The way sore muscles start to twitch alongside the pain, the contours of whumpee's hands contorting at the slightest disturbance, or thick back muscles rippling while plagued with cramps
Facial jaw/muscle pain from pressure making whumpee wish they could just rip their face open like a snake
Whumpee unable to fight back against whumper due to a flare up
Caretaker tracing their hand over whumpee's skin, only for their handprint to remain in clear red shape.
Whumpee halting mid-run, recoiling suddenly from an invisible wound
Overworked leader whumpee standing up fast, only to faint from blood pressure issues
Villain whumpee having a flare up in front of Hero
Whumpee blaming their trauma/whumper for the severity in their chronic illness's development
This is just from my personal experience, but here are some fun details you can torture your characters with <3
~ No amount of food ever feels like enough if it's not meeting your nutritional needs. You can eat until you're sick, but your mouth will still water when you see a fast food commercial.
~ On that note: you get cravings! Lots and lots of them.
~ You might also get "phantom tastes," like swearing you taste a flash of real, actual food in the bland porridge you're eating.
~ You cannot exercise without Consequences™. All physical activity starts to sap at your body's reserves, causing muscle aches and (over time) weight loss.
~ On the other hand, not moving much at all causes its own muscle and joint problems.
~ You might not want to move much anyway, though, because (get this!) not eating can make you very lethargic and fatigued. You might sleep a lot, or not feel like doing much when you're awake.
~ Your brain doesn't really work right without the proper nutrients. This can cause brain fog, inattention, short-term memory issues, and other fun side effects.
Cw: captivity , branding , PTSD , flashbacks , ideals of SH
The collar around Whumpee’s neck pulled tight, his breathing hitched struggling against the leather. Whumpee felt cold gloved fingers push over his Adam’s apple, inching between the collar and his skin. The hand pressed down, and Whumpee started seeing spots.
Whumper clucked his tongue unsympathetically. He caught Whumpee’s chin when he tried to gasp for air and pulled his mouth open. Whumper took something in his other hand, plunging it down Whumpee’s throat and making him gag. Before Whumpee could fight it, Whumper’s hand clamped over his mouth and nose. Whumper ran knuckles up and down over Whumpee’s neck, Whumpee swallowing reflexively.
“Y-you will wish you’d nev-gghh!!” Whumpee choked when his collar was pulled taught again.
“Quiet. You have terrible manners for a palace pet.” Whumper chided.
Whumper proceeded to take Whumpee’s cuffed arms and lock them over his head, pulling them roughly to his will. Whumpee was now stretched and exposed uncomfortably across the table, staring at the light above him. He pulled and thrashed, becoming increasingly dizzy and weak. The world began to spin, and his limbs felt like lead as he tried to fight the inevitable.
Whumper allowed two more men into the room. Whumpee groaned, his heart racing as he felt his body losing control. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to pull himself out of the fog he was slipping into.
Whumpee felt shocking cold wipe across his ribs, underneath the pit of his arm. Whumper grabbed his side, holding the skin taught. He pressed an elbow over Whumpee’s chest, making it difficult to breathe.
He couldn’t see straight. He attempted to shout, but nothing would come out of his mouth. One of the men held his head from above by his jaw, rendering him unable to turn or move at all. Whumpee began to hyperventilate.
He heard a hissing, and smelled smoke. He couldn’t make out what anyone was saying; his body was numb.
His vision blacked with excruciating pain; a sudden, searing burn drawing a scream from his lungs. Whumpee’s eyes watered, his skin blistering and sizzling. He pulled against the restraints, wailing and hissing, only to be met with greater force holding him down.
After what felt like hours, he watched one of the men hold a rod up before walking away. The skin below his arm that Whumper was pulling tight stung, throbbing and firey. He felt faint.
“Let this send a message to the Resistance that their weapons can will be taken into our possession and used as such.” Whumper swiped over the wound with the burning cold cloth again, making Whumpee groan.
His vision washed with blinding white light, his ears ringing sickeningly.
Cold water on Whumpee’s face made him jump. He felt his body being shook and his arms being held together tightly. His head was turned to the side, the ringing in his ears fading and turning into his name being shouted.
He gasped for air, trembling and spitting from his mouth.
“Yes, there, Whumpee, breathe- breathe…” he heard Leader.
It was happening again.
He didn’t even remember this one.
