#detective whumpee

[pixelatedraindrops]

I’ve been looking into nui dolls lately and an idea came to my head…

lil concept art:

THEY TEENY…

I’d give them blankets, beds and everything 🥹💕

Man how I wish I could have this in my life… ;w;

[whumperer-86]

The first shot Final episode 32

Shot, collapsed, fainted

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom Day 3

"Well, well well..." / Hiding / Ambushed / Stalking

Prompts List | Event Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 900

Tag List:@juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: kidnapping, attempted rescue, recklessness, breaking in, stealth, blood, chained by wrists, injury, gun, gunshots, threats

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Snap!

Caretaker winced at the noise, tenderly lifting their foot to reveal the broken branch, trodden upon in their careless haste to get close to the house unseen. They likely needn’t have bothered, the house appeared to be empty. 

But looks can be deceiving. 

Especially in this line of work.

Cautiously, paying more attention to where they put their feet, Caretaker crept along the side of the house until they reached a window. The interior was dark, the light from the setting sun illuminating the rough wooden floor, littered with shattered furniture.

Everything within view was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. It lined up with what the police had said about the place: no one had stepped inside for years since a particularly violent tragedy beset the previous owners. 

If what Caretaker suspected was true, however….

Their phone buzzed in their pocket.

Caretaker jumped, their heart leaping into their throat before their rational mind caught up. They pulled the device out to find a text from the officer working with them on the case.

Officer: How’s it look? Caretaker: Empty. Officer: Told you. It’s a dead end. Officer: Get back here ASAP

Caretaker stared at the phone, hissing through their teeth. Seriously? Just because the house in the middle of nowhere looked empty, it didn’t mean it was! For all they knew, this was where Whumpee had been taken! And perhaps the dust was left in view of the windows to keep up the appearance of an abandoned murder house.

They peered back through the window, gnawing the inside of their cheek. If it really was as empty as it looked, then… wouldn’t hurt. And if it wasn’t?

Caretaker: I’m going in. If I don’t text within 10 min, call for backup. Officer is typing…

Caretaker didn’t wait for their response, no doubt an all-caps message about how stupid they were being, with an order to get their ass back to the car. They slipped their phone back into their pocket as it buzzed with the angry message, but they ignored it and hesitantly pushed on the window.

The sash slid up without protest, and Caretaker frowned. If the house had been left alone all these years, how come the window opened so easily? And it was unlocked? Suspicious.

They grunted as they pulled themself up on the windowsill and clambered into the house. Dust rose into the air as they stepped lightly onto the floor and crept through the house, taking care not to make too much noise.

Every room was the same. Shattered furniture, scattered garbage, everything covered in dirt and dust. Disappointment rose in Caretaker’s throat with each room they checked. Maybe Officer was right, and this was a bust….

Their eyes fell on the last door. It was shut, but they guessed it led to the basement. Well, if Whumpee would be kept anywhere….

The door creaked softly as they pushed it open, revealing a pool of light at the bottom of the stairs. Caretaker’s heartbeat quickened. Not so abandoned after all.

They hesitantly put their weight on the first step, keeping close to the wall to decrease the chances of noise. Perhaps some kid had broken in to explore and left behind a flashlight. 

Caretaker descended another step. And another. Or maybe they’d left the lights on. 

Another step. Or—

Was that their breathing? Or someone else’s?

They steeled themself and reached the bottom of the stairs. The bare lightbulb on the landing didn’t illuminate much of the basement, but what little they saw made their stomach turn.

Caretaker had seen a lot in their line of work. Cheating partners, domestic abuse, child abuse, missing persons’ cases, cold cases, murders. They’d dealt with many a crime scene, almost to the point of becoming deadened to blood or injury.

And yet the sight of Whumpee, dangling from the ceiling by their wrists, the stench of their blood heavy in the air, the sound of their labored breathing, all of it made Caretaker step back in shock, hand over their mouth, bile rising in their throat.

They shouldn’t be alive.

With the amount of blood on the floor and the extent of their wounds, Whumpee should be dead. Blood loss, shock, sheer exhaustion….

Slam!

Caretaker jumped and spun around, instinctively moving to place themself between Whumpee and the staircase. Heavy footsteps descended the stairs.

Thump. 

Thump. 

Thump.

“Well, well, well…” the newcomer said slowly, pausing just above where the light touched the stairs. “If it isn’t Caretaker, the famous detective. Come to do me in, I presume?”

“What the hell did you do to them?!” Caretaker demanded, voice shaking.

Whumper chuckled, a sound that made the hairs on the back of Caretaker’s neck stand up. “Nothing too terrible. They’re alive, aren’t they?”

“Barely!” Caretaker reached for their phone. “I’m going to ensure that you never see the other side of the prison wall ever—”

Bang.

Caretaker flinched back with a cry as their phone was shot out of their hand, shattering on the ground in a million pieces.

Whumper tsked softly. “Can’t have you doing that, little sleuth. Why don’t you put your hands above your head?”

Caretaker gritted their teeth. They had to wait until Officer did what they asked and called for backup. Until then….

They slowly raised their hands.

“That’s a good little sleuth,” Whumper teased, “a good little sleuth indeed.”

[clickerflight]

"I didn't know where else to go."

Content: Villain whumpee, detective caretaker, fairly graphic cuts, amputation of a digit, mentions of stitches, large burns. Caretaking time, y'all

................................

