whumpcember - Tumblr blog

whumpcember · 4 months

Text

The Devil's Right Beside You

Sebastian Castellanos x Reader

Summary: Sebastian is finally able to rebuild his life after getting Lily back safe and S.T.E.M. is destroyed. Now he can begin to heal after the countless horrors and live with his daughter and the love of his life. Too bad S.T.E.M. has other plans for him...

Words: 1779

Additional tags: body and psychological horror, blood and gore, needles, deadly injuries, torture, (everything canon-typical to The Evil Within), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Author's note: my very first TEW fic! I want to write more for Seb, he's one of my favourite characters... if you can believe it after this LMAO

This was the one fic I wrote specifically for Whumpcember, which then spiraled into what I'm doing now. Day 15 screamed The Evil Within to me, and you know me I can't resist making another horror man whimper lol

Title is from lyrics in Devil by Shinedown

read on ao3 | Promptcember masterlist

"Goddammit. Where am I?" Sebastian groaned, running his hand down his face as he looked around. Everything was hazy, coated with a dark fog, shadows moving on their own in the corners of his eyes. Nothing looked familiar, the walls coated with soot, blood and severed flesh. Shattered bones too large to belong to a human lay scattered across the floor in front of him. "Oh, what the fuck?"

This wasn't his bedroom.

The last thing he remembered was laying down in his bed, next to you. Blankets covering his aching body, exhausted after a long day at the park with Lily, the scent of your shampoo clinging to his nose as he slipped into a deep, sorely needed slumber.

Looking around, he spotted a broken mirror that laid against the ground in front of him, the glass shattered yet clinging to the metal frame. The ornate frame familiar, delicate curled metal clean despite the blood surrounding it, almost as if it held back the viscera. The sight of the familiar curves made his throat seize, bile rising up, the bitterness nearly making him puke.

No. No, no no! Not again!

Everything in the room brought back the familiar ache, the urge to vomit steadily growing as more and more blood and severed body parts revealed themselves.

The dull ache in his legs was replaced with a sharp, stabbing pain in his left thigh. Blood ran down his leg, seeping through the well worn jeans from the large gash though his flesh, over the spot that always ached now, despite the wound that caused it not truly happening. The jeans remained whole, the skin underneath severed in two, his femur nearly visible.

As Sebastian reached down to put pressure on it in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding, his hands met uninjured skin and dry jeans. Blood still seeped out of the gash in his thigh, the sticky, warm slick coating his leg and his hands, pooling at his feet, relentlessly running down his skin and seeping through the fabric. Pulling his hand away, clean, dry skin stared back at him as if nothing was wrong at all.

"Dammit!" he growled under his breath. "Fuck!"

Forcing himself to his feet and ignoring the stabbing pain in his leg, he stumbled toward the mirror. It had to be safe still, it was his only hope, before the blood soaked room's residents noticed his presence. Please, please. I can't do this! Not fucking again!

With each step he took, growing closer to the mirror inch by inch, it began to glow faintly. The pale white light blurred everything around him, a faint hum of a tune he long since forgotten. His body remembered it, the soft, comforting hum filling him with dread and a familiar warmth. Safety, a safe spot in a harsh, unpredictable world, yet dangerous in it's own right. His head ached, the familiar feeling of needles being driven into his skull returning despite nothing touching him. The being responsible for the horrid needles nowhere to be found – where was she?

Behind him bones crunched under the feet of something too large to be human. The crackling spurring him onward, it was too late to spend time trying to figure out a crumbling world.

Another step, one foot in front of another, the crunching growing closer and closer. Each step harder than the next, the driving pain in his leg nearly making him collapse from his weight.

"Don't leave us, Sebastian," a woman croaked behind him. "Please!"

Don't look behind. I have to keep going!

Sebastian forced himself forward, ignoring the sound of anguish behind him. Her shrieks echoed through his mind, heart thumping faster with each crunch of bone under her hands and feet.

"You bastard!" she shrieked. The crunching grew closer, right on his tail. "You! You're the reason they're dead! Lily, your poor Myra, all because of you! Now you're going to lose Lily again and-"

"Fuck off!" he snarled, risking a glance behind him. How dare you talk about them?!

