#wij21day18 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

ASH PLEASE MORE RAFAEL I LOVE HIM I WANNA SEE HIM MEET CHRIS AGAIN WHEN HE'S FREE <3 - robinswhump

@robins-whump, here you go! Although this doesn't involve Chris, it is Raf getting a new place to stay

@whumpmasinjuly prompt: Support

CW: Escaped whumpee, touch starvation, references to past noncon/dubcon, internalized victim-blaming

Rafael thinks he preferred the little room behind the bookstore, but they told him he had to move to a real safehouse, some place where he can be to focus on getting better, and here he is.

This room in a new place seems vast, somehow, although it's not even half the size of his masters' room. He clutches an old backpack to his chest, staring around, his dark eyes skimming the small twin-size bed, neatly made-up, a blue blanket on top of plain white sheets, two pillows lined up side by side.

Carpet is somehow both scratchy and soft beneath his sock-covered feet, and he wiggles his toes a little, just to feel it. The masters never had carpet. That's new.

He likes it. It's warm.

"Will I have a roommate?" He asks the man standing just behind him, without turning his head. There's a window, and the bars on it make his heart race a little, even though they talked about it. They're for safety, the neighborhood isn't great. Just for safety.

He has a view of a small tree and a brick wall, the house next door barely far enough away. If he leaned out he feels like he could nearly touch it.

Are the bars to keep people out, or to keep him in?

"Not right away," The man says in response to his question. "You'll need some adjustment time, first."

"Does everyone get a room to themselves at first?"

"Ah... no." He introduced himself as Mr. Martin, the man who runs this safehouse, and his voice is musical, with the slightest hint of a lilt that makes Rafael think he was born somewhere far away from here. "We have to-... well. We have to keep the safety of our others in mind, too, you know? We've had some trouble in the past with... certain designations. Had a few who kept forgetting some things. It's a risk with Romantics."

Rafael closes his eyes, shame briefly twisting inside him. "Of course," He says, and his voice stays perfectly calm. He can sound calm no matter what his heart feels like, it was the first skill he mastered.

"It isn't meant as an insult, and it isn't because I think you'll do anything on purpose," Mr. Martin says. He sounds so kind, as he says the things that cut Rafael to ribbons. "It's only that we've found through experience that certain designations struggle to integrate in with the others. I'll check around for a Romantic-focused or friendlier safehouse that can take you in, but in the meantime you'll have the room to yourself. Won't that be nice?"

Rafael has never slept alone in his memory when he wasn't in training, locked in the white room, light burning through his closed eyelids. Well, then just for the couple of weeks he spent in the bookstore room, but even then he'd known there was a store cat out somewhere walking around at night. This... this is supposed to be what happens until he's ready to get out on his own.

Because he can't be trusted.

Because he's going to fuck anything that moves, right? That's what they do, they can't help themselves, they're all just fucking-

He cuts off the thought and clears his throat. "Yes, sir."

"Please. Just Mr. Martin." The man claps him on the back, in a way he must think is soothing. Rafael instinctively leans back into the touch, only to have Mr. Martin immediately pull his hand away.

"I-I'm sorry." He turns around, raising his eyes to meet Mr. Martin's, looking for some hint of warmth there. He finds it, but it isn't the warmth he knows, the one lined with desire with arrogance and ownership of him. This warmth is... frightening, in the way it's there but distant from him, too. The warmth of someone who doesn't really care that much about him at all. At least not about owning him.

Rafael only knows how to be owned.

"That's quite all right," Mr. Martin soothes, but something tells Raf it really isn't, not at all. Do the others not do this? Is this only a Romantic thing, to need the touch? Maybe he's overthinking this.

He misses the bruises his master and mistress left on him, suddenly, the indentations of their nails and teeth. Those at least told him he was wanted. Someone wanted him. He's not real if no one wants him, he's just a ghost.

No one will want him, now, damaged and used and he remembers what his handler told him. No one can love a pet, not really, except their masters.

And he's run away from his.

He deserves to feel like this, doesn't he?

No one will care about him now. Maybe no one ever did.

Somebody loved you, once. The voice is the man who helped him find his way out, who gave him a plastic feather he still keeps, that he brought with him here, rings through his mind.

He tries to remember the hope he'd felt at those words.

They lie to us all. Somebody loved you.

He pinned everything on the sincerity in the man's voice, in the look in his wide green eyes

Was he wrong?

