#white shirt of whumping

[redvanillabee]

much as I like to say that the 2x10 ending deals psychic damage, i do have to hand it to the agent carter team for respecting the Drama of It All and giving us some delicious blood on white shirt of whumping as the closing shot

[whumpdoyoumean]

From Rahul Kohli's Instagram story

[b0amagination]

Home Is Where The Fanart Is

Happy Fanuary! What's Fanuary, you ask? It's my own little excuse to draw some very long overdue art for my friends, and develop better style with lineart at the same time!

Without further ado, I started with an author whose work captivates me in a truly indescribable way. It would be truly terrifying to a hacker to see how often I'm on her blog rereading an old favorite or an entire story. I will never be able to find the words to explain the magic of her storytelling, but I sure try my damndest every time.

Kirsten @whumblr 's Zayne and Jay of HIWTHI have had a deathgrip on my soul since the first chapter back in 2020 and, though I've drawn them before, once was never going to be enough.

And, well, maybe I figured out the plot of this interaction and impulsively wrote fanfiction. At the end of the cut are a few bonus detail shots as well <3

Content warnings: Belting, forced stripping (partial, not sexual), and canon-typical home invasion.

~~~

“Aren’t you tired of this old song and dance?” Zayne flashed him an unimpressed look, then glanced down at his own outstretched hand. Still empty. 

“I am. Glad you finally agree,” he huffed and brushed past, only to be caught by the collar of his button down. The grip tightened and pulled him, stumbling, face to face with his unwelcome visitor. His eyes cast down. 

“Then why is that belt still around your waist?” 

Jay bristled. He knew damn well how long his day had been, because he’d started unloading it on Zayne the moment he arrived home. If it weren’t for the sudden order that cut him off, his tormentor would have still been listening to that afternoon’s office melodrama. The last thing he needed was to present his battered body on a platter before the long weekend. 

“I have more than one, you know. If you can rummage through my fridge, you can give my closet a passing glance every now and again.” Regret only came on after handing him an open invitation to look through more of Jay’s belongings, but he suspected Zayne had already done more than his fair share of that.

“As it happens, I was looking for this particular belt.” He drew a finger along the smooth leather. “If you’re craving ice cream, an ice lolly just won’t cut it.”

“Does the trick for me,” Jay shot back and turned away down the hallway. “Here, I’ll show you where they are.” His brisk pace far too closely resembled running, and the heart pounding in his throat mimicked that well. He’d hung last time’s belt separately when he remembered he didn’t have the funds to simply keep discarding them. Probably the same reason Zayne didn’t care to use it again.

Just like a cat. The moment something was designated his, his interest dissipated. 

On an instinctual level, Jay knew he wouldn’t make it to the bedroom, but some part of him still had the audacity to be surprised when a hand twisted his hair and flung him toward the wall. Even though his shoulder took the brunt of the impact, the blow to the head was enough to skew his glasses. Jay leaned back and raised a hand to set them straight when Zayne took hold of his shirt and yanked it from his trousers.

“Get off!” In finding a stable place to lean back, Jay had unwittingly trapped himself against the wall where a knee now dug into his hip, holding him still enough to free one button, then another. He wrapped fingers around Zayne’s wrist. “The hell are you doing?!”

“Why don’t you deduce that yourself, Jayboy? Surely you can be a more reliable source than your coworker found.” A fist drove into his gut and Jay lost his grip, allowing the shirt to be shucked off him and thrown aside. 

“You could’ve just asked!” He tried to swallow the clear hypocrisy. Somehow, he only happened to think these plans through about two minutes after initiating them, and wondered how he hadn’t already anticipated the outcome.

“Try giving the same order three times in a row. See how patient you are when your punching bag cusses you out,” Zayne shrugged, reaching for the undershirt next when Jay hugged his waist in protest. He didn’t understand why Zayne held him by the hip instead until nimble fingers flicked out the end of his belt, pulled to free the buckle’s prong, and whipped it out in a single flourish. 

“On your knees.”

“Wait, wait- fuck!” The full length cut across his front, only shielded by thin cotton, but the familiar sting throbbed on his jaw. A tentative touch found hot, angry skin just below his cheek. “That was my face, Zayne!” 

