#cemetery whump

[iwritewhump]

Gravestone + cemetery

day 12 of whumptember

587 words

warnings: captivity, dead body

~

Whumpee pulls his jacket tighter around himself and exhales slowly. He gathers his strength and stands up. His legs wobble under him and he almost falls over, but somehow manages to stay upright. 

Exhaling heavily, Whumpee walks through the open door and looks back at the only place he’s been the past year. 

Dirt is caked on every inch of the ground, it’s a miracle the bottoms of Whumpee’s feet didn’t pick any of it up. Spiderwebs are in every corner of the room, each and every one of them full of bugs that have been sucked dry of nutrients. The windows cast a dull light into the room, illuminating the corpse rotting on the mattress. 

Shaking his head, Whumpee walks out of the room and leaves it behind him. 

With every step he gains strength and soon enough, he’s running. Running up the stairs from the basement dungeon Whumper had made for him, down the hallway and through the kitchen. 

He freezes. 

Police tape is across the doorway. The door jamb has been kicked in and the door lays on the floor. 

There are no police cars around, so Whumpee ducks under the tape and closes his eyes as the sun hits his face for the first time in months. Exhaling slowly, Whumpee soaks up the warmth from the sun until the cold deep in him disappears. 

For the next couple hours (days?), Whumpee sticks around the house. Mostly, he’s waiting to see who-if anyone-shows up. No one does, so he wanders. 

He somehow winds up at an old, rundown park he used to play on all the time. The swings look mostly sturdy, so he sits down and lets it sway in the wind. 

The sun starts to rise so Whumpee jumps off the swing, not wanting anyone to question why there’s an adult man on the swings. He’s not really sure where he’s going, but every step becomes easier. 

He’s standing at the gate to the cemetery. There’s a service and Whumpee, despite knowing better, walks up and stands in the back of the small crowd. He’s way underdressed, only wearing sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt with an old band logo on it and a jacket, but no one seems to notice. 

The priest stops talking and the sobs turn into sniffles turn into silence as everyone places a primrose on the coffin. Whumpee smiles, those are his favorite flower. 

He cranes his neck to see the name on the gravestone, but everyone is in the way. Reluctantly, he tries to nudge his way towards the front, weaving between everyone to satisfy his curiosity.

There’s only a small group in front of him now and he freezes. Whumper stands with his arm wrapped around Caretaker’s shoulders, her head resting on his arm. 

She sobs softly and stares blankly ahead with unfocused eyes. 

Whumpee tucks behind someone and turns around. Breath coming in quick bursts, he runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. 

“You’re seeing things. There’s no way it’s him.” He tells himself. He peeks around the person he’s hiding behind and stares at the small group. 

Caretaker stands there, leaning heavily on…still Whumper. 

Why would they both be there? Who could bring them both together like this? 

Whumpee keeps his back turned to the small group and finds the headstone. 

He stumbles backward, hand over his mouth. The crowd doesn’t react. He falls to the ground and scrambles back a few more feet, staring at his name on the gravestone. 

[bebx]

❝ I would recognise you in total darkness.

Were you mute and I deaf,

I would recognise you in another lifetime entirely,

In different bodies,

Different times.

And I would love you in all of this,

Until the very last star in the sky

Burnt out into oblivion. ❞

— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

[thecyrulik]

An unsuccessful job interview but a successful trip at the same time.

[norbezjones]

AU-gust in September #12: Animal Mages & Evil Kalcal (Romance The Backrooms)

So, here’s the deal.  I couldn’t participate in my beloved AU-gust event / @augustwritingchallenge last month, because I was busy.  So I thought, fuck it, I’ll just participate this month instead, because we as humans can do whatever we want, and screw the rules lmao!  And that’s what I’m doing.

The event is “supposed” to be for fanfiction, but I want to write AUs for my game Romance The Backrooms, a liminal space otome with 5 main love interests, so I’m gonna do that instead.  Like I said, screw the rules! X)

Since September has only 30 days, I’ll treat Day 31’s prompt as a Joker (aka a prompt I can switch out if I don’t like the day’s chosen prompt).

I also incorporated the @whumptember prompt, because I’m evil. C:< Here’s the whumptember prompts, if you want to take part in that events as well!

Today’s Prompts: Animagus/Animal Mages, "Why did you do it?" (new gravestone, confronting whumper, cemetery)

Characters: Glarence & Kalcal

Other Info: Two things:

(1) This is an Evil Kalcal AU, because like I said, I’m evil. :3c

(2) I know the concept of animagus (which is today’s AU-gust theme) is a Harry Potter thing, and that made me conflicted because I fucking LOATHE J.K. Rowling with all of my heart & soul (I’m trans).  In the end, I decided that this will be a story about magic people who can turn into animals, but it won’t be attached to the Harry Potter universe, because fuck that.

_________

“KALCAL!” Glarence shouted, racing after the hyena and into the cemetery.  He was almost out of breath, but he couldn’t stop now.  He couldn’t let his friends die in vain. . .!

Kalcal stopped in front of a freshly dug plot, and transformed back into his human self.  He grinned at Glarence, tilting his head and laughing. 

Glarence a few yards away from the maniac, glaring at him.  “Why did you do it?” he screamed.  “Why did you kill our friends?!”

Kalcal laughed even harder.  “Oh, so you admit they’re your friends!” he teased Glarence with a smirk.  “I never thought Mr. Cold-As-Ice would admit that. . .”

“Enough!” Glarence shouted.  He pointed at the dug plot  “Answer me, or I will beat the shit out of you and throw you into that grave!”

Kalcal chuckled.  “As if you could beat me . . . but fine, I’ll answer the question.

“I killed them . . . because it was fun,” Kalcal said simply, shrugging.  “That’s all~!”

Anger and sadness filled Glarence in equal measure, and he felt himself transforming into his animal form: the bull.  “I’m going to end you,” he growled, before he lost the ability to speak.

Kalcal began morphing as well, into his hyena self.  “We’ll see.

“Let’s finish this, Glarence.  Once and for all.”

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumpee and Caretaker(s) visit Whumper’s grave, and while Caretaker(s) might not understand why Whumpee processes grief (and trauma) the way they do, they are there to support Whumpee through whatever they need, despite their own complicated feelings towards Whumper

@3-2-whump

Caretaker took a quick glance at Whumpee while they drove into the cemetery.

Whumpee cuddles a small bouquet of flowers closer and watches out the window.

Caretaker took in the visible scars that covered Whumpee's arms. They had just gotten a little more comfortable with showing their scars. Caretaker was so proud of them.

Caretaker sighed as they parked near the grave sight of the bastard who placed those scars on their Whumpee.

If it was up to Caretaker, Whumper would have been burnt to ashes and flushed down the toilet for what they had done. Unfortunately, Whumper's family made the funeral and burial arrangements. How they were able to live with the fact that the bastard had done horrible things to others and still give a proper burial was beyond Caretaker.

"Alright", Caretaker turned to Whumpee, "and you're sure you want to do this again? We can go get ice cream, or do something else even. We don't have to be here."

"I-I know, but I want to", Whumpee looked back at Caretaker, "i-is that okay?"

"Yes that is perfectly fine", Caretaker reassured, "I fully support anything you need to do for your recovery. Even if I fully do not like it, and will be honest on that. Your recovery is very important to me. If this helps you, then I will support you."

Whumpee smiles, "thankyou", they whisper.

Caretaker made their way to a nearby bench. It was close enough to watch over Whumpee, but they could stay out of the way.

Whumpee slowly walks to the grave. Caretaker always took in how cautious Whumpee was. Almost as though someone may jump out and startle them.

Whumpee stood at the foot of the grave for a few moments before kneeling down.

Caretaker wasn't close enough to hear what Whumpee said next. This is how it played out every time, like clock work.

After several moments, Whumpee would hold up the flowers as though they were offering them or showing them to someone. They would whisper one more thing before standing and placing the flowers at the head of the grave.

After a few more minutes, Whumpee would then walk back toward Caretaker.

Caretaker would then mumble something like, "Bastard", under their breath, then smile at Whumpee.

"Could we by chance get ice cream?", Whumpee smirked, "you said it, and now it sounds really good."

