#wijday6

[carryingstarlightinherwake]

Whumpmas in July 2025, Day 6: Field Medic

Patching Up

After a fight, Giorno tends to a wound on Bucciarati's arm using Gold Experience.

Read the fic here!

All-ages friendly fic.

Everyone Lives AU.

Post-Canon.

Short and sweet.

Not graphic.

Check out @whumpmasinjuly to learn more, and @whumpmasinjuly-archive for more entries from other writers for this event!

Thanks for reading and dropping by!

[justplainwhump]

Hold On

( @whumpmasinjuly Day 6 // Ridley, Dany and B)

In the aftermath of a 'lesson' from Ridley, Dany struggles to hold on to herself.

Ridley and B belong to @hackles-up and are used with permission. This is set directly after the events in [Lost], and references this ['comfort' prompt fill].

[Dany Masterpost]

Content - aftermath of choking, aftermath of noncon, locked in a cage, intimate whumper, implied mutual noncon, manipulative whumper, creepy comfort, degrading and dehumanising language. Believe it or not, though, technically, this is about love.

My mind is drifting through an ocean of darkness. There's flashes of burning pain, the crashing weight of waves pulling me down, there's tides tugging at me, towards a black hole in the center of the sea, then back towards a distant blood red shoreline.

Nothing is real.

'You lost.' An echo of him whispers at me. 

Digs into my ribs.

Burns on my skin.

Claws at my insides.

Tightens around my throat.

I whimper.

The sound catches in my throat, weak and painful. It hurts. It hurts so much. I can't breathe. My hands fly up, fingertips brush against soft leather. The collar. My collar. Back on. Too tight. Pressing into aching bruises, cutting off my air.

"No," I want to whisper. I can't. My voice is gone. A pathetic croak is all the sound I can make.

Another spike of pain, drilling into my side.

"Look at me, bitch."

I blink. Force my eyes open. There's light, too much light, and in between a figure is looming over me.

I blink again, squint my eyes, until the blurry lines of Ridley's face take shape, far away, behind sturdy metal bars.

I'm in a cage. Laying on the floor of the narrow dog cage, in Ridley's splendid living room. 

Above me, Ridley smirks. He's in a suit, fingers busy adjusting his tie. His polished shoe is poking into my side between the bars.

"There she is. Good morning, princess. How did it feel? To die, at my Bee Bee's hands? I must say, I liked you a lot better, stripped of that annoying attitude."

I try to shift away from his foot on the cold cage floor. Pain rips through me, tearing right through my core. Horribly familiar. Worse than ever. 

A weak whine escapes from my throat.

Ridley hums contently. "Yeah. Fucked you raw. You'll be sore for a while. Might give you something to remember. That's what you're for, baby girl. Everyone knows it. I know it. You know it. Even the dog understands." Ridley pauses, adjusts the collar of his suit, while his gaze runs over my body. There's a smug grin on his lips. "You should know, I let him have a go at you, too, after I was done. He knows you're not his friend. You're not his savior. You're his master's fucktoy." He turns around and I follow his gaze to see B curled up at the other side of the living room, chained to the floor by his collar. Ridley clicks his tongue. "I actually had to step in. He fucked you hard enough to almost kill you a second time. You know him. Can't hold back when he's in the zone. What a vicious creature." He sighs. "Still, even when he messes with my property like that, I just can't bring it over me to put him down. I'm too soft on both of you, really."

I can't even sob. I roll to my side, turn my face away from Ridley, from B, from everything. My skin hurts, itches where it stretches under dried come. The blue dress I wore to the reception is torn to shreds.

"I'll have to get to the office now, baby girl. You'll stay in the cage for the day. Keep you safe from the dog, and your own dangerous attitude. And if you're good tonight, I'm even inclined to allow you back into my bed."

Something nudges through the bars. Not his foot again, but something soft. "There. Some comfort, while you recover. My dog hurt you so much. This one won't." 

I don't look up, almost surprised when Ridley doesn't insist that I do. Instead, I hear him leave with a whistle and a relaxed spring to his steps, followed by the soft closing of the elevator doors.

-

I can't tell how much time has passed. I've fallen into a fitful sleep, nightmares of teeth and pain and drowning. Something small is pressing into my back. Wincing, I pull it out from underneath me.

It's a stuffed animal. The plush dog Ridley has gifted me, with huge plastic puppy eyes and a broken ear. It's sticky, a smudge of blood staining its fur.

My hands curl into fists in the soft plush. I want to scream, yell, curse, but there's nothing left in me but a painful, garbled sob. 

