themerrywhumpofmay

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Medals and Headers!

Congratulations to everyone who participated in this event! Thank you for having fun with us even if the prompts got out late. Extra congrats to the people who did all 31 days!

These medals can be downloaded, added to your prompt list/pinned post/whatever you'd like OR simply reblogged. Whatever suits you! They're yours!

Happy pride month now, lovelies!

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Are there official rules for this event? If so, where are they?

Hi! When I first made this event, I wanted it to be as accessible as possible, and as such, there aren't really any rules. Any medium is allowed, and you can pretty much do whatever you want to make the event work for you. Even if you want to pick and choose prompts from different days, I have no problem with that - all I really ask, which I would hope people do anyway, is that you tag your posts with content warnings, and ideally tag the various Merry Whump of May hashtags, which can be found in this blog's pinned post for the event.

If people would like for there to be a clearer set of rules for completionism, then feel free to let us know and that might be something we can figure out.

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Hi! The prompts look so fun and I'm super excited, but I was wondering how the prompts work. What is the "day (word)" prompt and the three that follow it? Are they all just different options of inspiration for one day?

Thanks for reaching out! The days each align with one of the days in the May calendar, and you can use all, since, or just one prompt from each day.

Personally when I do it, I use all the elements just to stretch my creativity. For example, on May 8th; I’ll write some little drabble involving (1)pitch blackness; (2) the dialogue “I’m fine”; (3) a white-hot blade; and (4) have it mention or set in a passengers seat.

Just have fun and do whatever you’d like with the prompts!

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Where's the prompt list for this year?

Here you are!

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Merry Whump of May 2024 Prompts

Event tags: #mwm2024 #themerrywhumpofmay #mwmday[X]

Thank you everyone for your patience in waiting for this post. We can't wait to see what you create this year! Have fun!

Image text under the cut-

Transcription:

ABOUT THE EVENT

The Merry Whump of May is an event run by @wormwriting and @painsandconfusion. There are 31 days of prompts to be completed each day of May. Feel free to do as much or as little as you’d like. 

Prompts can be filled in prose, poetry, art, or any other medium you resonate with. 

There will be participation and completionist medals in downloadable pdf format.

Prompts

01 - Breathless “Get back in there” | Ring box | Cliff

02 - Scorching “Don’t you dare.” | Glasses | Storage Shed

03 - Lost “See what happens.” | Screwdriver | Club

04  - Forgettable “Who are you?” | Lamp | Alleyway

05 - Strained “Put that down.” | Electrical wires | Plane

06 - Suspicious “You thought you could get away with this?” | Barbed wire | Riverside

07 - Fallen “Forget about them.” | Piano | Edge of town

08 - Pitch black “I’m fine.” | White-hot blade | Passenger seat

09 - Frostbitten “You’re nothing” | Blanket | Parking lot

10 - Jaded  “Revenge is a dish best served.” | Mask | Rooftop

11 - Numb “Pretty little thing.” | Bracelet | Stairwell

12- Known “Let me hear you.” | Garrotte | Desert

13 - Restless “Tell me how it feels.” | Needle | Trail

14 - Punchable “I just want you.” | Rock | Closet

15 - Stone-cold “Let me hold you.” | Candle | Cellar

16 - Naive  “Say aaaaa-” | Whip | Library

17 - Hungry “Wait, are you afraid of me?” | Fork | Lake

18 - Conditioned “Why do you love them?” | Record player | Ballroom

19 - Distracted “Rot in hell.” | Soup | crate

20 - Alone “Don’t tell me you forgot about me.” | Lipstick | Training grounds

21 - Charismatic “Sit.” | Vial | Balcony

22 - Charred “It’s been too long.” | Straps | Rafters

23 - Overthrown “Close your eyes.” | Rock | Truck

24 - Shadowed “Break a leg!” | Plants | Cave

25 - Practical “I’ve always loved the rain.” | Bottle | Shop

26 - Resilient “Get in.” | Pocket | Marsh

27 - Mistrusted “You’re trembling.” | Dagger | Couch

28 - Loyal “Smile.” | Water | Workshop

29 - Reflective “Chin up.” | Trap | Office

30 - Tenacious “Did you have a bad dream?” | Paper clip | Doorway

31 - Broken “Last one.” | Key | Under the bed

Alternate Prompts

Hidden

Waking

Betrayed

Garish

Garden

Theater

Docks

Street corner

“Lean on me.”

“I don’t have regrets.”

“Take me.”

Shoe

Ribbon

Corset

Crown

[themerrywhumpofmay]

hi there! I was just wondering if you have a set date for when we can expect the prompts? I know you answered an ask that you'd release them mid-april, I'm just very excited and was hoping to get a concrete number. I'm so sorry if this is super annoying, I know you guys have real lives and everything, but I thought I'd ask just because I was hoping you guys wouldn't mind. but if you do mind obviously I get that too! anyway shfkjsdf thanks for running this event <3

Hello! SO sorry for the delay, life happened and time unfortunately followed suit. The prompts will be posted tomorrow!

[themerrywhumpofmay]

hello! will u be hosting this event again this year?

Yes!

Prompts will be released mid April, though the mod team will be fairly hands off after that point. Looking. Forward to seeing what you all come up with!!

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Painful Death

@themerrywhumpofmay: box @mediwhumpmay: first night in hospital Tw; drugs, murder, death (Snippet from Hidden Killer)

A man walks down a row of storage units, looking for number forty.   There’s little in the storage unit, but the man is looking for a particular box. “I knew It was wise to copy the files,” he whispers once he finds the box, “hopefully there’s something in here that’ll help the police. "Too bad they’ll never find the box,” a voice taunts. The man recognizes the voice and panics, clutching the box close to him. “You should have been given the death penalty!” He yells. “I believe you have evidence that you’ve committed a federal crime in that box.” The man can run out of the storage unit and down the street. Hoping to reach the buddy street before the man chasing him does anything.

