#no. 12

[lostwhump]

@whumptober | Day #12: "Starvation" Shadowplay/The Defeated (2020)

[serickswrites]

Just a Little Bit

Warnings: restraints, captivity, torture, physical violence, public humiliation, cruel whumper

Whumpee's cheeks burned with embarrassment. Whumper had paraded them around town, their arms bound tightly behind their back. Whumper was showing off. Showing off their defeat. Showing off their shame.

Whumpee deserved it. They had failed. They always failed. This was their fault. They should be shamed. Should be beaten. They deserved it.

"Just a little bit more, Whumpee," Whumper said as they reached the town square, "and then I'll take you back to my place and really show you what true defeat looks like."

Whumpee hung their head in shame. This was going to be their lot in life. "Please, Whumper, don't....please."

"Silence," Whumper said as they slapped Whumpee's cheek. Their cheek stung and eyes watered. "I won. This is what I get to do. Whenever I want. Because I won and you lost."

Whumpee couldn't help but cry. Even though they deserved this, they hated every moment of this. Hated every second.

"You're pathetic. If you think this is bad, just wait until we get back to my place and then you will know what true torture is."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[oxideblack]

[moonlight0934]

Rotten Touch

Tim types, keeping his eyes on the computer in front of him. This is one of the many reports that he’s written this week since he decided to put them all off instead of doing them when he first needed them. He’s completely engrossed in what he’s working on, trying to get it done as fast as possible.

Bruce has gotten to the point where he’s not struggling so badly, and he and Dick have started working things out. Bruce hasn’t been as hard on him, but he remembers the stern tone that he took earlier when Gordon told him that proper evidence hasn’t been sent in, or dropped off yet.

His eyes are burning, and he’s barely able to keep them open, but he still has a few more things to do. So he keeps typing. Tim hears someone coming down the stairs, so he turns. Dick is walking into the cave. Tim turns back around, sure that he’s going to just work on something, and leave Tim to work in peace. He still feels himself tense slightly without telling his own body too.

He works just long enough to wish he was alone again, though he’s not sure what Dick is even doing. Then a hand lands on his arm, and he flinches back. He turns, still wincing slightly. Tim and Dick make eye contact, and Dick looks slightly surprised. Probably because he’s used to Tim forcing himself not to flinch, or coil away from him or Bruce.

“What’s up?” Tim asks, too tired to pretend like nothing happened.

“I was just wondering how much longer you were going to be working on that. Bruce isn’t going on patrol tonight, and I thought you might want to come with me. It’s a lot of ground to cover by myself.”

“Yeah, I’ll be done in thirty minutes, and then we can go.”

Dick smiles.

“Yeah, ok. I’ll come back in half an hour.”

Tim turns back to the computer, continuing with his work. He finishes a little faster than he thought he was going to, so he just leans back to wait. Dick takes him on patrol, and they split up to cover the most ground the fastest since neither of them wanted to be out there. It isn’t until they get back to the cave that Dick slaps Tim on the back.

“Good j-”

Tim steadies himself while simultaneously taking a few steps away from Dick.

“Sorry, I was just trying to say that you did a good job.”

Tim nods.

“I’m just tired and off balance.”

He scurries up the stairs before Dick can ask any more questions.

The next time this happens, everyone is there. Jason is sitting on top of a box of spare parts that he definitely should not be sitting on, Damian is standing with his arms folded, and Dick is sitting with Cass and Stephanie to the right. Bruce is finishing up the meeting that he called about a new trafficking ring that’s working out of Gotham, and Tim is standing the closest. He’s staring off into space, not listening anymore since he put together the information packet anyway.

Bruce’s hand lands on his shoulder, and he flinches back hard enough that he almost falls. Suddenly everyone’s eyes are on him. He feels his face burn, and he turns away quickly.

“I’m going to finish my reports. I’ll see you guys later.”

“What did you do to Replacement?” he hears Jason asks as he’s walking away. He doesn’t hear the response, or what anyone else asks.

He races to his room, and throws himself down on his bed. It’s only a few minutes before someone knocks on his door. He doesn’t answer, hoping that whoever is knocking thinks he’s somewhere else. Then they knock again.

“Drake, I know you’re in there.”

Damian, damn it. He’s not going to go away.

“Come in,” he calls, sitting up.

Damian walks in, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway.

“Um… are you alright?”

Tim shrugs, not really sure what’s happening.

“Father told us that he wasn’t going to tell us what’s going on with you. That’s fair, and you don’t have to tell me, but I want to make sure that you’re alright. If you don’t feel comfortable telling me why you did that, and there’s no way for you to explain otherwise, then we can just sit together.”

Tim sighs.

“I’m not sure. I was just taken by surprise.”

“PTSD, it’s strange. However, most of them don’t have that kind of reaction in certain spaces, the ones that are considered safe. Are you saying that isn’t safe, or is there no reason for it? I’m aware that mental health is weird, and can’t really be explained.”

“Come sit with me,” Tim offers.

Damian closes the door, and sits a foot away from Tim, facing him.

“I had a lot of things happen to me when I was younger, and a lot of it happened here. My training was brutal. I’m sure that you know what I mean by that. You’d understand better than most of them.”

Damian hums, though he still looks confused.

“Well, I’m normally good, but I was just startled. That’s why the cave doesn’t feel as safe as it does for everyone else.”

“But… wait, are you saying that Father abused you during your training?”

“Yes, he did on a few occasions.”

“Why did Grayson look guilty then? Wasn’t he not even in town? How did he even know that was happening?”

Tim shrugs.

“I don’t know how much of what Bruce did that Dick knows about. However, we didn’t have the best relationship either back then, and I don’t think Dick ever got over it. He can be really hard on himself, and he saw some of what I had to deal with, but he didn’t want to deal with Bruce. That’s totally fair, and I signed up for it, but that doesn’t mean that Dick didn’t feel selfish after everything was said and done.”

Damian hums, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“So the touch feels invasive, especially when you’re not thinking, or trying to calm your mind. I understand. That used to be what happened when anyone touched me. It would feel like something was crawling under my skin, and that I’d be violated. Like I let someone do something far too trustingly. Sometimes it would make me feel sick, especially when people would act like touching me wasn’t a privilege that I didn’t give to most people. Like it was nothing, and I wanted nothing more than to recoil, and never let them do it again.”

“Yeah, mine isn’t that bad, but I know what you’re talking about. Like touch scares you, and it makes you feel icky.”

Damian nods.

“Exactly.”

Tim leans back.

“I knew that you would get what I was talking about.”

Damian smiles softly at his lap.

“We’re more similar than we like to think.”

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumtpober No. 12- "Just a Little More"

“Come on,” Hero said to themselves through clenched teeth, “just a little more.”

