Whumpee's Strapped To A Cold Steel Table With No Room To Struggle. Whumper Holds A Needle Staring At

Whumpee's strapped to a cold steel table with no room to struggle. Whumper holds a needle staring at them hungrily without hardly blinking.

"This won't kill you..." They say, flicking the mid of the needle.

"But depending on how much you struggle, it will hurt you."

Lil’ Tip

I see two common formulas when a character is severely hurt

injured >> panic >> faint

or

injured >> hide it >> faint

While these two formulas are great, I am here to propose other things people do when they are in severe physical pain. pain to this degree throws a persons entire body out of wack, show it!

here are some other less commonly found things people do when they’re in severe pain:

firstly, repeat it after me, kids! not everyone faints when they’re in a ton of pain! some people wish they could faint

but they do tremble, convulse, or thrash uncontrollably (keep in mind, trembling and convulsing are something the body does of it’s own accord, thrashing is an action taken by the person)

hyper/hypoventilate

become nauseous

vomit (in severe cases)

hallucinate

lose sight (temporarily)

lose hearing (temporarily)

run a low-grade fever

run a high-grade fever (in severe cases)

become unaware of surroundings

develop a nosebleed

develop a migraine

sweat absolute bullets

feel free to add more in comments/reblogs!

Stoic Caretaker forcing sleep-deprived and sick Whumpee to get some sleep.

"Mm . . . no. Caretaker m'fine. I have work I need to do-"

"If you don't take a god damn nap, I'm going to shove a bottle of Nyquil down your throat."

“Oh, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed, their voice filled with feigned sadness, “I should thank you. You never fail to amuse me, trying to escape like that. It’s almost adorable, really.”

Whumpee glared at Whumper through tear-filled eyes; their voice was barely a whisper, a testament to their broken spirit. “Go to hell, Whumper.”

Whumper chuckled. “I might just. But first, I’m going to have to make sure you never try that again.”

Every inch of skin is burning. There cannot be a single untouched spot on your body. The marks are everywhere. You will never be free of the scars.

Every breath is a monument. In and out, forcing yourself through. Your broken ribs protest - but not breathing hurts more. In and out, a brief moment that lasts an eternity. Every eternity is followed by another. There is nothing to do but breathe, and hurt.

You hang in chains, barely standing, vulnerable, helpless. There is no way out. There is no choice what happens next. Your shoulders ache. Your legs and feet ache. You want it to end. It will not end.

You cannot cope. But you must. There is no other option.

Through it all, a voice in your head says only one thing :

Endure. Endure. Endure.

The Whumpee hits away an offered cup of water. It bounces off the table in the small interrogation room and splashes a conspicuous wet stain against the concrete wall. “I’ll say it again - I don’t take anything from people like you.” The Whumper just blankly stares at them, then wipes their thumb under their nose with a habitual sniff as if they were having a bump. The Whumper looks clinically at the water stain on the wall before looking back at the Whumpee. “And yet you take so much of my patience.” The Whumpee spits indignantly in the direction of the Whumper. The Whumper’s response is so swift that there’s barely time to think. In a heartbeat, the Whumper’s chair is thrust backwards as they stand and reach across the table and seize the Whumpee by the front of their jacket. The Whumper pulls them around like a ragdoll and slams the Whumpee’s back against the wall and presses them against the wall with a fist wrapped in their clothes. “It’s not the disrespect that gets me, it’s the moral high ground that you think you’re on,” the Whumper growls. “As if it’s ever that easy. As if I choose where I am. As if I don’t have my own masters,” they say, pulling the collar of their shirt down to show a small glimpse of their brutally branded skin. The Whumpee can only cough as they listen, struggling for breath and ignoring the taste of blood in their teeth. “You and your ilk love to live as if there is a greater good, but there is no such thing. And your belief in it is a sickness.” The Whumpee weakly grabs at the Whumper’s arm that keeps them pinned to the wall, but they can scarcely manage a meaningful struggle. “You may hate me, but you know nothing about me. And your ‘greater good’ is nothing more than the shared delusion of the unencumbered few.” The Whumper lets go of the Whumpee and leaves them there for now. They’ll be back soon enough to get what they want.