Detective sat at his desk, two laptops, three steno pads, and uncountable numbers of pencils and pens covering the couch, floor, and coffee table in front of him. He hadn’t done any real work for the past hour, though. He was tired. He had been staring at all of the evidence he had in relation to a missing diamond for the past hour and he just couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. It was some diamond missing from a rich woman’s home, probably just a case of insurance fraud at the end of the day and he was so tired of it, but because of all of the red tape going on with the governments as three cities navigated their way into becoming one and reconciling different laws, hero and villain crimes (the interesting ones) were locked away for more popular detectives to figure out, ones with PR teams. 

Detective snorted and leaned forward to snag his mug, taking a sip of coffee. Crime rates had gone up as everyone struggled to figure out what was and wasn’t legal and all of the villains in the area took advantage of that as much as they possibly could. It was almost enough for him to buy an unregistered sniper rifle and go vigilante on the streets. 

He idly typed ‘what to make a hero mask out of’ into the search bar for kicks and giggles, not really reading anything on the screen that came up afterwards. He wondered if he should just go to bed. He was always so nihilistic when he was tired. 

Or maybe he should just go on a rampage as a vigilante. That sounded like more fun anyways. He could wear a bandana and gain a cult following and have a stupid name and shoot bad guys in the face. 

Mid imaginary fight scene, clutching his now cold coffee, there was a hesitant knock at the door, light and almost too quiet to hear. Detective frowned and looked over at the door, listening hard to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. 

After a long pause, there was another knock at the door and he sighed, setting his cup down and tossing his steno books aside, hidden pencils and pens clattering to the floor as he opened a drawer and grabbed his gun before going to the door. He peered through the peep hole, but all he could see was a slightly slumped figure. 

He sighed again, unlocked the door, and opened it. The man had his forehead pressed to the door, so he stumbled when it opened, clutching at his chest. He lifted his bruised face and Detective frowned. “Villain? What are you doing here?” Detective asked, readying his gun, but Villain just blinked slowly, as though dizzy and confused as he tried to solve what the shiny thing was that the Detective was holding. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Villain? What did you get into?”

Villain reached out shakily and Detective took him by the arm, hauling him in. His costume was really just a pile of rags at this point, nothing but cloth hanging off of a too thin frame. Detective sat Villain down at the end of the couch after tossing a pillow from one of his exes to the ground and pulled apart Villain’s clothing to see if and where he was hurt since Villain didn’t seem to be in a state where he could really explain what was going on. 

Villain weakly tried to push Detective’s hands off of him, but Detective caught his wrists and held them in one hand, noting that they were small enough for him to hold in one hand. 

“Look, buster,” Detective said sternly. “If you come to my apartment and ask for help, then you are going to let me help!”

Villain stared at him for a moment, and the tension slowly left his arms as Detective pushed back the last fold of clothing. Blood dribbled down Villain’s chest, no longer being soaked up into his costume. Detective hissed and wiped the blood with his palm, trying to find the source of it all. He traced it back to a slash down across Villain’s collar bone, deep enough that Detective could feel the bone as he grazed over it. There were a few other cuts across Villain’s torso, and as Detective found each one, Villain’s eyes fluttered as he fought with unconsciousness. 

“Alright, stay right here,” Detective said, standing up and dropping Villain’s wrists. “I’m going to get my stuff. Stay.”

Villain nodded slightly and Detective sprinted to his bathroom, pulling out his heavy duty first aid kit and coming back. 

“Here you are,” Detective said, holding a couple of pills to Villain’s mouth. Villain took them and Detective helped wash them down with a small flask of whiskey he kept in the kit before taking a sip from it himself to bolster his nerves. 

He lost himself in that bloodsoaked hour, washing the wounds, ignoring Villain as he finally passed out, packing gauze against wounds before going back to the bigger cuts and sewing them shut and bandaging them, working his way across Villain’s body until he’d got his front bandaged. 

Detective got him rolled over and swore when he saw Villain’s back. There were no cuts here, but there were large swaths of blistered skin. 

He ran to his sink, washing out an empty ice cream bucket and filling it with cool water and coming back, dipping paper towels in it and plastering the paper towels to Villain’s back to help cool it. 

Deciding not to move Villain too much, he simply took scissors and cut through the remainder of his clothes, checking his legs for injuries. Besides some horrific bruising, they seemed to be fine. 

Detective did one more once over and finally got a better look at Villain’s bruised hands. There had been so much blood everywhere, Detective didn’t notice it earlier, but Villain’s pinky on his right hand was missing. 

Detective winced and washed Villain’s hands, bandaging them as best he could and then knelt by the couch, looking at the mostly naked man that laid there. He sighed and went to put on a pot of coffee before spending the rest of the evening putting new paper towels on Villain’s back with more cool water. 

………………………….

Villain woke up reluctantly, and only because he was in so much pain. He wondered what Supervillain had in mind for him today. He only hoped it would have nothing to do with his feet. He wouldn’t be able to get away if the opportunity presented itself. 

Wait. Didn’t the opportunity already present itself? The guards had left and Villain remembered being able to slip from the cuffs because of how much blood was on his hands. Did he get caught?

He cracked one eye open and couldn’t really see through his hair, but the other eye was buried in something plush and soft. He was on a sofa and there was someone slumped next to the sofa, watching The Office on a computer on the table. 

