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#immortality whump
whumpwillow · 2 years
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immortals that feel they have to act like they aren’t traumatized by what happens to them because none of it shows on their body since they heal from everything <3 
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blackrosesandwhump · 3 months
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The Marvelous Resurrecting Boy, Part 12
Part 11
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BTHB: Lacerations
Fandom: Original work
Synopsis: In the aftermath of his friend's attack, Bram repeats his performance of the dying swan...and something happens that he didn't expect.
CW: death, blood, suicide for convenience, drugging reference
“I-I’m so sorry…”
Kian lay in the cot next to Bram’s, staring at nothing, his hands folded across his chest. A white bandage wrapped up his left forearm, lightly tinged with fresh blood.
“I didn’t mean to, really…” Kian said, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t help it…it wasn’t me.”
“I know it wasn’t.” I know that now, anyway, Bram thought. He shifted in his own cot, turning to face the other boy. The motion sent little stabs of pain through the fresh lacerations raked across his torso and arms. “At least it was me and not Ester.”
A couple of tears leaked from Kian’s eyes. “I might’ve killed her. I can’t kill you.” He managed a shaky half-smile.
“True.”
But it hurt. The claw-marks burned. Bram was used to pain, even agony, but usually, he would die and resurrect, and the injuries would be gone. This time, he had to live with the aftermath of Kian’s wild attack.
It wasn’t Kian’s fault, not really. He couldn’t help the effect that the new moon had on him. It was just the type of creature he was: a cambion, a half-human half-demon creature that turned into a monster on the darkest night of every month.
No wonder Griffin wanted to drug him, Bram thought, then immediately hated himself for thinking it.
“All right, you’re both cleared to leave,” the medic announced, breaking through Bram’s thoughts. “Keep those injuries clean and bandaged, and you should both recover just fine.” He made a mark on his pad of paper. “Better get ready for your next performances.”
The next performance. Bram sat up wearily, swung his feet down, and followed Kian out of the medical tent.
The air was slightly warmer today, carrying the faintest hint of spring on a breeze that seemed to rise out of nowhere. Bram took a deep breath. He was alive (for now). And—his pulse sped up at the thought—he might see Violet again in the audience. She might be watching.
That is, if it really was her. His footsteps slowed. What if it wasn’t? What if all this time, she was only a hallucination, a figment of his nightmares?
Even if she is just a hallucination, he answered himself, I still love her.
He looked around and found he’d stopped outside the meal tent. The newest performers were clustered there, the group in which he’d seen the winged boy.
But the winged boy wasn’t there.
***
The Marvelous Resurrecting Boy’s performance of the dying swan garnered an even larger crowd the second time.
Bram shuffled back and forth backstage, sweating slightly under his layer of white feathers. He had a feeling, an unshakable feeling, that she would be there. And if she was, nothing else would matter.
The act before him ended--Kian and Ester together this time—and the audience applauded.
Thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump. His heart took off beating, pounding like it intended to throb itself right out of his chest.
Like last time, the spear pierced him through. He barely noticed the pain as he stepped onto the stage. He played the dying swan as dramatically as ever: the slow, melancholy dance; the blood crimsoning his wings; the tragic collapse as he died.
And as he died, he saw her. She was out there, in the audience, watching him die. Watching him come back to life.
And it looked like…it looked like she was crying—
The shipwreck again—the memory winked out and back—they were standing on a beach together, watching another ship approach the shore—
He came back to life and got shakily to his feet. The noise of the audience overwhelmed him: shouts and cries of acclamation and awe, thunderous applause, the soft pop of a camera close by. He looked around, startled. Someone had taken his photograph. A photograph of the dying swan, covered in his own blood.
Someone took his arm and guided him offstage.
“They shouldn’t make you do that act,” Kian said, still holding onto Bram as he helped him down the wooden steps. “That’s a lot of blood loss, even for you.”
“I guess it is,” Bram murmured, feeling a little dizzy. But it’s worth it. It’s always worth it, to see Violet again—
“Bram.” His handler stood in the way, a peculiar expression etched across his face. “Go clean yourself up, quick as you can, and get back here immediately.”
“Why?” Kian blurted, his eyes flashing yellow for just a moment. “Can’t you see he needs to recover—”
“He doesn’t have time for that,” Bram’s handler said. “Someone wants to buy him.”
