Little habits whumpee may not realise is a result of trauma
-Always knowing where every exit is. And always being near an exit.
-Always keeping their back to the wall, never wanting to be caught in an open space.
-Obsessively locking every door, every window, even their own bedroom. They won't relax otherwise.
-Brushing off compliments.
-Being overly defensive.
-Extreme independence. Never relying on anyone, they are fully capable of doing things alone and they are determined to
-Walking quickly. Never lingering, not even for a moment.
-Standing hunched, head down, making themselves as small and inconspicuous as possible. They wear loose, basic clothing, trying to both hide themselves and not stand out
-Lapses in memory. Especially not remembering childhood memories
-Never expressing excitement or want for anything. Never hoping for anything.
-In the same vein, never admit to enjoying anything. They fear they will be mocked, or it will be taken away. Anything can be used against them in some way.
-Being excellent in a crisis, even if they panic in minor situations.
Whumper who makes Whumpee pretend to be their deceased partner.
Whumper was once madly in love. They were a perfect, genuinely happy couple. When their Partner passed away, possibly unexpectedly, Whumper couldn't bear the grief. They couldn't face a world without their beloved.
And then they saw Whumpee. Whumpee, with so many similarities to their beloved, same hair, same eyes, similar features, similar mannerisms and personality - it's not perfect, but it's close enough. Whumper becomes obsessed, this is their chance to put their life back together, this is their chance to regain what they'd lost.
Whumper modifying whumpee's looks, cutting their hair or growing it out, dressing them in their beloveds old clothes, doing their makeup just as they liked it before. Not before their death, no, they didn't die. They're right here.
Whumpee who's afraid of freedom because they don't know what to do with it. They never thought this would happen, and now they're forced to confront the years of trauma they kept buried in captivity
I love chains, ropes and handcuffs as much as the next guy. But there's something about a whumper who uses none of that. Maybe there's multiple whumpers, or maybe whumper is just so much stronger than whumpee. The message is the same.
That they don't even need rope or metal to keep you in line.
Being tied up makes you feel more helpless; but simply being manhandled like you're nothing is even more humiliating.
Just a little something I knocked up for Halloween, just Eldwin having a bad time as usual. And also this is what I was thinking of when I made that post about getting new ideas from little oneshots 👀
CW: Creepy / intimate whumper, implied/referenced noncon (mostly just because of who this whumper is tbh) noncon touching, dollification
The steel-boned corset dug into his skin, with no protection underneath and tied far too tightly. He could only take in small breaths, though his lungs demanded more he had to breathe slowly, evenly. It shouldn't look like he was breathing it all.
A woman's face in front of him began to blur. His eyes stung, and it took all his effort to keep them from twitching. The moment she looked away he blinked, relief instantly flooding through him partially because he still could. It would be temporary.
"Is it real?"
"They said it was living. Hey," someone snapped their fingers in front of Eldwin's face. "Give us a smile, why don't you?" They smirked, seeming to think they'd said something funny.
How original. False lashes weighed heavy on his eyes. His sewn lips were carefully painted red with a little heart shape, his makeup exaggerated to look like a glass doll. A pastel dress hugged his figure, waist cinched to the point of pain dressed up in frills and laces. His expression remained perfectly blank.
Someone roughly pulled on his hair with enough force that he thought his neck might snap. Still he managed to maintain his elegant pose. Fourth position, like a ballet dance in uncomfortable heels that pinched and left him feeling unsteady. One arm reached above his head, slightly curled, and the other hovering in front of him. They were long since numb, ready to drop at any second. He couldn't allow that though. Perhaps literally, he couldn't.
A pink jewel in a silver collar that posed as a necklace. The stories that followed it told of people turned into living dolls, their flesh hardening until it could shatter, and their joints would become immovable, trapping them in this form. Tales of a Collector who, well, collected these living dolls for her manor. That was centuries ago, and whatever curse this gemstone held had thankfully weakened over the years.
