#immortal whumper

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumper had held onto a grudge for centuries now, tracking down and torturing each and every person they could get their hands to that was related to their first enemy. Their whumpees would all try to prevent their capture, but the whumper had all the time in their hands to wait for them to falter and fall.

[siren-of-agony]

Immortal whumper that let's immortal whumpee run away every now and again.

They both know, sooner or later, they'll be found again.

[paingoes]

little graphic for johanna and delta ! although they’re both psychics, they are not the same species and they don’t have the same abilities! 

any intelligent species in destroyer-verse can be psychic, but some are more inclined to it than others.

delta's species has an unusually high percentage, around ~15% .

only 0.001% of johanna's species are born psychic.

[whumpsoda]

OOO HAVE A PROMPT! a god whumper taking whumpee—a mortal—and making them into a suggestible immortal consort. whumpee can barely remember being human, and all that matters is that they feel safe near whumper

So I made a mistake where I wrote a whole thing for this, then read this ask again and realized it wasn’t really what was asked… So I guess I have two things?? The correct one is first, and I’ll post the second under it😭

cw: god whumper, immortal whumpee, human caretaker, dehumanization, brainwashing

———————————————————————

“I… Whumpee?” 

The two met one another’s gaze, one pair of eyes terrified and desperate, the other hollow and sunken.

The immortal stood tall, draped in fanciful robes and numerous strings of extravagant jewlery, which jingled with every movement. The human kneeled, hunched over in filthy garments, sore wrists shackled behind his back.

“Oh, Whumpee… is it really you?” Caretaker studied the figure, digesting the image of their old friend. The relief was short lived, overridden by the uneasiness bubbling in their starving stomach. “What happened to you?”

Whumpee, the boisterous, ball of positivity that they had missed so dearly, was staring them down blankly. Their eyes were devoid of emotion, their expression vacant and empty.

Where was the giddy, sunshine smile Caretaker had scoured the land for?

After a moment of silence, Whumpee’s lips parted in passive fashion. “Who, is Whumpee?” Their face contorted, an unpleasant scowl forming from their delicate features.

“No… no, you are Whumpee. It’s… it’s me, buddy. It’s Caretaker.” He let out a shaky breath, wriggling inside the metal cuffs scratching at his wrists. “I- I found you, Whumpee. I’m going to rescue you, and, and I’m going to bring you home.”

Whumpee’s brows furrowed, their muscular body towering over the human. “This, foolish human, is my home.” 

Caretaker could feel his heart shattering inside his chest. His lip quivered, as his strong smile began to falter. “W-whumpee, I don’t… I don’t understand… really, you don’t need to pretend, it’s me, I promise. Just let me out of these shackles, an’ I’ll get us out of here. Together, Whumpee.” Desperately, he wished he could’ve held out a warm hand to his friend.

“Well, wouldn’t that be nice.” A booming voice enveloped the room, an overwhelming presence filling the air. Whumpee’s expression flipped, a wide, dull eyed smile stretching across their face as they turned to face the sound.

An enormous, mystical figure began to materialize, catching the full attention of the two on-lookers. Whumpee clasped their hands together, enraptured with the sight of the god. 

“Greetings, darling. I see you’ve met our guest over there.” Whumper affectionately pet the top of Whumpee’s head, grinning smugly at Caretaker. 

Caretaker stuttered, their brain scrambled in a gummy clutter of confusion. “I- Whuh… Whumpee..?” 

Whumper cupped their novelty’s face, admiring their docility. “Don’t bother. They haven’t been the ‘Whumpee,’ you speak of, for a long time. Isn’t that right, little one?” Whumpee nodded eagerly, the words seemingly flying right over their head.

“Whatever you say, master.” Whumpee muttered, leaning into the god’s heavenly touch. Their head tilted as Whumper warmly scratched at the skin below their chin. 

Whumper expelled a short exhale of contentment, before meeting Caretaker’s terrified eyes once again. “Such a good one, aren’t they? I do always make a point to let them know that such subservience suits them exceedingly well.” Whumpee sank to their knees, enraptured with the sensation of such glorious itch.

Caretaker, no matter how much he tried, could not move a muscle. The situation was too much for him to handle, too horrifying for his brain to digest.

“What… what did you do to them..?”

Whumper laughed boisterously, the sound practically mocking the human at their feet. “I gave them purpose, dear. To serve at the will of a magnificent god, devoting every fiber of their feeble being to me for the rest of eternity.” Whumpee let out a pleased sigh at the thought.

“N-no, please… not Whumpee.” Tears pricked at Caretaker’s red rimmed eyes. Their lips twisted into a pleading smile. “Take, take me instead! You can do whatever you want to me, just let Whumpee go!”

“Oh, darling, I was already planning on it. Keeping you as well, that is.” Their wicked grin only grew, shaking the human to his core. “The two of us could use another friend, wouldn’t you agree, dear?” They questioned Whumpee.

“Whatever pleases you, master.”

Whumper chuckled at the devoted mumble of their companion, continuing to litter Whumpee with pets and scratches that turned their will to mush. 

“I mean, it’s not like I could even return them, anyways. I have no means of undoing such a clean slate. So no use in getting your hopes up.” 

Before Caretaker could protest, a humongous hand began traveling toward him. Set into a frenzy, he frantically made the attempt to kick himself out of reach. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just look at your friend over there, they’re certainly enjoying it.”

Whumper’s hand soon caught up with the human, beginning a soothing stroke to his hair. Caretaker watched in horror at the way Whumpee mindlessly nuzzled into the touch, all the while wiggling under the god’s touch himself.

The reality of the situation quickly set in, Caretaker’s breaths becoming fast and thin. 

Soon, that would be him. His mind wiped clean, just a toy for the entertainment of an all powerful god, for the rest of eternity. 

It was obvious that Whumper took notice of his distress, their face softening. 

“Don’t worry, little one. You won’t feel a thing.”

Here’s the second one if anyone actually wants to read it…

———————————————————————

The god turned to the door, beckoned by the creak of its centuries old hinges. He eyed his two guests as they entered the room, one in a handsome suit, the other draped in exquisite robes. 

“The procedure has been completed, sir.” The one in the suit said, bowing toward Whumper. The other visitor gracefully stepped closer, then elegantly kneeled before them. 

“Thank you, child.”

“My pleasure, sir.” The servant kept his rigid eyes stuck to the floor as he spoke.

The enormous immortal descended to their own knees, mirroring the tiny human below them. Whumpee watched them with adoring, wide eyes. Cupping the human’s face with ginormous, soft fingers, they carefully adjusted their head. They studied the mortal intently, before expressing a content hum.

“Good, good. A beautiful one, aren’t you? An amazing catch, if I do say so myself.” Their supple grip loosened, transforming to a loop of gentle pets down Whumpee’s head. The countless strings of extravagant jewelry adorning the human jingled with each stroke.

“Thank you, sir.” They replied, giving Whumper a warm smile. They eagerly leaned into the God’s touch, nuzzling against the bliss of their hand. 

“Seems the alterations went perfectly. No more crying and fussing I see.” Whumper grinned, scratching the skin underneath Whumpee’s chin. 

“Definitely sir. They were wiped without issue, I assure you. The perfect mortal for the perfect god.” The servant spoke robotically, with a face devoid of emotion.

“Wonderful work. You may go now.” With a flick of the wrist, they shooed the dull man away. Without another thought, the servant made a quick and obedient exit.

“Now back to you.” Dominantly, the God swiped a finger under Whumpee’s chin, smoothly lifting their gaze to meet Whumper’s.

“How about I ask you a few questions, hm? Double check everything is working correctly?” Whumpee nodded eagerly. “Tell me your name , little one.” 

For a moment, the human’s eyes flickered, a flash of something underneath, which soon faded into assured comfort. “Whatever pleases you, master.” The response was devoted, trained, enticing a small sigh of satisfaction from the god.

“Very good answer. So smart.” Whumper lovingly stroked Whumpee’s glossy hair. “Tell me, what do you remember, my dear?” 

Whumpee pondered for a moment, obediently reaching into the depths of their mind for the correct answer. “I- I remember you, master. How dearly I love my master.” They gazed passionately at the immortal.

“Anything else, love? Any friends? Any family?”

“No, master. Those would simply be insignificant when compared to you.” Whumpee was swiftly rewarded with more heavenly scratches to the neck, eyes fluttering in delight.

“Just marvelous. Only one more question, and then I’ll let you relax.” Whumpee’s eyelids drowsily lifted, a pleased smile still evident on their lips. “Do you understand your role, little one? Your purpose here?”

Whumpee nodded heartily. “Most definitely, master. I am but a novelty, for the enjoyment and company of my master. The rest of my mere, mortal life will be subsequently dedicated to you.” They bowed before the god, resting their forehead to the ground. 

“Absolutely splendid. Your conditioning went just superbly! I must say it suits you.” Whumpee settled upright, heart melting from the praise. “The two of us will have such fun together, I promise you.” They flattened one large hand to the floor, beckoning Whumpee to advance.

The human elegantly neared, delicately placing themself in the palm of Whumper’s hand. Gently, hands wrapped around Whumpee’s frame as they lifted from the ground. 

After a moment of movement, Whumpee was graciously sat in the lap of their master. “Lie down, my dear.”

The mortal did exactly that, draping their tiny frame across the wonderous fabric that covered Whumper’s figure. 

As the god began to routinely sift several dainty fingers through the human’s hair, a continuous wave of pleasure washed over Whumpee with each repetition. Even if they had just been practically reborn, better and new, they were sure they had never felt such bliss in their life. 

Before Whumpee could give a proper thank you for such a sensation, they were silenced by the weight of an enchanting sleep. 

“Good night, little one. Sweet dreams.”

[whumpcloud]

consider: god of life whumper torturing poor mortal whumpee in unimaginable ways to test the limits of mortal life and of their own power and god of death caretaker treating mortal whumpee with care and reverence as they understand how important a life is and would not wish to damage a living being or take a life before its time

[loonybun]

ok screw it oc introduction be upon ye

hi guys this is Rosé!!! I do have an in depth thing regarding his relationship with Adonis (another character of mine) and his whole transformation on my other blog so if you’d like to read that in more detail it’s right here.

CONTAINS: Cults/religion/sacrilege (evangelical nature), religious trauma and guilt, shunning, old timey homophobia and religion-based intersexphobia, historic stuff and some fun facts about the 1920’s, verbal abuse, manipulation, coercion, power dynamic (god and mortal), a really shitty partner and a shitter relationship, body horror, chronic illness, attempted suicide (multiple times multiple methods including overdose), rot and decay of the body, and love potions but for all the wrong reasons.

