#wij23day21

[whumpsday]

Annie's Prisoners

Writing Masterlist | G/t writing tag

g/t sideblog here! @smallsday

content: g/t, whump, tiny whump, fairy whumpee, begging, rescue, captivity, wing whump, magical exhaustion, bullying

Whumpmas in July Day 21: "Please" GT July Day 21: Secret

here's the last of the GT July "crossovers" i'm doing during WIJ! it was fun to write more tiny whump :)

-

"Okay, but you don't tell anyone."

Annie got down on the floor, pulling a pink plastic hamster cage out from under her bed.

Parisa could hardly believe what she was seeing. Inside the cage was what looked like a fairy, no more than four inches tall, cowering in the corner. He had wings, but they stopped abruptly about halfway through, leaving him with uneven little trapezoids.

The fairy didn't look pleased to see either of them, hiding himself as well as he could inside the plastic tube running up one wall of the cage- which wasn't very well at all, considering the tube was transparent.

Parisa knelt down on the carpet to see closer, star-struck. "What is this?"

"My fairy!" Annie boasted. "I caught him myself, he was drinking from the birdbath in the backyard! I just shot him with Calvin's Nerf gun and grabbed him while he was all dazed and stuff. Don't act surprised, it's not like you haven't insisted fairies were real since preschool."

Annie was right, Parisa had always been obsessed with fairies. Her notebooks were covered with fairy stickers, she'd spent her whole childhood playing Pixie Hollow, and she'd read book after book on faery mythology. A part of her had always believed that with so many different stories and accounts of them, fairies had to exist in some form, somewhere. Even as she got older and felt more and more that she was being silly, a small part of her always knew.

And she was right.

She would normally be jumping for joy, but... the fairy was obviously not as enamored with Annie's recollection of his capture. He teared up a little, hugging himself as he cringed as far away from them as possible, his severed wings tucked behind him.

Parisa frowned. "He looks kind of sad."

Annie waved away her concern. "He's always pouting. But I haven't even shown you the cool part. He can do magic and stuff!"

The fairy's head snapped up at that, a look of horror dawning on his face.

"But I already did a spell for you today!" Though it seemed like he was attempting to shout, his voice came out tinny and quiet, just as small as he was.

"You can do another for Rissie," Annie said firmly. "But yeah, seriously, you can't tell anyone. Can you imagine? Some government prick would totally take him away from me to experiment on him or whatever, like in the movies."

"Do your parents know?" Parisa asked.

"Oh god no. But I'm taking him to college with me in September, so I won't have to worry about that anymore." Annie sat cross-legged, picking the cage up and moving it into her lap to rest her arms on. The fairy grimaced as she began drumming her fingers absentmindedly on the lid.

"I've had him for almost two months now. I would've shown you sooner, but I wanted to wait until after graduation so you couldn't tell anyone at school. It's not like you talk to anyone besides me anyway, but can't be too careful. But Ciel can change that!"

She held the cage up triumphantly. "I knew you'd be totally helpless without me since we're going to different schools, so I wanted to make sure you were aaaaall set. He can't do like, big things, he's not a genie. But he can do little things. Like make you a little luckier for a while, stuff like that. I use it for studying, too. But I figured he could do a charisma spell on you or something, and it'd help you make new friends at your little state school!"

"I can't do another spell yet, please, I already did one! I don't have enough magic left," Ciel pleaded, looking up at Annie as his tears started to fall. "You said college isn't something that starts until autumn, there's time! It'll hurt too much if I do another now, please no more!"

Parisa's shock slowly gave way to horror as the fairy's deplorable conditions became more and more apparent. She wanted to say something, but she knew Annie would just get defensive and guilt her if she did.

"Yeah, it'd probably be more effective closer to September anyway," Parisa agreed quickly, unable to push down a feeling of hope that Ciel would like her for agreeing with him.

"Fine, whatever," Annie sighed, roughly shoving the cage back under the bed. Parisa got the feeling she was more interested in showing off than actually helping. "Then you can see him more then. He's my fairy, after all. Let's go back downstairs."

Parisa followed Annie, but didn't take her eyes off the dark space under the bed until the door was firmly shut behind them.

