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whumble-beeee · 3 months ago

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Just Relax (It's Not That Serious)

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 13

Content: drugging, noncon undressing, dissociation, (fear of) needles, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), tied up/handcuffs, past captivity references, begging, fear, light unreality? (related to the ptsd)

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Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[The first 72 hours after a hero’s capture is also massively critical to you, villain, as your hero’s keeper! When planning on long-term hero-keeping, use this time to lie low, keep your hero firmly in your grasp, and really set the mood for the rest of their stay. Set non-negotiable expectations. Show your patience. For as much as your hero may fight you, curse and jeer and scorn and defy you, they will still be only human (with select power exceptions, of course). They will still need food, water, shelter. All of which must be obtained from you, their captor! You are the one ultimately in control, no matter how much the hero may scream otherwise.

So why are these first 72 hours so important? Well, how long do experts generally agree that a person can survive without food or water? How long can they ignore you? How long before they have to rely on you for their every need?

72 hours.

Be patient.

Make them count.]

* * * * * * * *

“Finally, Christ,” Deeby muttered under his breath as Stan finished forcing the bar down his throat. It had taken him longer than he'd meant, what with the dehydration and the not wanting to be drugged and the weary pain that seeped into his every bone and the spinning of the room and the not wanting to be drugged. It was a surprisingly difficult task to knowingly poison himself. Who’d've thunk?

“Happy?” Stan finally spat with a heaving breath. There was the slightest taste of salt and battery acid twinging the back of his mouth. It made him nauseous.

Deeby absent-mindedly grabbed the used protein bar wrapper and tossed it into his plastic bag. “Yeah. Not done yet, though.”

Stan whined. It was all he could do to not start crying on the spot. “Why can't you just let me fall into unconsciousness in peace? I ate your stupid protein bar! It's-it's never-ending with you!”

“Well, it feels less gross to have you undress now than when you're high off your ass.”

Stan blinked. It was like the world had been overlaid with TV static for a moment. But he was back. Violently. Because what? “Ah– Co-come again?”

“Your uh– fuckin’... What's it called, your tank top? The transgender tank top, the one that squishes your ribs. Your… ‘tranksgender’ top.”

“My binder?”

Deeby snapped his fingers in triumph. “That's the bitch! We're taking that off now.”

“WHAT?!”

“I can help if you want. I don’t know how long it's gonna take the drug to start affecting you, considering you haven’t eaten in two days, so it might not–”

“I’m not taking my binder off!” Stan yelled, startling back from yet another all-consuming dip into the static. The worst part was, it wasn't even unpleasant. He almost would have enjoyed it, save for the predator six feet away stalking at him as if he were a wounded antelope, one hand resting on the ornate knife holstered right next to his gun. His eyes sparkled with that ever-dangerous red excitement that Stan had become painfully acquainted with again and again and again over the past two days, though there was something more serious underneath the child-like sadism. Tired eyes, deep breaths...

“I know you're not supposed to wear it for this long, runt.” The mercenary brushed the still bright-red gash on his cheek from where Stan had whacked him with the handcuffs. “And besides, I still need to get you back for this. Please make me do it the hard way.”

Stan’s breath caught between a groan and a cry and his vision swam around him, only grounded by the sudden noxious pit in his stomach. “Dee-deeby…” he panted. “Stay away from me.”

Deeby continued to stalk closer, voice taking that dangerous low twang, the light bass growl snaking through the room and slithering around Stan’s throat, suffocating him more than a literal yank by his damn collar would. “Aw…” he tutted. “That's no fun, is it chiquito? I think you just need–”

“OKAY, OKAY!” Stan skittered back, pressing himself into the wall with racing heart and rabbit-fast breath. “I'll-I'll do it, I'll do it! You don't– You–... I'll take off my binder…”

That did, in fact, stop Deeby dead in his tracks. Stan swayed. Deeby looked at him expectantly. Stan stared into the distance. Deeby raised an eyebrow and made an impatient circular motion at Stan with his hands: get moving.

The static.

“Runt, if you don’t–”

“I– jus– ju-just-just don't touch me–”

“Stan–” Deeby warned, taking a single step toward him. All the air sucked out of the room. “I'm done giving you chances. Off. Now, or I'll do it.”

Stan grit his teeth with an almost mewling whine. His cheeks burned a bright red embarrassment under near-invisible blue freckles, and his very lungs stuttered as they tried to figure out if he wanted to scream or just cry. He started to pulled the shirt over his head, slowly, as if he could go slow enough that the bounty hunter would just get bored and give up entirely.

Ha.

Then he lost his way. He searched. More fabric. Where did the holes go? Where was he? He was lost! He tangled his arms around, searching, growling with frustration as he unsuccessfully tried to free himself, genuinely trapped as time simultaneously moved way too fast and excruciatingly slow. Then a whoosh, and his cotton-polyester prison disappeared, pulled off over his head to reveal a very amused Deeby glinting back at him, eyes sparkling as always.

It was so cold in here.

Stan shoved him away, thankfully braced against the wall or else he might have fallen over himself. The world was so… tilted.

“Turn-turn around,” Stan ordered, blinking hard to keep himself present.

“What, no ‘thank you?’”

“Turn around!”

“Not turning around, bud.”

“Please, I don-don’t– don’t want you to-to see– to–...Turn around!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Please! Deeby, I’m begging!”

“Not happenin’,” he sang, deadpan as ever.

“I thought you-you-you-ou said you weren't gugh-guh-gon-gonna–...” Stan shivered and took a deep breath. This stutter was driving him insane. “Tha-at you weren't a perv!”

“I'm not. I'm not gonna do anything except make sure you're not trying to pull some shit.”

“I won’t! I'm drugged! I-I can’t even take my shirt off!”

“All the more reason–”

“Declan!” Stan pleaded, pupils blown out and wide, tension at the top of his mouth so tight he was sure he was about to start bawling. “I care. I care-are-re. I don’t wan-want you–... Please…”

His voice turned high and quiet, tears burning to fall, pressure building up behind his eyes and ready to burst.

“Plea-ease…”

Declan closed his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose. Another tired deep breath.

“Turn yourself around if you care so much,” he muttered. The knife appeared in his hands, point pressed into the taut fabric on Stan's chest. “I'm done playing games. Stop stalling. Now.”

“I’m no-ot–”

The mercenary grabbed the strap of Stan’s binder and yanked him forward, barely pulling the knife out of the way in time for Stan to not fall on top of it and instead sending him hurtling into the man’s chest with a blood-curdling screech, then flailing and shoving off of the captor as hard as humanly possible. The push mixed with a sudden heavy fog bank engulfing his mind mixed with a painful misstep on his bad leg caused him to all but crumble to the freezing concrete floor in a heap, chin banged and bleeding and dripping and staining on the ground as his face pressing into scratchy dirt particles, as he laid there confused and scared and scrambling, just trying to figure out how to silence the roaring confusion of his mind as it blindly panicked in the pressing, buzzing fog that surrounded it. Threatened to swallow him whole.

Then a force grasped him by the back of his neck. Then a knee planted into the base of his spine. The full body weight of a man at least twice his size ground into his lower vertebrates, seemingly trying to press them straight through the soft flesh of his stomach into the unforgiving floor.

Stan screamed.

Was Deeby going back on his promise not to–

GET OFF!!

His binder, he couldn't let Declan take it off.

OWOWOWOWOW– NO NONONO–

The fog the fog the fog the fog the fog the fog buzzing buzzing buzzing buzzing BZZZZZZZZZZ–

A gloved hand pressed him into the floor by the back of his neck. Others in scratchy black tactical gear held his flailing limbs down. He strained. He cried. He screamed. He screamed so loud. So loud his throat was sore. They didn’t let up.

He wanted his mom. His dad. His sister. COME HELP!! Where were they? He cried out for them, heaving sobs. Unheeded.

“DEEBY!” He screeched, feet kicking out as if they could somehow free himself if he just kicked hard enough. “Get off! GET OFF! You're not taking my binder off–!”

“Mhm, yeah, sure bud,” Deeby mumbled as Stan continued his tantrum. His fingers squeezed slightly at either side of Stan’s neck. Warning. Patient. Waiting. He was waiting him out. Stan's head spun as if filled with angry bees, cries becoming weaker, fighting more and more sluggish as Deeby just sat on top of him.

Where was his sister? Where was Chloe?! CHLOE!! He needed to protect her! That was his only task! Protect her! He’d failed, he’d failed, he needed to save her, save them, get away. Every time he raged and strained and screamed another hand just came to pin him to the dusty ground. He was an animal thrashing around in a cage, a trap that only tightened around his throat the more he struggled.

“DEEBY– Deeby… Declan, Deeb– please get off, please, I need to save her, I don't– I just– can't–... ple-ee-ea-ease…”

Deeby didn't say anything. Was it the drug that made him feel like he was floating on air as a pressure chamber simultaneously caged in his skull, teasing it to shatter? Or maybe the hyperventilating as he realized there was no escape. Or maybe the gutting hunger, or the throat squeezing thirst, or the burning panic, or the bone-deep exhaustion, or the pain, the pain, make it stop, all-encompassing, never-ending, or the violent shaking from lack of oxygen, or any number of the many other things that were wrong with him. Maybe all of them. His limbs lay stiff, as if held down by lead weights. His protests devolved into barely a whimpering whisper. He couldn't breathe. Not with the bounty hunter on top of him pressing his stomach into the floor, not with the probably broken ribs, not with the binder pressing into the swelling of his ribs and making every intake of air a monumentally agonizing feat achieved less and less each time…

“God, shut her up, I’m not dealing with this in the transport.”