The only thing holding the building up was Hero’s raw strength, and they were using every last bit of it right now while the convention-goers evacuated. They only hoped their team would get everyone out soon. Their muscles screamed with the effort of holding it up, and Hero wanted nothing more than to throw the structure off their shoulders and collapse.

“Just a little more…”

People rushed out of the doors while their teammates coordinated the evacuation. Screams of panic filled the air. Just a little more. Just a little…

The last person ran out, and Hero’s knees buckled. When the dust settled, they were nowhere in sight.

…

“Hero!” Leader shouted.

The entire team rushed to the rubble, rapidly sifting through it to find any sign of their friend.

“Here! Over here!” Sidekick called.

Teammate and Vigilante hauled Hero’s limp and battered body out from under the buidling’s crumbled foundations.

Leader put an ear to Hero’s chest.

“They’re alive,” they said, “get an ambulance over here!”

…

Hero stirred to the sound of steady beeping. Dull pain throbbed through them, barely perceptible but still there. Hero groaned when they felt it, it was like their entire body had been bruised.

“Hero?”

Hero’s eyes slowly fluttered open. Their team stared down at them.

“Are you guys okay?” hero croaked.

“Are we okay?” Vigilante asked, “you’re the one in the hospital bed.”

Hero looked around lazily. Yep. Definitely a hospital room.

“Did everyone get out?” Hero asked.

“Everyone is fine, Hero,” Leader said, “you bought us enough time to get all the civilians to safety.”

“Cool…” Hero said.

Hero went to sit up, but pain erupted along their torso.

“Ah!” Hero winced.

Leader and Vigilante rushed to their bedside, gently guiding them back down.

“You have some broken ribs,” Leader explained, “among other things.”

Sidekick and Teammate approached Hero.

“You did good,” Teammate said.

“Yeah, I knew you were strong, but not that strong!” Sidekick added.

“I didn’t either…” Hero admitted.

“We��ve apprehended the villain responsible for the collapse,” Leader said, “seems they had planted dozens of bombs throughout the foundations.”

“Hate when that happens,” Hero yawned.

Hero coughed a few times, their broken ribs hating them for it.

“When do I get out of here?” Hero asked.

“Not so fast,” Leader said, “you’ve sustained way too many injuries to be discharged.”

“But… I wanted victory ice cream…”

“There will be plenty of time for that once you’ve healed up,” Vigilante said.

Hero pouted, looking up at their team with sad puppy eyes.

“…Or we could have some brought here,” Vigilante sighed.

Hero smiled. That was a better answer.

As far as Hero’s team was concerned, Hero could have anything they wanted. They had given their all and then some, it was only fair to return the favor in any way they could.

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@electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit

[brucewaynehater101]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPT #12

Starvation, canablism, "just a little more"

Tw: blood, gore, DARK Tim Drake

He wishes he could tear the skin off of their flesh, stitch their dermises together, and wrap himself in their constant and collective embrace. They would never leave him that way. They couldn't. They wouldn't be able to. 

It's a morbid thought, but some part of him craves the constant reassurance of their presence.

This family, the one he yanked together as it was crumbling apart, is incomparable to his parents. While the Drakes loved him, they never touched him.

Not enough. Only fleeting shoulder pats, the occasional hug, and, on rare occasions, a hair ruffle.

Tim would go months trying to replicate the feeling of physical affection. He'd cling to stuffed animals, heated blankets, warm water bottles, and the scratch of his own nails. He's try to steal warmth from endless showers and his parents never complained about their high water bill.

It wasn't enough.

Boarding schools don't provide hugs either.

The Waynes, though?

They were there. 

Fuck. The first time Bruce's palm landed on his shoulder, Tim nearly jumped out of his skin. His entire body burned when Dick started giving him hugs.

He, in the privacy of his own room, would become a blubbery mess at all the casual affection they so freely and often gave. The arm punches, shoulder bumps, arm around the neck, and back pats. Just constant reassurances that they care, they want him, and they love him.

Not to mention the gentle injury checks, the couch cuddles, and all of the hugs. Tim didn't know how many ways people could hug. 

And it didn't stop. Even when they got mad or frustrated or sad or upset at Tim. Even when they berated him or gave him the cold shoulder. Someone was always there with another pat or ruffle.

It was consistent and Tim couldn't get enough. Just the threat of that being taken away from him causes him to go into a frantic, frenzied bloodlust. He’s not ashamed to admit the lengths he'd go to so that he never lost it.

Tim would do anything, anything at all, to keep them.

Even though it still didn't feel like enough.

He needs their flesh within him and their bones fashioned into jewelry he can wear. He needs to feast upon their being, feel their warm blood slipping between his fingers, and preserve their brains within glass jars. His teeth ache with the urge to bite into their flesh, rip a chunk out of them, allow his mouth to fill with that sweet metallic taste, and swallow what he claimed. 

And their eyes? He would pluck them out of their skulls and position them in places so that they would always be watching him. A lack of eyelids means they’ll never stop. 

His tongue salvates at the idea of digging his fingers into their wounds and tearing at the fissure until he can bury himself inside them.

It wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough to take every part of their being. He wants every single piece of them within or on him so that he's never alone again.

But that would kill them. Their comforting warmth would leave, their eyes would dull, and their flesh would eventually rot or turn to waste. It's unsustainable to consume them the way he so desperately needs, even if it would finally satiate him.

He sometimes wonders if maybe he could steal a little bit. A pint of blood, a section of skin, or even a small appendage. He could manipulate their circumstances until he convinced them to get rid of their appendix or their tonsils.

Just a bit. Just a small amount so he's not as hungry as he always is. So he's not starving for them.

He won't ask, though. He can't. If he allows himself to be satisfied even once, he'll only need more.

[strawberrylabs]

Whumpotber day 12 with Freminet!

Prompt: I haven't slept in days, but who's counting?

Whumptober Masterlist

Summary: Freminet has been worrying about fixing Pers.. at the cost of his sleep.

Warnings: nightmares, sleep deprivation

note: I actually have no idea where I was going with this and almost made it fluff before I remembered that this was WHUMPtober not FLUFFtober <//3

You’re worried about Freminet.

He’s been working on fixing Pers for days.

He was on an infiltration mission when Pers was broken. He was devastated.

From the second he got back after reporting to ‘Father’ he began repairing and upgrading Pers.

You’d go in and check on him every few hours in between your own jobs and errands- bringing him food and water and whatnot.

He was thankful, eating the food you brought and drinking plenty of water. As he ate you’d sit and he’d explain how he’s going.

The good part was he could fix Pers no problem, he even had a chance to add some upgrades in the process.

However; said process was a long one. Countless hours of taking apart some pieces, replacing others. Lot’s of trivial, but necessary to make sure Pers wouldn’t break again.

