#resilient whumpee

[the-baby-storyteller]

It’s always interesting when the whumpees have a high pain tolerance. Specifically when they still feel pain the exact same but can go much longer without passing out, for example, or even crying out in pain. If they have a personality which tells them to just grin and bear it, it provides a lot of opportunities for interesting storylines and characters. Especially if the caretaker has to watch them be hurt yet accepting of their pain, only wincing at maximum, and they are appalled as to how Whumpee could take that and it’s not normal to take that much pain and someone help Whumpee before they allow themself to be drastically hurt with nothing more than a pained hiss and an “I’ve had worse.”

[whomeidontknowthem]

Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 1.

Masterpost. Next part.

Content warning: slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, implied future torture, characters express fantasy racism (slave owners are surprisingly not good people).

The slave auction was a grand building, standing tall and proud of its purpose and the wealth of those coming there. It was a place of privilege – on one side of the grand stage, at least. Or on one side of the iron bars, if you were afforded the honor of seeing the stock before the official bidding began – a rare, sparingly given to the most esteemed of patrons opportunity.

Lord Edarwis Teelo greatly enjoyed being one of them. He passed by the row of cells with the dignity that fit his status he had to fight to present – getting to choose before anyone else laid their hands on the collection was exciting. It'd taken many years of work and effort. He couldn't wait to have it all pay off.

Most were boring offerings. People from all over the kingdoms, a few criminals but mostly those sold to slavery to pay off debts. A servant went on about each of them before Lord Teelo threw him a quick glance. The boy was clever enough to close his mouth, letting the lord enjoy the walk in silence, rarely interrupted by any of the scared prisoners. They watched his every move, of course, at least most of them – eyes wide and scared or shut tight or cast away. All pretty faces (the auction only sold the best), skin ranging from deep browns of the Ashai coast to pale pinks from the northern border.

One of them caught the lord's eyes and he paused, studying the boy closer. Young, barely of age, either shaven cleanly or still unable to grow a beard, with such cute little curls on his head and wide hazel eyes. He was a candy for the eyes, shivering in the corner of the sell, twisting his naked body to preserve some sense of modesty.

"He's from Deruveer," the servant chimed in. "From the province. His family needed money after the draught and he was the youngest son. He's rather timid, a great choice if you want someone to do the chores and not bother you much."

Lord Teelo hummed. The boy was pretty, and convenience didn't always mean boredom. He decided to let him be for now, continuing on his way.

The next thing that got his attention was a dull distant clanging, like metal meeting stone with force. "What's that?" the lord wondered.

The servant answered readily, "Ah, it's from our special collection. They're not trained very well yet – you see, my lord, they are from the Northern Steppes."

"A barbarian?" Lord Teelo drawled out, impressed.

"Not just. They were a chieftain of some tribe there, – one of the bigger ones, I've been told. Our army hunted them for a while, until the chief decided to finally surrender. I don't think they expected this kind of a future, though. They are rather unruly."

"Show me," the lord demanded.

It didn't take long for them to reach the special section, and the clanging became all the louder as they came closer. "They want attention," the servant explained with a vaguely apologetic tone. "Their rations have been cut since they bit the handler, and it hasn't improved their temper, yet. It will eventually though. They are sturdy, but nobody is unbreakable."

The lord hummed, turning the corner and finally being able to take in the person they'd been discussing. He expected – something impressive, matching the tales of unruly northern barbarians, dressed in furs and carrying strange weapons, their skin white as silk or even the snow they saw every year there and covered in nasty scars from constant skirmishes against each other. They were all tall as giants and muscular as lions, – all but the one Lord Teelo saw before him, it seemed.

The barbarian sat in the corner of their cell, naked as all slaves were, even though they didn't seem to even try covering anything. Their skin was pale but in a disappointedly human-like way, adorned with iron cuffs and chains going to the wall and a muzzle fitting tightly around their face and leaving only blue eyes and greasy hair out. They caught Lord Teelo's gaze with determination and moved their arm out as far as they could before jerking it back towards the wall. The chain clung against the stone.

"I expected them to be taller," Lord Teelo expressed their disappointment.

"Yes, yes, I also found their look underwhelming when I first saw them," the servant agreed quickly. "But even though they're rather skinny – they can put up quite a fight! If you decide to buy them, my lord, it is advised you keep them in chains and with guards by your side, at least at first. They're a piece of work for sure."