“Really? It’s just a kid.”

“Unless you’d rather I shut her up myself.”

NO NO NO ESCAPE ESCAPE HE NEEDED TO FIND HIS FAMILY–

A tiny little prick on his upper arm. He screamed. Screamed until he couldn’t anymore, screamed because he couldn’t do anything else, screamed until one of the gloved hands slapped over his mouth and stayed there until he quieted, and then he couldn’t even scream. It stayed there until tears soaked through the course fabric. The edges of his vision started to go dark.

“That’s it kid, shut up, go to sleep. Don’t struggle. It’ll be easier if you just relax.”

His head fell limp against the dirty ground.

He was gonna die here, wasn't he?

Yeah.

Made sense.

He let his head lie down on the floor.

He lurched with silent sobs.

He couldn't do this anymore.

He couldn't.

This was all pointless.

He was done.

And he went limp.

“There ya go. Attaboy.”

Deeby's voice came from above him. Slow, comforting, praising, as if he were speaking from a thousand miles away.

“Attagirl…” The last voice he heard. The last time he saw his childhood home. The last time he saw his parents. The end of his first fight for his life. Failed.

The black consumed him.

Stan let out something between a whine and a sob. The mercenary took just a moment to readjust, legs now caging him in and pushing inward on either side of Stan's hips. “Yeah okay, whatever runt. Let’s just get this done.”

Deeby's fingers probed under the binder for a moment, causing Stan to squirm anew purely on instinct. Until he hit a particularly nasty bruise. An electrical storm webbed through his ribcage. A flash of white. Stan yelped a cut-off, strangled squeal, a sound he prayed he’d never have to hear again.

“Sorry…” muttered above him. His binder flipped upward and over itself, a brief squeeze, the fabric pulling lightly at his skin, his arms, his hair, then pressure relieved.

Breathe in…

Holy fuck, he was alive!

Stan gulped in the first deep breath he'd taken in what felt like years, gasping and desperate and a full, deep breath. His senses sharpened. Kinda. He still sat pinned within a sea of cotton, the static that blanketed the clouds, limbs heavy, mind slow. But he could breathe! He almost remembered that he only felt like this because Deeby forcibly stripped him. That bitch.

“Holy shit,” the bounty hunter whispered quietly, amazed, almost inaudible. A moment of breath-taking clarity as adrenaline shot through Stan’s system for one last, final hurrah. Holy shit?

“Wh-what, what–?” He tried unsuccessfully to turn around and see. He even managed to convince himself that he didn't care that his tits were basically out, right before he flopped face-first into the ground again. This drug worked miracles.

Declan paused for a moment. Then: “Ah… Nothing, nothing, just, your ribs are much worse off than I thought. Bruised to shit…”

Stan laughed. Really? Bruised to shit? Who could have guessed? The burning anger and hatred and desperation he expected to feel, that he'd been fighting nonstop for two or three or however-the-hell many days straight? It was now buried under layers of static and sand and that lovely familiar darkness which pressed everything that made him himself to somewhere deep in the darkest recesses of his brain, unnoticed in the rolling fog. Though the knot in his throat that made him want to burst out crying still persisted. That was weird. What did he have to cry about? “Yeah… maybe you should… not… Aheh, uh, throw me… to–... walls anymore…” he giggled. He was pretty sure at least. That’s what his voice sounded like, right?

His limbs were so heavy. He might not be able to move them if he tried. Not that he wanted to. What if he just went to sleep right here?

Ah shit, he didn't have a shirt on still.

But like, who even cared anymore? The mercenary would take what he wanted, including Stan’s shirt, including his binder. He could take everything from him. Take his freedom, take his personhood, take any slight chance at happiness or have a normal family that wasn’t shattered to pieces. Shoot him with that pretty old gun, take his life entirely. Come back again and again just to make sure Stan never saw the light of day again. Who even cared if he saw Stan’s chest? Who even cared if this was one of the most humiliating things to ever happen to him? He shouldn’t fight so hard. He wouldn't be pinned face down to the floor and chained up and drugged if he just stopped fighting. This was fine. He felt fine. He liked this.

Keep fighting, rage, rage, escape.

Oh, shut up.

He felt the white overly large shirt being pulled back on over his head a million miles away, something with Eeby-Deeby getting frustrated again and his arms getting roughly shoved through the armholes before Stan could even try to lift his leaden limbs.

Chill out, man. It's fine. It's not that serious.

The way the world swirled around him was almost a comfort now. He was drugged. He knew it, it was just a fact now. The fog and the static and the way he could barely think and the way it was kinda hard to move and the way it took a second to move even if he did actually want to move… That wasn’t really Stan. That was some other guy. He was just drugged. Drugged Stan.

It was nice. Normal Stan was always so wound up about everything. Normal Stan fought so hard to change what couldn’t be changed, made everything so much worse for himself. And for what? He’d always be captured again, always chained up, always poked and prodded and beholden to the will of others, always treated like a petulant, whiny animal that needs to be tamed. Normal Stan couldn’t seem to get that. Normal Stan was those bad thoughts at the edges of his mind, the ones that kept him screaming, running, fighting even when Deeby got up off of him and gave him water which he desperately needed, sweet, sweet, water that relieved the pain and carried all his troubles away like a gently rushing river, cooled his insides of the burning heat and anger. GOD, he forgot how nice water tasted.

It was weird. Eeber-Deeber was almost thoughtful, in his own special way. When you looked past the violence. Stan should be nicer to him, make him not have to violence so much. Maybe then Stan go home! No fight, just go home and see his family… he didn’t really have a home, did he? No… But that was okay, because he still had Marcus and Chloe! He could see them again! That would be nice. Marcus, Chloe. He loved them so much. He needed to protect them. Why was he still here? His Mom and Dad couldn’t protect them, it was his job because they were…

Dead?

Dead.

It was for the best that they were.

It was fine though. It wasn’t that serious.

…

He missed them.

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Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan | @notactuallyluska | @thebestieyoureinlovewith

(If you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

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skittles-the-whumpee · 1 year ago

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Hey, I’ve only been on the kink side of tumblr fir a couple years and you followed me a while ago, but I’m curious, what is “whump” is it like a fandom thing, if it is which fandom? is it some transgender terminology that I’m not aware of? I’m not judging I’m just genuinely curious cuz several whump accounts follow me and i juts wanted to know what it is, thanks for reading have a good day💕

Hi! ^^

Ok, so...I have only been in the whump community for a relatively short period and there are people who can explain it better, but the below is my personal take on the subject.

Whump isn't a fandom in of itself, it's a concept that can be added to any fandom. It's the concept of hurt/comfort and usually leans heavily on the hurt side of things. It also demonstrates a few different dynamics that can be SFW or NSFW.

An interrogation scene in a movie. Whump.

Reading about a vampire having their sadistic fun in a novel. Whump.

A prisoner in a comic book getting a beatdown. Whump.

But on the flipside...

A patient recovering in X hospital show. Whump.

A human pet escaping captivity and discovering the perks of freedom in a manga. Whump.

Someone getting their friend out of an abusive relationship and getting them into therapy in a fanfic. Whump

Whump dynamics include:

Whumper (offender) x whumpee (victim) [this dynamic is the most common]

Caretaker (self-explanatory) x whumpee

Whumper x caretaker

(Just a few)

There's also tropes like whumper-turned-whumpee or whumpee-turned-whumper or caretaker-turned-whumpee or even bad caretaker, for example.

Whump is an infinitely growing concept and literally anyone can add to it. ^^

This might not be the best explanation but it's what I've got lol.

If anyone else in the whump community sees this, reblog it with anything you wanna add. ❤️

#answered ask #sweet skittles posting #dublinurvixen #whump #whump explanation

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whumpsday · 2 years ago

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do you know of any good whump series with transgender (including nonbinary and such) characters? whumpees, whumpers, caretakers, it doesnt matter. especially if theres significant attention paid to their being transgender, or it effects their character arc and/or motivations. just about any genre will do.

thanks a million, and no pressure or anything.

yes!! thank you for asking!! the first 2 here pay the most attention to the character being trans, but all of them acknowledge it in some way!

Magnanimous Moonrise & Savage Sunset by @not-a-space-alien - 18+ and heed the warnings! but one of my fave whump series ever

Eden by @zillastar13 - new series with regular updates!!

With Bloody Outstretched Hands by @wolfeyedwitch - nonbinary whumpee, everything else on this list features trans men*

No Longer Asking and Seal the Deal by @emmettnet - as well as all other series involving Dirk! i believe a bunch more of emmett's ocs are trans too.

Linden and Colton Part 1 / Part 2 by @whumpzone - 18+, and this is the only one on this list where the trans character is a caretaker instead of a whumpee

*there are a lot of nonbinary whumpees, but most series with nonbinary whumpees usually just use they/them and don't acknowledge the character's transness otherwise (which ofc is totally valid!), and i don't know of any whump series with trans women, which prob has to do with this since people tend to write about characters most like themselves

#ask #i am also gonna start a series with a trans whumpee soon :)#and have one planned with a trans whumpee + trans caretaker but thats for later

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vivisectedboy · 13 days ago

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INTRO POST!!!

