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#whump episode
whumpslist · 1 year
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Strike 5.03-4 episodes “Troubled Blood”
Character: Cormoran B. Strike, portrayed by Tom Burke.
Type of whumps: [above, 5.03] vomiting and moaning, feeling sick for the hangover and light sensitivity, sleeping on the desk and rough awakening, feeling sorry and penitent, climbing stairs holding on the handrail and walking with the cane, rushed outside in order to not be seen crying, grieving and sobbing, covering his face with using his arm and hand while he’s crying; [below, 5.04] difficult conversation about painful memories, got the flu and food poisoning, labored breathing and vomiting.
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heytheredeann · 9 months
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For @vortexoffate
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stevebabey · 3 months
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steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3
“Steven, this is ridiculous.”
Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.
It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.
She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.
But Steve? Steve is not.
It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.
It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.
Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.
So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.
Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.
He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.
Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.
She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.
She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.
She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.
She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.
Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.
She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.
He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.
The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.
“Mom—”
“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.
“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”
She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.
“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.
“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”
“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.
The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.
Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.
She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.
“Why are you here, Mom?”
There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.
“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”
Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.
She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.
Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.
“And to leave the house in such a state?”
Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.
There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.
“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.
“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.
It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.
Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.
Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.
“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”
Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.
“I’m not coming with you.”
The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”
He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.
It makes him stand a little straighter.
“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”
Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.
“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”
“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.
“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”
It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.
“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”
In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.
She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.
He’s shaking, she realises.
Her heart twists painfully in her chest.
Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”
Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.
Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.
“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”
“Steven—”
“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."
A beat.
"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”
Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.
She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.
“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”
There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.
“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”
“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.
“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”
His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.
“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”
And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.
Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.
Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.
The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.
If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.
Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.
He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.
“Steve…” She breathes softly.
He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.
Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.
She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.
She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.
If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.
“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.
Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.
“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.
Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.
She thinks of what Steve had said.
“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.
“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”
Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.
“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”
It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.
“I’ve never told anyone that before.”
Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.
“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.
Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.
Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.
“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”
“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.
Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.
She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.
“You alright?”
Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.
Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.
“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”
Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”
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The inherent homoeroticism of 70s cop shows
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sarcasmcloud · 7 months
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"I'm a chupacabras." "What did I say about making jokes?" - The Imperfects s01e03
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whumpypepsigal · 2 months
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Avatar: The Last Airbender (2024) s01e06 “I didn't mean to hurt you.”
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angeltk · 4 months
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TK STRAND IN EVERY SCENE 1.08: monster inside
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ccieatchildren · 9 months
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OKAY BUT THE CALLUM WHUMP IN THE DRAGON PRINCE SEASON 5!!!
Specifically S5 E8.
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First, just him being locked away in the captain’s cabin, isolated and tortured by Finnegrin for the dark magic info.
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And him absolutely refusing to reveal anything right now, laughing at Finnegrin for what he sees as a hypocritical thought process, because it would go against his morals and he doesn’t want to give Finnegrin the ability to kill Domina Profundis.
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Finnegrin taunting him about his dark magic usage, typical villain spiel of asking if Callum has never thought about it or wanted/needed to use it. Learning that Callum has studied it extensively (and though Callum points out that he has also studied the other types, his curiosity always seems to get the better of him) and has once used it, to save his friends. Finnegrin taking this information in and twisting it on the boy. The defeated way Callum gets pushed out by Finnegrin, seeing all his friends chained up and having to make a “decision” for Finnegrin.
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Finnegrin forcing Callum to choose one of his friends' hand to cut off. Not being able to choose anyone, and the gang standing up for each other, offering their own hands. Preaching the love and friendship deal, only to peeve off Finnegrin even more, who tries to goad Callum into using dark magic once again. You can see the way he actually thinks about it, the guilt in his eyes but also the determination to save his friends. Only for Rayla to escape, making sure to take any option for dark magic out of Callum's hands. I believe if Rayla hadn't intervened, Callum would've eventually gone through with it, as the main thing holding him back was said guilt and own mental blockage. Finnegrin then freezing Rayla's blood, putting her in excruciating pain, and Callum, doing a full 180, goes batshite over Rayla being tortured, decking Finnegrin full force in the face. He is calm when faced with his own pain, but when someone he loves is hurt, especially due to his inability to do anything, he immediately loses his temper.
