I love to imagine and create @snakebites-and-ink - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
I love to imagine and create
@snakebites-and-ink
Whump blog, mainly. I'm mediocre at tagging stuff so proceed at your own discretion. He/Him. Adult. Literally nocturnal. Sometimes socially awkward so I apologize in advance for that.
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DO NOT SCRAPE OR GIVE MY WORK TO AI/LLMS/ETC. IN ANY WAY!
DO NOT ASK FOR DONATIONS IN MY INBOX/MENTIONS UNLESS YOU'RE SOMEONE I ALREADY KNOW. Strangers who do this will be blocked and reported as spam on sight.
Report under "other", select "scam", paste in their url and write up the details of the scam. I had this scam yesterday and the account that messaged me has already been taken down because I filled out a proper scam report instead of just hitting the "report spam" button like I do for most bots.
Mind control that doesn't go away. Sure, they're out of Whumper's hands, but for whatever reason, the control doesn't lessen entirely.
It's not noticeable at first, but something is undeniably happening.
Their face will go blank sometimes, and they'll snap to attention.
They only speak when spoken to, and even then, they're much too quiet.
Offhand comments are followed to the letter, they let themself be touched and handled and do whatever they're told, no complaints.
When (if) their team figures this out, it complicates things. They can't be as casual around them as they'd like to be, have to monitor everything they say to make sure they don't take advantage of Whumpee.
Carefully phrasing questions to make sure they aren't misunderstood as orders, always leaving comments open for questions or objections... the vulnerability of caring about someone who can't consent to... anything, right now. Even the seemingly normal things.
Did you know that you're not supposed to pet birds under their wings, or they might believe you're mates?
Anyway. Winged Whumpee who VASTLY overestimates their relationship with ace+aro caretaker.
#372
content: nonhuman whumpee, winged whumpee, avian whumpee, rocky recovery, recovery fic, emotional whump, past trauma, bad caretaker because you really should've looked up bird stuff before taking in whumpee
Whumpee was sitting on one of the chairs in the kitchen, swinging their legs back and forth, watching Caretaker prepare a meal of assorted seeds for them. Their wings were tightly tucked behind their back so they wouldn't bump into the back of the chair, and they were quietly humming to themself. They felt happy. Who knew that right after the tragedy of having been kidnapped and kept in a zoo for months on end, the people who rescued them would place them in a home with someone who would become their mate?
Caretaker had never officially said it out loud, but did they need to? It was obvious from the way they gently scratched Whumpee under the wing, in their gentle touches, their soothing words. So Whumpee was happy.
"Here," Caretaker said with a smile, placing the seeds in front of them on the table.
"Thank you," Whumpee chirped, and they blushed a little at just how high-pitched their voice sounded. Caretaker could still embarrass them with such simple acts of kindness. As their mate, they really should've gotten used to it by now. "Will you eat with me?"
"Ah, no. I'm kinda in a rush. I just put together your food and now I'm off to work."
"Oh." Don't sound disappointed. Don't sound disappointed. Don't sound disappointed. "I see! Well, I hope you have a wonderful day. But our date tonight still stands, right?"
Caretaker furrowed their brows and let out an awkward little laugh. "Our date?"
"Yeah, in that take-out restaurant you keep mentioning. You told me you'd take me out?"
"I did, yeah, but it's not… It's not a date."
Whumpee blinked. But when mates went out on outings like that, they called that dates, didn't they? Maybe Caretaker was just uncomfortable with Whumpee being so direct. It'd make sense, given Caretaker was too shy to even call them their mate so far. "Oh. Right. Not a date. Just an outing."
"As friends," Caretaker added, kind of emphasising their point. Whumpee froze entirely.
"I don't understand," they said quietly, rejection blooming in their heart like a bush full of of thorns. "But we're mates, aren't we?"
"Whumpee— What? No. I don't— I'm not interested in you like that," they said gently. "I'm not interested in anyone like that. I'm ace."