About me:

you can callme Vesper adn I go by they/them . I probably won't be posting here regularly but I still need an outlet for the Thoughts. You get it

Very enthusiastic about:

- medical whump, specifically human lab rats, unethical experiments, mad science etc

- cult stuff!!! rituals, human sacrifices, eldritch madness, the dynamics between cult leader and followers

- body horror in general (transgender reasons

Squicks (not really hard nos, just things i dont like)

- very explicit nsfw, rape

- female/child whumpee

feel free to add to my prompts or be inspired by them and whatever .!! also dms are open, asks are open, if u want to talk im open :))yippeee

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much-ado-about-whumping · 1 year ago

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Commissions Open for Writing and RP

Hello, darlings! I'm currently taking commissions for whump pieces (including/especially nsfwhump) and real-time whump roleplay over Discord!

Not all of my work will include nsfw content, but just to be safe, commissions are only open to readers age 18 and older.

Interested? Read on! (18+ only below the cut)

Who I am:

If we've already met, nice to see you! If we haven't, welcome! I'm Bellamy (he/they), a queer and transgender writer with a dark imagination and a passion for sparking whumperflies. I love writing all angles of whump scenarios, from whumper to whumpee to caretaker, and I have a real knack for getting under your skin and figuring out what's going to take your breath away.

What I'll write:

Broad Content: I especially like to write nsfwhump (that is, whump where the abuse is sexual in context or nature), with an emphasis on whump genre tropes around caretaking, rescue, and recovery. I'm also happy to write sfw whump, as well as the kind of nsfwhump that blurs the line between a whump piece with some sexual content and an erotica piece with some whump content. (If you’d like to see the more erotica-leaning version of this ad, you can find it at reddit here. Please note that this is in an 18+ only subreddit.)

Tropes: I’m partial to whump stories that involve a kind of total control over the whumpee’s life – things like kidnapping, imprisonment, non-chattel slavery, pet whump, and BBU-style dynamics are always interesting to me. I love long and complicated recoveries, trauma that feels cyclical, and complicated whumper/whumpee relationships. I also love the kind of whump where something about a character seems to be working against them – for instance, I’m always excited about stories in which the whumpee has powers or abilities that push away or endanger the people they love, or that are used to justify harm coming to the whumpee.

I’m super interested in communication, and I also love fish-out-of-water whump – stories in which a whumpee’s position is further imperiled because of a language or culture barrier are extremely fun and interesting to me.

Kinks: I have a lifelong love of stories centered around non-consent.* Within the fantasy of the commission or roleplay, that could be a fully non-consensual encounter, a consensual non-consent (cnc) kink scene between willing partners, or a scene that happens without consent but leaves the whumpee feeling blissed-out and conflicted. I’m into a wide range of BDSM kinks, and I especially love huge, impossible insertions, overstimulation, gangbangs, cumflation, breeding, monster-fucking, and other kinks that are about pushing the whumpee's limits, physical or emotional. I'm also game if the violence gets extreme. (You want the whumpee's pelvis broken under a giant werewolf whumper? I'm down for that.) I'm also willing to explore some scary identity-based scenarios under some circumstances - for instance, if you're a queer or trans person looking for fantasies of corrective rape or abuse, I'm open to talking more to see if that’s something we can (relatively) safely write together.

And there's a wide variety of kinks that are less central to my experience, but that I would be enthusiastically willing to explore. In general, I'm extremely game to try new things, even if they're taboo; if you have something in particular on your wishlist, let's talk about it! I promise to be non-judgmental about what turns you on and honest about what I think I can write well.

*Note: A word about fantasies of rape and abuse - they're extremely common and normal, both among the general population and among survivors in particular. It's very common for people to eroticize things they're afraid of, or things they're processing. This can be true even if you fantasize about being the perpetrator – brains are complicated! If you're feeling ashamed about this kink, please know that there's no need to be.

Character Types: I can write a broad variety of character types, but I'm especially good at two:

A brutal, bitch-breaking whumper with the strength of a linebacker, the patience of a power-tripping cop, and the eagle-eye for vulnerabilities of a middle-school bully, and,

A resilient, sharp-edged whumpee, cold and clever and sparkling, and shattering like glass when they break.

Those are my favorites, but there's a world of options. Some other favorites include innocent ingenue whumpees that break open at once, oblivious whumpers that do half their damage through neglect, clever and accommodating whumpees who try to survive through harm reduction, and slow, subtle whumpers who feign affection and gentleness while perpetrating violence. I also love, love, LOVE a stoic whumpee.

I've written characters across a broad universe of genders and orientations, and I'm happy to explore whatever identities tickle your fancy. I'd consider queer and trans characters a specialty, and I'm also happy to play with gender with cis characters.

Genres: I'm happy to work with a real-world/modern setting, but I'm also super fond of historical fiction, high fantasy, and sci-fi elements.

Hard Limits:

No underage whumpees. (I know that people sometimes want to write whump and/or erotic content featuring underage characters for some of the same healing/processing reasons I outlined above that can foster an interest in darker stories in general. I’m not condemning that; people heal and grow in a variety of ways, and the choices about how they do so can be deeply complex and personal. I’m just placing a limit on what ideas I’m willing to explore with other people; sexual stories featuring underage characters are not among them.)

No underage clients. I will not write with or for any client under the age of 18, and I will block you if you ask me to. Even if the age of majority in your area is lower than that, I need to make my rules based on the age of majority where I live.

No bad caretakers. For some reason, this is one whump trope I just really can’t get into. I can write imperfect caretakers, and I can absolutely write creepy comfort, but I won’t write a person being deliberately clumsy and unkind while trying to comfort the whumpee. (Accidental mistakes/growing together are different – those are fine.)

How it works:

Consultations: Not sure if you’d like to write together? Set up a free 15-minute new customer consultation! We can chat over Discord about what you’re looking for and whether we’ll be good fits for each other.

Brainstorming: I charge a reduced rate for the time we spend talking about what you’d like, whether we’re planning our roleplay or sketching out the parameters of your commission. The first 30 minutes of talking about details is free; after that, brainstorming together is priced at $20/hour.

Roleplay: I do paid roleplays in real-time for $22/hour. This means that you book time at my hourly rate and we write together over Discord during that time. Of course, you may not always know exactly how long a roleplay will take – that makes sense! We’ll make our best estimate together. If things get exciting and you’d like to go longer, I’ll be happy to accommodate you unless the extension conflicts with another booking. If our time estimate is incorrect, we’ll settle the balance at the end of the session. If we’re writing for more than an hour over our estimated time, I’ll pause to check in and ask you to pay an additional installment to book the extra time.

Commissions: I write commissioned pieces for $0.04/word, starting at 250 words. We’ll agree on an estimated timeline for the piece, beginning at three calendar days. Pending availability, I also offer rush 24-hour turnaround for an additional $35.

Payment: I accept payment via CashApp, Ko-Fi, PayPal, and Venmo. I request payment for half the booking up-front, and you pay the other half at the end.

Other things to know about me:

I've done a lot of research about the ways in which people can use storytelling, especially in the form of sexual fantasies, to process and move through trauma. I'm not a therapist, but I am a survivor of some kinds of abuse and violation myself; I've always worked through my experiences this way, and I'm really interested in the ways that fantasies and playing pretend can put agency and control back in survivors' hands. This interest shows up for me in the area of sexual violence, as well as in the areas of identity-based violence like homophobia and transphobia. If you like to play with fire, please know that you can trust me to play responsibly with you. I'm highly focused on consent, check-ins, and aftercare, especially when I'm writing the whumper. I will take good care of you. That's important to me.

How to reach me:

Elsewhere on the internet, I go by the pen-name James St. Sebastian and write for Shapeshifter Stories. You can reach me via DM on tumblr @much-ado-about-whumping, via DM or chat on reddit at u/jamstseb, via Discord at #shapeshifterstories, or via email at [email protected]. (Of these, Discord is often the most immediate way to reach me.)

Please feel free to message any time, whether I appear online or off; sometimes I may appear busy or offline when I’m already booked up, but I’ll be happy to reply to your message as soon as I’m available.

#whump commissions #whump writing #bel talks

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mothmxwhump · 2 years ago

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Can I get an uhhh.. Left For Dead Tarron?

Fandom: Original Characters (Collared Prince Series)

Characters: Tarron Choris, Solace, Linari Crumrae (mentioned), Nym Crumrae

Note: this is a WIP AU, not cannon. Solace is the god to which Linari prays, who takes particular interest in Tarron after he takes the throne. In this AU, Dubfort never invaded and Tarron’s mother stepped down from the throne.

Solace is the goddess of light and the sun, as well as illusions and lies.

Content Warnings: transgender male whumpee, religious whump, god/divine whumper, female whumper, abandonment, self-sacrifice, left for dead trope, hurt/no comfort, creepy whumper, illusions/unreality used to manipulate whumpee, cliffhanger ending, fake death

The palace was burning. It was like an anthill under a magnifying glass. Tarron hadn’t stayed in the upper levels that night, too absorbed into his work and falling asleep in his study. He was ripped awake by the stinging heat against his face. Nym was asleep behind him, unaware of the peril. He shook them awake, frantically dragging them to their feet and towards the door. A beam of blazing wood fell from above as the monarchs raced down the hall. When they finally reached the large doors to the main courtyard, Tarron rushed into the chilly night air.

As he turned to look for Nym, he saw they had fallen before reaching the door.

He rushed back to their side, desperately attempting to help them up, only to be hit by a falling beam as they stood.

