#whumpblr

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

a reminder to all writers out there, you’re a human, not a machine

it’s okay to be frustrated with your works

it’s okay to be exhausted

it’s okay to have a writer’s block

it’s okay to just want to take a break for a while

it’s okay if some days you can only write one paragraph

it’s okay if some days you can only write a sentence or two

it’s okay if some days you can’t write at all

every single writer has gone through all of these challenges, but the thing is that it passes. none of these struggles last forever. so be kind to yourself. you’re doing fine, I promise.

[questions-about-blorbos]

This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

[the-modern-typewriter]

hey , I've been in love with your writing ever since I came across your blog , will you please write about a very intimidating villian who decides to kidnap the hero because he finds him cute when he is absolutely afraid of him

"The man who isn't afraid of anything," the villain mused. He trailed the edge of a blade along the hero's cheek, capturing a silent tear upon the tip. "Look at you now."

"Whatever it is that you want from me, whatever you want to know-"

"-Shh."

The hero's mouth snapped shut.

The villain smiled, crooked with an illusion of wholesome boyishness at the corner.

"You talk when I ask you a question, cutie," the villain said. "The only other sound I want to hear from you otherwise is whimpers. That was your one warning. Nod if you understand?"

Of course, the hero couldn't comfortably nod with a sharp knife against their face; not without digging the blade into suddenly soft skin.

The villain raised an eyebrow.

The hero nodded, very slightly, but even that tiny movement caused the blade tip to dig in. A small bead of blood formed on their perfect features, trickling down towards their jaw. The hero's breath hitched.

The villain's smile grew. "Good boy."

The hero shuddered, one of those whimpers all too ready and startled on his tongue. His eyes were all wide and pretty filled with an animal panic.

The villain reached out a hand, smoothing his palm along the hero's chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall, the desperate thumping of his heart like the sweetest melody.

The hero's eyes flinched shut. He trembled in his restraints.

The hero was not, it was true, a man frightened of many things. His abilities left him invulnerable to everything. Well, almost everything, as they had found. The villain's particular gift was to suck away the powers of anyone around him by virtue of his mere presence. The expression on the hero's face when he realised he'd gone from unstoppable god to just a man, to just like everyone else...

Well. It was adorable. The villain had always liked to collect adorable things.

"Please," the hero whispered, like he just couldn't help himself. The once powerful often couldn't.

"Was that a question, my dove?"

"Just let me go. I didn't - I'm sorry I came after you - I didn't - I thought -"

"You thought you could win?" The villain's voice was oh so sweet.

The hero flinched again. He met the villain's gaze and gave another frantic nod as the villain's blade moved on, caressing down their chest to meet the villain's free hand.

"That was stupid, wasn't it? What a silly goose you are."

A delicious, impotent fury flashed through the hero's eyes.

The villain dug the blade in. It was barely even a scratch, but a scratch could be a terrible thing to a man who had never had the privilege of being hurt before, knowing only that it could get much worse.

The fury was entirely drowned out by terror again.

The villain made a show of sighing. "You'll tell me everything?"

"I - what? Yes."

"You'd hand your friends over on a platter? Everyone counting on you?"

The hero's jaw clenched with anguish.

"Hm?" the villain pressed. "Would you hand them all over in exchange for me letting you go?"

"Yes." It was barely above a whisper.

"Go on then."

He let the hero bluster and ramble, trying to tuck away details and secrets, trying to stall, trying to do anything he could to win like he still hadn't quite learned. The villain nodded diligently along, devouring it all.

The hero eventually stuttered to a halt.

The villain waited a beat. The he stabbed the knife gently into the hero's hand.

The hero screamed. Confusion and outrage and guilt joined the terror. There was no longer a single tear, but a flood of them.

Cute, cute, cute.

The villain leaned in, knife moving fast to tilt the hero's head.

"I didn't take you for information," he confessed. "I just took you."

The hero stared at him, almost uncomprehending, eyes glassy. "But - I - what do you want from me"?

The villain pressed a kiss to the hero's nose.

