whumpthisway reblogged
How to do a CPR
(Or if Steve wakes up when Bucky pulls him from the river.)
whumpthisway reblogged
Found a comic this morning :O
whumpthisway reblogged
Fantasy Whump
-a minor soldier falling off a cart or horse, and dislocating a shoulder, then being abandoned at the side of the road. Amp up the angst depending on where they fell, who finds them, and if whoever finds them is on their side or not.
-dungeon whump, of course. Servant of the castle pisses off the wrong person, or sees something they shouldn’t have, boom, dungeon. They could be rescued by rebels storming the castle, their fellow servants and friends, or a higher up noble who takes pity of them, the possibilities are endless.
-make them some creature, like a fairy or an elf, that gets toured around like a circus freak, or worse.
whumpthisway reblogged
Hey, do you remember when we were little? What I would do to distract you whenever I’d rip off a Band-Aid or something like that? Yeah. You’d tell some stupid joke.
whumpthisway reblogged
Frathouse Boxboy: Armwrestle
from an ask about the same topic. Z2 is made to armwrestle despite his recently injured shoulder. Dom comes in and isnt happy about it.
content warning for nonconsensual arm wrestling? injured shoulder, hurting an existing injury, some demeaning language among boys to feminize each other.
****
It’s just the guys tonight— the brothers. Z2’s grateful for that after last weekend. Some of them are in the living room playing video games, but he got pulled from a comfortable spot on the floor at their feet, yanked up by the collar and shoved into the kitchen.
“Make us some food, bitchboy.”
Luckily, nothing the guys ever have him make is terribly complicated. He can make rice, noodles, instant mac n cheese, frozen burriots and pop tarts satisfactorily.
Today it’s pizza bites. He turns on the oven, arranges the frozen squares on a tray. They’ve started arm wrestling at the kitchen table after someone boasted about beating everyone at a party, quiet rounds at first that are carefully moderated.
“Move your elbow. Square it up, guys, he’s off-center.”
When the oven is preheated, or nearly, he slides in the bites and winds the timer on the stove. Burning the food could be either easily forgiven or totally disastrous, depending on their mood.
He tries to quietly make his way back into the living room, where things are very low key right now, but one of them grabs his arm and swings him close.
“Who’s got this one, R2-Z2? Me or Paul?”
“Oh. Uhm…” The boy who grabbed him, Michael, is fit and fairly tall, with eyes that Z always thought looked playful and kind. But his grip on Z’s wrist is tight. Paul is shorter than Michael but broader, always bragging about his bench or his deadlift when he gets back from the school gym.
“Who’s gonna win, him or me?”
“I don’t…”
“C’maaaan, Z2. You’re not rootin’ for me, man?” Paul spreads his arms, and Z hopes he’s just kidding around.
“Alright, well, watch and learn.” Michael puts his elbow on the table to square up with Paul and the boys lean in, clasping hands. Tyler leans over the top of them, checking their form.
“Aaaaand, go.”
Their arms flex and tense, veins in their wrists and biceps bulging. Paul makes a face, but Michael’s strategy seems to be to keep his neutral, maybe to intimidate his opponent.
Z2 doesn’t like this. He wants the timer to go off so they’ll let him plate their food and maybe leave after.
Finally, after a wobbling struggle Paul’s arm gives and Michael slams their fists down in his favor. The noise makes Z jump. Michael leans toward him. “Fortune favors the bold.”
“Loser goes against Z2.” Tyler says.
Z’s stomach turns to a knot.
“Oh yeah.” Paul scoffs. “That’ll be the day.”
“What if he beats you?”
“Are you fuckin scared, Pauly?”
“Shut up. No. Siddown, Z2.”
Michael gets up and pulls Z into his empty chair. “ ‘Bows on the table.”
“No,” Z protests. “I… Paul will win. I know. It’s okay, we don’t have to—”
Tyler grabs Z’s right arm and slams his elbow on the table. “Celebrity round!” He calls. “Z2-D2 versus Pauly.” He raps his fingers on the edge of the table like a drumroll. Paul rolls his eyes, sets his elbow down and holds his hand open. Z looks around at them, imploring, hoping to find an understanding or sympathetic pair of eyes.
“Please..last weekend I…” He avoids looking at Tyler. “I hurt my shoulder. It’s not… it’s not good, still.”