“Fuck—fuck, hold on, please—“

“Don’t. Please—please go.” Tarron croaked out, voice hoarse from the thick smoke.

“Tarron—“

“I love you.” He whispered, and kicked out at the doors to slam them shut in their face.

Just as the flames collapsed on him, the entire room faded away.

Tarron looked around desperately, searching for some explanation. He wasn’t in his study at all, or his bedroom. Rather, he was chained by the wrists in a grand throne room. It appeared to be built out of marble and pale gold, the throne itself the only real furniture other than the bronze brazers keeping the room illuminated with a shimmering pale light. Not fire.

The figure atop the throne seemed vaguely familiar. Their long, pale blonde hair seemed to shift in color as they moved. They smiled at him, sharp white fangs glistening in the bright light.

“Hello, your majesty,”

Tagging: @little-boats-on-a-lake, @badthingshappenbingo, @whattheheckisgravity

#whump #pet whump #tarron #captivity whump #collared prince #nym #whumpee #whump writing #tw unreality #left for dead #tw abandonment #tw near death #tw false death

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whumpy-wyrms · 1 year ago

Text

The Last Lab Rat #3: Surreal

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content: lab whump, medical whump, captivity, accidentally getting outed as trans (dw nothing bad happens), gender dysphoria, nonsexual nudity, needles, top surgery, noncon drugging, manipulation mention, trans whumpee, intimate/creepy whumper, whumper as caretaker

when the whumper can excuse unethical experimentation but draws the line at gender dysphoria. there’s gonna be actual whump in the next chapter i swear, just had to get this stuff out of the way first :>

—

Dew waited until he heard Anton leave the room before he got in the shower. He was happy to have his binder off, but it was still terrifying not knowing what the future will be like for him here.

The bathroom door had no lock, which kinda sucked. He tossed the mud soaked hospital gown on the floor and hid his binder in the cabinet under the sink.

Anton seemed so upset at his poor attempt at an escape. Dew had never been so afraid of the mad scientist, well, it’s not like he knew him for that long anyway. How long had he been here? Two days? He’d get out of this soon, he was sure of it.

But he couldn’t stop that voice in his head telling him he’d ruined his only chances of escape. Anton had mentioned a punishment earlier, was he planning on hurting Dew every time he went against him?

Dew couldn’t stop his mind swarming with the terrible things he saw earlier, trying to block it out by the sound of the water raining down on him. After he washed all the mud off of him, he sat down and curled up in the corner, legs to his chest, feeling the water pour over his head. He didn’t want to think about this, didn’t want to think about being a mad scientist’s lab rat.

It was hard though, when that’s all he really could think about. What was this freak going to do? He hadn’t even started experimenting on Dew yet but he was already terrified. The suspense of not knowing was killing him. Dew tried to ignore it, tried to remind himself he wasn’t going to die here and he just had to wait for his next moment to escape. But how long would it take for that moment to come? How many experiments would Dew have to endure before he’d get another chance?

Dew’s internal monologue was interrupted when he heard the bathroom door open. Dew’s body went rigid, he felt like a deer in the headlights, staring at the shower curtain in the direction of the door, hoping Anton wouldn’t come near him.

“Don’t mind me, Dew,” Anton said nonchalantly. “I’m just replacing your clothes, I’ll leave in a sec—” There was a noise, as if a cabinet door was opening, and a confused hum. Shit.

“A-Anton?” Dew squeaked.

“Yeah, uh,” Anton stood, holding Dew’s binder. “I didn’t know… you’re trans?” Dew’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropping and feeling like his entire world was over. “Uh, I’ll go get you some other clothes… be right back.” The door shut, and Dew was left alone once again.

The suspense itself was killing him, if not the fact this captor literally knew Dew’s other only weakness. What would happen to him now? Dew tried to let the pressure of the water raining down on his head drown out his thoughts, but it seemed he just couldn’t stop worrying anymore.

Dew’s spiral was interrupted once again when he heard the door open, and more shuffling on the other side of the curtain. He didn’t dare say anything unless he wanted it to come out as incomprehensible sobs.

“I put some different clothes on the counter,” Anton said. Dew couldn’t decipher his tone, it sounded normal, if not a little awkward, but he never had any idea what the man was thinking. If he didn’t know any better, it sounded like his captor was a bit remorseful. “I’ll uh, talk to you when you’re done?”

Anton once again left Dew alone with his thoughts. He didn’t know what he preferred more, honestly. Being alone, his mind thinking of all the terrible things that could happen to him, or being around his captor, where those thoughts could easily become reality.

The only thing Dew could really do was be done now. The water was starting to get cold, and he didn’t want to anger the scientist any more by taking too long. He peeked his head out the curtain to see a baggy sweater and sweatpants. Different from his other clothes, but much better than what he was wearing before. He put them on, and stared at the door.

Dew was tired. He wasn’t going to wait anymore; he had to face what he did, who he was. He had to get it over with, whatever it was that Anton was going to do to him. It’d be over eventually, and Dew could curl up under the bed again.

When he opened the door to see Anton staring at him, sitting cross legged on the edge of the bed, Dew crumbled. Pretending to be strong was so hard when all he felt was fear.

“J-just let me go, please!” Dew cried, falling to his knees. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wanted to go home. He’d do anything at this point. “It’s— you don’t want me. I-I have too many problems you’d have to deal with, it would be too much of a hassle! J-just let me go and t-take someone else to use as your test subject, p-please.” He knew it was selfish, but he didn’t care at this point. He didn’t want to be a lab rat.

“Dew… I’m not mad,” Anton said. Dew still couldn’t read his tone, nor his facial expression. What was he gonna do to him? “And obviously I’m not letting you go either, you learned that earlier. And frankly I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

Dew let out a small sob, but otherwise stayed silent, eyes drifting away. He felt Anton’s stare, his eyes felt like lasers burning into him, the events of earlier hitting him like a truck. He tried to escape, and he was so close.

“I don’t know what terrible thing you thought I would do if I knew you were trans, but I’m not like that. I’m not a monster.” Pretty ironic coming from the guy who kidnapped someone with the intent of turning him into his lab rat. “If you need like, hormones or something, I’ll give you that. You’re my test subject but you’re still human. I want you to stay happy and comfortable for the most part, you know? This factor would just interfere with the experiments.” When Dew still didn’t answer, Anton sighed. Which made Dew flinch, which made Anton feel even more… guilty?

“…If it makes you feel any better, I’m trans too.” Anton had never come out to another person before, besides his mentor.

“Really?” Dew’s head snapped up, surprised. He had certainly never expected that to be his reaction.

“Yeah,” Anton sighed. “And it’s not healthy for you to wear that binder for that long, you should know that.”

“…Yeah I know.”

“Okay,” Anton rolled his eyes. “So why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“Because you’re a fucking weirdo scientist who kidnapped me.”

“Seriously—”

“I want my binder back- please.”

“No can do, Dew. Sorry, I had to get rid of all your old clothes.”

“What? Why?”

“Relax, I can get you a new one if you really need it, though, you know, top surgery would be more optimal.” Dew could not believe what he was hearing.

“Wait, you could get me top surgery?”

“Yeah, I performed it on myself years ago. It’s no big deal really, I have lots of serums that make healing go faster, and makes everything less painful too. I know what it’s like to be dysphoric—”

“I want it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Yes I want it.”

“…I guess I’m not in a huge rush to start the experiments just yet…” Dew stared in disbelief. Was this real? Was this a trick? “But Dew, there’s something else I need to talk to you about.” Oh. Just as fast as Dew’s weird excitement came, it was gone and replaced with dread.

“W-What?”

“You tried to escape earlier.” Shit. “I was going to punish you for it, but I changed my mind.”

“O-oh…” Dew gulped.

“That was your freebie, any other escape attempt, or attempt to hurt me, or attempt to communicate to anyone outside, you’ll regret it. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes,” Dew shuddered under his gaze. No way in hell was he giving up just like that, but he’d keep his thoughts of escape to himself now. He just had to wait until the right moment came.

. . .

Anton “scheduled” the surgery for tomorrow, whatever that meant. It’s not like he had a real job or other responsibilities. Dew wondered how this guy could even afford a place like this, with all this expensive equipment and science stuff. Were his experiments being funded by an outside source? Oh god, that was a terrifying thought, the government being behind all this. Dew would have to ask about that later.

Everything felt so surreal. It always had, but now it was different. He didn’t know what he expected from his captor anymore, not after today.

Anton had told him he wouldn’t “punish” him for trying to escape earlier, pretending to understand what he was going through and that he’d “been there.” But he also warned, in his usual cryptically threatening ways, that if Dew makes any more escape attempts, there will be consequences. And that he didn’t want to know what Anton would do to him.

He also remembered earlier, when Anton was showing Dew all of those terrible experiments and lab equipment, and hinting at all of the terrible things he would do to Dew once he starts experimenting on him. He remembered what he was really here for, and that terrified him. No matter how “kind” Anton sometimes seemed, for some reason, he was still a stranger who wanted to hurt Dew. He was still the guy who took him from his friends and home.

And now he wanted to give Dew something he’s always wanted, his whole life, that he never expected to get, at least anytime soon. He worked a dead-end minimum wage job; he couldn’t possibly afford anything like this, and now it was being handed over to him like it was no big deal— from his abductor, no less. It didn’t make any sense. Anton took Dew’s life away, but he still wanted to keep him happy and comfortable in his body? His body that was surly to be changed by these experiments anyway? What was the point of all this?

