#do I care? not in the slightest

[whumblr]

Duct tape

Finally finished! Just don't have a cool title but whatev, this covers it.

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

-

“I bumped into your neighbour this morning and he looked like death warmed up – bit like you do now,” Zayne pointed at Jay, “only more sniffly and red-nosed – and he looked like he couldn’t wait to have an early night. So I thought, well, that kinda puts a damper on things, doesn’t it.”

Jay followed him pacing about, not liking one bit where this was going. Especially since he was hiding something behind his back.

“Because I had plans for tonight,” Zayne continued, “And I don’t want to drag him out of bed to come up here and see what kind of bondage evening we’re engaged in.”

Not liking this one bit!

He finally got both hands from behind his back to reveal a roll of duct tape.

“So I got us precaution.”

“I’ve got some very nice speakers that can easily drown out any screams,” Jay tried, gesturing at the speaker towers and feeling his life going down the drain for even making such a suggestion.

“No, Jay, come on, the man’s sick, you can’t boombox him out of bed like that. No, this should do fine.”

“Since when do you possess empathy? You’d totally blast me out of bed like that.”

“Don’t make this anymore kinky, now.”

Zayne snapped forward and by backing away, Jay effectively helped in his own tackle. He stumbled back where Zayne’s leg was waiting to give him that nudge and he lost balance. Two fists in his shirt pushed his world upside down and, just before he smacked down, held him up inches above the floor to lessen the blow.

Out of concern for the wrong person.

Zayne grinned down on him, and then abruptly dropped him.

The soft drop flat on his back still forced out the breath he’d been holding.

“Now be a good, considerate neighbour and let the man have his peace.”

“Let me have my pea—” Jay started, but Zayne dropped on top of him, punching out the remnants of that sentence in an oof!.

He flinched at the sound duct tape being unrolled and watched as Zayne cut a piece with his teeth and tore it off.

Zayne held it out in both hands and inched closer down to Jay with a smile that would make serial killers bristle with envy.

“No no no wait!” He stretched out his hands, resting one against Zayne’s shoulder to keep him at bay. This felt like being restrained. His one defence mechanism taken away. Not so much a physical defence. Heck, tie his hands and it wouldn’t make much of a difference, not like he can fight Zayne off or try to stop it. But his voice taken away, his only means to make it stop through begging, the one thing that would at least make him pretend he didn’t just take what was doled out, his one means of fighting back. No.

“Don’t make me tape up your hands as well.”

Jay abruptly pulled his hands back.

The constant whispered stream of “nononono”s turned to an indignant hum and Zayne forced the single strip over his mouth.

“Oh, yes,” Zayne crooned. He held Jay’s face gently in his hands, cupping his cheeks and swirling both thumbs over the duct tape, smoothing the wrinkles out and pressing it into his skin. “This really brings out your eyes.”

The fear in his eyes, most likely.

Because what on earth did Zayne have in mind that he had to tape his mouth shut, what on earth was he planning that would hurt so fucking much that he would scream until his neighbour would call the alarm number?! What on—

His mind screeched to a halt when Zayne pulled his knife from his pocket.

And Jay found himself conflicted. He felt his body relax, because usually he could handle the knife. He could hold back on his screams when Zayne was carving him up, as he was forced to hold back and not cut too deep. Then again, if he was going for the same old, then why did he—

He tensed up when Zayne reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. Eyes went wide and he whimpered high in his throat as he watched Zayne pull out a lighter.

“You did well with the electricity. Time to level up to see how you handle the heat.” He flicked the lighter open, eyes fixed on Jay’s.

Jay wanted to fully tell him how he would handle the heat: not well. He wanted to scream and explain in full detail how not well he would handle this so there’d be no need to actively test it out. He already had the answer! But all that left his throat were panicky moans and distressed groans.

And going by the eager look in Zayne’s eyes – and his preparations – he knew exactly how not well this was going to go. But still, he was eager to see if Jay could prove him wrong.

