holidayinhell

[holidayinhell]

Caretaker just barely manages to stop whumper from assaulting whumpee and whumpee now has to pretend like this hasn't happened before (they don't want caretaker to feel bad for the many times they couldn't stop it)

[holidayinhell]

so that chapter I was writing accidentally turned into 3 chapters...

the next part is almost ready, but I'm greedily keeping it in my back pocket until the other parts are mostly there.

I really want to give this story the cohesion it deserves, so alas, this is the way forward on that one.

[holidayinhell]

Dear Caretaker,

If you’re reading this… I’m probably gone forever. I’m sorry.

I don’t know if this will even reach you. Maybe he’ll burn it. But I had to try and put something down. 

I don’t really know what to say (sorry this pen really sucks)

Thank you for saving me. You did it twice now. That time on the boat, and now this time too. I couldn’t have survived this long if I wasn’t thinking about you. Your face, your kindness, your compassion and warmth... It’s the only thing that’s gotten me through the past few weeks.

I wish I could see you one more time. You might be proud of me. I’m not scared like I used to be.

But I hope you’ve found something better. Someone better. Someone who’s not like me.

(flip page ->)

If any part of you still loves me, or cares about me or is even just wondering-- I thought of you at the very end. And that reminded me how beautiful life can be.

Maybe you can think of me sometime too?

I want you to know I loved you. I always have and always will. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.

All my love,

Whumpee

[holidayinhell]

“Take a sip of your drink.”

“Don’t make a scene,” he hissed. “Drink it.”

Whumpee took a small sip from the glass. He grimaced—he’d never acquired the taste for red wine.

“Where’s Caretaker?”

Whumper sighed. “You’re so fucking stupid.” He adjusted the gun against Whumpee’s ribs beneath the tablecloth.

“What did you do to him?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Fucking tell me now.”

“Then listen to what I tell you to do.” Whumper gazed around the room, buzzing with chatter and clinking glasses. He wondered how many bullets it would take if Whumpee didn’t cooperate.

“Take a bite of your food.”

“No.”

Whumpee slid his hands under the table, hiding the tremble in his fingers. “You’re not gonna shoot me in a goddamn restaurant.”

“Eat your fucking pasta.” He jabbed Whumpee again. “Unless you wanna see what color the waitress’s brains are.”

The gun bruised him, digging in further until he squirmed away.

“Oww. Fuck. Alright already.”

Whumpee leaned forward, slowly twirling the pasta around his fork.

He raised the glistening, saucy noodles to his lips—slowly, dramatically—drawing Whumper’s full attention.

Whumpee let the fork slip through his fingers, clattering to the floor.

Across the room, the attentive waitress made her way to the table.

“Oops.”

(more whump)

[holidayinhell]

cw: blood, death

The blade pushed in again, deeper.

“Huh… haa…”

Whumpee’s eyes locked on the knife, half-buried in his stomach. Blood gleamed under the overhead bulb—a slow, glistening trickle of red sliding down his skin.

“Aren’t you going to defend yourself?”

The knife pushed in harder.

He let out a blood curdling shriek. “AHHhahhh--!!”

“Do something.” “Or I’ll carve you open right here and let you bleed out on the floor.”

“Whumpee. Save yourself.”

“You’re dying. Do something.”

“Do something!”

Whumpee’s lips parted, dry and trembling. “I… I can’t.”

“If you can't save yourself," "maybe it’s time to let you die.”

(more whump)

[holidayinhell]

"You have one last chance to do what’s right.”

Horrified, Caretaker watches as Whumpee literally crawls back to Whumper.

[holidayinhell]

holiday you’re spoiling us with all these delicious posts

i'm so glad :~) that fills my heart with sadistic glee. more to come!

[holidayinhell]

I'll stop starving my whumpees for a little bit, I promise

[holidayinhell]

“Christ, what have you been feeding him?”

“Um. He had something a while back. Yeah… ramen, or something.”

“You haven’t been feeding him? No wonder he’s so goddamn skinny.”

“Dude. Cooking and driving back and forth is a pain. You do it.”

“It’s your job. What the fuck else do you have going on?”

“I’m 100-percenting all the Zelda games. It’s been… demanding.”

[holidayinhell]

“Oh yeah. I’ll take you there to visit him. Whatever’s left.”