“Looks good to me.” Michael says, clapping him on the back. “Go easy on Paul though. He’s our delicate little flower.”
Paul mouths fuck you at Michael, takes Z’s hand. Tyler inspects their form, shifts Z’s elbow an inch to the right.
“Aaaaand, go.”
Paul simply flexes and Z’s bicep hurts, traveling right up to his shoulder in a sharp, grinding sort of pain. He whines, trying to apply at least a little pressure against Paul’s hand so it won’t look like he isn’t playing along.
“Oh, c’mon, man.” Paul grins. “I know you got more in you.” He doubles down and Z gasps at the flare of pain in his shoulder, deep inside where Dom had popped it back into socket. He goes slack in the face of the pain and Paul slams his arm backwards, knuckles into the table. He cries out, the rotation too much for his healing shoulder.
Paul lets him go and he cradles it gingerly, terrified it’s going to pop out of place again. He hasn’t forgotten the pain, it’s fresh and bright in his memory.
“Aww, maybe next time bruh.” Michael claps his bad shoulder and he bites his cheek so he doesn’t sob.
“My turn.” Tyler says, pushing Paul off his chair and taking his place. He plops his elbow in the middle of the table, hand held up straight. “C’mon, Zelilah. Round two.”
Z shakes his head. “Tyler. My… my shoulder. Please.”
Tyler mimics him with a high pitched whine. “My m-m-my shoulderrrr….C’mon. Elbow on the table.”
Tyler makes him go twice because he said he wasn’t even trying. Which was true, because putting in effort causes an alarmingly sharp pain across his chest, into his collarbone. He feels clammy, can’t tell if the chilly sweat on his hand is Tyler’s or his own.
“Please.” He looks around at Paul and Michael. “Guys.”
“The fuck is this?”
Z2 wants to jump from his seat and run when he hear Dominic’s voice, to hide behind him like a scared little kid.
“Hey Dom.” Michael says, leaning up against the counter. “Z2 said he could beat all of us armwrestling, so.”
“Are y’all making him armwrestle with you?”
Dom and Z make eye contact and Z purses his lips, dips his head to the side. Help.
“Yeah. He’s not doing so hot.” Tyler grins.
“Well, try me instead.” Dom says casually, a hint of ice beneath.
Tyler puts up his hands, and Z thinks next to Dom Tyler looks skinny, like he’s got golf balls for biceps. “Ahhh, you know what, I think we’re done here.”
Dom taps Z on his good shoulder and Z slides out of the chair. Dom pulls it back with a screech on the linoleum and takes a seat.
“Nah, come on.” He puts his elbow on the table. “Y’all are right. Sounds like a good time, Tyler.”
Michael and Paul seem amused, and Tyler glances at their faces and at Z before relenting. He takes Dom’s hand, readjusting himself in his seat so he can put the most power into his right arm. Michael tells them when, and Dom’s arm barely moves as Tyler’s flexes and struggles.
“See,” Paul laughs. “Tyler, this is why you shouldn’t say no when we invite you to the gym.”
Tyler’s eyes flash at Paul, annoyed. “Shut the fuck up. Are you trying, man? I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or-”
Slam.
Z jumps. Tyler cries out as his arm twists and his knuckles hit the table hard. He retracts his arm with a sour look. “Fuck, man.”
“What about you two?” Dom turns to Michael and Paul. “Feel like picking on someone your own size?”
Paul puts up his hands. He’s a braggart and an idiot, but he doesn’t want to go against their resident star football player, not when he seems so seriously annoyed. “Nah bro. You got it, man. Forfeit.”
Michael still looks smug, but he too shows his hands in surrender. “I’m good.”
“Great.” Dom stands from the table, sliding the chair back noisily again. “So next time you feel like doing some shit like this, you can just remember that anything you do to him.” He points at Z. “I’m gonna do to you. Make sense?’
Michael’s eyes flash from Z back to Dominic. “Alright, man. We were just having some fun with him.”
“Do you think he was having fun?”
“Nobody hurt him.” Paul says gravely, eyes widening. “For real, Dom. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
“If his shoulder is alright you got nothing to worry about.” Dom mutters, steering Z2 out of the kitchen. Z remembers the pizza bites, tugs Dom’s sleeve to tell him.