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However, this small win ends them back up at square one, with Callum tied up and at the captain's mercy. When Finnegrin tells him that he's gonna feed Rayla to the leviathan, and Callum can't do anything, he immediately gives up the info, thinking that would save her. Only for Finnegrin to turn around and go "nuh-uh," completely destroying him.
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He can't even save the person he loves. Callum may have primal magic (one or two of the arcanum depending on how you want to look at it), but he still can't do anything; he is completely useless in this moment. Realizing this, all hope drains out of him, and he does the only thing he can think of, spill the beans. He begins to break his principles by telling Finnegrin the dark magic spell (one of the darkest spells at that), in hopes of him releasing Rayla, only for it to backfire and be completely for nothing. Now, not only can he not save Rayla, but now Finnegrin can kill Domina Profundis. The guilt weighs even harder on him, he has essentially doomed everyone.
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Then, Callum gets out, stands up to Finnegrin, using his own arcanum against him, gaining said arcanum at the same time (also, I just really love how he figured it out, using Finnegrin's words against him, and the idea behind the ocean arcanum is just very fun, I just really liked this moment), and save his homies.
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So, everything turns out fine, right? Nope!
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Callum had to use dark magic to get out, preforming the same snake chain spell he had before on his restraints. When he was all out of options, Callum always reverts back to what he knows, even if it might break his morals. And while this action is totally justifiable, as he basically had to, Callum doesn't really seem to see it that way. Despite knowing that there are parts of himself he can't understand, he still is riddled with grief over it. The deep pain and guilt on his face as he hugs Rayla, not telling her or anyone else what he had to do to get out, shows us that he believes he had committed a grave sin. In his eyes, he is just as bad as Viren and Claudia, and he is still dealing with the PTSD of being possessed by Aaravos, of having the chance to turn completely to the dark side. This paranoia and anxiety makes him keep everything to himself. He doesn't think they would understand or forgive him, and he doesn't think they should, as he doesn't really either.
The ocean arcanum also gives us a look into Callum. He states himself about how it is accepting the hidden depths in oneself, even if you may not truly understand it. Callum's ability and willingness to do dark magic at times is part of those deeper depths. He doesn't truly understand it yet, and may never will, but, like any other human, there are many paths for him to follow. I do not think he is truly evil, or what he has done is irredeemable, but I believe that Callum, like all of us, is neither truly good or bad, but chooses where he takes himself (we also see this with Viren throughout the season). He could become someone filled with light and kindness, a "do-gooder" if you will, which is what I believe he wants to be, but he could also lead himself down a much darker path if he isn't careful, placing himself among the ranks of Aaravos, Viren, and Finnegrin, or he could be someone who carefully struts the line in the middle. The point is that it is up to him. Though he has become in tune with the ocean arcanum and those "hidden depths," him not accurately understanding his potential for darkness could usher him into a much more disastrous existence. Hopefully linking with the ocean arcanum will allow him to slowly accept these parts of himself and find a true balance between dark and primal magic, whatever that balance may be.
(Also the implications of him being the one in the intro rather than Viren...)
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All in all, this whole episode was just very whump (even in the B plot somewhat). Callum and Finnegrin were very much whumpee and whumper -coded and you can't convince me otherwise.
The emotions in this episode for the main gang were top-notch. Watching what each character did to try to help themselves and their friends, and seeing the physical and emotional consequences of their actions (whether positive or negative) was amazing. Not just with Callum, but also the others (Ezran instantly offering himself up again and again, practically begging; Rayla breaking herself out to try and save Callum, only to be quickly and severely subdued; and Soren continuously taking the hits to help Elmer find his own worth, saving the gang in the process), was very well done.
ABSOLUTELY SCRUMDIDDLYUMPTIOUS!
I hope we get more moments like this in future seasons.
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guardian-angle22 · 1 year
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is it a season of 911 lone star if tk doesn't get hurt in some way? nah
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papanowo · 1 year
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sorry i just needed to draw this shot hes just so BOIOIOING yk
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runraerun · 6 months
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*lays down in a grassy field next to you* I just think if Jack had been around during the Regarding Dean episode he would have been very patient and understanding with memory loss!Dean, y’know?
Like everyone else kept getting frustrated with him but I think Jack would have been the complete opposite, he would have been more than happy to answer Dean’s repeated questions over and over again, and would have just been eager to help take care of Dean for once, as opposed to the other way around.
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whumpslist · 2 months
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Zorro’s whumps’ list
(referred to main character Zorro / Diego de la Vega, portrayed by Miguel Bernardeau; *bonus: Enrique Monasterio, portrayed by Emiliano Zurita.]
