Whumpy side blog

[theqem]

whumper taking care of whumpee’s hair. whumper combing it, washing it, cutting it, dying it, styling it, handling it as they would their own, because they own it just the same. whumper keeping whumpee’s hair trimmed and tidy. whumper deciding all of whumpee’s hairstyles. whumper dyeing whumpee’s hair on a whim.

conditioned whumpee simply sitting still and letting it happen. almost domestic.

[tracingthetapestry]

the wood presses into their bruises, into their brittle bones, their skin pinched between unyielding harsh surfaces. it almost serves as enough of a distraction from the hunger in their belly.

whumper has locked them in the Closet again. it's hard to breathe, and they can't really sit, let alone lie down. yet, all of this is background noise against the roaring, gaping chasm of hunger that eats them from within. they don't know how long it's been— it certainly feels longer than usual, but there's no way to tell. once, they were so sure that it had been at least half a day, but whumper had simply pointed at the clock on the wall. it had not been longer than three hours.

time loses its definition in here— a little pocket of space set aside from the rest of the world, a prison for them and them alone, a way for them to pay for their transgressions. sometimes, sleep pulls them under if they're exhausted enough after whumper belts them, or makes them run around for the chores— but right now, even as fatigue sits fast in their bones and their eyes droop from the effort of blinking, they can't fall asleep. when was the last time they ate?

has whumper forgotten about them? they hope not. once, they had gotten drunk and not let them out for an entire day. they screamed and screamed and screamed themself hoarse until they could not. afterwards, whumpee could barely get a word out before they collapsed face-first as the door flung open.

they want to stop thinking. they can't, anyways. it itches and sinks its teeth in the tender parts of the themself. they shiver, shiver, and hope for whumper to come back.

soon. soon. before whumpee forgets their name in the throes of their hunger.

[defire]

ooh I have one

escaped living weapon is determined to kill their former handler as revenge for the abuse they suffered. There are two equally tragic ways this could play out.

-coming face to face with their former handler isn’t what they expected. Instead of being angry, they immediately act happy to see living weapon again. They say they’ve missed them. Remind them of how easy their life was before living weapon had to worry about pesky things like morals. And despite the determination they had only minutes ago, their resolve is already fading. They break down, and their handler welcomes them with open arms. Of course they’re going to be punished, but not quite yet.

or,

-they stay strong through the manipulation. Their handler puts up a fair fight, but eventually they’re beat by their own creation. Living weapon shoots or stabs them, and as they’re bleeding out, their handler gives them a final smile. “You’re everything I hoped you’d be.” Handler is dead. But living weapon is unable to push away the feeling that they’ve still won.

Sorry for my melodramatic writing I may have gotten a little carried away there lol

Oooo and I love the idea of the handler manipulating them back in and THEN STILL PUNISHING THEM for escaping.

But the happy ending is my FAVORITE I love happy endings!

[for-the-ouchies]

Practice dummy whumpee. You want to practice beating someone up? You rent out whumpee? You want to practice stitching a wound? You rent out whumpee. You want to practice having sex? You rent out whumpee.

I'd assume whumper makes quite a lot of money from this. Though there might not even be a whumper involved- whumpee might just have the connections in place to rent themselves out. What? It's a living.

[defire]

Sadistic whumper

Content: noncon touching, striking, pinching, flinching, forced "comfort"

Coddling theor head but refusing to let go when they flinch away

Sensually stroking the wounds they just made, threatening to go back to hurting whumpee if they dare to beg to be let go

Casually hinting at punishment to come to watch whumpee struggle not to cry. Smirking when they see the facade slip.

Whumper making a habit of coming up behind whumpee and pinching them or striking them. So that now they cringe at the slightest touch and flinch when they hear someone move behind them

Using that flinch response to embarrass them. Grinning when they see it.

Holding whumpee in an iron grip when they cry, and moaning in delight

Whumpee getting good at hiding when they're in pain so whumper doesn't get the satisfaction

Or learning how to emphasize the pain in order to satisfy whumper faster and get them to stop hurting them

[phantom-of-angelo]

guys guys what's about a normally cruel and sadistic whumper coming to mock and further torture whumpee after another whumper did, and finding him in a very bad condition (for example, normally defiant and resistant whumpee just silently following all orders with hollow eyes) and seeing how badly he was tortured by his physical injuries, making him feel concerned for the first time, like it's his whumpee, he hurts him all the time but he doesn't want him that badly hurt, feeling weirdly protective over him now. and whumper becomes a caretaker in that scene, treating his injuries and desperately trying to get whumpee back to his normal act

[fineiguessimintowhump]

nothing quite like a whumpee no one knows existed. caretaker inheriting a house and oh god- there's someone in the basement. taking over a ship and- Is that a prisoner? hero getting kidnapped or infiltrating a base, stulbling into a room where they find a bleeding whumpee. spy getting interrogated by someone with suspicious wound. getting thrown into a cell with someone who's been there for a long time.

