#circus whump

[loonybun]

hi thinking of circus whump rn and gonna make it your problem

- one of those classic sword box tricks, but it’s very much real. I think with an immortal whumpee that would be pretty neat.

- sad clown whumpee breaking down mid-performance, sobbing to the audience and letting go of years of anguish… Only to be quickly interrupted with a quick punchline from another clown! The audience, none the wiser, roars with laughter.

- a caged inhuman/supernatural whumpee being awed at as they’re paraded through the tent. get a whole freak show while you’re at it!

- a very poorly trained acrobat whumpee being forced to walk a high tightrope. without a net, obviously.

- a whumper as a ringmaster, showing clear favoritism towards the better performing acts of the night and giving them special privileges like decent food.

- saw this one comment under a song that suggested a faerie circus (as in faeries putting humans in a circus) and it has not and will never leave my brain. the POTENTIAL.

- bleeding out backstage. there’s no medical care in sight. you’d expect a circus to have better health insurance.

- a whumpee or caretaker looking after or finding comfort in the animals in the circus. just trying to provide them with more care than they were given.

- evil clowns! if you like evil clowns, why not use em? clown whumpers clown whumpers clown whumpers…..

if you write anything using these please tag me i will go nuts.

[blackrosesandwhump]

Febuwhump Day 20: Immortality

CW: immortal whumpee, dying, blood, stomach wound, gore

The thick stage curtains were drawn, but they couldn’t keep out the noise of the crowd as Bram climbed onto the dim stage. His stomach had been knotted with dread all night. It was one thing to be stabbed or poisoned or even impaled, but an entirely different thing to have a stranger stab his claws right in your heart. It made Bram feel sick, even as he approached his human-but-definitely-not-human partner waiting at the other end of the stage.

Norrix Vangrey. Bram repeated the name in his head.

“Ready for me to kill you?” Norrix said, lazily flexing his clawed fingers.

Bram was used to dying. He was used to being killed. But the words made him shudder.

“I guess so,” he replied, keeping his voice even. Why was he so afraid this time?

The curtains slowly parted, the pulleys creaking audibly. Bram and Norrix took their places. Bram was a knight, fighting a ferocious beast. His costume armor felt uncomfortable and hot as he pretended to attack with his sword. The audience cheered and gasped. A bright light flashed close by—a camera, taking a picture just as Norrix, as the monster, gained the upper hand. Bram lost his balance and fell, his heart pounding. He knew what to expect: Norrix’s claws in his stomach. But the impact stole the breath from his lungs and sent pain shooting through his body.

His vision greyed out. Through the deepening haze, he heard the crowd gasping in horror.

What kind of creature was Norrix Vangrey, anyway…

Bram came back to life in a pool of his own blood. Horror turned to wild exclamations and applause.

Just another day in the life of the immortal Resurrecting Boy.

@whumping-to-conclusions @whumping-out-of-time @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumpy-writings @afabulousmrtake @whumpinthepot @silver-ink-iron-words @febuwhump

[themonstrousmenagerie]

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧The Sea Show part 2✧.*✧.*✧.*✧

warning: death, gore, dehumanization

The patron’s shouts were deafening even through the pool’s walls and layers of water. Kaiyo kept doing rounds underneath the Monster’s feet as they stood on a platform hanging just above the water’s surface. He couldn’t tell which voices were more common, to make him swim around or to hunt. He hated himself for hoping for the latter, the chasing included live fish that he could eat. The show host waited for a few minutes, trying to catch if either of the ideas was requested more, but it seemed like both were equally popular. 

“My dear patrons, looks like everyone wants a different thing, but fortunately I’ve already planned for an occurrence like that” They snapped their fingers, and one of the assistants, a painfully thin fox yokai, her tail wrapped in shining red ribbon and golden bells. The creature didn’t raise her head nor utter a word when she gave the Monster a small, metal box made out of wires shaped like branches and leaves. Kaiyo couldn’t see clearly what was inside, the box’s bottom was a solid piece of brass. But he suspected what it was.

“Well then, looks like the audience can’t decide, and who am I to deny our Patrons their rightful entertainment? Both it is then!” the hellish bell rang again, the mer stopped the mindless circling to get closer to the show's host. As he got closer, the box’s content became revealed; a pixie fairy. The small, humanoid creature form was thrashing around, desperately trying to get away from Monster’s hands. 

“As you all know, koi fish eat anything, from algae to insects” Now, that he was closer to the surface, the elf’s voice got louder, the way they touched his scales sending shivers down his spine. Just yesterday the same nails that now were scratching him gently almost ripped apart his tail veil when he didn’t make the jump they wanted high enough.

