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paingoes · 4 months ago

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Crash Out

Nimrod III

the gang goes on a bender

(Content: (ex) royal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, sadistic whumper, immortal whumper, drugs, dissociation, amnesia, blood, guns, threat of dismemberment, actual dismemberment, psychological torture, addiction mention, fainting)

==========

“Do you have painkillers?” Lorelai picked at the bandages on her arm. Paris looked at her through the side of his eyes.

“…Obviously I have painkillers.”

He didn’t like them much. He didn’t like anything that felt like it was slowing him down, not before and especially not now. Still, he had a bit of everything stashed away in the compartments.

“I want them,” Lorelai said softly.

“Is it that bad?” There was some small worry in his voice. Johanna had nicked him too, in many different places, but it hadn’t felt like much at the time and it didn’t feel like much after. He guessed his own pain tolerance was a bit skewed. Still, he didn’t like the thought of her messing with them. “Take the aspirin first. Let me know how you feel after.”

She shrugged, pulling the pack out from the first aid kit. She chewed down on the chalky tablets so they’d absorb faster. Her phone went off. He noticed that it was a different phone from the one she had when they had first left — or at least a different case. This one had irregular pearls all over the back of it. She read off the notification.

“I want to go to Xcelcia’s Fair. We’re gonna fly over it tonight,” she hummed in a weary voice.

“I think you should go the fuck to sleep.”

==========

“When did we get to the mall?” He blinked. She looked up at him in surprise, wearing different clothing than she had been the moment previous.

“Two hours ago?” she guessed. He could tell it was a guess.

“Did we sleep yet?” he asked.

“You blacked out? No. I don’t know. Were you blacked out that entire time?” Lorelai laughed a little. It did nothing to conceal the concern evident on her face.

“Why are we in a mall?” It was eerie. They had been living like vampires, only ever among the living in the dead of night. The bright sun coming in through the skylight gave everything an unreal quality.

“I needed new sneakers. And you said you wanted to come.”

“I don’t think I would say that.”

“I swore you did.”

Her eyes were bloodshot. He was starting to get freaked out. They carried on throughout the mall anyway, the sneakers having not yet been acquired. He sipped idly at the blue razz slushie that was already in his hand — he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have got that, either. Just carrying it made him feel like a dickhead. It tasted decent, though. The sugar helped. Water probably would’ve been better.

“Oh what the fuck.” He squinted as the aura hit him again.

He looked up to see Johanna walking by on one of the upper balconies. As if she could sense his eyes on her, she spun around on her heel to look. Her initial reaction was instantaneous, so easy to miss, but it was surprise. Or at least the mockery of it. She hadn’t even been hunting. Just bad fucking luck.

“Your Highness!” She broke into a grin, yelling loud enough for everyone in a two block radius to hear. “We can’t keep meeting like this!”

Johanna leapt down from the balcony, the whole story. She did an — admittedly beautiful — tuck and roll to avoid absorbing the fall’s shock. Why bother? Even if she had broken her ankles, they’d heal in two seconds.

Lorelai bolted just as soon as she’d heard the voice. He realized she didn’t have the gun on her, remembered he didn’t have his sword. Johanna had the damn sword; he’d left it in her chest. He took off too, not knowing where they were going. Lorelai seemed a little more there than he was. She might at least remember where the ship had been parked.

Something exploded loudly. He dropped via trained reflex, tugging Lorelai down with him. It’d been the right call. Large pieces of shrapnel flew right over their heads.

“What the hell?” Lorelai whined, stretching out the syllables, “Was that for us?”

Johanna limped forward, carrying the smell of smoke. A piece of pipe hung out of her shoulder. Her glistening blood coated her shirt.

“That one was for me, actually.” The smile she wore then was not the same one it had been a few moments ago.

Lorelai scrambled back to her feet, taking off again. Paris’s own curiosity slowed him. He looked in the direction of the explosion, the same direction Johanna had come from, but it was clear she hadn’t caused it. A few people circled behind her, prowling. They had guns. What the fuck kind of mall was this? They seemed to know her pretty well. She shot him a last look, seething, smirking. Saved by the bell. She turned to face them instead.

He knew if they shot her and missed, it’d go straight into him instead. That was just the kind of day he was having. He hurried himself out of their sightline. Another explosion went off.

My name is Johanna, she had said so proudly the first time they met. Was he actually supposed to know what that meant? Someone with a lot of explosives did. He made it outside. Lorelai honked the ship’s horn, beckoning him over. He crawled into the passenger’s seat.

“What even was that? Right?” Lorelai wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like her.”

