#WiJ22

[whumpmasinjuly]

when tagging for single-digit days, should the tag be like "#wijday1" or "#wijday01"?

Great question! It should be just #wij23day1 . Then, use double digits once the days become double digits, such as #wij23day24.

The tags for each day and reminders will be posted on each prompt, no worries!

We use the same tags each year but with a different year number (wij21, wij22, wij23), so it's easy to go back and see all the cool posts from previous years!

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

I posted 2,536 times in 2022

That's 2,219 more posts than 2021!

49 posts created (2%)

2,487 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@i-can-even-burn-salad

@soaveintermezzo

@ashintheairlikesnow

@darkthingshappen

@orchidscript

I tagged 207 of my posts in 2022

#i love cats - 46 posts

#cats - 28 posts

#hiya! - 23 posts

#cat - 13 posts

#inktober - 11 posts

#inktober2022 - 11 posts

#wij22 - 10 posts

#whumpmasinjuly - 10 posts

#whumptober2022 - 6 posts

#whumptober - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#my sister and i would play sumo wrestlers.... we'd tied blankets on our chests and stuff them with other blankets and stuffed animals...

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

(Re) Introduction

Hiya!

I'm Paisley, and I've been here since 2020.

To theme - some random stuff:

I'm not great at finishing stuff, but I try.

I enjoy reading about kidnapping and captivity stuff, and all the sassy people (whumpee, whumper, caregiver, you name it, love the sass)

I prefer reading about male whumpees but have found i gravitate toward female whumpees in my own writing.

Other stuff i enjoy includes drawing, playing music, and sewing.

I am glad to be part of this community and am excited to see what pops up next :D

p.s. i will accept pictures of anyone's cats. i love cats. they are all my babies.

@whumpmasinjuly

5 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

#4

Underrated Whump

@darkthingshappen Brother's Keeper and @whumpcereal Behavior Modification both hit me at the same time and my goodness are they glorious. Those poor boys. I'm thoroughly invested.

@short-form-whump All their scenarios are so vivid; they say a lot in a few words. I would love to write stuff based on these scenarios, but my braincells do what they want :|

9 notes - Posted July 8, 2022

#3

Fleeting Clarity

@the-whumpers-soiree What a cool event.

Never have a completed a piece in such record time. One day. I think it went well. And it's still May, so it counts towards my monthly goal. Woo!

CW: Noncon drugging, Alcohol Consumption

Emmett dislikes parties.  He knows he dislikes them, and yet he continues to go.  He says it’s to “broaden his horizons” or some other cheap cliche, but that’s not it.  He’s looking for the best friend he’s never met.  Two months of messaging and it feels like this stranger is Emmett’s perfect, nameless, other half.  The One.  They never make demands or push Emmett to go outside his comfort zone.  But Emmett wants to be better for them, to grow.  So he seeks out social gatherings, hoping to find The One and clinging to the idea that he will just know when he meets them.

Then there is something new.  A short message “It’s been long enough.  We should meet.” and an invitation to a … soiree.  It sounds fancier than anything Emmett’s ever been to, but this is what he’s been waiting for.  He quickly sends an affirmative reply.  He receives a second message with instructions on when to show up and what to wear.  He agrees to everything.

The night of the party, Emmett arrives twenty minutes early.  He hasn’t worn his dress pants in over a year, and they fit snugly around his waist.  He fidgets and pulls at the legs, trying to keep them from looking like flood pants. Ten minutes later, he gives up on his pants and enters the penthouse.  He receives a blue glow stick which he circles through the belt loop on his right hip, just as The One had asked. 

He knows he’s early, so he goes to the bar to kill time.  The guests already there appear otherworldly under the gold lights.  The same lights make all the drinks look like potions or strange science experiments.  Emmett tries not to think too hard about it, chooses one at random, and moves away to the other side of the building where chairs are lined up along floor to ceiling windows.  Here it is bathed in softer blue light.  Emmett is instantly calmer and selects a seat in the corner to wait for his other half.  He watches the assortment of people who pass by, all impeccably dressed, most with blue bands like his, some with red bands.  He guesses those with red are somehow responsible for the party, hosts or VIP guests or … something.

In the middle of that thought, a man with a red band approaches him.  Emmett stands to greet him, clutching his drink like a lifeline.  

“You know the bracelet is supposed to go on your wrist, right?”  The stranger chuckles. 