"I'll give you the night to get used to your new room," Mr. Martin says, gesturing a little to the empty space, the little bed, the blank walls. The barred window. "We have breakfast every morning at 8 am, but you're free to come downstairs whenever you like and just scrounge around until you find something, if you'd prefer. We have lots of cold cereal, hard-boiled eggs, that kind of thing. We do ask that you not begin cooking until we've seen what you can do. Lunch is at 12:30, dinner at 6:30. Again, snack as you need to, absolutely every food that isn't labeled with a name is yours."

Rafael swallows. "I-I can't read, sir."

"Mr. Martin."

"... right. Mr. Martin."

"And I assumed as much, Romantics usually can't. Just check for black marker, and if you see black marker, assume someone's got a name on that, okay?" He smiles, and Rafael smiles back.

Romantics can return a smile even if they're bleeding.

"Yes, s-... Mr. Martin. I understand." His fingers tighten around the nylon of the backpack someone at the bookstore had given him. Everything he has fits in there - some extra clothes, some extra underwear - he's never worn underwear before but he likes it, he likes the added barrier between his skin and the world that would lay its hands on him.

His plastic feather from the man at the museum is in there, he goes to sleep every night rubbing his fingers over the vanes, remembering the way the other man had looked, so insistent on helping him be saved.

He would hate to disappoint him by being bad at freedom when he was so, so good at being a pet.

"Great. Let me know if anyone gives you trouble. We've been working on it, but some of our people can be a little... well, reluctant. There's a lot of bad experiences, you know?"

Bad experiences with people like him. Romantics. Pets that get the good treatment, who know how to arch their back and bite their lip and make their gaze warm and liquid. Pets that sneak and snitch and curry favor and suck up and lay back and-

And have it easy.

It never felt easy. It felt like hell on earth.

Rafael licks at his lips and slowly nods. "I will."

"Perfect. Okay, I'll leave you to it. Remember, breakfast at 8, but seriously - come downstairs and grab some food or something to drink whenever you want. We do timed showers just to make sure nobody fights over them, your shower slot's at 9:30, so... couple hours from now."

He just nods at this. He can read time, he can do that much. The numbers spin a little, get blurry, but he can do it.

Mr. Martin gives him another slight smile and then steps away, walking down the hall. Rafael hears whispers, and feels his cheeks burn as he understands it's the other rescues, and they're probably talking about him.

He knows what they're saying.

The same things the trainees said in his Facility.

Please, it hurts to live like this, I don't like it, I never liked it. Please believe me.

They won't. The others never do.

He closes the door, then turns and looks at his little room, all to himself. He shudders, a horrible loneliness already clawing its way up his throat.

He wants someone to hold him down on the bed and keep him there, to whisper that he's good, to hold his face in their hands and tell him what to do and when. Hell on earth with other people is better than heaven alone.

Assuming this is anything but oblivion.

What if all he did by escaping was make himself no longer exist?

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @symphony-of-greys @orchidscript @doveotions aaahhh I can't remember who asked for Rafael

#whump #whumpmasinjuly #wij21day18 #wij #prompt: support #box boy #box boy universe #bbu #past noncon #rafael is no one's saint #implied noncon references #escaped whumpee #conditioned whumpee #conditioning #angst #touch starved #internalized victim-blaming #victim-blaming #trauma recovery tw

115 notes · View notes

i-see-no-whump-up-here · 3 years

Text

Whumpmas in July (Day 18): Support

I’m wayyy behind, but here’s general lot a whumpee recovering from a traumatic experience with the love and support of their teammates.

CW: wholesome content, hospitals, long term recovery, therapy, therapy dog, probably PTSD but not officially

———

It’s two weeks before whumpee is allowed out of the hospital. They hate hospitals, so those two weeks suck, but their teammates try their best to help. On day 2, someone wheeled a tv into their hospital room, and thus the team collectively engaged in watching the longest-running shows they could find. They brought snacks and popcorn and the whumpee’s favorite drinks. The whumpee didn’t always want those snacks, but they felt bad that their friends had brought them, so they ate them anyway. It was a secret ploy from the teammates to make sure they got food in their stomachs.

—

The day the whumpee left the hospital, their best friend brought their favorite sweatpants, shirt, and fluffy sweater. They borrowed a friend’s car to bring the whumpee back to their shared home, instead of just calling an Uber. The less stale, the better.

—

The whumpee hid around the base for a week, piling under blankets and watching even more movies. Their teammates didn’t push at first. They brought their own blankets, dimmed the lights, ordered fast food for lunch, and home-cooked the whumpee’s favorite meals for dinner

When it was time to push them out, the first trip was to the grocery store. A teammate took them to the store to get supplies for spaghetti bolognese. It was a simple recipe. The base already had most supplies, so all they needed to get was pasta, ground meat, and tomato sauce. The teammate stayed a pace behind the whumpee, letting them pick the speed. Usually, they wandered off and paced the aisles while the cooking-inclined teammates did the shopping. This time, they stayed close, making sure the whumpee knew they were there if needed.

