jordanstrophe

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I love a war over a single little whumpee.

One side wants them alive, the other wants them dead. The ones who want them alive only want to use them in a bloodier war.

Whumpee's seared with paranoia. They avoid caretaker, they location hop every day till exhaustion, they forget where home is.

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Whumpee forced their eyes open. Everything felt stiff, numb, and somehow throbbing all at once.

They shakily raised their arm, seeing mostly bandages. With every breath, they felt a tight wrap of more around their chest.

Caretaker sat half asleep by their bedside. From the look of them, Whumpee must have been out for days.

“You’re relentless,” Whumpee mumbled, drowsily reaching for their hand.

Caretaker jolted upright, then broke into a wide relieved grin.

“You’re alive.” they whispered, placing a hand on the side of Whumpee’s face. “That’s the trade.”

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"How are you feeling?" Caretaker pressed their palm to whumpee's forehead.

"I'm fine," Whumpee waved their hand away and gave a small smile. "You don't have to watch me all day like this. I'm okay-"

"Mmhm." Caretaker ignored, tilting their head up by the chin studying their eye's reaction to the light.

"Why are you doing this again?..." Whumpee squinted bitterly.

"Because you haven’t slept more than two hours a night since you came home. You barely eat, you flinch at every shadow and you’re pretending none of it’s happening."

Whumpee looked at the floor and tightened their jaw, "I didn't-" They started to argue, their voice falling short.

"I didn't know you noticed..."

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Other ways to twist a knife in whump:

Getting shackled/yanked by a broken wrist

Being kept awake by pain when they're exhausted.

Leaving their prison door wide open with their leg shackled to the wall. They can see the hallway, hear footsteps, anyone can come in. They can't come out.

Bleeding out as whumper watches to see how long they can put pressure on their own wound.

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Whumpee made caretaker think they're dead. The further caretaker is from them, the safer everyone will be.

Years later, someone brings a half-dead whumpee to caretakers door, having no time to explain what what going on.

Whumpee's so bruised and bloody caretaker didn't recognize them.

Caretaker lays who they think is a stranger on their couch. They started cleaning up blood, trying to find the source of the massive blood-loss.

It wasn't until the blood had mostly been wiped away that Caretaker froze, the rag soaked red in their hand.

They knew that face.

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"Found it," Caretaker muttered, hurrying in with an armful of pills, damp towels, and a blood pressure cuff.

“Quit smothering me, I’m not dying.” Whumpee groaned from the bed caretaker made for them.

“You had a head injury,” Caretaker argued, fluffing the pillow under their neck. “You will sit there and be babied, and you will like it.”

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when the character makes the most pathetic, heartbreaking sound after being disturbed - they got moved and it made their injury hurt, or maybe they're just so exhausted and they're trying to communicate "please let me rest" - yeah. yeah. more of that.

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Whumpee sat in pitch darkness. The only sensation they had was a heavy shackle around their ankle and a bad bruise to their temple.

A dim light flicked on as Whumper clumped down the steps. They set a plate in front of them, something that looked like it was made with great care. Whumper then set a steaming cup of coffee and nudged it toward them.

"An apology," Whumper spoke softly, "For the bang on the head. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard."

'"An apology-" Whumpee repeated sarcastically, "So what am I, your guest?"

"No. No, you're not a guest." Whumper rubbed their nose.

"Guests are allowed to leave."

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Whumpee tried to speak, but tasted blood.

Something moved closer and stood over them. Their vision was too blurry to make out who or what it was.

They were carefully scooped off the ground, their head propped against a shoulder. Blood pooled from their mouth as they were leaned up.

That was the last sensation they remembered, before slipping out of consciousness.

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Whumpee's who are bad at communicating problems my beloved:

"I'm okay," They say, curled up on the floor.

"It doesn't hurt," They say, hands pressed to a bleeding wound.

"I'm not crying," They insist, wiping their cheeks with shaking hands.

"I don't want to scare you," They say, trembling.

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Caretaker's so powerful, they could wage a full-scale war if angered enough.

Whumpee, who was tortured for information, chose to tell caretaker nothing; not daring to risk a war in their name.

Caretaker would have never known, if the enemy didn't gloat about it. Just like whumpee didn't tell caretaker about their torture; caretaker didn't tell them about their revenge attack.

Whumpee would never know. It would be silent, whoever raised a hand to them would just disappear.

And the bodies would never be found. 

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I love over-protective caretakers in social settings:

Placing themselves in front of whumpee to block a stranger’s approach.

Assigning a trusted person to act as whumpee's bodyguard while caretaker is away.

Taking responsibility for tracking and administering medication because they worry whumpee might miss a dose.

Pulling whumpee out of conversations that seem to ask too many personal questions.

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Some lab/med whump? 👀

(I offer a smidge)

Whumpee tried to open their eyes, but a bright light burned. They turned their head with a wince, trying to sit up. Nothing seemed to move as something was holding them still.

Panic started to rise as a loud warning noise blared, in sync with the pounding in their head. They yanked until their arm slipped out of a restraint and tore off the strap that was tight across their chest.

A sudden shock pierced their neck and shot through every nerve. Whumpee convulsed, arching against the bindings, before crashing back onto the table, gasping for breath. A hand grabbed their wrist and shoved it back through the strap, tightening it painfully. Then another hand seized their jaw and wrenched their face upward.

“Don’t try that again.”

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The whumpee tries to deal with their wounds from a fight before the caretaker gets home. Once they’re sufficiently patched up, they head to bed.

Unfortunately, they forgot they left the bathroom looking like a crime scene.

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Every day, Whumpee is brought to a room with a bolted chair, a tray of tools, and a mirror.

They're tortured to a brutal degree. Whumpee screams, sobbing through the pain, “Why!? Why are you doing th-this? Just tell me what you w-want!”

Their captors never speak; whumpee's never even heard their voices. Sometimes, they grab their face and force them to look into the mirror bleeding, shaking, barely conscious.

Then the moment ends, and it starts all over again.

On the other side of the glass sits Caretaker, watching while unharmed and being questioned.

Every time they don’t have an answer, whumpee takes the hit.

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"Let me go!" Whumpee shouted, pushing every limit to break out of their restraints. Their hands were tied behind a tree while whumper and their team worked to set up camp. "I don't have what you want. You've got the wrong guy-"

Whumper scoffed as they tied cloth into a gag. They had a henchman hold whumpee's head back as they forced it into their mouth.

"Quiet you. We have a long trip ahead of us and I need my men to rest tonight." Whumper stroked their fingers across whumpee's face as they flinched in disgust.

"Now, if you don't throw a fit all night, you can keep your face in-tact." 

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“Please, just tell me what’s going on. I want to help you.”

“I…I can’t.”