“You clearly don’t care to heed my requests today. I don’t see any reason to return the favor.” He doubled the leather over and tilted his head.

Finally Jay made eye contact, turned his back, and slid to his knees. 

“No. Face me.”

“I’m not letting you bust my lip with a belt!” 

He’d already resigned himself to the shove when it came and caught himself just before he hit the wall again. Zayne’s boot landed on his ankle and couldn’t hold back a smile at the yelp it forced out. 

“Then you’d better get your arms up and make sure I can’t.”

[whump-in-the-closet]

Whumpee putting a hand into their jacket, wincing, and pulling the hand out dripping red.

The blood pools at their fingertips, staining their nails. All they can do is stare, vision clouding as they stumble backwards.

[whumpees]

Nothing like a man bleeding out through a white shirt

[aceofwhump]

White is my fav! 😍❤️🤍

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

unpopular opinion but whump should and deserves to be messy

"Yeah duh there's plenty of scenarios with blood and tears--" no. I want more.

I want pink tinted spit dribbling out of Whumpee's mouth. I want strings of saliva connecting between their busted lip to Whumper's tongue. I want drool running down the corners of their mouths because of a gag that makes it difficult to swallow.

I want sweat making Whumpee feel sticky and clammy to the touch. I want their skin to be slick and soaking into their soiled clothes. I want them to squirm in discomfort of a dirty shirt clinging to their back from precious fluids that are going to risk further dehydration. I want their hair to be continuously damp and hanging in thick strands in their face.

I want the scabs to turn white with pus and black with infection. I want old wounds to tear open and bleed a thick red. I want the pink flesh underneath to pulse and quiver, the sight of yellow fat and cartilage. I want blood vessels and capillaries to burst and spread over an area, I want burns to start brown and peel away to a tender pink.

I want Whumpee to vomit out of their nose because their mouth is gagged. I want bile to reek on their clothing and on their tongue. I want them to grow use to the taste of bitter blood and burning chyme forever in the back of their throat. I want them to have to snort and hack to be able to spit out whatever was still caught on their tongue or risk swallowing it down.

I want their tears to remain unwiped and crusting over their eyes. I want snot to smear over their cheeks and leave their lips uncomfortably tacky. I want their face to remain blotchy and red because they just can't get it clean. I want dirt and blood and skin to build up under their fingernails to the point they risk infecting their own wounds if they try and mess with it. I want Whumpee to only be sprayed down with cold water and an old towel, never any soap and never in all the creases of their body.

I want their bodies caked in grime and viscera and bodily fluids. I want Whumper to never give them the luxury of feeling clean and in fact actively making them more filthy each time. I want Whumpee's clothes yellowed and their hair matted and their skin sickly. I want injuries to never properly heal so that the only option is to amputate the necrosis. I want Whumper to force Whumpee to clean up whatever kind of mess they made by licking it off the floor.

I want arteries to spew like a garden sprinkler. I want the exposed roots of pulled teeth to dangle freely in their mouth. I want Whumpee's hair, including all of their body hair, to grow to unruly lengths that are constantly tangled and ingrown. I want them to find comfort in starving because it means there's nothing to risk throwing up. I want them to scrub their skin raw and bleeding, uncaring how much it aggravates their injuries or how the soap stings, the first chance they're given for a real bath.

I want it to be nasty!!!!!!

[mama2bears]

Matters Of The Heart

This was a request messaged to me by @lonewolf830. I am going to try to drag this out and make a little longer story out of your idea. I hope you like the direction it goes!

Pairings: Scott/F.Reader(Scott is an ass), future Tyler/F.Reader

Warnings: A few swear words. Tornado damage. (Future Chapters will have Whump, hurt/comfort, and angst.) Inaccurate weather stuff

Summary: You are new to Storm Par and Tyler Owens is already chasing you. Scott has already asked you out on a date and warned you against Tyler, so you brush off Tyler, believing everything Scott has told you. However, when you are put in danger, it's always Tyler running to your rescue. You begin to wonder if maybe Tyler isn't all that bad after all.

Chapter 1

You were standing in the parking lot, gazing out over the horizon at the building storm clouds. The wind gently blew though your hair. A large group of storm chasers were gathering in preparation for the upcoming expected tornado outbreak across Oklahoma. This was your first day on the job with the Storm Par company. Your job was to track the storm's location and they were to follow it, gather information, and for reason's you didn't yet understand, you were suppose to help get property information on the places that got destroyed.