He found himself lying on his bed, Leader and Caretaker standing over him. Whumpee knew every time this happened, it terrified the both of them. Most of the time, he didn’t even realize when these flashbacks were happening. New memories of his time in captivity kept bubbling to the surface on their own.
Whumpee pulled his head up, grabbing his rib cage. It stung to the touch, and his heart sank when he saw the scar. It was inflamed and perfectly shaped to the enemy’s signet. It hadn’t just been a nightmare. Leader immediately scowled when she understood what had happened. Caretaker looked furious. They clearly hadn’t noticed this mark either.
This was indeed intended to upset Leader. A crude act of disrespect. It was a message to Whumpee that he was a pawn to be taken and used between sides, and a message to Leader exactly how the enemy saw both her and her pet.
He couldn’t even give this sacrifice to the Resistance; Leader had forced him to step down from his position as General days ago. This was a direct attack on his own body now.
Whumpee wanted to claw his skin off. He wanted to destroy the symbol, to reclaim his body for himself. Leader grabbed his hand as his nails dug in to his side, pulling him away. He groaned, gritting his teeth. So what if he was scarred again? Whumpee would let his bloody skin show that he was not anyone’s tool, and if it meant more ripping and tearing, at least it would be by his own volition. What did Leader care, if he wasn’t hers to rebrand?
Caretaker, who’d left his bedside, hurried back and pushed himself to Whumpee’s ribs. Whumpee watched closely, and his emotion changed.
Caretaker ripped one of his handkerchiefs, using the wound tape in the room to cover the scar with the cloth.
There was no symbol of the enemy, and no symbol of the Resistance. Whumpee was met with the cartoonish smile of a dog in a hachimaki instead.
Without even trying, Caretaker had understood Whumpee’s pain and had immediately replaced it with his ever endearing unique brand of gentleness.
No questions were ever asked, no pleading was ever given, no attempt to convince Whumpee of one thing or another. Just Caretaker’s own way of giving the situation back to Whumpee, while making him want to laugh instead of sob.
Caretaker looked at Whumpee, cracking his crooked smile, hopeful his temporary fix had helped. Looking at Caretaker’s face, Whumpee could breathe again.
Captive watching their enemies laughing and making jokes after what they said was translated, having no idea what they're being mocked for.
Speaking haltingly in a second language and saying something disrespectful without meaning to. Getting struck on the back of the head for it, lowering their head in frustration that they can't speak better.
Cultural customs like kneeling for a king being completely foreign to captive, who freaks out every time they're forced to their knees in front of him
Knowing just enough of the language to know they're being ordered to do something, but not enough to know what.
Fellow captives calling them a sellout for trying to learn the captors' language. Shoving whumpee to the front of the cell and yelling at the guards to go ahead and beat them.
Interpreter compassionately hesitating before translating captive's defiant response
“For talking back.” The first smack barely turns their head, but it doesn't stop stinging by the time-“for disobeying-” the next one lands.
They let their head hang to one side, trying to keep their breath as... close to normal as they can. Trying to hold back the tears — Whumper loves the tears.
“For trying to lie — look at me.” His voice is harsh, and as Whumpee forces themself to obey, they can see him readjust his gloves. Leather creaks as he moves his fingers, and it's so stupid — his hands also sting, and it's unfair that he gets to feel that, too. “Do you understand, already?”
They want to spit something out. Besides the blood and drool pooling in their mouth, they mean — something about what a jerk he's being, something about telling him to go fuck himself. Whumpee knows it's worthless, though, or less than that, even.
They're halfway through a nod, trying to swallow. The slap makes their ears ring again.
They stumble to look forward again, and as they take a deep breath in, they feel the liquid dripping from their lips, their chin.
The backhand almost throws them on the ground.
“For bleeding on my floor.” Whumper's silhouette is blurry, but they manage to look at where his eyes should be.
Whumpee spits, letting the metallic taste leave their tongue, and presses their mouth closed again in time for the hand holding their neck, the next hit — no, the next two, three.
“For being- a disrespectful little shit.”
Whumper only stops to fix his gloves again, pushing them back, and Whumpee lets themselves crumble to the floor, a wicked sense of satisfaction setting behind the sting and the numbness.
whumpee who gets no time to rest after being brutalized by the whumper. their chores can't be put on hold just because whumper wanted to toy around with them a bit— so they get up, vision blurry and vertigo seizing them, making their empty stomach clench with nausea as they try to gain an even footing with their legs screaming in agony and torso littered with bruises. they absently wonder if whumper cracked a rib— hoping not, since that makes it nearly impossible to lie down on their side or stomach— which often leaves them vulnerable to being kicked awake when they aren't lucky enough to wake up on their own. they seal their lips tight, not wanting to provoke whumper any further as they get back to cleaning the floors. it hurts all over but they've come to mostly live with it, knowing that the pain will fade away if they loose themselves in the monotony of the mind-numbing task.
after all, there's no other escape from the ever-present pain and despair.
