Sam's Whump Art

Side blog of @sams-dumping-ground containing only art that has whump themes. The characters shown here are my own, others will be credited if they aren't. Viewer discresion is advised. I am a lvl 27 trans man that just likes to draw and game.

[sams-whumping-ground]

Whump Art Side Blog:

All likes and follows come from @sams-dumping-ground.

SFW art found here: @just-sams-art

Master Posts

Stories

Harrison & Cyril - Harrison's pieces are tagged as #OC: Harrison Graves

Sci-Fi

Sci-Fi AU

Drawing Prompt Events:

Goretober 2025

[a-class-attempter]

Whumpee snapping and using their chains to strangle Whumper…

[redd956]

Sometimes your worldbuilding creates the perfect grounds for whump. Sometimes, to get the whump, you need to worldbuild

[inky-duchess]

Servants: What do they talk about downstairs?

Often I get asked about what matters certain ranks of society speak about when they are alone, such as what topics they talk about, what would be taboo and what sort of things they would feel comfortable speaking about.

Topics

Downstairs conversation usually revolved around whatever kept the household running smoothly, so most talk was practical, harmless, and rooted in day to day life or life outside of work. Servants would often have swapped tales about work, talking amongst themselves on matters of staff such as conduct or reputation or skillset, not too different from working in any workplace. Servants would have discussed personal matters, such as who was courting who, who was flaunting the riles and who might have fallen short of the expectations of the house. They would have also traded local town gossip, local scandals for example.

Taboo

Some subjects were absolutely off‑limits. Some topics could lead to a servant punished or dismissed. One never criticized the lord, lady, or their children. Even the mildest comments could be seen as disrespectful. Servants also avoided repeating anything they overheard upstairs, arguments, affairs, illnesses, debts etc. Sharing private family matters was considered a betrayal of trust and could destroy a household’s reputation. Loose lips sink ships and all that. Politics was often barred too, servants were expected to stay neutral and silent and not get into debates about things 'above their stations'. Mocking any guests to the house or discussing sensitive topics like inheritance, legitimacy, or money was equally forbidden. Everyone downstairs understood that their job depended on discretion, and some secrets were so dangerous that even whispering them could cost a life.

Censorship

The tone of downstairs life was shaped by a strict hierarchy. The steward or housekeeper controlled what was appropriate or not. If they said something was never to be addressed, it wouldn't be. Senior servants like the butler, cook, or head maid also had authority to shut down gossip or scold juniors for speaking out of turn. Their approval or disapproval shaped what was acceptable which was often shaped by the morals and leanings of the family they served. It is important to remember that even when the family weren’t present, they dictated the atmosphere.

Confidants

Servants of course, did speak about taboo subjects but they had to be very strategic about who they talked to and what they talked about, because the wrong word to the wrong person could ruin them and see them fired. Safe conversations happened with peers, for example the scullery maids, footmen, grooms, and kitchen hands who shared the same workload and had no authority to punish them would talk about more sensitive topics, may share complaints about unfair treatment. But trust was essential. Senior staff like the butler, housekeeper, or steward were treated with caution, wise servants would avoid complaining, gossiping, or mentioning anything that hinted at discontent in front of them. Around the family, servants spoke only when spoken to and stuck to practical answers, never offered opinions, never gossiped, never spoke on personal matters. Downstairs life ran on an unspoken rule: you could speak freely only with those who had nothing to gain by repeating your words.

[mement0m0rbid2]

I find it simultaneously funny and sad whenever a Whumper treats their literal pet better than Whumpee. Like bro, what do you mean you feed the damn animal like three times a day and then starve Whumpee for a week?

[living-weapons-blr]

Recently, I've been consumed with the concept of a living weapon who's so soft that their handlers need to install custom commands — ones unique to them; not shared by other weapons in their unit — just to get them to stop crying, stop feeling, shut up and follow orders.

"Enough. Close." She raises a hand and clenches it into a fist. Weapon's mouth shuts, their last tears beginning to cool on their cheeks as their mind empties. They are calm. And as relieving as it is, the calmness feels wrong. Handler sighs like a teacher disappointed. "You know, competent weapons don't shed tears in battle, much less in training." With that, he shoots Weapon a dirty glare. "They don't need special orders just to shut up."

Now consider their Caretaker trying to comfort them and accidentally using a command. Weapon isn't crying anymore, so they're fine... right?

"Hey, hey, shhh. You're okay. You're safe here." Having tucked a distraught Weapon into bed, Caretaker kneels down to their level. He reaches up, clenches his fist, and pulls the cord connected to the overhead light. "Close your eyes." Weapon's eyes do not close, but the tears begin to slow. That's a start, he thinks. In the dark, he doesn't notice how Weapon's hands have started to tremble, how their narrowed eyes dart back and forth. He makes for the door, but stops at the faintest whisper. Flatly — but with a growing tremor in their voice — Weapon asks him one last question for the night. "Where... did you learn how to do that?"

Oh... Okay that's heartbreaking 💔 Having that control over your own reactions so utterly denied to you, and then coming to find a home, safety, only to have it that denied again :( The fear and betrayal! Can I never express my emotions. Will I never be able to rest assured my feelings are mine alone to feel and that nobody can rip them out from me. If not even here, then where?

Also being singled out as uniquely defective has got to be so damaging... You don't even have the right to control yourself because every minuscule amount of autonomy is taken from you and the handlers still feel the need to rub salt on the wound </3

[living-weapons-blr]

Living weapon whumpee who wouldn't know how to properly use a fork and knife even if their life depended on it because they were never given access to such luxuries, vs living weapon whose table manners are beyond perfect because their handler/owner has an image to maintain, and they must play into it.

