I moved my blog over here from @deadworm because sideblogs are a pain.
I write and reblog whumpy stories and prompt lists, so if that's your jam, then feel free to stick around! I'd love to have you - make yourself at home
My favourite tropes are intimate/sadistic whumpers, knives (to throats, traced across skin, pressed into back), gun whump (it's all about the click), long term captivity, whumpy moments of realisation... to name a few. GROUP WHUMP! I FORGOT GROUP WHUMP! Gimme multiple whumpers or a hierarchy of whumpers or in-person spectator whump, please
My asks are currently open, feel free to request prompts or ask me about different tropes etc. I probably won't be able to fill requests for full scenes atm, but you can always say hi or bully me or whatever :D
Onto the Masterlist:
All characters/works are mine unless stated otherwise.
Series:
Whumping 101 Masterpost - what if whump but make it frat
Murren and Keir - a pirate anthology
Same two characters in a bunch of unrelated pirate stories, shorts, prompts etc. Idk but I refuse to commit to another series.
Stowaways - whumpee is found on ship by captain
The World Out There Is Ending
Corinne is having a bad day. Don't worry - Alex can fix that. Just sit doooown. Nothing's gonna happen. Don't be scared. Oh, and something weird is happening outside. You must just be imagining it. It's fine.
Chapter 1 - But you're safe in here with me
Everything Else:
Prompts lists, one shots, requests, tropes, moments... rambles?
#worm's writing has all my miscellaneous original content
Bee / Big Bad / Can and Will /Cold Uncaring Shell / Dead End / Don't Die / Enough / Fate / Fazed / Force / Gifset 1 / Glass Shards Ideas / Heated Wire / Lawnmower / Lighter / Loaded Gun / Malicious Compliance / Non-romantic yanderes / Perfect / Royal whumper and whumpee / Sharp / Snooze you lose / Stained Glass / Still the beating heart / Tag / Then Beg. / The Crimson Screen / The Stone Man /Thirsty? / Value / Whumper/Caretaker Prompt List - collab with @painsandconfusion / Whiplash
More than happy to receive constructive criticism, be it writing advice or suggestions for content warnings/tags. Be kind.
(tw: fear of death, the vague cousin of suicidal ideation, burning, branding mention, manhandling, hand gag, lovers quarrel </3)
[Previous | Masterpost | Next]
Anna stumbled along, wrist locked in the tall man’s grip. He was gentle, but firm as he pulled her from the room. To his credit, he did try to convince Anna to walk alongside him, but once she made it abundantly clear that she wouldn’t leave the cell - not without Nate there to tell her to - the man had grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her out of the bed and into the hallway. Toward the stairs, then up them. Then finally - through the door she’d dared to go through so long ago. At least, it seemed like it had happened long ago. Perhaps it was a year. Perhaps it was last week. Time here seemed to warble and wind and stretch moments into eternities, shapeless as a Lovecraftian horror. There was pain and there was time. And neither of them followed the rules this world had set for them to follow.
Anna started pulling against the man properly once they were in the narrow hallway outside the basement.
“N-nonono please-“
“I’m trying to help you,” he grumbled, switching hands so he could scoop an arm around her back and tug her along more fully.
She didn’t know how to tell him that this wouldn’t help. That Nate would hurt her so badly for being out at all - regardless of why. His punishments never made sense at all.
Before she could try to put it into words, she froze in place, staring wide-eyed at Nate who was jogging down the stairs. Everything locked up as she processed. This was the end. She was going to die.
Nate looked a bit disheveled, wearing pajama pants and a hoodie. His hair was still wet - and Anna could swear she saw a few suds of soap clinging to his brow. There was a wild kind of fury in his eyes, but in a second, it snapped away.
He leaned against the bannister, a lazy grin sliding onto his face. “Oh good - you two have met~!”
Ethan’s grip didn’t relent as he glared at Nate. “What the fuck is this?”
Nate frowned, gesturing to Anna. “It’s a girl. Don’t treat her like a thing.” almost pouting.
Ethan scoffed, fingertips almost bruising into Anna’s side. “You know what I mean. What the fuck is she doing here??”
“I was out the other day and-“
“Don’t bullshit me - I know she’s from Redd’s.”
Nate sighed, taking the last few steps down to the main floor of the foyer. “I don’t see why you’re so pissed. It’s not like I’m cheating on you or something.”
Anna could hear the squeak of Ethan’s grinding teeth. She tucked further into him and was rewarded by his hand shifting from her waist to a protective grip around her shoulders.
“I said you couldn’t keep her!”
“Oh, do you own her or something? You get to decide?”
“Yes! Yes I get to fucking decide - You don’t get to do this shit while I’m here.”
Nate sighed, arms folding. “Fine. I won’t get another one.” The smile had clattered away and his eyes had lost the sparkle they seemed to always have.
“And you’re going to let her go.”
Nate sputtered in confusion. “No- no nonono- you know I can’t do that. It’ll get us both killed.”
“Yeah? If you die for being a soulless bastard, at least you’ll have done one good thing in your life.”
Nate glared at him, fingers curling wrinkles into the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “She’s going to go to the cops and we won’t be able to get to the rest of your list.”
“She can stay quiet - Can’t you?” His face turned down to Anna.
Anna’s eyes flickered between the two of them - both staring at her now. She twitched a nod, shrinking down.
“See?” Ethan gestured over her. “She’s not stupid. It’ll be fine. We’ll just drop her off and she can say she was wandering for a month or two after Redd’s bunker was cracked open - just scared of him finding her again.”
Nate groaned, rubbing at one of his eyes. “..E, this is so stupid.”
“Yeah,” he spat. “It was stupid to take her. So you’re gonna fix it.”
Nate’s eyes found Ethan’s again, resigned but still holding a bit of loathing. “What if I don’t?”
“Then I’m not giving you any more names.”
Nate groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “..fine. I’ll bring her somewhere tomorrow.”
“No,” Ethan pulled her toward the door. “We’re going right now.”
More groaning trailed after them, and Anna heard the scraping jingle of keys. “Fine.”
Both Nate and ‘E’ were silent the entire drive. E sat in the back with her while Nate drove. The car stopped about half an hour later, pulled into a random alley.
E opened the door and coaxed her out. “Find your way to a hospital.”
Anna peered up at him, arms wrapping around herself. Her head was spinning trying to comprehend everything that’d happened.
“And please - don’t say anything. Seriously, you’ll get me killed.” Ethan reached up, straightening where her hair had ruffled.
Anna nodded again, mind feeling hazy. Floaty. “..I won’t.” Her voice didn’t quite feel like her own. It felt airy. Distant.
Ethan nodded and stepped back. “..good luck. I’m sorry. So sorry.”
One more nod from the girl who felt more dead than alive, then e was gone, the door was closed, and the car had driven away before she could process it.
Anna let her eyes wander the dark alley. Somehow her feet found a little hole - a spot tucked between a dumpster and the brick wall. She sat down, trying to feel the cold brick on her back and wondering how she got the blanket that was now wrapped around her shoulders. It was one from Nate’s house, but that’s all she knew.
Silently, Anna breathed.
Anna lived.
Anna didn’t feel alive at all.
___
Anna wasn’t bothering to keep track of the time. She spent moments, minutes, maybe even hours or days, contemplating what had just happened. That she wasn’t going to die. That she was out. That she needed to figure out where to go.
The world around her was sluggish and fogged. Cold nipped at every millimeter of exposed flesh that peeked out from under the blanket. She didn’t shiver. Her body embraced the cold as if it belonged in the core of her bones, freezing her into place and gently ushering her closer and closer to the death she was promised.
A guide. A friend.
When footsteps crunched toward her, grinding over gravel and broken glass, the sun was somehow up. “Why are you still here?”
Anna winced at the sound and let bleary eyes drag upward.
It was Nate. Of course it was Nate. Here to take her away again.
He sighed, offering a gloved hand to her to help her up. Anna instinctively took it, certainly not going to defy an order - even a subtextual one.
Nate tugged her up to her feet, and the cold air rushed in all around her. Her rear was numb from sitting on the cold concrete, and her feet burned and tingled as blood started to flow again.
