#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

[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.

[and-we-shake-the-iron-hand]

The Memory Circuit [IV]

Good Morning, Sunshine

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⎉: @chaotic-orphan @morning-star-whump Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

TW: police brutality, physical assault, vomiting, surveillance, systemic abuse.

------------------------------------------------------

The door buzzes.

Hal jabs the button again, hard.

Nothing.

Then: “It’s four-fucking-thirty in the morning, Hal.”

Her voice crackles through the speaker like it’s pissed, too. He presses his forehead to the doorframe, eyes closed.

“Hey, Piggy.���

The lock clicks.

Jules stands in the doorway in a billowing shirt and one sock, hair a frizzy halo of sleep and pure, undiluted fury.

“You look like shit,” she settles venomously, stepping aside.

The flat smells like chamomile and burnt oil. There’s a threadbare orange blanket on the couch and a spider plant hanging in the corner, definitely named something like Milo. Hal sinks onto the couch, spine curling in on itself. Jules crosses her arms.

“Is this about Bok?”

Hal’s head jerks up.

She sighs, already turning for the kitchen. “I’m putting the kettle on. Start talking before it boils.”

¶¶¶¶

The kettle clicks. Hal’s in the kitchen, shoulders hunched as he pours water into sleek mugs. His hands shake.

Jules watches him from the table, unreadable.

“He’s gone,” Hal says, voice hoarse.

“I figured,” Jules replies. “The silence wasn’t exactly reassuring.”

Hal lets out a slow, ragged breath. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Lucky me,” she mutters.

Then: Knock knock knock.

Jules’ eyes snap to the door.

“Please tell me that’s not—”

“Open up, Jules,” comes Ricky’s voice, carrying that signature lilt of his.

She doesn’t move. Hal, already pale, goes corpse white.

Jules opens the door just enough to glare through. “You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

Ricky smiles coolly. “Just here to chat.”

“Go chat with a blender.”

She tries to shut the door. He plants a booted foot in the frame.

“We’ve got Joyeux,” he says. “You know what that means.”

Her jaw tightens. She steps aside, reluctantly. “You’ve got five minutes.”

Ricky walks in like it’s his flat, brushing droplets off his shoulders. Hal retreats to the sink, one hand braced on the counter like it’s the only thing holding him up.

Ricky’s eyes flick to Hal. “I assume you know your brother was keeping company with a nomadroid.”

He halts mid-pace, catching Jules’s look.

A beat.

“I’m assuming you didn’t know it was unregistered. Fully illegal. Possibly unstable.”

Hal makes a noise—half breath, half choke. Jules glares at him too.

“I know it’s complicated,” Ricky hums. “But Joyeux was dangerous. The raid was clean. We have footage. And Hawkins’ prints.”

“Stop talking,” Jules says.

Ricky lifts an eyebrow.

She turns to Hal, voice quieter now. “You didn’t tell me everything.”

Hal can’t look at her.

“Did you love him?”

The air goes still.

Hal’s grip on the counter slips. He doubles over and vomits into the sink, body wracked and shaking.

Jules doesn’t flinch. Just grabs a dish towel, runs it under cold water, and presses it into his hands.

Ricky looks away; pulls out his datapad.

“We’ll be in touch,” he says lightly, and walks out.

The door shuts behind him.

Jules exhales—long, slow, furious.

Hal leans against the wall, towel clutched in his hands, face pale.

“You loved him,” she says again, not asking this time.

And Hal, eyes puffy, just nods.

¶¶¶¶

Earlier.

They blow the door in.

No warning, no pause. Just the shockwave and splinters, smoke curling into the hallway like fingers.

Bok’s head snaps up from the mattress on the floor. He doesn’t move fast enough.

They’re already inside.

Three soldiers. Black gear, black masks, silent. Their eyes glint faintly like glass behind the visors. A flick of motion, and the room is theirs.

Bok reaches for the blade on the counter. Cheap boxcutter. Pathetic. He grabs it anyway.

The first soldier closes in.

Bok swings.

