Hi everyone! I thought I should try to make a convenient little place for all of my works and a little introductory post for the blog/me… So here you are! Also if the layout or links are a bit funky, please take it easy on me. I’m an old man when it comes to this stuff.
My name is Fox, I go by he/him and I like writing. Most of my posts on here will probably be related to Whump, original characters or other random snippets. That being said, I would also like to put out a disclaimer: much of my work will have some pretty darkthemes. Warnings will always be down in the tags, and right front and center on particularly graphic posts, but just in general please stay responsible for yourself and your media consumption. Thank you.
On a different note, Always feel free to sends asks or make writing requests— I tend to be a bit awkward with making conversation with strangers on the internet and can’t guarantee I will actually be able to engage with them, but I will read them and they’re always appreciated! That should be all, below will be a Masterlist for all of my works conveniently organized into tiny little sections, how swell :)
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Masterlist:
Merry Whump of May 2024
Actually only doing one prompt a week unless I get inspired and have spare time (very rare)
Day 1, Prompt 03 “Lost” (“See what happens” | Screwdriver | Club)
Sanctity
A whump series revolving around a Priest and a demon, taking place in a secluded town in a very corrupt and cult-like church
Chapter I: The Exorcism of Mercy Howard
Pestilence (Placeholder name):
Set in a fantasy world in which the dark elf Admiral Yahlar and his kin have recently allied themselves with the Vesper/waspfolk, and, in turn, Lord Haspur. Forewarning: This is less of a coherent story and more just a collection of scenes and drabbles.
War Horns & Well Wishes
…
Whump:
This is just a list of posts that are centered around Whump instead of any of my main stories or characters.
Content: Profanity, Drinking (in a club/bar setting), Some violence, Threats, Whumpee kind of having a position of power, Whumper not respecting that at all lol
“They’re startin’ their shit again, Whumpee.”
The Scotch he had been drinking got caught, choking him for all of two seconds before he managed to swallow it down. Out of the corner of Whumpee’s eye, he could see his bartender. She was hovering next to him, looking a whole lot more uneasy than usual, just mindlessly twisting a rag into a martini glass– Nervous energy. His eyes flicked to hers for a brief second and he knew exactly what was wrong just by the look on her face. They came back. Of course they would come back. No measly little warning could keep the Harpoons out of his hair…
“What do you mean they’re starting their… I– Didn’t I tell you that next time they come in you were supposed to fucking–” He cuts himself off and pinches the bridge of his nose, nostrils flaring. Reel it in, Whumpee. A deep breath.
“Didn’t I tell you,” A low murmur this time, “that the next time they tried to come in, you were supposed to turn them away?” When he opens his eyes again, he allows them to drift past the bartender, over to the bar and the crowd that had accumulated there. Sure enough, in the sea of faces and emblazoned leather jackets, his gaze catches on one staring right back at him: Whumper. Whumper, with those same fiery eyes and that same shit eating grin that widened as he lifted a mocking glass to him and downed it. Last time the bastard was here, he had broken about six of those glasses, the shards of which had ended up half-lodged in some poor drunk asshole’s scalp. Whumpee’s eye twitches.
“You don’t think I tried that?” The Bartender hisses with exasperation, following his gaze to the leader of the gang who… was now waving her over for yet another drink. Pompous prick. She bristles and whips her head to look at Whumpee, all tucked up frozen in his armchair. She turns back to Whumper. Back to him. And then, finally, she makes up her mind. With what has to be the most gall he had ever seen her display, she slams the martini down hard enough to nearly crack it and steps towards him, brandishing the damp rag.
“You are the owner of this club, you hear me? Be a man, get off your ass, and go get those psychos off my bar!” The last two words had spit flying at his face. A beat passed as he stared up at her. The bartender’s eyes slowly widened, coming to the realization she had just shouted at her boss, regretting it, and hoping to God it wouldn’t get her fired… but then, Whumpee lowered his gaze and slowly rose to his feet. His jaw was clenched, determination knitted between his brows.
Wordlessly, he makes his way over to the bar.
“Hey, pal…” Whumper called out in that sing-songy voice (the kind that makes you want to beat the everloving daylights out of him.) Whumpee knew he had probably heard that whole interaction judging by the knowing look in his eyes and his lax, confident posture. Whumpee didn’t care, not anymore. He was tired of this. “Long time no see. Starting to think you’ve been holding out on m–”
“You need to leave.”
