hiding-in-the-shadows - Tumblr blog

hiding-in-the-shadows · 7 months

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tales from the kennel

hello! a new mini-series is a brewing, starting with this horrific two-parter focusing on justin and tony, whom we met here. part of the kennel universe (master list here), but set before will and tommy are kidnapped.

content warnings for: extreme dehumanization, referenced noncon, future noncon, future dubcon, forced nudity, references to human trafficking, all the gaslighting, branding, restraints, pet whump, captivity whump, filmed whump, creepy whumper, adult language

orpheus, part one

Tony has tried so hard not to think. Thinking, he knows, is no longer required of him. Not here. Probably not ever again.

He’s been sold. Fuck, the word makes his naked skin crawl. It still doesn’t make sense, no matter how long he’s been here. People are not bought and sold. Of course, Doc doesn’t call it that. Doc calls a kidnapping a “rescue;” trafficking is just “finding someone a good home.”

But when Tony lets himself think, he knows it isn’t true. He wasn’t rescued, and he doesn’t need to find a good home. He has a good home–or at least, he used to.

It hurts to think of the little yellow house he and Justin bought together. They barely got to live in it before–well, before all of this. But when Tony curls on the floor of the doghouse at night, when he closes his eyes, he can see the wallpaper they chose for the front hallway–birds of paradise on an orange field. He can see the rack of copper pots hanging over the kitchen island; they were too expensive, but Justin insisted that anyone who cooked like Tony deserved the very best.

It hurts the most when he remembers their bedroom. The overstuffed duvet, the matching bedside tables, the soft light of their twin lamps. Their bodies moving together in the dark. Safety. Comfort.

Tony has neither here. And no matter what Doc tells him about the “wonderful home” he’ll soon be packed off to, Tony knows there won’t be safety or comfort there either. He won’t have a home. There is no home without Justin. There is no Tony without Justin.

Tony knows he will disappear entirely once Doc sends him away. He’s already started to. It isn’t Tony who endures Doc’s training for the camera; it’s Fido. It’s Fido whose red collar is cinched a notch too tight. It’s Fido who sucks, who begs, who bends to be breached like a trained whore. It’s Fido who will be restrained in the waiting crate and shipped thousands of miles away.

It’s Fido who wears the still-healing brand of his new owner between his shoulder blades.

But it is Tony who feels the pain. Even if he knows better than to think, he can’t help but feel.

Tony feels the rough heel of Doc’s hand against the puckered skin of his new scar, and he groans before he can stop himself. It’s only been a few days since Doc came into the doghouse with the branding iron, and Tony’s skin still feels like it’s on fire. Tony doesn’t even know what the damn brand looks like, but he bets he could guess the shape by the pattern of the blood throbbing beneath his skin.

Doc only chuckles. “Oh, now, boy. I know it’s a little uncomfortable now, but think of what your new gift means! Someone loves you enough to claim you for his own. You’re so close to going home!”

“No!” Tony cries hoarsely, but his words dissolve into animal keening when Doc hooks his nails into the brand.

“Yes, you are,” Doc insists. His voice is still gentle, even as he digs further into Tony’s wound. “Don’t undo it by being a bad boy now.”

“Please!” Tony begs. The burning is almost as keen as when the iron first landed on his skin. Doc slaps Tony between the shoulders, and Tony’s knees come out from under him; his belly lands hard against the cold floor.

“You don’t want to ruin your gift, is that right?” Doc chides, letting his hand slip up the back of Tony’s neck and into his dark hair. He scratches idly at Tony’s scalp.

The humiliation is a brand all its own.

“You know, it’s an honor to be adopted by someone so important. You’re going to have so much fun, and I know you’re going to be so good for him. He’s tuning in all this week so that he can get excited for your arrival next weekend. Imagine someone so important giving up so much of his time for a little rescue like you. Aren’t you a special boy, Fido?”

Tony shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about what’s coming. Doc’s already showed him the crate he’ll travel in, the special hood he’ll wear to dampen his senses, the fur-lined cuffs built into the box to keep him still. He’s been promised drugs that will keep him calm for the trip. Tony doesn’t know exactly where he’s being sent, but he knows it’s far. Far from here. Far from the little yellow house.

Far from Justin.

“I want to go home,” Tony says before he can stop himself. “Please, I–”

Doc’s hand freezes in Tony’s hair. “But you are going home!”

Tony shakes his head. “No. You don’t–I–please, Doc, Please. I’ll be good. I promise. Just–”

“Don’t make the people think you’re ungrateful, Fido. Not all of my rescues get the opportunities you have.”

Tony wants to scream. Yes, he’s had so many ‘opportunities’ since he’s been here. The opportunity to be restrained and groped and filmed and drugged and starved and beaten. To be coupled like a brood mare with any one of a dozen faceless people in red collars. To know exactly how weak he is, to know for certain that it took almost no time to break him entirely.

But he doesn’t scream. Because he knows better.

“I’m grateful,” Tony forces himself to say. “I-I–” he swallows around the lump in his throat, “I just don’t want to leave you.”

He pitches his eyes to the floor, but it doesn’t matter: Doc knows he’s lying. The man bursts into laughter.

“Oh, my sweet little pup. What a performance!”

“I’m not–”

Doc’s hand presses against the brand, and Tony is silenced by the searing pain.

“I know you have mixed feelings about leaving, and I know it isn’t because of me.”

Tony stares up at Doc through the blur of his tears. The pain in his back is white hot; the knot in his chest is worse. He never mentions Justin to Doc. He learned early on that there was no point; Doc won’t give him any answers. But now that he’s being sent away–

“The little mutt will be just fine without you,” Doc says. “You haven’t seen him in months anyway, have you? You should be used to it by now.”

But Tony will never be used to it. They didn’t get enough time. They’d only been married for a week when Doc found them. When Doc took Tony’s wedding ring, it hadn’t even had the chance to wear a groove in his skin. It was like he’d never worn a ring at all.

“Please.” Tony shifts his weight back onto his stomach. He lays his arms prostrate on the floor. “I have to see him.”

Doc shakes his head. “I don’t know, boy. Don’t you think it will be harder? He isn’t coming home with you. He might be jealous. I don’t want you to feel badly about your good luck–and I don’t want it to be more difficult for him. I haven’t found a place for him. Not yet.”

Tony closes his eyes. He hopes Doc never finds a place for Justin, that there’s still a chance that Justin will make it back to the little yellow house, even if it’s without him.

“I want to–to-to say goodbye. Even if it’s hard.”

He doesn’t say that he wants to say goodbye because he’s almost certain it will be the last time he sees his husband. At the very least, it will probably be the last time Justin sees him alive. Tony is under no illusion that he will escape the situation waiting for him overseas. He knows he will be used until he is a dry husk, and then he will be crumpled up and thrown away. He can only hope that someday, Justin might have closure. That Justin will sit at the kitchen island with another man who will make him enchiladas and kiss that spot on the back of his neck and banish the nightmares that will surely haunt Justin for the rest of his life.

Tony doesn’t have a choice. His nightmare is going to swallow him whole. But with the time he has left–he needs Justin to know that it will be alright, even if Tony won’t be there to see him through.

Doc chuckles softly and tucks his fingers under Tony’s chin, forcing Tony to meet his eye. “You are an affectionate little thing, aren’t you?”

“Please. Before–” Tony chokes on the lump on his throat, but he holds Doc’s gaze, “--before I go home.”

Doc’s eyebrows raise. His mouth curves into a grotesque smile. “Well, look who’s decided to be a good boy.”

“I won’t fight,” Tony whispers. “I promise.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

As though to prove it, he manages not to flinch when Doc shifts his grip and presses into the soft meat of his cheeks. Doc dips his thumb into Tony’s mouth and presses his tongue flat. Tony stays still. He wants Doc to believe him. It’s the only way that he will get to Justin.

Doc sighs, slipping the calloused pad of his thumb back and forth over Tony’s tongue. “You understand that you’ll have to follow my rules? That you have to be obedient if you expect a treat?”

Tony does his best to nod, even as Doc’s touch teases the opening of his throat.

“And you’ll be a good boy on your trip home?”

Another half nod. Doc pulls his thumb backward, but he keeps Tony’s tongue pinned down.

“Then I’ll let you see him,” Doc says thoughtfully. “But you won’t say goodbye.”

Tony’s brow wrinkles, and Doc laughs.

“You won’t say anything, actually. You won’t speak at all.”

Tony’s mouth twitches in an attempt to protest, and Doc seizes his tongue and yanks. The thin skin that connects his tongue to the base of his mouth flares with pain. Tony whines involuntarily, but Doc doesn’t let go.

“He doesn’t know what it is you’ve been up to all this time. He doesn’t know that you’re being adopted. I didn’t think it was good for him to know, since the two of you were never going to find a home together. Makes it easier to wean him, doesn’t it?”

Tony squeezes his eyes shut again. He and Justin found a home together. They just never expected it to be ripped away from them like this.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy,” Doc snaps.

Tony complies. What else can he do? He promised he wouldn’t fight, didn’t he?

“You’re not going to make any of this worse by spilling the beans. You may agree to stop fighting, but if he finds out you’re headed home, he won’t. He’s already a naughty little thing, and I don’t particularly want to deal with any more guff from him.”

For the sparest of seconds, Tony’s heart soars. Justin hasn’t given up. He’s still fighting. He can make it. He will.

But Doc’s voice brings him back to earth.

“See, he isn’t as valuable to me as you are, Fido. It’s going to be hard to find him a place. And I can’t have you making it any harder than it needs to be. I’ve got limited resources, you know? So, here’s the deal: I’ll let you see him if you promise not to say a word.”

Tony nods again, even as his tears finally break free. He doesn’t want Justin to see him bitted or muzzled. He wants to kiss his husband, to tell him that he loves him one last time. He wants to say goodbye. But if this is all Tony’s got, he will take it. He’s learned to take what he can get.