Steel kisses flesh—a shallow cut across a gloved arm. The soldier barely reacts.

Bok bolts.

One grabs his shirt, misses. Another’s faster. A baton slams into Bok’s spine. His knees buckle. He drops, scrambles, still crawling, still fighting—

Another hit—his side caves in around it. Something cracks. He sucks in air.

He twists, knife in hand, jabs upward.

The blade rakes a thigh—deep. The man swears. Stumbles. Bok surges forward.

It doesn’t matter.

A boot catches his shoulder. Slams him sideways into the wall. His skull hits plaster, leaves a dent. He falls.

They’re on him.

He thrashes—kicks, claws, spits black.

Someone grabs his hair, yanks him up. His neck strains. He stabs back—nothing.

A baton hammers down.

His hand breaks. Knife drops. Gone.

They don’t stop.

Two hold him down. One crushes a knee with the baton—crack. Bok jerks, bites his own tongue. Ink floods his mouth.

“Still fighting?” one mutters. Disgusted.

Second knee. 

Crack. 

He goes limp, twitching. Ribs heave. Eyes wide. Still conscious.

One more hit to the jaw. His head snaps sideways. Something dislocates.

They drag him.

By the arms. His head falls back, eyes dull, breath fogging through slightly parted lips. His bare heels scrape against the floor. Sweat clings his hair to his forehead, dripping down his face. The rest of his body hangs limp, trailing behind them like a trainwreck.

“Secure,” one says.

Another checks a watch. “Thirty seconds over. Let’s move.”

They vanish into the hallway.

The door hangs from one hinge. The room still smells like smoke and metal and blood. 

And they’re gone.

Previous | Next

[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.

[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...

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

Fixed

Masterlist

You expected comfort ? Get WHUMPED ! I'm so evil. Also I wrote this instead of an essay due tomorrow. Worth it.

CW mouth whump (again), blood, self harm.

Everest didn't care that it had been an accident. It didn't matter; the only important thing was that he had bitten Raphael. Broken the one rule, the most important one. Even if Raphael had tried to reassure him, to tell him that he was fine, that the vampire hadn't hurt him, he knew it wasn't true. Because the human was asleep now, early in the evening, his body colder than usual, his breath deeper.

He could've killed him. If his body hadn't rejected the blood, he would've drained Raphael of it, like a wild animal.

The thought was enough to make the tears well up in Everest's eyes again, and he tightened his grip on the human's shirt. He didn't deserve to be here, wearing warm clothes, in a real bed.

Everything the hunters had told him so many times, that he was a monster, that he should be dead, it was all true, and he had just proven it.

The only thing he deserved was suffering and... Death. The thing he feared the most. He was more scared of dying than he was of hurting Raphael again.

But still, he had to make sure such a thing wouldn't happen again. He had to. Everest sniffed and wiped away his tears. He would prove that he could be more than a bloodsucking monster.

When Raphael woke up, it was already late in the morning. It took him a minute to remember the previous day's incident, and he looked around, searching for Everest, who he remembered was tucked against him when he had fallen asleep. But the small vampire was nowhere to be seen, and the human suddenly had a bad feeling. He remembered the sheer horror and fear on his face after he had realised what he was doing. The guilt, even though it was obvious he had no idea what he was doing. Raphael would've never thought of blaming Everest, but he knew he didn't need to.

But where was the vampire?

His clothes were still bloodstained but he didn't bother to change them, calling out the hybrid's name as he checked all the rooms upstairs and went down the stairs. There was no answer, and his voice grew more and more panicked, looking everywhere he knew Everest liked to hide or sleep. But he wasn't anywhere, and all Raphael could think about was please, not again. Please, don't be gone.

Everest wasn't gone. But still, the human's heart came to a halt as he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes drawn to the blood pooling on the white tiling. So much red.

The vampire was collapsed on the floor, unconscious, his lips parted and a knife in his hand. His grip was still tight on the handle, as if his life depended on it. And in his left hand, which was limply open, laid two unassuming objects, two bloodstained fangs. There was still bloodied flesh attached to their bases. It was a butchery.

