#rayan hyacinth

[inkwell-and-dagger]

How To Kill An Immortal

Chapter 1 — Taken

Word Count: 3,125

Contains: kidnapping, (potential) knife violence, asphyxiation,

next || masterlist

—> —> —> —> —> —>

Immortals.

Those with the unnatural ability to surpass the regular limits of the human body, able to endure even the most lethal of wounds, able to heal from injuries with an uncanny speed, fall under this title.

But it wasn't as if they were particularly sought after. Unlike other, more mythical beings that plagued the world, they were treated normally. Hell, if one were to pass an Immortal in the street, they'd look like any normal passerby. Just a regular person, unless one would happen to witness their healing process or uncanny ability to walk off lethal injuries themselves.

Not to Foster Canavan, though.

The mere concept of Immortals existing unsettled them in a way. The fact a normal person, anyone, could possess such an ability naturally didn't seem right to them. Just like every other thing that wasn't quite like what they deemed as 'normal' in this world. It wasn't as if they wanted the ability to be Immortal, no, if anything they despised the things. After what one did to their own damned fucking parents, they could hardly stand the thought of being in a room with an Immortal. They weren't human in their eyes, no matter how hard anyone tried to convince them otherwise. And they'll never be human, no matter how human they look or act.

So when they realised an Immortal would be lurking amongst Durham for a while, they were determined to get rid of the vile thing themself.

There was only one problem, however: Foster had no bloody clue where to actually find the Immortal. The only reason they'd even become aware of the thing's existence was after they'd seen him walking down the street. They recognized almost immediately after that it was an Immortal — the vibrant, almost inhuman, green hue of its eyes and the darkened infinity symbol mark on his palms gave it away. They didn't know the Immortal's name, nor where it lived, where it was born, etcetera. And, quite frankly, they didn't give a shit. They just wanted to get the damned thing off the streets.

Prowling up and down the street they'd last seen the creature, Foster hid in the shadows of their hood. Although they weren't hiding from anybody in particular, it was a comfort to know that they wouldn't stand out too much. And despite the fact that they had an inkling of a doubt that the man would show up here again, they couldn't help but try anyway.

Lost in thought, eyes fixed onto the cracks in the pavement, they didn't notice a figure walking by until their shoulders collided. Snapping out of their trance, they looked up to the man they'd bumped into.

“I'm sorry,” Foster started, taking a moment as they mumbled the apology to assess the man's face. The stranger stood at around 5’7, they guessed, with ivory skin, brown hair and… green eyes.

Startlingly green. Almost unnaturally so.

Oh.

Successfully masking their expression of triumph, they kept their face neutral as the Immortal responded. Meanwhile, Foster clutched the small knife in their hoodie pocket even tighter. It may come in good use if he didn't come quietly.

“It’s okay. Wasn't your fault.” With a strong, Northern Irish accent, the damned creature replied casually. Shrugging, it turned to leave, before Foster's scarred hand grabbed a hold of his forearm.

“Aye, I've seen you somewhere. Yesterday.”

The Immortal raised an eyebrow, and Foster cursed themself as his expression turned to one of suspicion. “And what's making you stop me again?”

Crap. Thinking of an explanation, Foster tried to lengthen the time they had, even just by an inch. Then again, they doubted this excuse would be effective. “You.. erm, you look like an interesting guy?”

“Thank you?” The Immortal shuffled on the spot uncomfortably, gently prying its arm out of Foster's grasp. As the thing turned to leave again, much to the dismay of Foster, they realised they just had to get on with it and make their intentions known.

As soon as the tip of a knife, cold and dangerous, touched the back of his neck, the Immortal stopped in his tracks. Foster spoke again, “Listen ‘ere you little shit. You're gonna be coming with me, and you're gonna do everything I say. Otherwise, this—” They accentuated the word by pressing the pocket knife into the Immortal's skin, eliciting a whimper from the creature— “Is gonna end up three inches into your neck.” Foster grinned, though the expression was grim. “But I doubt it'll kill you.”

Foster relished in the fearful gaze meeting their own, the creature’s reaction priceless. “Huh—?”

“Come with me, Immortal.”

The Immortal begrudgingly nodded in response. His reluctance was evident. Foster's grin only widened, turning the Immortal around and beginning to lead him down the street. They shifted the position of the knife to a more subtle place, against the creature's lower back, digging the blade in if the vile thing moved too slowly. “Tell me your name.”

“Fuck you.”

Foster just pursed their lips, grip on the pocketknife tightening with their horribly disguised irritation. That was fine. They'd find out eventually. “How old are you?”

The Immortal hesitated, mumbling his response. His age wouldn't reveal too much, right? “Thirty.”

Foster frowned in suspicion. “You look too young to be thirty.”

A hint of a smirk involuntarily tugged at his lips, despite his situation. “Should I be flattered?”

The smaller mortal scowled. “Just keep fucking walkin’, Immortal.” They emphasised the last word as if it were an insult, pressing the blade of their knife further into Rayan's jacket until he fell silent and continued down the street. The road was quiet as dusk arrived, the only noise being the echo of their footsteps down the road.

The Immortal's fear was palpable, and Foster could practically taste it in the air. An icy, frigid feeling. It gladdened them to know that they were the one instilling this fear into such a ‘powerful’ creature.

With some time, Foster managed to track down where their parked car was, unceremoniously shoving open the car door and pushing the Immortal towards it; a silent command to get inside. They doubted they’d need to tie him up, given how compliant he was already.

But it did seem they overestimated him. Defiantly, he stood up again, standing quite a few inches taller than Foster. It was as if he was mocking them. “Look, I'll give you whatever you want. Money, or whatever,” the Immortal leaned closer, voice quivering, betraying his thin facade. The Immortal was terrified, but stood his ground, “I'm not getting in there.”

