nicwholikeswhumpstuff

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

Please reblog this post if you are a whumper/member of the whump community.

Let the experiments continue.

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

Your Result: Everyone Has a Past

"Unlike so many shows and movies would like us to believe, characters don't simply recover from their injuries and swan off all smiles and sunshine. There is a personal cost for what you've done to them. Whatever your brand of injury your character will carry those wounds, internally, from then on. In fact you spend less time on the physical whump than the emotional. Flashbacks, self-medicating, and even worse are in store for your character. However you also include quite a bit of comfort with your hurt. After all, you want your character to know they never have to suffer alone. Their friends have got their back."

Yup, that's (mostly) me. I like hurting my characters physically too, but nothing too dirty or gory. Remember, kids, wounds might heal, but certain scars last much longer :)

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

29 Day Whump Challenge

I’ve put together a list of whump prompts for every day of February! It’s for myself, but anyone who sees this list and wants to use the prompts can absolutely do so! And please tag me if you do, I’d love to see! :D

Day 1: Vomiting || Dehydration

Day 2: Broken Bone || Tied or Chained Up

Day 3: Loved One Killed || Drugged

Day 4: Beaten || Force-Fed or Hand-Fed

Day 5: Animal Attack || Drowning

Day 6: Tortured || Teeth Knocked Out

Day 7: Influenza || Forced to Serve or Perform

Day 8: Overdose || Strangulation

Day 9: Car Wreck || Starvation

Day 10: Hypnotized by Whumper || Dislocation

Day 11: Forced to Watch || High Fever

Day 12: Humiliation || Migraine

Day 13: Experimented on by Whumper || Burned

Day 14: Concussion || Dehumanization

Day 15: Branded || Forcibly Shaved

Day 16: Filmed Whump || Sleep Deprivation

Day 17: Sold at Auction || Poisoned

Day 18: Forced Nudity || Dressed by Whumper

Day 19: Amputation || Heat Stroke

Day 20: Phobia Exploited || Public Whump

Day 21: Hallucination || Whipped

Day 22: Deafened || Punishment

Day 23: Forced to Hurt Another || Stabbed

Day 24: Begging || Stockholm Syndrome

Day 25: Whumper in Love || Blinded

Day 26: Scars || Wetting in Fear

Day 27: Muzzled or Gagged || Loss of Hope

Day 28: Self-Harm || Collared

Day 29: Comforted by Whumper || Paralyzed

Note to myself (and anyone who might also use these prompts): You can do it! Have fun!

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

OCTOBER APPROACHES!

And so does Whumptober 2019! Feast your eyes on this year’s gut-wrenchingly glorious Prompt List, and get inspired to create some killer content starting October 1st. There are some changes to the tagging system from last year, so be sure to give the attached Event information a read! If after reading you still have questions, feel free to send an ask to @whumptober2019​ or reach out to the event creator, @la-vie-en-whump​ !

We hope you’re as excited as us to watch the Whump Community come together once again for a month of bone-crunching creativity and collaboration!

-Kat

The official Prompt List, Event information, and FAQs are all transcribed below the cut.

Continuar lendo

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

Writing Prompt #4 : Whump Prompt

(submitted by @funstorytimestudios​ - thanks!)

Generic hero/villain terms. The injured party is the hero (who, weakened and injured, can’t use his powers to get himself to safety) and his unlikely caretaker is the villain (was-once-a-man, is now a humanoid abomination powered by magic and probably love).

Your character has just escaped from his captors and is running through a swamp. He grasps his wounded, bleeding side and trudges on through the swamp. He grows weary from running, weak from hunger, and is dizzy from blood loss. Heart beating faster, he plods through the muck using whatever strength he has, but the loss of blood was making him wobbly. He knew that he couldn’t go on for much longer but he had to try to put as much distance as he could between him and his captors. He trudges on, growing weaker and weaker. Finally, before his legs could give out, he leans back on a large bald cypress tree and slumps down into the thick mud. Anxiously, he glances around, looking for any sign of his captors and, for once, in a very long time, breathes a jagged sigh of relief. He lays there, chest deep in thick mud, thoughts racing madly; his heart beats rapidly in his chest.

Night time falls. The character’s head explodes in a very painful headache. His ears ring loudly with a white noise. The character shifts uncomfortably in the cold thick mud, trying to keep himself upright. The swamp spins around like a globe in the character’s weak and tired eyes. He struggles to keep them open, knowing that his captors could be upon him at any moment. But the white noise grows louder in the characters ear until he feels like he could swim in it. His eyelids grow heavier and heavier until he could no longer keep them open. He slumps downward into the mud until his lips gently disappear below the surface, the mud just under his nose. His eyes, weakly and tired, glance up at the night sky one more time before his vision fades out and he slowly drifts off into unconsciousness…

The villain dashed through the swamp, his steps light as a shadow’s not even sinking in the mud. He knew his hero wasn’t far. He couldn’t be, at least, not with the injuries he had sustained.

Not that it was the villain’s fault this time. He hadn’t been involved. He’d just heard that the hero had gone to visit fans of his in a secluded area, waaaaay too far from home, and hadn’t been seen since.

