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octopus-reactivated · 10 months

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I was thinking about Tiny Whumpee who lives in the Tiny society and gets accused of committing some crime. Even if he swears he's innocent, his tribe sentences him for the heaviest punishment - leaving him at the mercy of Humans.

Now humans don't really know about Tiny society, because it does good job at hiding, the only contact is when outcasts are abandoned in human's lairs.

Whumpee is terrified, no one really knows what happens to Tiny who was found by Humans, but it must be something horrible. Journey to his execution site takes long and with every second Whumpee's dread grows stronger. When the group climbed on the vine to get to half-open window, when the scouts confirmed that Human left the lair, when group traveled into the depths of living space of gigant creature... when a structure looking like a table (but much much bigger) was spotted and chief decided it was good place to leave Whumpee. When group slowly made their way up and then tied Whumpee there. And when the rest of his tribe made way back - leaving Whumpee alone, screaming after them.

He saw them and crying he made it to the edge of table-like-structure, yelling that he's innocent, to not leave him there.

But the group didn't stop, didn't came back for him.

And then for something that felt like hours, he was alone, so scared he felt like he would faint. In a way he even wished for human to come back faster to have it be over with.

But that thought went away as soon as Whumpee heard loud sounds that only human could make. Scraping of metal, rumbling footsteps and the sound of various objects being moved around. Then water flowing and then footsteps again, but this time they got closer and closer and closer and...

_________________________________________

Caretaker just came home from hard day at his college. He dropped his backpack on the floor washed his hands and headed to the living room of his tiny apartment to lie down on a couch and watch TV and just not think about his classes for a while.

Looking for a pilot he spotted a tiny figure on the table. Was it a doll? He was sure he didn't own a thing like that.

He picked it up trying to find out what it was but then the doll moved and said something...

Caretaker never screamed louder in his life, instantly dropping it and jumping away until he was under the wall.

This was the most terrifying experience he ever had.

#whump #tiny whump #tiny whumpee #abandoned #i don't know if thins would work better with or without language barrier #it was supposed to be a short prompt

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redd956 · 27 days

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Mini Whump Prompt 154

Whumpee has no choice but to work together with a foreign enemy, a fellow whumpee, to escape from whumper. Only problem is they don't speak the same language, second whumpee hates their guts, and has already tried killing whumpee once.

#mini whump prompt #whump prompt #captivity #cw captivity #mini whump prompts #enemy whumpees #multiple whumpees #language barrier

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secret-bug-pain-blog · 3 months

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@febuwhump Day 4 - Obedience

World's Most Dysfunctional Vessel Gets Ass Kicked By A God(?), Deals With It Extremely Normally And Functionally, More At 5.

The Hollow Knight was not made to have a mind.

Of Void, Root, and King, it was crafted. To serve, to protect, to seal the Old Light. With its sacrifice, the kingdom would be made safe. With its death, the Light would be fully extinguished.

A duty it has already failed.

Its body is broken and pock-pitted with the effort of containing Her wrath. It has faced its purpose, and it has failed- and even the merciful princess of Hallownest, as kind as she has been, cannot fully repair it.

And then she had left, and left it to decay and ponder on its own shortcomings.

It was made to obey its Father- to obey the King, the Ruler of Hallownest- and yet, it cannot even serve to fulfil a purpose that is all that it has.

Hallownest is fallen. Its inhabitants are gone. Its father is dead. The Old Light is gone from its captivity, the cage at the back of its mind gone empty. It is alone, or so close to alone that it is indistinguishable from true loneliness.

It does not feel lonely, no matter how much the idea might cross a lesser bug's mind.

It has no thought. It has no voice. It was made for its purpose, never to stray, never to deviate. It was crafted with no mind and no soul, divine purpose bestowed upon it for a reason- and now, that purpose is gone, and only the husk of a divine beast remains.

It is a failure. The only question that remains is who will repurpose its body, once it has spent all that it is.

It sits. It waits. It remains obedient.

Its sister, gods-knows-how-long ago, had ordered it to guard Hallownest in her stead. It had obeyed best it can, but it was difficult even then - its body was worn and decayed from its time in the Black Egg, and had only rotted further since, the strain taking a toll on its slowly-breaking shell.

Being of void granted it durability. Far beyond that of a normal bug, yes, beyond even that of most demigods - but not an unlimited amount.

It had bowed at the claws of the Old Light. It had nearly broken at the claws of the many intruders, warded by its scarred muzzle. Now, it threatens to shatter in the face of the wear of time.