Expecting the all too familiar dark haired monster behind him, many arms outstretched and reaching to drag him back down into Hell, only to freeze when he saw who actually was behind him. At first, he thought it was that chainsaw wielding maniac, yet it was silent, save for the shrieking, no groaning and moaning that haunted his every waking moment.

Instead, it was you who stood behind him. Face caged in leather crossing over your face, between your eyes and meeting down around your neck, a large chain hooked to it and leading off into the darkness. Deep lacerations across your chest and legs, visible bone in many, blood weeping from each and coating the floor everywhere he looked. A chainsaw dragging behind you, hand clinging to it as it scrapped across the floor.

"Don't leave us, Sebastian," you croaked, voice no longer rage filled, instead returning to the pitiful cries of the infected. No rage hidden away, no urge to kill him, to paint the room with his guts as well. "We need you, Sebastian. Don't leave us!"

"You're not real-"

"Don't leave us!" you cut him off, stumbling forward once more. Bones crunched under your feet, the sound echoing around him and making you sound larger than you were. "We need you," you repeated pitifully.

The chainsaw screeched across the floor, the teeth ripping through the blood and viscera coating the floor, leaving a streak of bloodless floor, only to be recovered within seconds.

"I can't," he croaked. Each step backwards toward the mirror became harder and harder, his body fighting every movement away from you. The screeching set him on edge, fighting to run yet his body screamed at him to run to you, to wrap you in his arms and never let go.

"You can, Sebastian," you cooed. Voice sickly sweet, the sound a stark contrast to the screeching of the chainsaw. "Come with us."

Sebastian fought back, taking another step toward the mirror, the humming growing louder in his ears.

"You can't leave us!" you shrieked, leaning down and grabbing a shattered femur, throwing it towards his face. It barely missed, flying past his face and spraying his cheek with blood. The mirror behind him shattered, pieces of it flying everywhere, leaving an empty metal frame. The pale light disappearing, the soft hum replaced with the ringing in his ears from your shrieking.

"You belong here, Sebastian," you cooed, rushing toward him once more. "With us."

"No!" he cried. Stumbling backward, he tripped, body crashing to the wet ground with a sickening splash. Blood soaked through his clothes, splashing onto his face and eyes, blinding him; the moment of weakness giving you enough time to catch up with him as he desperately fought to wipe the blood from his eyes.

"You won't leave us anymore, love," you continued, ignoring his protests as he fought to stand. Knocking him down and pinning his hands above his head with a hand, the hand clutching the chainsaw dragged it closer to his body.

"Get off of me!" he snarled, panic seizing him. He thrashed under your grasp, body shaking as he desperately tried to get away. "Fuck off!" Tears welled up in his eyes, the hopelessness setting in.

Stuck in S.T.E.M. once more, stuck with you in it. Was this how his life was meant to be? Thrown from disaster to disaster, left to rot within a place that made Hell seem comforting, with you as his executioner?

"You'll never be alone again, my love," you purred. Standing over him, you yanked on the chain, turning the chainsaw on. The rumble of the motor drowning out your words and the rattling shaking his body. "We'll be together forever."

You dragged the chainsaw closer, the rattling of the blade spitting old blood at him, coating him further. Blood seeped through his clothes, the warm slick causing sweat to drip down his forehead and into his eyes.

The chainsaw drew closer and closer, the rumbling drowning out everything else.

"Please," he whimpered, desperately hoping you were still within the monster standing over him. Nothing he cherished remained, only evil left within the wounded, infected corpse towering over him.

The blade met his skin, ripping into his leg mercilessly. Pain erupted throughout his body, each second making the agony worse than the last. It ripped through his femur as if it were cheese, giving barely any resistance. He screamed in agony, wordlessly crying out and weakly clawing at you as you carved into his body. The blade sundering his limbs one by one, his blood coating everything.

"You'll be with us forever, my love," you cooed, barely able to be heard under the rumbling of the motor as it severed his remaining arm.

The blade made it's way up to his neck, ripping through skin and bone as everything went dark, his spinal cord finally sundered from his body...

