#transgender whumpee

[whumpy-wyrms]

early captivity transmasc whumpee having to out themself because they got their period and have to ask whumper to get them pads and stuff send post. it’s really humiliating and also nerve wracking since they don’t know how whumper will react. bonus if whumper gives them everything they need and even pain meds for the first time. bonus bonus if whumper gives them gender affirming care to try and stop it (they can excuse torture and whatnot but they are NOT letting their whumpee have gender dysphoria on their watch.)

[cepheusgalaxy]

whump promt

I has this idea other day. Imagine with me:

(TW: transphobia, abusive parents, gender dysphoric situation, deadnaming, emotional whump, manipulation)

A transphobic manipulative parent as /whumper/

A trans kid (their child) just trying to be happy as /whumpee/

Yes, a very toxic dinamic, but it's whump after all

So, Whumper has a child, right? They raise them, do their parenting kinda right, and then the kid grows up, and turns out they don't identify with their birth-assigned gender.

At first, Whumper shows acceptance. They respect them. Tells Whumpee they are their pretty little kid no matter what. That they'll love them always.

But then, Whumper's not-that-good-parenting-tatics goes... worse.

Now imagine, if you will, Whumpee does something that is not very much at Whumper's like.

Whumper starts calling them their birthname.

Every now and then, Whumper expects obedience and compliance, and if Whumpee disappoints them, they'll misgender them as punishment

Imagine Whumpee is a very dysphoric person

They don't want to be Birthname. It's not them. They tried hard to be themselves and now they try hard to be good. If they are, it's ok, their parent won't do that anymore.

They love them, after all.

And Whumper keeps manipulating them.

Can you imagine how would be with Caretaker?

Maybe, their parent goes locked away (thanks god), or maybe dies (what a shame), or then thieir parents were divorced and now Whumpee is going to live with Other Parent

They meet Caretaker at a new school, maybe?

And then we have all the good stuff (my favorite part): trauma/conditioning recovery! fluff! comfort! healthy relationships! respectful parters! yayyyy, you name it.

Well, that was one of the most painful whump scenarios I could manage to imagine. Don't know if any of you are going to use this, but well, anyways

[pixelated-whump]

Zero's Info

Meet Zero! Zero is an Animal Shapeshifter, with his main form being a Chinchilla. He's 22 and is 5'6, as well as bisexual and transgender (He/They pronouns).

Zero was kidnapped a few months prior to his story taking place, but is still feisty and loud despite everything.

He enjoys music and video games, though hasn't had either in his captivity.

Zero is open for asks and/or whump scenarios.

Zero's Story (TBA)

[featherlovesrobots]

angvijrenvin Kyrie ::))

look at her she's a mess. she is having a terrible time i love her

epic writing as usual Heather!! I love the sledgehammer comparison

For Crownchain :)

... POISONED // Pleading // "You never shut up, do you?"

— 🎄

Behold!! Thank you so much for the ask!! This one is a little on the short side but since I've been low on energy lately I'm just glad to have written anything at all :)

Kyrie whimpers, curled up on the floor, rocking herself back and forth. She's too nauseous to stand, or move, or do anything, really. She's just useless.

"Please, just — please just give me a fail and — and let me go," she sobs, in-between choking for air and swallowing back her own bile.

Preceptor Sena sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's sitting on the table, the one with the vials, the antidote just within reach.

"You couldn't even stay standing for two minutes," he says. "Tell me honestly, Kyrie. How do you ever expect to graduate? Service exam, failed. Combat, consistently poor performance. Constant complaints about your conduct. Writeups, writeups, writeups, as far as the eye can see." He sighs again, smoothing out his blue robes. "And now endurance. Not even two minutes. The minimum passing time you need is five."

Kyrie mewls, rocking herself back and forth, squeezing her eyes shut. She struggles herself onto all fours and heaves, nothing coming up, wanting nothing more than to just feel okay again. Her head is pounding against itself like someone's taken a sledgehammer to it.

"Please let me go. Please.." she whispers, too weak to speak any louder.

Preceptor Sena looks at her. "You never do shut up, do you? Maybe you get low grades just because the other staff can't stand you. I don't blame them."

"Please." Her voice breaks.

He looks at his watch. "In a few minutes, maybe. I don't think you're quite.. motivated enough yet."

Kyrie curls up as small as she can manage, wishing to be somewhere else.

[whumble-beeee]

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)

* * * * * * * *

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.

* * * * * * * *

Next

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!)