"We can get ice cream", Caretaker chuckled as they stood.

Whumpee enjoys their ice cream sundae on the park bench while Caretaker drinks a coffee.

"This tastes so good", Whumpee smiles.

"Yes the coffee is good as well", Caretaker agrees.

Caretaker studied Whumpee for a few moments before sighing.

"Are you okay?", Whumpee gives them a questioning look.

"I always tell myself what you do at the grave sight is up to you. It's none of my business, but I'm just curious why you want to go monthly to visit. Then also what you say", Caretaker paused, "you don't have to tell me, of course. Like I said, it's personal to you."

"Oh uh", Whumpee looked at Caretaker and smiled.

Caretaker frowned, "you don't have to tell me."

"No, it's fine. Just part of it is probably a little silly to most. Whumper was always afraid of death. It was their biggest fear. Though they were not nice to me, they deserve to have some sort of visitors. Plus, I can make sure the grave is still there. I can know for sure they haven't somehow came back to life. I know it's dumb, but it's a comfort to know they're dead and have proof of it. I always tell them that I brought flowers, then as I leave I beg them to stay there. For them to stay dead."

Caretaker smiled comfortingly, "I see, you use that as a reassurance that they are truly gone."

"Ymhmm", Whumpee nodded, "stupid, isn't it?"

"No, not at all", Caretaker chuckled lightly, "like I said. I fully support anything you need for your recovery. I fully assure you though. That bastard is dead."

"I know, and I might believe that....once they are gone from my nightmares at least."

Caretaker looked at Whumpee sadly, "I'm sorry you still dream about them."

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou so much. Also, thankyou for helping me. Your support for me has been so helpful."

"You're welcome", Caretaker smiled,"I'll always be here for you."

Caretaker watched as Whumpee took a few steps away to look at some baby ducklings swimming past. Their mind replayed those first few days after Whumpee's rescue. How traumatic it all was. The thing that kept them moving forward was the fact that their Whumpee survived it... all by themself.

Caretaker knew they would never experience what Whumpee had experienced, and they would work hard to make sure it never happened again.

That's why it hurt when they still had to visit that graveside.

Caretaker knew the bastard was dead. Caretaker killed Whumper themself. Unfortunately, the bastard still lived on and Caretaker had no way to quickly dispose of Whumpee's nightmares.

Caretaker just had to wait until the therapy started to work.

Caretaker whispered to themself, "only a matter of time. Everything will hopefully be back to normal. In a matter of time."

I am really sorry about the wait, I had a lot of requests come at me at once, and I got a little overwhelmed, so I needed a little creativity break. I know I'm apologizing a lot lately. So yeah. I really hope you enjoyed this story though. I will attempt to get the next two requests out for everyone. -MJ

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @ragin-cajun-fangirl

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown

[blackrosesandwhump]

100 Drabble Challenge: Gothic Whump Edition

The challenge: pick one of the 60 word prompts below and write a short drabble using it!

Faint

Ashen

Candle

Blood

Delirious

Weak

Coughing fit

Vigil

Drugged

Decay

Storm

Castle

Darkness

Dagger

Chains

Mirror

Poison

Forest

Straightjacket

Stabbed

Masquerade

Dungeon

Bandages

Experiment

Monster

Haunted

Insane

Imprisoned

Laboratory

Obsessed

Isolation

Coffin

Restrained

Ritual

Skeleton

Cursed

Buried alive

Hypnosis

Cemetery

Drained of blood

Nails

Cage

Foggy

Terror

Corpse

Scream

Ruins

Afraid

Locked away

Ghost

Midnight

Crypt

Vampire

Demon

Nightmare

Creature

Crumbling

Torture

Dead

Wasting illness

[themerrywhumpofmay]

Merry Whump of May

Spring 2023 Prompt List!

It's May, everyone!! Due to personal and technical difficulties, we're getting the list to you DAY ONE. WOW!

So sorry for the delay, but we have every confidence that despite this short notice, you'll all be able to put out some amazing work this year!

Without further ado, welcome to The Merry Whump of May!

Text ID:

Merry Whump of May

Spring 2023

A month-long whump writing event by @wormwriting and @painsandconfusion.

Extemporaneous style this year-!!

Write, draw, or otherwise create content based on the daily prompts! Participants and completionists will receive badges of honor for their work at the end of the month.

Create original content or fanfiction, all is welcome!

Rules

Tag each day's post with #themerrywhumpofmay, any necessary content warning (eg: #knife), and the day in the following format: #mwmday1)

Adult topics are allowed, but must be well tagged. Send a message to @themerrywhumpofmay if you'd like a second opinion.

Be kind, have fun!

Prompts:

Day One - “No pain, no gain.”

Compass

Haphephobia

Kitchen

Day Two - “Need a ride?

Wrench          

Paranoia         

Club   

Day Three - “You're not looking so hot.”

Lightbulb

Tension

Alleyway

Day Four - “Two birds, one bullet.”

Chess Pieces

Stubborn

Tower 

Day Five - “Do unto others as you would bla bla bla...”

Bow and Arrow

Stalking

Cavern

Day Six - “It's a long story.”

Knife Handle

Gagged

Under the table

Day Seven - “Write what you know.”

Box

Magic

Cell

Day Eight - “Did you read the fine print?”

Circle 

Blinded

Field

Day Nine - “We'll burn that bridge when we get there.”

Collar

Lost

Roof

Day Ten - “Hit the hay.”

Key

Forgetting

Warehouse     

Day Eleven - “Ready set go!”

Plastic bag

Overheating

Restaurant

Day Twelve - “Tabled for Later.”

Thumbtack

Panic attack

Ballroom        

Day Thirteen - “You've made your bed, now bleed in it.”

Sander

Found

Safe Place

Day Fourteen - “Well, well, well...”

Barbed Wire   

Starvation

Drain

Day Fifteen - “The power of god and anime”

Hammer

Over-Exhaustion

Hammer

Day Sixteen - “Take a break.”

Branding Iron

Moonlight

Cemetery       

Day Seventeen - “Going down in flames.”

Pole

Regret

Fireplace

Day Eighteen - “No use crying over spilled blood.”

Cage

Claustrophobia

Ship

Day Nineteen - “Apples and oranges.”

Chainsaw

Surprise

Home Base

Day Twenty - “A taste of your own medicine.”

Zip ties           

Bleeding out  

Office

Day Twenty-one - “Devil's advocate.”

Tome

Desperation

Hiking trail.

Day Twenty-two - “You can lead a bitch to water, but you can't make them drink.”

Origami

Amnesia

Attic   

Day Twenty-three - “Good things come to those who wait.”

Nine-inch-nails

Isolation

Creepy basement

Day Twenty-four - “Bent out of shape.”

Tent Spike

Dragged

Wrong place, wrong time

Day Twenty-five - “It takes two to tango.”

Hot coffee

Doubt

In line

Day Twenty-six - “Hammer time.”

Pocket watch  

Itchy

Waiting room

Day Twenty-seven - “Second mouse get the cheese.”

Knife

Rug burn

Skyscraper

Day Twenty-eight - “A picture's worth a thousand words.”

Chair

Paranoia

Backseat         

Day Twenty-nine - “Lost and Found

Blowtortch

Frostbite

Lake

Day Thirty - “Rain check.”

High heels

Strained

The backroom

Day Thirty-one - “Thin ice.”

Lighter

Chronic pain

Dead end

Alternative Prompt List

Titles  

“Questions? Comments? Concerns? Complaints?”

“Time dies when you're having fun.”

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

“Can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.”

“Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.”

Items                                      

Wine Glass

Hydrochloric acid

Magnet

Teacup

Wire

Conditions

Sensory deprivation

Blindfolded

Acrophobia

Failed escape

Distress

Locations

The Middle of Nowhere

Forest

Void

Sidewalk

Shortcut

[aceofwhump]

hi! do you have any recs for whump fics featuring klaus from the umbrella academy? i saw him on your list and i trust your taste ♡

(i've read all of knobheed's fics so far on ao3)

I do!! I love Klaus whump. Here's ya go :D

I think we're alone now by nishiki Summary: As Diego finds his brother Klaus on the brink of death in that crappy motel room, he decides that taking care of his brother is more important than saving the world.

the visitation of the ghost by allthempickles Summary: Klaus is going through withdrawal. The apocalypse (and Luther) aren't making it easy.

blue thread (whatever, it's not like you care) by VeryCoolKid69 Summary:  in which Klaus relapses and has a few bottles too many. Unfortunately for him, a few too many people care. or, in which Limbo’s a bitch and so is God. (Post season one, but everything turned out fine. No 60s and no Sparrows.)