The man makes it to the busy street, running on the side. He doesn’t make it far before being tackled to the ground. Resulting in losing his grip on the box. The box lands on the ground, the lock remaining intact.   “I could kill you no problem,” the man taunts, “but I’m returning the beating you did to me.” The man is used as a punching bag. Not for long until several cars park on the side of the road to stop the attack. The attacker gets one last good punch to the head, knocking the man out.

The man wakes up, slowly realizing he’s in a hospital room. A nurse walks in, pleased the patient they came to check on is awake. They leave to get a doctor.

“You’ve been unconscious for three hours. Aside from a serious concussion, you’re fine, but I want to keep you here at least overnight. Do you remember who you are?” “My name is Charles Curtis. I was targeted because of — the box! Where’s the box!” “Police custody. Why must you have the box?” An officer walks into the room, carrying the familiar box. “Care to explain why this box contains medical records?” The officer asks. “Intuition. I worked at the asylum that burned down two years ago. Not during my shift, but Austin hoped I’d be there. I copied his files, hoping they could help the police get him. I should have brought the box to the police when he started attacking…” Charles stops talking, realizing what he thought was a great idea two years ago now has him in serious trouble. “That’s enough,” the doctor demands, “he looks fine but has a serious concussion.” The officer leaves.

“An expensive kill,” the drug dealer comments, “we could have worked out a deal.” “No, this is going to be worth the price,” Austin smiles. “Fine, it’s your five hundred and fifty-eight dollars.” “Actually, this will look like my victim made the purchase.”

Charles tries to rest, but his mind worries about Austin’s next move. Knowing Austin will not give up until he’s dead. “Death or life in prison,” Charles sighs. “I can decide for you.” Charles panics but has no time to react before Austin pins him down with one hand and puts a piece of tape over his mouth. Two others cuff his hands to the rails of the bed. “Be ready to remove all evidence and run,” Austin tells them as he prepares the syringe. Enjoying Charles’ muffled screaming, “a nice cocaine injection. Three, two, one, move!” Austin cuts the line for the nurse call button before the three leave. Austin would love to watch Charles die, but leaving a camera behind would risk being caught. Charles knows he has no time to get out into the hallway for help. Tears roll down his face.

Within minutes Charles feels the effects of the drug. Before he can’t move, just me, Charles writes a vital note. Struggling with chest pain and feeling like his heart is exploding. Knowing even if nurses hear his scream, there’s nothing they can do. Yo Charles’ luck, his scream is heard. Several doctors and nurses rush into the room. By now, Charles struggles to breathe. The medical staff work as fast as possible, fearing only a blood test or scab will tell them what’s happening, but their patient only has a little time. A nurse rushes to get a crash cart.

When the nurse returns to the room, Charles is having a seizure. The doctor by the bed thought Charles was only unconscious once the seizure ended. “No pulse; we have a code blue.”

“Ten minutes with no change,” the doctor sighs, “time of death, ten-thirty p.m.” “Something is not right about this,” one nurse comments. “An autopsy will tell us.” “Sir,” another nurse calls out, holding a piece of paper. “This adds to the mystery. The note reads Donald Garza is in danger. Protect him. Even has where this guy lives written.” “This is going to sound crazy, but this suggests someone came in here. The only way Charles’ condition could determine that he’s now dead is by injecting something into his IV. Call security and the police.”

Austin exits the hospital and walks down the alleyway. Police cars speed by. “He’s dead, perfect. You’re next, Donald.”

[themerrywhumpofmay]

The Merry Whump of May—Day 3

“You’re not looking so hot.”

Lightbulb | Tension | Alleyway

Masterlist

Cw: abuse, assault, implied kidnapping, head trauma, slight elemental whump

Sidekick walked the streets, their jacket drawn tightly around them. The wind pushed at their back, icy claws raking down their spine as they fought to keep walking. Their hands were stuffed deep into their pockets, but that did nothing to fend off the stiffness settling into their joints, a numbness brewing beneath their fingertips that swelled to engulf their fingers, then their entire hands.

It wasn’t that late. Maybe nine or ten, they weren’t sure. A few hours after their patrol should have ended, they were sure. Their night route was usually easy, usually uneventful. Watch was higher in the evening and through the night, so most experienced criminals knew to lay low during those rush hours, so it was mostly dealing with drunks or street fights.

But no. Not tonight, things weren’t easy. Why would they have been? Considering Sidekick’s luck, they supposed it was nothing short of a miracle that they were able to walk away from a fight with Villain with only a few scrapes and bruises, and maybe a cracked rib, given how the pain in their side worsened with each heavy step and each breath they took a bit too deep. They had been so eager to get back home, to their little shared apartment with Hero, they hadn’t bothered to stop by the infirmary. They could breathe just fine, the pressure wasn’t growing unbearable. Some ice and ibuprofen, they’d be feeling fine in a couple days. They didn’t need to wait for Medic to finally make rounds on them, after treating all of the heroes who were actually injured.

There was nothing particularly special about today. It wasn’t an anniversary of some big city’s event, the sky wasn’t filled with unyielding storm clouds, the Agency was not having some big celebration—it went against every cliche that criminals tended to stick to. It was just Tuesday, Sidekick had taken a shift at the store which they worked earlier. The Agency paid them fine, they could survive off it, especially living with Hero who was kind enough to take care of matters such as groceries and bills. Heroes were paid better than sidekicks, which was expected. As soon as they were promoted, they’d be able to drop the part-time and invest fully into the Agency. It was seriously just like any other day.

Nothing special. Nothing earth-shattering. Fucking Tuesday.

At least it was, until something snatched their hood, their jacket pulling against their throat and nearly choking them as they were wrenched back into a narrow alley.