“Mmm?”

The figure turned and Detective’s face came into focus. 

“Hey, I have some fever reducers and pain killers here for you,” Detective said, getting up to grab some pills off of the coffee table and a cup with a straw. 

Villain took it without thinking, swallowing down the water gratefully. Detective took the cup away and Villain very carefully moved, testing his ability to sit up. He winced and hauled himself up so he could lean his head on the arm of the chair. Detective helped him adjust the blanket as he moved and he sighed.

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

Detective shrugged. “I don’t really mind. Now I have a good excuse not to go to work today.”

Villain smiled a little, ignoring the pain in his cheeks and eye where he was badly bruised. “Sounds good to me.”

Detective nodded and Villain saw him looking him over again. “So….. who did this?”

Villain sighed. “Trust me on this one, Deet. Stay out of it.”

Detective glared at him. “You do not get to come to my door, make me clean and bandage you all night watching shows I haven’t seen in years, and then tell me to stay out of whatever took an entire pinky off of you.”

Villain twitched his hand, startled. He didn’t have a pinky. He couldn’t really remember when that happened. 

“Who. Did. This. To. You.” Detective said, very seriously. 

Villain winced. “Supervillain. He wanted some Bevin Tech Batteries… uh, that I got totally legally.”

Detective raised his eyebrow, but didn’t say anything about that as Villain uncomfortably tried to rearrange himself again. He yelped, closing his eyes tightly. By the time he got himself back together, there were tears trailing down his cheeks and he cleared his throat. 

“Erm, when we came to the part about payment, he objected to that, quite strenuously. I pushed it and…. Stars, I’m so stupid. Everyone knows not to deal with him, and I thought I’d be different.”

Detective nodded. “Alright, alright. It’s okay. Just rest, alright?”

Villain sighed and sunk into the couch. “Okay…. Thank you.”

“Of course. I need to go to the store and get some stuff for you. I’ll be back, alright?”

“Alright.”

…………………..

Detective closed his door behind him and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the black bandana and tied it around his neck and checked to make sure his guns were all where they were supposed to be in their holsters under his jacket. He paused only to send a text to his best friend asking her to come over that evening to hang out, and set off to kill Supervillain. If he didn’t come back, he knew his best friend would help Villain get back on his feet, but Detective wasn’t planning on letting it get that far. 

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptember 2023, Day 10

“What are you doing to them?”

Brainwashed | Hanging from their wrists | Phone call 

The Bee’s Whumptember Masterlist

~900 words

CW: Frank talk of future character murder, tazer (but no tazing, funnily enough), blood, sadistic whumper, brainwashed whumpee

------------

Whumpee had long since given up trying to support their own weight. It’s not like the expended effort would do anything for them except tire them out even more, make their wrists blister and bleed until the shiny red tracks of blood crisscrossed down their arms and around bruised skin and swollen flesh, aggravate their already barely functional shoulder muscles as they screamed out to be freed of the burden of bearing Whumpee’s entire weight. These days, energy was a woefully scarce commodity. It couldn’t be wasted on pointless endeavors like struggling.

Whumper suddenly stopped messing with their taser, crossing their arms over their chest and looking Whumpee up and down with narrowed eyes. They clicked their tongue. “You know what? You’re starting to get really boring.”

Whumpee half opened their eyes and pulled the edges of their mouth back, as if asking what Whumper wanted them to do about it. Sure, it was great when Whumper was happy, even if it came at the cost of Whumpee’s mind, body, and soul, but it wasn’t Whumpee’s fault that they weren’t responsive enough. Whumper should have taken better care of his toy if they didn’t want them to break. And Whumpee was already so far beyond broken.

“Mm, yeah…” Whumper nodded to themself, clicking their tongue again and resting their chin on their fingers, as if deep in thought. “Looks like time’s just about up for you... Might be time to let you go.”

Whumpee quirked their head up, as much as they could with their arms wrenched above them, practically holding their head in a vice. Let them go? The idea that Whumper would ever do something as merciful as letting them go made Whumpee’s eye’s go wide. Whumper was many things, but merciful, caring, any other positive adjective, really, was not one of them.

Whumper practically doubled over with laughter at Whumpee's stupid little facial expression. “Oh! Oh, no, not like that, you stupid waste of space!” Whumper could barely get out the full sentence through their hysterics. “No, no I mean like, the other let you go. Y’know, like,” Whumper raised their taser and slammed it in Whumpee’s head in an unmistakable stabbing motion, slamming Whumpee once, twice, three times, more, until Whumpee was seeing stars and their head was spinning wildly. They swung back and forth slowly on the chain wrenching their wrists toward the heavens, breath shuddering through their teeth, new blood caking on top of old.

“Like that,” Whumper continued nonchalantly. “But with a real knife, y’know. Or we could do something else, I don’t have to stab you in the head. That might be too hard to do anyway…” They paused, as if lost in thought again, before flipping their hands down, shooing the thought away. “Whatever, we’ll see where the vibe takes us.” 

Whumper’s eyes suddenly lit up with a new idea, and Whumpee felt a cold snake of fear slithering and squeezing its way through their usual need to please, choking them out with useless thoughts of fear and survival. “And now that I don’t have to hold back, we can really have some fun, right? I’ve always wanted to try an upright vivisection…” They lightly traced the prongs of the taser gently down Whumpee’s cut-riddled stomach, leaving prickly gooseflesh in its wake. 