Ghosts of You(th) by SilvertonguedClotpole Summary: It was a mausoleum, and right now it was probably the best chance they had at hiding from those chasing them. But of course, a mausoleum isn't just a mausoleum to Klaus. It was a hell. And his siblings were about to see a true glimpse of what it was like being Klaus Hargreeves. When they're forced to hide in the cemetery, the siblings get more than they bargained for when they have to fight to remain hidden, and fight to keep their brother from toppling over the edge.

And I'm just gonna plug the ones I've written as well:

One Hand in the Grave, One Hand on My Pulse  Summary: "A bang went off and Klaus felt the impact of the bullet in his gut. He gasped and instinctively pressed a hand to his stomach as blood began to bubble up. Eyes wide, he looked into the stunned face of the drug dealer standing several feet away from him. They stared at each other for a moment, both startled by the sound of the gun going off. The dealer panicked and spun around. He tucked the gun into his pants as he ran off into the night, leaving Klaus alone in the dark alleyway."

Operation: Rescue Klaus  Summary: What if Diego got Patch’s message just a little bit earlier and makes it to the motel in time to be her backup in s01e04 Man on the Moon? A.K.A., I play around with canon events because I needed Klaus to be rescued by a family member and cared for god dammit!!

Not Alone Summary: Klaus is sick but his siblings think he's either drunk or going through withdrawal and dismiss him. Diego notices something is off with Klaus and learns that Klaus has actually been sober for several months and is actually sick. Ben feels helpless. Diego and Ben take care of Klaus

[whumpshaped]

happy all saints day

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, past trauma, buried alive mention, abandonment, emotional whump

"Um... where are we going, exactly?" Beck asked timidly, looking around the dark streets like the biggest threat in the area wasn't walking right next to him. "I don't mean to be rude, I just... I'm just wondering..."

"The cemetery."

His breath caught in his throat as he tried to think of any reason why Helle would bring him there in the middle of the night. All he could come up with were terrifying crimes and death. If he was lucky, that is — what if Helle wanted to bury him alive?

"N-no, Helle, p-please–" He stopped walking and waited until the vampire turned around, then began begging in earnest. "I don't know if I've done something wrong, or, or if I've just been boring lately– I'm sorry, okay? Whatever it was, I'm sorry, please, I'll make it up to you somehow, I'll, I'll do anything–"

They frowned. "What?"

"Y-you just want to scare me, right? You don't actually want to kill me! Right...? You don't need to, um, m-make me dig my own grave, or, or pretend you're about to bury me alive– You can just tell me where I fucked up! I'll remedy it! I'm scared enough as it is–"

"What exactly do you think you did wrong?" they cut in, and Beck almost whimpered. He hated this game. He could never guess the correct answer.

"I... I d-don't... I don't know, I thought– I thought I was... I was being good..." He resisted the urge to take a step back, knowing it would've just been yet another offence stacked on top of whatever he'd already committed. "I'm sorry, I don't know, but I can learn, I can do better..."

"Come on, now. You are shaking like a leaf, there must be a reason you are so scared."

Oh god. So this was about making him confess to something. But what? What did he do? What was so egregious that Helle was willing to go so far? "I don't know," he repeated quietly. "But I'll admit whatever you want me to! Just ask! I won't lie, I'd never lie to you, I'll tell you whatever you want to know! And whatever it is, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry."

"Those apologies ring awfully hollow when you have not a single clue why you are apologising, hm?" They walked back to him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind his ear. "That is quite alright, dear. You are panicking for no reason."

"Huh...?" What was that even supposed mean? There was no way Helle would let some transgression go unpunished. Not one that was horrible enough to be the cause for taking him on a midnight walk to the cemetery.

"I did not bring you here to torment you, Beck. Do you know what day it is?"

What the fuck were these questions? "W-wednesday?"

Helle grinned. "Yes, quite. But I was thinking more about the date. And please, do not say Halloween."

"All Saints' Day...?" he asked, a little uncertain. And then he finally understood. Of course. All Saints' Day, immediately followed by the Day of the Dead... of course they would go to the cemetery. The tension slowly left his body, and he let out a small sound of relief and understanding. "O-oh... I... sorry. I didn't... think about that."

"Thinking is not your strong suit, is it?" They turned around and started walking again, and Beck hurried to catch up.

"Do you have someone buried here?" he tried, hoping to keep them talking. Even though he now knew he wasn't about to be murdered, cemeteries creeped him out even in broad daylight.

"We could say that."

Beck was confused only for a moment before he realised what that meant. He was with a vampire, after all. "Are we... visiting your grave?"

Helle huffed out a laugh. "Maybe he can think."

They walked along the concrete road for a while, passing trees, statues of Jesus, and the final resting places of several strangers Beck had never heard the names of. There were candles on almost every grave, illuminating the text and art on the tombstones. Some of the smaller ones had already burned down, or they'd been snuffed out by the autumn wind, but a big chunk of them were still going strong, giving the whole cemetery a dim glow.

Beck didn't remember ever having come to the cemetery on All Saints' Day. He didn't have anyone buried, really — the ashes of his grandparents were in her mother's living room, safe from being forgotten and sparing all of them the hassle of removing weeds from the base of mossy stone slabs. Or trudging through the mud after some nice, November rain.

"Do you come every year?"

Helle glanced at him. "Awfully interested, hm?"

"Well, I..."

"We can walk in silence, you know."

"I, I'd prefer if we didn't," he muttered.

"Do not tell me you are scared of a couple crosses and some statues. I am the vampire, I should be the one shaking in my boots at the sight of such holy imagery."

"I just don't like it... And, and especially at night..."

"Well, you are in luck. I happen to be scarier than whatever goth teenagers are conducting a séance here. Not by much, I suppose, but my point stands."

"It's not funny!"

"Oh, come on. It is hilarious. I did not take you for a believer in the paranormal. A coward, yes, but this? Relax." They took a right, walking onto a section Beck couldn't even pick out the number of in the dark. He almost tripped over several decorations and wreaths while trying to keep up with Helle, and he was borderline out of breath by the time they finally stopped.

He straightened his back and let out a sigh, trying to find which of the graves could belong to Helle. They all seemed... kind of neglected. They were simple mounds of dirt with wooden crosses stuck into them, but some of them didn't even have names carved into them. "Um..."

"That one." They pointed to one of the nameless crosses. Beck could pick out the faded outline of some words, but not the meaning. "It used to be less crowded around here. When I crawled out of the coffin, there were only a couple more graves in this area."

He shivered. He couldn't imagine waking up six feet underground. "I'm sorry that... that you went through that. That's messed up." Helle hummed, taking out a little tealight and a box of matches. "When, uh... when was that? This cemetery has been here for... a while."

"1732. I think, anyway." They placed the candle on top of the dirt, then began fumbling with the matches. "I mean, I looked up the year of... Well, it holds little significance, really. It is not as though I am still down there. No, I was quite an ill-behaved corpse, ruining my own coffin and then leaving it behind."

Beck could hear the bitterness behind the casual tone. There was no making light of anyone's death, much less their own — the weight of it seemed to drag their words down to a place they rarely ever visited. Somewhere genuine. Vulnerable.

"What did the cross say?" he asked gently.

Helle struck a match, once, twice, three times before it finally lit up, and the newborn flame soared for just a split second before settling into a more managable form, docile and ready to be of use. "Oh, something silly. 'Our beloved child', maybe. Nothing that made remembering any easier. Nothing that made finding it any easier later on." They crouched and lit the tealight, then stuck the match into the soil. "I should cross it out one of these days. It is not very... accurate anymore."

They stood up and stepped back, watching as the flame danced in the gentle breeze. They took a deep breath, then groaned.

"I have no clue why I keep coming here. The wind will blow out the candle, too. So stupid."