Emmett glances down at the blue ring on his hip then back at the man.  “I… uh… meeting someone… told me… I mean… yes.  Yes, I know.”  He blushes, embarrassed by his sudden inability to form coherent thoughts.  He stares wide eyed at the man and wishes he had bought a suit that actually fit him.  

The stranger laughs again.  “It’s alright, you can wear it wherever you want as long as we can see it.  Anyways, I’ve found you now, so it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Oh, it’s you!”

“Yes, it’s me, live and in person.”  He smiles with all his teeth, arms spread wide like a tv announcer.

Emmett is far out of his league.  This man is everything Emmett could never be - tall, fit, tailored suit worn with the air of deliberate dishevelment.  And the red band. 

“Do you work here?” Emmett blurts. 

“No, why?”  The man raises a brow, smile never leaving his face. 

“Oh, um,” Emmett starts picking at his pant leg.  “I just thought with the red bands,  it was important to the party.  Like security.  I saw some people with red bands helping guests out.”

“They’re important, but not for security.”  The man continues to grin as if this conversation were the greatest thing to ever happen to him.  Emmett knows it can’t be.  He frowns, suddenly aware of how much of a stranger this man really is.  

“You okay?” the man asks.  “Do you need to go outside?”

Emmett shakes his head and sits back down.  “I’m fine.  Could we sit for a little while?”

“Of course.  Let me get you something else to drink.  That one there is like drinking death.”  He takes Emmett’s glass and heads to the bar.  Emmett watches as he leans over the counter, the yellow light casting a halo around him.  Emmett’s stomach rolls, and he can’t be sure if it’s excitement or nervousness. 

The man returns with a short glass of blue liquid.  Emmett thinks it doesn’t look much better than the last one, but slowly sips it to be polite.  The two are quiet for a few minutes, Emmett drinking, and the man watching with that stupid, relentless grin.  Somehow, he seems more of a stranger now than when they had never met.

“So, what do you want to do this evening?”  The man leans back in his chair.  “After all, the night is young, and we are limitless.”

“Can we just talk?”  Emmett chews on a piece of ice, surprised at how fast the drink disappeared.  “I…I feel like I don’t know you that well.”

“Yes, of course. What do you want to know?”

“I…um, I,”  Emmett places his empty glass on the ground by his feet and grips the side of his chair.  His vision begins an uneven roll matching the feeling in his stomach.  “I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.  We have all the time in the world.”  The stranger’s face distorts, his eyes dark, and his smile growing feral. 

Emmett’s world spins.  “What… what’s happening?” 

He is on the ground, vaguely aware of melted ice seeping into his pants.  It’s the flood pants.  He giggles at the passing thought.  The ice is surprisingly warm.

See the full post

10 notes - Posted May 31, 2022

#2

Good days ahead!

I got all the books at once! It’s going to be a glorious November.

@the-modern-typewriter

@avoliot

20 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Hiya!

Surprise! I'm not dead but the quarter life crisis is real.

I figured I would re-introduce myself since I have been away for so long, I've learned some stuff about myself, and I think I did it wrong last time. So:

I'm Paisley, she/her, ace, socially awkward chipmunk. This blog is kind of all over the place, quite random as the name implies, but I like the whump, specifically: guys in distress (*sigh* don't we all), blindfolds and gags, kidnapping, and the Box Boy Universe in general. I don't mind reading about le spice/NSFW, but it will probably not be featured in my writing.

As far as my writing goes, my main OCs are Alex and Wes (but mostly Alex because she's been living in my head for years inserting herself into other people's stories and finally gets her own.) They exist within the BBU, but each follows a vastly different path to where they meet.

My other writing is generally short pieces based on prompts or ideas that don't fit into the main story (all the random stuff).

My list of inspiration/favorite blogs has expanded since the last time I tried this intro thing: @orchidscript @ashintheairlikesnow @deluxewhump @knivestothroats @pretty-face-breaker @whump-tr0pes @thoughtsonhurtandcomfort @fyeahvulnerablemen

My Goals for 2022:

I. Write and share one longer writing piece per month.

II. Be more interactive with all the lovely people of the whumblr/wriblr community.

Happy new year everyone! Thanks for sticking with me. 😊

45 notes - Posted January 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[pretty-face-breaker]

Rebellion - WIJ Day 12

CW. fictional politics, kidnapping, blindfolding and gagging, referenced broken bones, manhandling, creepy noncon touching 

 First

@whumpmasinjuly​ 

—

Tariq gasped awake through a cloth gag in his mouth, his first sensations being that his tongue felt like sand and that something damp clogged his breathing. The constant rumble he had felt below him in his semi-consciousness suddenly became acute. As the car hit a bump in the road, his body jerked up and collapsed back down. 