@whumping-to-conclusions @whumping-out-of-time @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumpy-writings @afabulousmrtake @whither-wander-whump @whumpinthepot @silver-ink-iron-words @badthingshappenbingo
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anguishmacgyver · 4 months
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aceofwhump · 1 month
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Torchwood: Children of the Earth Day Four (3x04)
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fridayplease · 8 days
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Astarion, who vividly remembers the horror of breaking out of his own coffin and digging to the surface, losing you to death. Having to come to terms with burying you.
Panicking and stressing about the burial, insisting on burying you with things you might need to escape your coffin, despite having checked a hundred times and knowing you’re dead. Because someone thought he was dead once and buried him, too. 
Astarion coming up with elaborate ways (think 18th and 19th century style in our universe) to make sure once you’re buried, you haven’t come back somehow and you aren’t screaming for help down there. 
Astarion sitting on your grave every night that first week, just in case you need him.
Astarion, who has been so absorbed in his own terror of what happened to him after his death that he hasn’t really processed your death… finally coming to terms with losing you. It hitting him, alone and in the dark on your grave, in the middle of the night with only the moon for company.
Astarion weeping for hours on your grave, clutching a handful of dirt.
Astarion who is alone again.
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a-crumb-of-whump · 5 months
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Whump Prompts: Strangulation/Asphyxiation
Taken from this post of mine:)
Content: Asphyxiation, collars, burns, heat whump, [implied] pet whump, choking, dehydration, immortal whumpee, begging, gags.
Whumper tightening Whumpee's collar by one hole each time they misbehave. Really, it's up to Whumpee as to whether they want to be able to breathe or not within the next few hours.
Whumpee stucks their tongue out after a certain amount of time without air, and Whumper thinks it's the cutest thing ever. Cue them randomly reaching out to choke them and just waiting to see Whumpee start to drool and for their tongue to stick out.
Whumpee's raspy breaths in as the force around their neck slowly tightens.
Shoving their face near a pot of boiling water and threatening to drown them in it.
Whumper trying to "squeeze the tears out of them". AKA Whumpee cries when they're choked.
Whumpee mouthing the word "please" over and over again and Whumper choosing to take it as "squeeze harder".
That huge gasp of air and the way their body writhes when they're finally able to breathe again.
A reverse gag being shoved down their throat until they learn to be respectful.
The little choked whimpers that Whumpee lets out as their airflow is cut off.
Forcing so much water down a dehydrated whumpee's throat that it chokes them.
An immortal whumpee who can't pass out from suffocation, blood loss, etc. being forced to live in a constant state of asphyxiation that would kill a mere mortal in minutes.
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urlocalwhumper · 1 month
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immortal caretaker who has looked after many whumpees in their endless existence. they have an entire set of drawers in their bedroom, almost full to the brim with journals detailing the names, preferences, and stories of each one.
it's a bit bittersweet for them to look back on. many of the whumpees they've written about are long dead, having been under caretaker's care decades if not centuries ago. caretaker misses them all the same.
but, they can't let grief consume them. there will always be more people in need of their help, and caretaker wants to use their infinite life for good.
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abhainnwhump · 1 month
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(Content warnings: Burning alive, implied death, immortal whumpee)
Everything thinks Whumpee is dead, but they're just in a heavily/magically induced sleep. Whumpee's friends decide to cremate their body. Whumpee wakes up in the chamber they're being burned in and scream to get out, pounding on the case.
Bonus points if they have some form of immortality and they are unable to die, just going through it until Whumpee's friends realize what happened. The trust there is forever strained.