Their first instinct was to scream, naturally, but that was hindered in the first few moments as a gloved hand clamped over their mouth, covering their nose, cutting off both their scream and their breath. The hand that held their hood gripped their jacket tightly, dragging them a few paces deeper into the alley before shoving them face-first against the jagged brick wall.

A hot pain sparked along their cheek, skin scraping and splitting against the surface as the hand that was against their jacket moved to twist in their hair, dragging their head back before slamming it against the wall.

Dark spots exploded in front of their eyes, swarming the edges of their vision like ants, crawling across their sight. They didn’t have time to try and fight back, to get away, before the bricks were flying to meet their temple again.

“Oh Sidekick,” a low voice chuckled, their hand dropping from Sidekick’s face as they shoved them to the ground. Blood welled against their head, the scrapes along the side of their face, hot and flowing. “How lovely it is to… bump into you again.”

Though they barely spoke above a murmur, their voice seemed to resonate in Sidekick’s head, each syllable like a sledgehammer against the inside of their skull, another stroke of black covering their dimming vision.

Villain drew back their foot, and slammed their boot hard against Sidekick’s ribs.

——————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Merry Whump of May - Day 5

“Do unto others as you would bla bla bla…”

Bow and Arrow

Stalking

Cavern

(BBC Merlin)

@themerrywhumpofmay

“Quick, it went this way!” Prince Arthur hissed, leading the way into the cave.

Merlin furrowed his brow, panting, and shifted his pack further up on his shoulder. He stopped at the threshold of the cave entrance and looked up at the rocky ceiling and darkness within. Arthur was rapidly disappearing, his quiver of arrows on his back the last thing to vanish.

Something curdled in Merlin’s gut. They should not be going into this cave.

Besides, why would a startled deer run into a cave for safety?

A moment later, Merlin ducked into the cool dim shadows of the rock. He followed Arthur as best as he could, stumbling over loose stones. 

“Torch!” Arthur whispered from somewhere up ahead. “Now, Merlin!”

Merlin swung the bag off his shoulder and grabbed one of the torches, fumbling with his flint. 

When he raised the lit torch, hissing with fire, Arthur sighed. The Prince turned back.

“Finally.”

“Sorry.” Merlin grumbled. 

Arthur continued into the cave.

“Do you-” Merlin started, but Arthur shushed him. 

Merlin lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do you really think the deer ran in here?”

“Where else would it go?”

They had lost sight of the doe several times in the chase. Merlin speculated that it was probably anywhere in the forest but here.

“I suppose.” He sighed, following the Prince. 

As they walked, Merlin noticed something dark on the cave walls. He paused. Then moved over to it and raised the torch. The cave wall was covered in paintings. Very old paintings. In colors of dark brown, black, and reddish clay. And it looked like they were all paintings of the same thing. 

Merlin swung the torch around. The entire cave was covered in paintings of bears. 

Very large bears.

“Uhh, Arthur?” Merlin took a few steps back, back towards the entrance of the cave. “Arthur, I think we should go.”

Arthur turned back to Merlin, face illuminated in the torchlight. “Really, Merlin? It’s just a cave!”

The torchlight also illuminated a pair of yellow reflective eyes in the darkness behind Arthur. They blinked once.

“Arthur, run!” Merlin cried, and ran towards him.

Arthur faced the eyes and a low growl echoed around them, so loud that it bounced and seemed to come from all sides at once. Arthur raised his bow and nocked arrow, letting it fly towards the beast in the darkness. 

An earsplitting roar shook the cave.

They ran together. Stumbling and falling towards the distant daylight. The torch went out. Darkness fell suddenly. Merlin lost track of Arthur. The beast’s snorting and rumbling growls coming from all sides at once.

He was blind.

Merlin fell to the ground. His head bounced off a rock. Something wet and hot trickled down the side of his face. 

He peered into the darkness, using his gift to part the gloom for his eyes.

He saw Arthur on the ground.

He saw a massive bear over him. 

Merlin scrambled over. He jumped between the Prince and the bear. 

He had to stop it. So they could escape. 

Merlin extended a hand to the cave ceiling and reached with magic. Reached, and twisted, and tore a rock from the cave.

A fiery pain erupted into his back. Merlin screamed. 

He could not breathe. 

Did a falling rock hit him? He did not stop and pulled the rock from the ceiling so that it fell between them and the bear. A small barrier, but enough to give them a chance to outrun the beast. 

“Come on!” Arthur was still blind in the dark so Merlin grabbed him by the collar and pulled him towards the daylight. Towards the entrance. They ran and ran.

The full light of the outside hit them and they were surrounded by the green forest again, a cacophony of colors. And they kept running. 

Merlin fell behind. Every breath was an agony. He saw Arthur disappear over a small hill. He was gone. Oh well.

Merlin felt his knees hit the mossy ground. He was dizzy. And he could not breathe.

Oh well.

The next thing he knew, his cheek was pressed against damp, earthy-smelling moss. Someone was calling his name. Merlin cracked his eyes open and the daylight hurt. His head throbbed. His back, around his left shoulder-blade, burned and raged. Every breath an effort.

He was turned onto his side, the movement jostling the wound in his back. Merlin cried out, wheezing.

He looked up. 

His head was in Arthur’s lap. Prince Arthur’s eyes were wide and he was pale.

“I shot you.”

“What?” Merlin rasped.

“There’s an arrow in your back, Merlin. I shot you.”

“Oh.” Merlin closed his eyes.

So that’s why it hurt so much.

“Wake up!”

Arthur’s voice hurts too. But Merlin opens his eyes.

Arthur’s face is closer. “I’m taking you back right now. But not if you’re going to die on the way. I’m not going to the trouble of carrying a corpse all the way back, alright?” Arthur’s voice trembles and there are tears in his eyes.

Merlin nodded a little. “I would carry your body back, you idiot.”