“Unbutton your shirt.”

For a split-second Jay was glad for the duct tape, because he was sure his lips would have trembled at this.

Shaky fingers moved down and Jay nudged up on his elbows, glancing up at Zayne for permission, to pull his button-up away from under him. He’d rather it didn’t get caught in a fire. For… more reasons than one; reasons that wouldn’t just make Zayne roll his eyes.

He reached down to pull out his tee, but a hand on his chest encouraged him back down and Zayne settled back over him.

He protested when the knife cut into his collar and slowly carved its way down, cutting the shirt open – carelessly nicking a bit of skin on his stomach – and he let the cotton fall to the side to expose Jay’s bare torso.

“Shh, you got tons of white t-shirts. Besides, this one will be ruined anyway, with blood and cuts. And maybe…”

Jay drew up in panic as the lighter flicked on with a soft tchk, backing down again when Zayne brought the little flame closer to his face. Then, with a soft hum, he lowered it to Jay’s abdomen and held it to the tattered fabric of his t-shirt.

Jay whimpered hard as the fabric caught in the flame. He flailed and moved to put it out, but Zayne caught his hands.

“Ah-ah,” he chastised, and watched Jay squirm, felt his hips buck against his knees, when the growing flame started nipping at his body.

Before it could grow to an uncontrollable size, Zayne squashed the flame out.

“Scary, hm?”

He scooted up a little, catching Jay’s waist in-between his knees.

“Don’t worry,” he crooned, “I’m not turning this into an open fire hazard.” And he raised the lighter, holding it under the blade.

Jay’s eyes went wide and he flinched at the little tchk and the little flame that popped up. He couldn’t keep his eyes off it, watching as Zayne held his knife above the flame. Zayne watched the flame with equal fascination, now slowly swirling the blade directly into the flame. His eyes snapped to Jay’s, catching every bit of fear as he turned the blade over.

He snuffed the little fire out and put the lighter back in his pocket. His now free hand rested over Jay’s wrist, pressing it painfully against the wooden floor.

Jay’s stomach tensed as the fiery blade teased down over his chest, u-turned under his belly button and moved back up over his abdomen. A path of uncomfortable, foreboding heat tingled over his skin, until Zayne held the knife over the side of his ribcage.

“No…” he tried. But with his lips firmly stuck together, he only managed to keep a distressed moan stuck in his mouth. The meaning was clear though and he hummed his protests, shaking his head.

The hand on his wrist tightened, knees settled firmly against his waist, ready for Jay to fly up.

And he pressed the flat of the blade abruptly over two ribs.

Jay howled. Best he could. His back arched and his body shot up, a full on somatic reflex to get away from the burning pain.

The hand on his wrist shot to his chest and Zayne leaned his full weight on him to keep him down. Jay took advantage and tried to claw at Zayne’s arm, to get him to back off. But Zayne didn’t let up; he blocked the flailing with his shoulder and used his full strength to keep Jay from fighting too hard and to keep the blade firmly against his skin.

His body writhed against Zayne’s legs, feet scrambling and attempting to kick off from under Zayne, a desperate attempt to squirm away. Panicked eyes shot to his ribcage.

His skin seared, it fucking sizzled. Pain burned through him, heat spread through his skin as if it too was trying to escape from under the blade, burning everything in its path.

Then after what felt like an eternity – but was more likely not longer than ten seconds –  Zayne ripped the blade away.

Jay’s shoulders fell back against the floor, his hands fell away from Zayne. Pain still lingered and crackled under the reddened skin, as if wanting to burst free. He breathed hard through his nose, taking long deep drags, unsuccessful in getting all his air back.

Luckily, Zayne gave him a small break to catch his breath. He let his palm hover over the burn. “Ooh, that’s hot. Like you absorbed all the heat.” He then let his fingers brush near the blade and hummed. “Well, not all of it. Once more.”

A groan of protest rose to something that would’ve been a screech if Jay’d been able to scream as the blade pressed over a new rib.

