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darkthingshappen · 1 year

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Merry Whump of May Day 2

@themerrywhumpofmay

“Need a ride?”

-wrench

-paranoia

-club

Big huge thanks to my always amazing whumperful crew: @whumpcereal @quietly-by-myself @sparrowsage and to @oddsconvert who put in a lovely beta job for this little prequel.

Warnings for this story: bad intentions by the main character, whumper perspective, derogatory internal dialogue, intent to engage in noncon (talked about, not actually written), drunkenness, smoking.

A King of the Road Prequel (Find the original King of the Road (Whumptober 2022) post here.)

Six Months Ago…

The Trucker dropped his cigarette to the asphalt and ground it out with the toe of his boot. He surveyed the parking lot of another club in another town in Somewheresville, America. Fresh hunting ground.

He watched the drunk college freshmen, who by all means shouldn’t even be here, idiotically looking for the friends he’d come with. He’d been stumbling around the parking lot for nearly twenty minutes now. The cars have been steadily streaming out or their owner’s steadily being bundled into taxi cabs and Ubers.

When the young man passed by his idling truck for the third time the trucker smiled at him.

“You lost darlin’?”

The young man swayed a bit as he stopped and took in the sight of the big, red, oversized trucking cab. The Trucker could see the wheels turning in the young man’s head, trying to process the question.

“‘M not lossss...”

“But you’re not found either, are ya?” The Trucker looked the young man up and down, smiling the whole time. “What happened? Can’t find yer buddies?”

“No… I… They’re here s’m where…”

This was just too easy. And this little one was sure pretty. His pale green eyes, watery and wide, set in a cute face with cheeks flushed a bit too red, and finished off by a pair of lovely cherry red lips. The Trucker licked his own lips as he thought about shoving himself into that perfect round mouth. The boy’s cherubic face was surrounded by a mop of messy dark blue hair. He could see the boy’s warm breath huffing out in front of him in the cold night air.

“I’d be happy to give you a ride, wherever you need. My truck’s nice and warm. I bet you ain’t too far from here, right?”

“No… I… not far. I just… my friends have to be here somewhere. I just… maybe over there?”

The young man started to walk away, tripping over his own feet and barely catching himself on a parked sedan, towards the far side of the parking lot.

The Trucker reached out and wrenched the boy’s arm back a bit harder than he intended too. The kid’s phone went skittering across the pavement and under the truck. When their eyes met, the kid’s pale green eyes were wide with sudden fear and paranoia.

The Trucker laughed it off.

“Whoops, now look what happened. You’re in no state to be walking across the parking lot, son. You’re gonna get yourself kilt.” He gently guided the boy towards the door of his truck. “Why don’t you come have a lie down and I’ll get you where you need to go. Hop up there and I’ll grab your phone.”

The drunk college kid blinked rapidly, still trying to process what the trucker was saying. All the while the Trucker was guiding him towards the cab of his truck. The big red door opened quietly and he helped the boy up on the first step. The Trucker had done this a million times, and knew he had a charming, disarming personality. As the boy swayed backwards, the Trucker let his hand slip from the small of his back to the roundness of his pert, tight little college boy ass. Oh he was so going to enjoy this one.

“You got a name, pretty boy?”

“B… Bob-by.”

“That’s right nice. Little Bobby Blue. Once you get up there, grab yerself some water. It’ll help clear your head. Might keep you from a mighty powerful headache in the morning.”

“Yeahhhh, that souns gooo…”

Little Bobby Blue was going to make a great companion. The Trucker could taste it, or rather, Bobby Blue would be tasting it. The Trucker leaned down and retrieved the kid’s phone from under the edge of his truck.

Just as Little Bobby Blue was about to take the top step up into the truck, a sleek black Uber pulled up next to the truck. Several loud, clearly drunk, guys were hanging out of the windows.

“BOBBY!!!! There you are, you dumb fuck. We’ve been looking all over for you. How the hell did you get over here?”

“Yeah, what the hell you doing getting in that truck Bobby?” another one said.

“Thisss guy’s gonna give me a ride.”

“Awe thanks, mister. Awful nice. But we got us a nice Uber to take us back to the house. Come on Bobby, quit fuckin around and get your ass in the car.”

Bobby almost fell on the Trucker as climbed back down the steps and stumbled towards the car. That's the most amount of fucking action he'll get tonight, now.

“Nice to meet you, Bobby. I’ll keep an eye out for you. You be safe now,” the Trucker said, his face a mask of polite calmness while inside he was raging.

“Don’t forget your phone, Bobby,” one of the generic drunk guys said. Bobby staggered back towards the Trucker, retrieved his phone, and then nearly fell into the open doorway of the car, sending his idiotic buddies into a frenzy of laughter.

The Trucker glanced around the parking lot. FUCK! There were no other tasty, convenient little fishes to be caught. He slammed the door to his cab shut and then yanked open the driver’s door of the truck. May as well start driving. He was all hot and bothered and there would be no release tonight unless it was his own hand. Perhaps he could try the rest stops. Sometimes unsuspecting people found themselves in vulnerable situations. He ground the gears of his truck as he started out of sheer frustration. He revved the engine louder than he normally would, the rattling growl echoing across the wide open plains of the flat terrain. He’d find someone. He scraped his teeth together and reached for his cigarettes. Maybe he could smoke himself calm. He made a hard fist around the lighter as he struck it up.

