its the small moments in whump for me, those glimpses right before and after your character loses it all in no chronological order
-- the hitched breath after a blow to the face
-- the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and the flinching when the door opens
-- the soft sound, more animal than human, when whumpee pulls a blood-drenched hand away from their side
-- caretaker leaning over whumpee, whispering assurances that they cant keep
-- when the curses catch in whumpee's throat and all they can manage is a strangled, don't...please
-- when whumpee stumbles and clings to the doorway. better when they look up and meet caretaker's eyes. The slow, dreaded realization. caretaker lunges forward, but not in time to catch whumpee
-- when whumpee's head hits the tiles with a thud
-- the panic they swallow down when they see Whumper for the first time
-- the added details of used knives, splattered with dried blood, faded from crimson to rusty brown
-- the dead, hollowed-out light in whumpee's eyes after they're rescued
-- coughing that turns into whumpee doubling over, and desperately, so desperately trying to hide the fact they coughed up blood
-- a still hand, palm up on the floor, and no semblance of consciousness. The pool of blood around them is growing
-- caretaker pausing-- oh. oh god-- when they rush through the door to rescue whumpee, their eyes widening and stomach dropping, before cutting whumpee down from their restraints
-- Whumper tracing whumpee's jaw with the tip of their finger. "Now, isn't this nice."
-- When Whumper kicks Whumpee when they're already down and all Whumpee can manage is a small curse.
-- When Whumper yanks Whumpee's head up by their hair and Whumpee has to squint because of the sudden, sharp light
-- whumpee clutching a sink for a long moment before turning on the faucet and splashing water in their face to hide the fact they've been crying