The villain couldn’t pack as many supplies as he’d wanted. He needed to save his energy for the return trip, and he’d never shadow-walked such a long distance. Across the city, yes, but never halfway across the world. He’d arrived on time to hear the hero screaming in the distance, but not soon enough to catch him before he escaped his captors. Instead, the villain had found the place in disarray, henchmen and watchdogs being sent all around a fancy house, a (seemingly normal) couple explaining things and holding a bloodied rag to every dog in the hopes the scent would be caught.

Ah, hell.

The villain couldn’t track the hero by scent, but he didn’t need to. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath out of habit. His shadow twitched and vanished, mingling with the darkness of the night. His perception expanded, like the night itself was his skin and he could feel everything it touched. Trees and plants, people, animals, the ground, the mud.

Especially the mud.

The villain kept running. He found a tree with disturbed ground in front of a particularly large puddle. That was it.

Please be alive.

Dropping to his knees, he reached into the puddle. Thick. He couldn’t feel through it much, but he felt something brush his fingers. That had to be him. He grabbed, and pulled  out a limp man covered in mud.

Hero.

His hero wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing.

The villain placed him on firm ground. Gently wiped the mud off his face, held his chin to open his mouth.

“Deeply sorry,” the villain said softly, “but better this than having you die on me.” He took a deep breath out of habit, focused his shadow into tendrils, and shoved them down the hero’s mouth.

The hero tensed, gagging and retching and coughing as the shadow tendrils grabbed the mud in his lungs and pulled it out. He rolled onto his non-injured side, still coughing, and closed his eyes like he just hoped this nightmare would end.

“I know you probably want to curl into a little ball and hope no one notices you’re here,” the villain whispered, nudging the hero’s shoulder and prompting him to at least crack open an eye, “but they have your scent and I can feel them heading this way.”

“…why…?” The hero’s voice was too raspy for comfort.

“It’s more fun when you’re around.” There was a smile in the villain’s whisper, a little something that betrayed his relief at not losing his best friend nemesis. “You can’t just vanish on me and hope I won’t notice.”

“…you do it all the time.”

“I’m a special case and you know it. Come, now. I don’t want them to find you again.”

“… ‘m too tired to walk.”

The villain let his shadow spread again. He needed to know if someone had caught on to them.

“No matter. I’ll carry you.”

“…’m muddy.”

“I don’t care.”

The hero chuckled.

“…’m thinking you do.”

The villain rolled his eyes. He’d have blushed if he still could.

“Hush now. I need to take you somewhere safe before my magic recharges.” He took the hero in his arms, and started walking away from the house. They remained quiet for a while before the hero broke the silence.

“…can you heal me?�� he asked.

The villain stopped walking.

“What?”

“…please, I won’t tell.”

The villain put hero back on the ground.

“My magic, it isn’t…”

The hero pulled his mud-crusted shirt up, revealing several stab wounds on the side of his torso and a large reddish stain in the cloth under the mud.

“…please.“

The villain had half a mind to return to the house now, revisit those injuries ten times over and sideways on the worthless vermin who had dared to hurt his hero. But no. Now wasn’t the best time for revenge, and he sighed in frustration. His magic, it wasn’t light and warmth and life like sunlight in springtime, it was dark, and cold, and deathly, like a frozen shadow in winter.

“You do know my magic isn’t actually healing, don’t you?”

“…it beats bleeding out, for sure.”

The villain couldn’t argue with that, and he knelt by the hero. A necromancer was only a healer who got there too late, some people used to joke. This time, the villain hoped being early would work.

“This will hurt. Try not to scream.”

He reached for the hero, pressed hands against the wounds, ignored how the hero shivered under his touch. It was a matter of undoing damage, unbreaking broken skin. Finding lost blood was something he couldn’t do, but this, this had to work.

But the hero tensed, swallowing screams between a bitten lip and a clenched jaw, grimacing like the villain’s cold hands were instead white-hot iron to sear and burn him. His breath hitched, and he had to force himself to remain still like he had been chained and bound and captured and...

“I’m almost done,” the villain said, interrupting the hero’s train of thought. “Hold on just a little more. I promise it’ll stop hurting.”

The hero’s hand shot to his mouth, stifling a stubborn scream that somehow escaped. It was like being stabbed in reverse, like a burning knife somehow mending his skin as it was pulled out, and then… relief. The weakening agony that sprouted from his side vanished.

The villain pulled away his hands, and smiled contented as he saw the tension dissolve from the hero’s form.

“Can we continue now?” The hero nodded, and the villain picked him up again and resumed walking. “I think your captors have given up. I can feel people and dogs going back to the house.”

The hero wrapped an arm around the villain’s neck, and pulled himself up just enough to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“…thank you.”

That only made the villain smile, conscious that if he could blush, he’d be redder than a blood moon eclipse.

“Save it for when we’re both back home, hero. We still have a long way to go.”

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

if you guys have characters but no plot just put them in a scenario where they suffer the absolute most and you’re set

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

I prefer whumping supers who lost their powers, and it might be a personal thing because it's a big trope in one of my things, and the defining trope behind whumping one of my characters. I understand the appeal of doctors as patients, but whumping supers is my preference.

