#The Ripper | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-manors-writer · 2 years

Note

Can we please get a fic about possessive/yandere Jack tunneling/tormenting his darling during a match? Something akin to the snippet of him we saw in the Emil and badly injured s/o headcanons. That bit had me barking, I need more of y'alls Jack 🙏🥴

thank you for enjoying that tidbit, detective! i am a very firm believer of slandering jack as much as possible but immediately making him attractive in the worse ways i could <3 he's a horrible man and i love that in him! please enjoy this food, and do bark more. if you do so, he might buy you a collar and leash. - mod orpheus

request: yandere!ripper tunneling/tormenting his darling headcanons pairing: [the ripper] yandere!jack x gn!reader warnings: general yandere behaviour, descriptions of blood & injury, near death experience

jack the ripper

to be the apple, or may i say rose, of his eye is a death sentence in of itself.

the ripper does not do “obsession”, or so he thought. it was a useless endeavour, to be so taken in by something or someone temporary, especially with what he does for a living. he assumed, be it person or item, it will leave and perish over time in his presence. more than anything, the only thing he ever thought he’d be obsessed over was his work. something he was very much okay with.

that all changed when he met you

everything about you captivated him; from your appearance, your movements, down to the way you speak. he was drawn to you, like a moth to flame, desperate to have you at any cost. he spent days, absent from matches, in his room. the curtains drawn, the lights dimmed, paint splattered across floors and canvases. art pieces, abstract, stylised, realistic, all pieces with you as its muse. with each brush stroke, his obsession grew, and grew, and grew. neither survivors nor hunters knew this was what he was doing in his absence. the survivors, more than anything, were relieved about him being gone for the time.

you were warned about him by both factions. you were warned greatly. jack, but we mostly call him the ripper, says the perfumer, was a ruthless hunter. his very presence struck fear in those who opposed him. he hunted with skill and precision, but at the same time was sickeningly nonchalant about it. he plays with his food, that disgusting man, whispered emma to you. a monster through and through, he even has the gall to flirt with some of us in the middle of hunts. every warning sickened you and made you fear the day you’ll have to match against him. that was why his absence was a cherished moment by both survivors and hunters. however, such a thing cannot always stay permanent.

eventually, the ripper returned, and everyone saw it was with a renewed gusto. a bad thing, stated the seer. he had his mind set on something, or shall i say, someone. you.

your first encounter with him was outside a match. the way he peered at you, eyeing you like you were a slab of meat for him to slice and cut open than a human being; it made you understand why even some hunters were uneasy [a great understatement] about him. though some hunters weren’t human, either changed or lived that way their whole lives, the ripper was a different level. he was... human, but he didn’t feel human. not even someone like the hell ember made you feel like that. something about him was uncanny, even if all he did was brush past you with a wicked promise of meeting once more. preferably in the near future, little rose, he chuckled out.

for a while, you thought that was an empty promise. wicked and terrifying, sure, but empty. the matches you joined within those days were with other hunters. you haven’t seen jack in a match with you for a few days at least. you thought he was just scaring you with that talk about ‘near future’- he’s had to be scaring you, no? that’s what a hunter like him would do.

you grew familiar with what arms factory looked like in the time you spent here. it was a ‘starter map’, as other survivors said. good kiting spots, fairly spread out rocket chairs, strong pallets. it’s the perfect place for newcomers, though you have long since shed that little nickname from the others. you, alongside the gardener, doctor, and perfumer, all sat at the table together, excitedly talking about what plans you may have for the upcoming off days. “i think i’ll spend time with coordinator,” vera tapped her chin in thought, “she mentioned wanting some tips for makeup. i’ll help her out then.” “sounds fun!” emma nodded her head and giggled, “i’ll just tend to the gardens again, as i always do. emily should join me!” the doctor laughed politely, a hand over her mouth as she did, eyes crinkled with content, “yes, i think that sounds fun. what about you?”

you paused in thought and shrugged, “didn’t really think about it that much, but i’ll probably find something to do sooner or later.” “you can help with the gardens too!” the gardener suggested, “the manor could always use more green thumbs.” “oh, yes, you could come with,” emily nodded in agreement along with the perfumer. the conversation was stopped by a smooth, honeyed voice humming from behind the curtains. all four heads turned to face it. silver blades pushed the cloth aside as the towering figure of the ripper spun through, bowing down in front of the table. attached to his back was an evil looking scythe, black and sharpened with flicks of smoke curling off of it.

your heart lodged itself in your throat in a bad way when the ripper lifted his head to look at you.

the game began.