“Ah, see, that definitely would have woken someone up,” Zayne said with a wicked smile.

Well, now that he didn’t have to hold back anyway, Jay didn’t see any reason to not voice his pain. He squeezed his eyes shut against the biting pain. He twisted his body, trying to get away, but Zayne held him firmly in one place, caught a flailing hand and pinned painfully it under his knee.

“Careful, careful,” he muttered absentmindedly, as he pulled the knife away again.

Jay fell back, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. He felt like he was nearing a limit, his body languid and slow as it burned through all adrenaline. But Zayne wasn’t finished yet. And the throbbing, searing pain turned sharp.

A hot line rested over his shoulder, and suddenly the heat pressed into his skin.

The knife slid deep with ease; fire followed every micro-inch along the way. The blade probably wasn’t as hot as before, but against the sensitive open cut, every bit was too much.

Jay frantically shook his head. He tried to beg, but his sounds for “Please!” and “No!” all sounded alike, all mingling into the same distressed pained cries.

At this point, even without the duct tape and with him full on begging, he doubted that Zayne would stop. Going by that inquisitive hum and the glint in his eyes, Zayne wasn’t done yet.

Skin parted easily, again and again, deeper than usual. Zayne now probably also figured out that he wouldn’t have to hold back as usual with the tape muffling Jay’s screams. Or maybe that had been the point of all this? Maybe he hadn’t felt like holding back tonight.

Only after several hot cuts were carved into his chest, his shoulder, ripped through the sleeve of his shirt down his arm, until the blade lost most of its fiery touch, did Zayne finally sit back.

Blood seeped out from the wounds, but not freely, almost like it had to be squeezed out. Still, Jay tensed when a drop tickled down his ribcage over the sensitive irritated burns. Zayne wiped it away with the fabric of Jay’s cut shirt and the friction of cotton against the burn made Jay wince hard.

Zayne’s fingers teased over his cheek, almost affectionately as his palm turned up and he ran his knuckles lightly over his cheekbone. Then, finally signalling the end of this session, his fingers brushed down and he started picking at the duct tape.

“Slow? Or in one go? Rip it off and you wouldn’t have to shave tomorrow. Or for a while even, maybe. Bonus.”

Jay grit his teeth and hummed twice.

“One go?”

Another hum.

“Okeydokey.”

A scream was pulled free along with the tape.

Zayne snorted softly and twisted his lips to hide a smile.

“What?” Jay snarled in-between gasps of breath.

“Nothing, nothing.” He pushed himself off of Jay and got to his feet. “Go apply some lotion, or something. This shouldn’t scar but treat it well.”

Jay too scrambled to his feet and hurried to the bathroom, tearing out his first-aid kit. He hissed as he applied cool lotion to the two burns, but it also instantly brought a relief that his body had been waiting for. And his mind as well; it had been screaming for water, for something to cool the burns, for anything that would prevent this from scarring and infecting and--

He glanced up in the mirror and he saw why Zayne had to laugh. The skin around his mouth and across his cheeks was all irritated, red and wrinkly from that goddamn duct tape. The red stood out against his pale skin and crossed a path over his mouth. A single stripe that made him look like a permanently annoyed and unimpressed Joker.

A level of annoyance certainly was present, but he wasn’t unimpressed…

Leaning heavily on the sink he stared, almost a little detached, at the cuts, the blood, and the discoloured burns, all demanding his attention.

He just really wanted to crash. Follow Hank’s example and go for an early night.

And he would.

-

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98 @scribbelle

[jack-owo-valentine]

.

[starry-bi-sky]

i need to get this out of my head before i continue clone^2 but danny being the first batkid. Like, standard procedure stuff: his parents and sister die, danny ends up with Vlad Masters. He drags him along to stereotypical galas and stuff; Danny is not having a good time.