The time needed was fine, so long as Freminet took care of himself. And while he was eating and drinking water, there was one thing that concerned you…

“Freminet.. When was the last time you slept?”

He sputtered and dropped the biscuit he was nibbling. 

“A-ah… well… I haven’t slept in days.. But who’s counting?” He looked away from you,  

You sigh. You figured as much.

He fidgets with some of the parts on the workbench, gaze avoiding yours.

“Freminet, you’re going to take a nap.”

“Wh-what-”

“Mhm, a 6 hour nap.”

“No i-”

“Yes.”

“1 hour”

“6 hours.”

“2?”

“6.”

“I-”

“Freminet you are going to lie down and get some sleep or so help me.”

His voice gets stuck in his throat. 

He was feeling a little exhausted.

…

Ok, he was a lot exhausted.

Reluctantly he gets up and moves to his bed, casting a look to Pers on his desk.

“I promise Pers will still be there. You can fix him when you wake up.”

“...Promise?”

You smile at him “Promise.”

You go to leave as he pulls back the covers.

He whispers something.

You turn around.

“Hm? What was that?” 

He stutters and blushes- looking everywhere but you.

“Nothing! It’s- It’s nothing! Uhm.. goodnight!”

Deciding to ignore it you leave his room, bidding him goodnight as you head to your own room.

Feeling tired yourself, you allow yourself to drift to sleep.

You wake a few hours later. You look at the time and notice it’s still late- confused as to why you were awake, you get out of bed.

You pause your movements at the sound of faint sniffles and the occasional sob.

You make your way to the room they were coming from- Freminet’s.

You knock before gently pushing open the door, to see Freminet hunched over his desk again, hands shakily working on the penguin once again.

“I-I had a nightmare that I couldn’t fix Pers… I wanted to go diving to cry but- but it just-”

He sobs again

“It just didn’t feel right to go without him..”

Your heart aches.

You know all too well that Freminet despises crying when he’s not underwater. Especially with how Father views emotions…

“Well.. At least you got a few hours of sleep.. I’ll get some food and water for us and I’ll stay with you while you fix him.”

He nods, still not looking at you.

“Ok. Thank you..”

You make a noise of acknowledgement before leaving to grab what you said.

It was going to be a long night..

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 12 - Red

Warnings: red room talk but nothing graphic

Word Count: 1.3k (gif not mine)

Summary: Yelena receives some help from unlikely sources. Natasha still has her back, despite what she may think.

A/N: (I forget how spoilt I was with no ads, if the anon who gifted them last month, thank you again.)

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

2014

SINGAPORE

“Yelena, where are you?” Saffine shouts into the ear piece.

“Did you do it? Is she dead?”

“Yelena?” Irina asks, “where are you? Your tracker isn’t working. How did you do that?”

Panic suffocates Yelena.

They have safeguards against self harm. Poisons in their bodies that don’t allow them to harm themselves.

Saffine would know something has gone wrong.

Maybe they’d know it’s not her fault.

Choices.

A life with the Red Room, staying until she dies or becomes like Isla, training a new generation of widows and hating herself for it.

Natasha was right.

It’s not a choice.

Despite the connections she’s made in the Red Room and the responsibility she feels for others, she knows, running, escaping, it’s what’s best for her.

A choice like she’s never been given, the irony that it comes from Natasha is not lost on her.

She hates Natasha for it, and loves her all the same.

Looking at the bus schedule, Yelena chooses the one heading to Malaysia, she hears the panic on the line of the other two widows and she knows the punishment that awaits them when they get picked up and returned.

She drops the ear pieces into a teenagers bag, and then; she’s alone.

She knows she can’t think of that now.

People watching as she boards the bus, she calms herself, counting the people around her, and focusing on the time.

Five hours til she arrives and then can work out what to do from there.

Five hours to think about the decision she’s just made.

.

“Did you really expect her to be here?” Clint asks as they board the plane.

“Yes?”

Natasha’s answer is hopeful as she looks around again. The amount of people around them making it difficult to see faces and disguises.

Clint doesn’t follow her eyesight, instead looks at the bruising on her face, covered by make up but still visible. He’s not sure he wants to face Yelena right now. He feels so angry at the pain he knows Natasha is in.

“She’s not coming is she?”

Clint shakes his head, pulling their passports out and presenting them to flight attendant. He knows he needs to let it go.

“Would you have come with me?”

Natasha almost laughs.

“We both know I didn’t,” she replies.

“She needs time, Natasha.”

She frowns, feeling like she’s been told off.

“Why the full name?”

He shrugs, moving forward in line.

“For emphasis? I’m just saying; that she has no reason to trust you, even with everything that you’ve set up. You want an easy reunion but even you have to admit that when you were out of the clutches, it still took you time to trust me, and it was only because I could give you something you needed.”

He points to their seats and she passes him a bag.

“Give her time, yeah? She may not be ready, or she may have a different agenda to what you think she should.”

She sits and stares into the airport, searching again.

“Yeah,” she says softly.

.

2014

MALAYSIA

Yelena steps off the bus, and picks up a suitcase from underneath that isn’t hers, but likely is a womans. If anyone stops her she can play stupid.

They don’t though, and she makes her way to the tallest and biggest hotel in the city.

Kuala Lumpur is busier than she remembers when she was here last, but she was only twelve. Maybe under that light, it all felt different.

She checks in with a fake passport, a fake name, and stolen money, and requests a room furthest from the elevator.

“I’m such a light sleeper,” she grins to the lady, who nods and smiles back.

Easy, this is, manipulating people, Yelena thinks as the elevator takes her up.

She opens the suitcase in her room and luckily finds a range of tshirts and shorts to manage in.

Toiletries, medications, shoes that are probably too big, things she’ll need to reset.

Yelena sighs heavily.

She’s free.

She’s not sure why it feels so bad though.

She should be happy, light, pleased with her decision but instead all she feels is dread.

.

Red hair dye may have not been her best decision. She’s not sure how Natasha blended in so well with being so visible.

It’s strange, not having a mission, not being housed in a facility. The feeling of freedom after being under the rule of someone else feels terrifying.

Yelena doesn’t know what to do with herself.

Knowing they’ll be searching for her, knowing they’re coming, she just can’t seem to move forward, stuck in an awkward limbo of repeating the same day over and over.

She ends up at a small café, orders the same fruit drink and watches those around her.

She brings a book she took from the hotel and pretends to read it, instead taking the time to watch and learn how to be human.

She watches adults walk together, women with headphones walking by, men talking animatedly on the phone.

It’s the children she likes to watch the most.

The little girls who smile easily at their mothers, and the little boys that eat ice cream looking up at their fathers.

Yelena sorts through her feelings, knowing it’s jealousy that boils.

It doesn’t feel fair.

She pushes it down, turning it to anger.

That could have been her, it was her in Ohio.

