#fancy whump

[paintingaportraitofpain]

thinking about ballgowns being used in captivity, metal weights being attached to crinolines, the hems of floor-length gowns being glued to the floor, the top half of a whumpee able to move, but the bottom half completely trapped

[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

this or that - whump tropes (42)

[seth-whumps]

locations to keep a kidnapped whumpee:

a cell (classic)

cold, unfinished basement

an empty shack in the woods

a closet somewhere in the house, if they're quiet

behind a false wall or in a secret compartment

out in the house for anyone to admire

in the attic

in the tub (preferably if there's two bathrooms)

warehouse

shipping container

the trunk of a car

the backseat of a car

in the middle of the woods (secure a perimeter if they try to escape)

deep underground in a secret bunker

abandoned factory

abandoned laboratory

abandoned hospital

abandoned lakeside cabin

abandoned gas station

abandoned firehouse

abandoned churches or temples (use with caution)

a watchtower or abandoned water tower

[deluxewhump]

The Blackmuir Reign

Flashback: The Truly King and Matteo Osier, before Therrin’s takeover

CW: Torture, hand/finger whump with a knife, flaying, pleading, death wish (only under the present circumstances)

-

Matteo groaned, shivering from a clammy sweat that had broken out over his body. He was sitting on the stone floor of a Muirkeep cell, his hands bound above his head by the wrists. His legs were free, and he dragged his heels along the stones, lifting his knees close to his chest as if it could protect him. Henry always paid special attention to his existing wounds, and he’d begun to pray he would find a fresh spot to play with instead. Surely it would hurt less.

“You should be grateful I keep you safe in this cell,” said the newly crowned King. Matteo still thought him beautiful, though all that youthful vitality frightened him now instead of intriguing him. He’d misread what was in the Truly Prince’s eyes all this time, it seemed.

“Do you know what they’d do to you out there if I told them you poisoned my father? He was beloved. And a weak old man, too.” The King tsked. “Surely they’d execute you. Don’t you agree?”

“Y-yes,” Matteo sobbed. He did agree, and though most of the time he dreamed of rescue or escape, these long hours with King Henry and his slow, meticulous torture made him wish he had an execution date to look forward to. The knife slipped another quarter inch under his skin, along the bone, and he screamed through gritted teeth.

“Oh, come now,” Henry cooed. “I know that hurts you, Matteo. But you owe me more than a finger, I think. You took my father from me.”

“Please,” Matteo sobbed. Blood streamed down his shackled wrist. “Take it then. I accept. Take it and let me serve you.”

“How would you wish to serve me now?” Henry asked softly, pausing the progress of his knife and bringing his face close to Matteo’s. “Tell me.”

“In any way you wish,” Matteo answered, breathless and exhausted as if he’d run a mile at a full sprint. He’d said something similar all those months ago in the Truly tent as they traveled north, when Prince Henry’s attention had thrilled him to his core. What a lovesick puppy he had been.

“That was your mistake, wasn’t it? Your eagerness. Your ambition. What makes you think I want you?”

“My ambitions were yours! I served only you! Henry…”

“No, no. You will address me as Your Grace,” the King reminded him. “I will not hear my name in your mouth, Matteo Osier. You’re a disgrace to your house and your name. You’re not loyal to me, any more than you were my father. You’re a self serving, vain little creature who has quite overstepped your title. But you will learn humility.”

The King sawed like he was skinning a pelt from a rabbit, pulling the skin from bone. Matteo wailed with the last of his strength, sagging limply when the knife came away with another piece of him. Only a finger, he thought helplessly. One little digit, not even anything vital. Only a finger and it hurt like this…A wave of dizziness took him and he worried he would be sick.

“Peace, now,” said the King, wiping his face with a fine cloth. “You have nine more, after all.”

Matteo didn’t know if it was meant as consolation or a threat. He had never wished for anything in his life like he wished for his elder brother now. Even if it meant he was accompanied by their cocky, boorish ward.

But Saxon didn’t know where he was. Nor did his father, his mother, or any number of nobility north or south that might lift a finger to help him. No one did.