Into someone’s chest.

“Ah, our prince is awake.” A voice rumbled into his shoulder from behind.

Tariq groaned and shifted in discomfort, not yet coming to his senses. As he tried to respond through the gag, he could only manage a raspy mmh- before a hand pulled his head back painfully. 

“Don’t move too much, prince.” The man crooned as he adjusted the cloth. “Wouldn’t want to disturb that leg anymore.” 

At that, Tariq’s eyes snapped down to the rest of his body, widening when he noticed his wrists fused together by a confident knot of rope and that one of his legs hung unnaturally loose over the seat. 

His heartbeat picked up. “Mmhm-” 

“Shh, sh- sh-” 

“Sweet thing panics so easily,” another voice added through an entertained chuckle. It came out almost like a foghorn to Tariq, gravelly and rough and battering against his sore head. “I almost like him better, squirming like this than screaming about his fucking leg.” 

With another bang, the wrangler jumped another foot in the air before colliding with the sand, almost throwing Tariq between the seats if the arms behind hadn’t snapped around his waist. 

It was then that pain hit him like a thunderbolt. 

What started as a pinch in his foot shot up his dangling leg like fire, nearly blinding him. 

Tariq tried to scream through the gag but dizziness reached him quicker and his wail came out as a weak moan, another desperate mmh which the man behind him answered with a laugh. 

“Don’t cry, little prince.” His hand found Tariq’s eye sockets and a coarse thumb wiped away the tears Tariq hadn’t even realized he had shed. “The painkillers shouldn’t take too long. I fed you a few after you went out on us the first time. 

The first time? 

“Now, my pretty prince, you may call me Hassan-” 

The voice behind dropped into a noticeably dangerous register. 

“-and answer my questions before I break your other leg.”

Tariq returned a ragged sob and struggled against the arms holding him but Hassan soothed him with the same sharp shhh from before. It sounded more like the warning of a snake. He shuddered as a hand passed over dried tear tracks on his cheek to rip out the gag, leaving his mouth bone-dry. 

“B-Blin’fold,” Tariq managed after a few hacking coughs. “Can’t see.” 

Despite the darkness surrounding him, he knew that it must have been night from the silent echo of the wrangler, the cool, dry dustiness of the surrounding desert. 

The cool on his face could have almost soothed him if the scream of the engine didn’t overpower it, along with the stench of petrol suffocating what might have been Juniper trees. 

He wanted water so badly. 

As if his mouth might crack from the dryness, Tariq tried to swallow but all he got from it was an awful, unidentifiable taste. 

“I’ll take it off when you’ve earned it,” Hassan hummed before roughly patting his cheek. “State your full name, your position, and where that adorable plane intended to take you before we jacked it.” 

Tariq groaned at the flashing memory of the hijacking. “My n-name-... is Adnan-” 

Before he could press out his last name, his vision exploded with stars as Hassan rammed his head sideways into the driver’s seat. 

Tariq cried out fully that time and slumped back against the man who mockingly shushed him in return.

“Now is not the time for silly rebellion, Mr. Rahman.” 

With every sentence, his blood ran colder. 

“Your name, in its entirety.” 

Was this a game? 

“Tariq-.. Tariq Rahman. I’m a diplomat- an ambassador, I meant-” 

He cringed at the braying laughter from the passenger’s seat. 

“I hope he was planning to speak better than that,” a woman spoke up. 

Hassan hummed and nodded - at his answer, Tariq hoped than the mockery. “Excellent, my prince. And your plane?”

“I was f-flying North.” 

“Mhm, and what incident were you intending to absolve your country of? Or was it a vacation?” 

Tariq’s heart hammered in his throat. 

Your country. 

“Who-...Who are you?” 

A beat of silence from his interrogator and Tariq’s breathing quickened. He felt the air around him change as a hand drew up to his face and suddenly took hold of his chin. Then, his face in a crushing grip. 

“Who I am,” Hassan began, almost strained with his tightened grip, “or where I am from is none of your concern, Mr. Rahman. You can delay this questioning with offhand questions and rebel against your circumstances as you wish but a rebellion has been growing under your nose.”

 Blood began pounding in his ears.

“In your own country, nonetheless.” 

Rebellion? No.

“And you, my little prince, have just absconded from a diplomatic mission in a time of mounting suspicions and pressure.”