The sudden blare of country music filled the air along with the roar of an engine. You look up to see a red Dodge Ram pull in followed by a van and RV. A guy in a white cowboy hat and sun glasses gets out as a crowd surround the truck.

“If you feel it....” he yelled.

“CHASE IT!!!” the crowd yells back.

“I said IF YOU FEEL IT....” He yelled a little louder and the crowd responded with “CHASE IT!”

You watched for a few moments as he was laughing and signing autographs as he posed for photos.

“Alright you tornado nerds!” a woman yelled from the RV, holding some shirts up. Everyone flocked to her with money in hand.

You shook your wondering what kind of crazy that group of storm chasers were, and why did it seem like everyone loved them so much. The wind shifted and you turned your attention back to the sky.

“Hey. I'm Tyler. You new to chasing?” a deep voice came from behind.

You turned to see the guy in the white cowboy hat that was just surrounded by a group of fans. You couldn't help but notice the sparkle in his green eyes when he took off his glasses, or the way he smiled, the stumbled face.

“Yeah, first day.” you gave him a soft smile, “I am Y/N.” you extend a hand to him.

His rough callused hand felt strong and warm, yet tender as he shook your hand, “What team you with?” he asked.

“Storm Par.”

“Oh...them.” Tyler rolled his eyes. “You can do better then that, you know.”

“What's wrong with Storm Par? They seem like a really nice company, and the pay is great.”

“Y/N! Let's go!” Scott, your partner barked from across the parking lot.

“Well, gotta go.” you gave Tyler another smile. “It was really nice to meet you. You seem to have quite the following.”

“I do.” he nodded and tipped his cowboy hat at you, “Nice to meet you too, Y/N.”

Standing there, he watched you walk away, his eyes following the movement of your butt swaying. 'Hope to see you again soon.' he thought to himself.

“Hey.” you call to Scott as you get in the truck, “Looks like we need to head west.”

“What the hell were you doing talking to Owens?” Scott yelled, causing you to jump.

“Owens? His name was Tyler.” you say, a bit startled, “He was just being nice, introducing himself.”

“Tyler OWENS is his name, and he's nothing but trouble. Stay away from him.” Scott muttered, looking at the data on the laptop you held. “You sure about the west? I think the East holds more promise.” he muttered.

“Go west. Trust me.” you smile at him.

“Fine. West it is. But if you're wrong, it's your ass. Not mine.” He sped out of the parking lot.

“Come on. Let's go.” Tyler jumped into the truck, seeing the same thing you just had. “We're going west.”

“What's so wrong with Tyler?” you ask once on the road.

“He's Mr. YouTube star. He sells merch to make a buck off of everyone. He's got a new girl every night it seems. He thinks he's some Mr. Big shot, better then everyone else. He reels you in with that Mr. Nice Guy act and then he uses you for whatever you're good for and tosses you out like trash.”

“Oh.” you are taken aback by Scott's harsh words. Tyler didn't come across as that type of person from your first meeting, but...that was one meeting. He was selling stuff and he did have a large following. You could believe what Scott was telling you. After all, Scott had been doing this for several years and probably knew Tyler a lot better then you would have from just a quick meeting. “Thanks for the warning.” you gave a smile to Scott.

“Oh come on, you didn't actually fall for his act? Did you?” Scott looked over at you with a look of disbelief.

“Well...I mean...he wasn't bad to look at and he was nice.” you grin with a shrug.

“Really, Y/N? I thought you were smarter then that.”

“Make a right here.” you say. “I was just going off my first impression. I am sure I would have figured him out pretty quickly on my own...but seriously, thank you for the warning. I can avoid that heartbreak.”

Scott pulls off to the right and follows a dirt road. “Avoid him all together. He's bad news.” he muttered, “Hey, if you want to go out and have a good time, let me know. I'll take you out. I am not a womanizer like he is.”

“Oh, is that so?” you grin, “You mean to tell me someone as nice looking as you doesn't have a girlfriend?”

