#whump thread

[generic-whumperz]

Have you ever named a Whumper after a villain/antagonist character before?

Shall we start a thread? Open tag to anyone who wants to share a pic or gif of who their Whumper(s) is named after! (And feel free to tag others if you want!)

Just curious to see people’s name inspirations :)

I’ll start! I’ve only done this once so far- named him Frederik, Fred for short, after the despicable Commander Frederick R. Waterford from The Handmaid’s Tale. My blood boils seeing this man.

[gingermintpepper]

I would really like to read one piece of writing, amateur or not, that features Apollo and Zeus having a positive relationship. One. Any one. It could be 30 words long for all I care. I just need confirmation that one other writer actively producing content in the Greek Mythology sector doesn't think of Apollo as Zeus' toy, sexual or otherwise, or of Zeus purposefully surpressing Apollo because he doesn't want him to surpass his power, or of Apollo only being obedient to his father over all else because of fear and physical abuse, or of any other reason possibly invented except some sort of mutual understanding and respect.

It should not be this difficult to find content where they do not hate each other.

[wellthisissomething]

AI-Less Whumptober Day 28 - Internal Bleeding/Needle and Thread

Duel - Ep. 3

Kkondae Intern - Ep. 8

Fireworks of My Heart - Ep. 5

Seobok (2022)

Heavenly Idol - Ep. 6

Previous 28/31 Next

[urlocalwhumper]

necromancer whumper puppeting a now undead whumpee's body and forcing them to fight their friends.

whumpee is still fully conscious, fully aware of everything their body is doing, but powerless to stop it.

and there's so much pain, their body is still torn apart from the injuries that killed them, only kept moving by whumper's magic.

every movement is agony, blood dribbles from their lips and stains the ground where they step. they just want it all to stop. dying was painful and scary, but this is so much worse.

and then there's whumpee's friends, forced to face off against their friend's mangled corpse, with whumpee clearly still in there. it would've been different if they were only fighting a shell, something that looked like whumpee but wasn't really them, but whumper elected to resurrect whumpee's mind along with their body, if only to torment everyone involved just a little more.

and when whumper finally releases their control, either to flee or because they've been defeated, whumpee's eyes roll back and they slump lifelessly to the ground. a puppet with its strings cut.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Okay but whumpees who become extremely spaced-out after taking the minimal amount of decongestants for a cold:

Passing out cold on the couch for four hours in the middle of the day and waking up not knowing what planet they’re on

Staring into space

Glazed-over eyes

Becoming hypnotized by how things move and fit into each other (their own hands, screw-top pens, fidget spinners, clouds, etc.)

Environmental sounds being too much for them

Staring directly into bright lights

Overall feeling like a ghost floating through life

Being able to breathe through their nose for the first time in a week

[voxuli]

[ alone ] for one muse to find the other trying to treat themselves /and or

[ drugged ] for one muse to take care of the other while they’re delirious

@a-hazbin-spider ?

[ alone ] from the injury/hurt prompts list!

~

Vox usually likes to be alone after a fight; to lick his wounds in private, so to speak. He has a habit of walling himself off in his sanctum, free to keep tabs on everyone while secure in the knowledge that no one could see him. The solemn darkness of the space was the next best thing to real reassurance that things were going to be okay, and much easier to get ahold of.

He's careless, perhaps. Maybe too injured to think as he stumbles inside, a prominent trail of black oil and bright blue coolant marking his path from the nearest CCTV camera to the door. He forgets to lock the door on the way in.

So it's a nasty shock some time later when the door slides open in the middle of his work. The bright glare of the hallway floods in, illuminating both his headless form and his TV on the table in front of him, its case pulled open and innards exposed for repairs. In lieu of his normal vision, each of the many screens around all swivel to look at the intruder, all displaying a single, familiar red eye.

Vox snarls as he recognizes the silhouette, sinking claws into the table. His speakers blow out and warp his voice as his audio processors fail to keep up.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Angel Dust?"

[re-whump]

thinking about a tiny vampire strung up on a silver chain like a pendant

[the-bar-sinister]

Needle By Thread (1093 words) by Overlord_Mordax Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Additional Tags: Horror, Psychological Horror, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, Time Loop, Whump

-

James wakes up in the sodden, decrepit bathroom, heavy with fatigue and dizzy with confusion. He stares into his milky, distant-seeming reflection in the dirty haze of the mirror, and he stares at his hands, sweaty and stained, and he feels suddenly like he has been here before. He feels it like a blow to the head leaving him reeling and drooling and about to be sick.