“I don't want money. Get in the car.”

“No, not until I—”

“Get in the car.”

“No—” his protest abruptly turned into a strained grunt as Foster's hand wrapped easily around his neck, and the mortal grinned at the quickening pulse under their palm. Lifting his hands to grasp their wrist, attempting to pry his captor’s hand off once realising he couldn't breathe. “Get off of me!” He rasped, sinking his chipped black nails into the flesh of their wrist, earning a pained grunt from the mortal.

The mortal scowled, an expression riddled with disgust, as they slid the knife back into their pocket to hold him down against the car door with their other hand. Squeezing tighter, they watched in sick, grim satisfaction as the creature's pleas turned into gasps and whimpers for air.

The Immortal’s pitiful noises soon subsided after a couple minutes, movements weakening when his consciousness began to slip. Foster watched, hardly fazed by the scene, instead squeezing tighter until, finally, Rayan was unconscious. They placed him down on the backseat, leaning over his unconscious form.

“Thank fuck,” They whispered, quickly checking nobody had watched the ordeal before grabbing the bundle of rope from the passenger seat. Roughly binding the Immortal's wrists and ankles together, they wasted no time in instead shoving him into the boot of the car. Just in case he woke up and decided to cause trouble.

—> —> —>

Foster had been driving for a good fifteen minutes now, lost in the winding roads outside of Durham. Thankfully, if the vile Immortal was even awake now in the first place, the thing in the boot was silent.

They pondered over what they could do now. Chaining the guy up in their basement is really the only option they have; they can't exactly kill him, can they? Foster lived alone, which they were infinitely thankful for, but they had to put into consideration that their neighbours might grow suspicious if they were to hear him. Scaring them into silence will have to suffice if they grow too curious.

With that thought, they pulled into the driveway of their house. It wasn't too much of a noticeable building, quite mundane compared to some of those around them. But they enjoyed the simplicity, the neatness. Boring to some, perfect to them.

Striding out of the car and to the boot, they hesitated. They were conflicted; they didn't want anybody witnessing them dragging a tied up, thirty-year-old man into their house, but then again they didn't want to risk leaving him unattended for too long. Foster didn't trust that the Immortal wouldn't try and escape once left alone.

They checked their phone. It was nearly midnight. They doubted anybody would be awake at the time, so Foster was sure they'd be fine.

Fuck it. What did they have to lose, anyway? Certainly not much. Gloved hand opening the boot of the car, they were amused to see the Immortal, bound and distressed, staring up at them with teary eyes. They almost felt bad for the vermin. Almost.

“Out you go,” Foster grunted, holstering the man up into their arms despite the height difference, slinging him over their shoulder and wasting no time in getting inside. They'd worry about closing the boot in a moment. Until the damned thing stopped squirming in their arms, they weren't going anywhere.

“Let go of me—!”

Foster ignored the pleas from the damned thing, throwing it inside before it could make even more noise and, most likely, alert anyone nearby. They smirked down at the Immortal as he squirmed on the floor of the hallway, attempting to at least stand up. Foster just pushed him back down with the heel of their boot, adding an uncomfortable amount of pressure that stopped his struggling entirely.

“Now,” Foster sighed, in almost a bored tone, “you are gonna stay right here whilst I lock the car. If you do so much as move an inch, I'll remove your ability to move entirely. And I don't mean by restraining you. Understood?”

The man nodded in silence, most likely too frightened to speak. Good.

With a small, amused chuckle at the sight of the Immortal's terror, Foster shut the front door once more. They didn't lock it, knowing that they'd scared the Immortal into compliance for a little while. They hastily locked the car and carried in the spare rope they had, returning to the doorway after a few moments. As expected, the Immortal remained in place.

Finally entering and locking the door, they set the rope aside and grabbed the Immortal by the back of his jacket, dragging him down a nearby staircase to their basement. It was only a place for storage, the only interesting assets being a couple cupboards and boxes of old things they wanted to keep, but it would suffice for now. They ignored the pained grunts and occasional thuds as the Immortal's restrained body was dragged down the staircase.

Swinging open the basement door, a loud creak splitting through the air as it swung on rusted hinges, the Immortal was thrown into the basement. A small grunt of pain followed the thud of his body hitting the frigid ground.

“Welcome home, Immortal.” Foster sneered, slamming the door shut.

—> —> —>

Rayan was freaking out, to be honest.

He had believed — how stupid he was to believe — that taking an evening walk would soothe his mind, at least temporarily. He had believed that the cool, crisp air was all that he needed. Just some time on his own, to ground himself and take in Durham when there wasn't activity buzzing around him. He'd been proved wrong.

And now, here he was: hands tied by uncomfortably tight rope, still fuzzy and disoriented from being choked until he was unconscious, locked in a pitch-black basement. He didn't even know who his captor was — didn't recognize the scarred, grinning face that had watched with glee as he struggled for air, and had happily dragged him down a flight of stairs and locked him in this… place.

He took a moment to attempt to look around, but all he saw was black. Lifting his hands, he hardly saw them in front of him. Great. From what little he'd seen before the door had closed, the room only held a couple boxes and dusty cabinets, none of which would be particularly useful unless one of them held an item which could assist him in escaping. But right now, he just needed to calm the fuck down.

He didn't like the dark. He didn't like not being able to see what's around him, what's behind him, and every little creak of the floorboards above him as his captor moved around upstairs made his skin crawl.

He shuffled back until he hit a wall, the sudden impact making his heart skip a beat. With something to assist him, he lifted himself to his feet. He didn't know why he decided this was a good idea — his ankles were bound together after all — but he did it anyway.