“I literally don’t know what the fuck is going on right now?” he said.

==============

But he was fighting her again. He’d just taken something, he didn’t remember what. It made him faster, made him hit harder, made him fucking terrified with such a deep sense of foreboding he was sure he was about to die. Not that Jo would let him. That obviously wasn’t what she wanted.

He knew he was kind of losing it. If he’d ever snapped like this in the field, he’d have already been pinned down and sedated. He wasn’t sure if that had ever happened or not — it seemed plausible, though when the thought entered his head there was no specific memory he could attach it too. He could not attach anything at all to Johanna. She wasn’t a girl. She wasn’t even a person. She was blight. She twisted all about him like she was made of air and smoke. He had trouble holding her at all.

He had the sword again. She’d brought it back to him. She had meant to threaten him with it, but he’d managed to wrestle it out of her hands. In an act of manic desperation, he cut straight through the bone of her arm, severing the limb. He did not think much of it at the time. It was simply a thing you could do to a body, among many other things you could do to a body. Maybe he’d just been curious. Nothing else seemed to work.

==============

Again. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he knew he’d fucked this one up severely. Johanna’s freshly grown hand was curled up in a fist in his hair. The other twirled the knife. He recognized, distantly, that it was a collector’s item. He’d had one just like it. One of her knees was planted on his elbow, the other on his chest, one boot planted firmly on the wrist of his opposite arm. She gave the knife a little toss in the air, catching it deftly, taking her time. She placed the knife’s edge right by the skin of his shoulder and did not wait a second before slicing it open. He writhed. It didn’t do any good.

“Stop,” he said, “stop stop stop stop stop s”

It cut in half an inch below the surface. He could tell she had hit muscle. His arm twitched involuntarily even as it was held in place.

“top stop stop stop stop stop stop stop st”

Johanna laughed. She pulled the knife out before it could reach bone. He had never seen blood gush that way before. He thought it only did that in horror movies. She winked at him. Just kidding. She went back to spinning the blade between her fingers. It moved like she had it on a string.

“Did you even feel that?” She asked. “You didn’t, did you? Oh, I’ve got to try it again when you’re sober. That’s not fair.”

===========

He blinked. Back in the passenger seat. His arm was bandaged around the shoulder. Lorelai was covered in blood. None of it was her own.

“Thanks,” Paris said numbly, filling in the blanks.

“Don’t mention it.”

He looked out the window and into the vastness of space. He still couldn’t figure out what time it was. He reached into his pocket and was relieved to find his vape was still there. It was the only constant in his life.

“I think we should blow up her ship,” he suggested.

“How?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you know any bomb recipes? I thought you were a radical.”

“Not off the top of my head. Don’t you?”

“I should, right? Like, I swear I learned them at some point. I think I have legitimate fucking brain damage. I’m not even kidding.”

“No, I think that’s true. You’ve been hitting your head a lot.”

“I meant from the alcoholism, but yeah. Probably both.”

“Oh.” She frowned.

It was the first time he’d ever called it that. He thought it was a bit unfair to scapegoat alcohol specifically, considering all the other shit he was putting into his body. But that was simply what came to mind first. He hit the vape.

“I’m going to pass out,” he informed her.

��You’ve been meaning to do that. You know-“

He did not hear the end of the sentence.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

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lelelego · 2 years ago

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hello it's the vulpes anon again . thank you for your condolences i appreciate it. however i think im going insane. the vulpes brainrot has been creeping on me and i fear i am powerless to stop it. which is very unfortunate because i still hate him and i think he's the worst and i kill him in every playthrough an d i absolutely agree that he's a cringefail little guy but that drawing. oooghhhgjh. it changed my brain chemistry. this is all your fault and i hate you (im fully kidding i love you and your art) the ao3 suggestion is a good idea but that would only fuel the rot so i think my best bet would be to block him everywhere and pray 2 every god ever that i don't fall into vulpes inculta fallout new vegas hell because that would be cringe of me

that's a good idea feel better soon anon 🙏 he is the worst here he is being mean to eli hope it can help your rehabilitation from vulpes brainrot

#asks #anonymous #teehee <3 #not entirely fictional either when i was doing the fort raid vulpes wasnt there?? where did he go??#so now in courier eli canon he's out there looking for the guy who murdered caesar :^) good luck idiot #also i am not immune to eli getting menaced. whump brainrot real #oc: eli #vulpes inculta #doodly thingy #fallout tag #the vulpes tag is there in case people dont like seeing him. sincerely sorry for putting a reply to an ask in the main tag !!!!