Beck couldn't explain the sadness that came over him at the sound of that. It was a horrible fate, wasn't it? To be forgotten. To be the only one to visit your own grave.

He glanced around, reaching into his coat pocket for a tissue. He didn't allow time for his rational mind to talk him out of his dumb mission; he briskly walked over to the road and plucked a couple daisies, careful not to get his hand dirty. Without looking at Helle, he brought them back over to the grave and set them down next to the tealight, then folded up the tissue and put it back in his pocket.

He tried not to think about how stupid this all must've looked. Helle was about to burst out laughing any minute now, mocking him for placing little roadside flowers on–

"Thank you." Beck hesitantly lifted his gaze from the ground, surprised to find no trace of cynicism or mockery in Helle's expression. "Truly. I appreciate it."

"Oh," he breathed. "I..."

"Even though you unironically used a tissue to pick some flowers."

There it was.

"I just didn't want to–"

"I know, dear," they interrupted, much warmer than before. They stepped a little closer to him, and he involuntarily flinched when they raised their hand — only to put an arm around his shoulders and pull him towards themself, kissing him on the cheek. Beck hoped the vampire's vision wasn't good enough to see him blush. "But what was I supposed to do? Have a moment of sincere love and bonding? In front of my own grave? I had to make a joke."

"Right," he mumbled. "That's fair. I think."

Helle laughed a little, then turned him back towards the road by the shoulders. "Alright, enough sulking for one night. Let us return to your lovely home and watch a movie or something."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump @d-cs @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @tauntedoctopuses @blueyellow8green @typewrittenfangs @whumpsoda @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @auroragehenna

[whumpsday]

Petrichor

Writing Masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, buried alive, begging, rescue, asphyxiation, religious whump, death wish, starvation, claustrophobia, sensory deprivation, touch starvation, comfort, harming self for vampire feeding purposes, possible historical inaccuracies

Whumpmas in July Day 15: Buried Two Weeks of Whump Day 14: Coffin

this is vampire whump, but it does NOT take place in the K&J universe! i wanted to play around with some vampire mythology that i chose not to incorporate into K&J lore.

thank you to @lost-in-labradorite-halls for beta-reading and helping my clueless jewish ass with the christian bits and generally inspiring this piece via the wonderful vampire torture you regularly concoct!!

also have a song:

-

Petrichor's endless, airless torment was punctuated once again by the sound of a shovel entering the earth.

It was worth noting strictly because anything was worth noting down here. The digging wasn't out of the ordinary: it was a cemetery, of course.

This time, it sounded close. Every time it sounded near, Petrichor dared let himself hope it might reach him, though he knew such a thing was absolutely ridiculous. People dug graves to bury bodies, not exhume them.

It was utterly maddening. Someone was so close, another soul- a soul, rather, given he did not possess one any longer- and he was unable to make even the slightest peep to alert them to his distress, all oxygen having vacated his tiny box what must have been decades ago, if not centuries. At least he didn't require air anymore.

A tear rolled down his cheek at the thought, his body unable to conjure up more than that. He could not even raise an arm to tap on the wood of the coffin, the weakness having deprived him so effectively. Petrichor listened to the digging longingly, laid still and silent in his grave, the corpse he was.

I'm here. I'm still here, after all this time. Please, it can't be like this forever. I care not whether I'm rescued or slain, but please, someone put an end to it. Dear Lord, I know I'm not one of Your creatures any longer, but please help me.

As if answering his prayer, the digging slowly grew closer as the hours passed. It was odd: usually there would be a bustle of people around, and only one grave would be dug. But he could hear nothing but the digging, and it almost sounded like multiple graves. Perhaps some tragedy had befallen the family owning the plot next to his.

It was disappointing, in a way. The voices, though he could hardly make them out from under the earth, were the only human connection he had left in his horrible fate. Sometimes, he could even make out bits and pieces of the priest's sermon, which never failed to make him cry. He could not even utter a prayer aloud in his wretched state, if the Lord would even have him as he now was. And clearly, He wouldn't.

Petrichor's melancholy thoughts were swiftly interrupted when the sound of digging grew yet closer. Much closer.

As if it were right above him.

Oh dear Lord, please. This could finally be it, couldn't it? If his grave were to be exhumed, for some odd reason?

The shovel knocked against wood. Petrichor could feel it reverberate through the coffin, the first physical sensation interrupting the suffocating stillness in longer than he could know.

He wanted to weep for joy. It was finally happening, it was over. His prayers had finally been answered!

Someone opened the coffin, trading the wooden finish he'd stared at for so long for a starry sky.

Petrichor gasped for breath, his first in what may as well have been lifetimes, smelling of freshly-turned earth. It was nearly impossible to move, his muscles stiff and dry, but he was able to breathe through his nose, and open his mouth just a small amount. It was more than enough: he had air, his lungs no longer drowning.

"Holy fucking shit!" His rescuer tried to jump back, but they were inside his grave with him, and space was sparse.

It was difficult to move his eyes, but he managed it, fixing them on the first person he'd seen since his funeral. They looked young, around his age when he'd been buried or perhaps younger, dressed in an androgynous black cloak. Their clothes and face all ranged from speckled with dirt to absolutely caked in it.

Petrichor stared at them with wild, desperate eyes, and with fresh air in his lungs, made what little sound he could manage: a strangled, pleading cry.

"Oh my god. Oh my fucking god." His rescuer continued to take the Lord's name in vain and spew profanities, but Petrichor couldn't bring himself much to care. All that mattered was getting out of his coffin, the end of his suffering. But he was unable to move.

His rescuer seemed to recognize this as well, their string of expletives tapering off as they tilted their head, staring back.

They glanced up at his gravestone. "Here lies Petrichor Adams," they read out. "1797 to 1820."

They looked back down at him, squinting. "What the hell are you?"

Petrichor whined again, a tear making its way down his face once more.

His rescuer leaned in, their initial shock having given way to a surprising lack of fear. They knelt beside him, peering at his face. "You sure got some chompers in there, huh? What, like...?" They looked out over the edge of the hole, like someone would come out and announce it was all a trick, but no one did.

Petrichor could do nothing but stare pleadingly.

His rescuer tapped him on the cheek. The first touch he'd felt in forever, it almost tingled. They tilted his head to the side, exposing the scars he supposed must still mark his neck: the fangs that had condemned him to this fate.

"You supposed to be a vampire or something?" they asked, incredulous. Having picked up that he could not reply, they continued on. "Well, fuck. What, you need blood or something, is that it? Oh, no no no. I've seen the movies, I've played the video games, alright? I am not fucking with this." They produced a small rectangular object from their pocket, angling it at him in various positions and tapping it oddly before replacing it in their cloak.

The soaring hope in Petrichor's long-dead heart crashed against the rocks. He could not understand some of what the digger said, but the sentiment was clear: he would receive no help.

He would remain locked in his prison.

Petrichor's chest quaked with dry sobs. He trained his eyes upward, thankful that his wretched body could not produce tears very quickly, as his vision remained unblurred when he took in the stars. The sight of something beautiful, one last time.

The digger sighed, glancing at his headstone once more.

"Well. It does say you were beloved," they remarked. "Beloved son. They wouldn't've put that there if you were some bloodsuckin' serial killer, huh?"

Petrichor made no further attempt to look away from the stars, but allowed himself to hope again. Perhaps he would be allowed out, if the digger would take pity on him.

His rescuer shook their head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

They produced a small blade, rolled up their sleeve, and sliced themself across the back of the arm. They positioned the wound just above his mouth, allowing their blood to drain across his tongue.

Petrichor had never tasted blood before- not posthumously, that was. He had been buried shortly after his death, without time to fall prey to his new, monstrous nature. It was nothing like blood had been as a human: the coppery taste when he'd split his lip roughhousing as a child. This, this was everything. It was the sweetest honey, it was the finest glass of red wine, it was the flavorful broth of his mother's pot roast, it was life itself flowing into his veins.

Slowly, the muscles in his body lost their stiffness, and he could move once more. He raised his head up toward the source of the lifeblood, but his savior placed their boot firmly on his chest, keeping him pinned to the floor of his coffin.