[saltandseawater]

Hi, I'm Salt!

30's/nb/they/them

I've been browsing whump shit idly for years now and i finally have the guts to jump in and do actually post some writing! This is: A whump sideblog with literary aspirations.

I write oc fiction, and I'm also committed to writing diversely so. POC whump, lady whump, trans whump, they are all on the table here. If i write anything that only has cis white men in it, shoot me, I'm possessed.

This blog will primarily be posting noncon, nsfwhump, SA, whatever you want to call it. Please don't interact if you are under 18, or if you are upset by such topics.

Tropes you will probably see on this blog:

kidnapping

slavery whump

fantasy whump

torture

bondage

defiant whumpee

Tropes that I will not touch

pet whump

Current Stories:

Torn Red Abyss: Masterpost

F/NB, noncon, knifeplay, torture, bondage and kidnapping, frank discussions of SA and trauma updates on fridays

Kiran Adhikari just wanted a smoke and a hook up, but now they're trapped in their apartment with an insane person with a knife, the remains of their broken life slipping through their fingers. But not without a fight.

--

Oathbreaker

Multiple/F, F/F noncon, gangbang, fantasy whump, transgender

Lerina's Oathtakers have breached the border, and they're intent on reclaiming magic for their god. Amina, a mage and the local protector of a small village, gets on their bad side.

[featherlovesrobots]

➔ “Hey. Mind playing for me for a while…? It helps me sleep.” ➔ “Any chance to dazzle you with my skills. Got a request?”

It’s quiet here. The gentle, nighttime kind of quiet Whumpee used to love. Before his life was turned upside down. Before he was snipped and cut and probed until he was new. Before Whumper.

There are differences. He tries to focus on the differences.

The clothes hanging on his body are cotton — one of Caretaker’s big t-shirts over a pair of worn lounge shorts with looped strings. So unlike the heavy chains and suffocating gags and robes Whumper had him wear. The room is bigger, but more full. Couches and bookshelves and tables with checkered clothed draped over them. Fuzzy rugs and soft-colored paintings. And the air is warm, much warmer and clearer than his cell.

But it’s quiet. A different kind of quiet, pierced by owls purring outside and the whistle of the tea kettle and the humming of the air heater, but still quiet. Similar enough to the silence that dragged over the atmosphere there, burrowing into Whumpee’s brain and spiraling him to what felt like destruction, like his eyes bleeding out and dribbling down his chin, like his fingers ripping and tearing and splitting at his still thin, patchy hair. But now he’s here. That eyes nightmare — it never even happened. And the hair, it’s growing back, it’s even soft now. But the silence… oh, the silence.

“Caretaker?” He calls out, lifting his voice as high as he dares. He’s been feeling better about being verbal lately, even though Whumper’s no-talking rule still sticks like tar.

Caretaker’s voice filters in from the kitchen. “Yeah, hon?”

The soft pattering of liquid being poured fills the thick quiet — the tea must be done. Whumpee curls tighter into the corner of the couch. “You gonna be in there much longer?”

“No, I’m almost done. One teaspoon sugar, no milk?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

They twirl to the couch, skirt flaring and that crooked sunswept smile splashed on their face. They extend a white ceramic mug towards Whumpee, and he takes it in both hands, careful and easy. He’s gotten better at that, too. Being given things.

As he lifts the rim to his lips, Caretaker plops down next to him, sitting cross-legged and sipping their own cup. “How is it? Good?” They probe, tilting their head.

“It’s great. I don’t know how you do it,” Whumpee answers, returning that smile of theirs. It’s true. The sage-tinted, lightly-sugared water runs hot down their throat. It always feels good to drink something warm, but somehow Caretaker’s tea is always the best.

Caretaker chats with Whumpee for a while, even after tea is done. It’s sweet of them to put so much effort into making him comfortable. They’ve always been so cheerful and patient and talkative around him, even though they’re naturally a pretty quiet person. They probably know it makes him feel safer. To be away from the quiet.

It’s probably midnight by the time Caretaker starts yawning. And Whumpee dreads it, the same way he does every night. It helps that Caretaker’s there with him, but it’s when it starts feeling like he’s running. Running fast and far but the silence always catches up and twists its way into his mind again.

Caretaker stands and offers him a hand. Gingerly he takes it, lets himself be pulled to his feet and guided to his bedroom — the guest room, a cozy place with a square TV and a soft bed with star-patterned sheets matching the glow-up lights on the ceiling. The stars, they help too. But they’re quiet too.