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judasisgayriot · 2 years ago

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heroes s4e6 ‘strange attractors’

#heroesedit #peter petrelli #primatech #heroes nbc #nbc heroes #whump #anni edits #heroes #meant to do something extraordinary #what was the play here babes. (affectionately) he's such a liability. impulsive idiot <3 #literally getting himself shot without knowing at all whether jeremy would be able to heal him. babe pls.#also this is some great gasping while covered in blood. he does it v prettily. lol #sidenote completely unrelated to this: jeremy's story in this ep is so fkn sad and horrifying #genuinely one of the most fked up standalone stories heroes has ever featured #i feel SO bad for this kid #blood //#heroes season 4

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tildeathiwillwrite · 6 months ago

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The Elf Beneath the Ice

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Drowning

Fandom: Original Work

WIP: The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure (Tales from Valaria)

Next Part ->

Words: 1500

Tag List: @badthingshappenbingo @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: referenced injury, referenced death, werewolves/lycanthropes, swearing, guns, hypothermia, drowning, coughing, passing out

A/N: The long-promised Gunblade Duo first meeting, before they were even the Gunblade Duo! It is as intense as one would expect from these two.

Happy Independence Day to those who celebrate.

----------

Celestials, how Draven hated hunting in the Fells.

The forest was a thicket of densely packed trees, only traversable through paths long ago overgrown. They’d once been well-kempt or at the very least worn down by travelers. Now only one path was used: a road cut between the elven borderlands and the nearest large human settlement, Zariya.

Draven was nowhere near there. He was too far west, following the haphazard steps of a moon-crazed lycanthrope who’d attacked the tiny village of Belldeme. Three men were killed and eight more injured before they’d driven it away. The message to the Hunter’s Guild in Zariya arrived two days later, in the hands of an exhausted teen boy and accompanied by the down payment for one skilled lycanthrope hunter.

None of the other seasoned hunters wanted to travel the miles to Belldeme, get a proper description, and then travel several miles into the Fells where it was last seen, tracking it for many days before finally finding and killing it. Especially with only so much given upfront.

Draven finally volunteered. He’d claimed it was because he was bored. The way the messenger had seemed so crestfallen when it started to look like he might be turned away had nothing to do with it. Neither did the information Draven’d gleaned on the journey to Belldeme that the boy’s father and older brother were two of the injured.

So no, he wasn’t having second thoughts. Not really.

He just hated freezing his ass off trying to start a fire.

Even with a flint, the tiny twigs were surprisingly stubborn about being set alight. Draven had found his shelter an hour or so before sundown, but it took him so long to coax the wood to catch it was almost fully dark by the time he had a proper fire. He sat back on his heels, tucking the flint into his coat pocket and the small knife into his sleeve.

He’d discovered the cave by a stroke of luck, hidden in a rocky hillside behind a boulder and a particularly thorny bush not far from a small lake, completely frozen over from the weeks of cold. At first, he’d been wary of something living inside, whether it be a wolf pack, a bear, some other creature, or the lycanthrope he sought. But after carefully poking around inside, he found it completely empty. No evidence that anything, not even a tiny snake, had made its home here in recent weeks.

Surprising for a cave in the Fells in the middle of winter.

But Draven wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He settled back against the cave wall, parallel to the cave mouth, and stared outside, watching the breeze send the snow flying in thin drifts, listening as the winds whistled through the bare branches.

Winter in the silence of the Fells was very different from winter in the noise of Zariya, the chaos of Caenum, or even the quiet of Valdove. Something about being the only human around… perhaps even the only living thing around… it was strange. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. Thankfully he wouldn’t have to stay for much longer, he suspected he was catching up to the lycanthrope. Its tracks indicated it was in its humanoid form now, but continued moving west. Out of fear or guilt, perhaps?

Humanoid or not, he still had to find them before they hurt someone else.

Crack!

Draven jerked forward, hand on one of the pistols at his side, and peered into the darkness. The sudden, unmistakable noise of breaking ice had come from the direction of the lake. Has someone fallen in? Who would be so unbelievably stupid—?!

…shit.

Draven rose to his feet, drawing his pistol. He debated grabbing a branch from the fire for a light. No, the clouds weren't terrible tonight, his night vision and the waxing crescent above would suffice. Snow crunching underfoot, he stepped out into the darkness, moving swiftly and quietly towards the lake, listening intently as he approached the frozen water.

Snow-covered earth became snow-covered sand. Draven stared over the lake's surface, frowning at the cracks snaking across the ice underneath the thin layer of snow blown by the wind. The ice was at least a foot thick, he’d checked it earlier that day, wondering how easy it would be to break and get water.

