whump sideblog. phoenix, 27, she/her, aroace and idk my own gender. main blog: @aromothmantic. i try to keep my tags organized but i might miss things or be inconsistent sometimes. if you need something tagged please lmk! disclaimer: i am in no way using this blog to condone, encourage, or romanticize real-life violence. my enjoyment of whump is and will always be confined to fantasy and fiction. i'm not responsible for other people's actions.
Hello, friends! *waves* Welcome to my whump-centric sideblog.
I'm Phoenix, age 27, she/her, aroace. My main/personal blog is @aromothmantic. I've been intrigued by whump pretty much as long as I can remember. Learning that there was a whole online community full of people like me was incredibly validating!
All my life I've struggled with varying degrees of shame, guilt, and anxiety for enjoying whump. I've spent a lot of time wondering if there's something wrong with me or if people would see me as monstrous/violent if they knew. It's been tough the past few years, but lurking around on whump blogs has helped me feel less alone when I need it. I haven't had a Tumblr account in close to 7 years but I decided to join again to connect more with this community.
Some of my favorite whump tropes are: kidnapping, lab/medical whump, torture, captivity, manhandling, restraints, memory loss (amnesia, brainwashing, etc.), and the glorious rescue/comfort/recovery that comes after all of it (and caretakers of course <3).
Not into: explicit NSFW things, minor whump, gore/body horror, slavefic/BBU, pet whump captivity arcs (but I love the recovery arcs!), amputation, character death (I'll make an exception if there's resurrection), and generally unhappy/hopeless endings. (No judgment for anyone who's into those tropes, though! This is an anti-shame space.)
So uh that's a little bit about me. I'm very shy so it's not personal if I don't interact. I'm so thankful that all you lovely people exist and that we're able to find and understand each other. <3
Whumpee's eyes slowly squint open. They feel restrained, something strong is wrapped around their arms and front. They hear quiet crying coming from above.
It takes a moment for them to realize they're in caretakers lap and bundle in their arms, being squeezed and held with love and care.
âSee, they say they'll stop once you admit the truth, but that's not how it works. They can't tell what the truth is, so they just keep hurting you until they're satisfied you seem desperate enough. What you actually say doesn't matter- it's all in the delivery.â
âif you love this character then you must make him happy in your fics, right?â wrong. the horror. suffering. internal hemorrhage. hospital. immediately
Recovery living weapon things in the unlearning of ingrained behaviour. A stealth-oriented weapon still needing to know everything about everyone, and it's played off as a love of gossip until they suddenly seem to know everything about you, from your phone number, your childhood address, every ex-partner and former boss...
A living weapon who's only job was to pull the trigger. That's it, they don't need to know any information, they don't need to know anything other than the ability to follow the most basic and direct commands. Now having to learn that violence is not actually an acceptable way to resolve issues, please just take up pottery or something, no I don't want you to punch that guy because he looked at us weird...
A living weapon who enjoys their work, needing to relearn other ways to cope and feel that rush. Through art, painted or written displays of violence. Through extreme activities, skydiving, bdsm, anything for that adrenaline rush. Those are the safe ones. It could go badly, falling into substance use, getting into street fights because they need it, they can't exist without it, this is what they're built for
This is truly an unbeatable comfort line for me. Because wdym just knowing their friend is there is enough to comfort the Character and let them know they're safe. Wdym the trust between them is so profound and deep that all they need to hear is their name
the hottest thing a guy can be is barely conscious on the floor while someone lifts his head up by the hair so that you can see his glazed out eyes and the blood running down his face
Declan, my bloodbag whumpee from my series 'Shattered'! đŠ¸âď¸
---
Commissioned from the AMAZING AND BEYOND SUPER TALENTED @elgrajaz ! thank you so so much for drawing my boy!!! đĽšđ It's beautiful, I can't stop looking at him!!! AAAAAA!
Know what? In honour of my recent Shattered chapter - this bad boy is getting ANOTHER reblog! He's too pretty! All beaten and bloodied and fatigued urgh, mwah mwah mwah 𼰠pretty whumpy deccy
okay. completely doxxing myself here because this is absolutely worth it
we got five emergency kinship-placed foster boys two months ago with no notice, and it turned our lives upside down. I love them so so so so much, but we need to be able to afford to keep them just one more month until school starts and I can get a job again (I've been having to stay home to watch them since no daycare will take them)
They've been neglected and abused and forgotten, and I will NOT let them be separated. If we can't stay afloat and get into a new house (landlord just told us to move out. haha. isn't that great.), the kids will be split up into separate foster homes.
