#undead whump

[iamhumannotamonster2]

Always loving the thought of ghosts/zombies/any undead absolutely terrified of anything that reminds them of their dead.

Bonus points if the phobia is of something common or not scary at all.

[urlocalwhumper]

necromancer whumper puppeting a now undead whumpee's body and forcing them to fight their friends.

whumpee is still fully conscious, fully aware of everything their body is doing, but powerless to stop it.

and there's so much pain, their body is still torn apart from the injuries that killed them, only kept moving by whumper's magic.

every movement is agony, blood dribbles from their lips and stains the ground where they step. they just want it all to stop. dying was painful and scary, but this is so much worse.

and then there's whumpee's friends, forced to face off against their friend's mangled corpse, with whumpee clearly still in there. it would've been different if they were only fighting a shell, something that looked like whumpee but wasn't really them, but whumper elected to resurrect whumpee's mind along with their body, if only to torment everyone involved just a little more.

and when whumper finally releases their control, either to flee or because they've been defeated, whumpee's eyes roll back and they slump lifelessly to the ground. a puppet with its strings cut.

[jazztag]

A Cure for Solitude III

The next day, the Tall Man doesn’t come. Instead, what comes is much, much worse.

Suddenly, his entrails appear to be on fire, and an increasing hunger eats his brain mercilessly, infecting his thoughts with the only desire to consume. His nose gets extremely sensible to all of his surroundings, and as if possessed, his body starts taking him out of the room of mirrors and into the big hall of the shopping center.

He finds himself entering what appears to be a supermarket. And for the first time, he isn’t alone anymore.

Walking by the corridors, he finds more creatures that, like him, seem to move towards smell. A rotten and absolutely tasty smell that covers the walls and makes them all congregate around the refrigerated sector of the store.

Alongside other undead people, he stumbles to get one of the packages containing raw meat, and after successfully getting his way onto one with raw seasoned chicken wings, gets thrown to the floor and stepped on by the rest of the orde. He embraces his little treat as if the most valuable thing ever and starts retreating towards the opposite wall, sitting by the dairies to regain his breath.

Now, still deadly hungry but less preoccupied by it, lets himself watch with morbid curiosity the spectacle in front of him: all the others fighting each other for the available meat. There’s a group of creatures that have started a fight over one piece of steak. There’s one who is chewing at another’s leg, and someone is on the floor, lacking one hand, and starting to eat their other one. So much chaos, so many animalistic growls and screams.

Still seated on the floor, he wonders if that’s how the Tall Man sees him.

Suddenly, there’s a big noise. And before he can even comprehend where it’s coming from, he starts hearing shots and gets on his stomach without missing a beat. There’s some commotion and shouting, and the rest of the creatures start running in different directions. There’s a vehicle right at the doors of the store, and it appears to have people, like actual, living people, coming down towards the orde. They are screaming “bloody zombies” and “kill them all” and each of them has a firearm.

He panics. One thing’s for sure: the Tall Man doesn’t carry any weapons, at least as far as he knows. Now, the image of people with guns fighting against animalistic human creatures terrifies him, and before he can comprehend anything more, he’s fleeing from the scene on all fours, not letting go of his chicken wings, tho. The actual people have started to lose against the zombie orde, and before he exits the store, he sees from the corner of his eye the way two zombies bite at one of the living people. Said person starts trembling on the floor, and in a minute or so, their eyes look soulless and their mouth opens hungry, for more meat. The former living person has transformed into another creature.

He turns away and disappears down the corridor, back to the furniture store, where he feels safer.

Maybe it’s the fact his brain ain’t braining anymore, or maybe he’s just very hungry, but by the time he walks past the room of mirrors and stops, he forgets about all the chaos outside and starts digging his decaying nails into the plastic container, trying to pray it open. His hands are trembling nonstop, clueless as to how to open the damn thing. He feels the hunger inside him again, and the panic settles. His movements get more and more erratic, and frustrated, the creature starts sobbing. The hunger hurts. It really hurts.

"Hey", he hears suddenly, and freezes instantly, recognizing the voice. His eyes try to focus in the dark, and he sees the Tall Man’s figure some meters away. He stumbles and leaves the food behind. Starts backing slowly, kneeling on the floor and lowering his head like a cornered dog. He is still remembering those living people with firearms, the chaos. And he wants nothing to do with it.

