Writing but really suffering maybe

Hello! I'm trialbytorment. This is a side blog (main blog redacted for now but there's nothing of note on it) for me to post writing ideas, prompts, dialogue snippets, (maybe tips?), general things I came up with while daydreaming, engaging with a piece of media, listening to music or about to sleep, and they're mostly going to be whump-focused because I love imagining characters suffer. I've never done something like this before but I'm pretty excited and I love the writing community that I've lurked around on Tumblr right now so it's an honor to help contribute to it!

Writing tropes/traits/trinkets/treats that I love and what you can expect me to yap about:

Fantasy, specifically vampires and mythical creatures (but mostly vampires, I love vampires)

Guilt, I love when characters feel crippling guilt and regret and shame and self-loathing about something, or about their entire lives. I don't know what this says about me as a person and I don't want to find out.

Redemption arcs and corruption arcs, connected to the point above. They're very delicious and can happen in such unique ways

Mad scientists/magicians, insanity and madness in fiction is very very very fun, especially the process of how a mind can possibly reach its breaking point and how your sense of self can be warped and splintered into an utter perversion of the person your used to be. The science or magic kind especially because there is so much world-rending possibility in it. "And you thought me mad! Well I'll show you, I'll show you all!!!!"

she knew it as well as she knew the sky was blue and the grass was green. it was a truth that knocked hammer-pace against her ribs. it was a knowing that screamed shrill in her ears and curled at the corner of her eyes and lodged itself in every sense and every cell she ever had. she was going to die. she was going to die. she was going to die.

there was something wrong in her. some foul sort of venom that had already invaded her, writhed across her skin and under her fingernails, through some cut or gap or just seeping straight through the shell. it snaked itself through her blood deep to the core of her, while she was foolish and distracted. some thick dark miasma. it piled up inside, bloated her veins to bursting. she couldn't hope to throw any of it up, couldn't hope to purge it now; the short time window had already closed. she was already far too late, and she hadn't even realized. even now her heart was still pumping furiously, jackrabbit fast, fighting to keep her going. her lungs too, furiously gulping air. all her internal organs desperately working to keep her alive a little more. but even as they raged in battle within her she knew they were going to fail. they were destined to fail. she was destined to fail. any moment now, if not this one. or this one. the next. the next day. the next week. the next hour. the next moment. this one. soon. any moment now. god she was going to die.

maybe her veins would just explode from it. or it would act through her lungs and she would drop choking and spitting blood and flailing before her world went black. or it would reach her brain and it would madden her before killing her. or maybe her heart would just. stop. maybe it would be sudden, no warning, just a snap and inescapable oblivion. maybe agony would serve first as a warning. the real end only coming once she begs for it. maybe she will flash through memories, her mind trying to keep her blissful as finality closed in around her. maybe it'll happen mid-walk or mid-speech or mid-blink or mid-thought. maybe she'll sleep tonight and not wake up.

no knowing exactly how. no knowing exactly when. just the sure knowledge more sure than anything else in her entire sorry existence. the what, the nothing that she'll be and the nothing she'll leave behind. any moment now. any moment now. any moment now it'll do it. she was helpless to it. the only power in her left was the waiting. the knowing until she wouldn't, couldn't anymore. because she was going to die. she was going to die. she was going to die.

And you can taunt them! Or give them clues! Or clues disguised as taunts so when they realize it they feel even more idiotic then they did before.

Hell, I don't want any whumpers who don't feel like they have the skillset or energy for this idea to feel alienated by this post. So actually, for another idea, just lock whumpee in a room with unbreakable locks, scatter a few random objects you can find on the floor and scrawl gibberish and nonsensical riddles or math problems on paper, tell them they're in an escape room and have to solve all the puzzles to escape, and watch as they run themselves ragged, working themselves into a desperate frenzy trying and failing to solve anything for however long it takes for them to completely pass out from it and for you to have had your fun. Afterwards it's up to you whether you decide to tell the truth to them or let them continue believing they're simply horrible at basic puzzles and ciphers. Whichever choice you think would devastate them the most. (I know which one would for me)

When whumpee finds a colorful egg tucked into a corner and shakes it to hear a metallic tumbling sound inside, they have to decide: do they think it's the key to their bedroom that whumper has not allowed them to sleep in for so long a time, or is it a needle that whumper's going to use to carve a picture deep into their skin once all this is done? Is that papery-sounding item a voucher for a full meal at whumpee's favorite restaurant, or is it a piece of the gag they would be forced to wear for the entire next day? Is this chocolate? - whumpee's mouth is already salivating at the thought - or is their desperate mind just imagining the sweet smell emanating from the plastic shell? They can try everything to check before they add it to their basket - everything except actually opening it and confirming, unless they want whumper to take away all the rewards they've found and only carry through the punishments. Is it even worth trying to find as many eggs as possible, when whumpee has no way of knowing what percentage of them contain blessings and what percentage blights? It's all a matter of hope and chance, in the end.