Would you rather…

Doctors as patients?

Or

A super losing their powers and getting whumped because of it?

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

Prompt (given to me in the Discord server by BeautifulLights): Slowly Running Out of Air (Prompts crossed in red are those I’ve done already. Circled in (I think it is) blue are those requested and that I’m working on.) Length: 1,688 words

Characters: Dax (whumpee of the round), Mackie (his assistant and possibly the POV character), unnamed supervillain, and a supporting cast of the other heroes (Agent Mantle, Ben Spark, Occulta, Aracna, and Windblade). 

      Dax had left Mackie in charge of helping people out of the building while he went to face whatever supervillain it was this time. He always explained - a hero is what a hero does, and heroes keep people safe. Being a hero had nothing to do with beating up supervillains, but most times, in his case, it had to do with being beaten up by supervillains.       She could hear the noise even though the fight was in the upper floors and she was on the ground floor. Something hit the walls with enough force to make the ground shake, and she could only hope it wasn't her heroic friend being flung around.        No matter how much she wanted to help him, her mission was a different one. 

      "Hey, everyone," she shouted to the small crowd of office workers, counting on her cybernetic armor to amplify her voice, "small groups, and don't run when heading outside. I called the authorities, they'll arrive in a few minutes, and it's better if you're all together to make sure no one was left behind. Gather yourselves in our work groups, and tell me if there's anyone missing, okay?"       Luckily for her, no one in any groups noticed any missing coworkers. She proceeded to guide each group outside, as calmly as she could with the building shaking every now and then with a heavy blow. But, as the final group stepped out, shaking became rumbling.       That didn't look good.       "Everyone," Mackie called, activating a force shield in her armor, "hurry up, and once you get out, cross the street!"       She helped the last workers, and dashed outside. Half a moment later, the rumbling gave place to crumbling, and the building collapsed into itself.       Dax was still inside. She hadn't seen him get out.

      She clicked her tongue to activate communications.       "Dax! Hey, hero, you there?" Her voice was tinged with panic.       It took a few seconds for him to reply. His voice was a winded whisper.       "Here."       Mackie sighed in relief.       "Thank goodness. Are you hurt?"       "Not much... some things hurt... others, not so much."       "Where are you? Have you any idea?"       He was quiet for a moment, as if evaluating the place.       "CEO's room," he said, finally.       "And the guy who was beating you up?"       Dax was silent for a moment.       "Poofed away."       "Teleportation?"        "Yeah."       "...Why are you speaking like that?"       A loud hiss came from his comms.       "Mask cracked." He sighed. "And I'm stuck."       If that had happened to any other hero, Mackie wouldn't have paid attention to a broken mask. But Dax's case was a special one. His mask wasn't meant to conceal his identity, it was meant to help him breathe. It was an elegant bit of machinery, special glass and miniaturized fans and filters, held together by a frame that clung to his face. And he couldn't breathe without it.       "How bad is it? How did it crack?"       Dax was silent for a moment.       "Left forehead to right jawline. Pretty bad."       "We'll get you out of there, I promise. I'll have to leave you to get the other heroes, maybe even my dad. So, tell me one thing, okay?"       "What?"       "How big is the room you're in?"       Dax was silent for a long moment.       "Actually," he started saying, "not a room. Vault."       "...Beg your pardon?"       "He... shoved me in here." Dax took a deep breath. "Door locked."       "...Damn it. Tell me how large is that vault."       He was silent for a moment, as if measuring the room.       "I barely have room... to raise an arm... to my face." He took a deep breath. "If I had to guess... I think it's as roomy... as a coffin."        The comparison sent a chill down Mackie's spine.       "Do you still have serum?" she asked. "Can you force the door open?"       "No. I had to drink it for the fight... and the effects are... wearing off." He sighed. "Won't take long before I... crash."       Oh, no. She remembered too well the first tests. At first he was okay, and then he had run out of time. Out like a blown candle, down like a sack of potatoes. Barely a pulse, barely breathing, and too weak to respond to anything she did to wake him up.       She took a deep breath to calm her nerves.       "That's not good."       "...Anything else I could try doing?"       "Let me. Voice command: mask, analyze environment." She could hear the fans in his mask whirring, and a cheerful ding! when it was done. "How long do you have?"       "...Here it says... that I have about... one hour if I don't struggle."       "Then don't. Try to stay calm, okay?"       "No need." He was smiling, that much Mackie could tell. "I'll be pretty calm... once I pass out."       "How long do you think you have? Before the serum wears out?"       "Ten minutes, most."       "Okay... I'll have to end the call. I need to call emergency services, and everyone else." The chill that had run down her spine had coiled in her stomach, cold dread settling. "Please. Be alive when I get back."       "I will... Good luck, Mackie."       She clicked off communications. A police car arrived. A policeman came to talk to her while the other went to ask the office workers what had happened.       "Anyone still inside?" he asked. "Any workers under all that?"       "I managed to get everyone out while Dax was fighting."       "I don't see your friend. Where is he?"       "Locked in a vault under all that rubble."       The policeman's lips tightened, but he took out his phone.       "Kid, you did great keeping those people safe. Call the other heroes. I'll call the folks with the big machines."       Mackie nodded, and clicked her tongue to activate comms again, an open call to everyone in the heroes group.       "Mantle, Spark, everyone. I need your help. The building collapsed. Dax is trapped under all that rubble and he's locked in a vault, he doesn't have a lot of time before he runs out of air. I've sent you the location. Please. Come quickly."