It was hard to go back to hanging out normally, and she couldn't keep herself from asking question after question about Ciel. Parisa really wanted to just see him again, but she knew he would hate that, so she didn't ask to.

But as Annie told story after story, it only solidified the fact that what was happening here was wrong. She was practically torturing the delicate little creature, draining him of magic to his absolute limit.

Parisa dreaded the answer, but she couldn't not ask. "What happened to his wings?"

"Don't be a baby about it, but I had to trim them after he tried to fly away one time," Annie said, like it was nothing.

"Wouldn't that hurt?" She tried to do what Annie said, to not be a baby about it, but it was getting ridiculously hard. She wanted to cry, hearing her best friend had done something like that.

"No, it was like getting a haircut, I think. Except permanent. He didn't like, scream or anything." Annie shoved her lightly on the arm. "I said don't be a baby."

"Right. Right." This was all wrong. This wasn't how discovering fairies were real was supposed to be. She had to get out of Annie's face. "I feel like I'm gonna be sick," she lied.

"Ew, go." Annie pointed upstairs. "God, you're so sensitive."

Parisa darted up to the bathroom, where she felt like she could breathe a little better. How was she supposed to live the rest of her life knowing Annie was torturing a fairy? They weren't even going to schools in the same state. She wouldn't be able to do anything to help. She might not ever get to see him again after whatever spell Annie wanted him to do.

Unless she took a peek right now.

Parisa snuck into Annie's room, hoping she wouldn't come to check on her, and carefully pulled the cage out from under the bed.

Ciel clung to the metal spout of the water bottle, like she'd interrupted him while he was drinking. He looked around wildly, relaxing a little bit when he realized Annie wasn't here. "Is she coming?" he asked, his voice so quiet Parisa could just barely hear him.

"No. I'm not supposed to be in here," she admitted. "I just wanted to see you again. And, um, check if you're alright."

"I'm not," he answered without hesitation, eyes still shining with tears. "I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. Please, I desperately need help, Miss." He tentatively stepped forward, though his little hands shook. "Rissie, she said your name was?"

"Parisa. You're Ciel?" she asked.

"I am. Please, I can- I'll come back and do a spell for you, once I've had a chance to rest. If you would just..."

He pointed toward the window with a trembling finger. "Please?"

Oh, Parisa wanted so badly to help. "But your wings? How will you get down?"

Ciel sobbed. "I don't know. I need to be away from here, she plans to keep me imprisoned for life. She's careless, she's going to kill me and I won't even get to die outdoors!"

Parisa had to do something, even if it meant she would lose her only friend. She was probably going to lose her either way anyway, once they left in September.

She unlatched the cage, holding a hand bigger than Ciel's whole body out to him. "I'll help. You just have to trust me."

It was obvious from his face that Ciel had a strong distaste for being grasped in human hands. But with no other options, he climbed readily into Parisa's palm. "Please be gentle," he begged.

She was holding a real fairy. It was like a dream, but Parisa couldn't get caught up in that now, she had to focus on protecting him. She brought Ciel to the front pocket of her hoodie, carefully placing him inside. "Try not to make any noise or move around too much. I'll keep you safe, I promise."

Parisa could feel the fairy's little heartbeat thrumming away against her as she headed back downstairs.

"Yeah, I'm really not feeling good," she told Annie. "I think I'm just gonna go home."

"'Kay, whatever." Annie shrugged. "If you get over yourself by tomorrow, you can come watch him do a spell for me."

Annie would figure out it was her, Parisa knew. But what could she do? It wasn't like she could tell anyone she stole her fairy. And now that they'd graduated high school, she could just... never see Annie again, if she felt like it.

"Goodbye, Annie." Parisa walked out the door without another word.

She waited until she'd walked far enough away from Annie's house and she couldn't see anyone else around to stick her hand in her pocket, offering it to Ciel. "Coast is clear."

He crawled into her hand, and Parisa lifted him out. His eyes instantly went up toward the stars, and she saw him smile for the first time.

"Thank you," he breathed. "It's really over?"

"It's over. I won't let her take you back," Parisa assured him. "What do you want to do?"

