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its-my-whump · 7 months

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Whumptober 11

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Captivity

Hummingbird 11

(Story starts here, if you like) previous

...

Sam was in and out of it for the next days, maybe weeks. At some points his mind resurfaced enough, that he was sure, that Grey was constantly drugging him, turning him into a string puppet.

Despite his hazy mind, he could feel his body getting stronger, healthier again. His ribs didn't ache so bad anymore. Exhaustion was slowly faiding. He couldn't really recall how, but Grey got him back on his feet.

Pictures, sounds, smells, sensations visited him for brief moments and were gone again, like fragments when you're really really drunk. He felt kind of drunk, but better. There was a soothing calmness inside of him. Grey redressed his wound, help him eat and drink and made him walk. And he help him clean up.

Apparently Sam almost really came back to himself and the thick fog in his mind was clearing, when he was stripped to his undies and set into a bathtube of warm sweet smelling liquid.

The thought alone should have been scaring him shitless, but it was okay. The person in front of him was Grey, but he was blurry, far away. Actually everything was foggy and pictures vanished too fast. He wasn't really part of this story, he just woke up to.

The foreign hands helped, were gentle, wouldn't touch indecently. He kind of felt like a child, the frightful adenture of the last days, weeks? forgotten.

Grey had removed the dressing from his burned skin just above his heart, revealing the scar tissue underneath. (*1) The wound where Sam had been touched with the cattle prod 3 times, was healing good. Part of the bruise on his left arm was shining brightly violett by now, but the edges were slowly turning green. 'Maybe it hadn't been weeks?' Fingertips touched the edges of his old scar, that was appearing underneather the burns and to the right, very gently, carefully avoiding the freshly agitated skin in the middle. Nevertheless Sam flinched in a knee-jerk reaction. His mind was really resurfacing.

In his usual soft tone, Grey asked him about that scar and how he got it.

Despite his condition, Sam replied with the answer, he had programmed himself to give for years. This chapter of his life had been closed a long time ago and he had thrown away the key. "Go-ot mugged a-fter ssschool." It was kind of a half-truth. His words were slurred, his tongue heavy.

The firm slap came out of nowhere. In retroperspective, it was the only real clear moment of these days of stupor.

"DON'T!" Thundered through the tilted room.

Despite the warm water he was sitting in, a cold shiver ran down Sam's spin. His cheek was stinging from the moment the big hand had left it again. Evil, dark eyes starring at him. He hadn't been able to point out that face in a crowd right now, but he would never forget those eyes.

Grey's voice was calm again only a second later. But that one bluffed command from before, betrayed the gentleness in the following statement.

"Don't... ever lie to my, hummingbird."

Sam had pressed his hand against his stinging cheek. He was stunned, but even more so a flash of fear ran through him.

Nevertheless, his drug-flushed system predominated that feeling once again only heartbeats later. He let the man pull his own hand away from his face to brush over the hot cheek with a wet washcloth. Sam was lulled into the false comfort of the moment, the dulcet voice pushing him deeper into compliance without Sam ever noticing.

"Let's try again, hummingbird."

Sam's mind was floating, he was lost in those gentil eyes, soothed by the sound of that voice. 'He hadn't felt this save in years. He was like that father he never had.'

'Still, something was off.' A spark of doubt enflamed in the corner of his mind, but he hushed it instantly. 'Should he really tell this man? How did he know, it was a lie anyway?'

This, this intimite safe moment, was just too good, to be true, he would cheerish it, as long as possible. The realisation, that the drugs were messing with his insticts, escaped him.

"Stepfather." Tumbled from his tongue. Sam couldn't have stopped it, even if he had wanted to.

A sad look, genuan sympathy in those eyes, Grey was really interested in him as a person, at least Sam's mind was longing for it to be true.

Foreign fingertips brushed over the scar above his heart again. Sam didn't flinch this time. A hand raffled his hair comforting. "What did he do to you?"