He was going to throw up. Tariq shook his head but it felt full of lead. If he had tried to talk, it would have been barely intelligible stammers. 

This wasn’t his fault. 

He hadn’t engineered this. 

Hassan nestled his chin in the crook of Tariq’s neck, stopping the jerking head shakes in their tracks. “How undiplomatic of you. And I won’t even bother touching on your government.” 

This wasn’t his fault. 

“This is a classic example of stirring the pot. What happens when one nation is disturbed by an unbalanced alliance between two others? They’re trying to prove that we are unreliable, belligerent, and willing to go to war over minority complaints.”

“Mr. Rahman, are you sure there isn’t an internal threat?” 

“I prefer to be called Your Excellency.” 

Tariq could no longer hear the car’s engine.

“So, Ambassador,” Hassan hissed, still not having let go of his face. Crooking his hand up, he let his fingernails sink into Tariq’s cheek as the man whimpered in fear. “No sweet talk is going to remedy your incompetence here.” 

Screwing his eyes shut, Tariq felt the words forming before he could stop himself. “I don’t understand-” 

"I’m going to make your life hell, if that clarifies it for you, Tariq. Then, I’ll destroy what little you have left of it.”  

 Tagging: @straight-to-the-pain​ @suspicious-whumping-egg​

[callaeidae3]

Whumpmas in July Day 18: "Make me."

@whumpmasinjuly

Make me... breathe again...

Scene from The Case of Kindall, K. Ch. 23

[aceofwhump]

Day 6: "Hold on"

A/N: I may have been thinking about White Collar a lot lately so have this random short Neal whump drabble that I just shitted out at random.

@whumpmasinjuly

BANG!

Peter's heart stopped at the crack of gunshot echoing from the very alley Neal had said he was entering in pursuit of their suspect.

"Neal!' Peter cried out. He ran faster, praying his CI was unharmed and that the gunshot was just another miss they could laugh about later. As he rounded the corner his heart dropped and his feet ground to a halt. There was a body on the ground and it wasn't moving.

"Neal," he whispered in shock.

Peter ran forward and fell to his knees next to the prone man. He rolled Neal over so he laid on his back and stifled an outcry at the sight. Blood was already covering his chest turning his bright white shirt into a gruesome crimson. "Dammit Neal. Can you hear me? Neal!" Peter gently slapped the younger man's face.

"Pe'er," Neal said, his face twisting into a grimace.

"God, I told you to wait. Why didn't wait for me?" Peter asked as he peeled off his suit jacket and wadded it up before pressing it firmly onto the fishing wound. Neal let out a cry of pain as soon as Peter pressed down.

"I know. I'm sorry, Neal. I know it hurts but I have to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding."

"Peter."

"I'm here, Neal. Just breath. You're gonna be okay. Hold on."

"Boss!" Peter turned his head to see Diana running towards them.

"Diana call an ambulance!" Peter shouted, not taking his hands off of Neal. "Now!"

"What the hell happened?" She asked.

"Neal's been shot. We need an ambulance."

Diana pulled out her cell and started dialing. Peter's attention was pulled away from her when he felt fingertips ghost across the skin of his wrist. He looked down and saw Neal was trying to grab his wrist.

"Pe'tr," Neal said weakly. "'m tired."

"Stay with me Neal. Hold on. Don't you dare fall asleep. Just hold on until the bus gets here. It's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine." Peter increased the pressure he was putting on the wound and glanced at the growing amount of blood on the ground around them in fear.

"Sorry...I didn't wait...He was...getting...away."

"We'll talk about that later. Just focus on staying awake okay?"

"Mmkay," Neal said before his eyes fluttered closed and the light graps he had on Peter's wrist released.

"Neal? Neal!" Peter tried to get his attention but Neal was out. Thankfully his chest still rose and fell feel as he breathed. Biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying, Peter focused on stopping the bleeding until the ambulance arrived.

He didn't know how long he kneeled there on the ground, blood pooling on the ground and seeping between his fingers. He kept a steady pressure on Neal's chest as he watched the man's pale face, silently praying to whoever would listen that Neal would make it.

Suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder and he tore his eyes away from Neal's pale face to see Diana standing next to him.

"The paramedics are Peter. You need to pet go and let them do their job."

When had the ambulance arrived? Peter thought. He reluctantly let go of his now blood soaked jacket and stood on shaky legs, backing up to let the medics in. Diana kept a hand on Peter's back offering silent comfort and Peter was grateful for her presence but his eyes were only on Neal.