***

Sebastian sat up, clutching his neck, panting as he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. The familiar walls of his shared bedroom greeted him, the same as they were previously, no blood or death visible. "Just a dream..." he mumbled under his breath, a prayer to whatever deity would listen. Sweat clung to his skin, tears slipping down his cheeks slowly. Panicked, he pushed the blankets off of him to check his legs. "Fuck."

The same thick pajama pants covered his skin, dry and uncut, no lingering wounds hidden under the fabric. Only the familiar ache from running after Lily hours previous.

"Are you okay?" you murmured, peering upwards at him.

Sighing, he looked over at you and wiped away the escaping tears quickly. "It's nothing. I'm fine," he lied, refusing to look at you.

Pursing your lips, you reached out and pulled him down and wrapped him in your arms. "You're safe, my love."

He sighed, allowing you to pull him down. The shrieking of your voice echoed in his ears, the rumbling of the motor still shaking his body.

S.T.E.M. was gone, destroyed. Lily and you a testament to that, the horrors caught within the evil contraption gone, destroyed. No one living would willingly recreate it, the horror left to rot in the ruins.

If only he could forget it and have his mind stop playing tricks on him.

But that was his life, stuck reliving horror after horror. Left to relive it constantly as his mind twisted it to include the ones he loved.

At least it ended when he opened his eyes, even if it was only for a moment or two.

#whumpcember2023

17 notes · View notes

whumpcember · 4 months

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stargate SG-1 RPF Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson (Stargate) Additional Tags: Whumpcember, Whumpcember 2023, Jack Whump Series: Part 12 of Whumpcember 2023 Summary:

Whumpcember Prompt: Restraints

#whumpcember2023

2 notes · View notes

whumpcember · 4 months

Text

Day 15 Whumptober 2023 Prompt: Hallucinating

The oath, Yavuz Hallucinates after being drugged...

#whumpcember2023

25 notes · View notes

whumpcember · 4 months

Text

My Voices

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hallucinations

Whumpee recoiled as far back as the shackles around their wrists would allow. They tried to make themself as small as possible. And still Whumper advanced. Whumper advanced with a maniacal grin and weapon in hand. Whumper advanced with slashing movements, drawing blood from Whumpee's tender skin.

"PLEASE!" Whumpee squealed as they watched blood well and spill out of the wound. "PLEASE!"

But Whumper didn't stop. Didn't listen. They merely laughed and slashed at Whumpee.

It had been much the same since Whumper kidnapped them. Days and days of torture. Days and days of Whumpee begging for mercy. And days and days of pain and suffering.

"PLEASE!" Whumpee cried once more, hoping beyond hope that this time would be different. That Whumper would hear them.

"I'll stop when I'm good and ready, Whumpee. And not a moment before then," Whumper said as they raised their weapon once more.

Whumpee began to sob as they realized it was useless. There was no stopping Whumper. They would suffer endlessly until Whumper grew tired of them. And then they would die.

"How long have they been like this?" Friend whispered to Caretaker as Caretaker quietly shut Whumpee's door.

"Ever since they were released from Whumper," Caretaker said with a sigh. They had rescued Whumpee. Or at least that's what they thought they had done. But Whumpee's mind had broken. Their mind had never left Whumper's compound.

"Do they even know you are here?" Friend tried not to wince as Whumpee screamed again.

Caretaker shook their head. "Whatever hallucination they have, I can't break through it. And when they can hear me, they think I'm a hallucination."

Friend put a hand on Caretaker's arm. "They just need some time. Some time and rest. They'll come back to us soon."

Caretaker nodded, unable to speak around the lump in their throat. They hoped Whumpee would come back to their senses. Hoped that Whumpee would realize they were safe. But they were beginning to fear that Whumpee was lost forever with the voices in their head.

#whumpcember2023

52 notes · View notes

whumpcember · 4 months

Text

Whumpcember Day 11 - Infection

CW: Character death, Gore

Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed from the empty alleyway as Adam kept his gun close to him. There should be some food around here...

He moved some boxes around, trying to find some unopened cans. Hopefully, they haven't been spoiled by now. They have been without food for a while and the others were getting hungry and agitated. He volunteered to go alone despite Thatcher's objections.