“He hasn’t eaten in a couple of days, but I reckon he’ll be happy for the company.”

“Try not to act too disgusted when you see him, though. I think it bums him out.”

[holidayinhell]

"I'm not scared of you."

"That's the problem."

[holidayinhell]

Hi Holiday,

I was wondering, why did Whumpee kill Caretaker in your Hunger oneshot?

(Thanks so much I love your writing!)

heyo, thank YOU!

good question! I cut out a lot of the context from this story because it bogged it down the flow too much, but basically Whumpee killed Caretaker because he asked him to. Caretaker had gotten sick at some point, and what with regular beatings, sleeping in a cellar, and eating zero food, he was growing weaker by the day. Eventually, he was dying.

He begged Whumpee to end things for him because he couldn't take the suffering anymore. As a bonus, Whumper had always said there wasn't enough food for the both of them-- now at least Whumpee could eat his share (in theory). Whumpee was reluctant, but granted his friend's last wish to die.

it might not fully translate because I tried to write this story a little differently than usual!! I wanted it to seem like Whumpee had reached his boiling point, but the big reveal is that Whumpee doesn't have a fierce bone in his body, he just wanted to help his friend. (and to eat!)

[holidayinhell]

nsfwhump dialogue.

18+

“Look at the mess you made on the floor.” “I'm gonna finish. You can lick that up when we're done.”

“It hurts!” “Shhh, quit screaming. Bite down on my shoulder.”

“Do it.” “But. You’re bleeding.” “Just do it anyway.”

“Whumpee…” “Haha. You see that? Every time I say your name you tighten up.”

“If this is your way of begging for my attention, it’s working.”

“Stop! I taste blood.”

“If you suck me off, maybe we can take the gag out for a little while.”

“Can’t you keep still for one second?”

“Don’t cry, Whumps. I hate seeing you cry…”

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this...”

“Lick my dick clean.” “Haa. It’s dripping out of your mouth. No, no, don’t spit it out. Swallow.”

“You closed your eyes.” “Don’t do that. Don’t fucking imagine someone else. It’s just you and me here, I’m the only one you’ve got.”

“Did he touch you? Did he fuck you?”

“It gushes out every time I thrust into you. Fuck. You’re so full that it’s spilling out...”

“Nono, stay awake. You’re the one who got me started, don’t pass out on me now.”

(more whump)

[holidayinhell]

cws: dead body, starvation

“What did you do?”

“Caretaker’s gone.”

“Gone?”

Whumper paused. In the far corner of the room, a body slumped against the floor.

The tall man crossed the room, boots squeaking against the concrete. He nudged Caretaker’s pale cheek with the rubber tip of his shoe—his face lolled to the other side, lifeless.

Purple and red handprints circled his throat. His skin had a bluish tinge and congealed blood had collected in the corpse’s cheeks. Whumper assumed he’d been killed in the night.

Interesting.

“Gone, huh?” His gaze slid to Whumpee across the room. “More like dead.” 

Whumpee stood stiffly, arms tight at his sides, shoulders curled inward out of shame or exhaustion. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“I take it you killed him?”

Whumpee gave a weak nod, folding his arms tightly across his chest.

“Huh. I didn’t peg you for the type.” Whumper stepped over the corpse carefully, then glanced back. “I thought you two were good friends.”

“I can get his food now, right?”

Whumper studied Whumpee. He looked frenzied—eyes wide open and wild, glassy with adrenaline. He couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t stand still.

This wasn’t the quiet, obedient captive Whumper had grown used to. Something about him had changed.

“No.” Whumper’s tone dropped. “You don’t get extra food for murdering your friend. That’s not how this works.”

“No, no—that’s not right!”

Whumper stiffened.

“You said there wasn’t enough food to keep us both fed.” Whumpee’s eyes blazed with raw fury. “That’s why you starved us both. But it’s just me now. So you can give me all of it.”

Whumpee’s breakdown felt too loud to be real. He couldn’t tell if he was actually unraveling or putting on a show. 

Whumper tilted his head, keeping his distance. “Whumpee, Whumpee. Man…” He tried not to let the amusement carry in his tone. 

“Are you proud of yourself for this?”

“I don’t care.”

It wasn't true.

“You killed your friend.”

