his bed, Shadow stretched out, his paws reaching into the sun’s warmth. But Marcus wasn’t paying attention to any of that. No, what drew his attention were the thin, raised lines all over his back.

His fingers traced over the scars, sending small jolts down his spine. The skin felt tight, like every small twitch of his body stretched it further. Marcus’s vision blurred. 

The phantom whistle of leather moving in the air snaked free from Marcus’s memory. He could still feel the crack of the belt against his skin, the sting as it was ripped open, the burn that seemed to carry on after hours.

Marcus could still hear the sneer in James’s voice as he lay on the floor, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

“Maybe this time you’ll learn.”

Something slams into the floor behind him. Marcus jumped, the shirt in his hand falling to the floor. He spun around, his eyes wide and glimmering with fear.

But it wasn’t James; it was his dad. A laundry basket lay at his feet, its contents spilled across the floor. His eyes darted away for a second before returning to Marcus’s gaze. Marcus’s face flushed.

“Dad–”

“God, Marcus,” Dad whispered. Marcus wrapped his arms around himself. “They told me about what happened, but I didn’t wanna…”

Marcus nodded, his eyes darting to the floor. He never let his dad see the scars on his back. Not that he didn’t trust him, more that he didn’t trust himself not to fall apart. He didn’t want to see him looking at him like that, like he was something broken. Like one small incident would make him crumble again.

Dad pursed his lips. “Can I come in?” he asked, his voice cracking. Marcus nodded. 

The floorboards creaked as he walked up to him. The hairs on Marcus’s skin stood up, gooseflesh prickling on his arms. His breath hitched, tears welling in his eyes. Marcus blinked rapidly. No, he couldn’t fall apart over something like this!

Dad stood behind him, his hand hovering over his shoulder. His breath shuddered. “Can I touch them?”

Marcus’s blood ran cold. Part of him wanted to say no, to never let anyone touch his back again. The sting of the belt teased at the back of Marcus’s mind, James’s sneer snaking its way into his ears. Marcus clenched and unclenched his hands. No, this was his dad; he could trust him. He nodded.

Dad’s touch was featherlight as he traced the lines crossing Marcus’s back. Marcus tried his best not to pull away, but every part of him wanted to bolt out of the room. But instead, his legs wobbled, the ticking of the clock downstairs sneaking into the room. 

“God, Marcus,” Dad said, his voice thick with grief. “I should’ve protected you more. I should’ve picked you up that night I…” Dad pushed up his glasses as he wiped at his eyes.

Marcus turned around, his own eyes brimming with tears. “No, it was my fault,” Marcus insisted. “I shouldn’t have assumed that I would be bothering you by calling.”

“Don’t,” Dad said firmly. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened.” He adjusted his glasses again. “None of what happened was your fault.”

Marcus pursed his lips. “But I can say the same for you.”

Dad huffed in a way that almost sounded like a laugh. “You got me there.” Silence soaked into the walls. Marcus pulled the long-forgotten shirt over his head. Despite wearing it, he could feel the scars burning through the fabric, putting themselves on display.

Marcus cleared his throat. “Do you need help with that?” he asked, gesturing to the scattered laundry on the floor.

Dad nodded. “Yeah, forgot about that.” He stooped, scooping socks and shirts into the toppled laundry basket. Marcus grabbed a shirt and ran his thumb over the faded design. It was from his high school, before everything changed. Before–

Marcus tossed it into the basket.

[rebeccawritesbooks]

What Once Was: About the Draft

Genre: Drama

Age Range: New Adult

Synopsis: After being kidnapped and held hostage for three years, Marcus Abernathy is free. His kidnapper is behind bars, he's with his family, and he can go wherever he pleases at any time.

But this isn't happily ever after. Constant nightmares and severe anxiety now plague Marcus. He feels distant from his family and people he once considered friends.

With everything that happened over the past three years, can he ever have a normal life again?

[medwhumpmay]

TW: MEDWHUMP/MEDICAL LANGUAGE

Welcome to Medwhump May 2025! This challenge was a success last year so I'm back here again for round 2!

RULES:

No AI-generated content

For completionists, you must fill in a prompt for all 31 days, whether this is the daily prompt or one of the alt prompts. The timeframe for completion doesn't matter (i.e whether you fill all 31 prompts in one day, or take a few months)

If you'd like your work to be featured on this page, please tag this account, @medwhumpmay , and use the tag 'medwhumpmay2025'

When tagging, please use the appropriate whump tag e.g 'seizure whump' instead of just 'seizures'. This avoids clogging important tags with whump content.

Have fun!

If you need any clarification, please feel free to send in an ask or reply to this post and I'll do my best to get back to you.

Thanks to everybody who submitted their prompts, and please reblog for reach!

Happy whumping ❤️

- @whumpetywhumpwhump