Rosé, formerly known as Roe Labat, was born in 1898 and raised in an evangelical cult. Ironically enough this has actually nothing to do with the wings and whatnot. That’ll come later. Being both intersex and albino, he was never truly accepted by the people around him. Some were kinder than others, sure, but it was all out of pity. In their eyes, he was already damned to an eternity in hell for the simple sin of existing.

He was a very docile and quiet child, rarely ever stepping out of line regardless of circumstances. He lived inside of the church, as his parents didn’t want responsibility of him. From an early age Roe understood that he was not something worthy of love, as even God had forsaken him. He was cared for out of obligation rather than actual genuine love, having religion almost constantly drilled into him.

When he was 18 (1916), he ran away from the cult’s village. He figured that he’d never make anything out of himself within it, and never be able to prove himself. Roe was also sick of being a burden. He had never been able to make friends due to the constant ostracism, and even though the people he was around changed to be a lot more open-minded, this remained a constant throughout his life. He started living in New Orleans and often frequented various parades and bars. Also he learned that he was queer and that messed him up for a bit. Despite being forsaken, he still tried his best to be a good follower given his circumstances, but the more he learned about the world around him, the looser his faith became.

Roe took an eventual interest in the “pansy performers” (drag queens in the 1920’s), though felt a lot of guilt and shame regarding considering the concept as a career. The more he thought about it though, he realized he didn’t have much else to lose.

He was a natural performer, able to say and do just the right things in just the right ways to provoke a positive reaction from the audience. Considering the more niche community at the time, he never really drew in big crowds, but what he had was enough for him to live off of in a nice 3 room apartment. He was able to afford relatively nice clothes for his performances when they weren’t provided, and quickly became skilled at makeup and wig styling. He also began dying his hair (yes hair dye was a thing in the 1920’s) and using mascara and heavier makeup in order to conceal his albinism, just because it drew some unwanted attention here and there. While he rarely encountered any trouble with the law, he had a few close calls given what he was doing was pretty illegal at the time. homophobia am i right…

Around when he was 24-25, he met “Don”, who claimed to be a cab driver, yet was almost always dressed to the nines in stylish and at times anachronistic clothing. They hit it off very quickly, relating over the strange feeling of being isolated from their peers. They started going out together soon after. It was Roe’s first real relationship, especially with another man, so to say he was a bit nervous would be putting it lightly. Regardless, Don was always very kind to him and patient with him. He was a bit suspicious of Don though since he was always very dodgy about his home life and really any personal details, however he just assumed they came from similar situations. Roe did theorize where his money was coming from and thought him to either be a bootlegger or a member of the mafia, though he never brought it up because in full honesty he didn’t care too much. He was already head over heels and a little illegal activity wouldn’t stop that.

The last thing he was expecting was Don— or rather, Adonis, to claim he was actually a god. And really really wasn’t supposed to be talking with Roe but just couldn’t help himself. Roe was shocked to say the least, and a little incredulous, but Adonis was very quickly able to prove he was telling the truth. Roe, despite having his entire worldview and years of his life shattered by this one man, decided to try and make things work between them. And it did, for a while. The gaps in Adonis’s visits made more sense now, since he couldn’t be away for too long without the other gods getting suspicious. And it was nice to not have secrets. Roe was able to open up to him about his childhood as well, and Adonis provided sympathy for him.

But good things can’t last forever. As time passed, their relationship grew progressively worse. Adonis got upset over increasingly small things, and while Roe understood his perspective and tried to accommodate him, it didn’t mean he was exactly pleased about it. Adonis began to grow concerned over the prospect of something happening to Roe. After all, he was mortal. Frail. Weak.

His solution to this? Well, get rid of the mortality. Roe wasn’t exactly on board with the idea, considering he quite enjoyed being able to perform and live in the city, and accepting Adonis’s offer would make that nearly impossible. Adonis was persistent though, bringing up the idea at any time despite how many times Roe tried to gently shoot it down. Roe eventually grew tired of this cycle and hesitantly accepted. Adonis claimed that this would make things easier— They could see each other more often, they wouldn’t have to hide, the chances of his whole relationship with a mortal being found out by the one person who could end his existence from breaking the rules moved close to 0, no real drawbacks! for him.

this is where the stuff in the post i mentioned earlier comes in. if you’ve already read it, yeah it gets bad. if you haven’t, here’s the brief explanation.

given the fact that mortal bodies aren’t exactly capable of handling literal godly essence, Roe’s body began to decay and break down. At first, it mimicked some sort of disease. His skin became dry and flaky, and his body felt oddly hot and uncomfortable. Painful sensations overtook his body and became almost constant. By the time things started melting and his organs began to fail, he already knew it was too late to reverse any of this. Any hope of continuing his career or life normally vanished completely. Adonis, however, was very happy about this new development! It had worked! yippee! so so much fun. Of course, he obviously remained as sympathetic towards Roe as possible, regardless of any underlying excitement.

Roe became agitated and frustrated because of the amount of pain he was in and how much he had lost. He wasn’t able to leave the house anymore. He began to snap and lash out at Adonis, picking a fight or making a snide remark whenever possible. Adonis hadn’t exactly seen this coming, but he still kept trying to de-escalate things, often in the form of telling Roe that he was acting unreasonable or hysterical (smart move!). Despite all of this, they stayed in their relationship. Roe was too terrified to be alone, knowing that whatever was happening to him would completely destroy any semblance of respect people had for him, and Don because he wanted to see it through.

Their fights got worse until Adonis finally snapped back, calling Roe an “ungrateful cunt” for not appreciating the love and support he’d oh so generously provided. He made it clear to Roe that nobody would recognize him as human anymore. Nobody would love or care about him. He’d be a freak to anyone other than him, so he’d better stop complaining or he’d lose him too.

This got through to Roe, and he stopped shouting. In fact, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. It hurt too much to speak, to move, to breathe. Every step was agony. His body had contorted beyond recognition. Was it even worth it to continue like this? Would this be what the rest of his existence was like? Did he really want to live if it meant being in constant, unbearable agony?

Even if the answer was no, he hardly had much of a choice. He tried more humane methods at first. Overdose, drowning in the bathtub, smashing his head against the wall— Nothing worked. He was still alive. He was still alive. Why was he still alive? Was he alive? Was this what it meant to live?

He got more desperate. Stabbing at his stomach, burning his flesh, only it would only leave little splotchy marks that quickly faded. Or so he thought.

The area around the wound he’d made on his stomach began to rot, eating away at any organs or skin or muscle in its path. Eventually, his entire torso from the bottom of his spine to the top of his pelvis was gone save for his spine and a few bits of spare viscera.

When Adonis returned, he wasn’t happy to see what Roe had tried to do. He became incredibly upset with him for trying to leave the relationship in the only way he possibly could. Still, as long as Roe promised to stop, he’d forgive him. Roe obliged.

The fact that Roe wouldn’t talk to him became a source of frustration for Adonis. It felt intentional, spiteful. And it hurt. Every single question was met with a dulled response, as if he barely heard him. As if he hardly cared. It became a bit like spending time with a rock when he stopped responding all together. No matter what Adonis tried, he couldn’t seem to get Roe to react. It was at that point he realized that both physically and mentally, the person he’d fallen for was gone. Far, far deep down, he knew it was his fault. But still, there was hardly any point in staying. Roe would probably rot there forever, and what good would it do to watch over that?

And so he left. Roe realized that it was permanent maybe only a week or so later. Initially, he blamed himself. If he had put in a little more effort, he could have tried to respond, but the pain was too much to bear… The pain— The pain that had begun to fade now. Maybe a month after Adonis left, Roe began to regain his mobility, his strength, and while he was still in pain, it was no longer unbearable. It seemed more like a dull nagging now. The fog that the loneliness and agony had inflicted upon him began to lift as well, and all of that guilt quickly shifted and simmered into pure hatred.

Hatred that the new immortal would begin to inflict upon the world and the ones surrounding it. That would continue to build for years with only the set goal of revenge against the man that had wronged him. And while it cooled over time into a tepid resentment, it never truly faded. He was able to continue with life, though hardly on the same plane, confining himself to a dimension that only certain desperate souls could access. Souls desperate to save their relationships, souls desperate to have their so-called beloveds fall for them, wretched, vile souls. And he’d help them regardless. After all, what’s a worse offense to a love god than bastardizing the craft? Who cares if a few… Hundred lives get ruined? It’s fun to watch. It’s not his turn to suffer anymore. And he won’t be made a victim again.

ANYWAYS more extra info i DONT think i put on the other post but dont rlly wanna check:

Adonis is the god of Lust, Beauty, and Vanity

Roe took on his stage name Rosé after his transformation to distance himself from his past

Rosé has been collecting magic. For what purpose? Let’s not worry about that.

Rosé has the abilities to siphon magic and the life force from people. He doesn’t do this often unless something catches his eye that he wants to harness. It does mean he’s incredibly powerful though.

Rosé’s main abilities he gained directly from Adonis’s essence or whatever include being able to alter the emotions of others (he can force people to think certain ways and even do certain things), pocket dimension stuff, and object conjuring.

Rosé has a lot of side hobbies but his favorite is cooking. He really likes savory dishes, but he also likes sweet things.

Rosé is able to travel between different dimensions and such, and only exists as a “god” in (this) one.

Rosé has built up a reputation among a lot of magical creatures. None of them are quite sure what he is or how he seems to defy certain laws of existence but most see him as a relatively trustworthy supplier for love potions.

Every so often Rosé gets bored and chooses to single people out to mess with. Maybe he should stop doing that.

Rosé is VERY prone to breakdowns, and while he’s mostly able to stay professional, if someone’s around him for a prolonged period of time and something causes him to spiral he regresses into an incredibly different and much more desperate person.

Rosé (name aside) considers himself a liquor connoisseur (RED FLA) and does collect rare alcohols. he does have a tendency to drink heavily but considering his body can’t really process food or drinks it sort of just magically disappears. he is a talkative and very mopey drunk though. like will start full on venting about his life story.

He’s friends with Aisling!!! Friends is a very strong word!!!! Maybe the wrong word!!! But they they hang out sometimes and Aisling seems to enjoy his company a lot even if he can’t really understand why he keeps coming back if not out of fear or trying to use him so he keeps his distance. Aisling is honestly just worried about him and has sort of been able to slowly break down that Rosé maybe isn’t as absolutely terrifying as he first thought and is indeed just very. very lonely and maybe even a bit pathetic

[painonthebrain]

Cheers!

Whumptober Day 14: [Alt. prompt] - Venom

Content: Venom, alcohol, immortal whumper, implied murder

Whumper likes to keep bottles of venom on their shelves.