Doc finally lets Tony’s tongue go, wiping his thumb on Tony’s cheek. “But it’s a little performance test for you, boy. I’m not going to make this easy for you. I want you to show me that you mean what you say.”

“I–” Tony rasps. He pushes himself up on his hands and clears his throat. “I don’t understand.”

“You are not leaving the doghouse until it’s time to pack you up. That means I’ll be bringing the mutt to see you. And I expect you to do what you’ve been trained to do.”

Tony’s gut freezes. His eyes drift up to the camera closest to them.

He can’t. He wants Justin more than anything, but he can’t subject Justin to this. Not when he won’t even be able to explain. There will be too many things he can’t explain. The cameras. The brand on his back. How sorry he is. And how much he loves Justin.

It’s too much to ask.

“But–”

“I will bring him here, and you will show him what you’ve learned. If you want to see him before you go home, those are the expectations. Take it or leave it.”

“He doesn’t know–” Tony tries, but Doc’s palm comes down hard between his shoulder blades.

“And he won’t know.” Doc leans close, pressing harder against Tony’s ruined skin. “If you say a word, I’ll kill him.”

“No!” Tony cries. Justin has to get out. He cannot die here.

“I told you, he isn’t that valuable to me. The only reason I haven’t put him down yet is because my Annie’s taken a bit of a shine to him. She’s never had a pet of her own, and I like to see her happy.”

Tony feels bile rising in his throat. Justin is no one’s pet. Maybe that’s all that Tony will ever be now, maybe that’s a foregone conclusion, but he has to believe that Justin still has a chance.

“You can’t–”

“I won’t, so long as you show us all what a good boy you are. I’m not even going to muzzle you; you’ll get a chance to really show off your training. I’m sure your new owner will be watching, and you’ll want to make sure he’ll be excited to see you.”

Tony collapses over his knees. He’s going to be sick. He can’t do this. He can’t make Justin do this. He doesn’t know what Doc’s done with Justin, but Tony knows he isn’t a red collar. Tony would know if he were. Tony’s body knows every red collar, even the ones he hasn’t seen; he’s tasted them and felt them move inside. None of them were Justin. Tony would never mistake Justin’s touch.

He can’t make Justin a part of this–but he knows that he has to. Doc has him trapped, sure as if he were already packed in the crate. He should never have tried to bargain. He doesn’t have the head for it anymore. After all, he isn’t meant to think.

“You can’t go back on it now, boy,” Doc murmurs. His hand slips below the brand, scratching a gentle line up and down the knots of Tony’s spine. “And you get to say goodbye. Just like you wanted. Only not in so many words.”

Tony doesn’t move. He falls into the gentle touch, just the way he’s been trained, and he stays still. There’s nothing he can do anyway. He knows if he fights now, Justin is as good as dead.

“It’s romantic, in a way,” Doc says wistfully. Tony can hear the smile in his voice. “Do you know the story of Orpheus, Fido? My Annie has a big book of Greek myths that I used to read to her before bed, and that one was always her favorite. Made her cry, but I think she liked the tragedy of it all.”

Tony knows the story, but he can’t remember. Not right now. The only thing he can recall is Justin’s face. He shouldn’t have asked to see him. He should have let himself be packed away and lived with the memories they’ve already made. He curls in on himself. Doc keeps stroking his back.

“Orpheus had a chance to rescue his love from the underworld. All he had to do was to lead her out without turning around to look at her. He just had to trust that she was there, and they’d both be free. But he turned around just as they were crossing the threshold, and she was pulled back into the underworld forever. Because of his weakness.” Doc leans close to Tony’s ear. “This is your Orpheus moment, boy. Don’t be weak.”

Tony can’t stand it. “You’re not giving me the chance to save him from anything,” he says, his voice toneless and hollow.

Doc’s fingers crook against Tony’s cheek. “No, because I’ve already rescued you both.”

Tony should laugh, but he only squeezes his eyes shut again. He’s dreamed about rescue, but he knows now that it will never come. Not for him. There is no escaping the snare he’s just set for himself.

“But,” Doc says thoughtfully, “I am giving you the chance to protect him.”

“From you.”

Doc’s hand withdraws. “From himself. He’s got to learn, and you’re going to teach him. You’re going to show him what a good boy looks like.”

Tony looks up at Doc, the older man’s image distorted by the pane of his tears. “Why do you hate us so much?”

“Oh, Fido. I don’t hate you. I could never hate any of my rescues. You’re all such vulnerable creatures. But just like you’re going to protect your mutt, I have to protect you. I know it’s hard, giving up what you thought your life would be. But I saved you from something so much worse.”

It’s bullshit, but Tony is sure that Doc believes it. The man abducts innocent people and strips away their humanity like bits of old wallpaper, but he believes that he’s serving the greater good. Tony only wishes he could believe too. It would make all of this so much easier if he could believe that this torture was saving him from something worse.

But he knows better. He knows that someone else would have driven by the service station eventually; he knows that if they had been smarter, if they hadn’t gotten in Doc’s truck, they would be at home in the yellow house right now. They wouldn’t have died. Someone would have come. Doc didn’t save them from anything. Doc stole them.

“It’s hard for you and the mutt, I know. But I can’t always place everyone together, so the separation was necessary. So you could get used to the idea. But I’m not a monster, Fido. And so I’m going to give you this chance to ease your parting. But if I let you off your leash, I know you’d run amok. And that’s not modeling good behavior, is it? So, there are rules. It’s as simple as that.”

“You’re insane,” Tony says. “You said you’d kill him–”

Doc swats at Tony’s nose. “Bad dog. That’s enough. The mutt won’t be put down if you do as you’re told. But if you don’t, it’s no skin off my nose. This isn’t a charity, even if it is a rescue operation. Cost-benefit analysis. You’ve earned your keep these last few months; the mutt is a drain on our resources. But this little guest spot might just be his meal ticket until I figure out what to do with him.”

Tony opens his mouth, to protest or beg, he isn’t sure which, but Doc’s hand stops his voice.

“I’ve heard enough out of you. I think your new rules apply starting now. You make a peep, I won’t even go to the trouble of bringing him in. No bark. Do you understand?”

Tony’s chest heaves with a silent sob, but he nods. He knows Doc is as good as his word.

“Hup hup,” Doc commands, and Tony pushes himself onto all fours, even as his limbs tremble beneath him. Doc pulls a leash from his belt loop and clips it to the ring on Tony’s collar. “Fido, place.”

Tony’s cheeks color with shame, but he crawls to the center of the glass box, his leash dragging behind. He knows that this is the spot with the most advantageous camera angles, that he’s expected to hit his mark so that his viewing audience gets exactly what they are paying for.

“Sit.”

Tony complies and lets his bare ass fall back over his heels. He sets his hands flat on the floor in front of him. Doc crouches down and tethers his leash to the anchor in the floor.

“Stay.”

As if there were any other option.

Doc rises and goes to the locked door. He looks back over his shoulder. “You remember your rule, Fido. I’ll be right back with the mutt.”

...to be continued

taglist: @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @highwaywhump, @squishablesunbeam, @hold-him-down, @whumpsday, @sowhumpful, @termsnconditions-apply, @irishwhiskeygrl, @deltaxxk, @d-cs, @whumpinggrounds, @canislycaon24, @considerablecolors, @starlit-darkness, @scp-1296, @flowersarefreetherapy, @morning-star-whump, @whumpwhittler, @susiequaz12, @whump-world, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @tasteywhumpee, @whumplr-reader, @sad-boys-anonymous, @whumpzone

#I have no words #👀👀👀👀#the kennel #tales from the kennel #doc barker oc #tony romero oc #justin huang oc #whump writing #pet whump #star crossed lovers #these boys need hugs #whump

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 7 months

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I’m gonna get back into the swing of posting soon (I tell myself yet again)

#🫶

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 7 months

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Pinned to the wall with a knife through the palm.

#:O

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 7 months

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Strikeout

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Thirty-two

(tw: escape attempt, broken glass, broken ceramic, gun, bullet wound, stress position, beating, shock collar, threat of death, broken bones, concussion, blood, whipping boy / scape goat, bludgeoning, forced to watch)

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Four years ago...

Ethan scurried through the house. He didn’t bother with the front door - instead, picked up a metal coat tree and hurtled it against the window.

He didn’t have time for less. He barely had time to scoop up a kitchen rug and lay it over the shards of glass to safely clamber out the window.

He toppled to the ground in a heap, wild eyes snapping up at the small plume of dust on the horizon. He knew he didn’t have long before Crawford came home but…fuck this was closer than expected.

Without a thought, he shoved his legs up under him, cradled the bit of porcelain to his neck, and darted off across the wide, rolling yard.

“E, this is crazy - will that even work??”

“Porcelain doesn’t conduct electricity. It’ll work.”

There wasn’t much Crawford left them in their little, dank basement. But the toilet was an asset Ethan had never thought to use before.

Crawford had taken the lid of the tank - the bastard - but the rest of it was still in tact.

Ethan had slammed his shoulder against it again and again and again until a chunk broke off of the tank, wafting back and forth through the water until it eventually settled at the bottom of the tank.

With wild eyes and bleeding arm, he’d fished it out, blotting the fresh water off against his shorts.

Then tucked it up under his collar, ensuring it was wide enough to fit between both of the prongs and the soft, scorched skin on his neck.

Sharp as it was (it wasn’t bad), the coolness of the shard felt nice against the aching skin.

More importantly, it’d protect him from the shock.

“Just…be careful, okay?” Johnny stepped up to hi, fingers tracing the piece to inspect it.

“I’m always careful.” Ethan cradled Johnny’s face in his hands and leant down to press a kiss to his forehead.

Ethan’s legs were already burning by the time he got halfway across the yard. He had no idea what day it was. No idea how long he had belonged to Crawford - or Elias before him. No idea how long his legs had been left to atrophy, sitting useless in basements and cells.

He ran anyway.

Ethan couldn’t help but grin through the pain as he felt the buzz and snap of the shock collar - yet he didn’t feel a thing. Porcelain protecting him.

