whumpedydump - Tumblr blog

whumpedydump · 20 hours ago

Text

Nathan

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Forty-five

(tw [all only discussed, not on screen]: murder, death, staged suicide, dubcon impregnation, familial abuse) [Previous | Masterpost | Next]

No actual whump this one, just backstory and angst - sorry!

This house seemed to breathe, dragging in howling wind and exhaling out like a plume of smoke from a courtesan cigar. It was easier to hear at night. The life in this place.

Ethan could never quite decide if it was eerie or comforting, but either way, the soul was there. How many people had died in this house, he wondered? Maybe it wasn’t really the heads, but just the years themselves showing their footprints over the foundation. The way the rose-carved staircase creaked when your sole pressed against the grain. The house was more than strong enough to hold the weight, only offering a sigh at the effort it took to keep him up as he walked, pristine and honorable in its age. Or, maybe it was the ghosts trapped inside that made it seem so alive.

Either way, Ethan never felt alone at night - no matter how silent the echoes in the room nor how loudly the storm beat against the windows.

He slept with the curtains open now. He hadn’t at first, but after a while, the moon’s pale glow was comforting to him. No one was outside for miles to see him and the windows fell on either side of the king-sized bed, narrow enough that he couldn’t see outside from his pillow. He felt protected there, nestled in the blind spot while watching the shadows of oaks dancing in the starlight across the carpet. Climbing up the baseboards. Swirling and flashing in the darkness against the door of his closet.

Ethan’s closet. He hadn’t had one of those before. He didn’t know what to do with it at first besides stare at it and resist the urge to crawl inside and hide from the world in the cool, pressing safety of the small space. Maybe sleep would come easier in there. Ethan never tried it, not wanting to feel so helpless that he couldn’t sleep in the bed. That seemed weak and small. Like admitting defeat.

Tonight, Ethan was lying awake, watching lightning splatter shadows across the wall - counting the seconds before it grumbled through the base of the house. The bed seemed both too hot and too cold, blankets flipped over him only to be shoved aside again and again. Back and forth. Restless and unnerved by the empty night.

Through the echoes of the storm and the stillness of the house, footsteps wandered through the hall. Ethan’s head tilted to free both his ears from the pillow’s suffocation to listen. As they grew further away, it was harder to hear, but he did note the sound of the stairs before it was quiet again. Perhaps ten more minutes of storm and rain before a distant and muddy few piano chords wafted through the house.

Ethan often wondered if all rich people sent their kids to piano lessons, or just the stupidly rich like Nate’s family. Then again, this house wouldn’t suggest ‘stupidly rich’. It was on the higher end of upper middle class, but not unattainable. Nate’s car blended in as well. Yet, he’d bring home random pieces of art which cost several million dollars at auction, then set them somewhere in the house where they wouldn’t be in the way, letting them blend in with the rest of the decor.

Regardless, Nate must have had a lot of piano lessons. Even muffled through the distance, Ethan could tell the instrument was being played beautifully. He used to lie on his cot in the basement, staring up at the ceiling and listening to that piano. From what he could tell, his little cell was directly under the conservatory where the piano rested. It was unsettlingly peaceful to know that his tormentor was so close, yet not touching him. Perhaps ten feet away - through boards and insulation and terra cotta tiles. Yet, as long as those fingers were pulling listless melodies from the keys, they couldn’t be touching Ethan. Nate may as well be a world away while he’s at the piano.

What scratched at Ethan’s mind the most, however, was the kind of music. Nate was an angry man. Furious, most of the time. It didn’t show very often. He kept himself pinned back and proper, even when he was abusing Ethan. He’d wear a smile and crack jokes - rarely lashing out when Ethan pushed too far. Ethan only really heard that fury in his music. Heated and clanging notes hit with precision would rapidfire scream through the house so often Ethan wondered how long a piano could possibly stay in tune when beaten like that on a daily basis.

When Nate’s anger subsided - usually after spending time in the basement workshop - his music would soften into wailing melancholy. Ethan would pretend it was his own body singing the songs of the piano, lying in a puddle of blood and ache.

But Nate wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t too broken to even get up onto his cot. Why would his heart scream like that?