He stumbles and the moment passes. He catches his breath and he gulps down the bile. He has been here before, years ago. On his honeymoon. That is the source of the deja vu, the strange wave of grotesque nostalgia that overtook him for a moment. Nearly knocked him from his feet.

That must be it.

He has only ever been here once before.

With her. With Mary.

Surely that happy memory is the one that his hindbrain is reaching for as he stands among the spiderwebs and the black mold. Surely it makes him sick because Mary got sick— because this place, this town, is the last place he held her before everything started to go wrong.

There is no other meaning to the already fading sensation. There is no smell of rotten flesh. There is no vision of endless twisting corridors, bloated carpets and peeling wallpaper.

It fades. It doesn't matter.

He is back at the beginning. Back where it all started to go wrong.

Back in the last place he remembers being happy.

And there is a letter in his pocket.

James stares at his reflection in the foggy mirror for a moment more, his distant blue eyes, his tousled blond hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. The lines on his face. Stress lines. They make him look older than he is. So do the heavy dark bags under his eyes.

He touches the front pocket of his jeans, just below the hem of his old army surplus coat. He can feel the paper of the letter crinkle as he touches it. He doesn't have to take it out to know what it says.

James pushes his sweaty hair out of his face before it falls right back where it was before. He turns and he shoulders his way out of the oppressive rest stop bathroom, and into the parking lot.

He sees his car outside, parked crooked in the nearby space. The many hours long drive to get here now seems like a distant memory. Like it happened to another man a dozen years ago. He really should have taken a break to sleep on the way, he knows that. He knows that he's fatigued and tired, and he was driving for so long that now that he's out of the car it feels like the drive was another lifetime. He knows that he could easily have fallen asleep and wrecked the car and gone to meet— no but he had to meet Mary.

Mary wrote him a letter. He touches his pocket and he feels it crinkle again. 

He couldn't even stop for one second on his way here. Not for an instant.

Mary wrote him a letter. Mary was in this town.

Mary was supposed to be dead.

James paces the parking lot, trying to dismiss the tingling, numb sensation that suffused his whole body, but especially his legs. The air is cold and the fog is heavy and wet. It casts a gloom over the trees that hang slumped on the hill just over the barrier wall, rambling scrub-like all the way down from here to the lake.

James leans his hands on the cold, rough grit of the concrete wall and he looks out into the impenetrable fog. Somewhere down there is the lake. Somewhere down there is Mary– maybe.

He doesn't have to look at the letter to know what it says.

"I'm alone there now, in our 'special place'. Waiting for you.'

He feels the concrete sapping whatever heat is left in his fingers and he pulls them away, jamming them into the pockets of the old military coat. It's not as helpful as he hoped. He should have brought gloves. He and Mary had been here in the summer, he didn't think about how cold it would be now.

He ran out of the house without even thinking about gloves. He barely thought about keys.

He's thinking now. He's thinking about where the hell Mary could be. If she is here. If she's alive. How could she be alive? Mary died of that damned disease three years ago. A dead person can't write a letter.

Where the hell would she be? Their 'special place'? The whole town was their special place.

James bustles over to the car and its hinges squeak as he pulls the door open to grab the map out of the glove compartment. There's an old picture, too, and James stares at it for a moment, feeling achy and numb and lost and angry. Mary's face smiles back at him just the same.

He puts the map and the picture in his pocket too and he slams the door of the car.

The road is closed past here. There's a faded yellow and black barrier all across the main road, down from the rest stop and James remembers hazily that that was why he had stopped driving in the first place. The road into town is blocked completely.

If he wants to get to Mary he is going to have to leave his car here and walk.

It's fine with him. It's really fine. Maybe walking a little way will clear the feeling of lack, of numbness, of bereftness from his body. Maybe walking will warm the icy toes of his shoes and the tips of his fingers.

At least if he passes out walking he's the only one who'll go down. Not the car going nose first into the lake, giving him enough time to think about what he's done, but not enough time to escape. Even if he tried to escape.

James' chest feels heavy for a moment and his breath shudders. His vision shimmers as if he is sunk below the waves. 

It passes. He is here and this is now. Just like those old self-help books used to say. You can only do the task that's in front of you.

