Stockholm Syndrome In Whump. Yes Or Yes? 👀

The flutter in my chest that I get when I envision suffocating someone with a pillow, watching them thrash around against my strength.

It can't possibly be normal but I just can't get enough.

– Swan 🦢 he/they/it/shx/she

The team watching their weakest and youngest be tortured by whumper, whumpee’s screams echoing against the walls as they beg for them to stop.

Vs

The team watching their stoic leader be tortured by whumper, swallowing down their pain with grunts and gasps, which only angers whumper further.

the world seems to fade in and out, blood rushing through their ears drowning out the voices around them. it hurts- is all whumpee can think, the pain is setting their body alight and sending stars to dance before their eyes. they’re confused and scared, the world too big and loud for their semi conscious brain to comprehend.

but then, arms are wrapping around their fragile body, settling the shakes that ravage their frame. they panic at first, weakly fighting against whatever new torture this is; but then they hear it, the soft lull of caretaker’s voice. a hand cards through their hair and the rumble of caretakers chest is welcoming as they press against it.

the world is slipping through their fingers now, and whumpee lets their consciousness fade away as they weakly grip onto the back of caretaker’s shirt.

five dialogue prompts for characters who have a hard time resting :)

"Don't sit up. You'll rip your stitches."

"You need to calm down. Your heart rate is spiking."

"Stop trying to get up. I don't want you fainting again."

"Lie back down, please. Your fever is too high for you to be moving around."

"I know we have to keep moving, but if we don't treat that wound now, it'll slow us down even more."

Prompt (570)

The hero shivered in the cold, bundled up in a coat. Their ride was supposed be here a half an hour ago. Out of the blue, a lone taxi pulled up to the curb.

“Need a ride?” The driver asked.

The hero knew that voice. They peeked inside. The villain.

“Not a chance in hell,” the hero hissed. “Get out of here.”

“Come in,” the villain said. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Should I start listing things?”

“Come on. The snow’s about to start.”

The hero looked up. The sky was a concerning shade of grey. Freezing to death, or an unpleasant car ride. They briefly weighed their options.

“Fine,” the hero conceded.

They got right in the passenger seat and reached for a control knob. “But I choose the music.”

A whumpee who was brutally tortured for information on their master, is eventually returned to their master who then proceeds to brutally torture them for potentially giving up valuable information.

CW: Blood, Amputation

"From now on, you will do as I say if you value your life." Whumper snarled menacingly.

"I'm nice though, so I'll give you ten chances. Your first order is this: kneel before me."

Whumpee stared defiantly from the floor where they lay crumpled. They sneered at their captor, narrowing their eyes.

"Oh, yes, you're so nice, kidnapping me and everything. Real stand-up behaviour from you there!" They spat, eyes darkening, "I will never follow your commands, you monster."

Whumper's aura of confidence shifted to one of slight frustration, glaring at Whumper like they were a particularly petulant child.

"Fine, you want to test your boundaries? I know mutts like you tend to do that under new masters." They grabbed Whumpee harshly by the wrist, yanking them over to a wooden table hidden in the shadowy corner of the room. There, they strapped Whumpee's hand in place by the wrist, palm down, tightening the leather buckle they used until their captive's flesh burnt red from pressure. They then locked it shut, to prevent any unwanted tampering.

"Ten chances, I suppose one of those would end up being wasted on a learning experience hm?" Whumper mused light-heartedly, rummaging through a storage box next to the table. Whumpee took the time to experimentatively pull against the strap, working the buckle with their hand.

"Oh, I'd move that other hand out of the way if I were you!"

Before Whumpee could fully grasp what that could mean, Whumper spun around, cleaver knife in hand. Quick as a flash they grabbed the little finger on Whumpee's restrained hand, pulled it away from the rest of them, and brough the cleaver down on it with a sickening crunch.

For a second, Whumpee felt nothing. Then, the white hot pain hit them with the force of a truck, and they screamed like a wild animal, their body going limp as they fell to their knees in agony.

Whumper doused the nub left behind in a sterile saline solution, tightly wrapping it in gauze, halting the bleeding. They picked up the quickly cooling amputated finger and crouched down, holding it in Whumpee's face.

"That's one chance gone, ok? I'm sure you understand not to waste the remaining nine."

Whumpee weakly nodded.

Strong characters who don't show any fear. Even when captured. Even when they're on their knees, with their hands tied behind their back, when a fist or boot or weapon is about to connect with their face. They don't glance up in fear, they don't flinch, don't attempt to make a miserable attempt to fight back or run. They don't beg or plea. They simply take it.

They're not resigned. They're just biding their time. And waiting.

Hey, don't cry. Go ahead and take that whumpee by the hair and slam their head against a sturdy surface and you'll feel a lot better <3