[muzzleboywhump]

The thing is I’m always whump brained but then every once in a while itll turn from background noise to like an active craving. I need kidnapping and tied up men and noncon and all sorts of other messed up shit. I crave it in my bones. I want to see a pretty boy. Get his bones broken.

[hthrrloooo]

Catastrophize Benedictine

[quean-sized-bed]

the hardest part of my conditioning was stopping me from saying "handler i hardly know her"

[poppy-the-hound]

It's the same scene over and over again. The voice of your handler giving you the coordinates of the enemy and their fortifications.

You type them into your targeting computer and turn your mech to face north-north-west. Then comes the bang.

It's not the well-known loud bang of your own howitzer, no, it's the sound of metal bursting into your cockpit, a loud ring in your ears and then silence and darkness.

You don't know how many times you lived through those moments, but suddenly you hear something else.

It's a loud and annoying sound: beep, beep, beep. Wait, you know this sound—it's a heart monitor. You open your eyes and see nothing but darkness.

That can't be. Did you even open your eyes? You blink over and over again; yes, your eyes are open.

You move your hands slowly to your face. Moving them hurts—all your joints are stiff, and as you reach your face, you feel a bandage.

You push it up, just to be blinded by the lights of the med bay. After a few seconds, you are finally able to see again and look around.

In a corner of the room stands a wheelchair, your personal wheelchair, and in it sits your handler. The familiar pling of her lighter brings you back to reality fully.

"Hey you, you're finally awake," she smirks at you. "You were pretty lucky, dear. Your mech was hit by an enemy railgun emplacement. The projectile ripped through your armor like paper."

She stands up and walks over to the window. You follow her movements just like she taught you—you are her good girl, after all, even if every move hurts.

Your handler opens the curtains to reveal the hangar below you, and in it, your mech.

You feel your stomach turn as you see the giant hole in the chest—the part of your mech where you would normally sit.

"Just half a meter to the left and there would not even be ashes of you left to bury." She turns around as she says that, pointing with her finger gun at you. "It would have been a shame to lose such a good hound, wouldn't it?"

[the-muppet-joker]

I'm going to go out in public and growl at strangers just to feel something. Grrrr. There's Normies out there. They'll never understand me. I'm FUCKED in the MIND!!! I'M FUCKED IN THE MIND!!!! Also happy pride month everybody :)

[reve-de-whump]

The Whumpee was locked somewhere by their own people, for their own good or for a good reason. Maybe they are in quarantine, or in isolation, or in the brig for a minor thing.

It was meant to be temporary, or for there to be people checking on them and taking care of them.

But then something happens. Whumpee's people are under attack, there is a natural disaster, some glitch put everyone in lockdown, or just anything bigger is happening and keeping everyone away from Whumpee. As a result, Whumpee is left alone, where they are locked up.

Maybe Whumpee was delirious or possessed or is amnesic, and now wakes up alone and confused, with no one answering. Maybe Whumpee knows that something is happening and fears the worst for their friends. Maybe they are unaware that the others have a good reason to be kept out, and so Whumpee thinks they have been abandoned or are being punished.

Maybe it lasts more than a few hours and Whumpee has to find water or starts feeling hungry. Or feels too hot or too cold if there is something up with the place they are locked in. Maybe it's pitch dark or way too bright. Too silent, or maybe there is an alarm ringing nonstop. Maybe the Whumpee was hurt and needs more medical attention, or their painkillers. Maybe Whumpee is starting to go stir crazy.

[anaceafterdark]

A whumpee that could leave anytime they wished. No chains, no locked doors. They could just walk out and never look back.

They walk out the door. They walk down the dirt walkway from their house - their prison. At the edge of the property line they stop. Whumper watches from the doorway, posture relaxed.

Just one more step. Whumpee can see themselves go from a walk to a sprint as they get further and further away.

Just one step.

Just one.

Just one.

It's a mantra repeating itself over and over.

But nothing happens. They can't make themselves go.

For what's the point? They have nothing. No money, no transportion, and no one to go home to. They are truly and utterly alone. All they have to their name was the clothes on their back, and even then whumper had picked oit their clothes, citing them as a gift.

So yes they could leave. But this all behind them. But they won't. They can't. There's nothing.

They can't look whumper in the eye as they walk back; eyes downcast.

An arm wraps around their shoulder.

They let themselves be guided and maneuvered onto the couch. Whumpee pulls them close, onto their lap. Hands curl around their neck pulling them close.

Whumpee weeps.

Whumper just grins.

The outside world moves on without them.

[maltes3]

Yandere!Playboy x Yearner!Reader

During your college years, PreYandere!Playboy was the undisputed king of the campus social scene, a textbook Playboy who treated hearts like disposable toys. PreYandere!Playboy slept with almost every girl in his orbit, but PreYandere!Playboy established a cruel, unspoken rule when it came to you: he would never touch you. Whenever you tried to confess your genuine feelings, he would openly mock you in front of his friends, turning your vulnerability into a spectator sport. "You? Please. You're not my type, not even close," he’d laugh, tossing his arm around a random girl he’d met five minutes prior.