He was free. He could get out and get help and they’d come back for Johnny an-

“COME THE FUCK BACK OR I’LL KILL HIM.”

A chill split down Ethan’s pine as his legs stumbled to a stop, shaking and exhausted. Breath ragged and sharply cold in the deep autumn air.

So much agony already.

His eyes drifted toward the skyline, eyeing skyscrapers that blurred and fogged with the distance.

He turned back toward Crawford, pulling in another painful breath. “YOU WOULDN’T-” Trying to call his bluff.

“THINK NOT? THINK I WANT EVIDENCE LYING AROUND WHEN YOU BRING THE FUCKIN PIGS BACK HERE??”

…fuck.

Ethan’s chest was still heaving as he turned to look at the vague outline of the city again.

..it was far.

Too fucking far, his legs were already shaking at a quarter mile. He was too thin. Too weak. Too..broken to make that run and not get caught.

..and Johnny would die.

Some devil on his shoulder vaguely flickered the thought across his mind that even if Johnny died, Ethan would be free.

That thought flitted away just as quickly as it came. Unwanted and irrelevant.

Ethan would die a thousand times for Johnny. He knew that. Down to his very soul, he knew that.

When he looked back to Crawford, the man had a gun out now, walking briskly across the lawn toward him like a mother two inches from the end of her patience with children throwing mud at neighbors windows.

“Get. The fuck. Back here.” Close enough he didn’t need to shout anymore, apparently.

Ethan’s mind buzzed and warped, legs begging him to run as the rest of him stayed stubbornly put.

..then…dragged him toward Crawford. Toward the gun. Toward the house.

Toward Johnny.

“If he comes, you’ll run, right? You won’t worry about me?”

Ethan pulled in a tight breath, nuzzling his nose against Johnny’s. “That’s..the best bluff, yeah. He won’t hurt you on my behalf if I’m not here to see it. There’s no point.”

Johnny nodded, tucking his cheek against Ethan’s shoulder. Ethan pulled him closer as warm arms wrapped around his waist. Soft and simple.

If this were just him, he could live with it. He could try to escape in his own time or bear the pain.

But Johnny would die if Crawford kept wailing on him like he’d been.

They needed to try.

Ethan came back anyway. He’d barely flinched when Crawford shot him in the leg for good measure - ensuring he couldn’t change his mind and run again. It was point blank, too. The moment Ethan had stepped up to him, the gun lowered - seemingly a good thing - then went off.

Because of course it did.

Because Crawford was a dick.

The pain didn’t hit him right away. Not the way it should.

Body shocked by the sudden change, it felt more like a fist to his thigh than penetration.

But the searing, aching wrongness had set in all the same and Crawford forced him back into the house, muscles shifting and pulling against each other around the bullet.

Ethan refused to give him the satisfaction of a limp.

It was going to hurt like a bitch anyway.

By the time he shoved Ethan down the basement steps - his leg didn’t hold up for that one, he fell freely down the stairs and cracked his head against the cement with a dazed groan - Johnny was already anxiously stepped up to the stairs, hands clasped against his chest with eyes wild with fear and worry. “E-”

Ethan winced as Johnny’s cool fingers pressed against his head where it’d hit. Trying to get his mind to catch up properly. Trying to shake off the daze.

“Forget about him - front and center, boy.” Crawford’s heavy steep creaked down the stairs after him - planting onto Ethan’s leg as he went.

The pain ripped up through him, feeling it fully this time without the consciousness to distract himself. A wheezing groan crackled out Ethan’s throat at the pain, and he hazily tried to curl up and away from the pressure.

But it was gone in moments.

Fingers wound into Johnny’s hair, followed by a yelp as he was pulled away, Ethan’s fingers catching against Johnny’s. Trying to keep him away from the threat.

It didn’t work.

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut tight and forced himself up to sitting. Almost. Kind of.

He was swayed to the side, legs bent the other way and both arms braced against the floor as he tried to force the pain and swirling nausea back.

“D-ont-” His voice sounded so much weaker than he wanted, and he cursed himself for not watching his fucking head as he fell. He didn’t have time for a concussion right now-

“You know the rules.”

"I love you..you know that, right?"

"..I know." He knew. But the words still felt stale. It felt like goodbye.

Johnny's cheek was so soft under Ethan's thumb. He barely noticed the bruises there anymore.

"I love you, too."

Ethan hadn’t even registered that Crawford had Johnny tied already - arms above his head and dangling from a rafter - toes barely brushing the ground now. Didn’t notice it, at least, until Johnny let out a gasping choke of air, voice sucked away by the hit as a bat slammed against his leg.

A bat.

A…bat???

Ethan squeezed the stars from his eyes once again, focusing better - it was a bat.

No punching or kicking this time, he was using tools. Crawford never used tools - preferred a proper, traditional beating where he could feel ribs crack under his knuckles and feel flesh shift. It wasn’t about the damage - it was about catharsis.

But this?? A fucking bat?

Damage.

This was about damage.

Ethan’s eyes were wide and desperate as he realized that, trying to drag himself closer as Johnny’s broken, strained scream echoed against the walls after the wood snapped against his leg.

“Dont-” Ethan dragged himself closer. “D-don-”

“Shut up-! You know the fucking rules.”

Ethan fucks up? Johnny gets hurt.

He knew the rules.

Still, Ethan found his hand wrapped around Crawford’s ankle, trying to plead with him.

The bat found Ethan’s skull next.

And everything went black.

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(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @heathenwhump @paleassprince @happy-little-sadist @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @hold-back-on-the-comfort @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

#the fuck man that was so mean #I hate crawford sm #hate him hate him hate him #gun #escape attempt #im here to break some hearts #stress position #beating #shock collar #bullet wound #concussion #threat of death #whipping boy / scape goat

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 7 months

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strangling someone from behind with a bent coathanger beloved

#ideas 👀#strangulation #whump #whump prompt

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 8 months

Note

You could also screenshare in a server like an art stream!

...........................inherently i hate people watching me type while I'm typing

but

..idk I actually kinda like this idea

could be a cool whump writing based server with vcs to body double while writing and do writing sprints and talk out whump ideas and stuff

very focused on the actual process of writing less than whump tropes and ocs like most of the servers are. like a writing room.

maybe threads for oc or lore dump for explanation and such, but main channels. like. just writing. med question channel. random questions channel. grammar channel. beta read channel. etc.

would anyone be interested in that if i make one? (id probably make it 18+ just for my own peace of mind and not having to mod minor major interactions I just dont have the bandwidth for that rn - could open it up later if it goes well or something)

#oh this is interestanggg #I mean only do it if u want ofc but dang the logo is nicee #and the idea #but I also rlly like the logo #hehe

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 8 months

Text

whumpee being taken so villain has leverage over hero and hero ends up not caring that villain has them

#no what that’s so mean #😭#whumppromptoftheday #whump prompt #whump idea #whump #whump writing #hero whumper #whumpee #villain whumper #whumper #whump ideas

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 8 months

Text

Showtime

Showstopper - Part 9 - Finale

(tw: snuff film, multiple whumpers, implied murder, blood, the heart wrenching void a final chapter leaves behind)

[Previous | Masterpost]

Calyx thought it was cute that Darian called them their ‘murder clothes’. They thought it was even cuter when Darian was wearing them.

It was practical, really. The vast majority of the oversized clothes Calyx had were their ‘murder clothes’. Hoodies and sweatshirts and oversized black jeans that they’d layer up when they were getting a little bloody.

Conveniently, those were the only clothes that fit Darian.

Not that he minded too much - the ever-so-faint stains across them were invisible to the naked eye, but Darian’s fingertips could detect the faint traces of texture differences along the edges of each mark.

He didn’t want to admit that wearing those blood stains sent a small shivering thrill up his spine. He didn’t mention it.

Calyx knew, though.

Darian saw how Calyx’ eyes lingered on Darian’s fingertips whenever he got caught tracing the outlines of the stains over his own chest or thich or forearm.

Calyx didn’t miss much.

They just gave him a little smirk and continued what they were doing. Sewing, most often. If they weren’t taking care of the little house or off at rehearsal or a performance, they were making new practice outfits. Leotards and skirts and loose, off-shoulder shirts to wear over leggings.

Always of the same material. Rusted linen.

Of course, only Darian knew it wasn’t normal ink that dyed those clothes. Only Darian saw how Calyx tugged the bloodsoaked, linen sheet down after each kill, leaving it to dry thoroughly overnight before giving it a cold, hand-wash to scrub away all the blood.

Calyx liked wearing the bloodstains, too.

More and more and more, the two were growing alike over Darian’s time with Calyx.

He hadn’t cut his hair in a month now. It was getting shaggy - curling at the tips. One day, Calys caught Darian with a pair of scissors, wet-combing it out in front of the bathroom mirror to try to trim it himself.

Calyx just wandered in behind him, hand splaying up the back of his neck and twirling around the little curls that tangled between their fingers.

“I like it like this,” they’d murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of Darian’s neck.

..and…Darian put down the scissors.

His hair wasn’t as long as Calyx’ by any means, but it was curling all the same. Calyx’ hair. Calyx’ clothes. Calyx’ food. Calyx’ bed.

Darian didn’t know why he was surprised when Calyx handed him the mask.

Darian stared at it, that moment seeming to linger on and on forever.

Glancing to the captive as she struggled in the chair. As the tears streaked down her cheeks and soaked into the gag. Pristine, white linen hanging behind her. Framing the video.

Ready for blood.

And Darion just…stared.

Calyx took Darian’s hand, pressing the mask into it. “You can do this. You deserve this.”

Darian blinked as his fingers curled around the edges of the plastic.

…he was dressed exactly as he should be. Head to toe in black. Exactly the size and shape Calyx took on screen in all their layers.

The only thing missing was the gloves. And the mask.

He turned it over in his hands, letting the hollow black eyes bore into his own.

“..Cal…-”

“You can do this,” they insisted, stepping back. They picked up the knife, offering it to him as well. “I want to see you.”

Darian found his eyes back on the woman - Mari, her name was.