"What's that mean?"
"Asexual, like, not interested in anyone sexually. And aromantic, not interested in anyone romantically. But especially not you."
Oh. Especially not them. "What do you mean…?"
"You're traumatised and vulnerable. I would never take advantage of that." Well, that made the previous statement a little better, but it still stung.
"It's not 'taking advantage' to court someone and then enter a relationship!" they insisted. They loved Caretaker. It not being reciprocated was shattering the tiny world they'd managed to rebuild.
"When have I ever courted you?" Caretaker asked, baffled.
"You do things only mates would do! Like petting me under the wing! And I let you, because I felt safe with you, and I wanted it too, and, and—"
"Oh." Caretaker rubbed the back of their neck awkwardly. "I think… I think there's a misunderstanding here. I never thought of that as courting."
"But—"
"I don't know a lot about your culture, admittedly… I didn't know, okay? I didn't know that was like a romantic thing for you. Look, I really have to rush, we'll have this conversation after work, okay?"
"But—"
"Be good! I'll be back in a few hours!"
Whumpee watched them rush out of the apartment, and they were left there, all alone. They had been left alone plenty of times in the apartment, but this was the first time they really felt alone.
"Okay…" they mumbled to themself, pushing their plate of seeds away. They weren't hungry anymore.
content: second person pov, choose your own adventure, living weapon whump, living weapon whumpee, no holds barred beatdown, lady whumper, conditioned whumpee, abandonment, bodymod, emotional whump, psychological whump
You've tried.
All your life, you've tried.
And it wasn't enough.
You don't resist as your assigned handler beats you with a ferocity so far unmatched. She wails on you, punches you, kicks you when you finally fall to the ground. You don't shield your face, and she lands a kick directly to your nose. It hurts. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as not being good enough.
All your life, you've been in this facility. You weren't even allowed to leave the premises, with limited outside time. All your life, you've been in and out of operating rooms, your handler wanting to enhance your performance with body-modifications. Your metal arm with a blade embedded in it that you can pop out on command probably wouldn't be enough to defend you from your handler's wrath.
And so you just lie there and take it. And take it. And take it.
You might die.
Dying would be preferable to not being good enough.
Your handler is talking, but your ears are ringing so loud you can't make out the words. She grabs you by the collar of your uniform and pulls you up so you're kneeling, but it's hard to keep your balance. Blood is dripping from your nose onto the floor below. Your eyes are nearly swollen shut.
"...failing to meet expectations..."
"...useless, absolutely useless..."
"...waste of money and resources..."
You take the verbal abuse just as well as the physical one. You don't protest, you don't try to plead your case. You just take it. And take it. And take it.
Eventually, she grabs you by the shirt again and drags you to your feet. You stumble after her as she makes her way through the winding corridors of the facility you've called home your entire life. Some other weapons look. Some turn away. No one steps in.
Eventually, the two of you arrive at the front door. You haven't been out of the building in decades, not counting the inner yard. All your life, your handler primed you to think of the outside world as alien and scary, a world you'd only ever need to infiltrate and take out targets in. You didn't belong in the outside world.
And yet, she opens the door and shoves you outside. The door closes behind you with a loud bang. You collapse on the doorstep.
Surely, this is just a punishment. Part of it. You'll be let back in once you learned your lesson. Right?
You spend the day lying on the facility's doorstep, trying to keep tears at bay. A good weapon is emotionless, strong, resilient. Surely, this is a test. And you are not going to fail.
At sunset, the door finally opens again. It's not your handler; it's a man, no kinder than her. He barks at you for having stayed by the door, orders you to go.
But go where? You have nowhere to go.
"Please," you try, but he shuts you down immediately.
"You're not part of this organisation anymore. Get away from the door and never come back. You don't want to end up dead for drawing attention to the facility, do you?"
Maybe you do. Death would be better than being abandoned. But the part of you that's still loyal, the part that has been thoroughly trained to follow orders from handlers, makes you get up on shaky legs and walk away.