-

Taglist

@highwaywhump , @melancholy-in-the-morning , @quirkykayleetam , @whumpsday , @redwhump , @myhusbandsasemni @chai-and-cherries ,

@whumpthisway , @top-hat-aye , @foggy-whump, @whumpcreations, @mylifeisonthebookshelf , @inpainandsuffering , @extrabitterbrain, @pumpkin-spice-whump

@thecyrulik , @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump , @finder-of-rings , @whump-tr0pes , @the-monarch-whumperfly , @cursedandtired , @shydragonrider ,

@cupcakes-and-pain , @whumpwillow , @whither-wander-whump , @whumpilicious , @literally-frog ,

@darkthingshappen, @kixngiggles , @orchidscript , @ramadiiiisme , @prodigal-zoe, @robins-whump @cicatrix-energy, @unicornscotty , @wolfeyedwitch

@heystreetblues, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @annablogsposts , @leyswhumpdump , @distinctlywhumpthing

@handsinmotion , @gr8butnotstr8

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Sam on the drip.

[whump-captain]

it's my oc i can give him a cane if i want to

[ID in alt]

[writing-whump]

Wip info: Shadow wolves

Story tag: #werewolf wip

Genres: urban fantasy, hurt/comfort, bromance, romance

Whump: mainly sickfics, emeto, injuries, concussions, heart condition, stress sick, daily and magical whump

Setting: collage in Vienna, contemporary

Tropes: found family, pack life, 20+ characters navigating uni and work, first serious relationship, stoic older brother, estranged younger brothers, siblings, sfw

Tw: family trauma, family abuse in the past, graphic descriptions of illness (vomit + sometimes scat), self-destructive tendencies

Story: Follows the formation of the Sonder pack, consisting of stoic and perfectionalistic psychology wolf* student Isaiah, the exiled heir of the biggest pack in Western Europe, an independent, feisty witch* working in research and obsessed with writing named Seline and a grumpy, boxing-loving wolf with temper problems called Matthew. Important characters include Isaiah's jealous and competitive younger wolf brother Hector and their youngest mouthy human brother Arnie.

*they don't actually turn into wolves, they are just born with demonic like shadows in their souls that have wolf characteristics and temper and give them their supernatural strength and abilities

*witches are only born in werewolf families, and need contact to wolves to use their magic. Very elemental, songs, writing and dancing oriented

[secret-whump-basement]

Whumper who sees their Whumpees as works of art. Living statues and paintings. Covered in their own blood, strung up in uncomfortable poses, bruised and cut, pieces of them cut off and maybe put in new places, harsh lights shining in their eyes. If only Whumper could show them off to a wider audience! But they have their small circle who come and ogle Whumpee

[whumpshaped]

Imagine a demon who's making their first pact with a human, right? They studied for this their whole life, and they were finally summoned for something! Only, unknown to them, the human who summon has a lot of experience with demons. This is not their first pact, and they've started learning how to out maneuver even capable demons. So they're so happy to get such an unexperienced demon who doesn't even realize that they're getting the short end of the deal.

Then imagine the young demon being bullied by the older, more experienced demons because they made SUCH a bad pact. What do you mean the human's fancy words confused you? That you actually let them talk you down into only having an eighth of their soul! And what you give them in return, acting like a guard dog for the human? Poor thing. Precious runt of a demon.

this is the stupidest thing but i genuinely think i cant write demon pacts bc im having so much trouble w law school personally AJSJDJSKSKSK ive sat down to write this a THOUSAND times and every time i just get this intense anxiety- so im rly sorry but i wont be filling this either ://

prompt up for grabs as always and i am personally encouraging anyone who feels like they could write this to write this please. its such a cute concept. silly demon

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumpmas in July Day 21: Abandoned

CW: Abandonment (obvs), injury mention, capture, threats

They were losing, badly. Their team's leader gave the order to retreat. But Whumpee couldn’t retreat. They looked down at their ruined leg and grimaced. They weren't getting out of there, not with that. They watched their allies make their escape without them. 

In the fear and chaos, Whumpee could never be sure whether their teammates had been sorry and looked back at them with deep regret that they couldn't make it out with the rest; or had been too consumed with their own fear and self-preservation to realize they'd left Whumpee behind. Whumpee wasn't sure which would be worse. Either way, they'd left Whumpee behind anyways and didn't come back. 

When their side was all gone and the fight over, Whumpee saw someone walking in their direction, unconcerned with the signs of violence on the field, followed by a handful of others who were presumably underlings. 

A chill ran down Whumpee's spine. They knew who that was. Whumper. 

“Well, what do we have here?” Whumper asked when they were close. 

“You haven't won, Whumper.” Whumpee tried to hide their apprehension behind a glare. “Everyone else got away.”

“You haven't won either. You got abandoned by your own team.” Whumper was utterly unphased by the glare, as they deserved—they were the one in control of the situation. They weren't gloating, though; if anything they just seemed comfortable. 

