Hey since TERFs buried the original, higher quality recording, here’s the only surviving recording of trans activist Sylvia Rivera’s infamous “Y'all Better Quiet Down” speech, along with full transcription, now free and open on Archive.org. The transphobic fucks can try their best to scrub us from history, but we’re not going anywhere.
I know that angry, chaotic whumpees are often more compelling, and I do find them compelling depending on how they're executed, but I'm not ashamed to admit that my guilty pleasures in recovery whump are the most disgustingly fluffy scenarios
Whumpee lashing out and attacking Caretaker? Really great stuff (/gen).
Whumpee coming downstairs in fluffy pyjamas holding a cute plushie after having a nightmare, being greeted with warm tea and a gentle hug from Caretaker? That's the real shit
Caretaker calling whumpee dear, baby, sugar, sweetie, champ, and anything similar
Like "Stay with me baby. You're doing great, just stay with me."
Parental caretaker guiding/encouraging whumpee with their words
"Hold on to me tight dear."
"I've got you... [Caretaker's] got you."
"It's alright. I'm here... I'm here now"
Caretaker giving whumpee permission to express their pain or cry
Caretaker hugging, holding, or cradling whumpee
"It's okay- It's okay... You did everything right..."
"I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
Caretaker patting whumpee on the back as they embrace
Drying whumpee's face with their sleeve
Lulling a whumpee to sleep. Maybe they're telling a story, humming or singing. Maybe they got whumpee a priceless gift like an white noise machine or music box, and whumpee is listening to it in order to sleep
Whumpee who is cursed to obey every demand they're given
Whumper tells them to run until their legs give out and they have to do it.
Whumper tells them to jump in a freezing lake and they're already in before Whumper can finish, shuddering and sobbing as they try to resist against their own flesh
Whumper getting tired of whumpee's sobs and telling them to shut up. they cant make noise, so their chest heaves and their mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out.
Whumpee being given a knife to cut themselves.
Whumper giving Whumpee a demand before a party and everyone else thinking Whumpee is doing it on their own.
....mmm I may have to write something more about this.....
Reading the whump that I wrote when I was 13 is so funny now.
Like, what do you mean some 14 year old imaginary guy got shot three times in the chest and the totally not self-inserted 13 year old female protagonist treated him on her own in a hut in the woods having no medical knowledge whatsoever?..
And to make things worse he was fine in like two days.
Reading old whump writings (or any old writing for that matter) is a cross between “oh my god” (affectionate), “oh my god” (cringe), and “oh my god” (my parents should have put me in therapy).
I need more living weapons having crazy reflexes. catching shit, adjusting, deflecting, etc without flinching or even seeming to process what is going on. and like, in mundane ways specifically ! catching someone from falling or slipping, deflecting things, etc.
idk I've just been watching a lot of compilations of people having good or weird reflexes and I need to see / hear about this more with living weapons because they probably would have really excellent, if not superhuman, reflexes.
I think there's a lot you can do with it too. is the living weapon surprised ? are they embarrassed ? etc
CW: aftermath of noncon, injury reveal, bruises, concussion, blood
@juneofdoom
*~*~*~*
Villain knew Hero was waiting up for them before they even opened the apartment door. Golden light spilled beneath it, and the television murmured softly on the other side.
They closed their eyes briefly before unlocking it and stepping inside. The warmth of the apartment hit first. Then Hero’s eyes.
They were curled into the couch in sleep clothes, one sock missing, book abandoned face-down beside them. Their expression sharpened immediately when they saw Villain.
There it is, Villain thought tiredly. The worrying.
They loved Hero for it.
God, they loved them for it.
Which was precisely why they couldn’t bear this.
“You’re late,” Hero said softly.
Villain slipped off their gloves one finger at a time to hide the slight tremor in their hands. “Work.”
Their voice sounded normal. Calm. Dryly amused.
Good.
The hallway swayed slightly when they started walking.
Less good.
Villain compensated automatically, smoothing their gait before Hero could comment on it. Years of practice made the adjustment effortless despite the nausea clawing behind their eyes.
Shower.
They just needed the shower. Wash off the blood, the hands, the smell.
Then they could come back out and smile properly and let Hero fuss over a fake headache or a pulled muscle and everything would be fine.
“You’re bleeding,” Hero said.
Villain touched absentmindedly at the side of their neck. Their fingertips came away red.
Annoying.
“Comes with the job.”
Hero didn’t laugh.
Villain could feel their gaze following every movement as they loosened their cuffs and headed for the hallway.
Don’t ask questions, Hero. Please.