Walk away from your handler. Walk away from your comrades. Walk away from your life.
You find an empty bench in a park and lie down. It's dark out by now, the bench only illuminated by a street light right above it. You have no idea how you must look. A bruised, battered body with a metallic arm in clothing that doesn't match the outside weather.
You don't care. It doesn't matter how you look. You close your eyes, trying to imagine you're still in your bunk bed, sleeping above #065. #065 snored. You found it annoying at first, but it soon became a comfort. It meant you were right where you belonged. The park, on the other hand, is quiet. A stark reminder that you aren't welcome anymore.
The tears start up against your will. You sob, hiccuping and sputtering, and you must look so pathetic, but your handler isn't there anymore to beat sense into you. It's just you, alone, and you haven't been alone in... ever.
The sounds of your disgusting wailing must've drowned out the sound of footsteps approaching the bench, and so you're caught entirely off guard when a gentle voice asks, "Hey, is everything alright?"
You immediately sit up, on high alert, your brain screaming DANGER. But the woman holds up both hands, and you see there's no weapon on her. You relax just a fraction.
"I heard you crying," she explains. "And you look..." She trails off. She doesn't know how to address your swollen face.
"Go away," you say immediately. You're not supposed to draw attention, that was one of the rules you lived by up until now.
But you aren't bound by those rules anymore. You have been kicked out. So what's the protocol in dealing with strangers now? Are you supposed just make up your own rules?
The woman slowly lowers her hands. In a way, she reminds you of your handler. The same high ponytail, the same brown eyes. Except she's looking at you with pity instead of rage. Your handler has always been angry with you for something.
You stare at each other for a minute or so, neither of you moving or saying a word. She looks like she's looking for the right ones to make you feel at ease — you, on the other hand, have no intention of speaking to her any longer.
You stand up from the bench. You start walking away.
"Wait!" she calls after you. "Please! Are you from the facility?"
You stop. The locals aren't supposed to know what goes on inside the facility. Does she somehow know anyway?
"I can see your arm," she says, probably meaning your prosthetic. Many of the weapons got enhancements at the facility, it's nothing special. Just a metal arm. With a built-in blade. "I've seen others with similar prosthetics come and go from the facility. I... Truth is, I've been trying to look into it. The facility. There's some shady stuff going on in there, I'm pretty sure. Maybe you can help?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," you say.
"I've never seen anyone from there be out after nightfall. Especially not... in your condition."
The stupid tears keep falling down your face. You're so pathetic. That's why you've been kicked out. You angrily wipe the tears away and turn back around to face the woman.
She's looking at you with concern written all over her face.
"I'm not interested in talking to you!"
"I don't know what facility you mean."
"Why are you in the park at night anyway?"
"Just leave me alone!"
"My condition is fine, I'm fine, go on your way!"
"I've been... I've been kicked out."
"If I talk, they'll hunt me down."
The words get caught in your throat. You break down further.
I've seen sex-averse vs sex-repulsed conceptualized several different ways. And while I don't think any one way is necessarily wrong or right I am curious which is the most common.
Aces, what do you consider the difference between sex averse and sex repulsed?
None/wording only; they're fully interchangeable/down to individual preference
Intensity; repulsed is stronger, averse is milder
Scope;repulsed include sex in abstract/3rd person,aversion only if self involved
Flavor; repulsed involves feeling disgust, aversion some other reason for avoid
The terms imply all of the above simultaneously
I distinguish between them some other way (share in the notes please?)
I have no idea man/results
Allosexual button
Remaining time: 6 days 12 hours
Longer versions of answers because of that character limit:
None/wording only: they're fully interchangeable, or only distinguished by which an individual prefers to use
Intensity: repulsed is stronger, more intense, or more extreme; averse is milder, less intense, or more moderate
Scope: repulsed includes a negative/unpleasant response to sex in any context including abstract/fiction/other people/etc.; aversion only includes a negative/unpleasant response to sex involving one's own self
Flavor: repulsed involves feeling disgust or a visceral reaction, aversion covers other reasons for avoiding sex
The terms imply all of the above simultaneously, and all of these things should be considered when determining which term is appropriate
Will humanity ever be free of the influence of Edna Mode? Can any of us so much as consider the character design for a hero or villain without her manifesting in the room, fully aware of our sins?
