Current Aesthetic Of My Brain Is A Whumpee Who Seems Powerful And Dangerous To Outsiders, But In Reality

Stockholm syndrome in whump. Yes or yes? 👀

Your whump word(s) of the day

"We need to talk."

your writing does not have to be good. your author’s note does not have to go on its knees for a hundred words before each chapter repenting. you only have to let the soft gremlin of your brain write what it wants.

Prompt (568)

“Do I know you from somewhere?” The villain asked.

Something about the cashier looked so familiar.

The hero stared coldly at the villain as they scanned their milk. “You almost killed me last week, testing a homemade explosive. The cops were called.”

The villain perked up. “Ah, yes! Now hurry up. The butter’s melting.”

The bidding to choose Whumpee's death had been raging hard for seven days. Now, the countdown to closing was at an end. They strained at their bonds. It was as useless fighting it now as it had been from the beginning. Whatever the rich bastards who won this auction wanted to do to them, they would do. There was no stopping it.

But when Whumper read the email from the winner to themself, the look on their face was one of revulsion - and that terrified Whumpee more than anything that they had seen or heard so far.

"Well," Whumper said, grimacing. "There's no accounting for taste."

Two henchmen came in and Whumpee was unbound for the first time in over a month. Not for long. They were dragged kicking and screaming toward a flat table, strapped on their back to the surface and left helpless once again.

They wailed piteously as Whumper strolled over, a thin rag in one hand and a large, opaque jug in the other.

Whumpee started to sob. They should never have let slip that their fear was suffocation, never because they knew what this meant. They were going to be waterboarded. Drowned where they lay, and because of the cloth, Whumper could do that to them as many times as they wanted.

"Please," Whumpee whimpered. "Please don't waterboard me, please, I-"

Whumper shook their head. "This isn't water."

Whumper popped the cap on the jug and the smell that hit Whumpee's nostrils was unmistakable.

Vanilla extract.

living weapon whumpee who was trained to not show signs of being in pain but punishments won't stop unless whumper(s) believe they've been properly punished. which goes until whumpee cracks, at which point they are additionally punished for showing pain.

Aesthetic: Bear Trap

The slightest shift of pressure, a brief moment to think ‘oh shit’, before steel jaws slam shut against skin and bone and muscle and sinew.

A flash of unbearable agony as the excruciating pain starts, as they stumble and fall to one knee, as fingers hover over razor-sharp edges and breathing grows shallow.

Maybe they’re running from something, from whatever the trap was meant for.

Maybe they’re running from someone, a glinting smirk as footsteps slow to a casual saunter.

Fingers yanking fruitlessly at spring-coiled metal, low sobs, frequent glances over their shoulder to track their enemy getting closer and closer and closer.

Trapped like prey.

they should make a saluting emoji that looks tired. exhausted even. one that got to the airport at 3:30 AM perhaps. dare I say a saluting emoji that's about to stuck in an overnight layover in dallas. hypothetically!

Why do we say “slept like a baby” when babies literally wake up screaming every two hours?

I want to sleep like a middle-aged dad who “rests his eyes” during a Marvel movie and wakes up refreshed, confused, and ready to barbecue.