“But those mers are strictly carnivorous, feeding on the same fish that their tail originates from. This little friend got a bit nervous, today is his first performance before a large audience of course, and he didn’t eat too much in the past few days. So, let me show you how well he can jump to catch his dinner” With that, the Monster pulled the pixie out of the metal box, careful not to break her wings. The container banged on the walkway over the pool, sending a painful sound through the water. When their hand was free, they once again rang the bell. Two long rings, a pause, and another three short ones. ‘Dinner’ and ‘hunt’. The fairy squeaked when her leg was cut, two drops of her blood falling into the water, putting the mer in a hunting frenzy. The long shrunken stomach began hurting again, while his instincts sharpened, zeroing on the pathetic flying creature that was now vulnerable. And easy to catch.

When Kaiyo’s pupils blew wide, ready to jump, the Monster let go of the pixie, which in turn bolted upwards. The patrons blocked her way on the sides, a single skylight on the top of the circus tent being the only way out.

“Go on, it’s all yours” the Show Master whispered, the mer not waiting any second longer. With two powerful beats of the tail, he gained speed in the water and shot out of the water. The fairy didn’t stand a chance. The audience held their breath as the two giant hands caught her mid-air and both creatures bolted down towards the pool. Now out of the poll, they could clearly see his white tail dotted with red and black dots, a thin veil reaching from his shoulderblades to the fins, and that he was twice as long as a human. His body made an enormous splash, some droplets almost reaching the audience before they evaporated on the magical shield protecting the seats from the performers.

After a few seconds, Kaiyo surfaced in front of the Monster, his face dripping with water and blood, two sets of sharp teeth shining in a broad smile. His pupils were blown wide, consuming almost all of his visible eye. 

“Good boy” the Show Master petted his raven-black hair. They straightened their back, pacing the audience, and made a deep bow. A few seconds of silence, then a thunderous applause.

“Of course, all creatures in the Menagerie are well-trained and can do such tricks! I am more than glad to give you more! Please, tell me your desires! Or, would you rather see more of our monsters?”

Taglist: @whumpsday @firapolemos05 @sodascribbles @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @crypticidentity @mothmxwhump @enigmawriteswhump @bees-among-the-okami

[crooked-corvid-whump]

Circus Whump

“Please, Whumper, don’t make me keep doing this. Please...” Their begging fell on deaf ears. Whumper stepped toward them they were caged between him and the tent pole at their back. He towered over them.

Head bent low, he murmured slowly and firmly into their ear, so only they could hear. “Shut. Up. You’re going to go out there tonight, and you’re going to perform your little routine, and you’re going to be the star I’ve made you to be. And then, when it’s over, you’re going to rest, then do it all over again tomorrow.”

His breath was hot against their skin, sending prickling shivers through them.

“Without me, you would still be out on the streets. Without me, you would be nothing. Remember that.” He stepped back and a painfully fake smile plastered itself to his face. “Now, best start getting ready for tonight’s show.”

Whumpee didn’t move until he was out of sight. Only then did they start breathing again. Only then did they start shaking.

*******************************************************************************************

Whumpee held perfectly still as Whumper gripped their chin, leaning in as he smudged the last of the line of glittery powders around their eyes, completing their colorful, shining look. He smiled when he was finished and leaned back to look at them, his star, the crown jewel of his show. From behind the fabric that hung over the entrance to their small dressing space-- a weak pretense of privacy-- drifted the swift, bouncy music that accompanied the fire-eater that was currently riling up the crowd for Whumpee’s performance. 

Whumper leaned closer again, smiling in a way that showed too many teeth. “You’re going to behave for me tonight, aren’t you love?”

They nodded. They had no more escape attempts left in them, not after the last one had landed them in a cage with an iron collar locked around their throat like just another circus animal until Whumper was satisfied that they’d learned their lesson.

“Perfect. You’re going to be wonderful tonight, darling. You always are.” With that, the music outside reached a crescendo, and Whumper pulled away. He winked at them and murmured, “That’s my cue,” slipping out into the ring just as the song came to a close.

Whumpee left their dressing space and made their way to the ladder bolted to the side one of the towering poles, atop which was their platform. They began their ascent, muscle memory leading their hands and feet to the rungs easily despite the darkness. The spotlight was trained on Whumper in the center of the ring, who bowed dramatically to the audience, his bright red coat swishing behind him and his top hat barely avoiding being dragged through the dust as he swept it off with a flourish. After straightening up and replacing the hat atop his head, he began to recite the well-rehearsed introduction he gave at every show before their routine.

“Ladies and gentlemen, young and old, one and all, it has been a marvelous night! Now it hops and skips quickly to its close,” here he hopped from one foot to the other, drawing bursts of laughter from the crowd, “but first, one final act. Turn your eyes now to the star of the night, our aerodynamic acrobat, our tremendous trapeze artist, the soaring, the sailing, the weightless Whumpee!”