"Nothing."

The hero whimpered again. Just pathetic.

"There's literally nothing you can do to make you let you go, sweetheart," the villain said, in the same confiding tone of voice. "I'm not going to."

The hero shook his head. He seemed to be having difficulty breathing properly. He was reaching the overwhelmed stage of fear, wasn't he? Not the villain's favourite, but a delight nonetheless.

The villain patted the hero's cheek, tender comfort, and stroked his hair. He pulled the hero a little closer, cooing in his ear. He gave him a moment to relax, instincts all disorientated and craving something lovely. He waited until the hero had struggled his breathing back under control, trying oh so hard to be brave. Then.

"You're going to die here, my little love," the villain said. "Now. What should we do about you speaking out of turn?"

[seth-whumps]

"That's nonsense. I don't get 'panic attacks.' I must've been... poisoned. Or something." + Caretaker

"Poisoned. Yeah. As if that doesn't make me even more concerned."

"You are such a--fine. Fine! Just--come talk to me when you figure your shit out, okay?"

"Are you serious? You're only barely done hyperventilating."

"This is the fourth time since we got you back, Whumpee."

"We checked you already, there's no poison, there's no heart attacks, there's no strokes or wounds or fevers. You need help."

[kabie-whump]

Ghost whumpee who has to relive their death again every night + living Caretaker covering their head with a pillow every night to block out the screams.

[ladymirwen]

"Don't worry about me, (name)."

"Don't worry about you?" they echoed softly. "Who else might I worry about? The whole world seems brighter when I know you're okay, (name). So, please... try and stay okay."

[the-bloody-sadist]

MoriZai during a meeting (the mafia is watching 👁️) full on Patreon!

[fourwingedwriter]

I think we need to acknowledge back pain in whump

Tied up Whumpee with an extremely tight back, muscles strained in a way that they should not be. Even when untied, too sore to function

Winged whumpee unable to rest their wings and is suffering from the weight.

Having no access to a proper bed resulting in difficulty sleeping and further difficulty moving without pain

Whumpee so weak they aren't able to stand up, stuck on their back/side for so long it starts to hurt

Caretaker massaging Whumpee's back and finding it's as hard as a rock (bonus points if they are forced to feel the texture of the scars)

Whumper making Whumpee do physical labor resulting in Whumpee having improper form and suffering because of it

Whumpee with their arms hanging above their head, trying not to pull muscles when they relax for a moment

Disabled Whumpee having pain from their prosthetic not being perfectly even

Disabled Whumpee when they use a cane/wheelchair/mobility aid for too long

Just like... back pain. I think we forget it a lot

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

what are your thoughts on writing non con fics? like, i was looking at some posts people made about how writing non con makes you a terrible immoral person, but it's just fiction?? fiction, especially fanfiction, doesn't have to reflect your actual morals and beliefs, right?

I love reading non con fics and I love writing non con fics. the more fucked up, the better. that dove’s better be mutilated and rotting when I shove it in my mouth

[questions-about-blorbos]

This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

[dying-crying-pining]

A: you sure you’re good?

B: yep. *eyes roll back/faceplants*

[the-dump-of-whump]

When whumpee is whumped consensually.

Not in like a romantic/sexual way but because…

It’s better than the alternatives (trading themselves for a loved one)

It’s something they’ve submitted themselves too (a sort of training or preset punishment)

They believe they deserve it

[seth-whumps]

"Listen, you have three choices. No food for a week, the electric chair... or you just suck it up and go to the party with me. What do you say?" + Defiant Whumpee

"You're the one in control. Aren't you supposed to be making the choices here?"

"Fuck you. I don't care."

"Don't you fucking touch me."

"As if I'd tell you what to do to me."

"You and I both know you're gonna do all three. Might as well make it a hat trick."

[lovelizards]

Abigail clasped her hands in front of her. She gave the judge as brave a stare as she could muster, and said, "Yes. I am a witch."

A wave of shocked whispers and gasps fell like a fog over the crowd that had gathered to see justice done.