"What I want...? I can't just fly off," Ciel lamented. "I'm not sure yet. I- I sort of just want to rest now. She keeps me so tired all the time."

"You can rest. Do you wanna go back in my pocket?" Parisa asked.

He nodded. "Yes, I think I do."

Parisa softly set him back down inside, both of them feeling freer than they'd ever been as she walked them home.

-

tune in monday for some alien whump! 👽 and the following thursday for some kane & jim

this is ciel's cage btw. never put a living creature in this monstrosity

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

one-shots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

g/t whump taglist:

@whumpinthepot

@cupcakes-and-pain

@reborrowing

event: @whumpmasinjuly @gianttol

[set-phasers-to-whump]

Day 21: Creation Prompt - “Please.”

whumpee: napoleon solo, illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi! this fic is pre-ship and it's more angst than whump but i hope you like it anyway! i had a lot of fun writing it :)

“Kill the Russian.”

Napoleon waits. He expects an if you have to. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Nothing. 

“I hardly think I’ll need to kill him.”

He’s supposed to steal a file from Illya. Information on a few British agents, compiled by the KGB. It’ll be easy. He knows where Illya likes to hide things. 

There’s certainly no reason for anyone to come to harm over it. 

“There’s really no need -”

“Kill him.”

“Why?”

Sanders slaps the table. “Because I told you to. Because you still owe me five years. Kill him, or go back to prison within the week. I recommend you use your head.”

He stands up and leaves, just like that. Napoleon sits at the table, heaves out a long sigh, and thinks. 

It’s not like he’s actually known Illya for a very long time. They’re about to head to Bangkok on their third mission together. Sure, Istanbul had been a breeze. They’d worked well together. 

He pointedly does not think about the explosion. How he hadn’t known whether Illya had gotten out in time. How his heart had thrummed in his chest until he’d seen Illya emerge from the wreckage, completely unharmed. 

That doesn’t mean anything. He works for the CIA. Illya works for the KGB. They are fundamentally opposed, even if their masters are allowing them to play for the same team at the moment. 

You can’t afford to get attached in this job. Too much of it is lying. There’s never enough trust. 

And it’s terrifying, caring about someone when you know the danger it puts the both of you in. 

If Illya is dead, it’s not like Napoleon can grow any more attached. 

It’s not like he needs to be able to look at his own face in the mirror. 

And he emphatically does not want to go back to prison. Five more years, and Sanders would be sure to make them as miserable as possible. He’d probably find a way to pile on more charges, to keep Napoleon in there until one of them dies. 

Napoleon hates being in a cage. But the cage of the CIA is miles better than the cage of prison. He can’t exist like that, in a world of metal bars and pervasive cold and impersonal violence. 

He’ll figure something out. 

--

Three days later there’s a pistol in his hand and it’s pointed at Illya’s heart. 

An hour ago, Sanders had sent him an “encouraging” message, detailing the hell Napoleon would go through if he dared to disobey orders. And he’d snapped, fitting the suppressor to the Browning hidden in the lining of his suitcase with horribly steady hands. 

He’d invited Illya to his room in their hotel for a drink after having completed the first phase of their mission. (He’d forced himself not to think of Rome. Of the smell of burning plastic and the feeling of camaraderie). 

And now Illya is at the other end of his gun. Napoleon had drawn on him so quickly that he hadn’t even reacted. (He knows there’s a pistol, a Makarov, tucked inside Illya’s jacket. There always is).

He wishes Illya had drawn too. Maybe they’d have gone out together. Maybe Illya would have killed him. 

At least then he wouldn’t be here, doing this. 

He hates how steady his hands are. 

Illya is just standing there, which makes it worse. He’s standing there and his hands are raised slightly, held away from his body, and he doesn’t even look surprised, the bastard. 

He can’t delay the inevitable. His finger tightens on the trigger. Illya doesn’t so much as flinch. 

He can’t do it. 

He can’t shoot him. 

“Please.”

“What?” His voice is rough and raw and his hands are still steady. His finger is still on the trigger. 

“Please, just shoot. I understand.”

Illya’s eyes are too bright. He looks calm. Like he’d known that this was going to happen. 

