Perversity - Tumblr Posts
Wow. That's deep. And I fear various types of physical pain in real life. But to me, it's more like a feeling of excitement (in the Physics sense of the word, not just the emotional state, because, I think I tense or internally thrum with excitement while I write sometimes, possibly as a overreaction, like of the nervous system). It's like: Look at me! I'm being a sadistic writer like real authors are! So, I guess I don't necessarily see everything from the victim's side unless I'm writing their pov.
At least it's fictional. I laughed while writing my whump fic, especially at the tablecloth trap part.
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Unrelated to fics though, I've recently come up with the idea of thinking of certain types of faster writing, like the overly verbose writing sprints/drafting I often do, in terms of a particular Edgar Allan Poe passage—I just kind of laughed in glee at it during my first read of "The Imp of the Perverse" and the crash after such building intensity is phenomenal:
"And now my own casual self-suggestion that I might possibly be fool enough to confess the murder of which I had been guilty, confronted me, as if the very ghost of him whom I had murdered—and beckoned me on to death.
At first, I made an effort to shake off this nightmare of the soul. I walked vigorously—faster—still faster—at length I ran. I felt a maddening desire to shriek aloud. Every succeeding wave of thought overwhelmed me with new terror, for, alas! I well, too well understood that to think, in my situation, was to be lost. I still quickened my pace. I bounded like a madman through the crowded thoroughfares. At length, the populace took the alarm, and pursued me. I felt then the consummation of my fate. Could I have torn out my tongue, I would have done it, but a rough voice resounded in my ears—a rougher grasp seized me by the shoulder. I turned—I gasped for breath. For a moment I experienced all the pangs of suffocation; I became blind, and deaf, and giddy; and then some invisible fiend, I thought, struck me with his broad palm upon the back. The long imprisoned secret burst forth from my soul.
They say that I spoke with a distinct enunciation, but with marked emphasis and passionate hurry, as if in dread of interruption before concluding the brief, but pregnant sentences that consigned me to the hangman and to hell.
Having related all that was necessary for the fullest judicial conviction, I fell prostrate in a swoon."
Do you guys know why you enjoy thinking about or writing whumping?
I know. I’d be a whumpee probably. Just… to be hurt so bad, to be broken beyond comprehension. Nobody can invalidate that.
Then, even better, the eventual rescue by someone who cares unconditionally about me. I’ve never had someone care for me like that. I want it.