Nate’s hand brushed over her in huffing pats, smacking away dirt and broken glass. “You’re a mess. You need to get somewhere before you fucking freeze to death.”
Anna looked up at him again, blank confusion in her eyes.
“First, cmere-“
Anna stared, letting him pull the blanket off for her. The cold rushed against her, and finally, Anna’s body started to shiver and shake to block it out.
He tugged up her shirt and clamped a hand over her mouth, shoving her back against the wall. “This time, you stay silent - understand?”
Hot tears felt icy somehow as they fell down her cheeks. She twitched a nod as he pulled out a lighter. No - a torch. “You fell against a burning barrel last night. Understand?”
Anna’s eyes followed the flame once it flicked on - watched it move toward her barely-healed brand.
Tears came faster as she nodded.
Pain engulfed her, fire against ice. It buckled her knees and spun her brain. But she didn’t scream. She gripped Nate’s wrist and coat, sobbing into the hand as clarity slowly sorted itself into her mind.
Pain was pain. She was used to it.
“There.” Nate tugged her shirt back down, pulling a whine from her even as he replaced the blanket around her shoulders. “Kristin’s flower shop is fourteen blocks that way - then three to the right. Across the river. Go there or find a hospital yourself. I don’t care.” He gripped her face in both of his hands, thumbs smearing away tears with far less care than usual. “You don’t say shit about me - understand? You stayed in the bunker after everyone else was rescued from Redd, and he did this. You just got out. Got it? You tell any story besides that, and I will find you. If not me, my friends. We know where Kristin lives. We know where your family lives. We know everything. You want them to take your place?”
Anna’s eyes pleaded up at him as her head shook. “N-no-“
“Then you don’t say shit. Got it?”
Anna nodded frantically. “Pr-omis-e”
“Good girl.” He patted her cheek and stepped back, pointing directly out the alley.
“Fourteen blocks. Three to the right.”
Anna nodded again, tugging the blanket tighter around her and letting her eyes drift that direction.
“Do a good job and you’ll never see me again.” There was none of the playful, warm tone his voice usually held. Only cold frustration.
He didn’t wait to see her try to form a response. He was just gone.
Somehow, Anna started walking.
Kristen was close. Numb feet on a numb mind could bring her to her love. The entire world felt impossible, but walking was something she could handle.
(tw: broken bones (like so fucking many), death mention, murder, beating, gore, blood, temperature shock, fever, bludgeoning, electrocution, taser, organized crime)
[Previous | Masterpost | Next]
Nate couldn’t quite stop grinning as he skipped down the steps. It was a familiar mask – one that slid onto his face so seamlessly that even he often forgot it was a mask at all. Times like this when the mask peeled away to show an exact replica etched onto his face seemed unsettling – but he was in too good a mood to get too weirded out by the exactness of his naturally giddy smile. There was blood to be spilled! To hell with metacognition! We don’t need introspection here. It wasn’t like this place was a haven for mental health anyway.
The basement door chirped unlocked as his hand found the handle – watch close enough to the sensor to trip it, even as his fingers pressed the key into the needless lock. Nate idly wondered if Ethan had figured that out yet. If he knew that the keys in the locks were just for show when Nate used them. He didn’t think so, but he’d underestimated Ethan so many times before that the habit was not to be trusted.
“I fucking swear, if you just stomp on him and kill him before I get there-”
Nate ignored the voice echoing down the hallway, slapping on the lights. They flickered to life and burned a buzzing hum as they filled the pitch-blackness with foresence white enough to blind the sun herself.
Owen Crawford lay in the middle of the room, half stuck to the ground by tackey, black blood. He didn’t look much like a man anymore. His face was swollen beyond recognition - more like someone having an allergic reaction to a bee sting than anything else. Except for the minor fact that bees don’t tend to slather you in blood and bruises.
Nate smirked in appreciation for a moment before realization crept into his mind and deposited its wisdom.
As Ethan entered the room, Nate reverted to a tentative frown. He stepped closer, nudging the man with a toe. “..is he even alive still?”
Ethan’s silence rang a bit louder than usual. Nate turned to find Ethan staring at the man with jaw set. Eventually, he did speak. “He better fuckin’ be-”
Ethan wasn’t moving, so Nate took the initiative to step closer and kneel next to the lump of a man that used to look like Owen Crawford. He dipped, ear pressed almost against the blood-shattered lips. To his relief, there was a slight warm wetness there. “..well, he’s alive. I’m not sure how much that helps, though. He looks like he could give out any second.” Nate’s hand found the man’s forehead. It held a raging heat with no sweat to slick his palm.
Ethan’s steps finally approached. He shoved the man’s shattered leg with his heel. The body rocked slightly, but gave no response.
Nate’s lips pinched into a thin line as he turned to look up at Ethan. “..I think he’s done. He’ll be dead before he wakes up again.” Ethan did a lot. Too much. No man could survive something like this. Not for long. Certainly not when starving and dehydrated and chained by the neck to a cold cement floor.
Ethan didn’t respond. He just stepped over to the hose, twisting the spigot on the wall and unraveling the rubber thing.
Nate sighed, shoving himself up to his feet and stepping well back. He didn’t really want to get his clothes wet. “That’s not going to d-”
“Shut up,” Ethan snapped, thumb pressing over the mouth of the hose to sheen the water out into a spray. It blasted over the near-corpse. He made multiple passes, barely getting a twitch in response before the movement stopped again. Nate doubted Ethan even noticed from that angle, view blocked by the spray.
Nate watched as Ethan straightened the water’s flow to shoot a rough jet directly at Crawford’s face. He held it there. Nate just crossed his arms. Waiting for Ethan to stop fucking around. Please? Seriously, stop.
The water soaked through the man and leaked to the drain cut into the floor. It bounced off the face and sprayed toward one of Nate’s workbenches, which he did not appreciate. Still, it was easier to clean off a counter or replace a few tools than it was stop Ethan when he was like this, so Nate’s mouth stayed shut.
Until Ethan gave up, that is. Nate watched as he cussed under his breath and turned the hose off, grateful that the man had given up. Then Ethan picked up a taser.
Nate scoffed, stepping forward. “That’s not going to do anything – he’s out. He’s gone. You broke him, alright? It’s gone too far-” Nate froze as the taser pointed at him - prongs glinting and Ethan’s finger on the trigger. Ready to shoot the prongs into his chest.
“It’s not too late,” Ethan growled, stepping closer. “That motherfucker is going to wake up and die right.”
Nate’s hands lowered, eyes flicking between Ethan and the taser. Strange how unassuming they seem. Yellow and black, it looked more like a child’s water gun than a real weapon.
“..not like this. You’ll kill him, E.”
Ethan’s jaw set, finger twitching on the trigger. “Then what, huh-? We take him to a fucking hospital?”
Nate’s brows pinched and his hands shoved into his pockets. “I’m not going to stop you, but I’m telling you you’re going to kill him faster if you put any more strain on his body. He’s done.”
“You don’t know that-! You act like you know every fucking thing but you don’t know shit-!”
Nate took a small step back as Ethan stepped closer.
Ethan was usually so predictable, but when his mood flared, he was an entirely different person. Someone Nate didn’t know.
It’s hard to play a game you don’t know. He wasn’t going to gamble with that. Certainly not right now.
“..I have an idea,” Nate tried.
Ethan looked unimpressed. “What.” His attention turned back to the dying man, crouching down to shove two fingers against his neck, searching for a pulse through the bruises and swelling.
Deep breath. Whatever. There wasn’t much use in keeping secrets from Ethan anymore. Not like this was any great ace in the hole. At least the taser wasn’t pointed at him anymore. “I know a doctor.”
Ethan scoffed, looking up at him. “I’m not going to trust some fucking random-ass-”
“Not like that. There’s a company that does work for me sometimes. They’re very discreet. They helped build this room and set up my security system on a closed server. We can trust them.”
There went Nate’s secret weapon. Ethan knew Reona existed. Knew - even vaguely - what they could do. How Nate pulled off all this shit.