It couldn’t crack on its own, either. Much too cold still to melt.

So someone—or something—had to have disturbed it. Something strong.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Whatever had cracked the ice, it was certainly no longer on the lake. That much was obvious. And it hadn’t left in the direction Draven had come from. He pursed his lips together, considering the sheer number of directions it could have gone.

The lycanthrope should still be in humanoid form, according to their tracks. But if Draven had learned anything from his line of work, it was the idea that no matter how much he thought he knew, he would never have all the facts. Perhaps it possessed the ability to transform itself whenever it desired. Perhaps it transformed under the light of any moon, not just a full moon.

Whatever the situation was, he needed to find that lycanthrope. And he had a better lead than his tracks.

Draven released a long, slow breath and stepped out onto the ice. It creaked slightly under his weight, the damage done by the lycanthrope—if that was truly what it was—having visibly weakened it. His eyes swept over the thin layer of snow, searching for tracks. And all the while listening, paying heed to sounds beside his breathing and the ice below.

He reached the center, where the fractures converged in a vaguely circular pattern. Kneeling, he brushed away some of the snow with a gloved hand. No tracks. How—?

Thud.

Draven froze, head snapping up, and turned in a quick circle. Where had—?

Thud.

On a whim, Draven glanced down. Right as a hand slammed into the underside of the ice.

Thud.

He stumbled back with a cry. “What the fuck?!”

Thud.

Crack!

The ice suddenly shattered, weakened at the center of the cracks, breaking into a thousand long, jagged shards in a roughly circular hole. Draven stepped back, fearing the rest of the lake would come away beneath his feet. The ice creaked and groaned as the damaged portion fell away, splashing into the unfrozen water but remaining mostly whole.

Draven leveled his gun at the hole as the same hand appeared at the edge of the newly formed opening, grasping the surface with the desperation of a drowning man. A second hand appeared, this one clutching something tightly in closed fingers. Its owner pulled himself through, dragging his dripping-wet body out of the water, gasping and coughing violently.

He was an elf. That much was clear, from the delicate features of his face to the slight points of his ears and how he was built for speed rather than strength. His hair, shaved on the left side and long on the right, gleamed strangely in the moonlight, and a simple earring of dark metal pierced his left ear. He wore leather armor—breastplate, pauldrons, vambraces, cuisses and graves—over what appeared to be a cotton tunic and trousers, with worn leather boots completing the ensemble.

A pair of sheathes and a water-damaged pack hung from his belt. All appeared to be empty.

The elf glanced up and seemed to notice Draven for the first time, making brief eye contact. He moved as if to scramble away, but a strange look crossed his face. Before Draven could say a word, the elf’s eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped, even as his body began to shake uncontrollably from the cold.

Draven swore and holstered his gun, kneeling beside the elf and shaking him. “Wake up!”

The elf did not respond.

“How the depths did you get out this far without a coat?”

The elf’s head lolled limply, eyes closed. Draven noticed thin scars, almost like claw marks, on his left cheek, and substantial bruising on his forehead and under his right eye. But they were the least of his concerns. Shit. He’s out out. How long has he been… how’d he even get under the ice?!

He glanced around the lake again. The only opening in the surface of the ice was the one the elf had, presumably, made himself. So how…? …why? …huh?

All questions only one person held the answers to. Draven hissed through his teeth and scooped up the unconscious elf in a bridal carry. Rising to his feet, he turned and started walking back to the den where he’d made his camp.

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angst-is-love-angst-is-life · 9 months ago

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I gotta ask about the wip "Get whumped idiot"

Thank you for asking!

Ah yes. The Barry whump fic I keep procrastinating (I say, as if there are any I don’t)

Long story short; Barry (as the Flash), gets kidnapped as a sort of ‘guest of honor’ for an event with a bunch of Central City’s worst criminals… and they may or may not be allowed to torture him a little bit for a not-so-small fee.

Should’ve just been called ‘Absolutely shameless Barry whump because I may have a problem’

Excerpt from chapter 1 (always in flux; wording may change)

“What– what are you–” Barry was cut off by his own yell as bones seemed to snap in his body. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not r– his spine shattered. He couldn’t hear his own scream, blinded by excruciating pain. Memories were replaying, over and over and over again, bones breaking– frostbite forming– spine shattering– “STOP!” Panting on the ground, he managed to scream out a single word, and was mercifully released. The cuffs deactivated and Barry scrambled toward the back wall with wide eyes.

Oh! Did I forget to mention this one’s Coldflash?