They have an endless variety, sourced from every kind of creature, from snake venom to spider venom, all translucent and hidden away inside inconspicuous glasses.

The bottle of organic white wine is actually filled to the brim with venom that will kill the drinker within a minute, mixed with the finest locally-made white wine Whumper can buy. The bottle of Texan tequila holds nothing but snake venom and liquor, crystal-clear. They have a half-filled glass of brandy with a dash of spider venom.

Light from outside seeps in as Whumper opens the door to the liquor cabinet, glinting across the many glasses.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Oh, take your pick — surprise me!”

“Sure thing.” Whumper answers. Something light to drink, then. Whumper takes out a long-necked bottle filled with light, golden liquid, studying it. Richmond’s, it says on the label.

Such a fine brand.

They pour themself and their guest a glass, then walk back to the table, setting them at each place.

Whumper sits back, giving their guest a small, courteous smile.

They pick up the glass, holding it towards the center of the table, and their guest follows suit. The glasses clink, and Whumper offers a polite “Cheers,” and takes a sip. The alcohol tastes sweet and light, with a pop of berries and a twist of lemon.

… And the sharp, cloying taste of spider venom.

Whumper savors the taste.

Wonderful.

[abhainnwhump]

IMYM Chapter 29: For Our Future: Nightmare

(Content warnings: Domestic abuse, lab whump, brief mention of suicidal ideation. I feel like I should have this tagged as something else but I don't know what.)

<- Previous Chapter || Masterlist || Next Chapter ->

“I see . . .” Nightmare copied the address down from the letter in his hand. He spoke to no one but himself. He wrote a list with his quill pen. “Perfect.”

He finished the reservations for his and Ribbon’s wedding. The venue would take place at an old chapel in Mafiatale. He toured the place recently to make sure everything was as expected, and it was. Ribbon liked it too, though he liked anything he did. The list was almost complete. Outfits, reception, catering, cake, photographers, florists, the guests, the vows, and the honeymoon. He even hired extra guards. Nightmare didn’t want to risk his bride getting hurt or abducted. He couldn’t have anything go wrong on this day, his wedding needed to be perfect. Nightmare wasn’t interested in battle on his special day, especially for as much work as it was to set it up. Speaking of . . .

Nightmare looked around and tried to sense Ribbon’s aura. He couldn’t find him. Nightmare stood up and left his office. He couldn’t help his apprehensive building. The dark king walked until he felt a nervous aura. It was difficult to believe that wasn’t Ribbon. Not even Error’s uneasiness was this extreme and he had been torturing him for over two months.

He followed the aura until he walked to the entrance of the castle and opened one of the massive doors. Nightmare looked down. Ribbon sat on the front steps of the castle. His chin rested on his palm as he stared into the distance, ignoring his fiancé behind him. His aura was a mix of emotions, dominated by anxiety. His other hand played with the skirt of his dress.

Nightmare sat next to him. His tendril rested on his hand and squeezed and Ribbon jumped. Nightmare smiled. “It’s just me, no need to panic. Is something bothering you?”

Ribbon pulled his string and rubbed the charm. “Um, no. I’m okay, Nighty! I’m just a little sleepy . . .” Chuckling, he blushed and looked away. His permanent smile looked tense.

“No lying to me Ribbon, you know that’s against the rules. And did you forget I could read emotions? I know you are dim-witted, but you’re not that dim-witted.” Nightmare pulled Ribbon closer to him, pushing his head onto his shoulder. He put one finger on his chin and made him look up. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I don’t like seeing you this upset.”

Ribbon bit his lower jaw and looked up with his soft lilac eyes. “Promise you won’t get angry?”

“Depends if it will make me angry, I doubt it will.”

“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure . . .”

Nightmare sighed. “I promise I won’t be angry at you. Now tell me what’s bothering you. That’s an order.”

Ribbon rubbed his arms. “I’m scared. I have wedding jitters. I want to get married to you, I do! But I don’t know. Marriage is a big thing and before I met you, it’s something I never planned to do. What if I mess up? What if you don’t like me as your wife? You deserve a perfect wedding and if I start stumbling over the vows or trip in the aisle-”

Nightmare raised his right hand. He worried Ribbon wanted to back out, which if he did, Nightmare would never allow. His tendrils stroked Ribbon’s leg as he moved closer to him. “Ribbon, nervousness is a normal thing to feel and I’m not mad at you for it. If someone mocks you or hurts you, they’ll lose their hands. I know how shy you are, it’s one of the things I love about you. The only monster you will have to talk to is the officiator, you can stay silent for the whole reception. All you would have to do is smile and look adorable. And I have an exceptional plan for the honeymoon. But I won’t tell you, it’s a surprise.”

The doll beamed. Nightmare planned to take Ribbon on a week-long cruise. No stress, no work, just the two of them spending time with each other. He’d take a hiatus from his multiversal destruction. He looked forward to having Ribbon in general, it felt . . . special, important.

Nightmare caressed his face with his hand. “If it will ease your anxiety, remember that you don’t have to make any of the difficult choices. I will choose your wedding dress and veil, I will tell you what to say, and all you will need to do is listen. You made some excellent choices. I knew you would pick out something beautiful.”

“You thought it was beautiful? I- um, thank you! I don’t have many ideas right now, but I’ll think of something! I’ll make it pretty for you.” Ribbon nuzzled up to Nightmare. He held him close, rubbing his shoulder.

Nightmare took Ribbon’s hand and held it out in this. He touched his ring with his fingertips. Ribbon cuddled closer and Nightmare kissed his head.

“Have you thought about kids yet? I don’t mind them, I’ll . . . I’ll do it if you want me to.”

Nightmare pondered it. He hasn’t considered children. He practically had three with Killer, Horror, and Dust. He imagined Ribbon against an oak tree, laughing with a little skeleton. It would leave him with a true heir. As an immortal, Nightmare didn’t believe he would ever leave the throne. But the idea of having a successor, whether a prince or a princess, did interest him. It would make him look more powerful. “I would like a baby, at least one. It’s a simple spell, we have to combine our magic and willpower to summon a soul and take care of it. You would be an excellent mother, my little doll. A child of two guardians . . . it’s never been done before. Hm, creativity and negativity would be interesting concepts to mix . . .”

Ribbon’s aura darkened and his voice lightened. “Um . . . Nighmare? Do you have to be a guardian to be immortal?”

“No, but why do you ask? You are a guardian, albeit only partially. Unless . . .” Nightmare’s tendrils tensed up, curling. “Ribbon . . . what did you do? Tell me now.”

Ribbon rubbed his hands together. “Um . . . I was talking with Error again and he was nicer! He let me pet him! But he was also mad at me. Before you took him, uh, I broke this big sphere. It was like, six or seven months ago? Error said it would’ve my guardian powers in it and he couldn’t read the code in it.”

“I’m sorry, what did you do?”

“I didn’t know, I’m sorry! It scared me! It made me think bad thoughts and I panicked! I didn't tell you because I was scared of punishment and I didn't realize it was that bad.”

Nightmare’s soul beat faster. If Ribbon destroyed his guardianship, that made him a mortal. His time was limited. Nightmare didn’t know how long that period was. The Lord of Negativity struck Ribbon across the face.

Ribbon rubbed his cheek. “You- you promised you wouldn’t be a- angry.”

“The promise was only about telling me your fears. I don’t count this as part of it.”

“But-”

“No buts, I don’t know what has gotten into you today. You hid crucial information from me, and now you’re talking back? You know how to be good, act like it. Do you realize you ruined my entire plan for us?”

Ribbon lowered his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You’re right, I should’ve told you. I was a stupid, stupid little doll. Please don’t call off the wedding!”

Nightmare tapped three fingers together and Ribbon switched to being on his knees. Nightmare couldn’t help but feel bad. The doll’s big teary eyes and trembling stance beneath him softened his soul. Nightmare pat him on the head with a tendril.

“I said nothing about calling off the wedding. You’re fine. But if you ever hide something like this again, I will punish you much harsher.”

Ribbon nodded quickly. “Thank you, Nighty. I'm sorry for making you mad . . ." He smiled up at him. “Can I go on a walk in the garden? Please?”

“Don’t get your dress dirty, don’t hurt yourself, and be back in an hour, no later.” Nightmare stood up. Ribbon’s reveal tore at him, no matter how much he tried to say otherwise. If it was anyone else, even another romantic partner, he wouldn’t care. No one would be or would ever be the same as Ribbon. A redrawing of someone else’s art would never be the same, and was often inferior. Nightmare considered all of this as he walked to his office. He sat down and set his head on his hands as he considered this.

Ribbon was running out of time.

The concept haunted Nightmare. The idea of his perfect, helpless partner dying within years while he lived for eternity. He had come to terms with it happening to the Murder Time Trio. As much as he cared for them, they were always mortal, they were always going to die. But Ribbon . . . he was supposed to be immortal like him. Nightmare imagined him having to hold Ribbon’s hand and watch him die.

The logical part of his mind understood he had little to fear. The doll body had to keep him alive longer, yet he was uncertain. The surgery was so experimental that he wasn’t sure if it could be out one day. Artificial body parts stopped working as soon as the person died, so Ribbon must be the same. Yet the paranoia wouldn’t fade. How long did Ribbon have to live? It could have been anywhere from days to decades. Nightmare clenched his fists. He despised not having an answer and he hated not having control.

Nightmare clutched his skull with his tightened fist and shook. The fuzzy feeling in his spine and soul became unbearable. His tendrils lashed out behind him, wrapping around whatever was close by. Sludge dripped and leaked down his body. His arms felt numb yet full of energy. Everything burned with the strange pain he couldn’t put a finger on. He couldn’t think. All he felt was pain and the burning need to protect.

“Boss?” Horror’s voice sounded farther away than it was. “I heard . . . something crash.”

Nightmare didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. He looked down and realized he shattered his quill ink glass. Black liquid spread across the floor like the blood his torture victims would be drenched in. The same color as Ink’s blood.

Horror ended up checking the other side of the desk. He was at least a little surprised to see his boss so tense. He grabbed Nightmare’s shirt collar with his massive hand and pulled him up. It helped Nightmare snap out of his trance. “You . . . alright?”

Nightmare took a deep breath to calm himself and clear his head. “I’m- no, I’m not. Help me up and check my soul for signs of damage.”

Horror looked confused but followed the order. He lifted Nightmare with ease. “Uh, something’s wrong.”