The lord hummed. "Who else do you keep in this special collection of yours."

"Ah! You're gonna like her," the servant brightened. "A real royalty in our modest house! Follow me, my lord."

The cell he led the lord to was bigger than the rest, and less bare. There was a table, a chair, an honest to gods rug, even, and a whole tea set a woman was enjoying in silence. She wasn't dressed as a queen, Lord Teelo noted, her clothes were rather revealing and obviously made to showcase her beauty more than cover her modesty. But she was dressed – more than most people here could say for themselves.

"Royalty?" Lord Teelo mused. The woman turned her head, deeming him worthy of a long look – and it did feel like she was obliging him. The lord gave his best unimpressed stare back.

"She's the princess of former Terzita."

"Ah. The Night of Storms?" the lord guessed as the princess looked away. He watched her, noting the faint bruises running over the tense shoulders.

"The poor thing watched half of her family murdered before her eyes," the servant agreed. "Such terrible fate. It doesn't make her for a more obedient slave, of course – she's still thinking she should be treated with special dignity. We humor her here – but you are not obliged to do the same, my lord."

He didn't, did he. It would be so fun to put her in her place. Oh, yes, he could enjoy a royal maid. And if she didn't feel like playing the role – he would enjoy teaching her what would come of disobedience.

"You have anything more impressive?" Lord Teelo wondered, not taking his eyes away from the woman.

The servant didn't think for long. "We do," he smiled brightly. "Very special. This might be the most special slave of them all, one you can only see once in a lifetime."

"Oh?"

"It's not a human," the servant declared proudly. Lord Teelo perked up with interest. "Nor is it from the archipelago."

"Ah," Lord Teelo responded and the boy smiled at him, seeing right to his excitement. He showed the way without needing to be prompted.

The thing – the creature, – was huddled in the corner, lying on the ground as the two men approached. Its ears – long, obviously inhuman – perked up at the footsteps, but it didn't move from its place. The lord studied its back, the weird patterns streaming down in swirls of color against the unnatural, obsidian black of its skin – furless, at least, and slightly more human in this. Its spine ended up a tail, curling by its legs. A tail!

"Hey!" the servant called out and rattled a key against the iron bars. The creature moved abruptly to face the sound. Lord Teelo was mesmerized by the yellow of its iris and the black of the rest of its eyes. The pupils retracted into slits when they caught the light.

"Is this a fey?" the lord let out a astounded gasp. Even bringing up the fairytales felt childish, but what else could it be?

"We don't know for sure," the servant replied in a whisper respectful of the marvelous situation. "It doesn't speak Tragesh – or any language, for this matter. It doesn't seem incapable of learning – oi! You, want some food?"

"'uud?" the creature mimicked, flashing fangs in its attempt. Its face made some movement Lord Teelo couldn't read. "Yuu hath no 'uud."

"Astounding," Lord Teelo shook his head. Even if he didn't end up owning the creature, just seeing it was a miracle! "Can it do magic?"

"We keep it in a Shiel's collar," the servant explained. "It hasn't shown any, but – we like to be cautious in this case. It is included with the purchase, of course."

"I see," Lord Teelo tore his gaze away with some difficulty. "Anything else?"

"I'm afraid not, my lord," the servant smiled apologetically. "Was something from our collection to your liking?"

Lord Teelo nodded and then thought about it. Money wasn't a problem, but he was only allowed to buy one slave before the auction – which one would it be?

Updates every 7-10 days (depending on how much time I have and how obvious the poll result is)

@isikedmyself878

Tell me to be tagged in new parts!

[interdimensional-chaos]

Give me Whumpees that are less defiant and more resilient. They've taken their licks. They know the rules. They've survived and they will survive. Because they've given up their dignity long beforehand.

If the master says beg they beg. They might even do a good job at it if they're experienced enough. They know just how much to scream. How to breathe. How to weather the storm.

But they don't know how to live. To laugh. To open up. They deflect. Or are short and to the point. They survive.

