thewhumpening-thesequel

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The whumpee had stayed with the whumper long enough to forget what freedom was like- they were just so used to the constant pain and punishment he whumper loved putting them through. Freedom seemed like a faraway dream, one the whumpee was tired of having.

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A whumpee that is so rough and tough, they pull themselves out of the worst of situations. Their team, not understanding that being treated delicately is not what they need, tries to help. Whumpee pushes them away, only isolating themselves. It's no one's fault, not really.

But, Whumpee is a people's person, despite their... rough demeanor. As such, isolating themselves to get away from their team's smothering only caused them to decline.

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Mer whumpee getting injured. But it's not like they can get out of the salty painful sea water 👀

Oooooh, that’s SO FUN. I do love a mer whumpee! Especially if they get hurt on land and are just trying to get back to the sea, but suddenly their home hurts them and they don’t really know what to do.

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I love the idea of new wings.

Instead of them jutting out from nowhere, piecing the whumpee’s back fully formed, imagine if their whole body had to be altered.

Like, imagine the skin of their back blistering and peeling. Their muscles tightening, reaching their breaking points.

New bones can’t be created from nowhere, so their old bones weaken and hollow out. Maybe even something crazy, like ribs bending backwards and breaking, turning into new “arms” to be covered with feathers.

The skin on their back having to rip and stretch to stay covering these new “wings”. Blisters and blood feathers still bubbling under the surface.

The whumpee trying to rip at their own skin to let the feathers escape from underneath.

The pain is unbearable and goes on for days, weeks, months, and yet they cannot fly. They don’t want to fly. This hell bursting from their body was no miracle, yet they’re expected to be grateful.

Would you fly with wings like that?

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I’ve been thinking of a monster whumper that’s considered…wrong by their own species. In my head, they’re a species that reproduces via cloning, and the whumper did not complete the cloning process fully.

Maybe they’re too small, too weak, or maybe it’s all cosmetic and has no real impact on their abilities. But their own kind treats them awfully. Any weakness is viewed with suspicion if not outright aggression.

For that reason, they’re the most brutal whumper. They’re constantly taking the abuse they’re given and unleashing it tenfold on anyone in their grasp. Those “lucky” enough to survive never speak a word ill of them. And should another member of their own kind become their prisoner, they’ll never speak another word again.

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Is it really your name if nobody uses it?

You insist that's your name, but that's not the name I gave you. That's not your name anymore.

You can pretend like it is, for a while.

But how long will it take before you begin to forget?

Every time I use your name, your real name. You forget your old one, bit by bit. You perk up every time I call you, because you know that's who you are now.

I can hear you, you know. Each night, repeating it to over and over, trying to convince yourself that this isn't who you are, that you're still who you were before we met.

It's funny to see you try, but one day you'll lose the only thing that ties you to your old life.

Soon, Adam will be gone.

...Or was it Alan? It's so hard to keep track of a name you never hear.

Your eyes widen with dread, a pit forming in your stomach as you feel like a part of you just died.

You can't remember.

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Feral whumpee who keeps trying to “escape” caretaker. Caretaker always goes after them, because they’re still too weak, injured, and you know, feral, to be okay on their own. No matter how much they try explaining this, whumpee continues believing they are being kept captive and repeatedly “recaptured”

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Mystery Ripple and Leafy Billows Betrayal

A piece meant to be posted in October, but I forgot, lol. The basic premise is that Ripple is joining a pseudo military organization. This same organization turned Leafy into a child soldier before she escaped.

They got into an argument and Ripple hit her, knocking her down. Leafy watched helplessly as her only friend turns his back on her.

Description; Image depicts a blue pony with a greenish mane and tail walking from an orange-tan pony with a brown mane and tail. The orange-tan pony is crying and has a harsh bruise on her right cheek.

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There's something about whumper using whumpee's belongings to torture or punish them. Like using whumpee's cane or belt to beat them and then giving it back to them after they finished.

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i really like when the characters are in situations. but especially grisly gorey graphic bloody situations in which one is cradling the other’s heavily injured body. they’re also heavily injured but that doesn’t matter to them. takes drag of candy cigarette. that’s the good shit right there

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You’ve Earned It

Cw: beating, choking, manhandling, abuse of power

The silence was almost worse than if Hero had yelled.

Screamed.

Spoke.

Sidekick swore they could hear their own heartbeat echoing throughout the room with the complete quiet that bathed over the two of them. They could hear the fear pulsing through their veins, the cold sink of their stomach. Hero wasn’t even looking at them, and yet Sidekick could feel the anger radiating off them.