It came out a lot hoarser than he would have liked, but they seemed to hear him just fine. For a small moment, it felt like the air shifted. The idle chatter around them seemed to falter before, ever so slowly, every head turned to the two of them. Whumpee swallowed, gaze flickering briefly over the watching eyes. Whumper never looked away. Whumpee takes a deep breath and meets Whumper’s gaze head on.
“You need to leave.” It came out firmer that time. More like how the club owner should sound. But all that determination and feigned confidence simply crumbled the moment Whumper rose from his seat, movements fluid and agile like something ascending, something not human– it was nothing like the sweating and scarred men around him. No, Whumper was something entirely different. Something otherworldly. All that previous arrogance was gone, replaced now with something… terrifying. Whumpee almost misses the arrogance. When he rose to his full height, he only had about two inches on Whumpee, but God it felt like he was towering over him. Whumpee barely managed not to cringe backwards when the man leaned in and whispered,
“Or… what?”
A small part of him wanted to give in and say ‘Or nothing! Hah, what a funny prank– I definitely got you. Drinks are on the house tonight, fellas!’ but he could still feel his bartender’s eyes on him… Damn it, he had a reputation to look after. He wasn’t going to let some rag tag nobodies tell him how to run his club.
“Or I’ll have you arrested, Whumper.” He shoots back. “I’ve asked you not to come back here and I’m allowed by law to refuse you service.”
He takes a small, menacing step forward. “Go ahead, call them, Whumpee. See what happens.”
Whumpee can’t help but flinch slightly at that, but he steels his resolve and shoves a hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Fine then, fuck you, I will! Then maybe finally they’ll get you off the streets, you absolute mutt–”
There was a sudden flash of movement that Whumpee’s mind didn’t quite catch up to in time. He dropped his phone. Then, the pain hit him all at once, hot and searing like a knife all along the bridge of his nose. He cries out and cups his hands over it, feeling the warm slick of blood streaming between them and down into his sleeves. Fuck! Shit, did he just punch my fucking– He jerks backwards as he notices Whumpers vague outline reaching towards him through the water in his eyes. He stumbles dizzily against the counter, rolling over slightly until he’s practically bent over it.
Whumpee doesn’t really know why he started reaching for something. Maybe some small part of his mind knew if he didn’t defend himself there was a real good chance the man would just kill him right here, right now, in his own club. Either way, he starts grappling blindly on the other side of the counter.
Just as he feels Whumper’s hand fist into his hair, rearing his head backwards, Whumpee’s hand locks around a handle, smooth and rubbery against his sweaty palm. He somehow manages to twist his body around in time before the other man can slam his face into the countertop, ignoring the burning sensation in his scalp. Better than having his nose broken anymore; He can still feel the blood running down his face… and neck. He blinks tears from his eyes and with a final burst of energy, he thrusts whatever was in his hand out blindly. It doesn’t make contact. Instead, he feels Whumper’s other hand lock around his wrist. A screwdriver. It was just a fucking screwdriver. Before he can even try to squirm out of the grip, he’s already being thrown backwards once more until he’s arched over the countertop, feeling it bruising into the small of his back.
“Wait!” He gasps out, scrambling frantically as Whumper wrenches the handle from his grip. “Wait– I’m sorry! I–”
The other man simply slammed his head against the counter one, two, three times until he started seeing stars and couldn’t get in enough air to scream. Distantly, he wondered why nobody else was trying to help him but deep down he knew why. Nobody would be able to fight off Whumper if they tried. He manages to work his eyes open once more, trying to ignore the low throbbing in his nose and now the back of his skull but then… he sees Whumper looming over him, screwdriver in hand, poised overhead, ready to come crashing down and pierce right through his fucking eye socket. He’s suddenly breathless.
“No, no, no– Stop! Please don’t–” His voice cuts off with a frantic cry and he feels that woosh of air and a sharp sound that must’ve been his world crashing around him… but the pain never came. It wasn’t delayed like before. It wasn’t there at all. Whumpee’s eyes slowly cracked open, breaths coming much too fast, and he met Whumper’s stony visage… those dark, intense eyes. Whumpee’s eyes shift to the side to the screwdriver, now lodged into the intricately carved cedar countertops… right next to his head. He gulps and doesn’t say a word.
The club is entirely silent now. The next words are whispered even quieter, but they come out crystal clear.