It is aging. It is tired. Its shell is worn and splintered, threatening to break at the mere touch of an intruder. It struggles to stand straight-backed, weight of its horns dragging it right back down again. It is so, so, very exhausted, and all it wishes to do is rest.

It is not so tired as to disobey the Princess's last orders. But it is worn enough to fear it will break, should it stand for much longer.

Or that it will break, should it dare stand against this visitor.

The moth standing before it is familiar. A pale cream color, shot through with gleaming goldenrod where Her fur is shortest. The shade of Her fluff strikes a familiar bell, the look of disdain She levels towards it even more so. The wasteland beast at Her side is unfamiliar, but it supposes it would be foolish to assume She would not garner new followers, once unleashed.

It should have known She did not die.

When it proved resilient against Her, it should have only been common sense to realize that She would have been much the same. If it had not suffocated Her light, then an impure Vessel taking a child's form would have no chance.

The moth levels a glare at it and barks something sharp, clapping Her hands - it does not know the language, but it knows a command when it hears it.

She is expecting to be obeyed, no doubt. Expecting it to bow to Her, as it did during their imprisonment. It should disobey.

It... is not certain it can disobey.

It should not listen, it knows, not to her, but it is tired, it is worn, it is-It wants, so very badly, to finally have some drive more than to guard, set to this eternal post until its body finally gives out.

She turns to address Her companion, disdain and dismissal clear on Her face. The wasteland beast tilts its head at the Hollow Knight, clearly inquisitive. It does not understand what it is that it is looking at.

It is listening. Even if it does not understand.

She turns to address Her companion, and it begins the slow, painful process of dragging itself to its feet. Its claws scrape on the stone, aggravating pains it did not know it had. Its shoulders burn with the exertion as it pulls itself up by the nail, its claws straining on the hilt as it forces itself to stand. Injuries nearly forgotten make themselves known, burning across its shoulders, its arms, its claws. It leans on the blade far more than it would want, putting weight on its still-broken tip as it struggles to straighten its back under the weight of its own body, of the broken metal that remains from its bonds, of the many battles it has fought since being instated as guardian.

It stands at attention, no more than a single second before gravity gets the better of it. The Moth's conversation with Her attention stalls for a single second as She watches it rise, her claw frozen mid-gesture.

This new body of Hers is so terribly small, compared to it. It wonders, for a brief moment, if it could overpower Her - but it has tasted Her dream-blades before, and it knows all too well how deadly the residents of the Waste have proven, bug and beast alike.

It knows it will lose, if it moves against Her. It know it will die, if it is to lose a fight.

It raises its blade.

It will make an effort. It will prove that it tried. Perhaps then, it may hope to claim some greater dignity than that of a fallen husk.

Her new incarnation is not as hasty to use magic as it expects. It has fought a thousand battles with Her over the course of Her imprisonment, and this form of Her follows nothing it is used to- it has grown presumptuous, battling the same handful of bodies, and this one takes it by surprise.

Her diminutive size conceals strength far beyond its expectations. It makes its first blunder when it attempts to get close enough to force Her on the defensive, and She simply allows its blade to sink into Her ruff, kicking it in the chest with enough force that it feels its shell waver when it overbalances in surprise.

This form, it seems, is a physical fighter. It is too late to correct its mistake when it realizes the blunder. The wastelands beast makes up for Her lack of range, fluttering around its attacks with ease and sticking daggers through any gap in its guard that it can find as She punishes its attempts to disengage, weaponizing Her cries into an ear-rattling pitch that would surely tear the auditory membranes of a mortal bug and threatens to rattle apart its Void with no regard for structure of shell.

It lasts longer than it had expected. But it cannot stand against a god.

It collapses with a wheeze, the frail shell over its Void threatening to split apart. She kicks it a last time, a heavy impact in the middle of its thorax, staring down on its broken body as she sneers. The language she speaks down to it in is incoherent, but it still understands the idea of what she says.

It has lost.

Her tone turns sickly sweet as she addresses it, beckoning it away from its post. Her claws hook, hook in the back of its mind, entirely too persuasive for what it knows her to be.

It knows it should not obey. It knows it should guard its kingdom.

…it has been ever so long since it has seen anyone that it could not fight, and Hornet has been away so long it fears she will never return.

It moves its head to Her hand, baring its throat for Her to take Her tribute. It has failed again. She will take Her right of conquest, and it will die, as it already should have when She broke her prison. It knows it should not think, but something of it thinks it would be happy with that ending, were it a thing with emotions.