    The first to arrive were the heroines, Occulta, Aracna and Windblade, brought by one of Occulta's portals.       "How bad is it?" Windblade asked.       "He has about an hour," Mackie said.       "We'd better hurry."       Aracna flung out her webs, pulling aside the chunks of rubble she could handle. Occulta was moving her hands, probably a spell to pinpoint the vault's location. Windblade used her powers to cut rubble and debris into manageable bits.       A dark blue car screeched to a halt near them only a few minutes later. Mantle and Spark.       "How's it going?"       Aracna shot Mantle a look.       "Help me pull these," and handed him strands of her web. "Spark, do you have any of your machines?"       He shook his head.       "Only my gloves. I can get the vault open once it's found. Meanwhile..." He grabbed some of Aracna's webs. "I'll help you with these."       A small group of the workers who had just been rescued stepped forward.       "We want to help, too."

      Half an hour passed. The heroes weren't making much progress, but the arrival of the 'folks with the big machines' helped plenty. They had started working on the larger debris while the heroes kept working on the manageable bits. Mackie clicked her tongue to activate comms.       "Dax?" she called. "Are you there?"       She could only hear the slight hiss of his shallow breathing with a broken mask.       "Dax, please, talk to me if you're awake!"       Silence.        Occulta stopped moving her hands.       "I found him."       "Can you open a portal?" Mackie asked.       "On it."       A circle opened near them. The vault and some debris just dropped from it, and Occulta closed the portal.       They gathered around it, and Spark fried the lock. Mantle tore open the door, took their friend out from that thing. Gently calling his name, shaking him by the shoulder, with no results. Mantle placed a hand on Dax's neck.       "I can barely feel his pulse," he said, "and I can't tell if he's breathing."       Windblade stepped forward and knelt by his side.       "I can handle that. Everyone step aside (except for you, kid, you stay), keep those machines away, and someone call an ambulance." The crowd and the other heroes backed off, and Mantle took out his phone to call for an ambulance.       "What can I do to help?" Mackie asked, sitting next to her.       "Take off his mask, I'm afraid I'll break it if I try."       Mackie carefully pulled the mask's frame away from his face. Dax remained unresponsive, probably because of the aftereffects of the serum, but knowing the cause didn't make his limp unresponsiveness any more comforting.       "Okay. What now?" she asked, putting aside the glass mask.       Windblade readied her powers.       "Hold his head, and keep his airway open."       "How do I do that?"       "Tilt his head back, keep his mouth open, check if he doesn't have anything to choke on in his mouth."       Mackie checked quickly, and held his head on her lap, fingers of one hand caressing his (somehow, still perfectly styled) hair and the other holding his chin to keep his mouth open.       "It's clear."       "Keep it that way. I'll make him breathe while the ambulance doesn't arrive."       Windblade placed her hands over his chest. She could push and pull the air in his lungs, and within moments Mackie could tell he was breathing again. Artificially, yes, and through someone else's powers, but he was breathing.        "You'll be okay," Mackie said, still caressing his hair. "You're safe, and you'll be okay. I'll fix your mask and they'll take you to a hospital to get you fixed. You're okay."      "Weird," Windblade said, smiling. "This is usually where the unconscious hero drifts back into consciousness, thanks everyone, and passes out again. But he's still out."       Mackie laughed with relief.       "That he is. But it's alright, he'll be fine. I know it."

      Wailing sirens signaled the impending arrival of an ambulance. Her hero would be okay, even if he'd probably faint a few too many times at the hospital because of his phobia of needles.       He'd be okay.

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

The game is rigged to favor people who are both morning larks and requiring only a few hours of sleep. Why do you think many of those books on success say that you should wake up early to be successful? Next thing you know, they’ll be telling people to be white, straight men who happen to be right-handed.

Many businesses have a practice of having important meetings in the morning. Night owls are pretty much zombies in the morning (and you shouldn’t stand too close, because some might be inclined to bite your face off for wishing them a good morning). Who is more likely to have good ideas in such a meeting, a morning lark or a zombie? Thought as much.

And it poses a problem in relationships because morning larks are very quick at accusing others of being lazy for not being up early. It’s rude to bang pans to wake someone up at night. It’s not, however, to do that in the morning, because “you should be awake already”.

And you’d think, “then nocturnal people should stay with nocturnal people and diurnal people should be only with diurnal people.” Except that, thinking about the whole of society, that would be bad because it would select for extremes. You’d have extreme diurnal people (y’know, those people who willlingly wake up at 3am), extreme nocturnal people (who sleep at sunrise and wake around sunset), and few people in the normal ranges.

But morning larks aren’t likely to change the deck when they’ve always gotten a winning hand, so the most reasonable fix to that problem (let people sleep, let nocturnal be nocturnal and let people with deviant chronobiology have that chronobiology) is probably not coming up anytime soon.