“Good book?”

The approach of another startles her and even more so when she sees Isla.

Fear pulses through her.

If Isla was here, then so was the Red Room.

“Freedom is a tricky thing, isn’t it?”

She takes Yelena’s hand.

“She told me the tracker was disabled,”

There’s a even cadence of Yelena’s voice, even though she feels like throwing up in fear.

“Oh it is, but honey, you’re going to have to do better to run and hide if you want this to be a permanent thing.”

Yelena stares at Isla.

The Red Room poster girl; a terrifying individual, having cycled through at least twice, probably three times.

“I’m not the bad guy,” Isla smiles, wickedly, sipping her own drink and passing across a package.

“She’s given you an out, and I’m giving you a way to do it.”

“Natasha, she knew, she paid me to help, which is the only reason I’m doing this.”

Yelena opens the package.

Two passports peek out, and Australian one and an American one and a stack of US dollars.

Her heart catches.

“You’ll let me go?”

Isla shrugs.

“Is that what you want?”

Yelena feels her filter drop.

“How am I supposed to know? They said jump and I’d say how high. I don’t want to be theirs. I… this is not real. They made me like this, this shell, and now… now I don’t know; I want them to tell me what I should do, there’s too much grey— too much variability. When you take away the Red Room and what’s left? What’s left of… me?”

Yelena bites down hard on the inside of her cheeks, feeling the intensity of grief bubbling inside and the threat of tears come as she stares down at her drink.

“Sometimes we can’t leave, there’s too much damage. But you should, you might like who you find,” Isla tells her, in a moment of honesty.

“I tried once,” she whispers, more to herself.

She laughs out loud, a manic sound, breaking the introspection.

“If I catch you again, I’m taking you in, and they can do to you what they did to me.”

Yelena feels the insanity in the words.

“What am I supposed to do, now?”

Isla stands, hovers next to her and points out to the people around.

“Become one of them? Be like your sister? Or go the other way? Maybe you’ll like what you become when you don’t have someone pulling your puppet strings.”

She kisses Yelena’s forehead.

“She’s given you an out; I suggest you take it.”

As quickly as she comes, she goes, leaving Yelena with more questions than answers.

.

[the-graves-family]

No. 12: Starvation

Hungry.

He’s so hungry.

Bone crunches under abnormally durable teeth. They’re sharp, sharp enough to tear into skin and rip flesh right off the bone with very little effort. They’ve been like that since he can remember. Not that he remembers a lot.

Ace eats.

The one thing he does most in the world is eat. He spends his time eating. When he’s not eating, he’s waiting for his next meal. Then it comes, and he feasts, consumes them until they’re nothing more than bloody stains on the floor and walls and on his skin. And then he waits again.

And yet he’s always so fucking hungry.

Aaron gets annoyed with him whenever he says it, but Ace can’t help it. He’s hungry. Always is. Can’t remember a single moment of his life where he wasn’t. It began, and it will end, perhaps, the same way.

Hungry. Hungry hungry. Hunger.

Nothing but Hunger.

Glass and metal break under his teeth as well.

This meal is no more, and Ace sits back on his heels, on the floor of the dark room he’s locked in whenever Aaron finds him a little too annoying, or a little too messy. Whenever he gets too famished, and becomes dangerous. At least he got some food, this time. His brother must be tired of him eating the light fixtures.

Humming quietly to himself, he licks his fingers, getting most of the blood off his skin, and looks around. Hungry. And bored. But mostly hungry. Aaron will be back soon, and maybe they’ll go out to play. Another toy, another prey, another meal.

Ace is so hungry, after all.

Maybe he’ll ask Aaron for some ice cream. He knows he’s not allowed sugar, but asking can’t hurt. If his brother is in a very, very good mood, perhaps he’ll be able to convince him. Some ice cream, some junk food, some candy, anything he can get his teeth on.

Footsteps at the top of the stairs, and Ace’s head snaps around to stare in the dark. His neck shouldn’t bend this way, but he tries not to think too hard about that. Because self-reflection isn’t a healthy thing for him to do. For the sake of everyone around him. Better not to think about anything too hard.

It’s safer that way.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump thump.

The fourth step is uneven. Ace always trips when he goes up the stairs.

“Here, freak.”

Aaron! Aaron is so nice. Always brings him food. Tells him what to say, and more often than not, what not to say. Sometimes tells him he’s good, although that’s very rare. Maybe because Ace isn’t good. Maybe because Aaron just has very high standards. Maybe because his brother just hates him. Hard to tell.

Ace giggles, claps his hands together. The struggling, living, breathing meal is tossed at him, and he watches it land with a thud and a pained groan. His body lurches forward, and he just barely stops himself from lunging.

He has to wait. For permission.

Looking up at his twin, Ace smiles, that ever-present smile that doesn’t leave his face even when he’s sleeping.

“Can I? Please? Please, Aaron? I’m so hungry.”

And Aaron seems to consider him, far too long for Ace’s tastes. He wants to eat now but his brother isn’t letting him. Ace doesn’t want to be bad, though, doesn't want to sink his teeth in before he should.

“Sure.”

And Ace feasts.

[eternal--returned]

Paul Cupido ֍ Mount Fuji #12 (2019)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Seas No More

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | Won't You Go My Way? | The Seas No More |

CW: Thoughts of murder, nonhuman whumpee, magical whump, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, some noncon-y from Gilly, choking

-

The moon hung heavy and full, pale light shining through the window onto the only water the siren could have now. The rope with its looped end now hung by itself above him, gently swaying seemingly of its own volition.

A reminder.

Left there so be did not forget the hissing gasps for air or his hands opening and closing where they had been bound behind his back, helpless to save himself as his toes left the safety of the ground.

A reminder of the look of shining need in the eyes of the siren’s captor as he watched life fade with every denied desperate gasp.

A reminder of how, just before he could fight no longer to live, his captor would let the rope go and watch him crash back into the tub, water splashing out the sides, new bruises blooming.

Above him was the constant threat that it could happen to him again, if he dared to disobey the captor’s commands.

Not that he could even begin to try.

Not any longer.

Not with the cruel magic written into his skin.

The siren tried not to look at the rope, feeling his throat click painfully with every remembered swallow, but he couldn’t really escape it without the sight of his landlocked prison taking over. Stone floors and stone walls threatened to close in on him with every passing second, and he would rather mourn what he had lost than fear what he was forced to have.

Panic threatened around the edges of every breath, but he fought it back. Barely.

Deeper in this place, in another room, his captor laid out in a comfortable human bed, covered in the cloth that kept him warm. It would have taken so little to kill him, and the siren now was unfettered. There were no ropes digging into his wrists, nothing looped tight around his neck. No wooden bit between his teeth to keep him from singing.