He ignored her desperate, muffled pleas, letting them fade into the background. His eyes were on Calyx again. Just them. Just now.

“..I..I like to watch..-”

Calyx shook their head. “You’ve watched enough. It’s your turn to shine.”

“..what about you?”

Calyx rolled their eyes, heading for the camera. Adjusting the exposure settings. “I’ll get the next one. We can do an every-other thing.”

Darian’s heart was slamming against his chest as he rubbed over the edges of the mask.

No.

No, he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t just..become this.

Watching was one thing. Partaking was another.

“..okay,” he murmured, turning the knife in his hand. Slipping on the gloves. The mask. Pulling up the hood.

Calyx glanced back to him with a fond smirk on their lips. “Good boyyyyyy~” they teased, rolling the settings to record.

Darian stepped up behind them, both arms snuggling around Calyx’ waist. He let the knife prick against their ribs.

Calyx flickered, but breathed a soft laugh, head lulling back onto his shoulder. “You’re adorable.” They twisted, pressing a kiss to Darian’s cheek.

…he hated that he couldn’t feel their lips through the plastic.

That was his last thought as his attention pulled back to Mari. His arms slipped away from Calyx.

He waited until the little recording light flickered red before stepping into frame.

…

She’d screamed so much.

Darian was glad Calyx took him up on the suggestion to add a mic dangling above the chair. It really made a difference.

As Darian and Calyx watched the film back - tangled up in blankets on the couch with popcorn and beer that night - the sound was so much better than the ones before.

It was nice seeing it on a screen, too. Darian’s old projector just didn’t get the colors crisp enough. He wondered vaguely if that was his own fault - a flaw in his set up or too much light in the room. Or maybe it was just the projector itself that failed.

..maybe it was being able to feel Calyx’ breath hitch as they watched that made it so much better. Feeling their muscles coil and tense at the best parts, relaxing into him again after that small burst of euphoria those moments left behind.

Calyx seemed to think Darian did well. When the film rolled to a stop at fifty two minutes and thirty one seconds, Calyx nuzzled into Darian’s neck, kissing once.

Twice.

Their breath warmed across his skin through the whisper.

“Again.”

...

So Darian played it again.

[Previous | 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 @whumpberry-cookie @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @suffering-and-misery @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @scribbelle @sunshiline-writes @scp-1296 @salomeslashes @ha-ha-one)

#darian nononononono #HOW COULD U DO THIS TO ME #why didn’t u invite me :(#fake friend for real #ITS OVER WE’RE DONE #I guess I’ll just have to become an even more notorious serial killer than u 😤#fuck u #ok but on a serious note… sand wth #it’s just so good why would you put that in my head you know I’m not going to sleep tonight anymore 🥲🥲🥲#I need to use emojis to represent what’s gonna be going on in my head tonight #👹😱😨🫣😃🕺😛😛😛😛😛😛☺️🤯🙈😨👹😱😭🥺🔪🔪🔪🔪😨😱😱🥺😨😭😱😤😭👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹#AYEEEEE #also now that I am quitting my job from being a tumblr ghost #expect to see me at every post EVER #hehe #👹#multiple whumpers #implied murder #gloved whumper #masked whumper #conditioning #whump series #miniseries #showstopper

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 8 months

Text

The Show Must Go On

Shostopper - Part 8

(tw: restraints, strangulation, kidnapping)

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Finally.

Fucking finally.

After weeks of working and trying and stretching, he’d finally managed to slip his thumb from the ropes that kept his wrists locked against the headboard.

Darian’s eyes slid to the side - to Calyx’ softly snoring form curled up next to him.

Then to the clock. It was late - 3:32. Calyx should stay knocked out for hours.

He’d have plenty of time to run and actually get out. Get help.

Carefully, he inched numbing, aching limbs until one hand slipped from the bonds - eyes on Calyx the entire time.

Then the other hand - far more easily that time without the tension from the first.

His shoulders screamed in protest as they always did, creaking as he rolled them forward, finger circling his wrists to knead away the burn and pull the ropes left in his raw skin.

..he lay there. Thinking.

Watching Calyx sleep.

Their breath puffed out softly, each press of air pushing a soft, honey-colored curl from their lips, then letting it fall back again.

..he eyed the door.

The clock.

…that curl.

…aching, but gentle fingers picked it up, brushing it away so it’d not tickle Calyx’ nose anymore while they were trying to sleep.

He breathed in that tranquility for a moment. Then moved in a flash.

He straddled Calyx, pinning them down with a hand to their throat - the other snatching a wrist that immediately shot up to try to push him off. He pinned that to the mattress beside their head, looming over them.

Calyx’ eyes were wild, disoriented, and - for the first time Darian had ever seen - fearful.

They shared panting, strained breaths before Darian’s fingers started constricting, cutting off Calyx’ air - past the wheezing chokes and into the silent hiss of thrashing that Calyx quickly stilled.

Darian’s eyes narrowed, eyes roaming over his captor’s face.”..stop fuckin’ snoring.”

Calyx stared up at him, then - slowly - nodded, fingers rippling around his wrist.

“..thank you.” His fingers unwound from Calyx’ throat, and he shoved off of them, flopping back onto his side of the bed. He laid on his side, curling away from Calyx. Glaring at the wall. Wondering why he was still there.

He listened to Calyx sputter a few ragged coughs as they massaged out their throat, pulling down fresh air.

An arm slipped around Darian’s waist. He did nothing to shove it off.

A grin pressed against his back. He continued to glare.

Calyx pulled in a breath to speak.

“Shut up,” Darian interrupted before they could even begin.

Calyx did, nose nuzzling into his back as they curled in close.

Calyx didn’t tie him up anymore after that night.

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#darian u stupid ass mf #but just between u and me I ship u both #darian and calyx #cute #strangulation #kidnapping #showstopper #whump series #whump scene #whump

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 8 months

Text

Showcase

Showstopper - Part Seven

(tw: yandere whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, licking...?, drinking blood (also ??), restraints, kidnapping, medical whump, diy first aid, stitches, tiny stabbing, scissor whump (?), emphasis on creepy, lots of stabbing mentions, scarring, romanticizing scars, uhhhhhhh serial killing, murder mention, conditioning, dubcon touch, needle mention, a severe overuse of the word 'fuck', I think thats it but lmk if I forgot something <;3)

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“Quit being such a baby - I could just stab through it again to cut them, would you rather I just do that?”

Darian grimaced, forcing shuddering breaths still as he glared up at the ceiling. “..n-o-?”

“Then hold still??” Calyx’ little sewing scissors slipped under another stitch, snipping it free. They weren’t exactly the most gentle with these blades. They were like a swan gliding across a glassy lake with a knife in their hand - but with dainty, inch-long silver blades from a delicate little sewing kit? Chainsaw fucking massacre.

Calyx kept going, rolling their eyes whenever Darian flinched or winced. “You’re being dramaticccccc,” they chimed, glancing up at Darian. They’d positioned themself between his legs, kneeling on the ground to get to the lower cuts without blocking the kitchen light.

Fuckin classy.

“You’re cutting me???”

“I have, can, and will stab you if you don’t hold the fuck still.”

“You ARE.” Stabbing me.

“I’m barely pricking you - you aren’t even bl- …..oh. Oh, you are bleeding. Huh..~”

Darian groaned, head tipping back to glare at the ceiling again. This would be easier if Calyx would just let him take them out himself. Of course they wouldn’t. They didn’t trust Darian without his hands tied, much less with a sharp object in those untied hands.

His days with Calyx were simple. They’d fallen into a routine over these last few weeks. Darian stayed in bed, sleeping next to Calyx with hands bound to the fucking headboard. Moved for bathroom breaks. For meals. For movie nights with Calyx snuggled up against him or on his lap. Always fairly heavily bound, though Calyx was at least attentive enough to realize that Darian’s arms had to be tied in different directions fairly regularly to keep up decent blood flow and mobility.

They were weirdly good about it.

Good about keeping his cuts and stab wounds cleaned. About checking the stitches. About massaging blood down his arms when they’d been tied in one place too long.

Right now, Darian was in a kitchen chair - hands bound individually to the cross of the chair legs and the bar that supported them.

“Can you j- shhhit - c-an you just fuckin- I don’t know, put on some glasses or something?”

Calyx poked the little scissors up under Darian’s chin, eyes glinting in amusement. “Maybe I just like how pretty you look covered in blood - ever think of that~?”

Darian scoffed a sigh, head rolling away from the scissors. “Just..fuckin hurry up.”

Calyx laughed softly, hand dragging down Darian’s chest. “But it’s so funnnnnn - just look at all these marks. Some of my finest work, really.”

Darian shivered as Calyx trailed the tip of the scissors over one of the freshly freed cuts one just below with ribcage on the left, following the long line of the prickling scar. “Everything was so well balanced….I made you so pretty~”

Darian’s eyes roamed down, rolling the little silver points as they danced over his skin.

…Calyx was right.

He wasn’t gonna fucking say that of course. The bitch had too big a head already.

“Glad you’re fuckin satisfied.”

Calyx leaned forward, tongue pressing to one of the marks - pricks of blood were beading up from where they’d pulled the sutures too roughly.

Darian’s words choked to a stop in his throat as Calyx’ tongue dragged up it - eyes locked on his. Blood gathered against them, smearing over flesh as Darian squirmed back, eyes sliding away.

Calyx just smirked a bitten grin, moving back to their work. “Don’t be so modest, Dari. You look gorgeous~”

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

#😛😛😛😛😛#lmao #I’m going just a teeny bit feral over these guys #👹👹👹👹👹👹👹👹#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #yandere whumper #creepy/intimate whumper #kidnapping #medical whump #diy first aid #stitches #tiny stabbing #scissor whump (?)#emphasis on creepy #lots of stabbing mentions

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 8 months

Text

Intermission

Showstopper - Part Six

(tw: torture mention, medical whump, drugging, noncon touch, yandere whumper, delirium, creepy / intimate whumper, kidnapping, noncon kiss, a lot of pain)

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Pain.