He took slow, deep breaths as he approached a crate. Just as he was about to take a peek inside...

Something jumped out of the shadows, grabbing Adam's arm. He felt a jolt of pain before he pulled his gun out and shot it in the head. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was a zombie. Wait a minute, that thing...

He looked at his arm. It was slowly dripping with blood. There was a noticeable bite mark on it, a telltale sign that he would be one of them soon. He hadn't realized he had started shaking, his chest tightening as he tried to breathe. He couldn't focus, his mouth moving to say the word "No." over and over again. He felt hot and cold. His heart pounded in his ears.

How was he gonna tell the others...?

How is he gonna tell Jonah? Cathy?

--------

There was a deathly silence at the table. Adam's sleeve was rolled down, showing his bite mark for all to see.

".......What do we do now?" Sarah asked.

Adam remained silent.

"Well... There are a few options... None of them is gonna end with Adam surviving..." Mark spoke.

"M-Maybe Adam won't turn into one of them. He's dealt with worse things before and he lived through it. He might make it through this one!" Cathy shakily said.

"I appreciate your optimism, Cathy, but you know what happens once you get bit. I'm sorry, but..." Thatcher sighed. "I'm afraid there's no saving him."

Jonah looked at Adam, not sure what to say to him. But he already knew what he was thinking. 'I'm so stupid! I should've gone with someone!'

Thatcher took out his gun and laid it on the table in front of Adam. He blankly stared at it. He hadn't said a word since the revelation.

"We're gonna be leaving soon, anyway. If you're gonna turn soon, we don't want anything to happen to us. This is the only way, unfortunately." Thatcher tried to keep his voice calm, but he couldn't ignore the aching pain in his heart. He had grown to care for these kids. They didn't deserve to be living this hell all alone. And now, Adam might become a walker or even worse... an Alternate.

I should've been the one to get bit. I should've been taking his place. But... What would Ruth think?

She wouldn't want him to become undead. She would want him to survive, to keep moving. So, this is what he has to do. And that includes leaving one of his own children behind to turn.

-------

As the days went by, Adam grew worse and worse. He had developed a high fever, he had started shivering and he was starting to cough up blood. He pulled the blanket closer to him in a futile effort to keep himself warm. The group had left hours ago, probably scouting out the area for another safehouse. He closed his eyes.

He hadn't touched the gun that Thatcher gave him. None of them wanted to put him out of his misery. Maybe they all had the same idea of false hope. That maybe Adam will be immune to this disease. Despite them losing the people they care about, they still stuck together. If it was any other group, they would've thrown him to the wolves. He could tell that they were hurting even when they tried to smile.

Jonah kept telling him stories about the high school shenanigans they would get into, Cathy kept giving him some of her favorite plushies... He tried to hold back the tears that were welling up.

He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to become one of them. The tough boy exterior that he had built up had finally crumbled, finally revealing just how scared and alone he truly was.

He never got the chance to apologize and make peace with Evelin. He will never be able to see Cathy curl up to him and act like a cat. He won't be able to hear Jonah's obnoxious voice again.

Mom... Dad... If you were here, you would tell me it'll be okay.

As his vision faded, he could see a life he could've lived. With his mother and father, living a peaceful life without any zombies to worry about.

Perhaps... In another life....

His heart slowed.

And slowed.

And slowed....

And became still.

-------

Thatcher's arm was shaking as he and the others stared the horde down. They didn't seem to show any sign of stopping. The group had run out of bullets and they were worn down from hunger. They had no idea a large group of them was waiting when they stopped to rest.

Cesar gripped the crowbar, covering his bleeding arm with one hand.

"Ces, let me take a lo-"

"I'm not bitten!! You saw what happened!!"

Fred and George shielded their sister as she sobbed, trying to make herself look small. Sarah's arm trembled as she stood in front of Evelin, trying to put on a brave front. Jonah kept pulling the trigger to blow the zombie's heads off even though the gun was empty.

Thatcher couldn't believe what was happening. In the span of ten minutes, they were surrounded. Sure, the group had dealt with the same thing before, but that was before they met Thatcher. Now, the same thing had happened again.

And Ruth wasn't there to help him this time.