It’s how lives like theirs end, more often than not. 

Fuck. 

He lowers the gun, engages the safety, lets it clatter harmlessly to the floor. 

Don’t they deserve something more than this?

He sinks to his knees. A few feet away, Illya slides to the floor with his back against the dresser. 

His hands are shaking now, at last. So are Illya’s. 

It’s horribly silent. They’re both breathing heavy, adrenaline ebbing away. 

How does he come back from this?

“Why you didn’t shoot me?” Illya asks. His voice is quiet. “It was your mission, yes?”

Napoleon shrugs. “Kill you, or five more years of prison.”

“I do not want you to go to prison.”

“I can’t kill you.”

Neither of them speaks. Napoleon would not blame Illya for getting his own gun. For leaving, getting as far away from him as possible. 

Illya shuffles closer, until his back is pressed against the bed and he’s so close that Napoleon can feel his heart beating, too hard and too fast. 

“We are even,” he says, still quiet. “I almost killed you in Rome.”

“I could have killed you then, too.”

“You saved me from drowning at Vinciguerra.”

“You saved me from Uncle Rudi.”

“You waited for me after the explosion.”

“You saved Gaby and me from Alexander.”

“I think we are even, see?”

“What do I do now?”

Illya shrugs, his shoulder brushing against Napoleon’s. 

“Sit with me,” he offers. 

He leans into Napoleon a little, and his body is still shaky but he’s completely relaxed and Napoleon feels like he can’t breathe and fuck, Illya trusts him with himself. Illya wants him to stay. 

They’ve both done terrible things. There’s blood on their hands that is never coming off. But between them, there is nothing. No betrayal. No blood spilled. Just Illya’s body, warm and soft against him, and this feeling blooming in his chest. 

I think I’m falling in love with you, he thinks. 

“How about that drink?”

thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed <3

[whumpinthepot]

@whumpmasinjuly 2023, Day 21 “Please”

[callaeidae3]

WhumpmasinJuly2023: Day 21 - "Please"

"I'll get you out of here. Just hang in there, okay? I'll get you out of here."

[its-my-whump]

Whumpmas in July Day 21: "Please"

"Please... don't !" His face feels hot, tears well down his cheeks. No way to stop them. His hands behind his back, fingers interlocked in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Kneecaps painfully pressed into the hard floor.

The whip dangling casually in one hand. A bright smile on the other one's face, eyes glistening. A strong hand grabs his jaw and an invading thumb brushes his cheek interrupting the watery line trailing down.

"Aww, you're adourable, when you're on your knees. I remember a time, you wouldn't even acknowledge, that I spend my precious time with your training. And now, look at you. Seems I did a good job, here."

A slight, submissive, but still hesitant nod against the strong grip on his jaw.

"So now, what have we learned not to say?" The voice overdone, it's mocking him.

Ashamed his eyes drop down, his head wants to turn away subconsciously. But that hand still has an iron grip and prevents his mind and body from fleeing. Fingers press into his skin, forcing his jaw to open slightly. A clear demand to answer.

"N...not allowed to say n...no." He swallows strongly.

"NO and?" The voice gets lower, but all the more demanding and intimidating.

"An...and any kinds of No." He swallows again. His jaw hurts, his knees hurt, but above all other his pride hurts the utmost.

"Right! Now try again, my dear." Glee in that deep voice, a dirty smirk on that face.

More tears well down, even staining that foreign hand, that thumb, dropping down onto the floor.

He can't turn away, can't look away, can't refuse to answer.

"Pl...please... DO."

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

wij masterlist

[whumpmasinjuly]

Day 21: Creation Prompt - “Please.”

It’s time to hurt your favorite canon characters or OC’s! Is your character begging for help, hoping for relief? Are they pleading for someone to stay, or pleading for supplies they do desperately need? Or are they asking someone to stop, to finally give them a break from the pain? The possibilities are endless!

Write, draw, create—and don’t forget to use the tags #whumpmasinjuly2023 and #wij23day21 so that others can enjoy your awesome creations too! Make sure to tag @whumpmasinjuly-archive so your works can be featured on our official archive blog!