“I know.”

He wished he hadn’t.

“You killed him. Fucking Christ. Probably strangled him in his sleep, too, poor bastard. Tsk. And you don’t have a mark on you, Whumps. It wasn’t a fair fight.” 

Whumpee turned away. He tried not to think about it. The tears spilled anyway, blurring his vision and running hot down his cheeks.

Whumper didn’t seem to notice. He was crouched beside Caretaker’s body again, dragging the back of his fingers across its cold, soft cheeks.

“Fuuuuck. Why’d you do it?”

“…I’m hungry.”

Whumper wiped his hand on his pants. “I mean, I can kinda get why you thought this’d be your way out. Actually-- no.” Whumper let out a dry, bitter laugh. “You’re fucking delirious.”

He stood, turning slowly to face Whumpee.

“Caretaker wasn’t yours to kill, Whumps. This stunt's gonna cost you.”

You wanted to kill us both!” Whumpee yelled, voice raw and desperate, echoing off the walls. “I just saved you half the fucking effort.” 

“You owe me.” he growled.

Those were the exact words Caretaker had implored him to say.

You owe me.

Speak to him in the only language he understands.

Be tough, Caretaker had said. Act like a psychopath. Like a starving animal. The only way to reach Whumper was to match his own brutal, savage cruelty. It was the only language he spoke.

“I don’t owe you shit.”

Whumper’s leg swept out, kicking Whumpee’s ankles from beneath him. His weakened body hit the floor hard.

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Tears spilled down his cheeks. He huffed as he staggered to his knees, concrete digging into the skin. He was too weak to fully stand.

“Really, Whumpee? Really?” 

“He was eating my food!”

SMACK.

Whumper’s hand struck him hard across his cheek.

His vision went white.

Whumpee clutched his face and jerked upright too quickly. Spots exploded in his vision.

“You fucked up, bud.”

Whumpee’s head was spinning, he was too weak to hold himself up.

“I’m hungry.”

Nausea wracked Whumpee’s stomach, bubbling acid burned at the back of his throat. He was so hungry that his body was beginning to collapse.

“I just need to eat something… please. I just need to eat something.”

“How long did it take your friend to die?”

Why couldn’t Whumpee have been the one who got sick? 

“Tell me how long it took for him to die. Then you’ll get your food.”

"It took..." Whumpee hesitated, then finally said, “A while.”

"But did he fight back?"

Whumpee’s face went ghost-pale, sweat beading at his brow. He swayed on his knees, spine curling inward.

The world went in and out of focus, dark around the edges. Then it went completely black.

Whumpee’s eyes rolled back, and his body hit hard against the concrete floor.

Whumper stood motionless for a second, staring down at the collapsed mess of limbs on the floor.

“What the fuck?” Whumper said to himself.

A ragged wheeze rasped past Whumpee's lips.

Okay. Not dead.

“Christ.”

Whumper crouched beside him. Still warm. Alive.

Evidently the hunger had finally caught up with him.

Whumper sighed, shaking his head.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a half-smashed packet of peanut butter crackers. He pinched the greasy, crumpled package in his fingers and waved it in front of Whumpee’s nose like smelling salts. The faint warm peanut butter scent teased the air, and Whumpee’s eyelids fluttered awake.

“This is not a treat,” Whumper said flatly. “I’m not rewarding you for this performance.”

He dropped the crackers beside Whumpee’s ear with a crumbly thud.

“But I gotta make sure you’re not gonna try to take a fucking bite out of me—or ol’ buddy boy in the corner.”

The tall man stood, brushing dust from his pants. Whumpee blinked weakly up at him, too drained to move or speak.

"I guess I'll try to feed you more often."

Whumpee didn’t watch as Whumper dragged Caretaker’s body away.

His gaze lingered on the smashed crackers until he heard the door shut. Then, without hesitation, he tore into them.

(more whump)

[holidayinhell]

“Pft." Whumpee scoffed. "You don’t care about me.”

Whumper blinked, at a loss. “How could you say that?” 

“How could I say that?” Whumpee mocked, eyebrows raised.

His voice tore out of him, “Look at me!”

Whumpee stood in the light, and for what felt like the first time, Whumper really saw him.

“Normal people wouldn’t do this to someone they love.” 