I'm sorry, Weaver... I-I failed you... I failed all of them. I promised to protect them when you died. But there's just too many of them.

He wasn't brave like everyone was telling him. He was a coward. Always has and always will be. Nothing would change that.

Just as he was closing his eyes to embrace the end, he saw something in the horde. At first, it looked like any other zombie that was wearing a blank hoodie. Then, he caught the tuft of blonde hair and it immediately clicked.

Oh god.... Adam...

He broke down right then and there. He collapsed to his knees and began to sob. Someone was yelling at him to get up, but the words faded away. He should've put Adam out of his misery when he had the chance. He should've put a bullet between his eyes. He just couldn't stand everyone's hurt looks whenever they saw him so he left with them and never looked back.

Why am I always such a fucking failure?!

His thoughts were cut off by something grabbing at him. Snapping out of his trance, he tried to fight the zombie off, but it was too strong. There was screaming. The zombie was dangerously close to his neck.

It was pulled back. A pair of hands grabbed its jaw and pulled. Its head was pulled apart, spilling brain matter onto Thatcher. He stared at what just killed it.

Adam?

He only glanced at him for a moment before he turned to Cesar. He ran at him with frightening speed, causing him to scream and raise his crowbar. Mark tried to get in front of him, but Adam pushed him away, grabbed Cesar's wrist and snatched the crowbar out of his hand. He turned to the horde, let out an animalistic growl and ran.

The streets were filled with the angry screams of Adam Murray as he bashed their heads in. Despite turning into one of them, he still had his humanity. Despite his differences with them, he will not stand by and let his friends be killed.

Blood, bone and brains soared through the air as he swung at them with stunning accuracy and grace. He was like a samurai swinging his sword and slicing up his enemies. He danced in the blood flowing out like ribbons. One zombie grabbed him by the arm, but he threw it to the ground and smashed its head in like a pumpkin. He felt the rage and he welcomed it. Embraced it.

So this is what it is to be a zombie. They must be so confused right now. I'm one of them now so why am I turning on them when I should be focusing on their food?

Who am I kidding? They're dead. They don't have cognitive thoughts anymore! They don't care what they think!

As soon as it began, it was over. The horde that was so overwhelming before was now a big pile on the street. Adam Murray was the only one left. He stood over them, staring at the decayed bodies of what they once were. He turned to the other survivors who were too shocked to even move. Stepping over the bodies, he walked over to them.

Jonah jumped and tried to step back, but his back hit the barricade. His breathing quickened as the reanimated body of his friend slowly stepped toward him. He screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the pain of being bitten, but it never came.

He felt him stroke his face. He pried one of his eyes open to see what used to be Adam looking at him with... recognition? Curiosity?

And then, he spoke.

"Jonah....? I-Is that you...?"

Tears poured down Jonah's face as Adam held him close. Everyone else continued to stare, the shock never leaving their faces. He clearly looked like a zombie, but he still had the ability to speak, to fight, to recognize who Jonah is.

Is this another mutation of the virus? Did Adam become an alternate? All these questions still plagued their minds as Jonah started to cry and embrace him.

#whumpcember2023 #day: 11

19 notes · View notes

whumpcember · 4 months

Text

Whumpcember Day 17

(skipped 15 and 16, but I'm back now!)

Fire

Stella sat in a small white room, hands cuffed to the table in front of her. Her legs were ziptied to the legs of the chair she sat in. There was another chair in front of her, across the table, but it was empty. She had been alone for what felt like forever, but was actually a few hours. She had tapped her fingers on the table for a while, but had gotten bored of it. Her head leaned back, braids hanging down, and sighed. If she was going to be tortured, get it over with already. She hated to be still, hated to be bored.

She regretted the thought immediately when the door swung open, revealing a sturdily built man in camo pants and a green tank top. He stalked toward the table, setting down a black duffel bag. Stella lifted up her head, scowling at him. So this was her torturer. Pretty stereotypical to send in a big strong guy to intimidate the prisoner. She wasn't impressed.

The man walked behind her chair, grabbing the top of it. Stella stiffened slightly, but didn't move otherwise. She wasn't scared.