Absolutely anything you can give will help us, otherwise, reblogging would mean the world to me and these kids. We just need to get the word out there and get a little help to get past this month. We're already through all our savings and I've started selling all the furniture to keep up.
We have food covered for the kids through different programs, but rent and utilities has been / will be going up a LOT.
I will write quite literally anything you want. I don't care if it's a squick at this point. Or draw. Whatever you want. Commissions are open, the go fund me link is here. You have my kofi in my bio. If paypal or venmo works better, just let me know and I can get that to you, too. Anything at all helps.
Help us keep five brothers from being separated by the foster system!
⌠Shannon Teske needs your support for Keep Five Brothers Fr
LOOKY LOOKY!!! AN UPDATE!!! đąđ HAPPY MONDAY!
cw:/ recovery, rescue whump, trauma response, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, reference to previous torture/abuse/captivity, paranoia, medical interventions, loss of speech, loss of autonomy, disability/immobility (please let me know if I have missed any!)
Thank you to the ever-so-brilliant @alyscat for her amazing job beta-ing this and for rallying me on! đ
What did the sky look like?
Declan realised he had forgotten. Something so simple, so painfully mundane. An everyday certainty the rest of the world took for granted, but he starved for even a fleeting glimpse.
No matter how hard he clawed at the edges of his mind, straining until a dull throb pulsed behind his eyes, he couldn't grasp hold of it. Rotting in the darkness of Vinceâs basement had truly snuffed out the light.Â
A wash of blue here. A blinding glare there. Colours warped, bleeding into each other like ink and water. The more Declan fought to anchor the image, the faster it sank back down into the murky depths.Â
Bleary eyes drifted over to the drapes, now pulled completely shut, overlapping perfectly in the centre to seal out even the strayest, thinnest thread of morning light. That was the vampâs doing. As long as those curtains were drawn, August could walk in whenever he pleased - at any ungodly hour. The sun was the only line of defence Declan had left, and now that was taken from him too.Â
What he wouldnât give to steal a peek out the window, to check that the world hadn't vanished entirely from existence - maybe it was still out there, waiting patiently for him. Arms open and ready to embrace him like a long-lost lover.
Years. He didn't know how many - not anymore. Heâd lost count somewhere along the way. Years wasted breathing in damp rot and mould instead of fresh air. Years spent choking on the blood Vince didn't drain from him, but chose to beat out of his lungs instead.Â
âNow, the outside was right there. A few meagre feet away, just hiding past the glass. A whole world close enough to touch. He longed to see the light of day. Was that too much to ask?Â
But still, it was denied. Perhaps the vampire knew exactly what he was doing. Keep Declan in the dark long enough, and the memories would completely dissolve. He would stop looking for a way out; would accept these four corners as his entire earth.
âAnd he would learn to worship August as his god.
Declanâs gaze then dropped to the nightstand, where the silver bell now mocked him. âHow stupid did the vampire think he was? âHonestly? To dare imagine he could ever have his master at his beck and call was nothing short of a fantasy. He was the one at their mercy. Entirely. He wasn't allowed to make demands; his only job was to bend to theirs.
A test. Surely, it was just another test.Â
White-hot fury surged in his chest - to hell with the games and never-ending demands; Declan had more than earned a mere sliver of daylight for every agony heâd endured. With a frantic but clumsy motion, he tore the covers aside.Â
His legs looked like sticks; skin pale and stretched tight over atrophied muscle. He tried to swing them off the bed, but they felt like they belonged to someone else. He didn't even make it to his feet. His legs buckled instantly, sending him crashing hard onto the floor; he collapsed onto the rug with a muffled thud.
He lay there in a useless heap, his face pressed flat against the carpet. He was too weak, limbs completely refusing to obey him. It was working; he was entirely bedridden. And it was all Augustâs fault.
All of the gruelling âphysiotherapyâ. The exhausting vocal exercises. The vampire claimed it was all to help him heal. To rebuild his broken body. Give him back the voice Vince had stolen. Declan so desperately hoped deep down that it was the god-honest truth, that this was finally the beginning of the end.
But what if it wasn't?Â
What if it is all just a calculated strategy to break him down further? A genius way to exhaust him under the guise of "medicine," ensuring he would never have the strength to fight back, let alone run away.
His mind spiralled. August had been gentle. August gave him the bell. August actually stepped away when Declan signalled him to stop. But surely a monster didn't nurse its prey back to health without a catch. What reason would a vampire have to show humanity?
Were the speech lessons actually for Declan's benefit? Or did August just want a polite, well-behaved pet that would speak on command? Cry out for mercy? Was the physical therapy meant to make him strong, or to keep him too fatigued ever to pose a threat?