He sucked in a lungful of smoke and blew it out again. He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes for a moment, calling up the blue framed face of his escaped victim. Damn he would have liked that one. If he came back through this town any time soon, he’d be on the prowl for his Little Bobby Blue.

Little Bobby Blue had dodged a bullet that night. It’s possible he wouldn’t always be that lucky. But for tonight, Bobby Blue made it home safely.

Tagging List: @i-can-even-burn-salad @peachy-panic @deluxewhump @arwenadreamer @whumpcereal @melancholy-in-the-morning @dont-touch-my-soup @whumpsday @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert @melennui @susiequaz12 @morning-star-whump @crystalquartzwhump @whump-and-other-things @mylifeisonthebookshelf @reflected-pain @hold-him-down @quietshae @sparrowsage @quietly-by-myself @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @darlingwhump @hold-him-down @quietshae @no-terms-and-conditions-apply (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone - please let me know if I am and I’ll fix it. I’m still getting used to this)

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painsandconfusion · 1 year

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“Need a Ride?”

May 2nd

[Wrench | Paranoia | Club] (tw: kidnaping, alcohol consumption, manhandling, alcohol)

[The Merry Whump of May Masterpost]

Whumpee wrenched their elbow out of the stranger’s - Whumper, they said their name was? - grip. “Leave me aloneeeeeee. I’m fine-!”

Whumper tisked, pulling them toward the door again. “You’re not fine. You’re drunk and you don’t have anyone else to drive you home. I’m taking you.”

Whumpee whined as their dink sloshed and splattered onto the club floor. “Nooooooooooo I don’t wanna go home yetttttttt-”

“Too bad. You need a ride and I’m leaving now.”

Whumpee shoved at their chest. “I don’ even know you- you c-ould be likeeee a serial killer or somethin’g-!”

Whumper rolled their eyes, taking Whumpee’s glass and setting it on a random table, then got a better grip. Whumpee found themself suddenly cloaked in Whumper’s jacket and stumbling toward the door again. “…nnnnno-”“Quit being so paranoid. Just trust me.”

Shoutout to @themerrywhumpofmay for this event!

[The Merry Whump of May Masterpost]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @whumpsday @sonder35)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

#kidnaping #alcohol consumption #manhandling #alcohol #the merry whump of may #mwmday2 #need a ride?

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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

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The Merry Whump of May—Day 2

“Need a ride?”

Wrench | Paranoia | Club

Masterlist

Cw: detailed descriptions of gore, all hurt no comfort, torture, heavy abuse, restraints, kidnapping, hand/eye/mouth whump, heavy dehumanization, broken bones, blood, amputation, implied death/murder, whumper turned whumpee, caretaker turned whumper, just be careful with this one friends

The garage light flickered.

Caretaker glanced up, their lips pressing thin together. It must have been years since they’d last changed it—if ever. They weren’t prone to spending time in the garage. Detached from the house, it served more for storage than anything. There had been a point where they had parked their car in there, but it hadn’t lasted more than a few weeks before it came more inconvenient to store it away than just leave it in their driveway.

Now, the garage was home to many boxes, bins covered in dust and stacked messily. There was a workbench against one wall, scattered with tools and stray nails. Their woodworking phase hadn’t lasted very long either. But that was alright. They found a different use for all the tools they had bought, birdhouses in mind when they had first gone to the hardware store. That certainly wasn’t what they had been shopping for the last time they had walked out of the shop, three bags weighing their arms.

Some of the stuff had been for Whumpee. A lock for the inside of their bedroom door, because the door to Caretaker’s guest room didn’t have a lock and they wanted Whumpee to be in control. Never again would they be on the other side of a lock. They had free rein of the house, Caretaker encouraged them to poke around and explore.

“It’s your house too, Whumpee. There’s nothing in here that will hurt you.”

They had bought a can of pale green paint, and a plastic sheet that they had draped over the bed, desk, and dresser Whumpee helped them push to the center of the room—though they weren’t particularly strong anymore, quite likely hindering the effort more than helping, Caretaker had let them. They spent the entire day painting the dull beige walls. Whumpee’s favorite color was green.

They bought lights, the kind that strung across rooftops when Christmas was near, a soft yellow glow, and they had hammered small tacks around the crown mounding to hang them as a surprise for Whumpee.

That hammer, they had bought too. They had one, somewhere in their indoor toolbox, but it had the build of a rock tied to a stick. They needed a better hammer than that, so they had splurged a bit. It was heavy and steel, a clawed end opposite the head. If Caretaker dropped it, it would likely shake the entire house.

It was a nice hammer.

The garage had a stale feel to the air, dry and dusty. It was cold outside, in just a month or so, Caretaker would have to start preparing for it to snow. They wrapped themself in a jacket before going out, a black pullover that they zipped and flipped up the hood.

They shut the door behind them with a slam, rattling the walls. A grin, a genuine smile curled across their lips at the panicked little whimper that cut through the dim room.

