Whom’st’d’ve Done This

Asks, requests, and etc are open!!!

[whumpstdve-done-this]

I keep seeing immortal whump crop up on my dash so this is what I have to contribute since over half of my ocs including my main one are immortals:

- I’ve always had the idea that coming back to life is more painful than dying. Feeling organs and blood forcibly returning and rending together, infections breaking faster than they should, bones snapping together, etc...

- There is a realm in between life and death that immortals can get stuck in. Like sleep paralysis but your body can’t decide if you’re alive or dead and thus is in a constant state of mending and decaying.

- Immortals cannot be permanently killed, but can be placed in that in between state or in a state of constant reincarnation so their soul can never rest.

- Some believe that the blood of an immortal can make them immortal and thus try to steal it. And they know that immortals can make more and so keep them trapped and at a constant deficit of blood. Just enough so they don’t die and they have to wait to revive.

- The older and more the immortal has been injured, the longer it takes to revive and so the longer they exist in that in between space. Immortals worry that they will eventually get to the point when they’re stuck for so long it drives them mad.

[morallygreyprompts]

Concept #37

The Villain has a good superpower, like being able to heal others, but because of the demand for that power, it turned them to crime.

[whumpstdve-done-this]

“Please, you have to save my child! He’s dying!”

“I-I have money! I’ll give you it all!”

“A moment of your time, just a moment is all I ask!”

“I beg of you, please... please... What do you want? I just need a little...”

“It’s not for me, I promise. It’s for my husband. He needs it. We need it. Can you spare some?”

“How fortunate you are to have such a wonderful power! You must have done something special to find favor with the gods.”

“You were blessed by the gods! How dare you withhold it! What gave you the right?”

“You selfish child! How could you forsake these people that believed in you?”

“These people are suffering and you will do nothing about it? You don’t care, do you? You never did.”

Mariko had a power. The power to bless and the power to heal. Fortune followed those she smiled upon. She could heal the sick, mend the wounded, and save the dying. Money fell into people’s laps when she winked at them. Barren women became pregnant when she laughed. Flowers bloomed where she danced and music played when she sang. A little goddess, she was.

But it wasn’t true, wasn’t right what the people said. She wasn’t blessed by the gods, she was cursed by them. They wanted her to suffer and writhe on the ground for their amusement. And no one disobeyed the gods. So, she suffered. Her hair was pulled out and portions of her skin and flesh was cut away by fervent worshippers wanting nothing but a piece of her to have. She was shoved to the ground by angry rioters and nonbelievers, kicked and spit on for being a false prophet. And all the while, she looked up at the gods hidden among the people, and watched them smirk and laugh behind elaborate fans and heavy makeup.

Mariko was 25 when she heard the news. A prostitute from the next country over was revealed to be the reincarnation of the goddess of beauty. Surely, she thought, this was an unfortunate soul just like me. I will pay them a visit. Perhaps there is someone to share in my sorrow.

So, she traveled days through woods and cities alike, hiding her face from the people she passed and crying out in fear when someone recognized her.

Upon her arrival, she glimpsed the one. And right behind them was a god. The god was smiling sweetly and she knew. This person was not a suffering human, nor were they the reincarnation of a god. They were the child of a god, and that meant she was inferior to them in every way. The blessings the people thought she had, they actually did. Their skin and hair would be protected from blemish and their followers were loyal and real.

Mariko called her own followers around her, for she had an announcement. The rumors were false, the prostitute was the prophet of an evil god and not to be trusted. In fact, they could not be allowed to live.

While a real god would have no trouble shrugging her off, this half-breed would suffer. She would be sure of that.

[whumpstdve-done-this]

Obligatory advertisement since I just got @friendlylocalwhumper’s book and I’m so hype to read it! I’m taking it on a 2 day flight so maybe I’ll have read it a few times over by then! Check it out if you haven’t already!

[whumpstdve-done-this]

Marietta couldn’t decide whether she liked the clean cut look or a more natural fraying type deal. She tested each out and then some in between and back again. Nothing seemed to scream “right” to her. She may be able to test everything out as she wishes but in the end, this was a permanent arrangement. She tried using fun and interesting tools to see if they produced anything interesting, but to no avail. It all was just boring and dull. Too close to the same. Common.

Eventually, she had to make a decision or she’d never move on to other projects. She waffled for a bit before finally landing on the clean look. It was sleek and cool because it would have never occurred naturally. For a tool she chose a heavy duty paper cutter, the kind that cut through whole stacks and looked a bit like a guillotine. It sounded a bit like one too. And it cane with a handy table with notches so everything would line up beautifully.