right off the bat, he was ruthless. the ripper roamed the map like a wretched, evil, fog. he was playing with the doctor, it was clear to the three of you. he chased, he hit, and then he simply just waited nearby emily. you knew he’d be able to catch her easily if he just tried, but he was waiting. waiting for something, even if it costed him a cipher or two. the moment the second bell rang throughout the match, it was like the realisation struck all four of you. he was farming for presence. he wanted full presence.

it was like the mist through the factory thickened significantly as that happened. the ripper turned his back on the doctor and stormed through. even if he passed any of the other two women there, they were unbothered. perhaps shaken, a little scream from his chilling fog that brushed past them, but nothing more than that. after all, he wasn’t there for them. he was there for you. and you were made violently aware of it when you saw a sudden bend on the pole of your cipher. slowly, you lifted your head, fingers trembling over the keys, sweat sticking to the back of your neck. the fog shifted, unwrapping itself around its commander.

there, standing so casually over your cipher, and you by extension, was the ripper. he tilted his head, eyes squinted in delight. “hello, little rose,” he crooned. you slammed your hands firmly onto the cipher and lunged away, nearly missing the button to ping the girls. the hunter is near me!

the cipher in factory was finished, but the basement was there. however, nowhere else was safe for you to kite, as nearby would be one of your three teammates decoding a cipher. you had to take the risk. you had no other choice. you felt your heartbeat thrum loudly in your ears as you ran across the map, the ripper right on your tail. your legs screamed at you; a split of stop running, it hurts too much and keep running, he’s going to kill you. you had to dodge a foggy blade, seeing the black mist hit the wall and disperse right beside you. you stumbled in your steps, nearly tripping over your feet and falling. but you managed to catch the metal railing in the factory, using it to boost yourself some more distance away. not like it did much, as the ripper stepped through the fog and slipped past the door with an increased speed. he never downed you, no matter how close he was to you as you vaulted the window or a pallet for a terror shock. it was like he enjoyed seeing your discomfort, as you vault, as you run, his hand or claw ghosting against you lightly.

two ciphers later, the last one was on standby with the perfumer. both doctor and gardener waited at the gate close to the factory. but he still hasn’t downed you, let alone hit you once. it wasn’t like he wasn’t trying too much; he aimed his blades carefully in a way that would hit you if he was just a bit more accurate or if you were just a bit more sloppy. however, with the blood rushing through you and adrenaline pumping through your veins, you couldn’t afford nor even try to be sloppy. especially not against the ripper of all hunters.

seeing as he was doing nothing more but stalling at this point, you had to do it. focus on decoding! if only you did it a bit later, perhaps when you were in a more safer position...

the cipher popped, and it was like a switch was flipped in the ripper. with a manic exhale of his breath, you knew you made your first, and final mistake. you gripped the windowsill as you lifted your body over, a vault in progress. but as you did so, his claws raised, the blade wrapped in black fog before he swung harder than he would have usually. the black smoke that wrapped around you momentarily made the sting worse. through your clothes, your fabric ripped, and you felt a searing pain across your back. from the corner of your eye, you saw splatters of blood, but you knew there was more gushing out. your back was wet. warm, cold, wet. you crashed into the ground, a nasty, filthy scrape digging and ripping up your skin and irritating it. a scream ripped throughout your throat; one so loud and pained that you thought your chords were about to burst and split. it was a scream louder tha emily’s. it was a scream of true pain.

blood was rushing everywhere as you gripped your leg, yet that strained the deep gashes across your back. you knew he hit deep. it was painful. it was hell. tears streamed down your face as you sobbed and cried, choking up on tears as you looked at the ripper. he stuck his legs on the windowsill, vaulting over casually as if he didn’t just damn near break your back in half with one hit alone. he peered down at you with a cruel smile, head cocked to the side as he crouched down beside you. the lack of glowing red eyes didn’t excite you as much as it would have any other time. you only had enough strength to ping that he had no detention before you had to go back to crying out in pain, head turning away from him.

you couldn’t even bring yourself to a crouching position to crawl away, you could only drag yourself on your stomach bit by bit to try and gain even the most insignificant amount of distance to the ripper as you could. he let you do so for a while, but eventually gripped your leg with his unclawed hand. you were relieved at that. he was going to chair you, and your teammates were going to escape.

but he instead yanked your leg and twisted you, forcing you to slam against your back. the earth dug into the open wounds and you threw your head back with a pained scream. there was so much blood. on the ground, on you, on everything you feel. the ripper’s hold on you loosened, and you were subjected to his ghosting touch as he caged you in beneath him. “my, my, look at you,” he whispered breathlessly, very obviously happy with his work. he tilted his head aside, fingers brushing from your scraped leg to the inside of your thigh, reveling in how you turned your head away with a pained sound.