“Please, Hero, I- I’m sorry,” Sidekick couldn’t bear it. The silence was a weight pressing against their chest, crushing their lungs until only a sliver of air could slip through their shaking body. They still wore their uniform, insulating them from the cold, but Sidekick could feel the frost creeping through their body. “It wasn’t-”

Hero’s head snapped towards them, eyes alight, burning a hole straight through to Sidekick’s heart. Their words died on their tongue, decaying in moments and leaving a bitter taste in their mouth.

Anxiety drove Sidekick’s gaze up, up for only a moment to glimpse at Hero’s expression and they cringed.

The documents Hero held slipped out of their hands, falling to the floor in a scatter of papers. Their arms slowly lowered to their sides, fingers curling as their stare never left Sidekick’s.

“Pick them up.”

Hero’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet Sidekick felt the words reverberate through their mind like the harsh clang of a bell.

There was barely ten feet between them, yet each hastened step Sidekick took felt like they were sprinting a mile. They quickly crouched, fumbling to gather the scattered documents with trembling hands. Their fingers brushed against a news clipping, printed only that afternoon.

CITY BANK DESTROYED IN TEAMS FAILED ATTEMPT

Sidekick quickly swept the papers into the folder, reaching to grab one that had managed to slip away.

A boot buried itself in their side, knocking them onto their back and forcing the little air from their lungs in a raspy wheeze.

“Hero-” they barely had time to brace themself before another kick slammed against their ribs, sending a jolt of pain shooting through their torso. The file fell once more, forgotten by both them and the hero. Henchman had managed to catch them with a solid hit there earlier. Sidekick hadn’t had time to examine the injury, but the ache had told them there was some nasty bruising awaiting them beneath their uniform. The new blow lit the injury like a match thrown in a puddle of kerosene, and they gasped. Tears began to well in the corners of their eyes, an involuntary response to the sudden attack.

Hero didn’t allow them a moment to process before the kicks were coming faster. Harder. All Sidekick could do was curl up on their side, tuck their chin and wrap their arms around their head as the hard sole of Hero’s boot came crashing into them over and over again. They were still in their uniform too, the hard boots meant for traveling rough terrain and facing brutal villains.

By the time Hero relented, Sidekick was sobbing, struggling to breathe through short, strangled gasps.

“Stand up.”

The command took a moment to hit Sidekick’s ears, a second longer to process in their mind. Their ears were ringing, a throb building beneath their skull that unfocused their vision as they dared to open their eyes.

Hero stood above them, boots not six inches from their face. Fear curdled in their stomach, making them hesitate a long moment before slowly unraveling themself to follow the order. They could only imagine how easy it would be for that same boot to smash their nose, split open their face.

The room swam as Sidekick struggled to get their arms beneath them, raising to their hands and knees. Every muscle in their body screamed in protest, every sliver of sense cried for them to run.

To cower.

They knew that wasn’t an option. It never was, but especially after today. They had barely began to get to their feet, trembling, before Hero grabbed a fistful of the front of Sidekick’s uniform, wrenching them up. Sidekick could feel their power leeching into their touch, a shred of inhuman strength aiding their movement. Hero was always in careful control of their abilities, of everything.

They slammed Sidekick against the wall with enough force to crack the drywall, and Sidekick couldn’t stop a small cry from slipping past their lips.

A fist slammed into their jaw with enough force to snap their head to the side, blinding pain exploding across their face. Immediately the taste of copper began to coat Sidekick’s tongue. For a moment, their vision went completely white, a billion fireworks stealing their sight before they felt Hero’s hand wrap around their chin, fingers digging into their face with such force Sidekick felt like their jaw was going to snap. Tears and snot streaked their skin, the saliva dripping from their lip tinted red with their sobs.

“Shut the fuck up,” Hero snapped, shoving Sidekick’s head harder against the wall as their body shook. Sidekick’s eyes screwed shut, their lungs failing as they gasped.

“This is on you,” Hero hissed, their other hand still fisted in Sidekick’s shirt, pinning them in place. “I’ve given you chance after chance to prove yourself. To show me you aren’t a fucking waste of time. But it’s still mistake after mistake, screw up after screw up. You can’t follow the simplest orders. You can’t do anything.”

Sidekick could feel the heat of Hero’s breath, their fingers digging in harder with each word. Sidekick cracked their eyes, their blurred gaze flicking to the door before Hero wrenched them forwards, only to throw them back against the wall. The hand in their uniform released, only for Hero to bury their fist in Sidekick’s abdomen, grip on their jaw holding them in place as Sidekick heaved.