She called out that everything was ready and a pale faced boy was presented to her. Blood ran down his chin from where another decision that had taken forever to decide on had taken place. His eyes were a pale green and jumped out from his dark hair.

Marietta took his cuffed hands in her own and guided him to the device, pulling the cuffs up against his hands and bending him over the table. Two guards held him down as she meticulously fiddled with the measurements. It looked like his left arm was just a smidge longer than his right. Now she had to decide whether to have even hands or an even boy. She shrugged and figured that she’d have to look at the hands forever, but not the arms attached to them. Lining everything up appropriately, she looked at the boy’s face.

He wasn’t screaming, but his eyes were wide in terror. He knew what was coming. Had known since she took so long figuring things out. His tongue darted out to wet and clean his grimy lips. He’d be screaming soon.

Marietta smiled, lifting the blade and holding it steadily, making sure his hands weren’t trembling too much.

Camellia screamed.

[whumpstdve-done-this]

I just checked and apparently I have 103 followers. Idk why y’all’er here but thanks! I’ll continue to be a bit spotty because of life stuff but as soon as June happens I should be back.

Thanks so much for bearing with me!

[whumpstdve-done-this]

There was no rescue after the escape, not was there any security. They never went to the hospital for their wounds, just kept binding them in dirty rags striped from their increasingly meager clothing. There was no reliable source of food or drink or rest, since they had to keep moving. Keep low and hidden. From the whumper, from the world. There were no friends, there never was. Only flashes of pity from the odd stranger. And being noticed meant it was time to move on again. There was no rest, they would never rest again.

[whumpstdve-done-this]

There is a sudden onset of pain. A physical response to pure mental anguish. The caretaker knows the whumpee probably isn’t going to make it. Help is too far and the wounds are too great. And even if they do make it, between here and now and then and there is going to be excruciating. And mustering up for that isn’t easy. They feel phantom pains from a future lifetime of the pain of remembrance. And of course the whumpee will never be the same. They’ll probably be even worse off alive than peacefully dead. Is it worth it?

The caretaker knows that no matter what they decide, if they even can, it will hurt. It already hurts. And it will always hurt. From now on.

[whumpstdve-done-this]

Sleep deprivation

(Based on the fact that I haven’t slept in three days because finals)

When a whumpee is sleep deprived and their hands won’t stop shaking. It started in their fingers and it spread to the point that they can’t hold their hands still, no matter how much they’ve been ordered to. They feel sick and their old nervous tics are coming back with a vengeance. Their joints start to ache and then their entire limbs and then their lungs and then their everything. They’re starting to make mistakes they wouldn’t normally and as if the whumper will stand for that. But maybe they’ll find some enjoyment from watching them fail at simple yet dangerous tasks.

[whumpstdve-done-this]

When a character is just left somewhere to bleed out. Like, no need to look back or check up on them. They’re definitely not going to make it. Might as well give them some privacy, right?

[whumpstdve-done-this]

“I wish I could have loved you more.”

“... I wish you had never loved me at all.”

[whumpstdve-done-this]

“P-please, I need-“

“Oh, you need? Well, so do them. And they need it more than you. I thought better of you, A. I never knew you were so selfish!”

“Please, just a little... something to wrap this.”

“Look, even if I wanted to, anything that isn’t in use is tied up. Unless you’re actively bleeding out, I can’t do anything for you. You look fine. Relatively fine. Just go find some cloth or something.”

“B-but it’ll get infected. B, please help me.”

“Stop acting like you’re the only one that matters! I have hundreds that matter more! One little infection means nothing! You still have your limbs and most of your blood, one little wound isn’t important!”

“... When you’re not busy, can you show me how to make a tourniquet?”

“Persistent, aren’t you? Careful or I’d think you were just trying to see me.”

“...”

“... Fine. Come here.”

“Thank you.”

“Alright, now— Why is your shirt wet? And hey. You already had bandages over this? What’s...”

“What?”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, A. This is bad. Come lie down, I’ll call someone.”

“No. Just show me how to rewrap this. I’ll deal with it myself. C’mon.”

“No way, this might already be infected! We need to get you treated!”

“... You said it wasn’t important.”

“I... I did say that, didn’t I?

[whumpstdve-done-this]

I still really want to see prompts and stories involving exes. Just saying.