“Okay, well, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning, dear.” Caretaker turns around and steps towards the door, but Whumpee catches them by the wrist.

Caretaker pauses, slowly turning back to look at him. “Whumpee?”

“Hey. Would you mind playing for me for a while?” Whumpee licks his lips, eyes darting to the floor. “It helps me sleep.”

Caretaker grins. “Any chance to dazzle you with my skills. Got a request?”

That’s how they end up sitting at his bedside, playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on their cello. The silence melts away like ice on a pond, first night of spring. Music pours out into the air, warm and soft, and fills Whumpee’s head with cotton.

It’s not a real solution. He knows that. And eventually, he’ll need to stop relying on Caretaker so much.

But for now, this is home.

"Hey. Mind playing for me for a while...? It helps me sleep." + Musician!Caretaker

"...Of course."

"It'll take me a second to get the guitar, are you okay if I leave for a second?"

"Yeah. But you'll have to let go of my hand, first."

"Any chance to dazzle you with my skills. Got a request?"

"I haven't sung in a while, but I'll do my best okay?"

[skittles-the-whumpee]

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. ❤️

[whumping-valentine]

🩸 Blood Money Characters! 🩸

I've spent way too long mulling over the descriptions, so now I'm saying "whatever!" and releasing this into the wild, lol. It's FINE.

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Name: Charles McCoy

Occupation/feild: Studies tech, works fast food

Role: Whumpee/Whumper/Caretaker

Identity: Cisgender, Gay, He/Him

Charles is the black sheep of the McCoy family. Nothing he ever does seems to please their judging eyes. The rest of the McCoys got into law, justice, and science, viewing it as helping society. When Charles decided to pursue his passions in technology, it only further disappointed them. He makes sandwiches on minimum wage to get by, his family refusing to help him financially. His financial troubles lead him to discovering his rare blood type -- of which "donations" can apparently earn him a lot of money.

Theme song(s):

If I Killed Someone for You - Alec Benjamin

Blood - My Chemical Romance

Tighter Noose - Abandoned Pools

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Name: Connor McCoy

Occupation/feild: Engineer

Role: Whumpee/Whumper/Caretaker

Identity: Cisgender, Gay, He/Him

Connor is the golden boy of all his siblings. He's the favorite child, and in the eyes of his family, he can do nothing wrong. Pursuing his degree in explosive engineering, he had hopes of working with his father to safely recover bombs, which he does. Most of his work is spent on duty, removing dangerous explosives when called about it. Despite being among Coldrain city's more well-off residents, he's not exactly pleased with the system, and really, is only golden because of his lies.

Theme song: Secret - thepierces (2020 version if you will)

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Name: Sophie Wirring

Occupation/feild: Technician

Role: Whumpee

Identity: Transgender, Bisexual, She/Her

Sophie is Charles' friend from school. She's a genius technician who loves computers and works with building robots. She can be a bit socially awkward, and prefers the company of her own AI and other nerds over anything else. She likes to fantasize about becoming a cyborg. When she ends up capturing the eye of a certain doctor, her dreams may come true...

Theme song: Gasoline - Halsey

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Name: Paige Medcino

Occupation/feild: Doctor/Scientist

Role: Whumper/Whumpee/Caretaker

Identity: Cisgender, Lesbian, She/Her

Paige was always fascinated by anatomy ever since she was a girl. Dissecting frogs in her biology classes set her on her journey to becoming a doctor. Due to financial circumstances, she was forced to drop out of med school before she could get her license to practice. She turned to self-study, and got into cahoots with a certain business woman. She put her talents into studying things away from the peering eyes of the government, making her own experimental drugs, alongside harvesting blood to sell to vampires.

Theme song(s):

The drug in me is you (reimagined) - Falling in Reverse

Beautiful Creature - Endacopia

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Name: Linnea Laylow

Occupation/field: ???

Role: Whumper/Whumpee

Identity: Cisgender, Straight, She/Her

Linnea is known throughout the nightly streets of Coldrain, though not by name. She seems to have connections with everyone in this shady business, even if those who work for her have never directly interacted with her. She thinks of herself as a business woman, not a crime lord... though she does love a good crime... And a good sip of rare blood disguised as wine.

Theme song: Every Breath You Take - Chase Holfelder

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Name: Julius ???

Occupation/field: ???

Role: ???

Identity: ???

Julius is from the nuclear northern city of Rubblebrick. Who even is this guy??????

Theme song: Little Dark Age - MGMT

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Name: Bailey Bombs

Occupation/feild: Vigilante Vagabond

Role: ???