#he’ll be fineeeee. probably.#wip folder game #asks #ask game answers #leatafandom #the flash #barry allen #barry whump #get whumped idiot #side fics #my writing #fic snippet

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killjoyconstruct · 7 months ago

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when the "uncatchable" captain finds out what happens when you bite too many Guardians

watch the timelapse here!

#get muzzled idiot #whump #whumpblr #oc whump #prison whump #muzzle whump #whump art #ocs #oc artwork #bright colors #art #artists on tumblr #ace's art #franchise: unnaturals #characters: nash #killjoyconstruct art

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pixelatedraindrops · 1 year ago

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Since you did headcanon before that Makoto and Kyoko could be Yuma’s parents, what about whenever Yuma got sick as a kid and his parents nursed him back to health?

Omg yessss. Though I think Makoto being the malewife that he is would’ve probably taken care of Yuma more since Kyoko is always so busy. He'd be the one tucking him in, feeding him soup and giving him medicine. Maybe even sitting down with him while he tries to sleep <3

But whenever Kyoko has time, shes also quite tender in her own caretaking. Though it’d probably be at night while he’s asleep ;w; She’d just take her glove off and feel his cheek to check if his fever dropped. Then she leaves quietly wishing him well.

ALSO: This is canon

Like father like son

Hehe~ 😉

He was blessed with his mom's talents, but cursed with his father's frailty ;w;

#pixel answers #asks #my ask #whump ask #rain code #whumpcode #danganronpa #yuma kokohead #makoto naegi #headcanon #sicknario #honestly makoto being frail makes sense #but I think yuma would be EVEN worse… xD #i did that edit of yuma on the bottom lol sadly thats not legit ;w;#but it is to ME 😈#also idiots sleeping in their clothes while they’re sick #GET INTO PAJAMAS RIGHT NOW XD

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whump-n-comfort · 9 months ago

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when you read a fic that gives you a hyper-specific whump scenario that you know would either A.) take forever to find in another story or B.) hasn't been written at all so the obvious conclusion is that you have to write it yourself

#whump meme #~my stuff~#my brain hates me sometimes lmao #i just want a story where two characters are stuck in a broken down car in the middle of winter and having an argument #which leads to one stomping outside in some petty attempt to 'find help' while the other person doesn't realize #what is happening at first. they think their friend is just taking a quick second to catch their thoughts. not the best idea in a snow stor #but the other option is them tearing each others heads off so a little separation is fine. but then their friend starts walking away #and keeps going. so now they have to chase after them to corral them back into the car #because yeah its broken but its still somewhat warm unlike this suicide mission you are attempting!!#and then theres a big blow up because they have kinda been the shit-stirrer so their friend just is #im fixing it!! im being not annoying/useless/something related to whatever they were arguing about!!#so now they get slapped in the face with the fact that they've been taking out their bad day/week on their friend #who was simply being themself and trying to cheer them up/be nice #and when they eventually get back in the car the friend now feels like shit because they not only wasted heat from the car #but they also dragged their friend outside just bcuz they were being a brat so didn't they just prove the other person's point?#so now the two are just in a guilt huddle apologizing for being idiots as they inevitably wait for their rescue #bonus points if the rescue involves their rescuers trying to separate them and the other person just *refuses* to let their friend go #because they have a need to keep the first person warm after feeling like they essentially forced them out into the cold #is that too much to ask?? (i could turn this into an A talks to B scenario... also thinking about my OCs but when am i not lol)

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paingoes · 4 months ago

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Crash Out

Superstition

hi. this is personally my favorite part so far. hope u enjoy it too :)

(Content: drugs, bad trip, paranoia, psychosis, discussion of institutionalized child abuse and death, discussion of past abuse, blood, burns, guilt)

“Okay so we have to take it at the same time so our trips sync up.”

“I know. I’ve done it before.”

“How much are you gonna take?”

“We can just split it.”

“That seems like a lot.”

Lorelai rotated the froot in her hand. She stabbed along the ring with the scout’s knife, revealing the soft green flesh within. The juice dripped down onto her arm. She resisted the urge to lick it up before they could agree on the dosage.

“I think we split half. We can take more later if it’s not strong enough.” She worked the knife carefully through the half of it. She gave the quarter piece to Paris and took the other for herself. She stashed the unused half back into the cooler bag.

“It’ll feel weird if you take more while you’re already tripping. Not pleasant.” He ate the piece he’d been given anyway. She took her own into her mouth. The texture was surprisingly gritty. Little seeds got caught in her teeth. It tasted salty and earthen. She set her timer.

“Okay, onset is an hour or so?” She glanced up at the orange sky. “We’ll be inside by then, probably. It’ll kick in just as it’s getting dark out. Spooky!”