“Yes, well.” Arthur wiped his eyes. “Do unto others as you would, you know, blah blah. Right?”

“I wouldn’t shoot anyone in the back either.” Merlin whispered.

Arthur hiccuped out a laugh. “Would you be willing to tell everyone you shot yourself in the back?”

“Idiot.” Merlin sighed, and closed his eyes.

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Necessary

@themerrywhumpofmay: under the table @mediwhumpmay: needle phobia

*Writing a little backward to post in order of days. Day 8 begins a day of health exams for the medics to do. This is one of them.* The condition Jamie has is made up.

“Jamie is one of the next three,” Jolt tells the other two medics. “You say that like she’s a challenge,” Jasmine comments. “Up until I need to draw blood, she’s fine. You know why I need to get a blood sample from her. Even if I could prick her finger and use that small amount, she’ll put up a fight.”

To make matters worse, Jamie’s guardians, Crosshairs and Drift, must work today. Drift is particularly not pleased that Prowl wouldn’t let him be twenty minutes late, and even the Autobots he works with argued it would be fine. The three medics know he does not like how Jamie will fight the medics, and it’s not just shoving the medics away.   “It’s interesting how a warrior can be terrified of needles. Especially when your other fearful patient is Sunstreaker; with the life he and Sideswipe had, you’d think he wouldn’t be terrified of needles,” Drift comments and leaves.

Ratchet says nothing about drawing blood when he walks into the room. The exam went as he thought; he checked everything he needed, which didn’t require Jamie to change. The second he said ‘draw blood,’ Jamie got anxious; he tries to keep her calm, which results in him being shoved back to the counters. The other two medics are in their offices when they see Jamie run past them.

Sunstreaker walks down the hall to the training room, watching the medics leave the medbay. He didn’t think Ratchet would tell him what was going on, and he’s still determining whether it’s Ratchet’s way of telling him he’s to help. If I didn’t see her run by me, then there are only two places she could be, but only one is a good hiding place. Sunstreaker thinks and goes into the confidence room.

The room isn’t used often, and Sunstreaker can see that the next meeting isn’t scheduled for another week; the last meeting was two months ago. With how the chairs are, he sees Jamie once he gets on the floor and moves a couple of chairs. “Why do you have the medics panicking?” He asks. Once Jamie said 'health exam,’ he understood the problem, “hiding here isn’t helping. Come on.” Jamie doesn’t move back to get away from Sunstreaker, who thought Jamie would put up a fight.

“…I need to monitor the chemical level,” Ratchet explains, “be happy I can get a blood sample every six months.” The two mechs hate how Jamie is getting anxious. Sunstreaker knows holding Jamie while Ratchet does what he needs won’t help much, but he knows the risk if he tells Ratchet to forget about the blood sample.

Sunstreaker is hoping loosely restraining js enough. Both mechs hate how Jamie is crying, and Sunstreaker thought that’s all the two would deal with until Jamie passed out just as Ratchet finished. “Frag, that’s never happened before,” Ratchet worries, “but she should be ok. Just make sure she drinks water when she wakes up.” Ratchet caps the vial and leaves the room. Sunstreaker knows Ratchet isn’t more worried about testing the blood sample than how Jamie is unconscious. Sideswipe, are you done teaching your class? Sunstreaker asks through the bond. Jamie needs cheering up. Sunstreaker didn’t think Sideswipe would worry and ask questions. He tells Sideswipe he’ll explain in hopefully ten minutes. Jamie wakes up as the conversation ends. “You’re ok. Here drink some water,’ Sunstreaker hands her his water bottle, "once Ratchet says we can leave, we’ll meet Sideswipe in the lounge room.”

Sideswipe thought he could multitask by playing video games with Jamie and talking to Sunstreaker through their bond so Jamie doesn’t hear them, but he loses the race to Jamie within five minutes, which Jamie thinks is funny.

Later that day, Sunstreaker asks Ratchet how necessary a blood sample is. “It’s not so much to detect a flare-up,” Ratchet explains, “that’s impossible. There’s an interesting interaction between Saiyan blood and the chemical, and it’s hard to explain in simple terms. It’s been working like a medication to limit the severe flare-ups. So other methods, like a urine test, won’t work. Sunstreaker regrets figuring it out. "Have you researched Energon helping her?” “No, with how different Jamie is from other humans, I worry there will be consequences that I won’t be able to discover before a transfusion. The obvious is the Saiyan blood, and there’s too much unknown that I won’t be able to get answers for. I know it’s been eleven years since I’ve gotten a blood sample from her, and I am curious if this has been kept up, but the results weren’t saved. Even if the others didn’t keep up this schedule, I’d rather get back to it.” Sunstreaker understands why and doesn’t argue. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to understand how Saiyan blood works like medication. He only hopes Ratchet figures out a cure soon.

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Day 05 - "Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match”

Hydrochloric Acid | Distress | Void

Authors Note: I am not a scientist, nor did I pay any attention in my science classes. This may be wrong, however this is also a work of fiction.. so the acid does what I want it to do.

TW: Restraints; chemical burns; burning skin; distress; unconscious

He was.. tied up again. Somewhere. Wherever he was, it was shrouded in darkness. Almost like he was blindfolded, but there wasn’t any fabric covering his eyes. He couldn’t hear anything either, except for the sound of his heart pounding, of his breath.

He didn’t even notice it at first, the stillness of the air. The weird, barely-there smell in the air. The shadow in the corner, wearing protective equipment- gloves, goggles, a whole lab coat- watching him closely.

When he did notice it though, the strange taste as he breathed it in; the tightening of his chest, and the thing tickling his throat, scratching his throat until he was hunched over in a sudden and violent coughing fit, his mind could only wander back to the last thing he was studying before he got kidnapped. 

Voids. 

The nothingness, the stillness of the air resembling that within the space phenomenon. The metallic smells from the neighbouring galaxies. The silence. Deafening silence. The darkness. The emptiness.