“Nope.” Scott shook his head, “Not many girls want to go chasing after tornadoes.” he shoots you a look, his eyes seemly undressing you and he grins, “What you say, sweetie? Go out with me tonight?”

You shrug, “Okay, sure. If it's not against company policy or anything.”

“Not at all.” Scott grins, “We'll go down to the Reno bar tonight. It's right down the road from the hotel. Sound good?”

“Sure...” you start to say and then scream, “SCOTT! WATCH OUT!”

Music blasts from the speakers as Tyler's red Dodge Ram cuts you off. He is yelling something at you, but over the music and Scott cussing, you can't hear what it is...you don't really care at the moment.

“Asshole!” Scott was yelling as he fought to get the truck back on the road.

Suddenly, Tyler turned his truck sideways, blocking your path.

“What the HELL man!” Scott rolls down his window yelling.

“TURN AROUND! It's an EF 5 up ahead! Check your data again. You can't drive THAT truck into an EF5! I wouldn't drive MY truck into one. TURN AROUND!” Tyler yelled.

“Fuck you man!” Scott tried to drive around but Tyler pulled forward, bumping into the white Storm Par truck.

“Listen, if you want to get yourself killed, go for it! But don't be taking her into that!” Tyler yelled, his eyes locking on yours. “Y/N, check the data. Am I right?”

You frantically punch the keys on the laptop refreshing the screen. “Oh my God.” you gasp. “Scott, he's right. It's MASSIVE! We gotta turn around.”

“Fine...Whatever.” Scott turns the truck around and glares at you, “Why the hell did you tell me to go this way if it's an EF5! YOU told me to turn right. I did that!”

“It wasn't that big when I checked it last! It just blew up!” you try to defend yourself. This was a great first impression. “Sorry.” you muttered.

“Just...pay more attention next time.” he said.

“I will.” you mutter, refreshing the feed again on the laptop, “Looks like the tornado is moving to the west. It's out of the town now. We should go back there and see if we can be of any help. I can't imagine the destruction..”

Scott pulls the truck into a parking lot and glares at you, “If you are going to work with Storm Par, you've got to understand time is money. We don't get paid to help people. We get paid for the storm data, we get paid for the property data...we don't get paid to help. That's someone else's job...not ours.”

You nod and he turns around heading back into town. As you drive though, you see houses and businesses completely leveled. You notice Tyler's truck parked among the rumble and he was climbing over a destroyed house calling for what you guessed was a dog. The woman from the RV was selling stuff from the back of it and another girl was walking around with food and water, passing them out.

It looked like they were helping, but you also could see what Scott said about them selling stuff was true.

“It's all a show.” Scott's voice cuts into your thoughts. “They brag about how much they help so they can get more money from their followers and more people will want to buy shirts. They aren't really helping, they're only promoting themselves.” he scoffed.

You sigh as he stops the truck, “Here. Go give our card to everyone who's lost their home or business. Tell them we make cash offers for their properties. Get information from all who are interested and then run some numbers for us. See what the property value is and make sure we find out what kind of insurance they have.”

“Scott, are you sure this is the right time for that? I mean, they JUST lost everything...should we really be swooping in offering to buy whatever they have left?” you frown. Your heart broke for these people and this idea just wasn't sitting right with you.

“It's our job. It's what we do.” Scott sighed, “Seriously Y/N. I thought you were excited about this job! So far all you've done was almost got us killed and complained! If we don't get to them now someone else will and we will lose out on that money.”

“Alright. You're right. I am sorry. I am just trying to learn this job.” you sigh and get out of the truck, walking up to a lady and introducing yourself. She was in tears. “I am so sorry. If you need anything, call us at Storm Par.” you give her a hug. “Did you have insurance on the house?”

“No.” the woman cried shaking her head.

“I am so sorry.” your heart broke for her, “Storm Par would be willing to make a cash offer on your land. If that's the road you want to take, give us a call.”

“Okay.” she mumbled, and walked away calling for her cat.

“Hey, Y/N...close call there.” Tyler jogged up to your side. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Thank you. For stopping us. It's my fault, I should have been paying attention.”

Tyler frowned, “It's not your fault. That storm just exploded. We were following it too. It didn't look that big and then wham, all of a sudden it was a monster. Once you guys got turned around we drove on into town to try to warn as many people as possible and get them into shelter.”