A little of his self-preserving senses had resurfaced and Sam hesitantly shook his head. "C-can't!"

The facial expression on his counterpart was understanding, a slight nod. "You can tell me anything, little hummingbird." Single tears had started to overflow Sam's lids. His head shook more eagerly now. "Bad-d timsss. Waaant to go ho-oome now."

The hand had disappeared from his chest and put itself around his jaw, comforting. A thumb brushed away the tears on one side of his face, while the other hand was leaving his tuft until both cupped his face.

"Don't be afraid. I'll make sure, no one ELSE ever hurts you again. If you tell me, I'll bring you home."

Sam was completely lost and too out of it, to recognise the little, but very essential peeks in his counterparts voice. Feelings of angst and despair from his past were fighting against the soothing and broadly shown comfort and the promist safety of home. "Promise?"

His subconscious was screaming at him, that something wasn't right, but he let himself fall for it anyway.

"I promise, MY little hummingbird."

If he hadn't been so out of it, he may have recognised, that Grey never asked him about the long scar on his arm, where he had broken it or the one on his leg. (*2) Never asked about the unnatural hole above his kidney or mentioned the still visible reminder of whipmarks on his back. (*3)

Grey picked this particular scar above his heart to ask about for a reason. The psychological reason to finally break his precious little mess. So in the end he could be the one to pick up the delicate hummingbird sitting between the scattered remains of his broken soul. And it seemed to be working.

Sam's lips parted, but it cost him a moment to articulate the words.

"H..hee said, he had to carve the fear of god into me." Sam hold the man's look, his expression had suddenly changed from desperate into angry. But his face cupped by Grey's gentil hands let his fascade crumble fast. More tears streaming.

And then he told him ... everything. How in his past all the lights had gone dark and his hope was destroyed for good. How, he was pressed to the ground by that evil man, not only overpowered physically, but emotionally. How his biological mother abandant him in his most vulnarble moment of his still young life. How he made it through days of pain and agony. Always feeling alone in this cruel world. How he needed to be hospitaltized and almost faltered from a septic shock. How he was admitted into the fangs of social services and how it never ever got better for him.

Sam hadn't been this emotional in years. Probably, he hadn't opened his gates this far ever. The drugs were messing him up completely. And the part of being a captive, constantly drugged; on top of it all, him almost dying, twice, did the rest, turning him overly emotional.

At first there were only silent tears, an occacional whimper, until he settled for heartbraking desperate sobs. The big warm hands never leaving him.

At some point everything got lost in a haze and the last thing he could vaguely remember was being pulled into an embrace.

TBC

Hummingbird masterlist

@whumptober-archive

How Sam got those scars (*1) (*2) (*3)

and who he actually is

#whumptober2023 #no.11 #lyric #captivity #OC #confusion tw #drugged tw #emotional breakdown tw #hummingbird #whump #writing #whump writing #whumpblr #writblr #creepy whumper #caretaking #whumptober

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galaxofmuses · 2 years

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Some dried fish was slid into Kang's jail

Slumped on his usual corner of the cell and feeling his few weeks staying in this uncomfortable mess feeling like months. He hears a noise as he flinches out of reflex and turns to see...well thankfully not Lumine, but....free food?

Kang attempts to shuffle closer as he feels the fresh new pain from another layer of bruises on his arms and even his face. His lip dried and caked a bit with his dried blood. He stops to see this nice plate of fish and feeling his hands shake to touch the texture of actual real food in his own damaged hands. Kang taking the closer look to check if there was anything wrong with it and well....it smells and even after a small nibble it just tastes like well..fish.

Kang devours the fish and feeling the energy coming back as he finally breaks down into a sob from repressed emotions of holding it in for so long. He has never cried like this for a long time since he left his life as a hacker.

After that small meal, He slides the plate on a corner and hoping the Maverick won't see that plate even if it's impossible to explain what happened. Going back to his corner and goes back to sleep to build up energy of what is to come.