As soon as he had recovered from his coughing fit, the smell had gone. The air felt.. alive again, and the room lit up to show the figure in the corner. Jasper, holding a single match in the air. His other arm, previously hidden behind his back, came forward to reveal a small vial of.. water?

“Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.”

Elijah scowled, forcing a glare in the general direction of the voice. “What the hell are you talking abo-” Jasper cut him off. “Ever heard of a little thing called hydrochloric acid?”

“What-”

Jasper held the matchstick on its side and poured a little of the water onto the tip of the matchstick, pulling it away with a smile as the little thing burst into flame.

“I have experimented with it a little bit, this isn’t just hydrochloric acid but well… that’s a long story. What you do need to know is that it is an irritant, and will burn away skin. Like so.” 

He reached forward and tipped the vial, watching.

Elijah screeched in pain as the acid touched his skin. Flesh burning, white hot agony. Jasper only hummed, tilting the vial a little more and watching with a bored interest as the acid hissed, burning more flesh on Elijah’s forearm. 

He pulled the vial away again, putting a cork in the top with a smile.

“I think it needs a little more work, and then we can have some real fun with it. Goodbye for now, Elijah.”

He walked out the room with the vial, having dropped the matchstick on the floor. The lights turned off again, and the smell slowly crept into the room once more, lingering until Elijah was unconscious.

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@themerrywhumpofmay

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Day 04 - "Time dies when you're having fun"

Wire | Acrophobia | Forest

TW: Restraints; heights; acrophobia; anxiety; fears

Whumpee woke, the effects of the drug wearing off quickly as they felt the wind brush against the skin. They could barely move, something sharp cutting into their neck, their wrists and chest and legs. They could feel something pressed against their back. Something wooden, rough and screeching against their barely healed wounds- cuts and lashes from whumper’s weapons.

They could barely swallow, barely breathe, the thing cutting into their neck until they could feel warm blood dribbling down slowly, a stark contrast to the chilly air around them. They could hear the roar of the wind, rushing past their ears. Drowning out all whimpers, silent sobs.

When whumpee finally opened their eyes, their blood froze- matching the icy air. They were tilting, angled to face down, held to the tree by a thin wire. The wind made the tree groan beneath them, making it tip forwards more. The ground, so many feet below them loomed up, the wind laughing in their ears. 

Their limbs locked in place, not that they could move anyways, an icy pit of dread forming in their stomach. Their chest tightened, they couldn’t breathe even if the wire was loosened. They could only stare down at the height, at the ground as they swayed. Tears falling down cheeks as they imagined the worst. As they imagined falling down to their death. As the wire snapped, as the tree trunk cracked, with them still tied to it, falling down and crushing them beneath it. 

A cackle in their ears as the wind picked up again. Laughing at their fear, at their panic. 

No- nonononono please SOMEONE! Help! HELP! Imgonnadieimgonnaim-imgonnadieicantplease SOMEONE!

The wind died down again, leaving the air silent. So quiet whumpee could feel their heartbeat, beating too fast, impossibly fast. Could hear the blood rushing through their veins, much louder than the wind. And suddenly. A snap. 

Their arm fell down from where it was tied to a branch, the wire snapping in the weather. They shrieked in fear, the weight pulling against the rest of the wires, making it cut into their flesh more. 

Another cackle as the heavens opened, as sleet and rain started to pour down, soaking them to the bone, sending icy chills throughout their limbs. 

“Pl- please- som- anyone- please” they whispered, unable to even hear their own voice as the wind picked up again. Even nature was against them, subjecting them to a torture unlike any other. Teeth chattering from anxiety and cold, chest tightening more as the tree swayed again.

Blackness. Then whumper’s face appeared, holding a pair of glasses in their hand. Whumpee was back in their room, lying on the bed. No wire or trees to be seen.  “My my, time does die when you’re having fun.”

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[themerrywhumpofmay]

Merry Whump of May - Day 4

“Two birds, one bullet.”

Chess Pieces

Stubborn

Tower

(Original characters/story)

@themerrywhumpofmay

Rex did it without even thinking.

He saw the farmer raise his rifle. Saw the finger tremble. Stockton flinched.

The crack of the gun.

Rex just didn’t think.

He just wanted to protect Stockton, his friend.

Rex raised his hand and pulled the bullet away from Stockton’s head. It flew past his friend and slammed straight into Rex’s guts. A blinding punch of paralyzing pain. 

Yeah, he hadn’t really had the time to stop that too. Oh well. 

Rex heard the wind leave his lungs and he crumpled to the ground. Honestly, the ground was just much more comfortable. The sun was at high noon so he closed his eyes against it, his eyelids red with its heat. 

Someone was shouting. Probably Burden.

They had approached the homestead as carefully as possible. They needed some supplies and were willing to barter with the farmer. But the guy was scared. Rex couldn’t blame him. Bandits were everywhere. And they didn’t really look trustworthy to begin with.

So when Stockton and his big mouth had said something just the tiniest bit sassy, the farmer got a little more nervous than the situation really called for. Rex had tried to talk him down. So did Burden. But of course, Burden wasn’t a people-person. So Burden had made it worse.

Stockton had taken a step closer to the property line. And that was it. The farmer fired.

Thank god he only fired once. Rex didn’t think he could curve another bullet today. His belly hurt too much, every breath he took it felt like someone was digging a shard of glass into his intestines. 

“My fucking ear!” Stockton was wailing.

Rex cracked his eyes when a shadow fell over him. It was Burden.

“Hey.” Rex whispered. “Stockton okay?”

“He’s being a little bitch.” Burden’s eyes looked Rex up and down.

Rex felt a crushing pressure on his wound and a soft keening wail escaped his lips. 

“Sorry.” Burden was pale. Eyes wide. Burden was scared. When had Burden ever been scared? “I’m sorry but I gotta put pressure on it.”

