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#lady whump
sowhumpshaped · 2 days
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this is just a quick one before i jump into some reqs but i felt too inspired. maestro belongs to @oliversrarebooks
masterlist
content: vampire whumper, lady whump, conditioned whumpee, body control, starvation, sleep deprivation
For a long time, Riana didn’t understand the point of being denied food, water, and even sleep. Her performance was on a sharp decline, she felt foggy in the head, and her limbs felt like lead.
It wasn’t until one time, she felt like she couldn’t even stand, and the Maestro forced her anyway. Her body was truly like a puppet, then, with no physical or mental strength to push back against his pull. She danced across the room with half-lidded eyes and a mind far gone, and she knew, she could feel just how delicate and precious she looked.
She looked so close to perfect. She looked as close as she’d ever gotten.
It was in that moment that she finally understood: only when she had no power to lift her hand to shield her body could she let herself be seen. Only when she was too tired to form a thought of her own could she allow someone else to fill her mind.
There was stillness in the relentless torture. There was bliss in the neverending torment. There was silence beyond the loud music of the ballroom. The peak she was trying so desperately to reach was right behind this last hill she had to climb.
She just needed to push harder. She needed to let go.
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tags: @whumpsday @softvampirewhump
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honeycollectswhump · 2 days
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Like Blood and Oxygen
[masterlist]
CW: mental breakdown, obsessive thought patterns
The chandelier casts a golden light across her bedroom, a candle spreading the sweet smell of vanilla, and it makes Mireille want to vomit. It makes her want to reach into the fire, to take it into her palm and squeeze and choke the light out of it. It makes her want to rip the chandelier down, execute it on the ground, stamp on each jewel until it cracks and shatters beneath her bare feet. 
Instead Mireille paces in front of her mirror, as tall as the ceiling, golden frame like artwork –fucking artwork, it’s fucking art, she is fucking art–, money spent on a horrid shade of gold, more money than her stupid fucking servants will ever have, and
What.
Does.
It.
Matter.
Why care at all. 
Because her stupid fucking nightgown sits horribly on her curves, silky red doing nothing but making her skin crawl and no one will see her anyways it doesn’t matter but it does. For the hundredth time she fumbles with the fabric, draping it on her breasts, flowing over her hips, just long enough to cover what it has to. Maybe instead it should cover her whole like a grieving widow or a burial shroud for all she’s worth. 
She could rip her skin off with her teeth, undress herself to the bone, bare veins and sinew if that would make her be something. Mireille knows what she should look like, she knows, every fiber knows, and yet the gown hides her waist and there is no one to touch her, to see the work of art she has spent her fucking life creating and what worth has art if it isnt being looked at. 
They should be grateful, grateful to lay eyes upon her smooth skin, shining blue eyes, luscious hair, her voice and her body and– 
And yet they don’t. They do, but not really. 
Not. Enough.
It’s not enough, none of it is, but how is that her fault? It’s not. Of course it isn’t.
Mireille has friends, and they love her, they fucking love her. She’s gorgeous and elegant, each movement deliberately poised, it's like second nature, it’s her nature and her job. She leaves kisses like burns and burns like kisses and both leave a mark on the world that will never fade. 
Instead, it will twist and scar, a never healing wound but at least it is a reminder.
Mireille should be at the center of their thoughts, the center of their world, their universe. She should be their star and their sun, granting them warmth and light when she feels like it. They should strive for nothing more than to please her, read her thoughts and treat her right, touch her right and kiss her in worship that comes from the heart. 
She doesn’t need to ask for it, she shouldn’t! If they were the right people, they would know, instinctively. They would know the meanings she so carefully covers in words and jewelry, would read it like the bible, would examine every intention. They would know and they would love her.
Love her like she was created to fit their souls, to fulfill them. Only her closeness is sweet relief, wishful satisfaction. Love her like warmth, like the sun, like blood. Love her like oxygen. 
Love her.
Love her.
Love her.
Please.
Taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox, @sowhumpshaped, @clickerflight let me know if you want to be added or removed :)
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a-crumb-of-whump · 3 months
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Liking minor whump does not make you a bad person. Liking lady whump does not make you a bad person. Enjoying whump with POC does not make you a bad person. Enjoying pedophilic/incestuous whump does not make you a bad person. Liking NSFWhump does not make you a bad person.