He suddenly stopped, glancing up as he heard footsteps. He had no doubt that his captor was returning, and he could only imagine what for. He sank to the floor again, trying to make it seem he wasn't trying anything, as the door creaked open again and he gazed, terrified, up at the silhouette of his captor.

“I bet you have a lot of questions,” They started as he was about to open his mouth, striding inside and dragging an object with them. A chair.

What would they need a chair for?

“And, to be frank, I'm not giving you any answers,” They placed the chair in the centre of the room, then walked back to the door. Flicking a switch on the wall, a single light bulb lit up the basement in a flickering yellow light. Rayan was, at least, thankful there was a light source in here in the first place.

His captor returned to him, crouching down to be level with him. They grabbed his wrists, tracing a thumb across the infinity symbol across his palm, etched into his flesh. “All you need to know is this: I know what you are, Immortal. And soon, I'm gonna figure out who you are.”

Leaving Rayan to figure out what this could imply, they made another trip back to the door. They turned back as Rayan finally had the courage to speak.

“You're.. not gonna kill me, right?” The question seemed almost childish to Rayan as soon as he uttered it, knowing that the answer was obvious. He couldn't die.

Hopefully.

“You and I both know I’d love to.” And with that, the buzzing light flickering off and plunging the Immortal into darkness, the door slid shut again.

—> —> —>

Rayan Cruz Hyacinth. Or, Cora Cruz Maguire — but that was his deadname, so Foster ignored that. Born in Dublin, Ireland, on the twenty-sixth of October, 1994. He had two siblings — Madison Maguire, around thirty-seven years of age, and Theo Maguire, twenty-five years of age. He had Perfect Immortality, whereas Madison had Imperfect Immortality and Theo was mortal. He was married to a man by the name of Vesker Faithern, and they have a child. Both of his own parents are deceased.

Interesting.

Foster shut down their laptop, letting the soft whirring of the fans inside diminish as they closed the top. They knew this sort of stuff was probably illegal, but technically all of this was. There was no going back now, and it wasn't like they had much to lose anyway if they did get caught.

Standing up out of their seat at the kitchen table, they relished the tranquillity of the silent house around them. It was as if there wasn't a man in the basement in the first place! They were glad that he wasn't making any noise. It would be unfortunate if he was causing trouble; they didn't want to use their bat too early on, after all.

Speaking of, they decided to check up on him before they went to bed. Just to make sure there was no chance he'd escape during the night.

They'd taken off their trainers after they brought the chair to the basement, so their footsteps were much quieter as they descended down the steps that led to the basement. Letting the door creak open, marking their arrival, they clicked the flickering light on again.

Rayan had found refuge in one of the empty corners of the basement, wide eyes red from crying. He looked up, shuddering in fear of the silhouette staring down at him with a cruel, mocking grin. “I see you've made yourself comfortable,” Foster stated, walking casually inside and crouching down to the Immortal man’s height.

Rayan scowled, a pathetic attempt at defiance. “As comfortable as I can get in here. It's cold.”

His captor just pouted sarcastically, grabbing the rope around his wrists and dragging him out of the corner. “Too bad.”

Rayan couldn't help but grunt, scrambling to his feet. He didn't want to be dragged across the dusty floor. Begrudgingly, he followed Foster as they led him to none other than the chair, pushing him down onto the cushioned seat.

“I'll have to remove the cushioning somehow in the future,” Foster mused, much to Rayan's dismay, as they picked up the bundle of rope from the nearby cabinet. “Stay still.”

The process was painful, but more so in the way it was awkward. The rope around his wrists and ankles were uncomfortably tight. It didn't seem to help how his captor was whistling a merry little tune during it, silencing his complaints with a hard glare.

Eventually, strapped to the chair, Foster stepped back to admire their handiwork. It.. wasn't the best, but it was good enough. “I'm sure you'll be comfortable enough. I hope you like the dark.”

“I- I really don't—”

“Too fucking bad.” They said cheerily, though through gritted teeth, as they turned on their heels and walked to the door. Flicking the basement light off, they glanced over their shoulder before they shut and locked the door.

“Sweet dreams, Rayan Hyacinth.”

—> —> —>

CHAPTER ONE OF HTKAI IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF!!!!! this was. actually longer than I expected. uh. anyhow! Vesker and his and Rayan's kid were created by my wonderful mutual @ash-1s-wr1t1ng, and he also originally created Theo!!!!!! I hope you enjoyed :3

How To Kill An Immortal Taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

#How To Kill An Immortal #rayan hyacinth #foster canavan #vesker faithern #tadhg faithern-hyacinth #madison osoro-maguire #theo maguire #immortal whumpee #whump series #whump writing #whump oc #oc whump #writing #defiant whumpee #whump community #whumpblr #captive whumpee #captivity whump #captive whump #whumpee #whumper #whump

[allergic-to-four-leaf-clovers]

please somebody help this poor boy. the scrongle. a twink.

the immortal himself, Rayan Hyacinth!! he has green eyes but I couldn't put that on the picrew- speaking of this is the picrew I actually quite like it!!

#rayan hyacinth #whumpee #picrew #whump picrew #oc picrew #ocs #whump oc #whump

[ash-isnt-writing]

It was always the same for Vanté.

Just when he finally had solid plans, someone would run off, get themselves killed, then we was expected to revive them, the only thanks he got being lying unconscious for two years for everyone else but him to be happy with themselves.

It was torture higher than a physical level. It was torture that made him feel like he was repeating everything. Every day, every month, every year.

All he was, at this point, was a puppet. A tool. And he knew they always meant well, they just wanted their loved ones back and he had no reason to be selfish, but he was just so.. sick, and tired.

Having to do this repeatedly took so much out of him. He was at the peak of his music career and he was dragged back down to revive another reckless idiot.

He just wanted to be appreciated for who he was, for his feats and his highs, for how much work and effort and care he’d put into trying to live some semblance of a normal life.