Raphael's breath hitched as he knelt next to him and gently pries his hand open, taking the knife away. He pulled Everest into his arms, and took his head in his hands. There was dried blood all around his mouth, and worse was the inside. It looked like he had stabbed his upper gingiva, in blind rage– or fear. Most likely a mix of both. Raphael felt a wave of nausea crawl up his throat at the sight, as well as an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Why had the vampire done that to himself ? And how could Raphael have stopped him ?

He stood up, cradling Everest in his arms, like a child. Despite being unconscious, the vampire's lips were trembling, half parted to relieve the pain he had caused himself. In the living room, he comfortably settled him on a couch, coming back a minute later with a first aid kit and a wet cloth. First of all, he needed to clean all of the blood away. At least, he didn't have to worry about staining his clothes.

As Raphael gently dabbed his lips, Everest's milky eyes fluttered open, his breath stuttering when the pain hit him. But to the human's surprise he grinned weakly, his lips slowly stretching, revealing the holes in his teeth. It was a broken, sad smile, but what broke Raphael's heart was the hope in his expression. It was a genuine, hopeful smile, that meant "There, I fixed it."

But there had been nothing to fix.

Taglist : @sausages-things @jumpywhumpywriter @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thataquaticwhumper @alyscat

@whatamidoingherehelpme @fleur-a-whump @ratsupremacy88 @whatiswhump @scoundrelwithboba

@phoenixpromptsandstuff @bacillusinfection @artfulbok

[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

[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.

[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.

[justplainwhump]

Warrant

Thanks to everyone who stayed patient with me regarding Tyler's story. Here we are.

Tyler's facility is raided by the police.

[Masterpost]

Content (warnings): Implied noncon, facilty whump, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee covering for whumper (idk if thats a thing to tag but anyway), (sort of) parental caretaker.

Time passed differently within the white walls of WRU. It affected even the handlers, who had strict instructions to leave their watches in their lockers. If they had to check the time, they could use their work-equipped tablets outside the cells. If they needed to tell time in a session, they set vibration alerts in their smart bracelets or earpieces. And even for handlers, it was bad enough. Tyler Parker remembered countless moments of leaving the building after work, uniform switched for jeans and T-shirt, squinting his eyes overwhelmingly confused by the position of the sun.

He'd have thought, that experience would have helped him. Given him ways to measure the passage of time without outside cues. 

It didn't. 

In the beginning, he counted. Handlers. Beatings. Showers. Orgasms. 

The voice counting in his head wasn't his own. It was hers. 238's. She'd counted, too. Her unit had been him. He'd caught her doing it, her lips moving, when she was sleep-deprived and high on something. He'd punished her, for wanting to know something that wasn't hers to know. She should only know one thing, he'd said, and that was how to be good for her betters. 

She'd stopped counting, then. At least, he hadn't caught her again. 

He wondered, at what exact number that had been. What her count would be, by now. At what number it ceased to matter. 

Tyler stopped earlier than she had. But then again, maybe she'd stopped twice, too. Maybe she'd thought the same thoughts before the Drip. Maybe he would, too, after. He almost laughed hysterically, thinking about it. About going through all this, again. Just that the people torturing him would be strangers then, the very same people whom he knew now.

People like Jared Grimm, Head Handler of the facility, Tyler's supervisor. Had Tyler counted, he'd know if it was the second time, or the third, that it was Grimm's hand in his neck, pressing him onto the padded table. Maybe even the fourth. 

Grimm wasn't sadistic in his fucking. He was methodical, cold, detached. Working through a routine.

"Fucking. Idiot," Grimm breathed into his ears between thrusts. "It didn't. Have to be."

It did, Tyler thought, as a strained whimper escaped his lips. It did have to be. 

"Jared," someone said, far away. "There's a call from the reception, they need you."

The hand in his hair vanished. The weight on his back. The breath in his neck. The strain in his ass. 

Grimm didn't even slap his butt. He was just gone, leaving Tyler exposed and cold.

Not for long though. "Hey, pretty boy," Dinah Richardson purred. "You look so lonely."