"Well, well. I didn't expect the rebels to be a group of little brats, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You neer have been able to make any big moves against us, have you?" the man asked. Stella rolled her eyes, not responding. Once he got her talking, he would start asking more critical questions, and she wasn't planning on answering any of them.

"Not a talker, are you? That's okay. I've broken stronger than you before." The man grabbed his bag, unzipping the top. He pulled out a small torch. Stella watched as he held the button, turning the torch on. A small flame shot out. Stella grit her teeth, trying not to flinch away as the flame was brought close to her face. She could feel the heat, sucking the moisture from her face, stinging her eyes. She sat frozen, unblinking, but then the torch was pulled away, turned off. And relit. Right at the ends of her hair.

She didn't even notice at first, just heard the torch flick on behind her. Then she smelled the rancid scent of burning hair. She breathed heavily through her nose, still trying not to react. He was just burning her hair? It was long, she'd be fine, it'd probably burn out before it reached her head. The smell wasn't the only thing making her sick, though.

Stella could feel her head getting lighter, could feel the fire grow against her back. She worried her shirt would catch fire, but she didn't dare move. She wasn't trying to be stoic anymore, just trying to keep the fire contained to something relatively inconsequential, like her hair. She loved her hair, but she loved her skin a hell of a lot more.

The man was standing over her, arms crossed. He didn't say anything, but he wore a smug grin. Stella felt a burning heat on her neck. She twitched. Stay still, stay still. She knew the man was enjoying watching her sweat, and he was waiting for her to beg, or to move and burn herself. She refused to do either.

The man grabbed the ends of her hair before it burned her head, smothering the fire. Her head spun from the relief, her shoulders fell, and her hands relaxed from the fists they had become. She hadn't even noticed how tense she had become.

"That's it?" she dared to ask, smirking uneasily. The man actually laughed at her.

"That wasn't the interrogation," he said. "We do that to all long term prisoners. We're not going to take care of your hair. You don't need it here anyway." With that, the man left, leaving the duffel bag tantalizingly open on the table. Stella's stomach twisted violently. She wasn't scared yet, but she felt deeply uneasy. She swung her head around, feeling the heated edges of her remaining hair hit her face. She felt ash tickle her face. She hated how impersonal losing it was. It wasn't even a haircut, or shaving, as dehumanizing as those would be. She was barely touched. She already hated that man.

#whumpcember2023 #day: 17

8 notes · View notes

whumpcember · 4 months

Text

Whumpcember Day 12 - Touch Starved

Cathy was always a lonely child. Even when she had her brothers to look after her, she still felt like she was alone. She just wanted someone to hold her, to love her. But she felt like they were wasting their time with her so she didn't make the first move.

Everything she did, she felt like she was an annoyance. Just an obnoxious girl who couldn't keep her mouth shut. It had always been that way ever since she and her brothers were little. What was it like to feel the warmth and touch of a person? She wanted to know, but she didn't want to bother them.

As she grew up, the expectation of her suppressing her "childlike" interests grew up with her. Everyone else grew up and pursued their own careers. She held on to the things she held dear to her as a kid. She still held on to her childhood at the risk of everyone giving her odd looks.

The urge to hold someone grew more and more to the point where she was crying in her bed every night. She wanted to be held, even if it was for a second.

One day, she was sitting at the kitchen table while Dave was fiddling with the stove. "Hey sweetie? What do you want for dinner?"

She stayed silent. He walked over to her. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just... thinking about something."

She wanted to tell him that she wanted physical touch so badly, but he was already busy enough as it is. She didn't want to add on to the heavy workload.

Dave suddenly hugged her, making her blink. "Huh? Wh-"

"You looked like you needed a hug. I... kinda need it too."

She started to slightly shake. How... How was it so easy for Dave to tell what was wrong with her when she didn't even tell him? Maybe it was because he was her dad and he has those dad intuitions.

She began to sob as she hugged him tightly. In the end, it was always her father that knows what's best for his children.

#whumpcember2023 #day: 12

7 notes · View notes

whumpcember · 4 months

Text

Whumpcember Day 13 - Restraints (Alt 3. Drowning)

CW: Aftermath of torture, Drowning

"Please... Please stop this..." Mark pleaded as he looked up at O'Brien.