Darian wished he could be cool and start off with a dramatic, badass-sounding intro line like ‘He awoke to pain. An old, familiar friend.’

But they weren’t old friends. They weren’t friends at all and it wasn’t familiar.

It was just pain.

Air wheezed out of him as he processed the inferno that wrapped his body. Skin and flesh shredded from their places and screaming agonies at his blurred and distant mind.

He shifted a little, heart pounding against his skull as he registered just how thirsty he was.

“Oh-! Hey, there you are. Thought I’d lost you or something.”

..not a welcome voice.

Darian grimaced, head rolling away from the sound- then wheezing as Calyx’ weight shifted on the bed, disturbing the delicate balance of agony and consciousness.

“Awh, don’t pull away from me – it’s not like you can, anyway.” A hand combed through Darian’s hair. Calyx chimed a soft giggle, amused as Darian’s neck mindlessly stretched to chase that touch – the only sensation that wasn’t bringing pain. “Awwww~! You’re adorable.”

Darian half-scowled, head turning away again as a kiss pressed to his nose.

“Come onnnnnnnnn~ I saved your life – aren’t you at least a little grateful?”

Darian’s throat was rasped with dehydration and unuse, but he crackled out the whisper anyway. “y-ou..y ou hhurt me-“

Calyx snorted a laugh, ruffling Darian’s hair. “I mean duh. What did you think I was gonna do? I’m gonna go ahead and blame the sheer patheticness of that sentence on the drugs, mkay? No judgment from me, nope nope.”

Darian grimaced, eyes cracking open in a groggy scowl at Calyx. “..wh’ day’s it?”

Calyx hummed, checking their phone. “Thursday. You’ve been out for likeeeeeeee thirty something hours.”

Darian’s eyes strained down over his body. Covered in bandages and smelling like medicine. “..h-ow did y-..”

Calyx shrugged. “Patched you up enough you wouldn’t die on me and gave you a blood transfusion. I avoided doing any major damage, so you should heal up in a couple weeks.”

Darian frowned, looking over Calyx. “..wh’….are you doing-?”

Brow raise. “…what, with you?”

..small hum of confirmation.

Calyx shrugged. “Just keeping you, that’s all. Obviously couldn’t let you keep living, and…wasn’t ready to let you go. So.” They took a moment to nitpick at the way Darian’s hair laid, brushing it from his brow. “Found a middle ground. You like it?”

Darian’s face twitched away from Calyx. “N-o I don’t ffucking like this-“

Calyx blinked a tight smile.

Then something cold and sharp pricked against Darian’s aching throat.

“You sure you don’t like this alternative? Because I can always skip back to plan A.”

Darian froze, swallowing against the cool blade. “..I-ll ma nage-“

“Good.” The knife pulled away, and a kiss pressed to his cheek.

Darian was quiet for a long few moments, just...trying to focus on Calyx’ fingers in his hair. “..why d’ you like me-?”

Calyx shrugged, fingers drifting down now to trace the lines of Darian’s face. “You see me. You actually appreciate my work. Anddddddd I’m bored. Good enough answer for you?”

He did his best not to twitch under the little touches. “..did..y…..the video..-“

“Mm. Mhm. Sent it to your team. Saw on the news they think you’re dead. There’s like a candlelight vigil thing for you this Friday in the park. Isn’t that sweet?”

Darian twitched a frown, eyes sliding away. “..s-ure.”

“I’d totally go, but I feel like it’d be rude to leave you alone during your own not-funeral, y’know? We can have a movie night or something instead.”

…Darian….had no idea what to say to that. So he said nothing at all.

A small part of him was screaming for him to run. To lash out and hit Calyx. To sprint from the room or strangle them.

..the rest of him was too fucking tired to even get through considering that idea. He’d probably pass out if he tried to stand, anyway.

Aaaaaand Calyx was back to playing with his hair. …no – braiding it now. Their little fingers were twisting it out as long as possible to tangle a small cornrow from the corner of his forehead. Keeping their hands busy, he supposed.

“..c-an I…..get some water-?”

“Mm-! Right right right, you’re probably dehydrated as fuck, one sec-“ Calyx stood, crossing out of the room.

Darian stared after them, then finally let his eyes roam the space.

…queen sized bed. Not a spare room – this one was littered in things. Piles of clothes that weren’t put away. A few articles that had missed the toss to the hamper. Pictures tacked on the wall. Pocket change and trinkets drizzled over the dresser. This was Calyx’ room.

Whichhhhhh meant they probably slept next to Darion last night.

..and would continue to.

Greatttttttt-

His eyes snapped back up to the doorframe as Calyx reentered, holding up a clear water bottle with a straw. “Got it – think you can sit up?”

Darian half scowled at them, shifting up and shoving his elbows under his weight to scoot b-

…

Darian winced and twitched away from whatever was patting at his cheek.

“There you are.” He could fucking hear the grin in Calyx’ voice. “Guess the answer to that was ‘no’, huh?”

Darian grimaced, head rolling away. “a-ns’r to wha-?”

“Whether or not you can sit up.” Something poked at his lips, drawing a flinch. “..it’s just a straw, you’re fine. It’s water. Undrugged and everything.”

Darian wanted so badly to give him some shit line like ‘that’s what you said last time’, but not only would that make Darian look even dumber, he had no choice here. His throat was practically sticking to itself with every swallow – he needed water and it wasn’t going to come from anywhere else.

So. Reluctantly. He let his lips close around it, sucking down greedy mouthfuls of the fresh, cool liquid. A half panic surged through his mind, mouth chasing the straw as it withdrew.

“Hey- chill out, there’s gonna be more. You’ll make yourself sick drinking it that fast.”

Darian scowled, letting his head flop back against the pillow.

Calyx perched on the edge of the bed again after they set the bottle down. Their arm propped up on the other side of Darian, leaning over him. “Are you mad at me~?” Pouting.

Darian’s head twisted further from him. “N-o shit.”

Calyx cooed a sorrowful sound, fingertips ghosting over Darian’s lips. “I’ll make it up to you~! You’ll see. You’re going to love being mine.”

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

#😱😱😱😱#HIS FUNERAL???#tbh this is kinda cuteeee 🥺🥺🥺#it’s so adorable their relationship they’re just so kind and caring abt each other they obviously love each other very dearly #OK TAGGED TOO MUCH CANT WAIT ANY LONGERRRR #showstopper #darian and calyx #show #showoff #darian #calyx #torture mention #medical whump #drugging #noncon touch

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 8 months

Text

Star of the Show

Showstopper - Part Five

(tw: ah geez here we go - snuff film, blood, gore, yandere, noncon touch, noncon kiss, partial nudity, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, filmed whump, screaming, begging, gag, stress position, restraints, knife, cutting, flesh carving, drugging, kidnapping, straddling, stalking, serial killer, murder, potentially implied character death)

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Darian wakes slowly - then all at once, grimacing as a foul odor shoves into his sinuses and twists his stomach, zapping panic, consciousness, and unease through his mind. He turns his head, neck aching from drooping, and coughs away the scent.

“Theeeeere you are~” Darian twitched as a hand patted his cheek.

He took a few heaving breaths before turning his eyes up to Show - the little shit was straddling him.

..he was in a chair. Wooden chair. Wrists tied behind the back.

The corners of the wood bruised into his arms and shoulderblades - far too tight. His back arched to alleviate a bit of the stretch as his hands fisted and squirmed, trying to wriggle away from the ropes or at least find a knot he could reach enough to pick at.

He found nothing.

He got nowhere.

Calyx’ hands smoothed up his chest - it was bare now - both the kevlar vest and his fucking shirt were gone.

Creep.

“You sure are pretty,” Calyx murmured, hand palming up Darian’s throat.

Darian’s head wrenched away from the touch. “G-et off me-”

Calyx just breathed a twinkling laugh, hands running through Darian’s hair now instead. “Nahhhhhhhhhhh - I’m savoring this.”

Darian’s eyes slid away from Calyx’ trying to press away the last of the fog from his mind. Looking at literally anyth-

…his stomach twisted as he caught a glimpse of the camera over Calyx’ shoulder. Not on. Not blinking red.

But pointed right at him.

Breath caught painfully in his lungs as he twisted his head back, staring behind them for t-

…y-yeah. Yeah, that was..that was a new drape of linen.

Clean.

White.

Ready for blood.

His blood.

Darian couldn’t quite keep the panic out of his eyes as he looked back over Calyx. ..they were in their ‘murder clothes’ again. Layered in black, loose fabric. Everything but the mask and gloves.

Calyx smirked, head tilting down and into Darian’s line of sight. “Putting it together now?”

Darian squirmed back, anger and betrayal in his eyes. “Y-...we c-alled truce-!”

Calyx laughed, leaning a kiss to Darian’s forehead. “You’re adorable.” Before Darian could try to bite or headbutt or kick them off, Calyx slipped off his lap, scooping up the mask from the back of the couch. “No offense, but I can’t exactly have the FBI knowing where I live. Aaaaaaand you didn’t tell anyone when you figured it out. That’s on you, sweetheart. If you’re gonna be that stupid, I can’t help but take advantage.” The gloves pulled on next.

Darian stared desperately at them, still rolling his wrists and shoulders to try to get out. “Come on- come on- I- I fuckin’ saved your ass you could be in prison right now-!”

Calyx picked up a wad of black fabric, rolling it up and wandering closer. “Open up.”

Darian’s jaw set, fear clear in his eyes as he stared desperately up at Calyx. “..please.”

Calyx rolled their eyes, grabbing Darian by the jaw and s q u e e z i n g until his cheeks were cutting against his own teeth. With a choked grunt, his jaw slotted open - quickly pried open further by the thick black cloth that stuffed between his teeth.

“I like you. I do.” Duct tape shredded away and smoothed over his mouth before Darian could get anywhere trying to work the gag out again. “I just need you to be less…..unpredictable. You get that, right?” The grip on his jaw tipped his face up to stare at Calyx.