Tyler closed his eyes.

Time passed.

-

Jared Grimm stared at his knuckles, stark white as he balled his fist on top of his desk. He willed himself to unclench his hand. He was head of this facility, he reminded himself. He had worked hard to get to this position. He was capable. He had it under control.

"Say that again," he asked into his phone.

"The police," the receptionist repeated flatly. "FBI. They're here with a warrant."

Jared exhaled sharply. "Let them in. I'll meet them in the hallway."

*

The officer in charge was a tall woman, around his age, late forties, he guessed. Long, brown hair that started graying at the temples, tied back in a pony tail. A vaguely familiar face. And a chilling stare that bore right into his eyes. 

"Mr Grimm," she said. "I hope you don't intend to stop me or my colleagues. We have a warrant. And anything you do to hinder me will only make your situation much worse."

Jared raised his hands in an inviting gesture. "No, of course. We fully support law enforcement." Financially, he thought grimly. Enough to avoid situations like this, he'd wagered. This woman didn't seem to have gotten the memo, though. He forced his lips to curl into a polite smile. "What can I do for you?"

"I am here to arrest Ms Carly Thompson and Mr Tyler Parker, both WRU employees."

Jared blinked.

Parker. Fuck. No. That couldn't be a coincidence. "I…" Jared's mouth felt dry. He forced himself to keep his gaze level, not to double check the state of his uniform pants. He hadn't even had the time to wash Parker off of him. "I… I'm sorry, I don't know everyone's schedules, I… I can confirm they both work here, but I'm actually not sure they're in today. It's pretty early, and-"

"I am sure." Her smile was icy. "Your receptionist has already told me that Ms Thompson checked in for duty this morning. As for Mr Parker, he seemingly didn't, but I… I actually do have a hunch we can find him here, Sir. And that you know exactly where he is." She folded her arms. "Get. Me. Tyler. Parker. As in, Tyler Parker himself, him able to recall his name, his mother, his past, and the crimes he committed." She lifted her chin. "Not trainee pet 002243."

Jared flinched violently. What the fuck. She couldn't know. Not what happened here, not even vaguely. But definitely not in detail. Not in this detail. 

The muscles in her jaw tensed at his reaction. She'd guessed. A shot in the dark. And his reaction had just confirmed it. Fuck. 

How could she have made such a precise guess, though? She knew his number. Nobody who wasn't in this building right now did. How-

"We are in possession of a video that has been filmed in this facility." Her voice was hard. "It shows Mr Parker and Ms Thompson drugging and torturing Ms Zsuzsanna - Suzy - Kowalski, threatening to make her into a pet. Ms Kowalski had been reported missing some days ago, then showed up in a hospital with no memory and serious brain damage. She isn't in a condition be interrogated. But we have proof, on this video, that all of this happened in here, in your facility, Mr Grimm."

It couldn't be. They had people for this, people that made sure WRU management knew before the authorities showed up in one of the facilities. And they would, he told himself. WRU could set this right. They always did. 

Only question was, who would the company let take the fall for it. And this cop? She'd just put his name on top of that list. 

Fuck.

This time, Jared controlled his face better. "I don't believe that's-"

"Mr Grimm," she cut him off. "Again. I do believe that. That video is… not shy on the details. And I would love to bring you and your entire fucking company down for it. I'm a very good investigator, you know."

Jared busied his fingers with straightening his jacket and tried a confident smile. It didn't work out the way he wanted. Still. There'd been something in her phrasing, something not entirely final. "I feel like you are going to present me with another option."

She raised an eyebrow. "Only if I get both suspects, in a state that allows them to be tried. And if you need to go make an immediate call to make sure Mr Parker is taken off from whichever drugs you use to mess people up, please, do so. Because I swear, if he doesn't remember his mother's face, it's not him going to jail, it's *you*, Grimm, personally. And I'm not going to stop at that. I might not be as good as you and your company are at destroying a life, but for you, I'll certainly do my fucking best."

"I…" Grimm stared at her. She was dead serious. "I… I think I didn't get your name, Officer-?"