The Tall Man starts to walk towards him. And he panics again. Maybe the Man is one of the other living person’s group, and is about to shoot him on the head. Or worst, he wants to stuck another ouchie syringe on his arm. He is about to get up on both legs and start running as fast as he can when the Tall Man stops and crouches. The Man grabs at his food and examines it. The creature gets defensive over the chicken wings. The hunger hurts as hell, and he doesn’t want the Tall Man to steal those from him. So he emits a growl and something resembling the word “away”.

The Tall Man looks momentarily at him, unimpressed, and then with fairly easyness rips open the plastic envelope. He even looks smug doing so, and the creature rolls his eyes. Weirdly enough, the Tall Man doesn’t eat his food, he just stands there, as if inviting him to come get the food.

Maybe the Man doesn’t like chicken wings.

The hunger hits again in a wave of pain inside his intestines, and the creature bends over, grabbing at his stomach and yelps. The Tall Man observes in silence his pained movements, and decides to throw one piece of raw meat in the creature’s direction. The zombie lurks forward to the food upon smelling the decaying meat, and practically devours it in a couple of seconds. He then looks at the Tall Man, and at the rest of the food. And if asking shyly for permission, he motions towards the rest of the meat. The Man seems to understand, and backs away a bit.

The creature hesitantly moves forward, but when he has the rest of the food at arms length, it only takes him a couple of minutes to finish the rest of it. And when he is finally full and the hunger goes away and he is finally content, he realizes horrorized the Tall Man is onto him with another syringe in hand. Feeling extremely betrayed, he yelps and screeches like mad.

The Man immobilizes the creature with no effort, as he always does, like if dealing with a small and harmless small animal. And the zombie feels again his arm starting to burn from where the syringe and the unfamiliar contents hit. The Tall Man holds him down with incredible force, and the creature, while struggling, remembers (or maybe it’s an instinct) the way the other zombies bit at the living person, converting the human into one of them. And he closes his eyes and decides to bite his hand as well.

The Tall Man and the creature stop struggling against each other for a hot minute. The Tall Man looks at the creature in the eye, and then, weirdly enough, smiles. Before anything else is said, the Tall Man shows him the other hand, which has clean bandages around it from when the creature bit him, last time.

He doesn’t turn into one like me if bitten, thinks the creature. Weirded out, he starts backing away from the Tall Man, and the human lets him.

“You can’t turn me into one; no one can”, tells him the Tall Man. The creature scoffs, looking defeated.

“N-no… -t f-fair”, replies him. But he is more preoccupied with his arm right then, which has started burning as usual. The creature grabs at his limb and starts sobbing quietly. It’s getting bad again.

The Tall Man looks at him weird, like he does everytime the creature manages to speak an intelligible word. “I’ll be back for another sample tomorrow”, finally says, and steps up, towering over the creature with those blue, ice blue eyes.

God he is tall, thinks the creature, watching him disappear again into the corridors. Then he starts to shake, and embraces himself for the worst. Again.

[dangerousdm]

Chosen undead who forgot themselves eventually, when the impact of swords and hammers and dragon teeth started blending into the hilt of their sword against their hands, the stones hitting their shoulders when squeezing through collapsed doorways, when fire blasted into their face became synonymous with the sunlight filtering in through the holes of their helmet. It was all the same... eventually. Eventually, they even stopped flinching when a blade was flying toward them. Eventually, they stopped leaning toward the sacred warmth of the bonfires. It would happen no matter: the sword would strike them, and the cold would continue to bite.

It is only when it does do they remember. Only when the sword nicks the metal of their gauntlet, barely passing steel, and yet bleeds. And all at once there is a... different... pain. A discomfort as they take another step and feel the way their bones rattle together, dry in some places, wet in others. The way dark, red-brown fluid seeps from new wounds just beneath their layers of cloth and fur, dribbling down their armament, down to their boots. A sort of panic falls with it, and they follow it to the ground, pulling at their armor to assess the "wound": but it pulls at their skin. Or what once was their skin. Now the coagulated, melted mass of bone and muscle fused to the innards of their steel.