James' task is to find Mary. There's no use thinking about anything else.

Before he even reminds himself of his purpose he is already halfway down the stone steps, headed toward the winding path through the woods.

[whumppromptoftheday]

whumper gets tired of whumpee's talking back so they sew whumpee's mouth together

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

I can’t stop making lace

[generic-whumperz]

✨Caretakers with no medical experience just doing their damnedest to keep Whumpee alive✨

[thaliaisalesbian]

i get myself twisted in threads

Chapter 1: to meet you at the Alcott

Chapters: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

“Run!” Steve shoves at Nancy, then at him, hard.

The same way he’d forced the kids out earlier.

“Get out of here!”

“We’re not leaving you!” Jonathan isn’t sure what makes this worse: that the three of them have finally fallen into an easy friendship, no one left out, or that conversation Steve had walked in on, at the absolute worst moment, with no time to explain because Dustin and Lucas had found something in the woods.

Even after what he’d heard, he’s still putting them before him.

Nancy’s still holding his arm, just a little too tightly, so when she falls through the gate, he goes with her.

And they both get to watch as it closes, Steve still on the other side.

continue under the cut or on ao3

He doesn’t regret it. He can’t regret it, not when it means his the kids are safe, that Nancy and Jonathan are safe, that someone is there to explain this to Hopper and Joyce and make sure no one else gets sucked in.

They’re safe. The kids—the kids are all smart as fuck, if anyone can find a way to get him back out of here, it’ll be them.

If he even survives that long.

He can’t afford to think like that, though. Not if he wants to survive.

It would be easier.

He can’t let the kids down like that.

He won't.

At this point, Steve just counts himself as lucky that he has his nail bat. 

He watches the place where the gate closed up, trying to forget the looks and Nancy and Jonathan’s faces as he'd shoved them through instead of letting them get trapped here with him.

He'll be fine.

Mike would have to explain his sister's disappearance to their parents, and Joyce doesn't need to worry about her eldest being stuck here.

He’s got the bat, he’s only bleeding a little, and since this place is Hawkins, just… creepier and monster-y, he even knows his way around.

As he walks, heading back in the direction of the main road, Steve makes a checklist in his head of all the things he’ll need.

One: Food and water.

Can he trust any food he finds, though? He’s pretty sure Will didn’t eat anything, holed up in this world’s version of Castle Byers, but he hasn’t exactly asked. 

Maybe another gate will open up right in front of him, and that won’t be a problem.

Two: Shelter.

All the buildings will hopefully be empty, shouldn’t be too hard.

It’s not a long checklist, but maybe it will keep him alive.

“What do you mean, Steve’s still in there?” Dustin’s red in the face, yelling, but it seems like he’s trying not to cry.

“Dustin, please.” She sighs, trying to hold it together herself. Steve’s got good survival instincts—she thinks, anyway, he’s always good at protecting the kids—and he’s got his bat. He’s not on the baseball team for no reason, and she knows sometimes he’ll go to the woods behind his house and whack the shit out of trees with it.

“We have to go get him!”

“We will.” Jonathan says, quiet as always, but it’s enough to get Dustin to stop yelling. “But we need to tell Mom and Hopper first. We’re not going looking for it alone.”

They shouldn’t have this time, but none of them thought this would happen.

“I’ll call Hopper,” Nancy squeezes her eyes shut, trying to get the image of Steve, dirt streaked on his face, hands a little bloody, out of her mind. “Jon—”

“I’ll call Mom.” He nods when she looks at him. “Kids, get blankets and pillows and set up on the floor. I don’t care if you actually sleep, but try and rest. We’ll need it.”

Will is the only one who listens right away, and she immediately misses the way all of them listen to Steve, despite complaints and protests.

“We’re going to find him.” Jonathan tilts her head up and makes her meet his eyes. “We’re going to find him, and he’ll be okay.”

“Maybe he won’t get a concussion this time.” She laughs, though it’s not that funny.

She’d pay to have a concussed Steve here, safe on this side of the gates, and not in there.

Jonathan calls Joyce first; he keeps his voice low for the kids’ sake; none of them will admit it, but they’re tired. Max and Lucas are half-asleep against each other, while Dustin, Mike, and Will lay in the circle, heads together as they whisper.

Getting through Flo to Hopper is a little harder, and for a minute, she regrets saying she’d call him.