Resilient whumpees

[hurt-and-comfort-me-please]

We need more vain/egotistical whumpees, please

Whumpees who won't allow anyone to see them cry, no matter how much they need the support, they can't take any more blows to their ego

Whumpees who refuse pain medication because they think it makes them look weak

Whumpees who act mean or cold to those who try to help them because it's the only thing that keeps others away from them

Whumpees that are encouraged to ask for help, but think that others would be impressed if they didn't ever need it

Whumpees that cannot, under any circumstance, allow others to know what has happened to them, even if it allows Whumper to get away with it, because what would the others think of me if they knew how weak and helpless I was? Or that it actually left a lasting impact on me?

Whumpees who obsessively cover up their scars with makeup

Whumpees who isolate themselves whenever the people around them get too 'invasive' by asking basic questions about Whumpee's mental state

Whumpees who are offended at the mere mention that they may have actually been traumatized, because they're too strong/tough/resilient for anything to actually affect them, and claiming anything else amounts to a personal insult

Whumpees who will not tell anyone if they're sick or injured because they don't want anyone to see them hurting, until they collapse and have to be dragged to a doctor

Whumpees who think that they're better than others because they were strong enough to survive nevermind the debilitating trauma

[fern-writes-whump]

hey come here, listen to me for a sec-

the phrase "used to it" has me on my hands and knees. seriously, hear me out:

Whumpee saying "I'm used to it" in response to caretaker's concerns, minimizing their trauma and genuinely believing it wasn't a big deal since they mostly put up with it

"Why are you crying? You should be used to this by now."

Whumper telling caretaker a recaptured whumpee is "used to it" - referring to how scared / obedient / resilient they are - and caretaker's blood boiling because of it

thank you for coming to my ted talk you may go now <3

[whumporama]

A Whumper for who torturing someone is just a job. Their organization needs information from Whumpee, and Whumper is sent to get it.

Whumpee is resilient, and it takes a while.

Whumper is quite lonely, and the time spent with Whumpee is basically their only social life. Maybe Whumpee snaps back, is sarcastic, or just talks to Whumper.

They both keep it professional, Whumpee knows Whumper doesn't care about either side in this fight, they just have a job to do.

But Whumper grows attached to Whumpee. Maybe they actually like them. And they know once they have the information, the organization will kill Whumpee.

Life just became a lot more complicated.

[secret-whump-account]

Caretaker: You're so resilient!

Whumpee: Thanks, my options were either that or dead

[pendarling]

Crying After Dark

Caretaker woke up startled when they heard through the walls a cry so weak and painful that it had stirred them right out of sleep. Their eyes blinked the haze from them within a few seconds as they began to plan out whether or not to approach Whumpee so late at night. If they had been feeling this way, they should have informed them, but it made sense since even Caretaker had a lack of skill in something like this. Despite knowing Whumpee for a long time, they still could never understand them.

When Whumpee returned after years of their initial disappearance, they weren't shivering, scared, weak, or hopeless. They were calm, without a single hint of pain, and Caretaker had wondered if they were needed at all. Whumpee could take their pills all on their own; they knew how to cook for themselves, clean what little wounds did not heal, and keep a conversation. It was as if nothing had happened, and everything was as it always had been. Sometimes Caretaker would even forget the worry they felt for Whumpee on those first few days they'd been under their care. Wondering if Whumpee was just taking a moment to settle in before they would crack.

A guilt gnawed at them for not being as resilient as they wanted to be. The distress of hearing Whumpee's cry in the middle of the night, without a single soul there to comfort them, forced Caretaker to realize their own shortcomings.

They rose from the warmth of their bed and stared through the darkness of their room toward the wooden door.

Caretaker felt unfit for this; they could never address the problem in the room, no matter how many months had passed since then.

The pained cry had only increased since their awakening and it tempted Caretaker for a moment to rush forward and jump to save Whumpee.

"They're strong, they can handle themselves."

They had heard the doctor utter that phrase during their first visit to the hospital, and they believed it.

Caretaker reached for the doorknob and hesitantly opened the door for fear of making too much noise and alerting Whumpee.

They could only wonder what had happened during their time away from everyone; they must've been alone. Even if it was a single word, it would mean everything to them.

Caretaker stalked toward their destination; the floorboards silently creaked under their weight with every careful step.

They reached the sound of the cries where a sliver of light had leaked from the corner of the door between the hall and Whumpee's bedroom.

Caretaker took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. By now,

Whumpee had become too absorbed in their own sadness to notice them enter.