"Ashley Browne." She smirked. "I didn't take my wife's name."

Her wife. That's how he knew her, how that face seemed familiar. There'd been a photo they'd taken from Parker's and the journalist's apartment, the two of them with his mother and another woman, who- Yeah. That tracked.

"Parker," he mumbled. "That would be your wife's name, wouldn't it?"

"Indeed it would," she confirmed. "So you better hand my stepson over right now, or I will make sure we turn around every last brick in this building and see what else we find."

"Oh no. No no." He shook his head. "You don't have the authority to do that."

"You want to bet on it?" She lifted her chin and raised the paper in her hand. "While we're here, with this warrant, my guys will listen to me, not you. And I'll have them turn on their body cams. Let's see how much we can find - how much we can film - until your bosses call my bosses and my bosses call me; such a hassle, only with the same old result that you need fall guys and Carly Thompson and Tyler Parker must be it. The more we see, though, the more names add to the list. Higher up the ranks."

"I-" Jared's mind raced. It couldn't possibly be. Carly would keep her mouth shut, with the right payment, just sit her time, be released, take the money and burn through it in some seedy beach hotel at the other end of the world. Parker however. The stupid asshole was a fucking liability. The attack on Alex. The pet lib journalist. That video appearing from nowhere. They should've put him on the Drip right when they'd brought him in. They should've shipped him out to another facility. They should've - 

They shouldn't have played this lightly. But they had. 

And now, the police officer in front of him nodded at her uniformed colleagues, lifted her hand in a sweeping gesture. "Search every room, every cell, every office. Turn on your cams, get a good look on every face you can find, trainee, employee, service worker, every single face, until we've found our guys. Clear?"

Jared had no choice. That woman was a fucking nuisance, but he couldn't take any other risk.

"Wait," Jared called. "I… I think I know where to find them. I'll make a call."

Browne stepped back and lifted her hands. "Good. Lead the way."

-

It was even worse than she'd expected. And Ashley had seen the videos. She had expected bad. 

The boy - even at 24, even a head taller than herself and twice her weight, she'd never brought herself to seeing him as a grown man - was curled up on the oddly colorful tiles of a shower room. He was naked, his light skin mottled with bruises of various colors and shapes. Some from weapons, bats or batons, she figured. Most from hands. 

She had to force herself to stand still. Not to fall to her own knees besides him, to run a hand through his wet blond strands, to hug him and shield him. Not to draw her gun and empty it into the smirking handlers around them.

"Our handlers sometimes get handsy with each other, after a stressful shift," Chief Handler Grimm said from behind her. His voice had a nervous pitch to it, but still, she swore she could hear a kind of glee in it. The knowledge, that this blatant lie, like so many others, would stay unchallenged. "We condemn any sexual relations at the workplace, but- I guess you know how it is."

"You don't get to assume what I know, Mr Grimm," she said flatly. "I'm a cop. What I know is what sexual assault looks like."

"It was consentual," another man said, and idly kicked a piece of soap over to Tyler. Ashley flinched, when it hit his side, the boy too weary to react. "Tell them, T. We had fun."

"It was consentual." Tyler's voice was all but a hoarse croak. Ashely's stomach turned. "It was."

"See?" Grimm said to her, and to him, "Clean yourself up, Parker, and get dressed."

Tyler struggled to push himself up to his knees, his hand shaking as he weakly reached out for the piece of soap.

It took Ashley a second to remember her duty. To remember that she was here to betray all her beliefs in law and order. Making a deal that was far from any justice. Saving her wife's boy. Who - given what Tara had told them - might as well have deserved all of this. But Ashley wouldn't be the judge of that.

She was here for Diane. She was here to get him out. Whatever the price.

"Tyler Parker," she said, a part of her wondering when she'd addressed him like that the last time. Tyler Frederick Parker, you call that cleaning up your room? It felt like yesterday. It felt like another lifetime. "Tyler. You are under arrest."

He sobbed.

Ashely told herself it was with relief.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whump March Madness

*see this post if you aren't sure what that means!