"Why? I've only just gotten started." O'Brien drawled.

"Stop it, please!! Don't hurt him!!" Bill screamed as he struggled against his restraints.

The blonde man simply smiled and pulled out his knife. He laid the blade against Mark's cheek, reveling in his flinches as blood slowly trickled down. "Well, aren't you adorable? You're just like a bunch of little lambs."

"Don't fucking touch me!! You won't get away with this!" Mark screamed.

O'Brien chuckled. "Still got that fiery spunk in you! I like that!"

"W-Why are you doing this?! We haven't done anything to you!" Jonah cried.

The blonde cocked his head to him, his neck almost bending at a horrific angle. "Why? Because you two got too nosey. You were trying to free the little sinners when I'm just trying to cleanse them of their wickedness."

"You think this is gonna help them?! You've been torturing them for days!! The police are gonna find them and they're gonna throw your ass in jail!!" Mark shouted.

"Now why would you be defending them? They're nothing but witches. They're just blemishes on this perfect town. You two didn't have to get involved, but you just had to stick your noses in where it doesn't belong." He sighs. "Y'know what? I'm getting tired of this. I was waiting until Jesus' birth to get rid of all of you, but it's become obvious that you guys won't listen, so..." He pointed his knife at them one by one like some sick game of Eeny Meeny Miney Mo.

"Eeny, meeny, miney, mo. Catch the tiger by the toe. If he hollers, kill them all. My mom knows the very best and you..."

Tick

"Are."

Tick

"It."

His knife hand landed on Mark. "Let's start with you first. Cause you've been such a good, but feisty boy." He pulled out the key and unlocked Mark from his restraints. He could've ran, but O'Brien already grabbed his by the hair. Everyone began shouting, crying and struggling to get out of their binds as Mark was dragged out of the room.

He dragged him downstairs to a metal tub that was filled with water. He looked at him with that same crescent moon smile. "It's time for your baptism, Mark~"

Before he could get any air in, O'Brien threw the boy into the tub, holding his head down, causing him to struggle. He scratched at his arms, trying to fight back against the pastor, but he was too strong.

He pulled his head out, allowing him to cough and gasp before he was dunked in again. It happened again and again, Mark trying his best to hold his breath. He wouldn't let this man, this absolute monster, be the death of him. Cesar, his friends and the police are coming. They will save his cousins. They will know what O'Brien has done.

Suddenly, O'Brien bashed his head against the tub, causing him to wince. He planted his knee on Mark's stomach, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He started flailing and hitting him, clawing at his legs, but his grip remained firm. He started to spasm as the water started to fill his lungs. There was something so exhilarating about seeing O'Brien's prey struggle like this. To look at him with absolute fear in their eyes, knowing they're staring at the face of death. He was like a wolf staring at his prey struggling against his maw.

There is no hope for this boy. He will be forgotten soon. He will be nothing more than a fleeting memory.

His struggles grew weaker and weaker until eventually, he became still. He tilted his head, scanning his work. A shame. He was on his way to leading the next generation of Mandela citizens. Why did he have to throw it away for some sinners?

He left the kitchen, leaving behind the drowned husk of Mark Heathcliff.

When the priest came back, one look at his soaked robe told the other hostages all they need to know.

"So..." He widely smiled. "Who's next?"

#whumpcember2023

7 notes · View notes

whumpcember · 4 months

Text

Summary: "When Micah blinked his bleary eyes open, he expected to see the pronghorn-leather table cover he’d been resting his whiskey-addled head on for a few minutes. Instead, he was confused to find himself not at their camp in Clemens Point, but stretched out on the cold, rocky ground, somewhere on a dark mountainside.

'What the hell?' he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He remembered snippets of his conversation with Javier from earlier that night, raucous laughter and mumbling something about being 'drunk as a lord' while that creep Morgan nursed a beer and watched the pair of them in silence. He remembered pouring himself another drink, the pleasant warmth of the alcohol in his chest, and laying his head on his arms, just for a second.

After that, though, he didn’t remember anything, especially nothing that made any of this make sense."