“Can we make cookies?” The whumpee asked— their first request in a while. The teammate beamed, and they took some pressure off the whumpee by leading the way to the frozen cookie dough.

—

The whumpee sat in the waiting room of the therapist’s office, staring at the door. They wanted to leave. They wanted to run. A different teammate than the grocery store grabs their hand and squeezes it.

“It’s ok. You don’t have to talk more than you want to,” They promise. The therapist calls the both of them back. “I’ll leave after introductions, unless you want me to stay.”

They enter the therapist’s office, and a fluffy dog wags their tail from a dog bed in the corner. “That’s Max,” The therapist says. “I heard you like dogs, so he’s here to help if you want him.” The dog lays their head and paws in the whumpee’s lap as they timidly recount some of the events before their captivity.

The next outing is to a favorite restaurant. The team chooses it because customers order and then sit down, so they get their food immediately, but they can leave whenever they want. There’s only one door that the whumpee needs to watch. The whumpee gets through most of their meal before it becomes too much, and they hide in the bathroom.

One teammate follows and quietly sits with them until they’re ready to go. They sheepishly apologizing for ruining the meal. “That’s ok,” The team lies. “We we’re about to leave anyway. We got your food boxed up.”

—

The whumpee slowly re-engages with the world, always on their own terms, and always with as many teammates as they want. Every step of the way, if they want to take a step back instead, it’s okay. They’ll recover when they’re ready. They start to attend team practices again, and nobody gets angry when they run out during drills that are mandatory for everyone else. When it’s time to go back in the field, every enemy who looks their way is taken down easily or beaten to a pulp for putting one scratch on the whumpee. After a couple months, the whumpee holds their own. Things are okay.

#nameless whumpee #whump #wij21day18 #several days late #at least I did it #whumpmas in july #team dynamics #support #recovery #trauma #long term captivity #therapy dogs #max the therapy dog #action whumpee

29 notes · View notes

whumpapalooza · 3 years

Text

Day 18: creation prompt - support

@whumpmasinjuly

Beep-boop, time for some space intern OCs!

It was their first job. A simple job: get coffee. Except there was no coffee produced on Anemoi.

Blare was sure that this was an initiation thing – send the interns off-world, give them a fetch quest – but she was so thirsty for assignment that she accepted the task without question.

So, in a roundabout way, it was her own fault that they were in this predicament.

“Ptahfi – Ptahfi!” Blare hissed, shaking the engineer’s shoulder. He didn’t stir.

Blare could hear shouts behind her, no doubt from the hostiles who had thrown Ptahfi into the wall. She could hear DiHonos and Nic’hel shouting back. Their shadows loomed over Blare and Ptahfi; they had moved to defend their prone fellow.

Blare lifted Ptahfi’s head and grimaced – there was a bloody gash on his left temple. Blare looked up at the final member of their crew, and the only non-human. “Hecatezen, you’re a physician,” she said. “What do we do?”

Hecatezen knelt down and took Ptahfi’s head into his scaly hands. He placed Ptahfi’s head in his lap and began to inspect him. “I will assume control,” the Hecatean said without looking up. “I believe your skills are needed elsewhere.”

Blare cast one last glance at Ptahfi before getting to her feet and standing with DiHonos and Nic’hel.

“Look, look – there’s got to be another solution, here,” DiHonos was saying, his hands raised in a peaceful gesture.

“Yeah,” Nic’hel added. She made a dramatic gesture behind her. “You don’t just fling people into walls!”

The lead hostile snarled something in Auran.

Blare scoffed. She lifted her chin and replied coolly in the hostiles’ native tongue. The hostiles blinked at her in surprise.

“That’s right,” Blare said in Standard. “You’ve just assaulted an agent of the SCS. I suggest you get lost before you make things worse for yourself.”

The hostiles looked to their leader anxiously. The Auran mustered a glare at Blare, but then turned and dismissed his unit. They scattered through the outpost.

“Well, that was fun,” Nic’hel grunted.

DiHonos turned around. “Oh, Libra, that’s a lot of blood,” he said in a queasy voice. Blare and Nic’hel turned around and saw Hecatezen pressing a cloth to Ptahfi’s temple. Red was already soaking through.

“We need to get him back to Aegis,” Blare said. “Hecatezen, can he be moved?”

Hecatezen’s tail tip twitched. “It’s preferable that he stir, first,” he said.

