#damon oc

[pigeonwhumps]

My artwork for the ABCs of Whump zine, by @thewhumpyprintingpress! Feat. Damon/Star from The Greatest Show on Earth.

The zine is amazing, you can get your copy here.

[midnightsnackblog]

new oc since I felt I wanted to try and go out of my comfort zone. so i made this guy and i love them

[zen-unknown]

✨Damon✨

Another oc in different clothes

Actually I don't remember if I ever posted him before so here's his initial ref from I think a few months ago

[faralyart]

Amélie y Damon en honor a mi bella Stelaris 💖

[pigeonwhumps]

Roll up!

Taglist: @painful-pooch

As a circus sideshow act, Pythias is forced to kill her immortal friend Damon repeatedly.

658 words

CWs: immortal whumpee, multiple whumpees, temporary character death, resurrection, forced to kill, forced to whump, blood, public whump, circus, on display, captivity, past caning, implied past starvation, exhaustion

"See the incredible resurrecting man! Watch as he comes back to life time and time again! Experience the thrill of seeing death, safe in the knowledge that it won't be permanent! Be amazed at the perfect resurrection! No wires, no tricks! Within minutes, the resurrecting man will be back on his feet!"

Pythias takes a breath, gesturing to Damon with a flourish as he steps out from behind the screen in a loose white blouse and trousers, his little stumble going completely unnoticed by the crowd of onlookers. He's exhausted, the dark bags under his eyes hidden by a thick layer of make-up, but he manages a smile that just about covers the dullness of his eyes.

He knows the score. So does she. It was taught to them both at the stroke of a cane. They've got to do this, got to do it well, so convincing in their enthusiastic participation that no-one suspects they're trapped here.

And they have to turn a profit. Or they won't be eating tonight.

Pythias smiles wider. She knows her spiel off by heart now, as she pulls an ornate dagger out from beneath the folds of her blood red dress, twirling it in her hand.

Her elbow-length gloves are a delicate white, but even when they're clean they're covered in his blood.

"Are you ready, folks? Prepare for the show of a lifetime! Gather in and watch closely!"

The crowd shuffles closer, whether through obedience or curiosity she's not sure. The sideshow tent they're in is rather small, and with the onlookers so close... well, the circus director calls it intimate. Pythias prefers claustrophobic.

Pythias lifts the knife, the ornate golden handle glinting in the warm light of the lanterns, and plunges it through the slit in Damon's blouse.

Damon lets out a little gasp as the knife enters, shuddering, before he falls, boneless and empty-eyed, into Pythias's arms.

"Like a reverse damsel in distress, darlin's."

This is the worst part of the act. The lifeless body in her arms, blood spreading, staining the white fabric, covering her gloves where it comes out through the slit in the blouse, red, red blood, matching her dress, contrasting with the white, a contrast the director is so fond of. There's the incessant nagging worry that this time Damon won't return to life, the tense silence that allows the director's voice to worm its way through her brain, leaving nothing to banish it with.

It's only a few minutes but it feels like an eternity every time.

Damon awakes with a groan and a jerk, and the crowd gasps. Someone swoons. Some people step backwards, out of surprise or the fear that his abnormalities are contagious. Pythias wants to scoff. They were fine with his suffering until just now.

She helps Damon to his feet, placing a hand carefully between his wing stubs to support him as he sways very slightly. He grins and waves at the crowd in his blood-soaked blouse, although she can see the discomfort clearly in his face.

This seems to break the onlookers' silence and they break out into cheers and applause.

Pythias smiles. "Thank you, folks. Tell your family and friends about us, come and watch us again, and don't forget to visit the other sideshow acts before you leave!"

The crowd disperses after that, and Damon heads behind the screen to change his blouse, stumbling as he goes. Pythias wipes the knife on a rag until it's gleaming again and peels off the bloodied gloves, surreptitiously handing them both to Damon, to be swapped with clean white gloves that are a lie in their semblance of innocence.