"Think that's enough for now. Don't wanna get woozy." They tore a piece of cloth from their cloak, wrapping the wound. "Cat still got your tongue, buddy?"

"P-please," Petrichor rasped, his voice weak from disuse, "Kind... sir? I cannot go on like this. Whatever fate you'd bestow upon me, I care not, so long as I'm not forced to remain inside this box. I am a vampire, it's true, but I had never consumed even a drop of blood before tonight. I mean no harm. Please allow me to leave this coffin." His voice broke, his words coming out squeaky. "I was human once, too."

Desperate begging. He'd never thought his life would come to this, but he supposed it never had. His life had ended long ago.

The boot was removed from his chest.

"Alright, Petrichor Adams, take it easy," his rescuer said. "I'm not gonna leave you down here no matter what you are. That'd be crazy fucked up." They extended a hand. "Robin."

Petrichor took their hand, his own shaking. "Thank you so very, very much. You've saved me from an unbearable fate."

Robin pulled him up to standing, his bones creaking with the unfamiliarity of movement. "Huh. It's almost like you time traveled or something. Says you died when you were 23, that's like, practically my age. Guess the 200 years in between don't really count."

Petrichor wasn't sure what came over him, but he burst into tears instantly. His body had no trouble with it now, two centuries' worth of crying flowing forth all at once as he bawled.

"They count!" he wept. "I was down there, I- I was down there the entire time! I did not sleep!"

"Alright!" Robin agreed with haste. "Okay, grandpa, you're 226 then, whatever's good. Jeez, c'mon, you don't gotta cry. It's gonna be okay."

They rubbed their thumb over his hand, and he gasped from the sensation. After so long, every touch felt one thousand times stronger than it was.

Petrichor attempted to pull himself together. "Yes, yes of- of course."

"And listen, you gotta be quieter. We're reeeeally not supposed to be out here right now." Robin hopped up, pulling Petrichor up with them.

A knapsack laid at the foot of his grave, varied pieces of jewelry and a few golden teeth visible from the top.

His rescuer was a graverobber and a thief. But Petrichor knew his situation was desperate, and chose to say nothing. He was no better, given what he was now.

Robin noticed the direction of his gaze nonetheless, offering him a mischievous smirk. "Yeah, Graverobbin' Robin, that's what they call me. And by they I mean me, 'cause no one knows I do this." They began shoveling dirt back into his grave. "Good thing I do, though. Never thought I'd save a vampire on my side hustle, but life throws you curveballs, I guess. You know baseball?"

"I do not, I'm afraid," Petrichor replied, watching mesmerized as his coffin became entombed once more.

"Bro, how are you gonna die in Boston and not know baseball? I gotta take you to a game sometime. Literally first order of business, now that I've got money for tix!"

None of it felt real. He was finally out, but two hundred years had passed. Everyone he'd ever known and loved was long-dead.

He turned, looking to his family plot, but his eyes instantly caught a horrible burning sensation. A headstone in the shape of a cross.

Petrichor averted his gaze. Of course: he'd almost forgotten. He was no longer one of The Lord's creatures.

Robin finished, slung their pack over their shoulder, and motioned him to follow. "You can crash at my apartment while you figure your shit out. I'll grab you some more blood from the butcher's once the T starts running. That's like the subway. Uh, I mean- never mind, not important. Hope pig's blood's enough for you, 'cause I can't do that every day."

At the very least, he had Robin.

"That sounds lovely."

-

this was originally gonna be a one-shot but i think i might write more? oh god, am i really starting another vampire series? THIS ONE WILL BE SHORTER. A MINISERIES.

if you liked this but want something a more hurt/no-comfort flavored i recommend Our Man Flint by @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night!!

tune in on tuesday for some kane & jim!

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

one-shots taglist (this is only gonna have 3-4 chapters max so im lumping it in with the one-shots):

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@whumpycries

@reborrowing

event: @whumpmasinjuly @promptsforyourwhumpfic

[whumpookies]

General hospital Jason Morgan's whump list...

Suffered permanent brain damage following a drunk driving car accident caused by his brother, A.J. [Dec 28, 1995]

Hospitalized after being beaten up by men working for Sonny Corinthos [Aug 23, 1996]

Fell when the ground caved in beneath him while trying to rescue Sonny and Brenda; pulled back up [Mar 3, 1997] **giffed**

Shot in the abdomen by The Tin Man [Jul 11, 1997] **giffed** here

Shot in the side by Moreno's men when their mob meeting went wrong [Dec 1, 1999] **giffed**

Attacked with a knife by Lucky Spencer, who was brainwashed by Helena Cassadine [Mar 20, 2001Held at gunpoint by a cemetery 

Cut his hand after breaking a glass window at Kelly's to unlock the door [Aug 13, 2002]

Jumped overboard Luis Alcazar's yacht and was subsequently shot at by his men; suffered a laceration to his forehead as a result [Sep 5, 2002]

Renrered unconscious after being hit over the head by Coleman Ratcliffe [Oct 23, 2002]

Hit over the head with a candle stick and tied to a stair banister by Jax [Dec 23, 2002]

Injured in a car accident with Courtney Matthews while headed to tell Sonny about them [Feb 5, 2003]

Had emergency surgery for injuries sustained in the car crash [Feb 7, 2003] **giffed**

Knocked unconscious [Apr 15, 2003]

Knocked unconscious [Aug 14, 2003]

Engulfed in a backdraft that separated him from Courtney and Brian Beck during the PC Hotel Fire [Feb 11, 2004]

Shoved down stairs by Andy [Feb 13, 2004]

Left handcuffed to a pipe to burn to death during the PC Hotel Fire by Andy [Feb 13, 2004]

Caught in an explosion during the PC Hotel Fire after Nikolas accidentally broke a gas pipe saving him [Feb 16, 2004]

Caught in an explosion that occurred in the courtroom during Sonny and Carly’s custody hearing due to a bomb being planted in Sonny’s car; not injured [Mar 15, 2004]

Knocked unconscious by Courtney [Apr 12, 2004]

Shot in the side by FBI agent Reese Marshall [Feb 2005] **giffed**

Injured his arm after falling from a balcony at the Quartermaine Mansion [Apr 2005] **giffed**

Crashed his motorcycle [Aug 2005]

Almost poisoned to death by Asher Thomas [Aug 2005]

Began suffering from a potentially fatal brain aneurysm which was causing him severe headaches and seizures after taking an experimental drug [Aug-Dec 2005; Jason was revealed to be suffering from a brain aneurysm on Sep 6, 2005; he survived]

Suffered from amnesia as a result of the brain aneurysm [Aug 24-Nov 28, 2005]

Shot in the leg by Manny Ruiz [Oct 13, 2005] **giffed** here

Injured in a train wreck [Nov 2005]

His heart stopped [Nov 2005

Began suffering extreme seizures as a side effect of the drug and required surgery [Dec 2005]

Shot in the shoulder by Manny Ruiz while attempting to rescue Sam McCall [Jul 4, 2006]

Shot in the knee by police [Nov 2006]

Hit over the head with a tequila bottle and rendered temporarily unconscious by Lulu Spencer [Nov 2006]

Suffered burns to his hands while trying to save a women in a burning ambulance [Jul 2007; GH:NS]

Severed tendons in both of his hands from shards of glass being embedded in them[43], while rescuing Elizabeth (and Sam) from Diego Alcazar (aka the Text Message Killer) and required three reconstructive surgeries[44] [Mar 2008; suffered from severe blood loss due to his hand injury

Almost smothered to death with a pillow in his sleep by Claudia Zacchara (it looked like she was about to but when he woke up she just told him she was giving him an extra pillow) [Jun 23, 2008]

Trapped in a cave with Sam [Dec 2008]

Accidentally shot in the shoulder by Sam McCall during the hospital bio-toxin crisis [Feb 4, 2009] 

Injured in a car bomb explosion [Apr 23-24, 2009

Developed an infection after Jerry Jacks shot him in the clavicle and trapped him underneath the rubble of an abandoned church, leaving him for dead; he suffered from hallucinations as a result the infection [Aug 2009]

Suffered a head injury after a car accident [Aug 2011]

Underwent a brain biopsy [Aug 2011]