Nightmare looked down at his black apple soul. An aura of pink magic floated around the apple. He knew what it meant, yet it's never happened before. If a soul overloads on emotion, it would begin to glow. Nightmare's soul burned with desire and euphoric love. Whatever these strange emotions were, it was all for Ribbon. It was killing him. A thought came to mind. Nightmare opened his top left drawer and removed a black compact. As he expected, he had heart-shaped eye light. His eye twitched as he thought about Ribbon.

Horror's breathing became more audible. “I’m . . . not that good with emotions but . . . I think you're overwhelmed, boss.”

Nightmare snapped the compact closed. “Elaborate.”

Horror took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I'm guessing . . . this is 'bout Ribbon. You're only like this . . . with him, whenever it's 'bout him. You . . love Ribbon. I don't know why . . . you're ticked, what he did, but . . . it's making you act weird. We did this for the . . . multiverse. We have to . . . stick to that first, we're close."

“Wait . . . that’s it,” Nightmare gasped, the pieces clicking together. A vision of Error flashed through his mind. “I’ll take advantage of what I have. Horror, keep Ribbon distracted for a few hours. He’s in the gardens, I’m assuming by the roses, he adores those. Play with him, understand?”

Horror looked confused and skeptical, but he obeyed his boss. As soon as he left. Nightmare wasted no time. He pictured the book page in his mind and went to the castle library.

Nightmare went to the spell book section and his tendrils pulled books off the shelves. He flipped through five texts at once, trying to find the right one. He read every spell book in this library, he knew it existed. It took several books before he found it. The book had no title, no author, only a caduceus with a skull on the top. Nightmare grinned, checking the table of contents before flipping to the correct spell. The one that would ensure his teddy bear would never die in his arms.

Seelen-Reset

This is one of the highest-risk and most difficult spells in this book, yet most effective. Only the most powerful souls can perform it. Seelen-Reset empties a soul and it’s memories, experiences, and any modifications. The only pieces will be core magic skills and remaining lifespan, including immortality. Unlike Memoria Alteration (see pg. 124), it overwrites a soul’s entire history instead of a single event. It is also far more dangerous; the spell has a 75:25 ratio of failure. The soul can be transferred to another body with this spell without the identity taking over. This spell can treat monsters with souls damaged beyond repair. However, it will cost the life of the former soul owner. Their body will melt and die. It is unknown if these monsters will reach the afterlife.

Seelen-Reset can be cast in two ways. The first is to use a verbal curse, the second is to create a tonic. The recipe is on the following page. The tonic works soonest when shot with a syringe to the soul, yet drinking it will also work. The injection takes three minutes to go into effect and drinking will take twenty. The verbal curse makes the removal less painful for the previous owner. Rather, the tonic is easier to create as long as you have the correct ingredients. The final step for either method is for the new user to wear a blood ruby.

Once cast, it is impossible to reverse. I have yet to find a remedy. The victim may become defensive as a part of their subconscious knows something is wrong. Other side effects may include headaches, fatigue, confusion, codependency, paranoia, and migraines. If the spell fails, the victim could experience paralysis, loss of cognitive skills, and madness. The key signs of failure are incoherent mumbling, glazed eyes, persistent confusion, and lack of response to stimuli. The only way to cure them is to dust them.

If the spell succeeds, give them time to adjust to their new soul and offer painkillers if necessary. Keep them away from stressful situations or bright lights to prevent more migraines. Hypnotherapy has also helped speed up the healing process.

To perform the verbal spell, follow the scribe below. To create the tonic, follow the recipe under it.

Nightmare had cast this spell only once, two hundred and eleven years ago. He attempted to use a soul to heal one of his allies. But his magic fell short and it cost him to go insane. The tonic recipe under the words seemed safer, he was only missing one ingredient, the blood ruby. He knew he could find those easily in Moltontale, they grew like dandelions if you knew where to look. Knowing this would protect his beloved Ribbon soothed the feeling in his soul.

But it still wasn’t enough.

Nightmare speed-walked to his office, analyzing the spell and planning the ingredients. His mind raced as he read and couldn’t help but read some of the others. Due to Ribbon’s help in corrupting AUs, he grew twice as powerful as he was without him. Another reason he must keep him safe and close.

Nightmare entered the medical room and stepped into a smaller space. Dust enjoyed working in this section; it was full of magic plants and chemicals. Dozens of AUs made up the collection. Nightmare laid the spell book down and pulled out a beaker. He filled it up with hot water and gathered the needed ingredients.

Glancing out the window, Horror, Killer, and Ribbon walked through the garden. Nightmare pressed his mouth into a hard line. He knew he shouldn't feel jealous over such a frivolous thing, Ribbon loved him and only him. But the way Ribbon smiled and awed when Killer put on his theatrics . . . Nightmare's mind spiraled, twisting deeper into the dark abyss it already was. Ribbon belonged to him, not them.

Once he finished the potion, he needed to choose a soul to take. Obviously, he would take Error's. His soul was the safest and most stable out of the three guardians remaining. Core's soul was scattered across space and time. Nightmare couldn't even infect it with his parasite, his magic needed a soul to latch onto. Dream's soul was the highest quality, but it meant Ribbon would always suffer. It wasn't worth giving up the multiversal control for something like this. Error's soul was a glitching mess, but he knew the glitches would lighten when he was injected.

In any other circumstance, he would be against sacrificing Error. He was a powerful ally who served him through times of need, even if he was never on his team. But Error betrayed him the moment he tried to steal his doll.He deserved his death. Nightmare picked the petals off a dried eclipse rose.It was a rare plant but now was a worthy use. Ribbon's life was almost worth the multiverse.

Nightmare paused as he regarded it. What if the tonic failed and it drove Ribbon insane? Nightmare's hands switched to fists and he smiled. He could always retrain Ribbon. Yes, he could go through the conditioning process all over again. It didn't matter if the doll was in pain as long as he was the one doing it. It meant he had the power. All Nightmare cared about was having Ribbon alive and having him here, no matter the risk.

Nightmare had his attention only focused on the potion. However, he did spot Dust from the corner of his eye light, wrapping his palm with bandages. Nightmare considered if he should hide this, but he decided against this. One of them would have to wonder where such a crucial soul like Error went to. He forced himself to calm down. “Dust, is there something you need?”

The murderer jumped and looked into the room. It was lit by nothing but Nightmare's eye light and a single candle. “Yeah . . . I was gettin’ some rubbin’ alcohol and bandages because I sliced my hand open. I got a knife through it. What are you makin'?”

“Something for Ribbon. He lied to me, so I'm going to fix him."

“Boss . . . he can't get sick.” Dust hovered the book over with his telekinesis. "Forbidden magic, why am I not surprised this is for Ribbon."

“It's necessary. I would appreciate your help. I need you to measure and cut the rest of those plants. If he does, then I will deal with him.”

Dust read it over and looked at Nightmare from the corner of his gaze. "Oh."

Nightmare expected Dust to argue or call him insane, but he went along with it. It wasn't the most illegal experiment he had ever done on Ribbon. Nightmare remembered how he first discovered Dust's passion for science and experiments. Only three weeks after he brought him to the castle, Nightmare caught Dust tinkering with beakers. The murderer revealed he was making poisonous bullets for his pistols. Nightmare believed it to be ludicrous. But to his surprise, they worked on his targets, and quite well. He assumed Dust learned from the years he spent alone in his AU. His silent nature was also appreciated. Nightmare was proud of Dust. Someone who once wanted to throw himself off a cliff changed into one of his most useful servants. Ribbon never would be who he is if it wasn't for him.

When the final leaf was added, the tonic bubbled and glowed with red and white streaks. Nightmare switched the liquid into a syringe, pattting Dust on the shoulder with his tendril. Dust sighed. "Thank you for your help, Dust. But I will need to do this last part alone. I need to think."

"I saw that part on the bottom, I know. Fine. I'm staying here so I can finish what I started." Dust said. He picked up his bandages and finished wrapping his half-healed hand. Nightmare ignored him. He picked up the syringe in one tendril and the spell book in another. Nightmare's head pounded. He almost shattered the tonic from sheer strength and emotion. He feared his death if he waited too long. All he wanted now was a damn answer to Ribbon's lifespan question.

Nightmare only had one piece left of the spell to complete, then he could inject Error. He focused his energy on the syringe and summoned magic from the pits of his black soul. His fingertips glowed dark gray with streaks of blue. Streaks of pink mixed in and shot his finger toward the syringe.

The magic flowed from both hands with ease. The tonic glowed a bright blue and Nightmare could’ve sworn he heard a crash of lightning, despite the lack of rain. The light faded until the syringe was its normal color. Only the touch was an obvious change; it was far colder.

Nightmare clutched his chest in pain. His soul beat faster; the pink aura glowed brighter. The complicated spell drained his energy. His eye socket fluttered and he fell unconscious on the office floor.

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

“Nightlight? Are you okay? Please be okay . . .”

Nightmare opened his eye, looking around his bedroom. His coat and shoes were missing and he was tucked under the covers. Ribbon looked down at him with a worried expression, which was adorable with his frozen smile. Nightmare sat up. “Ah, Ribbon. Yes, I’m okay. Could you tell me what happened? I’m afraid it’s a blur.”

Ribbon lay against him and nuzzled by his side. “I went to check on you a few hours ago to see if you were still mad because you were in there for a while. I walked into your office and you fainted on the floor! I used some of my paint to help carry you here, I'm too weak to carry you. You also had a book half-opened on the ground so I put it back on your desk. Oh! And I made you some tea. Lavender is your favorite, right?”

“Right.” Relieved Ribbon couldn’t read, Nightmare lifted the cup from the nightstand and took a sip. He gave him a head pat. “A tad lukewarm, but it tastes perfect. Thank you.”

Ribbon sighed in relief. His ring glinted as he wiped his porcelain cheek. Nightmare touched that hand, giving it a light squeeze. He looked up at him. His face had sparkling pieces of dried resin, his tears.

“Have you been crying?”

Ribbon looked ashamed. “I . . . I wasn’t sure if you were going to wake up. I tried shaking you and calling your name but it didn’t work! You were barely breathing and were dripping a lot of goop.”

“Aw, my little lamb. Come here.” Nightmare opened his arms and Ribbon crawled in. He rested his skull on his chest. Nightmare scratched where his ear would be, listening to the clockwork in his head. A steady creaking. It didn’t matter if he overreacted, the curse was already cast. Ribbon wouldn't die unless Nightmare gave the command, which would never happen.

Ribbon relaxed and peeked up at the Lord of Negativity. “Are you still mad at me for lying?”

“No, I'm not. I found a solution to your mistake. I'll tell you when the time is ready." He traced a finger down his chin. "You would never try to leave me correct? Leave me for . . . someone else?"