Maybe it was because Anton’s trans too, and it would be easier for him if Dew was comfortable in his body. It’d be easier for him if he gave something Dew had always wanted, so he’d have some leverage over him— some reason for Dew to be in his debt. Dew knew that his captor wanted him to trust him, to be compliant in being experimented on, for some demented reason. But Dew wasn’t going to let that happen. He wasn’t ever going to give up his freedom for this guy, hell, he didn’t even know what the scientist’s goal was for him.

But now Anton had suggested that Dew get top surgery, and who was he to decline an offer like that? Dew knew it was probably a way to manipulate him, but he didn’t care. He’d always wanted this, and now, even if it was a sick and twisted way, he was happy he was getting it. He was still planning on not sticking around this place, escaping the next chance he got. But he also wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. Maybe if he kept learning more things about Anton, or vice versa, he’d keep going easy on him.

After all, he needed Anton to trust him, if he was ever going to get a chance to escape.

Dew didn’t know what time it was now, but it had to be pretty late. Anton told him he’d leave him alone for the rest of the day, that he should rest from the events from earlier. He tried that, but his mind was too active. He obviously couldn’t rest knowing what was going to happen to him tomorrow, so he was once again alone with his thoughts for a few hours until he heard the familiar footsteps coming towards the room.

Anton unlocked the door and walked in, holding a sandwich and some water. Dew hesitantly looked up from his spot on the bed, still terrified of the man.

“Here,” Anton said, holding the food out for Dew to take it, who chose to glare at the scientist instead. “Seriously? If I wanted you drugged, I’d just stick a needle in your arm. Just eat it.” He emphasized that by ripping a part off the sandwich and eating it himself, showing Dew that it was safe. He wondered how much longer Dew would be stubborn about not trusting his food.

As Dew ate, Anton kept staring. He did that a lot, Dew noticed. Dew tried to stare back, but the eye contact was way too uncomfortable sometimes.

“You really don’t talk much, do you?” Anton asked.

“I dunno.”

“When was your last T shot?” Shit. Dew wanted to avoid this today, but he supposed it was inevitable. He knew he needed to stay on schedule, but he really didn’t want this guy around him with needles, even for good reasons.

“…A week ago.” There was no point in lying about it though.

“Oh, so you need one today, then?” Anton asked. Dew nodded. “Alright.” The scientist left the room, locking the door behind him, and arrived shortly after with the stuff.

Dew, excited for something familiar in his routine since all this happened, was also terrified because that scientist was holding a needle again. The only other person he’d let give him his T shot was his doctor the first day, and then only he could. It was still hard for him, having to inject himself with a needle, but it was better than anyone else doing it.

Dew reached out to take the syringe, “I can do it,” he said.

“Dew, you’re shaking. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“W-well I don’t want you to do it!”

“Why not?” Was it really not obvious?

“I- It’s my T shot, I’ve done it like a million times before! I’ve been doing this for over three years now— just let me do it.”

Anton knew how scared his test subject was of needles, for reasons he didn’t understand. He supposed it would be easier to let Dew do it, considering he’d done it all those times before. But he still didn’t want Dew to get away with everything he wanted. His test subject would have to learn to do as Anton says.

“I’ll do it. You need to learn not to resist me. I won’t always go easy on you like today, you know.”

“Fine,” Dew said through gritted teeth. “Just get it over with.”

“We also need to work on your little fear of needles you have.” Anton said, prepping the needle and bringing it closer as Dew flinched. “It certainly makes things much harder than it needs to be.”

“I get it.” Dew sucked in a shaking breath as Anton rolled up his pants to expose his thigh. He was shaking in fear, he realized, Anton was right about that.

“Why are you so scared of needles anyway?” Anton asked as he plunged the needle into Dew’s leg.

“I- I dunno.” Dew squeezed his eyes shut, wishing this would go faster. Anton’s grip tightened on him as he leaned away, trying to stop the tears from flowing.

“Weird.” When Anton was done, he stood and started to leave. Dew let out a sigh of relief, finally alone.

“Asshole,” Dew whispered under his breath, thinking Anton couldn’t hear. That wasn’t the case, as the scientist suddenly whirled around and took Dew’s wrist in a grip, turning his test subject to face him.

“I let your escape attempt earlier slide because you’ve only been here only two days, and I… felt a bit of remorse. Gender dysphoria’s a bitch, so I’m trying to get rid of that obstacle for us. But know, I can do anything to you. You’re still just my test subject, know your place. If you try to escape, you will wish you didn’t.”

“J-Jeez okay, s-sorry!” Dew stuttered. Anton released his grip and exited the room.

“Get some rest, big day tomorrow.” The scientist said, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

. . .

Dew could hardly sleep that night, his mind racing with thoughts of the surgery. It was really happening, wasn’t it? A part of him knew he shouldn’t trust his captor, especially with something like this. What if he was lying? What if it was a trick to get Dew to agree to some terrible experimentation? Dew had to admit, it didn’t matter if he thought Anton was lying or not, because he was still going to accept that offer. There was a small chance that Anton was telling the truth, that he’d give Dew something he’d wanted all his life, and Dew wasn’t going to decline.

Besides, if Anton was that desperate to experiment on Dew, he could easily force his test subject to do anything without being able to stop him.

Dew realized it had to be Monday by now, and that his friends and coworkers were sure to notice he was gone. That gave him some hope, that maybe he’d be rescued soon. He just had to keep waiting it out, as he kept telling himself. He’d see Hayden, Layla and Sawyer again soon, and maybe tell them what he’d been waiting to for so long. He didn’t realize how much he missed them.

Dew didn’t get a lick of sleep that night. He was used to nights like that, he’d always been a sort of insomniac. He hoped Anton wouldn’t notice, but that was unlikely. It was morning before he knew it, and the clicks of the locks took Dew out of his racing mind.

Dew didn’t wait under the bed after Anton entered the room this time. He timidly crawled out before Anton said anything, too full of energy to stay still any longer.

“Big day, Dew.” Anton said with a big, unsettling grin on his face. “You excited?” Dew gulped. What was he thinking, trusting this maniac like this against his better judgment?

“Y-yeah,” Dew said. “I guess.” Anton’s eyes narrowed, looking his test subject up and down.

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Um, n-not really?”

“Huh. I’ll deal with that later. C’mon, let’s go then.”

“W-wait, I wanted to ask something, i-if that’s okay.” Dew fidgeted nervously with the hem of his sweater, and when Anton made a ‘go on’ gesture, he continued. He made sure to choose his words slowly and carefully. “I know I… I remember what you said yesterday. But um- I uh, I’m wandering if I can make a phone call? To- to tell my friends I’m okay… I d-don’t want them to worry about me. I miss them.”

That was at least half of the truth. Anton looked in a much better mood than yesterday, so maybe he’d recognize Dew’s sorrow and let him say goodbye to his friends, hopefully not realizing that Dew’s real plan was to somehow tell them he was in trouble and get someone to track the phone call.

“Dew,” it turned out that Anton had seen right through Dew’s half-assed plan, suddenly looking serious with his cold gaze locked onto his test subject. “Forget about them. Your home is here now, you’re not leaving. If I have to repeat this one more time, you’ll regret it. Understand?” Dew looked away, shuffling on his feet and trying to think of anything to say to convince his captor to go easy on him.

The silence seemed to anger Anton more, grabbing Dew’s chin in his hands, tilting his head up to look at him. It was intense, every time Dew made eye contact with the scientist, it was intense. Something about him, something about his eyes- it didn’t feel human. Dew didn’t know how to describe this feeling, but it terrified him. He felt like prey cornered by a predator, as if it was playing with its food. He remembered Anton asked him a question, and quickly nodded his head before he could scare him further.

“Say it. Say it and mean it.” When Dew hesitated, Anton moved his hand to rest on his test subject’s throat, squeezing lightly. It didn’t hurt, but the threat was known.

“I-I won’t leave,” Dew forced out, his mind screaming at him not to let himself believe it. “I won’t try to escape or- or contact anyone for help. Or ask to contact my f-friends, or anything like that.” When Anton still looked at him expectantly, Dew knew what he had to say next, though he was never going to mean it. “I-I’m your test subject now. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Good,” Anton released his grip and turned away towards the door, seemingly going back to normal as if none of that terrifying encounter had just happened. “Let’s go already.”

Dew followed Anton out the door, after he took the chain off his ankle and tied rope around his wrists and ankles this time, so he wouldn’t run. Dew was too sleep deprived and strangely excited to care about that terrifying lack of mobility out there, causing him no way to escape.

Dew once again reminded himself this was probably a manipulation tactic, and the odds were more than likely Anton was just going to preform some fucked up experiment on him instead. He remained cautious, glancing to the exit, reminding himself of yesterday. Reminding himself the same plan wouldn’t work, he’d have to think of something different another day, when he got a different chance.

They arrived at that operating table, and Anton stood to the side, gesturing Dew to lay down, to which he timidly did.

“So, um, h-how are you gonna do this?” Dew asked nervously as Anton walked around the table, picking up a few restraints. “It- it won’t be painful or anything, right?”

“You won’t feel a thing,” Anton said, smiling as he started restraining Dew to the table. He strapped his arms and legs down, making it impossible for his test subject to move. Once Dew realized what was happening, his struggles came too late, the terror of his situation finally catching up to him.