Rex nodded.

Someone said something. Burden turned away, shouting an answer. “The moron fucking moved it. You’ve seen him move things before. He moved the fucking bullet! Happy?”

Rex closed his eyes again against the bright sun. It was a hot day. Why was he so cold?

“Okay, we’re going. Get ready.” Burden had turned back and murmured into Rex’s ear.

Rex nodded. He braced himself.

It wasn’t enough.

Burden’s strong arms slipped behind Rex’s shoulders and under his knees. As soon as he was lifted from the dusty ground, Rex screamed. Everything went quiet. His ears rang.

When Rex opened his eyes again, his head was turned upward. He saw the sun and sky disappear, replaced by the roof of a porch and then a doorway. The cool darkness of a home. He heard Stockton’s voice and the soft sobs of someone else. Stockton was explaining something.

“I’ve got you, Rex.” Burden said softly and Rex felt it. He felt the vibrations of Burden’s words through his chest.

Rex leaned his head against Burden’s shoulder and just tried to breathe through the pain.

“Where can I put him? There a table somewhere?” Burden shouted. 

“In here!”

Rex heard a sweep and the sound of many things hitting the floor. He angled his head downward and saw dozens of chess pieces rolling across the hardwood floor. And then he was laid out on a table, hard and shuddering beneath him. 

Rex eyed the dusty light fixture above him. 

Burden came into view again.

“Hey.” Rex whispered.

Burden tried to smile. “Hey.”

“Stockton okay?” He asked again.

“He’s still a little bitch, but he’s an alive bitch.” Burden sighed. “Pressure again.”

Blinding pain in his gut and Rex’s ears began to ring. Tears slid from his eyes and trailed down his cheeks and into his ears. 

“Ow.” Rex said softly.

Stockton came into view, covered in blood.

Rex reached out and grabbed Stockton’s arm. “You’re hurt.”

“Just my ear.” Stockton turned to show Rex a bloody, dark wound on his ear. A chunk of cartilage was just missing.

“Too bad it wasn’t your mouth.” Burden grumbled. 

“Mister, I am so sorry.” The farmer’s tear-stained face came into view. “I’ve never shot anyone before, it’s just some people have been showing up lately and-”

“It’s okay.” Rex tried to speak around the pain. He swallowed hard. “It’s okay, what’s your name?”

“Oh, Ed.” The farmer named Ed wiped his eyes on a handkerchief. “Eddie Lang.”

Rex held out a hand to Ed, only just now noticed his own fingers were covered in blood. “Nice to meet you Mr. Lang. I’m Rex. These are my friends Burden Chatham and Stockton T. Hunt.”

Ed Lang hesitated a moment then took Rex’s hand warmly. “Just Ed is fine. It’s nice to meet you. I am so so sorry I shot you, Mr. Rex.”

“Not a bother, Ed.” Rex’s eyes were drawn to a fallen castle chess piece on the table beside him. “I’m sorry we interrupted your chess game.”

Ed sniffed and smiled a little. “Oh, I was just playing against myself. It passes the time.”

“I haven’t had a good game of chess in years.” Rex wheezed.

“Alright.” Burden growled. “Enough. Mr. Lang- Ed, got any medical supplies? Better yet, there a doctor nearby?”

“Next farm over.” Ed answered. “Checked in with her a week ago, she takes supplies and pills as payment for services.”

“We can make that work.” Burden’s hand left Rex’s wound. “Stockton, pressure.”

“Right, yes, sorry.” Stockton winced when he looked at the damage to Rex’s guts. He went pale and then green.

“Don’t throw up on me.” Rex begged. “Please.”

“I won’t.” Stockton reassured him. “It’s the least I can do for my savior.” Rex rolled his eyes. “Sorry about your ear.”

“Don’t worry about it. Gives me character.” Stockton grinned. 

Rex smiled. 

Burden reappeared, speaking to Stockton. “We’re going to get the doctor. Ed says to watch his aunt. Thirty minutes tops.” 

Burden leaned close to Rex, putting a hand to Rex’s cheek. His fingers were rough and warm. “Can you hang on thirty minutes?” Burden murmured.

Rex nodded, looking into Burden’s eyes, the only kind and soft part of Burden.

Burden nodded too. Then disappeared.

The house fell silent. 

Stockton frowned. “What aunt?”

“Me.” Came a soft voice from across the room. 

Stockton screamed, jostling his hand against Rex’s wound. So Rex screamed. 

Stockton whirled around and Rex turned his head as best as he could.

There sat a wizened old lady, perched in an armchair with a tv tray in front of her. Several playing cards were laid out on the tray in a pattern.

“Pardon us, ma’am.” Rex nodded as best as he could considering the angle. “I would stand and introduce myself but-”

“You may have heard, I’m Stockton, this is Rex.” Stockton cut in. “Have you been sitting there the whole time.”

“The whole time.” Ed’s aunt repeated. “I’m Hazel Lang.” Her wrinkled mouth twisted into a smile. “I’m surprised Ed shot you.” She looked to Rex.

“Me too.” Rex grunted. 

“Two birds, one bullet.” She commented.

Rex didn’t dare laugh, but it was a little funny. “Playing solitaire, Miss Lang.” 

“Tarot.” She replied. 

“Neato.” Stockton said.

“Should I do a reading for you?” She asked. 

Rex thought for a moment. “Can’t think of a better opportunity, honestly. Read away.”

Both Hazel and Stockton worked to keep Rex alert and responding as Hazel Lang explained shuffling the deck. Rex clumsily cut it with his bloody fingers. And then she began the reading. 

Hazel laid out three cards on the table beside Rex’s head. “This is a basic reading, son: past, present, and future.”

“Okay.” Rex blinked and tried to keep everything in focus. 