No. It couldnât be for him. Everything was for August's benefit. Right down to the goddamn curtains being closed.Â
Gritting his teeth, Declan began to crawl. It was humiliating, like he was a newborn babe before taking his first steps. He had devolved. Elbow, hip, drag. Repeat. But he had to see for himself if the world was still there, that it hadn't turned its back on him.Â
He had just reached the hem of the curtain, trembling, tingling fingers fumbling for the fabric, when the door creaked open.
âDeclan? I brought some - Jesus!â
Lucas dropped the tray. The sound of ceramic shattering on the floor sounded like a gunshot, and Declan cowered into himself, hands shaking over his head. In the blink of an eye, Lucas was darting across the room, hands hovering over Declan in a panic.
âDeclan! What are you doing?! You're going to hurt yourself, man! Let's get you up, come on, back to bed-â
Lucas reached for his arm, and Declan lost it. He thrashed, his body erupting into a violent convulsion. A broken sound tore from his throat - a wordless cry of pure frustration and grief. He wasn't going back to that bed. He couldnât bear to rot away in it for a second longer.Â
Whatâs the point of being dragged back from the dead, if heâs not allowed to live?
âHe threw his hand up, palm facing outward, fingers splayed wide. Stop.
âLucas froze instantly - as though the tables had turned and Declan suddenly possessed the power of persuasion. Lucas rocked back, his hands hovering in mid-air. "Okay! I stopped! Iâm not touching you. Just breathe, man. Breathe. Youâre good."
âSky-â Declan sobbed, his eyes wild as he pointed a shaking finger up to the window. âS-SunâŚ.p-pl-ease-â
Lucas glared at the drawn curtains, then back down at the weeping man, shivering on the floor. The frantic energy drained from Lucas, replaced by a sudden clarity.Â
âShitâŚyou just want to see the sky,â Lucas whispered. âGod, Dec. Iâm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didnât realise.â His voice cracked, the confession tearing out of him like shrapnel.
Lucas sank to the floor, settling cross-legged right beside Declan. The guilt radiated from him, and he wiped beads of sweat from his brow. âI see it now. Promise I do. What weâve been doing to you by keeping you stowed away in this room. Itâs not right. No wonder youâre scared out your witsâŚfrom one cage to anotherâŚis that it?â
Declanâs shaking didn't stop, and he did not answer, but his eyes searched Lucasâs face, wide and glassy. Lucas had hit the bullseye. How could he look at this bedroom and see anything but another prison cell? Still trapped in confinement, cut off from daylight, stuck with needles day in and day out, no choice but to submit to his captorâs demands.
Lucas leaned in closer. âIâm taking you out there,â he promised, determined. âOutside. Right now. No more waiting. Only thing is, DecâŚâ He paused; he saw the flicker of hope in Declanâs eyes war with the ingrained terror. âI - I donât think Iâm strong enough to carry you down those stairs safely on my own. If I slip or stumble, I canât risk breaking whatâs left of you. Iâm gonna need Augustâs help to carry you down there.â
Declanâs response was immediate in its desperation. He lunged forward, frail fingers hooking into the fabric of Lucasâs shirt, his forehead pressing hard against the other manâs chest.Â
Please no. His mind scrambled - logic went out the window as panic took the wheel. Down. Lucas had said down, and thatâs all he heard. A basement, it had to be. His ingratitude came with a price, and this was how he would settle the debt. The vampire would drag him down there kicking and screaming. Heâd begged for the sun, and now they would make sure he would never see it again.
âNonono - come on now,â Lucas consoled, âItâs just for the stairs. I promise. Iâm just nowhere near as strong as he is.â
A choked whine ripped from his throat. Declan shook his head until he saw stars. âN-Not him⌠y-...y-ou-â
"...Okay," Lucas breathed, more to himself than anyone. "Okay, Dec. Iâve got you. Iâll give it a try. JustâŚJust stay still for me, yeah?"
He slid his arms beneath Declan - one behind the back, one beneath the knees - and braced for the weight. He expected resistance, the solid heft of a man.
He expected too much.
As he stood, he didn't even strain. Declan rose like he was made of feathers. Lucas could feel every ridge of Declanâs spine through the shirt, the sickening curve of ribs that felt like they would snap under even a gentle pressure. He was holding a ghost. Â
âLucas wasn't a violent man, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to find the monster that did this and burn him to ashes.
How? He thought bitterly, his jaw clenching. How do you do this to a living being? How do you erode someoneâs soul? Let someone just...fade away?
â"You're okay," Lucas grunted. "I've got you. Not gonna drop you."