Nate’s shoulders lifted minutely and dropped again. “I have money to burn, and they like me. We can get him over to them and maybe they can save him. Patch him up and send him back when he’s healthy enough.”
Ethan’s eyes found the bludgeoned half-corpse again, surveying the damage. “..do you think they can actually pull that off?”
Nate’s head shook. “No idea. But I know he’s dead as fuck without them.”
“So we don’t have a choice.”
The ‘we’ was nice. Nate expected ‘I’ there. “It’s a good choice.”
Ethan dragged in a deep breath and stood again. “Call them.”
Ethan ignored how the wooden chair dug in against the bruises in his back. The rest of the position was comfortable, so he remained lounging there, slumped with feet kicked up on the corner of the dining table. Crossed and cozy as he carved dry, flaking blood out from under his nails with a pocketknife. No matter how many passes he took, there always seemed to be a little more pressed up against the tender white skin that hid beneath the keratin. Strange how parts of the body could be so dark while others were so bright. How blood gathers in one place more than another. How the crevices and curves seemed to suck in the wrongness and blight.
Human bodies had always fascinated him. He never had any interest in studying them at a medical level. To some extent, that seemed like disrespecting the body. Studying it to the point that you knew every sinew and cell by name depersonalized it. It took away from the glory and wonder of the gore and put a focus on the mechanical, computeristic labels. Neat, pretty diagrams where flesh is held back by calipers took so much beauty out of the scene.
He’d much rather rip someone open himself and have the lines between flesh, fat, and bone be blurred and smudged by welling blood. He didn’t need to know what the terminology was. He only really cared for feeling the warmth under his fingers.
Pass by pass, the little blade scraped and carved away both the dust of the nail itself and the little flakes and freckles of black so they fluttered down to his shirt or the floor. He’d sweep it up later if Nate didn’t get to it first.
That man was so strange. Ethan hadn’t ever greatly disliked household chores, but he certainly didn’t love them. Yet, cleaning seemed to be a comfort to Nate. When the bitch was stressed, he’d mop or shove cleaners and ice down the garbage disposal. He’d scrub down the toilets and sanitize the railings. Wax the key-holes or scrub at grout with a wire-bristled brush.
It didn’t make sense to Ethan, but he did appreciate not having to do much. Nate could snap at him for leaving plates or sweatshirts around the house, but he never seemed to expect Ethan to do any actual cleaning. If Ethan got to it first, fine. If he didn’t, Nate never brought it up.
Still, Ethan would make sure this got taken care of. He wasn’t going to leave blood around the house. Even if it wasn’t very visible, he wanted no evidence of there being people in the basement, and Nate agreed. Downstairs was for mess and blood. Upstairs was for bright, fresh order.
His train of thought was interrupted by the front door clicking open. It was locked unless Ethan’s bracelet with a computer chip embedded came close to it. It was a simple thing. Braided black leather. Thin enough it might just look like a hair-tie to the naked eye. He could take it on and off at will. Without it, Ethan hadn’t been able to escape this house. He’d needed to get ahold of the chip that was in Nate’s watch instead.
Ethan wondered if Nate had moved that chip by now. If it was still in his easily-removed smartwatch, or if he’d wisened up after Ethan’s escape and had it put into something else instead. Unfortunately, Nate was far too light a sleeper for Ethan to sneak into his room while he slept to swipe it when it was on charge.
If he ever needed that chip, he would have to play trial and error in the moment.
Hooray.
“E-!?” Nate called out, sending his voice echoing through the house.
“Here,” he responded without much enthusiasm. Just still prodding at a spot of red that wouldn’t leave the innermost corner of his thumb. The dining table was close to the door - just obscured by the grand staircase that cut to the upstairs.
He liked it here. Hiding under the stairs. It was a comfort some days.
“Sup,” Nate greeted, stepping up and dropping a brown-paper-wrapped box in front of Ethan.
Ethan’s eyes admittedly perked up to the box, curious. Still refusing to look at Nate. “...what’s that supposed to be?”
“An apology,” Nate hummed, pulling a chair out and sitting down next to Ethan.
Ethan frowned at it, finally looking to Nate. “Do you think you can buy me off or something?”
Nate shrugs. “No. But I can make life a little more bearable. You’re right. He’s yours, not mine. If we’d switched places, I’d probably have killed you for almost taking him. Soooo… if not an apology, this is a ‘thank you for not killing me’ gift.” He flutter-blinked his eyes to ham up the delivery a bit because of course he did.
Ethan snorted half a laugh, pulling his feet off the table and clicking the knife shut. “What even is it?”
Nate raised a are-you-kidding-me-right-now brow. “...it’s giftwrapped. You’re supposed to open it to find out.”
Ethan sighed, picking at the paper until a corner ripped free. It tore straight across the box in a long strip.
Barely any color shone through that stripe, but Ethan knew exactly what it was. Not which model, of course, but he could see the planks. The gundeck. The edge of the stern.
“..you….got me a boat?”
Nate rolled his eyes, pulling back more of the paper for him. “A model that you can build.”
“I- I mean yeah, dipshit, I know what a model is.”
“Then why are you asking.”
“I wasn’t- This is basically a toy.”
“It’s not like it’s for kids or something. I have it on very good authority that this is ‘tOo DiFiCuLt’ for me to do to, so clearly it’s a very grownup thing.”
Ethan can’t help the laugh that puffs from his chest. “Yeah? Who said that?”
“Oh, no no, you need to hear the whole story-” Nate was standing just enough to straighten his chair - perfectly facing Ethan. He perched on the edge of it, hands poised up and locked in for storytelling.
“..you’re making a big deal out of this-”
“Of course I’m making a b- Do you even hear yourself? Have you met me? ‘BiiiG dEaL’ -Shut up-”
Alright, Ethan could admit he was smiling. “I stand uncorrected.”
“Damn right, you do.” He flicked his pointed finger down toward Ethan’s chair. “Though, the court should note that you are sitting right now.”
And the unimpressed glare was back.
Puns.
“So anyway~” Nate locked back into what seemed to be his official storytelling stance. “So I go into the store, right-?”
No response. Just listening.
Nate held the pause for a few moments before his eyes deadened. “This is where you say ‘yeah’?”
Ethan’s nose scrunched up. “Why? You’re going to tell the story anyway.”
“Oh no no no, I need constant verbal affirmation and engagement.”
“And I have to supply that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?”
“Do you see anyone else here,” Nate posed, gesturing around the house.
Ethan’s arms crossed, almost playful in this stubbornness. “And if I don’t want to~?”
Nate’s eyes shifted somehow at that challenge - a certain hunger there dragging across Ethan as a spark of intrigue. Nate’s hand clicked open his own knife under the table. He lifted it just enough to drag the point across the table. Not even enough to scratch, yet enough to hum a pitched threat against the wood. “Are you sure about that? I can be very persuasive~”
Ethan couldn’t quite decide if it’d be best here to glare or laugh, so he ended up with something between the two. Darkly amused. “You know you can’t make me do shit.”
“Oh? You seem very confident in that.” Nate rose slowly to his feet, looking down on Ethan for once.
“I am,” Ethan parried, at ease; slumped in his chair.
Nate took a small step closer, touching the knife to Ethan’s shoulder before slowly tracing it across the edge of his collarbone through the fabric of his shirt. “Never say never. I’ve had all kinds of ideas I never got to try out on you.”
Alright, he was tired of being under Nate. He pressed up (happy to see Nate move the knife to keep from cutting him), standing to look down on Nate. The knife did raise with him, though, staying pricked against his chest. Ethan snatched it, twisting it easily and simply out of Nate’s grip.
He tossed it to the table.
Nate pouted, eyes following the knife. “Oh come on, how am I gonna get you to participate in the story??”
Ethan’s fingers gripped into Nate’s shirt, tugging him closer by it. Slightly upward. “You could always just tell the story.”
Nate’s grin flashed right back onto his face. “Oh, so you do want to know what happened~”
A sigh. “Well now I kinda do, so yeah. Start talking.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “Alright! Good enough for me- So-!” He clapped his hands together, not really caring about the grip on his shirt. “So I go into the store and start browsing, yeah? Not really looking for anything specific, mostly going off vibes.”