The expected blade does not come.

Her hand cups around its face, pulling its head up ever so softly. Her voice grows more insistent, Her demands repeated over as She looks it in the ink-black eyes of its mask. She pets along its mandibles, clucking Her tongue as She attempts to pull it away from its post.

It doesn't understand.

The wasteland beast curls around Her shoulder, speaking something in that unknown tongue, and She brushes it off, continuing to coo to it as if it is a stray pet.

It doesn't understand.

Why would She keep it alive? Why would She not kill it on the spot - it is the prison that contained Her for years, the thing that She voiced her malcontent and tested her blades against for centuries - why would She spare it now, after however long trapped together? Why would She wish to keep it around?

She beckons it away from its post again, and it leans where She guides, this time. She cooes as if it were a hunting-beast praised for bringing back Mosscreep, stroking its splintered horns and beckoning again.

It obeys. It realizes, perhaps too late, that it has allowed Her passage, moving its bulk from the path She was trying to access. Perhaps this is only more evidence of its impurity. Perhaps She simply wished to see it bend to Her one more time, before killing it.

But She does not strike again. She does not unsheathe claws to carve into its softened underbelly, She does not call Light to pierce through its fragile void-shell, She does not command her waste-beast companion rip it asunder. She simply pets it on the horns, her head turning off into the ruins of Hallownest as if it does not even warrant her gaze.

It...

Perhaps She simply wishes to humiliate it. Perhaps this is all that it was ever worth to Her - a momentary battle, a step along her road, an inconvenience soon to be dealt with.

A pained wheeze escapes its throat, air whistling through broken anatomy. The wasteland beast stares at it as if it is a beast in a zoo, as if its body is something wholly alien to it. To a wasteland beast, it supposes, it would be.

It says something to the Moth, and She pauses, if momentarily, in Her attentions to it, speaking to Her beast without regard for the Knight dying in her claws, one hand absently cupped about where its mandibles connect to its muzzle, and it sits, silent as it is meant to be, as She converses with Her creature.

Finally, she stops. She beckons it upwards, heedless of its pain. It takes several long moments for it to garner the energy to raise its head, even when it is commanded.

She gestures to the Wastes. To the long way out of Hallownest. And it...

It knows it should not be obeying. It knows that it should not be listening to the Old Light.

But it is not worthy for the duty that it has been set to. Not anymore.

It is Her right of conquest, it reasons to itself. And it is not the place of a vessel to question what a god would ask of it.

A trickle of Void flows from its failing body as it drags itself to its feet once more, nearly every part of itself straining in a threat to fall apart. It holds itself together through will and nothing more, receiving an approving coo from Her. The wasteland beast moves to support it as She gestures it towards the exit - out of Hallownest, out into the mind-killing wastes.

It is so tired. It wants to rest.

She guides it towards the wastes, just the slightest bit more insistent this time, and it moves, regardless.

The Hollow Knight was not made to have a mind. It will not attempt to fight against the choices of its betters.

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darlingwhump · 2 years

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The Raid

CW: kidnapped whumpee, conditioned/helpless whumpee, pirate whumper, mermaid whumpee, anxiety, language barriers, whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, a teensy bit of dehumanization, character death

Whumpee shivers in fear as yet another blast sounds from above deck, rattling the entire ship and creating a ripple in the wooden tub that had served as her prison for gods know how long. She sinks as far underwater as she can get, taking deep breaths through her gills in a last-ditch attempt to calm down.

BOOM! Her sanctuary is shaken, and through the water Whumpee can make out muffled shouting. They sound angry. Her breathing grows quicker. THUD! A body falls to the ground right above the room where she is being held. In shock, she pops her head above the water as if she could see what was happening, and within seconds, another BLAST sends her underwater again.

She hugs her tail as best as she can with it being chained to the side of the tub. Whatever was happening up there, it wouldn’t end well for Whumpee. The Captain doted on her, claiming that she was their crew's most precious treasure, but she felt a lot more like a punching bag.

She had long since accepted her helplessness. If there was a mutiny, frustration would eventually be taken out on Whumpee. If the crew was being raided or attacked, and the ship sunk, she would not be able to unlock the chain that confines her to this cabin, and would be doomed to starve. Even if she was so well behaved, even when the crew was getting along and living lavishly, a reason would still be found to torment her. To pirates like them, treasure was nothing other than spoils of battle to admire and play with.

She is torn out of her thoughts by the sound of footsteps making their way towards the Captain’s cabin. There are no more blasts, but Whumpee hears unfamiliar voices arguing with Captain Whumper just outside.

