#I really like whump

[ladywhumplady]

Revival Whump

Whumpee who killed themself for the freedom/relief of death is brought back to life against their will, kicking and screaming as they are brought back to Whumper

Whumpee is a lab rat used to figure out what happens after you die

Whumper figures out a way to come back to life every time Whumpee/Caretaker kills them so Whumpee can never be free

Whumpee is raised from the dead and made into something else. They are mindless, unable to do anything but listen to Whumper's orders... or so everyone thinks. While their body is ruined, their soul/spirit is a ghost wandering around, begging Whumper to kill them so they can return to the afterlife

Whumpee dies somehow and the afterlife is worse than life. They are relieved to be back with Whumper and Whumper is overjoyed to see their subject/Whumpee behaving itself

Whumpee is so distraught about Whumper's death that they bring them back like a good little Whumpee

Whumpee's species goes back and forth between death and life, like a phoenix. The experience is excruciating but Whumper drugs Whumpee so it happens more often because they find it fun to see how Whumpee suffers

Whumpee comes back exactly the way they were but Whumper is still convinced that something is wrong with them and is determined to experiment on them to figure out what

Whumpee who is desperate to live is killed publicly by Whumper, reacting extremely emotionally. They are publicly humiliated when Whumper brings them back to life

Whumpee is brought back to life and it's like they're two/multiple people, as though when they died they were split into multiple pieces

Whumper treats Whumpee like a stress toy, destroying them and bringing them back like a pop-it so they can play over and over again

Whumper doesn't have to go easy on Whumpee; they can destroy Whumpee completely and have them back in time for dinner

Revival takes a long time to complete and so by the time they're awake, Whumpee is old/still young but everyone they loved is dead - except Whumper

Female Whumpee is killed on their period and brought back to life when it's over so Whumper doesn't have to deal with all that 'gross blood'

Whumpee is older/younger when they are brought back to life

Pet Whumpee who doesn't realise their Whumper is immortal/will come back to life is distraught over Whumper's death and kills themself. When Whumper comes back, they are extremely annoyed at their henchfolk for allowing them to do it.

[aphel1on]

nothinggg better than torturing an emotionally repressed character until every single trauma they've ever refused to process starts spilling uncontrollably out of the cracks. like a matryoshka doll situation of repressed trauma and baby you better believe i'm going in there with a hammer

[whump-in-the-closet]

what are ur fav tropes for stoic whumpees? love da blog

stoic whumpee tropes that are a 100/10:

"I'm fine" and then immediately collapsing in front of their loved ones in a bleeding pile, revealing a hidden injury that has festered for far too long

silent, muffled crying with shaking shoulders and a bloody hand clamped over their mouth because they view crying as weak and beneath them and they're stronger than this, they're stronger, they can take it--

the moment they close their eyes in defeat and it's all over and they fucking know it, and when they open their eyes again all that remains is a glassy-dead stare

adamantly refusing medical treatment even when they need it. Shoving away everyone who comes close to them, a choked sound in their throat, fighting back with everything that's left in them.

when they kneel at Whumper's feet, eyes on the ground, white-lipped and tense. The only betrayal of emotion is their clenched fists and tight breathing. In every other way, they're compliant.

refusing to talk about what they endured at Whumper's hands after they're rescued, but the scars tell the story for them. They don't have to say a word, but their team's pitying gaze follows them wherever they go

normally unaffectionate and distant but exhausted and defeated they rest their head on Caretaker's shoulder or Whumper's lap, just finally admitting--nonverbally-- that they can't take it

reversely, more willing to be tortured than to ask for help-- If I'm breathing, I'm fine

stitching their own wounds back up with an unsteady hand, painful stitch after painful stitch. Deep breath and pull. Working in a dimly lit apartment with bleeding clothes on the floor around them and the bed unmade

sacrificing themself for their team. "Take me! Do what you want to me. Not them." And their team watching as the torture takes its slow toll and Whumpee-- the one they look up-- falls apart.

[den-of-whump]

A guilty whump pleasure of mine is when a character in a fantastical setting is being tortured and something in them just breaks. They suddenly manifest magic super powers, or if they already had those, they suddenly go into overdrive and the character just murders everyone there.