Defiance, anger, and fear all pressed hot and wet at the corners of Darian’s eyes in response.

“I don’t want to do this, you know. As pretty as you’ll bleed, I’d prefer you whole.” Calyx sighed, tightening their grip as Darian tried to wrench himself from their grip. “This is best for both of us.”

Before Darian really realized what was happening, Calyx’ masked lips pressed to his through the duct tape, fingers keeping him exactly in place just in case the shock of that moment wasn’t enough.

It was.

Eyes still open and staring into the black void that lingered in the holes of Calyx’ mask.

When they pulled back, Darian had stopped struggling. Just..staring.

A gloved hand ran through his hair, and Show stepped away. Stretching for a moment before they picked up their knife. “Make some pretty sounds for me, and I’ll go easy on you. How’s that~?”

Darian barely had a chance to grunt in response before Calyx’ fingers pressed at the camera.

The light turned red.

For a few long seconds, Darian lived in suspended disbelief. Denial, really.

That Calyx wouldn’t do this to him.

That, even though they’d just met or whatever (shut the fuck UP with your logic), that Calyx wouldn’t hurt him.

Just how he couldn’t hurt Calyx.

He barely shivered as the knife trailed over his collarbone, cool and crisp and scraping. He knew it wouldn’t draw blood. This was a test. A…prank. A-

Blood dribbled down his chest before he registered the pain.

Sharp. Deep. Prickling at the ripped edges of the gash.

And Darian believed.

…

Most of the next hour or so was a blur. It felt like months. It felt like minutes. It felt like it would never end.

Darian never realized just how much blood was in his body. Wouldn’t it run out at some point?

It never seemed to.

With each cut and slice and gouge, more and more and more poured from him, coating his chest in streaks of crimson and soaking through his slacks. It dripped onto the floor until his bare toes smeared into the puddle. It soaked through the linen drape behind them.

Finally, he knew what it was like.

So many months of wondering what it would be like to be in that chair. And now he was there.

He screamed.

He screamed so much- he didn’t even know what his own screams could do. He never knew how they could sound. It didn’t seem like his own voice. They crackled and snapped and clawed up his throat just to be devoured by the cloth that muffled them away.

The knife never seemed to stop moving. His only breaks from the onslaught were when Show stepped back to drag his blood over the white cloth.

It filled with red far too quickly. Far too quickly.

When that final moment came, he was so dizzy with bloodloss and pain. He knew now how Show kept their victims awake. Out of sight of the camera, smelling salts would press under his nose, hidden in Show’s sleeve. Cubes of ice at the back of his neck made him arch and shudder, gasping back to clarity - but no one saw that.

It was just part of the show.

Part of the pain.

It kept him lucid enough to scream and thrash and beg wordlessly through the gag until that moment when Show finally stopped.

They stepped away, picking up something out of frame.

A garotte.

..Darian’s favorite.

It looked like Calyx asked their questions with purpose, and Darian’s head immediately hung in the exhausted regret that comes with having been so thoroughly played.

Calyx’ fingers ghosted against his throat first - then the wire of the garotte.

A pause.

A moment of suspense to make this grand finale all the more dramatic for their audience.

Then Calyx’ grip tightened. Twisted.

The wire choked away his air. It pressed at his arteries immediately - each frantic heartbeat slamming uselessly against the wire.

Darian’s exhausted, depleted body was thrashing again - newfound strength found in one final burst of adrenaline as he choked on tears and panic. On pain and air and nothingness.

Desperately trying to breathe. To stop the slamming in his head as his mind turned fuzzy.

He thought he’d break the chair with the force of his thrashing and flopping as the panic ripped through him, but the wood held strong. Calyx didn’t relent.

He’d seen this before. Seen the wire saw through flesh and draw out blood. All but decapitating the victims. Choking on blood as it slid into their esophagus or gasping at nothing as blood slid down their neck.

His final thought before slipping into the darkness was a question.

...why wasn’t the garrote cutting him?

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#😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨😨#IT KEEPS GETTING BETTER WTFFFF #BUT AGAIN NO TIME TO TAG NEED TO REEEEEAAAADDDDDD #gore #yandere #noncon touch #noncon kiss #partial nudity #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #filmed whump #screaming #begging

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 8 months

Text

Showing Live

Showstopper - Part Four

(tw: murder, death, blood, snuff film, yandere whumper, enemies to lovers undertones, noncon touch, drugging, alcohol consumption, broken glass, gore, kidnapping)

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Darian just-

Stared.

He should have said something.

He should have said ‘FBI - PUT DOWN THE WEAPON!’

It’s not like he hadn’t done that before.

Still, the words died on his tongue, sliding back down his throat and rotting in his twisting stomach as he stared at the scene before him.

A chair. A camera.

A man in the chair. Bleeding heavily, of course.

And Showoff.

Show and their glistening blade, paused mid-cut as their eyes undoubtedly found Darian through the black mesh in their mask.

The victim stared at Darian too, pleas and crackling screams muffled and lost into the fabric of the gag.

But the door was behind the camera. Perfectly so.

To anyone watching, it would seem the vic was just…pleading at his audience. Begging for it to be a live stream. For someone to rescue him.

No words came out formed enough to let on.

..no one knew.

No one would know.

No one had to know he was there.

He should say the words.

He didn’t.

Darian should shoot.

The gun lowered through the air instead until it came to rest pointed limply at the ground.

His eyes never left Show.

Show stayed still for a long few moments, masked face still pointed toward the intruding officer.

Then. Slowly. They continued to carve.

A dangle of emotions rang through Darian’s blood.

He had to kill Show now. He had to. If he didn’t, Show would tell everyone how he didn’t stop them. They would know how Darian stared. They would know what he was.

..his fingers rippled on the handle of the gun.

Show’s movements slowed slightly…then the knife twisted.

A cry cracked up the man’s throat, sending him into a sputtering, agonized wail that tapered into choked coughs.

…the gun lowered again.

And Show moved on. Finally turning their back to Darian - decided he isn’t a threat right now and just…moved on.

Darian’s heart slammed in his chest, searching the eyes of the man. Darian didn’t even know his name. This poor, innocent (probably? Darian had no way to know for sure) man was going to die.

He was going to die as an FBI agent watched.

Doing nothing.

Doing nothing but trying to keep his expression neutral.

Doing nothing but trying not to watch.

Trying not to inhale ecstasy at every scream.

They were so much better here.

The screams didn’t just have pitch and volume. They had body. They had life and desperation and form. They danced around the room, a surround-sound symphony of iniquity and desperation.

Darian tried.

He tried.

Oh how he tried.

He tried to lift the gun. To point it at Show. To find a way to get out of here. To play the hero even when he came without telling his team he’d found a lead. Came here knowing he wanted to see Show alone.

Came..wanting to see this.

No.

No, he’d wanted to stop this. Of course he’d wanted to stop this - the only reason he hadn’t told anyone on his team was because they’d simply have taken too long to get there anyway and he was better off using what precious little time he had getting to the scene and saving this poor man’s life.

That’s why he came alone.

That’s why he broke protocol.

For the invaluable life of the man in the ch-

…Darian flinched as the knife ripped across the man’s throat.

Everything was a bit of a blur after that.

Numbness set in. Self loathing twixed with disbelief that he’d actually let that happened. Then he’d realized just how much he’d watched. How long he’d mindlessly stared as the room smelled more and more like blood. As the barely-streaked linen drape behind the pair slowly soaked through with crimson until its steady drips were the only sound in the room.

The camera turned off.

The man stopped breathing. Stopped twitching. Stopped living.

Because of him.

Because he didn’t stop it.

And now the two were alone.

Darian’s mind clawed back up from the fog as Show stepped around the camera, looking him over. Their face was still covered, but Darian could feel their eyes dragging up every inch of his body as they stepped closer. Slow and deliberate. Light on their feet as always.

Even more graceful in person. The camera didn’t do them justice.

Darian found himself taking a shaky, half-step back. His gun raised again. Form? Bad. But the end that goes ‘BANG’ was pointed at Show. Good enough.

Show froze at the sight of the gun, face tilting down to the knife that still clung to their hand. Carefully, they reached far to the side, setting it down on the ground.

Then nudging it away with their foot.

Darian drew in a long breath, trying to keep it even. “..the mask.”

Show’s head tilted almost playfully to the side. Carefully - likely just slowly so they didn’t spook Darian into pulling the trigger - they gestured to the gun.

“...what?” his voice was just a whisper - why couldn’t he get it to work-??

The just gestured again.

…mmmask off if he puts the gun down?

Darian frowned, fingers flexing around the glock. “..step back a little.”

Show shrugged, hands out at their sides in a soft surrender. They slid back a couple feet, then crossed their arms. Waiting.

..this was so stupid. So fucking stupid - he couldn’t just..

He should be shooting Show right now. He should be putting a bullet through their head he can say he came in at the last minute and they tried to run he could still fix this he..he could..h e…

He lowered the gun. Slowly.

Safety on, then set it on the ground.

Show stared.

…Darian slid it to the other side of the room with his foot.

The smile practically bled through the damn mask as Show nodded in approval. Their hands came together, first peeling back the leather driving gloves they were so fond of. Or..maybe not so fond - they just tossed them across the room in little bloody wads.

Then, slender fingers picked at the black spandex material under their mask- pulling it away from the neck, then up over their face.

Darian didn’t know what he’d expected Show to look like.

This wasn’t it. Yet…seeing them shake out their curls and give him a bright, lopsided grin, Darian didn’t know how he could ever picture them looking any other way.

Their eyes were bright. Face young. Hair a mess of curls that dropped to their shoulders in a color so similar to his grandmother’s molasses cookies, he could practically see the grains of sugar on Show’s cheeks dappled in amongst the scars that slashed through clear skin.

Show didn’t stop, unzipping their hoodie and shrugging it off. Then the next. They must have been fucking dying in all those layers- damn.

“Not gonna say anything?”

Darian almost flinched when Show spoke. It was so clear. So casual. So unfettered by the hour of unuse.