#torture tw #bruising tw #blood tw #torture mention tw #emotional breakdown tw #Anon #:: OC; Ker ::#:: Ver;MMX; Ex Hacker ::#:: Answers to the Cosmos; Muse Answers ::#// Welp here's some updates of what's to come whoops #:: Event; The Disappearance of Kang Cho ::

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vani-candy · 7 months

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[previous] [index] [next]

here's the dreaded angsty comic i hinted last time! ofcourse i guess it isnt all bad, a certain very popular character finally makes his appearance!!! even if its only for like one page HAHAHAHAHA

I sort of had difficulty working on this one because i made the mistake of not properly drafting dialogue. (it's been working well for me so far, but this made me realize i should probably draft dialogue as well as story beats...) and then i got sick (am about 80% better now!). and then i got in a huge Runescape mood oops. and on top of it i kept experimenting with my process, so that also upped "production time". but i got it done!!!

now, reading the previous two comics before this one is recommended but not required for additional context! this one is quite heavy so i advise everyone to take care while reading!

Thank you as always for reading my comics!

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zimthandmade · 7 months

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Are y'all ready to sob with me?! 🥲 I know this is really over the top and I feel the need to apologise for putting those two in this scenario. Though we could all use some more honest emotional intimacy sometimes, no? I hope you all feel that hug 💙 And man, I bet those salty tears burn like acid on the healing tissue.

Explanation for the conversation at the end: I have this headcanon that ever since they found that gun, Mellos last line of defense for EVERY plan is "If everything goes south, I'll just shoot us outta there" and that line became something of an inside joke between them.

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andsjuliet · 7 months

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nace week 2023

day 4 → nace + others

ned "nick" nickerson (being the nace warrior we needed in season 4)

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this-should-do · 2 years

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Losing your identity in favor of survival

#gordon freeman #half life #was thinking about my headcanon on why gordon looses his mullet by hl2 in which he gets grabbed by the ponytail too many times and cuts it #of course in a very emotional manner before he hardens as he goes from gordon to freeman in accordance with my chracterization of him from #my fic which u should go read on ao3 #its called could gordon ever be clean #but yeah looove tying chara dev to hair and having it be so significant that gordon cuts his hair cuz i think he has a complex relationship #w his hair becuz hes so trans #i wont get into it cuz its kinda long but trust me its good #fun fact to get the subtle static texture u can barely see i used the sonic . exe static lol #eyestrain tw #<just in case these colors are kinda bright #anyways i love really messy haircuts cuz theyre having a breakdown and using a knife. it feels like in movies their hair always looks good #which is WRONG it would not look good like that u rlying to me #idoindeeddraw #anyways feeling artsy with the caption today lol #but thats like the theme of this comic and i wanted to ensure it was understood lol

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bpdcodone · 11 days

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A life without love for a BPD mfer is not a life worth living

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whumpetywhump · 5 months

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Flowers For Algernon - Ep. 1

#flowers for algernon #jdrama #crying #emotional breakdown #autistic character #concern #comfort #stimming #falling #cradled #hugging #protective friend #hagiwara masato #yamashita tomohisa #whump #jwhump #asian whump #tw self hatred

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outcastpack · 10 months

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#teen wolf #liam dunbar #thiam #mason hewitt #corey bryant #Liams many thoughts when Theo stops answering #Emotional breakdown vier book yep #tw characters on twt #teen wolf incorrect quotes

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 10 months

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The 24th One

TW: Blood, guns, attempted murder, fear, pain, stitches, painful wound cleaning, emotional breakdown, threats, slightly flirtatious drama queen villain, male whumpee

"Take it easy," a firm, but somehow saccharine voice called out from Civilian's living room.

Treading lightly and letting out an involuntary sharp gasp, her gaze flitted over to a figure mostly hidden by the shadows, like a charcoal drawing, the first rays of the sun peeking through the sheer, half-open curtain outlining his edges.

"Who are you?" she questioned, going back into her room to fetch a gun from the safe.