“W-What’s with the restraints?” Dew asked, voice shaking. He almost didn’t want to know the answer.

“It helps me relax,” Anton said nonchalantly, moving out of Dew’s line of sight.

“Okay, that makes absolutely zero sense, but whatever.” Dew tried to calm his nerves, but it felt impossible when all he could think about was this all being a trick to get him to agree to being directed like some alien’s research specimen.

“Calm down, I won’t hurt you, you know.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Dew continued struggling against his better judgment, hating being restrained like this. “Th-This isn’t a trick, right?”

“Dew, if I wanted to experiment on you, I’d just do it. It wouldn’t matter if you agree to it or not, because you’re mine. But no, this isn’t a trick. I’m not like that. You want top surgery, right?”

“Yeah!—”

“Great, then stay still.” Anton brought another dreaded syringe in Dew’s line of sight, and he held his breath in anticipation. Of course he knew this was coming, and he honestly sighed with relief knowing he’d be knocked out soon. He realized Anton could easily just operate on Dew while he was fully awake and conscious, feeling every cut, incision, and pain that came with it.

Dew closed his eyes as he felt the injection, and slowly started drifting away. The last thing he heard before succumbing to the anesthetic was a soft, “Goodnight, Dewey,” and then he was out.

. . .

Dew woke up a few seconds (hours) later, back in the room he’d been stuck in, lying snugly in bed and covered in the softest of blankets. His mind was groggy, and he could barely sense someone standing over him. There was pain, but it was dull, hardly noticeable. He honestly felt comfy there, relaxed and warm and without that blinding fluorescent light that would always shine in his eyes.

Right.

Dew slowly opened his eyes and tried to move into a sitting position, but found his body far too weak, and also felt a strange weight off his chest. That made sense. He felt a firm hand moving to hold him down to the bed, telling him he needed to rest. That was probably a good idea.

When Dew’s mind cleared enough to remember what was going on, he almost couldn’t believe it. His chest was flat, they were gone. He had just gotten something he’d always wanted.

Then why was he filled with so much dread?

Dew should be happy. He should be relieved. No more gender dysphoria. No more hiding in oversized hoodies or being forced to wear a binder all day. He was finally in a body that felt like his, he wasn’t trapped anymore. But yet he was, in a completely different way.

He should be with his friends right now, laughing and smiling and celebrating. Hayden would be holding his hand with his pet ball python on his shoulder, cheering him up and lightening the mood as he always would. Layla would be lovingly info-dumping about a special interest of hers, as usual, but in a way that made him feel loved as well, with her cat purring in his lap. Sawyer… He’d definitely be there too, cracking jokes and playing video games in the corner, too awkward for his own good, but that’s what Dew loved about him.

But that wasn’t what was happening. Dew was all alone and afraid in a scary place with the man who kidnapped him. He wasn’t with his friends, he wasn’t celebrating or eating cake or hugging his friends or listening to music. He was alone.

His friends must’ve been worried sick. Dew wondered if anyone was looking for him. He didn’t know what to feel, he’d always wanted this but… not like this. None of it was right, he didn’t belong here and he had to leave. He had to tell everyone the good news, he had to tell them that he—

Anton was in the room, and Dew almost felt like he could hear his spiral. He forced himself to calm down and stop thinking about home, it was too painful right now. He needed something real, something tangible to latch onto, otherwise he’d deteriorate.

“I’m th-thirsty,” Dew rasped. That was a good start. Focus on anything else.

Anton handed him a glass of water that must’ve been on the nightstand, and Dew gulped it down eagerly, ignoring the sudden sleepiness he felt, and the way his eyelids felt far too heavy to keep open all of a sudden.

. . .

The next week was spent with Dew resting in bed, relying on his captor for everything, and it felt humiliating. He absolutely hated it.

The scientist told him that the healing process would go much faster than usual, because of what could only be described as some sort of healing potion he had concocted. Dew didn’t care for science, and he certainly had no interest in listening to Anton explain it, much less trying to understand what he was explaining.

But he was right, the recovery was quick. Though, Dew was filled with drugs and painkillers and even sedatives, after he resisted succumbing to the sleepy effects of the healing concoction and falling asleep.

What was worse, was that when Dew was awake, he could hardly move anyway. The first few days of recovery was spent relying on Anton for everything. Being hand fed food, water, having to be carried to the bathroom, he hated being so dependent on the guy holding him captive.

It was a few days after the surgery, when Anton came into Dew’s room to feed him. Dew hated to admit it, but he was starting to get lonely by himself, and started to look forward to when Anton would come to see him. It wasn’t like he had anyone to talk to or anything to do besides stare at the ceiling and count the seconds.

“You hungry?” Anton asked, a bowl of chicken noodle soup in hand.

“Yeah,” Dew said, getting used to this new routine. He was excited for when he’d finally be recovered enough to do, well, anything for himself again. And sleep under the bed, away from the open space, bright lights, and the scientist.

Anton sat at the edge of the bed and helped Dew sit up, taking a spoonful of the soup and raising it to Dew’s mouth. He hated this, it was excruciatingly hard not to curse his captor out whenever he fed him like this, but he realized it only helped gain Anton’s trust. Which of course, he needed.

Dew sighed and moved his mouth to the spoon, eating the contents of it. He felt like a doll Anton was playing with, or some animal he was training to be nice and docile, not the wild animal yearning for freedom that it was.

Dew learned to just let Anton do what he wanted, and it was easier to just get it over with than let it ride out forever. Arguing with the scientist never worked, so what was the point? When Dew was done eating, instead of Anton getting up to leave, he began to speak.

“It’s been a few days, you probably need a bath, huh?” Hell the fuck no.

And then Dew was being carried to the bathroom, helped out of his clothes, and gently set in the bathtub. He hated absolutely everything about this. The scientist seemed to not notice- or care- about Dew flinching as he raised his hands to Dew’s head.

“Relax, Dew,” Anton said gently, carding his hands slowly through Dew’s fluffy hair as he washed it thoroughly. Dew hated that he let himself lean into the touch (he blamed that on the drugs), the only nice touch he had gotten since he’d been thrown into this place.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He was almost fully submerged under the water, his body not visible under the bubbles. Dew closed his eyes, imagining himself anywhere else, with anyone else doing this to him. He felt a warm rag slowly wiping away the grime on his face, wincing as he let it happen. He couldn’t help but find it relaxing when Anton poured warm water over his head, rinsing away the shampoo from his hair.

And then it was time for Anton to check how his body was healing, which was fine with Dew because he didn’t really feel any gender dysphoria anymore. After the bath, Anton helped Dew stand and gently wrapped a towel around his body, and used another towel to dry his hair off.

It all felt so surreal, once again. Why was his captor being so nice to him? Why did he care so much about how Dew felt about any of this, about his mental well being? Was he trying to manipulate Dew into wanting to stay here? Because it was… Not working.

Sure, it was nice. And Dew didn’t remember the last time he’d been treated like this, without having to worry about responsibilities like work or chores. But he was still being held against his will. And he could not let himself forget about his status here, as a test subject. As the week went on, and that healing stuff did its magic, Dew was only filled with more dread for the future. He could tell that Anton was getting antsy too, excited to finally be able to start experimenting on his little lab rat.

Besides eating, using the toilet, and the few baths he was given, Dew spent most of his recovery from the surgery unconscious. He argued against it, but Anton told him it meant the healing potion— what Dew chose to call it— was doing its job.

Dew guessed it could be worse. He was kinda happy he was unconscious for most of his recovery, in a strange way. Dew hated being in pain, and sleeping it away basically meant it was never there to begin with. He didn’t like the fact that he was losing count of the days though, and was more than frustrated that Anton refused to give Dew a calendar.

It was about a week and a half since the surgery, and Dew was already fully back to normal. He reminded himself that he was supposed to be scared of Anton, and started sleeping under his bed again to avoid the guy. Whatever terrible experiments the scientist was planning would surely start soon, and Dew was more than terrified. He just hoped they wouldn’t be too painful, and that he’d get out of here soon. Maybe this whole experience would just end up being free top surgery and a small vacation from work, and then he’d get rescued and could forget any of this ever happened. That would be nice.

One more thing lingered in the test subject’s mind. He didn’t understand why Anton was so adamant on taking his clothes and belongings away from him. It wasn’t like he was too picky about what Dew wore now anyway, just a few different sweaters and sweatpants when he wasn’t bedridden in recovery. But there had to be a reason, right?

Dew hummed some of his favorite songs to himself, missing his music. Despite everything, he hated being alone. He couldn’t stop thinking about his friends now, wishing he had spent more time with them the week before he was taken. He just wanted to go home.

—

this chapter was not very whumpy but like, necessary for the story and stuff. now that the boring stuff is out of the way, the test subject can actually start being experimented on soon :) fun stuff.

taglist: @whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long @whump321 @fuckcapitalismasshole @sorry-i-spaced @theelvishcowgirl

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

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bloodyandfrightened · 1 year ago

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Hii!

This is my writing/whump blog. You can call me Newt, I'm a minor and I use he/him pronouns. Right now I'm experimenting with what I like to write so I can't really give you any specifics as to what kind of stuff I'll be posting - I'll try to tag things what come up, but if I miss anything let me know and I'll fix it.

Please send asks they're super fun - I promise you even if you think it's something stupid I'll appreciate it :) On the same note, if you could leave *constructive* criticism on my writing I would super appreciate it!! After all, it's good to have a fresh set of eyes on your writing - how are you supposed to improve if you don't listen to feedback?