[whump-captain]

- Day 21 -

Prompt: “Please”

---

@crash-bump-bring-the-whump​ i believe u said u wanted to see Ethan begging? here he is begging (◡‿◡)

this is probably longer than it needs to be but i had lots of fun writing the dialogue for once lol

---

CN: restraints, broken bone (pre-established), interrogation, strangling, torture, cutting, scalpels, hair grabbing, tape gag, bag over head

---

Ethan gasped when the bag was ripped off of his head. The light, though dim, was enough to make him wince after what felt like hours in the dark. He blinked quickly, trying to force the world back into focus.

The first thing he felt clearly was a grip of rope around his arms. His stomach sank. He lurched forward and the chair scraped on the bare floor. Pain shot through his arm, dispelling the haze completely. On instinct, he raised his right hand to shield himself and froze in surprise when he succeeded.

He was only tied to the back of the chair, not the armrests. The rope went around one of his biceps, then behind his back, and then around the other. It wrenched his shoulders back uncomfortably but still, a wave of nauseating relief washed over him. They didn’t tie down his broken arm.

A shadow fell on him and drew his gaze up. Ethan shuddered when Linde gave him a tight-lipped, professional smile.

“Good morning, Ethan,” Linde said. His voice was smooth and amiable but in his eyes was a glint of something cold and dangerous, like frostbite creeping through dying tissue. Circling the chair, he nodded his head towards Ethan’s arm. “I’ve done you a favour, as you can see. I’m hoping we can have a constructive conversation.”

Anger lit up in Ethan’s chest and made his face flush. How dare this man say that to him? After barely letting him speak the last time, after causing him so much pain?

“Me, too,” he hissed.

“Constructive and honest,” Linde added. “Lying only wastes both of our time.”

“Yeah.” Ethan’s voice shook like the rest of him. But behind the cracked lenses of his glasses, his gaze was hard. “But you’re the one who’s lying.”

Linde stopped his pacing. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t really believe I’m a spy. If you did, you’d turn me over to someone, or you’d- you’d kill me.” Ethan barely managed to get those words out. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Linde regarded him, his face unreadable. Ethan fought to keep his breathing even, hating how clear it was that he was afraid. He set his jaw tight and met the other man’s eye defiantly.

Finally, Linde turned. He tapped his fingers together behind his back, falling back into his slow prowl. 

“You’re perceptive,” he said. His small smile almost looked satisfied. “No, I don’t believe you’re a threat. If I did, you’re right, I would eliminate you.” He took a step forward and Ethan flinched. “But I see through you. You think that you’re above the consequences of what you do. You’re arrogant.”

“What?”

“You really thought you could infiltrate one of the most secure places in North America. You thought you could just… Walk in. And lie your way out of it.” Linde sounded almost offended. He lifted his chin slightly. “It’s about the principle of things. If I allowed something this brazen to go unaddressed, what kind of officer would that make me? Hm? If I didn’t find out the truth before turning you in?”

He leaned in close and all air seemed to leave the room. His shadow on Ethan’s face blacked out reality and pulled Ethan back through time, into the memory of agony.

“You’re wrong,” he managed through gritted teeth. “I didn’t infiltrate anything, you brought me here!” His voice rose and then cracked as his throat constricted. “You’re the one who’s arrogant because you refuse to listen to anything I say! I told you the truth, you’re just too stubborn to realise it.”

“Brazen,” Linde repeated. He seemed to savour the word. “I told you, I can see right through you. No matter how well you lie.”

He drifted to the other side of the room, where shadows outlined the shape of a table. Even though the distance between them grew, Ethan’s heart beat even faster now.

“Why do you need me to say anything, then?” he asked. He dug his fingers into the armrest to hide their trembling. “You made up your mind, you’re happy with your story, just turn me in, then. Let me talk to someone above you.”

“Like I said.” Linde ran his hand along the table’s surface and something clinked. “Principle. I don’t just want the truth. I want it from you.” 

The sudden force of his stare made Ethan recoil. Something cold crystallised in the air between them. He recognized the cold in Linde’s eyes and it made a hollow pit open in his stomach.

