#whumpy thoughts

arching spine

brows knitting together / grimacing

clenching teeth together

cold sweats

collapsing to knees

covering the hurting area

crying out / screaming / yelping

disorientation / confusion

doubling over / curling in / stumbling

dropping objects

eyesight blurring / blacking out

flinching / jerking

flushing / going pale/ashy

gasping / hissing

going rigid / tensing up

goosebumps

holding breath and sharply exhaling after

inability to speak / babbling incoherently

lightheadedness

lips pulling back, baring teeth

nausea

nostrils flaring

protective posture

rapid blinking

reaching out for something to hold onto to avoid falling

ringing ears

squeezing eyes shut

tears welling / crying

voice cracking

vomiting

“Mhm.”

“Sorry,” Eli whispers in the dark.

“You okay?” his dad asks.

“Yeah. Just didn’t wanna sleep alone.”

“Mm. You wanna talk about it?”

“Same dream.”

Dad sighs gently, rolling onto his side so he can look at Eli in the dim lighting provided by the moonlight. “I’m right here,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.” A warm, solid hand settles on Eli’s shoulder, squeezing once. “You’re stuck with me, kid.”

Eli closes his eyes, trying to shake the lingering feelings of fear and grief, shock and terror. He’s had this stupid fucking nightmare a dozen times now, but it doesn’t seem to get easier. Every time it’s the same—Dad throwing himself in front of Eli, sacrificing himself to some horrible monster, dying in his arms.

“Kick him.”

“What?” Eli asks.

“Kick him,” Dad repeats. “Trust me, he wants to be awake for this.”

So Eli nudges Stiles with a foot, more purposefully this time. He doesn’t move.

Dad reaches over and flicks Stiles’ earlobe, making him jerk awake. “What’s happening!” he asks with a slurring tongue, still half-asleep.

“Eli’s here,” Dad says. “Tell him what you told me.”

“About what?” Stiles asks sleepily, shifting from his stomach to his side. “Hey, kid. You keep getting bigger—were you this tall when we all went to sleep?”

“About the dreams,” Dad tells him. “About how you’re not gonna let me die.”

“Oh, right.” Stiles clears the sleep from his throat and nudges Eli with a friendly fist. “Don’t worry, dude. Your dad and I have, like, nearly twenty years of saving each other’s lives. He’s literally not allowed to kick it until we’re ninety.”

Eli can’t help but smile, amused. He’s heard Stiles say it before—Dad isn’t allowed to die. That’s how Eli feels too.

“I’ll show you the runes in the morning,” Stiles says, eyes already slipping closed again. “Seriously, I’m keeping your old man alive, I swear. He’s sorta important to me too, you know.”

“Gross,” Eli says, without any heat.

“Yeah, super gross, very gay—goodnight.”

Eli rolls his eyes. Dad huffs a gentle laugh.

“You wanna go watch TV?” Dad offers. It’s the middle of the night, but it is a weekend. No school in the morning.

just the psychology of it is so fascinating to me.

the way you start flinching even when its off, the fear of opening your mouth, the discomfort of the prongs and perhaps feeling those when its not even on, and the way it psychologically doesn't even really work.

caretaker tries to comfort whumpee, it's okay to panic. lashing out is natural after what they've been through, but despire that they're cared for. even with all the afirmations, whumpee still strikes caretaker, yelling at them to go away.

I do love myself a Whumpee who is so weak or injured that their feet drag as they’re being moved. 

Maybe the Team is hauling the deadweight of an unconscious Whumpee upright between them, and Whumpee’s toes are dragging across the ground as they try to cover ground as quickly as they can, or

Whumper has their hands hooked under Whumpee's arms and is pulling Whumpee across the floor, as latter's heels slide desperately (and futilely) for purchase, or

Caretaker is supporting Whumpee over the threshold of a safe house, and the toe of Whumpee’s shoe catches on the slight rise, because they’re too weak to raise their feet sufficiently to clear the tiny height difference of the tiled floor.

🌟BONUS if Whumpee is barely conscious and trying to help, but their ankles keep folding and their feet land uselessly sideways.

🌟🌟DOUBLE GOLD STAR BONUS if the dragging leaves smeared blood in its wake, maybe from blood that is actively spattering the ground, leaving streaks behind them like interrupted brushstrokes.