"Witch!" The man to the judge's left, Hopkins, snarled, like he'd known the whole time and had been proven right.

He was a man whom no woman could excite except for the witches he hunted, probably annoyed with her for denying it this whole time.

Abigail shifted on sore, bare feet. The metal bridle hung heavy on her head and greatly pained her neck where the leather straps chafed. The chains on her wrists clattered, and the men at either side of her shifted nervously a few paces away.

"So, thou wouldst admit now," the judge said darkly, "that you are witch, and have borne false witness besides."

"It - it was fear that bid me speak falsely," Abigail said, doing her very best to make a scene of letting her eyes wander nervously across the hall, to force a tremble in her shoulders, until she came eye-to-eye with...him.

The man who was meant to be her husband. The man who had caused all of this. Rugged and blond, with a sneer on his dry, thin lips.

She lowered her gaze to the floor and clasped her hands together. The judge sighed.

"Aye, a witch hath great reason for dread -"

"'Twas not for that!" Abigail insisted, raising pleading eyes up to the judge and raising her voice to a panicked pitch. "It - it was - "

Abigail hesitated, making a show of shying away from the part of the crowd where that blonde bastard sat.

She continued: "I - I was coerced! I was seized by the hand, compelled by a dark specter bearing the visage of a man, to inscribe mine own name in the Devil's book!"

"Thou wouldst dare bring these falsehoods before the court?!" Hopkins roared, standing in rage.

"It is truth!" Abigail cried, willing tears into her eyes, "Never have these hands encountered such chill touch, nor eyes beheld such a shadow as did emerge from the dark - approaching me, menacing, whilst I lay abed!"

The crowd's whispers had raised in volume, there was a tense feeling in the courtroom. It was easy enough to prey on their fear of folk tales and superstition. After all, that's why she was there in the first place.

"Have care," Hopkins warned with a scowl to the judge, who sat in stony silence, "a witch honeys her words with spells to blind the unprepared."

"I will hear her," the judge said after a brief pause, "Speak, thou witch, if indeed a shadow bade you barter thy soul, tell of it."

Abigail pressed her closed fists to her dirty bodice, as if she were about to pray, and lowered her head demurely.

"I wouldst beg thee not make me speak of that night..." she whispered, then flinched as Hopkins smacked his hand on the surface of his table.

"Damned witch! Speak! Or speak not, and be judged all the same!"

The judge gestured for him to calm himself, and he sat back with crossed arms. Abigail fidgeted her fingers together, her shoulders hunched.

"The terrible deeds that shadow wrought upon my body, no matter how I begged..." she said, so quietly that every man in the room had to lean in to hear her, then she raised her voice to a scream: "'No! Touch me not! Stay back! I beg thee, foul demon! I am only for my husband and not yet wed!'"

The room went cold and silent. The whispers had stopped short. Colour had drained from the judge's face, and even Hopkins had his brows raised.

Abigail raised her hands towards her face, rattling the metal of the cage on her head; "The shame of it!" She sobbed. "When he was done, it was then that he did grasp mine hand and lead me - blinded by anguish - to sign my name! He bid me to sign, else he would pay his visits anew, every night and again, until -!"

"Enough."

The judge's voice boomed in the hall, echoing eerily in the silence. No one in the crowd spoke, nor did they move.

Abigail glanced around the room. She saw the horrified looks of some men, and some women with handkerchiefs raised to their teary eyes.

It was enough to make her laugh, if she wasn't so tense from nerves.

She'd always hated how small she was, and how young and innocent her looks were. They didn't match her at all.

But in this moment, she was glad she seemed like a pitiful young girl, dirty and tired, and a victim. Her hair fell into her face as she looked up at the judge.

"The name," the judge said solemnly, "speak the name whose face thou didst see in this shadow of man."

Finally. Finally, the story came to its end.

Abigail took in a deep, shaking breath, glad that her tears were finally falling freely, and choked out:

"It - it was -"

"Speak, woman!" Hopkins shouted impatiently.