A pause.
Nate raised a brow, gesturing to Ethan as if to say ‘It’s your line’.
A sigh dragged out of Ethan’s chest with all the silent subtlety of a rusted bumper dragging behind an oldsmobile up the highway. “Y e a h ?” he forced out, the single syllable somehow multiplied and beaten out his throat with punched pronunciation.
Nate’s smirk made a reappearance, so fucking proud of himself for getting Ethan to play along. “There you go~ Very affirming thank you.”
Ethan shoved him backward, watching Nate flail until he landed hard in his chair again.
Sitting up immediately, Nate seemed unperturbed. “So I picked this one out right away and this lady who was working there came over to ask if I needed help.”
Ethan watched, waiting for Nate to continue as he sat back in his own chair. Nate did not continue. Just waiting for Ethan.
Ugh.
Well, he wasn’t in the mood to have that petty fight again, so he prompted- “And?” As pointedly as possible.
“And I asked her about the kit. The lady looked me up and down and had the audacity to say ‘are you sure you can handle this model?’ Like. In the bitchiest voice you can imagine.”
“Ooo- she sure showed you.”
“Yeah yeah whatever- anyway- She said she didn’t want to sell it to me. Insisted that I wouldn’t be able to handle it and would bring it back for a refund all ruined. So I had to ask for the manager and it was a whole thing.”
Ethan breathed a laugh, reaching forward to pick up and examine the box. “Yeah, okay Karen.” He flipped it over, eyeing the pieces and the complexity of the details. “...wait this one? This is the one she said you couldn’t make??”
“...yeah-?”
Another laugh snickered out of him as he popped open one of the flaps and rummaged under the cardboard to pick out the info sheet. “This is like… level two or something, Nate-”
Nate’s nose scrunched up. “What does that mean?”
“It means you must have looked pretty pathetic to her if she didn't think you could do it.” He hummed, looking over Nate with pity in his eyes and a pout on his lips. “I’m not sure I disagree,” he cooed.
Nate scoffed a laugh. “Um- rude-??”
A shrug as he looked back to the paper, unfolding it to see how many stages there were. “Just saying.”
“So you think you can do it, but I can’t??”
“Yeah, pretty much. Too bad I’m not building it.”
Nate pressed a hand to his chest, practically clutching his pears. “You would just throw this away after I went to all that work to get it for you???”
“Uh-huh-” He was just a bit distracted looking over the instructions. It was a good size. Absolutely huge. A statement piece rather than simple decor or a project. He didn’t even know where they’d put it…
“Ethan, if you don’t build this, I’m going to build it myself and paint it with your blood.”
“Mm. Very nice visual,” he murmured, plucking up some of the planks to survey them. They were.. admittedly a great quality. He didn’t think they’d split under the tacks. Each plank separate and perfect rather than the cheap full-decked pieces that department store models had.
“I thought so, thanks.”
So much missing, though… cheap sets assume you don’t have the essential tools and include shit versions of them. Better models do have faith in you, and therefore give you nothing.. “I don’t think this comes with half of the supplies we need to build it. You’ll have to go back to the store.”
“Oh no, fuck that. Drive to the store yourself.”
The corner of Ethan’s mouth twitched up slightly as he pulled out the rope. It was so well corded for being so small. Incredibly realistic. Far better than the little bits of string the others he worked on had.
“..yeah okay, have fun with that,” Nate eventually said after there was no response. He Stood, swiping his knife back up and closing it.
“I’m not gonna build it, I’m just looking.”
Ethan could feel eyes on him, but didn’t bother looking back. He started pulling more things out, compiling the pieces of the project into a line by what stage of building he’d need them in.
“...uh huh. I’m making coffee - you want some while you work?”
“Oh- yeah sure, thanks,” he muttered, distracted as he ripped open the package with the ribs inside.
“No problem.”
Things quieted down again after that. No one spoke again for hours once Nate had brought the steaming mugs through to the table. They just sipped at coffee as Nate sketched and Ethan planned out what he’d need to get to put this monster together.
David might not be here to help him build this one, yet it still seemed that he was somewhere much closer than before; as if he were secretly watching Ethan work from some corner of the room, whiskey in hand. Just another ship they’d build together.
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tags: @prisonerwhump
@whumpawink
@wormwriting
@distinctlywhumpthing
@whump-cafe
@jo-doe-seeking-inspo
@azayta
@batfacedliar-yetagain
@there-will-always-be-blood
@siren-of-agony
@whumpworld
@deltaxxk
@whumpasaurus101
@pickywhumpreader
@whumpberry-cookie
@morning-star-whump
@nailevislev
@throwawaywhumper
@the-mourning-star
@d-cs
@pigeonwhumps
@suspicious-whumping-egg
@snakebites-and-ink
@whumpedydump
@whumplr-reader
@rainbowsandwhumperflies
@starfields08000
@crystallizedme
@lumpofsand
@taterswhump
@starsick1979
As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!
(Sorry for the weird taglist, tumblr has been rude lately)
Thank you everyone for your patience in waiting for this post. We can't wait to see what you create this year! Have fun!
Image text under the cut-
Transcription:
ABOUT THE EVENT
The Merry Whump of May is an event run by @wormwriting and @painsandconfusion. There are 31 days of prompts to be completed each day of May. Feel free to do as much or as little as you’d like.
Prompts can be filled in prose, poetry, art, or any other medium you resonate with.
There will be participation and completionist medals in downloadable pdf format.
Prompts
01 - Breathless
“Get back in there” | Ring box | Cliff
Anna tripped, cussing, over the curb as she hopped up the sidewalk, almost dropping the boxes of heaven-scented food as she went. She recovered quickly, clutching the fiery warmth of redemption to her chest as she skipped up to the storefront door, manufacturing a bright and charming smile over her teeth as she pulled the door open.
“Krissy~!” she beamed, all bubbles and bright loveliness as her eyes landed on her fianceé cutting stems to size.
Focusing. Analyzing her response.
Kristen blinked up in confusion for a moment, then flickered a bewildered but melting smile in return as her eyes skimmed over Anna. “..Annie? Aren’t you working right now?”
Anna shook her head, hopping up to the work counter and setting the food down. Unpackaging it. “Nope, lunch break. You got me forrrr-” she stole a glance at her watch, “Eight minutes.”
Kristen bubbled a confused and brilliant laugh - one that would make a girl’s heart melt at any decibel. And did. “You..spent ninety percent of your lunch break in transit across the city?”
“I spent ninety percent of my lunch break getting to see you, that’s what I did~” Anna sealed the compliment with a kiss, pressed and nuzzled in close against Kristen’s cheek, careful to not disturb the makeup-hidden bruise there.
Kristen melted into it, tilting down so Anna could kiss her properly. “..thank you.”
Anna pressed another soft kiss to her lips. “I missed you. So bad, all day. I missed you.”
Kristen melted further at the words, finally turning to face Anna to wrap her in a soft, warm embrace. “..I missed you too. I’m… I’m sorry about before.”
Anna shook her head, thumb brushing up and down Kristen’s scalp. “..don’t wanna worry about it anymore. It’s done and it’s okay. I love you. That’s all that matters.”
Kristen’s breath shifted tenser - Anna didn’t worry. She knew that was just Kristen trying not to cry. Touched. Moved. Feeling safe in Anna’s arms.
As she should. Anna was the safest place in the world for her.
Pulling back with a small sniff and a wipe of her eyes, Anna turned to the food, opening up Kristen’s lo mein and her own orange chicken. “Okay, maybe closer to five minutes.”
Kristen’s laugh lit up the room. It even seemed to pull the wilting flowers into bloom again in the packed and lush flower shop. “Alright - I’ll race you, then~” Playfully, she snatched her lo mein and fumbled to tear open the packaged utensils - chopsticks for her, plastic fork for Anna.
Anna squeaked in her hurry, pulling her own box open. “You’re on!”
It was a rushed, but perfect lunch with a stunning and perfect girl. Her girl. Her wonderful, bubbling, gorgeous girl.