But he was just a tool, or an attraction. He would never be valued as human, even if it wasn’t intentional. Because he was different. No matter how normal he tried to be, no matter how much he tweaked and adjusted his appearance, he’d never be taken at surface value as human. Even if the person didn’t mean to, it was subconscious. He’d never be seen as human, because he wasn’t human.

He was snapped out of his thoughts from a call from Maddie. She hadn’t called since Rayan went missing, so he had no doubt it was for the exact thing he was just thinking about how much he hated. He’d have to go revive another person.

He sighed. Maybe another rampage would do him some good. That was his main thought as he picked up the phone and answered. Maybe then, people would show him the respect he’d been working so hard to get.

#oc #inhuman oc #vanté ramirez #mutual’s oc #madison maguire #rayan hyacinth #cw derealisation #cw dehumanisation #cw death mention

[ash-th3-fae]

hehe a little Rayan drabble as a gift >:3 (note: rayan belongs to @v-3-ll-1-ch-0-r (also known as @v-3-ll-1-gore). same applies to Foster. Vesker and Fletcher belong to me, and Tadhg (in technicality) belongs to Vell.)

Warning!!: The following may contain disturbing, unsettling, or otherwise violent depictions. Reader discretion is advised.

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

Rayan felt sick.

He couldn’t take it in this fucking basement anymore. The footsteps above his head, the smell, all of it. He longed for the embrace of his fiancé, or the giggle of his own son.

Instead he had to sit, sleep, eat, breathe, in this.. Hell, of his own blood and the heavy memories carried with it. The trauma. The pain. Everything felt repetitive, like he’d never be free. And he couldn’t stand it.

Agitation was an understatement. What he felt was deep seated. Burrowed into his skin and crawled through his nerves, eventually settling in his brain and causing a mix of feelings. Hopelessness, sadness, anger, remorse, yearning, pain. Always pain.

So much pain.

Pain. Pain as a saw blade cut through his flesh and the mocking grin cut through his mind, or even simply sharp words that carved deep into his chest and killed another little bit of what sanity he had left. He couldn’t take it.

He couldn’t, but he had to. He didn’t have any other choice, and he knew it. He was stuck in this situation that when you think about it, quite frankly, was his fault. His only option was to watch the days go by and hope an opportunity would show itself, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to stay as long as it took for these bastards to all die off by themselves.

Hell, if he had to kill them all by himself, he would. Even fucking Fletcher if it came to it. Whatever it took to get out of here, to be held in Vesker’s arms once more, to see Tadhg’s smile. He wanted freedom so, so badly.

Yet, a part of him knew - a small part of him, but a part of him nonetheless- that he deserved this. And that he always did, always had.

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

#rayan hyacinth #fanfiction #fanwork #i dunno uh #rushed ig #i just thought i’d write a little thingy #yeah :3

[icarus-being-a-slut-or-smthn]

friend’s ( @n-h-y-r-v-u-s ) character hc; rayan is hypersexual because he feels like his body is the only good thing he has to offer

#rayan hyacinth #mutual’s oc #friend’s oc #suggestive #?

[ocprompts]

WAIT HOLY CRAP I CAN RAMBLE?? OH HELL YEAH

I'm not gonna go *too* into the main plotline and I'll only do one of the characters cuz it does contain a lot of triggering content, but it's all on my other blog which is a whump blog lmao

okay sO- forsaken souls woo!! I hope I do this right-

the main character of Forsaken Souls is Rayan Hyacinth (previously Cora Maguire; I'll explain why in a sec!), who uses he/it pronouns. he is immortal, and stuck at the physical age of 35, though could be much older by now (late 30's, early 40's). he is an ex-serial killer, which is where the whole Cora ordeal will come in soon, and there are a group of his remaining / surviving victims just doing some good ol' revenge shenanigans so to speak, who are quite fittingly named The Survivors! y'know what I'll name them but I won't go too into them I don't want this to be too long to fill your askbox or something- Foster Canavan (they/them), Ezra Hendrix (he/zem/they), Madir Ahearn (he/him), Esrana Flynn (she/her), Zayn Flynn (he/they) and two other characters created by one of my wonderful mutuals and partner in (whump related) crime /j: Amaryliss O'Harris (she/her) and Fletcher O'Harris (he/him). holy crap that's a lot.

anyhow, there are multiple reasons Rayan used to be called Cora, such as:

he changed his name cuz he's transmasc

he also needed to change his name cuz. y'know. being a serial killer kinda means you become a little more known. the name change in general didn't work out lmao but he's sticking with it

he just sorta didn't like his name and thought it didn't fit him

AND OH OH OOU OIOHOOHOHHO AND because, in canon, Rayan tends to talk about Cora as if they were a different person. he doesn't want to associate himself with Cora, and his kills, etc etc. it confuses me sometimes, especially cuz in any of my written words their name tags are seperate (e.g. "rayan hyacinth" and "cora maguire" are both each seperate tags) but it's fiinnnneeeee

uhh in general he's Not Doing Okay™. he's going through the horrors ig. he's my little guy. my original boy

also this is him!! I I made this using this cool picrew just found. I don't draw so y'know-

his clothing style is more like Caroline Carr's, so very gothy (yeah he dresses feminine too!!) but y'know we balling

love the earrings!

#oc show and tell #p-3-t-r-1-ch-0-r #not a prompt #asks

[unfortunately-immortal]

(profile link)

(banner link)

hey y'all! :33 this is an official rp blog for the main whumpee of How To Kill An Immortal, Rayan Hyacinth. this blog is led by his creator, @p-3-t-r-1-ch-0-r / @whumpy-written-works, aka Vell :D

feel free to torture this guy lmao

#whump blog #in character #whump oc #whumpee

[madison-maguire]

- Official RP Blog for Madison Briar Osoro-Maguire -

(profile link)

(banner link)

Hi y'all!! This is the official RP blog of one of my comfort OCS, Madison / Maddie Osoro-Maguire, who is also one of the Caretakers of Forsaken Souls! This blog is led by her creator, @v-3-ll-1-ch-0-r / @v-3-ll-1-g-0-r-3!