“Hopper, it’s Steve.” That could mean any number of things, she knows: Steve’s at the quarry again, his parents are in town, or he’s having/had a panic attack and is refusing to let the kids out of his sight. Usually, it doesn’t mean that Steve’s gone missing in the Upside Down.

She wishes it were a simple problem like that. Something Hopper might even be able to fix with a few words over the phone.

“What happened?”

“He’s on the other side of a gate.”

“You went looking for one?”

“Lucas and Dustin found something in the woods and came running to Steve. We all went out. He just—” At the gate, they’d entered, he’d shoved the kids out right away. At the next one, he’d shoved them out. And they let him. “He did what he usually does.”

“I’ll be there soon.” He doesn’t have to ask, he knows they’re at the Byers’— as small as it is, it’s become their gathering place.

“What about El?” Nancy jumps, not expecting Jonathon’s voice in her eye. “She’s at the cabin, right?”

“I’ll go get her.” She says. “Steve and I have been alternating afternoons with her.”

Since Steve is still benched because of his concussion, it’s really been more him than her. “I’ll be back soon.” She kisses his cheek and grabs his keys off the counter.

“Nancy? Where are you going?” Mike sits up, like he’s going to come with her.

“To get El. Stay here. Sleep, or maybe come up with a plan.”

It doesn’t take long for him to realize there’s no way he’s going to be able to tell time here.

He heads into town first. If they’re going to have food anywhere, it would be in town, right?

The school, maybe?

He goes there first.

He finds bags of crackers, but pretty much everything else is worthless. Cans that he can’t open, perishable food he definitely can’t take with him, and that looks half-rotted anyway.

“Come on, Steve.” He says, just to hear something other than silence. “You can come up with a better plan than this.”

He opens one packet of crackers, and shoves the rest into his pockets.

He’s always been better at thinking when he’s moving, so he walks around the school, trying to figure out where he should search next. Should he go to his house? Or the Byers’? Will figured out a way to communicate, right? Maybe he can do that, too. The kids are certainly there by now, and maybe Nancy and Jonathan too.

Steve doesn’t let himself think about them for too long.

Maybe El will be able to find him. Maybe he got hit over the head and he’s going to wake up and find out this was all some shitty concussion dream.

If only it could be that easy.

Deciding to try somewhere else for food before something comes looking for him in the school, he walks to Melveld’s.

It’s the same there. Nothing refrigerated is trustworthy. He’s reaching for a can opener—maybe he can get a little variety, even though he doesn’t think he’ll be able to cook anything while he’s here—when the growl behind him sets panic ringing in his ears, his heartbeat almost covering it up completely.

There’s a demodog at the end of the aisle, and when he looks out the window, he can see another one waiting.

Are they smart enough for that?

Steve brings the bat up in front of him, wincing at the sting in his palms. 

He manages to back out of the aisle, the demodog hardly moving, but he’s not lucky enough to make it to the back door.

It charges, snarling, and for a minute he’s back in the tunnels. It’s only the fact that he doesn’t have Dustin’s weight to hold up that he remembers that he’s not in the tunnels, he’s somewhere far worse.

And he’s alone, this time.

Not concussed, though. Probably.

There are more than two once he stumbles outside, nearly right into them. He doesn’t take the time to do a headcount, but even he isn’t good enough with a bat to fight them all and come out alive.

So he does the next best thing: hits the ones close to him as hard as he can.

He runs, ignoring the bites at his ankles and legs and swinging wildly in any direction.

He gets out, but they keep following him, and then he remembers: Blood.

He’s bleeding.

From his hands, his ankles now, probably—he can’t feel the pain yet, too hopped up on adrenaline, but they’ve been biting.

He shoulders the bat and runs as fast as he can, heading for the woods.

Up is probably his only option.

Steve hasn’t climbed a tree in years, and the bat in his hands just makes it even harder, but he gets up high enough that the demodogs can’t reach him.

He rips his shirt, using the pieces to wrap around his ankles. Now that he’s relatively safe, he can feel them throbbing. It’s hard to look at them properly, eyes blurry with tears.

He ignores the flash of white that he thinks might be bone and pulls the makeshift bandages just a little too tight.

They don’t bleed through immediately, so maybe he did something right. It’s hard to get comfortable in a tree, but he’s not leaving until all the demodogs below him have left. If it means sleeping here, it means sleeping here.