“It’s over…” Whumpee has only learned a bit of the common tongue, Alman, since being in captivity, but she hangs onto every word she can, placing her hands on the edge of the tub to get closer to the door, “give...everything you have and we…allow…on a lifeboat…”

Whumper says something too quiet for Whumpee to make out, but it angers whoever is attacking. Blades are suddenly clashing against each other, and water sloshes as Whumpee jumps back. Oh gods, oh gods, Whumpee’s mind is racing and the ship is being raided and Whumper is upset and what if she’s stolen again--Whumper and the crew are going to be so so so mad either way.

She is so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t even realize that the commotion has stopped. After a few moments of silence, she hears shuffling around the room, no speaking, not any she can make out anyways. Drawers opening, keys jangling, and more footsteps up on the main deck. Uncertainty hangs in the air, seeping into her days-old water and making it feel acidic against her scales.

Keys are shoved into the door to her tiny cabin off of the Captain’s. Involuntarily, Whumpee whimpers and shuts her eyes. She typically dreads each time the door clicks unlocked, but this time, she really hopes it’s Captain Whumper. She can’t bear to be stolen again.

The door creaks open, and Whumpee holds her breath.

“Shit…” the unfamiliar voice muses, obviously taking in the sight of a mermaid before them. It was going to happen again, and just like last time, she had no way out. “Whumper…lying…quite the collection.” Whumpee tries to keep up with the Alman grammar, but the voice speaks with a dialect and she can’t understand. Would she have to learn another language now?

She slowly opens her eyes to see a humanoid figure with long, curly dark hair. Their hair, along with their face and clothes, are plastered with blood and soot, and in the distance, Captain Whumper has been impaled, laying face down on the carpet he once punished Whumpee for spilling ale on. Everything goes numb. Whumper is dead.

“...little one?” The figure asks, and Whumpee’s heart drops into her stomach. She wasn’t listening.

“U-uh, sorry,” she struggles to find the words in her haze. So many things are happening at once, and she can’t move or think. She averts her eyes to the water, “did not…hear, sorry.”

The figure crouches down a bit closer, blocking Whumpee’s view of the dead Captain, and Whumpee’s shoulders tense. “It’s alright. I just asked…name?”

“Name…name is Whumpee…” she paused, unsure of how to address her new captor. Would they even capture her? Whumpee notices the glint of another dagger at the person’s hip. Or…would they just kill her like they did with Whumper?

“Alright, Whumpee…is that name Aquan?” The figure questions, and Whumpee nods sheepishly. “I never…Aquan…talk to our Captain later.” Whumpee’s eyes dart to where Captain Whumper is lying dead behind the figure. “Hey…it’s okay.” They pause, looking down at the bruises that litter her skin, the chain around her sprained tail, her swollen gills and bloodshot eyes, and let out a sigh. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”

Whumpee’s eyes well up with tears. She has been hurt. So much. She nods again, much faster this time.

“...Well listen, once…clear out…get some help…healing…okay?” Another nod from Whumpee. All she can do is nod now, her mind racing with thoughts of Whumper’s death and being punished for the blood on the carpet and this raider asking her questions and her water being dirty and being hurt for so long and it’s all too much. But healing and help…sounds nice. Even if it means being captured once more.

“Caretaker!” someone yells out, and the figure looks behind them.

Another raider enters the small room, glancing surprisedly at the mermaid before conversing too quickly for Whumpee to understand. The conversation ends with a hearty laugh from Caretaker and they turn to the wooden tub once more. “We…business…but I promise after…help get the chain off…to our ship.” Caretaker takes Whumpee’s frail hand in theirs and squeezes gently. “...be right back.”

Caretaker exits and shuts the door to shield Whumpee’s eyes from the dead Captain, but the clicking of the lock isn’t heard. Still feeling overwhelmed, Whumpee sinks under the water once more, curls into her tail, and lets out a sob.