Declan didnât fight, but he didnât help either. He went limp as a rag doll against Lucasâs chest, his head lolling against the manâs shoulder. He was convinced heâd misbehaved, caught red-handed. Heâd squandered whatever twisted privilege heâd been given. Declan braced himself for the familiar sight of a cellar door to loom into view, to be thrown back into the dark once again.
As they stepped out of the bedroom, Declan felt the house expand around him. It was his very first time venturing beyond the four walls of his room, and he gazed about in stunned bewilderment at his surroundings, lips parted slightly, eyes shifting rapidly.Â
Vinceâs estate had been blindingly opulent - antique, ornate windows, crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceilings, historical artwork Declan wasnât permitted to lay his filthy eyes on, lest they âtarnish the canvasâ. Here wasnât anything like that. It felt smaller, simpler and deeply lived-in.Â
There were no massive, intimidating gold frames of artwork here - just small, slightly crooked photos of faces he didn't recognise. Near the top of the stairs, the wallpaper was peeling slightly at the seam, a tiny flaw Vince would have had a servant flayed for. Lucasâs hand shifted on a scuffed mahogany bannister that had clearly seen years of use. Outside a door just down the hall, a basket of unfolded laundry sat out in the open, and someone had left a paperback book resting face-down on a windowsill, its spine creased.
Moving past a row of closed doors, Declanâs eyes tracked each one. His chest tightened, wondering what was on the other side. Were they more bedrooms, or closets, or rooms he would never be allowed to see?Â
âLucas made it down the stairs and walked straight into the library, where August was sitting by the unlit fireplace, flicking through a thick medical textbook open on his knee.
âAugust looked up, his red eyes blinking in surprise at the sight of Lucas carrying a trembling, wide-eyed Declan.
â"Lucas? What has happened? Is he injured?!" August jumped to his feet immediately, the book dropping to the floor. He scanned Declanâs body for any sign of damage - Declan tucked himself further into Lucas.
"Take a look at him, August," Lucas said, his voice tight as he adjusted his grip on Declan. "He's not getting any better just sitting up there. Heâs suffocating. Heâs desperate for a breath of fresh air, but weâve got him stuck up in a dark, stuffy room day in and day out, dreading the creak of the door. I found him collapsed on the floor, crawling over to the window - because he said he wants to see the sky.â
Augustâs expression softened into an aching empathy.Â
âCan you see what he sees? To him, we took him from one prison and shoved him straight into another. How can he possibly feel human again?â
âO-Of course," August muttered, looking at the frantic rhythm of Declan's chest. "I should have seen sooner. Iâm sorry, Declan. I didn't mean to, quite literally, keep you in the dark. I only want to do whatâs best for you.â
âWell, donât just stand there then,â Lucas chastised, adjusting his grip on Declanâs frail frame. âGo down to the clinic and fetch that fold-out wheelchair. And wrap yourself up, or whatever you have to do. I want you out there with us too.â
August didnât argue. He nodded once, â I will be as swift as I can.â
Moments later, August returned, pushing the metal wheelchair, but he looked entirely different. He was a bizarre sight - wrapped in a trench coat, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low, a thick wool scarf buried over his nose and a pair of dark sunglasses. He looked ridiculous, like a child's drawing of a spy.Â
Declan felt the smallest bubble of laughter rise in his chest at the absurdity of it, yet he choked it back before it could bloom. He barely dared to breathe too loudly, terrified of spoiling this opportunity. He was so close, he could taste it - it might be the closest to freedom he would ever get.
August locked the chair's wheels, then stepped back to give Lucas space. Working in unison, they hoisted Declan up, carefully manoeuvring his limp body into the seat. He held his breath, every fibre of his atrophied muscle locking in sharp anticipation of the inevitable restraints - the bite of metal cuffs or coarse rope designed to pin his fragile limbs to the frame. Not that theyâd need to; he canât even hold his own body weight, let alone run for the hills.
But they didn't tie him down. Lucas tucked a woollen blanket around his useless legs.Â
And then, they began to move.
The threshold of the door felt like a boundary line between two worlds - between hell and earth - and for a terrifying second, Declan expected to be halted, dragged back inside, and punished.
Instead, he was outside. Finally outside.
As the front wheels hit the porch and the first real gust of wind ruffled his curls, Lucas reached down and firmly squeezed his shoulder. "Look at that, Dec," Lucas whispered, pointing. "See? Didn't we tell you? The world didn't go anywhere. It was always waiting for you."