You nod, “And sell your brand, I see.”

“What's that suppose to mean?” Tyler frowned.

“Don't worry. Scott told me all about you and what you do.” you turn and walk away in a huff.

“Did he also tell you what Storm Par is all about?” Tyler yelled after you.

“Hey there, beautiful.” Scott runs up to you after seeing that you were talking to Tyler, “Is he bothering you again?”

“Nothing I can't handle.” you smile at Scott, “I am really sorry I messed things up before.”

“It's okay. It's your first day. You'll learn. What did you find out on the properties?” he asked.

“That lady there has no insurance. I gave her a card and told her Storm Par would be interested.”

“Good girl. See, you're getting it.” Scott pulls you into a hug and looks back to see Tyler glaring at him. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, “I am looking forward to our date tonight.”

You blush slightly as Scott winks at you and jogs back to the truck.

“Hey, you want water or food or anything?” A girl asks. You recognize her as one of the people on Tyler's crew. “No, I am good. I am not giving you any money.”

“It's not about the money. We give away food and water when we get to a disaster scene. That's why we sell the merchandise. We sell to those who are able to afford to buy it. We give to those who can not. We give away almost as many shirts as we sell. The money we get from the sales goes to buy food and water for the victims and volunteers helping.”

“Oh. I had heard something different.” you say, “I am still okay. We've got stuff back in the truck and I am heading there to run some numbers for them.”

“Okay, whatever. If you change your mind come on over. We have plenty.” she walked away, handing out a sandwich and water to the woman you spoke to earlier.

You walk slowly back to the truck and get in, hearing Scott talking to someone on the phone about buying properties and who didn't have good insurance and those who did. Scott hanged up and gave you smile. “Let's go get something to eat.”

“I don't think that's a great idea right now.” you say, looking at the radar. “Look, this cell to the south is looking bad.”

Scott glances at it and shrugs, “I've seen worse. Let's go. I am hungry.”

Tyler looks at the sky to the south and watches as Scott turns and heads directly into the oncoming storm.

“Shit.” he muttered, then turned and waved at his team. “I'll be back in a bit.” he called and ran to his truck, firing it up and taking off after you and Scott. He didn't care if Scott wanted to get himself killed, but he'd be damned if he was going to let you be put in danger because of it.

[maracujatangerine]

93. Firelight

CW: institutional slavery, pet whump, dehumanisation, box boy universe

The snow glittered in the moonlight. It lay undisturbed and soft like a feather down duvet all over the lawn, the trees, and the roofs of the other houses. Brutus looked despondently out the window, then paced across the room and looked out at the same view from a slightly different angle.

Master and Mistress had just left the house in a haze of sparkly red dress, fine, dark grey suit, fragrant perfume and red-bottomed heels clattering against the wooden floors.

”Down, boy! I won’t need you tonight.” Master had told him. ”This is the sort of party that will have their own security.” He’d added, with a smiling glance at Mistress Cecilia, who was adjusting an errant strand of her up-do in the floor-length hall mirror.

And then they were gone…

And Brutus worried. As usual.

The guard dog tried to convince himself that his Master knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop himself from restlessly wandering from room to room in the huge apartment.

As he was staring out yet another window, multicoloured lights from the Christmas tree falling over his face, Absalom silent-footedly appeared next to his elbow.

Today, the romantic wore a white shirt, marine trousers and a bow-tie in midnight-blue silk. A sapphire mounted in silver spilled down from his collar, catching the light in undersea reflections.

“Make a fire.” He said.

Brutus started at the unexpected request.

”But… But Master and Mistress just left. Did they really ask for a fire?”

Absalom stared out the window, then slowly turned his head to look at Brutus. Blue eyes meeting dark brown. Smooth, glossy brown hair like a waterfall framing his pale face.

”Make a fire for me.” Absalom clarified. His facial expression neutral, his voice toneless, but there was something in his eyes that hinted of this being a very heartfelt desire indeed.

Brutus was going to refuse. To tell the pet that he could do it himself, if he wanted to risk their owners’ anger. True, they had not forbidden the pets from making a fire, but they had never told them to do so either. It was hardly worth the risk, the room was warm enough already. But that hint of something stopped him.

