Whumpy Writing

hands tied in front of them, on foot while their captors are mounted, sleeping out in the open, forced to beg for adequate food and water

maybe they're barefoot, a captured royal in silken robes

maybe they're in a torn suit or soldier's uniform

maybe they were stripped at the start, increasing the exposure to the elements, the humiliation

And then Caretaker came. And hugged him, ever so gently.

Two seconds, three, five. "Ok, ok, I'm alright, you can let go now," Whumpee say. Caretaker nods and keeps holding. Fifteen seconds in Whumpee's arms raise to hug Caretaker back.

And thaaaat's when the dam breaks. First the lip begins shaking. "I'm alright, really," he says and the voice cracks. He finally cries.

whumpee that will only sleep in small, hard to find spaces

Eventually, the team/their friends find out about the existence of Whumper, and more specifically they find out about the horrific things they did to a person going by a name they’ve never heard before: Whumpee’s old name.

Whumpee doesn’t want to speak up. This’ll pass and the team will assume their alter ego died or something and Whumper will be forgotten. They just have to push through it and ignore how they feel when they hear their friends commenting on the situation like Whumpee wasn’t a part of it.

Of course, the truth comes out eventually. Whumper recognises them, or someone else on the team points out a distinct, unique similarity between Whumpee and that person. Everyone’s horrified.

They’ve known for months about this terrible, terrible thing that happened to someone. Hell, one person made a pretty tasteless joke about it over brunch. But all of it feels scarily real when now they know it wasn’t just something that happened to some unknown mystery person.

“you can scream if you want. no one will hear us out here.”

“don’t you dare touch me.” “oh, you’re going to wish all i did was touch you.”

whumpee notices a suspicious stain on the floor. “is that…?” “aww, did you think you were my first?”

“i feel kinda… dizzy.” “mm, it’s about time. that stuff is supposed to work faster than this.”

“you don’t have to do this. you can stop now, and i won’t tell anyone. we can pretend this never happened.” “you think that’s what i want? to let you walk away like nothing happened? no, sweetheart. i’m going to make sure you never forget this.”

“stop—stop! i don’t want this! i said i don’t—” “i know, whumpee. and i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“whumper, please! i thought we were friends!” “oh, we’re about to be so much more than that.”

"Screw you, fuck-face, I'll never do what you want."

to:

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, PLEASE-"

whumpee who doesnt flinch and doesnt seem bothered at all. in fact, theyre more confused by the warning than anything.

After almost a year of captivity, relentless horrors, an unexpected rescue, emergency surgery, months of hospital care…

They’re now in recovery and struggling with the most innocuous of triggers.

After so long trapped in a windowless space, they are desperate for fresh air. It's a primal urge. Yet, leaving a window even slightly ajar is terrifying; easier for whumper to find and recapture them.

The stress is overwhelming, mentally flicking between the two things they need: air and safety.

too scared to ask for affection

testing the waters with “casual” brushes

“please, don’t go…”

meeting a naturally physically affectionate person and being thrown for a loop

freezing up when receiving physical affection and not knowing how to react

being uncomfortable when they do receive affection

seeking out hobbies associated with physical contact (dancing, wrestling, …)

watching someone hug and feeling envy

taking long, hot showers to simulate touch

hugging self in bed to self soothe

trying to replace human affection with animal companions

learning to ask for hugs and cuddles

once they feel comfortable with it, they become insatiable for touch

(is also sometimes called “skin hunger” and i just think that’s sick)

Weapons. Trained, tested, forged in steel and fire. Failure is an inevitability that ends in death. Pain should not be felt--it should be recognized, familiar, and inconsequential

Martyrs. In the form of servants and princes, of leaders and underdogs. If blood is necessary, the martyr will lift their hands and offer it all

Shields. Like tempering a sword, but only to bear and not to lash out. Wounds are medals--not symbols of pride, but symbols of worth. A pretty shield is useless; scars mean a job well done

Experiments. Raised on the cold comfort of a lab table. Restraints are only necessary when they're not in their right mind. Is it honorable, to be twisted beyond recognition? Or is it just a necessary evil?

Monsters. Cruelty, caution, and regarding one as a creature beyond reasonable thought is tempering in its own right. But if you keep a leash at the right length, perhaps the massecre won't reach you. One can hope.

Idols. Pretty face, pretty name, pretty hands around their shoulders and throat. There to seduce, manipulate, force any feeling to come to the surface and twist it to their favor. Any genuinity stays locked behind the guilded cage that surrounds their pretty little heart

Trophies. Status and wealth and the traditions that keep someone at their heels, on their knees, to display and serve and decorate one's ballroom.