Madison Osoro-Maguire is a self-defense trainer and fitness instructor, and is also the older sister of Rayan Hyacinth and Theo Maguire. She is 41 years old, and has a wife named Vivian (she/they). Maddie was born in Dublin, Ireland, and has imperfect immortality, meaning that — in this universe, anyhow — she will stop physically aging at some point, but when under enough physical strain, certain severe wounds will be fatal to her, thus meaning she's able to die in some cases. She also has an adoptive son, Vanté Ramirez*.

She has wavy, brown hair which reaches down to her shoulders, with a light and fluffy (?) fringe and round glasses. She has forest green eyes and a soft complexion, and stands at around 6'2. She has a muscular and masculine physique, but commonly wears soft and feminine cottagecore-esque things. She also enjoys vintage. She has a couple small scars and scratches across her body, mostly from Zuriel or The Survivors.

She's gentle and selfless, always wanting to protect and nurture people close to her. Though, she can get a little snappy depending on who she's talking to and the context of the situation.

Feel free to whump her all you like, or comfort her through RP's in the ask box! Do what you like, as long as it's nothing NSFW, since I'm (Vell!!) a minor!

* LOOK @er0s-1s-whump1ng ITS YOUR DUDE!!!!!!!!!

#whump blog #oc blog #in character blog #caretaker

[inkwell-and-dagger]

Rayan Hyacinth

woah!! a wild Rayan!! and a trembling one too!!!!

look at this little guy, this dude, this sneet snart /pos, this pathetic sopping wet raccoon of a man.

also do ignore the lack of a right leg. usually The Survivors confiscate his prosthetic when he "visits"

How To Kill An Immortal taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

#rayan hyacinth #oc whump #whump oc #whumpee #captive whump #captive whumpee #immortal whumpee #whump #whump art #How To Kill An Immortal

[inkwell-and-dagger]

also! I do know that the masterlist right now only has seventeen chapters, but I may add more as time goes on!

but in the meanwhile, I gotta decide what those potential future chapters past 17 could actually be, if I decide to go along with them anyway. maybe rayan can get the happy ending he deserves, or I can hurt him some more??

it's up for y'all to decide, I guess!! idk htkai doesn't have much of a following right now (I love y'all so much who are interacting with htkai content <333 I'm biting y'all rn) but fuck it! poll time ;3

#whump poll #whumpee #immortal whumpee #rayan hyacinth #How To Kill An Immortal #whump #whump series #whump wip #whump oc #oc whump

[inkwell-and-dagger]

How To Kill An Immortal

Chapter 2 — Loud

Word count: 3,202

Contains: captivity, beating, knives, rope burns, potential stress position but I'm not quite sure???, also potential gore

previous || next || masterlist

—> —> —> —> —> —>

It was cold. So, so cold.

Rayan struggled to open his eyes, squinting when he couldn't see anything. But then he remembered where he was; where specifically, he didn't know, but he was still in this damned basement. He was sort of hoping it had all been a dream. He didn't know what time it was, since there wasn't a clock, or even a window, in this frigid, dark basement, nor how long he'd been here. All he could feel was the tight rope restraining his limbs to the chair his captor had trapped him in.

And now, it seemed that his captor in question was nowhere to be seen.

There was no noise from the house above — no floorboards creaking to mark the presence of his captor — the entire house plunged into a silence that made Rayan shudder. The absence of light in the basement didn't help, only making him more fearful.

He was hungry. He was exhausted, and he assumed he'd slept for a couple hours at most; it wasn't like the chair, even with the cushioning, was very comfortable, after all. All he could do was wait with baited breath for something. Anything.

In the meanwhile, he thought over… everything, really. What could've happened if he hadn't gone on that walk, hadn't sauntered down that street, had called for help when the blade of a knife pinched the back of his neck instead of blindly following the orders that got him here. He wondered if his friends were searching for him already.

He thought of Vesker. He thought of Tadhg— oh, Tadhg. The little ball of sunshine that had somehow made its way into their lives, a while after him and Vesker had gotten engaged. Rayan hoped they were safe, but he also hoped they had realised he was missing, too.

Perhaps Madison had gotten notified of his absence, or maybe even Theo or Vesker, and they'd called the police. Maybe his captor had been arrested already, explaining their absence, and now he just had to wait for the police to find him in the basement and bring him out. He could go back home, instead of staying another night in this place.

Yes. That seemed like a plausible explanation. So, he waited.

And waited.

And waited again.

—> —> —>

Most likely, Rayan had fallen asleep again; but when he came to, there was no difference in the stale air of the basement, no light to allow him to see. Except the gentle noise of the floor creaking from above, which could only mean they — whoever they were — were home. The aged building groaned beneath the weight of his captor as they traversed the house, but unfortunately he didn't hear any other footsteps. The person lived alone. Dammit.

He listened intently to the floorboards, trying to listen out for any changes; whether that be them getting louder as his captor approached the basement, or quieter as they left the house, he didn't really care. On one hand, he was starving and knew damn well they were the only one who could feed him, but on the other hand he needed them gone — or at least asleep — so he could try and figure out how to get out of here.

With time, he found that their footsteps began to fade after a faint sound of a light switch, ascending up what Rayan could only assume was a staircase. Had he already been here for a day? Sure, he had slept through most of it, and he was only assuming it was night, but… the fact that he'd been here, alone, in this cold and dark Hell on Earth for at least half a day made his skin crawl.