=========

It was an entire hike just to reach the site. The main road was swarming with cop cars. Every other path was carved through the thick wood. In the darkening light, the edges of the dirt road blended in with the foliage. They saw several people passing through, just as lost as they were. Lorelai jumped as the bear trap caught on the raised heel of her boot, just missing her foot.

“Aaaaa?” She yelled softly, mostly in confusion. Paris bent down to undo it.

“How did that miss you?” He squinted. The mechanism jammed shut again with a loud clanging noise. It was rusted in places, visibly worn down by the elements. He was surprised it still worked.

“Fast reflexes.” She unhappily examined the new dent in her shoes.

The venue came into sight as the tree line withered. It was a large stone building — or it used to be. The walls were jagged and uneven at the top, the same shape as torn paper. The second story was gone, along with the ceiling. Thick vines and lichen grew along the stone perimeter. Lorelai said they were fighting for dominance. It looked like the lichen was winning.

The inner walls weren’t faring any better. It seemed like there might have been plaster once, but all that remained now was stone. There were marks on the ground where other walls had been. Someone had long ago removed them to make more space to party. The only real structures inside were the DJ booth by the north wall and the bar on the east one. Where the ceiling had been before, there were now just rails that lights could hang from.

It was dark when they approached — and the music had already started. People poured out onto the lawn and into the woods, drifting in and out of the fortress as they pleased. Security was lax and the walls were porous enough to facilitate the exchange.

His teeth hurt. The two of them did their traditional act, drifting in and out of each other’s spaces as the night progressed. Crowd anonymity was a wondrous thing. It made him tolerate the presence of other bodies in the space and the indignity of motion. The drugs helped with that too. Then they didn’t.

He felt something slip away, some invisible measure of protection he could not name. Eyes, again. Of course there were. People were everywhere. Under the strobe, they all looked pale and corpselike. He remembered a story he had read a long time ago about the girl who only danced with the dead. He’d had his fair share of ghost stories; sailors loved shit like that, soldiers even more.

He had not expected it to crawl. When he’d eaten the froot before, it had hit him all at once, and receded not too long after. It was fun, if a bit underwhelming. This high had creeped up so slowly that for the first two hours he did not even realize it had arrived. He imagined his own thoughts to be normal and uncontaminated. All it was was just unease and unease and the dead left there too. He thought he felt something shift just beneath his feet, but all that was there now was dirt. He was surer than anything that he was being watched, him specifically. He pulled off from the crowd and out through one of the jagged holes in the wall. Grass grew there. He walked without aim.

There were enough people on the outskirts that he didn’t really feel like he was leaving the party, even as he drifted further and further from the building. He saw them all looking at him strangely as he passed; he would not learn until later he had been talking to himself the entire time. He would never learn what it was he had said. He ended up by the woods, still certain of something creeping and stalking and watching endlessly. Something was wrong. The dirt slipped out from beneath him and on purpose.

Something long and thin stuck out of the ground. He had thought it was a leg until he saw what it was attached to. It was top heavy, two legged, nearly furry with moss. The sign post was as overgrown as the building it described, but the letters were still readable beneath it. He stared up at it from where he was collapsed on the ground, reading it over and over and over again.

Beldam Institute. B-E-L-D-A-M I-N-S-T-I-T-U-T-E. He read it again, just to be sure. Beldam Institute.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered to himself, unknowingly interrupting the string of words he had already been muttering to himself.

He’d had his fair share of ghost stories; sailors loved shit like that, soldiers even more. Soldiers liked to think there was a life after death. They liked to think the people they killed would stay stuck there in the place where they had killed them, forever, their souls tethered to the earth and stood on display for all eternity. Tales of weeping ghosts and the undead children that searched endlessly for their murderers, reading to rend them limb from limb. Trapped together in the place where they had killed them, forever, their souls tethered to the earth and stood on display for all eternity. History couldn’t end, not really. History ate them all whole. The ground was heavy with bodies.

“They buried them in the lawn the first few years,” Delta had admitted quietly, at the end of a long night, after Paris had spent hours prodding. It was the most he would ever say about it and the last time Paris would ever ask. “They had to stop, though. They ran out of space.”

His hand brushed up against something dry and brittle and thin like finger bones.

=========

“Whoa, whoa, buddy.” There were hands on his shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to stop him from flailing. Some douche with a tie wrapped around his forehead was trying to be helpful. He heard his own voice, but he couldn’t make out the words. His throat was hoarse and painful.

“Here. Smell.” The dude held up a small piece of chalky material.