“Don’t you dare look over there. No one is coming to ‘save’ you. Not Teammate, not Medic, not Other Hero. You are my charge and I’m supposed to deal with you in whatever way I see fit. Understand?”

Hero’s hand returned, finding its way to Sidekick’s exposed neck. Time seemed to slow as Hero’s fingernails began to bite into the skin, constricting Sidekick’s throat.

“You’ve had this coming for way too long,” Hero spat, before their grip tightened to completely cut off Sidekick’s air, leaving them to gasp and choke. “You’ve certainly earned it.”

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Some Winter/Seasonal Whump

Frostbite

Wind chill

Chilblains

Snowed in

Trench foot

Hit by icicles

Hypothermia

Sleet and hail

Slipping on ice

Fall through ice

Cold/Flu season

Hot cocoa burns

Bloodstained snow

Lost in a snowstorm

Huddling for warmth

Sick from overeating

Seasonal depression

Car crash on icy road

Lost heating in house

Alone for the holidays

Poisonous holly berries

Ankle broken while skating

Pulled back while shoveling

Cozy fire goes out of control

Skiing/snowboarding injuries

Nonconsensual mistletoe kiss

Chronic pain aggravated by cold

Fall from ladder while decorating

Nonhuman brumation/hibernation

Pinned under fallen Christmas tree

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I think the best mind control for whump is the type that doesn’t hurt. Hell, make it feel good even; a relaxing numbness over a once panicking mind, a warm pride at each fulfilled order. Control that makes you want to obey just as much as it forces you to.

Make the control sweet, tempting. Make them want to obey; don’t just break their will, make it submit to you. It’ll make their absolute horror and disgust at their actions all the sharper once they break free.

It’s easy to know you fought when you have the memory of the pain to remind you. It’s easier to justify defeat at the hands of overwhelming force and pain, the crushing of the will. But how can Whumpee look at the soft seduction of their will, the almost pleasant corruption of their morals, and believe that they truly tried their best to resist it. They remember how it felt. They remember liking it. And that memory makes one glaring question inescapable: were they defeated, or did they give in?

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Whumpee-A and Whumpee-B are forced to share a cage. Whumpee-A is a non-human, Whumpee-B is human. Neither are fond of each other, but Whumpee-B is hyper aggressive and acts far less human than even Whumpee-A. They're treated differently by Whumper, too.

Sure, Whumpee-A is a pet, but they get plenty of time out of the cage, plenty of fresh food and water, even their non-human needs are taken care of. But Whumpee-B... they don't even get the basics, they're wounded constantly, and suck in the cage when not being "trained" or fighting in something akin to a dog fighting ring.

Does Whumpee-A even notice, or are they too fearful of their human cohabitant to really think of the unfairness and cruelty of the situation? Does Whumpee-B even recognize that they're human, anymore? Or do they see themselves and Whumpee-A one in the same thing? Or maybe even better of a monster than them?

Maybe after months of mistreatment, Whumpee-B starts harming Whumpee-A out of frustration? Or stealing any food they can get their non-literal paws on?

Or, maybe, just maybe, they attack Whumper?

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Oswald's Torment AuguSnippets: Day #03 - Thunderstorm

@augusnippets Contents: Living doll whumpee/non-human whumpee, environment whump Wordcount: 186

Lightning cracked the sky in two as clouds and shadows loomed over Oswald’s head. She limped along the stretch of road, gait wobbling on her leg and plastic support. Oswald winced at the feeling, remembering how the Nightmare had ripped into her.

It had practically herded her away from home, slowly stalking around her until she got lost deep in the woods. She knew she couldn’t go much further, not without rest.

Oswald found herself drifting, slowly swaying. She’d begun to wobble in more of a diagonal, heading deeper into the forest. The plush stumbled, tiredly crawling into a log, snuggling down into the moss. Thunder rumbled in the air, the sky lighting up every few minutes. She shivered, finding an odd sense of comfort as she watched the rain begin to pour, safely tucked in the long.

Hours passed, slowly ticking by as she rested, listening to the thunder. Oswald could occasionally hear the far away sound of a truck pass by on the road. Her fluffy filled body was saturated with water, but for now she was fine, listening to the storm and resting.