No, no, no, this was all wrong. Whumpee wasn’t supposed to think any of those pesky thoughts like ‘I don’t want to die’ or ‘please stop’ or ‘get AWAY from me!’ They lived to make Whumper happy, and if it made Whumper happy to kill them, then that’s what Whumpee would do. Die. For Whumper. It’s what they were for…

So why were they suddenly so scared?! Why did they want to scream and cry and beg for Whumper to ‘Please! God! No, don’t! Stop!’ Why were they dreaming of someone bursting through to door and looking at Whumper in absolute horror and yelling “What are you doing to them?!” and whisking Whumpee away to safety while whispering sweet nothings, somewhere Whumper couldn’t hurt them ever again. Or kill them. That wasn’t right of Whumpee. They were there to make Whumper happy. That’s it. 

Except… If Whumpee was dead, would Whumper be able to be happy anymore? Whumpee wouldn’t be there anymore, so who else could make Whumper happy? Maybe if Whumpee just… pointed that out…

No. Whumpee did as Whumper wanted. If Whumper told them to die, then they would. No questioning it. No trying to change it. Besides, they were too tired to try anything anyway. Right?

Whumper was prancing to the door when Whumpee finally came back to themself. “I’ll go get my tools!” They called as they slammed open the door. They then noticed the taser still in their hand and pelted it at Whumpee. Whumpee cringed away from the flying object as it struck them in the chest. “BRB, and stay there!”

Whumpee didn’t know how or where they would go even if they wanted to (which they DIDN’T). Besides, they were good for Whumper. So they stayed dutifully there, arms aching painfully above their head, toes barely touching to floor, and trying not to acknowledge their speeding heart and shallow breaths as they waited for Whumper to return for the last time.

@whumptember

[clockworkcheetah]

Todd Brotzman/Dirk Gently - Rated T - 2.6K (for chapter one)

whump fic time

[tictac-murder-spaghetti]

I DRAW WHUMP ART FOR ONCE? YEAHHHH!!! Ambrose has... not gotten himself into a good situation here has he. This is why real ties are not suggested when you're a cop! Who'd have guessed! Anyway, the arm belongs to one of my whumpers who I tried and failed to draw a fullbody here for twice! Haven't mentioned him yet but I've got a ref for him I can post in a bit >:) Nasty nasty pathetic bastard man

[cakeinthevoid]

I was rereading an old work to continue and I just had to share my favourite part I wrote so far :)) Content: Interrogation scene excerpt; slightly inhuman whumpee; muzzled (not explicit); detention; restrained

The detective leaned forward. “See, I don’t think that makes sense.” 

Dang. Guess not. 

“So why would you lie about that?” 

Double dang. 

He stayed silent, clearly wanting her to speak up. 

Auretta resisted and counted the seconds. 

About two and a half minutes later he stood up. Auretta jerked back. 

“Relax, I’m leaving.” The buzzer sounded. “I’m leaving ,” he repeated. 

Auretta felt a panic bloom. 

“Wait,” she coughed out, interrupting her rhythm. “Wait, don’t, I’m sorry, please don’t go.” She coughed and tried to restart her breathing pattern through gritted teeth.

The man sighed. “I want to help you, I really do, but this only works if you’re answering truthfully. You’ve lied, at least partially, at least three times in the past however many minutes. Not to mention the obvious limitation with the mask—” 

“I’ll speak. I’ll talk. Please don’t go.” If she were alone, she would only be able to focus on the chains, the muzzle —no, at the very least, she needed the stimulation.

The detective looked sad. She only caught the expression for a moment before he masked it with unreadability. 

“Okay.” He sat back down. “What do you want to talk about then?”

Continues here! 

[whumporama]

Caretaker has finally found Whumpee, but they're in a bad state. There is no time to take care of anything right now, and they have to move quietly to avoid being detected.

The whispered "can you walk?" and "lean on me" as Whumpee tries their best to be helpful, and Caretaker half-dragging them through the dark hallways. Whumpees injuries hurt them as they move, and they can't keep the sounds of pain in.

They hear someone coming, and Caretaker quickly pulls them to the side, hiding in a small closet. Whumpee squeezes their eyes closed as they fight the pain of the sudden movement, and Caretaker pushes their hand over Whumpees mouth, apologetic, but needing them to be quiet.

Whumpee leaning forward and dropping their head on Caretakers shoulder as they muffle their groans in their jacket.

Bonus points if Whumpee is usually stoic or closed-off, and Caretaker's heart breaking to see them like this.

[sadcatjae]

Whumpee walk around joking and chatting and acting like their usual annoying self. Maybe they push it a bit more than what's usual, jokes that are a bit too mean, laughter that's almost hysterical, compliments that border on sarcastic, they are taut, stretched too tight, walking on a wire. And the ppl around them start getting annoyed. Caretaker wants them to be understanding. They say this just whumpee. This is how they always are. Whumpee needs time to adjust.

A few dont like it. They get in whumpees face. They bite back. whumpee welcomes it because they've missed this. The anger and virtriol and violence. Because all this kindness is exhausting.

Whumpee makes noise. Lots and lots of noise. As long as there's noise, they are okay.