You know what, another layer of difficulty is when you’re thinking about villains, and the wise words of Megamind come into your head. You don’t just want your child to be just a regular villain. But how do you make your villain a Supervillain with no cape? Where is the drama? But Edna says no capes, you must deny them the flair. It is impossible to please them both, and it’s tearing this family apart.
"healing" magic that doesn't heal. it only supplements the patient enough to keep them alive through intervention. it just keeps the blood going where it needs to be, it keeps the lungs on a rhythmic cycle, it gives power to the organ systems, consciousness if necessary, et cetera. that way, a lethal injury becomes survivable, if only a healer is there to become their life support while the medics do their job. a deadly poison becomes curable if there's enough magic to keep the heart beating. torture can last forever with the right magic user, willing (or coerced) to keep a victim alive until they break.
Mind control that doesn't go away. Sure, they're out of Whumper's hands, but for whatever reason, the control doesn't lessen entirely.
It's not noticeable at first, but something is undeniably happening.
Their face will go blank sometimes, and they'll snap to attention.
They only speak when spoken to, and even then, they're much too quiet.
Offhand comments are followed to the letter, they let themself be touched and handled and do whatever they're told, no complaints.
When (if) their team figures this out, it complicates things. They can't be as casual around them as they'd like to be, have to monitor everything they say to make sure they don't take advantage of Whumpee.
Carefully phrasing questions to make sure they aren't misunderstood as orders, always leaving comments open for questions or objections... the vulnerability of caring about someone who can't consent to... anything, right now. Even the seemingly normal things.
It wasn’t the crunch of a crisp autumn leaf or a discarded candy wrapper, that was for sure. Caretaker could feel something substantial. She jumped back, certain for a moment that she’d stepped on a large bug, and that the only thing she had to worry about was cleaning her shoe after she got home from the party.
She… wasn’t sure what she was looking at. There were wings, like a large bug’s wings, attached to what looked like a little broken doll. Some trick-or-treating kid’s abandoned fairy doll?
One broken, shaking arm feebly moved, and that’s when Caretaker realized that she was looking at something alive.
“Oh my god.” She removed her earbuds and crouched down to get a closer look, shining her phone’s flashlight in the dark. This was a fairy, something she’d only seen in pictures before. They were green all over, from their skin to their hair to the tint in their crumpled translucent wings to what looked like blood spilling out of them. They took shallow breaths, twitching, and when Caretaker leaned close, she could hear a tiny, pained whine.
She pocketed the phone, heart racing, a tidal wave of guilt and dread threatening to drown her. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, oh my god, please don’t die, I’ve got you.” Could fairies die? Was she getting them mixed up with something else?
Carefully, she scooped the fairy into her hand. They couldn’t be more than three or four inches tall, fitting easily in the cushion of her palm. The fairy jerked at the movement, crying out wordlessly with all the volume of a chipmunk.
“I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Tears flew down Caretaker’s cheeks as she ran home, dodging costumed children on the sidewalk. “I’m going to help you, I promise, just hold on for a minute.”
She fumbled the key in the lock three times with her clammy, uncoordinated free hand, kicking it closed behind her as she raced for the bathroom. She laid the fairy down on a clean washcloth as gently as she could, and they didn’t cry out this time. She couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad.
After a quick emergency dial, she pressed her phone between her ear and her shoulder, freeing both hands to take out the first aid kit.
Where was she even supposed to start? In the bright light of the bathroom, the fairy’s eyes squinting shut with a whimper, it was apparent how pervasive the damage was. Their whole body looked broken–it was far more than she could fix with a first aid kit.
