I MADE A WHUMP EVENT: Get Ready For July Folks

“Am I supposed to be grateful to have survived this?”

- Brenna Twohy, Forgive Me My Salt

Merry Whump of May - Day 8

“Did you read the fine print?”

Circle

Blinded

Field

(original characters/story)

@themerrywhumpofmay

“It’s the only way to know what happened here.” Rex shed his jacket and tossed it on the ground. The sun beat down upon them, searing and merciless. The cicadas sang and sang. With every weak breath of wind, the grass around them sighed and fluttered. The field was empty save for Rex, Stockton, Burden, and the last survivor. 

Rex rolled up his sleeves. “Stay back, all of you, until it’s done.”

“And how will we know when it’s done?” Stockton picked up Rex’s jacket.

Rex didn’t answer and walked towards the last survivor.

Tied to a stake in the middle of the field was a young woman. Was, a young woman. She had died three days ago and laid in the hot sun until now, and it showed. Rex had tracked her down and arrived too late. Always too late. 

The last survivor rasped and stood on unsteady legs as Rex approached. He needed to know what she knew. Tears stung Rex’s eyes as he drew closer. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I’m really sorry. We tried. We tried.”

The last survivor’s skin was bloated and dark with pooled blood. Where there were once eyes, dark, crusted sockets stared out at Rex. Rex looked up and saw the vultures responsible still circling overhead. Every so often, one flew close enough to noonday sun to blot it out. A shadow covering the field. Ragged and brief. 

Rex knelt as close as he dared. 

He had searched the minds of humans before and had become good at it. It was easy to read people, to open up their minds and read their innermost thoughts. But reading the dead? Something about it turned his stomach. It wasn’t the putrid flesh before him, or clicking teeth, but the act of uniting his mind with the dead.

Rex hadn’t told Stockton or Burden, but he wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t kill him. 

But he had promised to try. This last survivor, survivor no more, had known something important to their cause. And he owed it to her to try. He had to try.

Rex took the dead woman’s face in his hands and gently pushed the limp hair away from her sightless eyes. She tried to bite him. The bloody foam that oozed from her mouth and nose ran over his fingers, lukewarm and slimy. The stake and her bound arms held her back. Rex closed his eyes. The sun was harsh above and behind his eyelids he saw only red.

The last survivor rasped and gurgled. 

Rex took a deep breath. He began to read.

A moment. 

He began to scream.

The ground vibrated, shuddering and shaking. Waves in the field. A flock of birds flee, black dots against the pale, hot sky. The grass around Rex and the last survivor begins to die. It shriveled. It turned black. A circle of rotting darkness. Then, nothing. Only death.

Rex felt someone stroking his hair.

“You’re safe.” It was Burden’s voice. And Burden’s hand.

The rotting smell of the corpse still lingered in Rex’s senses, but Burden’s scent was chasing it away. 

Rex shifted a little. His muscles ached and his limbs shook with the effort. His head was resting on someone’s lap. Probably Burden.

“You’re safe?” Rex rasped. His throat was dry and sticky. He coughed.

“Yeah. Stocky’s getting you water. Hang on.”

Rex opened his eyes and saw nothing.

His heart clenched. 

Rex closed his eyes again, braced himself, and opened them. Nothing.

“Uh, Burden?” Rex reached out towards the hand in his hair. He gripped Burden’s rough, calloused fingers. 

“Yeah?”

“I can't see.”

Rex felt Burden become still and tense. Then Burden squeezed Rex’s hand.

A sigh. “Did you not read the fine print on those powers you got?”

Rex’s laugh was shaky. He felt a tear slip from the corner of his eye and trail down his cheek, pooling in his ear. “No, not really. Didn’t come with a manual, you know?”

“It'll come back.”

“Maybe. But I got the information. She saw where they went.” Rex didn’t think too hard about what he had seen when reading the dead woman. He had gotten what they needed and that was that.