After Rayan was certain that his captor, whoever they were, was asleep or at the very least occupied, he racked his mind on a way to get out. He knew the door was locked, but he could faintly remember learning how to pick locks in highschool — a talent used specifically to piss his siblings off from time to time, and his parents when they were… nevermind. He still had his phone, but it was in his pocket; until he got out of his restraints, he couldn't call the police.

Rayan tested how tight the rope was around his right wrist, tugging on the bonds and gauging how likely he'd be able to escape them. From what he'd seen beneath the light above his head (when it was on, at least), the rope work was shit, but it was extremely tight nonetheless. If he could just shuffle his way to the switch, flick it on, find something sharp and cut through the rope, then maybe…

It was decided. Rayan didn't even care if he was caught in the act by his captor. He'd take what would come next if he were to get caught in a metaphorical stride, and then wait for another opportunity to escape. Trial and error, over and over again, day after day, until somehow, someway, he got the fuck out of there. He could. He would. He hoped.

After a long while of hesitation, Rayan made his first move; shuffling and squirming forward and trying to get this damned thing to move. If this worked, and he could turn on the light, freedom could be his; which, really, was the only thing motivating him. The chair legs moved ever so slightly, dragging across the ground with a sort of groan that made Rayan wince. He supposed being quiet was no longer an option.

One small jump after the other, forward, left or right and forward again, inch by inch, one grunt, squeal and groan of the chair legs squeaking across the ground as the light seeping in from the crack in the bottom of the door grew ever closer. He had no clue how his captor hadn't gotten suspicious of how much noise was coming from the basement yet.

He only stopped when he'd manoeuvred the chair so that it was to the left of the door; hopefully, the lightswitch was somewhere here, too. Chest heaving as he gulped in breath after breath, he pressed his forehead to the startlingly cold wall before him and began feeling around. Left, right, up, down, until — somewhere to the top right — he bumped into the edge of the lightswitch.

If Rayan hadn't known better, he would've yelled in joy. But he knew for certain that any kind of noise now would get him caught by his captor, and Rayan had no clue what would happen to him after; he didn't really want to know, though. Straining to reach the actual switch, he leant out of his seat, the rope on his wrists chafing the bruised skin beneath. Until eventually, after a couple attempts that left the man a bit irritated that it'd taken so long, the light turned on with a soft click.

Light flooded the room so suddenly that Rayan had no time to prepare, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut. A faint hum of the fluorescent light filled the silence of the basement, the pure white light beginning to flicker with time. Once having gotten used to the sudden, harsh light, he inspected the Hell he was trapped inside.

The majority of the room was bare, greying walls adorned with cracks and strange, brown-ish stains — Rayan blocked out the thought that it might be dried blood — but to his right was a cabinet. A pile of boxes had been stuffed into the adjacent corner, most stuffed full of things his captor wanted to keep. For whatever reason.

But either way, the cabinet is what drew his attention. Again sticking to his irritatingly loud technique, it took him quite a while to get in front of the cabinet. It helped, at the very least, that he could see where he was going; though sometimes the light would flicker or cut off for a few moments entirely, which wasn't exactly helpful, but he couldn't complain much, especially when he could complain about the damn racket he was making instead. It was a miracle that the person keeping him here hadn't gotten suspicious.

At this point, Rayan was exhausted, grunting as he made the final effort to get in front of the cabinet. He was unsure if he could reach the drawers, but he at least had to try. It wasn't like he could use his hands at the moment, so that was really the only choice he had to go about this.

At first, he had doubted he'd be able to lean down enough to reach the drawer, but he quickly proved himself wrong; soon enough, albeit after a lot of strain and discomfort in his back, he grabbed ahold of the handle, managing to slowly pry the drawer open. There was nothing particularly interesting in the drawer, just a few childish trinkets and overturned Polaroid photos which Rayan couldn't see. It piqued his curiosity, but until he got out of the rope, he’d leave the contents be. Instead, he nudged the drawer shut and turned to the adjacent one.

Leaning awkwardly to open the drawer this time, clenching the handle between his teeth, he was met with a sight that made relief bubble in his chest, but also sent the hairs on his arms standing up on end. The drawer contained numerous knives and almost.. scalpels, some pristine and razor sharp, others blunt and aged, even rusted. After careful consideration, and a lot of reluctance, he dipped his head into the drawer and picked up one of the knives, the hilt held in his mouth.

Rayan sighed in relief, though the sound was quivery, moving the handle of the knife with his tongue so that the sharp, shining tip was facing directly away from him. Gritting his teeth to tighten his grip, he leant down to his left wrist, and began to awkwardly cut the rope.

At this point, the back of his neck had begun to ache and, as much as he tried to ignore it, it irritated him. Surely he wasn't getting that old.

Still he continued on, and after what felt like an immeasurable amount of time the rope had been severed enough for him to slip his hand out. Nasty red marks adorned his wrist, and he shook out his hand in discomfort. Switching the knife from his mouth to his now freed hand, he worked on removing the rest of the bonds.

With time he finished severing the final piece of rope around his ankle, he stood and dragged the chair back to the centre of the room . That was.. rather easy. Maybe he'd go home soon after all.

The thought of his phone having slipped completely out of his mind, he returned to the cabinet and closed the knife drawer, slipping the one he'd ‘borrowed’ into his pocket. Instead, he opened the other one, rummaging through the little sentimental things this monster had kept until he reached the photos. He turned the largest one over.