#whump #mer whump #mermaid whumpee #pirate whump #rescue #morally grey caretaker #captive whumpee #abused whumpee #caretaker new whumper #language barriers #scared whumpee #pirate whumper #cruel whumper #helplessness #I got so many whumperflies while writing this #so I think I'm finally doing this right #darling writes

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mintflavouredwhump · 25 days

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A soldier who has been martyred in a war is resurrected as a ghost in the wrong era, say a century after their death. They don't understand what's going on (they might not even know they're dead), no one can see or hear them, they're traumatised from all that they've seen and nothing seems familiar enough for them to latch onto for stability

Bonus points if they're stuck in a country they had been fighting against when they were alive

#it's even better when combined with language barriers #soldier whumpee #military whump #ghost whumpee #ghost whump #whump #emotional whump #psychological whump #tw whump #whump prompts #whump scenario #whump writing #whump inspiration

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3-2-whump · 2 months

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Friend needs cheering up?! *busts in your window with your favorite food and drinks*

So gush about your favorite whump tropes!!! 👀

-- @whumperofworlds

Thank you 🥹 you brought my favorites I see!

*slurping and munching noises*

So, my favorite whump tropes…

Well, I love an unequal power dynamic. Especially when it comes to the NSFW side of things. Rarely is consent asked in these circumstances, and if it is, does the disadvantaged party really have any choice but to say yes? Do they have the freedom to say no?

I love bondage because I am a human being with eyes and a working blood circulatory system. Idk how to fully explain it, but when I saw Aladdin at the impressionable age of …what, like four?… that was it for me. Just didn’t know what it was called or that I didn’t have to be embarrassed about it until semi-recently.

I also love culture whump, particularly as it pertains to language barriers. I haven’t published anything on this blog about it yet, but in my personal copy of Whumpee and Whumper’s stories (Khaled and Thomas), they can’t understand each other. One has limited English comprehension, the other doesn’t even know what language his pet is speaking. Of course, this changes as the story goes on, Khaled becomes fluent and forgets his natal tongue (with some encouragement), and that makes it all the harder on him when he’s eventually rescued and returned to his family.

Hang on to your hats, everyone, shit’s about to get real under the cut

My love of culture whump and language barriers probably stems from my long-underaddressed adoption trauma. I only just realized as I began seriously writing whump this last year that I also had my culture and my mother tongue ripped away from me without my consent, and, like my Whumpee, I may never be able to fully reclaim it in a way I would have if I had grown up within its framework my entire life. (No wonder I always write about it!) That is why, when my Whumpee recovers, he is never the same person he was before he was taken. But he is doing better than he was, even though his tongue stumbles clumsily around words his siblings could say in their sleep. He is happy enough. And that is enough.

Wow, making me emotional again. But it feels good to kind of lore dump/give backstory about the author now and again. And I do feel kinda better. So thanks!

#whump asks #whump tropes #whump community #deep dive into authors backstory #culture whump #language barrier whump #loss of culture #adoption trauma #interracial adoption #intercultural adoption #writing is cheaper than therapy

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scratchandplaster · 1 year

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Small Delights

CW: tiny Whumpee, non-human Whumpee, dubious Caretaker/Carewhumper, referenced nudity (non-sexual), it as a pronoun, conditioning

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The sun set beautifully behind the hills, yellows and pinks flowing through the window and letting the light reflect onto the glass panels that separated the tiny creature from the rest of the room. Surrounded by ferns and luscious greenery, they tended to forget that the square they called home wasn't bigger than a tree stump.

Lifting themself up from a mossy stone, graceful wings unfolded and stretched their full potential, they hopped down onto the soft earthy ground. Always cleaned and looked after, just like themself.

They pressed their face tightly against the closest pane, cool to the touch and speckled with water droplets. It liked to make the air around them heavy with drizzle, always misting the plants from above. It would be here soon, just like every evening.

Letting a quiet yawn escape their mouth, the creature barely taller than a mouse let the bright orange wings flutter in the last beams of sunlight. To the unaided eye, the missing spots in their pattern were invisible, chitin scales stacking on top of each other like bark. Stunning to watch, useless as always.

The air began to whir in a familiar frequency; it had arrived and made its way closer towards the transparent world they learned to inhabit. Fear had long faded from their mind, too familiar was the daily ritual it taught them since their rise from the cocoon.

As it entered the room, unintelligible rumbling was directed towards them, and the giant shape removed the cover above their head.

They would love to know what they were saying, but apart from gestures, the communication with this titan was hopeless. It seemed to desire only one thing anyway, so all study would be a waste of effort.

The lid wasn't made out of any material they knew, it didn't feel like natures' product, no living element they could connect with. The hollow branch they used to hide in always provided a sense of comfort, of a home they had to have before...this. Hidden memories of the life prior to their transformation felt like faded dreams now.

Lowering its hand slowly into their playground, the expectant fingers waited for their cooperation. Climbing gingerly onto its palm, a few strong flaps of their wings helped with getting placed onto the rough skin beneath. They were meant to sit now, flipping wayward specks of dirt and moss away from their limbs, uncovered and delicate as a young nymph.