The problem is, the original whumpee still exists. Changing the past didn't erase the hurt, broken, and jaded version of whumpee from the universe. It just created an alternate timeline. Original whumpee might still be able to pop in and out of the other timeline, visiting and looking over the oblivious, saved whumpee and the beautiful life they're living, but they're not really them anymore. The divergence is irreparable. Original whumpee still carries a lifetime of trauma and pain. Maybe in the original timeline they are still actively being torrmented by whumper, and their brief visits to the other timeline are the only moments they get a reprieve from their own agonizing life. Physically, at least. Mentally, there is no end to their own conditioned and broken mind. Being able to be a spectator to the life they would have lived if everything went right, it's like looking at an alien sometimes. And most of the times, it turns out to feel like torture in itself.

Maybe they end up becoming so sucked into the idea that this 'second chance' version of themselves needs to have the perfect life with absolutely no tragedy or hardship that they go immensely overboard and in the desperation to keep them from living a horrible life, keeps them from living a normal life as well. And maybe it circles back around to causing their life to become horrible and painful, becoming their own alternate self's guardian angel turned accidental whumper.

Or maybe they eventually become their own purposeful whumper. One small moment is all it takes. One moment on top of thousands of other moments of longing and bitterness and resentment and such sharp acidic envy when they get to witness all the things they could have been. A day out with friends, a relaxed stroll without constantly looking over their shoulder for some danger lurking in the shadows, a peaceful night's rest on a soft, safe bed. (it's not weird to watch yourself sleep okay) And they just snap.

Massive, incomprehensible, radiating a piercing holy light, yet pinned down heavily to the Earth all the same, chaining it to the hard, merciless ground, its radiance flickering out like a dying beam.

Hundreds and hundreds of eyes scattered across their body, yet though they can see everything they can never save themselves from any torture about to be inflicted upon them. So many giant pairs of wings trying and failing to shield themselves or deliver them back into Heaven, wings to pluck, wings to clip, wings to tear and twist and snap like branches from a tree.

Examples being:

In a fantasy setting, character A is succumbing to some sort of corruption. Vampire/werewolf/zombie/mind control/curse/take your pick. And character B keeps getting much too close, trying to comfort them, telling them that there must be a way to help them, that they know A won't hurt them, that they'll be there for them no matter what... But A knows better. And in the last moment, with the last of their strength and reason, they slam B backwards into a wall and out of arms reach, or, to be more dramatic, straight-up pushes them off a building or off a cliff edge at a great (but not lethal) height. A knows this will severely hurt B, but they also know the alternative was B very likely dying if they had stayed close. And maybe their injuries will temporarily prevent them from coming back after them and into far greater danger.

Or

In a more realistic setting, A has gotten themselves tangled up with some bad folks, and when B finds them (in like a shady alleyway or club or something), A tells them that they can't be seen with them, but B doesn't understand the gravity of the situation and wants to help A out of whatever jam they're in. A knows that if they are seen with B being friendly, both of them will be in danger and B will be killed if not tortured beforehand by a coerced A. When A hears the dangerous people approaching and B still refuses to just run away, A sees no other choice but to abruptly punch B in the jaw and kick B in the chest (or even to take out a knife and stab them), sending them crumpling to the floor in agony as A says "It's all covered over here!" And pretends to finish the blow.

Later, when their cover is secure, A seeks out B again to check up on them:

"Oh, thank God. You're alright."

"hhh... Wha-? A-alright?! Does this look alright to you? You stabbed me in the back! Literally!"

"But now we have an eternity to learn from their mistakes! We'll have an eternity to actually listen, and care, and fix things, and make existence so much kinder and better than before. We'll have an eternity to be better."

"And then we'll have an eternity to be worse."