She tiptoed into the room, fingers tightening on the weapon as she flicked off the safety.

Civilian was met with a soft, amused chuckle. "I thought the spandex would be telling," the man she now identified as Villain replied, practically slouching in her armchair like he owned the place.

Her breathing went shallower, and her face paled. The all-too-happy figure in a dark, form-fitting suit with heavily mussed up light brown hair lounging around in her living room was one of the city's most dangerous criminals. And she was all alone with him and a gun she barely used. She wished to curse the fact that she'd chosen to live somewhere quiet, right on the outskirts, closer to her job. It didn't seem all too convenient now, did it?

"I'm gonna need you to put that down, love," the villain crooned, voice gentle and silky, but the hint of warning in it wasn't lost on her, much like a rose with thorns scattered across its stalk in a subtle manner, but still not invisible to the keen eye.

"And why should I do that?" she challenged, strengthening her death grip on the gun, defiance ablaze in her eyes. She wished she was as brave as she might have looked.

Except that didn't matter because the criminal seemed entirely amused with the situation, raising an eyebrow and letting out a soft laugh, greyish blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight with mirth. "Ah, as much as I admire the courage, I'm not in the mood for any games, so put the gun down and don't even think about calling the police. Not that it would save you anyway," he growled. The playfulness was still there in his demeanour, but he didn't make an effort to mask the threatening air of his tone.

"I hope you don't think I'm joking," he drawled lazily, pulling out a gun of his own and training it on Civilian's face.

"No," she stage-whispered, trying to ignore the nausea washing over her and the tightness in her chest. She mentally cursed herself for not shooting him the second she'd recognised him.

But killing people was not like the movies. It isn't something you walk away from, something a good night's sleep, if you could even afford such a luxury, would help you forget. Only truly terrible people, like the villain in her armchair, she presumed, could treat murder as a mundane part of their daily routine, like how one regards brushing their teeth.

But now, she didn't hold an inkling of power on the crime lord because while the civilian might hesitate, might back out completely, he wouldn't.

And besides, he had goddamn superpowers at his disposal; he could create wind. She would have to be extremely lucky to get a hit on him, and that was never something she was willing to gamble over when it came to her life.

She pried for any weaknesses, anything to use against the villain, but all she saw was a calm, almost relaxed person and a deadly weapon in his merciless grip.

"You know I really didn't want to do this. In all honesty, it's been a while since I've seen a girl this cute," he supplied, and if she didn’t know better, Civilian would've sworn he actually sounded disappointed, "but I don't like having to repeat myself," he concluded, a slight downturn of his lip being the only indication of any negative emotion he may have felt, with nothing behind those cold, steel-coloured eyes.

He rose up from the chair, and panic gripped the civilian. Both of them shot and missed, except the villain cried out, letting out a sharp gasp as he fell to the floor, holding onto the chair's leg like a lifeline. His gun was hurled across the room with a loud clattering noise, far away from his grip. A nasty laceration across his his abdomen spurted out blood.

She wondered how he'd gotten hurt if no bullets had hit him, and when the sunlight moved further into the room, she noticed that he'd popped some poorly executed stitches with his sudden movements. He tried to use his powers to pull his gun closer but to no avail. The pathetic, little breeze he'd created could barely move a leaf. Apparently, his injury had affected his power tremendously.

For a moment there, Villain looked terrified. Frantically groping around for his gun, looking two seconds away from howling out in agony as he moved as fast as his injured body could handle. There were bruises on his face, no doubt from a previous fight, and his eyes were wide as saucers, his breathing laboured. He was now at Civilian's mercy, and he knew it. This was his end, no way around it. For a man the heroes said claimed to 'dance with death', he seemed incredibly frightened of it. For the first time that night, he looked unbearably human.

She didn't understand why some sort of misguided empathy had led her to crouch down to his level and ask, "Can you walk?"