Darian suddenly..didn’t know what to do with his hands. No gun? No gun. Ppppppppockets? No.

Folded. Arms folded.

That’ll work.

Show rolled their eyes, tossing the bundle of clothes onto the couch - this basement functioned more like a studio apartment than anything - then wandered toward the fridge in the kitchenette. “I know you drink Corona, but I have Blue Moon. Tragedy for you.”

Darian almost dropped the fucking bottle that hurtled through the air at him moments later.

He didn’t - the glass caught in his useless fucking hands - almost slipping, but not.

Cold.

Show just laughed at him, cracking the top of their own open against the countertop. “Wow- you’re really shaken, huh? Not like you haven’t seen any of that before.”

Darian…was….

What the fuck was he supposed to be doing here??

Were they having a conversation now??

What the fuck was going on????

He stared down at the beer in his hands. And said. The…well, the only thing that came to mind.

“..are you a hipster or something?”

Amusement and wonder flickered across Show’s eyes. “..because of the beer?”

“Yeah.”

They shrugged, hopping up onto the counter and tipping the bottle up in a sip. “Not sure. Depends on your definition of ‘hipster’. I hate flannel though, and beanies hate me, so that’s not a good start.” They glance down to the bottle in Darian’s hands. “..yyyyyyyou want me to open that for you?”

Darian didn’t even want to drink something Show gave him. That would be incredibly stupid - it could be drugged or something.

The fucking mind reader piped up. “It’s literally factory sealed, it’s fine.”

Darian eyed Show, but found his hand moving toward his pocket. He slipped out his keys, cracked open the top, and gestured to it. “Happy?”

Show grinned at him, taking a sip of theirs. “Very, thank you~”

Darian didn’t drink. Not that brave yet.

Which was fucking stupid. Show was right, it was sealed. It was new. It was fine. It’s fine. It’s fine, stopfreakingout-

He watched Show for a few moments longer as the bottle rolled back and forth in his hands. “..what’s your name?”

Show sputtered a laugh, almost losing beer there. They wiped their mouth on the back of their hand as their legs swung back and forth. “Seriously?? You tracked me the fuck down and you don’t even know my name? How is that even possible?”

Darian glares to the side - at the wall. Toward the ground. “..didn’t run the paper check, I just followed.”

Show smirked. “Riiiiiight~ You were keeping this excursion from your supervisors. Very sexy. I approve.”

Darian’s glare flicked back up to Show. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

Show shrugged. “Not like you can’t get it in like..ten seconds by googling what you already know. Buttttttttttttttt. Fine, sure. My name’s Calyx.”

Darian rolled the syllables around in his mouth..trying them. Tasting them. “..Calyx…is that your legal name?”

Show nodded. “Had it for years, yeah.”

Darian’s lips pinched together, looking at his beer. “..you weren’t even on my list.”

Sho- no, Calyx - grinned at him. “Yeah? Fantastic. Do I get a sticker?” Another swig.

Darian’s eyes slid to the body on the other side of the room. Blood was still oozing from it, sliding in long, sticky drips to the puddle on the ground. “...why are you doing this?”

Show- no, CALYX. Calyx. Calyx raised a brow at him. “Why do I kill…? What are you, a shrink?”

“...no, I meant- why…” Geez, now he just felt stupid. “..why…are we…talking..?” Gesturing awkwardly to the beer.

Calyx burst into laugher, curling up around their bottle. “Woooooooooowwwwwww- wow, you don’t even care, do you?? You’re really fucked up, dude~!”

Darian’s cheeks burned, shame clawing up his throat. “Th-..no??? No, that’s not even what I’m talking ab-”

“Shhhtshstshtshtshtttt~” Calyx waved a fluttering hand in his direction. “I’m fucked up too, you’re fine. That’s your answer. I’m not gonna kill my favorite viewer. We can hang out for a while and sate each other’s curiosity and tomorrow we can go back to the little cat and mouse game and it’ll be fine~” The bottle lifted to their lips again. “You worry too much, dude.”

Darian frowned at them, but found the beer on their tongue as well.

..it was good. It soothed them. An old friend - maybe with a different twist, but still much the same. Comforting.

…he glanced toward the door.

Then to the clock.

“...truce for tonight?”

Calyx smirked up at him. “Deal. A real truce, though. No using things you learned here against me and I won’t do the same to you. Mutually assured destruction.”

Darian drew in a long breath, nodding. He downed another few icy pulls on the bottle, bracing himself for this insanity.

“..okay. Um…wh-”

“No no no- you already got a question in. My turn.”

Darian rolled his eyes, moving to perch on the edge of the table now. A little closer. “Fine. What’s your question?”

“Are you single?”

Darian almost choked. “I- why does that matter??”

Calyx shrugged. “Matters cuz I wanna know.”

He sighed. “I’m married to my work.”

“Awwweeee~ You’re basically married to me then, huh hubby?”

Darian must have made some kind of amusing expression in response to that, because Calyx was immediately victim to a burst of laughter again. “No really, though-! You’re obsessed with me - I know you are. Just admit itttttt~”

Darian’s eyes narrowed slightly. He decided to just move on from that. “How many have you killed?”

Calyx’ head tilted back and forth in thought. “Tricky question.”

“How the everloving fuck is that a tricky question??”

Calyx gasped in offense. “Because you didn’t clarify intent or…or causation? I have categories.”

Darian rolled his eyes. “Okay, how about two numbers - one for total people who would probably be alive if it weren’t for you and one for full on first degree premeditated shit?” That sentence slid from his lips so smoothly, Darian was almost worried.

..he was already far too casual around Calyx.

He forced himself to look at the mutilated corpse in the room.

See that, Darian? That’s what happens when you get stupid around an unsub.

Be smarter.

Calyx cut off his thoughts with numbers. “Mkay uhhh…total issssss…twenty five. First degree twenty one.”

Darian frowned, eyes turning back to him. “I only have nineteen videos including this one.”

Calyx shrugged. “Didn’t get my vibe going for a minute. First couple were sloppy.”

…Darian didn’t know what to say to that, so he just..found himself drinking again. Stomach twisting.

Calyx hummed, feet kicking to a smooth rhythm as they pondered the next question. “Mmm…how ‘boutttttt…hmm…know what? Same question. What’s your body count?”

Darian sighed. Thinking.

Ignoring the double meaning.

This game sucked.

“..killed three. One on accident, two on the job.”

“OoooOOoooo~ Very scary. Very cool. You look sexy in the bulletproof vest, by the way.” Calyx gestured toward Darian’s chest with their beer.

…suddenly Darian wanted it off. Or…on more? More on him but not that. “...thanks.”

Deeeeeep breath. Another drink.

Focus. Think.

“What do you do for a living?”

Calyx lit up a little. “Aww~! Cute question! I’m a dancer.”

An error screen practically scrolled across Darian’s eyes. “..dance…fuck that should have been obvious..-” Why hadn’t he thought of that????

Calyx laughed, looking over him. “Why?”

Darian gestured vaguely toward Calyx. A little sloppy in the gestures - apparently not putting in much effort. “Cuz you’re..like…I dunno, smooth? Graceful and…shit..?”

Calyx pressed a hand to their heart. “Awwwweeeeee, really~?”

Darian nodded, setting the beer to the side.

That stuff was shit, it was giving him a headache. And..kinda a stomachache?

Ew. Moving on. “Next question?”

Calyx chewed on their lip as they thought, sliding off the counter in favor of leaning against it. “Hmmmmmmmmmmm…oh-! Which of my videos is your favorite?”

Whyyyyy was Darian still here?

He could leave.

He should leave. He should leave.

Why wasn’t he leaving-? What the fuck was wrong with him.

Darian glowered at them. “I don’t have a favorite, it’s not something I enjoy.”

Calyx rolled their eyes, stepping closer. “We both know that’s a lie, Agent~” Darian flinched backwards as Calyx booped his nose.

Darian refused to back away. Calyx…was incredibly close - wayyyyyy too fucking close, their legs were almost touching-

But he wasn’t going to be a little bitch and shrink away from someone so much smaller than him. It was fine. He was fine. This was fine.

“..Rachel Wheeler.”

A smirk crackled across Calyx’ lips. “The garotte?”

Darian gave a small shrug, finding his hand around the bottle again. He needed something to hold. Something to focus the nervous energy on. “..good sounds,” he muttered, taking another swig.

Calyx was grinning again. “They really were, weren’t they? I should work that angle more often.”

Darian rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to be doing this much longer.”

Calyx’s brows popped up. “Why? Cuz you’re going to stop me?”

Darian tried to glare past the sarcasm. “That’s about right, yeah.”

“I’ve been really loving watching you try~” Smirking now. Stepping closer until their leg brushed the inside of Darian’s thigh. Smirk growing as Darian squirmed a little, eyes flitting away.

“..do you…have- l-ike no idea what personal space is-??” Leaning back a little. Heart slamming sirens into his mind.

Calyx hummed in thought, hand smoothing over Darian’s chest to hook two fingers into the top of his vest. “Mmmmnope~ Never heard of it.” They reeled him back the few inches he’d retreated.

Darian’s eyes turned up to Calyx’ again, searching their face. “..I agreed to conversation, n-ot touching.”

Calyx chuckled softly, thumb brushing over the bit of collarbone that showed around his shirt collar. “Oh, come on~ Not like I could hurt you. You’re like twice my size with combat training.” They took a moment to tug the collar of Darian’s shirt straight, smoothing down the fabric. “You could stop me any time.”

Darian just…stared.

Calyx leaned in, looking very pleased with themself as they nuzzled their nose behind Darian’s ear.

Panic and excitement and worry and fascination clashed inside of him, slamming his heart against his rips and curling his fingers tighter around the almost-empty bottle.

He felt hot.

Too hot.

Almost light-headed as his head tilted just a little away. “..I don’t want to hurt you.”

A grin spread against his scalp. “I like your shampoo.”

…he’s being sniffed.