“Getthefuckoffme-“ Paris rasped. His hands were bloodied, somehow.

“You’re okay,” He pressed the chalk up to his own nose, taking a deep inhale, showing it was safe. Paris crawled back a few inches, breathing still irregular, fingers still twitching. The dude offered the chemical back up. Paris reluctantly hit it. The headrush was immediate, overpowering.

“Fuck.” He fell back onto the dirt. There was soil under his nails and furrows in the ground.

“What’d he take?” A girl’s voice asked. He didn’t realize she’d been standing there. She was leaning back again the sign, totally oblivious to its meaning.

“This is a fucking mass grave,” Paris yelled, or tried to. His voice broke. “The bones are pushing up. Look!”

“That’s a stick.”

Paris collapsed flat on his back again, covering his eyes.

Only then did the two of them seem to notice the sign. The girl pushed off of it, clearing the view, studying the lettering.

“Hang on, I gotta look something up,” the dude said. The clearing was briefly lit in ghostly blue as he pulled out his phone. He typed slowly and methodically. Paris knew from experience that he was having trouble seeing the screen just a few inches from his face.

“Oh. Huh. Yeah, that’s what it is.” He nodded, looking perturbed. “I’d probably trip out if I saw some shit like that too, man. That’s wacky.”

Another set of footsteps approached without rhythm.

“I’m tripping balls,” Lorelai said. She had the gait of a baby deer. “Lol, is this where the party is?”

“Is this your man?” The girl asked.

“We’re all working through our feelings about institutionalization together,” the dude explained, “Your friend is having what we call a hard time.”

“What?” Lorelai collapsed down onto the mound just beside him. She pulled his head into her lap, combing her fingers through his hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist, totally helpless to do anything else.

“Beldam Institute. Where Delta went. It’s where they make them,” he muttered.

“Are you serious?”

They showed her the e-ncyclopedia page. Her jaw dropped.

“Wow. Oh my god, what are the odds? And they throw parties here? That’s…in very poor taste? Wow. What the hell. Wow.” She shook her head. He worried for a second she was getting caught in a thought loop. He made a silent vow to never taste froot again.

Yet another set of footsteps approached.

“You guys good over here?” A wavering voice asked. Keys jingled loudly. For an awful moment, he thought it was the cops.

“Are you two the organizers?” Lorelai asked, “Why did you throw a rave where a bunch of children got tortured?”

“You’re talking about the Institute? I’m so glad you asked,” The other’s voice was slick, “We did a whole thesis on it. It’s a transformative project. We’re revitalize the space and making a statement on its history. All our proceeds go to our mutual aid fund for marginalized groups. We do it in the spirit of resisting imperial order.”

“Their bodies are still buried in the yard,” Paris muttered.

“What did he say?”

“He said their bodies are still buried in the yard,” the dude responded.

“That seems really fucked up,” the girl chimed in.

“We’ve been very conscientious about the whole thing,” the slick one responded, “I know it’s a lot to process, especially if one is, uh, open to the influences. Not exactly a pleasant trip environment. But that’s history for you.”

“Is he gonna be okay?” The girl asked.

“Yeah, he’s just sensitive.” Lorelai twirled his hair between her fingers. “I wonder if there was a basement?”

“There was,” the wavering one confirmed, “It was mostly cleared out by the time we got here. Very hush-hush. But we salvaged some stuff for the archive.”

Far away, the music changed. Lorelai shook his shoulder gently.

“Get up. I wanna dance.” Her voice was all swimmy. He can’t tell if the interference was on her part or his. She dragged him out of the woods and back onto the floor.

Despite how awkwardly she had stumbled, how failing her walk seemed to be, she danced with a surprisingly fluidity even in her drugged state. The air itself was fluid, heady, warm. He danced with her, quite sure she had never once looked like this before, that she never would again. The shaking in his own body stopped and the headache replaced it. All of it was dull and distant. There were whispers at the edge of it. Maenad, they warned.

Very abruptly, she dropped to her knees.

“Oh fuck,” she clutched her head, “I can see it.”

Paris half led, half carried her outside of the walls. She collapsed down on the dirt, looking all around her. Paris pulled the fur hat off her head. It was slick with sweat.

“Oh my god, I felt it. I think I saw the face of it. It was everywhere I looked. I could feel all the misery trapped inside of the walls.”

For a minute, he swore he could make out a skull and crossbones inside of her pupils. He hated froot. She looked terrifying.

He twisted the bottle open and held out both of her arms. The water poured over her exposed skin, bringing her temperature back down. She closed her eyes.

“More,” she said.