"What?" he choked out, snapping his head up sharply at her. And as though the fear from before had never been, he clenched his jaw, contracted the muscles in his face to pull it into something stone-hard and expressionless, trying his hardest to pull his form up into a semi-standing position, holding onto the coffee table with a white-knuckled grip. He tried again for his powers, but they failed him once more. Still, she could see the hint of wariness in his eyes as his gaze trailed over to her gun.

She got up and threw it aside. "Goddamn it," she snarled, drawing in a sharp breath and exhaling slowly. Well, if she died for being foolhardy, at least it would be a noble death. However, she'd made sure to keep both guns in her room. No more chances.

The villain's eyes widened again, not out of fear, but out of shock, clearly not being used to any displays of kindness. She walked over to him, letting him put his arm around her shoulders, struggling to shoulder his weight. He was incredibly tall, lean muscles outlined by his suit. The civilian finally managed to get him over to the couch. "I'm a med school student, final year," she supplied, and he let out an overly exaggerated sigh of relief.

She would've smirked, but she caught herself. Don't get too familiar. "Friendly reminder that I don't have any anaesthesia on hand right now."

He simply responded with a scoff, rolling his eyes at her.

"Alright tough guy, how would you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?" she asked, looking for a needle, thread and some antiseptic.

"Seven," he answered coolly. It still surprised her how he managed to preserve his composure while wounded like this, no wincing or shivers. But she reminded herself again that he was not a normal person.

Civilian unzipped the suit down to his abdomen, and the villain gave her an unbearably cocky grin, somehow managing to do that with blood snaking down from the ugly laceration on his body.

"Don't flatter yourself," she scolded, and she didn't understand why she'd said that, as though they were old friends used to exchanges full of banter. The civilian wondered if she'd become so secluded and terribly lonely that human interaction with anyone seemed appealing to her.

"Don't flatter me yourself with those eyes, love- ahggg!" The velvety tone and the lazy, half-lidded gaze were swiftly replaced with a sharp hiss as the villain squeezed his eyes shut, contracting and relaxing his muscles rhythmically to distract himself from the agonising sensation of the alcohol seeping into his wound, leaving his skin feeling like it was on fire.

"Easy, it'll be over soon," Civilian soothed awkwardly, unable to conceal the pang of sympathy she felt for him right now.

"Don't coddle me," he snapped, clearly more concerned with his wounded ego above anything else. Even beneath the smug smiles and stoicism, he clearly loathed the vulnerability. He hadn't been afraid of dying, she realised; he was afraid of dying in such a humiliating state.

Tragically poetic how he had the words 'Pride is my sin' tattooed on his right arm in all capitals, dark ink and a stylish font.

The civilian got him through the stitches, years of intensive studying and practice overriding her nervousness, stopping her hands from shaking the way they desperately wished to. Villain barely shivered or flinched during the process, and while he raised a sceptical eyebrow at her when she offered him a glass of water and painkillers, he swallowed them readily.

She washed her hands and threw him an icepack for the swollen bruises.

"I'm going to get ready for bed, and you should be uh, fine here," she supplied, gesturing to the couch with one hand as she zipped up the criminal's suit with the other.

"I guess this means I owe you a favour," he stated bluntly, a thoughtful, enigmatic look in his steely eyes.

"What?"

"I'm a crime lord, but that doesn't mean I'm a complete bastard," he reasoned, "you didn't kill me even when you had the chance. It's only fair."

"Why would I need a favour from you of all people?" She raised an eyebrow at him, moving a strand of ash blonde, wavy hair away from her eyes.

"In this city, you'll never know when you might need a favour from a guy like me. Anyway, take care of yourself, love." He sounded genuinely concerned, and the civilian hated it, so she awkwardly nodded at him.

When she got into the shower, finally away from the villain, her emotions came crashing down on her shoulders like solid rock. Her brave face in front of the villain had been a facade. She was terrified, incredibly guilty, all of the worst outcomes tormenting her mind in flurries of terrible thoughts. Try as she might, she couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her face. There was no going back now.