The picture was simple; on the right was a woman with aged, fair skin and raven black hair that rested upon her shoulders. One arm was raised up to the camera, hinting that she was the one who had taken the picture. On the left, partially hidden from view, a man stood, smiling down at a child he held with one arm, centred in the picture. The boy seemed six or seven years old, with a wide, impish grin on the kid's face. The child's gender wasn't quite distinguishable, fluffy black hair outgrown and resting down their neck, almost covering their eyes; one was a steely grey, the other a light, lovely blue. Rayan turned the picture back over; on the back, in a bottom corner, read:

‘mum, dad and me! — Jan. 7th, 2005’

Rayan couldn't blame his captor for wanting to keep such a thing. In a way, it was cute.

As the man was about to place the Polaroid picture back in the drawer, someone cleared their throat behind him and he froze in place. He hadn't heard the door open.

He could hear the grin in Foster's voice. “Whatcha doing, Rayan?”

—> —> —>

Foster had heard banging coming from the basement for around five to ten minutes now after preparing some microwaved leftovers for Rayan, and they were more amused than anything. Rayan really thought he could get out of here, huh.

They'd waited patiently by the door of the basement, bat in hand, until they thought the time was right to catch him in the act. Taking time as not to jangle the keys in their hand, they unlocked the basement door with utmost care. They'd much rather take their little captive by surprise.

Thankfully, Rayan hadn't seemed to notice them as the door slid open. He'd even managed to get the light on and get out of the rope; Foster couldn't deny that they were impressed. They'd watched him for a few moments before making their presence known, the bat slung lazily across their shoulder.

Now, the older man stared at them with the same intensity of a deer gazing at an onlooking car, still having not let go of the picture as he backed away from the cabinet. Placing the bowl of food on the same surface, Foster closed the door behind them as they entered, gaining on him with each step he took back.

“Get- Get away from me,” Rayan rasped out, clutching the picture in a vice-like grip. Foster didn't respond until Rayan's back hit the wall, and they were practically breathing down his neck.

“Give me the fucking picture,” they said slowly, almost threateningly so, “and I might consider leaving you alone.”

Something seemed to click in Rayan's mind, a sort of light flickering in those evergreen eyes of his. Foster was confused by such a strange change of demeanour…

Until they heard the ever so faint noise of something ripping.

It started slowly, almost taunting Foster; gently ripping the Polaroid picture into half. Rayan hadn't even finished ripping before the bat, adorned in bent, rusted and bloodied nails, swung right at his knees. A strangled, pained yelp got caught in the Immortal’s throat and he used the wall to steady himself, but after another hit he toppled to the ground. The ripped picture fell out of his grasp, split right through the child’s face.

Hit after hit Rayan was bombarded with agony, rusted nails ripping through unprotected flesh. Foster seemed quite eager to injure his back more than anything, mindlessly swinging down as if they were chopping wood. With each particularly hard attack, Rayan couldn't help but scream until his throat was sore, instead curling into a ball to shield himself from the brunt of the beating.

But Foster didn't give up, instead aiming for his face; which was even more painful. Rayan had tried to squirm away, but a foot pressing down on his chest quickly stopped any attempts to escape. All the while, he was bombarded with insults, or just general ramblings with Foster swearing to kill him somehow for ruining such a thing.

Foster only stopped when exhaustion rendered their movements lethargic and sluggish, blazing rage changing to an expression almost crestfallen. Heaving for breath, bat dripping with crimson, they walked past the trembling body of their captive to pick up the ruined picture. It was a bit bloodied, but Foster prayed they could fix it. They had to.

“Pathetic,” they sneered, kicking Rayan in the side — which just elicited a soft, frightened whimper — and walking back to the cabinet, placing the picture on top of it and picking up the bowl. Did Rayan really deserve it now? Foster was quite hungry, after all…

Shrugging, Foster leaned against the wall and began to eat the leftovers themself, purposefully scraping the fork against the ceramic surface as if to piss Rayan off. Watching the man as they ate as if they hadn't just beaten the crap out of him.

The sound of the bowl seemed to gain Rayan's attention, who turned over to stare incredulously at them. One hand was pressed against one half of Rayan's face, a bit of blood trickling between his fingers. “...What the fuck?”

“Wot?”

“This.”

“Oh yeah,” Foster glanced down at the bowl as if seeing it for the first time, shrugging. A hint of a smirk tugged at their lips. “You really think you deserve this shit?”

“It's better than starving.”

“Isn't like you're gonna die from it, mate.”

Rayan's words fell silent on his tongue, gaze drifting to the infinity symbol on his other palm. Immortal. Perfectly Immortal, actually. To be honest, Rayan was beginning to consider whether this trait was more of a curse than anything.

“Whatcha looking at?” Rayan heard their faint footsteps before he could even respond, hissing in pain when Foster nearly twisted his wrist to take a look. “Oh, yeah, those. We'll ‘ave to get rid of them soon.”

Rayan's heart skipped a beat. “Excuse me?”

“What, are you deaf, old man?”

“I'm only thirty years o—”

“I know!” They snapped, dropping his wrist, which fell limply to the floor. “Ever heard of a fucking insult?”

“Oh, I have. Bet you're an insult to your little family over there—”

“SHUT UP!” Rayan flinched at the sudden display of emotion, whimpering as he was kicked twice in the ribs as if Foster wanted to accentuate their point. He curled in on himself again. “I'm gonna fucking kill you for ripping it, y'know.”

“Good luck with that.”

They smirked. “Luck seems to be on my side recently.”

Rayan just glared in response, eyes narrowing as they inspected the scarred figure before him. The same heterochromic eyes, though the once unkempt hair was parted neatly in the middle. Foster held his gaze, before letting out an irritated huff and walking away.

The Immortal watched their every move, watching them hold the blood splattered, ripped picture, seeming to focus more on the child in the middle, whose face had been ruined from Rayan's thoughtless act. A look in their eyes hinted to something almost tender. They slid the thing into their sleeve, picking up the bat and deciding to leave without the bowl.