They had changed out towels for his wound a few times. Rex had lost count. Each time Stockton went to grab another he’d looked more and more worried. 

Hazel flipped the first one. 

“What’s it?” Rex slurred.

“The Devil.”

He lost time as Hazel explained that this was his past.

That made sense. 

The second one was flipped. “This is the present. The Ten of Swords.”

“Can… I see?”

Miss Hazel held the card out. A man lay on the ground, pierced by many swords. 

“That…that sums it up.” He sighed and closed his eyes. 

“And the future. Oh.” Hazel Lang fell silent. 

Stockton asked. “Is that one bad?”

“Generally.” Hazel answered.

“Give it to me… s-straight, Miss Lang.” Rex opened his eyes. Colors were blurring together. 

“The Tower.” The elder pronounced.

The front door banged open. Rex heard Burden’s voice from far away.

“Sounds ‘bout right.” And Rex fell into darkness.

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Day 06 - "It's a long story"

Knife handle | Gagged | Under the table

TW: Gagged; stabbing; knife; blood; blindfold; restraints

Elijah didn’t know where he was. Jasper had pulled black cloth over his eyes hours ago. He could hear a voice.. No wait. More than one voice. Multiple voices. Laughing. That was Jasper’s, telling a joke, followed by a couple of laughs. 

Not that he paid much attention. 

His wrists were burning where the rope was rubbing against flesh. His legs were cramping, forced together and upright, in a normally uncomfortable position anyway and held there with more rope. His jaw ached, a rag shoved in his mouth with another wrapped around it to keep him silent. His back was tense, spine pressed against something hard, something oddly shaped. A pole.. But with different bits cut out of it, with the base and the top thickening into rectangular-ish shapes. 

Some broken fragments of conversation floated around in the air, reaching his ears. “How-” “-Long story” “Oh god-”

His shoulder was on fire, each tiny movement and jostle screaming white-hot anger at him as tears soaked through the blindfold and ran silently down his cheeks. Jasper.. Or well.. He couldn’t remember who to be honest. It could have been anyone there. One of them had stuck a knife into his shoulder. 

They had held the tip of it to his flesh, watching as he shrank away, against the weird-shaped pole, slowly- so fucking slowly- forcing it through layer upon layer of skin till it reached muscle. Then forcing it through that too. Excruciatingly slowly. He could’ve sworn he could feel each layer tear underneath the metal. He could feel the handle of it, pressing against his shoulder. A little bit of warmth around it, but not too much. Not enough to cause blood loss. He wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or annoyed.

More laughter cut into his broken train of incoherent thoughts. The sound of shoes and heels clacking against wood. Car engines starting, and a door shutting. A lock clicking into place before an annoyed sigh. 

“I just hate it when people come by unannounced.” More footsteps, and the blindfold was pulled off. Jasper was crouching in front of him, hand raised, fingers half-curled in a wave.

“How you holding up there?”

The fabric around his mouth was removed, the rag yanked out his mouth. A scream quickly following, tearing itself out of his throat as the knife handle was flicked. 

Jasper hummed. 

“Good enough for me. Now, care to share where we got too when we were so rudely interrupted hm?”

Previous - Masterlist

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[themerrywhumpofmay]

The Merry Whump of May—Day 1

“No Pain, No Gain”

Compass | Haphephobia | Kitchen

Masterlist

Cw: descriptive mentions of gore, implied amputation, heavily conditioned Whumpee, descriptions of past violence, unstable Whumper, obsessive thoughts

Warm water bled through Whumpee’s fingers, foaming slightly with soap as their hands dipped in and out of the sink. Hot water ran smoothly from the faucet, draining down on the dishes as they slowly picked through the mountain of plates they were to clean.

Their sleeves were rolled up to their elbows, but even then they couldn’t stop a few drops from soaking the fabric. On a normal day, something like that might have bothered them, tugging at the corner of their mind until it finally forced them to change into a fresh shirt and start their task over from the top, replace the clean dishes in the sink and repeat the entire process of soaking, scrubbing, and drying, a steady cycle which they had finally fell into a smooth rhythm with.

Let it sit in the still water for twenty seconds, hold it under the faucet for ten. A small bit of soap on the sponge, thoroughly scrubbing away any bits of leftovers, a minute. Under the faucet again for fifteen. One final wash. Place on the drying rack, and then after they finished five plates, dry them the rest of the way with the hand towel and put them away neatly in the cupboard. Double check to make sure they were perfect, and if they weren’t, they cleaned the stack again. Same for bowls and cups.

Silverware was different. They let those soak while they cleaned all else, and then they would rinse them and clean by sponge, except for the knives which they did by hand.

A perfect task. Comprehensive and measurable, they could see their progress as they went. With the system they had set, it never took them longer than an hour to finish, though more often less depending on the dish load. It was just them and Whumper, after all, dishes were done every day, every evening without fail. It really only took them half an hour, which would take ten, if not for the regimen they strictly followed. Twenty seconds. Ten. A minute. Fifteen. Five plates.

Their eyes were focused intensely on the bowl which they now held, letting the water spill over the curve, tilting the bowl so it wouldn’t spray. Careful. Their fingers tight around the rim.

Whumpee had learned, perfectly, how to do them. They were careful. Mindful. Precise with what they were doing, unwilling to let their mind drift to anything but the feel of the sponge in their hand. Feeling slightly awkward in their hold.

They knew well enough to not mess up the dishes. If there was anything Whumper cared so much about, it was them. Whumpee wasn’t entirely sure why, but they had lost all interest. It didn’t matter. They knew they needed to get them done and do it right.

The last time they had fucked it up, the first and only time. Whumper had made sure they would do it right from then on.