[cuddlepilefics]

I don't want your apology

Fandom: Ateez

Sickie: San

Caregiver: ?

Prompts:

Feveruary 2025: 11 “you’re burning up”, alt 1 forced to work @feveruary

Fluffbingo: “It’s just so much.” @flufftober

March whumpness 2025: 6 alone, 8 exhaustion, 20 fainting, 29 collapsing at work @marchwhumpness

Whumpril 2025: 25 too weak to stand, alt 11 missed medication, alt 13 “Why won’t you believe me?” @whumpril

Angstpril 2025: 4 “I trusted you”, 8 ignored, 9 “I don’t want your apology”, alt 1 “did you even care?”, alt 3 collapse @angstpril

August of whump 2024: alt collapse @augustofwhump

No one’s POV.:

San sighed as he plopped down in the backseat of a taxi. The rest of the group had long since been able to go home for the day but he had been stuck at his solo schedule till late into the night. His entire body ached from the exhaustion, head throbbing. Knowing he’d feel far worse if he didn’t eat well to fuel his body, San opened the takeout bag and glanced at the kimbap in disgust. For some reason, it didn’t look the slightest bit appealing, which was weird considering how long he had gone without food. There simply hadn’t been enough time for him to eat, so perhaps the dull ache in the pit of his stomach was hunger pain. With a sigh, San sank his teeth into his late-night dinner, wanting to be done eating once he got back to his dorm, so he could collapse straight into bed.

Shortly before the car came to a halt, San suddenly flashed hot, the car’s interior seemingly closing in around him and he was glad when he could finally get out. His head spun for a moment and he had to brace himself against the trunk before the cool night air cleared his head, allowing him to stand up straight. Shakily making his way up to his dorm, San envied Seonghwa and Mingi for already being home. He stifled a soft burp against the back of his hand as he kicked off his shoes, wincing as the kimbap he had forced down sat heavy in his stomach. Eating so late never really worked well for him but it had never actually made him sick, so he figured he’d be fine if he just went to bed to sleep it off. Especially because he barely had any time left to sleep anyway.

Sleeping it off didn’t work for San though and only half an hour later, he found himself kneeling on the bathroom floor, knuckles turning white as he clutched the toilet seat. His throat burned as he brought up wave after wave of barely digested kimbap. San didn’t even try to stay quiet anymore at this point, partially hoping one of his dormmates would wake up and come to check on him. The dorm stayed quiet though, an eerie silence hanging over him as San sat back on his heels, only disrupted by his panting. Still trembling, he pulled off his shirt and cringed at how sweaty it had become in only a matter of minutes. A shudder ran down his back and he swallowed hard. When had it gotten so freaking cold? There were only a couple of hours left till his alarm would go off, so he should really get to bed but his legs had gotten all numb from kneeling there.

San stretched out his legs, trying to ignore the tingle as blood flooded through them again. Swallowing, he tried to ease the burn in his throat but it was to no avail. He couldn’t even get rid of the vile taste because the sink was so far away and his legs still felt like jelly, refusing to carry him. Defeatedly slumping back against the wall, San ran his hand over his sore abs. What had he done to deserve this misery? And how had both Seonghwa and Mingi managed to sleep through his ordeal? San knew he wasn’t a quiet puker by any means, but they were probably exhausted too. Still, he hated being alone when he was sick.

After what felt like ages, San finally managed to pull himself to his feet, though he was still a little wobbly. He had a few sips of water and rinsed his mouth with mouthwash before grabbing some painkillers for his headache. There was no way he could take them right now, not with how bubbly his stomach still was, but he would place them on his nightstand to swallow as soon as his stomach calmed down. Why did they have to split up dorms? He really didn’t want to sleep in a room all by himself right now but he also didn’t feel like he could go bother Seonghwa or Mingi, so he tiredly trudged back to his room and flopped down on his bed.