A rising sound of fear, panic, pain, regret, maybe, begs to emerge from the depths of their despaired soul, but little other than a choked cry comes, as their vocal chords are one with their collar. And it still just feels the same. Perhaps, though, that is the most terrifying part.

[whitehairandblood]

Thinking about a scenario where whumpee is killed by whumper/caretaker on accident. They never planned for this to happen, so they revive whumpee with magic or something, but whumpee can't remember that they died.

They can't explain the uneasy feeling they get around them afterwards. If it's whumper, then that's easily explained away, just added to the pile of other negative feelings associated with them. But caretaker?

They've been nothing but helpful so far. They're supportive, they want whumpee to heal. So why does whumpee want to avoid them? Why do the hairs on the back of their neck rise whenever caretaker enters the room? And why does caretaker look at them with so much sorrow in their eyes?

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1176

Anon asked: 

Prompts for characters who are already dead/undead? Maybe bad injuries getting worse because as long as they're still moving, they might not even feel what's wrong?

Sure:

Skin falling off in clumps from the additional injuries causing the blood to stop flowing to the areas altogether.

^ Same could go for limbs/extremities. 

The more they move, the less the pain gets - sleeping is agony, and they’re forever exhausted. Maybe they have to take sleeping medicine to get some actual rest, even if it leaves them disorientated.

Can their injuries heal? Maybe. But it takes a specific spell/potion/medicine to do so - maybe it takes days to reach the person able to produce these. 

^ Throughout the journey they become weaker and weaker, maybe their friends have to drag them through the doors to the healer. 

They may be undead, but maybe this wound is fatal if left untreated, and they must deal with the idea that they may die for a second time... and remain dead. 

As their injury progresses maybe they begin to experience rigor mortis - where their bodies begin to stiffen, making it harder to move/defend themselves. 

[forgottenghosty]

Dang I miss Immortal/Undead Male Whump with possible wholesome romance as tv shows...

I just got done rewatching FOREVER (2014) and Moonlight (2008) and want to watch more shows and even movies of the similar tastes and it’s hard to find.

(Forever 2014)

(Moonlight 2008) (Fun facts, the character Joseph from the show voices Terra in the Kingdom Hearts games. A book was published years after the show that inspired the series called “Angel of Vengeance” by  Trevor O’ Munson. The show went on hiatus due to the writers strikes and received 4 new episodes before ending, being cancelled, and not being picked up again.) 

I miss seeing shows where the male lead has to keep the secret or deal with someone knowing their secret and trying to live with it. All of it based more in a realistic reality of the actual world, while still be fictitious enough to have things that could never happen in reality as well.

I know there are some show or movies out there similar, but they don’t fit my tastes or I did watch them for a time and then stopped cause they started getting crazy or boring for me.

I’m not one for watching something with sex in it, nor a lot of demonic things in it either. Some exceptions have been Angel and Buffy, but those are more supernatural fiction. I tried watch Vampire Diaries and did enjoy it for a time, same with the Teen Wolf series, but they both got to a point I couldn’t stand them and just stopped watching and couldn’t get myself to watch them again. I’ve tried with Teen Wolf, but just got bored.

I did try watching some of True Blood to see what it was like and only came out enjoying the theme song and left that quick. I don’t think I made it past the first episode.

Tried watching Penny Dreadful and same thing happened. The Sabrina remake as well. One ep and then I ditched it. I hated the the demonic stuff and just dipped. Made me miss the 90s show I grew up all the more.

I used to watch Forever Knight as a kid, She Wolf, and Beauty and the Beast as well, but not really into watching the super older shows of late 80s early 90s right now.

Also sucks how I can’t get season 2 of Invisible Man (2000) in the US. UK is lucky and got the second season of Invisible Man, we only got Season 1, which I bought up so fast. Though based more in science, Invisible Man was another good one. Poor guy couldn’t catch a break. Miss it so much.

(The Invisible Man (2000) (Thankfully, though only 2 seasons, the series got to end with an actually ending.)

Thankful we keep getting Psych movies every few years or so, though movie 2 and 3 haven’t been available to buy yet, which is frustrating since they only show it on peacock, though 2 was on USA recently and 4 is in the works.

(Psych (2006-2014, Movies ongoing)

Enjoyed watching Dracula, the NBC, not the BBC one. That one I hated. I enjoyed Jekyll and Sherlock, but Dracula was horrible.