At the very least, Caretaker grabbed a q-tip and started dabbing antibiotic on the bleeding spots. She wasn’t sure if fairies could get infections, but it couldn’t hurt, right? The ointment was supposed to provide some pain relief too, however small. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, not gonna hurt you,” she soothed as the fairy started to whine again.
As she dabbed ointment on, too afraid to move them in any way, the emergency number informed her they only did humanoid emergencies and she needed to call a specialist. But every number she tried was closed, because it was midnight, and the only answer she could get–an emergency vet–didn’t do magical creatures, but was kind enough to inform her that fairies were, in fact, immortal.
“You’re not going to die. You probably already knew that.” Caretaker put away the ointment. Should she do something more? Would the fairy heal on their own? Should she try to align their bones more properly? Would she end up doing more damage?
“H-h–h…” the fairy strained.
“Yeah? Can you speak?” Caretaker asked tearily. “Tell me what you need. I-I-I’m trying to help, but I don’t know what I’m doing.” She shut off the bathroom light, letting just the light from the living room shine through, and that seemed to make it better, the fairy’s eyes now looking up at her from their somehow-mostly-intact head.
It took several minutes for the fairy to speak. “Ple-ease n-no harm,” they said, their words coming out forced, like their mouth wasn’t made to make those sounds.
“No harm,” Caretaker repeated hurriedly. “Help. I’m helping you. You’re going to be okay, yeah? No harm.”
The fairy stuttered for a minute, then added, “No c-curse. Begging.”
“What? Why–” She knocked the witch hat off her head, letting it fall to the floor. “I’m not a real witch. It’s just a costume.” They probably couldn’t understand that. Did fairies believe in witches? Wasn’t that a human superstition? “No curse,” she repeated, softer. “No curse, no harm. I promise.”
Seemingly satisfied with that, the fairy closed their eyes, drawing shallow breaths through their bumpy chest, ribs undoubtedly shattered.
“Okay. Get some rest, little guy.” Caretaker patted the bathroom counter, not actually touching them, before sitting on the lid of the toilet, pulling her phone out, and starting to search.
Fairies healed on their own with help from moonlight, even from serious injuries. Fairies ate nectar and berries and liked sugar water and honey. Fairies tended to live very far from humans and went out of their way to avoid them, which explained why Caretaker couldn’t find anyone to help. They lived deep in only a few select rainforests on the planet, thousands of miles away.
Then what was this one doing on a sidewalk on Halloween night? And why could they speak a human language?
The more she thought about it, the less she liked the answers.
Given that Caretaker wasn’t able to find any resources on nursing a fairy back to health, she followed instructions for caring for an injured bird. She was able to pad a shoebox out with nice, soft cushioning, then transfer the washcloth the fairy had fallen asleep on into it without waking them. She left the box on the windowsill in her bedroom, moonlight shining in.
And she waited, unable to sleep.
It wasn’t until five in the morning that the fairy started to stir, whimpering and doing that little chipmunk cry.
“Hey,” Caretaker said gently. Already, they looked just a little better. All the bleeding had stopped, and their breaths looked a bit more even, though their bones were still misshapen. “How are you feeling? Do you want something to eat?”
The fairy’s eyes widened with terror. “No eat! Please no eat!” They spoke far quicker than they had a few hours ago. “No! No! Begging!”
“Oh! No no, no harm, remember? No harm, no curse, no eat,” Caretaker reminded them hastily. “Here, just–”
She left the room, deciding it would be quicker to just show them. She returned with a tiny platter–really one of those little tables from the inside of a pizza box–with a couple blueberries drizzled in honey, and a bottle cap full of sugar-water. “Do you want these?”
The fairy looked between both for a moment, agonizing. “Water,” they pleaded blearily. “Begging.”
“You can have both. You don’t need to beg. It’s okay, I’m going to take care of you.” Caretaker held the cap to their lips, slowly tilting it so their tiny guest could drink. Their eyebrows shot up when they took a sip and realized it had sugar, and they gulped it down thirstily, drinking most of the cap in one go.