It would have been so easy to stand, and walk into that bedroom, and bare his teeth.

Except… he couldn’t.

He kept trying, over and over again, for hours while the moon slowly rose in the sky. He would open his mouth and try to sing the man in here, to lure him with soaring tenor song to put his own head under the water and hold it there until his very lungs burst and then the siren could walk outside and find the ocean and-

Nothing came out but whispers, his own magic fizzling away before it left the heat of his body.

He couldn’t sing.

It was like being unable to breathe, just a different way of choking, and yet being forced to keep living anyway long past when he should have died with the sense that his lungs needed to expand but they couldn't remember how.

His voice caught halfway up his throat when he tried to use it, and what came out instead was a strange rasping croak paired with a sudden flickering burn along one of the things painted on his right arm.

He cradled it close, now, staring at the symbols that meant nothing to him… but he understood enough to know that he was caged this way, captive to the very enclosure of his own skin.

He could not even die to escape it.

His heart skipped and then began to race, and he curled up even more, burying his face between his knees with his arms around them to hide everything but his hair, terrified of what it meant to have a voice that someone else could command, but which was kept from him.

His sobs were nearly silent, present more in the shaking of his shoulders than in any hitch of his breath. If the man woke to his weeping, he feared there would be more pain. There had already been so much.

The moonlight in his hair felt like a caress, like the way his mother touched him when he was young, a quick graze of fingertips as he swam with his sisters, a loving smile.

The moon was enormous tonight, such a feature of the sky it seemed as though it might be about to fall and crash into the ocean. As if the moon, the creator of sirens and mermaids and all the ocean things, would come chasing after her lost son to save him and take him back home.

The waves created by the goddess coming down to earth, the siren thought, would crash upon the land far, far inland and wipe away all the plague of men with their greedy hands and grasping fingers. With his eyes closed he could picture them in their thousands, swept out to sea and prey for those like his own people or the black-and-whites up north, tossed about by the shimmery silvered dolphins with their playful violence, ignored by the enormous whales who would eat their krill while evil men died beside them.

It was a beautiful imagining, so he followed it further, let it lead him from the fear that threatened to overrun him entirely.

He pictured the moon's gift pouring through the windows here, his captor coughing up seawater he couldn’t stop inhaling, begging him for help. Those stupid greedy eyes would be wide in fear but the siren would do nothing but watch…

And smile...

And then feast upon the remains.

He would bury his teeth into soft skin and rend it apart, watch blood bloom and dissolve into the saltwater, giving him strength to go back to the ocean.

The moon would shine the way for him, show him where to swim, unceasing, until he found his way home. His mother and sisters would have known how to survive the great waves of the moon’s crashing. The moon’s own children would be sheltered from her wrath, and they’d be there on the rocks with their arms open to greet him.

If any sailors had survived, the siren could rejoin his sisters in singing them onto the rocks, and he would take new joy in dragging them into the darkest waters until their lungs burst and they could be brought back to land for the meal.

It would be a fitting revenge, for how they had dragged him away and into the air.

He found himself smiling, just a little. The vision of destruction calmed his fear and settled his heartbeat. His body throbbed on the right side, remembering pain from whatever dark magic had been done to him by the woman who had kind eyes even while she hurt him. While she made him… this.

She had finished and looked tired, swaying on her feet, and left with one final soft touch of her hand to his face.

She had done this to him. The moon would kill her, too. But… she had settled her fingers in his hair, stroking gently, while she had painted over his back with her strange paintbrushes and humming ink. She had held him in her arms when the second agony came, even while the man who held him captive had scolded her.

She had soothed him, whispered things he thought must be apologies from her tone, and encouraged him to rest his head on her shoulder. She had only said soft things, and his captor had not started to truly hurt him until she had taken her leave and gone back to her sleeping-place for the night.

Until he and his captor were alone, she had stood between them even as she built the bars of his cage into his body.

He… changed his imagining, then.

He let his dream shift and told himself the moon would show her mercy, kill her quickly so she had no time even to know what had come upon her. The siren wouldn’t eat her. He would lay her out on a sunny rock somewhere higher up, closer to the sky, and let her go back to her own gods that way.

A kindness, for holding him while he screamed, even if she had been the reason for the screaming.

No human had ever held him before.

“Areyto.”

He stiffened, turning away from the moonlight to look back at the doorway. His captor stood there, hair a mess and little round metal-and-glass things down to the end of his nose. The hated man spoke the hated word that the siren had been given as a name. And he… had to answer, now.

Something in the magic had twisted inside his mind, and he knew he had had another name, a real name, but the magic had stolen it from him, taken the sound of his mother's voice whispering it in love away.

All he remembered now was that the human man called him Areyto.

The magic burned, a lick of fire just beneath his jaw, and he winced, closing his eyes as the obedience was compelled. “Ye-es…” He managed, voice still hoarse from his earlier screaming. “Master?"

His captor’s smile widened, and Areyto felt sick at the sight of it, slick like the whale oil that sometimes they found in shipwrecks, dirtying his skin like the black rocks they burned in their metal cooking things.

“I can’t imagine I’ll tire of that,” His captor said, cheerfully. “What a rush, to be called what I am by what belongs to me. What is mine." The siren understood only bits and pieces, but he understood enough, and let his eyes drop back down to the water he sat in. His captor either didn’t notice or didn’t care - he kept talking.

He never stopped talking.

In his dream, Areyto thought, he would rip the man's tongue out first.

His captor chuckled. "Can’t sleep either, huh? I understand entirely. We had an eventful day. I keep thinking about it… thinking about what we’re going to do together. A thousand years… we could do anything. I could do anything. Imagine what I could become with a thousand years of knowledge built up, with all that power and influence. A thousand years of knives being unable to penetrate my organs, of no weapon able to murder me.”

He stepped into the room.

Areyto fought the urge to cringe away from him, trying to hold still and seem unmoved, unafraid, when panic beat inside his chest like a seabird’s frantic wings. He could not escape this, no matter what happened. There was no way to cover himself enough from the human man's filthy smile and glittering eyes.

He listened as his captor stepped closer, and then closer again. He could feel the heat coming from him when he stood beside the washing-tub. His nose wrinkled at the smell of sweat.

Areyto did not look up.

He was afraid the tears would begin again if he did.

With effort he held perfectly still even when his captor touched his hair, disgust like insects crawling from the roots down the back of his neck, his very nerves desperate to hide away and escape from the way fingers scratched his scalp and twisted into the curls.

His captor pulled and the siren’s head was forced back until it knocked into the metal side of the tub, looking up at the human man. Those eyes, behind the glass and metal, shone with ugly triumph.

And… something much worse. Something he recognized only because the man looked at him like that over and over again.