The crowd burst in to frenzied applause as a second spotlight flicked on, beaming down upon Whumpee, now stood atop the platform high above. They waved stiffly to the audience, thankful that they were too high for anyone to see their face. Whumper’s spotlight dimmed to nothing until the only light in the entire tent was the one trained on them. They took a breath.

The song started slowly, almost mournful as the low violin notes flowed and Whumpee stepped toward the tightrope. They could do it. They knew they could. They had done this a million times before. But no matter how many times they were forced up to that platform, how many times they were forced to teeter and swing and leap above a rapt audience, nothing could rid them of the paralyzing terror they felt at the sight of the ground far below. They took a step.

Whumpee’s performance was, above all else, a story. A story that took place on a tightrope and between trapeze bars and even in parts on the aerial silks, yes, but a story nonetheless. That was what took their act from impressive to extraordinary. The music swelled and ebbed and rose and fell along with their movements, following them through a wordless journey that the audience could not look away from. Tonight, as every night, they were perfect. They flew through the air in graceful arcs that elicited gasps and bated breath from the crowd and twisted in the silks in smooth, languid motions. It wasn’t until the final leap from the trapeze back onto the platform that they faltered. They let go too late.

They flipped through the air, then their legs flared with pain as they crashed into the hard wood of the platform. It didn’t quite register at first as they were only half present, their mind distant as their body had carried them through the routine, distancing them from the reality of their position high in the air with a long, long way to go should they fall. However, it wasn’t long before the sharp, jarring pain reached them and clouded their mind in an entirely new way. They were only vaguely aware of the cheering and of Whumper’s closing speech far below. They leaned heavily against the pole behind them. Eyes squeezed shut, they focused on regaining the breath that had been knocked out of them as they waited for the pain to fade. They reached down, prodding at their legs where they had collided with the platform. Not broken, they decided, but surely badly bruised by morning. They sighed.

Finally, they gathered the energy to move and peered over the edge, saw the audience filing out of the tent, and their heart sunk. The show was over. Now they were going to have to face Whumper.

The whole way down the tortuously long ladder, their teeth were clenched in pain. Their legs ached, both from their performance and the bruises, and several times they had to stop and lean their forehead against the cool metal rungs and wait for the pain to subside enough to continue.

At last, they made it down. Unsurprisingly, Whumper was waiting for them at the bottom, leaning against a large painted backdrop and eyeing them with a seething anger. When they turned around, Whumper pushed off from where he was propped against the thing, closing the distance between them in a few long strides.

His hand cracked against their cheek before they could react. Tears of pain an surprise sprung to their eyes, but either Whumper didn’t notice or he didn’t care as he sneered at them.

“What the hell was that, Whumpee? That was sloppy. It was careless. I know for a fucking fact that you were trained better than that. I trained you better than that. You know better than to make such clumsy mistakes. So act like it.”

Whumpee opened their mouth to protest, or maybe to apologize, perhaps to stutter some excuse, but Whumper didn’t give them the chance.

“No. Shut up. If you can’t pull your act together and avoid fucking up my show, my masterpiece, if you can’t handle this act, then you can always be part of the freak show.” His voice took on a mocking lilt as he put a hand on their waist, his thumb tracing a raised line just under their ribs. “I’m sure if we laid you bare, all those pretty little scars would give our patrons plenty to ogle at.”

Whumpee nearly overbalanced as their panicked step backward was cut short, Whumper’s hand on their waist tightening and keeping them in place. They were frantic as they found their voice. “No, please, god no, i can’t- i’m not-” Whumper chuckled and put a gentle finger to their lips, cutting off their stream of words.

“No, no, not yet. I wouldn’t want to give up my perfect little star so easily, no matter how pretty their scars. Perhaps you just need a few more to remind you why it’s a very bad idea to disappoint me.” He smiled.

Whumpee didn’t fight it as his hand on their back led them towards his tent. They simply bowed their head in a pathetic attempt to hide the panic in their eyes and the single tear trailing down their cheek.

[leyswhumpdump]

A travelling circus acquires a brand new performer for their increasingly ambitious list of acts—a strange boy, born with beautiful feather wings. The ringmaster, delighted with his new purchase, plans an explosive new programme for the circus’s next tour of the continent.

The winged boy is not unused to the brand of cruelty the circus offers; the whips, the shackles, the tiny cage to sleep in. Miserable but resigned, he complies with what the ringmaster expects of him—learning songs and flying tricks and anything else his new owner thinks might entertain an audience.

Time passes. Eventually it’s time for them to move on to pastures new, and the circus wagons are loaded up. From behind the bars of his cage, the winged boy watches the world roll by—a world that’s rejected him, and yet demands a performance all the same. Children run after the wagons with shouts of delight, pulled back by weary mothers. Whenever the wagons take a rest, the human members of the troupe entertain in return for a proper bed for the night. The winged boy remains in his cage, allowing the tears to fall as he is left alone for the first time.

