#detective whumper

[whumpdaydreamerx]

A and B are in the middle of an investigation, hunting a serial killer. They arrive at the latest victim's home, getting to work, examining the evidence left behind.

They split up to divide the task – trying to figure out who the killer is and if the victim left any indication of who it could be. A takes the bedroom, and B takes the living room.

In the bedroom A finds the victim's desk, cluttered with the usual items, but amongst the mess, a laptop sits. They notice a small flashing icon at the bottom of the screen. When they click it, a message appears:

New Recording Available:

[Play] [Delete]

To A's surprise, the victim had hidden cameras set up in their home for reasons unknown. Excited to gain some potentially new information, A whispered an enthusiastic yes to themselves and pressed play.

As quickly as the triumphant smile climbed onto A's face, it fell. Their breath caught in their throat – the video made their heart sink to their stomach.

Tears well in A's eyes as they watched B drag the screaming victim across the living room floor. They made quick work of incapacitating them, laughing at the suffering they caused. B stared into the victim's eyes before plunging a knife into their chest, twisting it slowly. B smirking as they watched the life drain from their prey.

A's attention is pulled away from the screen as they hear B's familiar footsteps approaching from down the hall. Breathing heavily, they slowly reach down to grip the gun in their holster. The footsteps stop at the doorway behind them. Even though they know B's there, they still jump at the sound of their voice.

"You alright in here, partner?" A doesn't answer, instead attempting to steel themselves. "A?" They turn around drawing their gun and aiming it directly at B, tears streaming down their face.

"Whoa, what are you doing?!" B raises their hands in defense. Gun still trained, A stepped to the side, revealing the laptop. As if a switch clicked, all the emotion drained from B's face, leaving a cold, dark gaze.

They lowered their arms nonchalantly and chuckled dryly. "Knew I forgot something. Looks like you discovered my little secret. Too bad you're the one who found it.” They cocked their head to the side with a pout, “I really, really liked you A…"

[loonybun]

serial killer who leaves parts of their victims’ corpses on the doorstep of their crush like a dog handing you a dead squirrel.

[pixelatedraindrops]

A silly little idea I came up with (or actually I’ve had it for a while) when I was talking to Kazin, and as always, she drew it out for me… xD

The idea is that if Yuma goes into (or is forced) into a Mystery Labyrinth while he’s sick; in the Labyrinth, the illness temporarily disappears since they are in an alternative dimension. So while healthy, he can solve the mystery with no obstacles.

However…when he leaves the Mystery Labyrinth? His condition worsens. Depending on how long he was in there, or how much energy he used, it’s all transferred to his body outside, and…yeah he practically collapses.

LATER…

Shinigami knows exactly what she did.

What a little jerk x’D

[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

----------

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

[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! 

[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.

[inhurtandincomfort]

Sleeping <3

The way they sleep can tell a lot about a whumpee

-Whumpees who don't sleep. Maybe they're plagued by terrible nightmares and flat out refuse to sleep until they physically can't stay awake anymore, and that sleep never lasts long before they wake up with night terrors. Maybe caretaker ends up slipping something into their drink - they feel guilty but they're getting so worried, it's dangerous to go so long on so little sleep.

-Or maybe whumpee just can't sleep at all. Maybe whenever they close their eyes they see whumpers face. Maybe it's a medical thing. But no matter what they do they just. Cannot. Sleep.

-Conversely, whumpees who sleep too much. Life's easier, when you're asleep; you don't have to deal with any bad feelings or memories, you don't have to face the world or look yourself in the mirror. Being asleep is the only time they feel some peace.

Now let's talk positions!

-Whumpees used to being chained to a table sleeping that way even once free, flat on their back with limbs sprawled out.

-Whumpees who sleep tightly curled up, legs drawn up and arms wrapped around their chest as if hugging themselves.

-Whumpees who just stay poker still the entire time. They were forbidden from moving an inch, maybe even wore electric bands that sent a shock whenever they detected movement, and now even in sleep they lie perfectly still.