Just because you enjoy these things in fictional settings, does not mean you condone them in real life. They are no better or worse than anything else we as whumpers create.
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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 3 months
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i know the whump community hates women characters or whatever but the lesbian in me is dying for bloody femininity please
let them have thicc thighs and bazoinkas and wear dresses with the hem ripped to shreds so they can run faster. have them sprint in heels. have them use their stilettos as weapons when they jam it into a person's eye. girls kissing girls. beautifully manicured nails chipped and broken away or idly tracing the length of a blade. fishnets and stockings with runs gouged in them. low cut blouses that leave their collarbones exposed to be traced with the tip of a weapon. tight dresses that hug every curve to distract wandering eyes while they spike a drink. girls kissing girls. long silky hair to be wrapped around a hand and pulled. messy curls. a sultry villainess or a vixen in distress. smeared lipstick and mascara running down their cheeks. jewelry ripped from their necks and earrings torn from their lobes. clawing their way out of the carnage to emerge victorious, drenched in blood, beautiful in their madness. being upset that their hair was forcibly cut or their favorite bra was snapped or missing their skincare routine. girls kissing girls. feeling icky when they've been stripped of their womanhood. being empowered when they reclaim what's rightfully theirs through any means necessary. using their sweet face and lilting voice to draw a false sense of security in their victims. feminine rage and revenge. being underestimated because what could such a pretty little thing like her do? girls kissing girls. ultra femme cottagecore babe drenched in red. black leather dommy mommy being the gentlest caretaker. sisterhood. to be kind and nurturing or cold and cruel. did i mention the girls kissing girls.
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whumptea · 2 months
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so sick and tired of people hating on lady whump. give me your lady whumpees slouching against a brick wall, drugged and dazed as they try to make their way home. give me girls covered in blood — whether it be their own or someone else’s. give me lady whumpees who thrash and scream and fight against their restraints. who spit poison at their captors. who cry and beg and plead and kick. i’m so goddamn tired of women in whump either always 1. being the whumper, or 2. being forced into these soft, docile stereotypes that prevent them from expressing anything but. give me more lady whumpees or give me death.
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slashthrashandcrash · 2 months
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that's how that movie went right
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spirit-whump · 2 months
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The whump fandom usually prioritizes male characters, so tell me in the tags your favourite female characters to whump! OCs or canon characters, whumpees or whumpers - name some women.
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little-peril-stories · 2 months
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Women in Whump
okay I think I'm actually done fixating on this whole thing 😅, but here's an editable spreadsheet listing whump stories with women characters. have at 'er. if you want. or don't, and just browse! up to you.
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not just lady whump (aka women getting whumped)! in other words, not just woman whumpees.
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whumpshaped · 3 months
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Hypnotic music box!
- @oliversrarebooks
tw gaslighting, hypnosis, magic whump, tiny whump, lady whump, captivity, memory loss
The song filled her mind and body as she kept spinning, keeping completely still for her owner’s enjoyment. She was a perfect little ballerina, her master’s favourite, never stumbling and never ever disappointing them.
Her dress was as pretty and perfect as the body it served to accentuate, with a soft face and shiny hair to match. A work of art, her master had called her. A masterpiece.
The music was gentle as it wrapped around her, settling deep in the creases of her mechanical body and soothing her every worry. She let herself be carried around and around, her glassy eyes fixed on something invisible. Her master was in the room with her, she noted distantly. She could only ever catch glimpses of them, but it was enough to motivate her to do well.
She would always do well. She was perfect, a product of her owner’s genius.
“The battery in your music box is running out,” Master said one day. “I’ll get new ones soon.”
She didn’t doubt it. She was grateful to be informed ahead of time, that way she didn’t panic when her little personal carousel started slowing, and eventually came to a complete halt. She stayed motionless, staring out into the empty room with the last remnants of the song playing only in her mind.
Her owner must’ve been at the store by now, getting the new batteries so they could continue to enjoy her dance. She only had to be patient for a few more minutes, at most an hour.
The stillness was unnerving. She almost felt like her arms were getting tired in this demanding pose, even though she knew that was quite impossible. Dolls didn’t get tired. And while her master was a particularly skilled tinkerer to have created something as lifelike as her, they would’ve had no reason to make her susceptible to exhaustion. That would’ve been cruel, given her purpose.