Instead, Brutus gave a curt nod and turned to kneel in front of the fireplace. It was the guard dog’s task to make sure the firewood rack was filled, and he did it diligently.

The wood was dry, Brutus had already prepared smaller pieces of wood and strips of bitch bark in a basket next to the rack. It was quick work to build a neat staple of pieces of wood, with the kindling and bark in the centre. He could not deny a small sense of satisfaction as he lit the match and watched the yellow and orange flames eagerly catch in the firewood. Brutus carefully fed some smaller pieces of wood to the fire, guarding its progress. When he was satisfied the fire was well established, he tidied up the leftover kindling and put the matches back on their designated place.

Just as the guard dog got to his feet, Absalom came in through the door. He carried a silver tray, his back as straight and his movements as elegant as if he was serving their owners. On the tray was two thick glass cups filled with steaming wine that gleamed a deep ruby red in the firelight. There was also a plate with gingerbread cookies decorated with white icing in shapes of hearts and snowflakes.

With a flourish, Absalom held out the tray to Brutus. The large man just stared at him quizzically.

”Don’t worry, darling.” Absalom said. ”There are lots of leftovers from their get-together on Wednesday. They will never know.”

Brutus still hesitated. Their eyes met. Absalom smiled, just a little. Brutus nervously pulled a hand through his black hair, but finally took the proffered cup.

The romantic gracefully sank down in front of the fireplace, placing the silver tray with the cookies on the floor. He took a drink and cradled the warm glass cup in both hands. Brutus sat down next to him and sipped his drink cautiously.

The mulled wine was warm, and sweet, and strong. The taste and scent of it filling his senses. It was rare that Brutus tasted anything like it, and for a moment, he was completely absorbed.

When he glanced over at Absalom, the other pet was looking into the flames. The orange firelight reflecting in his eyes. His face was impassive, his breathing calm, but silent tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Brutus watched him with astonishment. He’d never seen Absalom show emotion in any way like this before. The guard dog wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. Absalom’s quick wit could scratch like cat’s claws, if he was displeased.

He couldn’t just ignore it, either.

Slowly, Brutus reached out and laid his muscular hand on the pet’s thin shoulder. Absalom stiffened. For a second, Brutus thought the romantic might whip around to hit him.

Then, Absalom raised his own hand, thin and pale in comparison, and put it on top of Brutus’ hand on his shoulder. For a moment, they sat together and just watched the fire.

*

Fun Facts:

To drink warm, spiced wine has a long history, even the ancient Romans and Greeks did it. There are different versions of mulled wine across the world. In the Nordic countries, we drink glögg. It is a quite sweet version of mulled wine that most often is served with almonds and raisins.

Tag List Part 1:

@cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[daydreamwhumpinc]

Ah, it's the white shirt for me all the way. Especially if it's a dress shirt or like the fantasy, frilly one. You know the type LOL 😆

It doesn't make sense, but...

[whumpslist]

Red Eye's whumps' list

[referred to main character Dr. Matthew Nolan, portrayed by Richard Armitage]

Season 1

.01: running away and chased, bleeding wound at his flank and blood on his heads, almost passed out and into a car accident, bleeding head wound and wobbly, arrested and detained in the airport, bruised knuckles, patch-up stripped away and screaming in pain, daring escape from the airport police, handcuffed and hit at his flank, almost poisoned, upset and suspicious.

.02: grief for his colleagues' sudden death, rough fight and in pain for his his wound.

.03: memories of the previous night: drugged and wobbly, assaulted and stabbed in his flank, groaning and fought, running away and chased, bleeding wound at his flank and blood on his heads, almost passed out and into a car accident, white shirt stained with blood and holding his flank, moaning and mumbling, treated himself with improvised equipment (stapler and paperclips), trembling hands and almost collapsed, groaning in pain and heavily breathing; upset and panicking, grabbed by handcuffs and restrained, heavily breathing.

.04: groaning and blood from the wound, changed the dressing by himself, upset and agitated, punched at his wound and folding in pain, searched and moaning, tense and under gunpoint, throbbing wound and taking ibuprofen, handcuffed again, received upsetting news.

.05: reopened the wound on purpose and wincing, digged into the wound with fingers and crying out in pain, heavily breathing and groaning, wincing, under gunpoint and threatened, attacked and rough fight, repeatedly hit at his wound and cried out in pain, heavily breathing.