[defire]

Masterpost

Very active whump blog containing mature themes. Whump, survivors fiction, hurt/comfort, is a genre that focuses on suffering and the aftermath of suffering.

I have experience about martial arts, physical and psychological torture, domestic abuse, cults, and other fun (not fun?) stuff.

Favorite whump tropes!

Defiant/stoic whumpee

Living weapon!

minor and young adult whumpees

Gang whump/multiple whumpers

Captivity/pet/slave/conditioning

Punishment/humiliation

Beating/whipping

Restraints and threats

Nsfwhump--Rape, noncon, nudity

Tiny story details like, highway rumbling on the floor of a truck under whumpee's ear

Humor

Realistic caretaking with friction and PTSD

Back to the Dregs <Used-as-bait novella>

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.

Masterpost ao3 Amazon

The Ghost of Seattle <Living Weapon Book>

In post-apocalyptic Seattle, a boy becomes a living weapon 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.

Masterpost kindle book/paperback Ghost's theme song

Dance of Death <fantasy riches-to-rags book>

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.

Masterpost ao3 (nsfw version) Amazon (nsfw version)

Information on The Kill-Touch <novella coming soon>

My music (it's not whumpy it's just kind of autistic)

My favorite Tumblr whump stories (post)

[whumpsday]

Whumpmas in July Day 16: Create a whump meme!

whump tag meme! to participate: tag (or comment or reply) with one letter or number from each row. at the end, you should have a 12-character code representing your tastes in whump!

my code is ADILOQUWZ147. what's yours?

(descriptions under the cut in case some images are unclear)

ABC: Whumpee / Whumper / Caretaker

DEF: Chains / Rope / Drugging

GHI: Spiked bat / Shock collar / Knife

JKL: Scientist, Detective, Royal (Real humans) / Hero, Villain, Mage (Superhumans) / Vampire, Mer, Fairy (Nonhumans)

MNO: Soup / Water / Blood

PQR: Nice clothes / Bad clothes / Nothing

STU: Cold / Heat / Box

VWX: No food / No air / No sleep

YZ0: Collar / Brand / Tattoo

123: Cage / Small bed / Large bed

456: Scared & Crying / Angry & Defiant / Stockholmed & Conditioned

789: Happy end / Bad end / No end (series that go on indefinitely)

@whumpmasinjuly

[bloodredfountainpen]

Ok, so we’ve seen the violently protective caretaker shtick right? Love that. What about violently protective whumpee? Specific scenario I have in my head rn:

Whumpee was someone very powerful; a powerful mage, a legendary knight, a living weapon. They were captured, whumped, then left for dead in the woods somewhere, where caretaker found them and nursed them back to health. Since then, whumpee has been living with caretaker, helping them on their farm, your standard issue domestic bliss. Caretaker isn’t a fighter by any means, they’re a kind, gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly. A bit naive, even. This is whumpee’s favorite thing about them, since all whumpee knew up until meeting them was violence and harshness.

One day, Caretaker doesn’t come home, and whumpee goes absolutely feral. Full on super-detective mode tracking them down to whumper’s lair. They break in to find caretaker in a relatively minor situation (say, sitting in a cell with their hands tied but otherwise unharmed). Enter whumper.

Whumpee goes eerily calm, smiles this creepy smile, looks at caretaker and says “I’ve just gotta take care of something quick. Won’t be a minute.” And then proceeds to graphically murder whumper just outside caretaker’s sight. Bonus points if caretaker is completely oblivious because whumpee never explained their past. Caretaker asks about it, insisting that they want all the details. They’re outraged that whumpee killed whumper like that, because from caretaker’s perspective, whumper hadn’t done anything warranting that. Whumpee asks if caretaker is sure they want to know, then explains what whumper did to them in an oddly calm and frank manner and finishes by saying, “You’ve been so kind to me all this time, I had to protect you.”

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA 18

CW for the series | Masterlist

You chose to go get a lock.

With more apologies and attempts to add what comforts you can to the situation, you chain Whumpee up once more and head out.