Fuck you, I think, what I can't say out loud. Fuck you, Ridley Lordin. It won't work. You won't win. I'm more than what you want me to believe. B is more than what you want me to believe.

I press the stuffed dog against my chest. You won't win, Ridley.

I won't give up. I'll hold on. To B. To myself. We're more.

I turn my head to look through the bars. B is half awake, still feverish, his body shaken by violent shivers. 

I hug the plushie tightly.

"We're more." My voice is nothing but a faint croak. B can't hear me. 

It doesn't matter. 

I'll hold on for the two of us.

--

[Next >]

[studyofwhump]

Whumpmas in July

Day 6: “Hold on”

Content Warnings: hospital setting, surgery (descriptions are a little grizzly), minor character death, blood, burns, broken bones 

Follows this piece 

@whumpmasinjuly​

“Induced coma unsuccessful. Vital signs in critical condition.”

“Shit,” Talic hissed as he turned back to Koladi’s table. Warning signs flared up on her vitals screen, low blood pressure, fast irregular heartbeat, multiple broken bones and fractures in her body. He was going to lose her too if he didn’t get her stabilized in a coma within the next few minutes.

“How Lylimeph doing, Zanvir?”

Across the room, Zanvir sighed and brushed away the sweat gathered on his forehead with his sleeve, still leaving a streak of blood on his forehead and surgery cap. He looked down at the bloodied mess on the table in front of him, partially covered by a surgical blanket with Lylimeph’s pale face covered with a mask.

“I wish I could say better,” he shook his head as he went back to work, “Even if I get all this shrapnel out, I don’t know if we’ll have enough bulk blood to keep her stable.”

Talic bit his lip, trying to think as he recalibrated the controls for Koladi’s table. “Ok… Once, once we get these two stabilized, you and I can donate, and we’ll see about Ganex and Byruk helping too.”

“And Lulan?”

“Lulan’s donated twice already, anymore and he’ll be bedridden for days. We’ll just… have to hope it’s enough.”

Talic reactivated the machine’s sequence, hoping this time would go through so Koladi could stabilize. He turned his attention back to Prash. Broken spine, burns covering most of his body from the bomb’s flames, and Talic already had to take a leg too damaged to save. Infection was his greatest worry for Prash at the moment, on top of an endless growing list.

Talic was exhausted. Twenty hours since most of their team got caught in the explosion and they still weren’t even close to being done fixing everyone up. Lexus still had a hole in her leg held together by a medpack. Alek was unconscious from a head wound and a broken arm. Dosair was the only one Talic managed to fix up stabilize after barely reassembling most of his insides.

Hōdek died within a few seconds of being placed on an operating table.

It was horrible, but Talic didn’t have time to dwell on it now. Chief Medical Officers never had time to dwell in the terrible, painful things they saw in an operating room. He had four more lives to save. Once he knew they were out of harms way, then he could let everything crash down around him.

But not one moment before.

“Induced coma unsuccessful. Vital signs in critical condition.”

The warning sounded again, and Talic tore himself away from Prash back to Koladi. She was deathly pale, and the rising motion of her breathing was slow and labored. Sweat started gathering on Talic’s brow as he quickly tried to restart the sequence again.

“Warning: hemorrhaging detected in upper abdomen.”

“Fuck, no, no, no, no,” Talic muttered in growing panic under his breath, “C’mon, Koladi, just hold on a little longer, c’mon…”

“Warning: blood pressure not detected. Pulse not detected.”

“No!” Talic abandoned the monitor and yanked back the covering over Koladi’s chest. Already he could see the dark shading of blood pooling under her skin. “Open defibrillators.”

Slots on either side of the operating table opened and he grabbed a defibrillator out from each. The voltage charged and he held the flat ends against her chest. Her body jolted from the current, but the heart monitor remained flat.

“C’mon, Koladi, hang in there…” He charged them again and winced from the loud sound of electricity discharging. Still, nothing. He tried again and her vital signs still remained flat. He tried not to look at the grayish hue growing in her complexion as he charged them up again.

“Talic—”

“I can do it, Zanvir,” Talic didn’t look back at him as he discharged the electricity a fourth time. Still no pulse. He could feel Zanvir’s eyes staring into the back of his head.

“Talic, listen—”

“I’m not losing her!” Talic shouted as he charged the defibrillator again. Koladi jolted on the table, but remained lifeless. “I’m not losing another one, I can do it!”

“The cutoff is three, Vellatang!” Talic flinched as Zanvir’s voice rose to a shout. He turned back to look at him, the defibrillators still clenched tightly in his hands. Only now he noticed how short and rapid his breath was.