[smthnsmthn-whumpblog]

you know what i love? prison whump. and i barely get to see any :(

but seriously, the prison system is so incredibly fucked up, the opportunities for whump are endless. beatings from the prison guards, beatings from the other prisoners, forced labour, all kinds of neglect (emotional, physical, medical, hygiene, etc.) and just so much misery. being forced to live in crumbling cells, full of rat shit and bird droppings, not to mention their own filth. being sentenced to solitary confinement for a minor indiscretion, maybe the whumpee criticises the treatment they’re getting, and is forced to sit in a cold small cell by themself for two days or more, the only social interaction they get is an apathetic guard giving them a measly meal twice a day. all of it just adding to the intense isolation and loneliness.

and that’s just modern prisons; are you doing historical whump? oh boy, that shit was utterly awful. corporal punishment galore - getting flogged, whipped and birched, leaving scars (both mental and physical) that will last a lifetime. public humiliation, being strung up in stress positions and displayed for all passers-by to point, laugh and scorn. worked to the bone, doing menial, pointed tasks for inhuman hours, getting beaten when they collapse of exhaustion. going to the toilet in a bowl they have to sleep next to, having to clean it out themselves every day. being locked up in minuscule cells, too small for whumpee to move, their muscles atrophying. chain gangs. and that’s just a few examples off the top of my head.

oh, and if you’re doing fantasy whump? you can do literally whatever you want. you can make up the rules, decide how severely whumpee gets punished for something small. the world is your bloody oyster.

and the fact that it’s a prison, and they’re a criminal - maybe the whumpee didn’t do anything wrong, maybe they got framed or falsely imprisoned. maybe they did do something ‘wrong’, something deemed a crime by their society but something that isn’t entirely their fault and requires help not punishment (like drug abuse or stealing to keep themself/their loved ones fed). or maybe they did do something wrong, a sort of whumper-turned-whumpee vibe, but the punishment goes way too far.

anyway, fuck the penal system.

[rosieposey-torturedpoet]

Okay, so this is really random: but I see a lot of like 'inexperienced' Whumpees who are the weakest/youngest out of the group

But like what if the youngest is the one everyone fears, I mean they're in the group for a reason

Picture this very specific scenario: The team is captured by Whumper and they are all taken to the same room, chained up to keep them from running or trying anything: and here comes Whumpee (a teenager that's like half the size of everyone in the room) with these insanely complicated locks, maybe they're wearing a straight jacket, with multiple guards while the rest of the team got one or two

Because if you think about it, younger people would have to work harder to prove their strength and 'worth' to the team. There has to be a reason for them to stay on the team

However my personal favorite of this trope is that the youngest is just so unpredictable; not only are they talented/wise beyond their years but you truly never know what they'll do next with all the talent they harbor

Maybe Whumper hates them because at least he can fall into this rythme with the rest of the team and learn their habits: but he physically can't do that for youngest because there is no routine or habit to fall back onto

Maybe they mastered a rare magic form at a young age, or were trained as a soldier

Then think of the CARETAKING OPPROTUNITIES?? A parental Caretaker that shows Whumpee what it's like to be a kid, who worry about they're little reckless living death wish 24/7, and give them a mom/dad that they deserve

I just love young, anti-hero, vigilante Whumpees who have seen so much and learned so many things at such a young age, to the point where they are constantly on the verge of villain because of their genuine desensitization to it all

Which causes everyone to be at least a little afraid of youngest, in some sense of the word

[sadiecoocoo]

Ao3 is so devoid of Jayce whump like yes I know his husband is chronically ill but what if we made the pretty boy mortally wounded so they could match

[katabay]

THE JETSET LIFE IS GONNA KILL YOU, ERIC CARTER!

my laptop charger uhhhhhh. met its end in a very permanent, very fire hazardy kind of way last week. while waiting for a replacement I decided to try and get some work done at the library and was asking around for some urban fantasy (extra points for a mystery plot of some kind) recommendations to check out while I was there

the eric carter series was mentioned a couple of times, AND had the added bonus of having a necromancer for a main character. I love necromancers. someday I'm gonna play one in a game instead of immediately defaulting to vampires.