But that knowledge did little to tame the fear pulsing within him as his body stiffened, and he swore his skin hardened like porcelain. Stay calm. Breathe steady. It won't last forever.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" A silky voice glided over. The people immediately released their hold on Eldwin, and took a step back.
"Lord Cazriec! This exhibition is wonderful, you've outdone yourself," a woman said eagerly, flaring her fan.
"Thank you." Vivruh Cazriec gave a polite nod, as he sidled up to Eldwin. He reached out to brush Eldwin's hair out of his face, flattening some stray strands. "I do ask that you not be so rough. It took hours to get him looking this perfect, and the night isn't over yet."
"Of course, my lord. We apologise. If I may ask, what inspired you this time? "
Inspiration. As though Cazriec was an artist, and Eldwin his masterpiece. It was unfair, truly. Cazriec hadn't even done the makeup himself. But he talked about beauty and fairy-tales, spinning a fanciful story of his own with no mention of the gemstone.
After their exchange, the guests re-joined the crowd with apparently some ideas of their own. They have no idea, Eldwin thought ruefully.
The way Eldwin froze had nothing to do with the curse as Cazriec's hand snaked around his waist, pressing himself close to Eldwin's side.
"Enjoying the party, darling?"
Eldwin glared at him, without turning his head. This is humiliating.
Cazriec chuckled. His thin fingers smoothed out the ribbons, with the lilac-grey skin of a lunar elf. Expert illusionists - and dreamwalkers. You don't know the meaning of the word, his voice pulled at the back of Eldwin's mind. Aloud, he said, "That collector had the right idea, don't you think? All those poor people, dolled up and helpless..." His hand trailed lower, and Eldwin flinched. Or a least he would have. As it was he stayed stiff and immobile, a cold seeping through his bones, short breaths wanting to be desperate as his heartrate was forced to slow. A perfect doll. Pretty and helpless.
I hate this.
"It won't be forever. Just endure it a little while longer. You can do that for me, can't you?"
It's not like I have any choice.
"That's right," Cazriec whispered, his gleeful tone betraying his gentle ruse. "People like you don't get to make choices, do they? You exist to look pretty. To make people feel good. Provide your power for the world." He leaned in closer, his breath hot on Eldwin's face. "And you do it all so well."
Eldwin didn't have an answer. He lowered his gaze, and his breathing trembled only slightly. Almost imperceptive, though Cazriec probably knew. He always knew.
Accept your fate. Eldwin closed his eyes, just for a moment. Just to pull himself together.
Play his part. Accept his fate. These phrases he told himself over and over again, a bastion against the underlying anger that threatened to upend his life. He would play his role well. He was good. He could be good.
He wondered, as he did so often, why he even bothered.
Character A was captured and tortured for weeks at the hands of a Villain. A is rescued by xyr team; they patch xyr wounds, try to talk about it but A says everything was fine, that xyr fine, it really wasn't as bad as they think and xyr just happy to be home. Everything's fine.
Fast forward a few months. A and team encounter the Villain again. Maybe its just a battle, maybe the good guys all got captured, or maybe the villain was captured by the good guys. It doesn’t matter.
The team don't notice A's trembling hands. They don't see the way xe tries to avoid the villains gaze, the way xyr fists clench around xyr weapon - but the villain does. And with the way the usually close, caring team are so casual, so ignorant of As plight, the villain realises they don’t know.
So Villain takes great pleasure in recounting the torture they put A through in graphic detail, delighting in the teams horrified faces. Relishing the way A’s breathing stops, xyr face burning in shame. The tears xe tried so hard to keep in all these months past, slipping onto the floor as xyr forced to confront their trauma with everyone else in the room. Xe wonders if xyr team will ever look at xem the same.
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This is actually a repost of a post from my old blog! It did pretty well but I wanted to redo it a little. I never knew my grammar and spelling was so appalling those years ago lmao.
ANYWAY, though I did not want to reblog it I couldn't leave off this wonderful addition from @bones-and-bruises