He ends up going to one of the Wayne Galas being hosted ever since elusive Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham. Vlad is crowing about having this opportunity as he's been wanting to sink his claws into the company for a long while now. Danny is too busy grieving to care what he wants.

And like most Galas, once Vlad is done showing him off to the other socialites and the like, he disappears. Off to a dark corner, or to one of the many balconies; doesn't matter. There he runs into said star of the show, Bruce who is still young, has been Batman for at least a year at this point, but still getting used to all these damn people and socializing. He's stepped off to hide for a few minutes before stepping back into the shark tank.

And he runs into a kid with circles under his eyes and a dull gleam in them. Familiar, like looking into a mirror.

Danny tries to excuse himself, he hasn't stopped crying since his parents died and it's been months. He rubs his eyes and stands up, and stumbles over a half-hearted apology to Mister Wayne. Some of Vlad's etiquette lessons kicking in.

Bruce is awkward, but he softens. "That's alright, lad," he says, pulling up some of that Brucie Wayne confidence, "I was just coming out here to get some fresh air."

There's a little pressing; Bruce asks who he's here with, Danny says, voice quiet and grief-stricken, that he's with his godfather Vlad Masters. Bruce asks him if he knows where he is, and Danny tells him he does. Bruce offers to leave, Danny tells him to do whatever he wants.

It ends with Bruce staying, standing off to the side with Danny in silence. Neither of them say a word, and Danny eventually leaves first in that same silence.

Bruce looks into Vlad Masters after everything is over, his interest piqued. He finds news about him taking in Danny Fenton: he looks into Danny Fenton. He finds news articles about his parents' deaths, their occupations, everything he can get his hands on.

At the next gala, he sees Danny again. And he looks the same as ever: quiet like a ghost, just as pale, and full of grief. Bruce sits in silence with him again for nearly ten minutes before he strikes a conversation.

"Do you like to do anything?"

Nothing. Just silence.

Bruce isn't quite sure what to do: comfort is not his forte, and Danny doesn't know him. He's smart enough to know that. So he starts talking about other things; anything he can think of that Brucie Wayne might say, that also wasn't inappropriate for a kid to hear.

Danny says nothing the entire time, and is again the first to leave.

Bruce watches from a distance as he intercts with Vlad Masters; how Vlad Masters interacts with him. He doesn't like what he sees: Vlad Masters keeps a hand on Danny's shoulder like one would hold onto the collar of a dog. He parades him around like a trophy he won.

And there are moments, when someone gets too close or when someone tries to shake Danny's hand, of deep possessiveness that flints over Vlad Masters' eyes. Like a dragon guarding a horde.

He plays the act of doting godfather well: but Bruce knows a liar when he sees one. Like recognizes like.

Danny is dull-eyed and blank faced the entire time; he looks miserable.

So Bruce tries to host more parties; if only so that he can talk to Danny alone. Vlad seems all too happy to attend, toting Danny along like a ribbon, and on the dot every hour, Danny slips away to somewhere to hide. Bruce appears twenty minutes later.

"I was looking into your godfather's company," he says one night, trying to think of more things to say. Some nights all they do is sit in silence. "Some of my shareholders were thinking of partnering up--"

"Don't."

He stops. Danny hardly says a word to him, he doesn't even look at him -- he's sitting on the ground, his head in his knees. Like he's trying to hide from the world. But he's looking, blue eyes piercing up at Bruce.

Bruce tilts his head, practiced puppy-like. "Pardon?"

"Don't." Danny says, strongly. "Don't make any deals with Vlad."

It's the most words Danny's spoken to him, and there's a look in his eyes like a candle finding its spark. Something hard. Bruce presses further, "And why is that?"

The spark flutters, and flushes out. Danny blinks like he's coming out of a trance, and slumps back into himself. "Just don't."

Bruce stares at him, thoughtful, before looking away. "Alright. I won't."

And they fall back into silence.

Danny, when he leaves, turns to look at Bruce, "I mean it." He says; soft like he's telling a secret, "Don't make any deals with him. Don't be alone with him. Don't work with him."