Then, as if on cue, Ptahfi did. He groaned, then his eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, his eyes were unfocused. But as he regained consciousness, and he realized he was on the ground, his eyes began to dart back and forth with alarm.

“You’re alright,” Nic’hel said. Her eyes flicked to Hecatezen. “Right?”

Hecatezen helped Ptahfi sit up. “I will examine you further back on the craft, but I anticipate a swift recovery.”

“What – what happened?” Ptahfi asked.

“Ah, apparently we cut the line,” DiHonos said, his eyes avoidant of Ptahfi’s wound. “Pissed off some locals.” He offered Ptahfi a hand. Nic’hel offered her hand, as well. Ptahfi took both hands and allowed himself to be pulled up. He stumbled a bit. Nic’hel and DiHonos stepped forward and threw Ptahfi’s arms over their shoulders.

Blare looked over at Hecatezen. “We can go, then?” she asked. Hecatezen nodded and got to his feet.

“You’re not leaving without your order, are you?” Blare turned around to see the barista holding out a box of coffee pods. “You already paid and everything,” the barista added.

Blare accepted the box and led the way out of the trading post. Nic’hel and DiHonos supported Ptahfi between them, and Hecatezen brought up the rear – no doubt monitoring Ptahfi’s unsteady steps the entire way.

At the time, it had seemed a good idea to land their craft over the horizon. They didn’t want to draw attention to themselves, after all. But now the walk back was agonizingly slow, and Blare could hear Ptahfi’s stifled grunts and groans as he was guided back to Aegis.

Ptahfi’s face looked paler every time Blare glanced back.

Once Aegis came into view, Blare heard DiHonos murmur something. “Almost there,” he said to Ptahfi. “Not much further, buddy.”

Ptahfi said nothing, just gave a grunt as he took another step that jostled his head.

Blare readjusted her grip on the coffee box. She maneuvered it into one arm, then reached up with her free hand and tapped thrice at the crest on her sternum. From yards away, Aegis hummed in response. The ramp lowered for them.

“Got a little climb,” DiHonos warned Ptahfi. There was no response, not even a grunt.

“You still with us, Chuck?” Nic’hel asked.

There was a pause. “My name’s Glen.” Ptahfi’s voice was confused.

“Yeah, but you just got chucked into a wall.”

DiHonos gave a snort of amusement. Blare shot Nic’hel a stern glance, but Nic’hel’s gap-toothed grin didn’t fade.

Blare wasn’t looking forward to reporting back to the SCS. Ptahfi had been hurt on her watch. (While it wasn’t explicitly stated that she was in charge, it was implied when they gave her the helm of Aegis.)

It had been their first job, a simple job, and someone had gotten hurt. If Blare was back home on Minerva, her aunt would have called it a bad omen for their internship. She hoped it was wrong – just another stupid superstition.

But, as they settled Ptahfi in the Medical Bay, Blare couldn’t help but think that this internship would be a lot more dangerous than she’d expected.

#whumpmasinjuly #wij #wij21day18 #whump #whumpfic #whump fic #oc #space intern ocs #ficlet #glen ptahfi #blare minervas #brando dihonos #tabby nic'hel #slipper hecatezen #sci fi #sci fi writing #sci fi whump #support #head injury

10 notes · View notes

whumpmasinjuly · 3 years

Text

Whumpmas in July - Day 18

Day 18: creation prompt - support

Two warriors, guarding each other in the thick of battle. A hero, carrying their wounded teammate on their shoulder, never leaving them to run for safety. A loving caretaker, staying by their friend's side through the ups and downs of a painful recovery.

Not whumpy enough for you?

Take away those supports and see what happens.

Write, draw, create—and don’t forget to tag us @whumpmasinjuly and #whumpmasinjuly when you do!

#whump #whump community #whumpmasinjuly #infowhumpmasinjuly #infowij21 #wij21day18 #wijprompt

6 notes · View notes

vanne-whump · 3 years

Text

Hydrophobia

WIJ Day Eighteen: Support @whumpmasinjuly

OCs: Kay Edwards, London Friar

Content Warnings: Past Trauma, Drowning Mention

Sun was beating down on Kay’s already burned back as he sat by the tide pool, feet dangling in the water as he watched London swim laps. After the insistence that Kay wouldn't get into the water, because he didn’t want to, he had started counting laps for London.

Kay had counted seventy-four so far, but came to a stop when London swam across to him and caught hold of the concrete near where Kay had chosen to sit.

He looked up at Kay, with wet hair slicked back and droplets of seawater dripping over his soft features. The golden light emanating from behind Kay lit up London's face in a way that only made Kay love him more.