Has a seizure [Aug 2011]

Underwent brain surgery to remove a piece of dashboard from his 1995 car accident with A.J. [Aug 2011]

Passed out in his hospital room [Aug 2011]

Drugged and trapped in a room by Franco and was forced to watch what he believed was Franco raping his then wife, Sam [Nov 2011; Sam learned that she hadn't been raped in May 2013]

Rendered unconscious after running into Michael while on his motorcycle [Dec 2011]

Passed out in the hospital corridor [Jan 2012]

Passed out [Feb 2012] Underwent surgery to relieve the swelling on his brain [Feb 2012]

Experienced a fever after ingesting the toxin Jerry Jacks had placed in the Port Charles water supply [Sep 2012]

Shot in the leg by Ewen Keenan while rescuing Elizabeth Webber [Sep 2012]

Presumed dead after being shot in the back by Cesar Faison (disguised as Duke Lavery) and kicked into the harbor [Oct 19-22, 2012; Jason was revealed to be alive in 2014]

Held captive at a clinic in Russia by Dr. Klein under the orders of Peter August [Oct 2012-Oct 2017; as Patient 6]

Given a sedative [Sep 25, 2017; as Patient 6]

Jumped into the water to save Sam [Oct 30, 2017; as Patient 6]

Ran into Charlie's pub to save Kristina and was caught in an explosion [Sep 10, 2018]

Assumed hypothermia and bruised ribs after falling into the catacombs [Jan 22, 2019; escaped and made it into cold waters of Pier 55 on Jan 23, 2019; rescued by Sam on Jan 24, 2019] **giffed** here

Infected by a latent virus and rendered temporarily blind [Feb 22-25, 2019] 

Attacked and nearly bludgeoned to death by Shiloh after losing a fight to him [Sep 25-26, 2019]

Rendered unconscious after a motorcycle crash caused by Cyrus [Aug 6-11, 2020; Cyrus' involvement revealed on Aug 7, 2020; had exploratory brain surgery on Aug 10, 2020]

Left the hospital prematurely [Aug 24, 2020] 

Jumped into cold water in an attempt to find Sonny, who disappeared after a bridge collapse [Dec 21, 2020]

Stabbed in the stomach by Shawn Butler under Carly Corinthos's orders to get him out of Pentonville [Apr 22, 2021]

Shot at by Carl Pine, one of Cyrus' men, while escaping with Dr. Britt Westbourne [May 3, 2021; saved by Brick]

Shot in the back by an unknown person while escaping with Britt [May 3, 2021]

His blood type is O- [revealed May 4, 2021 Received a blood transfusion from Carly [May 4, 2021]

Tied up and held hostage at gunpoint on Cassadine Island by his twin brother, Drew Cain, who was being programmed by Peter to do his bidding [Nov 2, 2021]

Held hostage with Drew in a wine cellar on Cassadine Island by Peter [Nov 2-18, 2021; revealed on Nov 8, 2021; Jason escaped] 

Presumed dead after being caught in a tunnel collapse which was caused by his shootout with Peter [Nov 19, 2021; Jason was legally declared dead on Mar 15, 2022; ]

2024! March 7th Shot (gifset here )

March 8th reunion with carly, injury treated and suspect (gifset here )

[thewhumpcaretaker]

So, remember when I said I should wipe my animal crossing town to make a new one that’s whump themed? Well I changed my mind because I forgot how cool it already is.

How could I delete Karl Heisenberg’s lair?

Or the asylum room for Renfield from Dracula? (He eats bugs, if you don’t know why there’s bugs)

How could I delete the horrifying baby room where I take spooky photos?

Or the cemetery where those who hate to live in their bodies come to be buried in the Earth so that their unrestful souls may sprout anew as eggs from the pale tree and be implanted into the bodies of little dolls (gyroids) who sing all day and feel no pain?

[ronanceautistic]

By the way I did this thing in 2022 where I watched Stranger Things from the POV of one character the whole time, so skipped all the scenes they weren't in etc.

So just for the record, this is who I actually enjoy watching the most each season

In Season 1 I enjoy Nancy the most. She's blorbo and also her story is literally unaffected by the scenes you end up skipping. It all makes perfect sense from start to finish. I also enjoy Mike, too, and actually Karen. Her story is surprisingly unaffected by skipped scenes in the sense that you are confused the whole time, but that's the point because so is she. It's just a depressingly long watch of her trying to speak to her kids, and then randomly the Lab drop in on her.

In Season 2 I enjoy Lucas the most. He's literally just a little guy, and I love the vibes the kids have in S2, the arcade and trick-or-treating and having a fun childhood, and I think you get the most of that with him. I love him and Max in this season but in Max's POV you miss a lot of stuff. Nancy's, like, it's fine, and I do really love her overall story for the season, but it's so short and also you miss a lot of the great stuff about S2 because she's so detached from the actual plot.

Season 3 is Max because vibes. Everyone remembers S3 because of Starcourt Mall and you get a lot of that with her. Plus I love her outfits in S3. Eleven is an almost identical watch but Eleven's seasons are looong and they dump a lot of lore in her visions that get tedious when you already know the lore.

Season 4 is Nancy, again, her story is so unaffected by the scenes you skip. She's got a shit ton of cool scenes and storylines, like aside from the best one (Max's vision) she gets basically all the good ones LMAO. The Upside Down in E7 and final battle, her Vecna vision, all that jazz. And they just pile so much angst and whump onto her so obviously I have to pick it. I think the only downside is, again, missing Max's vision at the cemetery. I think Mike's is also a fun plot to follow, getting a bit of Hawkins High at the beginning and then the Cali stuff, too.

[bloody-wonder]

starting new series

in order to balance my reading i like to track the progress i'm making with old series vs how many new series i'm starting. my loose goal is usually to finish/catch up on at least five and start at least ten new series in a year - which turns out isn't as difficult as it sounds bc we're not even halfway through the year yet and i already hit the latter mark! here's an overview of what i read and my opinions :)

series that were so good i immediately read all the books available:

doctrine of labyrinths by sarah monette (book one: mélusine). okay so this was life-changing. not sarah monette inventing dark aroace romantasy in 2005! they hated her for her slay so much she had to start writing cozy fantasy under a pen name! this story is so weird and unique i honestly have no idea how to pitch it except to say that fans of books like the locked tomb, mdzs and captive prince will very likely enjoy it too. the fact that it's not a depraved booklr cult classic by now is a travesty. but we can still make it happen so if you fall into this particular reader category (and wouldn't be put off by the fact that someone may or may not want to fuck his brother a little bit) please do yourself a favor and read this series! check the trigger warnings first tho

the cemeteries of amalo by katherine addison (book one: the witness for the dead). i liked the goblin emperor, didn't love it, but after binging doctrine of labyrinths in less than a week i sorely needed a cure for my book hangover so i decided to pick up this spinoff series and wouldn't you know it - i binged it too lol. ig february was my monette/addison era. amalo felt like course correction after the goblin emperor and, while it's set in the same world and written in the same tone as that book, many of its aspects reminded me more of doctrine of labyrinths which is probably why i ended up liking it more - and was surprised by that too since i typically don't like this slow meditative writing style in fantasy but ig sarah monette just brings a certain je ne sais quoi to her books (emotional whump). the third book is coming out next march and i'm very excited to see what the saddest gay priest detective will do next👀

the stolen heir duology by holly black. to be completely honest i don't think these books are necessary. ig it was cool to return to elfhame several years post tfota and see some of my favorite ya fantasy characters from outsider pov but i found the main couple quite bland, especially in the second book where they are predictably overshadowed by jude & cardan in every respect. jude & cardan are simply The Power Couple, i love them and i appreciated the opportunity to revisit them in their 20s. madoc, everyone's favorite worst dad, has some nice scenes too but apart from that this installment was neither adventurous nor action-packed nor particularly romantic. it's clear now that holly black plans to continue writing in the elfhame universe and i sincerely hope she will try to shake things up by going full adult and/or changing the genre (i have this galaxybrain idea of a wwdits style mockumentary about madoc's exile in the human world which i'm trying to telepathically plant in holly black's brain as we speak)

evander mills by lev a. c. rosen (book one: lavender house). lavender house was the first book i read this year - i picked it up on a whim, honestly not expecting much, but ended up liking it a lot. in many respects it's a pretty basic closed circle murder mystery but with an all queer cast, whereas the second book has our gay detective investigating blackmail. the fact that the story takes place in the (homophobic) 50s and the queer victims are not protected by the law whatsoever adds an interesting spin to the whole idea of seeking and serving justice. i never thought i'm a serialized detective story type of person but ig if you make it queer enough i'll read anything lol so now i'm eagerly awaiting the next andy mills mystery which will come out in fall.