I honestly believe the whole “adults require less sleep” thing is honest to god probably a myth created by capitalism

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

@ my fellow gays, use this generator i made to find out what kind of weapon you’re best off wielding on the battlefield!

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

Prompt (given to me by a random number generator): Coughing Up Blood feat. Broken Rib and Fainting

Length: 3303 words

Characters: Aldric (whumpee for this round), Lucian (narrator and first caretaker), Mina (second caretaker), half a dozen zombies. Original characters by me (check my Own Canon page for context).

     Aldric wasn't one to take that long to come back home. He had left an hour before sunrise, explaining himself in a note that he had a secret mission and could take a while to come back. The sun had already set and he hadn't come back yet.      "Lucian," Mina said, a backpack in her hand, "I need you to go look for Aldric. I'm worried about him."      "If you're so worried, why don't you come with me?"      "You and I know that you're better at avoiding hordes at night, and Aldric is too heavy for me to carry by myself." Mina had a knowing smile. "Besides, I know you prefer things that are more filling than coconut water and eggs for every meal. You could eat something on the way."      Mina probably didn't know how well she knew me.      "Do you know where he might be?" I asked.      She took out her phone, opened a tracker map, and showed me the location.      "The last information regarding his location came a few hours ago. He's about two kilometers from here, shouldn't take too long for you to get there. I'll send you the location. This way, you'll have it in your map."      A few seconds later, my phone buzzed with the new information. She walked me to the metal mesh gate and handed me the backpack.      "I put some weapons in there."      "Shouldn't I have a medical kit too?"      "...Lucian, you always act uncomfortable around blood, and you didn't have first aid training. There are bandages and sterile gauze in that pack, but I hope you won't need them."      "Me too. Wish me luck."

     I set off to the streets. Deserted, as expected for a late Friday in a residential neighborhood during a zombie apocalypse. I had to get to Aldric, but I wouldn't be of any help if my strength ended up corroded by hunger. I took a detour to grab a bite, and went back to my mission with the comforting warmth of a decent meal settling on my stomach.      I ran through those deserted streets and reached an abandoned building site. It was probably meant to be one of these small apartment buildings like those found downtown, but it lacked all semblance of comfort or hospitality. It was all darkness, bare bricks and rusted rebar, a humid and ferrous smell lingering in the air.      And... another smell, strong enough that I could almost taste it. Rich and ferrous, too, but warm. Blood.      "Aldric?" I called.      A metallic noise, like if he banged a hand on his armor, rang in response.      "Keep doing that, I'm almost there!"      I found him far from the entrance, sitting against a wall. I turned on the flashlight on the phone, and pointed at the ceiling. A diffuse light surrounded us. His right hand had a firm grip on that monstrosity of a sword he usually carried, but his left hand pressed against his flank. His usually spotless armor was dented and stained with blood where he was pressing his hand, and his face was contorted in a grimace.      "Aldric!" I ran to him and knelt by his side.      "Lucian?" His voice was awfully raspy, his breathing uncomfortably loud. "Oh, you have no idea... how glad I am to see you," he said, forcing himself to smile. I could see his teeth were stained red, and he had blood on his breath too. I had to avert my eyes for a long moment. "I almost thought you were a zombie... Sorry about this. I know you don't like... seeing blood."      I put the phone on the ground. An unnatural pallor stole the color from his lips, from his face. But the worst part was the smell. I turned my face the other way, and caught myself chewing on my lip to distract myself.      "No matter," I said after a long while. "What happened? It's yours, isn't it?"      "I was caught by surprise and..." He interrupted himself with a pitiful coughing fit. When he finished, I noticed bright red spatters on his hand, on his lips.        "...You're coughing blood."      "It's nothing," he protested, and coughed again. More red spatters. Some probably landed on me.      "Aldric, we can't stay here. This place isn't defensible, and the smell of blood might attract zombies. Why didn't you call for help?"      He held up his phone.      "Dead battery," he said, and coughed again.      "Let me check mine." I picked up the phone and pressed a button. The percentage went to zero, and the light in the screen died with a last vibration. "Dead, too. We can't call for help, and we need to get out of here."      He looked at me for a long moment, as if he were considering his options.      "I don't know if I can walk without fainting. I'm a bit short on breath," he admitted, "and I might be too heavy for you."      "Don't worry." He should thank his lucky stars that I had stopped along the way to keep myself fed. "I'll have trouble running with you on my back, obviously, but I think I can get us to a safe place."      He said nothing for a long moment.      "Take me to Mina, she'll know what to do," he said, finally. "Help me up."      I put the phone away and put the backpack in front of my body. Aldric stuck his sword on the ground, using it like a cane to pull himself up. I wrapped my arm around his torso to steady his posture and keep him upright.      "There. Lean on me if you can't walk. And put that sword away," I said. That monstrosity of a blade was almost longer than my height.      "...I'm not going to fight with it," he said. "I can lean on it."      His body shook with another weak coughing fit. More red spatters.      "How do you feel?" I asked.      "Fine... don't worry."