“Hope you're fuckin’ happy.” Foster hissed beneath their breath, though Rayan could somewhat discern what they were saying. “Keep the light off this time. I'm not wasting the electricity bills on you.”

With that they slammed the door shut, locking it before trudging up the stairs to the hallway. They'd gotten blood on their socks; they didn't care to clean up their bloodied footprints right now.

—> —> —>

Rayan sighed, plunged back into darkness as he listened to the faint footsteps of his captor. Moving to lay on his stomach — his back had taken the brunt of the attack, so he was reluctant to put pressure on it for now — he was, at least, thankful he was out of the rope, had some food on the cabinet..

..and had a way to piss off that kid. To be honest, it was amusing how sensitive they were to even mentioning their family, for whatever reason. He could use it to his advantage.

—> —> —> —> —> —>

FFUUCUCKFICK FOSTER'S SUCH AN ASSHOLE I LOVE THEM!!! anyhow! chapter two yippee!! it took so long but I'm super proud of it 😭😭

HTKAI Taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @ash-1s-wr1t1ng @whumpy-wyrms @creppersfunpalooza

#How To Kill An Immortal #rayan hyacinth #foster canavan #whump series #whumper #whumpee #immortal whumpee #sadistic whumper #defiant whumpee #whump oc #oc whump #whump writing #writing #oc writing #captive whumpee #captivity whump #whump community #whumpblr #whump

[inkwell-and-dagger]

a future rayan for you in these trying times!!!

those face scars are from chapter 2, but the neck scars will be revealed sooonnnn :3333

HTKAI Taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @ash-1s-wr1t1ng @whumpy-wyrms @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox

#rayan hyacinth #How To Kill An Immortal #whump art #whump series #whumpee #immortal whumpee #whump #whump oc #oc whump #captive whumpee #captivity whump #whump community #whumpblr

[inkwell-and-dagger]

The Immortal

HTKAI Taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @ash-1s-wr1t1ng @whumpy-wyrms @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox

#yes this is the same rayan sketch that i made a couple days ago #it just wasnt sitting right with me so i decided to finish it :333 #actually so proud of how this came out.... #also you lot in the taglist im so sorry if this is annoying 😭 #rayan hyacinth #How To Kill An Immortal #whump art #whump series #immortal whumpee #captivity whump #captured whumpee #defiant whumpee #whump #whump oc #oc whump #captive whumpee #whump community #whumpblr

[inkwell-and-dagger]

average evening in durham, uk

#whump meme #whump series #immortal whumpee #whump drabble #whump snippet #How To Kill An Immortal #whump #oc whump #whump oc #whump writing #writing #foster canavan #rayan hyacinth

[inkwell-and-dagger]

colour is a thing I use very frequently in the process of designing my characters. they can all be reduced to a single colour that is incorporated in their design and / or personality in some way

for example:

Rayan's assigned colour is red. he has a warm colour scheme in his design, commonly wears red, and is always covered in blood. always

Foster is blue. in comparison, their design uses greys, blacks and of course, blues. their demeanour is equally as cold.

Aarin is more of a pastel blue, due to the colour of their eyes and their withdrawn, quiet personality

Zuriel is orange. compared to Aarin, its design is warm and friendly, much like its personality. it and Aarin balance each other out perfectly

Ailean is a light, pale green. due to the white brightness of the lab and their own albinism, along with the fact his design is inspired by a hemlock flower, they have a pale, muted appearance

Madir is beige. this is mostly shown in his design, in the white streaks of his hair from his poliosis and his dark, neutral clothing style

Esrana is a dark purpleish-pink. purple is an elegant colour, wouldn't you say? perfectly describes her, from her hair to her silky smooth accent

Madison is a mahogany colour. a strong colour, yet warm and inviting. she could crush you if she were so inclined, and yet her hands are gentle

Kore is a smoky, foggy grey. hard and cold like stone, scrutinizing eyes judging your every move. a vile man, he is

Zayn is a lavender-ish colour. unlike Esrana, who's dark and unforgiving, he's a lighter, more easygoing person

Derwyn is a neon, bright pink. eager, bright, loud. the colour reminds me a lot of their wide, unblinking eyes

Ezra is white. like ailean, he has albinism, and this is incorporated in his design a lot. he has a pale, light colour scheme, and nobody can really tell whether or not he's actually okay with or against Foster's situation with a captive. he's just.. neutral. white

but what about Ruaridh, you say? well, they're a special case

the lab is the only thing Ruaridh has known. for their entire life, they've had nothing but the clothes that Derwyn gave them, nothing but the books Derwyn gave them, nothing but the injections that Derwyn injected. they've had no outside communication, had never seen the world, had never had a chance to gain their own colour, in a way. they don't exactly have a colour

anyway. I like my ocs

#rayan hyacinth #foster canavan #aarin malchediel #zuriel damaris #ailean-conall hemlock (TS-0166) #madir ahearn #esrana flynn #madison osoro-maguire #kore orion #zayn flynn #derwyn ellis #ezra hendrix #ruaridh mullen #whump #whump oc #oc whump #my ocs #oc

[inkwell-and-dagger]

ain't really whumpy, and very VERY random, but I'm GUSHING over how good this is. like. WOW. this is probably the best art I've ever made. click for better quality lmao

original pose credit to @/mellon_soup on Pinterest, though I did alter it slightly!!

@er0s-1s-whump1ng did inspire me to make this, so thank you eros to helping me find the inspo to draw in the first place!!

How To Kill An Immortal taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

#rayan hyacinth #whump #oc whump #whump oc #immortal whumpee #escaped whumpee #whump art #do you love the color of the sky #How To Kill An Immortal #I know the whole colour of the sky thing is random but. shh. I'm proud of myself for this