It was a lot more painful to see Whumpee in their sorry state. They sat on the floor, with their back hunched over the side of the bed, head down and weeping in their own despair. It was nothing like the cold-hearted Whumpee made of stone without a single complaint to be made.

"Whumpee," They whispered, afraid that even their voice could break them. They walked closer and placed a gentle hand on their back, feeling it shake under their palm; it had only forced Whumpee to push their hand away from them. "It's okay." They sat on the mattress and tried again, tentatively focused on Whumpee's every breath as it hitched and stopped between each attempt to speak.

Their finger smoothed the hair along Whumpee's forehead down; it clung onto the small beads of sweat, "Whumpee, let me help you."

"No." Whumpee croaked. Their voice was broken by their own sobs. Caretaker watched their hand grasp the blankets harder, their face tucked in their crossed arms, "I can't..."

"Come here." They murmured.

Whumpee struggled to formulate their next words, throat still sore as they tried to shake them off again. Still, Caretaker wouldn't be having that happen to them this time, but they were determined to get Whumpee's attention. Caretaker's hand slipped through the gap in their arms and lifted Whumpee's chin, their hand grazing along the trails of wet tears against Whumpee's cheek. "There you go."

Whumpee had momentarily stopped crying, and Caretaker saw just how sorrowful Whumpee was. It wasn't a look they were familiar with, but it was one they could sympathize with. Despite it all, there was a certain kind of beauty in their sadness; their teary eyes shone with growing dismay; they held onto their stare for a moment, a thumb lightly rubbing slow circles as a trickle of tears began to fall once more.

Caretaker silently urged them forward, and Whumpee sat next to them, mumbling a quick apology before wrapping their arms around Caretaker, sobbing all over again. Like a fawn crying out for its mother, Whumpee had taken on a much more vulnerable state. Their hands dug into the fabric of Caretaker's clothes, and through it all, the only thought that had crossed their mind was relief and a sense of accomplishment. Weeks of the silent treatment from Whumpee had finally led to something worthwhile.

With every shaking breath, Caretaker dragged another slow circle around their back, allowing each minute to pass by slowly. The night stretched on for what seemed to be forever. By the time Whumpee's salty tears had ruined the shoulder of their shirt and their tight grip caused wrinkles on the back of their clothes, Caretaker had been fully aware that it would be time to leave.

Whumpee was not someone to thank anybody; there would be no acknowledgment of this moment, and Caretaker knew.

They felt their hands loosen as their hiccups slowed their breath. Whumpee released Caretaker from their arms slowly, almost as if too attached to let them go. Still, Whumpee would not let that happen for themselves. They had made it their sole mission to maintain a distance and to keep themselves in check with as little guidance as possible, even if keeping Caretaker within arms' reach was tempting.

They faintly sniffled with their head down and their hair blocking them from Caretaker's vision.

"Are you done?"

Whumpee nodded, refusing to make eye contact.

"Do you need me to stay any longer?"

"Get out." Whumpee firmly stated without missing a beat. The familiar cold voice had returned and even if it was a harsh command, it eased Cartaker to know they did their job right.

The bed creaked as Caretaker stood up. "You know where to find me." They said as they walked to the hall and closed the door behind them.

Caretaker walked down the hallway and back to their room. Expecting the usual silence to welcome them back. As they changed out of the tear-stained clothes and slipped into bed, a slow comfort had relaxed their mind.