And then it comes to the first performance. The crowds are stunned by the sight of a boy who flies so effortlessly around the ring. The winged boy almost enjoys the applause, though he knows no one cares for him on a personal level. Then someone does. A little girl offers him her stuffed animal, and he treasures it. Things start going almost well.

Until they don’t. The crowds down south are harder to please, flustering even the ringmaster with their demands. The acts are altered last minute, forcing the winged boy to learn complicated and dangerous flying routines. A few weeks of this see him develop nervous ticks, tugging at his feathers until his wings are balding. They tie his hands to the cage to stop him, and he uses his teeth to pluck the feathers away. They muzzle him, and he bangs his head against the bars instead. Eventually the ringmaster withholds food in penance. By the time the final show of the season rolls around the winged boy is a nervous mess. But the show must go on.

This time, they have royalty in the audience.

The ringmaster pulls out all the stops to ensure the visiting prince is impressed. He dresses the winged boy in a ridiculous costume of reds and golds, topping it off with a thick headdress of feathers that distracts from his patchy wings. A fiery phoenix, rising from the ashes.

One more show.

It starts off smoothly enough. It’s only when the winged boy is standing on his tiny platform at great height, surrounded by an array of pyrotechnics, that he begins to panic. His song falters in his throat as dizziness hits him. Too far off the ground, and far too hungry. When he takes his dive into the ring, his wing catches the open flames. He finds himself losing control, a tumbling spark falling from the sky.

The audience screams. The ringmaster pushes past everyone else in his haste to reach the exit as the big top goes up in flames. The winged boy hears the terror, the mad scramble—then the tent starts to fall, and he hears nothing.

The next thing he knows, he’s lying in a plush carriage, the fire out and yet still raging. When he looks up through eyes that refuse to focus, he sees a face—not the twitching, moustachioed face of the circus ringmaster, but something kinder and gentler. A silk-clad arm cradles his burned, bruised, soot-smeared form as he sobs with pain.

Finally, he is safe.

[pigeonwhumps]

Roll up!

Taglist: @painful-pooch

As a circus sideshow act, Pythias is forced to kill her immortal friend Damon repeatedly.

658 words

CWs: immortal whumpee, multiple whumpees, temporary character death, resurrection, forced to kill, forced to whump, blood, public whump, circus, on display, captivity, past caning, implied past starvation, exhaustion

"See the incredible resurrecting man! Watch as he comes back to life time and time again! Experience the thrill of seeing death, safe in the knowledge that it won't be permanent! Be amazed at the perfect resurrection! No wires, no tricks! Within minutes, the resurrecting man will be back on his feet!"

Pythias takes a breath, gesturing to Damon with a flourish as he steps out from behind the screen in a loose white blouse and trousers, his little stumble going completely unnoticed by the crowd of onlookers. He's exhausted, the dark bags under his eyes hidden by a thick layer of make-up, but he manages a smile that just about covers the dullness of his eyes.

He knows the score. So does she. It was taught to them both at the stroke of a cane. They've got to do this, got to do it well, so convincing in their enthusiastic participation that no-one suspects they're trapped here.

And they have to turn a profit. Or they won't be eating tonight.

Pythias smiles wider. She knows her spiel off by heart now, as she pulls an ornate dagger out from beneath the folds of her blood red dress, twirling it in her hand.

Her elbow-length gloves are a delicate white, but even when they're clean they're covered in his blood.

"Are you ready, folks? Prepare for the show of a lifetime! Gather in and watch closely!"

The crowd shuffles closer, whether through obedience or curiosity she's not sure. The sideshow tent they're in is rather small, and with the onlookers so close... well, the circus director calls it intimate. Pythias prefers claustrophobic.

Pythias lifts the knife, the ornate golden handle glinting in the warm light of the lanterns, and plunges it through the slit in Damon's blouse.

Damon lets out a little gasp as the knife enters, shuddering, before he falls, boneless and empty-eyed, into Pythias's arms.

"Like a reverse damsel in distress, darlin's."

This is the worst part of the act. The lifeless body in her arms, blood spreading, staining the white fabric, covering her gloves where it comes out through the slit in the blouse, red, red blood, matching her dress, contrasting with the white, a contrast the director is so fond of. There's the incessant nagging worry that this time Damon won't return to life, the tense silence that allows the director's voice to worm its way through her brain, leaving nothing to banish it with.

It's only a few minutes but it feels like an eternity every time.

Damon awakes with a groan and a jerk, and the crowd gasps. Someone swoons. Some people step backwards, out of surprise or the fear that his abnormalities are contagious. Pythias wants to scoff. They were fine with his suffering until just now.