“They had to. I couldn’t make it out, and they had to get away. It…means they’ll be able to fight another day.”

“They left you. To die. Or possibly worse. And you know what, you don’t look like someone who thinks they’ll be rescued.”

Whumpee looked away. They didn’t want to admit it, but yeah, the chances of their team coming back just for them were slim.

“You’re in my hands now. I know what to do with enemy prisoners. You can be put through a lot of suffering. I’ll get what I need from you, eventually.”

Whumpee closed their eyes, bracing for the worst. They couldn’t hope for any better in the clutches of their enemy.

“Or, you could join with me. Get even. Make them regret leaving you behind.”

Whumpee’s eyes flew open—they weren’t expecting an offer like that. Still, they couldn’t turn on their allies. It wasn’t their fault they’d had to leave Whumpee behind…right? “I can’t turn on them for that.” Whumpee swallowed. “It’s a part of the cost of fighting for something.”

“They don’t deserve your loyalty after giving you none.” A glint in Whumper’s eyes suggested they saw that Whumpee’s conviction was starting to weaken.

Whumpee didn’t have a good retort for that. All they said was a weak, “I shouldn’t….”

“Shouldn’t you? It’s not like your other option is better.”

Whumpee looked away again. Whumper reached down and tilted Whumpee's chin up. “What’ll it be?”

Masterlist

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Chapter 2 - Closed Eyes

Fancy Boots

And he continues to have a wonderful time, because I decided to share my migraine with someone.

Prev | Masterlist | Next

Riordan trudged down the road from the Citadel into town. His feet barely lifted off the ground, nausea roiled in his gut with every step, and he squinted at the path ahead through almost closed eyes. Even so, the light of the afternoon sun bore into his skull, and the sound of birds chirping on the trees lining the path made him feel like his brain was turning into soup.

The way would have been fine—probably—had he left an hour earlier. But he had not. Instead, he had filled out the necessary paperwork, made sure to submit a note of his absence in the proper places, and handed a pile of his clothes over for laundry, because the clothes he was wearing at the moment were the last clean ones. Freya didn’t seem like the kind of person who would admonish someone for a stained shirt, but he wanted to make a good impression.

The impression he was currently making was anything but good. A group of travelers cast him questioning looks as they walked past him. He ignored the whispers behind his back and focused on setting one foot in front of the other. In the haze of growing pain and declining ability to focus, the course of action had been so clear to him: visit the people he felt safest and most comfortable with. But as the town came into view and he stumbled along the streets leading him to his friends’ house, doubt began to settle in his heart.

How rude of him to bother them once more during one of his attacks. He could as well have waited it out in his rooms. Sometimes, he did, but the citadel was not a quiet place, and he craved silence as much as he craved some company—company he knew he would be barely able to stand. So his friends would once again be walking on tiptoes around him, half driven by pity, and half by guilt that still lingered no matter how often he assured them it hadn’t been their fault.

When he arrived at their house, he made his way through a garden in full bloom and sat on the small stone step in front of the backdoor. Torn between longing and guilt, he buried his face in his hands. Pressing against his eyeballs didn’t help against the pain, not really, but it did elicit the illusion that as long as his eyes were unable to move, it would at least not get worse.

Slowly, he leaned back until his shoulder hit the door and he relaxed against it. Shit. Rude or not, he wouldn’t make it all the way back to the citadel before this attack was over. He could think about a way to make it up to them afterwards, but for now, his focus would have to stay on not throwing up on their doorstep.

The door opened. Riordan flinched. He tried to catch himself, but his reflexes were too slow. When he began to topple backwards, his fall was stopped with a knee between his shoulder blades. 

“Riordan?”

Hands on his shoulders replaced the knee, holding him upright as the figure stepped in front of him. He pulled one hand down and cracked his right eye open, meeting a concerned gaze from storm-gray eyes.

“Hey,” he croaked.

“Shit.” Merridy straightened up without letting go of him, kicking the door fully open. “Can you get up?”

He lowered the other hand as well but kept his eye closed as he grabbed the edge of the step. If he didn’t want to spend the next twenty-four hours or more on the ground behind her house, he had no choice but to get up. That didn’t make it any more pleasant. Pain shot through his head, but he gritted his teeth, glad that between Merridy’s hands and the doorframe, he was unable to collapse.

She led him inside and pushed him in the direction of a chair, pulling it out with one foot so he could sit down. He did so gladly, laying his head on his crossed arms and breathing slowly to combat the sick feeling in his stomach. He shouldn’t have taken a second dose, knowing so well that it would make the nausea worse. It didn’t seem to help at all, but every time he decided to stop taking the medication, a small voice inside his head wondered if it would be even worse without. He was not keen on finding out.