Whumpee had only ever dropped two plates, in the months they’d been dutifully fulfilling the chore, and they had been quite surprised by Whumper’s reaction. How they were with everything else, Whumpee had been expecting a beating like no other. Forced to kneel on the shards, to brace their hands against the counter while Whumper grabbed the biggest fragment they could find and cut into their arms or back. Open their mouth and remain still as Whumper placed a porcelain shard between their teeth and commanded them to bite down and chew until their tongue and cheeks were torn to shreds. Palm shoved to a stovetop burner, and held there until the flesh of their hand began to melt away and stick to the heated metal, but Whumpee hadn’t done any of that.

An honest mistake, they shrugged, pointing Whumpee to the closet where the broom and dustpan were. All they had been given was three lashes for it, tacked onto the next punishment they had received for talking back. The second time, it had been five, but Whumpee didn’t dare even think to complain. It was bearable, a considerably gentler consequence than those Whumpee usually dealt.

They were really confusing. Whumper’s mood changed by the day. Sometimes they would be relaxed, lenient, telling Whumpee they could skip vacuuming that night and rather join them on the couch for a movie and hot chocolate. Sometimes they would be nice.

Other times, however…

Whumpee brought their attention back to the sink. They had fallen out of their pattern, quickly finishing off rinsing the dish in their hands. They had spent too long, and they cursed themself quietly, but it was better than cutting the task short.

Their hands, marred flesh twisted with scars, their fingers almost crooked with the amount of breaks and fractures suffered. They couldn’t move the last two on their left hand too well anymore, but they didn’t think about that.

The sponge felt loose in their grasp, something Whumpee wasn’t sure they’d ever get used to. But they didn’t care. They couldn’t mess up the dishes. Ten seconds. Twenty. A minute. Fifteen.

Whumper had made it very clear that the next time they found so much as a crumb stuck to the bottom of a plate, they’d do so much worse than take a finger.

————————————————

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[themerrywhumpofmay]

Merry Whump of May—Day 4

“Two Birds, One Bullet”

Chess Pieces | Stubborn | Tower

Masterlist

Cw: overworking, exhaustion, self-deprecating thoughts, stress, injuries, mentioned threat of death/mass casualties.

Leader stood with their arms braced against the wood of the table, knuckles white as they held to the edge. Their forehead was creased with concentration, focus on the papers strewn out before them in a disorganized but comprehensible way dragging a line between their eyebrows.

They were alone in the office, meeting adjourned and vacated by their team. The buzz of the radiator, the soft clinking of the inner workings dragging to protect against the cold front only separated by a pane of thick glass. It was dark outside, the window fogged from the snow that fell, quickly and heavily, piling against the ground. The quilt of clouds draped across the sky was thick and unrelenting, sealing off the faint glow of moonlight across the atmosphere, leaving only a weighted darkness to settle over the trees.

It may have been a calm night. Leader could imagine how it would be, curled under a blanket on a soft couch in front of a warm hearth. A mug of either tea or hot chocolate perched between two calm hands, warming both fingers and chest with small sips. Curtains parted around a window, allowing for a view of the world outside, silent and peaceful as the night crept forwards.

With a feeling of helplessness so strong it felt like they were going to drown in it, Leader slammed their hands flat on the table, sweeping them to the side and sending all of the papers scattering across the room.

“Fuck,” Leader cursed, curled fists hitting the table with enough force to send little sparks jolting up their forearms. It felt like the walls were closing in on them, wrapping around their wrists and ankles, snaring their chest and dragging across their throat. They had to fucking figure it out, they had to or their entire team would be fucking dead. Hundreds of innocent people, citizens would lose their fucking lives, because Leader was too stupid to figure this out.

Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless.

Villain had laid out the perfect trail, dropped hints and snippets of information slyly, playing it off as a slip of the tongue or a mistake.

Villain didn’t make fucking mistakes. There had to be something here, something to go off of, but every piece fit perfectly into the puzzle, and that’s how they fucking knew. Villain wasn’t a puzzle, with clean cut edges and designated formations. They were a window, smashed open with a crowbar, exploding to thousands of pieces with no distinguishable traces. Couldn’t put them back together if they tried.

Leader couldn’t fucking try. They had to. Every moment they wasted falling for each of Villain’s meticulous details, was a moment longer for Villain to perfect their act. It was only a game to them, every day they waited, drawing out their plans just to watch Leader’s team scramble to find the end of the string.

“Leader,” a voice spoke softly, and Leader whipped around, knocking back against the table in their haste, a scrambled plan quickly calculating in their disoriented mind, ready to fend off an attack before they realized who their company was. Their heartbeat didn’t settle, throbbing hard enough they could feel it against their ribs, hear it in their ears.

“Leader, what happened? Are you alright?” Teammate stepped forwards from the doorframe. So lost in their thoughts, Leader hadn’t heard it open.

It took Leader a moment to compose themself enough to speak. When they did, their tone came out an aggressive snap.

“I’m working,” was all they said, sentence clipped short. When Teammate took another step towards them, Leader turned around and stepped to the side, gathering the discarded papers in their arms with no regard to how the paper crinkled and folded.

“No, Leader, this isn’t work. You’re still injured, you should be in bed, do you have any idea what time it is?”

From the way Teammate spoke, it was obvious that they themself had just woken up, dressed in sweats and a long sleeve that served as their nightclothes. Leader wore the uniform they had worn the day before, they didn’t have time to deal with something as trivial as changing. They couldn’t step away from this, or any sliver of progress they made would be lost.

“I don’t care. Go away, I need to focus.” Leader was aware how they sounded. They’re words as sharp as the knife they had met only a few days earlier. They didn’t even notice the ache in their side anymore, so buried under the stress that pain became a second nature. They dumped the papers back on the table and shuffled to get them organized once again in the haphazard order they had previously been in, but that was long lost.

They weren’t sure, looking back, if they should be glad or pissed that Teammate didn’t listen to them.

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Idk if I should make a taglist for this so ima leave it up to y’all. Lmk if you’d be interested in being tagged in this as I go through May lmao

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