“They can take their own pizza bites out of the goddam oven.” Dom says, but kind of gently in a way that Z knows he’s not cursing at him.
He takes Zee to the living room, sits him on the sofa. “Did they hurt your shoulder?”
It aches, but he doesn’t think it’s messed up again. “It… it’s okay.”
Dom looks skeptical. “May I touch it?”
“Mhm.”
None of the boys playing games give them so much as a glance as Dom holds Z’s wrist, facing it up and then down, taking his elbow in his large, capable hands and gently bringing it out to the side, up like a wing.
“Okay?”
Z tries not to grimace. “Y-yeah…”
Dom raises an eyebrow. “Are you lying?”
Z laughs nervously. “It… it hurts but… not like before.”
Dom presses his fingers to Z’s chest, the other hand on his shoulder blade. He pushes back and forth gently. Z2 tries to be stoic, but the sharp pain he’d felt when they’d armwrestled comes back when Dom moves his shoulder backward. He cries out briefly, bites his lip. Several heads swivel his way and quickly back to the TV screen.
Dom eases off. “Alright. Sorry. I’m sorry, Zee. You need some ice and some Advil. Wait here.”
Z2 watches the boy’s video game screen while he waits, and Dom comes back with an ice pack and two little orange pills on a plate, along with five pizza bites and a 2-liter of ginger-ale under his arm.
“And your fair share of their grub.” He says, setting the plate in Z’s lap and holding the ice pack to his shoulder.
AND THIS IS WHY I <3 DOM
whumpthisway reblogged
I love your idea of him being outside all night, I don't even care who finds him after lol
Frathouse Boxboy: Dislocated Shoulder Pt 2
part 1: Tyler gets too rough wih Z2.
content warning and disclaimer: I don’t know jack about medicine, obviously, but shh it’s fine. dislocated shoulder, begging, bathing.
****
“Hey.” Cam calls over his shoulder, standing in the doorway. “Found him.”
Z2 blinks awake. He’s stiff and freezing, and his entire world is just ongoing, muted pain. The sky is grey and drizzly, the lawn patchy and yellow. He lifts his head from the railing he’s tied to, the wood dark and swollen with moisture.
Even something as small as footsteps on the porch makes him groan in pain. His head is pounding, and his neck aches from how closely his leash is tied to the railing. Cam’s shoes come into his line of vision. He tilts his stiff neck, looking up into the other boy’s face.
“You gave us the slip, ZeeZee.” Cam kneels beside him and Z flinches away, terrified he’s going to touch his arm. “Been looking for you all morning.”
“Jesus Christ.” Dominic comes onto the porch next, followed by Alex. “Untie him, Cameron.”
Cam starts working at the leash, but it’s rain logged and doesn’t want to give. Alex pulls his keys out of his pocket, fumbles for the smallest one and simply frees Z from the collar instead.
“Who tied you out here?” He asks Zee gently, taken back when Zee flinches away from him.
“What’s wrong with your arm there, buddy?” Dom asks, joining them.
“Oh, shit.” Cam touches Z’s elbow and Z sobs, trying to protect his limp arm with the other one.
“Don’t touch it.” He begs. “Please don’t. It’s broken.”
“Zee?” Dom squats on his heels in front of him. “Can I have a look?”
He hesitates, all their eyes on him. If anyone has to touch it, he wants it to be Dominic. Dom will know what to do. He nods cautiously. Dom is careful, doing more looking than touching.
“It’s not broken, hon. It’s dislocated.” Dom turns to his brothers. “I hate to do it but… I think we should put it back in place before we move him.”
Alex makes a face. “We can’t get him inside first?”
“It’ll hurt more to move him while it’s dislocated.” Cam agrees. “Pop it back and then carry him in.”
“Since when do you care?” Alex snaps.
“Look, if you think I woulda let them dislocate his fucking arm, you’re as stupid as they are.”
“Shut up.” Dominic snaps. “I need you two to hold him down. Alex, other side of him. Cam, just hold his legs.”
“What’s he gonna do?” Cam points out. “Doesn’t have much fight in him by the look of it.”
“This’ll just take a second. Zee? I need to fix your arm, okay man? It’s out of its socket right now, and I need to put it back in. Do you understand?”
Z searches Dom’s eyes. “Please don’t touch it.” He whimpers.