“I’m going to shower,” Villain said lightly. “Then you can scold me for my work-life balance.”
Behind them, silence.
Then—
“Turn around.”
Villain stopped.
Their eyes slid shut for half a second.
Damn it.
Hero almost never used that tone.
It slipped under Villain’s ribs and curled around their spine until disobedience felt impossible.
Villain stood there for a moment arguing with themself.
They could ignore it.
Technically.
They could laugh and keep walking and lock the bathroom door behind them.
Hero wouldn’t force them, would never force them. But then they would get that look in their eyes tomorrow morning. Hurt hidden behind understanding. Quiet acceptance masking their worry.
Villain hated that look. Hated being the cause of it even more. It was ridiculous, honestly. They faced armed mercenaries without blinking. Lied to governments. Walked into torture chambers with their pulse steady.
But Hero saying ‘turn around’ in that soft voice?
Devastating.
Villain almost smiled despite themself.
Idiot.
Completely gone for them.
They hid the expression before turning around carefully.
Too late.
Hero’s mouth twitched.
“You’re amused?”
“No.”
Liar.
Hero stood and walked closer.
Villain kept their posture easy despite the pounding in their skull. Their suit was still immaculate. Hair still neat enough. They knew how to hold themself together.
Hero's gaze travelled over them once, calculating.
Too perceptive.
Villain resisted the urge to fidget.
“You’re favouring your left side,” Hero said quietly.
“A bruise.”
“You took your gloves off before your coat.”
Villain blinked once.
“The blood on your collar bothered you more than the blood on your hands,” Hero continued softly. “Which means you knew it was there already.”
Clever thing.
Villain kept their expression smooth. “You always did overanalyse me.”
Hero ignored that entirely. Their gaze lifted to Villain’s face instead.
“And you have a concussion.”
Villain sighed softly through their nose. “Mild.”
“One pupil’s blown.”
“…Moderate concussion.”
Hero stepped closer. Villain held perfectly still.
“You should sit down,” Hero murmured.
“I’d rather shower first.”
“Why?”
Villain smiled faintly. “Because I’m covered in blood?”
“No.” Hero tilted their head slightly. “That’s not the reason.”
Dangerous.
Dangerous conversation.
Villain’s stomach tightened.
“You’re very determined tonight.”
“You’re very evasive tonight.”
Villain looked away briefly, gaze catching on the bathroom door. So close.
Hero followed the glance immediately.
Ah.
Villain suppressed a grimace.
Hero softened then, all sharp intelligence melting into something unbearably fond.
“Okay,” they said quietly. “One thing first.”
Villain eyed them warily. “Hm?”
“Just one hug.”
Absolutely not.
The answer flashed through Villain instantly.
It was too risky. Far too close.
Hero would feel the shaking. The bruises. The way Villain flinched at pressure in the wrong places.
Worse—Villain wanted it.
God, they wanted it.
They were exhausted down to the marrow. Their head rang. Their skin still crawled from unwanted hands and cruel laughter and being held down—
No.
No.
Shower first.
Control themself first.
Hero watched the war play across their face and softened further.
“I don’t care that you’re dirty,” they said gently. “Then you can shower and I’ll stop bothering you.”
Villain almost laughed at that. As if Hero had ever stopped bothering them. As if Villain had ever truly wanted them to.
Their chest ached suddenly with helpless affection.
Hopeless.
They were absolutely hopeless for this person.
“…One hug,” Villain muttered.
Hero smiled immediately.
It hit Villain right in the ribs.
Idiot, they thought again, exasperated and terribly fond.
Slowly, reluctantly, Villain spread their arms slightly in invitation.
Hero stepped into them at once.
One arm slid around Villain’s waist. The other curled around the back of their neck.
Villain stiffened immediately.
Wrong.
Hero didn’t usually hug like this.
Their pulse stumbled. “Sweetheart—”
Too late.
Hero’s fingers had already disappeared into their hair, searching and careful.
Then suddenly not careful at all as fingertips brushed the sticky blood matted at the back of Villain’s head.
Villain hissed sharply.
Hero went still for exactly one second.
Then their hand at Villain’s waist tightened.
Not affection anymore.
…Assessment.
They tried to pull back immediately, but Hero's other hand slid lower first, fingertips grazing beneath the hem of their shirt.
Pain flared white-hot across Villain's hips. They jerked violently.
Hero froze.
Beneath the lifted fabric, dark purple fingerprints bloomed across Villain's skin, stark even in the dim hallway light.
Villain's stomach dropped clean through the floor.
No.
No no no—
Hero stared.