“You should get in, the water’s nice, I promise,” London mumbled, gaze tilted upwards to meet Kay’s eyes.

“Hm, yeah, I know, I’m okay just watching,” Kay responded half-heartedly. “Maybe a little later?”

London pushed himself up and out of the water, sitting beside Kay on the edge of the pool and leaned on him playfully.

“Come on, just do a lap with me and then I’ll leave you alone!” he glanced over to Kay and the grin returned to his face.

Kay just shook his head as he tried to come up with an acceptable excuse. “I didn’t bring a towel with me–” It was weak at best.

“You can share mine,” London reasoned. “Really, Kay, get in.”

Kay kicked his feet in the water as he tried to ignore London’s encouragement. What he couldn't ignore was London’s hand on his cheek, turning Kay’s head ever so slightly. Just enough to make Kay look at him.

“Is something wrong?” London finally asked, gently rubbing his thumb over Kay’s cheekbone. “If you’re not having fun, we can just go and get ice-cream?”

“It’s not that.”

“Kay, talk to me. What’s wrong? We can’t fix it if you won’t tell me what the problem is.”

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Promise.”

He didn’t want to do this, but London had asked. And he deserved to know. He had promised not to laugh and Kay knew by now that he would honour that.

“I never learned how to swim,” he confessed quietly, having returned his gaze to the pool, “I meant to, but it just never happened.”

“I’ll teach you,” London offered.

“It’s not just that. I – it’s ridiculous, I know, but when I was with Isaac...” Kay closed his eyes, the grip on the back of his neck holding him underwater until he no longer struggled, feeling stronger now than it did then. “He liked having power and he knew that I wasn’t the best in the water. He would hold me under.” Kay swallowed hard and rubbed the back of his neck, as if it would erase the memory.

“Kay... you didn’t have to come. If I knew –” London was cut off before he could finish his sentence.

“It’s fine. You didn’t know.”

“I should have, though. I’m your boyfriend, I should know things like this about you,” London protested gently. “I want to know these kinds of things about you.”

“It’s not important. You know now.”

“Kay? Look at me?”

Kay did as he was asked, feeling London’s hand brush against his cheek again. He knew what London was asking and nodded. Slowly, London leant forward and kissed Kay. The salted kiss lasted mere moments, but it was more than enough.

“I’m not going to make you get in the water, ever, but if you want to, I’ll be here to support you. You know that, right?”

“I know... What if you get in first? I – I want to get over this. I can’t let him control me anymore,” Kay gritted his teeth and looked at the pool in front of him. “Promise that it’ll be okay?”

“I promise. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.” London promised, shifting away from Kay and pushing himself back into the water, going under for a moment before coming up for air. He wiped the hair out of his face before finding his feet and offering his hands out to Kay.

Hesitantly, Kay took them, but didn't move from where he was sitting. London gave his hands a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

Kay was far more careful when he finally moved from the edge of the pool, keeping hold of London's hands for balance as he dropped into the water. He struggled to stay afloat, coughing as he inhaled droplets of seawater. London immediately helped him balance and put both his feet on the pool floor. One hand still laced with Kay’s, the other on his waist to steady him.

“How’s this? You okay?” London asked, concern flitting across his soft features.

“Yeah... yeah... this is okay,” Kay nodded.

London was quiet as he slowly released Kay from his grip, taking a step back, further into the pool. Almost instantly, Kay stumbled forward and grabbed hold of him.

“Don’t – Can you stay beside me?” He asked faintly. “I – I need you beside me.”

“Okay, don’t worry about it. I’m here for you. No matter what.”

Kay forced a smile and nodded. For a few minutes, he was silent until London spoke again.

“You’re doing amazing, this is really brave of you,” he murmured. “Do you want to get out?”

Kay nodded reluctantly. “It feels stupid of me. You’re not scared of anything and –“

“Not scared of anything?” London scoffed, beginning to guide Kay back to the edge of the pool. “Try snakes and heights. Pull yourself up?”

Kay leant backwards and pulled himself out of the water, exhaling sharply now the pressure around his chest was gone. It hadn’t been that bad. And London was right. Nothing bad had happened.

“Snakes?”

“Mhmm. How about we take a trip to a petting zoo? I’ll work on snakes, and you can work on water. So you don’t feel so alone?”

“You would do that for me?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

#whumpmasinjuly #wij #day eighteen #wij21day18 #OC: Kay Edwards #OC: London Friar #WIP: Lost in London #My Writing #whump community #whumpee #caretaker #drowning #facing fear #whump writing #whump #whump series

1 note · View note