As new people enter the tent, eating candyfloss and toffee apples and chatting happily amongst themselves in a way that makes her hate them just a little bit, she slips into the gloves and prepares to do the whole act all over again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

[zen-unknown]

Meet my newest scruffy bastard his name's Damon, he's 36, uses a cane, and probably has a gun somewhere on him

[hauntingmiser]

Welcome back to me drawing whatever the hell I want.

And today we have now an OC of mine that is however (my version of )007e7"s father

Meet 0777g

The ex gambler that got his shit together during his younger years after he got 007e7

[savage-rhi]

how did you know that?" "you mentioned it once." "and you remembered?" + this just screams damon and adam 🤭

@nemodoren I gotchu fam~

The darkroom was Adam's favorite spot on the Deluxe floor—a place where he could experiment, figure himself out, and decide what he wanted his art to say. Here, anything was possible as long as he kept the outside world from creeping in.

He studied one of his recent model photographs, biting the inside of his lip. Yes, there was movement. Yes, it met the client's requirements, but something about it nagged at him—a space that felt empty, or maybe a lack of one. In theory, the magazine would look amazing with the model on the cover, but his voice, the thing he'd been trying to cultivate this whole time working here, was lost in a flow and elegance that didn't feel like him.

He closed his eyes.

Maybe his ego was getting the better of him. Perhaps he was losing his touch before he'd even found his signature. Whatever the case, Adam smacked the wall with his palm.

"Damn it." He'd have to order a reshoot—get a few more angles to play it safe. He wouldn't be able to sleep knowing he'd missed a chance to stand out. He had to nail it.

"I knew I'd find you here," Damon called from the end of the hall, walking into the red light with a smirk and ignoring the annoyed head tilt Adam gave him. "Why do you look so glum? Don't you normally get off in here?"

"Hard to do that with you ruining the ambiance." Adam rolled his eyes and looked back at his photograph, barely noticing Damon step beside him. They both glanced at one another before focusing on the model again.

"This looks nice," Damon remarked with a nod of approval.

Adam did a double-take. "Now I know you're being an asshole."

"Most times, you'd be correct. But in this case, you should know when to take a compliment, kid." Damon's eyes met his. "I don't normally dish these kinds of things out."

"I noticed that a long time ago." Adam sighed, rubbing his chin after pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's not sitting right with me."

"Is it the pose, the model herself, or—?"

"I don't see myself anywhere. All I see are my siblings' kind of stuff. Just rinse and repeat. The same bullshit people look at every other month. It never ends."

Damon crossed his arms, brows furrowing. He kept his gaze on the photograph, trying not to scrutinize Adam's posture and general gloom, but it was hard—the red lights caught on his skin, throwing the tattoos at his shoulders into stark focus and making his frown even more challenging to ignore. Damon bit back what he wanted to say; he'd come here to bother Adam, not crush him. Not this time.

"Deltrice's model quit on her today," Damon cleared his throat. "You might want to snag them before they leave at four. It'll give you a few hours for reshoots—see if you want to go in a different direction before you turn in your samples."

Adam frowned, then smiled as the implication sank in. "Is this your way of being nice to me?"

"It's my way of telling you to get the fuck over yourself," Damon said, though he couldn't help smiling back. He scratched his nose, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a bar of chocolate truffles. "For you."

"Truffles?" Adam stared. "How did you know that?"

"Know what?"

"That I liked them."

Damon shrugged. "You mentioned it once."

"And you remembered?" Adam teased, laughing when Damon gave his shoulder a curt slug. "I thought you said you were going senile."

"While that remains true working in this godforsaken place, it doesn't apply to all facets of my life." Damon's gaze lingered as Adam's laughter died down. He brushed a strand of hair from Adam's eyes, blinked rapidly, and looked away before heading out.

"Where you going?"

"Back to work, what else?" Damon turned, gesturing broadly before walking off.

"You just got here!" Adam called.

"I have work to do, and so do you! Quit bitching, eat your candy, and come out when you're done."

Adam rolled his eyes but didn't look away from the door until Damon vanished down the hall. He glanced at the truffles in his palm, their gold wrapping glowing in the red light.

"Yeah," he murmured with a huge smile. "I'll come out."