Then their gaze snagged on another bruise, lower this time.
Teeth.
Villain felt Hero go utterly motionless against them.
Too late. They knew.
Villain shoved them back hard enough that Hero stumbled.
“Don’t.”
Their voice cracked violently.
Hero stared.
Their hand lifted instinctively, then stopped halfway when Villain flinched.
Villain dragged their shirt back down with hands that refused to cooperate. One side caught on their belt. They yanked harder than necessary.
"Well," they muttered, forcing an exhausted smile. "That was invasive."
Hero didn't answer. The colour had drained from their face.
Villain's smile faltered. "...I'm fine."
Hero's eyes flicked to the blood still drying in Villain's hair.
"...Mostly," Villain conceded.
The silence stretched.
Hero swallowed once.
"Who?" they asked quietly.
Villain blinked. "What?"
"Who did this to you?"
Villain looked almost offended. "That's an incredibly broad question. You see, it could be the concussion. Could be the broken ribs. Could be—"
Villain caught themself too late.
"...Actually, no, let's not make a list. It'll ruin the night."
Another silence stretched between them.
When Villain spoke again, the humour was thinner now. Held together by habit.
"It wasn't..."
Their jaw locked.
The next word refused to come.
For a long moment they simply stood there, staring somewhere over Hero's shoulder, as though waiting might make the sentence finish itself.
"...Consensual."
They laughed quietly.
"I've discovered it's a remarkably unpleasant thing to say out loud."
Hero's gaze never left their face.
Their hand curled slowly into a fist.
"I assure you," Villain murmured, eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor between them, "it was not a lapse in judgement. I wasn't—" Their throat worked. "With them. By choice." Villain shut their eyes. "I fought."
A breath.
"I lost."
Their laugh broke halfway out.
"Embarrassing, really.”
They squeezed their eyes shut.
“...I didn't choose it."
Their hands started shaking. "I tried to—to make them stop.”
"Villain."
"I would never—"
Their voice disappeared.
They tried again.
"I would never do that to you."
A flicker crossed Hero’s face.
Rage.
Cold, silent, catastrophic rage.
Their jaw tightened so hard a muscle jumped beneath the skin.
“...Didn’t catch it the first time, love. My mistake.” Hero took one slow step forward. “Who?”
Villain took a step backward.
Hero took one forward.
Villain hated the tremor in their own hands. Hated the tears burning suddenly behind their eyes even more.
“It’s handled,” they said tightly.
Hero looked at them like they’d said something insane.
Villain’s head throbbed harder. The apartment tilted unpleasantly.
“I said it’s handled.”
Hero’s voice came very quiet. "You weren't hiding the blood."
"—That’s enough."
Villain turned away.
"..."
"Villain."
They stopped.
This time, they didn’t even try to turn around.
*~*~*~*
Villain whumpees that are trying very hard to remain stoic AND FAILING RAAAGGGHHH *chomps violently* 🤌🤌🤌 chef's kiss. making out with the chefs, even.
General taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed! <3): @stars-hide-our-fires @neon-kazoo @chaotic-orphan @galactic-worm @castell-da-near @daggers-and-dangers
Just saw Obsession so now I'm thinking of a recently freed mind controlled Whumpee who Whumper essentially used as a sex slave having to learn how to live autonomously again with Caretaker's help
whumpee feels frozen. they don't know what to do - they don't know how to trust anything that they do.
that's been the biggest problem since whumper's control over them was broken. everything that whumpee does, they wonder if it's something they actually want to do, or if it's the mind control again. they can't move sometimes because of it. they can't breathe. it scares them too much. their body still doesn't feel like theirs.
caretaker is walking past the door. they stop when they look in and see whumpee sitting there, hunched over on the bed and trembling, body locked up in place.
"hey," they murmur quietly, coming into the room. they hesitate in the doorway just like they always do, giving whumpee the opportunity to tell them to leave. "happening again?"
whumpee taps the bedspread twice. they don't trust their own voice, some days, any more than they trust any other part of them. they tap twice for yes. three times for no.
"can i come sit with you?"
whumpee taps the bedspread twice again, heavy thumps that convey just how badly they want caretaker to please, yes, please come here. and so caretaker comes and sits with them. whumpee leans their shoulder into caretaker's. it's the most they can tolerate right now, until they feel like they're the one in control of their body again. and they know caretaker will wait here with them - will wait quietly, letting whumpee lean against them, until they're ready to start making small decisions again.
Caretaker and Whumpee decide to set up camp for the night. They talk, laugh, and eat the preserved food in their bags. When the conversation lulls, Caretaker gets up to get more fire wood. Whumpee is left alone at the campsite.
