Most animals don't scream in pain because that would just alert predators they're an easy target. Humans scream in pain because we're social creatures, our screams and cries are meant to alert others of danger, to call for help. Which makes it really ironic when those sounds are forced out of whumpee over and over again, and the only person around to hear is the one causing them...
Caretaker starts thinking Whumpee is making progress, chilling in the kitchen and helping to make dinner. Still, healing is always messy. When Whumpee breaks a plate, Caretaker expects a bit of panic, but Whumpee robotically cleans up the mess and tells caretaker
``I'll be in the bedroom.''
By the time dinner has gone cold, Caretaker is worried. They knock on the door, asking to come in. After a short pause, Whumpee responds.
``Of course.''
Inside they find Whumpee in the position Whumper taught them - kneeling, eyes down, hands behind their back. Almost managing to hide the fear in their voice, Whumpee asks,
Whumpee who gets neurotic about their looks during recovery. After so long being told they're only good for looking pretty, it's a hard habit to shake.
"I know whumper was a terrible person, but they were right; my hair looks better like this."
Refusing to let anyone see them when they're sick or sad, too self conscious of their eye bags and greasy hair and palid skin. Always apologizing and self deprecating about how they look.
My favorite whump trope is having a couple chapters to define a personality for whumpee; friends, hobbies, ideals, humour, and then slowly stripping it away from them over the course of the story.
Then letting their friends (now caretakers or maybe fellow whumpees) find them later, despondent, bloodied, empty, but heartbreakingly obedient and eager to please. Reckoning with the terrible transformation that's taken place. Knowing the journey to recovery might be just as long and hard as the journey to get here.
``It's going to be okay. I'm here. We're gonna get you out of this.''
But even the person speaking isn't quite sure this can be fixed.
collin WIP from my series unlikely bonds!! if you imagine him looking different you can keep doing that, i just wanted to draw some whump. sorry the writing has been taking so long thankyou for the love!!
Someone had been in his house. Matt was certain of it. The door, which he was sure he'd closed on locked when he'd left for work, was wide open when he came home. Inviting him into the place he once felt safe. At first, he thought it was a robbery, but nothing had been stolen. Barely anything was out of place. It was like all his possessions had been meticulously combed though and then put back where they were found.
Most disturbing was what he found in his lounge; a red heart-shaped foil balloon. Floating in the middle of the room, tethered to the floor by a string. No note, but the message was clear. Someone wanted him. Someone who didn't care about his privacy, his wishes or his sense of safety.
It wasn't the first clue he had a stalker, but after that there was no denying it. Later, he'd retrieved letters containing pictures. Pictures of him on the train, at work, sleeping, at the police station, on the phone to his friends. He'd become paranoid, but was it really paranoia when your fears were true? He didn't take the train anymore. Called in sick to work, cut off all his friendships but the people he trusted most.
He was staying at his friend's house, a cookie cutter suburban place, when the countdown started. Each letter now contained a note alongside the invasive photos. The first one just said: ``10''.
Everyday they came, each time the number counted down. Everywhere he went he felt eyes on him, like a physical force, ghosting over his skin and making his hair stand on end. On day zero Matt holed himself up in the spare room, the blinds closed. He didn't open the door for the friend who rented the house, he didn't go outside. He kept his phone fully charged, ready to call the police. A notification came up from his friend, the one who rented the house.
I'm so so sorry matt, I cant stay in the house tonight. My dad got in an accident and hes really hurt so I have to go to the hospital. Dont open the door for anyone and call the police if you hear anything! Im really sorry!
Well, shit. He couldn't really begrudge her that.
Midnight came. Matt had slept sporadically for weeks, especially the days leading up till now. Panic and boredom left him jumpy and exhausted. Midnight came. Nothing happened. What was he meant to do now? Assume the stalker had given up? It was then that the fire alarm went off. Matt shot to standing, heart beating out of his chest. Why today of all days? His hand paused at the door handle. If there was a fire, he'd have to go outside, into the night, vulnerable to... whatever the stalker was planning to do.
The smell of smoke was faint in the air, but it was there. Fuck. This was real. Matt remembered distantly that burning to death was meant to be one of the most painful ways to die. So was he more scared of that or his stalker? Matt grabbed his jacket. He was not going to burn to death alone in this house.