Still, the feeling continued to spread. Her joints started aching, her mechanical muscles were burning, and despite her best efforts, she eventually had to lower her arms. It felt sacrilegious to do that while the music box was open… but there wasn’t any music now, nor an audience to dance for. Maybe it was okay. Maybe she could treat this unusual circumstance as if the box had been closed.
It kept bugging her, though; the bone-deep exhaustion that suddenly plagued her now that she was off duty. And what were all these new worries? Why did she feel so anxious? Was she shaking from fatigue or nerves?
Why was she shaking at all?
She glanced towards the empty room again, suddenly seized by an overwhelming desire to crawl out of her box and explore. Her whole body protested as she carefully crossed the threshold into the outside, walking along the table with a sense of odd familiarity. It felt as if she had gone on walks like this before, even though she had no recollection of anything but the box.
She didn’t make it far. She crumpled to the ground in pain, curling up in an attempt to soothe her aching joints. Everything hurt. Nothing had ever hurt before, not since her owner had created her.
Oh, lying down like this would definitely put a few wrinkles in her pretty dress. Bad, bad, she was being a bad doll.
‘What a bad doll you’ve been.’
‘I’m not a doll! Stop calling me that, stop– what are you doing? You can’t lock me in there!’
‘But I can. Dolls belong in boxes, after all.’
The hallucination made her sit bolt upright, eyes wide and full of terror. What was that? Where did that come from? She hugged her knees close to her chest, barely understanding why she was suddenly crying.
The box seemed scary now that she was out. It seemed like nothing but a prison instead of a home.
She stared down at her realistically painted legs, blinking at the level of detail she had never noticed before. She couldn’t help it. She gently scraped against the layer, consumed with a desire to see the paint flake off, to see her metallic endoskeleton underneath… But it hurt, and all she found was a layer of flesh with blood bubbling to the surface.
It couldn’t be.
She was a doll.
She was just a doll.
‘I’m not a doll!’
She buried her face in her hands, taking quick, shallow breaths. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. None of it was real. She had to get back into the box. She had to get back and dance and look pretty. She had to be perfect, she had to be nothing but a beloved object.
The door opened and she flinched, scrambling to her feet and promptly falling again. She was so tired. She was so scared. She had to get back to the box before her owner realised what a bad doll she had been.
“Oh… The battery ran out sooner than I thought…” Her master walked over to the table, and their presence held none of the usual gentleness that always put her at ease. She felt nothing but the dread of a prey animal, trapped and about to be killed. “How unfortunate. I need to fix this box, this is the second time in only a few months.”
Second? In a few months? No… She had never had the box stop before.
“What’s going on?” she asked, startled by her own voice. She didn’t know she had a voice box. Was it a voice box? Or was it her voice, natural and painfully alive?
“Shh, it’s alright.” They quickly inserted the batteries into the bottom of the box, then set it down on the table again. “Come on. In you go.”
“No! No, I want– I want you to explain! Why am I bleeding? What’s going on?”
“You’re bleeding? Oh, my. What a mess.” They flipped a switch and the song started back up, and she didn’t know why she covered her ears. She just knew she had to, it was crucial that she did, it was the most important thing in the world that she blocked out the song completely.
“Just tell me what’s going on!” she cried, shrieking when her owner pinned her down against the desk, securing her limbs with clear tape. “No, stop, stop it! Please! I don’t understand, I don’t understand!”
“Shh… Calm down, sweet… It’s alright…” They winced when they saw the wound above her knee, swiftly grabbing some ointment and a cotton swab to treat it. She struggled against the makeshift restraints, unable to stop the music from infiltrating her mind any longer. “Oh, what a bad doll you’ve been again…”
“I’m not a doll!”
Her captor gave her a pitying look, gently dabbing the injured area and making her cry harder with the sting of it. “It’s going to be alright.”
The empty box continued playing the music, and she felt her anger slowly give way to resignation. Her struggles became weaker before they ceased entirely, and her pain dissipated before she was even freed from the clear tape. She wasn’t tired anymore. She wasn’t hurting.
“There you are,” they murmured. “My most perfect little creation. My little ballerina.”