series i'm maybe going to continue reading later:

aubrey & maturin by patrick o'brian (book one: master and commander). seeing all the old man yaoi on a boat memes on tumblr rapidly propelled this series to the top of my tbr. now i have finally read the first book and,, liked it? lol idk the prose was very good, aubrey & maturin's friendship was sweet and the reading experience was cozy, with funny moments here and there, but overall i wasn't gripped by the plot nor did i particularly connect to the characters. i'm glad i read it but rn i'm not planning to continue this (extremely long) series any time soon. the book did have a delightful nautical atmosphere tho so there's a chance i might return to aubrey & maturin's adventures one day, if the mood strikes

page & sommers by cat sebastian (book one: hither, page). this one i didn't like at all tbh. i think cat sebastian just isn't the author for me and i should quit trying to read her books. however, i am both blessed and plagued by completionism and this series only has two books so i might read the second one this year just to appease my demons lol

series i'm not going to continue:

adam binder by david r. slayton (book one: white trash warlock). someone on tumblr recced this book to me ages ago and i wanted to read it ever since - purely bc of the title tbh😅 something i failed to consider tho is that urban fantasy is probably my least favorite subgenre of fantasy. and this book unfortunately didn't feature any memorable character moments or mind-blowing plot bits that could have broken through my unimpressedness with the urban fantasy setting🤷‍♀️

rook & rose by m. a. carrick (book one: the mask of mirrors). okay now we're entering the Dislike & Disappoint territory. i got interested in this series bc i heard it being compared to gentleman bastard but the similarities end at the renaissance venice setting and a conperson protagonist. the mask of mirrors completely lacks the rizz and swagger of scott lynch's writing and its characters just don't have the oomph of locke lamora and his team. so that was disappointing. on top of that the book is extremely long and convoluted with a worldbuilding that bothered me a lot and i couldn't put my finger on why until i read the themes section on its wiki page - ah yes, the us politics, again, using a foreign setting as a window dressing, again. listen, ik the us politics are important for the us authors to write about but when i pick up a book inspired by the italian renaissance what i want to get is themes and motifs representative of that time and place, even if we modernize them by (honestly lackluster) queernormativity and gender equality. i was mildly curious about the identity of the rook but now that it's been revealed i see no reason to continue this series.

the masquerade by seth dickinson (book one: the traitor baru cormorant). i intended to finish this book last year and leave it there but it was so unbelievably boring it put me into a reading slump for like two whole weeks and i ended up finishing it in january. i noticed that books about colonialism often try so hard to strike this solemn literary tone and say something profound that characters and plot just get bulldozed over by that dedication to conveying this very serious theme. admittedly, baru isn't as bad as that - i'm just biased bc she was pitched to me as a character in the same category as lymond and tyrion lannister so i was disappointed on that account seeing as it was the only reason i decided to give this book a try. i will say the general concept of the story and the plot twist at the end were indeed good but the overall reading experience was so aggressively meh that they just weren't worth it for me and so when the Big Thing happened i was still underwhelmed.

emily wilde by heather fawcett (book one: emily wilde’s encyclopaedia of faeries). i wrote a long ass goodreads review about why i disliked this book so much but let's see if i can be concise for once (ha, as if). i'm a big fan of olivia atwater's books so based on all the buzz around emily wilde i thought i was picking up a similar faerie story. turns out this was more like an "elevated" cozy fantasy version of ali hazelwood's books featuring howl in leather pants (tweed pants?). where atwater uses faerie tale tropes and fae lore to explore classism, neurodivergence and nuanced romantic and platonic connections, fawcett seems to write from a perspective that is decidedly normative. just like emily wilde, half a soul has a heroine who reads as neurodivergent but the narrative is always firmly on her side, whereas the moral in emily wilde seems to be that she has to smile and socialize more or smth. just like emily wilde, a thousand stitches features a faerie as a love interest but in this case he indeed reads like a whimsical magical being, so similar to humans and yet so different at the same time, whereas mr cheap howl knockoff reads like a quirky human man who is an asshole sometimes and can do magic. atwater's books are fairly popular but emily wilde is the book that has mass appeal and ig i shouldn't really be surprised bc when have the stories that question the status quo ever have been more popular than the ones that reinforce it? so i'm not really surprised but i am bitter. this book left a sour taste in my mouth and made me feel really bad about myself which was something i hadn't reckoned with when i picked up this cozy fantasy. tbh i initially was going to masochistically read the sequel out of morbid curiosity but then i remembered that i can read literally anything else instead lol the hater gods spared me just for once😅

2024 reading updates | goodreads

[justplainwhump]

Cemetery

I don't exactly know where this came from, but this has been written for @flashfictionfridayofficial, "An Empty Grave".

Part of my Angel series, set far into her recovery. Dedicated to @winedark-whump.

Content / warnings: Referenced presumed death, past death of a loved one, grief, memory loss due to conditioning/brainwashing, identity struggles, recovery. Set in the BBU multiverse.

Making Angel, the documentary about her was called. Angel hadn't watched it. Others had, Miguel had, and her lawyer. They said it was well done, empathetic but not too much, clear and direct, but not too intrusive. So she'd nodded, and given her approval.

She had however listened to the transcript, at some point. Not the film's audio, but her screen reader with the written transcript, unemotional and distanced. Even filtered as much as possible through the screen reader's neutral, pleasant voice, though, she'd felt sick listening to Danielle Hammond. Or Dany, as her friends called her.

Angel was not her friend.

She had still moved her lips along Danielle's lines, tried to feel her patterns of speech, her relaxed happiness, her careless confidence.

It didn't match.

Why should it? Danielle had had a life that Angel never even had a chance at. From Danielle's first moment on, she'd had the entire world laying at her feet. From Angel's first memory on, she'd been kneeling at someone else's feet.

She'd made it, somehow. She didn't kneel any longer, she would never again. Angel knew she was confident as well, more aggressively so than Danielle ever had. She was famous, even. More famous than Danielle. But still, famous because of her. Because Danielle Hammond had once existed, and now all that was left of her was Angel.

There was a scene in the documentary, set on a graveyard. The transcript contained barely any description, but the name of the cemetery had been mentioned in passing. Fairview. It had been lingering in the far end of her consciousness for days, weeks, nagging, itching. 

It was manageable - Angel had learned the hard way how to ignore an itch. But today, after work, when she got into her car - she didn't drive herself, but Mr Hammond insisted she took the services of his driver - she told Anthony not to take her home directly.

Hearing the name of the cemetery, he just nodded.

They rode in silence, as they usually did. Somehow, though, there was something new embedded in the silence today. Anthony pulled into the parking space and opened her door, waiting until she had gotten out to finally speak up. "I can take you," he offered quietly. "It's a bit confusing to navigate… I know where it is."

She grabbed her bag closer and nodded sharply, shoulders straightened. "Please," she said. 

Anthony locked the car and took a sweeping gaze over the cemetery, with the kind of careful attention Angel knew wasn't just for orientation. He wasn't just a driver. 

Fine by her. She didn't like drivers much anyway.

She stepped to his side and followed his gaze. The cemetery spread over the side of a small hill. It was old, she wagered, winding paths, huge trees, crypts and stone statues littered along the pathways between simpler stones.

"Oldest one in town," Anthony said. "And most beautiful. Costs a fortune, today. Boss doesn't compromise. Not for his lit-" He tracked off.

"Not for his little girl," Angel mumbled with a half smile and looked at his concealed gun pointedly. "Yeah. I figured."

Anthony shrugged apologetically and pointed at the gates to their right. "That way."

"It's not me, you know," Angel said, as she followed him. "His little girl."