Ribbon shook his head. “I'd never leave you! Where else would I go? I'm too dumb and weak to survive on my own and most of the multiverse wants me dead. I need you!" He clung to Nightmare's arm.

Nightmare kissed him on the skull again. Nightmare tapped his fingers together and Ribbon went limp. He set him on the bed and cuddled him, taking in every part of his body. His tendrils tickled his neck and Ribbon burst into giggles. Nightmare smiled. His happiness was the only positivity he could tolerate. No, not just tolerate. Adore. Crave. He couldn’t get enough of the strange feelings Ribbon gave him. It made him feel fulfilled and happy, more than any amount of negativity could give him. He couldn’t imagine living without it.

Holding Ribbon relieved the aches and pains in his soul. He was here and no one could lay their hands on him. Dream couldn’t lay his hands on him. No one would take his source of positivity away. Not even death.

Nightmare stopped cuddling him and sat up, still holding Ribbon in his arms. He stood up and helped him off the bed. "Come on, let's fetch the Murder Time trio. I have a mission we need to begin."

"Ooh, a mission? Okay!" Ribbon bounced. "I'll grab Blossom!"

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

Moltontale was a difficult AU to traverse and take over. The ground was made of scorching rock and obsidian. The monsters were all made of fire or fire-proof flesh. Gaster Blasters were useless here, the hot magic beams were useless.

Nightmare stormed through Moltontale, spreading negativity and corruption wherever he stepped. He used his tendrils to move faster, gliding across the hot terrain. One of the tendrils carried Ribbon, Nightmare refused to let him be on his own. Killer, Horror, and Dust fought and murdered.

Nightmare searched one of the massive caves he found. Ribbon looked around from the tendril he stayed in. The rubies had a distinct glow that was almost pink. Ribbon helped look around, narrowing his eyes to see better. Nightmare ended up staring at him longer than he searched for the rubies. This would be Ribbon's final mission, he couldn't put him in more danger or risk. He would always stay inside the castle unless Nightmare needed him for business or singing.

Bright orange lava lit up the pure black caves. Nightmare took advantage of the light to find the gems. Ribbon began to squirm in his tendrils and pointed to the left. "Night! Is that what you're looking for?"

Nightmare turned around and spotted the gems. He was tied up in a snowbank and shivering in thin clothes. Nightmare pulled a small chisel from his coat pocket and stabbed it into the rocks. The gem gleamed with the same color as fresh blood, hence the name.

The lava began to turn into a mix of black, teal, and purple malice. The air turned colder, the negative aura of the AU grew. Nightmare let Ribbon go. Ribbon looked at the gem in awe. "Ooh, it's so pretty! What is this for anyways?"

"It's for you, my sweet little doll. I have it all under control." Nightmare's eye glinted with a mad light. All he needed now was to inject Error and everything would be according to plan.

[whumpshaped]

"The fact that they've been here for centuries doesn't mean they can't disappear in a second."

[sleepyiswhumping]

OC & Story Intro - Ward and Lee

Edward "Ward" Bishop.

Also known as "Ed" or "Eddie" if you're a friend, is an older, rich man with a metric fuckton of money. He lives on an incredibly large property in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee. Eddie's extremely isolated from his nearest neighbours, whose properties each start another two miles away from the edges of his. Even the driveway is quite a ways away from the main road. His house is a proper massive, two-story house where he regularly hosts guests; older, rich men and their wives. Cigars, alcohol, poker, billiards and resting in front of but not entering the pool in the backyard while the televisions blare Fox and CBS are all commonplace at Eddie's estate. He also frequents a local country club, at which he smokes cigars and plays golf with his buddies.

However, he has a dark secret: Eddie is also immortal but needs to consume human flesh to survive. His curse of immortality has also afflicted him with dark urges that he struggles to control. He's lost count of the lives he's taken over the three and a half centuries he's been alive but knows it is far too many. He wants to live a life of luxury, worry-free, not one of murder and depravity, fraught with risk and danger.

Tanner-Riley "Lee" Callaghan.

Tanner-Riley (but his friends called him Lee) has had it tough. An abusive father who is now missing and a violent, alcoholic mother whose only contribution to his life was giving birth to him made his childhood tough, as was the incessant bullying. But Lee managed to persevere, always healing from the scrapes and scuffles he got into with the bullies, nice and quick, and his father's brutality was never quite fatal. He always seemed to bounce back overnight, which was good, because his parents didn't want to take him to the hospital.

After his father’s disappearance when he was 17 his mother only grew worse, with a shorter temper and a larger propensity for violence. Fed up with the incessant abuse, Lee left the day he turned 18, and never looked back. Now almost 19, he hasn’t regretted his decision for a moment, despite the hardships he’s had to face. Anything is preferable to being at home, even if that means being homeless in the middle of winter in a state he’s never been to before.

The Beginning.

Or maybe not. The hunger pangs are really getting to Lee, and the constant sickness from the cold and rain isn’t helping the situation one bit. When Eddie and Lee’s paths cross, they both see an opportunity. Lee doesn’t know where his next meal and warm night will come from but thinks he can get one out of Eddie. Eddie hasn’t eaten in a week and is getting desperate. Desperate enough to let this homeless kid get into his car and come home with him, in public. He hopes no one notices. Little do either of them know, both of their lives are about to change permanently, and not necessarily for the better.

[whumpy-wyrms]

Blood Runs Cold #2: You Poor Thing

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content: captivity, cold whump, starvation, dehydration, begging, strangulation, mind control, blood drinking, non permanent death, defiant immortal whumpee, creepy vampire whumper

IT’S BACK!!! finally gonna start writing this series again, sorry for the long wait!!

— 

Aspen slowly opened his eyes, and once again, the first thing he noticed was how cold he was. But unlike being trapped in a thin metal freezer, Aspen was laying on a small mattress.

He curled into himself, shivering violently. After realizing there were no blankets to keep him warm, he sat up, but immediately felt the dizziness hit him. He groaned in pain, his head pounding and his body aching from his last death. His last death.

Everything that had happened the last day came flooding back to him like a punch to the gut.

He died. Twice— no, three times, apparently, though he didn’t remember the first time—

And he came back.

It hurt to think about— what any of this could possibly mean. Nobody could just die and come back to life! …But here he was. Alive and well. Aspen almost thought it could all have been one bad dream, if not for the dull pain in his neck. He traced his fingers over his throat, and felt two small scars from where the vampire had drank from. The vampire.

That thing was what had killed him- bit into him- tore him apart. And it said it would do it again. Aspen had to get out of here. He couldn’t stand the thought of being around that monster again, he couldn’t.

He took a deep breath and decided to start looking around the room he found himself in, though that didn’t help much since all around him was complete darkness, not a window or flicker of light in sight. The mattress beneath him felt rough and grimey; it definitely hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. Aspen put his hand to the wall to steady himself as he stood, feeling the chill and cracks of the cement on his fingertips.

He took a step, but heard a rattle of metal coming from the floor. He took another step, feeling a heavy weight and cold chill on his left ankle and he realized that he was chained to the wall. Shit.

Aspen tugged on the chain a bit, to no use. So he started walking anyway, wanting to see the furthest he could go. He walked around the room and held his hands out in front of him, trying to see if he could feel anything in the darkness. He eventually found a staircase, but could only get a few steps up until he reached the farthest the chain would allow him. He went around the other side of the room and felt a small drain in the concrete floor. Startled by the new texture under his bare feet, he jumped away, the chain pulling taut on his ankle and causing him to trip and scrape his knees on the concrete. He staggered up and collapsed back on the mattress in defeat.

And that was it. Nothing else in the room offered him much help, and he was stuck waiting in horrible anticipation. It was hopeless; there was no way out of here and he was going to be hurt by that vampire again.

He shook those thoughts away and decided to be smart about this. Sure, Aspen couldn’t actually die— for some reason— but vampires could. All he had to do was find… what was it? Silver? A wooden stake? Aspen never really had been too interested in vampires; he was more of a werewolf type of guy. And he didn’t even know they were real until now, whatever he’d heard about them in the past might not even be true. But nonetheless, he’d find a way to kill that bastard and reunite with Lyle again- wherever she was. He wouldn’t just give up.

. . .

Aspen didn’t know how long it had been since he’d woken up, or how long he had been waiting in the dark, laying curled up on that mattress. He realized soon enough that he was hungry; he hadn’t eaten in who knows how long, and definitely hadn’t drank any water. Oddly enough, he didn’t have to go to the bathroom. After all those deaths, he probably had nothing left in his system.

He also realized, after hours of laying on that mattress with nothing but his anxious thoughts, that the vampire hadn’t given him his glasses. It wasn’t like he needed them in this dark, but he still could hardly see normally without them. He also hadn’t given him his chest binder. He was just wearing his jeans and hoodie, not even a shirt underneath! That asshole. He didn’t know whether it was to humiliate him, give him less warmth, or both, or some other reason, but Aspen had never felt so vulnerable and defenseless.

The vampire had broken his phone, so he obviously couldn’t use that to call for help. Like the corpse that he was, he had nothing. Absolutely nothing that could help him. The only thing he could do was wait.

And after what felt like forever of waiting, stomach aching with unbearable hunger, Aspen heard the thud of footsteps coming from the ceiling above him. They walked slowly until they stopped by the stairs. The click of a lock echoed through the basement, and light finally flooded into the place.

Aspen sat up on the mattress, heart thumping rapidly through his chest as he stared ahead.

Finally, the vampire was back.

The vampire walked down the stairs, taking slow, deliberate steps that echoed in the silence. His wavy black hair fell down in his ghostly pale face. He wore a dark red dress shirt, the first few buttons undone, and a black suit coat hanging messily over his shoulders. Aspen gulped and hugged his knees to his chest, noticing the blood-red eyes peeking through the strands of hair and staring directly at him.

His captor reached the bottom of the stairs and stared down at Aspen, watching him tremble in fear.

“Hello, little corpse,” the vampire said, his voice sending a shiver down his spine.

Despite Aspen having so many things he wanted to say and ask— like let me go, I’m hungry, don’t hurt me— his words went dry in his throat. He felt acutely aware of his position; held captive, frozen in place under the vampire’s intense gaze, afraid that any movement or noise would cause the vampire to pounce and tear him apart again.

“What? Got nothing to say?” The vampire hummed, tilting his head.

Aspen swallowed and tore his eyes away from his captor, deciding to get a look around the now visible room.

The basement was not much larger than he had originally thought. Most of it was empty, but against the left far wall was a large metal table. It was hard to see without his glasses, but squinting his eyes, he could make out various dangerous looking tools and weapons hanging on the wall above it. The sharp blades were all covered in faded, dried blood. Higher on that wall, in the corner by the ceiling, was a small window, boarded up with wood that had looked like it’d been there for ages. Hanging down from the ceiling in the middle of the room were various hooks and chains. Dried blood faintly painted the floor by the drain.