It wasn't until the early morning that Caretaker would realize one more thing had changed as the weight of Whumpee had settled in beside them quietly.

~~~

MASTERLIST

TAG LIST: @m3rakii, @wondergoddess475, @jeremy-no, @smallville1x10, @whatwhump, @0eggdealer, @theforeverdyingperson, @prophecies-bestowed-upon-ye, @urmum-11, @eldritchdragonfly

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[short-form-whump]

The Whumper yanks the bloodied Whumpee by the front of their shirt, pulling them forward and watching them stumble to the ground. The Whumpee lands hard on their hands, their palms dimpled and covered in gravel pieces. A car’s headlights shine as the only spotlight in the night and blind the Whumpee’s view of all those that are watching them. From the sounds of dispersed laughter, there are many. “Who knew you’d gotten so old, brother,” the Whumper teases. “Can’t keep up anymore, it’s barely any fun.” The Whumpee grits their teeth and pulls themselves up. Sweaty pieces of hair belie their bravado as they stand as an upright silhouette against the bright lights. The Whumper, like a cat amused by the resilience of a mouse they’ve caught, starts towards the Whumpee. The Whumpee flinches so hard that the gravel beneath them makes a quick ‘crunch’. The Whumper laughs, starting another dizzying chorus of laughter surrounding them both. “The old gray mule ain’t what she used to be,” they start to sing, “ain’t what she used to be. Ain’t what she used to be.” They walk slowly towards the Whumpee until they’re face to face, both backlit by the headlights, and almost no light gets between them. “Did you know that about yourself? How old and useless you’ve become?” the Whumper asks quietly. “You’re making it too easy.” The Whumpee is a coiled spring, vibrating anger through their whole body that erupts with a virulent shove that sends the Whumper stepping backwards. The Whumper is unsteady but keeps their balance as they recover. The Whumpee heaves heavy breaths as they await the Whumper’s reaction, then feel a sinking feeling when it’s only ridicule. “Well what do you know, the old mule still kicks!” the Whumper exclaims as the Whumpee looks out blindly at the unseen circle of laughter surrounding them, feeling exposed in more ways than just their spots of broken skin.

[secret-whump-basement]

Caretaker-turned-whumpers who are SO deep in denial

They're doing everything for Whumpee's good! It's in their best interest that they be tied up to the bed, otherwise they might break something during one of their episodes and hurt themselves. A little slap here or there for discipline's sake never killed anyone, Whumpee still needs to behave. Exposing them to triggers is only going to build up their mental resilience! And of course Whumpee is in no real mental state to make decisions for themselves so it's for the best that someone else handle it all for a while. Caretaker only wants them to get better!

[st4rl3ssv01d]

I need to start somewhere, so how about-

~Writing Prompt 1~

A whumper who is surprised when the whumpee actually breaks, when they actually cry and plead instead of staying resilient and defiant like whumper had thought, oblivious of their power until now.

[whumpshaped]

Whumpee being used as a prop! They're drugged or ensorcelled, maybe, and everyone around them is just manhandling them, prodding them, preparing them for something, talking about them like they aren't even there... is it experiments? is it some kind of ritual? are they just weirdos? Whumpee can't focus enough to figure out what's happening...

-- @oliversrarebooks

tw noncon drugging, noncon touching, dehumanisation

Whumpee felt… slow. Maybe that was the best way to describe it. It was the only way they knew how, because every other word felt weird in their head as they thought about the situation.

They weren’t being hurt, definitely not. The people around them were treating them relatively gently, pushing and pulling them around without much roughness, and certainly without malice. It was all so professional. Clean.

So what was it they felt? Exposed, maybe, when their clothes were removed. Unnerved, somewhere beneath the drug-induced haze, at the prospect of being measured and studied by a group of strangers. Relieved, even, that none of it was painful.

But most of all, they felt slow. Too slow to comprehend the words being spoken around them. The conversation moved on without their input, although Whumpee was sure they must’ve been talking about them. They were slow to follow the orders, which was exactly why the people had to move them around on their own; drag them here, shove them there, turn them around, poke and prod and position.

There wasn’t any malice behind it. Disregarding their humanity seemed to be a choice born of pure practicality, really.

“So? What do you think?” one of them asked, and Whumpee was glad that the drugs made them a little slow. If they hadn’t, they might’ve tried to reply and made a fool of themself. Just because the guy was looking at them, it didn’t mean they were talking to them.

“It’s not bad, I guess,” someone else answered. “We can keep them. But… Ah, I don’t know, it’s nothing special. I don’t even know what category to put them in.”

“Put them in ‘non-specified’ for now.”

“You know those always do badly. People love their little labels.”

Whumpee didn’t even flinch when their captor grabbed them by the chin, turning their face this way and that. “You’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t force it.”

“Discarding them feels like a waste, though.”

“No…” Whumpee murmured. “Don’t… Don’t discard…”

The people looked at each other. “Have you given them the correct dose?”

“Yeah, same as everyone else.”

“So why are they talking?”

“Maybe we could use that? Tick the resilient box?”