[write-u-2-the-moon]

Living Weapon whumpee who's so used to being called trash, disposable, worthless– that their own pain doesn't matter.

When caretaker cries for their wounds, they ask if caretaker is crying because they're hurt.

"Why are you crying?"

"..What?"

"If you're hurt, you should tell the doctor."

Caretaker has to hold back a wrecking sob at whumpee, sitting on the bed and taking less space, one less body part than when they'd last seen whumpee. Whumpee whose face looks genuinely confused, staring back at Caretaker.

[whumplump]

Whumpee who is so mentally unwell they start giving in to their intrusive thoughts and start doing impulsive, random, strange and, of course, harmful things. Because it's gotten to the point that they stopped caring about it.

Sleeping in the bathtub full of water, clothed, and with a blanket;

Burying knives anywhere but in the chopping block. In the walls, on the ceiling...;

Trying to get a plate from the cabinet and pretending they didn't see that it was about to fall to the ground;

Banging their head or their fists against the wall in a constant, morbid pattern;

Having less sense of space and, sometimes accidentally, sometimes not, bumping onto things;

Unplugging and plugging electronics again and again;

Things that go against basic survivability: crossing the street without looking two ways, using the washing machine while it's plugged in and while barefoot when the floor's wet — also includes turning the shower on and off repeatedly while barefoot —, keep standing up even when they know they're about to pass out...

[jigglycrow]

Whump prompt #1

In a world where ownership over people is legal and commonplace, caretaker is happy that their family have never engaged in the practice.

Or so they thought…

Called to the reading of a beloved family member's will. Caretaker inherits whumpee who was owned, abused and hidden from the family by that family member. Now caretaker must deal with not only owning another person, but trying to reconcile the family member they knew and loved (or thought they did) and the horrors that have been done to whumpee.

[mement0m0rbid2]

Whumpers who casually manhandle the whumpees, as if doing so is completely natural. They don't even think twice about it. Whumpee is trying to crawl away? Oh, just grab them by the ankle and pull them back. Whumpee's head is pointed in a suspicious direction, as if looking for an escape? Pull them by the hair so their eyes are forced away. Trying to yell for help? Put them in a chokehold, without so much as a change in expression.

Just little things that reinforce the power dynamics and show how helpless Whumpee truly is. For them, it's Hell on Earth. For Whumper, it's Tuesday.

[whumppromptoftheday]

medic picks the phone up, "hero? what's up? why are you calling me?" they can hear hero's shaky breathing, "hero, take a breath and tell me what's going on."

"it's whumpee..." they pause and take a moment to pull themself together, "um- I can't."

there's some static on the phone and a new voice comes through, "it's me, whumpee and hero were in an accident. you need to get to the hospital."

[whumperofworlds]

Reblog this and say what whump trope you think of when you see prev!

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1764

Describe your caretaker sitting on the floor with the whumpee. They're waiting for the dizziness/nausea to pass long enough for the whumpee to be able to move.

[plasmodiumpyrexia]

A whumpee whose former captivity is evident in the way they move. Hunching small steps and strange maneuvers, like they were squeezing though the cramped space their body still knows how to navigate. Sitting or sleeping in weird positions out of habit or because after so long, doing it the normal way hurts. Adopting a cautious gait at a certain time of day when they knew not to be heard moving about. Moving carefully in general. Like they're being watched. Like the restraints are still there.

[goes-whump-in-the-night]

To consider for your whumpee -

In a reality where they’ve been rescued and are living in relative safety again, would they rather:

A. Sleep in a bedroom with all the doors and windows locked because they can’t stand the thought of someone sneaking in, or

B. Sleep in a totally open bedroom because they can’t stand the feeling of being trapped somewhere again

[survivesurvivingwhump]

Whumper drugging Whumpee so they’re weak and bleary but still conscious, then tying Whumpee’s hand together with something flimsy. Maybe a ribbon or really anything Whumpee could easily get out of under normal circumstances, but that completely immobilizes them now. A mockery of how weak they are, how they can do nothing to stop what’s coming next.

whumpee can still feel everything happening to them. they can barely move and their head feels so full of cotton, full of fog. there's only enough room left in there to feel. to feel the hands on their body, the way they're being moved, manipulated. to feel the fear. to feel the awareness of what's about to happen, the anticipation of it.

"i know you can feel this." whumper's voice is quiet, conversational. it's almost gentle. it's a hush, right by whumpee's ear. whumpee can only make a soft, pathetic groaning sound. no that's not right, it's not even that. if it's anything, it's a whimper. "i made sure you could still feel this."

whumpee tries to struggle. they can't. their fingers twitch. they swallow thickly at the lump in their throat. the wet, tacky sound of their own mouth opening and closing makes them feel sick.

"just to make sure you get the point, i'm going to make you an offer." whumper pulls their arms, manoeuvring them. whumpee's wrists cross one another and whumper threads something around them - something soft. something delicate. a ribbon. "if you can get out of this, you can go. nothing else is going to happen to you. you have my word on that. if you can free yourself, you're free. go ahead. try it."

whumpee tries. they try. they try and try and- they try. tears roll down their cheeks. the sound of their mouth opening and closing grows more desperate. they're gasping, struggling, and barely, barely moving at all.

whatever whumper is going to do to them, they can't stop it. they can't do anything. they can't even break through a ribbon. and they're fighting with everything they have. it's just that they don't- there isn't- whumpee doesn't have anything to fight with. they're helpless. and whumper wants to make sure they know it.