The paramedics made quick work ever getting Neal ready for transport. As they wheeled Neal down the dark alley, Peter followed closely behind. When they reached the ambulance and put Neal inside Peter ran up and demanded entrance. "I'm going with him," he said, not waiting for a response but climbing up without waiting for an answer.

Peter sat down next to the stretcher and gently took hold of Neal's limp hand as the ambulance started rolling down the street, sirens screaming.

"Hold on, Neal. Just hold on."

[animalmothereff]

Day 15: Whumpmas in July - Numb

@whumpmasinjuly

He dropped down heavily on the side of the road. Too tired for anything, he is waiting for it all to catch up too him. Ready for any reaction locked inside of him to spill over and finally release. Inwardly he begged to finally feel some relief from the pressure inside.

But there was nothing....all he felt was numb. He should feel something right? Any reasonable person would. He just felt so tired, but he would not sleep. He spent a long night alone in the dark.

Only one scene would repeat in his head on loop until morning. He desperately wanted to think of something else. Anything else. Or cry, get angry, feel sorry, feel something. Just numb...in the dark. Alone. No one could reach him.

[hold-him-down]

WIJ #1 - Introduction

Name/Gender/Age: hold-him-down/f/adult

Favorite season: Fall!

Blog established: October 1, 2021

Reason for URL: One of my favorite tropes/lines to hear. When I hear the “hold him down!” you can believe I will drop everything and you have my attention.

Projects you’re working on: The Fighter (+ others kind of)

Favorite color: Black

Favorite Whump Tropes

Med/Lab/Experimentation Whump

Noncon

Noncon Drugging

Whipping

Relief (after extended periods of ANYTHING terrible - being fed after starvation, warmth after cold, pain medicine after extended pain, sleep after exhaustion, etc. IDK if this is technically a whump trope but it's probably my top favorite thing. I think even the darkest shit I write usually ends on a relief note)

Least Favorite Whump Tropes

Lady Whump/Minor Whump/Familial Whump

Unhappy Endings/Death/Recapture

Permanent Body Modification*

Extreme Hopelessness/All Hurt No Comfort

Some (Non-Whumpblr) Favorites

The Med Whump in The Fall (Season 3)

The Whipping Aftermath in Catching Fire

The White Room episode of Roswell

The Whipping Scene in Starship Troopers

The Withdrawal Scene in 3x08 of Graceland

The Entirety of The Inheritance (Play)

The Scene in Winter Soldier (you know the one)

All of Season 1 of Spartacus

@whumpmasinjuly

[whumpmasinjuly]

Whumpmas in July 2022!

Hi everyone! Happy almost summer!

As said before, we are planning on bringing back WiJ for July 2022--but we wanted to reach out to the community for suggestions!

We are planning to continue the same mixed format of creation prompts, whumpy questions, and community engagement activities. The creation prompts we’re able to come up with on our own, but as for the other two categories...we’re trying to balance out reusing questions/activities from previous years (because new people are always joining the community, and even people who have done it before may have different answers this time around) with creating new ones (so that things don’t get too stale for people who have done the event before). 

So! For those of you who have done WiJ before, what were some of your favorite days? What questions or community activities would you most like to see make a comeback? Do you have any ideas for ones that haven’t been used yet that you’d like to see? Feel free to comment or reblog, or drop us an ask! We’ll be taking suggestions into account and hopefully releasing this year’s prompt list by the end of the month!

With love from the WiJ team ♥

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

Hold On

CW: emotional whump, cuts and blood from broken glass. I seriously cannot think of the word right now, it's driving me nuts, but when someone repeatedly tells you that you can't do things on your own (someone please tell me, because I know I know it)

"That's it, the finishing touch." Mo places the last dishes on the shelf and stands back to admire his handiwork. He finally unpacked all his belongings in his new apartment. Sunlight illuminates the cozy yellow kitchen.

"Alright," he says to himself, "first order of business as an independent adult is to find sustenance." He hums a nameless tune as he picks out leftovers and mismatched dishes. His hand hovers over a new glass a friend gave him as a housewarming present, but he sticks to his trusty chipped mug he received for his ninth birthday. BEST SON it reads in big block letters. "Hell yeah I am. Ha! Never mind I'm the only son."

Too bad.

Mo quickly shuts down the voice in his head, unwilling to let that or the nagging homesickness ruin his moment. This was his home now, and he'd done it all on his own.

We'll see how long that lasts.