Next Whumping the Whumpers scene perhaps? (I love nate sm its prolly not healthy but i require nate content as sustenance) Been binging and re-reading this storyline between uploads and i am obsessed, incredible writing <3
For you bb <3
Bath
Whumping the Whumpers - Part Thirty-five
(tw: knife, blood, multiple whumpers, death mention, restraints, salt in wounds, conditioning, self deprication)
[Previous | Masterpost | Next]
Owen twisted, skin crawling and itching and trying to claw away from the knifetip that scratched lightly over goosebumps. But skin can’t crawl or claw or move, so Owen was stuck twisting. Body panicking and pressing back into the man holding him as his eyes stayed locked on the blood-tipped blade.
“Gods, he’s so fuckin’ twitchy.” The blond - Nate, Ethan had called him - spiraled the knife against Owen’s ribs, pulling a hiss from his teeth as the skin broke. His leg slipped and slid against the cement, blood slick as oil passing between flesh and cold, hard stone.
He was starting to get dizzy with the pain, each minute agony compounding into a symphony of wrongness.
“Sss-t-to-p-”
A soft sound of amusement breathed across his hair. “You did much worse than this to me on a daily basis. You’re fine.”
A whine crawled up Owen’s throat, legs creaking as they strained against the suit’s weight. He’d already forgotten that guy’s name again - he was just ‘suit’.
“Awe, c’mon E, let’s go easy on him. Just for today.”
There was a silence as the two assailants considered each other.
“Why.”
The suit returned a polite smile and a soft shrug. “ I just think he deserves a little reward for being so tough.” The suit pinched Owen’s cheek, wiggling it affectionately - you’d think affection wouldn’t bruise. It does. “I can run him a bath while you finish up here and then he can have the night to himself. How’s that?”
Ethan was silent for a long moment. “Alright,” he agreed.
Owen’s face pinched in confusion, relief flooding his lungs as his mind scrambled to keep up. To answer the question: why??
The suit just flicked Ethan a dazzling grin and shoved the knife into Owen’s calf as he stood.
The pain came moments later, pulling a raspy scream from Owen’s throat. Ethan’s fingertips ghosted across it, feeling for the vibrations of agony as he writhed back, breath coming faster and faster.
“You two have fun,” the suit chimed as he headed for the door. “Bring him to the bathroom when you’re done.”
“Mhm,” Ethan hummed, twisting as he pulled the knife back out of Owen’s leg.
Another scream rasped from him, and he squirmed further back into Ethan as the agony twisted up through his mind, shrouding him in darkness.
Ethan’s hand patted blood against his cheek, sticky and cold and sharp. “Don’t drift off, I want you awake.”
Owen resolved to breathe an exhausted sob, head tucking down and away. Twisting to hide his face in Ethan’s shoulder.
Ethan laughed - actually laughed at him as he pulled him closer. “Wooooowww…aren’t you pathetic~?”
Owen winced in response as Ethan shifted, moving more beside him with one leg creeping over his own to keep him pinned in place. He whined at the pain, burying himself further into Ethan.
“No no, look at me-” Fingers bruised up and under his jaw, pressing it up until his eyes met his old captive’s. “Look right at me…” The knife barely glimmered in the corner of his eye before he realized it was pricking against his cheek.
Owen’s eyes screwed shut, face pinching away as steel slipped under skin.
“No.” His fingers bruised harder, shaking Owen’s face a little. The smile was gone. “Keep your eyes on me.”
Owen pinched in desperation, fingers curling into Ethan’s shirt as he let his eyes do the pleading for him, holding still as he could in the iron grip as the knife continued to carve a long line down the arch of his cheekbone. Salty tears stung as they passed over it, and he found a whimpering, broken whine pressing from his lips. “Pl-ease-s-sto-”
Ethan shook his head slowly, focused on making the line - one cheek, then winding down and over his lower lip, splitting it open. Black sparks flittered across Owen’s vision, and he squirmed, trying to pull back as a sob blew a bubble of spit and blood out over his chin.
“No. Hold still.”
He didn’t know why he obeyed. Maybe it was in the hope that there might be some reward or mercy following in the wake of obedience. Maybe it was the fear it would get worse. Maybe it was simply exhaustion overtaking him. But he did hold still. He kept his eyes pleading and wet and desperate on Ethan’s face as Ethan’s knife wound down and over his cheeks and jaw and neck.
A few, desperate times, he thought that Ethan might flick that blade through an artery or larger vein and end him. But he never did. The wounds stayed safe, and the knife danced around the blood hidden under dark skin as if he had a roadmap.
A small, strange kind of trust started to bloom in his chest. Trust that Ethan knew what he was doing. That he wouldn’t kill Owen - at least not yet. That the injuries were specific and deserved and ordained. Not random. Not lethal. Not pointless.
He fell into a meditation of sorts as the knife worked over him, leaning further into Ethan as each pain bloomed into being. They were almost numb now. Tingling and burning more than slicing and agonizing.
It would end.
It would end.
It would end.
There would be a bath and rest and somehow, in some way, this was making everything right.
Maybe this would make him right.
Ethan pulled to a stop, admiring his work and passing the flat of the blade over bloody cuts. He dragged and twirled it over flesh like an artist with a pallet knife - precise and wild all at once.
And Owen was a canvas.
He hoped dimly, somewhere in the shadowed corners of his mind, that he was a beautiful one.
He knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t a beautiful person.
“..m’ sorry-” slipped from his lips without him summoning the words.
Ethan’s eyes sharpened and returned to his again. “For what.”
Owen swallowed thickly, tongue catching like flypaper at the back of his throat. “J..ohnny”
Ethan’s stare offered nothing to express his reaction. He was simply silent and cold.
Owen tried again. “I sh..shhould ha-...lis’nd-”
Ethan pushed Owen off of him, letting the cold, hard concrete batter against his elbow and shoulder. “Yeah. You should have.”
Owen squeaked as Ethan’s hand gripped his elbow, dragging him toward the door with bound hands supporting most of his weight. He tried to kick at the ground to keep up with it and alleviate some of the pain. His legs barely listened to him, and the agony that the pushing caused hurt just as much as the twisting pull at his shoulder.
So he just…let himself be pulled across the ground. Across the hall. Into another room. Tears and blood both tangled in a trail behind him.
His eyes caught on the smear of red that marked his path, and Owen wondered if he was going to die. The back of his mind tried vaguely to calculate how much blood loss that was, but he couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t focus on anything.
“Alright, toss him in.”
Owen’s ears perked slightly, realizing that his hands were cuffed in front of him now.
..when..did that happen? Had he passed out??
Hands gripped and bruised and grappled and tossed him over the sharp-cut edge of the ‘tub’. He barely had time to process that it was made of cinderblock before the agony hit him.
He was thrashing immediately, pulling against the grip that forced his hands to the wall and locked them into place.
“Salt?” Ethan hummed.
“Mhm.” The voices started to drift, distant and muddy. “Should k…….’nfection………pretty well………forgetting……..th…………………not…”
Owen’s movement had slowed to nothing, blinding light and darkness tangling both at once over his eyes as he was left with nothing but muffled ringing in his ears and the unshakeable sensation of falling sideways into oblivion.
As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!
(I got a lot of tag requests between the last scene and this one and realized I was writing them down in three different places, so if you asked to be on the tag list and didn't get pinged for this one, just lmk and I'll add it now! Thanks for putting up with meeeee <3)
Hello, I had a very awful thought and I'll let you all suffer with me :) Pls don't hate me.
Home is where the hurt is: Part 1
TW: Character death :)
-
So, what if Zayne had won. What if he’d managed to 'convince' Jay to give up his research. Maybe after a particular nasty evening, with Jay covered in blood just sobbing and shouting "Fine! Okay! You win!” And he actually does as Zayne says. No more trying to nail Emery. Just letting things play out to let Zayne clear his debt and walk away.
Zayne is satisfied.
And over the next couple of weeks, his mood improves with every passing day.
Even Jay can’t resist to go along with Zayne’s bright mood. Everything feels lighter, even Zayne’s visits. Sure, Zayne still torments him, but not as much as when he wanted to break him, and Jay finds himself, just like Zayne, looking forward to when Zayne can finally say he is debt-free and breaks free from Emery.