She helps Damon to his feet, placing a hand carefully between his wing stubs to support him as he sways very slightly. He grins and waves at the crowd in his blood-soaked blouse, although she can see the discomfort clearly in his face.

This seems to break the onlookers' silence and they break out into cheers and applause.

Pythias smiles. "Thank you, folks. Tell your family and friends about us, come and watch us again, and don't forget to visit the other sideshow acts before you leave!"

The crowd disperses after that, and Damon heads behind the screen to change his blouse, stumbling as he goes. Pythias wipes the knife on a rag until it's gleaming again and peels off the bloodied gloves, surreptitiously handing them both to Damon, to be swapped with clean white gloves that are a lie in their semblance of innocence.

As new people enter the tent, eating candyfloss and toffee apples and chatting happily amongst themselves in a way that makes her hate them just a little bit, she slips into the gloves and prepares to do the whole act all over again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

[whump-princess]

Just watched Victor Frankenstein (2015) and I appreciate the whole Frankenstein concept being whumpy, but the circus whump at the beginning of the movie was so good 😮‍💨

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Hey circus whump writers, do you know this song?

You should.

[goodwhump-temp]

Ciel Phantomhive Whump | Black Butler

Black Butler

Ep.02 - Drugged, kidnapped, beaten (offscreen), punched x2, gutpunched, unconscious, hostage, held at gunpoint x3, carried Ep.03 - Angry, trauma (20:50) Ep.04 - Scared (06:25), freaking out (13:00), exhausted (15:00), drugged, unconscious, auctioned Ep.05 - Traumatized, hyperventilating, held, arm sliced, choked Ep.06 - Collapse JUKED (11:40), choked (18:55) Ep.07 - Chained Ep.09 - Nearly crushed by statue, held (17:20) Ep.10 - Freaked out (11:50), thrown Ep.11 - Manhandled, birthday trauma, [flashback; branded (05:00)], choked, taunted Ep.12 - [Flashback; Missing, eye bandaged, depressed], carried, held (11:05), tortured flashback (16:30) Ep.13 - Grabbed x2 (04:30, 08:40), vital point hit (11:58) Ep.14 - Trauma (09:30) Ep.16 - Disrespected x1000 Ep.17 - Trauma (10:40, 20:20), snatched Ep.18 - Tortured/reliving trauma x3, unconscious (08:25), anguish (10:50) Ep.19 - Held at gunpoint Ep.20 - Carried (16:30), nearly stabbed (19:30) Ep.21 - Depressed, protected/distracted (adorable) Ep.22 - Hell flashback (14:40), abandoned Ep.23 - Tackled, shot, carried Ep.24 - Bandaged, consumed by the mist, bleeding out, hanging, large fall, unconscious, dead

Black Butler II

Ep.01 - Encased Ep.02 - Drowning, unconscious Ep.03 - Trauma (05:05), tackled (11:50), knocked against wall from explosion (15:25) Ep.04 - Restrained (13:20), hostage, carried x2 Ep.05 - Amnesia reveal, trauma (04:30), freaking out (06:05, 09:20, 16:05), headaches x2, collapse Ep.06 - Sound attack (05:50), pain, [Flashback; Unconscious/soulless, corpse kidnapped (14:25)] Ep.07 - Choked, pushed from balcony, hand sliced, bleeding out carried Ep.09 - Trauma (09:00), restrained, abducted, gutpunched, unconscious, mental torture, waterboarded, memories replaced, weak Ep.10 - What the actual fudge (17:20), passes out Ep.11 - Trapped, crying, collapse Ep.12 - Unconscious, trapped, drowning, bleeding, 'dead'

Black Butler: Book of Circus

Ep.01 - Head 'shot' (15:20) Ep.02 - Exhausted, allergies (14:25, 20:35, 21:25) Ep.03 - Angry, tightrope, pebbled with tiny rocks x1000, tortured/forced to smile Ep.04 - Stressful commoner life, brand scar revealed (21:25), cold & wet, trauma (22:05) Ep.05 - Encased (08:30), very sick (15:05+), throws up, passes out, weak, hallucinating Ep.06 - [Nightmare; trauma/branding ceremony, Madame Red] Coughing fits, fever, carried, asthma fit (17:30), restrained to bed Ep.07 - Prolonged sleep, branding trauma (21:55) Ep.08 - Branding trauma Ep.09 - Branding trauma (19:25), throws up, crying, carried Ep.10 - Carried cont.

[dont-tell-them-i-died]

hey tadc fanfic writers

pls write more jax angst please pleeeeeeaase write more jax angst. I need to see that man fucking BREAK. you understand. Thank you for your consideration.

