Captive whumpees who need to be in control and who default to their training and being meticulous to cope with the utter loss of control while captive:
- obsessively making their bed over and over
- getting up at the same time of day even though they don't know what time it is, because their body does somehow
- similarly, obsessing over the time and date
- attempting to keep with the same routine they had when free, even if doing most of it is impossible (they might just pretend to in order to make themselves feel better)
- memorizing guard/captor routines, faces, names, schedules, building layouts in order to have a chance of getting revenge once out
- eating the food they’re given in a specific order, in a specific way
- collecting and hiding random objects (nails, paperclips, pebbles, sticks, etc) “just in case”
- if they’re let outside, doing the same “circuit” around the area every time, like they’re doing a patrol
- getting distressed when things were promised but don’t happen when/how they were supposed to (meals, lights turning off/on, scheduled interviews interrogations, shower, etc)
- going over training exercises and routines to keep themselves occupied, even if only in their head so as not to waste strength
- obsessing over everything that led up to their capture, imagining all the ways they could (or couldn’t) have prevented it
- counting. Seconds passed, tiles, cracks in the walls, corners, windows, people, days spent inside, meals, breaths
A whumpee who just won't. beg. It doesn't matter if they're denied food or water for a certain amount of time. It doesn't matter if they're denied proper hygiene, if their perpetrators will beat them non-stop. They won't submit.
How is their whumper gonna react? Do they keep trying? After all, whumpee must break at some point, right?
Or do they decide to kill them for good? Maybe making it a public execution in front of whumper's allies.
And what does whumpee do then? Do they finally break, and beg their perpetrators to have their life spared? Or do they accept it, taking it with dignity, and even in their final moments, not giving in to their oppressors?
Royal character captured by an enemy ruler, imprisoned indefinitely as part of the petty feud between territories.
They’re just waiting it out, knowing they’ll be rescued eventually. They stay calm, endure all they can, maintaining a sense of dignity. They won’t be moved.
But…there’s another prisoner, a citizen of the enemy nation. They’re younger, and receiving harsher treatment. The guards won’t even say what crime they committed, and the royal prisoner can’t even fathom what would warrant this level of torture. It’s inhumane, they can’t stand it!
When they’re rescued, they insist on bringing the other prisoner. They’re unconscious and have to be carried out, but they insist. They can’t leave this person in those conditions, no matter their alliances.
Randomly noticed something interesting the other day
Basically, if you're kept in a small room constantly, you will become incredibly nearsighted over time, because your eyes aren't used to viewing anything further away from you than the walls of said room.
Know what I’m thinking about? And I’m sure this has been done before, but what if Caretaker is the one held captive/imprisoned and Whumpee is technically free. I know this can easily be just be Whumperee and Carewhumpee, but it doesn’t have to be.
An Example I can think of is a historical fiction where Caretaker is a royal put on house arrest at Whumper’s manor/palace/estate and Whumpee is a servant working under Whumper. Due to Caretaker being a Royal, Whumper respects them and treats them okay (despite them technically being imprisoned) but Whumpee? Ohhh, Whumpee is just some low life, they can get abused! And then Caretaker sees Whumpee is hurt or gets hurt and they are appalled.
Or maybe Caretaker is an extremely valuable prisoner somewhere that Whumper’s people can’t risk hurting and Whumpee works as something where Caretaker is held but they aren’t involved in anything whumpy but for some reason they have Whumper’s whole obsession and attention and Caretaker—the actual prisoner—is getting hurt way less if at all than Whumpee, the person technically not imprisoned here.
Do you see what I mean?? Is this a reach?? I find it interesting! Did someone write something like this already? I’d be so interested in reading this!!
every time there's a movie where the villains go to some deep dark secluded dungeon and offer a guy in chains who's been there for years his freedom in exchange for killing someone I end up disappointed because what do you mean he's just supposed to be a scary berserker who attacks the heroes? What do you mean you're not gonna expand on the effects of that?
more scary imprisoned berserkers getting adopted by the heroes and Dealing With That please
Words he did not want to hear mere minutes away from a much needed nap. Lucas opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling for a moment and suppressed a groan into a gritty exhale as he rolled on his cot to sit up.
“A seventh day for rest. As is mandated by the warden in the rules,” he said as he pushed himself up and wearily walked towards the bars of his cell where the warden was waiting for him. Keeping a literal iron wall between him and Nero felt somewhat safe. Even though the door was open. And could be opened at all times.
“Which is superseded by new orders from said warden,” Nero grunted with an approving nod, satisfied that the rules were taking root in that stubborn mind, and actually rolling along for once in his life with Lucas’ jests. Not completely in the way that Lucas would want, but it was a start. “I have a job for you.” He pushed the cell door further open and beckoned at him. “Come with me.”