“Out,” His captor ordered - and the buzz of magic moved the siren’s body for him as he found himself standing, stepping out of the washing-tub that was his only hint of safety here, looking down at the ground to avoid the way his captor’s awful eyes moved up and down his body. There was a desire to his expression that was terrible in a way Areyto didn’t yet understand… but he knew to fear.

“Kneel,” His captor commanded in a whisper.

Areyto dropped to his knees, shuddering when that hand with its heavy weight was again in his hair, resting on top of his head, rubbing his thumb between his dark curls. He kept his eyes on the ground and tried to remember his dream about the moon falling into the ocean, the thousands of evil humans swept to their deaths for he and his kind to feast upon.

This man would die slow, and in agony.

“Say, ‘yes master,” His captor ordered, voice thickened. "Say it for me."

Areyto fought not to, but pain burst in a sudden burn down his back and he groaned, shuddering, unable to fight the agony for long. “Y-... yes, Master,” He whispered, hoarsely rasping hated words. Once he obeyed, the pain vanished all at once.

Where it had been, though, there was something hollowed out inside. A sickly self-loathing, a seed taking root that would only ever grow.

His captor smiled, fingers sliding down to take the siren’s chin in hand, tipping it up until their eyes met. His captor was flushed, breathing more heavily, and he stepped closer. It would take so little, the siren thought as the man’s thumb pushed into his mouth and pressed against his tongue, to bite him.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t do anything at all but taste salt and skin and hold still as his mouth was forced open, tongue pressed down, before his captor let go and let him look away.

“You have a lovely face,” His captor said, and Areyto didn’t know the words very well but he knew there was something hideous in the way the man formed the sounds. “It’s too bad you weren’t a female siren, isn’t it? Terrible waste of such beauty. I guess you need a male siren for some sailors, that makes sense, but why could I not have caught a female one? Seems like a ghastly joke, doesn't it?"

The siren, looking towards the window just to try to wash himself clean with the moon, swallowed around the nervous heart beating in his throat. When he saw the way his captor’s eyes dropped to watch his neck shift with the motion, he wished that he hadn’t.

His captor sighed, wistfully, crouching slowly down with a grunt of effort. “I suppose it’s not like anyone else would ever know… You can’t tell them. You wouldn’t even know who to tell or what to say. Besides, you’re not even actually a man, either, are you? Wait. No, Gilly,” He muttered to himself, “No, that line of thought is much much worse. You’re overthinking it. It’s yours, now, and who’s to tell you what to do or not do with your own things? Might as well be my own hand." He met the siren’s eyes, with a smile thick and heavy on his skin, a smile like a hand around his neck. “Besides… you really are too beautiful to waste. I know what I promised Beibei, but…” He trailed off, swallowed hard, moving his fingers to graze along the siren’s jaw and watch him shiver. “She won’t know, will she?”

His captor paused, as if waiting for a response. When the siren only stared at him, he sighed and pushed himself to standing.

Then he backhanded the siren across the face.

Areyto hadn’t expected it, and was thrown to the side, landing hard with one arm bent wrong beneath him, a bright flash of pain. He cried out, but before he could push himself back up those thick fingers were back in his hair, pulling him by his scalp along the floor, through the doorway, into the bigger room.

His cheek hurt where the man had been wearing a ring that had torn skin open, hot blood dripping down his face and onto the floor. He managed to scramble onto his hands and knees, half-crawling and half-dragged along, until he was shoved, and then kicked, and his ribs joined his other pains as he came to a stop and found himself staring at the big human bed in a room that had little else in it.

He didn’t know much about how humans lived - only what he had learned in his time imprisoned here, and what could be gleaned from swimming through the shipwrecks after he and his mother and sisters had eaten the sailors. He didn’t know why the man had brought him in here.

But he knew enough to miss his time alone in the metal tub of water. At least that prison had been a solitary one.

Tears burned hot, blurring his vision. He could hold them back no longer. When he hitched out a sob, his captor gave a shuddering exhale behind him, making a groaning sound that Areyto understood too well, with a new fear that broke like a cold wave against his back and into his chest.

“Listen to you,” The man murmured. “I’m going to enjoy this. And if I want you to… so will you. Isn't that something..."

His foot pressed into the siren’s back, forcing him down onto the cold stone floor until he could barely breathe for the weight on his spine. It felt like having the rope around his neck again as he clawed at the floor but found no help there, no rescue.

No way out.

“Beautiful,” His captor whispered. “You’re mine, aren’t you? Really mine. Say ‘yes, master.’”

Areyto pressed his forehead against the stone, the words coming obediently from a throat that no longer belonged to him. He couldn’t hold them back. “Yes… m-master.”

The man’s foot briefly left, but then was replaced by the weight of his body, sitting over Areyto’s lower back, one hand between his shoulder blades and the other gripping into his hair, forcing his head back. “Don’t hide from me. Say it again.”

“Yes…” He gasped - wanted to fight, but felt the threat of the agony returning in the symbol on his neck. Tears stung the cut on his face. “Yes, m-... master-”

His captor groaned again, and it felt like the sound was right beside his ear. He felt the man’s hot damp breath on him and would have begged for mercy, if he could, but those words weren’t allowed to him now.

“Again,” His captor demanded, yanking on his hair so hard his scalp burned, fingernails digging into his back. “Say it again!"

Areyto's wail went from nearly a whisper to something sharper and loud when he felt a tongue move up his neck over the marks that branded and caged him, hot and wet and repulsive. “Yes-... ye-es… master!”

“Again.” His captor’s voice was rough, and he pulled away but then his tongue was replaced by his hands closing around the siren’s neck, grip tightening in a sickeningly familiar feeling.

Spots danced before the siren’s vision, the world spun. He tried to obey, but had to fight for every single searing gasp for air.

His captor moved against his back. “I said say it again.”

“Yes…” Areyto’s chest heaved, his lungs burned. There was nothing to fill them with, and it took the last air he had to finish the words. “M-... m-ah-... master-”

“Good. Again.”

His captor’s grip tightened.

“Y-... yes-... M-...” He couldn’t finish. The moon moved behind a cloud. Even the goddess hid from her child's fear and shame.

Areyto fell tumbling into the mercy of the dark.

-

Taglist: @burtlederp  @finder-of-rings  @theelvishcowgirl  @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump  @bloodinkandashes  @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump

Covers @whumptober prompts 10, 11, and 12

[yonbwekh]

Whumptober day 13

(sorry its late I was tired and didn't know what to do for this one)

Prompt: multiple Whumpees (not using main prompt I had no ideas)

"Whumpee 2!?" Exclaims Whumpee as Whumpee 2 is dropped limply onto the floor of their shared holding cell, crashing to the floor. They weakly raise themselves and sit against the wall next to a horrified Whumpee. "What.. Happened..?" Whumpee asks, their voice low but instead answered by another voice they know all too well.