.06: back to the inicpit, with the stabbing and the car accident; upset and furious, under gunpoint, jumped in the path of the bullet to protect his friend and shot in the chest, collapsed on the ground groaning, passed out, into a hospital bed half conscious.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Could you explain the White Shirt of Doom from the bracket?

White Shirt of Doom is basically any time a white shirt gets bloody! Often paired with a dramatic injury reveal (my favorite), like this scene from Daredevil!

Or this one from Batman Begins (sorry I couldn't find a gif)!

[whumpsoda]

How did Florence end up as a pet?

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, betrayal, whumper turned whumpee, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpee

——————

He screamed again, impossibly louder this time, echoing over the fluorescent white plastered over the room’s entirety. The sounds clawed his throat red and raw, but he couldn’t stop. If he did, they’d have won. 

At the very beginning his yelling had contained actual words, curses and such, which had eventually twisted into fiery, fury filled cries of nonsense. It wouldn’t do anything for him, he knew, and yet he couldn’t allow himself to stop. He’d had so many trainees do the same, and he’d never so much as wished someone would listen until it was him. 

He desperately blinked away oncoming tears, a mixture of moisture made from unbridled anger and horror. Screaming, screaming, and screaming into the abyss, globs of spit flying past his lips as he fought tirelessly against the restraints with no give in return. 

Fuck this. Fuck this. 

Finally he slumped to the wall, cold and painfully white, the same he’d been surrounding himself with since he’d been accepted as a handler years ago, climbing up the ranks quick. He had pure talent in breaking in pets, and they were throwing him away, just like that? Just because someone made a mistake they shouldn’t have and he was the one deemed to take the blame?

They-

They couldn’t-

Oh, but they very much could.

WRU had been stealing people off the streets for God knows how long, what would be the issue in taking one of their very own? Soon enough they’d be using his very own techniques to knock the rocks out of his head, leaving him brainlessly groveling at their fucking feet. And he wouldn’t know any better, because they’d utilize the drip to get him there, wiping him to a blank slate like all the property they called boxie’s.

Still adorned in his handler uniform, he was sure they would soon enough replace it with the standard white shirt and black shorts all of the trainees got. Because, at least to WRU, he was officially a trainee. The realization made his belly churn, tying itself in coarse knots.

Pounding his feet to the floor he again howled, shaking himself around to make as much of a commotion possible.

A strangled shriek, this time wild with pain, sounded as the coarse collar strapped around his neck went off, the same shock he had suscepted so many pets to crackling into his flesh. Keeled over he shook with intensity, croaking wails erupting from a spot inside he’d never before heard.

As the shock soon ceased he trembled, beads of sweat cascading from his scalp. “S- s- st- op!”

The click of the door and thumping of boots, the same he wore, were audible as a juicy dribble of spit fell to the floor. “Welcome to training, 942065.” Someone sang, and he knew just who it was. “What? Not excited?”

His skittish gaze met with that of his coworker’s, Arthur fucking Everett. The guy he’d been out for countless drinks with, the guy he’d invited into his home, the guy he could have even someday called a friend.

A nerve almost popped right then and there as his rage skyrocketed. “F- fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck all of this!” 

“Woah there, ‘065, none of that was an appropriate way to speak to your superior, was it? I assumed you’d already be familiar with the rules, but I suppose we’ll just have to work on those like any other trainee.”

Seething, the trainee spat through gritted, quivering teeth. “I- I’m goi- ng to f- fucking kill you.”

Everett merely waved him off. “Sure you are, ‘065, I’d love to see that.” 

“Fuck you!”

“Ah, ah, ah. I wouldn’t recommend that, ‘065. Not unless you’re looking for more discipline.” Everett tisked, halting his newest trainee with the threat of another shock. His thumb wavered over the dreaded button as he kneeled to his former coworker’s level. “Y’know what, ‘065? Would you like to know your designation? Or should I keep it a surprise?”

“Shut up! Shut up, shut the fuck up! You know my fucking name!” He shook his head fiercely, like the feral animal he appeared to be.

“Trainees don’t have names, ‘065, only numbers. I have no clue what you’re on about.”

“My name is-!”