“You’re right. That’s a pretty good one, too.” Their captor let go, patting them on the cheek before stepping back. “We’ll find a use for you, don’t you even worry.”

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Whump prompt: Whumpee is forced, for some reason or another, to recount everything that whumper had done to them, but they actually manage to remain completely calm the whole time. Everyone either thinks whumpee is a psychopath or very emotionally resilient, but afterwards caretaker catches them crying alone in a corner

oh goddd whumpee doesn't want the team to worry about them, so they try to pretend that they're coping, when in actuality they're not

[whumporpass]

Wei Wuxian from MDZS/The Untamed. I think the most satisfying whumpees are a perfect of powerful and vulnerable. And he fits the bill. He's an instantly likable and charming lead with an enthusiasm for life and good sense of humor. He's resilient, highly talented, and prideful. But at the same, his provocative nature and lack of political standing make him an easy target for those in power. He goes through it emotionally and physically but I can't help but yearn for more.

[willtheweaver]

5 things I like writing about

Shoutout to @theeccentricraven for the tag

Did this one already, but there are quite a few things I like to write about, so here are 5 more:

•In-world mythology

•Songs and poems

•Whumpees that may or may not be as resilient as you think

•Food and drink

•Villages, towns, and cities

Lightly tagging @poethill @splashinkling @spitefulbull @elizaellwrites @bard-coded ,and an open tag

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I am LIVING for the Chris reblogs. He truly is one of my favorite whumpees of all time. You have mastered the art of a subtle “perfect victim” with him. I may be dead wrong but realistically, what has he done that was even controversial through his whole storyline, you know what I mean? Like just as a few examples of your wonderfully written Not Perfect victims and (this isn’t to victim blame or shame at all,) Jameson did sign up for WRU, his and Kauri’s recoveries were FAR from smooth or perfect, and don’t even get me started on Antoni, yikes! Even Nat, who is doing the lords work now, has a shady past! But Chris genuinely perfect. Even the things he thought were his fault weren’t. And like I said it’s not his main character trait is being THE perfect victim, it’s one of those things that was nicely left not outright said, and for the readers to use critically thinking and I LOVE IT. I think that’s a really difficult feat to pull off and you did a fantastic job.

Also like I said I may be dead wrong but I genuinely can’t think of one true misdemeanor committed by Chris.

Having said all of that I also love all of the character flaws you bestow upon the rest of the gang! Either them being fucked up before, or the aftermath of all of the traumatic experiences leaving them fucked up and with significantly poorer judgements that lead to them getting in situations they maybe would not have if it wasn’t for having a new and definitely not improved way of thinking! Okay, yap over. Keep up the great work!!

So this is kind of an interesting thing for me, because I really do try as much as I can to steer away from that "perfect victim" archetype, but Chris kind of fell into it despite how hard I tried not to have him do that.

His basic disposition was always going to be a sweet kid who had been absolutely tortured and who had nonetheless come out of it with a resilience that would allow him to start rebuilding from that shattered foundation.

Unfortunately, it does mean that he didn't end up with a lot of the more kind of exciting to write and interesting faults and imperfections and occasionally outright malevolence that I have in other characters who are not bad guys, they're just people who had to do bad things to survive horrifying situations.

But of course, the biggest impact there as far as Chris's story is that he never saved himself. He didn't do anything against his own moral code to escape. He was saved by a woman who realized what she was looking at, driven several hours in the middle of the night by a man he'd never met before, and dropped on the doorstep of a whole new group of strangers he had no idea whether or not he could trust.

So Chris does hit that damsel in distress archetype in a way that I don't normally like to go for in main characters. But he really insisted on it, and I think there's this thing about archetypes where we see them so often that we get kind of tired of them, but one of the reasons we do see them so often is because they resonate. And there really are people like that in the world, not everybody of course.. probably not even most people put in the same situation would react the way that he reacted to things. But people do.

And what Chris did to survive was pull back inside of himself so thoroughly that when he started to come out of his shell, all the basic goodness in him was more or less intact and untouched. They could destroy so much of him, but they could never make him anything less than inherently a good kid in a bad situation.

If you were to ask chris, he would probably tell you that the biggest character flaw in him is cowardice, because even as an adult he doesn't really fully understand why he has the freeze and fawn, and hates himself a little for never having been able to fight in any real way. He would call himself a coward, not just for not fighting back but also for the times he's been too afraid, like when he walked away from Rafael the first time they met. That he was able to screw up the courage in the museum to talk to him then was an enormous feat of bravery for Chris. He was absolutely wrecked for days afterward. It took everything he had in him to do it.