Merridy returned with Damien in tow. He didn’t say anything, he only put his hand on Riordan’s shoulder and squeezed it. Riordan relaxed ever so slightly, the touch a welcome distraction that grounded him without being too much.

Cupboards and containers opened and closed. Water splashed. Footsteps approached. Merridy didn’t say anything, either, but she took his arm and nudged him to get up. There was little he wanted to do less, but he couldn’t stay at their kitchen table—or in their kitchen, as tempting as the thought of curling up under the bench was.

It was his luck that he knew the house reasonably well. Clinging to Merridy on one side and the handrail on the other, he climbed the stairs, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. Any kind of exertion only made it worse; getting up had been bad enough, but stairs were a special kind of nightmare.

At the top of the stairs, Merridy gave him a moment to catch his breath before she nudged him onwards into the living room. When his toes hit the sofa, he opened his eyes after all, to make sure he was dropping down at the right spot. He all but fell onto his stomach, wrapped his arm around a pillow, and buried his face in the fabric. 

“Mpf.”

Gods, he was not going to get up again anytime soon.

The muffled footsteps on the carpet moved around him. Merridy closed the curtains, the sound of heavy fabric sliding over the wooden rods a familiar one. She grabbed his feet and pulled off his boots, pushing his legs fully onto the sofa. Next, she slipped the strap of the small bag he had brought over his head and pulled it out from under him. A blanket followed, tucked in around him and pulled up to his shoulders.

Damien entered the room. Riordan felt it more than he heard it. The sound of ceramic on wood promised a cup of water waiting for him, should he need it, and something was placed at his side, spreading blissful warmth across his skin. A hot water bottle, but not a metal one like the one his family always used. Instead, it was made from soft leather, which made it less hot, but much more comfortable to lean against. 

In the face of so much care, his bad conscience reared its head again. He had to pull himself together. He wasn’t dying, his head just hurt, and here he was, having them tend to him like he was a toddler. Pushing himself to the side, he squinted through almost-closed eyes. Damien was crouching in front of him. That was good. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to have his own voice tumble around in his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he signed, small and jittery.

Damien took his hand and squeezed his fingers before moving them.

“No. Sleep.”

The signs weren’t quite right, but close enough for Riordan to understand. His eyes burned at the obvious attempt to be quiet for his sake, and he pressed his face into the pillow again, because if he started to cry now, it would hurt so much more.

Damien was still holding his hand, so it couldn’t be his fingers brushing through Riordan’s hair. They pushed a few curls behind his ear before rubbing his temple. A second hand joined, tracing the tense muscles along his neck and shoulders, exerting a bit of pressure, but not enough to cause him more pain.

Riordan was aware Merridy knew where it hurt because he had told both of them about his frustration after visiting multiple healers with no success. That didn’t make it any less wonderful that she remembered. He willed his body to relax and his heartbeat to slow down, focusing only on her touch. For a moment, the pain faded, and that was all it took for him to fall asleep.

[ID: The banner shows the feet of two people wearing boots, sitting next to each other in the grass. The title fancy boots is written next to them in a fancy looking, curly font in a bright green to yellow gradient. All other images are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

[befuddled-calico-whump]

i just found out about this "whump" thing recently and i can't tell if it's a softcore kink? or just "we like torturing sketchbook boys platonically." bc if it's the latter I'm gonna start using this tag

your work is in good taste, at least, i hope that's not an exception to the community! any idea where the name comes from?

Welcome aboard, hope it's not too intimidating 😂

Whether it relates to kink or not depends on the person, but a good deal of the community are very much the latter (great description for it skfjfj)

Whump covers a pretty broad spectrum really, you can have anything from "character has a fever and is being taken care of by their friends" to "extreme torture and recovery" to "emotional distress surrounding one bad event" and beyond. "Whump" is essentially a more focused hurt/comfort, and the degree of the hurt and comfort involved varies a lot depending on the story and person

Most people tag the content or have a warning before the story, so you'll usually know what you're getting yourself into. Tags/warnings that cover more extreme topics include "vivisection", "torture", or "gore" for the more gruesome physical aspects, and "dubcon", "noncon" and variations on those for stories that may include sexual assault, so if you're browsing the whump tag and would like to avoid that type of content, those are some tags you can block :)

Most authors/artists will also tag for the genre, so if you're looking for something specific, you can try tags like "fantasy whump", "pirate whump", "spy whump", "superhero whump", etc. Fandom whump is popular as well, so if you're looking for a specific existing character, searching "*character name* whump" may get you sone fics or art.