When they finished, she picked up one of the honeyed blueberries and held it in front of the fairy’s face. “Do you want some of this, too? Have as much as you want.”
The fairy didn’t need to be told twice. They ate like they were starving, though it was impossible to tell whether they’d already been bad-off before or they’d just used a lot of energy healing.
She’d ask about it when they’d healed. Now wasn’t the time.
“I’m sorry,” Caretaker repeated, now that the fairy seemed a little calmer. “I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t even see you there. It was dark and–I’m really sorry. I’m going to make this right.”
The fairy clearly struggled to follow her meaning. “Please water?” they asked instead.
“Of course.” Caretaker followed the fairy’s requests, alternating between holding up the food and the water until they drifted off again.
She moved the shoebox out of what would soon be the sunlight’s path, placing it on her bedside table. Through the holes she’d made in the sides, she could see the fairy’s face, peaceful only in slumber, their chest rising and falling with a little effort.
She could see their wings, which seemed more cut-up than stepped-on, now that she really, really looked at them. Like they’d already been injured before she met the fairy.
“I’ll protect you,” Caretaker promised, before finally sleeping herself.
I love the almost-communication. The way there's just enough understanding on Caretaker's language to be able to get something across, but not quite enough to fully understand what they're being told >:)
DO NOT PIRATE ANYTHING. NOT SHOWS/MOVIES. NOT GAMES OR SAFER GAMES. AND CERTAINLY NOT BOOKS. AND DO NOT DOWNLOAD YOUTUBE VIDEOS. AND NEVER EVER EVER WATCH MUSICALS WITHOUT GOING TO THEM AND DONT USE ADBLOCKERS/OTHER ADBLOCKER TO AVOID ADS AND VIRUSES PIRATING IS VERY HARMFUL TO THE CORPORATIONS WHO WORKS VERY HARD TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF PEOPLE AND THEIR MONEY. ANYONE WHO PIRATES IS BAD. BAD PIRATING. EVIL. OH AND THIS
So I just simultaneously did, and possibly didn't lose my job today :)
Very much did in the sense that I literally do not know where my job is at the moment. But, for the time being I haven't been let go because nobody else including the store owner knows where it is either.
So, I don't wanna risk doxxing myself by posting pictures but goddamn am I tempted because this is not a believable event. This is a cartoon problem. For looneytoons.
But yeah, so, I work(ed?) at a kiosk selling boba tea, right? Freestanding kiosk in the mall with full water and electrical hookups and multiple fridges and sinks and a mini kitchen and the works. Fully functional tea shop. Very important to note that it was there last night, The work chat was discussing another issue last night at closing time. I'll get back to this.
It's been showing signs of being on the way out with how business is being handled lately and I've been considering other options, which is probably why I'm not as torn up about this as I should be, but maybe it just hasn't set in yet, but that's not the point. The point is there's been a lot of shit breaking and not being replaced and nobody mentioning anything about it until I walk into work in the morning and have to figure out why shit like the fucking cash register isn't there today. So I'm kinda used to having to ask questions about big things that nobody bothered to update me on. I was out for two weeks recovering from a surgery, so I came to work this morning assuming there'd be some kind of bullshit, yeah?
So, the question I had to ask the chat this morning was:
Not a text I ever thought I'd have to send in sincerity, but there it is. Because what I found instead was a fenced off patch of discolored tiles and a few holes in the floor where my entire place of employment used to be.
And the answer? Nobody knows! It was there last night when the mall closed, and every single trace of the structure and all its contents including drink making supplies and our safe and cashbox was gone when it opened again. And when I say nobody knows, I mean everyone from last night's closers to the actual (former?) owner of the store jad no fucking clue about this until getting that text from me this morning. For once I am actually the first to know. 🎉.