“Let’s start simple,” the captain said, taking a leisurely step forward. His hands were behind his back again. “How did you get to this island, Ethan?”

“On a boat.” Even the short sentence made Ethan’s breath come heavy. “It’s on the eastern shore, you can check.”

“Good. Now, how did you know where to find this island?”

“I- I followed a radar.” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his breathing even. “There was an anomaly registered by a weather station on the mainland and- I followed that. It didn’t lead to the island but the- the area around it. I- I didn’t know it was here. I almost crashed.”

Linde lowered his head and gave a quiet sigh. ”Weather station,” he repeated, almost amused.

“Yes! You can call them, they’ll tell you what time I left, which boat I took out, it’s all on the record.”

“You’re very thorough.”

“And you’re not!” The chair scraped forward with the force of Ethan’s shout. “Because you refuse to do the bare minimum to verify your claims and find-”

Linde seized his throat. The impact strangled Ethan’s words and pushed his head backwards.

“I was honest with you,” Linde said quietly. “Civil. And in return, you don’t just lie to me, you start insulting me.” His grip tightened. “I thought you were a smart man, Ethan, don’t make me change my mind.” 

Ethan couldn’t struggle. The rope held him fast, Linde’s fingers dug into his skin. With every torturous second, his lungs compressed, fighting, until it felt like they were on fire. His mouth moved soundlessly around smothered cries. Burning white danced in his vision, blurring everything into a cacophony of melting colours. A horrible buzz filled his ears - his own rushing blood. He barely heard Linde’s words:

“Let’s move on.”

Ethan strained pointlessly, he couldn’t reach the hand choking him. His fingers clawed at the air. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t run, he couldn’t breathe. 

Linde spoke loud and his voice ripped through the static in Ethan’s head: “You think I’m wasting time, let’s cut straight to the chase. Who sent you here? And choose your answer very carefully because, believe me.” He leaned in closer and squeezed Ethan’s throat, fingers like iron bars. “My patience is running thin.”

Then he released him. Ethan choked on a gasp and immediately convulsed in a coughing fit. Air forced itself back into his body and every breath made his chest feel like it would burst. He couldn’t stop his voice escaping, he wheezed and groaned with every involuntary, fitful exhale. Linde stood motionless, watching him. Waiting. 

“I wasn’t- sent here,” Ethan choked out finally. His throat burned, the pain of the forming bruises enclosed his windpipe and made every word hurt. “I’m not here for- whatever this place is. It’s the truth.” It wasn’t a shout anymore, but a plea. He fought for breath, fought to stay afloat in his own battered body. 

Footsteps made him look up. Linde’s silhouette doubled and swayed before him, turning back towards the table. When he came into focus, he was holding a scalpel.

 “Wait.” Ethan’s voice cracked. “You- you don’t have to-” he stammered. “Please, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Linde grabbed a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head sideways. “I thought it was simple.” He brought the scalpel close to Ethan’s neck. “I want you to tell me who sent you.”

“I was- I’m- I-” The metal reflected in Ethan’s wide eyes. He was shaking so much his glasses slipped down his nose. “The- Th- The CIA! Fine? The CIA sent me, you don’t have to- Please, don’t do this, I’m-”

“Now you’re just making things up,” Linde said.

He sliced down, across Ethan’s clavicle. The blade parted fabric, skin, and muscle like paper. Ethan screamed, his body twisting with tension. Linde pulled his head back by the hair and cut open his shirt, exposing the deep wound. 

“That’s the first,” he said. He sank the scalpel into Ethan’s shoulder and dragged it slowly down. Metal scraped against bone. Pain burned through Ethan’s mind, forced a ragged, stuttering howl out of him. His breathless groans almost drowned out Linde’s ice cold voice when he finished:

“And that’s the second lie you’ve told me.” He tilted the scalpel and more blood poured out of the widened cut. “Are you still with me?” He brought his face close to Ethan’s. “Is this a waste of time?”

“Stop,” Ethan gasped. “Please. This is all- a mistake.” His breath hitched, words fragmented into high-pitched, desperate noises of pain. Linde’s eyes shone like a snowstorm.

“I’m losing my patience.”