Dracula NBC ended too soon.

(Dracula (2013))

One I didn’t see until after it aired, that for a time was free to watch on old Hulu, was The Crow: Stairway to Heaven. Very 90′s, but enjoyable all the same.

(The Crow: Stairway to Heaven (1998) and yes that is Mark Dacascos probably known by many as The Chairman of Iron Cheif.)

Which I recently found out they finally have made a remake of the 90′s movie with Bill Skarsgard that I hope will be good. Just leaves adding any vfx and so on they need to before release.

Many will know him more as Pennywise the Clown and leads into why I sat through watching all of Hemlock Grove.

Only good reason to watch that show on Netflix. 

It has Vampires and Werewolves and more, but man, it isn’t worth it in the end with the plot they give.

So, yeah, really wish we got more immortal / undead whump with possible wholesome romances.

[hyper-real-hedgehog]

Great thing about vampire whump: you get to have the 'is it dissection or vivisection if theyre undead' question

[montammil]

Whumpee is brought back to life by Whumper, maybe Whumper is a mad scientist who brought them back for fun or research, or maybe Whumpee died and Whumper just couldn’t handle the idea of their precious Whumpee being dead (especially if they were the one who killed them in the first place).

Then they meet Death, or in other words, Caretaker. At first, Caretaker is ready to kill Whumpee for real, because they don’t believe anyone should have the right to escape death, but then they find not only is Whumpee incredibly abused, but also Whumper is the one who brought them back.

...so they take pity on them and grow rather protective of Whumpee, and decide to not only spare them, but become their friend and protector.

[spiralofwhump]

What if there was a Whumpee who has been revived but something went seriously wrong and now there are side effects? Whumpee is basically a walking corpse, they may be able to walk and talk but their body believes its dead. Their skin is deathly pale and cold, their eyes are dull and lifeless. The heart that once pumped blood through their veins is still and mute. What if their body can't heal properly now? If they get a scratch or papercut, it remains. For bigger injuries they need to be sewn shut because their body can't heal itself anymore, it's like their body is frozen in time almost. Imagine if they can't die again, they can get stabbed in the heart with a knife but it does nothing. Their heart doesn't beat, they don't breathe, a knife to the heart is nothing to them...that is if they don't feel pain. If their nerves still function..oh boy

[uu-tella]

Full panel under the cut

[eternalronin]

((Someone’s had a bad week. Non canon or not doodles of a job gone wrong, autopsies, and delayed resurrections. If Johnny had a nickel every time he found Jack as a walking corpse he'd have two nickels and that's two nickels too many.))

[anigst]

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Hello there!

I haven‘t heard of my favourite vampire for a long time. Let‘s see some Erich ultimately giving into his new nature. Pls 🥺👉👈

"Erich was slowly but surely starting to enjoy himself, feeling his humanity slipping away from him."

Dresden, East Germany, 1947

With every passing day, Erich Eeten was slowly - but surely - starting to... enjoy it.

The feeling of skin torn apart by his teeth, the rush of hot blood on his tongue and down his throat, warm skin that went cold as he drank and took another life, and another, and another... It had gone from a horror to an ecstasy, each time the idea that he was doing harm seemed further and further from his mind.

It felt like his humanity was slipping away from him.

More and more often, he found he did not care. He lived, after all, in the ruins of the greatest inhumanity he could ever have imagined.

Tonight, he walked with his hands buried in the pockets of a great overcoat, a cap pulled down low to shield the vaguely feline, inhuman pupils of his gleaming eyes. The ruins of the bombed-out city felt like observers all their own, piles of brick and rubble that seemed to sway towards him and then away.

The darkness slid around him like liquid, and the person he was following did not see him at all.

Why he had even wanted to return to Germany, he wasn't sure. To see his homeland desecrated and wrecked, the land of his father broken by the bombs that it had carelessly egged on again and again... Then split in two.

In the First War, they had taught he and the other soldiers, too young to know better, that there was glory in fighting for your country. Thousands had wandered home with shellshock and nightmares to show for their grand ideals and the ambitions of old rich men who sent the young and poor to die in the fields of France.

If he were going to weep for what Germany lost, he would have done so in 1918.

Here - now - all he could feel was the hunger that was never quite satisfied.