The pet blinked slow, eyes a hollowed out and hazy green. “My… name…?” He mumbled, brows furrowed in puzzlement as he cocked his head like the confused dog he was. He wanted to appease Handler Everett, to give him the right answer, and this seemed to be a trick. ‘065 was good at recognizing tricks.

His handler nodded. He spoke sharply, confident in himself and his words. “Yes, trainee, your name.”

‘065 took a drawn out moment to think, recalling in his mind exactly what he needed to say. Unlike Handler Everett, he spoke slow and heavy, making sure every word was perfectly mechanical. “Trainees don’t… have names. Would you like… my designation, Handler Everett?” He looked to his handler with wide eyes, teeth peeking out from his gently parted lips.

“Good boy, ‘065.” Handler Everett cooed, gifting ‘065 a pat to the head, the most gentle touch he would ever receive in the facility, something he was eternally grateful for. “That’s just what I wanted to hear. You’ve come a long way in your training, y’know.”

The trainee practically drooled over the prospect of pleasing his superior. “Really, handler Everett?”

His handler huffed a chuckle. “Really, ‘065.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[oliversrarebooks]

Fitz's Costume

Masterlist

a quick Halloween snippet, idea courtesy of my lovely wife

October 1998

"Good evening," said Fitz in a terrible fake accent, stalking up to Lex.

"What on earth are you wearing?"

"It's my costume for Lily's party!" Fitz wore a ridiculous grin and possibly the worst costume Lex had ever seen. It consisted of a cheap, wrinkled ruffled shirt, a plasticky red cape that barely reached to his waist, smeared-on white stage makeup, and worst of all, plastic fangs that he'd somehow jammed on top of his real fangs. "I'm a vampire! Bleh!"

"Yes, I'm aware," said Lex, trying to gather a sufficient response. "You're not seriously planning to go to Lily's party as -- this."

"I'm a creature of the night," said Fitz, halfway climbing on top of Lex. "I vant to suck your blood."

Lex fought back his smile. "Shouldn't you be using that line on one of the thralls?"

"It's you who I vant. Such a beautiful, innocent, helpless victim vith such delicious blood." With one finger, he tilted Lex's face upwards. "Look deep into my eyes and fall into my power."

"Oh, no, you've caught me," said Lex in an amused deadpan. "I cannot resist the amazing and powerful Phantom Fitz."

"That's right," he said, barely able to keep the toy fangs in his mouth. "And now, I feast on your blood! And turn you into one of the cursed undead!" He began to kiss up and down Lex's neck in a way that would be enticing if it weren't for the plastic teeth.

"Anything but that." Lex gently pushed Fitz away.

"It's too late! Mwahahaha!" With a flourish, Fitz reached behind him and somehow pulled out a bag containing a second shoddy vampire costume. "Now you must be a vampire!"

"Oh no, I am not wearing that thing."

"You have no choice! I've hypnotized you!" Fitz dropped to his normal voice. "Besides, it'll be hilarious. I bet Lily will think it's funny. Did you have a better costume idea?"

Unfortunately, he did not.

Masterlist

Happy Halloween!

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

@fuckcapitalismasshole @slightlydisturbedbeans @paperprinxe @demetercabingreen-thumb @the-broken-pen

@pokemaniacgemini @jumpywhumpywriter @basica11ywhumped @anoontjecanush @cepheusgalaxy

@whump-me-harder @whump-till-ya-jump @the-monarch-whumperfly

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Whump in the Rain

It's a classic.

A blank white sky matching the numbness of a depressed spirit.

Rain mixing with tears.

Rain mixing with blood.

A soaked dress shirt clinging to exhausted muscles.

Wet hair clinging to Whumpee's face.

Whumpee stays out in the cold and the wet and gets sick (or sicker).

Caught in a sudden rainstorm.

Watching the rain streaming down a car window while lost in misery.

Whumpee hates bad weather or has seasonal affective disorder, and now it’s raining on top of everything else.

Whumpee has a phobia of thunder. Caretaker wrapping Whumpee in a warm, dry coat or offering an umbrella.

“Come inside, you’re drenched!”

Whumpee with a phobia of thunder.

And finally, please consider: Whumpee struck by lightning.