(more whump)

[holidayinhell]

darlings. I have been writing so, so much. everything is 70% there. there is mucho content on its way.

thank you for enjoying my writing. it is truly the biggest compliment in the world. I won't let you down.

[holidayinhell]

The Laundry Room

Characters: creepy/intimate Whumper, captive Whumpee CWs: captivity, noncon (mostly implied but eh), sexual/noncon nudity, food denial, discussion of amputation, classic whump shiz

In the early days of his captivity, Whumpee was allowed to sleep on the couch in the basement. Now he spent his days chained up on the floor of the wash room, tethered to the column in the center of the laundry room with a radius of no more than twenty feet to roam about. The cold of the cellar was inescapable. Sometimes, late at night, he would secretly turn on the dryer on its lowest setting and press his face to its warmth. It was one of the only good things left in his life anymore. Now all he had to look forward to was the sweet release of sleep and laundry day once a week.

“Whuuuum-peeeee!” Called a singsong voice from the top of the steps.

Whumpee swallowed. No matter how many times this happened, he was never prepared for it.

The wooden steps creaked in protest under Whumper’s heavy boots. The tall man rounded the corner of the basement into the subterranean laundry room, where he found his favorite captive chained to the central support beam, exactly where he’d left him.

“Got a little something to keep you busy.” Whumper grinned, dumping the contents of the laundry basket he was holding onto the floor. “Turn around.”

Before he finished giving the command, Whumpee had already presented his captor with the zip ties securing his wrists behind his back. Normally Whumper would remove the binds the moment he got home, but he'd had already been back for hours. Maybe he was busy with something else. Or maybe he did it on purpose.

Whumper retrieved his switchblade from his pocked and flipped it open.

“So I saw something on the news again today.” Whumper informed his captive, snapping the plastic ties with his knife.

“Apparently someone found an old hat in the woods. They think that it’s one of yours. It started another search for you, if you can goddamn believe it, and it’s even bigger than before. There’s helicopters and scent tracing dogs and all.”

Whumper unbuckled his belt, sliding the leather strap through the loops of his pants. “That’s some crazy persistence, all for one person. Like, move on with your lives, people. What’s it been, a whole year now?”

“Ten months.” Whumpee replied weakly, rubbing the red marks on his wrists.

“Shietttt, has it really been that long? I was just kidding.” Whumper said playfully, his voice laced with something sinister. “Well, you know what they say: time flies when you’re having fun.”

Fun. Is that what this was?

“I’m just glad they haven’t given up hope yet.”

Whumpee knew he’d misspoke the second the words left his mouth.

“Wrong, Whumpee.” The air went heavy. Whumper shot a disdainful glance at Whumpee, his eyes narrowing with contempt. “People need to stop searching. They need to give up already.”

Whumper was still clutching his leather belt in his hands. For the sake of his physical wellbeing, Whumpee decided to ignore the comment completely.

“Uh, so separate these by color, then?” Whumpee asked as he pawed through the dirty laundry on the floor, desperate to change the subject.

Whumper’s mind was still on the search. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, like usual. Remember to run the sheets—“

“On delicate mode?” Whumpee finished his thought. “Mhmm. Got it.”

Whumpee busied himself by sorting through the dirty laundry pile while Whumper loomed by the room’s entrance. Whumpee watched him cautiously from the corner of his eye. The sociopath was silently brooding, his eyes fixed on Whumpee’s form.

He wished Whumper would fuck off and go back upstairs.

Doing laundry once a week was one of the only tasks he was allowed to do, and as depressing as it was, he actually looked forward to it. It was one of the only things he had to keep himself entertained with. 

In the early days of his captivity, Whumper had allowed him to watch the small tv in the basement living room and provided him with an endless supply of magazines and books. And to think, Whumpee thought he was a prisoner back then. Like most everything in Whumpee’s life, his privileges had been taken away one by one. 

Whumper removed the tv within the first month. He never gave Whumpee a reason why. Next were the books. Then the couch. And soon enough, Whumpee found himself chained to a pole with his wrists zip-tied behind him for ten hours at a time, praying that his captor would at least remember to feed him that day.

Whumpee started a pile of lights, darks, and colors, sorting each garment into its designated pile. Whumper remained in the doorway and watching his captive intently, his presence entirely unwelcome.