Yet, PreYandere!Playboy completely weaponized your unrequited love to make you his personal servant. He kept you at his absolute beck and call. You were the one staying up until 4:00 AM completing his midterms, writing his essays, and doing his group projects while he was out partying. He would text you a blunt, demanding message, "Need the finance paper by tomorrow, don't mess it up." and you would do it, completely starved for even a shred of his validation. PreYandere!Playboy bullied you constantly for being so pathetic, yet he took everything you gave him without a single ounce of gratitude.

The true tragedy was that your feelings didn't vanish when the graduation caps were thrown. You entered the corporate world still hopelessly hooked on him, carrying the heavy, exhausting weight of that college-era yearning. For the first year after graduation, you still answered his late-night texts, still listened to him complain about his shallow flings, and still allowed yourself to be his emotional safety net while he continued to ignore your worth.

The change happened slowly, then all at once. The exhaustion of adulthood finally overtook the romanticized delusion of your college years. You started working at a new firm, making your own money, and meeting entirely new circles of people who actually treated you with basic human respect. For the first time in your life, you went out for drinks with coworkers who listened when you spoke, and you realized just how starved for genuine connection you had actually been.

The first time you left him on "Read" wasn't even a grand statement; you were simply too busy enjoying a dinner with friends to care about his text. When you checked your phone hours later and saw his usual, low-effort message ("Bored, what are you doing?"), A strange wave of apathy washed over you. You didn't reply. You locked your phone and went to sleep. Within a month, leaving his messages on Read or entirely unscrolled on Delivered became your new normal.

Your silence completely shatters PreYandere!Playboy sense of reality. For years, his entire ego was built on the absolute certainty that no matter how badly he treated you, no matter who he slept with, you would always be waiting in the wings, hopelessly in love with him. You were his anchor. The moment he realizes his text messages are staying on Read for days at a time, a terrifying, ugly panic claws its way into his chest.

Yandere!Playboy lifestyle completely loses its flavor. He goes out to clubs, but he spends the entire night staring at his phone, waiting for three typing dots that never appear. He tries to hook up with random people to prove he doesn't care, but he finds himself completely numb, utterly furious that you are the one successfully moving on. His arrogant, cocky facade completely breaks down, mutating into a desperate, obsessive hyper-fixation. He didn't want you when you were at his feet, but now that you are walking away, he is realizing you are the only person who ever truly mattered.

Because you aren't answering his phone calls, Yandere!Playboy resorts to stalking your new life. One rainy evening, as you step out of your office building, chatting and laughing with a new coworker, you freeze. Standing by the curb, completely drenched and staring at you with a wild, hollow look in his eyes, is him. He doesn't look like the polished, arrogant campus king anymore; he looks unhinged, desperate, and deeply dangerous.

Yandere!Playboy steps right into your path, completely ignoring your coworker, and grips your upper arms with a force that trembles. His voice is a ragged, breathless choke, completely stripped of his old playground mockery. "Why aren't you answering me? Who is this? You don't get to just stop looking at me. You spent four years telling me you loved me; you don't get to just change your mind! I don't care about anyone else anymore. I want you. Look at me! Tell me you still look at me!"

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I’m a bit worried about pro shippers because some say fiction doesn’t effect reality but it does and some pro shippers ship things like adult x child and sibling x sibling and other things I’m not anti censorship but some things shouldn’t be normalized

I promise you if game of thrones and all those gothic literature haven't normalized incest — if slasher and horror movies haven't normalized murders or psychological torture, if hot villains haven't normalized manipulation or toxicity by now — then silly fanfiction isn't going to normalize shit.

if someone ever lets fiction affect them enough to the point they think bad things in fiction are good in-real-life because they're portrayed as such, then chances are that, with or without the fiction they consume, they are already troubled and they need help.

there are things you can worry about that are actually worrisome, but what type of fanfiction someone writes or reads is not one of those things.

you can, of course, find some things in fiction unpleasant. you can choose not to engage with fanfics that make you uncomfortable. but you have no right to tell other people what they can or can't create and/or consume. that is not your business.

and to my fellow writers, write whatever you want, however you want. no matter how messed up or morally questionable it is. you have all the freedom and power to write whatever you want, however you want forever. don't let strangers tell you what you can or cannot write.

[more-whumpy-things]

Living weapon whumpee used to find an escaped prisoner. They're basically let off a leash like a dog to let them run into the woods and find the person. Handler gives them direct orders before they leave.

"When you find the prisoner, you keep them alive. If they by your hands, you won't remember what it feels like to eat."

Whumpee nods and runs into the forest. They find the prisoner, but they don't go down without a fight. Suddenly the prisoner falls down a ditch and hits their head on a rock, killing them instantly. Whumpee freezes.

What are they supposed to do? Drag the body back and try to explain themself, or lie and come back with nothing, saying they couldn't find them.

They leave the body behind and come back to handler empty handed. They take a beating for it, which they expected. But after a few days handler gets a call. The search team had found the prisoner's body.

Now whumpee is in deep shit.

[yellowcatwhumps]

How escape didn't even occur to LW whumpee 🥺