They look like they don't want to be restrained—of course—but they're not to the point where they'd dare defy you. Which is convenient, for now, but should probably change if you want them to be truly healthy and happy. 

Nothing for it right now. You have other concerns you're prioritizing. Maybe later when you've made more progress. “That’s the last time that needs to happen to you,” you reassure. Once you have a lock, they'll have free reign of the room even when they're on their own. 

You go to the hardware store and pick out a lock that’ll work well to keep Whumpee secure.

You come home and go straight to release Whumpee. “All done with that,” you say to them as you do so. If this works right, you won’t have to chain them up ever again—which seems slightly bittersweet, as you rather enjoyed treating them that way, but it wasn’t good or pleasant for them.

“Thank you, sir.” They are glad to be unchained, but you think you might also detect a faint hint of bitterness at having been chained up again. You’ll let it go, at least for now.

You install the lock on the outside of the spare bedroom’s door. Happily, it doesn’t take too long. You test it, and it seems to work perfectly for your needs.

You smile, satisfied. On to your next thing for the day.

Taglist:

@kabie-whump, @whumpanthems, @whumpsoda, @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz, 

@taterswhump, @alivenova, @whumped-by-glitter, @expressionless-fr, @whumpycries, 

@whumpsday, @moons-cozy-corner, @echo-goes-aaa, @whumplr-reader, @starfields08000, 

@whump-blog, @ivymyers, @currentlyinthesprial, @lumpofsand, @coffin-hopping, 

@sunglasses-in-the-bentley, @catnykit, @indigoviolet311, @dragongodryss, @kira-the-whump-enthusiast,

@risk606, @natthebatt, @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94, @whatwhump, @venusski

@hermitcrabs-1,  @croixph

[cepheusgalaxy]

Better than a whumpee injected with a truth serum, is a whumper who can detect lies, me thinks

[fallenwhumpee]

"An Hour."

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Hospital settings, aftermath of captivity, mentioned death.

Medic, despite what their job would suggest, wasn't a caregiver. They were just a mechanic working on circuits, not who carefully kept the whole mechanism running. They could fix people, but it was that. Someone would have to take over the aftermath.

Much to Medic's relief, Leader was a caregiver. A good one, even.

Too good, they lately noticed. Too good that it was starting to make Medic worried. But just like every other day, Medic knocked the infirmary door in exactly same time, before opening it fully. Youngest was asleep in the hospital bed - Medic had said Leader that it was unnecessary, but Leader  brought one anyway - and at last drops of their IV.

"An hour," Leader muttered. At this point it felt like a ritual. So, without a word, Medic moved and changed Youngest's IV to antibiotics as Leader deserted the room silently. Probably to sleep.

Good, Medic thought. Leader needed it.

Medic made their way to the armchair, only to see Leader's office keys on it. For a moment, they considered giving it back. They respected privacy, but they were also curious. For the last one month and a half, all Leader did was looking for Youngest, caring for Youngest or staying in their office. The first two was understandable, but the third...

Now Medic could learn whatever Leader was doing in their office.

Medic hesitated. They shouldn’t invade Leader’s privacy—Leader had done nothing to earn suspicion, at all. And Leader never broke anyone's boundries, so Medic doing it to them was just wrong. But something had been gnawing at the back of Medic’s mind for weeks now, something beyond the usual worry for Youngest. Leader’s behavior, so single-minded, so intense, felt wrong. So wrong for someone almost obsessed with making the future better. And if there was something in that office that could explain it...

Steeling themselves, Medic turned and walked down the hall to Leader’s office. The key slid into the lock with an ease that almost felt too simple. "Where's Leader?" Medic shouted. Leader's room was wide open and Leader wasn't there.

"Went for a quick walk," Right Hand shouted back.

Medic took a deep breath. "Okay," they muttered. With a simple twist, the door creaked open. Medic slipped inside, shutting it quietly behind them slowly. The room was dim, the only light filtering through the half-drawn blinds, casting long shadows across the walls. At first glance, it looked like any other office—neat, organized, professional. Just like how Leader liked to keep everything. Medic opened the lights.