Morning came far too early for San’s liking though he counted it as a success that he hadn’t thrown up again that night. His stomach hadn’t really calmed down though, so he doubted he could handle eating breakfast today. When his eyes fell on the painkillers on his nightstand, he quickly shook two into his palm and swallowed them dry, wincing as they scraped his raw throat. Since he still felt a little chilled, he threw on an oversized sweater and made sure to wear loose pants, so they wouldn’t dig into his middle. Luckily, Mingi was already in the bathroom getting ready and San managed to catch Seonghwa alone in the kitchen.

“Good morning”, he rasped as he walked up behind the oldest and poured himself a glass of water. Seonghwa greeted him with a smile and took a sip of coffee. Carefully sipping his water to see if his stomach would tolerate it, San pouted: “Hyung, I don’t feel good. Can I stay home today?” – “Aish, Sannie”, the older chuckled, “I know you have a special dislike for that choreographer but come on. You gotta grow up. We can’t just fake sick whenever we dislike our schedule. Now, come on. Get ready or else we’ll run late.” San was stunned. His hyung didn’t believe him?! Shit, he had completely forgotten what schedule they had today. He couldn’t do this. Not today.

Though Seonghwa had brushed him off, the eldest seemed more amused than annoyed at San’s perceived attempt at skipping dance practice. The same wasn’t true for the rest of the group though. None of them really enjoyed working with this choreographer, so the atmosphere in the practice room was already tense to begin with. “Why won’t you believe me?”, San pouted after Hongjoong chewed him out for acting childishly. Rolling his eyes, the leader reminded: “I know you don’t wanna do this but we have no choice. He���s good at his work and we need him if we want our next comeback to be a success.” There was still another hour left till San could have another dose of medicine and knew he’d need it if he was forced to work. By now, he was convinced that he was also running a fever and when he went to check his bag, he realized that he had left the medicine on his nightstand at the dorm.

“Woo, you don’t happen to be carrying some painkillers?”, San whispered during one of their water breaks. Leaning back against the wall, Wooyoung ran his hand through his sweaty hair and sighed: “No, I don’t and seriously, Sannie. Taking medicine just to keep up an act isn’t good. It’s not healthy to swallow this stuff unnecessarily.” – “You have no idea how necessary it is”, the older muttered bitterly but Wooyoung didn’t hear him. Having missed his medication, San was feeling more miserable by the minute. He tried talking to Hongjoong again but the leader ignored him. Eyes burning with tears, San trudged back to his position and took a deep breath. His vision was already fuzzy around the edges and he feared that if he lost his breath, he might faint right there. He didn’t think he could handle being scolded for ruining another run-through although it wasn’t in his control.

By some sort of miracle, San made it through most of the song before the dizziness really hit but when it did, boy did it hit hard. It felt like someone pulled the rug from under his feet. Luckily, he didn’t stumble too much but he barely heard the last few beats over the ringing in his ears, tumbling to the floor the moment the music was cut. For a moment, he must’ve been unconscious because he didn’t even feel the impact of his body slamming into the ground but when he came to, all he was really aware of was pain.

A hoarse whimper escaped San’s limps as he clutched his head, the throbbing unbearable. His stomach cramped, making him subconsciously curl in on himself, which took a lot more effort than he had anticipated because his aching muscles strongly protested the movement. “Stay down”, Seonghwa instructed, a gentle hand on San’s shoulder keeping hi down, “Shit, you’re burning up.” – “Told you”, the younger breathed, weakly sitting up despite Seonghwa’s objections. The water San had sipped earlier sloshed nauseatingly in his stomach and he feared if he lay down flat, he wouldn’t stand a fair chance at keeping it down. Hongjoong’s heart raced as he requested the others give them space. How could he have ignored his dongsaeng when he so adamantly told him that he couldn’t keep going.

“Shit, Sannie, I’m so sorry”, Hongjoong mumbled as he knelt down next to the younger, offering him his water bottle. Weakly pushing it away, San whispered: “I don’t want your apology.” What he really wanted was to go home, to lay down in his bed and not on the practice room floor, to take the medicine he had forgotten, so he’d hopefully feel less shitty soon but he couldn’t voice that. Not with how heavy his tongue felt in his mouth, already struggling to swallow the saliva that filled his mouth at an alarming rate.