[whumpthefuck]

Saw someone refer to Caine from TADC as 'Denture Daddy' and if I had to endure learning that so do you.

[blackrosesandwhump]

The Marvelous Resurrecting Boy, Part 12

Part 11

BTHB: Lacerations

Fandom: Original work

Synopsis: In the aftermath of his friend's attack, Bram repeats his performance of the dying swan...and something happens that he didn't expect.

CW: death, blood, suicide for convenience, drugging reference

“I-I’m so sorry…”

Kian lay in the cot next to Bram’s, staring at nothing, his hands folded across his chest. A white bandage wrapped up his left forearm, lightly tinged with fresh blood.

“I didn’t mean to, really…” Kian said, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t help it…it wasn’t me.”

“I know it wasn’t.” I know that now, anyway, Bram thought. He shifted in his own cot, turning to face the other boy. The motion sent little stabs of pain through the fresh lacerations raked across his torso and arms. “At least it was me and not Ester.”

A couple of tears leaked from Kian’s eyes. “I might’ve killed her. I can’t kill you.” He managed a shaky half-smile.

“True.”

But it hurt. The claw-marks burned. Bram was used to pain, even agony, but usually, he would die and resurrect, and the injuries would be gone. This time, he had to live with the aftermath of Kian’s wild attack.

It wasn’t Kian’s fault, not really. He couldn’t help the effect that the new moon had on him. It was just the type of creature he was: a cambion, a half-human half-demon creature that turned into a monster on the darkest night of every month.

No wonder Griffin wanted to drug him, Bram thought, then immediately hated himself for thinking it.

“All right, you’re both cleared to leave,” the medic announced, breaking through Bram’s thoughts. “Keep those injuries clean and bandaged, and you should both recover just fine.” He made a mark on his pad of paper. “Better get ready for your next performances.”

The next performance. Bram sat up wearily, swung his feet down, and followed Kian out of the medical tent.

The air was slightly warmer today, carrying the faintest hint of spring on a breeze that seemed to rise out of nowhere. Bram took a deep breath. He was alive (for now). And—his pulse sped up at the thought—he might see Violet again in the audience. She might be watching.

That is, if it really was her. His footsteps slowed. What if it wasn’t? What if all this time, she was only a hallucination, a figment of his nightmares?

Even if she is just a hallucination, he answered himself, I still love her.

He looked around and found he’d stopped outside the meal tent. The newest performers were clustered there, the group in which he’d seen the winged boy.

But the winged boy wasn’t there.

***

The Marvelous Resurrecting Boy’s performance of the dying swan garnered an even larger crowd the second time.

Bram shuffled back and forth backstage, sweating slightly under his layer of white feathers. He had a feeling, an unshakable feeling, that she would be there. And if she was, nothing else would matter.

The act before him ended--Kian and Ester together this time—and the audience applauded.

Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump. His heart took off beating, pounding like it intended to throb itself right out of his chest.

Like last time, the spear pierced him through. He barely noticed the pain as he stepped onto the stage. He played the dying swan as dramatically as ever: the slow, melancholy dance; the blood crimsoning his wings; the tragic collapse as he died.

And as he died, he saw her. She was out there, in the audience, watching him die. Watching him come back to life.

And it looked like…it looked like she was crying—

The shipwreck again—the memory winked out and back—they were standing on a beach together, watching another ship approach the shore—

He came back to life and got shakily to his feet. The noise of the audience overwhelmed him: shouts and cries of acclamation and awe, thunderous applause, the soft pop of a camera close by. He looked around, startled. Someone had taken his photograph. A photograph of the dying swan, covered in his own blood.

Someone took his arm and guided him offstage.

“They shouldn’t make you do that act,” Kian said, still holding onto Bram as he helped him down the wooden steps. “That’s a lot of blood loss, even for you.”

“I guess it is,” Bram murmured, feeling a little dizzy. But it’s worth it. It’s always worth it, to see Violet again—

“Bram.” His handler stood in the way, a peculiar expression etched across his face. “Go clean yourself up, quick as you can, and get back here immediately.”

“Why?” Kian blurted, his eyes flashing yellow for just a moment. “Can’t you see he needs to recover—”

“He doesn’t have time for that,” Bram’s handler said. “Someone wants to buy him.”

@whumping-to-conclusions @whumping-out-of-time @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumpy-writings @afabulousmrtake @whither-wander-whump @whumpinthepot @silver-ink-iron-words @badthingshappenbingo

[theboywithburninghands]

This is something I didn’t expect to write, but it sort of just… Came out of my head. It’s a horror whump (I think that’s the word kids these days are using) piece about Jax’s unusual phobia with a little bit of Funnybunny thrown in because yes. It’s definitely less conventionally cute than the other ones I’ve done so far, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. It’s also heavily inspired by Stephen King

T/W: blood, horror, discussed gore

He Who Walks Behind The Rows

*Jax is by himself in a cornfield. It’s hot out. Uncomfortably so. The sky is cement gray. He’s been here before, and he knows that if he’s here…

then It was here too.*

Jax: …Oh no.