Back in the early days of their amity, they tried to flit and make the whole ordeal easier for both of them, but after a vicious grab and shake they learned to leave such decisions up to their gracious host. Never given the chance to try further, flying seemed pointless anyway. Maybe they weren't made for it after all.

The appendage lifted them out of the glass and up to its eyes, two dark spheres not much different to their own stared down at them.

Today must have been pleasant for it, the joyous expression mirrored clearly by their tiny guest made it act even more excited. A gentle grumble left its lips, nearly a purr. It had to have a successful hunt, they pondered.

Careful not to lose balance, the hand lifted the winged creature onto their chosen place: a cushion seat for their ritual. Bringing themself into position, they prayed to get it over with quickly today, thinking of the sweet reward that would follow.

The rummaging behind them stopped, as it too sat down and began what they could only describe as pleasant torture: hundreds of hairs started to tickle the edge of their wings, stroking leisurely across the vibrant tones one could only see in autumn.

It didn't hurt them as the brushing kept its steady pace, or when it dipped lower on their wing to graze the spot in the pattern that reminded them of an eye. It didn't hurt when the pressure of the bristles against them rose, and it didn't hurt when the chitin plates that gave their wings shape and color began to shed across the floor.

Like snowflakes in a storm, the warm hues gracing their body were dusted off, tearing spots next to the fine veins throughout.

Deep down, they knew it made them lose their power. And this hurt, but only when they listened to the buried instinct that told them to resist against the loving mishandling.

After what felt like an eternity, the strokes became gentle again, like a breeze on their figure, and travelled down to where wing met skin.

Their upper back was being freed of crumbs and remaining scales, as the hairs moved downwards in long strokes to grant their legs and arms the same kind of attention. It worked thorough, leaving their body warm and tingly. Their head was last, patted down with a few quick swoops of its tool, marking the end of the routine.

Freed of any leftover grime, the pleasant shivers lulled them into a calm state, ready to drift off in its care. Before they could rest, it pressed a quick kiss between their wings, earning itself a whimper under its lips.

Breathing deeply, it lifted them up again to lay under the light they prepared in advance. The slight buzz of the heat above made them even sleepier, already willing to settle down onto the soft fabric.

It loved to arrange these little surprises for them, the nest it built allowed for enough space to stretch and settle down. So safe under the watchful eyes of their host, they folded their wings together, keeping them as close to their body as possible.

One could not wish for everything in life, at least they were far away from any predators or storms they could fell victim to.

Flying wasn't necessary then, right?

It meant well, they were certain, but they would give everything to explain the misunderstanding to it.

Still, to stay here was the better option, in the safety and comfort it loved to provide them. They called themself ungrateful, as they bathed the treacherous fantasy of the world beyond the glass.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterpost]

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dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night · 11 months

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Whumpay day 29 & 31 - dehydration/alien whumpee

TW: starvation, dehydration, vivisection, nonconsensual scientific study, alien whumpee, human whumpers, multiple whumpers

Poking. Prodding. Vivisecting. It was all so dull.

Whumpee couldn't feel pain, but it could tell when its body was being destroyed. The torturous experimentation didn't bother it, but the lack of food and water did.

It once again attempted to communicate its needs to the alien scientists, beige fleshy creatures with four limbs and two eyes, horrible ugly things.

They babbled on, not understanding the complexity of their subject's language. Then again, it did not understand theirs.

This was growing frustrating, and whumpee grew more desperate by every passing hour. They weren't going to kill it, were they?

Taglist: @elim-flower @devourerofcheesecake @heavenly-whumper @whumpshaped @whumpsday

Event: @whumpay

#Whumpay #Whumpay day 29 #Whump #Alien whumpee #Human whumper #Sci-fi whump #Language barrier

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whumpacabra · 9 months

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Last Alive

Masterpost | Previous | Next

Ray woke screaming, the leg he still had stabbed through with sharp pain and warm with fresh blood. The world was too bright, fuzzy with pain and blood loss. A snarl unlike anything he had ever heard before brought with it memories.

The crash.

Aryana.

The monster.

The giant paced the cave’s length clawed feet scuffing the stone floor. The being above him was a different monster. No matter his thrashing, the thin limbs kept him still, the creature’s focus kept on the broken leg it had straightened.

Ray thought the first intelligent life humanity encountered would be impossible to comprehend, some ever shifting angelic or eldritch being beyond a mere human’s sensory ability to observe and understand. This being was solid, and its structure within the bounds his dehydrated and concussed mind could believe.

