#emeto tw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whumpsoda · 2 days

Text

So Long

WOHEO Masterlist Surprise!!! >:]

cw: emeto, major character death, suicidal ideation, being staked through the heart

———————————————————————

Everything was blurred with an infection of horrifying black.

Nevan could barely see, vision fuzzy and clouded, his ears ringing crazily. He could no longer connect to where he was, what was happening, his mind too far distant to reach with such wildly shaking hands.

So many voices, unfamiliar and changing, whirled around him, flashing over his head at the speed of light with urgency he could never comprehend. They spoke and shouted and yelled over him, words loud yet incomprehensible. Not that he could bring enough attention to manage focus on them. Not that he could begin to care.

Because Nevan was lying down. Lying down and collapsed where his face was stuck, coated in a pool of trickling, oozing black, drooling in a puddle over now stained wood. Smelling with the stench of disease, thick and deep. It kissed his cheek, tainting his stringing long locks, color only further darkened by the rich black of monster blood.

Blood.

The walls of his mind were pounding with a sick load of nausea, only worsened by the tons of feet stomping around the same floor his head lay upon. Bile bubbled in a sour concoction of stinging acid in his belly, crawling and creeping its slimy way down his caving throat. Lingering there with its weight, threatening ever so carefully to spill.

Master. The thought repeated, over and over again, filling his brain in completion. Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master-

One eye peeked open, unfocused, eyelashes fluttering. Nevan took a sweet moment, his vision ever so slowly adjusting. His breath had ceased, lungs dry. Finally, he saw him.

Master.

Darius looked back to his thrall, but he did not see him. He looked right through Nevan with those bejeweling, foggy eyes of his, open agape with a wide gaze. He lay mere feet away, hair flopping over his face in a clutter, drool slipping down his chin. His face was drained of any color that ever remained, white as a ghost. Fitting.

Trembling, shaking as quick as a leaf, head beating loud and overwhelmed with the pulse of his quick heart, Nevan reached out for him. Desperate and hopeful, he clawed his way toward his master, limbs weak and wobbling. Black rot tainted his skin as he crept, the pool of it sinking into the fabric of his once cream dress only ever growing.

“Mmm… Ma- a- Masterrr…” he croaked, ugly and crackling against his torn up throat. Nevan winced.

His master did not respond. Did not berate him for such an irritating sound, did not scoff and wave him along. Simply nothing. Terrible, terrible nothing.

As Nevan gazed into his master’s unwavering stare, heart, mind, and being full of adoration and beloved, pure longing, his fingers landed to the vampire’s slender chest. Dipping inside by ignorance, touching wet.

The spot of his heart where the human’s touch had landed, Nevan soon realized, was staked clean through by crusted wood and mauled to grimy shreds. Swallowed black his heart, a gaping hole and rushing fountain of dreaded misery staring back at him. Laughing. Torn flesh molded over and already decayed, the stake stuck out and splattered with liquid insides.

Immediate and with no hesitance, the persisting vomit finally tore through. Gagging, heaving with wretched, burning taste, dipping over and down his tongue, chunks caught over his teeth. Tripping and stumbling over his quivering lips it flooded, dripping in gulps to the ground. Someone gasped in aversion, far away and muffled.

Nevan felt abhorrently dirty. Tainted with disgusting smell and taste, body coated with the root of the dead. How vile, Darius would have said. At least, Nevan hoped so. He wished his master would chastise him, scream at him, tell him he was naughty and terrible and a very bad boy.

Anything.

Tears collected with the vomit lingering from his chin, fat and thick with salt. His fingers curled over the flooring, quaking with a sickly concoction. His stomach sensed as if it was caving in on itself, mind ripping in two. Nevan felt as if he was going to die.

Too.

Because his master was dead.

Dead.

Nevan wished to those above, to whoever may listen, that his master could have taken him along as well. He wasn’t supposed to live without his master. He wasn’t supposed to, and yet he was. Maybe if he wished harder God would strike him dead. So, he wished harder. He wished harder and harder until his head was in too much pain to think.