“now now, little rose,” he chastised lightly, but gripped your hair with a strength so tight it nearly ripped off your scalp, “look at me.” a breathless gasp left your lips as you looked at him, one eye barely able to open from the pain and stinging tears. “s.. stop... l.. let me go...” you sobbed. he haphazardly let go of your head, making you lightly slam it against the ground by the sudden loss of support. the ripper bent his back down, claws tapping against his face, chuckling as he gazed at you with a crooked grin, “just listen to that. what a precious, beautiful sound.”

he twirled your hair in his unclawed fingers, tugging your head up before abruptly slamming it back down again. “just like those fucking whores,” he snarled, “you cute, pretty, little thing... those breathless cries, those ragged shrieks, the last time i heard those were in the alleyways of london, my hands wrapped around some broad’s fucking neck as i break it backwards. my darling, what i wouldn’t do to gut you right fucking now. your insides, organs, everything, spread open on the ground for me, and only me to see.”

you could barely thrash away, sobbing and crying as you see the blurry figures of your teammates running to try and help you, only to stop abruptly at the bloody sight. “r.. run..” you force out through gritted teath, “get.. get out of here..!” “n.. no- no, emma has to help!” the gardener tried to run forward, but she was pulled back by the perfumer and doctor. “stop- stop it, what are you doing?!” emma cried, “we can help them! we- we can help- he has no detention!” “we have to go, emma,” emily urged as they began pulling her away. you saw the ripper start to grin at the desperate sight of the gardener thrashing and kicking, trying to run towards you. emma reached her hand out, screaming your name, sobbing just as, if not even harder than you have been as you see her figure get smaller, smaller, and finally, gone.

“now, do scream out as loud as you can. if you satisfy me, i might let you crawl your way out of here, whore,” he whispered the filthy nickname for you in such a sickeningly excited way, “let’s have some fun, shall we?”

[ art credit - unknown ]

88 notes · View notes

viva-la-whump · 3 months

Text

Febuwhump Day 8

@febuwhump

Wow, I'm really not doing great on updating these on the actual days! :P I think I need to schedule them so I don't have to rely on my future brain...

Anyways, here's Day 8!

"WHY WON'T IT YOU STOP"

“When are you going to stop?”

“I can’t stop. Not when I knew that monster is still out there, torturing and murdering innocent women.”

“But he’s not! He’s dead! You saw his body yourself.”

“That wasn’t him. The murders haven’t stopped.”

“Those were done by copycats. Forensics proved it. Why don’t you focus on catching them as opposed to chasing ghosts?”

Thrawn sighed, wincing as he shifted in his hospital bed, the movements agitating his abused ribs. He and Ar’alani had had this argument many times before now. Thrawn knew the so-called “Ripper” was still alive, despite what forensics had said.

The Ripper treated his kills like a macabre form of art, and even if an artist changed tools, materials, or even techniques, their signature was still on every piece they created. Every body they left behind. And so, despite all the protests and reprimands he’d received from his superiors, Thrawn hadn’t stopped hunting.

This latest trail, however, had resulted in him receiving quite the beating from a very large thug who'd gotten the drop on him. He was lucky Ar’alani had known him well enough to follow him.

“I didn’t come here to argue with you,” Ar’alani sighed. She handed him a folder. “You’ve finally gotten your transfer. You’re to leave for the Continental Republic and join the Pinkertons.” Thrawn looked up at her sharply in surprise. “Don’t think of it as a reward,” Ar’alani said. “With this transfer also comes your removal from Scotland Yard. You won’t be getting any more resources from us once you’re over there. The higher ups can’t afford to keep you around anymore, but luckily for you, Ba'kif doesn’t want your talents to go to waste. So this is them getting you out from under their feet and sending you off to be someone else’s problem as you continue your wild goose chase.”

“And what do you think?” Thrawn asked. “Do you believe this to be a fruitless endeavor?”

Ar’alani sighed again. For all her words of protest earlier, he knew she still had doubts about the Ripper’s supposed demise. The latest bodies had been closer to the docks than before and in the following weeks there had been nothing. Not that the Ripper hadn’t taken his time between kills before, but Thrawn had suspected their culprit had begun to feel the heat from their pursuit and had decided to fake his death and escape to new territory.

“I think,” Ar’alani said, “that you had better be right about this, or else as I will have lost my best detective, and a good friend, for nothing.”

Thrawn’s lips tugged into a small smile.

“You haven't lost me, Ar’alani. And I promise this won’t be for nothing.”

“You’d better be right about that.”

4 notes · View notes