i know whumptober is literally actively going on rn but im not that into the prompts (i wanna take a break from challenge writing fic for a bit after being in a minibang) so im staring longingly at febuwhump and will be for 4 months

i love oddly specific descriptive writing. it tells you so much about a character

yeah bro it's a character study. the 2 thousand words of blowjob is vital to the study of the character

I love it when characters are immune to psychic attacks/emotional manipulation magic/psychoactive drugs or whatever, but for DEEPLY mentally ill reasons.

Fear gas? I already have an anxiety disorder. Also you don't know the meaning of fear until you have a category 5 autism event in the middle of a social scene and know you'll get severely punished if you act out

Depression aura? Bitch I live an economically productive, nutritionally balanced and physically active life that other people rely on like this.

Haunted? How would my ADHD ass even know?

Pain machine? Hm. If your machine's "10/10" is my "4", I should probably talk to my doctor about better meds.

Oh, we're all mutually unintelligible? This is Tuesday with Autism and Audio Processing issues.

There's something very cathartic about a character facing down the horrors and laughing because the antagonist can't even get close to what they already live with.

Their eyes gazed up at the cruelty behind all of this. Their wrists hung with an irredeemable ache. Their eyes burned, but no tears had soiled their cheeks in ages. Only a resolved exhaustion met those eyes. And with it, they still seemed bright. Not bright to the mind behind them.

A pale knife traced their skin. The whumpee’s breath hitched. Life cascading through their little malnourished body, starting from where metal met their chest. Scars decorated them as they ought to, or so, both whumper and whumpee had decided, for ultimately different reasons. Whumpee’s mind could not conceive of how someone might do this without reason. In its delirious state, it had suggested a number of unknowably irrational justifications. Whumpee had no choice now, but to believe them.

“You stopped begging,” The tormentor, gilded in stars and night skies their victim would never see again, held by catches of sunlight whumpee knew they would forget. “Don’t get boring now.”

The tone grated on whumpee’s ears. The cold knife warming as it traced their skin. Fingers curled around the whumpee’s chin, a breath of warm, alcohol laden breath blew their hair out of their face. How much it had grown here. Whumpee gave a dissatisfied note, ever so quietly. The knife poked up their neck, resting at their jawline, as the whumper licked their thumb. The whumpee could no longer convince their body to tense up. To try and avoid the knife’s cinching on their skin. The whumper drew a slight line in curiosity. The whumpee shut one eye. The only reaction was a silent whimper, a simultaneous strife exhale and inhale in their throat. The whumper rubbed their wet thumb along it, watching for minor flinches as it stung.

“So, I finally made you perfect,” The whumper chuckled. Their eyes directly overcast the whumpee’s. “I always knew you’d be special.”