Then whumpee goes to bed, and they are finally alone with the dark and the silence. There is nothing to distract them from their brokenness. it's too hard. They are too weak. Fear and desparation plague them through the long night. They are forced to shed their tenuous mask, exposing all the torment and raw hurt that never had the chance to heal. they break a little bit more.

And when the sun rises, theres nothing they can do but to pick themself up and walk back into the noise again.

defiant whumpee who, after rescue, appears to be their usual snarky self, until they finally can't take it anymore and the fascade drops

YES omg the caretaker being relieved that whumpee is actually normal and like themselves until its revealed that ACTUALLY whumpee is super traumatized and breaks down 🥰🥰🥰

[pixelatedraindrops]

Happy Birthday Yakou! 🚬💙🎉

The best roommate, mentor, boss, father figure and caretaker Yuma could ask for💕

I had to try to make something for him. I’ve grown to adore him almost as much as yuma as I kept putting them in various scenarios the past half year.

(its kinda for both of them since their birthdays are only a day apart from each-other??)

So yeah, birthday cuddles for them both~ 💜💙

[whumpandothercomfort]

There's a flavor of whump I'm always craving that I don't see very often, I think because the possibilities are so context-specific. You can do some things in some universes that you can't in others! You can do certain things with non-human characters that you can't with others!

But hear me out:

Whumper making physiological changes to Whumpee's body.

Could be through programming for robot characters, dedicated brainwashing for humans, magic for fantasy settings, weird biology for aliens...

A few examples off the top of my head:

Alien species that instinctively responds to neck squeezing by going limp like a scruffed kitten, because this helped them survive encounters with predators. Delicious all on its own -- now throw in a quick surgery to permanently clamp the nerve responsible. Whumpee wakes up in a permanent state of relaxed submission and can't even show how terrified they are.

Obedience programming/training that's wired directly into a character's brain. When the system detects unwanted thoughts, it applies pain. Even after rescue, Whumpee can't think of themselves as an autonomous being because their mind is desperately protecting itself.

Characters with magic having their magic corrupted or bound so it either hurts them to use, or it can only be used to serve Whumper's purposes. Bonus points if Whumper has full control over their magic AND the use of it hurts them.

Characters given a brain implant or parasite that stimulates the reward center of the brain, which would be great, except they can't turn it off. They're kept in a constant state of bleary euphoria... with just enough sense of self left to know they want it to stop.

Characters being spelled or programmed so they physically cannot function independently. Characters who very literally NEED to be given permission to do things like relax or take a walk or even use the bathroom. Not being given this permission leaves them in a state of locked stasis -- fully aware of the time passing. Bonus: Caretaker can't reverse it, so they just HAVE to navigate All Of This.

Alien species that will a develop chronic physical illness if deprived of touch for too long. Said illness can only be treated through regular physical touch. Defiant Whumpees will often be locked in solitary confinement and fed through a slot in the bars until symptoms start to manifest. Sometimes they'll be left even longer, to make sure they end up a severe case. And now, oopsie, the only way to ease this horrible pain is by letting your captors put their hands on you!

Just. Physiological whump. The horror of someone else controlling your body or your mind. Betrayal of body. Etc. Do you understand.

[defire]

Masterpost

Please vote on my poll about whump films! I need as much input as possible from the community!

Explicit Survivor Fiction blog. Survivor Fiction is a genre that focuses on suffering, trauma, and recovery. See this post for a more detailed description of this genre, and more details on this post. Most Survivor Fiction writers are anonymous because of responses like this (read for my rebuttal).

My goal is to reduce shame for real-life survivors and for those who enjoy Survivor/Whump Fiction.

Please don't reblog if you're a kink blog, I'm not judging, it just makes me uncomfortable. Thank you👋

This post is oriented so newcomers to the whump community can understand and get into it. :)

Whump=fiction about survivors, Whumper=aggressor, whumpee=victim

Things I write:

Things that make me laugh. (Usually involves a bit of realistic detail in an intense situation. Or defiant sarcasm.)

Typically novels and novellas in the action thriller genre, often with subtle supernatural elements.

Young and minor protagonists with agency and drive, in military, gang, or domestic abuse situations, and how they find the courage to get out.

Frowned-upon topics such as punishment, humiliation, and sexual violence that challenge the arguments of abusers and spreads awareness about these dynamics.

The effects of PTSD especially on developing minds and those with disabilities such as autism and ADHD.

Inter-character dynamics and body language is my thing; I love psychology and people in general.

Detailed settings and characters, moral gray areas, and delicate treatment of difficult subjects.

I don't really write medical or environmental whump, pet whump, or fanfiction. I don't write porn.

My completed books⬇️

Back to the Dregs (modern action novella)

Masterpost ao3 Amazon

A young detective thought he'd left his problems in his past, but when he's kidnapped as bait for his gangster brother, he has to find a way to escape. Before they figure out his brother hates him.

The Ghost of Seattle (action thriller novel)

Masterpost Amazon

In post-apocalyptic Seattle, a boy becomes a soldier for his abusive father. When he takes his life into his own hands and joins another gang, he believes he's now fighting for people that won't use him. But he is wrong.

Dance of Death (dark fantasy novel)

Masterpost ao3 (nsfw version) Amazon (nsfw version)

When a young noble finds out that her friends are being legally abused, she sees no choice but to take a political stand against it, using humorous comments that cleverly discredit her opposition. But she has no idea how far her enemies will go to crush her spirit.