Whumpcember 2023 Day 6: Nightmares

@photo1030

#whumpcember2023

15 notes · View notes

whumpcember · 4 months

Text

Familiar Pain (Whumpcember Day 18 - Chronic Pain)

I awake to it. That shredding, renching agony threading the length of my body. Splintering and blistering. A dying body. And I am trapped within it as it rots and heals in tandem with one another. I feel as nothing more than a collection of scar tissue over sturdy bones. Sickness. It’s a vile punishment. How the goddess must have truly despised me to make me so very broken.

I draw myself upright. The body is steady. And yet my flesh is riddled with broken glass, cutting and grinding with each step. An unyielding and unending anguish. The Marks which have exploded and broken over my skin squeezing and cutting in the effort to consume the space beneath my skin. My personal fire scorching each nerve with deliberate intention.

It aches. It burns me. The unseen horror of a loathsome curse. Every stretch of my skin is a sting of pain. Lightning curves my flesh. If it were not so familiar, I might scream.

#whumpcember2023 #day: 18

15 notes · View notes

whumpcember · 4 months

Text

There are a lot of people that Mizu wouldn’t normally open his door for in the early hours of the morning. Taigen is one of them. “Sorry,” slips out of Taigen's mouth, mustered in a whimper of a breath. Backlit against the streetlights and the glow of the moon, the other man is pale as death. He’s got sweat beaded on his brow and blood gushing from his nose. One of his arms wrapped around his middle, clutching his ribs as he leans fully on Mizu’s doorway. And then, he collapses.

Whumpcember Day 23: Nosebleed Whumpcember Day 26: Collapse

#whumpcember2023

9 notes · View notes

whumpcember · 4 months

Text

A Meeting in the Forest (Whumpcember Day 19/Prompt 19 (Exhaustion))

Thorns cut my cheek, branches catching against my clothes, in my hair, pulling it free in places. Blooms burst against the barren ground, across the bark of trees.

Sweat breaks against my neck, my forehead. My breath is scorching. I'm trembling. My flesh is searing, sensitive. My mouth is dry. I cannot even cry with pain. Nausea sweeps through my chest. My knees hit the ground and I force myself to my feet.

A little further. Please.

Roots and vines catch my feet. I slide against the snow, reaching for branches. The bark bites into my hands. I hardly see the blossoms that spill from my blistering skin. I'm so, so tired. My breath tightens in my lungs.

I drop, exhaustion sending me to my knees. No. Splintering cold fractures the last of my resolve. Cold splits my skin, deepening the ache as if I am stretched enough to snap. My body buckles as I try to force my body upright, to drag my legs beneath me. A shudder. The world goes dark and I’m falling. Falling. I stop myself. This is the end for me. Frozen in the deep wood.

And then I am gathered into strong arms.

“It’s ok, sweet one. I’m here.”

It’s dark for a moment before the sensation comes back to me. breath. A heartbeat. Comforting warmth at my back. Soft hands brushing through my hair. Clever, gentle hands, working the tangles out.

Opening my eyes to glance at him is a mistake. Even in the darkness, the slight moonlight through the trees, the blur of his silhouette, is blinding. The exhaustion doesn’t render him as anything more than a shadow against the trees. His scent strikes me, and the tightness releases in my chest. His cloak is draped across my frame to stave off the shivering. I cannot even open my mouth to speak. To protest. But gods, how I revel in the gentleness of his touch.

The beast leans over me, pressing A gentle kiss against my mouth. It tastes of blood and yet it is the gentlest caress I have ever received.

It caresses my cheek. Soft touches as if prompting me to sleep.

I cannot make my body move. Not for magic, but for sheer, bone deep weariness. I am pooled against his lap. I should be the most afraid I have ever been. In his power. In his arms. I should run. Should scream. And yet, I am comforted.

His features are a mask of cold, calm, serenity. A face that is partially turned so that I may not see that vicious scar cutting his cheek. He is so lovely that I suppose he could be a figment, a conjuration of my delirium against my exhaustion.

“Sweet priestess. Sleep.”

How heavy my eyelids. My chest. My breath. And it is so, so warm.

#whumpcember2023 #day: 19

26 notes · View notes