So much for his one and only free Sunday to recover…
But he’d learned quite well what happened when defying the warden’s orders; both by getting schooled on the rules and with practical experience. So he followed.
They walked past Nero’s office, mercifully. At least the job didn’t involve cleaning his office or being smashed to bits.
Nero led him outside instead. Okay? Strange. But the chances of getting a beating behind closed doors were getting smaller. Which was good? Lucas wasn’t really sure what to feel. A job? He wanted to believe that, but the heavy feeling in his stomach told him to be weary.
They crossed the courtyard and all eyes instantly were on them and people stepped aside to let Nero pass. The inmates weren’t exactly on high alert, especially considering Lucas was tagging behind in the warden’s trail, keeping up like an uncertain little duckling, meaning the target was already acquired. Unsurprising. Conversations around them continued, but Lucas noticed the covert little side-eyes.
Nero didn’t seem bothered by the attention and kept marching on. He didn’t even look behind him to see if Lucas was still following him; of course he was. Lucas would follow him to his doom.
And Lucas realised that as well when they rounded a corner of the building and found a gate. Leading outside. Beyond the grounds. To the woods.
“Wait…” he started, breathless, watching Nero open the gate. “Where are we going?”
His question was of course ignored. He stood absolutely frozen in place. The gate swung open, the gate to hell. Silence and Nero’s expectant sharp gaze prompted him to at least take a step forward. “Am I in trouble?” he tried again, a little more panicked.
Nero held the gate open for him, allowing him to pass first, and locked it again.
No answers. Not even words. With a simple wave of his hand, he signalled for Lucas to walk ahead of him.
No more trailing behind, no more ‘trust’. Outside the prison, Nero would keep his eyes on his prisoner at all times. As if Lucas would even dare to take a single step off the little trail taking them deeper into the woods, let alone try to make a run for it. His jelly legs wouldn’t let him. And the mere idea of Nero chasing him through the woods… now that was some nightmare fuel. Yeah, he’d dream about that tonight.
Lucas had imagined his first steps outside of the prison grounds a little differently. Something along the lines of feeling relieved, joyful, surrounded by people… Instead, his heart pounded against his ribs as he actually was on the run, and his stomach swirled with dread. It felt like he was walking to his death.
Was Nero finally fed up with all of this? Lucas glanced back. There was no gun on the man’s belt. Never was. Not that he needed it. He could just break his neck with his bare hands and leave him here to fertilize this forest.
Calm down, Lucas chastised himself. He said he had a job. Can’t do a job when dead, he tried to fool himself to keep the panic down.
For a few blissful minutes, the deception worked. A job. In the woods. Something only he could do. Nothing wrong with that.
Until they went over a small hill and he stopped dead in his tracks. A sharp little gasp broke free and his eyes roamed over the plot of land in front of them.
He forced his mouth back shut when Nero stepped past him.
“Keep walking.”
“What is this?” Lucas still asked, hurrying after Nero who strode forward with big steps, unbothered by the branches and unstable path.
Nero stopped at the clearing. The forest floor was uneven; patches of grass, heaps of leaves, but most of all because of the mounts of sand.
They weren’t exactly neatly placed in a row and there were no crosses or stones, but it was unmistakable.
This was a make-shift graveyard.
A trail of darker earth zigzagged between the lighter heaps of sand. Some of the graves had flattened out over time and some had a stump of wood at the head, indicating that part of the plot was already… occupied.
He took a light step aside, more raising his feet to see where he was standing then actually moving, checking if he wasn’t standing on someone’s grave. A queasy sensation now swirled in his stomach that only increased the more his brain started to make sense of where he was. His hand automatically moved up, covering his mouth, his fingers trembling against his cheek.
Nero walked over to a tarp and threw it open to reveal a fresh patch of earth. He took one of the shovels, rammed it into the earth and stepped back, his eyes on Lucas.
“Dig.”
It was like all the earth under his feet just crumbled and he fell into the darkest hole. A deep chill ran over his entire body and for a second he stood frozen in place.
He hesitantly took the shovel. Waited for some kind of explanation, which of course didn’t come. He glanced again from the grave to Nero, whose expectant gaze didn’t contain much patience.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. He cannot be serious. But Nero was always as serious as a heart attack as he had proven again and again.
His body moved on autopilot and he barely even noticed he was already digging.
Digging his own gr—no. No!
His logic centre was analysing the spare bits of dialogue and what had happened in great detail. Nero wouldn’t have said he’d had a job for him if he was just going to kill him. He would just grunt something along the lines of ‘follow me’ and give just as much explanation as he did now.
This was pure intimidation. Nothing more.
Emotion, however, easily overtook reason quickly; he couldn’t keep his legs from shaking. His heart was pounding. Another swirl of nausea washed over him and he thought he was actually going to be sick.