…………..greatttttttttttttt-

“..thanks.” He forced the bottle up and took another drink, immediately grimacing at how it churned inside his stomach.

He set down the b-

..the sound of shattering glass echoed in the room, slamming against the inside of his skull.

Calyx pulled back glancing down to the bottle that had slipped from Darian’s fingers. “Well that’s a mess.”

Darian stared too.

How did he..he wouldn’t have dropped that. He..

He rubbed his fingers together, breath immediately locking up in his throat as he realized.

They were numb.

Alarm bells that were distant in the back of his mind were starting to come to the front now as he twisted, staring behind him to see the length of the room.

..vision swimming- fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK-

He stared at the bottle for another moment.

Not factory sealed. Resealed.

FUCK.

Darian immediately tried to stand straight, toppling backwards far too easily as Calyx’ hand shoved at his chest, pinning him there. Against the table. Arched back.

“Awwwwe- I’m sorry, is that scary?" Calyx shifted onto the table as well, straddling Darian's hips to keep him in place despite the squirming. "Honestly I’m surprised you actually drank that, it was just a shot in the dark.” Darian flinched as Show’s hand ghosted over his cheek, cradling it and wiping over the skin with a thumb.

The world was already spinning so bad- his hand tried to shove at Calyx, but mostly ended up focused on gripping the edge of the table, eyes blinking hard through the sludge and the fog that was quickly flooding through his mind. “Ffffuckking bitch-”

Calyx’ laughter filled his ears again. Lips pressed to his cheek. “Don’t be like that, baby. You liked my movies so much, I just figured you’d like to be in one~”

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#THE LAST LINE OMG #NO TIME TO TAG #murder #yandere whumper #noncon touch #drugging #alcohol consumption #gore #kidnapping #obsession #enemies to lovers undertones

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 8 months

Text

Show Yourself

Showstopper - Part Three

For the record, there's going to be five or six parts (still deciding if I want the last two scenes combined or separate).

(tw: implied character death, stalking, trespassing, yandere, serial killer)

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The letter didn’t have a return address. Didn’t have postage. Didn’t have much bulk to it at all.

Confused, Darian slid it from his mailbox, peeking inside to ensure he didn’t miss another bool - or heaven forbid another fucking round of advertisers - before stopping to flip the envelope over.

It was blank.

Tied up in rusty red string.

No….is that…was that..fabric? Strips of fabr-

His hands, body, and mind locked in place all at once.

Linen.

Linen - he was right - it was linen. The blood-soaked linen from Showoff’s videos-

Fuck.

Darian took a desperate glance up the street, then jogged to the end of his sidewalk, head tossing back and forth. He frantically searching the road and memorizing the cars. Looking for anyone suspicious. Anyone with a hood up or…or who didn’t seem to belong there.

Nothing.

Fucking nothing - how long had this been there??

FUCK.

His breath and hands were both moving again now - both shaky as he turned the envelope over in his hand.

He ran back inside, slamming the door behind him. The letter slid onto the table as his hands quickly found gloves and shimmies them on with frantically flexing fingers as he reapproached, butter knife expertly sliding under the paper to pry away the glue with as little damage as possible.

Should he be bringing this into the office? Yes. Could it be stuffed with anthrax or who fucking knows what? Also yes.

But. Darian could just tell them he didn’t realize the letter was from Show until it was opened - that he didn’t recognize the fabric when it was cut so thin.

He could do that.

That was reasonable - people who didn’t spend allnighters staring at the videos woudln’t have noticed.

He…

..he spent all night watching the video.

He spent all night watching the fucking video and this was right fuckin there in the morning.

Show had been there. Show had been there while HE was there. While he was there watching the fucking video- Fuck-

..he would need to triple check the blackoutability of the basement curtains after this.

He’s so fucking screwed if Show saw him-

ANYWAY-

Shaking fingers pulled out the small paper, turning it over.

Aaaaand this dude (gn) was a classic.

Cutout letters from magazines. Nice touch.

Darian’s eyes skimmed the single sentence.

Darian..

…froze.

Staring.

Breath locked up and frozen in his lungs.

..whatever he expected, that wasn’t it.

Fuck.

[image id for the note: 'A fox rarely expects its hound to be as pretty as you <3' in irregular, magazine cutout letters]

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#WHAT THE FUCK #I CANT EVEN BE BOTHERED TO TAG THIS WELL I JUST NEED TO READ PART 4 #OH MY GOD I THINK I FORGOT TO LIKE PART TWO AGAGAHAVAHAHAGAHAHVSGDHBFHE #I NEED TO HSBBAB #implied character death #trespassing #yandere #stalking #serial killer #villain x hero #flirty villain #flirty whumper #yandere whumper #yandere whumpee

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hiding-in-the-shadows · 8 months

Text

Private Showing

Showstopper - Part Two

(tw: learning of a loved ones murder, grief, character death, gore, murder, obsession, alcohol consumption, yandere, serial killer, true crime obsession, torture, throat gore, filmed whump, snuff film)

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The families.

Darian pondered what they were doing now. He wondered if, maybe, they made copies of the videos themselves before they turned the tape in to the police.

He wondered how long they stared in abject horror at the screen before calling the police.

If they watched it all the way through. If they got so far as to see Show prowling up to the camera, masked face tilting ever so slightly - as if they saw straight through the family’s screen and into them.

If they flinched when Show smeared blood over the lens.

He wondered, vaguely, if any of them were a little twisted like him. If not twisted, then..obsessive, maybe. Desperate enough to find the killer that they wanted to analyze it. Or maybe, just so distraught that their husband, boyfriend, son, cousin, co-worker, whatever the victim was to them, spent his last forty two minutes and seventeen seconds in horror-stricken, agonized loneliness that they made copies too. Watched it back over and over and over again.

Staring at the screen with a beer and bleary eyes that had long given up screaming for sleep and settled into silent, watering acquiescence.

Staring at their lost victim.

Just him and the knife.

The knife and the elegance of the silent knife wielder.

Darian couldn’t get the image of the families out of his head. He’s put in a request a few times now to be the first on the acne, but local officers always pick it up to confirm that it’s really Showoff and not some other killing or a prank. Only then do they pass it off to the BAU and it lands on Darian’s desk.

It’s a crock of shit.

He needed to be able to see the families. He wanted to be able to see their reactions. Were they crying as they handed it over? Were their eyes glazed and hollow as they robotically asked the officers in and systematically poured coffee for their guests, desperately clinging to the gilded decorum rather than drown in the vast unknown grief?

Maybe they were glad. Possibly. Plenty of families have squabbles, affairs, inheritance fights, or who knows what else prefacing this. Maybe their poor victim wasn’t so loved after all.

Darian was still pissed he didn’t get to see. He got to talk to them later, sure, but there wasn’t really a way for him to know what they were like in that moment. He wanted to know if they wailed in their grief.

For. His work, of course.

It was important for the case. Important for the profile. Any other reasonings or obsessions he might have surrounding the situation were purely coincidental and not in any way a driving reason for his repeated requests.

Mmm…

His internal wrestle with phrasings stumbled to a stop as Show’s knife blotted the final stain of red into place, soaking through the last of the draped linen.

They were beautiful on the screen.

Well. Not a screen.

Darian didn’t dare watch these little home videos upstairs in sight of the windows who’s shutters he never quite trusted. He’d much rather analyze this in the basement from the comfort of his couch. A small projector haphazardly screwed into the exposed beams of the unfinished basement, a white sheet draping over a blank section of wall became his screen. And a minifridge next to the couch served both as end table and beer cooler.

Forty two minutes and seventeen seconds.

They were thirty eight minutes and forty eight seconds in now as Darian cracked open another bottle, flicking the cap across the cement floor - eyes never leaving the screen.

He wondered just how freaked out the victim - this one’s name was ‘Marcus’, by the way - was. Whether he knew what the video was for. If it had been explained to him. If Show was gracious enough to tell Marc that the video would be sent to his family. Then the police station. Then the FBI.

He wondered if poor Marc every quite grasped the concept of how many people would be watching this. Or - on top of that - how many people like Darian (or the potential, aforementioned family members) would make copies to watch over. And over. And over.

Maybe someday Showoff’s work would even get one of those serial killer documentaries. Darian assumed it would - they were already up to eighteen documented kills. Plus movie-makers have a flare for showcasing people who have a flare for the cinematic.

Poor Darian’s screams might be on Netflix some day, labeled with a simple ‘This episode contains depictions of a murder - viewer discretion advised’.

As if anyone ever ‘discresses’ with that.

They all watch it - just like Darian did.

So many people are obsessed with serial killer documentaries and true crime podcasts - Darian wasn’t so different.

Preferring one object of fascination and preferring the uncut content was just a quirk of his.

This was normal.

Normal how he leaned forward, adrenaline pumping through his veins as Show brought the knife to Marcus’ throat. Again. For the twelfth time this night since Darian set the application to play on loop hours ago.

Darian stood, stepping closer to watch as the knife melted through flesh, blood spurting through gargles and babble-less pleas. The rush was fading by quite a bit this time - he knew this screen too well - but that didn’t mean it wasn’t good. It still made him dizzy with a soft, empowered pleasure as Marc sputtered out, crimson soaking down his slaughtered chest.

Darian’s eyes were on Show now, though as his target approached the camera.

He squinted, trying so so so hard to see Show’s eyes through the holes in the mask.

It must have been covered from the inside in black mesh.

As Show stared back at him, a murmur pressed unbidden from Darian’s lips.

“I will find you.”

There was the smallest beat of silence - as if Show were sizing him up. Analyzing the words and the man behind them.

Then. As always. Their thumb smudged red across the screen, blinking them into darkness yet again.

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#😶😶😶😶#darian man #uh #why didn’t u invite me to movie night 😡#lmao #ur writing never fails to amaze me #it’s so good #I just like stare at it for a bit reading it over and over #ONTO PART 3!!!!#learning of a loved ones murder #character death #murder #gore #grief #obsession #alcohol consumption #serial killer #yandere #true crime obsession

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