Abigail flinched away from the crowd, and threw out an accusatory finger to point to the rugged blond man whom she hated, maybe more than anyone else in the world.

"It was Lord James Taverly!"

The crowd erupted in cries of outrage, gasps of shock, and one woman even fainted into the arms of her husband. The men sitting near James leapt up and grabbed at him. And he, of course, fought furiously.

She wished she could see his idiot face. He must have been so shocked. His own act of spite in reporting Abigail as a witch had backfired on him.

He'd warned her she would regret rejecting him. But now...

Now, at least, if she still had to die - he would die, too.

The men who had been guarding her went to the crowd and pulled James bodily up into the pit, holding him tightly and turning him - disheveled and red-faced - towards the judge.

"Your Grace!" James cried in outrage, "I have no covenant with the Devil! I am falsely accused!"

"Silence, James Taverly." The judge said, his gavel sounding out loudly above the noise in the hall, until it lowered to a murmur again.

Then the judge turned to Hopkins, and gave him a look - a look that asked his opinions on the matter.

Abigail's heart sank like a rock.

If it was Hopkins, he would never take her side over that of a man. Especially a man who was a lord! All of her hard work! How could it end like this?!

Hopkins stared deeply into her eyes, so deep that she felt pinned in place. Her desperation must have looked as real as it felt, because he then turned to the judge and said:

"It is not without precedent that a man may partake in the dark arts of witchcraft. All are weak to the ways of the Devil. There is no way to know the truth of it until he is interrogated."

"Lord Hopkins!" James shouted, fury and fear mixing in his stupid face, "I - I am no witch!"

Then, he turned to Abigail, and looked at her with pleading angry eyes, "You must have - have been mistaken! Surely it could not be my own face you saw! I pray you, speak, Abbie!"

She wanted to slap him right there! How dare he use a nickname for her after what he'd done.

Abigail wailed in fright, backing away from him and stumbling over her feet to the ground. She held her hands up to protect herself from him, shaking her head.

"Torment me no longer!" She cried. "Stay back!"

Through her tangled curtain of red hair, Abigail saw his expression shift between anger and horror, until eventually it landed on anger.

"Bitch!" He screamed, "Lying bitch -!"

The judge's lips curled in disgust. He waved a hand, and the bailiffs carried James away shouting profanities. Hopefully, Abigail thought, to be mercilessly tortured and interrogated, and then executed soon after.

"Stand thee, Abigail Cooper."

She did, pulling herself up and reaching awkwardly into her bridle to wipe her eyes on the backs of her hands - probably only smearing more dirt on her cheeks.

"The truth of it will out in the end, I shall bid Master Hopkins undertake the charge. Yet, the truth doth abide that thou didst inscribe thy name in the book. Thou art witch, and must needs be purged of dark magics."

Purged? Abigail's brows furrowed, nervous. She hadn't heard anything about there being a way to fix a witch or 'purge the devil' out of them. Hopkins didn't look too pleased, maybe he hadn't mentioned it on purpose.

Did he hope she would be executed?

How sad for him.

"Y - yes, your Grace -" Abigail agreed, "if thou wouldst but speak the way..."

"I charge you as a witch," the judge said, "and if thy tale be true, then the Witch Breaker shall cast forth the devil from within thee. Take her." This last part was to another group of bailiffs, who tugged on the chain connected to the metal hoop around her hips.

Abigail frowned. The Witch Breaker?

Hopkins sighed loudly, annoyed, and threw his hands up.

Whoever the Witch Breaker was, they were no friend of his. Could that be good news for her?

"I - I thank thee, your Grace!" Abigail called as she was pulled out of the courtroom, but the judge must not have heard her. He was talking with Hopkins, and didn't even look her way.

Well, it wasn't a death sentence.

It was ominous, at best. And fear still danced in her stomach.

But it wasn't death.

She supposed she would have to keep living, if only out of spite.

『 Next 』

[firapolemos05]

Whumpuary 2025

Day 11 Blood

Day 23 Alone