"The exact same that's about to happen to you~" Whumper giggles and grabs a struggling Whumpee by the hair and wrenches them to their feet and out of the cell despite Whumpee 2's albeit weak protest.

[one-piece-aus]

Could I get brook for #12 for brook from the whumptober list?

Yes, of course! This one took an unexpected turn while writing but hey, I think y'all earned it after the few angsty ones

Whumptober Day 12

Brook x Reader

Warning: talk of boobs and panties (This is Brook so he had to ask the question)

I swear I did not mean for the first half to be so cracked but it just came out that way

"Ah- what the fuck!" You fell against the garbage bins behind you. Now sitting on the ground, you could only look up in horror at the animated skeleton in front of you.

He ceased playing the eerie music on his violin and leaned down, his face too close for comfort. Shivers danced down your spine as his eyeless sockets stared into your orbs.

"My my, what a lovely young lady you are," he spoke, and you would've screamed if horror hadn't taken your voice.

You heard the rumours and read the creepypastas about a skeleton roaming the streets late at night, playing an eerie melody that summons fog to obscure what he does to his victims. Another story made up to get internet views or scare kids away from the streets at night, and you figured if the creepypasta is true, the skeleton wouldn't be walking around a lit-up downtown city. Horror shit like that only happens in small towns or the suburbs, or so you believed, 'cause here he is, leaning over you.

"What- what do you want, man- skeleton- whatever you are?" Part of you hoped and prayed this was some sort of Halloween prank a couple of sick kids were playing.

"May I see-" He leaned further down and made the back of your head kiss the ground. "Your panties?"

"...No?" You didn't intend for it to sound like a question, you were just confused why he would ask that. It's too innocent to be threatening yet too raunchy to be a joke. Is he a virgin?

The skeleton stared, leaning over you. With no facial features, you couldn't tell if he was mad or unamused. The unknown fuels the fear spinning in your mind-

"Okay, apologizes for interrupting your stroll." He stood up straight and tipped his hat. "Carry on with your evening miss." The skeleton turned and began walking away, leaving you in shock.

"Wha...what the fuck- what the fuck just happened?" You sat there trying to process the last 5 minutes and you noticed the skeleton turning the corner. "Ayo! Wait up!" You scrambled onto your feet to catch up to him.

"Hm?" He turned to you. "Do you wish to join me in an evening stroll-"

"You can't just say that shit to people."

"...I don't think it's unusual to ask someone if they want to walk together-"

"Not that bonehead. The- The panty thing, you don't say shit like that and act all nonchalant afterwards!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"HUH?"

"Don't 'huh?' me! I'm the normal one here!"

"If you don't mind me asking, what's unusual about asking a lady to see her panties?" He tilted his head, displaying his curiosity.

"Well- it's just- it makes no sense, I mean- pervy boys would ask to see boobs instead and disgusting men would order for the panties to be taken off, what they do after depends if they're a virgin or not-"

"Well, that's just rude!"

"Huh?" Now the confusion is on your face.

"You don't demand a lady to take her panties off! Where I come you ask a lady to see her panties first, it's the gentlemanly thing to do."

You scoff hearing the word gentleman, "Where do you come from, the 19th century?"

"The 16th century, why?"

You almost hit the floor hearing that response. "No reason, it's just no one really talks about being or acting like a gentleman these days."

"That is unfortunate."

"You can say that again," you muttered thinking of the weird shit males say now thanks to memes on the internet.

"What is your name, if I may ask?" He bowed with his hat in his hand.

"Oh- it's [Y/n]."

"Well, miss [Y/n]-" he placed the hat back on his head. "Would care to join me for an evening stroll?" The skeleton asked, offering his arm.

You stared at his gesture, unsure if you wanted to accept it. What were you even doing out here talking to a skeleton? Your mind is probably making all this shit up because to haven't let it go to sleep in days. Ah, fuck it, it's not like you'll be going to sleep anytime soon. You held onto his boney arm, allowing him to lead your stroll.

"Hey... do you have a name?" You inquired, still wondering if this is real or not.

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, how rude of me, I'm so embarrassed," he apologized with a little slump in his posture. For something you were terrified of moments ago, you couldn't see why anymore with how lively he's being. "My name is Brook, known as the humming swordsman and musician of the Strawhat Pirates."

"You were a pirate?"

"Indeed I was, although that was many years ago."

"Can you tell me about your adventures?" A small sparkle in your eye, and who was Brook to say no to a lovely lady?

So the skeleton shared his tales of adventuring on the grand seas, speaking highly of all his crew members and the feats they've accomplished. His joyful memories he told showed how wonderful the crew was and how fond he was of them. You wished you could meet them, or at least people like them.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, [Y/n]." Brook stopped walking and handed you his handkerchief.

"No, I'm alright Brook, it's just very beautiful." You took his handkerchief and wiped your eyes. "They sound like- like lovely friends. Here..." You gave the item back and the two of you continued walking.

"[Y/n], I have a question that's been lingering on my mind since the moment I met you."

"What is it?"

"Why are you up this late at night?" It was an innocent question, yet the concerned tone behind it made you wish he didn't ask.

"Many people are up at this hour, it's not unusual to see someone around here this late." You avoided eye contact, finding the glowing city buildings to be a better sight.

"But you're tired..." Brook pointed out. "Your body is clearly exhausted and your eyes appear as if they haven't rested in days. Tell me, when was the last time you slept?"

"I haven't slept in days but who's counting?"

"It's not good for you to deprive yourself of sleep, [Y/n]."

"You make it sound like it's easy to get some sleep..." you muttered. "If it was that easy, I'd be in bed by now, but it's not... you wouldn't get it."

"Do you have insomnia?"

"How did you know?" You were surprised he even knew the term.

"Heh," He smiled at your shocked face before explaining. "Before I met the Strawhats, I had what you called insomnia. I spent days staring up at foggy skies, left alone with my thoughts, unable to sleep, though I suppose it didn't have any effect on my body since I'm only just bones. The only times I fell asleep were when I played the violin too long, I always fell down because I did it while standing, not the best way to wake up." He chuckled.

"Do you think... you could play the violin for me?"

"Of course." Brook smiled softly and pulled out his violin. "Anything for you, my lady."

Tag @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[hywenhei]

STARVATION: Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

CW: Starvation

Whumpee and Caretaker are stuck inside a small air pocket in a collapsed underground cavern. Unfortunately, Whumpee has their leg trapped underneath a boulder, and shifting it off would bring the whole shaft of rock down on them. All Caretaker can do is soothe Whumpee as best as they can while hoping for rescue...

"Shh, it's ok, it's ok. I know it hurts, Whumpee, but it'll just take a little more time for them to come, ok? Just a little more."