He’s practically counting down the days, sure that after Zayne’s life improves, so will his.
But one day, Zayne suddenly stops visiting.
Jay is relieved at first. Pretty sure that, well, this was it. But something is gnawing at him. Surely Zayne would drop by to ‘celebrate’ his freedom and maybe tell Jay that he was packing up and leaving. Or drop hints that his last job was going to be soon. This is strange. And something’s not right. But his new-found freedom makes it somewhat impossible to focus on anything but the fact that he can finally try to take the first few steps to closure.
Then a couple days later when he arrives at work in the morning, Dennis is waiting for him in the lobby. Wearing a grave and somewhat unreadable expression on his face. Jay remembers he received a phone call the day before, shot Jay a sharp glance, but just grabbed his things to rush out of the building.
He now leads Jay into a meeting room, fiddling with a paper file in his hands.
“I’m not sure how you’re going to take this,” he starts, a meek gesture to them alone in the room.
Jay doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to respond and Dennis continues after a deep breath:
“They found Zayne's body in the river.”
Jay just gives him a blank stare. Merely blinks. Everything, from his thoughts to his expression, just stops moving. Until the gravity of those words fully hits him and he realises what’s going on.
Zayne is…
His lips slowly part as his jaw drops. His thoughts go from zero to full speed in a matter of seconds. His mouth moves, stuttering out fragments of words, unable to fully form even a single word.
“You need prove,” Dennis’ voice breaks through his thoughts. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” His mouth feels dry and he eyes the file in Dennis’ hands.
“It’s not pretty.”
“I need to see it.”
Dennis hands him the file. A police report. Autopsy report.
And on the first page he is immediately greeted by a headshot of… something that resembles Zayne.
His face is all bloated. His eyes are closed, skin discoloured, hair flat on his head. Everything that made Zayne ‘Zayne’ is just… gone; his expression, his smile, his swiped back hair. Now it’s just… a body. With his eyes closed he could almost look peaceful and while the water erased most signs of violence, there’s still something eerie about certain spots on his face that don’t a complete picture, as if parts have been erased. Black and blue parts.
With every page he turns, he quickly swipes his hand over the pictures, not wanting to see. Just reading the cold, medical terms on what happened is hard enough. The words blur together and he only sees things like stabbed several times, lacerations, bruises, breaks, collarbone, ribs, wrists—
“I thought I’d be relieved…” he finally says, over the hand covering his mouth.
“Me too.”
He’s just too late covering a picture on the next page of Zayne’s torso, covered in stab wounds. The lines are clean, but something about them still makes his stomach churn. Something about the placement of the wounds that betrays a precision to avoid any fatal harm. He notices the old scar on his abdomen and for some reason that really hammers home that this puffed up body on a slab really is - was - Zayne.
“What was the fatal one?” He hears his own voice, brittle.
Dennis turns a few pages back and points at the picture. That’s when Jay notices the line over Zayne's throat. There’s a sharp intake of breath.
A little voice in the back of his head manages to make things even worse: did they use Zayne’s own knife?
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Every bit of relief is squashed by something heavy. His heart is racing. His hand is shaking and just doesn’t want to leave his mouth, as if he’s gonna throw up immediately once he removes it.
And he feels something wet against his fingertips.
“No I... why...?!” He takes his glasses off and furiously swipes his sleeve over his cheekbones. “Why am I upset about… about Zayne?!” he cries out, brushing tears away as soon as they appear, as if he can erase any evidence of the bitterness swirling inside.
“You don’t have to cry for the man who did those awful things to you…” Dennis says, voice soft. “It’s okay to cry for the man they dragged out of the water.”
Something doesn’t quite break but Jay feels something crack. Tears seep through it and he finally just slumps down on a chair, catching his head in his hands.
“This is too cruel. He… he didn’t deserve this. Not like this.”
Nor do I! This isn’t the happy ending he wanted! Everything, going back to his old life, his freedom, his recovery, is going to be overshadowed by this. How could he ever be relieved that he was going to be left alone now, happy that Zayne would never visit again, when he knows—
And Zayne… he was so happy these last few days. So sure that his freedom was near. And everything was ripped away. Cruelly punished for doing just as he was asked to do, for making it to the end, for merely existing. For meeting the wrong man.
“I was going to say… call in sick and go home but—”
“But home is no longer safe,” Jay finishes. It wouldn’t take long before Emery would tie up the last loose end. “When was he killed?”
“About five days ago.”
“You’d think Emery would be on my doorstep four days ago then…”
“I’m not going to take any risks. I’m going to finish up, talk to Luke to see if we can arrange some protection and you’re staying with me.”
Finally free. It cost a terrible price. And even now he still isn't free at all. A bigger threat still looms over them all. And it wouldn’t be satisfied with just its first victim.
At least, it was right now. Ida assumed, anyway. She changed it a lot. Never quiet. Never simple. Never the same for more than a week at least in style, or a month in color. And she’d only had Red for two weeks now.
It was only a couple weeks ago that Robin finally convinced Ida to dye their hair.
“A little something special - to showcase who you are and how you want the world to see you. Not just how you were born,” she’d explained to them.
Ida had been wanting to for a long time. They’d stared at the midnight blue dyes on endless hours of scrolling in bed, and brushed off when Robin asked if they wanted to dye it.
“Nah,” they’d hummed, tucking their phone onto the nightstand. “It would stain my hair.”
“So?” Robin just curled up closer. “Then you can bleach it or dye it again. It’s your hair. You can do whatever you want with it.”
“..it’s too much upkeep. I’ll stick with what I have.” They’d pressed a kiss to Robin’s hand, and that was the end of that conversation.
On the other hand, Oren always loved their hair. Loved it long and straight and white as fallen snow. “That’s what makes you special,” he’d said. “It’s something unique about you - so few people look like you, why would you ever want to change that?” He’d kissed their lips, and that was the end of that conversation.
His words must have still haunted them, even years after they’d left his house, running off into the night and leaving him with a knife in his gut within crawling distance of his cellphone.
It had taken almost five whole years until Robin eased Ida into the idea of making their hair their own again. Not a trophy or a reminder of how they were so different from everyone else. Just…theirs. Nothing special. Theirs.
The hairdresser was so gentle and sweet. She’d massaged shampoo into their hair and chattered endlessly with Robin as she worked. She’d tried to pull Ida into conversation, but Ida shrugged off most of it, more than content to listen to Robin chatter about their cat and her books and the newest cardigan she’d found at the thrift store. Neon green, this time. A ‘perfect match’ for her navy skirt and royal purple scarf.
Ida so often wished they could be like her. Wished they would dare to wear bright, crazy colors and outfits made up of seven different styles. Bold enough to change their color weekly and chatter with hairdressers.
But..Ida was changing. They’d put a little color into their life now.
They’d let someone else touch their hair now.
They were outside and talking to other humans, and even getting a small strip over their left ear shaved away so they could pull the midnight blue and silver streaked mass off to one side.
It was so recent that it barely felt like a memory. It felt as it were still happening. That Oren’s fingers in their hair were the hairdresser’s. That his humming chatter was local gossip. That the aches that puckered across their flesh was just their imagination.
Oren’s voice made quick work of that breach to reality.
“You know, I’m not sure why you did this. I just really don’t understand,” he muttered, fingers tracing over their part where silvery white had started to grow underneath the midnight blue, pushing it up and out of the way.
“It’s not you at all. Were you trying to look like someone else??”
Ida stared at the kitchen wall, numb and hollow and silent.
His hands slid down their jaw and gripped it gently, tilting their head back until their eyes met his. “..that wasn’t a rhetorical question, dove.”
Ida’s stomach twisted as their eyes searched his. Trying to gauge how much danger was behind those words.
“..I wasn’t trying to look like anyone else.”
Oren frowned, thumbs brushing down their cheeks. Resting at the top, then sliding down again. Again and again and again. Petting them like a cat.
“Then why did you do it?”
Ida’s face pinched slightly. Of course he wasn’t going to go long without mentioning their hair. Why did they think they’d be able to get away with that? As if he just wouldn’t notice that their hair was blue now.