“So, um. Did you make something good for dinner?” Whumpee piped up, breaking the tension of the silence.

Ever since he’d been captured all his brain would fixate on was food, and the only thing he could think about currently was the sumptuous meaty smell that had been tantalizing his tastebuds for the past hour.

“Mmm.” Whumper nodded, crossing his arms and stepping into the room. “Roast chicken and mashed potatoes. Garlic bread too, just from the store.”

Whumpee’s eyes widened hungrily.

“No leftovers I’m afraid.” He added.

“Oh.” 

Whumpee crumbled in on himself. That meant no dinner tonight.

Whumpee opened the cabinet above the sink to retrieve a box of detergent. He popped off the lid and scooped the plastic measuring cup into the powder, leveling the mountain of excess with a swipe of his finger.

“You should wash your clothes as well, Whumpee.” The tall man remarked from across the room.

“Uh, yeah. I will.” Whumpee agreed, continuing to avoid eye contact. He placed the pre-measured cup of detergent on the counter, turning to gather up the sorted pile of white clothes from the floor. He chucked them into the washing machine, sprinkled the soap crystals on top, and closed the lid.

He really wished Whumper would go away now, but the tall man stood firmly in place. Whumpee knew where this was going.

“I said you should wash them, Whumpee. That means to take them off.” 

Whumpee stiffened. God fucking damn it. 

Not right now. Not that he wanted to go through this shit ever, but Whumper seemed to be in an especially odd mood this evening.

Whumpee did as he was commanded. It wasn’t worth the fight. He lifted his pale blue button-up over his head, not bothering to unclasp the buttons, and tossed it into the pile of colors. He removed his socks and pants and did the same. Finally he stood in nothing but his white boxer-briefs, awkwardly shimmying them down his thighs until they slid down his legs and hung at his ankles. Blushing, he stepped out of them and walked over to the washing machine, chucking the underwear into the load of whites as it filled with water. 

A chill rocked his body when Whumper approached from behind.

The larger man pushed his hips into Whumpee’s back, pinning him squarely against the machine as it hummed to life. “Mmm. I should make you walk around naked all the time. Don’t you think?”

“It, uh… it gets really cold down here.”

“Psht.” Whumper draped his arms around Whumpee’s neck. “So I’ll buy you an electric blanket. That’d be nice, right?”

“Sure. But, please, I really do need my clothes.”

Whumper’s arms traveled down the sides of Whumpee’s torso and trailed inwards to find his ass. One hand delivered a crisp smack, which immediately left behind a glowing red mark. He smiled, scooping a buttcheek into each palm, jiggling what little flesh was there.

“Your ass is so tiny.” Whumpee quipped.

Yeah, that’s what happens when you average 400 calories a day for nearly a year.

“Yeah. I’m pretty skinny now.”

“You look good like this.” Whumper purred into his ear as he delicately stroked the length of Whumpee’s back. “But I do miss the ass.”

Time to go away now, Whumpee thought. Please, please just go the fuck away.

Whumper smacked Whumpee’s ass again, scooping it up and grinding the denim fabric on his crotch against the thin man’s perfect, bare skin while caressing his neck with his hot, wet tongue. He took Whumpee’s earlobe into his mouth and suckled it lightly, biting down on the soft flesh with only a tiny amount of pressure.

“Mm, you have goosebumps.” Whumper murmured with a self-satisfied grin. “Did that turn you on?”

Two of Whumper’s fingers traced the curvature of his ass and found Whumpee’s entrance. The digits dabbed at the hole gently, teasing and prodding the skin but never pushing inside. The firm touch sent an involuntary shiver up Whumpee’s spine. Whumper smirked at his reaction and nibbled at the side of Whumpee’s neck.

He was so cold, the warmth on his neck felt good. But nothing else did.

“I keep thinking,” Whumper cooed, Whumpee melting into him for heat. “Maybe it’s finally time to give your friends closure. Feels cruel to keep dragging things out like this. They need to stop looking for you.”

For the first time in months, Whumpee felt a vague twinge of hope. 

“What? You mean that you’ll--?”

“What I mean is, they’ll be looking for a body.”

Oh. Oh no.

“W-what?” Whumpee stammered. He twisted out from under Whumper, his chain rattling against the floor as he side-stepped his captor. “What does that mean?”