Whumpee almost made it out. One of their captors left them untied after a particularly bad beating, and they pushed through the pain to run.
It was short-lived. They were caught and thrown back into their cell with new bruises within minutes.
Now they're waiting on the inevitable punishment.
Whumper's partner is usually the one who dishes out the more hands-on stuff. Fists or whips or tools. Whumper themselves seems to prefer passive measures. Drugs, stress positions, shocking devices that keep whumpee up all night. At least I'll know what to expect when one of them opens the door, they think ruefully.
But even as they brace themselves, the punishment never comes.
It's odd. Normally, it's immediate. Punched for biting, doused with ice water for not moving fast enough, denied food for spitting on whumper or their partner. Waiting is almost worse than enduring their day-to-day torments. Whumpee can only hope their imagination is worse than whatever it is the duo is cooking up.
The minutes and silence drag on, and whumpee can almost swear they hear screaming coming from somewhere in the building, but it's too quiet to be sure. Their brain is playing tricks on them, their body tense, heart and head pounding no matter how they try to relax.
Then at last, hours after their escape attempt, the door swings open. Whumpee flinches away on instinct, pulling their knees into their chest, but it's only whumper's partner with a tray of food.
Drugging? Their first thought, though it goes against the pattern they know. Maybe they'll be taunted with it, or maybe...
Whumper's partner steps into the cell, and whumpee realizes they're limping. Only then do they let themselves get a better look at their captor.
Sullen and quiet instead of loud and smirking and taunting, fresh bruises littering their face, their top lip split and swollen. Their wrists are raw, only partially covered by their long sleeves, and their hands are bandaged. They break into a sneer that reopens their lip and sends a trickle of blood into their teeth when they catch whumpee staring.
"The fuck are you looking at?"
"You were ordered not to speak to them." Whumper's voice makes both of them jump. Their partner curses as they nearly drop the tray of food.
"Leave the tray," whumper says. "Apparently you could use another lesson in obedience. One more offense from you and I'll let them watch."
Their partner grimaces, eyes locked on the ground as they set the food down. When they speak, it's like they have to force the words out, like they'd rather die than speak them in front of whumpee.
wanting to see more Black whumpees like me just absolutely getting it like really being shattered to the ground and kicked while they're down then crying their hollow eyes out for my sadistic pleasure vs not wanting to perpetuate the fetishizing glorification of violence towards Black bodies by colonialism&racism 😍
anyways it is very important to be aware of that kind of stuff bc we live in a racist society and its very easy to perpetuate systemic violence even in the little ways (im not perfect myself and like im somewhat more lighter-skinned than my peers even so i dont feel the hit of racism as roughly as some of them do) BUT for what its worth i think its a very worthwhile line to walk. whump is also about the validation of pain & exploring suffering while humanizing your unlucky main character and Black (+ other nonwhite) characters should get that too. make your nonwhite whumpees cry their eyeballs out and feel hollow in face of the world today #myagenda
they also deserve tragic backstories + sweet caretakers + the reclamation of bodily autonomy in recovery + identity issues + drowning in the puts of utter despair + generally have the world time of their lives while an audience sympathizes with them. it shouldnt be just the white boys who get it. hold my hand. let's put our Black characters through such hellish torment that they come out on the other side feeling a tangible gab between who they became vs who they used to be. together.
(still on the same vein, this post by @/creatingblackcharacters is a pretty nice resource to start out i think every now and then i reread it i think it has nice things to keep in mind)
💬 17 🔁 815 ❤️ 1387 · “The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth” - Violence, Violent Imagery & Black Horror · TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of de
- Irritating Clothing, especially if Whumpee has sensory issues.
- Being trapped in a room which is too cold or hot (try doing anything during a heatwave, even less come up with a plan to escape, I dare you.)
- Whumpers hand always bwing too close to Whumpees neck, their nails always dig slightly into their skin, their touch is never one hundred percent gentle.
gracieabrams
vaporwave
gamechangershow
yousharknotpass
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
blakekathryn
prguitarman