“..I…I don’t know.”
Oren sighed, leaning down over the back of the chair to press a lingering kiss to their forehead. “Precious thing,” he murmured. Nuzzling a little. “You don’t know anything when I’m not around, do you?”
Ida’s stomach was starting to churn now. Eyes squeezing gratefully shut. They’d take his lips over his eyes. Gladly.
Fingers curled in, almost bruising at the underside of their jaw as Oren’s breath warmed against their forehead. Ida strained, back aching at the angle as they squirmed away from bruising fingertips.
They hadn’t answered. Right-
“..no-”
Evidently that was good enough. His fingers unwrapped slightly, smoothing up and through their hair again. “We’re going to fix this.” With one more kiss to their forehead, he pulled back, taking their hand to guide them to standing.
Ida chewed on their lip, but followed as he wanted. Anywhere he wanted.
Evidently that was out of the room. The floorboards seemed to creak a little louder than usually as they crossed the foyer and moved up the steps. Into the bathroom.
..that wasn’t figurative, was it. He was going to get rid of the blue. Get rid of what tiny piece of Robin they had here.
Ida’s eyes burned as he dragged a chair to the sink, turning it around. He guided them to it.
Ida didn’t fight it.
How could they?
There wasn’t any stopping this, so why bother.
They just sat, hands curled around each other in their lap. Stomach in knots.
Oren turned on the tap, fingers pressed to their forehead to tilt their head back over the sink. Ida was good. They followed the push and slumped down in the seat so their head rested on the edge of they porcelain, hair ready to shift into the stream.
Oren pressed a quick kiss to their lips as he tugged their hair out into the bowl and started thoroughly wetting it. “This will be good. You’ll start feeling so much more like yourself again. Maybe you’ll start singing, hm?” He took a moment to dip and nuzzle their nose with his.
So, he wanted them singing more.
Ida took a note of that, letting their eyes close against the water and the proximity and the light in their eyes. “..maybe,” they breathed. Staying quiet.
They tried to think back to that little barber shop.
Tried to feel Robin’s hand holding theirs.
They let the world slip away, and let themself believe, if only for this moment, that the hands in their hair were that hairdressers - Ida couldn’t stop kicking themself for forgetting her name-
They imagined the radio playing crackling, distant music - a song they’d heard a million times but never remembered the words to. Country. Warm and upbeat and nostalgic.
Robin’s voice. Janet Finch plots debated, and local gossip. Not Oren’s soft humming. Not his hands. Not the smell of bleach too strong for this to be the hairdresser’s.
Tin foil. That was familiar.
Oren tore it with his teeth, wrapping lumps of hair up in the stuff before tilting them up in the chair. A washcloth dabbed at the drips that moved down their neck.
This was it. There wasn’t any stopping it now. Even if they ran and screamed and rinsed it away, the bleach had plenty of time already to damage the midnight blue that Robin had to painstakingly supported / pestered them into getting.
Ida could see her face in the darkness when their eyes were closed. Her little hands poking and prodding and fretting with how the fresh lockes laid.
Gentle.
Simple and kinda, yet bubbling with excitement and compliment.
But that was then. And this was now.
Ida’s face pinched, eyes finally opening again to look up at Oren. As the world pressed back to the scent of pine and bleach and citrus, Ida’s scalp started to tinge. Started to scratch and burn as if hair was being ripped out at the root.
Their hands lifted, distress on their face as they reached for the foil - only to be caught in Oren’s.
“Don’t touch it, it needs to sit.”
Ida felt a whine press from their throat, hands pulling against Oren’s. “..O-..Oren, it…it burns-”
He shushed them, leaning in to press a kiss to their nose. “It won’t take long. I don’t want you half green now just because it’s uncomfortable.”
Tears brimmed at Ida’s eyes as they started pulling against him in ernest. “N-no it- it’s -ssomethign’s wrong this isn’t right-”
Oren’s jaw set. Fingers tightened around their wrists until bones shifted under his grip. A pressure that promised blooming bruises by tomorrow. “Don’t. Don’t lie to me. It’s already going to be ruined with how much I’ve done with it now. It’s not like you can save it.”
The tears slid hot down their face as they shriveled under his grip. “Ore, please-I-Im nnot lying - it- it hurts Oren please-”
Oren’s lips just pinched into a thin line. “It’s only going to take a few more minutes. Just relax.”
Ida’s head shook, pulling against him again. “O-ren please-”
Oren groaned, letting go of one of their hands to reach up to the foil. “Just chill, it’s n-” He stopped, frowning. Touching the foil. Again. “..why’s it so hot-?”
Ida just dissolved into sobs, free hand now clutching at his shirt. Some unknown ghost was ripping their hair off by scalpy bits, shoving flame at the tears to cauterize it. It flickered and tingled and screamed at them in a cacophony of sensation and warnings. “Ore- pl-lease-”
Oren finally let go of their other hand, shoving the foil off.
It splat into the sink easily. What should have freed them left nothing dangling down to touch their neck - even at this angle.
“..fuck,” he muttered, faucet turning on again. “Head back again, love - I’m gonna rinse this out.”
That command, they had no problem following. They shoved themself toward the water, begging it to put out the fire - even if Oren’s fingers on their scalp burned, the water soothed it and helped shove away the worst of the pain.
“..didn’t even take out half the fuckin’ color,” he grumbled, scrubbing at their scalp until Ida was crying fresh again.
They caught a glimpse of the foil as it dropped into the trash can, long strands of blue and white flickering through the air before falling out of view.
..how much was gone???
Their hands pressed over their face, shielding their eyes and stifling their sobs into muffled shadows of what they could be.
They held still.
They were good.
They didn’t move besides shifting as per his instruction as he shoved out the last of the chemical, dried their hair, and fretted with it, trying to coax what was left to frame their face.
Ida couldn’t look at him - they certainly couldn’t look in the mirror.
There was a long silence as he stared at them.
“..I’m just gonna shave it. You didn’t need it, anyway. It’ll grow back fresh and white and perfect.”
..what were they supposed to say to that.
Nothing.
They were supposed to say nothing.
They just trembled a nod, face still tucked safely into their hands. A kiss pressed to their knuckles, and he started moving.
They held still. Listening to him opening the drawer. To the chord unwinding. To the plug clicking into place. To the soft electric hum.
They whimpered, but didn’t move as the teeth of the razor scraped across furious scalp, rippling burning pain down their spine. They pulled their legs up, arms wrapping around them.
They held still.
They were quiet.
They were good.
They didn’t move or breathe more than necessary as piece after piece fell down around them and to the ground.
They’d probably be the one to clean them up later.
It barely took a minute. Then it was gone.
Everything was gone.
“Go on, dove. You can look now.” A hand slid over their hair, roaming over the half inch strands and ghosting over burns they didn’t have to see to know they were there.
Ida looked. They looked if only to appease him.
A stranger stared back at them through the glass. Eyes red and white from crying. Hair hacked down to a patchy remnant of what remained. The white strands were so thin, they barely seemed there at all.
Oren’s shirt.
Oren’s home.
Oren’s dove.
They turned, pressing their face into him. Escaping their own reflection.
Oren cooed soft laments as he scooped them up, keeping their face tucked into him as he carried them out of the bathroom. “It’s all done now. It’s all done and you did so good for me, dove.”
They clung to him even after he set them down on the bed, muffled sobs curling into his shirt even further than their fingers - their entire self buried in him. Wishing he could make the rest of the world go away. At least for a moment.
Oren was good. He obeyed them as they did him. He moved easily and smoothly, pulling them both onto the bed and moving blankets up and over Ida so they wouldn’t have to let go of him or even look up. He cradled them close, rocking back and forth a little as he pressed kisses to the edges of the burns. “It’s all done. All done now.”
This time, Ida couldn’t bring themself to pretend it was Robin’s arms holding them.
(tw: death mention, murder mention, captivity, manhandling, intimate whumper, burning)
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Anna’s eyes didn’t even meet Nate’s this time when he came into her room, giving her her cheery greeting and a ruffle of the hair. She zoned out as he talked, chattering on about some random teen driver who cut him off on the highway.