The stairs creaked as he ran down them. Just a little further, through the kitchen and he'd be out. The smell of smoke was getting stronger, but surely if the fire was in the way he'd feel its heat by now, right? It didn't matter, the only out was through.
He burst into the kitchen, and stopped, dumbfounded. There was a man there. He was tall and broad, standing with his back to Matt, facing the stove. Matt was sure he'd never seen this person in his life. Smoke rose from the pan on the stove, making the room slightly hazy. This stranger seemed completely unbothered by the piercing sound of the smoke alarm.
``This recipe always trips me up.'' He said. His voice was was too calm, too normal for the situation.
``I- who are you?'' Matt said, too stunned to think of anything else. The stranger turned with a cold smile.
``I'm your new owner.''
Matt was out of that house as fast as if there actually had been a fire. He ran into the night, feet beating the pavement, carrying him through the streets of the unfamiliar neighborhood. He knew the house was walking distance from a shopping district, if he could get there, somewhere public, he could phone the police. So for now he ran. He turned corner after corner, but the roads were a maze of identical houses that seemed to lead him in circles.
Eventually Matt found an alley to stop for breath in. He wasn't exactly the fittest guy, not much muscle or fat seemed to cling to his lanky form. He fumbled for his phone, dialed the number. It was dark, and he'd run a long way. If he was quiet, maybe-
A strong hand clamped down on the back of his neck, another plucking the phone from Matt's trembling fingers.
``You poor thing, you didn't even get that far. I thought I'd have to work harder than that.''
Matt's breath trembled as he shifted under the weight of the man's hand. From the feel of it, there was no way he'd be able to physically overpower him. He'd just learned that he couldn't outrun him either.
``Please... I don't underst- I- What do you want from me?''
``Hush. You're getting all worked up.'' said the man, as if that helped. ``My name's Marshal, but you won't be using it very often. I think we could both do with a break from things, so I'm taking you on a roadtrip and then I'm going to take care of you.''
What was that supposed to mean?
``Thanks, but I'm ok. I just want to go home.'' the hand on his neck tightened its grip. Matt's voice rose in panic. ``Please. Let me go. I just want to go home.''
``I know. But I want you to come with me, so that's what we'll be doing.''
Marshal started moving, herding Matt forward. Matt struggled, mind reeling with panic.
``Wait! Please, I'll give you money, I won't tell anyone, I just-!''
His voice was cut off by a slap that nearly unbalanced him. He groaned, the sharp pain decisively ending his train of thought. He was pulled back, flush with the broad chest of the man holding him. Marshal's breath was hot in his ear.
``There's a time and a place for begging. Now, are you going to take a nice stroll with me, or do you need more convincing? There's a point where I'll stop using words.''
``I-''
``Don't speak. Just nod. Can you do that?''
Matt nodded.
``Good. Are you going to cause me any more trouble?''
Matt shook his head.
``You're learning!'' said Marshal, evidently delighted. ``I can see you're going to do great. Come on now.''
Marshal seemed to understand the streets of this neighborhood better than Matt did, because soon enough they'd looped back to an alley near Matt's friend's house. There was a van parked there. He stopped. There was just no way Matt could walk to his own doom. Marshall stopped behind him, much too close for comfort.
``I told you we're going on a road trip. Don't go getting cold feet.''
``I can't do this.'' said Matt. ``I can't do this, please, just let me go.''
``There there.'' said Marshal. ``It doesn't matter that you can't do it. You won't be doing much of anything. I'll take care of all the hard work, alright?''
``No, I-'' This time, the slap did send Matt to the ground. He was dragged to his feet, this time with his hands held firmly behind his back. Marshal practically manhandled him into the alley, where the hand keeping him restrained was replaced by duct tape, rendering his arms useless. Next his legs were bound in much the same way. Marshal laid his helpless form face down on the ground.
``That's better, isn't it?'' Marshal stroked his hair in what was probably a soothing gesture in any other circumstance. ``Just one thing left to do.'' There was a rustling somewhere outside of Matt's vision. The hand returned to his hair, but instead of carding through it, took hold and pulled, forcing Matt to look up.
