An adhd whumpee may even provoke their whumper out of sheer boredom
Whumpee may be surprisingly resourceful because of a lifetime of seeking ways to entertain themselves
May dissociate the moment whumper enters the room because adhders sometimes spend hours dissociating in their imagination for fun and can do it at will
Will forget rules and commands (cue punishment)
May tune out while whumper is talking no matter how much they want to pay attention, perhaps causing whumper to slap the shit out of them or something
I have adhd and I also did a lot of research on the condition
Whumpee keeps breaking the same rule(s) over and over again, not purposefully out of defiance but simply because they keep forgetting about it. They try explaining themselves but of course Whumper doesn’t believe them and gets even angrier about Whumpee lying to them
Whumper giving Whumpee a basic task such as, for example, cleaning and Whumpee tries so hard but they just. can’t. stay. focused.
No matter how hard they try they keep zoning out or getting distracted while getting more and more anxious and scared about Whumpers reaction when they come back and the task is still not done.
Whumpee being told to sit still for something (maybe as a nice piece of decoration for whumpers guests) but they can’t stop fidgeting! Maybe Whumper adds a motion activated shock collar next time...
Maybe for a Whumpee that was diagnosed and medicated before getting taken, Whumper taking away their meds, perhaps they just don’t believe that Whumpee actually needs them. Or they could use them as a form of punishment and reward, if Whumpee behaves and does good they can have their medication back for a while if not well...too bad :)
Feel free to add onto this if you have any more ideas!
Overall story Cw because I forgot to add this earlier: beatings, kidnapping, captivity, gang violence, explicit rape, nonconsensual nudity, forced to watch, memories of child abuse, flogging (after a fashion)
Cw (for this part): beating, kidnapping, reference to broken bones
Listening to the rumble of the truck's wheels under the floor where his face pressed, Michael felt like he was drowning in panic and flashback.
This isn't who I am.
I'm not six years old with a mom that hates me. I'm not twelve with a backpack full of drugs.
I'm a man. I have a job. I have a guy on my side, and coworker that… well, I like him.
Michael wasn't that helpless kid anymore, no matter how trapped, angry, panicked…
He squeezed his eyes shut as if he could block out the feelings and focused on rotation of the wheels under his head.
The singing of a highway meant they were now probably going around sixty. If he could find a marker for time, maybe he could figure out how many miles out from Cleveland they'd gone based on miles-per-hour, and then he could make a few guesses about what area they were in when they arrived.
His wrists and arms hurt, stressed and sore, with the hard plastic ziptie digging into his bare skin and the circulation slow and pulsing.
He groaned and got to his knees, lungs aching with the deeper breaths.
"Stay down." Someone warned.
His old instincts told him to obey, stay quiet, hunker down, and hope for mercy.
Fuck that.
Michael wasn't that kid anymore. Anything but that; anything to get away from that old identity that he hated.
Even as he pictured being crushed and beat down under six people, hands tied behind his back, bones breaking, he was getting to his feet.
He staggered a step back as he rose, and an invisible hand swiped in front of his face in the blackness. His back thumped against the wall, and his fingers were too numb to sense the metal that chilled his forearms.
The second swipe got him by the shoulder, and a punch immediately followed up, sending him back down with a wail of pain, this time falling onto a pile of tires halfway to the floor.
"Turn on a light, will you Gabe?" Jordie's voice came out of the darkness.
Gabe didn't answer, but there was a click and the truck, which was now rumbling away from Michael's house, was lit up by one of those stick-on LED lights, which was stuck to the ceiling.
The light showed Gabe and three others in the back, and two much scarier thugs in the front. One was the first guy with the gun. The one on Michael's right, Jordie, he was pretty sure, was wrapping his knuckles with medical tape.
"Thanks." Jordie said to Gabe without even glancing back. He was glaring at Michael as he wrapped the white tape around his knuckles, not even looking down to check his technique. If he kept that roll of tape in his pocket for occasions like this, Michael was not surprised that he had a lot of practice.
"You bust my lip," Jordie said. "I bust your jaw."
Michael's eyes widened.
"Fuck, wait, I was only defending myself--"
"Now wait, Jordie," The first man put a hand on his arm. "We need him."
"Then let's record me breaking his jaw." Jordie shrugged, reaching for Michael, who recoiled back reflexively, only to hit the wall with his back.
He had to fight back. Being known as a fighter could make people decide that you weren't the trouble of fucking with. Besides, it was much better for his mental health than just taking it.
The man's hand closed around his jaw, middle finger jabbing into his cheek, pressing into his molars.
"We need him to be able to talk, Jordie."
Jordie's eyes sparkled with rage.
"I'm not taking whatever you dish out." Michael pushed the words out through his teeth.
Gabe, back in the other side of the truck, chuckled.
"Took it pretty well back there."
"Fuck you."
Michael attempted to get to his feet again, but Jordie struck his head against the metal side of the truck.
"Alright, fine," Jordie said, not letting go. "I won't break his jaw."