He's scampered away before Bruce can question him further.

(He never planned on working with Vlad Masters and his company; he's done his research. He's seen the misfortune. But nothing ever leads back to him. There's no evidence of anything. But Danny knows something.)

At their next meeting, Danny starts the conversation. It's new, and it's welcomed. He says, cutting through their five minute quiet, that he likes stars. And he doesn't like that he can't see them in Gotham.

Bruce hums in interest, and Danny continues talking. It's as if floodgates had been opened, and as Bruce takes a sip of his wine, it tastes like victory.

("Tucker told me once--") ("Tucker?") ("Oh-- uh, one of my best friends. He's a tech geek. We haven't talked in a while.")

(Danny shut down in his grief -- his friends are worried, but can't reach him. When he goes back to the manor with Vlad, he fishes out his phone and sends them a message.)

(They are ecstatic to hear from him.)

It all culminates until one day, when Danny is leaving to go back inside, that Bruce speaks up. "You know," He says, leaning against the railing. "The manor has many rooms; plenty of space for a guest."

The implication there, hidden between the lines. And Danny is smart, he looks at Bruce with a sharp glean in his eyes, and he nods. "Good to know."

The next time they see each other, Danny has something in his hands. "Can you hold onto something for me?" He asks.

When Bruce agrees, Danny places a pearl into his palm. or, at least, it's something that looks like a pearl. Because it's cold to the touch; sinking into Bruce's white silk gloves with ease and shimmering like an opal. It moves a little as it settles into his hand, and the moves like its full of liquid.

Bruce has never seen anything like it before, but he does know this; it's not human. "What is it?" He asks, and Danny looks uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you that." He says, shifting on his foot like he's scared of someone seeing it. "But please be careful with it. Treat it like it's extremely fragile."

When Bruce gets home, he puts it in an empty ring box and hides the box in the cave. He tries researching into what it is. he can't find anything concrete.

Everything comes to a head one day when Danny appears at the manor's doorstep one evening, soaking wet in the rain, and bleeding from the side.

[ghoulish-art-tendencies]

whatever

[beepborpdoodledorp]

brainrot doodles

[mysillyside]

The way I completely lose all interest in Lawlight as a ship if Light isn't Kira. And frankly, I feel like L would agree with me on this one. I don't think he'd gaf abt Light in the slightest if Light wasn't Mr. Serial Killer.

[crossdressingdeath]

In a lot of ways DAI is so funny if you're not playing an Andrastian. Like, it's super frustrating, but it's also hilarious just because so much of the game is predicated on Quiz having an Andrastian crisis of faith at some point, so if you're not Andrastian the lack of impact is amusing. You're told Andraste had nothing to do with your survival and everyone's clearly expecting you to be super broken up about this and you're just like "Cool, didn't think she did". Corypheus is like "The Maker is a lie" and you respond with "I agree wholeheartedly". There are so many points where DAI's emotional impact relies on Quiz having Andrastian beliefs that it all becomes really funny if they're just standing there going "Why should I be upset about the thing I've been saying from the start getting proved right".

[kyouka-supremacy]

Does Akutagawa mean nothing to you Atsushi

[elcucurucho]

cellbit’s rp experience is so so on display right now, like he’s got a clear idea where he wants to go with the character and he’s doing it in a way that opens up a million potential character conflicts and plot hooks and also in a way that gives the game masters material to work with in the larger narrative. he cares so much about keeping his cubito a complex multifaceted character and it SHOWS

[urlocalwhumper]

spy whumpee is discovered, and the enraged and betrayed people they were spying on take all their anger out on them, beating them bloody until they're practically holding onto life by a thread, then tossing them in a cell and leaving them for interrogation, if they don't die from their injuries first.

whumpee's squad back home begins to get concerned after whumpee doesn't give them their daily update. they send whumpee a message of their own... and get nothing back.

concern turning to genuine worry and fear for their friend, leader sends caretaker and two other teammates to go find whumpee, and bring them back if needed.

when whumpee wakes up again, they're laying in a military hospital. they feel like they've been run over by a semi-truck, but they turn their head to see their hand intertwined with caretaker's, who had fallen asleep in a chair at their side, and the deepest relief they've ever felt washes over them as they realize they're safe.