Burden pulled Rex a little closer. “You shouldn’t have done this.” Burden spoke into Rex’s hair, his breath warm on Rex’s scalp.

Rex closed his eyes. He didn’t need them open.

Hey!! How do I get into making gifs? Any tips for a beginner? I literally know nothing about it just that the I'd like to start. Also is not having photoshop a big obstacle?

Hi there! Yeah I can give you some tips to get started! Keep in mind I use windows to make my gifs and not a mac.

So to get into gifmaking you don't need to have photoshop. If you find that you enjoy making gifs I do recommend you look into getting photoshop (and there are ways of getting it without paying *raises pirate flag*) but to start there are several online programs you can use.

Here's a few that i've used before I learned how to do it in photoshop:

photopea

ezgif

giphy

imgflip

makeagif

This is an excellent tutorial to using photopea to make gifs

Each one of those will allow you make a basic gif. For complex coloring, sharpening, layouts, typography, blending, etc you'll want to upgrade to using photoshop because the quality is just way better and you can do so much more but when you're just wanting to get start all of these websites are great places to learn.

I also recommend learning how to take screencaps because I find it's a lot easier to make gifsets using screencaps than it is to try and screen record, cut, and upload videos.

My recommendation for screencapping is KMPlayer. It's a video player that you download to your computer and has a very easy way to save screencaps. Then you can just upload the jpgs into whatever program you're using to make gifs.

I made a basic gif making tutorial using photoshop and kmplayer here if you want to take a look at it.

Basic gifmaking steps:

Get your video. You can download it through pirating sites or use dvds or screen record. I download from sites like soap2day.to.

Take screen caps of the specific scene you want to gif OR cut your video to just the scene you want

Upload either clip or jpgs into the chosen program

Set the speed

Do any trimming of the scene and/or cropping the sides you want to do

If your program allows you (some don't) you can sharpen it, brighten the colors, add text

Then just save it as a .gif

Some other things:

The higher quality video, the better quality gif. 1080 is better than 720. Try to get a nice quality video if you can

Some websites will have a watermark on it that can't be removed so keep that in mind. Another reason why I prefer using photoshop.

Try to keep the gif either the same speed as the episode or just a little slower. Too fast isn't good.

That's all I got for now! If you have any other questions please feel free ask! I'd be happy to help with anything!

Looking forward to this!

Let's get whumping!

Welcome to my environmental whump blog! This is a side blog, main blog is @adzeisval.

Here be all thing environmental whump from hypothermia, to natural disasters, to animal attack, and good old fashioned whoops I fell off a cliff.

I'll have prompts and polls and gifs and all kinds of whumpy goodness.

Ask box is open, and I might eventually take submissions, we'll see where this goes. Just getting started so not much to see yet. Happy whumping!

Mediwhump May - Day 4

"Pain"

(Dark Shadows 1966)

@mediwhumpmay

As soon as Willie woke up, he regretted it.

Every inch of him ached. Stiff and sore. Lying down hurt. Getting up hurt. Might as well get up.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, groaning. His head began to throb. Dawn was just beginning to peek into the room, illuminating the dust and the rot. 

Willie looked back to his pillow. A dark red and brown stain lay there. His nose must have bled in the night. He touched his swollen and tender cheek. 

The flash of a wolf’s head cane and sharp words.

Willie left the bed and padded over to the mirror on the wall. 

He thought about things so far. He thought about the distant past that was a few weeks ago. Before he’d come to Colinsport. Before all of this. Before him. 

And nothing had really changed. 

And that struck a hollow, empty chord within him.

Willie remembered getting into scraps as a kid. Scraped knees. Busted lip. Talking big only to get hit again. He’d always been covered in scabs and bruises. 

When he became an adult, it was the same. The scraps were bigger. Brawls. He just talked bigger and bigger. 

The hits got harder.

But he learned how to hit too. And he gave as much as he got.