“Call me a mutt again.”
Whumpee’s eyes stay locked on the screwdriver, thoughts spiraling, mental images of that lodged in his skull and blood and agony and— There’s another sharp tug of his hair and his eyes shoot to Whumper’s once more. He’s closer now. A mere breath away.
“I said… call me a mutt again, Whumpee.”
It was hard to shake his head with that hand still gripping him by the hair, but he did anyway, managing only a small whimper that sounded vaguely like ‘I’m sorry’. A few moments pass of this neverending standoff. And just when Whumpee was half convinced it would never break and that those eyes would eventually leave two burning holes in his head, Whumper tilts his head.
And he smiles.
And he murmurs, low and charismatic like it had been when he first walked in, “Well… I’m glad we got that settled then. I would hate to not be able to support my favorite club.” His fingers loosened and slid from the tangled hair, giving him a condescending pat. “And my favorite club owner… Right?” Again at a loss for words, Whumpee just nods. Finally, mercifully, Whumper recedes and lets Whumpee crumple bonelessly to the floor.
For the next two weeks, the Harpoons stopped by and visited every night. Whumpee never said a word about it. Not a single peep.
Content: Profanity, Drinking (in a club/bar setting), Some violence, Threats, Whumpee kind of having a position of power, Whumper not respecting that at all lol
“They’re startin’ their shit again, Whumpee.”
The Scotch he had been drinking got caught, choking him for all of two seconds before he managed to swallow it down. Out of the corner of Whumpee’s eye, he could see his bartender. She was hovering next to him, looking a whole lot more uneasy than usual, just mindlessly twisting a rag into a martini glass– Nervous energy. His eyes flicked to hers for a brief second and he knew exactly what was wrong just by the look on her face. They came back. Of course they would come back. No measly little warning could keep the Harpoons out of his hair…
“What do you mean they’re starting their… I– Didn’t I tell you that next time they come in you were supposed to fucking–” He cuts himself off and pinches the bridge of his nose, nostrils flaring. Reel it in, Whumpee. A deep breath.
“Didn’t I tell you,” A low murmur this time, “that the next time they tried to come in, you were supposed to turn them away?” When he opens his eyes again, he allows them to drift past the bartender, over to the bar and the crowd that had accumulated there. Sure enough, in the sea of faces and emblazoned leather jackets, his gaze catches on one staring right back at him: Whumper. Whumper, with those same fiery eyes and that same shit eating grin that widened as he lifted a mocking glass to him and downed it. Last time the bastard was here, he had broken about six of those glasses, the shards of which had ended up half-lodged in some poor drunk asshole’s scalp. Whumpee’s eye twitches.
“You don’t think I tried that?” The Bartender hisses with exasperation, following his gaze to the leader of the gang who… was now waving her over for yet another drink. Pompous prick. She bristles and whips her head to look at Whumpee, all tucked up frozen in his armchair. She turns back to Whumper. Back to him. And then, finally, she makes up her mind. With what has to be the most gall he had ever seen her display, she slams the martini down hard enough to nearly crack it and steps towards him, brandishing the damp rag.
“You are the owner of this club, you hear me? Be a man, get off your ass, and go get those psychos off my bar!” The last two words had spit flying at his face. A beat passed as he stared up at her. The bartender’s eyes slowly widened, coming to the realization she had just shouted at her boss, regretting it, and hoping to God it wouldn’t get her fired… but then, Whumpee lowered his gaze and slowly rose to his feet. His jaw was clenched, determination knitted between his brows.
Wordlessly, he makes his way over to the bar.
“Hey, pal…” Whumper called out in that sing-songy voice (the kind that makes you want to beat the everloving daylights out of him.) Whumpee knew he had probably heard that whole interaction judging by the knowing look in his eyes and his lax, confident posture. Whumpee didn’t care, not anymore. He was tired of this. “Long time no see. Starting to think you’ve been holding out on m–”
“You need to leave.”
It came out a lot hoarser than he would have liked, but they seemed to hear him just fine. For a small moment, it felt like the air shifted. The idle chatter around them seemed to falter before, ever so slowly, every head turned to the two of them. Whumpee swallowed, gaze flickering briefly over the watching eyes. Whumper never looked away. Whumpee takes a deep breath and meets Whumper’s gaze head on.