“It’s three times,” Zanvir said with a long sad look on his face, “You know that. You’ve done five now. I… You have to move on.”

Talic’s breath froze in his chest. He was right, trying again now would just waste time. He turned back to Koladi, setting the defibrillators down as he finally looked at her still face. There was nothing, no breath, no fluttering of her eyes. Even now, he knew the color of her irises were drained under her eyelids, leaving behind a haunting milky white.

She was gone.

“Go back to Prash, Talic,” Zanvir’s voice grew softer, “He still needs you.”

Talic didn’t need any other prompting. Zanvir was right, he had to move on. He had to hold on, try and save the others as best he could. Just for a moment, he allowed his hands to shake as he pulled the cover over Koladi. The look of death disappeared under the blue sheet, and he exhaled sharply.

“I’m sorry, Koladi…” His hand rested on top of her head for just a moment, almost as though he was trying to comfort her through her passing. He inhaled sharply and pulled away, feeling a sharp sting of sadness in his chest as he came back to Prash. He could still feel Zanvir’s eyes on him, making sure he was able to keep moving forward.

Talic pushed the rest of his thinking to each piece of shrapnel he pulled out of Prash. He could keep going like this, focusing only on those still breathing. There would be time to mourn the others later. But for now, he could hold on for Lylimeph, Prash, and Dosair.

He had to.

[whumpinggrounds]

Hold On

For @whumpmasinjuly day 5, I am returning to my friend T because what can I say? I find his story very compelling at the moment. I have something in the works for August too, so stay tuned but only if you’re patient.

Robot folks!   @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @wolfeyedwitch,  @redwingedwhump, @ocean-blue-whump, @impalasexual, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @sadcatjae, @whump-cravings, @kawhump, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @winedark-whump, @whumpingmydarlings, @maracujatangerine​  

CW: nonhuman whumpee, male whumpee, medical whump, lab whump, nonsexual nudity, oxygen deprivation, malnutrition(?), guilt

The tiniest shift up. The tiniest imaginable drop down. That horrible dry gasping sound that never seems to end, a sound that is simultaneously the most desperate and despairing thing that Freddy has ever heard. He stands in the doorway, palms pressed down over his eyes hard enough that he sees swirls and lines and colors, anything but T.

But he can only cover his eyes or his ears. Not both. And so the gasping rings on in his ears,

Slowly, Freddy moves his hands away from his eyes, hating every second of it. He’s responsible for this, after all, so the least he can do is bear witness to T’s wasted body, wasted life.

It’s an impact of being so long without sufficient air. They know that now. It’s good medical information, apparently. Knowing what that does to a person. Freddy wants to scream.

T’s eyes are sunken, dark with exhaustion and raw, animal panic. His muscles are outlined starkly against his skin, his bones prominent. Collarbone, shoulders, ribs. They’ve stripped his shirt off to expose just how much the lack of oxygen is getting to him. They’ve stripped more than that off, too, but Freddy drapes the sheet back over T’s body with a burning face, refusing to look.

“H-hey, T.”

Gasp. Gasp. Gasp. Is there the faintest flicker of movement in his fingers, or is Freddy imagining?

“I’m...I’m so sorry. We’re...we’re working on it, I swear. We’re...we’re trying everything.”

Gasp. Gasp. Gasp. The sound is endless, monotonous. How does someone’s suffering become mundane? Is the room always this cold?

“I...I miss you.” Freddy is crouched beside the cot now, even though it brings him closer to the horrible gasping. He’s pretending to check vitals, fingers moving ever so gently over T’s skin as he feels the hummingbird flutter of a pulse, the dryness of the man’s skin beneath his.

T has never felt so fragile before. Usually, he’s all muscle, metal, built to perform. Freddy flushes to think it that way, but it’s true, isn’t it? T is stronger than anyone Freddy’s ever met, faster than any human has any right to be.

Not anymore. Not now. Now, he’s a gasping body in a hospital cot, and a lack of extra oxygen is destroying him. There’s no spare energy to break down food, and he’s lying down all day besides. In the back of his mind, Freddy wonders if this is yet another sick experiment by Dr. Pool, or Dr Zhu.

How long can a body go, with a bare minimum of oxygen? What happens to that body - because it’s only a body, of course, not a person. How much mass can someone lose, how much muscle, how much fucking light from their eyes?

That last one is just Freddy being sentimental and he knows it. If there’s no scientific tool to measure it, it doesn’t exist to these people. But he knows T. He knows T. He would swear he knows T better than any of them, better than any diagnostic. And T is dying. His body might make it, the sophisticated technology will be fine...but T is dying.