It was akin to the centaurs of old but draped in shimmering feathers that betrayed green when they caught the sunlight that filtered through the mouth of the cave. The two rear limbs laid the creature’s body against the floor, one pair of forelimbs supporting the upper body. The additional pair of prehensile four toed hands – he thought they were hands – moved with agility and purpose, tying a brace to his broken leg.

His whimpers drew its attention, the disk like face turned toward him. The four dark eyes that observed him twitched in their sockets as it blinked to him. Owl-like, its small beak clicking softly as it stared back it him before adjusting its wings. A larger pair folded against the lower body’s back; a smaller pair affixed to the nearly humanoid upper body.

“An…angel…” He muttered, chest aching with every breath, a soft smile twitching at his lips. His moment of amused fantasy was short lived. Ray flinched as the bird-like being shifted closer to his face.

“Annni’el…” It chirped; voice deeper than he expected.

“Angel,” Ray repeated, unsure if communication or mere mimicry had been achieved. “Are you – can you understand me?”

Ray shrank away at the rumble of the giant’s growl, the creature’s breath warm against his face. The winged being and giant chirped and rumbled at each other, Ray unable to understand how communication between the two very different sounds was possible.

With a final trill the avian being sprinted to the end of the cave, taking flight into the cool mountain morning.

Leaving Ray alone with the giant. It turned to him, massive form blocking most light from the mouth of the cave. He tried to stay calm, to dredge up memories of extrasolar survival training.

All he could find were memories of Aryana improvising a flame thrower out of discarded fuel cells and the compost fumes. And Broggs building a shelter while rambling about the geological significance of the boulders. And Thoms calculating the minimum requirements for survival without missing a beat. And Anka carefully separating piles of poisonous and edible plants no one else could tell apart.

The other crew members he had lived with for the past months. Trained with for the past years.

Sobs wracked his broken body, ribs screaming at every choked whimper. The giant grew closer, steps soft and light in spite of its size. It lowered itself to the floor, the nose of its muzzle twitching as it watched him. The giant’s eyes watched him, heavy and sad and glowing in the shade of its own crest.

It made a soft, keening sound, inching closer. Ray met those sad eyes, letting his gaze drift across the creature’s frame, from its quilled spine to its hoofed paws. The massive skull moved forward, gentle and cautious as it pressed against the man, letting him embrace it.

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#whump #scifi #broken bones #crash landing #aliens #language barrier #survivors guilt #my ocs #godfall #okay thats the last of the 'chapters i wrote 4 years ago but never posted' now i have to actually write stuff

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whumpsday · 2 years

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Lost at Sea #1

~ Whumpmas in July Day 3: Lost ~

Masterlist

content: tiny whump, mer caretaker(?), starvation, broken bones, begging, rescue, language barrier, pet whump

damn it’s been literally 3 months since i wrote something unrelated to my main series. this was originally gonna be a oneshot but i decided to make a miniseries so look forward to more at some point!!

Lyscla peered curiously at the human vessel.

Such things were usually a bountiful feast: humans were sizeable compared to most prey, with a unique taste. The closest she could describe it to was seal or sea-lion, but that was still a ways off. If one avoided their weaponry, one would eat well.

Humans were an intelligent kind, she knew. Some avoided hunting them due to this, the concept making them squeamish, but Lyscla knew better. A human vessel this far out to sea was not here to do anything but kill. It was simply the course of nature. She would not blame the humans for their hunts either, whether they killed suitable prey-fish or her own kind.

But this was not the typical human vessel. It could hardly even be called a vessel anymore, truly. More a ruin of what once was.

Usually, when she approached a pod of humans, they reacted with commotion, but there was none this time. Most of the humans lay lifeless in the water, many missing their tastiest bits: she was far from the first inhabitant of the ocean to happen upon the wreckage, though likely the first of her kind. Those that were left were bloated and decayed with expiration. Unappetizing.

Only one tiny human face stared up at her, eyes full of unbounded fear.

The sole living human was unwell; this was apparent. Some of its little bones bent in awkward directions, dried blood marked the rips in its false coat, and its skin was red with sun-burn.

It sat huddled in the corner of the largest intact piece of the vessel, shaking. Water shed from its eyes, a trait Lyscla knew to be unique to humans. A sign of distress.

The human said something, its voice small and hoarse, but she could not understand its tongue. Its trembling increased. Though she could not parse the words, it was not hard for Lyscla to recognize them for what they were: an expression of fear.