``Open.''
Matt was about to ask what Marshal meant, but figured it out pretty quickly when a rag was stuffed in his mouth as he drew a breath. His mouth was taped over with more duct tape, sealing the deal.
``That's better, isn't it?'' Matt shook his head and made a muffled sound of disagreement. It was meant to sound defiant, but it came out as helpless and miserable. Marshal chucked low in his throat and went back to petting Matt's hair, savoring the moment.
``You need any help?'' It was a new voice, coming from the entrance of the alley. At first, Matt thought it was a stupid question, but then he realised the man hadn't noticed him yet. In a blink, Marshal was confronting the stranger. The fight was short, and Matt was horrified at the evident strength and skill of his captor, the way he was so easily able to subdue this newcomer. Any hope that this new person would save him was crushed as Marshal tied the man up, cursing and struggling all the way. Even subdued, he had the courage to bite Marshal's hand, and Matt saw a few drops of blood staining his lips.
Marshal poked and prodded at the newcomer, as if assessing a prize pig. Finally, he came to a conclusion. "You are pretty. In shape, nice face, good hair. But I don't know if you'll be quite worth the trouble. Don't worry. I'll make it quick."
Matt realised what he was going to do. Marshal was going to kill this stranger, this bystander who just wanted to help, who fought to hard when Matt had only let it happen. He shook his head and made a desperate noise of dissent into the gag. Marshal turned his cold eyes on him, his expression one of curiosity. Like Matt was a science experiment that had done something unexpected.
"What do you want?"
Emboldened by the attention, Matt shook his head more fervently. Please don't kill him.
"You want a friend? You scared you'll get lonely?"
Matt hesitated. Would it be kinder to spare this stranger from whatever horrors Marshal had in store, even if that meant death? He didn't think he could deal with watching his kidnapper kill someone in front of him. It might have been selfish, but Matt nodded.
"Don't worry, you'll have me." That wasn't comforting at all, but Marshall was already moving on, "It's been a while since I had two, but it was fun. You've gotten all attached already, haven't you?"
If that was what Marshall needed to hear to keep the man alive, then yes. Again, Matt nodded. The newcomer snorted in obvious derision which Matt tried hard not to find offensive. It wasn't like he got a choice in how his kidnapper justified his actions, and he was trying very hard to save his life. Marshal looked between them thoughtfully.
"You are cute together, a bit of sour to balance out the sweet. But I'm only set up for one. You'd have to share."
Matt didn't like where this was going. It sounded like Marshal only wanted the newcomer so they could torture each other for his amusement. It sounded like he was aiming for a matching set. Still, it was the only way to keep them both alive. He nodded again, tried to look pleading and dependent.
"Fine then. Let's see how long this lasts."
That was the last thing Marshal said before they were thrown into his van, going who knew where. Matt didn't want to look weak in front of this stranger, didn't want to clog up his nose with his mouth taped shut. But he didn't get much of a choice in any of this, so he cried anyway as the emotions of the last day, the last few months, overwhelmed him. The fellow victim offered no comfort.
Stoic whumpee and obedient whumpee should find comfort in each other's arms while whumper watches through the security cameras and gets some new ideas. Or not. Whatever.
I'm no doctor, so feel free to add corrections, but I feel like dislocating whumpee's limbs would be a delicious way to hurt them.
If you dislocate a shoulder joint they'll be unable to move their arm, and in immense pain. If a whumper is dislocating joints on purpose, they'll most likely go for this one. It's an easy joint to pop out, and leaves whumpee in pain and vulnerable even after it's put back in.
Hip dislocations are less practical, because it takes a lot of force to get the ball out of the socket, and it will cause lots of complications.
If a whumper is dislocating joints on purpose they might be more likely to go for the kneecap, which dislocates more easily and can be put back with little complication, while still leaving whumpee in pain and without the ability to walk.
I just love the implications of this happening to whumpee. Are they forced to correct it themself? Does caretaker find them in pain and unable to move after some kind of accident? Are they a particularly feisty whumpee who's easier to manage when helpless? Does it happen so often that the joints get used to it, and dislocate easily? So many possibilities.