By the time he wakes up, just moving his ankles makes him want to cry. But he can’t stay in a tree forever. He needs to find a way out of here.

The Byers’ place is closer than his; he's comfortable there, too. He knows Joyce keeps a shotgun in the house, just in case. He’s not the greatest with them, but he’ll manage to figure it out.

Despite the strangeness of this version of the house, it’s still familiar. Normal, almost. If he tries hard enough, he can picture everyone sitting around the table, laughing. Or maybe planning. He’s not sure which, but it feels real either way.

Are demodogs venomous? Poisonous? Steve’s not sure which word would be used to describe them.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know anything about them and he’s got multiple bites on his ankles.

Sitting on the cleanest spot on the couch, he opens another packet of crackers.

This time, he only eats half.

2 ->

[whumpwillow]

okay so i read this manhwa recently and there was an arc in it that had this guy who wanted to be an actor but he had signed a really sketchy contract with a super toxic awful agency that was like totally bankrupt so they took advantage of this guy’s talent and desire to become an actor to literally work him to near death without even paying him. Like he literally almost died. The first scene he was in, he had such deep purple eyebags that only got worse and worse with each subsequent scene he was in because he was so exhausted. He just looked so sad. And yeah so he was really good at acting so the agency booked him for literally every event that they could (tv shows, college fairs, kid’s birthday parties) and he would have multiple events in a day with no time to rest except in the car. And they wouldnt even pay him. The guy asked when he was going to get paid and the manager guy went wild in anger and got super gaslight-y yelling about how the actor guy just cared about the money and wasn’t grateful for the agency making him a star and investing so much money into him and helping him to become a celebrity and that he would be nothing without them so he had no right to ask about money and that he wouldn’t get paid at all until he repaid the “debt” that he owed the company for supporting him and making him a celebrity, so they point blank tell him they arent going to pay him until then, and so he asks how much he has left to pay back and the manager flies into a rage at the actor guy (because obviously he doesn’t have ANY money to ‘pay back’ because the company is just extorting him and taking all the money he earns for themselves because the company is basically bankrupt) and the guy is so sad but goes along with it even tho the manager is yelling at him and it gets WORSE. so the actor guy is so exhausted from being worked to the bone that he literally collapses during a show rehearsal and the manager guy literally starts yelling at him to ‘stop pretending to be sick’ and when other people are concerned, the manager tells them that the actor guy has done this before and is pretending to be sick, which shows that this isnt even the first time the actor guy has collapsed from exhaustion, and that the manager guy is totally minimizing his experience and gaslighting him telling him that its not even real. and then he tells the actor guy not to go to the ER ‘again’ meaning that the actor guy had been so sick and tired that he literally went to the ER and still wasn’t being treated well. and yeah there was this whole other thing where the actor guy couldn’t leave the company because not only were they gaslighting him and guilt tripping him, saying that he would be nothing without them, they were also blackmailing him with a really sketchy contract where they like, paid for a sponsor he never got and he couldnt leave until he paid it back? idk the manhwa didn’t go into that bit too much but this is just such a good concept for a whump i think?? like, you have this guy who is an up-and-coming actor but his life is so bad. things are so bad for him in this situation. i just want to take care of him and give him nice things. he just looks so sad.

tldr; famous whumpees………

[whumpshaped]

tw multiple whumpers, betrayal, implied torture/torture mention

it was easy to think they were perfectly safe and protected within the group. they were held together by a common enemy, namely whumpee, whom everyone could beat up and torment as much as they liked. whumpee wasnt going to fight back, not against so many others. and who else were they supposed to fear?

whumper didnt realise how little it took to be singled out by their own group- for too much brutality, too little brutality, a torment method the others simply didnt approve of. maybe if whumpee wasnt gagged all the time, whumper wouldve known that they had once been a part of the group too.

[bellysoupset]

I kinda wanna know what Jonah acts like when he’s coming down with something :o

🧋

Hi!!

Alright, so it really depends on the sickness. if it's a stomach bug then he gets cranky and withdrawn. But if it's a cold, especially one coupled with fever, he gets suuuuper cuddly and touchy. Leo has experienced this first hand and he kinda loves it 🙈

Jon is not a chatty person even when feeling well, but he really clams up when sick, regardless of the motive of sickness.

[sinistersinister]

me and the bad bitch i pulled by being autistic