New clothes were brought out for her, and she lay completely still as her owner changed out the old ones. She was placed back in the box, where the song was the loudest, and she let it wash over her. It was so heavy, like a comforting blanket.
“Get into position for me, won’t you?” She raised her arms and tried to mimic the grace of a real dancer, making her master smile. “Perfect. My little mechanical doll. My toy box dancer. What a little wonder I’ve created.”
The song filled her mind and body as she kept spinning, keeping completely still for her owner’s enjoyment. She was a perfect little ballerina, her master’s favourite, never stumbling and never ever disappointing them.
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whumpyourdamnpears · 3 months
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the suppression of lady whump has really got me going tonight
like, it’s fine not to like lady whump. it’s fine to be triggered by lady whump and wanting to avoid it. it’s all fine and good. but the fact that there had to be (presumably!! since this is a niche community) a considerable amount of people in the community so against it that somehow it got to tumblr’s team and blacklisted as a tag? now that’s some nonsense
correct me if I’m wrong about how tumblr works in terms of the staff finding content that’s considered inappropriate, but I’m pretty sure it works based on what is being reported to them, and if lady whump managed to make it onto their list of hidden tags, we can assume that lady whump content has been mass reported to ever garner the attention of the staff
it’s a shame, really. it’s a shame to be someone who finds catharsis in whump against women and be unable to find content for it due to tumblr and the community’s fuckery, especially if you don’t have mutuals who write or reblog whumpy woman content
let people whump their women, tumblr
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reunion
(based on the au described in the second half of this ask)
@kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpsday , @regrets-realization-acceptance , @kixngiggles , @randomlifeunit , @darkthingshappen
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sowhumpshaped · 3 days
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more. maestro belongs to @oliversrarebooks and im tagging @softvampirewhump too
masterlist
content: vampire whumper, lady whump, conditioned whumpee, stress position, dehumanisation, body control
“What do I need to do to get through to you?” the Maestro mused, slowly circling Riana where she knelt with her arms held high. It was a stress position from her childhood — her mother would often punish her similarly, same as her teachers. She knew exactly how quickly the blood would leave her limbs, how dizzy she would soon get; but this time, it wasn’t just her willpower that kept her arms in the air.
“I understand you perfectly, sir,” she said quietly.
The Maestro hummed. “No, you most certainly never do anything perfectly.” Ouch. “But I’m tempted to say you don’t even understand me imperfectly.”
“I’m trying my best,” Riana corrected, and immediately got backhanded for it. The magical ties were too tight to allow her to fall, even though otherwise she definitely would’ve. She wouldn’t get a moment of reprieve from this position, it seemed.
“If this is your best, then I have severely overestimated you, which means one of two things: either I was wrong, or you’re lying.” He hooked a gloved finger under Riana’s chin, guiding her to look up at him. “And I’m not wrong about the thralls I pick, child.”
Riana bit her tongue. He was right. She could’ve done better. She would do better. “Yes, sir. You’re right, sir.”
“Good. Now that we’re in agreement,” he loosened his magical grip on Riana, making her hold the pose on her own now, “I will take my leave. Don’t move until I get back.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Maestro turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Riana to kneel there, in the middle of the music room. Her knees and arms already ached, but she knew it was nothing compared to how bad it would get later, so she tried to enjoy the slight pain while it lasted.
It was for her benefit, she knew that. To train her required a fair bit of force; the slow force of water carving out entire caves drop by drop.
She would allow herself to be carved.
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gritpyre · 3 months
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2024 is the year of toxic yuri, my bones told me so
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deripmaver · 2 months
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this is possibly a hot take as someone mostly on the outskirts of the whump community but i don't think that lady whump, or whump with a focus on a woman being hurt, can ever be the same as the excessive and voyeuristic violence against women in mainstream media. to me, one of the key components of whump is identification and empathy with the person being hurt, and that's definitely something lacking from a lot of depictions of violence towards women in mainstream books and tv.
it's of course fine to not personally want to read lady whump, or to find it triggering, but i think it's incorrect to use the violence towards women in media as a strike against the genre. in fact, i think it can be very cathartic to read works of fiction where the emphasis is on identifying with a female victim.
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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 3 months
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Women In Whump Pt. 1
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aceofwhump · 2 months
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Echo 1x01
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