“I feel a little guilty about it. The search for you has been going on for ages, and now they’re bringing out helicopters and shit? That’s a waste of taxpayer money. The cops could be out there doing real good.”

“No. What did you mean by ‘body’?”

“I was thinking we could chop off one of your legs or something. Maybe just a foot.” 

“No!” Whumpee shrieked. “You can’t!” He delivered a feeble push against Whumper’s chest, pivoting out from underneath him. His heart was pounding in his ears so loud, he pressed his hands to cover them and doubled over in fear.

The reaction took Whumper by surprise. “Bad joke.” he offered, placing a calming hand on the other’s shoulders. 

It wasn’t a joke.

The tall man rubbed his captive’s back until Whumpee’s breath finally evened out. It felt like a betrayal, the way his body responded so well to Whumper’s comforting touch. He jerked away from the sociopath’s reach.

Whumpee blinked incredulously at the man, his cheeks burning with anger. “Don’t.” he spat.

“What?”

“Don’t you fucking dare--”

“Excuse me? Don’t I fucking dare do what?”

“Don’t fucking joke about mutilating me!” Whumpee shouted.

“Hey.” Whumper cautioned. “You’re being too goddamn loud right now.”

Whumpee was frenzied, his chain skittered around as he paced around in a tight circle, pulling at chunks of his hair.

“How long are you going to keep me here?!” Whumpee demanded. “How much fucking longer!?”

“As long as I goddamn like.”

“Just let me go. Just please…” Whumpee pled tearfully, his emotions see-sawing violently between anger and complete despair. “You got what you wanted from me. Why won’t you let me leave…?”

Whumper shrugged. “It never was a part of the plan.”

“Fuck you!” The captive yelled. “I fucking hate you!”

“Whumpee.” Whumper warned with a stern finger, “it’s time to shut the fuck up.”

“I HATE Y—!”

Whumper grabbed a length of chain from the floor and yanked it towards him, forcing Whumpee to the ground by the shackle around his ankle.

Whumper continued pulling the chain into himself, dragging Whumpee’s body across the cold cement floor with every tug. It all happened too quickly for Whumpee to process.

“I should bash your face into the concrete again.” He growled, standing over his collapsed body. Whumpee could taste blood in his mouth. “But I’ll give you one last chance. I guess I didn’t say it explicitly enough last time, so hopefully this time it fucking sinks in: you are here to stay. There will be no more talk of kidnapping, or rescue, or freedom, or fucking escaping. No more of that. You’re here. You’re mine. This house--no--this room, is your whole fucking world, and I am your god. Get used to it.”

Whumpee lifted his head slightly and shot a fiery glance in Whumper’s direction.

“You better wipe that look off your pathetic face while you’ve still got one.” Whumper flicked his switchblade open.

He lifted one of his boots and rested its rubber sole on Whumpee’s back, pressing him into the floor. Brandishing the knife overhead, he commanded Whumpee: “Show me why I choose to keep you around. Remind me that you haven’t fucking forgotten your sole purpose in life, or I’ll saw your leg off right fucking now.”

Face-down on the floor, Whumpee let out a sigh so small only he could hear it.

He knew what he had to do. He didn’t have any other options. Silent tears rushed down his cheeks and fell soundlessly to the floor.

And so out of self-preservation, Whumpee thrust his hips into the air and pushed his face to the floor, his bare ass on full display. He shifted weight into his palms and spread his legs out, his dick and balls tumbled forward, swaying slightly while he found his balance. His hands reached back behind him, blindly tracing the outsides of his thighs, following a line up and over to the round cleft of his butt cheeks.

Choking down a sob, he forced his ass apart. He disgracefully presented his hole before Whumper’s shining, ravenous eyes.

The captor’s jeans fell to the ground. The man dropped to his knees, settling himself in the space between Whumpee’s open legs. 

“When I’m done with you, you are going to fucking thank me like your life depends on it.”

The sudden, high-pitched beep of the washing machine pierced the quiet of the room, signalling that the washing was done. 

Whumpee didn’t dare move an inch.

“And after I’ve filled you up,” Whumper’s hot breath hit his ear. 

“You’re going to tell me exactly which limb to cut off.”

((more Whump oneshots))