Caretaker didn’t think of themself as a violent person. Not at all. They were gentle and caring and nurturing—just look at Whumpee, seriously. Barely a month into their recovery, after years of captivity, torture, and conditioning, they were already beginning to show fragments of their old self. Little broken shards, but Caretaker could see, when they made Whumpee’s favorite for dinner, or invited them to curl next to them for a movie night, the little light that would flicker in their eyes. They recognized it. Slowly, they were putting the mirror back together, the glass that had shattered on its way to becoming whole.

They would never hurt anyone, especially not Whumpee. Caretaker was the kind of person who, if they found a spider in their house, would grab a cup and a piece of paper and move it out to their back yard, rather than smush it.

Caretaker hummed to themself, a single melody echoing through the exposed insulation like a cavern. They crossed the garage, after making sure to lock the door, to their workbench, where they pulled on a thick pair of gardening gloves. Something else they had gotten from the hardware store.

That place really had everything.

They stopped humming.

“You know what Whumpee told me today?” They spoke lightly, voice carefree, a tone that one might use when discussing their day with a partner over dinner.

“They told me about this one time, when they tried to escape, you made them choose. Either have both their ankles broken, or have two fingers cut off.” Caretaker tugged open one of the drawers, grabbing their new hammer. Not a single mark on it. Not even a scratch from the tacks or a dent. They set it on top of the desk, before reaching back in to grab a wrench, pliers, and a box cutter, setting it all in a neat pile. They turned to look across the room, leaning one arm against the desk.

They had cleared out a corner of their garage, moved all the bins out of the way to create an alcove of sorts. They had laid a tarp down over the cement, not because Whumper didn’t deserve to sleep in fucking cold cement for the rest of their life—however long Caretaker decided to drag that out to be. Only because they didn’t want to get blood on the floor. That crap stains.

They were so fucking pathetic, Whumper. Their hands bound in front of them, duct tape winding countless times around their wrists and forearms, inhibiting all movement. The tape snared around their torso, pinning their arms to their sides. Their legs were bound also, with a coil of rope, tied at the ankles, knees, and thighs, as tight as Caretaker had managed to pull it.

Their fingers were free, Caretaker supposed that they could simply reach out and grab something that could help cut them loose, but they’d taken care of that issue, weeks ago.

Their bones had snapped surprisingly easily in Caretaker’s hands. At least their pinky and ring finger. The other ones, Caretaker had to resort to stomping down on them, crushing the joints beneath their heel as they ground their boot against the flesh.

Now they doubted that Whumper could even twitch their fucking fingers. Crooked and swollen, blood trapped beneath the skin, knuckles split open.

They were covered in blood and grime, built up over weeks. Their skin was pale, mottled with bruises of all stages and colorings, slick with sweat. Caretaker had only taken them out once, dragging them behind the garage when they were sure Whumpee was asleep to drench them down with the back hose. They’d need to do that again soon. Their nose wrinkled as they stepped closer.

They weren’t blindfolded, but Caretaker doubted Whumper could make out much. One of their eyes nearly swollen shut, the other slit with a deep gash cutting from their eyebrow to their cheekbone, they weren’t seeing crap. They were gagged, though, an old cloth shoved in their mouth and secured in place with duct tape, winding around the back of their head. It couldn’t have been good for their jaw, which Caretaker had broken only a week ago. The teeth, a handful molars which Caretaker had first cracked and knocked loose with the hammer, twisted the rest of the way and ripped out with the pliers they now picked up, were certainly not feeling great now. They didn’t care. Really, it amused them to see the way Whumper squirmed and mumbled, incomprehensible sounds behind the gag that they were sure were pleads for either mercy or death—Caretaker supposed those would be synonymous by now though.

The funniest part, though, was something Caretaker had decided at the last moment. Whumpee had never mentioned anything about it, but Caretaker had noticed the bruises. The slight indented ring around their throat, only visible if you were really looking for it, finally fading with a special balm that Caretaker had spent a week’s paycheck to get. The shit was expensive, but it helped, and the scars—the older ones, at least—were finally beginning to lighten. A thick leather collar, one Caretaker had found in the pet care aisle. A small box on the back, two short studded prints jutting out into Whumper’s neck. The remote sat tucked in Caretaker’s dresser, the top drawer. It had a hell of a range. Sometimes they’d wake up in the middle of the night and twist the dial for no good reason.

Scratch that, there was a good reason. With Whumper, any reason was a good fucking reason.

They had been half tempted to buy a crate, as well, when they were at the store. One of those wire ones that would be uncomfortably small for any animal, let alone a human- if Whumper could even be considered that anymore. They certainly weren’t in Caretaker’s mind. But they had already spent more money than they should have, not that they were tight on funds, but Caretaker always liked to have at least a couple hundred emergency cash on their card, so they didn’t get it. Maybe they’d go back, after they get paid for the week. Toss a blanket over it, make sure Whumper was tied up as cramped as possible, maybe they’d shove a pair of noise canceling headphones over their ears, and let Whumper really suffer for a bit, left alone with only their pain to keep company.

“Their limp is getting better, you know, they don’t need the crutches anymore.” Caretaker stopped only a foot from the edge of the tarp, looking down in disgust. The hammer hung loosely from one hand, pliers and wrench and box cutter held together in the other.

“I think that would be equal to… ankles, knees, and four fingers? Five? Ah, it doesn’t matter. You’re going to lose them all eventually. I say we start with four, then if you’re still conscious, we can continue. Sound fair?”