It was all skin-and-bones. It had been there for many days, judging by the state of its fallen pod. Were it not for the rainy season providing fresh-water, it would have surely joined them. Such a slight thing would not make for a good meal.

And even if it would... Lyscla found herself reluctant. There was no honor in this hunt, no barbed spears to dodge, no quick and darting fish to catch. Just a lost, starving human faced with certain doom.

I could save it.

The thought was senseless. She had never been one for such sentimentalities. She would blame it on an instinctive desire to care for a calf, were the season right for it. Being that it was not, she had no such excuse.

Yet, the desire remained. Lyscla recalled an old flame who kept dolphins as pets. It had started with an injured one, she’d said, that she felt compelled to nurse back to health. She had never understood at the time: why would one waste energy on that?

But looking at the terrified little thing, she understood now.

Pity.

She could take it back to her cave. Part of it came above the water, with soft sand for the injured human to rest its battered body. The human was barely bigger than a tuna; it wouldn’t require much to eat. She could easily catch some fish for it each day and bring it fresh-water.

Lyscla made up her mind. She would care for the human as a pet.

Digory couldn’t believe how shit his luck was.

First, the shipwreck. Wrecks weren’t that common, were they? He didn’t know too much about seafaring, hadn’t been a deckhand longer than a week. He was still in training, for God’s sake.

He’d supposed at the time that his luck wasn’t all bad. Among all the crew, only Digory had somehow survived due to his placement on the ship, though not without a number of injuries. And the fact that it had been raining enough for him to get water was nothing short of a miracle, though the rain left him shivering in the nights.

But all of that was meaningless now, because he was staring up at the most terrifying creature in the ocean: a mermaid.

She was gigantic, even bigger than he’d thought one would be, easily the size of a five-story building. The pictures didn’t do the sight justice. The small knife on his belt felt extraordinarily useless in the face of such a beast. It likely wouldn’t even pierce her scales.

It was unlikely anyone had gotten this close to a mermaid and lived. He sincerely fucking doubted that he would be the first.

Digory couldn’t help but cry. He’d been holding out hope that he would be found, even as the starvation made him feel like his insides were eating him alive, even as his injuries pained him with every movement. Now he was going to be eaten.

He wondered if it would hurt.

“Please, I don’t want to die!” Digory begged. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like the monster would be able to understand him.

The monster paused for a long moment, as if deep in thought. And then, to his utter horror, though he knew it was coming...

She reached for him.

Digory screamed. He tried to scramble backward, but his broken legs immediately reminded him of their state with a flash of sudden agony, making him suck in a sharp gasp.

The monster plucked him from the piece of hull. His legs jostled again as she moved him, earning another cry of pain. He lay in her enormous hand, shaking, as she raised him up further. He knew this was it. He was going to die.

But the monster did not stop him at her razor-sharp teeth as he’d expected. She continued raising him up to dizzying height, to the top of her head, where she placed him with surprising gentleness. He immediately grabbed onto her hair: he could not fall from here.

She swam, keeping the top of her head above water. As he became soaked with sea-spray, Digory realized what was happening: she wanted to take him home to eat.

At least he wouldn’t die near that stupid boat.

At long last, she stopped inside a cave. Digory flinched back as she took him from her head and placed him on the sand inside, crying out again at the aggravation of his injuries. The sand clung to his wet skin and clothes, but at least it was soft.

The monster brought up her other hand and dumped something at his feet.

Fish.

Three of them, each the size of his arm, flopping around on the sand. Digory didn’t know what kind, and he didn’t care. It was food.

He pulled the knife from his belt and dispatched one, not even properly preparing it before he dug in face-first. Digory had lost count of the days, but he knew it had been more than a week since he’d eaten. The raw fish was the best thing he’d ever tasted in his life.

The monster watched him, head tilted to the side.

Digory shuddered under her gaze. He didn’t know why she hadn’t killed him yet, but he was glad he was able to feel full one more time.

(edit: digory is normal human sized, lyscla is about 60 feet tall. tuna are bigger than u think lol. my bad)

here’s some picrews of our new caretaker(?) & whumpee! (picrew used)

gonna put the banner at the bottom for writing-based WIJ days! this prompt really inspired me.

@whumpmasinjuly

taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

#wij2022 #whumpmasinjuly #whump #my writing #tiny whump #g/t #starvation #broken bones #begging #rescue #language barrier #pet whump #mer caretaker #monster caretaker #nonhuman caretaker #lost at sea #whump writing

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