     He was far from being fine, but he was too proud to admit it in front of me. His steps started out stubborn, as if any display of weakness in front of me would be unforgivable - but I could tell the blood loss was wearing him down, since most of his weight was on me when we returned to the streets and he was failing miserably at disguising the noise of his breathing. I could swear there was some gurgling between those shallow gasps.      "Aldric?"      "...Hm?"      "We're about two kilometers away from home. Are you sure you can keep on walking?"      He gave me a shaky nod.      "If I faint and there's a horde..."      "I'll carry you home, don't worry."      That seemed to amuse him, and he smiled.      "Thanks."      "You're welcome. Now stop talking. You need to save your strength, and the less distracted I am, the better." His breath smelled of blood and it was distracting me - not that I'd ever tell him. "I need to focus to check for zombies, remember?"      He nodded. Lucky him, I couldn't see, hear or smell any zombies around.      ...Then again, Aldric's blood had an overwhelming smell, and I was finding it hard to focus. I almost felt light-headed, and it disgusted me. He needed my help. I shouldn't be that affected by the sight and smell of his blood, but I was. I hated the weakness of my nature, but I had to steel myself. He needed help. I was the only one who could help him.      We kept walking. A few hundreds of meters later, he sheathed his sword. It seemed that the effort of leaning on it was taking a major toll on his energy, because his breathing had become much noisier than before. He looked even paler under the streetlights, but luckily we were close to a small square.     "Aldric, we're near a bench. Do you want to sit and rest for a moment?" He gave me a shaky nod, and I helped him down. He coughed again, and once again red spatter colored his lips and the back of his hands. His breathing was awfully labored.     "How far are we?" he rasped. Not having a functional phone, I had to guess.     "Little more than one and a half kilometer away, I think. How do you feel?"     "Less than fine." He forced himself to smile despite the grimace. "Help me out of my armor."     I shook my head.     "It's better if I don't. We're not in a safe place yet, and it's better if you're not caught unprotected while you're outside."     He glared at me for a moment.     "I think broke a rib," he said. "Might have hurt my lung."     "I could have taken you to a hospital instead of trying to walk us back home," I said, more worried than angry. "You should have told me. The hospital is the other way around."     He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze.     "Mina knows what to do."     "She's not a doctor!" I protested.     "She knows what to do," he insisted, coughing again.     I didn't want to press that further. He'd get argumentative and exert himself even more.     "All right, then. I'll take you home. But, if she can't treat you at home, you're going to the hospital." I pointed a finger at his handsome, if pale, face. "And no arguing your way out of this."     He snickered.     "Alright, mom."     I rolled my eyes.     "Don't joke too much. You'll worsen your injury if you start laughing."     That seemed to amuse Aldric.     "...I'm a little better now," he said. "Help me up."     He extended me his free hand, and I pulled him to his feet again. He leaned on me once more, and we resumed walking. It seemed like Aldric was at the end of his strength, as his steps faltered and more and more of his weight was on my shoulders. He was mostly silent, save for the noise of his shallow breaths, uncomfortable groans and the occasional shaking of a coughing fit.     "Just another kilometer, and we'll be home," I said, trying to encourage him to walk just a little more.     He looked at me and shook his head, a resigned misery stamped on his usually icy and sharp eyes.     "...I'm sorry," he muttered.     His legs failed to hold his weight, and Aldric collapsed on my shoulders, nearly bringing me to the ground with him. Curses. He was too heavy. The blood on his lips stained the collar of my shirt, and the shallow huffs of his warm breath tickled the back of my neck, but I couldn't let that distract me.     A putrid smell hit me from behind.     Zombies. Not many, only half a dozen, and not too close, as they were by the end of the street, but enough to be cause for concern, specially since they had been following us by the smell of Aldric's blood. I couldn't leave him and try to distract the zombies, or they'd head straight for him.     Only a kilometer to go. And these zombies were slow, they couldn't run. I didn't need to run home, I just needed a head start for the zombies not to be able to catch us.     I settled Aldric's arms around my neck and under the straps of my backpack.     "This might get rough," I whispered to him. I tried to sprint, but my usual speed didn't account for about a hundred kilos in added weight. My first step resulted in Aldric's weight nearly tossing me to the ground.     Curses. Running would not be an option. I'd have to keep walking, and, should the zombies attack, I'd have to attack them with whatever weapons Mina had put in my backpack.     I opened the backpack, took out the weapons, and closed it. A hatchet and a short metal bludgeon, one for each hand. Curses, and thrice damned be those zombies. I couldn't harm them with those weapons without making a mess.     I kept walking, but deep, cold dread coiled in my stomach. Not for Aldric - he was young and strong, generally healthy, and even though he had fainted and was covering the neck of my shirt with the blood on his lips, his breathing, however weak and shallow and noisy, was steady. He wouldn't die of a bloodied cough. Hopefully.     I looked behind. The zombies were getting closer. Only a few moments more, and they'd be upon me.     Curses. My hands clenched around my weapons, but I had to keep walking. The horde's stench grew strong enough to cover the smell of Aldric's blood.     A pair of dead hands tried to grab Aldric, but, fortunately, he was firmly strapped to me, and those disgusting rotten hands slipped off his armor. I let the zombie get closer, and smacked its head with the metal rod. Another tried to grab me, and I struck with the hatchet. Rotten blood splashed on me, but I had no time to have a disgusted reaction.     Two down. Four yet to go.     Another lunged at me, and I tackled. Aldric's added weight on my back knocked the zombie down, and a well-placed strike with the hatchet made sure it'd remain down. More rotten blood.     Three more.     Two thin zombies came at me. I didn't need much to strike them in the middle of their foreheads, knocking them down. The last zombie didn't have the good sense to avoid approaching, and I mauled its head with two weapons at once.     Finally.     I'd have a disgusted reaction later, but now I had to take Aldric home safely. With a weapon in each hand. And caked in fresh and rotten blood.     Yuck.     I avoided the fallen zombies, and resumed walking home. A good distance after, Aldric stirred, groaning.     "Lucian," he rasped, "put me down, I can walk..."     I glanced his way. His breath still smelled like fresh blood, still gurgled, and he was grimacing.     "Sorry, but it's faster if I carry you. The sooner we get home, the better."     He didn't seem to notice the amount of blood on my clothes, or the weapons in my hands. He seemed too tired to argue, and it would be better for everyone involved if I just let him rest.     Fortunately, after that disgusting incident, nothing else jumped at us, and we soon reached the metal mesh gates that would welcome us home.