I am queer, transgender, and disabled so if you're a bigot do yourself a favour and block me - it will save both of us some time.

Thanks for reading, have a good day/night/noon <333

I can't figure out how to make a masterlist be linked in my bio so I'm just going to use this as a sort of masterlist/intro.

Whumptober 2023: 7/31

#whump #constructive critism welcome #whump writing #whump blog #oc #own writing #writing #whumpblr #intro post #masterlist

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whumpty-dumpty · 2 years ago

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I received some notes on the previous poll where people were upset that I didn't include a non-binary whumpee/ caretaker option. I tried to make a new poll.

But then I thought including only male/ female / non-binary would also be unfair and I wanted to include non-binary, transgender, agender and omnigender. But then I would need 48 rows in that poll. And you can only have 10 rows in a post.

Then I thought I could make a poll "same sex whumpee/caretaker, different sex whumpee / caretaker" but that also wouldn't work with non-binary and agender, if I understand that correctly.

So I'm gonna leave it as it is. Sorry to everyone who doesn't feel represented in that poll.

Also, please don't take it too seriously. I didn't mean any harm by making the poll that way. I was just thinking this morning that I like male whumpee/ male caretaker soooo much more than any other constellation and was wondering if others feel the same.

#whump poll #non-binary whump #whumpee #caretaker

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only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are · 2 years ago

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The Plan - Operation Valkyrie (Part 6)

MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5

CWs: lab whump, female whumpee, human experimentation, violence mentioned, torture descriptions

Valkyrie was taken for continuous tests and exams throughout the following weeks, although she wasn’t quite sure of the exact passage of time. In a confined space with only blank white walls as far as the eye could see, and only the terrifying presence of cruel scientists who treated her like no more than a lab rat, all time blurred together. Every day was a continuation of the pain and suffering. She fought them every time, and had to face the consequences.

Aside from the never-ending drugging that induced nightmares, obedience, attention-seeking, and other behaviours or results that human pet owners might desire, she was also the subject of testing for other pet tools.

They brought in an ‘advanced’ shock-collar once, a tight collar which cut off her air-supply and made her cheeks grow red with humiliation. Any time she disobeyed her orders, a current coursed through her body, leaving her twitching on the floor. It also made the stitches from the vivisection throb.

They made every living hour of her existence hell, and she could tell they enjoyed it. But still, she tried not to let them win.

She spoke to the person in the cell across the hall every day, trying to convince them to do the same. Slowly, the girl came out of her shell more and more. She stood up, and fought back, regardless of what they did to her. Valkyrie gradually became more comfortable around the other subject, enough to tell her she was transgender. The girl was unbothered by this news, much to Valkyrie’s relief. That moment gave her a tiny piece of her humanity back. She hoped she was doing the same for the other subject, who finally told Valkyrie that her name was Jade.

After several long conversations with Jade, Valkyrie began to depend on the other girl’s presence - though she didn’t notice it, until it was gone.

One day, Valkyrie was dumped in her cell after a particularly grueling round of experiments, and went to chat with her neighbour - only to realise Jade was nowhere to be found. It took several more hours for Jade to be thrown in the cell, only half-conscious. Her head was wrapped with a large bandage, and all the hair on her head had been shaved off. Valkyrie pressed her bloody palm against the glass, desperate to hold Jade close. But the other girl didn’t move an inch, even when Valkyrie called out her name.

After several days of anticipation on Val’s part and lots of rest on Jade’s part, the other girl was eventually well enough to explain to Valkyrie what had happened to her, and it made Valkyrie’s heart sink.

“They drilled into my head, and put these in.” Jade explained, as she pointed to an area above her ear, where the bandage had previously covered. Now two small metallic circles were visible, surrounded by stitches. “They play loud whistles, like dog whistles, that force my body to go into different positions against my will.”

Instantly, Valkyrie remembered the experiment in which they placed earbuds in her ears, which played the whistles - and knew they had made this first experiment more permanent.

Valkyrie sank to her knees in front of the clear wall. “Jade, I’m sorry..”

She paused, remembering that Jade preferred to be called her number - but the other girl didn’t correct her.

“I’m done with them. They’ve drugged me, cut me open, humiliated me, and stole my life and my freedom away from me. I’m not going to let them anymore.” Jade began to sob, clutching her knees close to her chest.

“Let’s get out of here, together. You know this place better than I do. Where are the exits, how do we leave?” Valkyrie pleaded. She’d never seen Jade cry in all their time together so far. She was usually so distant, regardless of what they did to her.

“I don’t know. I’m usually too out of it to remember.” Jade sighed, wiping her tears on her hospital gown, which was stained with blood.

“Okay. Well, we start by trying. Maybe we can use small markers - cracks in the walls, malfunctioning bulbs - to make our way out.” Valkyrie murmured.

“Like Hansel and Gretel’s bread crumbs?” Jade sniffed.

“Exactly.” Valkyrie lowered her voice. “And it might be good to figure out a distraction, to keep the guards away.”

“What can we use to distract them?”

“Anything that makes a big commotion. We might just have to bide our time for a bit and use what comes to us.” Valkyrie whispered.

– - - - - - - - - - -

And so, they did. They would watch, and wait, and when they were back together, they would share the information they had learnt. They were more alert and aware of their environment, though they did their best not to show it.

They used numbers and plaques on doors that helped them figure out where they were. Neither girl ever saw emergency exits.

Valkyrie endured the growing discomfort that grew under her skin with each test, each moment that she deliberated over the escape. But she forced herself to bide her time, to breathe through the pain and the fear. Because it would be worth it if they could escape successfully.

Days passed, and Valkyrie found herself on the floor of the cell, blood trickling from a deep cut in her arm that had been unprompted punishment from a guard. As Jade crawled closer to the wall of her own cell, Valkyrie huffed through tears.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered. “I need to get out. I don’t care if we don’t have a really clear escape. Let’s just risk it. I cannot keep doing this.”

Jade nodded. “You’re right. I can’t even remember how long I’ve been here. I keep trying to see my parents’ faces, and now all that’s left is a vague blur, like in a dream. Let’s get home.”

Taglist:

@inky-whump @whumppsychology @whumpnoire

#lab rat whump #whump community #whumpblr #lab whump #whump fics #human experimentation whump #violence #whump drabble #female whumpee #dehumanisation whump #this is a short one #very tempted to make a gender swap version

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brokeneos · 2 years ago

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Broken Eos #1: Eri

TW: Violence, kidnapping, abuse, blood, sexual assualt, general assault, transphobia, homophobia, other forms of lgbt-phobia, (basically, if you can think of it, it's probably going to happen at some point in the series)

Foreward: There will be multiple different storylines going simultaneously in the same world (actually in the same city), and they will slowly become interwoven as characters start to meet. Major changes will take place in the world that will be seen independently affecting the separate characters. The world itself is essentially the real world, but set in a fictional city. And fantasy elements will be introduced as time goes on. But that's for the future! Right now, you get to be introduced to our very first whumpee together, Eri!

Shuffling into the alley, Eri flipped her brown hair back over her shoulder and rubbed her stiff neck, cursing Morning Eri. Every morning, she had a spur of motivation to walk to work and exercise, but after work, Night Eri kicked herself the whole way home. The last thing she wanted to do after a long day of retail was walk over a mile through dark city streets. And it was getting colder. November meant they might see snow any day. Thankfully, the heat was holding out.

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she pushed her large, round glasses back up. A headache had settled in throughout the day, and she couldn't wait to get at her bottle of painkillers when she got home. Everything hurt.

Sharp, white light exploded through the back of Eri's skull and everything went dark.

The throbbing of her skull threatened to split her head in two as Eri started to piece back together broken fragments of consciousness. The cold air nipped at bare skin as she wiggled her fingers and toes, trying to remember how to command her body to move. Her bare arms brushed against rough concrete, though the sensation was muted. Like her skin had a layer of cotton over it. Peeking through slitted lids, she couldn’t see anything. No light stabbed her vision, though opening her eyes still didn’t do her head any favors.

She gingerly raised her hand to the back of her head, lifting it carefully off the concrete floor. Even that motion was enough to make her nauseous, but she managed to rub over the back of her skull and feel the massive lump at the base of her skull. It had to be bigger than the knuckle of a grown man’s thumb, and even lightly caressing it sent white hot pain sparking through her scalp.

Sucking a breath in through her teeth, she heaved onto her side and curled into a close approximation of the recovery position, letting her temple rest on the cool concrete floor. Time no longer meant anything as she lay still, counting her breaths. Seconds didn’t exist. Only breaths and heartbeats, the later of which she could feel pulsing through her head. She had never had the healthiest heart, and with the stress of her new situation, it was thumping hard and fast.

After two hundred breaths, she felt somewhat steady and tried opening her eyes again. Still no light. She couldn’t even see the floor right next to her eyes. Carefully and slowly, she picked herself up and groped around her surroundings. The concrete floor met concrete wall in three directions. She was in a very small chamber. She could feel all four walls from where she sat. The fourth of which was cold metal, and it gave ever so slightly, and it had a thin gap at the bottom. A door?

