Stab wounds and sad bitches

For when a slow and steady loss of consciousness doesn't quite cut it (but that's still good, don't get me wrong).

whumpee's still running on adrenaline when they bump into caretaker, nothing but smiles until they catch onto caretaker's horrified expression. they follow their gaze until they see the familiar stain of blood against their shirt. their shock drains the adrenaline from them, and before caretaker's even able to take a step forward their knees have buckled.

a sudden wound — a gunshot, a stabbing — and the pain lancing through them white-hot and agonizing. they're still processing what's happened to them, gaping like a fish out of water when they feel the ground slam into the side of their head. they're not sure when they fell, but every pulse pours out more red and reminds them over and over of why.

a caretaker running themselves ragged with just how many people are hurt or in need of them, unable to take a moment's rest for themselves. their vision starts to swim when they stand up but they ignore it, because it's not that bad yet and others have it worse. they're doing an excellent job pushing through, until they're suddenly not. their vision wavers a little stronger this time, and then into black, barely able to get out a surprised "oh" before they're on the ground.

bending down to grab something and not hearing the approach of someone from behind them. one moment, they're sifting through papers, a drawer, a cabinet — the next, there's a burst of horrible pain at the back of their skull and a deep, sudden darkness.

trying to climb out of bed after a broken fever — common sense tells them to stay in bed but they want a bath so badly. their body trembles the moment they move to stand, and they're barely upright for more than a few seconds before their weakened legs fold and they collapse in a pile of exhausted, aching limbs.

My sis is neutral about it but supports me regardless.

My dad is "concerned" about me writing such dark things and sharing it for the internet to see. Understandable given our current situation.

My psychiatrist of 10+ years before we parted ways (in a good way!) had told me, and I quote when I expressed concerns about his reactions to the stories I wrote: "I'd be more concerned if you're NOT writing."

My other friends online who aren't in the whump community had ranged reactions from uncomfortable to likes it.

DEVIL MAY CRY (2025)