Of course it did. Whumper wouldn’t agree, panic flickering through the small slit of their eye, some sort of whine swelling in their throat. But it didn’t matter if Whumper agreed. They didn’t get a choice.

Caretaker took the sound as an affirmative.

“You agree? Oh, Good.”

They dropped the tools, hitting loudly against the floor.

“I was thinking we’d start with the middles, remember how you broke Whumpee’s when they flipped you off?“

Caretaker grabbed the box cutter.

“We’ll take this nice and slow today. Whumpee’s staying the night at Old Friend’s place, so we have all the time in the world.”

They couldn’t keep the blood contained on the tarp this time, a trickle of red running off the edge and spilling onto the floor.

This was far worth having to clean up afterwards.

———————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

There’s so many tropes I want to write for the rest of may but I want to write them all right now and I can’t decide aaaahhhhhh I’m probably going to end up writing nothing lmao

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cryptidwritings · 1 year

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"Need a Ride?"

The Merry Whump of May - Day 2

masterlist

prompts: wrench, paranoia, club

content: wrench, paranoia, club (lol), successful escape, defiant whumpee, asshole whumpee.

"Hey, uh... Ya need a ride?"

Whumpee trudged forward with their arms crossed over their chest. Their bare feet slapped against the wet asphalt with each step. The pebbles ground into their softened soles, but they were so cold they couldn't feel much anyway.

The car rolled slowly next to them; the driver a young man with sunglasses and a haircut that told Whumpee he had never seen a moment of agony in his entire life.

"I'm heading to the country club just up the road. Did your car break down?"

Whumpee stopped a moment and glanced into the window, unable to hide their face as it twisted with scorn.

"Yeah. My car and my shoes."

"Okay, no car, then. Got it," the man muttered.

Whumpee was sure he would finally drive off. Instead, he reached over to the radio and switched it on, relaxing back as he kept his sports car to a crawl up the mountain road to a random mix of music.

Whumpee grit their teeth.

"Just go already," they snapped, wrapping their arms tighter around themselves.

The man glanced at his cell phone, "Nah," he responded.

"What if I'm a serial killer?"

Whumpee halted as the man laughed, shaking his head while again glancing at his phone.

The car kept crawling, then stopped a few feet away when the driver finally noticed Whumpee hadn’t moved.

They watched in disbelief as the guy turned off his car and hopped out of the drivers seat, rounding the trunk.

He stopped as he noticed Whumpee take a step away. He raised his hands and then casually placed them in his pockets as he leaned against his wet car.

"What are you doing?" Whumpee asked.

"Waiting."

Whumpee scoffed, "for what? I said no."

"No, you didn't," the guy smiled, "I asked if you needed a ride, and you ignored me."

"To most people, that would mean no."

"Oh, to me, too. In most cases," he took off his glasses and smiled as warm honey eyes met Whumpee's steel gray ones, and he put out his hand, "I'm Caretaker, by the way."

Whumpee snarled and rolled their eyes before walking away, leaving Caretaker with a kindly "piss off."

They hadn't taken more than a few steps before Caretaker called after them.

"I can help you, you know."

Whumpee stopped again, their fingers balling into fists as a perpetual frustrated rage bubbled over. They turned.

"Oh, can you?" they took a step forward, "how can you help me? Huh? You want to tie me up, too? You want to throw me in your trunk and drive me back to Whumper?! Who the fuck do you think you are!"

Caretaker didn't flinch as Whumpee approached, finally revealing what they were so readily clinging to their chest - a wrench so rusted it looked like it had been buried for decades. In fact... Caretaker's eyes drifted to Whumpee's clothes; tattered rags that were stained despite being soaked in the recent heavy rain.

His gut told him those stains weren't just dirt.

"I"m going to help you," Caretaker answered, "I could open the trunk, but I'd rather you sit. Your choice."

Whumpee was too startled to speak.

#the merry whump of may #escape whump #hurt and comfort #whump snippet #implied past captivity #captivity whump #mwmday2

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abhainnwhump · 1 year

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Need a Ride?

Merry Whump of May 2: Wrench - Paranoia

(Content warnings: Kidnapping, manhandling, freezing, unedited writing)

Whumpee grunted as they pried open the hood of their car. It was frozen shut and they needed to use a wrench. Wonderful, engine failure in the middle of a blizzard. Their fingers were turning blue. They could see their own breath. Their teeth chattered.

Burying their face in their scarf, Whumpee took a flashlight and examined the components. They couldn't see what was wrong. Damn school not teaching car repair! And damn author for not knowing how cars work!

Whumpee barely heard another engine driving their way. The only reason they noticed was the bright lights. The owner of the truck rested hung their arm out of the window. "Hey, sweetheart."

Whumpee jumped and held their wrench out like a sword. Whumper laughed at the display, making Whumpee blush in embarrassment.

"You see to be in a bit of rut, so howza 'bout we make a deal?" Whumper tapped their gloved fingers against the door handle. "I'll give you a ride to where you need to go, and in exchange, you tell me a bit about yourself. Come on, what other choice do you have?"

What? Hell no! Whumpee wasn't stupid. Maybe had a few trust issues, but that made them smarter! They wouldn't take the offer.