Willie thought and thought and tried to remember a single moment of this life where he hadn’t been bruised. Or bloody. Or in pain.

He drew level with the mirror, realizing he couldn’t remember. 

This was just how it was. 

His reflection stared back at him in the dim and cold morning light. 

A pattern of cane-bruises marched over his face, dark and thunderous.

Willie’s tongue found a tooth, loosened by the blows to his face. He wiggled it. Opened his mouth. Stuck his fingers in. And ripped the tooth out.

Blood covered his fingers and blotted his lips. He slipped the tooth into his pocket.

Willie smiled at himself, bloody and gap-toothed. 

At least his outside now matched his inside.

Dylan O'Brien as Joel Dawson

“Love and Monsters", dir. Michael Matthews

Mediwhump May - IV/Cannula

(Original characters/story)

@mediwhumpmay

“How-” Tate cleared his throat, his voice rough with a sore throat. “How far is it now?”

Troy craned his neck to look at the IV bag behind Tate’s bed. “Not even close.”

Tate sighed and closed his eyes. “Sorry. You can go. You don’t have to stay until they discharge me.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean it, I-”

“Kid, I’m staying. Sharon knows where I am. Julia’s in bed. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Tate sighed. 

Troy added. “I want to be here.”

“Bull.”

The room was quiet but the rest of the hospital outside was loud with beeps and talking and fast-paced steps, despite the fact it was close to midnight.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Troy asked. 

“Is it close to halfway?”

Troy didn’t bother looking, but kept his eyes on Tate. “Not even close.”

Tate grimaced as he swallowed. “I don’t know. Didn’t think I was that sick.”

“Your blood sugar was low. When did you last eat?”

Tate sighed. “What are you? My dad?”

Troy waited. 

Tate thought back to the past day. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Just half a bagel. He lowered his eyes to his hands in his lap. “I ate breakfast.”

“Jesus, Tate, what the hell? I can’t work with you if you aren’t taking care of yourself.” Troy stood up and ran his hand through his hair. 

Tate touched the spot where the IV entered his arm, wincing. “I had a bad day.”

“All it takes is one bad day!” Troy’s face was red. 

“I’ll do better.” Tears started in Tate’s eyes and he wiped them away. He really didn’t want to cry in front of Troy. Not after all this. Fainting and being taken to the hospital was humiliating enough. 

“I’ll do better.” He repeated.

“I’m sorry.” Troy crouched down by Tate’s bed. “Hey, kid, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.” 

“You can go.” Tate wiped his eyes one more time. “It’s fine.”

Troy nodded. “I know. But I’m gonna stay.”

“It’s fine.” Tate mouthed, finger tracing the tape that held his IV in place.

“Hey.” Troy nudged Tate’s shoulder.

Tate looked up.

Troy nodded at the IV bag. “It’s almost halfway.”

Tate smiled and swallowed hard.

Troy put the back of his hand to Tate’s forehead. “Fever’s down.”

“Thanks, dad.” Tate rolled his eyes. 

“I’m not old enough to be your dad, kid.”

“Well, you’re acting like one.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Pizza after this?” Tate asked, unsure of Troy’s response. “Oh, hell yeah, I’m starving.” Troy settled back into the angular hospital chair.

Tate smiled and leaned his head back against the bed. “Awesome.”

“You’re paying though.” Troy grunted.

Tate grinned.

The Outfit (2022): “The Wound Needs To Be Sealed. We Have To Stop This Bleeding.”

[PART 1] [PART 2]

Merry Whump of May - Day 6

“It's a long story.”

Knife Handle

Gagged

Under the table

(Original characters/story)

@themerrywhumpofmay

They awoke to pain. And drowning.

Omen opened their eyes, gasping, choking. Their eyes stung with water and their head throbbed. Skull felt split open. Can’t. Move. Can’t. Breathe.