That was it. It looked like everything in this place was just made to cause pain, to hurt him.

He looked back at the tools. They were too far away to get to with the chain around his ankle, but if he could somehow get his hands on them, he could defend himself.

Unless… somebody else got his hands on them first.

His eyes flickered back to the vampire, who had been following his gaze to the wall. He smirked.

Aspen’s heart plummeted.

“I see you’ve noticed my—”

“Don’t hurt me!” Aspen said, body trembling. “Please let me go, I- I—”

“Begging already?” The vampire mused, and started walking closer. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Yet?

“N-no, stay away from me,” Aspen said, backing up against the wall.

“Why would I do that?” His captor walked closer, boots thumping against the concrete. Aspen pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to hide as much of his body as he could, trying to make himself small. The vampire crouched down in front of Aspen and put a hand in his curly hair, gently scritching the top of his head as if he were nothing but a spooked animal. “You’re much cuter up close.”

Aspen trembled under the vampire’s touch, pulling away ever so slightly but being fully backed into the wall, there was nowhere to hide.

“How’re you doin’? You making yourself at home?”

Aspen just stared ahead, mouth agape, words caught in his throat.

“I asked you a question, Aspen,” the vampire hummed in a light tone, though his hand gripped tighter in his hair— a warning.

Aspen swallowed thickly, and said in a quiet, shaky voice, “I-I don’t wanna be here. Let me go.”

“Aw, is it really that bad? I even gave you a mattress and everything.”

Aspen frowned, shivering into his hoodie and wrapping his arms around himself. “It-it’s so- so cold down here. Just let me go.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” the vampire cooed, wiping Aspen’s tears with his thumb. He didn’t even realize he started crying. “I don’t care.”

Aspen sniffled. “I don’t even have my glasses.”

“Oh, of course. You need them to see?” The vampire’s voice was laced in mock sympathy.

Aspen nodded his head, looking up at him through his curls.

“Well, I kinda like it when you look all disoriented and confused. I might just keep you like this forever.”

Aspen’s heart dropped, his despair plastered all over his face. “Why are you doing this?”

“Aw, did you forget already? You exist only for me to drink that delectable blood of yours. You’re nothing but my food. You’re mine. I can do whatever I want to you.”

“B-but- but…” He was speechless. As he struggled to come up with something to say while his captor played with his hair, he saw the vampire’s eyes light up, smiling that horrible grin that showed his deathly sharp fangs.

“Oh, you’re going to be so much fun to break.”

“W-what?” He squeaked.

“We’re going to have so much fun together, Aspen. Just you and I. It’s been so long since I’ve had a human of my own, this place hasn’t had much use in ages, but not anymore. And since you can’t die permanently, I won’t ever have to hold back.”

The vampire’s gaze wandered back to the tools hanging from the wall and the chains hanging from the ceiling. Horrible visions racked Aspen’s mind. Visions of pain. Of agony. Torture. Death. It hadn’t happened to him yet, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it. He couldn’t do it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stifle a sob. The vampire was too close. It and its fangs and claws were too close and it was touching him and he didn’t want to be here and why wouldn’t it just let him go?

“Open your eyes, Aspen,” the vampire said in a sing-song tone.

“Huh?” Aspen opened his eyes.

“I like to see the fear in my prey’s eyes as I feed. Makes the blood all the more intoxicating.”

“F-Feed?”

“Did I bash your skull in a little too hard last time?” Silas flicked Aspen’s head roughly with his finger. “Every night I am going to feed from you. And every morning, you will come back to life fully healed and regenerating more blood. The process will repeat itself. It’s simple. No more questions.”

“But I don’t- I don’t want this. I wanna go h-home.” He looked up at the vampire through his curly hair with tears in his wide, terrified eyes. His lips wobbled as he spoke so quietly that it was barely a whisper. “Please.”

“Oh, Aspen. You still think you have a choice. You’re so cute, it’s unbearable. It makes me just want to squeeze the life out of you.” The vampire thought to himself for a moment, before a mischievous grin crossed his face. “And I guess… I can do that, can’t I.” It was more of an observation to himself than a question.

“N-no.”

“Oh, I will.” The vampire broke out into a wide, maniacal grin, fangs looking sharper than ever. “Whenever the fuck I want to. How about now?”

Before Aspen could say anything, the vampire pounced. Inhumanly strong hands wrapped around his neck and shoved him against the wall. His nails dug into Aspen’s delicate skin, causing blood to drip down his throat.

“Ow!” Aspen gasped. “Stop- stop stop stop- please stop.”

The vampire suddenly squeezed his hands tighter around Aspen’s throat, crushing his windpipe. Aspen gasped for breath, but could no longer get any air.

“L-et g-o,” Aspen choked out, a whimper soon broken by his lack of oxygen.

He clawed at his neck, at the vampire’s hands tightening his grip on him, at the blood spilling from the small cuts, desperately doing all he could to get air. But his captor’s hands didn’t budge, they only pressed down harder on his throat.

Aspen’s mouth opened and closed, trying and failing to suck air back into his lungs. He tried to plead, to beg, but no sound came out. Dark spots filled his vision as his lungs screamed for air.

The vampire leaned in and started drinking the blood trickling down his skin. Aspen felt his hands squeezing tighter to get more to spill out, as if he were nothing but a living ketchup packet.

Tears fell down Aspen’s cheeks as he went limp in the vampire’s hold, finally losing strength. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to keep his head from lolling to the side and into the vampire’s grasp, to keep himself from slipping away into unconsciousness, into death.

The vampire squeezed his neck again, this time harder. A horrible crunching sound filled Aspen’s ears, and everything finally went black.

. . .

Aspen gasped awake, hands instinctively flying to his neck to get air- to stop the bleeding—

…That wasn’t there. There was no puncture wound, no blood, not even a scab. Just smooth scars over his skin from where the vampire had scratched him and drank from.

He took a deep, long breath, closing his eyes as sweet refreshing air filled his lungs. He breathed out, and in, and out again. A steady pace to calm his racing heart.

The room was dark again, and the vampire didn’t seem to be in there anymore. He must’ve left after Aspen… died. Maybe that was a good thing. Though, he was still incredibly hungry. And thirsty. And his captor was the only one who could give him that necessity.

He cringed thinking about the last thing he remembered, that moment with the vampire. He shouldn’t be so scared of him. He had to stand up for himself and fight back, that’s what Lyle would have told him if she were there.

He didn’t know what time it was or how long he waited for, but when the basement door opened again, Aspen swallowed his nerves and ran towards the stairs, wasting no time in going as far as the chain would allow him. He was standing on the second step and holding on to the railing, his left leg held out in the air a little bit due to the chain pulling on it.

“H-hey,” Aspen said, looking up at the vampire. “Let me out, I’m so hungry!” He pulled against the chain, not caring about the cold metal digging into his skin, and pushed his arms against the railing as if trying to heave himself up the stairs. “I can’t- can’t take it anymore! Let me go!”

The vampire was standing at the top of the stairs, his entire body cast in a haunting shadow from the light behind him, making him nothing but a looming silhouette. He took a silent step down the stairs, and another.

“Brave little corpse today, huh?” The vampire growled, his two red eyes glowing bright in the darkness. He seemed to be in a different mood today, one that sent a shiver down Aspen’s spine.

“I’m starving. I don’t care what you do to me, I just need food! Please!” Aspen cried.

He didn’t even see it coming.

The vampire pounced, leaping down the stairs and slamming his body straight into Aspen, sending both of them tumbling into the hard concrete floor. Aspen cried out in pain, his entire body hurting from the inhuman force pinning him to the ground. The vampire quickly stepped back and shoved Aspen into the wall by his mattress. After struggling to catch his breath, Aspen’s eyes went wide when he noticed the vampire walking towards him.

“W-Wait!” Aspen exclaimed. “Please don’t hurt me—” He squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating another blow to the head. When that didn’t come, he blinked and saw the vampire crouched down next to him, inspecting the chain around his ankle.

“This chain is much too long.” Before Aspen could do anything, the vampire wrenched it through what had it fastened to the wall, effectively shortening the length Aspen was allowed to walk, leaving the chain only a few feet long now. Aspen could only move around the mattress, and that was it. “Much better.”

He was about to curl into a ball, but he remembered his goal. He needed to stand up for himself. He needed to show him that he wasn’t weak. He blinked back his tears and stared at his captor. “L-let me go!” he demanded. “I’m hungry! Really really hungry. I need food. You can’t just keep me down here!”

“Aspen,” Silas growled, turning to face him. “Are you really making me repeat myself again? You’re mine. My food, to do with as I please.”

His mind raced, frantically trying to come up with anything at all that could change his mind. “If you’re going to- to keep me here, you need to feed me! You can’t just k-keep me starving forever! It hurts! Please!”

“You haven’t died from starvation yet, so why would I waste time and resources letting you eat if you don’t need to? Seems like a big fucking waste to me.”

Aspen looked up, pleading with his eyes that were filled with anger and confusion. his breath hitched in his throat. It was getting harder and harder to be brave. “You ca-can’t do this. You can’t!”

“I can do whatever I want to you.”

Tears fell down his cheeks. “P-please!” he sobbed. “I’m begging you, is that what you want? Please. I’m starving, I—”

“Stop screaming. Holy shit, you’re insufferable. Did you know that?” The vampire turned away from him and started walking towards the other side of the room. “I usually love hearing the horrified screams of my prey, but today isn’t one of those days.”

“Wh-where are you going? —Wait!”

In a flash, the vampire was back to kneeling in front of him, shoving a piece of cloth into his mouth and tying it around his head, effectively gagging him. Aspen reached up to pull it out, but winced when his captor grabbed his wrist and roughly twisted his arms behind his back. The vampire tied his hands together with rope, and pulled it tight. Aspen whimpered as it dug into his skin.

He screamed through the gag, and his captor slapped him roughly across the face, shutting him up. His head shot to the side, and he whimpered as his cheek stung in pain.

Cold, inhumanly strong hands grasped at his shoulders as the monster bit down into his neck, ripping and tearing the flesh away like a deranged animal. He cried out, but there was nothing he could do to stop this. It wasn’t long after that Aspen’s world went dark yet again.

. . .

Time seemed to stretch on in one big blur. The vampire came to the basement to feed, to kill, and throw any and all kinds of hurt or pain into the mix that he wanted. No matter how much Aspen pleaded for it to stop, that only seemed to fuel the vampire’s cruelty. He mocked him for being weak, for being unable to do anything against him. His captor would either kill him or leave him alone in the basement until he came back hours later, alive but in no way living.