 "I know." Anthony's voice had become lower as he crossed the iron gates. Not only him, it seemed like everything turned quieter, softer, suddenly. The trees absorbed the noises of the city's rush hour underneath them. Here, they were almost alone. A small group - maybe a family - was gathered at a grave at the far end, an old lady watered plants a bit further uphill. Apart from that, nobody was there. 

He lead her past hedges and benches, underneath low branches and the extended arms of elaborate statures, to a field of larger family graves. 

Angel felt her own steps slow down, all but pulled in by a grave site, a well kept field of white pebbles lined with a polished, wide gravestone, small stone figure of an angel outstretched over it, as it to keep the grave save. "Here we are," Anthony said. 

It wasn't necessary. She knew. Even as she couldn't distinguish the letters, she could feel the familiar shape of the family name engraved in it, sudden pain tearing at her. Hammond. 

Two brass plates underneath it, with more letters. Should've been just one, she thought. Should've been just -

She sank to her knees. "Mom", she whispered tonelessly. She couldn't remember a face, nor a name, just… grief, melancholy, and longing.

Anthony's hand settled on her shoulder, gently reassuring. "Maeve," he said, reading the name on the plaque. "And next to her-"

Danielle.

A fresh white flower lay on her grave.

"I'm sorry," Angel pressed a hand over her mouth, not to sob. "Please, don't, don't te-"

"It's alright. A branch snapped, when Anthony went to his knees next to her, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I won't tell anyone."

She nodded, swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. "Is it… Is the grave-"

"They buried an empty coffin."

"It's still… It's still her grave, right?"

Anthony paused. "What do you mean?"

"I'm here," Angel whispered. "The grave is empty. But Dan- she… I think she's still dead."

"See, Angel," He reached out tentatively, and she clutched his hand. "That's entirely up to you."

Angel turned her head to the side, buried her face in Anthony's jacket, and felt his arms close around her.

She cried, longer than she ever had, until the sun had set, and the cold crept through her jeans and up her knees, and there were no tears left in her.

"Okay," she mumbled as she pulled back. "Okay, I'm done."

Anthony didn't ask with what, or to what conclusions she'd come. He just helped her up to her feet, handed her a handkerchief and a pocket mirror, and then guided her back to the car through the nightly cemetery.

"Get you home?", he asked.

She nodded.

The ride, as usual, passed in silence.

But instead of the nagging, there was something new, something she couldn't quite grasp.

Closure, maybe.

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Merry Whump of May

@themerrywhumpofmay

May 16th- “Take a Break.”

[Branding Iron | Cemetery | Moonlight]

***

(tw: branding, death threat, implied past torture, magical whump, a guy gets speared with ice)

Villain had given up on finding their Sidekick.

It had been two months. Two long, dragging, horrible months. Nothing.

Villain hoped Sidekick had decided to change their identity and beat it to another country. They hoped they had faked their death and were living somewhere far, far away. Hey, maybe there were even happy.

Maybe they had learned to smile again. Sidekick had stopped smiling years ago.

Maybe Sidekick had followed the call of the void. The l'appel du vide. To simply disappear. Vanish. Never to be seen again.

Villain walked with their head down and hands shoved deep in their pockets. Because their gloves were ripped and did little to keep out the cold.

They had been feeling the l'appel du vide recently. Maye they would take a vacation. Buy a car and drive and drive and drive until they reached dirt roads. Then they would keep driving until the roads disappeared entirely, taking them with it.

But not today. Today was Monday and their shift was almost done. They really should buy some new gloves. Their fingers were going to be numb by the time they got home.

They passed by a cemetery without noticing it-- memorial stones crooked and gaping like teeth in the moonlight.

Villain walked by it. Stopped. Walked backwards, hair lifting on the back of their arms.

The shadows behind the stones had shifted. A new light had appeared– the raw red of an open flame. In contrast to the watery moonlight and its cool touch, the fire seemed bright and garish. Wrong. 

Villain didn't always think things through. They couldn't afford the time. They either acted, or they didn't.

They acted. They were over the gate in a heartbeat. Crouching low over the ground, Villain was hit with the smell of upturned dirt and rot. It brought to mind images of creeping worms and decaying skin.

Lovely. What joy.

Using the shadows and the towering stone memorials for cover, Villain crawled closer to the fire. 

The darkness had distorted into four separate people around the pit. Three stood together, while the fourth stood over the pit, hands clasped behind him.

As Villain's eyes adapted to the firelight, they were able to make out that the group of three people was in fact two people holding someone between them.

The third figure had his hands tied behind his back and wild hair in his eyes.

The world tilted. Shit.

In the flickering shadows, Villain could see the terror whip across the prisoner's face. It rose and fell as he tried to mask it. A trickle of blood dripped from his nose where he could not wipe it away. Every so often, he’d desperately try to lick it off. 

The defiance? Unmistakable. The fear? That was new.

Sidekick, apparently, had not escaped to another city.

The temperature dropped several degrees around Villain. A deep cold filled them. Not anger. Not horror. Just...empty. And so, so cold.

“--I told you to give it up,” said the man by the firepit in a voice barely louder than the snapping flames. “Did you listen? No. You had to keep on trying to escape, again and again and again.” 

Villain hissed through clenched teeth. They did not like where this was headed. Not in the slightest. They had lost feeling in their hands and now the cold spread up their arms.

L'appel du vide.

Though they were a good distance away from the fire, they could feel it on their face— blistering and painful. 

“There is no escape from us.” The man slipped on a pair of gloves and reached for a metal rod that had been resting in the firepit. 

Muscles curled like wires inside Villain as they watched. 

The rod was a branding iron. White-hot at the tip, curling to red. The pattern at the end was the insignia of the Agency.

The cold increased around Villain, breath freezing on their lips.

Sidekick struggled, biting and snarling, as the man approached, branding iron held like it was some lofty and sacred tool of higher purpose and not an instrument of torture. 

“Please–” Sidekick's voice was nothing but a shattered whisper, hoarse from screaming. “Don’t– don’t do this.” 

The man didn’t respond, merely nodding to his companions to rip the prisoner's shirt off. Which they did, with ruthless efficiency. 

Enough. 

Something inside Villain snapped. They stood, shadows falling off their skin like a discarded cloak to pool at their feet. The cold pooled out with the shadows. Unstoppable.

“Touch my Sidekick and I'll kill you." I will enjoy staring down at your lifeless corpse.

The man dismissed Villain with a laugh. "Stand down. This is official Agency business." The brand hovered only a moment–curling red over dark skin– before beginning its plunge. 

"And that is my sidekick."

The cold erupted into splintering ice, spearing the man through his hand. Blue ice completely swallowed the two companions who’d held Sidekick.

In the flashing light, Villain caught sight of blood and splintering-white bone in the darkness. A scream.

The branding iron fell to the ground and burned the grass. 

Sidekick lay gasping on the ground, eyes locked on the iron. It was a bit too close for comfort.

Villain did not stop with spearing the man. They sent another jagged edge of ice through him. And another. And yet another. Until all four limbs were transfixed to the ground with icicles.

If Villain hadn't been so empty, they would have laughed at the comedic value of it all.

They walked past the firepit and past the now-unconscious man. They crouched down in the rotting dirt by Sidekick, knocking away the branding iron. 

“Hey.” 

Wild eyes. Deer-in-headlights eyes.

“It's me.” They drew a knife and he flinched back. “Oh. Sorry. It’s for the ropes.” 

The only answer was shaky breathing. Villain carefully cut away the ropes and Sidekick jerked his hands away, rubbing his blistered wrists. 

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Sidekick lunged forward, almost knocking Villain backwards. He hugged Villain. It took a minute for Villain to realise that Sidekick was crying.

The cold dissolved inside Villain. The void retreated into aching silence. They sheathed the knife and wrapped their arms around Sidekick in a hug.

Shaking sobs.

Villain was also crying.

"Missed you," managed Villain.

"They-- they said you weren't coming."

Villain exhaled sharply. They didn't answer at first. Then: "C'mon. Let's get you home. You're going to be taking a long break. In fact, let's call it a vacation."

Villain stood and half-supporting Sidekick, left the burning light of the cemetery behind and walked in the moonlight.