“You need to leave.” It came out firmer that time. More like how the club owner should sound. But all that determination and feigned confidence simply crumbled the moment Whumper rose from his seat, movements fluid and agile like something ascending, something not human– it was nothing like the sweating and scarred men around him. No, Whumper was something entirely different. Something otherworldly. All that previous arrogance was gone, replaced now with something… terrifying. Whumpee almost misses the arrogance. When he rose to his full height, he only had about two inches on Whumpee, but God it felt like he was towering over him. Whumpee barely managed not to cringe backwards when the man leaned in and whispered,
“Or… what?”
A small part of him wanted to give in and say ‘Or nothing! Hah, what a funny prank– I definitely got you. Drinks are on the house tonight, fellas!’ but he could still feel his bartender’s eyes on him… Damn it, he had a reputation to look after. He wasn’t going to let some rag tag nobodies tell him how to run his club.
“Or I’ll have you arrested, Whumper.” He shoots back. “I’ve asked you not to come back here and I’m allowed by law to refuse you service.”
He takes a small, menacing step forward. “Go ahead, call them, Whumpee. See what happens.”
Whumpee can’t help but flinch slightly at that, but he steels his resolve and shoves a hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Fine then, fuck you, I will! Then maybe finally they’ll get you off the streets, you absolute mutt–”
There was a sudden flash of movement that Whumpee’s mind didn’t quite catch up to in time. He dropped his phone. Then, the pain hit him all at once, hot and searing like a knife all along the bridge of his nose. He cries out and cups his hands over it, feeling the warm slick of blood streaming between them and down into his sleeves. Fuck! Shit, did he just punch my fucking– He jerks backwards as he notices Whumpers vague outline reaching towards him through the water in his eyes. He stumbles dizzily against the counter, rolling over slightly until he’s practically bent over it.
Whumpee doesn’t really know why he started reaching for something. Maybe some small part of his mind knew if he didn’t defend himself there was a real good chance the man would just kill him right here, right now, in his own club. Either way, he starts grappling blindly on the other side of the counter.
Just as he feels Whumper’s hand fist into his hair, rearing his head backwards, Whumpee’s hand locks around a handle, smooth and rubbery against his sweaty palm. He somehow manages to twist his body around in time before the other man can slam his face into the countertop, ignoring the burning sensation in his scalp. Better than having his nose broken anymore; He can still feel the blood running down his face… and neck. He blinks tears from his eyes and with a final burst of energy, he thrusts whatever was in his hand out blindly. It doesn’t make contact. Instead, he feels Whumper’s other hand lock around his wrist. A screwdriver. It was just a fucking screwdriver. Before he can even try to squirm out of the grip, he’s already being thrown backwards once more until he’s arched over the countertop, feeling it bruising into the small of his back.
“Wait!” He gasps out, scrambling frantically as Whumper wrenches the handle from his grip. “Wait– I’m sorry! I–”
The other man simply slammed his head against the counter one, two, three times until he started seeing stars and couldn’t get in enough air to scream. Distantly, he wondered why nobody else was trying to help him but deep down he knew why. Nobody would be able to fight off Whumper if they tried. He manages to work his eyes open once more, trying to ignore the low throbbing in his nose and now the back of his skull but then… he sees Whumper looming over him, screwdriver in hand, poised overhead, ready to come crashing down and pierce right through his fucking eye socket. He’s suddenly breathless.
“No, no, no– Stop! Please don’t–” His voice cuts off with a frantic cry and he feels that woosh of air and a sharp sound that must’ve been his world crashing around him… but the pain never came. It wasn’t delayed like before. It wasn’t there at all. Whumpee’s eyes slowly cracked open, breaths coming much too fast, and he met Whumper’s stony visage… those dark, intense eyes. Whumpee’s eyes shift to the side to the screwdriver, now lodged into the intricately carved cedar countertops… right next to his head. He gulps and doesn’t say a word.
The club is entirely silent now. The next words are whispered even quieter, but they come out crystal clear.
“Call me a mutt again.”
Whumpee’s eyes stay locked on the screwdriver, thoughts spiraling, mental images of that lodged in his skull and blood and agony and— There’s another sharp tug of his hair and his eyes shoot to Whumper’s once more. He’s closer now. A mere breath away.
“I said… call me a mutt again, Whumpee.”