Then the light hit him. It was blinding. His retinas felt as though they would burst into flames, so utterly unused to the intensity. Declan squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his head back to let the warmth soak into his translucent skin.Â
The wind whipped his hair across his face, stinging his cheeks and filling his lungs. It was beautiful.
A sob swelled in his chest. He was outside. He was under the sky. Vince would have broken his spine for even looking in the direction of a window and now here he was. Heâs finally alive again. Heâs finally woken up from the nightmare. Not like the day heâd surfaced with agony splintering his skull and terror lashing every muscle, but this - this moment right here.
The ink and water that had bled together in his mind for so long finally snapped into focus. The colours were stark and breathtaking. The sky was a violent, searing blue that sliced through the haze. The grass, an impossible, vivid green. And the orange? The golden sun burning high in the sky.
How could he ever bear to let them wheel him back inside that house?Â
Maybe itâs all a cruel dream. Of course. Another drug-fuelled dream with whatever concoction theyâve pumped his veins with this time.Â
August moved into his line of sight, stepping carefully into the shadow of a large oak tree to protect himself. He crouched down, meeting Declan's eye level and placed his gloved hands firmly on Declan's knees.
âCould you look at me, Declan? Please?â August said, his voice heavily muffled by the scarf. Declan obeyed instantly, forcing his watery eyes to stare into the dark lenses of the vampire's sunglasses. Even without the power of persuasion, every muscle felt compelled to obey. It was ingrained into his very nature by now.
âThis isn't a one-time thing,â August said. Declan could swear he almost saw sincerity in his eyes, even behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. âThis is my promise to you. You are not a prisoner. You are a patient, and you are recovering. One day, hopefully one day soon, you won't need this chair. You won't need us.â
Whole again. Healthy. A life where these monsters were nothing but a fading memory, and he would never have the misfortune to look upon a vampireâs face for the rest of his days. It felt almost cruel to promise that. He would wish on every star for it.Â
âYou're coming back to life, Declan. I'm just holding the door open for youâŚnot keeping it closed.â
Declan looked away, back toward the horizon. The tears finally spilt over, hot and fast. He didn't fully believe it yet - but he was sitting there, bathed in the gold of the sun. He closed his eyes and took greedy breaths of the cold, free air. His thoughts kept snagging on things he hadn't allowed himself to touch in years. His motherâs warm arms. The sound of his sisterâs voice. His dadâs laughter.Â
âYou don't have to trust me, Declan. Not if you can't bear it. You just have to believe me. Believe me when I say that you will feel this wind on your face every day if you want it. You will walk on that grass with your own two feet. And when you are strong enough, I swear to you, you will go back to your family. Can you do that, Declan? PleaseâŚwill you believe that your freedom is all yours and no one else's?â
Declan didn't look at him. He couldn't. He didn't and wouldn't trust the vampire - he knew better than to be that reckless, but a ghost of a memory surfaced, his motherâs voice echoing from a lifetime ago: Actions speak louder than words. The terrifying truth was that the vampire had done both. Every time without fail. Every gentle gesture, every step back, and every promise made had perfectly aligned.
For a long, agonising moment, time stood still.
Then, the walls came crumbling down.
A gasp tore from Declanâs throat. His hands, stiff and clawed with tension against the armrests, began to shake violently as the truth of August's words finally broke through to him. The tension holding his spine straight completely snapped. Declan slumped forward in the chair, his face burying into his own hands as a broken sob escaped him.Â
Positioning themselves on either side of him, August and Lucas offered their support, one placing a steadying hand on his knee and the other bringing comfort to his shoulder. Declan didn't have the strength to wholly trust them yet, and he couldn't see the road that lay ahead. But as he drew in a deep breath of the open air, Declan chose, for the very first time, to believe.
After all, what was left for him to lose?
SHATTERED TAGLIST! (Please let me know if I have forgotten you or if you would like to be added! đ)
CANNOT TELL YOU HOW HAPPY I WAS TO SEE THIS ON MY DASH OMG
This might be my favorite chapter yet đ His trust slowly slowly building up to this point and seeing the realization hit that maybe he's really free!!!!!!! Every step forward and every moment of rediscovered freedom makes me wanna sob for him đđđđ I love the parallels between Declan and Lucas as well! Lucas knows that terror and distrust and I love seeing him connect on that common ground.
Whumpeeâs arms chained securely above them to the ceiling, blindfolded and gagged.
Whumper likes to come into the small room Whumpee is in and torture them intermittently. Some lashes from the whip, or electrical shocks, or slow agonizing cuts from the knife. Because Whumpeeâs sight and movement and speaking are restricted, the pain somehow seems to scream louder in their body.
It gets to the point where just hearing the door open is enough to make Whumpee scream.