Identity: Agender, Aromantic, Asexual. They/It

Bailey is a solo vigilante bomber who targets weathly classist establishments for the greater good. They take their money and use it to buy the bombs they use, while giving the rest of the funds away to less fortunate. Being a vagabond they live on the streets, constantly on the run from place to place to avoid being found -- and also to avoid paying rent.

Theme song: Until it doesn't hurt - Mother Mother

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Name: Cara McCoy

Occupation/feild: Baby

Role: Baby

Identity: Baby

Cara is the newest addition to the McCoy family, being the youngest of the McCoy siblings. She is a baby.

Theme song: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

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Name: Mr. Abdul McCoy

Occupation/feild: Chief of Police

Role: Antagonist

Identity: Cisgender, Straight, He/Him

Abdul is the father of Charles, Connor, Caitlin, Caleb, Courtney, and Cara. He married Aoife and took her last name in attempts to distance himself from his brother. He's the chief of Police at the most well-known station across Coldrain city. He is good at his job and respected by the city's fellow "upperclass" -- or at least Coldrain's version of upperclass.

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Name: Mrs. Aoife McCoy

Occupaton/feild: Nurse

Role: Antagonist

Identity: Cisgender, Straight, She/Her

Aoife is the mother of Charles, Connor, Caitlin, Caleb, Courtney, and Cara. She married Abdul. She works tirelessly as a nurse in the heart of Coldrain City. She sees much of the aftermath of various crimes, most notably from the bombings that have been occurring.

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Name: Caitlin McCoy

Occupation/feild: Forensic Scientist

Role: Antagonist

Identity: Cisgender, Straight, She/Her

Caitlin is the oldest of the McCoy siblings. She went to Xlowizrm University of Science and Technology, and got her degree in forensic science. She works in analyzing evidence brought into from crime scenes. Matching fingerprints, testing DNA samples, and more.

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Name: Courtney McCoy

Occupation/feild: Lawyer

Role: Antagonist

Identity: Cisgender, Straight, She/Her

Courtney is the second oldest of the McCoy siblings. She went to law school, and prides herself on defending the innocent. She never takes on clients she believes to be guilty. She's hightly respected in the courtroom due to her family's place in law and justice. She's a no-bullshit lawyer who plays fair and tough (in her eyes, at least). She's stoic and serious, her siblings often joking she doesn't feel joy.

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Name: Caleb McCoy

Occupation/feild: Detective

Role: Antagonist

Identity: Cisgender, Bisexual, He/Him

Caleb is basically the middle child of the McCoy siblings, with two older sisters and three younger siblings. He works as a detective alongside his father, often travellings with him to crime scenes. He keeps closely in touch with Caitlin, delivering any evidence he finds to her and the team.

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Name: Uncle Omar Anwar

Occupation/feild: Garbage Disposal

Role: Caretaker

Identity: Cisgender, Bisexual, He/Him

Omar is Abdul's twin brother, and he may indirectly be partly the reason why the McCoy family looks down on Charles so much; he simply reminds them too much of Omar. Omar has caused much trouble for his brother growing up, which is why Abdul took his wife's last name. He's an alcoholic who works as a garbage man, and may or may not have some secret side jobs...

Theme song: Feed the Machine - Poor Man's Poision

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Name: Aunt Farah Fazel

Occupation/feild: Janitor

Role: Caretaker

Identity: Cigender, Bisexual, She/Her

Farah is Omar's girlfriend. The McCoys are aware of her existence, but they've never met her. She works as a janitor at the hospital and is a chronic smoker. She's street smart and observant.

Theme Song: Cigarette Duet - Princess Chelsea

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[whumpy-wyrms]

The Last Lab Rat masterlist

synopsis: Dew's relatively uneventful and ordinary life changed when he was kidnapped by a mad scientist named Anton, who planned to use Dew as his new human test subject for experiments. Dew, who is scared out of his mind, now has to try gaining his captor's trust while he slowly plans his escape, all while enduring experiments that make him not quite human anymore.

general content warnings: lab whump, captivity, experimentation, body mods, body horror, hurt/comfort, torture, mind control, immortality, mad scientists, clones, ghosts, shapeshifters, autistic & transgender winged whumpee, autistic & transgender carewhumper, ghost whumpee-turned-caretaker

(please read chronologically!)