On the other hand, that car looked warm . . . and Whumpee's car wasn't starting up . . . and they couldn't feel their feet . . . and the stranger looked friendly . . .

Whumpee sighed and gave it, climbing into the seat and shutting the door. Whumper's pickup had a heater, and it felt heavenly, even with the overbearing smell of pine.

It wasn't until Whumpee got into the car did they realize their phone was still on the dashboard. Their hand reached the doorknob, only to hear a shi-cik noise. Whumper locked the car.

Whumpee's eyes widened and they pulled harder on the handle. Right before they smashed the window, Whumper grabbed their chin and made them look them in the eyes, gently brushing aside a lock of hair. "You naïve dumbass, we're not goin' to your' home."

"We're goin' to mine."

(From this prompt on, I'm going to challenge myself to do the rest of MWM as a series.)

#themerrywhumpofmay #mwmday2 #whump prompt #whump challenge #kidnapping whump #intimate whumper #defiant whumpee #whump scene #whump stuff #whump scenario

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sticks-and-stones-are-great · 1 year

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Merry Whump of May - Day 2

(Original characters/story)

@themerrywhumpofmay

The blood covering his hands made this impossible. And the broken arm didn’t really help.

Hesperus tried to loosen the wheel on his motorbike once again. But his fingers, slick with rain, and oil and blood, just kept slipping off the wrench.

He sat down hard in a puddle on the pavement, panting. More water soaked into his pants and boots. He curled the arm into his chest and held it there. It didn’t really help with the pain but it made the injury feel more stable. The heavy pack on his back rested on the ground.

Yeah, he still had to make the delivery.

Guess he was walking the rest of the way.

After a few minutes of panting, eyes closed and teeth gritted, Hesper dragged himself to his feet. Swaying, he edged around the two bodies. Stopped a moment. Eyed the belt one wore.

Minutes later, Hesper peeked out of the alleyway, his left arm now stable with the belt holding it close to his chest. With his other hand, he steered his shattered motorbike.

No one had witnessed the fight. No one would know what he’d done. They’d jumped him. It was their fault. It was their fault they-

“Need a ride?”

Hesper looked up and saw Rafael. He almost started sobbing on the spot.

Rafael quickly got off his bike. “Hesper?” His hand went towards Hesper’s shoulder. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Hesper glanced back at the entrance to the alley, where the bodies lay hidden. “How did you find me?”

“The wreck alert went off. Biometrics too. I’m on duty tonight. Did you wipe-out?”

Hesper opened his mouth. He wanted to say he’d been attacked. He wanted to say it wasn’t his fault that he’d killed them. He was defending himself. He was defending the delivery on his back.

Hesper swallowed. Blood and dirty rainwater on his tongue. “Y-yeah. Wiped out. Arm’s broken. Bike’s busted.”

Rafel looked over the belt strapping Hesper’s left arm to his chest. Hesper could feel his eyes roving. The other cuts and bruises being taken into account.

Rafael nodded then got back on his motorbike. “Should get you to a doc, I know one in-”

“No, there’s one near here.” Hesper shook his head.

It wasn’t a memory.

Just a strange feeling.

He knew that there was a doc around here. A good one.

Hesper looked up and down the street. No one. Empty.

“I don��t know of one.” Rafael said as Hesper slid gingerly onto the bike behind him.

“It’s weird.” Hesper murmured. “I think the clinic is in the back of a club. A green door, maybe.”

“You think?” Rafael started the bike. “Did you hit your head?”

“Probably.”

“I’m taking you to my doc, then we’ll finish the delivery together.” Rafael said.

“No!” Hesperus shook his head, making the world swim around him. “No, this one’s in the-...” He searched this feeling. “The Wheel! It’s a block away. The sign, it’s-”

“A neon eight-spoked wheel?” Rafael sighed. “You’re right, that is closer. Okay, let’s see if the doc is in. Hold on tight.”

Hesper wrapped his good arm around Rafael’s waist, blushing. He laid his head against Rafael’s back as they sped off.

#themerrywhumpofmay #mwmday2 #whump #original character #ocs #I'm a whole day behind but I'm trying

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c0ntr0lledchaos · 9 months

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mwmd2 - New job

Prompts:

“need a ride?”

wrench

paranoia

club

(originally posted in may of 2023)

The sun was setting, slowly disappearing behind the city skyline. The few rays of sunlight peaking through the buildings blinded Jason as they walked down the sidewalk. His round glasses were barely tinted, mostly for style and doing little to actually protect his eyes. This area of the city was pretty crowded, filled with different shops and businesses that caused a lot of foot traffic. The colorful signs and decorations from each shop made the area feel warm and inviting. It was probably intended to draw customers in but Jason enjoyed it nonetheless. All the different colors made him think about changing his hair color again. It had been blue for some time now. Maybe he should change it to purple, or maybe green.

He wasn’t even sure why they were there. Every time he asked Ethan, his new boss, he gave a vague answer. Saying, ‘Just wait.’ ‘You’ll see,' and 'Just keep following me.’ Ethan presented himself with so much confidence, it was hard not to trust him. The sun bounced off his shiny black hair, making him almost look as if he was glowing. Jason couldn’t deny that Ethan was attractive. He was sure the group of women they passed would agree considering the way they looked at him as they passed. Ethan walked with ease and determination, hands in his pockets and relaxed. The crowd parted just enough to let them through.