    "Aldric needs help," I said, before Mina's expression gave place to a string of expletives, "and I need to get out of these clothes and toss these things somewhere to be disinfected. I'm... covered in blood."     Mina helped us inside, and we helped Aldric to the floor. I flung aside the weapons and dashed upstairs - I had to get myself in clean clothes, and possibly ask Mina how to remove those disgusting stains from my clothes later. I didn't pay attention to the noise downstairs.     I shuddered in disgust whenever I touched my bloodied clothes, and I'd have vomited should my stomach be still full. I tossed those clothes in the tank, and wiped myself clean with a wet towel. Yuck.     I threw on some clean clothes and ran back downstairs. The metal mesh gate was locked. Mina had undone Aldric's armor and had him laying on the ground in a specific position, but didn't bring him into the living room. His shirt, plate armor and chainmail were forgotten in a corner, along with that monstrosity of a sword he usually carried. She was kneeling by his side.     "What happened?" Mina asked. There was a note of panicked worry in her voice, even if she tried not to show it.     "I got hurt," Aldric rasped, coughing again. His muscular torso, marred only by that horrid bruise on his ribcage, moved in weak spasms. More red spatters. "And I had Lucian... bring me here."     She turned to face me.     "Why didn't you call for help?"     "Dead phones, both of us."     "And you didn't take him to a hospital because...?"     "I didn't know he had a broken rib. He only told me when we were a few hundred meters away from home, and he insisted on being brought here," I explained.     Mina gently pressed the area around his bruise. Aldric tensed at that touch. When she let go, he coughed again. His breathing still made that disturbing wet noise and blood kept coming out of his mouth.     "You idiot," Mina glared at him. "Why did you insist to be brought home? You need a hospital!"     He averted his gaze, covering his mouth before another pitiful coughing fit.     "I'm fine." His hand came off stained red, and I averted my eyes for a moment.     Mina sighed, pulling her phone from a pocket. She swiped away a notification and started dialing a number.     "You're not. Coughing blood is never 'fine.'" She headed inside, but paused and squeezed my shoulder. "Keep him company while I go get his things and call an ambulance, okay?"     I nodded, and sat by Aldric's side. Even if marred by that horrible bruise, he still had a gorgeous, strong body.     "...Like what you see?" he asked me with a pale imitation of his usual smile. His breathing was too noisy, too labored, and I couldn't avoid thinking about all the blood that he hadn't bothered cleaning since he had started coughing. And he was still grimacing when he thought I wasn't paying attention.     I ignored his provocation.     "How did you even get hurt like that if you were wearing armor?"     Aldric averted his eyes, and coughed again.     "...I'll tell you later... When I recover."     "I'll hold you up to that."     He said nothing for a moment.     "...I'm scared."     "It's scary to be coughing blood like that, but try not to worry. You're young and strong. You'll get better, I promise."     He didn't seem to believe me.     Mina returned with a packed backpack and a napkin.     "They'll be here in a few minutes," she said, kneeling by his side to clean the blood off his face. "I'll go with you to the hospital. You'll need someone to take note of what the doctors say."     "...Thanks." He coughed again, and more blood dribbled out of his mouth.

    The ambulance didn't take too long to arrive, all loud wailing and bright lights. Two paramedics stepped out with a stretcher, lifted Aldric into it, and took him to their vehicle. Mina said something about being his roommate and went with them, leaving me alone to take care of the house. I left my phone charging and took a shower to remove the rotten blood that still clung to my skin.     The phone rang as I had just finished getting dressed again. I unplugged it and took a look. It was Mina.     "Hello?"     "He's not in immediate danger," she said. "Doctors say he has a broken rib and a punctured lung."     "Did he tell you how it happened?"     "He didn't."     "...And, punctured lung. That sounds bad. Is it why he was coughing blood?"     "Yeah. Good news is, he'll recover. Bad news, he'll have to stay here for a while. I'll keep him company. I'll get home tomorrow to get more things, but I'll stay the night here."     Curses.     "...Do you want me to leave?" I asked.     She paused.     "No. You stay there. Someone has to guard the house, and your own home is surrounded by hordes."     "I could stay with friends?"     "You already are staying with friends, dummy. Go to bed, and get some rest. Oh. And there's a huge bottle of hydrogen peroxide with the cleaning supplies near the tank."     "Hydrogen peroxide...?"     "Water with an extra oxygen," she explained. "It's good for blood stains. I saw your face when you arrived home. Good night, Lucian."     "Good night, Mina."