Fire Season, Stephen Blackmoore

[shywhumpauthor]

A Whumper with fire powers branding their Whumpee not just with their name or initials, but their handprints.

Two palms scarred against either side of Whumpee’s neck, fingers wrapping around their throat in a collar that can never be removed. Hands on their sides, just below their broken ribs, a touch that will never relent. Fingers wrapped around their wrists in shackles that won’t be unlocked. A handprint against their face, cupping their cheek that had already suffered so many punches. The small of their back. A single hand just between their shoulder blades. Dragging down their thighs.

Just. Branded handprints.

[sad-leon]

firefight animatic for my lovely friend @remedyturtles [Spoilers up until Chapter 9]

unfortunately the last chunk of frames are incomplete and will likely remain that way as i have hit a massive mental brick wall -- probably an ugly mix of depression and burnout -- but I wanted to share my vision, so I edited what I had

Song Used: Dancing After Death by Matt Maeson

wish I had more to say but im dead on the floor,, sorry

[whumping-valentine]

We use being cold, hungry, and tired a lot in our writings, and that makes sense! Those aren't pleasant feelings, but what's not used enough is all of the other symptoms that can occur under those conditions.

Being malnourished not only causes the feeling of hunger, but can give you headaches, and make you feel weak, faint, sick, cold, and tired. It makes you irritable, unable to concentrate, and can even cause wounds to take longer to heal, while brusing much more easily. After a while you even develop an aversion to food, and don't want to eat. You feel nauseous just thinking about it, and breaking a fast isn't something you can do with a flick of your fingers. Your body isn't used to eating, and it may not sit well with you.

Not eating can also cause your blood sugar to drop, which is a whole entire thing in and of itself, and you don't have to be a diabetic to experience it. Low blood sugar is horrible 0/10 do NOT reccomend (but definitely do in whump!)

As for being cold, it can not only be uncomfortable, but it can make you feel physically ill. Especially when paired with a lack of vitamin D from low sun exposure. You just constantly feel sick, and may even begin to feel hot. It is absolutely FREEZING in my room all the time and I always feel sick. Horrible. Do it to your whumpees and tell them if they're good they can go outside and lay in the sun. That's shit's awesome when you're cold.

And of course, with sleep deprivation, it not only makes you drowsy, but it basically screws everything up. Your ability to think, your coordination, your strength. All you wanna do is curl up into a ball and go to sleep, no matter where you are. There's so much you can do with a tired whumpee.

The most fun thing about all of these is that they can generally go together all at once, inflicting symptoms of the others in an endless loop of torment. So yeah, go nuts! It's miserable!

[letitbehurt]

Whumper having a muzzle fitted around Whumpee’s head even as they scream and struggle against the bit shoved into their mouth, their hands pinned to keep them from yanking at the buckles. Rough leather digging into their skin. Every curse warped into an animal’s whines. They have no weapons now, not even their teeth.

“If you’re going to act like a rabid dog,” Whumper tells them, unmoved by their defiance, “then you’ll be treated like one.”

[whumpsoda]

i raise you, a vampire that always keeps their thrall in a sleepy/blissful state cause they think it’s endearing. especially since the thrall was previously a ball of anxiety that couldn’t relax whatsoever before the vampire intervened

WOHEO Masterlist

God, yes!! This is so good, thank you!!

cw: vampire whumper, human whumpee, hypnosis

———————————————————————

“How did you…?” the vampire watched as Malak clung to the couch, desperate to keep himself from toppling over. 

“I- please- I don’t-” the human’s eyes widened, his breath becoming frantic and short as he attempted to speak. His lip quivered, matching the tremble of his pale hands. 

Malak’s head throbbed, discombobulated and out of order from the whirlwind consuming him. It was as if he’d been pulled from a trance of heavenly paradise, suddenly unraveling the strings of his brain. Somehow, someway he couldn’t seem to grasp, he’d escaped the clutches of a mind-bending monster, one out to steal his autonomy to the highest degree.

Overwhelmed with the only urge to escape, one that had been weakened by the vampire’s strength, he had done his very best to obey. Fighting against his strangely heavy and uncoordinated body, he had tried so hard. A voice pounded in his head, screaming at him to liberate himself. 