He sidestepped a fallen stone as he moved past the ruins of a grand church. Two walls were all that stood now, the curve on one side and straight lines on the other. A statue of Martin Luther still held court, looming with solemn dignity over the death of worship.

Someone had laid flowers beneath Luther's stone feet. They had gone gray, brown, and dried.

The man Erich followed had paused to light a cigarette, his matches a bright flicker of flame in the ever-present darkness.

Erich felt the ache in his fangs that longed to be buried in soft living skin. He swallowed, shifting slightly to the side. He let the shadows hide him.

It mattered so much less, now, if he knew someone had done harm or not.

Only the old rich men ever truly won the wars. The young and poor only went home to wait until they were forced to fight another.

And was it any worse to take life from a need to survive, than it was to order men like chess pieces to fall and be lost for nothing but vanity and ambition?

At least Erich kills clean.

[tendertenebrosity]

This is not in any semblance of order but that’s OK. 1, 2, 3

After the bodies had been buried and I had seen to my wounds - such wounds as I had, and such seeing-to as it was possible to give them - I laid facedown on the bank of the stream, and sobbed myself sick.

The dappled patterns of sun and shade drifted across me, and the air grew chill around me. After some time, even through my misery I felt the eerie pressure of the god’s… not presence, because I had come to understand that it was present everywhere this deep in  the forest. But its attention.

“You agreed to pay the price,” it said, and I didn’t lift my head from the ground to see what sort of mouthpiece it was using now.

“I know,” I said hoarsely.

“Volunteered, in fact. You begged to be allowed to pay it.”

“I know.”

“You are not justified in feeling ill-used. I have been more than fair with you.” Well, that depends on your point of view, doesn’t it, I thought bitterly. But I knew better than to give it voice.

I felt small feet moving over my back, my shoulder, and resisted the urge to roll over and swat whatever it was away.

“Please, just don’t,” I said, lifting my head a little. I sniffled, swallowed hard, coughed and retched and wiped my streaming face on my arm. “I will serve! I agreed to serve and I’ll do it, I will, I’m not trying to get out of it or deny my, my debt…”

“It is not debt,” the spider said. “It is ownership.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. Thanks. Thanks. “I know,” I said. “I… I mispoke. I’m sorry. Anything I have to give - I said it, and I meant it. And I want - I want to be, to be useful to you. And I will. But…”

“But?”

“But I had a life!” I couldn’t stop my voice rising. “I had a place and a life and a future and I had, I had control over my body and now I have none of those things, you have them, and I hurt.” I gulped for breath, and the ticklish shifting inside my chest made me feel sick all over again. “You took me apart and put me back together! You took my heart right out of my body!”

“By your own account, you would have died three times in the town without the changes I have wrought.”

“I know. And I agreed. And I’ll do what you want. But it hurts! I can’t not hurt!”

A long silence, while I buried my wet snotty face in my elbow, trying to ride out the urge to throw up over and over until all of the dirt and vegetation was somehow purged from my body.

“What is it that you want?” the forest god asked. “If this is not complaint, what is it? Why do you cry?”

“Nothing,” I hiccuped. I want to go home. I want to be free. I can’t have anything that I want. “From you, nothing. I just - I cry because that’s what humans fucking do. I’ll get up and do whatever you want soon. You have all of my life, don’t you?”

“Time,” the forest god said. “That is easy enough to grant. Very well.”

The spider stepped delicately down the branch, and disappeared into the shadows beneath. The weight of the god’s attention faded; and left me alone on an apparently normal stream bank, the chuckling of water and the hiss of wind through branches the only sounds.

True to its word, I did not see a mouthpiece of the forest god for the next three days.

Left to my own devices, I cried until the tears dried up; and then as night fell over the forest, I slept fitfully. I woke, and listlessly went up and down the stream bank gathering edible water plants and berries, which the god had told me I was permitted to do, and cried again. Picked at the scabs that covered up the cavity of rot and life inside my ribs, until they were open wounds in need of tending again. Pulled at the green growing stuff inside of me until it genuinely did start to hurt. It would grow back anyway if I left it alone long enough, no matter if I scraped out all the decaying leaf litter.

By the third day, I was starting to be done with the crying.

And truth be told, a little bored.