So. I guess I didn't so much lose my job as had it stolen. Not by AI, but good old fashioned hands-on human beings picking it up and carrying it away somehow. All mall security would tell me was that they were instructed not to tell me anything and have us contact our management. Who also don't know anything. And later on I came across some construction workers around the gravesite of the kiosk discussing filling in the holes, asked them about it, and was told that they "weren't at liberty to say".
So, not only is my job gone in the most literal physical sense of the word, but it was taken in some kind of super secret kiosk extraction in the dead of night without any warning or witnesses and nobody is allowed to speak of it. The store owner said she was gonna figure it out 10 hours ago and still no word back.
I don't know what else to say aside from I've been laughing all day and I'm gonna have a hell of a time explaining Schrodinger's Unemployment to the benefits office.
Update that is not an update because I'm basically certain this isn't what actually happened:
My mother in law thinks the FBI took it.
Not any of the other stores around the state. Just the one little kiosk.
Why? Because she loves a conspiracy and is just a little bit extra.
Also because she was around for the massive crackdown on Yakuza-owned businesses in Waikiki (in her homestate) that did actually involve the FBI seizing stores (no confirmation of making kiosks cleanly disappear in the middle of the night though).
Still no word from my job on what's actually going on, but the most likely theory so far is that maybe the kiosk was on lease and got repossessed? The mystery continues
(also shout out to the person who proposed Carmen Sandiego)
According to the owner, based on what she's been able to find out, the kiosk was not removed legally and they're starting a potentially long process of legal action. I hope she gets to sue the shit out of whoever did it but for now at least I know for sure I'm unemployed.
Really hoping for more details in terms of who/why/how, so I'll keep updating if I learn anything.
For now the summary is: An unnamed entity that is most likely mall management (on account of mall security cooperating with them) stole an entire kiosk and all the contents including money and machinery with barely a trace in the middle of the night grinch-style, with zero warning or explanation, and ensured the silence of both security and the construction crew, in an action that was definitely preplanned and illegal, and as far as I know nobody knows its whereabouts.
So now I'm officially out of a job. Because my workplace was literally stolen in the night.
Actually fuck it let's share some photos cause I wouldn't be inclined to believe this myself. It's not like anyone can stalk me at my job now and I'm not gonna have to see any coworkers that might find my tumblr.
Enjoy the unintentionally funniest text I've ever sent in my life
Aaand a close-up:
The last remains of a once Very Much Solid And Immobile Workplace
Just called my senator and the aide said "Yeah, you're not the first person we've heard from about this today." It is 9:45 in the morning and she already had that weary tone.
having chronic pain is a blessing when youre trying to write humorous injury scenarios. i have a line for every type of symptom, ready to take the edge off with jokes and snark. most of them are things ive said before.
pupils are big and theyre out of it?
"are you high??" "yeah. on cortisol."
sharp shooting pain?
"its like i have a funny bone in every muscle, and theyre all mad at me." "oh my god—"
bout to pass out?
"the floor sounds so nice right now." "what?" *thump*
knees giving out???
"down i go." *wobbles and clutches the nearest available surface*
heavy bruises that limit movement???
"this annoying." "what is?" "the pain." ".... most people would say that hurts." "uh, duh. and thats whats annoying."
open gunshot/stab wound???
*putting pressure to stop the oozing blood through gritted teeth* "get back in your hole."
got hit by a car??
*calling friends on the way to the emergency room, shaking, trying to be chill* "uh, hey, so. i got hit by a car." "WHAT???? OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY????" "we'll see i guess." "WHAT—" "we're here, gotta go. text you later." *end call*
One of the biggest “whump awakenings” I guess you could call it came from a book I read as a kid where the main character was accused of a crime and declared a “wolf’s head” which was described to mean he was no longer considered human, he could be killed or harmed or anything by anyone and they would face no consequences. So in a lot of things I write, that’s a concept I think about a lot. It’s not that a character is being actively hunted, it’s that there’s nothing protecting them. The only thing keeping them safe is someone else’s decision to do so.