Before either Seonghwa or Hongjoong could react or even comprehend what was happening, San pulled the hem of his shirt up as his stomach lurched, the water he had forced himself to drink suddenly gushing from his lips. Though taken by surprise, Seonghwa gently patted his dongsaeng’s back when he choked on a cough. San shuddered with a retch, his stomach burning as it tried to bring up something that wasn’t there. Since he had skipped his breakfast that day and had already thrown up his dinner earlier, stomach acid and bile were all that was left and burned his already strained throat on the way up.

Holding the trashcan underneath San’s chin, Yunho hummed: “Try to take a deep breath.” He had traded places with Hongjoong because San looked so obviously uncomfortable with the leader’s presence, who now gathered the rest of the members and left the room with the choreographer in tow. Drawing a shaky breath, San broke into tears. Sobs wracked his frame while Seonghwa did his best to comfort him. “I know you probably don’t want to hear it right now but I’m really, truly sorry for not believing you”, the eldest whispered, carding his fingers through San’s hair to get it out of his face. Squeezing his eyes shut, the younger whimpered: “I trusted you, hyung.” – “I know you did, love”, Seonghwa sighed.

“Did you take any medicine?”, Yunho asked after helping the other removed his soiled shirt. Wiping his lips on a clean corner of his shirt, San shook his head and mumbled: “I took some this morning but missed the next dose. They’re on my nightstand, so I asked Woo but he didn’t have any.” – “I have some”, Seonghwa frowned, feeling San’s forehead again, “Do you think you could stomach them right now?” The younger shook his head again as another wave of tears washed over him. “I wanna go home”, San choked out, exhausted from the night he had had and the torturous dance practice that had taken the rest out of him, “I’m sorry, it’s just so much.” – “No, you’re the only one who doesn’t have anything to apologize for”, Yunho scolded, “And especially not for feeling upset and overwhelmed right now. Let’s get you cleaned up. You can borrow my hoodie, yeah?”

Yunho helped San clean himself up, while Seonghwa packed their bags. “Do you think you can stand?”, the eldest asked, offering him a hand. Shaking his head, San mumbled: “I-I feel like jelly.” – “It’s okay”, Yunho smiled, “We’ll help you but we should really get you home.”  They soon came to realize that San hadn't been kidding. It took them both immense effort to hoist their dongsaeng to his feet and even more to keep him there. “Hyung, I don’t feel good”, San slurred, squeezing his eyes shut. He wasn’t sure if he was going to faint again but his vision was cloudy to say the least.

With San in their middle, Seonghwa and Yunho slowly shuffled to the door, hoping Hongjoong was already arranging a ride for them. In the hallway, they ran into Wooyoung, who paced anxiously in front of the door. When San and him made eye contact, the older breathed: “I really needed medicine.” – “I know, Sannie. I’m so sorry”, Wooyoung apologized, trying to hug his friend. Shaking his head, San muttered: “Did you even care?” The younger bit his lip, eye trained on the floor. Of course, he did care but he surely hadn’t acted like it, so he couldn’t blame San for being hurt. “We’re taking him home now, Woo. Do you know where Hongjoong is?”, Seonghwa asked calmly though he was slowly starting to sweat from how much strength it took to keep San on his feet.

They found Hongjoong at the front desk, chatting with their manager, who seemed stressed when they approached, frowning: “Hey. I heard you weren’t feeling well, San.” San shook his head, trying to stand up a little straighter between his hyungs but he was still unbearably dizzy and too weak to hold his own weight. “Do you want to go to the hospital to get checked, since you collapsed or would you want me to take you back to the dorm?”, the manager offered, closely studying San’s ghostly pale face. Drawing a shaky breath, San rasped: “I really just want my bed please.” – “That’s alright”, his manager agreed, “We’re already working on the schedule changes to make sure you’ll be off for the rest of the week to recover.”

“Sannie-“, Wooyoung called after him, guilty still eating him up. Turning his back on his friends, San sighed: “I don’t want your apologies, I trusted you.”