"No. Nope, we're not going to do that. No negative thoughts in this kitchen." He takes a long sip from his mug as a distraction. The jagged rim catches his lip, giving his water a metallic tang. He sucks on the cut for a moment then spins the mug around to drink from the smooth edge.

When he finishes, he leaves his dishes by the sink and busies himself with small tasks. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter, narrating his activities like a sports announcer and giving pep talks to ward off the Voice.

His parents call midday. He lets it ring and focuses deeply on getting the streaks out of all the windows.

And suddenly there is nothing left to do. The smell of pine-sol and bleach mix and linger in the air. Evening had long since slid into night, and Mo can see his reflection in his dazzlingly clean front window. He nods sagely to himself then lays on his living room floor, exhausted.

You can't avoid us forever.

Mo ignores the Voice and counts the cracks in the ceiling.

You think you're all grownup now, don't you? Mo cleaned his room like a big boy.

He groans, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms.

Are you going to cry now? Little Mo, afraid of a little criticism.

TAKE IT EASY ON HIM.

Mo curls up on his side as a second voice cuts in.

HE'S JUST NOT READY YET.

Of course, he's not. Look at him... Look at you.

Mo breaths long slow breaths and rolls onto his hands and knees. He stumbles when he tries to stand.

You're like a baby. Can't even walk properly.

COME BACK TO US. WE CAN TAKE CARE OF YOU.

Ha! Take care of. Yeah.

"Stop it. Just...stop." Mo staggers through the rooms of his new home, searching for something he can't find.

IT'S OKAY. WE'LL TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER.

You can't do this.

"Yes, I can. I can!"

YOU'RE NOT READY TO BE ALONE.

"No, that's y - "

You'll mess this up, too.

"No, I - "

WE NEED YOU HERE.

You ruined us.

"No!"

Mo doesn't notice what he's done until the glass shatters against the wall.

Regret hits him immediately. He sinks to the ground, collecting the pieces in his hand. What is left of his mug stares up at him accusingly. B T SON. Sharp edges cut into his palms.

He tries to gather all the pieces, but some are too small to see, and others are lost in dust and dark corners.

Time freezes.

Mo stays kneeling on the floor, hitching sharp breaths as his tears mix with the glass he holds in his broken palms.

Look at you. Can't clean up your own messes.

He closes his hand around the shards and watches the blood drip between his fingers.

THIS WOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU'D STAYED WITH US.

His breathing slows, still unsteady, but no longer wracking his whole body. He eyes the shards lying in front of him, gleaming and sharp. SON. He picks up the largest piece. It sits slick in his hand.

You'll ruin yourself just like you did us.

Something arises in him. Quietly at first and then growing until the voices are fighting to be heard.

Coward.

The feeling rushes in his ears and starts to poke at the empty spaces inside him. Vaguely, he is aware of the grey light appearing though the windows. He slowly uncurls his hands. The glass clinks softly as hit hits the ground. Mo closes his eyes, face turned to the ceiling.

You'll never make it.

Deep breath, eyes open.

"Watch me."

[pretty-face-breaker]

Hold On

( @whumpmasinjuly day 6) 

CW. drinking, discussion of past torture, discussion of long term captivity, whumpee dissociating, self-blame, guilt, reference to past noncon, brief voice-raising, crying, just a whole lot of guilt and sadness

—

“And sometimes,” Hayko slurs, “he’d make me watch. Well, not force. I didn’t have a gun to my head.”

“Hm.”

“But if he brought someone in to interrogate, he made sure to lock the door of the main room so I wouldn’t leave.” 

Vladimir makes another noise of acknowledgement, neither pitying nor noncommittal. It has a ring of sympathy that leaves them both comfortable with how far this has gone. He drops back his head and takes a swig from the bottle, watching the ceiling shift. 

It’s so quiet in the back of his head. 

“He knew I would be too scared to ask him to unlock it.” A drunken laugh rolls right from Hayko’s core and echoes in the abject emptiness of the motel room. “And, I mean, the fuck was I supposed to do? Interrupt? Hey, I know you’re caving some poor snitch’s skull in but could you unlock the door?” 

They’ve been running for two weeks now.

Silent, Vladimir lets his eyes close - another recognition. He does it in a way that lets Hayko know that he’s listening, soaking it in and how, in another light, he knows about all of it because he knows more than his friend thinks. 

“Those first few months with him were…”

“Hell. I know,” Vlad fills in. Another swig, another skip in the ceiling. 