Jason looked around at the different stores, not having a chance to visit this area since he moved here. Not that he really wanted to be here to begin with. Large crowds were too suffocating, dangerous. He didn’t know who around him intended to hurt him or not. What would happen if someone saw threw him? Saw what he was? At the moment it wasn’t too bad. With the sun setting and some smaller businesses closing, the crowds were not as dense as they could have been.

“Ok, turn here,” Ethan said, guiding the pair of them around the corner of the building. As they rounded the corner, Jason noticed a man walking a few paces behind them. The man looked familiar and Jason could have sworn he saw the man earlier when they started walking from the meeting they had been at. They were currently trying to learn more about the target they were hired to take out. It wouldn't be surprising if this man was trying to stop them. Jason discreetly watched the man, noting that he followed them every time they turned a corner or crossed the street.

“Hey, I think someone is following us,” Jason said, making sure only Ethan could hear him.

“I was wondering when you would notice,” Ethan said, smiling as he walked the two of them out of the main crowd.

“You noticed and didn’t say anything?”

“I wanted to test your instincts. We are in dangerous situations a lot and if you want to keep working with us you need to be on your toes,” Ethan explained as they walked into a different part of town. This area was more dedicated to nightlife with different restaurants and clubs lining the streets. “You did pretty well. He hasn’t followed us for too long.”

“Ok, but what do we do now?” Jason asked, feeling like he could finally breathe now that they were out of the main crowd, despite the strange man following them. There were still people around but they were slowly dispursing as the sun finally disappeared below the horizon.

“Don’t worry, we aren’t fighting him. Not until I have a chance to spar with you and see what you can do. In here.”

Ethan stopped them in front of a club that already had a line forming outside the door. The bouncer gave them a skeptical look but recognized Ethan. Both exchanged a few words before the bouncer let them in, much to the growing line's dismay. Jason quickly followed Ethan inside and felt his chest tighten up as he saw the large crowd that awaited them. Ethan walked in without a care in the world, expertly weaving between people as he headed to the bar. Jason struggled to keep up with him and control his anxiety.

“You wait here,” Ethan said, sitting Jason down at the bar.

“But I’m not old enough!” Jason yelled over the music.

“Just get some pretzels or something if you want. We're not staying long. I’m gonna go call us a ride,” Ethan explained, patting Jason on the shoulder before walking away.

Just like that, Jason was left alone, surrounded by strangers and possibly a man who was following them. He glanced around the room, logically knowing that if the man wanted to follow them inside, he would most likely have to wait in the line outside. But if Ethan and him could get in by just talking to the bouncer, why couldn’t the other man? He could be in there right now. Jason looked around the room, trying to be discreet as possible. It was really difficult to get a sense of his surroundings, his view blocked by people, lights, and fog machine effects.

A person bumped into Jason's back lightly as they walked by and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He gripped his hands tightly in front of him, trying to ground himself. His skin felt like it was shifting over his muscles, his nerves going haywire. What if he lost control and someone saw? How many people in here were human? How many were not?

Jason stood up abruptly, almost knocking his stool over as he darted towards the bathroom. The people around him were blurs, blending in with the fog. The smell of sweat and alcohol felt like it was suffocating him as he stumbled into the men's room, entering the nearest stall, and locking the door. There were a few people in the bathroom but having a locked door between him and them made Jason feel better.

He gritted his teeth as his skin writhed beneath his clothes, bones and muscles twitching and changing shape in response to his anxiety. It hurt a bit, forcing himself not to shape-shift when his instincts demanded it. His body wanted to fight against the threat his mind had made up even though realistically, shapeshifting right now would probably do him more harm than good.

He forced himself to take deep breaths and focused on his surroundings to calm him down. Luckily, the stall was full of graffiti which was a great distraction. As he calmed himself down, he listened as the other people in the bathroom moved around, eventually finishing up and leaving. He listened for another moment, checking to be certain he was alone before exiting the stall. He turned to the mirror and checked himself over quickly while he was still alone, assuring sure he didn’t tear his clothing while shape-shifting. He also made sure he looked the same as he did before and didn’t accidentally walk out with a different hair color or pointed ears. You only make that mistake once.

Just as he was satisfied with his appearance, the bathroom door swung open. Jason’s eyes widened as he turned to look and saw the same man that had been following them.

The man wasted no time rushing Jason, slamming him against the wall. Jason's head banged painfully against the tile, stunning him long enough for the man to pull back and punch him in the face. Jason felt blood fill his mouth, the punch causing him to bite his tongue hard enough to cut it. His glasses clattered across the floor.

“You think we can’t recognize one of our own?” The man said, pinning Jason to the wall by his neck.

“Wa-” Jason started before the man's words clicked. “You’re a shapeshifter?”

“No, but I’m not human either,” the man said, lifting Jason onto his toes. Jason's hands clung to the man's wrist as he struggled to breathe, attempting to pry it away. His skin started to writhe again as panic flooded his brain. His fingers sharpened into claws that he dug into the man's arm, yet the man's grip did not falter even as blood ran down his arm.