*The husks of corn rustle, from the wind? Please just let it be the wind. The sound, like the rasp of a giant, angry rattlesnake, chills him to his core despite the oppressive heat. …He shouldn’t have said anything, now It could track him*

Jax: I’m leaving. I’ll go now.

*Jax turns tail and runs. It never does any good, but running bought him a few seconds when he wasn’t in It’s grasp. The cornfield seems to laugh at him as it rustles. “Just where do you think you’re going, little rabbit? Don’t you want to stay? Why not rest a while? It’s soooo hot out…”*

Jax: Just stay away from me!

*It was like trying to tell a shark not to eat a bleeding dolphin. There was no slaking It’s thirst. Jax made the mistake of glancing to his right, and he locked eyes with It. Two hateful red eyes as large as beach balls leer back at him from several cornrows away. It didn’t matter how fast he was or how agile he moved, It would catch him. It was like liquid, could easily catch him at any time, but It always liked to watch him run.*

Jax: I don’t see you! You hear me, I don’t see-

*His right foot catches a husk on a nearby stalk and it trips him. The serrated edge of the leaf rips the skin and fur of his foot open, and he tumbles onto the ground with a yelp of pain and fright*

*He grabs for his foot, which now oozed hot blood onto the tightly packed dirt. The pain is muted but somehow unbearable. He feels blood stain his glove, but soon forgets everything about the pain… It appeared in front of him. Jax’s ears pin back against his head*

Rowstalker: …Ghhhhhhh…

*It opens Its leathery mouth to reveal a maw that could fit a bus, filthy brown and reeking of moldy corncobs. Jagged, shattered-glass teeth protrude from random spots, cracked with blight and oozing bacteria-ridden drool.*

Rowstalker: Chhhrrrrr….

Jax: Get away! GET AWAY FROM ME!

*A whiplike tongue snags Jax’s right ankle, dragging him towards It’s mouth. Jax pitifully claws at the dirt, wildly grasping around for purchase and finding none. He lets out a whimper and looks down at his ankle, his red blood staining It’s rotten green tongue-*

*…Red?*

*He didn’t bleed red anymore! This wasn’t real! He was-!*

Jax: AGGH!

*Jax shoots awake in bed, throwing the blanket off his chest. He feels the wash of relief that comes with waking from a nightmare. He takes several deep and gasping breaths, taking the blanket off his right foot. It’s unharmed. He collapses onto his pillow*

Jax: Gimme a break… I just got hot under the blanket again…

Pomni: J-Jax..?

Jax: POMNI! *he shoots back up in bed. Pomni is standing not too far away in his room, clutching her left arm with her right hand. She jolts when he jolts* You- How’d you get in my room?!

Pomni: You… left the door unlocked. I wanted to say goodnight… *steps a little bit closer* Are you okay..?

Jax: Huh? Yeah, I’m fine! Fit as a fiddle!

Pomni: Your hands are shaking… *it takes her a second to work herself up, but she takes one of his hands. It is indeed trembling*

Jax: *sigh, eyeroll* I had a nightmare, okay? Happens sometimes when I get too hot.

Pomni: Do you want to talk about it..?

Jax: Nope. G’night. *he lets go of her hand and rolls over, pulling the covers up to just his waist this time.*

Pomni: *she hovers her hand out for a second before putting it back down at her side* Y-Yeah. Goodnight, Jax. *she puts her hand down and heads for the door* Don’t forget the lock.

Jax: …Do you get them too?

Pomni: Huh? Get what?

Jax: Nothing. Forget it.

Pomni: …Nightmares? Sure. I mean, who doesn’t..? I still get dreams that I haven’t turned in a big assignment or I’m driving with no steering wheel-

Jax: That’s not what I’m talkin’ about. *he rolls over* Those are just stress dreams. Baby stuff. I’m talkin’ about nightmares that make you never want to sleep again. Things so horrible you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy.

Pomni: Yeah, maybe once or twice. Technically we’re living in one. *tiny, nervous smile*

Jax: *smirk* Heh. Yeah. I don’t know if I had them back in… you know, the real world. But they got bad here. If I’m not dreaming about… *he looks at Pomni* …I prolly shouldn’t tell you, actually. It’s… no fun.

Pomni: *Although she’s a bit surprised by her own confidence, she climbs up onto Jax’s bed and sits on the end, looking at him with a delicate smile* Try me.

Jax: …You’re sitting on my bed.

Pomni: *talking over a laugh* Do-Don’t change the subject! Tell me about your nightmares.