It was hard to shake his head with that hand still gripping him by the hair, but he did anyway, managing only a small whimper that sounded vaguely like ‘I’m sorry’. A few moments pass of this neverending standoff. And just when Whumpee was half convinced it would never break and that those eyes would eventually leave two burning holes in his head, Whumper tilts his head.
And he smiles.
And he murmurs, low and charismatic like it had been when he first walked in, “Well… I’m glad we got that settled then. I would hate to not be able to support my favorite club.” His fingers loosened and slid from the tangled hair, giving him a condescending pat. “And my favorite club owner… Right?” Again at a loss for words, Whumpee just nods. Finally, mercifully, Whumper recedes and lets Whumpee crumple bonelessly to the floor.
For the next two weeks, the Harpoons stopped by and visited every night. Whumpee never said a word about it. Not a single peep.
Planning on maybe participating in the Merry Whump of May this year... but realistically I will only be doing one prompt a week. And just choosing one out of each week that inspires me the most. I am a very busy boy lol
Ok most of my followers won’t be familiar with the game but still:
Character who’s able to become more powerful because they consume their own health?? 🤭
Sounds great for a villain but also AMAZING for a hero. Like brooo imagine a hero saving their team and turning into something truly horrifying for a few seconds and then just collapsing with total destruction around them because their powers feed on their health hihihihi 🤭🤭🤭
Jade let his head lul against the wall, eyes pointing up to the cement between their cells. “Yea?”
“..you killed someone, right?”
He sighs, closing his book. “That’s kinda what you gotta do to get in here, yeah.” Not proud of it. Not a fan of talking about it.
The other side was silent for a few seconds.
Jade raised a brow. “...is that the end of the conversation, orrrr…?”
“..no,” a response finally echoed. “I’m just..just wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“If…you could ever make it stop..?”
Jade blinked a few times, sitting up a little straighter. “Make what stop?”
He could practically feel the tension through the wall as his ‘solitary buddy’ (odd term, he knows) tried to pick their words. “..the….the impulses…obsessions....y’know-?”
Jade was frowning now. Book opening again. “Don’t have those. Just got real mad one time. Don’t ‘xpect it to happen again.”
“.......oh.”
Jade didn’t respond, just getting back to his reading.
It was hours later that the other -Wilson, was it..?- was taken back to the normal block. The guard opened Jade’s door a few minutes after. “Guy left his book. You want it?”
Aaaaand Jade perked up again. He tossed ‘Alice in Wonderland’ aside. Desperate to read literally anything new. “Yeah definitely, thanks-”
The guard hummed a response and tossed the new book in before locking back up.
Jade scooped the new book back up, taking a moment to stretch, groaning as blood moved into his apparently-sleeping feet. Pacing the small room as he opened the cover.
He blinked, eyes catching on ink that was scribbled between each line.
Every line.
Every page.
Every square inch of available space inside the covers and along the margins and even inside the bend of the spine.
Whumper was expressionless as they opened the front door, but that slowly turned into a fond smirk as they looked over Whumpee, whose own eyes were on the floor and filled with shame.
"You realized you couldn't live on your own, didn't you?"
Whumpee gave a single nod in response.
Whumper reached out and cupped Whumpee's cheek, they were gentle as they stroked it with their thumb.
Whumpee kneeling at Whumper’s side. Whumper reaching down and petting their hair, maybe looping their hand under their chin and pulling them close to rest against their thigh— Especially when Whumper is having a conversation with someone else and just does it to remind Whumpee of their place or maybe even make a show of owning them to whoever they’re talking to.
characters with both the abject terror and murderous desperation of an animal that knows it is cornered and destined to be eaten. you just can't get that kind of angst out a successful hunter. but alternatively i posit: predator animal fear. which is a totally different thing
When a Whumpee falls and is trying to push themself back up but right as they begin to get their hands beneath them a boot plants firmly on their back, knocking them to the ground >>>>>>
“Physically intimidating/powerful sunshiney character who teams up with much weaker and easily intimidated character and doesn’t even realize that they’re probably standing a bit too close and that hand on the others shoulder has them about three seconds away from fainting on the spot” my beloved
“Look at them… Look at them, Whumpee.” Whumper snarls against their ear. “Is this what you fucking want?”
Whumpee doesn’t reply— They can’t. Before, they had been struggling with all their might: grinding their heels against the rain-slicked ground, clawing at the unforgiving hand gripping them by the scruff of their neck.