[whumpstdve-done-this]

Reincarnation whump 1

(I might elaborate on these at some point.)

The first time around was simple. The whumpee was a simple person living a simple life with their love, the caretaker. The whumper made a random choice to break and enter into the house while only the whumpee was there. A fight ensued that ended with the whumper escaping and the whumpee lying bleeding on the ground. With the help of caretaker, they recovered physically but they still jumped at shadows. In the end, the whumper and caretaker died of old age, the whumpee having passed from illness some time before.

The second life was a little more complicated. The whumpee and whumper were living in wedded bliss when the caretaker stormed in, a stranger to them both. The caretaker remembered what happened in the previous life and sought to get revenge on the whumper. Not expecting an assult, the whumper is killed in view of the whumpee, who is devastated at the loss of their love. The caretaker does their best to explain, but the whumpee doesn’t care. Still, the caretaker stays by their side until their death, after which the whumpee remembers their past and succumbs to madness.

[whumpstdve-done-this]

The whumpee is finally home. Finally safe. In the arms of the ones that love them the most. Asleep with none of the tension and stress that pulls on their face when they’re awake.

But the whumper is watching, humming pleasantly themselves. The whumpee was getting a bit boring. The pain of being ripped away from their friends when they thought they were safe should make them a bit more interesting, right?

[morallygreyprompts]

Prompt #45

It’s Wednesday and I am a stressed penguin so pardon any mistakes or brief bits of writing. Anyway, have a good day, peeps! :)

Hero read and re-read the note Villain’s Henchman had given them. They couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Written on a party invitation with colourful balloons, was a threat. They gripped it harder as though it would magically turn into something less sinister.

I have your lover. Best come to the old factory now. Come alone- and don’t disappoint me.

Hero knew where Villain was referring to. They rushed there, hoping they weren’t too late. How had Villain even found out they were lovers? They’d only been dating a few weeks. Were they being spied on? What if their lover wasn’t there? Maybe Villain assumed Hero was with someone or hell, maybe their lover was on Villain’s side.

No. Drowning out the bombardment of thoughts and insecurities was not easy. All Hero could do was run, to get to their lover as fast as they could. They had no idea what Villain was planning in there, and the factory had so much dangerous machinery… It was a relief when the factory came into sight. It was only then Hero stopped, panting and gasping for air. They needed to stop, to think, maybe even come up with a shambles of a plan.

A yelp coming from the factory forced Hero to start running again. They climbed up a stack of rotting crates and slipped in through a broken window. Once inside they saw Villain.

“Aw hell no!” they exclaimed. Hero stood gawking at Villain and the person beside them, tied up and wriggling on the floor. That person was their ex.

“That wasn’t quite the reaction I was expecting to hear,” Villain remarked.

“For the last time,” the ex, shouted, “we aren’t dating!”

Hero stared at Villain for a few minutes. “You must think you’ve done well this time, huh?”

“That’s because I have-”

“They’re my ex, you idiot. Last time I saw them we were fighting in the street and had to get dragged off each other.”

Villain burst out laughing.

Hero’s ex stared daggers at Hero. “If you leave me here, I swear I will bite your ankles off. This is all your fault. Get me out of here, now!”

“It’d serve you right,” Hero grumbled, but their focus was on Villain and directing their frustration to clenched fists.

Villain rubbed their hands together and their grin seemed wider than proportions should have allowed, “honestly, I think this even more exciting! We all know you’d do anything for someone you love, but well, let’s see how you react to this.”

Hero heard a noise close behind them and turned sharply but it was too late. A great piece of wood connected with their head and they crumpled to the floor.

[whumpstdve-done-this]

Ex-lovers are probably my favorite thing. I love them.

[whumpstdve-done-this]

I think I really just don’t trust caretakers. Everytime I see one being supportive and nice, the first thing I think of is, “how long is your tether? Where’s your breaking point? What are your motives? When will you betray them?” It’s like peretually waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even if they’re explicitly stated to never harm the whumpee and will never harm them, I just don’t believe it. If they’re human, they’ll break. Run out of patience. Run out of love.

I just... don’t trust caretakers.

[whumpstdve-done-this]

A whumpee finally finding a moment to pause and look down at the wound they were bracing and ooh, that doesn’t look so good. Probably going to want to start running. If they don’t get too dizzy doing that. Or trip over their own feet and slip on their blood. Or faint from the sight of their wound. Or the bloodloss. Or... well, you get the idea.