The next cut was diagonal, crossing over the already damaged skin. Ethan’s scream rose and then faltered, he convulsed in the restraints. The blade tilted again and ran slowly just under the skin, slicing it away from muscle - one side, then the next. Lines of living fire spilled through Ethan’s body, one after the other, emerging with each new stream of thick blood pouring out. He could only sob now, his throat raw and lungs empty. He had no time to breathe between the cuts.

“Tell me.” Linde’s voice was no more than a hiss. “Anything.”

Ethan could barely see. The pain blurred everything into a red haze.

“Please,” he whispered.

The grip on his hair tightened. The added tension made him groan as the scored skin shifted. Then it disappeared and his head lolled forward. The room spun. Footsteps mixed with the pounding of Ethan’s heart in his ears.

Something made a loud scraping noise and then Linde said: “I’ll let you think about it.”

He pressed a strip of tape over Ethan’s mouth. Ethan wheezed desperately, his breath hitching against the barrier. Another cry died in his throat and only made it out as a muffled whimper. 

Then Linde put the bag over his head again. He said: “This can come off when you’re ready for a constructive conversation.”

When the next incision came, Ethan couldn’t even brace for it.

[whumpmasinjuly]

Now introducing the prompt list for Whumpmas in July 2023! 

Thank you for patiently waiting! We will be implementing a couple of new changes! We will not be reblogging any creations this year and will instead keep this blog as a space to only post the prompts, tags, and relevant information. We will post the tag for each day, and we ask that you use two tags when filling prompts this year so that others may find your creations easily:  Tag 1 ---> #wij23day__ (Fill in the blank with the appropriate day number for the prompt you are filling! For example, if you are doing the prompt for day 21, make sure to tag your post with #wij23day21. Of course, feel free to use any other relevant tags too!)

Tag 2 ---> #whumpmasinjuly2023  Be sure to also tag @whumpmasinjuly-archive if you would like your posts reblogged to our new official archive account!  You can also find a banner that you can use in your posts (if you want) under the #wijbanner tag.

The prompts are divided into three categories: questions, prompts, and community activities. Everyone is free to participate as much or as little as they want–there’s no completionist requirement! This list provides a preview of the prompts, but on each day a more detailed post will be released with more context and additional suggestions for each day’s task. Similar to previous years, all prompts and other important information will be found under the #infowhumpmasinjuly tag and #infowij23 for ease of access. This blog will also use the tags #wijquestion , #wijcommunity , and #wijprompt respectively for each post so that you can filter and find the type of prompts you’d like to do. 

Below the cut is a text list of this year’s prompts:

1. (Re)Introduce yourself. 2. What ten words give you the whumperflies/make you think of whump? 3. Stitches/Bandages 4. Share a TV show, movie, or any media that gives you the whumperflies! (Feel free to go off about your favorite episodes/moments!) 5. What character do you wish to see whumped more in canon/fan-made media? 6. Deprived 7. Post a link to your favorite whump fic of all time (or reblog it and/or make a list of them!) 8. Describe your favorite type of whumper! 9. “Stay with me” 10. Check out a new whump blog and drop them an ask! 11. What whump media type do you prefer and why? 12. Search & Rescue 13. Share some of your favorite niche whump tags! 14. Describe the ideal fic you’ve always wanted to read but have yet to find / haven’t written yet. 15. Buried 16. Create a whump meme! 17. What inspires you most to create whump content? (Images? Fics? Shows?) 18. Ache 19. Create a list of some of your favorite whump blogs to share! 20. Describe your favorite type of whumpee!  21. “Please.” 22. Find a story/author you’ve never read before, read it and leave some nice comments (people can reblog the post to plug their series/masterlists/etc as well) 23. What is your favorite type of whump setting? 24. Earth (Environmental whump) 25. Share a sneak peek of something you’re working on! 26. What is your favorite place to find whump media, roleplayers/writers, or fan-created content? (Link us to it!) 27. Unstable (Mentally? Physically? Both!?) 28. Send people asks about their OCs or favorite fandoms! 29. Do you identify with any particular roles or situations in whump? 30. Antidote 31. Who is someone in the whump-creating world that you admire and why?