Notes. Dozens of them, pinned to a board on the wall, scattered across the desk, and even taped to the edges of the bookshelves, almost creating a wallpaper. Most were in Leader’s precise handwriting, detailing locations, names, dates, and other pieces of information that, together, painted a picture out of a detective's office. Medic’s gaze was drawn to a map on the wall, marked with pins and red string connecting various points. They moved closer, recognizing the locations as places where incidents had occurred—break-ins, disappearances, attacks. All related to Youngest.

Their heart pounded as they picked up a file from the desk. It had a picture, the person's face partially obscured, but there was no mistaking who it was. Medic had seen that face around Whumper—one of the underlings of them. The person had been found dead two weeks ago, the cause still under investigation. There were detailed reports about them, autopsies, locations, biographies... informations that Medic doubted Leader had the authority to kno let alone storing.

They set the file down, their hands trembling slightly. Leader had been gathering evidence, but it wasn’t just about finding Youngest. It was about something more.

Another photo on the desk caught their eye. Medic took it, revealing more photos, more notes underneath. Some were crossed out, others highlighted. A list of names—people connected to the kidnapping—each one with a note beside it: confirmed dead, under surveillance, possible lead.

Some of these people were no longer a threat because they were dead. Was it coincidence, or had Leader...?

The sound of footsteps in the hallway snapped Medic out of their thoughts. They hurriedly closed the folder and placed thr picture back on the desk, glancing around to make sure everything was as they’d found it. The door clicked shut just as the office door opened.

Leader stepped inside, looking tired but alert. They froze for a moment, eyes narrowing as they stared in the sight of Medic standing in their office.

“What are you doing here?” Leader’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a warning.

Medic tried to keep their expression neutral, forcing a casual shrug qs if they weren’t digging through the room for the last ten minutes. “You left your keys on the chair. Thought I’d drop them off.”

Leader’s gaze flicked to the keys in Medic’s hand, then back to their face. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Leader crossed the room, taking the keys with a nod.

“Thank you,” they said, their tone polite but distant. “Please wait for my return next time.”

Medic nodded, feeling the tension in the air like a physical weight. They turned to leave, but couldn’t help one last glance at the desk, at the folder now lying innocently on the surface.

Leader didn’t miss the look. “Is there something else?”

“No,” Medic replied quickly, shaking their head. “Just... take care of yourself, okay? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Leader’s expression relaxed, a smile so soft and tender taking over. “Don't worry. Byt you should get some rest too.”

How could Medic be suspicious of them when all Leader did was worrying and caring for the team? Shoving the guilt down, they forced a smile and left the office.

-•-

Later that day, Medic was in the break room when the news broke. The television mounted on the wall buzzed with static before the anchor’s voice cut in, somber and urgent.

“We interrupt this program with breaking news. Henchman, a key figure in the recent string of criminal activities linked to the late terrorist Whumper, was found dead earlier this evening. Authorities are investigating, but details remain scarce at this time.”

Medic’s blood ran cold. Henchman—another name on Leader’s list. Dead. Just like the others.

They stood frozen, the room spinning around them. The timeline didn’t add up. Leader couldn’t have done it—they had only left the office for ten minutes, not enough time to cross the city and back. But the coincidences were too many, too pointed.

When Medic next saw Leader, they couldn’t help but study their face, searching for anything. But Leader looked even more drained than the last time, still trying to hold it together desperately. When Medic mentioned the news, Leader’s response was calm, almost indifferent.

“Tragic, but not unexpected,” Leader muttered, shrugging slightly. They weren’t even focused— they looked like they could just collapse and take a twenty four hour nap. “Agency was after them. It was only a matter of time.”

Medic nodded slowly, but the uneasy feeling in their gut only grew. There was something, something that was beyond their understanding. But as Leader walked away, Medic knew one thing for certain— Leader was doing something wrong. It was either their sleeping habits or the team had a huge problem.

-•-

Soo, have another random one. This is standalone, but I wrote this with "A Score to Settle" in my mind. Not quite part two, but I began writing with that intention.