Civilian may have preferred to stay awake after sunrise, but she was too exhausted. Or actually, she wished to escape her hellish thoughts, and this was the fastest and easiest way to free herself from her shackles.

We all dream of being kind, of offering help to those in need, yet in an imperfect world, acts of kindness come with an expensive price, one not everyone is willing to pay. This hour's enemy is the next hour's victim, today's proud and cruel are tomorrow's weak and defenceless. But the beautiful irony of life is that no matter how far one runs away from it, vulnerability is a destined fate, written in stone, an unavoidable risk. It is the one thing in a person's nature that marks a human being as such.

Almost forgot, tagging for comfort fics: @roblingoblin285

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @shr3ya @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

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its-my-whump · 7 months

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Whumptober 13

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

“I don’t feel so good.”

Hummingbird 13 📸

(Story starts here, if you like) previous

Constantly more tears of anger, frustration, fear and hopelessness summoning in his eyes and were finally dropping onto his bloody hands. Liquids were mixing and big drops of light and dark red colored the white sheeting, while a wave of despair rolled over him.

Sam was pulled apart by anger and hopelessness. His outburst left him shaking and weak. The closed door seemed to be mocking him. He hadn't eaten in too long. He was thirsty and all of a sudden he was tired again. All of this was so exhausting. His mind was playing him, or were there still remains of those chemicals screwing with his head?

He turned angry again and he needed to challenge that anger, before it faded. If he would let the fear in, he was gonna loose this fight.

Surely this moment prestine shame found a way into his confused mind. What had he told this man in his intoxicated and vulnable state? Had he opened long closed doors and let this man in on his deepest fears? He didn't know.

He felt so violated and used. How could he believe such bullshit? How couldn't he see behind that mask? How could he be so stupid?

Rage and frustration about his own failure and the situation were turned against himself and his desperate pulling at the metal developted into merciless ripping. 'Yeah furious rage. It comes and goes, like the strength in your bones.' That was something a miserable excuse for a teacher once said, when he had bashed in the face of another student. Just because this bastard had intercepted Sam's way home from school with a bunch of his friends. So Sam had retured the favour, when said friends weren't around.

In events like this he was constantly reminded of this stupid sentences, but it did never anything to calm him down.

Sam was tearing his own flesh by now, but he didn't care. Tears of pain and exasperation were flowing fluently, but he really didn't care. The pounding of his heart was really uncomfortable and his ribs ached, but he just didn't care. Sam only wanted to get out, he needed to get out!

But if he had braced himself for a second, he would have recognised, that his self-destructive actions were in vain

Blood was running in constant pumpes down his arms by now. The cuffs were bloodstained and his episode was wearing his energy reserves down. His damn heart was jumbling. His breaths came in strained puffs.

After minutes and minutes of ravishing, he fell back to the cushions, panting even more. His chest was too tight, his breathing too shallow and his pulse too fast. 'Damn, I don't feel too good.' His inner voice was practically pleading at him to stop it and calm down.

His body was completely worn out, and the mental exhaustion was stripping him of everything, that was left.

Sam only now realised, that he was wearing yet another shirt and other pants after his bath. That bastard had changed his clothes again. What else had he done, he couldn't remember?

Not long after his head hit the pillow, Sam drifted off, tightly wrapped into an invisible blanket of shame and despair.

TBC

Hummingbird masterlist

@whumptober-archive

#whumptober2023 #no.13 #lyric #I don't feel do good.#oc #blood tw #fear tw #selfinflicted wounds tw #captivity tw #emotional breakdown tw #hummingbird #whump #writing #whump writing #writblr #whump community

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astronomical-bagel · 6 months

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it seems that in the absence of my eldest sibling, the family dynamic has shifted to place the weight of the Eldest Daughter Syndrome™ (gender neutral) on my shoulders :D :D :D