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Oswald's Torment AuguSnippets: Day #02 - Platonic Bathing

@augusnippets Contents: Living doll whumpee/non-human whumpee Wordcount: 265

Marissa sighed as she plucked the soaked toy off the ground. “David, honey? Didn’t Jess leave this doll outside?” She called, giving an almost pitying expression towards the messy albeit inanimate stuffy. Oswald was its name, or her name, as Jess insisted. She smiled slightly, remembering the way her daughter had refused any other name aside from it. Not much use in fighting a six year old on the name of a plush, however.

“Huh? Yeah, thought so,” her husband, David said, before shrugging. He went back to loading the dishwasher after a moment. Marissa sighed, heading to a bathroom. Oswald was hand washed only and with how thick the grime was, it’d need quite the scrubbing.

Plugging the drain, she filled the sink with warm water, gently dunking the plush lamb. She paid special attention to getting the muck from its braids. Marissa began to hum softly, beginning to lather a good amount of dish soap into the soft wool and felt. The water turned a brownish color as she washed the doll.

Marissa drained the water before thoroughly rinsing Oswald. She furrowed her brows when for a fraction of a second, she could see the doll smile slightly. It was just her imagination, of course, there was no other explanation for it. She was rougher as she wrung it to make absolutely sure it was dry.

“Mama, where’s Oswald!?” Came an upset screech from Jess’ room. Jess came running down the hall when she heard her mother call out. She snatched Oswald, holding her to her chest like the prized possession she was.

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Oswald's Torment AuguSnippets: Day #01 - Stalked (Bonus Prompt)

@augusnippets Contents: Living doll whumpee/non-human whumpee, non-human whumper and stalking/being hunted. Wordcount: 624 (Oops...)

“Little lamb, little lamb, oh where are you, little lamb?” A raspy voice called out to Oswald, causing her to flinch. Something had been following her for a while now, something that knew she wasn’t able to get away yet slowly stalked anyways.

Her little plastic heart pulsed loudly in her fluff filled chest. Oswald felt her small tail limply blow in the wind as she glanced behind her, embroidered eye searching for the source of the voice, but just as before, found no one.

She bleated out quietly in distress, the small plush doll’s pace quickened. It wouldn’t be enough to get away from anything that moved at even a normal walking pace. Her soft felt was wet with dew, cotton stuffing saturated. Oswald jumped and startled at every little sound, paranoid as the hours crawled by. A low cackle from her left, the crunch of fall leaves behind her, the snap of a twig from the darkness in front of her.

Oswald was prey, even if she was only a plush toy. Her wobbly little steps left her with a slow gait, easy pickings for anything that’d hunt her. She whimpered when she felt something breathe against her neck, however, when she turned around nothing was there.The plush doll was so close to home, all she had to do was get up those big steps and into the doggy door and she’d be safe. But it was so far for such a small, waterlogged lamb dolly to travel.

She flinched as she stumbled, letting out soft, drowned whimpers. Oswald’s purple braids tangled and got stuck in some muck and pebbles. It took her multiple minutes of tugging to get free, several threads close to fraying by that point. She pushed forward, finally reaching the steps that towered over her. Oswald lifted her long, slightly flimsy arms upwards, pawing at the edge of the stairs.

A clawed, black hand landed harshly next to her, causing the loamy earth to shudder under the pressure. She screamed from shock, scrambling wildly to get onto the step. Her screeching garnered more attention than she bargained for from the predator slowly stalking her. Oswald reached for the next stair, the strain pulling on the fibers of her limbs. This was just cruel of the wolf hunting her, it was right there yet not going in for the kill quite yet.

The plush doll knew it was only a matter of time before the beast did, however. Oswald would soon be crunched in its dark, slavering maw. She slipped, nearly losing all the progress she’d made up the deck stairs. Her heart clenched in that moment but she got her grip back.

Oswald’s pace quickened, small body trembling violently as she forced herself up another step. Splinters caught in her wool, little plastic hooves scraping against them. She soundlessly wailed in relief as she once again got unstuck, though some of her felt was torn. Another loud slam right next to Oswald sounded.

Hurriedly she pulled, pushed, and tugged herself up the steps, foaming at her embroidered mouth for safety. She flung herself onto the deck, releasing a sigh at the feeling of solid wood. That’s when the beast struck, jaws lunging for the plush. Barely dodging, Oswald rolled to the side, squeaking.

Oswald scampered to her hooves, rushing to slam through the doggy door. Falling to the floor, she bounced roughly on the kitchen tile. The wolf, a Nightmare in reality, shoved its face against the window, snarling. Its growls sounded like thunder cracking down on the fields.

Oswald stared up at it with all the defiance her little fluff filled body could muster. However, that didn’t stop her trembling or the fear festering within her.