Adrastus took a step forward, their hands held out to the other man in a comforting manner. “Darling, what happened?” Immediately, Malak attempted to run, instead slipping on his own feet, his legs far cumbersome to operate successfully.

Hitting the chill, wood flooring, an unfamiliar strike of pain cut through him. A whimper escaped his salty lips, wet from tears previously cascading down his red cheeks. In the blink of an eye, a pair of perfectly polished boots appeared level with his gaze.

He squealed, attempting to escape again, unsuccessfully. The sleepy weight of his body allowed for little movement, and thus he was easily captured by the monster. Inhumanly strong arms wrapped around his abdomen, lifting Malak into the arms of the vampire with a huff.

He desperately attempted to thrash in their hold, to no avail. While much too disoriented to resist successfully, Adrastus giggled at their discomfort. “It’s alright darling, I’m here now.” They soothed, inciting only more wiggling. They casually made their way around the couch, unbothered by the struggling man in their arms. 

Malak’s head spun, the concoction of anxiousness and panic twisting in his stomach. A jumble of thoughts overwhelmed him, incomprehensibly spiraling in his brain. He sputtered unintelligibly, coherent words melting on his tongue.

Adrastus plopped onto one cushion, gently sitting Malak on their lap. Before allowing the human a chance to make any move, no matter how feeble, they softly trailed a calming hand from Malak’s forehead, down to his chin, silencing their human immediately. “Hush, sweetie. No need to worry, I’ll fix you up, easy peasy.” They flashed the human a fang-filled smile.

Instantly, Malak’s brain liquified into a pile of goop. The whirlwind of awareness ceased, leaving only the commanding touch of the vampire. 

Adrastus slipped their hand from Malak’s back, gingerly draping him across their own lap. A wave of pleasure washed over him, settling and returning with each motion of Adrastus’ nimble fingers combing through his hair, lightly scratching at the surface of his scalp. With each repeat, the cloud in his mind only grew foggier, hazed with overwhelming bliss.

Drowsily, Malak adjusted his position, shifting his head to lay on Adrastus’ slender legs. “All better now, right?” In return, they merely received the slightest of a nod. 

“I’m so glad. I mean, I’m shocked as well!” Adrastus pinched at their human’s cheek sweetly. “How could such a feeble little mind like yours escape my power? I haven’t seen you remotely lucid in months!” they exclaimed.

The words simply flew right over Malak’s head, too enraptured in the urge to sleep to pay much attention. Absentmindedly, he grunted, and nuzzled closer into the lush fabric of the vampire’s sweater, basking in the warmth. “So sluggish, aren’t you? Just a sleepy little boy. A good little thrall.” They let out a light chuckle, continuing to pet their thrall to unconsciousness.

“My sleepy little boy, my good little thrall.” Malak’s heart practically soared at the praise. To his delight, Adrastus pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “You’re just adorable, all dazed and disoriented. I wouldn’t prefer my thrall any other way.”

“I mean, you enjoy it too don’t you? I can’t imagine how it must have felt escaping from such a long period of mindless bliss. Snapping into awareness must have been so terrifying.” Pouting, Adrastus delicately swiped away the last slick tear from Malak’s red cheeks. “That’s why you can’t let that happen again, alright? I couldn’t imagine what you did to allow your consciousness so close to the surface, but surely you’ve learned your lesson now?”

Malak nodded eagerly, shaken over the idea of displeasing the vampire. “Such confusing emotions of fear and distress just aren’t fit for a thrall as cute as you!” A wide, dull-eyed smile couldn’t help but spread across the human’s face. 

“Must’ve just been all that anxiousness stirring inside that tummy of yours. I'll be sure to arrange that a similar situation does not arise again.” The assurance was comforting, yet Malak couldn’t help but sense a slight anguish stirring inside him.

[whump-in-the-closet]

i love love love when whumpees curse out their whumper. blood trickling out with their words, teeth bared and every sound vicious. and when the whumper replies by leaning in with the smallest of smiles and strokes their face. “careful.”

and whumpee whimpers. shrinking back, the bite in their eyes fading into terror. crying, shaking, pleading.

[generic-whumperz]

Babe, stop bothering me, can’t you see that I’m busy daydreaming about putting pretty fictional men though hell?