But, not thinking was better than thinking. If one thing in the world was going Nevan’s way, it was that. So simply and devoid of thought, he cried.

Soon enough, Nevan was pulled back to reality by sound he could not ignore. Rich, guttural, and raw, a twist between a shriek and a wail. He instantly recognized the perpetrator of such a pained, agonizing noise.

Malak.

Someone was beside the other thrall, Malak lurched forward in despair and clutching his own master’s lifeless corpse with an iron grip, someone Nevan had never seen, whispering kindly and failing to check on him. Maybe to make him shut up. Nevan couldn’t tell, but he didn’t want them to. Nobody got to go near Malak, no one beside their masters and him.

Wiping his face of crusted fluids Nevan gasped for air, steading himself in a kneeling position. Swaying, mouth still drooling droplets of bitter moisture, he crawled his way toward his companion, head snaking its way into the nape of Malak’s neck and deterring their unwanted visitor.

Malak was trembling horribly, convulsing with unimaginable anguish. Even under so much confusion that accompanied the trance put over him, he could seemingly still understand his masters had been hurt. It was fully possible Malak did not even comprehend they were gone for good. A part of him hoped he wouldn’t have to explain the situation. Nevan had trouble understanding it, too.

“Mmngh… Ma… lak…” Nevan whispered, strained, beating hot breath inside the other man’s ear. Malak finally lifted his head, still sobbing with such emotion Nevan had never seen from him before. He twisted his neck, petting the side of Nevan’s head with his own.

For a moment, Nevan caught a glimpse of Adrastus still wound inside of the thrall’s arms. Skin dripping with the black of their own blood, face mangled and unrecognizable. His guts churned. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t look. He wanted to remember them as whole.

“Nevan! Nevan, Nevan, Nevan, Nevan!” Malak hollered, a bellowing sound from his stomach. “Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master, Master!” He repeated, each word glazed with further hurt that pierced the other thrall’s wounded heart.

In mere seconds there was a group of terrible strangers surrounding them, each with their carefully placed arms outstretched, speaking gradual and in honeydew tones. Nevan only pushed himself further into the lap of the other thrall, who still wailed and shrieked in their shared despair.

Fingers slithered smoothly over his shoulder, gripping down before he could react and pulling. Pulling. Then another over his opposing shoulder, yanking him off of his companion.

Whoever they were, Nevan did not hold an ounce of care, were not welcome there. Especially not to take him away from Malak.

Nevan screeched in response, a group of hands cluttering his body and dragging him away. With fiery aggression lit, pounding, banging, spitting, biting on their knuckles and fingers he fought, in the desperate attempt to deter their attack. “N-! No! No, no! No!”

Hushes and coos rushed around him, only further strengthening his anger. He wriggled and writhed in their hold, eventually forcing them off and crawling as quick as he could back to a crying Malak. Nevan gently and tenderly tightened himself around the other thrall, Malak’s tears wetting his shoulder.

Silently, he shut his eyes, and took a breath. Whispers of unwanted guests circled him. He paid them no mind.

What had they done to deserve it? His beloved, magnificent masters? They had given him a home, provided him a purpose. A family. One he would cherish so very dearly. Loving touch and mind melting bliss he never truly earned. All of it, no more. And he was too stupid to even protect them in return.

He tensed, wrapping tighter around Malak, nails digging into his flesh. He could’nt do it. Not without them, he couldn’t do it. He was not supposed to. And yet, he knew he had to.

Nevan made a promise. To himself, and to Malak. He would not fall down and die like their masters did, no matter if they were gone or not. Malak needed him far too dearly, and he realized that.

Malak needed him, and Nevan would do everything in his power to love him like he deserved. Maybe, from beyond the grave, they would forgive him.

———————————————————————

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud @battyfantasy @xx-adam-xx @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @mylifeisonthebookshelf @mis-graves @3-2-whump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

#we only have each other #Whump #writing #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing #Whump story #major character death #tw death #emeto whump #emeto tw #vomit whump #tw vomit

26 notes · View notes