I turned from the stream, and set off into the echoing green cathedral of the forest. I picked the direction that I thought the new city of the colony lay, but honestly I still had no idea where I actually was.

I had been fighting my way through a thicket of wet, clinging groundcover that came up to my waist for quite some time when a tiny bird settled weightlessly onto a stick poking its way up out of the carpet.

“Your nature is very destructive, isn’t it.”

I wiped sweat off my forehead, turned to look at the trail of broken vegetation behind me. Not even a straight line, I realised, embarrassed. I’d been curving to the south pretty consistently.  

“Yeah, well, you could make it easier on me if you wanted,” I said. “Cut your favourite undead servant a break.”

The forest god hopped from stick to tree trunk, cocking its tiny head from side to side. It said nothing.

“So,” I said, taking a deep breath, in and out, my liar chest swelling under my shirt. “What’s our plan from here?”

[hidden-dreamland]

Content & warnings: Buried alive, mentions of maggots, implied character death, undead whumpee, fourth wall breaking

DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES

Chapter 1 - Meet the corpse.

This chapter can also be called “the one where you meet the author and learn a bit about his deceit” but that doesn’t make for a snappy title now, does it? I don’t think so.

Oh well. Snappy titles aside, I should begin now.

I'll start off with an apology. Now you, reader, may be asking yourself just why in the world is that needed? Well. For my deceit.

Reader, I apologize for lying.

Oh wait. You don’t know what im lying about, do you?

You don’t. I haven’t told you. I haven’t told anyone. Not yet at least.

I mean I don’t have many people to tell this to right now…

I'll stop rambling.

Well dear reader, I guess it’s time I come clean. This story’s title is nothing more than a bold-faced lie. One that I did believe in life, sure, but a lie nonetheless. You see dear Reader, I'm dead. BUT WAIT, HOLD YOUR HORSES AND THE QUESTIONING AND THE COMMENTS CALLING ME CRAZY. I see those fingers of yours running to the reblog button to bombard me with curious intent and indignant questions and snarky comments and innocent thoughts of “oh what a fun writing style!”- save it. I’m not kidding. This isn’t a gimmick, Reader. I, the author, am very much dead. In fact, I'm six feet under as I write this.

Maybe less than six feet, given the bit of signal I managed to get...

Ah well.

By the time you read this, I may or may not be… attempting to dig myself out of here. It’s difficult. But I can try. I will try

I have to try.

I'm going fucking insane down here.

That is also why I'm writing. Just a little bit of creative work to keep the demons at bay.

Heaven knows I need it.

Ever been stuck in a coffin, reader? Or rather, ever been stuck in your own coffin?

I hope you haven't. I really hope you haven't.

As far as I'm aware, I don't exactly need to breathe, but that doesn't make the stuffy air around me any less unpleasant. You see, reader, I'm a corpse. I reek of fucking rot.

One could expect the scent of formaldehyde, of preserving agents, but it seems I've been buried in natura. Tacky, in my opinion. Way too last century. I'd much rather have the chemical smell than this damp disgusting stench of decomposing flesh.

Sigh. Did I even have a proper burial?

Maybe not.

I don't remember how I died, but i don't think it was an easy death given the bruising and the cuts and the sheer amount of wrong I feel inside me.

There's even something moving.

Wait

Why is there something moving

Wait whfgnlsz##√¢

dAtatta√^5@

WHAT THE FUCJ

Ok. Alright. Yeah. Dear reader, while I don't have to, I definitely can breatge

I can fucking hyperventilwee

And I have the lungs and the throat to scream it seems

i guess im in a much better state than previously thought. oh by the gods

TGEYRE STILL HERE

Fuck, ok, yeah, reader, I'll have to leave for now

my 'get the fuck out of thid goddamn box' plan has been moved from merely Important to ABSOLUTELY URGENT

I'll explain later, once I'm not oOCCUPIED FIGHTINF OFF THESE GODDSMN MAGGOTS

the Corpse shall be coming back soon :33

Void here- i hope you guys enjoyed this little thingy that came to my brain in the middle of the night the other day. I plant to make it into a series because oh the ideas are flowing

if you'd like to be tagged or removed from the taglist, please say so!

taglist: @whumpshaped, @meowsikbox, @wormwriting