Within a moment, Omen realized that their hands were bound behind them. Their ankles were bound together. And there was a gag in their mouth. 

They were wet but they weren’t drowning. Small mercies. 

Omen squinted up at the man holding a dripping bucket over them.

“Good.” He said and set down the bucket. “I was beginning to think that I’d bludgeoned you a little too hard.”

The man was dressed in a fine, dark doublet and hose that were stained lightly with travel. He moved to sit down at a nearby table.

Omen flexed their calf. He had missed the knife in their boot. Interesting.

Omen eyed the room. 

This was some sort of cottage. The floorboards creaked and were caked with dust. The fireplace had been lit but was belching smoke, meaning it hadn’t been cleaned recently. There was a lit lantern on the single table. And the window to the outside, beside the only door, spoke of midafternoon or late morning. The sun was bright and the trees swayed in a breeze, creating a shifting dappled effect on the floor. 

Omen could only hear the crackling fire and birdsong from outside. They were alone. 

Their possessions were tossed to the side, laying haphazardly on the floor. But nothing had been searched yet. Caey was safe. For now. 

Omen was laying on the floor, so that when the man sat down, he was still looming above them.

“I’ve been looking for you for a while.” The man took a swig from a waterskin. “You’re difficult to find, girl.”

Omen winced at ‘girl’. It shouldn’t have bothered them. That was the least of their problems right now.

The man continued talking. “I’d been hearing rumors for a while of a girl fighting in the False Queen’s little band. A girl matching the description of someone I killed several years ago.”

Omen’s belly turned to ice and they stopped breathing.

“I was contracted to kill a highborn lady suspected of aiding the escaped False Queen. And I did so. She was easy to identify due to a mark on her wrist, a brand. A very-”

The man roughly reached down and yanked on Omen’s bound arms.

They cried out through the gag. Arms pulled into a painful twist, shoulder sockets screaming.

“A very distinctive mark.” The man breathed, looking down at Omen’s wrist.

The wrist that bore the brand that he spoke of.

The man, the assassin from all those years ago, released Omen’s wrist, letting them fall back to the dusty floor.

“So, you lived.” He murmured.

Omen grunted around the gag. 

The assassin leaned down and pulled the gag out. “Where is the False Queen?”

“Fuck off.” Omen spat.

He popped the gag back in, wound back his foot, and kicked Omen in the stomach. Hard.

Omen struggled to draw breath. The wind was knocked out of them. Before they could recover, there was another vicious kick.

A blow to their nose. Stars. Blinding pain. Watering eyes. Blood streamed down their face and trickled into their throat. Metallic and hot.

Omen writhed, crying out through the gag.

They arched their back. Reached with bound hands into their boot. Felt the slim, bone knife handle, warm with body heat. Good. 

They grasped it and hid it behind their body, working on the bonds as best as they could.

The assassin paced around the cottage.

Omen sliced their fingers and hands. The knife was sharp. Blood made the process slippery.

“I’m going to ask you again.” The man circled back around to them.

The rope was cut. The bonds loosened. Omen pulled free.

“And if you say-”

Omen hurled the knife. It stuck neatly in the assassin’s shoulder.

He bellowed. 

Omen rolled away, under the table, and began to attack the rope that bound their ankles. Halfway through, the assassin came at them, their own bone-handled knife in hand. Omen scrabbled back with their legs untangled and the rope in hand.

They leapt on the man.

Spat blood in his face.

And it was quick work after that.

Several minutes later, Omen stood. Head throbbing, nose swollen and bleeding, and ribs maybe broken. They wiped off the knife and placed it back in their boot.

They limped over to their pack and belongings. With cut and bleeding hands, they prepared to leave. The diadem still lay within their pack. As soon as they touched it, Caey spoke into their thoughts.

“You look terrible. What happened?”

Omen snorted and spat blood onto the cottage floor. “It’s a long story.”

Frank Castle + Blood