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Immortal Whumpee
ITS PROBABLY BEEN SAID BEFORE BUT- YOUVE PROBABLY HEARD OF IMMORTAL WHUMPEE:
Doesn't die
Is just tortured over and over again
BUT MAY I INTRODUCE:
IMMORTAL WHUMPEE THAT CAN DIE, AND JUST COMES BACK TO LIFE:
They experience death
They feel all of that pain
THEY FEEL ALL OF IT AND WHUMPER JUST KEEPS KILLING THEM OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN
AND MAYBE THE SCARS AND BRUISES STAY THERE, AS A CONSTANT REMINDER OR!! THE SCARS AND BRUISES FADE AWAY AND THEY HAVE NOTHING TO SHOW IF THEIR PAIN EXCEPT FOR MENTAL SCARRING
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thewhumpcaretaker · 26 days
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Things that Whumper Can Do to an Undead/Immortal Whumpee
Induce a heart attack, as many times as they please
Induce a stroke
Induce a seizure
Electrocute them
(Depending on the rules of the immortality) Remove, electrocute, or cut into the brain, creating effects similar to an extremely bad drug trip
Drain their entire body of blood
Waterboarding (also potentially in blood)
Encase them completely in concrete, immobilized and unable to breathe
Embed a sharp object inside them, which stabs them continuously from the inside out
Embed a sharp object inside them, which stabs them continuously from the inside out, but sexually
Play the long game with their connections, getting them attached to someone for whole years or decades before forcing them to kill that person
Play the long game with their hope, giving them some form of freedom for whole years or decades only to rip it away again
Play with their memories by falsifying historical documents and gaslighting them that they're starting to forget details from early on their long immortal life
Indefinite starvation
Indefinite sleep deprivation
Indefinite solitary confinement
Cut off limbs (they'll grow back)
Blind them
Cut out their tongue
Cut off that one special limb
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whumpwillow · 9 months
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Immortal whumpee being restrained by being impaled to a wall/tree/bed… Love me a “non-fatal” impaling
Had a daydream a looooooong long time ago (before i even discovered whump i think) where i daydreamed about an immortal kept and held in a dungeon and restrained by having metal stakes through his body that were impaled through him and into the wall so he couldn’t move. he got found by the princess, his caretaker, and it was a TIME trying to get the stakes out because he had healed around them so he was like…stuck to them and it was just extra hurty to get them out of him
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blackrosesandwhump · 4 months
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The Marvelous Resurrecting Boy, Part 11
Part 10
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BTHB: Manhandling
Fandom: Original work
Synopsis:  Still recovering from his previous performance, Bram fails to discover more about his disturbing memories and gets attacked by someone he trusted.
CW: suicide for convenience, drugging reference, immortality whump, circus whump, nightmares
Bram stood at the opening of the medical tent, taking deep breaths of cool air and watching Griffin examine the newest performers.
Two days. He’d been unconscious for two days after his most recent death, the performance of the dying swan. In all the months—years? Time was elusive when you were immortal—that he’d been part of Griffin’s circus, he hadn’t once been sick. And now, standing still and making himself breathe, he felt weak, almost dizzy. The opposite of the way someone immortal should feel.
His nightmares weighed heavily on him. He thought back to his most recent dream. A shipwreck. People had been dying around him. But why? What had happened to the ship? And what did it have to do with him?
Violet. I have to see Violet again. Whatever it takes. He repeated her name in his head as he gathered his coat and scarf from his borrowed cot and slipped out. The muddy ground squelched a little under his boots; he tried to walk more quietly as he made his way past the tent with the Griffin’s recent acquisitions.
His gaze snagged on one of them, and he froze in his tracks, his breath held.
A pair of large, iridescent wings extended from the stranger’s back and caught the light, shimmering despite the dim grey sky overhead. Bram couldn’t tear his eyes away. He watched, transfixed, hardly breathing, until two stagehands shoved the boy to his knees. The boy dropped heavily, barely resisting. He’s already drugged. They already drugged him. He ducked down as the stagehands manhandled the boy out of the tent, his wings fluttering useless on his back. The stranger’ s eyes met his for just a second. Help me, they said. Please help me.
Bram swayed on his feet and turned, suddenly exhausted, back to his own tent. Thank goodness he didn’t have any performances today.
He yanked off his boots and lay down on his own cot. Sleep swallowed almost instantly, the image of the incredible wings swimming in his mind.
Violet. He jolted awake with her name on his lips. She had been there, clinging to him in that dreadful, icy sea.
He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, pulling on his boots with hands that seemed to be guiding themselves. He had to see her again, had to learn what had happened on that horrific night.
He headed for the main stage.
It was dark and empty at this time of night. He ascended the wooden steps and, hands outstretched like a blind man’s, felt his way to the prop tables backstage. His fingers landed on a candelabra; he fumbled around next to it for matches and struck one. The candelabra flared into life one wick at a time, illuminating the abandoned stage with warm, flickering light. There, at the end of the table. A vial of poison. Why Griffin didn’t keep it locked up, Bram never knew. The liquid inside caught the candlelight, shimmering darkly. It would only take a few drops.
His tongue recoiled at its bitterness, and he shuddered and sank to his knees. Any moment now. Any moment now, he would die, and he would see her again, drawing close to him as catastrophe struck—
He opened his eyes. Nothing. Nothing had happened. He was still alive, still conscious, his mind full of distant, dream-like memories that faded even as he got to his feet, his heart pounding.
So he really was immune to that particular poison—
A low growl close by sent an icy chill down his spine.
“Hello? Is someone there?” He glanced around the dark stage, panicked. His heart skipped a beat.