His battered body protested against the hard labour. Each scoop of dirt weighed a ton. And the thick roots didn’t make the dig any easier either. Every bruise and wound strained under the effort. His dislocated finger, while safely back in its joint and at least not broken, shot rays of pain up through his arm every time he lifted the shovel.
And every time he hit something more solid than just sand, his stomach lurched with fear that he just hit a dead body.
Luckily – or not, depending on what he was hoping for that very second – he didn’t stumble upon anything.
“Is this for me?” he finally unearthed enough courage to ask.
Nero remained as silent as the graves around him and just watched him.
“Because…” Lucas fought to suppress a hiccup and turned away to dig at a fresh corner. “I can do better. You don’t want to do this.”
The only sounds that followed were those of his shovel sticking into the earth and his own groans of effort. The silence was unbearable and only invited his mind to keep on screaming thoughts of doom even louder.
He blinked away tears. Swiped a sleeve over his forehead, pretending to wipe away beads of sweat.
“Whose grave am I digging?” he tried again after a while. “Whose graves are these?!”
Silence. Nero stood there, hands resting on the handle of another shovel, like a general looking down on his troops. His singular troop.
Slowly but surely and with tremendous effort, Lucas sank deeper into the ground and Nero loomed over him even more menacingly than ever.
His body was on the verge of collapse, but he would be damned (literally) if he were to succumb here and lie in his own grave. He was convinced he’d never open his eyes again if he took a break here. So he continued the assault on his body and mind purely on adrenaline.
Until finally, he heard the single saving word.
“Enough.” Nero beckoned him to come back up.
Lucas clambered out of the grave. It wasn’t a full six feet deep, but he still had to drag himself out on his front. He walked to the end of the grave, where Nero was pointing.
“Turn around.”
With a shudder, Lucas did as he was told and faced the grave, trying his best to keep his breathing steady and his tears from falling.
He waited for the hands on his neck. Just a twist and it would be over. Or would he blast him unconscious with the baton and just let him fall forward, cover him up, facedown into the—
Nero walked past him to stand on the side of the grave and Lucas exhaled.
“There are men buried here,” Nero started. “Some had the misfortune to die in an incident. Some were murdered by their fellow inmates. I made the killers dig the graves in the middle of a freezing night, as a warning.” He paused, and looked at one of the distinct patches of ground to his left.
Lucas briefly wondered if these killers were inside that patch now too or were still roaming around in the same prison he occupied… Both options seemed bad. Then again, he might have shared breakfast with other killers as well.
“Others, however,” Nero continued, and his voice grew more ominous. “Others didn’t, shall we say, have their own best interests in mind.”
Lucas nodded shakily, eager to show he was listening and learning. He could relate.
“Technically,” Nero continued in a lighter tone, “they aren’t dead. Their corpses lay here. But on paper, they’re still alive. Serving out the remainder of their sentence.”
In his state of mind, it took a while before all the ramifications actually fully hit his brain. Very far away in his brain, a shocked ‘oh my god’ kept rolling on repeat, but very numb and only focused on his own preservation. If he were to die here, now, no one would find out for a long time.
“So the question for you is: do you want to be alive? Or do you want to be alive on paper?”
“Alive! For real. No technicalities,” Lucas bumbled.
Nero looked at him for an uncomfortably long time.
“Very well.” He inspected the grave. “You can do the rest should I ever go back on that decision…”
Lucas nearly tipped over face-forward into the grave as every muscle unclenched in sheer relief. He stumbled as his knees gave but he forced himself not to collapse. Sharp inhales sounded like sobs, came back out shuddering.
“Put the tarp back and we’ll go.”
Words failed him so he just nodded and covered the grave. Where it would patiently wait for him.
The intense stress slowly left his body as they walked back and his brain started making connections again. Fear changed to bitterness.
“That man I found, my client…” he started, his tone clipped with repressed anger and his voice was shaky. “Why wasn’t he buried here?”
He heard a soft sigh behind him and Nero took a while to answer. “His condition worsened overnight and one of the guards thought it was best to call an ambulance. The man died on the way to hospital.”
Oversight. So Nero didn’t fully control everything yet. That lighted a very dim spark of hope.
Nero escorted him back to his cell.
“Enjoy the rest of your day off.” From anyone else, it would have been a cruel jab, but there was no malice in his tone and Nero marched off.
As soon as he was out of sight and earshot, Lucas finally had the luxury to give in to his body’s needs.
He collapsed right then and there. His knees hit the cell floor. His legs splayed out under him. He gulped in deep breaths, in and out, until they were no longer hitching or shaky.
He was alive.
And now that the fear of death had abated, the only thing that remained was rage.
He had to get word out. He had to!
Because Ava might not be able to set foot inside of this prison, she could still dig around for evidence outside of the grounds. And he would present it to her on a goddamn silver platter.