The Kill-Touch (sci-fi/fantasy novella)

Coming soon; information here.

[love-me-a-lotta-whump]

白暮のクロニクル - Hakubo No Chronicle - Whump List - 🇯🇵

Whumpee: Yukimura Kai played by Kamiyama Tomohiro

Synopsis: Fushiki, a newbie employee from the Ministry of Health, Labor and Welfare who is assigned to the department to work alongside Yukimura Kai, an 88-year-old vampire detective who still looks incredibly young due to his immortality. Together, they will investigate a series of murders by the “Ram Killer” that have been occurring every Christmas in the year of the Ram over a period of 70 years. (MDL)

Genre/Tags: Vampire, Cop/Crime, Supernatural, Superpower, Stabbed, Captive/Hostage, Collapsed, On The Run/Field Medicine, Beaten, Constant Whump, Little to No Romance

Watch On: DramaCool, KissAsian

WARNING: POSSIBLE SPOILERS BELOW

1.01 : throat slashed, collapsed, stabbed, concern for him ::: knife still in his torso (semi comical?) ::: someone exposed him to the sun, concern for him, shaking, burnt face (healing quickly) ::: manhandled, thrown to the ground, in pain

1.02 : in an interrogation room, exposed to the sun, curling in on himself, shaking in pain ::: pushed down onto a desk, struggling ::: stabbed (into a vest so no consequences) ::: cutting his arm, bleeding, slapped

1.03 : none

1.04 : protecting someone, hit with a baseball bat multiple times, fell to the ground, hit in the face with the baseball bat, writhing, concern for him ::: face bandaged ::: ripping off his bandage, concern for him

1.05 : (flashbacks: arm amputated, barely conscious, shaky breathing, drinking blood, collapsed ::: asleep, bandaged, looked after, trying to sit up, startled, in shock ::: jumped out of a moving truck, on the run, stumbling, collapsed, concern for him, looked after, hunted, scared, hiding ::: hunted, on the run, stumbling, exhausted, stumbling, hit ::: growing weaker, concern for him, bloodthirsty, weak, cornered, collapsed, concern for him ::: woke up restrained on a table (strapped to it), struggling, scar reveal, manhandled, in shock, cut with a scalpel, screaming ::: asleep, woke up, scared, scar reveal, in shock), telling someone about everything that happened to him, (flashbacks: pushing a loved one away, concern for him, emotional ::: in shock, shaking, throwing up) emotional, concern for him

1.06 : heavy breathing, sweating, concern for him ::: hallucinating, stressed, concern for him, looked after ::: fought, hit in the head, collapsed, kicked ::: hit by a truck, thrown, eye roll, passed out

1.07 : woke up in the hospital, bandaged, arm and neck braced, heavy breathing, struggling to sit up, angry, concern for him ::: arm in a sling, face still bandaged, took the sling off, collapsed, concern for him, helped to walk ::: helped to walk, stumbling ::: weak, needing support to walk, stumbling, growing weaker, fell to his knees, concern for him, hallucinating, concern for him ::: taking his bandages off, emotional outburst

1.08 : shot at

1.09 : fought, concern for him, emotional, traumatic flashbacks (rlly just images)

1.10 : concerned for someone ::: panicked, desperate ::: jumped out of a truck, hit by a car, collapsed

1.11 : helped to walk, caring for someone over himself, weak, black eye ::: limping ::: visibly unwell, face red, limping, heavy breathing, concern for him, stumbling, growing weaker, dizzy, heavily lidded eyes, collapsed, heavy breathing, growing weaker, starting to pass out, helped to stand, helped to walk, struggling to walk, half collapsed ::: in shock ::: arm cut off, knocked unconscious, collapsed ::: dragged while unconscious in front of a loved one, concern for him ::: woke up, weak, concern for him, concerned for someone, helped to stand, weak, stumbling, collapsed, concern for him, fought, slashed in the stomach, fought, hit across the head with a pipe, bleeding, beaten, weak, trying to protect someone, stabbed in the leg, slashed with a scalpel, collapsed, concern for him, emotional ::: exhausted

1.12 : not feeling well, eyes rolling back into his head, slowly losing consciousness, collapsed, concern for him ::: woke up in the hospital, concern for him ::: in physical rehab, struggling to walk, collapsed, concern for him, helped to get into a chair, weak, upset, crying ::: limping ::: emotional, angry, crying, collapsed, concern for him, helped to walk ::: semi carried, collapsed, weak, emotional, passed out

———+———

MORE WHUMP LISTS >>> {x}

[scumashling]

Caretaker and Whumpee's First Meal Together

Past non con drugging, former Whumpee Caretaker

Caretaker has gone to painstaking lengths to make sure every aspect of the dinner is perfect, from the meat to the crispy potatoes to the dinner cocktail. It is, after all, Whumpee's first real dinner since they got away from Whumper, and after everything they'd been put through, and how skittish Whumpee still is, Caretaker wants more then anything for it to be a good one. The dinner is going well. Whumpee talks with their hands a lot, bright eyed and friendly, if a little nervous, a tight smile across their face. All seems well, except as Caretaker digs in they notice Whumpee isn't. They seem distracted, less interested in eating the meal and more into cutting it up into bite sized pieces and shuffling them around the plate. Whumpee is also spending an unusual amount of time observing the glass that holds their drink, holding the beverage up to the light, only taking scant, small sips, as if trying to taste for something.