Story:

Only The Beginning

Let Me Go

Surreal

Let’s Begin

Favorite Little Test Subject

A Change of Pace

No Control

Nightmare

Alone part 1

Alone part 2

A New Friend

Fever Dream

Happy Birthday

Time Flies

Broken Dreams

So Small

Close Your Eyes

The Dark

Eye Spy…

Max

Halloween

Subject 22

Art:

Anton reference sheet

Dew reference sheet (coming soon)

my art

fanart!! :D

picrews

old Dew and Anton refs

Other:

AU masterlist

fanfiction!!! :D

asks

playlist • Anton playlist

memes

Anton’s voice claim

character tags: Dew | Anton | Basil | Sasha | Hayden | Layla | Sawyer | Pierce | Max

silly character blogs (for fun, mostly non-canon shitposts): @lab-rat-dewey @mad-scientist-anton @basilbasilbasilbasilbasil @piercing-screams @the-silliest-sasha

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

@catnykit @tettlod @delicateprincepaper @rejectedbytheempty @mijajaj

@anothertawogsideblog @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox @parasitebunny @bottlecapreader

@thecareandkeepingofwhumpees @inkwell-and-dagger @vidawhump @thepotatoofnopes @labwhump

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @whumping-valentine @whumpsoda @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @lumpofsand

@cepheusgalaxy @lumpywhump @otter-chaos-violence @paperprinxe @kawaii-cakes

@auradastler @whumperannon93 @theoneofdysphoriaanddragons @eventide-paradox @bacillusinfection

@whump-till-ya-jump

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

[cepheusgalaxy]

LOL

Whump Prompt #8

Supportive whumper giving their needle-fearing whumpee their estrogen/testosterone.

[cepheusgalaxy]

We need more trans and gnc whumpees!

Trans whumpees that are post-everything before they are even captured, yes, but not just that!

Whumpee that didn't even realize she was trans and was captured as a "boy" and then after she was rescued and started to heal and feel safe after so long she started figuring out things about herself. Does she have a caretaker? Does she tell them? Does she not, in fear of their reaction? So many options!

Perhaps whumpee even figured themself out during captivity. Did they let whumper know? Did whumper care? Did whumper pretend to care?

Maybe whumpee isn't trans, but he is gnc. He always dressed fem and then he was captured and whumper used him as a dress up doll for the dresses and laces they wanted and that made whumpee sick. In recovery, is caretaker perhaps expecting whumpee to be a little more conforming after those experiences? What happens when instead, Whumpee goes back to their loved fem style or perhaps a new one altogether, but this time on their terms, way different than what whumper forced them into. Does whumpee perhaps even figure out he likes dressing fem in recovery after trying to find his style after enduring captivity

Or maybe slavery setting! Slave or bbu/pet whumpee who is transgender and as they realize that they have a moreso nice handler that lets them slowly transition. "Hey did you hear 20391 is a she now" "Dude idk that one is Dave's trainee but he knows what he's doing—have you seen his reviews? I'm not gonna be the one doubting his methods" and "Hey did you grow out your slave's hair" "Nah, found out they handed me a girl and thought it was a boy. She asked me to grow it out and it's pretty easy to yank now, ya know, why would I deny it" or something like that

Whumpees who had their "silly trans thoughts" beaten out of them in captivity and are afraid of being themselves during recovery!

Mad scientist who blackmails whumpee with affirming care as a way to ensure they'll stay in line?

Agender whumpee who's had a gender imposed onto it during its whole life and after a stranger, caretaker, rescues it, she doesn't want it to be anything and when they ask its gender at some point (it was not like she knew it before) it just sighs and asks if they can go back to pretend that thing didn’t exist, before caretaker got to ask. Caretaker chuckles and says it can be genderless, if it wants. So many possibilities!

Male whumpee dehumanized for a long time and after a while getting the guts to ask Caretaker—who's been so kind as to never call whumpee anything but a "he" or a "they" when they weren't sure—if they can start using it/its. Caretaker is confused, why would you want to go back to that? And whumpee's face is red with embarassment, but they feel a twitch in their gut everytime someone calls it sir, or lady, when it was confused by a girl at the grocery store once. It doesn't know why, it just—Caretaker doesn't understand, but they want whumpee to feel comfortable. They ignore the guilt on their tongue when they refer to whumpee by that, which instantly vanished the second they catch its surprised smile.

Anyways I just—TRANS AND GNC WHUMPEES YALL

[whumpsday]

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

[bloodyandfrightened]

Hii!

This is my writing/whump blog. You can call me Newt, I'm 18 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

[whumpty-dumpty]

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.