But now…? Now they were frozen. And their eyes, wide as saucers, were locked on the person lying on the shed floor. Only… calling it a person was almost laughable. It was a mere lump on the floor. The stumps of what used to be its limbs were disfigured, scars that had improperly healed. The small patches of skin visible from underneath its tattered blanket were painted with ugly bruises and deep lacerations… some had scarred over, others looked “fresh”. Undoubtedly infected, but new. The sight of this person— this thing that had once been human— curled up in this ramshackle shed.
The words die in their throat… The fight in Whumpee drains.
“Do you know how easily this could be you?” Whumper continues, ragged panting having settled into slow, trembling breaths. “Do you know how much restraint it takes to be patient when you act like a fucking child?” They catch Whumpee roughly by the jaw, forcing them to crane their neck to make eye contact.
Their next words are a whisper, deadly and demanding.
“If you try some shit like that one more time… you will end up just like them…” Their eyes search Whumpee’s intensely as if daring them to slip up, make a mistake. “Do you understand me?”
A breathless beat.
“I understand.”
“Good.” Their jaw is released and Whumpee’s knees nearly give out. But Whumper had already settled their attention on the heap of flesh in front of them, one hand reaching for their pocketknife. “Now get back inside… I need to relieve some stress.”
Is it just me or do I hardly ever see prison related whump? I feel like the most I’ve seen is a detective that teams up with a criminal who has intel on a case or a hero visiting a villain in jail, but I feel like there are an endless number of whump opportunities with a prison setting.
“Look at them… Look at them, Whumpee.” Whumper snarls against their ear. “Is this what you fucking want?”
Whumpee doesn’t reply— They can’t. Before, they had been struggling with all their might: grinding their heels against the rain-slicked ground, clawing at the unforgiving hand gripping them by the scruff of their neck.
But now…? Now they were frozen. And their eyes, wide as saucers, were locked on the person lying on the shed floor. Only… calling it a person was almost laughable. It was a mere lump on the floor. The stumps of what used to be its limbs were disfigured, scars that had improperly healed. The small patches of skin visible from underneath its tattered blanket were painted with ugly bruises and deep lacerations… some had scarred over, others looked “fresh”. Undoubtedly infected, but new. The sight of this person— this thing that had once been human— curled up in this ramshackle shed.
The words die in their throat… The fight in Whumpee drains.
“Do you know how easily this could be you?” Whumper continues, ragged panting having settled into slow, trembling breaths. “Do you know how much restraint it takes to be patient when you act like a fucking child?” They catch Whumpee roughly by the jaw, forcing them to crane their neck to make eye contact.
Their next words are a whisper, deadly and demanding.
“If you try some shit like that one more time… you will end up just like them…” Their eyes search Whumpee’s intensely as if daring them to slip up, make a mistake. “Do you understand me?”
A breathless beat.
“I understand.”
“Good.” Their jaw is released and Whumpee’s knees nearly give out. But Whumper had already settled their attention on the heap of flesh in front of them, one hand reaching for their pocketknife. “Now get back inside… I need to relieve some stress.”
I need to see more unstable Whumpers. I don’t mean in the “Ahh I’m so crazy and sadistic I’m going to chop off all your limbs and yell at you for no reason because I’m so emotional and violent rahhh” (Even though I also love that trope)
I’m talking about Whumpers who are just as scared as Whumpee is. Ones who struggle to express their feelings. All they do is hurt people. When they’re just so desperate for something to call their own, something that can give them that unconditional love that no one gives them— Especially when there used to be someone a long time ago that did but the pain from that person leaving has made them so closed off. When they’ve become so isolated that can’t even look at Whumpee, much less touch them (But there are nights when Whumpee wakes up to feel a shaky, tentative hand resting on their back.) I’m talking about the kind of Whumpers who went through some stuff. The kind that wake up screaming after another nightmare and Whumpee knows that in a few minutes they’ll come to take that pain out on them. There are probably so many more examples but god do I love unstable Whumpers <3
Whumpees with no choice but to keep their cool. One of my favorite examples: Whumpee is somehow roped into some kind of criminal organization and got on the boss’s bad side. They’re sitting across from them, surrounded by a bunch of grunts, all armed to the teeth— and even when one of them holds a gun up to the back of their skull, Whumpee knows they have to keep a level head and talk their way out of it.
(Bonus points if afterwards a Caretaker character helps them outside and they vomit in an alleyway.)