"Is there something wrong with the food?" Caretaker asks, crestfallen at the idea that the first meal they prepared had failed to impress. Whumpee's eyes dart up, the forced grin they'd been wearing all night stretching further.

"Oh no! You did such a good job, Caretaker! I'm very grateful." They reassure caretaker. Their voice does not sound genuine, words coming out in rapid fire as if they'd rehearsed them in their head. God damnit.

"If you don't like it, I can make-" Caretaker sighed. Whumpee's left hand slams downs on the table before Caretaker can finish, the right still clutching the glass in their hand tight. The way they slightly tremble shakes the table and sloshes their drink, voice quickening to a high pitch. Caretaker detects a strained note of panic, despite Whumpee's efforts to mask it.

"No, no no no, please don't bother yourself with that, you must've worked so hard and I'm so thankful for everything you've done-its just-I just-" Whumpee's eyes zip back to the glass in their right hand, studying the liquid inside.

It has been a long time since Caretaker had been with Whumper. Sometimes, the memories seem so far away that Caretaker wondered if the whole ordeal had happened to someone else, or if Caretaker had simply made the whole thing up. It didn't help that Caretaker had spent most of that horrible time drugged out of their mind, courtesy of Whumper, unable to move, barely conscious yet all to aware of what was happening at the same time as Whumper hurt them.

It suddenly dawns on Caretaker that Whumpee fascination with the glass might not be out of politeness in the face of an inedible meal. They were looking for signs, strange taste, a strange fizz, if the liquid was cloudy, searching for bits of pills or oil floating on the surface. Caretaker remembers doing the same.

Caretaker knows what they have to do. They stand up, striding to the other side of the table.

"Can I see your drink?"

Caretaker doesn't wait for Whumpee's permission before taking the glass from their hand, downing about half of the glass of the dark red liquid, and promptly plucking a bite sized piece of meat off their plate and eating it up. When Caretaker sat back down, they could see Whumpee's eyes had gone wide, their shoulders bunched in anticipation as if they expected Caretaker to explode. They both waited in silence for a minute, until Caretaker offered them a small smile.

"You should try some. It's really good. And you're so skinny."

When Caretaker failed to explode or collapse on the floor and Whumpee was sure it was safe, they exhaled, their shoulders relaxing, and they tentatively took piece of meat from the plate and began to chew. Their eyes immediately lit up in delight and they had another, and another, and another, washing each bite down with the drink until the whole meal was gone.

[whumble-beeee]

Whumptember 2023, Day 11

“There’s nothing else I can do”

Last resort | Character death | Medical whump

The Bee’s Whumptember Masterlist

~1490 words

CW: probably wrong medical procedure based on my own limited medical training and experience, wishing for death, blood, implied knife wounds, technical medical talk, mentioned past torture, brainwashed whumpee, medical malpractice (but the good kind ig?), needles

(Continued from Day 10: What Are You Doing To Them. Turns out Detective does save Whumpee after all. kinda. heh.)

------------

Where… where was Whumpee? This was all much too white, much too bright. New noises pounded on their eardrums. Weren’t they supposed to be dead? Hanging limply by their wrists, crimson red blotting out their dark flesh so that it was practically a second skin? So good and pretty for Whumper, because they couldn’t struggle anymore and couldn’t be entertaining anymore, so dead was the only way Whumpee could make Whumper happy? They were supposed to be dead. They wanted to be. That was the only way they could be useful now.

Something was poking and prodding at them. Multiple somethings, multiple someones. Whumpee shifted uncomfortably and tried to move away, only to find they couldn’t. Straps. They were strapped to a bed, and the bed was jostling around. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Every slight movement exacerbated their dizziness. 

Had Whumper decided to keep them alive after all? Maybe this was just some new form of torture. That must be why Whumper put some sort of face mask on them. Poison, maybe. Whumpee would gladly take it. Even if their wounds made them so, so weak, even if the bright lights made them want to scream, even if they could barely feel what was happening to their body, even if the flurry of movement around them confused them, especially the agonizing poking and prodding. 

Even if some dark horrible part of their heart fluttered because maybe, just maybe, Whumpee was being saved. If only… No, no, Whumpee didn’t want to be saved. Whumpee wanted to please Whumper and be good for them. That was their only job in life.

Was Whumper even here? They usually liked to talk while torturing Whumpee.

No, Whumpee was good. Whatever Whumper wanted, Whumpee would do, even if this wasn’t their usual style. They would take it because they had to, and they wanted to. They wanted to. They would always take it, always, always, always, always, always…

------------

Detective frantically patted Whumpee’s cheek, and their eyelids twitched open again. Barely. One of the EMTs shoved Detective out of the way with an understandably authoritative “Move,” and got to work wiping off a staggering amount of crimson just from the crook of Whumpee’s elbow. They quickly placed and taped down the IV before readjusting the oxygen mask on Whumpee’s face for the third time, as the other EMT worked on staunching the blood endlessly gushing from the various gaping gashes and stab wounds all over their body. 

“They’re losing too much blood, tourniquet and elevate the limbs more and focus on stitching and pressure on the torso and head.”

Detective leaned back into the corner as much as they could. They almost wished they hadn’t climbed into the ambulance. They almost wished they’d listened as the personnel yelled at them to get out, before Detective’s determined glare and crossed arms made them decide it wasn’t worth trying to force Detective out when time was already a very precious and very quickly dwindling resource. Almost. 