[the-broken-pen]

love your writing yo can I ask for a little hurt-comfort mlm

“Oh. Oh. That’s—that’s a lot of blood,” the voice above him sounded strangled, like they were choking on every word.

The hero cracked an eye open, dizzy and cold and tired, and hummed something that could have been an agreement.

“Hey,” he said, voice raw, and his friend stifled a sob as they collapsed onto their knees at his side.

Their hands pressed hesitantly against the wound, and they were trembling. His hands were slick with blood. It took everything in them to drag them, shaking, to rest on top of his friends, and press down hard.

The pained noise he made caught in the back of his throat. Just barely.

“You have to press harder,” he managed. The pain had swelled to something almost unbearable. He was drowning in it, to the point where it was almost the kind of pain where it became something wretched, something else that swallowed you whole. “The bleeding, it—“ he had to stop, gasping for a breath.

His friend had started crying, but they pressed harder, dutifully. He loved them for it.

“I don’t know what to do,” they sobbed. “You don’t do hospitals. What do I do.”

He let go of his friends hand, digging for his pocket. His grip slipped the first two times; he managed it on the third, sliding his phone onto his stomach.

“Speed dial,” he offered, and closed his eyes before the look on his friend’s face made him vomit.

“Speed dial? Speed dial. Okay. Okay,” his friend said. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.” He was certain his friend wasn’t saying it to him. Their free hand scrambled for his phone.

By the time they managed to get it to ring, the world around him had turned into something muffled and cotton around him.

“You? You’re his speed dial—don’t…I don’t know what….bleeding…not responding…please, just….”

A crack cleaved the air, the smell of ozone suddenly stronger than the smell of his own suffering, and then a hand was replacing his friend’s. The other found the side of his face, thumb curving under his jaw.

“Hey,” and oh, he knew that voice—something raw in his chest eased. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

He managed, just barely, and the villain peered down at him.

“Hey,” he croaked.

“You’re bleeding out,” the villain said, and it was the softest he’d ever heard him. “You need care, or you’re going to die. Can I move you?”

Do you trust me?

“Always,” he tried, but it came out weak and desperate.

The villain pressed harder, and he keened high and pained in the back of his throat. On instinct, his hand darted up to the villain’s wrist, latching on too tight for anyone without superpowers to handle. The villain didn’t flinch.

“You’re okay,” the villain murmured. His thumb brushed over the hero’s jaw, soothing.

There was something the hero was forgetting—

“My friend,” he choked out. “Where—are they—where—“ he struggled to sit up, and the villain simply guided him back down.

“They’re fine,” the villain promised. “I sent them home. Maybe a little traumatized, but they’re okay.”

“Okay.” The hero nodded to himself, or he tried, or he didn’t. “Okay. They’re okay, okay, I’m—“

“Okay,” the villain finished for him, and even half sick in pain the hero could tell he was intentionally keeping his voice easy. “You’re okay. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

His hand shifted underneath the hero’s back.

“Breathe for me?” The hero tried, and managed a half wheeze. The villain just nodded. “Good. This is gonna suck.”

His other hand wormed its way underneath the hero’s knees. He blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision, and the villain stared at him. Barely disguised concern was written into every inch of him, like the only thing his bones could remember was panic. For him.

The villain was scared for him.

That was bad.

“What’s going to suck—“

The villain hauled him upwards, and his vision went white.

He woke up some time later, chest heavy and head floating somewhere above his body.

He hummed something that might have been a question, and the villain was above him in an instant.

“Are you in pain?”

The hero blinked at him for a moment. Mostly because he couldn’t really remember how to do anything else. The world felt sluggish. A second delayed behind normal. Which should have been concerning, panic worth and world ending, but it simply just…was.

“No,” he said finally, and his voice sounded weird. His throat ached, separated from him by a wall of warmth. “I was screaming?”

The villain swallowed, hard, and the hero managed to drag his gaze down to the needle and thread clutched in the villain’s hand.

“Yeah.” The villain sounded like he was choking on the words. “You were screaming.”