“Hold on, T.”

Gasp. Gasp. Gasp

Freddy finds that there are tears slipping down his face.

“Please hold on.”

[nick-pascal]

Claire and Tinsel Masterlist

Whumpas in July, Day 6 @whumpmasinjuly

Tinsel and Claire are back! Let me know if you want added or removed to their taglist.

@rosesareviolentlyread @eatyourdamnpears @badluck990 @whumpinggrounds @carnagecardinal 

TW: Knives and knife violence, eye gore/threat of

Tinsel licked his lips at the food arranged on the counter. Tomatoes, lettuce, a bag of lunch meat, it had been so long since he had anything but pellets. Swallowing a watery mouthful of spit, he tried to ignore the smells surrounding him.

Not for Tinsel. Master wanted a sandwich, he was waiting in the living room. Despite how wonderful it was to be in the kitchen, Tinsel didn't want to take too long making it. If he didn't get it done fast enough Master would be upset and, Tinsel threw a look over his shoulder towards the living room.

Crusty and thick, the bread was something fancy, it made beautiful crinkling sounds when Tinsel squeezed it. But how was he supposed to cut it, unless. . . There was a magnetic bar on the wall, covered in knives. The most beautiful knives, some were thin and long and looked as if you could bend them in half. Others were thick and heavy enough to cleave bone in two.

Tinsel's eye was drawn to one whose blade looked as if it were made of ripples, dark and grey against the metal. So beautiful, with a weighted curve. And sitting out where just anyone could grab it. Another glance to the living room. 

Only for a moment, he'd just feel how heavy it was. He wouldn't use it without being told, not ever. Not unless he had to. As his hand closed around the handle, a voice too close made him jump. 

 "Do you like it?" 

 Whirling, knife still in hand, Tinsel backed against the counter. He hadn't even heard Master come in, he was quieter than a cat. Master just stood there, too close, unperturbed. 

 "It's a nice knife. Not serrated though, not for bread or tomatoes. Unless they didn't teach you that in domestic training. Or maybe you weren't trained at all," 

Tinsel's legs pressed against the floor as he pushed further against the counter, trying to stay upright. Put it down, beg, he'll punish you and it'll be over, Tinsel thought. Or he'll just kill you, Tinsel thought, eyes darting to the hidden shoulder holster. You're not just going to lay down and die, are you? 

 "Go on," Master said, taking a step closer and parting his blazer, almost pressing the tip of the blade against his own shirt. "Try it. Let's see how far you get." 

Tinsel's head began shaking. 

 "No, no," he whispered, "I wasn't, I wouldn't," 

 "But you were thinking it, weren't you?" Master said. 

Tinsel's eyes flickered. 

 "So go on, let's try it. Let's see how far you get," Master said, "Too frightened to go through with it? Or maybe it's because it's to my face, and you were planning on waiting until my back was turned." 

 "No," Tinsel said. He had to let go, he had to put it down, it was like the metal handle was an iron burning his hand. 

 "Alright then, I'll help you," Master said, grabbing Tinsel's wavering hand and closing it on the blade. One swift move and Master had pulled it toward himself, Tinsel cried out in horror. Only the blade didn't connect with anything, Master had stepped back, out of the way, and his free hand shot forward, pulling something from his sleeve. Tinsel squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the blow that didn't connect. 

 "Open your eyes," Master said, and Tinsel squeezed them tighter as the presence around him grew more powerful. "Open your eyes or I'll blind them both," 

 They opened slowly, all of Tinsel's attention on the silver blade nearly touching his eye. He couldn't lean any further back, his head was against a cabinet, his hips trapped in the corner of the counter. 

 Blade? No, it was a--was it a fork? Tinsel made a quite keen and almost forgot to keep his eyes open. 

 "I can push this through to your brain," Master said, "If that doesn't kill you then at least finishing you off will be significantly easier. While you still have it, let's try using that brain of yours. What's the lesson in all this?" 

 "I--You," Tinsel couldn't breathe. He had to answer, he had to say something and oh, it was so close his eye couldn't focus anymore. "I won't, won't touch. No knives," 

 "So you don't plan on doing domestic work after all?" 

 "No," Tinsel said, "Sorry, I didn't mean," 

 The fork moved closer, he could feel it against his eyelashes as he blinked and the sound died in his throat as he tried to hold still. The strong grip on his hand finally eased, but instead of the knife clattering to the floor Master held it deftly in his free hand. 