Either way, Ethan used to love listening to what Nate played. But tonight he was a free man. And free men can get out of bed, wander down the halls, move down the stairs, step through the darkness, and stand in the doorway, watching Nathaniel Arden Walker VI sway to the rhythm of the music - alone in the darkness and the storm outside the all-encompassing windows.

The notes fumbled to an abrupt stop as Nate flinched back - then melted into a laugh. “Jesus- fuck, E - how long have you been standing there-??”

“..just got here.” Ethan stepped inside, immediately wishing he’d have put on socks. The tile floor leeched away his warmth even more quickly than the cold night air. At least he had a hoodie for that, though.

“Good- announce yourself next time, ya’ fuckin’ creep.”

Ethan stepped to the wall, flicking on the light.

Nate groaned, hand shielding his eyes. “Ewww- gross, whyyyyyy-???”

“Do you always sit in the dark out here?”

Nate’s nose scrunched up. “Sometimes.”

“You can’t even see the music.”

Nate gestured to the spot on the piano that usually holds the music (Ethan made a mental note to look up what the word for that was). It was empty. “No music. I kinda just play.”

“..those aren’t even real songs?”

“Nah, I get bored trying to stick to one. It’s easier to just make it up as you go.”

Ethan…had a feeling that was a lie. It seemed impossibly difficult to him to play at all - much less write music as you go. “You don’t ever write it down?”

Nate shrugged, turning to face Ethan and criss-crossing his legs up on the bench. “Bold of you to assume I remember jack shit once I’ve played it. And composition is hard.”

“I can imagine.” Imagine that it’s hard, that is. Ethan couldn’t even begin to fathom what composing looked like.

“My mom used to, though. She’d write everything out in her head and put it on paper before she even played it. Then she’d go through and make changes and scribble out the notes - put in new ones. It never made any sense to me.” By the end of the sentence, his eyes had drifted to an ornately framed family photo that hung on the wall near the door.

Ethan’s eyes scanned it. A man in his 40s or so who looked so much like Nate stood in the back. A woman with soft eyes and black hair sitting in a chair - posed elegantly. To her side, a child with Nate’s blond waves and blue eyes stood with the father’s hand on his shoulder - not quite smiling for the camera. The three were posed in front of a wall of blooming ivy that Ethan recognized from the garden outside.

“You were a cute kid,” Ethan offered.

Nate blinked hard, looking at Ethan almost in confusion. “I-.....that’s n-....” He took a deep breath and nodded to the picture. “That’s…actually not me.”

Ethan frowned, looking up to the picture again. “Oh- sorry, it just looks l-”

“I know. I know, we… yeah.” He turned to the piano again, fingers finding keys and rolling through a few chords.

Ethan’s frown pinched a bit tighter as he surveyed the photo - then Nate. “..that’s not your dad, right?”

“No- I mean, yeah - he’s in the-” SIGH. He turned to point. “The man’s my father. Nathaniel Arden Walker the Fifth. Aaand that’s my mom. Eden.” Ethan didn’t miss how his voice softened at her turn. “The kid… that would be my brother.” Back to piano.

“Oh. I.. didn’t know you have a brother.”

“Had,” Nate corrected gently, stepping through the chords again.

Well he walked right into that, didn’t he? Stupid. So fucking stupid. “..I’m sorry.”

Nate shrugged, still not looking at Ethan as he started a simpler melody. “It’s alright. I never knew him.”

So not as big of a fuckup as he expected that to have been. Nice!..? Probably. Still, it’s polite to stay solemn. “..what was his name?”

Nate breathed a laugh. “What a great question.”

“..what, you don’t know?”

Nate’s head shook dismissively. “Nah, that’s not it. It’s just- It’s incredibly stupid.”

“..his name is stupid?” It couldn’t be that bad.

“No- that’s not what I mean. He j- I’m-” He huffed some ‘Nate is frustrated’ air - Ethan was starting to learn all his little tells - and shifted the melody.

“His name was Nathan,” he eventually supplied.

..what the fuck was up with this family? “..but you’re Nathan.”

The music missed a beat before continuing. “I’m Nate. My brother was Nathan. My father was Nathaniel.”

“..they made you match?”

“No-” the music was speeding up slightly. “He died in a car accident when he was sixteen. But my dad wanted someone to carry on the family name. So they had me to replace him and gave me the same name. Like they’d just hit rewind or something and nothing ever happened.”