I'm glad you enjoyed some of my work :D If you're looking for more whump writing/art, I can recommend a few blogs:

@i-can-even-burn-salad writes fantasy whump, usually character-driven with a decent amount of plot. She has some gorier descriptions, but very fun characters

@redwingedwhump has written both fantasy and soft sci-fi/speculative fiction. A lot of the fantasy is set in a world inspired by dungeons and dragons so there's some fun magic and dynamics

@demondamage has art, comics, and writing centered on angels and demons. There's a big focus on the lab/medical setting and experiments

@whumpwillow has a hero/villain story that focuses on the recovery of the heroes' enemy, and a story about a demon who was accidentally rescued by a witch

And of course, there's so many more great whump creators out there. (This got a little long, hope you don't mind 😅)

To answer the last question, I'm not entirely sure, but I think it originated in the Stargate fandom. Either just a slang term, or referring to the noise a specific character made when falling/getting hit lol

Once again, welcome!

[selene-and-the-cold]

You know those movies or series where some 19th century or early 20th century scientists accidentally travel back in time or discover an unknown continent where dinosaurs still exist? So they have to fight dinosaurs, the elements and really struggle to survive in this unknown world?

That, only with one of them coming down with the most dreadful cold, or being injured and suffering from a high fever (or both, why not be greedy while I'm at it ^^)...

[whump-captain]

--- Blog intro ---

Hello and welcome to Captain's Character Hurting Emporium! This is a whump sideblog, I like and follow from my main that also has "captain" in the name (I like to keep it separate from whump but feel free to browse it).

About me:

My name is Captain, I'm an adult, asexual trans dude. I'm autistic so I'm not generally great at talking but I'm always open to messages and asks about whump, video games, music, or other fun things!

About this blog:

I post art, writing, and occasionally video clips. Some of the tags I use are:

#captain's stuff - for anything I made

#captain's ocs - for OC works specifically (you will notice those are pretty much synonymous lol, I hardly ever write fandom)

#ocposting - the above is for creative works featuring my blorbos. This one is for being unwell about them.

#captain's log / #captain's bitching - personal posts, general and negative respectively

#answers - answering all the lovely asks people send!

I try to tag all posts with basic content notes but feel free to ask for specific things to be tagged!

Favourite tropes and thing you will find here:

Stabbings | Impaling | Hand whump | Defiant whumpees | Impassive whumpers | Platonic devotion | Horror | Immortal/healing whumpees | Magic, monsters, and other fantastical whump scenarios

Squicks and things you will not find here:

Nsfwhump | Pet whump | Conditioning | Dehumanisation | "Broken" whumpees | Intimate whumpers | Emeto

This blog is fully SFW (in the sexual content sense, I still don't recommend browsing it where your boss can see lol) and I'd rather my works not be reblogged to exclusively NSFW blogs (whump blogs that feature NSFW are fine). I block kink blogs; no judgement whatsoever, I just don't interact with them.

My works:

Here's a masterpost of all my stories! Updated as I go, so not always complete - you can use the tags above to see everything. Content notes are separate for each post and all art is described either in alt text or in the body of the post.

I'm currently putting together a taglist, too, so if you'd like to be tagged in my future stuff, let me know!

[flowercrowngods]

“Nothing bad, nothing big,” Steve mumbles to no one in particular as he slowly, carefully undresses, taking off the jacket, peeling it inch by inch from the flesh that’s stuck to it. He lets out a hiss and a groan, but pain is familiar, he’s had worse. Probably. Most definitely.

The wound is massive and all that pain suddenly makes sense. He twists his arm this way and that to get a better grasp of the damage inflicted, but no matter how he twists and turns and tries to blame it on perspective or lighting, it stays massive. Like a flame that’s making its way up his forearm, winding and twirling upwards, ending just above his bicep. It looks like a burn mark, except for the hairline cuts, like lightning sizzling along the flame as it traces its path up his arm.

It’s like a mark. In the shape of those godawful claws that reached for him far too many times last night, wrapping around his forearm and then moving on towards the rest of his body.

Thinking about what this could mean, being marked by a Demogorgon, makes his skin crawl with both memory and anxiety.

from chapter 4 of i’ll try. i’ll try. (but i couldn’t be better)

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I wonder if we could start an ongoing whump community project where people can submit prompts and stories to be read by a cast of voice actors in their respective parts? Just for funsies and building acting skills?