It was always dark, and Aspen didn’t know how many days were spent down there. He thought that if the vampire fed once a day, he’d been in the basement for at least five. Five days without food or water. Five days trapped in a cold, dark room with nothing but his worried, anxious thoughts to distract him from the agonizing pain. Not to mention however long he’d been in the morgue before this, however long ago he’d died the first time.

But he could be wrong; he really didn’t know how long he’d been trapped here for. It could have been a few days or a few months and he’d have no way to tell. He wondered if anyone was looking for him, or where Lyle was, or if he’d ever be able to see the sun again. Surely, he’d be rescued in no time. He was going to get out of here, he just had to wait.

He laid his cheek against the rough mattress, arms still tied behind his back and gag stuck firmly in his mouth. Even though he tried to stay optimistic, sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was his life now. Cursed to be trapped starving in a basement and used as a vampire’s bloodbag for all of eternity— and killed, over and over, that too.

He found the actual death to be somewhat… peaceful, as grim as that sounded. It was the only escape he got from the pain before he was forced back into the cold cruelty of the basement— of his life. It was an unwelcome distraction, but it was at least something. He always hated having nothing to do, being bored out of his mind. At least now he got a break every now and again.

Then, for the first time in days, he heard something new. Aspen’s ears perked up, listening closely to the faint, muffled noises coming from above him. Voices. Multiple voices upstairs. He stood up, despite his weak and starved body begging him to rest, and stumbled towards however far the chain would let him.

He shook his head vigorously, rubbing his chin against his shoulder and finally, finally getting that disgusting gag out of his mouth.

And then, he screamed. His throat was sore and raspy, dry from the lack of water, but that didn’t stop him. He called for help as loud as he could, hoping to get the attention of whoever was up there.

The voices suddenly stopped as Aspen’s frantic pleas rang through the air. There was a loud sigh, and the snap of someone’s fingers. Eerie silence filled the air except for the all-too-familiar footsteps walking towards the basement.

The door swung open violently, and Aspen flinched back at the noise, chain rattling behind him.

“What do you want?” The vampire hissed, flicking the lightswitch on and slamming the door shut behind him. Aspen had never seen someone look so angry. He cowered away as primal terror flooded through his veins.

“I- I, th-the people! There are people up there! Help, help! HELP!”

The vampire did nothing but stand there silently, staring at him with that creepy smile on his face. “Keep screaming, Aspen. See where that gets you.”

“But there’s… What…what did you do to them?”

“Mind control. Their dumb little minds don’t belong to them right now, and they certainly won’t rescue you.”

“You can… control people’s minds?”

“Of course I can,” his captor hissed. “And the next time you try to ask other humans for help, I won’t be so merciful to them.”

“Were they looking for me?”

The vampire couldn’t help but laugh. “No, they weren’t looking for you. They were looking for directions.”

“Directions?”

“Yes. We are in the middle of fucking nowhere, by the way.” The vampire took a step down the stairs. “And nobody will come looking for you. You’re dead to the world, already buried six feet under. And scream all you want, there’s no civilization in miles. That gag was just there to keep you from annoying me all night and day with your incessant whining. I almost never see people out here unrelated to my business.”

“But when I do,“ the vampire continued, “oh, you have no idea how hard it is to resist feeding on them. I’m glad you’re awake now. I deserve a snack for having to deal with those insufferable morons.”

“And you,” the vampire drawled, walking closer and causing Aspen to flinch back in fear, stumbling onto the mattress behind him, “deserve a punishment for spitting that gag out and trying to call for help. You’re mine. You do not try to call for help. You are not getting out of this. Get that through your thick skull before I bash it in.”

Aspen breathed heavily. The vampire was standing a few feet from him, but was more menacing than ever before.

“Say it, little corpse. Tell me you’re mine. I wanna hear it from you.”

Tears pricked in Aspen’s eyes, cheeks going red. “I-I’m, I’m y-yours.”

“And you’ll never try calling for help again?”

“N-No,” he said, shaking his head and sniffling.

“Good. Now enough chit-chat. C’mere.”

Aspen let out a sob and crawled forward, palms and knees aching against the cold stone floor. He crumbled in despair as Silas leaned down to feed again. Sharp fangs sank into the same spot on his neck, blood started flowing out and into the mouth of his captor. He grew even more lightheaded, squeezing his eyes shut and silently begging for unconsciousness.

…Only, death didn’t come this time. The vampire pulled away early, licking his lips and stepping back with a sour expression.

Aspen dared to peek an eye open and look up at him. “W-wh-what are—”

“Your blood. It’s not as good as it was before. What happened?”

“I-I don’t- I don’t know.” When the vampire yanked a hand to his hair, Aspen sputtered frantically to get his words out, wracking his mind for what it could possibly be. “M-maybe it’s- maybe it’s because I haven’t- haven’t eaten anything?”

The vampire stared at him for a moment in consideration. Then, his hand let up, and he stepped away. “Hm. I guess that makes sense.”

“Y-yeah, p-please, I really need food. I need it.”

“…I don’t have any human food here. I’ll have to get some the next time I go to town.”

“...Oh,” Aspen said quietly. “B-but you’ll still feed me? Th-thank you.” He looked up at his captor with hope in his eyes for the first time, and finally let his body relax, as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He’d finally get to be fed.

“Yeah. Holy shit, you’re pathetic.”

“C-can I at least ha-have a blanket in the meantime?”

“No. Can’t let you get too comfortable, can I? Or you’ll forget your place.” The vampire chuckled, patting his head in mock affection.

“But it- It’s so cold here…”

“If you’re suffering so much, why don’t I just kill you now and make the pain stop?”

“N-no, please don’t kill me,” Aspen whispered.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“W-wait!—”

But he had already put the gag in place, and tied it tightly around his head, more so than before. Aspen let out a muffled whimper as the vampire walked up the stairs and out of the basement. The light was turned out, the door slammed shut, leaving Aspen in suffocating darkness once again. All alone.

His stomach growled. The cold bit at his bare skin. His throat ached with thirst and the lingering pain of the bite.

Maybe he should’ve accepted the offer.

— 

i’m not like super proud of this one but i think it’s as good as i’m gonna get it so here u go :3 future chapters will be better (and probably shorter), i’ve written a whoooole bunch of this recently and i’m realllyy gonna try to get regular updates now!! yayyyy

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@creppersfunpalooza @bottlecapreader @whumpsday @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @kisa-writes

@mintflavouredwhump @fleur-a-whump @starfields08000

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[distracted-obsessions]

Immortal Whumpee being forced to choose between starving or choosing a part of themselves that they can live without for a few weeks (and choke down after Whumper prepares it for them).

[paingoes]

Crash Out

Nimrod I

see attached graphic here :)

(Content: royal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, immortal whumper, blood, stabbing, a gun, death?, drugs, paranoia)

The whole planet was an experiment. They really weren’t supposed to be there. It was ecologically irresponsible. Her curiosity was too piqued to just drive by it, though. The conservancy didn’t have the budget to secure the entire perimeter; it was too easy to get inside. 

The climate was held in permanent stasis. The whole environment was in permanent stasis. The displaced grass quickly replaced itself. The daisies sprung up again wherever they were plucked. The energy that went into maintaining the project was extravagant. By her own estimate, Lorelai guessed it wouldn’t last another year before shutting down. Then the rock would be barren again. The thought helped her to justify the breach; nothing like it would ever exist again.

The ship was tucked safely beneath the treeline, obscured from any drones. They were halfway in between it and the hot springs — deathly heat, the kind that’d melt all your skin off if you ever dipped into its waters. She’d skirted the edge of it nonetheless. Her dress was damp at the edges. The sky was still bright. 

She was taking notes in the field journal, the same one she’d saved from her school days. She wished she could send the revised version back to her advisor, but that would raise more questions than it was worth. She was content saving it for her own personal record. She glanced up at Paris, who was visibly disinterested in the experiment. He yanked out the grass and the flowers restlessly, watching as they were regrown each time. He ripped out one dandelion over and over again, tying all of its clones into a chain. He had the start of a crown in his lap.

“Who taught you how to do that?” Lorelai asked, her voice heavy with suspicion. No other girls, yeah, totally.

Paris looked up guiltily. “…My mom?”

She shrugged and looked back out to the horizon. Four legged and horned creatures with legs taller than her entire body walked about the tall grass. Slow-moving. Easy. She wondered if the regenerative effect would work the same on the animals. She readjusted the shotgun on her back, hearing it thud against the soil.

“Is it weird that I want to go hunting? My dad offered all the time when I was little, but I always said no. I should’ve.”

“What, you have a taste for it now?” Paris asked.

He was joking, but he’d been dangerously close to the truth. She thought of death a lot — death and violence. All her childhood, she had dreamed of the things she did not see. By now, that gap had been closed with no abstraction. She was on the other side of it – and she wanted to be good. She wanted to see that she still had control of it, to make sure she could roll it around in her fingers and see it without flinching. Without crying afterwards. 

Not that she herself was violent. Never sadistic. Two bullets straight through the heart. She could not have been more efficient. She kept thinking about CTRL.

“Little bit.” She smiled and adjusted her hat to cast a shadow over her face. 

“I don’t know how to close it.” Paris looked down at the long chain of flowers in his hand. 

“Just knot it?” She took it from him, trying to knot the stems together. They were weirdly slippery. 

“Fuck,” she said.

His laugh cut off mid-breath. He had straightened up so abruptly that made her flinch, his expression turning deathly serious. His eyes were set on the forest, each line of his body drawn in sharp tension. She looked over. A figure was emerging slowly from among the rows of trees.

“Warden?” She raised an eyebrow. They’d been surprisingly good at not running in with the law, all things considered. You don’t break the law while breaking the law, as the old adage goes. Even a minor trespassing charge would be major trouble just as soon as the cops realized who they were dealing with. They’d have to flee. 

Paris didn’t even hear her. His hand slowly withdrew the sword from its sheath. Her eyes widened at the escalation. But when she looked back to the figure, she realized why.

Two long braids, two leather gloves, pacing unbidden and unhurried. Lorelai recognized her from her gait more than anything else. The girl from the show – many, many shows back. The one who’d gotten her torso slashed through and the one who’d been walking around again straight after. The one who had waved goodbye at them so unselfconsciously, without any finality at all. The bounty hunter.

Mechanically, Lorelai slid the gun off her back. She aimed it square at Johanna’s heart.

“Do you want me to take the shot?” She asked Paris. He looked at her with his brow furrowed, no doubt remembering last time. It would not be like last time.

