Hghghg Thought Of The Concept Last Night Of A Character Being Rescued From Imprisonment/torture; Beaten

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.

a watched nut never busts. or something. i dont fucking know what you people find funny anymore. 9/11.

guy who has mistaken adrenaline for love and isn’t interested in correcting the mistake

Tie your whumpee up by their wrists, rough rope digging into their skin. Then whip them, over and over, until their legs give out and they slump against the post. Until each breath is a ragged, desperate gasp, until the world spins around them and stars to fade in and out of focus, until all they can hear is the snap of the whip and their own blood dripping on the ground.

sometimes the best writing advice is "just let it be bad." revolutionary. terrifying. but it works.

Whumpees been taken for ransom from right under caretaker’s nose. Weeks pass before they get the call with demands for a chance at getting them back.

But caretaker will hear none of it until they hear whumpee’s voice over the phone.

“Whumpee are you okay?! Have they hurt you?” They cry over the phone. 

“….”

“I’m alive.”

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

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.

My average writing experience:

"Alright I think I'm almost done actually-"

*Google doc grows second health bar and a choir starts singing in latin*