He opened his eyes whendidheclosethem and peered upwards again. He was on a couch. Or a bed? Bed, he decided a second later. The villain was kneeling next to him, and there was something soft tucked around his legs. He went to sit up, look down at his stomach; the villain’s hand came up to rest on his forehead, gently keeping him down. He must have made some noise of displeasure, because a moment later, the villain’s hand carded through his hair.

“Easy,” he murmured, focusing back onto the hero’s side. He heard the snip of thread; the sound of the villain throwing something onto a side table without care.

“What did you give me?” The hero’s tongue felt thick in his mouth.

“Lots,” the villain said.

“Lots,” he said back, managing to sound more incredulous than he actually cared to feel at the moment, and the villain snorted. “Haven’t heard of that one before.”

“Had to make something special for the boy wonder,” the villain smoothed a hand down his side, and the hero half leaned into it. Mostly he managed to sink further into the mattress. “You burn through shit fast, you know?”

The hero did know. He knew very well, unfortunately.

“Thanks,” he managed. His head lolled to the side without his permission, resting against the villain’s arm.

“You’re going to pass out again,” the villain informed him. He made a noise in the back of his throat that could have meant anything. The villain seemed to understand regardless.

Am not, he tried to say.

The haze of medication and blood loss stole him first.

The next time he woke, he was half sprawled against the villain’s side. Something cold was set onto his cheek, and he reached up to remove it, hand clumsy. The villain caught it before he managed to remove anything.

“You spiked a fever,” he said quietly. “I just got it back down. That’s probably why you woke up. How are you feeling?”

That was…a lot.

“No pain,” he said eventually. He thought he felt the villain give a heavy sigh of relief.

The world was clearing itself up bit by bit, settling the furniture back into the correct places until it no longer felt like things were sliding around him.

The villain’s hand was back into his hair again.

“Good,” the villain said, but the hero wasn’t really sure it was meant for him.

Something in his chest loosened.

“I thought I was going to die,” he admitted, and he wished his tongue was still numb, because the villain stilled, hand curled in his hair.

“That’s not what you told your friend.”

And yeah, the hero half remembered the pieces of that. A promise he was okay. Everything would be fine. He was always fine, wasn’t he? How strongly do you have to will to will someone to stay. Exactly how many pounds of force does it take to stop someone from bleeding out—

There was a chill curling itself around his ribs.

“I thought I was going to die,” his voice was raw. It wasn’t because of his throat. He sounded afraid, even to himself.

“I would never have let you do that,” he managed a moment later. His hand resumed in his hair.

And somehow, despite the knowledge of how hard it truly was to save someone, how long it took to learn that kind of information, the knowing of exactly what was survivable and what couldn’t be escaped, how strong you had to be to shift through rubble—the hero believed him.

“I know,” he said, because the villain had to know. That he believed him. That he would always believe him.

He melted into the villain’s side.

I trust you, I trust you, I trust you

The villain hummed, in that way of his that told him he understood exactly what the hero couldn’t vocalize.

“I’m your #1 speed dial?” He questioned after a moment.

The hero huffed a laugh.

“You’re my only speed dial.”

The villain froze.

And then he was shifting, pulling the hero closed to him. The villain tucked him close, chin settling onto the top of his head. The hero pressed his face into the hollow of the villain’s neck.

“I will always come,” he said, and this time, his voice was the one that was raw. “You call, and I will be there.”

He said it like it was easy. Like it was that simple.

Maybe it was.

Maybe for them it always had been.

A fondness he couldn’t put words too settled onto his shoulders.

He simply breathed into the villain’s neck, and the villain’s arms looped around him a bit tighter.

“You’re okay,” the villain said into his hair. Like he was confirming it.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re lucky you have super healing.”

“I’m lucky I have you.”

The villain laughed softly.

“Suck up.”

“And what? You gonna stop me?”

He could practically feel the eye roll. “Been trying for years. Hasn’t stuck.”

“Well, you had the perfect opportunity—“

The villain hushed him.

“Just. Shhh for a bit,” he said softly.

The hero, obediently, shhh’ed.

The villain’s hand ran through his hair again, and his eyes shuttered closed, settling further against the villain’s chest.

“Cheater,” he murmured, and the villain huffed a laugh, but didn’t deign a response.

And together, comfortably, curled around one another like two halves of a whole, they just breathed.