 "Unbutton," Master said. The fork didn't move, and Tinsel's fingers were shaking so hard it took longer than it should have. Yesterday, Master had been so disgusted with the marks littering Tinsel's body he was almost returned. Since then Tinsel had worn it buttoned up to his throat, sleeves unrolled and hanging past his hands. And now Master wanted it unbuttoned. 

Tinsel stared at nothing over Master's shoulder, keeping his head as immobile as possible. When the last button came undone Master lifted the knife to Tinsel's throat and--he was only using it to shrug off the shirt, which hung from Tinsel's wrists and puddled on the counter behind. Tinsel was so delicate Master didn't have to threaten him like this, he could just reach out and snap him, and they both knew it. So why bother with weapons? 

 Tinsel cried out and almost moved when the knife broke skin. Behind him, at the base of his ribcage, shallow but oh, slow. 

 "Wait, wait," Tinsel gripped the countertop unsteadily, eyes squinting against his will. "I'm sorry, I--" 

 The line traced the edge of his ribcage around to the front, and Tinsel whined when Master moved his hand back around the other side. 

 "You can't beat me in a fight," Master said, as the knife pushed in again, mirroring the cut on the other side of Tinsel's ribs. Tinsel couldn't help it, he scrunched his eyes closed and tried to control the whine building in his throat. 

"I won't, wouldn't, please," 

 Master finished the line with a quick flick of his wrist that left Tinsel gasping. His head jerked forward involuntarily but when Tinsel opened his eyes they were both still whole. The whole kitchen trembled through a watery kaleidoscope.

Although he couldn't see the red, curved lines under his chest, Tinsel could feel droplets swelling until they dribbled down towards his shorts. 

 "The lesson?" Master said. Tinsel raised a hand to his face, covering his eyes, and slumped heavily against the counter, knees half-giving way. "I won't, sorry, sorry, no weapons," 

 There was a heavy sigh and Tinsel jumped as the fork was tossed on the counter. 

 "Wrong again. The lesson is anything can be a weapon if you use it correctly. If you choose something obvious then you're going to get found out quicker,"

 "Never, I won't," Tinsel squeaked, sliding down the counter until he was sitting pressed against it, hiding behind his knees. 

 "And you need to anticipate what weapons your target has access to, including themselves. Which in your case means you need to kill me before I can react."

 Tinsel shook his head no and tried to draw back further as Master took a serrated knife from the rack and began carving a slice of bread. 

 "Don't forget next time," Master said, "Now, would you like something to eat, or are you too frightened for that as well?"

[concussedandconfused]

Taking the wrong trail:

Whumpee thought they were just going for a little hike. They had just moved to the area, it was a nice day, they had never been out somewhere like this before, the trail was short and for beginners, why not?

Why not double check the trail markers

They didn't realize the mistake until five hours had gone by, their feet hurt, they were out of water, the sun was about to set, and they came to a section of trail that was slim, steep, and much too close to a sheer drop

This wasn't going to go well

[whumpcreations]

Whumpmas in July - Day 6: Mistake

@whumpmasinjuly creation prompt: Mistake

TW: magical paralysis, arrested, mention of (contract) killing

Note: This is the beginning of a "story" (more like some scenes) I wanted to start for a while now. I will definitly continue it at some point; just be patient with me please.

Masterlist

It was just one simple mistake; one moment of carelessness. It would cost Ríona her life.

Ríona was sent to murder the crown prince. It could have been so simple: break into his bedroom, stab him in his sleep and be in and out before anybody noticed. She´d done it dozens of times, she was good at her job, the best, not for nothing Ríona was called "queen of the shadows". And yet this time she had made a mistake.

She had watched and planed her way in for days. She knew every guard and their movements, she knew the sleeping habits of the crown prince and she knew all protections in his room; or at least she thought that she knew.

From the outside Ríona sensed for invisible barriers and magic shields but it felt save. The moment she threw herself through the open window - completely soundless like a phantom - she was frozen. Ríona fell to the ground like a stone and the silence was gone. Guards streamed in the room, the prince already awake and Ríona couldn´t move a single muscle, so she just lay there watching her life crumble down.

The guards took her while she still was paralyzed and dragged her down into the dungeon chaining her to the wall.

Later - before the paralysis was gone - Ríona would ask herself, why she didn´t feel for a magical barrier twice or why she couldn´t sense this one but right in this moment all she could see were the pieces of her life shattering again and again until there was nothing left but dust.

Next

[sableflynn]

Day 6: Water

I had a few different ideas for drabbles for this @whumpmasinjuly prompt, but the words just weren’t coming...so here’s a moodboard of the whumpy pirate/noble rp @whumpymirages and I are doing! Pirates = water, right?