Ethan was..silent. Which wasn’t abnormal - but it was abnormal for him to simply not have any idea what to say.

Nate waited a few seconds, then evidently moved on. “It’s fucked up, I know.”

Ethan lowered himself into one of the wicker chairs. Not like he can walk out of the room after that bombshell. He’s an ass, but not that much of an ass. “..sixteen years is a big age gap.”

“Eighteen, technically. It took them a long time to get pregnant again. A lot of time, pills, and surgeries.” The music was picking up again.

“..how old were they?”

“What, when I was born?”

“Yeah.”

“Mom was forty-eight. So he must have been..fifty one? Yeah.”

“..that’s pretty late.”

“Yup,” He popped the p. “It broke her. All the pills and the stress. I don’t remember a time when she could walk. And each year she was alive, she just got.. Less. Weaker and smaller and more fatigued - because he just had to have Nathan back.”

“..that’s awful-”

“Yeah. He made it very clear how much of a disappointment I was compared to Nathan.” The music trilled to a stop, and Nate tucked his hands under his thighs. “..sorry. I’m trauma-dumping.”

Ethan shook his head, even though Nate couldn’t see it. “..it’s fine. Is your mom…?”

“...she passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. She- …was genuinely the only good thing about my family.”

“I wish I could have met her.”

Nate laughed, finally turning to look at Ethan again. “Yeah? Well I’m glad she didn’t meet you - not under these circumstances, anyway. She wouldn’t exactly approve of my lifestyle.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Nate dragged in a long breath, looking to the picture one more time. “..what about you? Do you know anything about your parents?”

Nate had asked before - years ago - though Ethan wasn’t really in a state to give information. He always figured Nate would work it out of him eventually, but he escaped before that could happen. But this felt..different. He didn’t feel like entertainment or a clinical study subject right now.

“..you know those little baby boxes they put in the side of hospitals? So you can kinda just dump kids in there if you don’t want them?”

“..you were one of those, huh?”

“Yup. Didn’t get a name until I was like five months along.”

“..shit, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it’s fine. I just wish they’d have picked a better one.”

“Ever think of changing it?”

“Do you think about changing yours?”

Nate smirked over at him. “..no. I should want to, huh?”

“Maybe. I dunno. I just haven’t found something else that feels right, so I stuck with Ethan.”

“That’s as good as anything until you find something else you actively want. Better to run toward something than away from something, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Nate evidently didn’t have a response for that, so Ethan had to go and make it weird again like the idiot he was. “..is your father still alive..?”

“Oh fuck no. He survived for about a week after my mom passed. I shot him in the temple and typed up a suicide note for him.”

The rain seemed so loud when it was the only sound in the room. A clap of thunder helped it along.

“..sorry, I can’t tell if you’re j-”

“No,” Nate cut him off. “I’m actually completely serious about that.” He looked back to Ethan again. “You’re the first person I told, actually… that was kinda nice.”

“I’d imagine.” Ethan looked to the picture again. The man in the photo had the same punchable face as Nate but without the smile. He half expected to feel sorry for the murdered man, but he felt nothing. “Did he know about your basement activities?”

“..huh-? Oh, no- no, this shit didn’t start until after he was gone. He was my first, I guess. I was kinda hoping the urges would stop when he was dead - like it was tied to him or something? But nope. Didn’t change at all. So I kinda just let myself start having fun with it instead of shoving it all down.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, pushing up to standing. “You’re so fucked up.”

“Me??” Nate laughed, swiveling on the bench to watch Ethan go. “You’re the one who currently had a man beaten half to death in the basement.”

“Yeah.” Ethan stretched, willing the tired ache away from his muscles. “I can’t sleep so I think I’m gonna go finish him up now.” He took a step toward the door. “..do you wanna join?”

Nate perked up. “..for the death?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh fuck yeah, I want in on it~!” Nate hopped up, bouncing on his toes as he grabbed Ethan’s arm. As if he was escorting that motherfucker.

Ethan peeled Nate off his arm, pushing back the urge to laugh as he shoved Nate to walk in front of him. “I’m not walking you there - you know the way.”

Nate laughed, not stumbling as he moved forward and walked backward up the hall toward the basement door. “Oh come on, you love it~”

“It’d be so easy to stab you right now.”

“Would not-!”

“It’s pitch black and you’re running out of hallway.”