“..I’m going to die here..aren’t I.” The words were hollow and distant. She wasn’t even sure she’d said them aloud until Nate stopped his rambling, head tilting waaaaaayyy down to meet her gaze - half bent over at that point.
“Like here…specifically? On your bed? In this room? In the house?” His hand caught under her chin, tempting it upward. Trying to get her to look at him.
She let her eyes close as her head lifted.
“..this house - you’re going to kill me.”
Nate hummed in thought. “I mean, not necessarily. Now, I think today we should try out some stuff with fire. Doesn’t that sounds fun~?”
Anna felt the corners of her mouth pinch at a frown. “..wh at-?”
Nate shrugged, letting go of her. “Fire. Well, not fire, fire, but heat, anyway. Br-”
“No,” she dared to interrupt. “Wh-at..do you mean. I ..I might not die here-??” Fully looking up at him now as her voice cleared from the fog. A small flicker of desperation behind her eyes.
Nate sighed, evidently resolving to entertain this conversation before he got to move on. “I mean, never say never, right?”
“..you’ve..done this before though….right-?”
Brow raise. “Mhm-?”
Anna’s fingers picked and scraped at the hem of her pants, fraying the fabric into simple threads one tug at a time. “..I…so..they’re dead..right-? The ones who were here before?”
Nate’s eyes narrowed. Not in anger. More like..amusement? Focus? Like she were a particularly interesting puzzle he was trying to solve. “You’ve met Ethan.”
Blink. “..who?”
“Ethan. The tall, pissy guy. At the bunker.”
Anna’s eyes flicked toward the ceiling - toward the first floor. “..that man is..he’s here, right-?”
“Yeah, he stays here.”
“..he was..and he was like me…? Before-?”
“Mhm~ Stayed in this room, even.”
Anna’s mind was starting to reel a little. Eyes flicking toward the door.
Ethan was a prisoner here, too. Why didn’t she see that before???
“..why is he alive?” That sounded blunt. But she’s being forward right now, and Nate doesn’t seem to have..punishments for things like that-? He’s going to hurt her anyway.
A small flicker of pride ignited in her chest. That’s..that’s progress - that’s better. Better than how she was with Redd. She’s feeling more herself lately, and that’s a good th-
“Y’know, lungs breathe, heart pumps blood: all that good stuff.”
..okay, so evidently not blunt enough.
Trying that again.
“Why haven’t you killed him?” Holding his eyes. No sliding away. C’mon, Anna - it’s just eye contact, you can do this.
Nate’s eyes sparkled back into hers. She could see the gears turning. Not just one or two. A whole fucking network of intricate, brass cogs, bolts, and planks. All turning and whirring like the guts of an ornate pocketwatch.
He leaned forward just a touch to speak after several long seconds of silence.
(tw: broken glass, objects under skin, scratching at skin, blood, nightmares, my good prefect lovely whumpers being soft as toasted marshmallows, stupid fluff, oh and playful / teasing murder threat)
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Ethan clawed at his arm as shards of glass snaked their way under his skin. He screamed, tearing at the flesh with his fingernails, but the glass grew and grew, spreading like fire under his skin. Shattering into a thousand tiny fragments that grew again. They split and sliced his flesh, untouchable. Bulges of agony shot under his fingertips, just below the surface. They danced over his body. His chest. His back. His legs.
Inescapable.
Ethan screamed again, clutching at the skin. The pieces shredded his fingertips, painting him in blood. He tried to clutch at the fragments when they cut him, but the oily black slicked them, and they danced away again, the skin sealing up behind them. It cut up and down, skinning him alive and re-knitting over and over
Shards crunched against his windpipe as he screamed. There was so much blood. So so so much blood.
.
Ethan woke up screaming, clawing at his neck.
It was dark. So dark. He could still feel the glass under his skin but his fingertips found no bulges.
No blood. No-
The light flicked on. Warm light flooded the room.
Ethan’s eyes snapped up. He surveyed the room, gasping, until his eyes landed on Nate. He was leaning against the doorframe, clutching a notebook. He locked eyes with Ethan.
Ethan stared. An unfamiliar expression rested on Nate's usually-smiling face. He searched his eyes.
What was that? Pity?
No… Ethan knew that look. David had worn it often. Just a quiet, empty pain. Sorrow in its purest form.
But why was Nate... Ethan cleared his throat and struggled to compose himself. He had sweat through his t-shirt and Nate had definitely heard him screaming.
Fuck, Nate hadn’t heard him scream since…well since the day he ran almost seven years ago. Could he even salvage this?
Nate spoke softly, pulling his attention away from scrambling thoughts.
“...Was it me?” His voice was almost a whisper. He looked so tired.
Ethan blinked up at him. Those eyes were…hauntingly sad. Did he really care? Ethan looked away. He rubbed down his arms, trying to press away the lingering sensation of tearing shards. “No.”
Nate pursed his lips and nodded once.
Ethan glanced at the clock. 2:42.
“Um…sorry I…I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Nate shrugged. “You didn’t. I’ve been awake.”
The clock clicked to 2:43.
“Are you usually up this late?”
Nate took a few meandering steps into the room, contemplating. “Yes and no. More often than I’d like to be.”
Ethan glanced at the notebook in his hands. “Insomnia or nightmares?”
Nate gave a small smile. “Both. But tonight it’s just insomnia.”
….Nate has nightmares..? Ethan almost laughed at that. Almost. “What do you have nightmares about?”
Nate gave a halfhearted smirk. “Well aren’t you the nosey one.”
“Oh come on, you asked me about mine.”
“Only to see if I was in it. That’s different.”
Ethan’s brows furrowed. Scared tingled across his torso. “Why do you even care?”
Nate pursed his lips. That inky sorrow crept back in his eyes.
“Maybe I’m just tired of hurting you.”
Aaaaaaaaand Ethan stared. Blank and computing and empty.
Nate quickly looked away, clearing his throat, then flicking his eyes to the ceiling. He grimaced. “Sorry, that was…weird.” He took a few steps back. “I’ll - uh - beat you senseless tomorrow to make up for it, how’s that sound?”
Ethan gave a small smile. “That’s assuming I don’t kill you in your sleep first.”
Nate crossed his arms. “Oh come on, those are new sheets, don’t get blood all over them.”
Ethan shrugged, trying not to grin. “Alright I’ll smother you with a pillow instead.”
“Much better, thanks.”
“You’re very welcome.”
They lapsed back into the ill-fitting silence. Still ness echoed on the walls, leaching into the carpet and sucked away by the thick fabric of curtains and matching quilt. Ethan picked at his nails. Nate fidgeted with the spine of his notebook.
“Sooo…what’s in the book?”
Nate glanced down at it, then tucked it to the side. “You really are nosy today, good grief.”
“It’s night.”
Nate gave him a dramatic sigh. “Okay fine, you’re nosy tonight.”
“Sooooo, what is it?”
Nate raised an eyebrow.
Ethan scoffed. “Oh come on, tell me and I won’t kill you tonight, how’s that sound?”
Nate offered a small smile. “Well when you put it that way, what choice do I have?”
He fidgeted with the book, slowly moving it back to center, grasped tightly between both hands. “It’s…a sketchbook. I like to draw when I can’t sleep.”
Ethan glanced at it. “Can I see?”
Nate laughed, stepping back. “Oh no, you’ve gotten more than enough out of me for one night. You’re done.”
“Oh, so it’s private?”
“Yup. Not for you.” Nate grinned, turning to go. Ethan thought he'd turn back - for a moment thought he might sit on the bed and talk awhile - but Nate just walked away.
He paused at the door. “Try to get some sleep.”
Ethan nodded. “You too.”
“I’d say goodnight, but…maybe 'good luck' is more fitting?”
Ethan snorted softly in amusement. “Good luck to you too.”
Nate switched off the light and closed the door softly.
Ethan stared at the ceiling in the dark, surrounded by nothingness. But..for once, the nothingness was a welcome buffer against the world. He watched the moonlit shadows play over the wall, thinking about graphite and ink instead of glass and blood.