“Why are you working with them?!” The man shouted, throwing Jason to the ground.

“I don't know-" Jason started, struggling to speak around his sore throat. Before he could finish though, the man was on top of him again, his hands finding Jason’s neck and squeezing.

“Traitor!” The man shouted, anger clear on his face.

Jason clawed at the man's arms and face, kicking his legs out, and trying anything he could think of to get the man off him. Nothing phased the man. Jason's vision started to blur as his eyes watered. He didn’t want to die, he was too young, he felt like his life was just beginning. The man didn’t care how young Jason was, nor about the tears streaming down his face.

Just as Jason’s vision started to darken, the sound of metal hitting bone echoed throughout the room before the man collapsed. Jason took a deep breath and shoved the man's body off him. If the man was unconscious or not, he didn't check.

“Thank you,” Jason said, looking up at the person who saved him. It was a woman, twirling a bloodied wrench in her hand. When she looked back at him, her smile was kind but slightly unhinged. “Wait… Josie?”

“Sup.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass apparently,” she said, nudging the man with her boot. How she walked in platform boots was beyond Jason. “Who is this guy?”

“I don’t know. He followed me and Ethan earlier,” Jason explained as he took the hand she offered him. “Why are you in the men's bathroom?”

“Does it matter?” She asked, grabbing the man's arm and dragging him into a stall.

“I guess not… Why do you have a wrench?” Jason watched as she positioned the man to look like he fell before taking out a small bottle of alcohol and pouring it into the man's mouth.

“Cause I don’t have my baseball bat with me,” she said as she shut the stall door and locked it. “Now are you going to keep asking questions or are you going to help me clean up?”

“Oh, right!” Jason said, jumping to grab some paper towels.

He started cleaning up the blood on the ground. As he did so, he watched as Josie crawled out from under the stall door, stretching as she stood back up. She dusted herself off, muttering about the gross floor before reaching down, picking up Jason's glasses, and handing them back to him. He sighed as he saw the large crack in one of the lenses before hooking them onto the front of his shirt.

“So…” Jason started. "How much did you see?”

“I saw him kicking your ass mainly. But if you are talking about you shapeshifting, I won’t lie, I did see that,” Josie said casually, stepping over to the sink and washing her hands and arms. Jason felt his heart rate spike and it became difficult to breathe again. He sat frozen, staring at the bloody towels in front of him. She knew. What would happen now? Would she turn him into the police? Pin the murder on him? Make him lose his job? He just got it, he couldn’t lose it now. He couldn’t get a normal job.

“Hey,” Josie said, snapping her fingers in his face. He jumped and fell back on his ass, breathing heavily. “I don’t care about what you are, okay? All I care about is not getting arrested so let's finish cleaning before people get suspicious about the door being locked for this long.”

Jason nodded and continued wiping up the last of the blood, slowly getting his breathing under control as he did. They flushed the bloody towels and washed their hands, Josie tucking the wrench into her back pocket as they exited the bathroom. As soon as the door was unlocked Josie grabbed his arm and jerked him forward, causing them to stumble. She laughed as she used the wall to steady herself before pulling on his arm again, causing him to stumble forward again. She put her hand on his chest and laughed again. A high-pitched flirty laugh that didn't suit her at all. It was only then that Jason saw the line of men outside the bathroom giving him a mix of annoyed and proud looks, one of them even giving him a thumbs up. He flushed as he realized what they were thinking. This caused Josie to genuinely laugh as she pulled him toward the front of the club.

“They-They thought-”

“They thought the reason we were taking so long was because we were having fun. Let's let them believe that,” Josie said, leading Jason through the crowd.

Soon, Jason spotted Ethan standing near the entrance, looking at the crowd and searching for something. His shoulders relaxed as the two of them walked up to him.

“Your lost puppy has been returned,” Josie exclaimed, releasing Jason's arm.

“Holy shit, Josie? When did you get here?” Ethan asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Josie said simply. “I can’t stay though. You guys should get out of here too.”

“Damn, not even time for one drink? Oh well, our ride is here anyways,” Ethan said, a look of understanding on his face. Ethan had talked about Josie a bit before. While she was not officially part of the group, she helped out with jobs from time to time. It seemed like her doing something like this was not out of the ordinary.

“Thanks Josie, I owe you,” Jason said before following Ethan out of the club. She waved at them as they left before disappearing into the crowd.

“You don’t want to owe her,” Ethan said as they left the building. “She’ll show up at your place at midnight wanting to crash on your couch.”

"She doesn't know where I live."

"Trust me, she does."

The last traces of sunlight had disappeared a while ago by the time they exited the club. This left only streetlights and the moon to illuminate the city. The line to get into the club had tripled in size in the time they were in there, most of them tipsy from pre-gaming.

A car honked as they stepped away from the crowded entrance and Ethan led them over to it.

“Need a ride?” The woman asked as Ethan opened the passenger door.

“That's why I called,” Than said as he got in. “Ava, meet the newbie. Newbie, meet Ava."

Jason got in the back seat, mumbling a hello as he relaxed for the first time all afternoon. He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, letting his body rest as they drove away.

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autobot2001 · 1 year

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Who's Dumb now?