They smiled to themself, despite everything. If nothing else, even if Whumpee didn’t end up pulling through, at least they had made that sick sadist pay. A mist of red spraying to the walls. A second bullet. That was all Detective could have wanted.

Whumpee shuddered on the gurney, momentarily thrashing under their restraints before falling still again.

“Don’t they need blood?” Detective called, jarred out of their thoughts. They started taking a mental tally of all visible wounds again. “They lost so much, and we don’t even know–”

“Yes, they do,” EMT1 interrupted, not looking up from their tourniquet. “We don’t have any, they’ll get it at the hospital.”

Detective sputtered. “They’re not gonna make it to the hospital! We’re in the middle of nowhere, it’s gonna take–”

“Look,” EMT1 spun on Detective. “We can’t do anything about it, or else we would! Now stay out of the way or I’ll have you thrown out of the damn vehicle.”

 They harshly tied off the tourniquet and moved to the next one. Then their face softened again. Just slightly. “We want them alive just as much as you...”

“I’m a universal donor!” Detective pleaded. “O negative! Take my blood!”

EMT1 paused and stared at Detective before remembering themself, shaking their head out and continuing to fuss over a particularly nasty gash. “Absolutely not, we can’t know that for sure, we can't test it, not to mention the malpractice suit alone would–”

“Shit!” The other EMT called suddenly. “Heart stopped beating, beginning compressions! Two, three, four…” They started pushing into Whumpee's chest before they even fully finished the sentence. The one chewing Detective out dashed to grab the AED machine, slammimg the two pads onto Whumpee’s chest around their partner's working hands, before rushing to the side of Whumpee’s head, tipping their head up and preparing to give life-saving breaths.

“Hey!” EMT1 yelled out to Detectives. “Come here and work the AED, it’ll prompt you on everything you need to do–” EMT2 finished their thirty compressions, and EMT1 stopped their orders to give two full breaths into the mask. Whumpee’s chest rose and fell with each breath before falling still again. EMT2 continued their compressions. EMT1 dashed across the cabin to press on the wounds again. ”--and make sure to yell ‘clear’ when it’s scanning AND when a shock is advised and then press the button–”

“They’re back!” EMT2 yelled again, ear pressed closely to Whumpee’s mouth and two fingers on the carotid artery. “Pulse weak as measured at the beginning, breathing normal. Continue as we were, and pay close attention to vitals!”

EMT1 froze, chest heaving shakily. “Okay, okay, nevermind, uh, go back to the corner…”

“Please, I’m O negative, I can help,” Detective begged. “They’re not gonna make it–”

EMT1 reeled on them, eyes fiery and wet, practically shaking, holding tense hands in front of themself placatingly as if they wanted nothing more than to grab Detective by the throat and hurl them out of the ambulance.

“We cannot give an emergency blood transfusion with your blood!” they yelled, breath ragged, whipping their hand up to silence Detectives protests. “We can’t verify the blood type, and if you’re wrong, they will die, and that’s not even touching on the amount of malpractice I’d be committing. There’s nothing I can do to–”

“Oh, lay off and just do it,” EMT2 called out from the other side of the gurney, pressing a cloth into Whumpee’s stomach wounds. “Guy’s a detective, they know their blood type, and you and I both know that the patient’s heart still somehow beating is one in a billion.” 

They reached across Whumpee to grab their partner's arms and press them down onto the cloth so they could grab something from the cabinets, snapping at Detective to do the same, and Detective fell in right next to EMT1. 

“We’re also what, twenty minutes away from the hospital? The will of God themself couldn’t keep this patient alive for that long without a transfusion.” They nodded to the blood still steadily pooling onto the floor, covering all their shoes in a dark crimson, soaking through the bottoms of their pants with a morbid stickiness.

EMT1 stared at Whumpee, searching over their frail frame as if the answers to their life were going to be etched onto Whumpee’s skin. Only different etchings, cuts, and deep purple and black bruises could be found, standing out brilliantly against Whumpee’s practically gray skin. They turned their eyes desperately to their partner, then Detective, then their partner again. “Do it. I’ll continue care until blood can be administered. If this doesn’t work, it's on your ass.”

“Always is,” EMT2 muttered with a jarring laugh. They beckoned Detective over as their partner worked in a flurry behind them, quickly tying a tight rubber tourniquet around Detective’s upper arm. “Try to keep still, lean on the wall. Get some water from the sink, too. You’re absolutely sure you’re a universal donor?”

EMT2 grabbed them by the elbow and shoved the needle into the vein without waiting for a response. Detective swallowed. “I’ve done this before. Never been more sure in my life.”

EMT2 nodded as they finished, rushing away to help with Whumpee again just as thick blood suctioned up through the thin tube and into the waiting blood bag. Detective was already starting to feel a bit woozy. Great time to remember their fear of needles.

They forced their gaze away from the slowly filling bag, over to Whumpee lying half dead on the gurney with the EMTs rushing around them, patching them up with practiced precision. They watched with baited breath each time their chest rose and fell, hoping the next one wouldn’t be their last. Up, down, up, down. Don’t pass out. Then back to the blood draw kit, sucking out the lifesaving liquid from Detective so it could continue its journey in Whumpee.

God, this had better work.

@whumptember