“I have to. I’m sorry, Zee. I’m not gonna lie to you… it’s gonna hurt. But it’ll feel a lot better after.”
Z2 can’t imagine being in more pain than he is currently, than he was last night. He’s wet, and stiff, and cold, and he wants to be in Dominic’s bed and he wants his teddy. He sniffs, shaking his head.
“Please don’t. Please don’t….don’t touch it.”
“Just do it anyway.” Cam mutters.
“Zee,” Alex says, moving to hold his other shoulder. “You trust Dominic, don’t you? You know he doesn’t wanna hurt you, right? He’s gonna help you. But you gotta be brave for us. Just for a sec. And then we’re gonna take care of everything. Right Dom?”
Dom’s mouth is a thin line. “Yeah.”
Z2 wishes he was unconscious, that he’d been knocked over the head instead. The boys wait for another long moment and he nods, turning his head toward Alex. “Okay.”
Cam nods at Dom, holds Z’s thighs, ready just in case.
Dominic sets his hands on either side of Z’s slack shoulder, but there’s no pressure. Z wonders for a moment if he’s overstated the pain but then he takes Z’s elbow in his other hand and rotates it out so he gasps in pain, wincing.
Alex groans in sympathy. “Hurry up, man.”
“Shh.” Dom hisses, intent on his task. “Okay. Gonna feel a quick pull, Zee.”
It’s so fast Z doesn’t register what happened until the pain gets bright and hot again, combined with the dull ache from how it’d been hanging awkwardly all night. He screams, bucking in Dom’s grip. Cam tightens his hands right above Z’s knees, keeping him in place, Alex holds his good shoulder.
“Someone’s gonna call the cops.” Cam says dryly.
“Shhh,” Alex soothes into Z2’s ear. “I know.”
“Please stop, stopstopstop.” Zee whispers, tears leaking fresh from his eyes. “Ple-ease, no more.”
“I’m done.” Dom says tightly, letting Z curl his arm protectively to his ribs. “All done, Z2.”
Z sobs weakly as they pull him to his feet. Alex puts Z’s good arm around his shoulder, helps him inside the house. It’s a mess still from the party. He looks over it miserably, knowing he should get right to work cleaning it.
“I’m gonna get the tub running.” Cam says, going on ahead. Alex ends up half-carrying him upstairs and helping him strip, helping him into the tub.
“Temp good ZeeZee?” Cam asks, running his hand under the water. Z blinks at him, nods gratefully. His arm is aching fiercely, but he thinks he could move it now if he tried.
“How bout some privacy?” Alex says, standing by the sink with his arms folded.
“Yeah, yeah.” Cam stands. “Holler if you need help getting him out.”
Alex brings him clean clothes, helps him towel dry his hair.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He says, looking at their reflections in the bathroom mirror.
Z drops his eyes. He’s heard that before.
“I was… I was doing some research. I didn’t know there was a party.”
“…Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I have my teddy, please?”
A strange look crosses Alex’s face, and Z2 can’t tell what he’s thinking. He drops the towel from Z’s semi-dry auburn hair.
“Course. Course you can. We’re putting you in Dom’s room. I’ll go get him for you.”
***
To Z2′s surprise all three of them stay with him. Alex sits on Dom’s bed and Cam brings a chair in and sits near Dominic at his computer desk. He lies there holding his teddy under the blanket, stroking the bear’s soft caramel fur to the same rhythm Alex strokes his, quiet and gentle. He dozes off listening to their voices, only tuning in when the conversation comes back around to him and why none of them kept an eye on him or knew who was to blame.
“Just ask him.” Cam says, reclining lazily.
Dom pushes Cam’s feet off his desk in disgust. “How about we let him take a fuckin’ nap first, y’all? My money’s on Tyler anyway.”
“This can’t keep happening.” Alex says softly, as not to disturb Zee, who is pretending to sleep. “It just can’t.”
“Well what do you suggest, professor? Feels pretty inevitible unless one of us takes him home.” Cam scoffs at the absurdity of the idea.
Dominic and Alex exchange a look.
whumpthisway reblogged
Anonymous asked:
I’d lOve to see Tyler get too rough with Zee, maybe he’s drunk or high, pushing him around, slamming him into a wall, choking him, maybe even going as far as to tie him up👀 -birthday anon 🎂❤️
cw for violence, alcohol, dehumanization, leash and collar, injury
***
Tyler’s been drinking Jager all night and chasing it will redbull. His breath smells like licorice and battery acid, and he’s getting increasingly forceful dragging Z2 around the house. There’s a lot of new faces at this party. People are packed so tight they have to move sideways through doorways.