“I said I’d do it.”

It was almost hysterical how slow the threat was approaching. It had to be deliberate, Lorelai thought. Her way of drawing him out. And he did move out. Lorelai scooted back some, putting space between herself and the coming carnage.

“Hi-i-i.” The voice rose and fell strangely. Close enough to see the whites of her eyes, then to see them winking. She was unarmed again. What did she expect, really? 

It wasn’t immediate, to be fair. Johanna danced away from the first lunge, her boots treading surprisingly lightly against the soil. She did a needlessly showy back handspring, inverting the pursuit, drawing him in closer. Cartwheel — meaningless. Even from a distance, Lorelai saw Paris’s nose wrinkle in disgust at the frivolity of it all. He cleared the distance between them and stabbed her through the heart, just as gracefully as if it’d been a drill. 

Johanna fell like a play actor. The sword was briefly the only thing holding her up — and then it wasn’t. She crumbled into the grass without having landed a single hit.

The fall had not been very convincing, despite the grievousness of the injury spelling certain death. When he stepped closer to the body, she almost warned him to stay back, as though the dead hand would spring out and grab him like in a monster movie. He too wavered before he touched her. But when he felt at her wrist, he shook his head. Dead.

Lorelai felt it too. There was no pulse in her arm or in her throat, not even a faint one. Dead.

Johanna was still smiling when they turned her limp body over.

=======

Old Fort Kroll - stabbed through heart - seven days to reappear

Aloquois - multiple bullet wounds - four days to reappear. paris got lightly stabbed.

Mercollie - punched in face, not downed - two days to reappear. broke my nail.

Gilynigh - stabbed through heart and neck 

two weeks of absence

=======

Paris felt his hair stand on end only seconds before the blow came; she must have been moving very quickly to trip up his alarm like that. Not that he’d seen it. The first he saw of her, he was already on the ground, just glimpsing the worn leather of her boots. He rolled forward, pushing back with the hard side of his forearm when she tried to kick him back down. She was briefly off-balance –  not enough to fall completely, but it gave him enough space to stand. He could draw the sword again.

She was holding a chain.

He gave a short, choked laugh. The joke was lost on her. There wasn’t any time to explain it.

It was a common enough weapon, but unsophisticated enough that he’d never been taught to fight against it. The closest thing he’d fought was the net. In that case, he needed to have the advantage of proximity. His body desperately resisted this, having a deep instinctual urge to get far away from her. He suppressed it.

She dodged just the same way she had the first time, neatly dancing aside. She pushed him back with surprising torque, but she’d had to expose her arm to do it. The blade drew blood. She seemed excited by it. 

“Your H-i-i-i-ghness,” her breath was all sing-song. Her veins twitched right beneath the skin, squirming around like worms, “You always fight the same.”

A little frown, like she was bored of him. He was fucking exhausted of her.

The chain came down fast and hard over his weapon hand. The impact of steel on his knuckles alone would’ve made him lose his grip, even if she hadn’t yanked the chain back. His own fingers slipped out before they could be broken, but the shock of pain had made them useless. 

She was happy to let the sword clatter to the ground rather than keep it, so she still had one weapon instead of having an offhand. It was still unfavorable. Even if she was unarmed, it was still unfavorable. They hit with the same amount of force. Her injuries would heal before the bout had even ended; his wouldn’t. 

She must’ve thought he’d be easier to handle if he was on the ground, because that’s where she kept forcing him.

She was on top of him again, trying to pin him down by the shoulders. He guessed he should count himself lucky that she was only trying to subdue him, not actually hurt him, but she was quickly learning she could not do the one without the other. He thrashed around too much, ready to injure himself against the restraints if she was too slow to do it herself. It was a bloody business.

It was interrupted as one heel cracked straight into the side of Johanna’s head. He rolled out from under her, using the chain to garrote her. It was only partly successful; she’d managed to slip a few fingers in to protect her neck. Lorelai watched just a few feet away, blood on her shoes. She had the gun on her, but it was no use with their bodies intertwined so close. 

Johanna slammed the back of her skull into Paris’s face. He had to release her to avoid repeated impact. Enough distance was created. Lorelai pistol-whipped her.

Paris moved for the sword again. Johanna growled. Lorelai waved him back. He listened; his nerves were spent. Johanna somersaulted back onto her feet, pushing herself up.

“Who are you again?” She squinted at Lorelai, her arms held out with a gymnast’s posture. 

“Back up.” Lorelai leveled the gun. “Don’t follow us.”

“You look expensive!” Johanna replied.

Lorelai must have interpreted the hands up for surrender, which Paris never would have. She got into the ship without firing, but without ever losing her target. Johanna folded her arms, looking very annoyed as the ship pulled away.

Paris pressed the already bloodied handkerchief tight against his nose — not broken this time. Just painful. He felt the blood in his throat when he spoke.

“Don’t get involved,” he said.

Lorelai’s eyes shifted right, “If I didn’t get involved, you’d be dead ten times over.”

“No I wouldn’t,” he shook his head, then it made him dizzy, so he stopped, “She isn’t trying to kill me. There’s nothing stopping her with you, though. I don’t want you in the middle of it.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that.”

=======

Drea - hand cut off, not downed - three days to reappear

Epsilon-55 - shot in head - seven days to reappear

Baleen - false alarm - paris cut himself :(

Perseye - shot through chest - ten days to reappear. burnt my fingers.

Lutal - stabbed in heart and stomach - five days to reappear. not doing well.

======

Paris was falling apart. He was trying not to show it, but the anxiety revealed itself in each twitch of his fingers, each jump at sudden sounds, each flinch at sudden movements. His hands moved up to protect his chest whenever Lorelai so much as reached into the backseat too quickly. 

He had been paranoid before. It seemed impossible that he could get any worse. Apparently, that assessment was premature. The knot of tension was so tight in his body that Lorelai was sure he would drop dead of fear before anyone else ever got their turn with him. Maybe that would have been a mercy.

She supposed she could understand. She too was always waiting for the eruption, even if her body didn’t bear the marks of it. She only slept while he kept vigil. When she awoke, he still kept vigil. She guessed it had been days since he last slept.

Out on the motel balcony, she found him with the pills in his hand.

“Don’t take that,” she said tiredly.

“Fuuuuuuck you????” He’d already taken it. He looked at her crookedly, red-eyed. His neck was bleeding through the bandage, though he hadn’t noticed yet.

“You are too wound up to be taking meth pills. Your heart’s gonna stop.” She almost begged him. He did not need to be tweaking any harder than he already was. 

“It’s not meth.”

“Then what is it?” She hoped against hope it was some kind of downer, anything to cool him out some.

“I don’t know, but it sure as shit wasn’t meth,” he laughed.

A car alarm went off in the parking lot. He jumped so bad he knocked the side table over, breaking glass onto the balcony, spilling the cigarette ash. A thin cut appeared on his calf. He took a deep breath.

Paris freaked out. He said he’d earned it. Truth be told, she was surprised it had taken this long. She didn’t see the meltdown, but she could hear it through the open window. It amazed her just how long it could go on. How long he could sustain the yelling. How much he could find to break. The abruptness with which it stopped.

He came back in out of breath, ready to leave again. 

…………

tags:

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

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

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[ami-in-whumperland]

Ugh, immortal whumpees are just so fun to torture and play with.

Like, yeah, I can ampuate them, gauge their eyes out, rip out their organs, behead them, run them over, impale them, cut their tongue, starve them, let them bleed out on the ground, and they'll still stay alive all for me so I can repeat everything all over again! So fun.

[letitbehurt]

Whumper testing the limits of an immortal Whumpee.

A cut, then a burn, then a severed tongue. A fatal shot, a cup of poison, the snap of a noose gone taut. Whumper tries all of this and more, but Whumpee cannot die—at least, they cannot seem to stay that way. No matter how much they might want to.

[cyberwhumper]

Whiskey was almost feeling maybe kind of okay. The goons had left him alone for a while, fucking off to go get high and vandalize garbage bins or whatever it is that Baxter and his tiny dick do, and despite the pain and the cold and the general paranoia, Whiskey had actually managed to fall asleep.

Of course it doesn’t last.

Whiskey wakes up gagging and choking, the sole of Baxter’s boot pressing into his throat, pinching the delicate skin against the metal collar bolted around his neck. He grabs Baxter’s ankle on reflex, struggling weakly to try and ease up the pressure as his vision starts going gray. It does get Baxter to let up on his trachea, which is nice, but earns him a swift kick to the temple instead, which is less nice.

“Fuck d’you think you’re doin’, mutt?” Baxter drawls. He’s drunk. Awesome. “Y’having a nice nap?”

“Fuck you,” Whiskey rasps, then squeezes his eyes shut in well-timed anticipation of Baxter’s spit hitting his cheek. Jesus. He’s trained. Dirty mutt, through and through.

Somewhere above him, Baxter cackles. Whiskey keeps his eyes closed, riding out the waves of spinning. If he ignores the splitting pain in his head and his ankle and his everything, he can almost pretend this is all just a bad trip. He can pretend he’s sacked out on the couch in Marky’s basement, ripping dabs and listening to music and staring at the blacklight posters blurring like wet paint across the walls. Real glory days. God, Whiskey’s life is fucking pathetic.

He opens his eyes.

Baxter howls with laughter at the way Whiskey recoils from the fact that the guy is bent over him, ugly face and foul breath an inch away from Whiskey’s nose. “Aww, did I scare ya? Christ, you’re jumpy.” He wraps black metal fingers around one of Whiskey’s tusks and yanks hard, eliciting an involuntary groan. “Were ya dreamin’, mutt?”

“Yeah. ‘Bout you havin’ an appointment with the inside of a wood chipper.”

“Bitch.” There’s not even any heat in it, but Baxter’s boot connects with his ribs just the same, and Whiskey curls up on himself as much as he can between the chains, gasping. It doesn’t make a difference. Baxter kicks his knees apart next, making the eye bolt grate against his ankle bones, but Whiskey would rather go a dozen more rounds with the drill than have the wandering sole of the boot plant itself against his crotch. “Bet you were dreamin’ about rutting.” The boot presses firmer, and Whiskey feels himself splinter a little on the inside, soul fracturing like Mark’s stupid posters used to around 2 am. “Nasty fuckin’ animal. Got yerself a little morning wood, eh?”

“Stop,” he whispers.

Baxter laughs again, snapping a sloppy kick into Whiskey’s inner thigh. Whiskey barely even feels it. He’s floating somewhere far away, a lake made of mirrors, his own stupid face.

This time, he doesn’t manage to close his eyes before the spit hits.

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

[OC INDEX]

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