“Am I…” She whispered despite herself. “I can’t… Am… Am I… Blind?”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she curled her legs up into her chest, eyes frantically darting around. The more she did so, the more her head ached, but she couldn’t stop. Fear welled in her chest as absolutely nothing met her vision. No shapes. Not the barest hint of light. Pure, unrelenting darkness. She cried out, scratching at her eyes. Her glasses clattered to the ground and she scratched and clawed at her eyes, begging at the top of her lungs to see something. Anything. She couldn’t be blind. She couldn’t be blind. She couldn’t. She couldn’t.

Rubbing and scratching desperately, she could feel something warm dripping from her eyebrow that sobered her up fast. She’d made herself bleed. Taking a deep, shaking breath, she curled back into the corner of her tiny chamber. She might not be blind… It might just be dark. Very. Very. Dark. And if she wasn’t blind, then scratching her eyes out would most certainly make her blind. Calm.

Relax.

She took another breath.

Wait a minute…

Where the fuck was she?

Her eyes flashed open again as she realized that she’d completely ignored her situation. Fear pumped through her veins once again as she felt her throat close off.

Kidnapped.

Her mind instantly jumped to it, and she knew that it was the only answer. She had been kidnapped. Her last memory was walking home, then pain, then waking up in a tiny room. Jumping to her feet, she threw herself at the door, grasping around for a handle. Finding it, she fought to turn it, but found it locked tight. Throwing herself against the door again, she cried out as lightheadedness brought her back to her knees, and brought bile up into her throat. She forced it back down and pounded against the door again, albeit weaker this time.

Her mind flickered through everyone that she knew. She’d made it a point not to talk to her family. They really wouldn’t notice anything amiss if she never talked to them again. She didn’t have any friends. Not any real ones anyway. Just people online who would move on if she didn’t check in. Her job dealt with no shows too frequently, and likely would just remove her from the payroll without a second thought. She was… Nobody… She had… Nobody. She was alone, and nobody was coming to save her. Nobody would even know she was gone. Her landlord would evict her, and she wouldn’t even be there to stop him from repossessing all of her things. He wouldn’t even know that she was missing. Someone else would move into her apartment, and she’d be locked in a concrete box, screaming until her voice gave out.

Shaking with fear, she curled back into as tight a ball as she could and stared off into the blackness, uncontrollable panic flooding her every sense. Would she die here? Would she die alone here? Would anyone even come back for her? Was she going to be left to starve?

Eri quietly wept.

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but Eri was roused from a dreamless, restless slumber to the sound of squeaking hinges. her eyes fluttered open to see a streak of light pouring through the underside of the door. Joy lept in her chest as she realized she wasn't blind, though the sweet euphoria quickly soured at the fear of whatever lay beyond that steel door.

A muffled grumbling filled her ears as it sounded like two people were arguing about something before they fell silent and footsteps approached her door. A lock rattled and the heavy metal door groaned open, a large silhouette blocking the rectangle of searingly bright light.

She sat still, unmoving, like an animal caught in headlights as the large figure took one step into the tiny chamber and a hand came down to grasp her hair, wrenching her to her feet. She cried out in pain, scrambling up the wall behind her to try and keep pace and save her hair. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see the figure better. Eri herself stood at five foot six, so this mountain of a man had to be well over six feet tall, and covered in thick muscle. His neck looked thicker around than her thigh, though that wasn't really saying much.

Sharp, coal black eyes peered down at her from underneath a tousle of dark brown hair. A square jaw ground together as this man pushed her back against the wall and he started to grope over her body like she were nothing but a piece of meat at the store.

She struggled and fought, trying to push his arm away, but it was like trying to push a century old oak tree over. Nonetheless, he relaxed his grip on her shoulder, and she lurched forward, surprised and off-balance.

With surprising dexterity, his hand had gone from her shoulder to her neck, and he slammed Eri back against the wall without even a grunt. Pain rocked through the bruise on the back of her skull, and she went limp in his grip, squeaking out what little air she had left in her lungs. Eri felt her chest start to burn as the man closed her windpipe.

She weakly scrabbled at the arm holding her neck, but her own arms felt like lead. She couldn't move if she tried, and there wasn't the energy left to try.

All the while, the man's other hand roamed over her body, feeling her chest and shoulders, her sides and stomach, her back and behind, down her legs and inner thighs, before finally groping over her crotch. Her vision was tunneling as she felt him suddenly freeze, the hand on her throat tightening even more, threatening to crush her esophagus, before he dropped her to the ground without a word and stormed out of her tiny room.

"You fucking idiot!" He shouted as he went. "You picked up a goddamned tranny!"

Eri wheezed a painful breath in as she tried to push herself back up, but found her arms failing her as she slumped back to the ground.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Another voice called.

"You heard me you fucking goddamned useless..."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No! Why the hell didn't you check?!"

Someone else stepped into the light of the doorway and Eri glanced up to see a shorter man, likely standing just a few inches taller than she, looking down at her. "I'm kinda busy grabbing them, you know! I don't walk around assuming that every chicks' got a dick!"

The first man rubbed his face and shook his head. "Well, now what?"

"I mean... She might still work... Looks like a girl to me..."

"No! It's not going to work! She might look the part, but she doesn't have the parts! He specifically asked for a girl that he can sell as a mother! She ain't gonna be mothering any children!" He scoffed, smacking the shorter man over the head. "I don't have a buyer for something like this!"

The shorter man thought for a moment and Eri got a better look at his features. Though he was shorter, he was no less strong. Thick muscles rippled through his body, and he looked like he'd taken one too many steroid shots. He had light brown skin, cropped black hair, and looked to be Hispanic. "I can still go grab another. We still got the other house. It's only been a day. We should have plenty of time."

The taller man nodded, "Fine. Sure."

"But what are we gonna do about this one? I could always dump her."

"No. She might be useful. It just depends on if I find a buyer. Go grab another girl, and make sure this next one has a HOLE, and take her to the other house. Get your boys on it. I'll work on this one. If we can find a buyer, she'll go for a hell of a lot more than a simple breeding bitch. And it'll be under the table, so you and I split it 30/70."

"Hold up..." The shorter man interjected, but the larger man cut him off.

"Not only did you fuck up and make this a headache, but I'm going to be training this one practically alone. And on top of that, I need to find a new buyer. One that isn't going to go over our heads and get us lynched for operating under the table. You're lucky I cut you in at all, considering all you did was grab the bitch, and such a catholic boy that you didn't even feel up the goods while you did it to realize she's got the wrong parts!"

The shorter man grumbled under his breath but finally nodded. "Alright. Alright, fine." And with that, he stormed off.

Eri shook violently through the whole conversation. Coherent thought was out the window as her mind stammered and stuttered in panic. The huge man sighed and grabbed her by the hair again, throwing her up and back against the wall.

She cried out in pain, trying to move with the throw to save herself from the wrenching pain again, but it didn't do much as she slammed back against the wall headfirst. Dazed, she slumped back and felt as the man moved her around like a doll, stripping her out of her clothes. Her futile attempts at resistance earned her a harsh backhand across the face. Soon enough, she stood in the nude before the man in front of her.

He stepped back to look her over.

"Decent, natural chest. Least it doesn't feel fake..." He mused. "And you've even gone and gotten those balls removed. That helps... I think..."

Eri shivered at the eyes trailing over her. She had gotten an orchiectomy the year before, but couldn't afford full SRS.

The man grabbed her chin and forced her eyes up to meet his. "You'll call me Master or Sir. Anything else, and you get punished. Understood?"

Eri froze with fear, unable to speak. Unable to move.

"You will answer me when I tell you to. Do you understand?" The grip on her chin tightened, and she could feel pain pulsing through her jawbone as he threatened to crush it completely.

She could not speak. She could not move.

He pulled out a knife and flipped it open, holding the blade against her cheek. Coal eyes burning. "Do. You. Understand."

She could not speak. She could not move.

He pressed the knife into her cheekbone, deep and relentless, as he slowly split her skin down her cheek to her jaw. Blood poured from the wound, soaking over his fingers as he kept his crushing grip on her chin.

Finally, a fuse flipped in Eri's brain, and she cried out in pain, trying to pull away, but found herself at the mercy of his grip.

"What. Is. My. Name." He snarled, so close that his nose touched hers.

"Master, sir!" Eri cried, eyes pinching shut.

As soon as the words left her lips, his grip on her chin vanished. She heaved a breath before a harsh jab took her in the stomach, driving her to her knees and leaving her breathless and sucking for air.

"For making me wait, you'll go without food tonight. In the future, my punishments won't be so lenient."

With that, he slammed the door closed.

Oh boy! I'm excited to keep going. Honestly, I don't want to stop, but I need to get to bed at a reasonable hour. Damned adulting. Anyway, that's Eri's intro done! I'm still torn on whether next chapter will be Eri continued, or if I introduce another set of unrelated characters. Should I keep going with the one character we already know, and keep establishing her? Seems smarter than just jumping around. I'll sleep on it! Anyway, let me know what y'all think!

taglist: @darkthingshappen @leyswhumpdump @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @t0rture-me @darlingwhump @ender-whumps @the-infinant-one @endless-whump @bluewhumpcrew @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal @whumpqin @whumpyblogthing @whumpzone @catawhumpus @quietlywhump @whumpy-catfish @dont-be-gentle-please @the-bloody-sadist @whumpinggrounds @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi [let me know if you do or don't wanna be on this list :D

#whump #whumpee #whumper #whump writing #fantasy whump #transgender whumpee #trans whumpee #Whump stuff #whump story #whumpee oc #whump oc #other such assorted tags and things #Broken Eos Whump

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