He’s been trying to get away from Tyler for the last fifteen minutes, but Tyler has chosen him as his mascot for this particular blackout, yanking him into the kitchen by a leash hooked to his collar.
It’s humiliating enough when it’s just the guys, but it feels like half the student population is here tonight Everywhere they go, people raise their eyebrows at him, laugh and nudge each other. Look.
“He’s our dog.” Tyler slurs to someone, tipping his solo cup to theirs in a toast. “Aintcha Z?” He tugs the leash hard and Z grimaces as Tyler pushes him against the fridge with a hand around his neck, squeezing above his collar. Tyler doesn’t squeeze with his fingertips like Cam does, the way that makes Z’s vision go woozy. Instead he presses on Z’s windpipe painfully, a crushing feeling.
“But he’s more mine than anyone else’s.”
That couldn’t be less true. He’d rather be Cam’s slave than Tyler’s. It must show on his face because Tyler’s expression turns to a mask of drunken anger, slack mouthed with nothing behind the eyes.
He backhands Z with his drink hand. Jager spatters everywhere. The tight circle of people widens as they turn to see what’s happened, if there’s a fight or if someone just fell. Z reels from the slap, yelping as Tyler hits him again, a wide cuff with a poorly made fist that knocks into his ear, his jaw.
Someone Tyler spilled a drink on pushes him in retaliation and Tyler bumps into Z2, shoving him to the kitchen floor so he lands gracelessly on his side. There's a pop and his world erupts in pain. He screams, turning in his back as to take the pressure off his arm, his shoulder, the fire radiating down to his elbow and out across his shoulder blade. Something is wrong.
A new song comes on the speakers, thudding bass that he can feel in his chest right through the floor. It drowns out his anguished scream as Tyler hauls him to his feet by the hurt arm, a pulling sensation like his bones are being ripped apart, the fire in his shoulder like something he’s never felt.
“...disrespect... me.” Tyler is slurring something close to his ear over the music but he can’t focus, words and faces and lights are swimming and he’s open-mouthed at the shock of the pain.
“My arm...Tyler, please. My…” He can’t see what’s wrong with it, can’t tell with his oversized t-shirt. He needs to take it off and look but he can’t move it. If he lifts his arm he knows instinctively he will black out from the pain, he won’t be able to stand it… Tyler yanks his leash hard, and all he can do is cradle his arm close and try to breathe through the sickening waves of agony.
“T-tyler, please. I nnnn.. need Dominic. Tyler, my arm... I think I- I broke it. Please...”
Tyler doesn’t even hear him. Someone bumps into his shoulder and he yells, tears springing to his eyes. He needs help. He needs Dominic, or Alex. Are they here? Even Cameron.. Cam would help him. He starts trying to scan the living room crowd but it’s dark and everyones moving around and his vision is swimming.
“Tyler.” He sobs, trying to hurry after him so the leash doesn’t yank him forward. “Please h-help me. I’ll do anything you, you want me to...Tyler…”
Tyler is so drunk he’s tugging them toward the sliding glass door and into the chilly spring air, past a group of smokers on the back deck. He plops heavily on the steps, yanking Z2’s leash so he falls to his knees, sobbing in awe at the pain in his arm.
“A time out…” Tyler slurs, tying the leash to a post tightly, winding round and round. “S’what you need.”
“Tyler, no. Nonono please, please I need...need h-help. Tyler, it huuuurts.”
“Shh.” Tyler smacks him on his nose. “Bad dog.”
He watches helplessly as Tyler wobbles to his feet and weaves back toward the glass door. The leash is tied impossibly tight, difficult to get at with his one good hand. He picks at it for a minute trying to get a piece loose and failing, in too much pain to even think straight. With his good arm he leans against the post, shivering and cradling his arm that sits at such an awkward angle. He would call to the group of smokers but he’s afraid of what might happen if he does. It’s too much of a risk. People are not safe, he thinks, as if he is in some other category. He is not people. He is a thing, a dog, a hurt animal.
Tyler is right.