Season 1
.01: brief scuffle and under swordpoint during a training session, received upsetting news about his father's death and tears in his eyes, grief, shot at and unpleasant confrontation, nightmare and rough awakening, upsetting news and conflicted, fought against multiple armed soldiers twice, rough sword fight, zorroed himself on his chest.
.02: red fresh Z sign on his chest from previous episode, into a hostage situation during a robbery and under gunpoint, pistol-whipped at his neck, under gunpoint, scuffle and almost shot, worried and defeated, conflicted, brief scuffles and sword fight.
.03: harsh confrontation and sort of shot at, various scuffles, gun pointed at his head, disappointed, lured into a trap and under gunpoint, under gunfire and captured, hands tied above his head and identity exposed, upsetting news and almost shot in the face.
.04: hands tied above his head from previous episode, stabbed and heavily breathing, collapsed and dragged by his arms, laying unable to move and heavily breathing, moaning, falling from the horse, taken care of, feverish, upset but unable to leave the bed, shirt stained with blood after an effort and fainted, helped laying on the bed and wound exposed and bleeding, moaning helped getting undressed, Z scar on his chest, pale, wound taken care of, hand pushed against the wound and groaning in pain, under arrow point, into a duel with swords.
.05: upset, blade at his throat twice, Z scar on his chest, brief scuffle against two armed men, under gunfire and brief scuffles, under gunpoint, disappointed.
.06: ackward conversation and uneasy, Z scar on his chest, upset, brief scuffle, under gunpoint, under gunpoint and chloroformed, passed out and kidnapped, slapped in the face and helped getting up, pointed the gun at his own head and pressed the trigger without consequences, chloroformed again and grabbed when collapsed, upset; *bonus Enrique Monasterio: shot with an arrow at his shoulder, bloody and taken care of.
.07: blackmailed, rough scuffle and pushed to the ground, blade at his throat and heavily panting, upset and heartbroken, difficult conversation and conflicted, annoyed.
.08: brief scuffle, threatened and upset, bitten, angry and argued, rough fight and stabbed, upset and crying.
.09: unpleasant conversation and identity exposed, massaging his injured leg, under gunpoint, sword fight, grieving his father and tears on his cheeks, upset and conflicted, indignant, stabbed in flank and shot at, fallen from the horse semi-unconscious and taken care of, groaning and heavily breathing, grunting in pain and passed out.
.10: holding his flank because of the injury from previous episode, received upsetting news and agitated, moaning during physical effort, harsh confrontation (on purpose), intense sword duel, harsh confrontation (for fake), under gunpoint, rough sword fight and cut at his thigh, stabbed in the back and collapsed on his knees, almost killed, grunting in pain while getting up, pale and sweating, upset, silently crying on his father's grave, rejected, emotional goodbye; *bonus Enrique Monasterio: intense sword duel, stabbed and collapsed (dead for fake), shot at then swordfights.
In the original book "The Mark of Zorro" (1919) by Johnston McCulley: brief scuffle, various chases, rejected, brief scuffle, fought and chased, sword duel without consequences, surrounded and rescued.
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nat-1-whump · 6 months
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So, with NaNoWriMo in full swing, and unfortunately having already seen some examples of this, I just want to say:
If you see a Tumblr post by a disabled person talking about their disability, and they aren't specifically posting it as a prompt or writing resource, do not reblog it with tags like #whump inspo or start talking about your OCs. That is so, so fucking inappropriate and weird.
It's one thing to write about disabled characters, but it's not okay to take a post by a real person about their own experiences and make it about your OCs. Just don't.
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anguishmacgyver · 5 months
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warmblanketwhump · 1 year
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obsessed with the idea of two people traveling together who either aren’t close or just don’t do physical contact. one of them is clearly sick, trying to prop their head up with arms balanced on their knees, then folding all the way over, leaning against the window or the side of whatever’s transporting them to their destination, but they just can’t get comfortable.
finally the other one gently tugs on their shoulder, saying “hey. just lean on me for a bit, okay?”
and it doesn’t hit them how bad the other one is feeling until they slump over on their shoulder or drop their head in their lap without a word of protest, and all they can do is run their fingers through the sick one’s hair and pray that wherever they’re heading has some very effective medicine.
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whiteboywhump · 1 month
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Tim finds Bernard unconscious
titans (S4 E10)
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