Whumpee is only alone for a minute, poking at the dying fire, when a branch snaps behind them. They spin around, the air stolen from their lungs. Behind them are Whumper's henchmen emerging from the shadows. Whumpee backs away, their lungs burning for air. They gasp.
"CA-"
A large hand clasps over Whumpee's mouth, another arm pinning their arms to their side. One of the henchmen is holding Whumpee tight to their chest. Their grip tightens with every thrash and kick Whumpee gives. Whumpee screams until their throat feels raw, the sound smothered by the henchman's hand.
One of Whumper's closest allies steps out of the darkness, a smirk stretching across their lips. Whumpee trembles but tries to keep a cold stare.
"You really thought you could get away, didn't you?" they say, their voice cool and low. Whumper's ally looks at the man holding Whumpee. "Tie them up, won't you? Gag them so they don't wake up the whole forest. I'll go looking for Caretaker. They wouldn't have wondered too far."
Pleased to report that after a day of this i am not longer craving caper brine and my mouth is not dry as usual. There's some good suggestions in the notes too that I want to try.
-ancient roman posca: water, red or white wine vinegar, honey, salt, herbs (coriander, mint, thyme)
-switchel: water, ginger, vinegar, sweetener, lemon, salt
CW: strangulation, stalking, obsessive villain, home invasion
@juneofdoom
*~*~*~*
The first sign that something was wrong was the photograph on the kitchen counter.
Hero froze halfway through locking the front door. They had never seen that picture before.
It was them.
Not posed. Nor smiling at the camera. It was taken through the café window three days ago—the one near their office where they always sat alone with headphones in. The angle was distant, grainy. Watching.
Their stomach dropped.
Slowly, carefully, they looked around the apartment. Nothing looked disturbed. The lamp still glowed warm beside the couch. Their shoes sat by the door. The TV hummed softly in the background.
But the photograph sat dead centre on the counter.
I will always find you.
Hero backed away from it instinctively, pulse beginning to hammer.
“Hello?” they called before they could stop themself.
Silence.
Then—a floorboard creaked behind them—hands slammed into them hard, driving the breath from Hero’s lungs. Hero cried out, twisting violently as someone shoved them chest-first into the counter. The photograph fluttered to the floor.
“Miss me?” a voice hissed mockingly.
Hero’s blood turned to ice. “NO—no, get off—!”
An arm hooked around their throat and ripped them backward against a solid chest. Another hand clamped over their mouth instantly, smothering the scream before it fully formed.
“Shh,” Villain murmured against their ear. “No one can hear you, sweet. Don’t bother.”
Hero thrashed wildly. They stomped backward, elbowed hard, clawed at the arm crushing their windpipe, but Villain only tightened their grip with a grunt. Their forearm dug brutally beneath Hero’s jaw.
Pain exploded through their throat. Air vanished.
Hero made a strangled sound behind the hand over their mouth, panic detonating instantly. Their nails scraped skin desperately. Their heels kicked uselessly against the floor.
Villain laughed softly.
“You changed your locks,” they said conversationally, dragging Hero farther into the apartment. “That hurt my feelings.”
Hero’s vision blurred already.
They tried to bite the palm over their mouth. Tried to scream, but only muffled choking noises escaped.
Villain forced them backward onto the living room floor, following them down, knee pinning their hips effortlessly. The hand left their mouth only so both hands could close around their throat.
Hero sucked in one sharp, ragged breath—
Villain squeezed.
The world narrowed instantly.
Hero grabbed at their wrists with both hands, choking violently. Their body bucked beneath Villain’s weight. Terror flooded every nerve ending in molten waves.
“Look at you,” Villain whispered. “I leave for a few months and suddenly you think you’re safe.”
Hero couldn’t answer. Their airway compressed tighter, a horrible wheezing noise escaping them instead.
Villain tilted their head almost affectionately.
“I took so many pictures of you,” they grinned, a manic glint in their eye. “Did you know that?”
Another squeeze.
Hero’s legs jerked.
“I watched you walk home every night.”
Black spots sparked across their vision.
“You never noticed me once.”
Hero tried to pry the fingers off harder, weaker now, movements turning frantic and sloppy. Their lungs burned. Their chest spasmed desperately for air that wouldn’t come.
Tears spilled sideways into their hair. Villain watched them calmly.
“You’re beautiful like this,” they murmured.
Hero’s mouth opened soundlessly.
Their body was failing them now. Strength draining fast. Fingertips tingling numb.