      I'd tend to my clothes later - they were thoroughly soaked in water, so the stains could wait a little more. At that moment, I'd heed her advice, and rest.

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

Here is your card for Bad Things Happen Bingo. Happy writing!

Thanks a million to the wonderful folks in charge of the @badthingshappenbingo blog! This arrived a few weeks ago but I thought better to organize my stuff before publishing. I’m accepting requests! Please refer to the “own canon” page (hyperlinked for convenience) to know more about my characters.  I might mix some prompts but I’ll only mark the requested prompt.

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

(presented without further comment)

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

I made a quiz that tells you which character trope you fit best! There’s ten different results! Feel free to take it!

Reblog in the tags what you got!

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

How about 2, 4, 13, 16 and 28 for the 'not from the US' meme? :)

2. Do you prefer spending your holidays in your country or abroad?

I kinda prefer going abroad because some things there are cheaper. Also, it’s always fun to practice different languages and take fun pictures!

But I do miss those times when I went to a mountain city here in Brazil. The weather there is pleasantly cold (even though the sun is a good many times harsher because of the thinner atmosphere).

4. Favorite dish specific for your country?

COXINHA. Good GODS, how I love coxinhas! Coxinhas are love, coxinhas are life and they make life good. 

There’s also pão de queijo, which is a cheesy kind of bread that’s made with cassava flour (if I’m not mistaken) and also is love and life and makes life good.

13. Does your country (or family) have any superstitions or traditions that might seem strange to outsiders?

My immediate family core doesn’t pick up the phone. If you don’t say anything, or hang up, we definitely won’t pick up the phone. We have an answering machine that plays the audio as it’s being recorded. 

So, whenever Grandma calls, she’s like “HELLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO” so we know it’s her and pick up the phone.

It’s so ODD to pick up the phone as it’s ringing!

16. What stereotype about your country you hate the most, and which one you somewhat agree with?

I hate the stereotype that claims that all of Brazil is a wild, exotic wilderness with a wild, exotic population. Brazil is more diverse than most people think, and pretty please drop that “exotic” adjective (it reeks of othering and fetishization). 

I sort of agree with the joke someone had hyperlinked in the TvTropes page about São Paulo (now removed, though you can still see it in the page history) implying that people from the city are vampires, because it’s funny and not exactly untrue - we actually have an official Vampire Day. It’s August 13th, in case you were wondering.

28. Does your country have a lot of lakes, mountains, rivers? Do you have favorites?

Not many lakes, and not many actual mountains due to being geologically old, but there’s plenty of rivers. I like the landscape of the Serra do Mar, which is visible when going to the shoreline, and the mountains in the northern part of the state where I live. 

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

EU SOU DO RIO

Por aqui se diz bolacha, mas o Brasil tem espaço suficiente para todo mundo se entender e é muito bacana ter outra pessoa que fale a mesma língua que eu no Whumpblr :3

[nicwholikeswhumpstuff]

“hi, I’m not from the US” ask set

given how Americanized this site is, it’s important to celebrate all our countries and nationalities - with all their quirks and vices and ridiculousness, and all that might seem strange to outsiders.

1. favourite place in your country?

2. do you prefer spending your holidays in your country or travel abroad?

3. does your country have access to sea?

4. favourite dish specific for your country?

5. favourite song in your native language?

6. most hated song in your native language?

7. three words from your native language that you like the most?

8. do you get confused with other nationalities? if so, which ones and by whom?

9. which of your neighbouring countries would you like to visit most/know best?

10. most enjoyable swear word in your native language?

11. favourite native writer/poet?

12. what do you think about English translations of your favourite native prose/poem?

13. does your country (or family) have any specific superstitions or traditions that might seem strange to outsiders?

14. do you enjoy your country’s cinema and/or TV?

15. a saying, joke, or hermetic meme that only people from your country will get?

16. which stereotype about your country you hate the most and which one you somewhat agree with?

17. are you interested in your country’s history?

18. do you speak with a dialect of your native language?

19. do you like your country’s flag and/or emblem? what about the national anthem?

20. which sport is The Sport in your country?

21. if you could send two things from your country into space, what would they be?

22. what makes you proud about your country? what makes you ashamed?

23. which alcoholic beverage is the favoured one in your country?

24. what other nation is joked about most often in your country?

25. would you like to come from another place, be born in another country?

26. does your nationality get portrayed in Hollywood/American media? what do you think about the portrayal?

27. favourite national celebrity?

28. does your country have a lot of lakes, mountains, rivers? do you have favourites?

29. does your region/city have a beef with another place in your country?

30. do you have people of different nationalities in your family?