@mediwhumpmay Day 2: stitches @themerrywhumpofmay Day 2; wrench Fandom: Transformers Rating: T Warning: mention of suicide, graphic dipiction of injury, blood (snippet from Hidden Killer)

Two soldiers are repairing a military Jeep and listening to the radio. "Local police believe the recent murders are the work of the Holiday Killer." "Seems odd the guy would disappear for a year then return, right Dylan? He's a coward.""Or he was carefully planning considering the number of attacks in a short period." "Serial killers are too stupid."This infuriates Dylan. He grabs the spud wrench, stabbing the soldier in the arm. Ensure it's deep before pushing the tool down, creating a longer cut. Enjoying the soldier's scream. "Look how quickly I thought of this, and I'm not a serial killer!" The soldier runs out of the hangar, leaving a trail of blood. Dylan knows he needs to get rid of the tool quickly. "He'll have no way to prove I caused the injury. The only other spud wrench has his fingerprints." The three medics couldn't believe the injury the soldier was walking in with. No one is out on a mission or in battle with the Decepticons. The three believe they can rule out suicide since the soldier came to them, but they know they can't assume. "Questions after we help him," Ratchet tells the other two. He contacts the cleaning staff to clean the blood in the medbay and the trail from the hangar. The three medics worry this is going to turn into a serious emergency. "Rubén Marín," Ratchet tells Lennox and Optimus, "claims he's not suicidal. Claims Dylan Greene did this." "I was able to retrieve the tool," Prowl tells them, holding up the bag while still wearing a glove, "his prints are on this." Rubén couldn't believe Prowl is holding up a clear bag with the same tool Dylan used; somehow, his prints are on the tool. "Why would I come here for help if I wanted to be dead?" Rubén argues. "Many do get scared after hurting themselves, hoping to die," Ratchet explains. "There's no shame admitting you need help," Lennox argues, "you'd be off duty until you get help but not discharged." "I'm not suicidal!" The men leave the room, hating the conversation they must have. Dylan walks by Optimus' office, and the door is opened a little enough for him to hear the conversation."I hate to do this, but he needs help," Lennox sighs, "I don't know how it is for you guys, but in the U.S. military if I discharge Martin, that's it. Even after he gets help." Dylan smiles, pleased Rubén is going to leave the base's protection. You're mine, bastard.

#transformers #transformers bayverse #transformers optimus prime #transformers ratchet #transformers prowl #mwmday2 #TW; Blood #TW; mention of suicude #TW; graphic dipiction of injury #mediwhumpmay #scene snippet #story snippet

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its-my-whump · 1 year

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The Merry Whump Of May - Day 2

Torture , Beating , Broken bones

Club

How could he have been so mistaken? "Just joyn in. The club's gonna be real fun."

Yeah fuck. He didn't mean a place to party drink and dance. He meant a fucking punch stick.

Unfortunately, realisation came with the first hit and his naivity was bloodily cast out.

The first one he got in his back and stumbled forward, not knowing what in the matter of speaking actually had hit him. A dull but all consuming pain came out of nowhere and pushed the air out of his lungs while it took his whole upper body hostage. He couldn't breath through the first 30 seconds of shock. His legs almost gave in, but he kept standing by sheer force of will.

Where the first one seemed merely a try, the second landing, definitely fractured his arm when he tried to block the hit out of reflex. He almost chocked on his own breath desperately trying to soak air in while an agonising cry left his lungs the same moment. At least the coughing took his mind a merciful second from the pain. His fore-arm was undiniable broken. Even it hadn't been for the nerve wrecking sound his bone produced when it cracked, he just felt it. It was a feeling so much worse, than anything he'd ever experienced.

But in the same moment this very thought reached his brain, he just knew this limit would be surpassed several times tonight.

Hot tears overflew his eyes, he couldn't see the next swing, that took his legs from under him. A new wave of pain went through his arm, when he touched down while the distress of that blow ran up and down his right leg. His knee felt like it had been disjoined instantly. Desperat cries escaped his lips and yet he was just trying to breath. His lungs hurt in addition to all the agony he was already in. His own frantic longing for vital air was making him dizzy or it was all the pain.

He just couldn't think, this sickening feeling had him in its wrench-like grip. His body was eaten up by this whole ordeal, there was no capacity for his mind to work.

The club was briefly exchanged through a foot kicking. Never thought some stiched leather on a maniacs foot could be this cruel. Taking shallow and stressed breaths in and pushing grunts, sobs and cries out.

Another crack, deep inside his body something snapped, once, two, at least three rips musst have been fractured in a matter of seconds.

Apparently bending down to hit your target with a bat laying on the floor is straining for the back of the attacker, so he stayed by his choise of kicking instead.

The next blow went in his back where the first hit had landed closing the circle of fuck to start anew.

His vision was swimming, every breath hurt so much, everything hurt so much. A grey cloak was slowly settling in his field of view.

More kicks, more pain, less air, less will to endure anymore.

Grey turned white. It felt like he needed to throw up and was suffocating on his own breath at the same time. He couldn't see anymore. The constant static noise that had been in his ears for some time was getting louder, unbearble loud.

The white was so bright, so clear, so damn loud, until it wasn't. Darkness cancled out the light, until there wasn't anything left.

#themerrywhumpofmay #mwmday2 #whump #mwm2023

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