The room tilted sickeningly.
Villain loosened their grip just enough for Hero to drag in a shredded gasp—then slammed them back against the floor and tightened again.
Hero convulsed beneath them. A broken, choking sob escaped before the pressure crushed it away.
“Don’t pass out yet,” Villain said softly. “I missed talking to you.”
*~*~*~*
General taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed! <3): @stars-hide-our-fires @neon-kazoo @chaotic-orphan @galactic-worm @castell-da-near
The Whumper bangs their fist against the metal door, making the Caretaker wince. The Caretaker’s fists clench in the cuffs behind their back and their shoulders tense up defensively, even though they haven’t been struck yet. The Whumper hisses in a last drag of a cigarette as the door begins to loudly unlock, then drops it quickly and blows and wafts the smoke back up the alley stairs as if worried they’ll get in trouble. The door opens inward, then the Whumper grabs the Caretaker’s arm and shoves them inside. The door shuts again, trapping them all in. “Thought you quit,” says the person that opened the door. The Whumper looks at them indignantly. “Oh you thought? Keep it to yourself,” they say back. “That’s the curse of the day, isn’t it?” says a frustrated voice from deeper into the bunker. The Whumper pushes the Caretaker forward again until they are both standing in front of a dimly lit part of the room. There stands a bigger Whumper towering over a beaten Whumpee. They lie helplessly on the ground, awake but barely, and look like they’ve been through hell. The Caretaker takes in the scene with silent horror. “Someone keeping their thoughts to themselves. Keeping a lid on it. Not cooperating. What an utter pain in my ass,” the big Whumper says with a kick at the Whumpee’s back. The Whumpee makes no noise when they curl away from the pain, keeping up their silent streak. The big Whumper points a menacing finger at the Caretaker. “You.” The Whumpee blinks away their pain as they turn to see who’s there, straining until their eyes focus on who the Whumper is pointing at. They realize that it’s the Caretaker. “No, no, no,” the Whumpee starts to say. This just makes the Whumpers laugh. “See? Already more talkative,” the first Whumper says. The big Whumper keeps smiling. “Let’s keep it up, shall we?”
When I was training to be a paramedic, we had one student ask the instructor what to do in the event of a marijuana overdose. The instructor said "Tell him to take two twinkies and call you in the morning."
Whumpee that was forced to call their Whumper 'master' or something similar during assualts and now asks their partner / sexually helpful friend to call them that title during sex as reclamation.
(first of all 'sexually helpful friend' has made me laugh every time i've scrolled past this ask thank you so much lmao)
"are you- are you sure?"
"i feel like i should be the one asking you that," friend says, and it's such a startling response that whumpee laughs.
"god, that's- yeah, there's a lot about this that is kind of fucked up, huh." whumpee buries their face in their hands. they heave a deep sigh and then sit up, looking at their friend. "but no, seriously, i- i don't want you to feel like you have to do this. i know it's weird, and it's fucked up, and we're sitting here with all our clothes on having this- this conversation, and this is the least sexy way to start this, but-"
"hey." friend reaches over and takes whumpee's hand, giving it a squeeze. their touch is familiar and known, grounding.
those hands have held whumpee's, have touched their whole body. they have never forced, never abused. the only time they've ever been rough or aggressive was when whumpee wanted them to.
"when we talked about this, i said yes." friend squeezes whumpee's hand again. "and i'm saying yes now, too. we have a plan for if this is a giant disaster. you want this, and i'm on board. besides." they wait until whumpee is looking at them again to raise an eyebrow. "you've done some weird sex shit with me because i wanted to try it. nobody here's judging."
it makes whumpee laugh again, loosening the tension, the anxiety in their shoulders. this is why, they think. this is why i came to you.
Whumper who does all of the first aid themselves, making even a simple bandage seem like a grueling task Whumpee has to stick through.
Whumper who sticks their fingers in Wumpee's wounds and presses on their bruises while patching Whumpee up, just to watch them squirm. You trust me, don't you? I'm just trying to help. Whumper who doesn't numb Whumpee when sewing up their gashes, Come on, you know I'm just trying to help you. Stop making this harder.
Whumper who holds Whumpee close after they beat them down, Shhh, it's okay. You know I was just angry. I would never mean to hurt you. Whumpee who has no choice but to be held by the hands that made them bleed.
Whumper who listens to all of Whumpee's cries and woes, only to use them against them later.
Aroace culture is thinking you’re Bi or Pan when you’re younger cus you feel the same towards everyone regardless of gender & then realizing you feel the same towards everyone cus you’re not attracted to anyone