The popcorn texturing moves with each languid blink and he thinks about how quickly the bumps move back to their original positions, the quicker he blinks. It builds blocks of anxiety in him, watching the bumps bounce back again and again, never making substantial forward progress. 

The only reason they bounce is because he's shitfaced. 

“You don’t… think I ever-...” Hayko begins with uncertainty. “I never loved him. Klyanus zhiznyu. I think, after he began treating me like a person, I settled into this complacency because… because it was easier. At least I wasn’t getting beaten or cut or… It was easier.” 

The more he goes on, the more Hayko’s voice seems to retreat inside himself.

Realising this, Vlad perks up and wastes no time in moving towards him on the ground, patting his shoulder gently. “Hey, Hayk.”

He doesn’t jerk - only stares forward. “I’m-... I’m awake.” 

Vladimir sighs in veiled relief and sits back. “Podozhdi.” 

The sun had gone down an hour ago and, since then, the two had played a round of Backgammon and four rounds of speed-chess. Hayko’s face had practically lit up when he saw the familiarly embellished wood and Vladimir had chuckled to himself at the endearing sparkle in his long-dulled eyes, relieved to see that something could still be reached.

Cultural lines. Each line had brought them together, and together they had stayed. 

“Podozhdi, luchik.”

Hold on.

Hayko’s face flickers brighter but he scoffs and takes another drink, pushing the exhausted chess board away from the both of them. “Remember how we played the day before we?...”

“Quite clearly, yes.” 

The man thinks for a moment, letting the alcohol simmer in him, as if waiting for it to give him courage. “I’m sorry.”

“...For,” Vladimir cocks an eyebrow, concerned. “For what?” But he can tell the soon-to-be brittle voice. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more useful.” 

The men sit in silence, Vladimir stunned. For a second, he tries to search for the sarcasm in his voice, looking for a sliver of good old boy cynicism but finds none. “Hayk, you..cannot be serious.”

“I can be. We were-... I was there for two years, Vovchik.” 

Vlad predicted that he would have broken by now but Hayko’s voice stays acknowledging and steady, like an admonishing teacher. 

Something in him, keeping down the storm, breaks.

He can’t keep it to himself.

“I was there for ten fucking years,” Vladimir snaps up, eyes blazing as Hayko averts his gaze. “You would think I could have done something by then but no, I didn’t even try and you know why? You know that this began as a job for me? I was not forced into it, like you. I was not kidnapped. I was not beaten. I was not raped-” 

Hayko’s eyes snap to him, startled. “He never did that, Vov-”

“You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t need to, to survive, luchik,” Vlad snaps back, and his voice has never summoned more power. The rage is nondirectional and doesn’t scare Hayko away but he can tell he needs to take a breath. 

And soon. 

“I was an engineer. An engineer!” 

Hayko replies in a miserable whisper. “I was with h-him, constantly.” 

But the man refuses to back down and sets the bottle down, unyielding. “It wasn’t just a job for you. It was life or death.”

“I could’ve..”

“You think I have been threatened like you?”

“Yes!”

“No, because the worst they did was vague implications and making me watch your vivisection!” 

The word comes out hoarse and with the same force as a punch. Hayko trembles a little and Vlad instantly feels a tremble in his chest. He lets the silence cloak the room again, backing off and cornering himself against the bed again. 

A guilty retreat.

“I... I am sorry.”

“Don’t,” Hayko mutters, voice gone flat.

Vladimir resents knowing the anger is not directed towards him. 

“Luchik, we were in different situations and, if anything, I should have acted sooner. You are a child.” 

There’s another beat of silence before Hayko chuckles quietly, still not tired of the old joke. “Maybe to you. I’m twenty-seven.”

“It is the same thing.” 

“Vladimir, I’m a goddamn professional,” Hayko sneers as if he’s combatting a patronising parent. The fleeting vindication he feels brings him a sliver of comfort. Patronized but protected. 

“Da, and I had my first job at seventeen.” 

They’re so close and so far away, the darkness outside trapping them and freeing them into the oblivious future. Two shattered men, sitting on a motel floor with bottles of vodka and board games, separated only by guilt.

Vladimir clears his throat after another drink from each of them. “If… I do not know the specifics of what happened to you and I want you to know that you can tell me-”

A scoff. “No thanks, I’d rather not humiliate myself more than I already have.”

Vlad sighs and bites back. “You are stubborn like a fucking donkey, Hayk. I do not care what he did to you or what you had to do. You can tell me. And… if you’re comfortable, you can come closer, maybe.” 