Someone was standing there in the blackness, watching him with eyes that…eyes that glowed…
“Hello?” He took a step backward, and the figure advanced toward him, the candlelight grazing familiar features. Bram let his breath out in a deep sigh of relief.
“Kian! You scared me! Why’re you standing there—” The words died in his mouth.
It was Kian, but somehow, in some terrifying way, not him. His eyes looked less human, full of a yellow glow Bram hadn’t seen before. He stood slightly hunched over, his head lowered, his horns sharp, his teeth bared. He dropped into a crouch, as if ready to lunge and strike. Another low growl rumbled deep in his chest.
Then he threw himself at Bram.
@forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumping-out-of-time @whumping-to-conclusions @whumpy-writings @afabulousmrtake @whither-wander-whump @whumpinthepot @silver-ink-iron-words @badthingshappenbingo
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loonybun · 22 days
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hi thinking of circus whump rn and gonna make it your problem
- one of those classic sword box tricks, but it’s very much real. I think with an immortal whumpee that would be pretty neat.
- sad clown whumpee breaking down mid-performance, sobbing to the audience and letting go of years of anguish… Only to be quickly interrupted with a quick punchline from another clown! The audience, none the wiser, roars with laughter.
- a caged inhuman/supernatural whumpee being awed at as they’re paraded through the tent. get a whole freak show while you’re at it!
- a very poorly trained acrobat whumpee being forced to walk a high tightrope. without a net, obviously.
- a whumper as a ringmaster, showing clear favoritism towards the better performing acts of the night and giving them special privileges like decent food.
- saw this one comment under a song that suggested a faerie circus (as in faeries putting humans in a circus) and it has not and will never leave my brain. the POTENTIAL.
- bleeding out backstage. there’s no medical care in sight. you’d expect a circus to have better health insurance.
- a whumpee or caretaker looking after or finding comfort in the animals in the circus. just trying to provide them with more care than they were given.
- evil clowns! if you like evil clowns, why not use em? clown whumpers clown whumpers clown whumpers…..
if you write anything using these please tag me i will go nuts.
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whumpy-wyrms · 18 days
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i just love the concept of an immortal human whumpee being kept captive by a vampire whumper. the whumper can take however much blood they want and the whumpee will never die.
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skinnamon39 · 6 months
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a whumpee with resurrective immortality who has just died for the first time. they don't know how it happened. they're still reeling from the fact that they're alive - not still alive, but again. their muscles still ache from death, and they can't seem to think straight. but all of that wouldn't be so bad if all of their former friends and loved ones weren't convinced that they're some sort of witch or demon taking their place
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whumpshaped · 4 months
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can I request a whumpee being turned to stone for hundreds of years before finally being freed by a person who felt bad for the statue that was covered in ivy and cleaned them up a bit?
tw immortal whumpee, starvation, suffocation, dehydration, literally trapped in stone and deprived of everything for ages
Whumpee gasped for air, startling their saviour who had been diligently clearing away weeds and moss for hours. They frantically tore off the remaining pieces of their plant prison, tossing vines and leaves to the ground before breaking down completely, wheezing and sobbing like there was no tomorrow.
Except there was. There would always be a tomorrow for them. There was always a tomorrow, even when they wished it wouldn’t come. And tomorrow had never brought anything but more pain.
“Holy shit,” the stranger muttered, but Whumpee barely heard it.
They could finally draw a breath after centuries of being trapped in stone, lungs and muscles all frozen and useless despite their desire to move and live. They tried to stretch their cramping limbs, but it only ended in more agony and crying.
“Hey… Hey, t-take it easy…” Whumpee looked up to meet the stranger’s gaze, their pathetic state seemingly calming them enough not to run. “I… I had no idea… How long…?”
Centuries, they wanted to say; but the words wouldn’t come. Their throat felt dry, like it was still filled with gravel, and their jaw ached as they tried to form their answer. Centuries. Millenia. I don’t know.
“Oh, fuck, of course… Of course…” They quickly pulled out a bottle filled with fresh water, timidly offering it up to Whumpee. It didn’t matter. Their arms wouldn’t move like they wanted them to. “Should I– May I…?” The stranger crawled a little closer, screwing the cap off and lifting it to Whumpee’s lips.
Whumpee gulped it down way too fast, whining when the stranger pulled their hand back. They needed more. Please. They hadn’t drunk in so many lifetimes.
“You’ll get sick if you don’t pace yourself,” they said apologetically. “I– I think… I’ve never… I’ve never helped… people like you. But I’ll let you have more in a bit. I promise.”
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