#making sure my twin eats sleeps and doesn't hurt himself? been doing that since I knew what love was #now I'm also handling mother's emotional breakdowns AND dueling fathers medical emergencies!#add that on to cooking and cleaning and making sure everyone's schedules are aligned I'm practically running this household!#YIPPEE /s #how did kai do this #WHY DID I HAVE TO SPLIT WITH MY THERAPIST AT THIS EXACT TIME PERIOD IN MY LIFE I AM NOT EQUIPPED FOR THIS #THERE IS NO ONE I CAN TALK TO BC ALL MY FRIENDS WILL RELAY THIS TO MY TWIN AND I DONT WANT HIM TO HEAR ALL THIS #HOW DID KAI DO THIS?#I knew that she was the MVP of the household but now I have a brand new shiny appreciation for just how much he did for the entire family #no wonder he's having the time of his life in Korea she doesn't have to deal with all this shit no wonder she doesn't want to come back #god I miss her #I really don't know what I'm doing #vent #tw vent

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daybringersol · 2 months

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existential poem incoming, please read tags for trigger warnings.

lost in fog. too dim to appreciate what ive got, too lucid to be immune to the ache of loss. proved over and over again that the fears that consume me are well founded, that from the moment i was born, i was destined to a life of being passed around and tossed away like old rags. small oases of autonomy between captors, just to taste what life could be if it was my own. living example of egocentric martyr complex. self-aware enough to know my sins, or at least to feel the guilt. quiet apocalypses meticulously spaced out over infinities. cycles of torment. doing art so it can be used as evidence in the trial of god. doubts that im alive, that what i call life might just be an oddly elaborate retribution for wrongs that predate my memory. doubts that the blade that wounds me is real, that the flesh that aches is real, that the pain itself is real. numbness in all organs, both left and lost.

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runelocked · 6 months

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❝ I DON’T WANT TO ‘ GET USED ’ TO THIS ! ❞ THE WORDS ARE HARDLY HIS OWN. ENRAGED, FEARFUL. Where he’d once laughed in the face of death, when faced now with the real thing – or perhaps something worse – it is only the urge to run that haunts his expression now. He’s always been a clever man, if highly irrational, and it’s slowly beginning to sink in that maybe the other isn’t lying to him. Maybe this is it. The end of the line. Maybe the show’s over. And yet the idea of stopping, accepting, growing familiar with this fate leaves his blood running cold. How cruel a punishment this is, he thinks, rage building again, but they wouldn’t keep him here. He won’t be trapped here, he won’t be, he can’t – ❝ You have no idea what I’m capable of. The things I’ve done. The things I’ll do again ! Death isn’t even real, none of it is: I've created things beyond your wildest dreams, did you know that ? ❞ His own answering laugh is shrill and panicky, the beginnings of a nervous breakdown. An overwound clock. And if Andrew mocks him, if the man says a single thing out of place or looks at him with anything other than casual disinterest, then he’ll kill him. He will.

His hysterical breath catches in his throat, and William wrenches himself silent. He hasn’t cried in years, isn’t about to start now. Like he’d done as a child, he sets his shoulders and grits his teeth, conflicted angry gaze turning back to Andrew. There really is only one question to ask, now, and it’s not one he likes. One question, one set of actions: William sits, not defeated but drained, a few yards away from the stranger, and forces out:

❝ Tell me who you are and what you know about this place. ❞

Because he’s going to get out. Even if it takes him years, even if it takes him decades, even if it takes him lifetimes. He’s not giving up so easily, and all information – even tiny details – will be invaluable to him.

CONTINUED. / @curseofbreadbear

#(( i know andrew WON'T mock him for his complete nightmare breakdown but consider ... /j BFDDFS ))#(ii) man behind the slaughter — roleplay thread.#(ui) original: lakeside #(oxo) fishing for redemption: william & andrew #a; curseofbreadbear #tw emotional distress #tw mental breakdown #tw mental instability #tw unreality #( last tag just there because of how william is speaking abt death more than anything !! )#( ask to tag. )

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