Hayko’s gaze pricks up with an anxious curiosity. The room seems emptier, smaller than before and he can’t help but feel he has to move closer, so long as the walls don’t touch him. 

It takes a moment for him to gather the courage to move but when he does, Hayko crawls over drunkenly and slinks next to the man. Vladimir does nothing but watch him, patient in acknowledging each movement. 

“Hold on.” 

Hayko sobs and it hardly makes a sound. Nodding, he chokes back what would be the onset of a breakdown. But when Vladimir’s heavy arm rests over his shoulders and he’s pulled in hardly an inch, he stops trying. 

A part of him feels that he no longer has to convince himself of his strength.

“Hold on, luchik,” Vladimir whispers. And they sit there, two men on the floor of a motel. 

Tomorrow, they’ll keep holding on and move to another. 

@doveotions @heathenville @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome–hunter @whumpsorbet @whumpasaurus101 @lektricfergus @downrivergirl914 @burtlederp @redwingedwhump @nicolepascaline @ifbtnna @oh-so-skeletal @whumperfully​​ ​

—

[callaeidae3]

Whumpmas in July 22 Day 12: Rebellion

@whumpmasinjuly

"Get yourself up, whumpee. The court will decide what to do with you and your friends."

[aceofwhump]

Day 11: What are your favorite flavors of whump?

Emotional: panic attacks, nightmares, insecurities, feeling inadequate, fear, grief, flashbacks, flinching, emotional breakdowns full of sobbing, emotional outbursts, scar reveals, anxiety, self hatred

Environmental: accidents, natural disasters like earthquakes or storms, hit by a car, collapsed building, falling through ice, heat exhaustion, hypothermia, falls, burns, infected wounds from lack of medical equipment, sickness, being unable to breathe, drowning

Small moments: limping, feeling weak and seeking support, breathing through the pain, moving wrong in a way that aggravates the pain, and the sudden seizing of his body, shaking hands, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple because of a headache, taking a moment to close his eyes because he’s light headed/exhausted/has such a bad headache

Sci-fi: space illness, oxygen deprivation, isolation, being locked in the brig, hull of the ship getting damaged, alien attacks

Injuries: broken bones, gunshot wounds, hidden injuries, bruises, beaten, concussions, collapsed lung, slings, casts, crutches, knocked unconscious, blood loss

Torture/Captivity: Being hung by their wrists from the celling, drugged, chains, caged, tied to a chain, handcuffed to a pole, interrogated,

Comfort/Caretaking: hugging, "Are you okay?", "You're safe now", "I've got you", hand holding, helping to walk, ice packs, covering someone with a blanket, a cool cloth on their forehead to help with a fever, a fever check,

Magic: magical healing that causes pain, draining of powers, powers that are painful to use, curses

Stoic or defiant whumpees

Team whump

[animalmothereff]

Whumpmas in July #6 - Hold On

@whumpmasinjuly

Unit captain carried back on a stretcher to the field hospital for the medics....but, hold on....those uniforms don't match...

"hold on, lay back down, stop fighting us, we are trying to help you..."

[hold-him-down]

WIJ # 7 - Underrated Whump

Here are a couple stories that I think should be read immediately:

Collarbones by @ilasknives​ - I only very recently started reading it but it has a HOLD on my heart it is plotty and also makes me feel things. Like rage, anxiety, and whumperflies. 14/10, can’t wait for what’s next.

Unintentional by @distinctlywhumpthing​ - BBU; is literally so so good. Always read this as soon as I get a notification that it’s updated, always love it.

Reap the Harvest by @pumpkin-spice-whump​ - Okay Pumpkin doesn’t shy away from gore or like heavily dark shit, but all 3 of her fics are so compelling and genuine and I go into these like wide-eyed blind rages sometimes when I read them because her whumpers are BAD dudes but her whumpees are so incredibly sweet. Would recommend; be prepared for pain.

@whumpmasinjuly​

[whumpmasinjuly]

When will prompts be released for 2022? So excited!!

Stay tuned! We'll be putting them together soon! The event will be happening ♥

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

Underrated Whump

@darkthingshappen Brother's Keeper and @whumpcereal Behavior Modification both hit me at the same time and my goodness are they glorious. Those poor boys. I'm thoroughly invested.

@short-form-whump All their scenarios are so vivid; they say a lot in a few words. I would love to write stuff based on these scenarios, but my braincells do what they want :|