“Yeah? Then why haven’t you stabbed me yet.”

“Dreaming about it’s enough for now.”

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

tags:

@prisonerwhump

@whumpawink

@wormwriting

@distinctlywhumpthing

@whump-cafe

@jo-doe-seeking-inspo

@azayta

@batfacedliar-yetagain

@there-will-always-be-blood

@siren-of-agony

@whumpworld

@deltaxxk

@whumpasaurus101

@pickywhumpreader

@whumpberry-cookie

@morning-star-whump

@nailevislev

@throwawaywhumper

@the-mourning-star

@d-cs @pigeonwhump

@suspicious-whumping-egg

@snakebites-and-ink

@whumpedydump

@whumplr-reader

@rainbowsandwhumperflies

@starfields08000

@crystallizedme

@lumpofsand

@taterswhump

@starsick1979

@neverthelass

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

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

#niceeee

19 notes · View notes

whumpedydump · 6 days ago

Text

Midian Prologue - Fullmoon (Preview)

There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights. - Van Helsing

Blood.

The smell of blood.

Something was wrong. Even if the smell had not hit her after opening the front door, she could feel it. Just as quietly as she had opened it, she closed the door behind herself, as she stepped inside, looking around cautiously. Her heart stopped when she had pushed the door to the corridor open, her eyes falling on the bloody, misshapen lump of flesh laying on the ground.

Mako.

Her knees buckled. The girl did not even notice the dark fluid staining her trousers, when her knees hit the ground. Her trembling hand reached out, not yet daring to touch the bloodied fur of her canine friend, fearing it would make her realize that this was not just a dream.

Finally, her fingers carefully touched the wet hair, her heart pounding painfully in her chest, both in grief for her friend, and in fear, dread clutching her chest. Her father was at home, which was quite the rare occasion, being on leave, and he should be inside. He might be able to defend himself against whom - or whatever had done this to Mako, but what about her mother and sister? What had happened to them?

She took a deep breath and looked back down at the dog again. She had no time to mourn her dearest friend, who had been there since she had been a child. She had to keep going. One last time she brushed his fur gently, before rising to a hunched posture to proceed, stepping over the body.

Into the deadly silent, suddenly cut voices, jeering laughter and bright, familiar shrieks.

Instinctively, she reached for something she might use as a weapon on the nearby cabinet, finding only a recklessly abandoned butter knife. It would have do.

She grabbed it, fingers wrapping tightly around the weapon, her knuckles turning white as she heard her little sister cry for help.

Her teeth gritted, pressed against the wall, she carefully peeked around the corner to see an image that seemed like a manifestation of nightmares come to life.

The door had been ripped off its hinges. Glass shards were shattered on the ground, furniture had been knocked over, blood had been sprayed over the whole interior and amidst the chaos laid two vaguely human shaped bodies, mangled and blood-stained - her parents, dead, their empty eyes staring at the ceiling, their mouths hanging half open standing testament of their gruesome deaths.

Six uniformed men, still sneering, held her sister down, who fought and begged for mercy, tears streaming down her cheeks, them too splattered with blood.

Hot, blinding fury cut through her, a red haze coming over her vision, as she tried to keep her tremor of anger in check. In one quick movement, she jumped out of her hiding spot and ran towards one of the man, slamming the knife into his neck, when he turned in surprise.

She felt the knife cutting through the man's skin, taking satisfaction in the sensation; consequences be damned.

But the man merely smirked maliciously, reaching out to grab her by her throat, throttling the girl as he yanked her off the ground with ease. His grip tightened, cutting off her oxygen supply, his laughter filling the room.

With gritted teeth, she reached for his wrists, crawling at them with his nail. His grip remained vice-like, while he hit hard her with his remaining hand, but she would not let go off him. He snarled angrily, revealing a set of sharp fangs, his eyes glowing crimson.

No humans had caused these monstrosities, destroyed their home and killed her parents and tormented her sister – it had been vampires.

The lack of oxygen made her skull throb and her vision dim. With her remaining strength, she attempted to kick the monster, only to be rewarded by a boot to the stomach in return, sending her flying through the room. A hard, painful impact, the back of her head hitting the wall. Then everything went black.

-----

( To be continued)

#ooooooooooooooooooooooo #lovely writing #amazing

8 notes · View notes