Whumpee was starved for most of their captivity, and so, tries to wolf down ever piece of food they can get their hands on in recovery. It hurts Caretaker to have to restrain Whumpee, but they can't risk losing them to Refeeding Syndrome.

Whumpee has come to associate food with pain and nausea due to their experiences with Whumper, and struggles to eat even one meal once out of the hospital. When Caretaker comes around to visit, Whumpee fights to stay awake long enough to fool them into thinking everything is fine. But their head is spinning and there are black spots dancing across their vision, and oh, maybe it would be better if they just... rested here for a bit...

if you saw a version of this post where the prompt list was hidden under a cut, no you didn't <3. hope you enjoyed the prompt list and see you for day 13!!

future swiss here: by the time this goes out, it will be my birthday!! another year of living feels good :]

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Whumptober Day 11 + Day 12 + Day 26

Day 11: SEEING DOUBLE | Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.”

Day 12: STARVATION | Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

Day 26: NIGHTMARES | Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.”

Whumptober Prompts List | Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1200

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: missing person, found footage, lost, separated, darkness, parting words regret, mystery, supernatural occurrence, running, screaming, implied death

----------

The detective stared at the phone on his desk. It was unremarkable, with a light blue case, a crack in the lower left-hand corner, fingerprints highlighted by the dust from the cave where it had been found, abandoned, the battery dead. After bringing it back and taking fingerprints and dust samples, all that was left was to charge it.

It finished its start-up sequence, showing the lock screen, a photo of a field of flowers at sundown. The detective hesitantly swiped up on the lock screen, expecting a password or code. Instead, the phone opened, showing a home screen that was a selfie of a woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with a couple other people the same age. The phone’s owner, presumably, and some friends.

He tapped on the messaging app. All the recent messages were from three days ago. The phone wouldn’t have had any signal in the caves, it was likely the young woman had been using it for pictures or video. The most recent message was from a contact named “Hannah”.

---

You (1:54): I’m going to the intermediate cave it looks like.

You (1:54): It goes as deep as the hard caves, but it’s not as claustrophobic.

You (1:54): The guide seems to know what he’s doing, which is good at least.

Hannah (1:55): Cool.

Hannah (1:55): Call me when you get out?

You (1:55): Will do.

You (1:56): I’ll send some pics and video and stuff

Hannah (1:58): 👍

Hannah (4:17): Hey, you out yet?

Hannah (4:17): The intermediate cave is only an hour and a half

Hannah (4:18): I’d love to see those pics

Hannah (4:21): Hello?

—Missed call from Hannah at 4:25 p.m.—

Hannah (4:25): Jessi this isn’t funny

Hannah (8:52): I’m calling the police

---

The detective frowned and jotted down Hannah’s phone number. If she’d known this young woman, Jessi, had gone to the caves, perhaps she’d filed a missing person’s report when she didn’t come back? Or perhaps Jessi had simply lost her phone during the spelunking trip. Still best to check the records.

The camera roll yielded more promising results. A few pictures of the cave formations lit by flashlights, some of Jessi and a few other spelunkers, nothing too out of the ordinary. But the most recent item in the camera roll was a fifteen-minute-long video that appeared to have been filmed in complete darkness.

The detective turned the volume up and pressed play.

Silence. No, not quite silence. Ragged breathing, coming from somewhere nearby.

“I… I got separated from the group.” Jessi’s voice shook, as if she was on the verge of tears. “I don’t know how… there was really only one way to go… and we were starting to head back. And then… and then they were all gone….

“It’s so dark. I didn’t have a flashlight. I don’t… I don’t wanna drain my phone battery any further, I’m already sapping it by taking this video.”

She chuckled derisively. “I don’t even know why I’m taking this video. Maybe just to talk, and have something listen, even if it’s just a microphone. Maybe if I… if I don’t make it out of here… this is so my friends and family can have something.

“Hannah… I’m sorry I never got to send those pictures. I’m sorry we had that fight, and I want you to know I don’t hate you for what you said in the heat of the moment.

“Mom, Dad, I love you so very, very, very much. I’m so sorry you had to lose your only daughter this way.

“I’m trying to be optimistic here. If I stay put, eventually the guide or someone else in the group will realize I’m missing and they’ll come back for me. I guess I could just make my way back up the cave… but I honestly don’t know which way is which. I might get farther and farther away.”

Jessi trailed off and stood in the darkness for a few minutes.

“I’m scared,” she said, “I never thought… I never thought this was how I’d die. I just… I feel so alone down here, so deep underground. Just the complete absence of other living things… only rock and water and darkness. And me.”

She blew out a long, slow breath. “Ugh… now that I say that, the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. You ever get that feeling of being watched? It’s stupid. Maybe it’s just having the phone recording.”

Another few beats of silence.

“I want to get out of here. So badly. I can yell for help, but I don’t know how far my voice’ll carry. I can’t phone or text anyone, I don’t have any service. Maybe Hannah’ll notice? It’s a good thing I told her which cave. I just hope she’ll realize in time. I just need to wait a little bit more.”

More silence.

Then: “Hello? Is anyone there? I can hear your footsteps.”

Footsteps echoed as Jessi moved towards the sound she heard. The phone hadn’t picked up any audible noise, or it was so faint the detective missed it. “Hello?” she repeated. “Please, I got separated from the group. I need help.”

Jessi fumbled with her phone, and the flashlight suddenly turned on, revealing the stone floor. The camera whipped up to point down the corridor, illuminating only a few feet before the cave curved out of sight. She pointed it the other way, revealing an almost endless corridor in the other direction.

She gasped softly and stepped back. “Who are you?”

The detective squinted at the phone screen. No one else was there, but Jessi certainly acted otherwise. She backed up until she made it around the curve and whatever she supposedly saw was out of sight.

Then she turned and ran.

The video became a confusing blur of gleaming stone, darkness, and the occasional flash of blue jeans, the audio coming in and out. “Help!” she screamed, “—lease! Hel—me!”

Crack.

The phone clattered to the floor, the audio becoming pure static for a few precious seconds. It landed face-down, the camera only showing a blurry close-up of the floor. For a moment after, everything was still.

And Jessi screamed. It lasted for two long, agonizing seconds before it was suddenly cut off.

Silence.

The video ended.

The detective stared at the phone for a long time, trying and failing to come up with a logical conclusion. Had she encountered someone in the caves, someone who'd chased after and killed her? That would be the logical explanation. But the complete lack of another person in the camera frame, presumably in the direction she had been looking right before she fled….

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

The detective’s eyes fell on Hannah’s phone number. Jessi’s friend and parents would want to see the video, even if it was of her last moments, even if it didn’t make sense. The video would need to get copied and downloaded to the database first as evidence, along with any other photos and files that might offer clues. Then check for the missing person report filed by Hannah. Then get in contact.

This was going to be a long afternoon.