Jax: Why do you care..?

Pomni: Because… Because I care about you… *blushes*

Jax: *also blushes a faint pink-purple* Uh… *swallows* Okay, fine, but if you get creeped out, it’s on you. …Usually I’m in a cornfield. Sometimes a house or a barn. And something is after me. I don’t really have a good name for It… so I just call It The Rowstalker. Since it… stalks. The rows. Of corn.

Pomni: What does it look like?

Jax: It’s hard to explain. It’s taken a bunch of different shapes… usually it’s got big red eyes and giant, messed up teeth. But I’ve seen it fly, or swim, or dig…

Pomni: Does it hurt you?

Jax: Yeah. Bad. Sometimes it gnaws my head off then drinks the blood out of my neck… sometimes it eats me from the feet up, slowly. Sometimes it starts with just one arm, and…

*Jax feels his entire body shiver, and his ears pin back. Pomni holds one of his hands and he squeezes it in return. It’s humiliating, sure… but it does feel good to actually tell somebody about this.*

Pomni: …I’m sorry. That sounds horrible. I uh… I wish I had advice…

Jax: Nah. You don’t need to give any… Can you do one thing for me, though..?

Pomni: Yeah.

Jax: Don’t tell anyone, okay? If this ever gets around to Caine… he could make it real.

Pomni: Why would Caine…-

Jax: Maybe for Halloween, or a haunted house or something… if he ever made it real, I think I’d…

*Pomni hugs him. It’s… a gradual and awkward affair, given Pomni’s discomfort with touch, but she gets there eventually. Jax sighs, but he hugs her back. The bells on her coxcomb hat jingle softly.*

Pomni: Is this okay?

Jax: Yeah. Yeah, this is okay…

[leyswhumpdump]

Don’t Make Me

Day 29 of @themerrywhumpofmay

Little drabble piece inspired by my post about the winged circus boy.

Tropes and CWs: cage, circus setting, character refusing food, dissociation.

“Don’t make me do it,” the ringmaster warned.

The winged boy glared from his cage, still defiant even though his hands were trembling.

“You will eat when I say you eat. If you refuse food, there will be consequences.” The ringmaster’s circus staff lifted off the floor, tapping once, twice on the bars. Each tap rang out with hollow vibrations. “Our schedule doesn’t start for another couple of weeks. Plenty of time for bruises to fade.”

The cane reached between the bars, jabbing against the winged boy’s throat. The confines of the cage meant he couldn’t back away, only flinch. His chin lifted involuntarily as the cane swept upwards, forcing him to make eye contact with the ringmaster. When his dull expression gave him away, a sharp forward press of the cane snapped away the dissociative gaze. “You will be present for this discussion.”

It wasn’t much of a discussion, the winged boy thought sourly. A discussion implied two parties welcome to speak.

“Pick up the plate.”

The winged boy flinched again at the command, but picked it up. He wished he were brave enough to hurl food in the ringmaster’s face.

The ringmaster did not lower his cane. A sinking feeling told the winged boy his space would only be his own again when he’d swallowed every last disgusting morsel. Making eye contact with his owner the whole time. He couldn’t even lower his head to look at his food as he set the plate on his shaking knees.

The ringmaster smiled. He’d won this round and he knew it.

“Now eat.”

[pigeonwhumps]

The Greatest Show on Earth

Damon and Pythias are an unwilling two-person sideshow act in The Greatest Show on Earth, Pythias forced to kill Damon multiple times a day for the entertainment of paying circus patrons. Damon has been in captivity since birth, Pythias not quite so long (although certainly long enough), and they're both ready to get out.

But the outside world is even trickier to navigate than they imagined.

Contains: non-human whumpees, multiple whumpees, immortal whumpee, lady whump, circus whump, public whump, captivity, recovery whump, temporary character death, guilty whumpee, whumpee as caretaker

CWs: temporary character death (both implied and shown at various times), captivity, recovery whump, public whump, guilt, forced to kill

Character intros:

Damon/Star, Pythias/Amelia, Mosi, and Sandip

Main writing:

In the circus

Roll up!

The outside world

Extras:

Circus moodboard

R is for Ransom

[typotheratking]

Defiant and apathetic whumpee

Independent whumpee

Whumpee who’s already an expert at taking care of their own wounds

Who doesn’t tell anyone what happened to them because they’ve already been keeping secrets for so many years

Whumpee who reacts with anger, who pushes everyone away until they only have themselves again

Whumpee who copes by abusing substances

Whumpee who has a persona that they use to survive, but it doesn’t work anymore

Whumpee who is just trying to survive/achieve a goal, who doesn’t have time to think about recovering

Whumpee who only has themselves

Well meaning caretaker who can’t get close enough to help but knows something is wrong