He poured the water over her forehead, letting it run down her face, smudging her makeup. She pulled her hair back in a bun. He poured the water down her neck. She gave a ticklish giggle.

“Oh, god,” she said, totally lost. He pushed the bottle into her hands. She poured the rest of it all down her throat.

===========

In spite of everything, the afterglow was incredible. They’d made it back to the room in one piece. He understood what the guides had meant about the aura. Everything felt soft and glowing. It wasn’t euphoric, nor to the point of mania. Just pleasant and calm.

He could tell Lorelai felt it too, all smiles in the ship, even more after she showered. They both needed it badly, even without the time spent in the woods. The smell of smoke and alcohol had clung heavily to both of them. He washed the dirt out of his hair, his own blood from beneath his fingernails. The motel’s soap was scented lavender; he was sure he wouldn’t have noticed it before, but in the moment everything felt novel.

She’d crawled onto his chest when he laid down again, angling the phone so they both could watch. Some animated thing he couldn’t pay attention to. The colors were more vivid than they were probably meant to be. All he could focus on was her hair, the way the curls sprung back into place when he played with them. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder.

“Are you upset about Delta?”

Her voice was sleepy and entirely innocent. It was such a fucked up thing to ask when his walls are down. He’d been trying so hard to avoid it. She was a surgeon sometimes.

“I…feel bad that he died,” Paris admitted, “I don’t think it was my fault the way it happened. I didn’t know. But he was my responsibility. And I-”

He cut himself off. It took him a while to find the words.

“…I don’t know. I hope it was quick. I hope he didn’t suffer.”

The image of Delta chained up and alone while that ship was going down flooded his mind. He squeezed her hand tighter.

Lorelai hummed, “You said it was a rebel attack? Did they say which one?”

“Their guess was Galatea.”

“Hm. Do you think he was the target? It seems a little terroristic for their taste otherwise.”

“They shouldn’t have known about him. All the intelligence just listed him as machinery for a reason. There was nothing in writing to indicate that he was alive.” He’d never had to write any of it himself, but he did read over the field reports. The opacity they achieved was impressive. Critical temperature reached. Damage to internals. Improvised shutdown. There was no good way to talk about it.

“You really didn’t have a file on him?” She clearly found this difficult to believe.

“His doctor did. It was carryover from the institute. It didn’t make it into imperial record. Not mine, anyway.”

“…It just seems like an odd thing for them to do.” There was nothing short of reverence in her voice when she spoke of the resistance. She was struggling reconcile the two thoughts. She had liked Delta a lot. He could see her there, trying to reconcile a lot of things.

==========

She’d had to track them down the next morning — and after that, she’d had to bribe — but she secured one of the large albums they had rescued from the basement. She flipped through the pages as she sat in the passenger seat. Most of it was typed, but a lot of it was written, and all of it was in thick and outdated Latin that she struggled to decipher even as a native speaker. It was the pictures she was really focused on, though.

In some of the photos, it just looked like a normal boarding school. The kids were lined up in rows or going about their day. There were photos of the classrooms and the yard. The next page over, there were photos of the laboratory and the operating room. There were straps visible on the table and along the chairs.

In the training section, the pictures of the students were spliced indiscriminately with the pictures of their victims. Violence marked the both of them. On their victims, burns covered every inch of their skin. Their bodies were twisted at odd angles like they were toys bent out of shape. They wore bags over their head and chains around their ankles.

On the students, the injuries were more subtle. Schoolyard incidents. Short circuits. Disciplinary infractions. Some of the worst ones showed scars tracing up and down their limbs, disappearing beneath the fabric of their uniform. In some, the scars were in the shape of flames. Some were shaped like vines. Most commonly, they were shape of electric discharge. Eyes and fingers were missing, even in the otherwise calm shots.

“Oh.” Lorelai let out a soft sigh. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

She plucked the photo out from the plastic lining, bringing it up into the light. She held it so that Paris could see.

The picture was taken on the side of a hill. The terrain was marked by large scorch marks. A giant dead thing laid in the center of it, the arc of its long neck spiraling out of sight behind the mass of its body. Several kids surrounded it, some crawling over it, others bent down and poking at it. They were all dressed for safari. One of them stood off to the side of the corpse’s thick tree-trunk legs. His hair hung in a long braid down his back, nearly sweeping the ground. His hand was wrapped tight with gauze. Delta couldn’t have been more than ten years old. There was the same frightful intensity behind his eyes, even back then. He was staring straight into the camera.

“Yeah.” Paris looked away from it. “That’s him.”

There were no other photos of him in the album.

…………

tags:

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@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

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