[1doesnotsimplyhavejust1fandam]

Watching Eddie Begins with Buddie-colored glasses on is already crazy enough, but I just caught something that I never really thought about before. Athena tells Bobby that the news crews showing up before she leaves for another call might turn the call into a nationwide story. And then Buck absolutely LOSES it when 30 feet of wet earth falls on top of Eddie. So yeah, maybe Bobby pulls Buck away to stop him from futilely digging for Eddie with his hands, but maybe he also does it because he doesn’t want his kid’s grief and fear and love for Eddie being broadcast across the country. Especially not when Bobby thinks that Eddie’s probably already dead. And not only does Bobby pull Buck away from the well, he pulls back right into his lap. This is the closest we get to Bobby cradling Buck in his arms until the lightning strike, and it’s because he doesn’t want Buck to be in pain, and he most certainly does NOT want the tragedy of Eddie’s death to be made even worse by Buck’s pain over it being broadcast to the entire country.

[phigelid]

jitterbug🐝

[labyrynth]

so um anyway jiang cheng canonically does not consider wei wuxian a servant—let alone “just a servant”—and does not treat him like one. idk where this idea came from but it is factually untrue.

in fact, jc repeatedly indicates that he thinks wwx’s station is on par with other gentry, that he likes the idea of being part of a pair with wwx, and even jokes with wwx, mocking the notion that wwx could be a servant.

after wwx was taken in, they were functionally raised as equals, and there is nothing in their interactions as youths that indicates or even hints that their relationship was master/servant instead of simply childhood friends.

and obviously wwx is not sect leader, so yeah, he is expected to defer to jc after the war, (and that’s not an inherently bad thing, that’s how leadership works) but jc lets him get away with SO much shit that Would Not Fly if wwx were a servant (or treated like one). if jc only regarded wwx as a servant, there is literally no reason to be as lenient as jc was with wwx’s loose canon tendencies.

i’m sorry, but there is simply no valid reading of their relationship where the dynamic of their relationship is master/servant. their relationship simply is not built on obligation, as much as they both try to act like it. this assumption undercuts a huge amount of context and motivation, leaving nonsensical character decisions and gaping plot holes. there is no mdzs unless they care about each other as individuals.

[roitaminnah]

tfw for some reason you find an immense amount of comfort in simply being near someone

[heyitsmemel]

hi hello gals and gays. Here is a rare wav from me struggling with the flu. The virus has mainly been in my chest but my entire body is so wrecked I was able to induce super easily. No talking bc I’m literally unable to 😭 Do not listen if you can't stand harsh coughing because it gets a bit rough. If it sounds a bit weird the first half of the recording is from yesterday and the second half is from today, bc the coughing is so much worse in the second half lmao. Ok that's it thankkk you for feeding me so good lately tumblr love u all <3

also personal rant about ableism and intentional contagion in the comments :///

[kimtaegis]

I’m feeling quite sad about how much the active bts fandom on tumblr has shrunk and/ or how selective the community has become regarding content interaction. I’ve heard people pointing out a clique-building here lately, and while I’m well aware of closer mutual circles existing – and I can only speak on behalf of my friend group here – these pretty much develop naturally when there’s just no one else who reacts, reblogs from and talks to you anymore except for these handful of people. I don’t like that some people perceive these “cliques” as “exclusive”, for example to content creators only. that’s bullshit; it’s certainly not great to have only other cc’s support your work because they personally know how much time and effort it takes. also, knowing how lovely most of these people are, you’d get immediately followed back and showered with love too as soon as you’d even show a speckle of kindness on a regular basis, regardless of whether you make gifs yourself or not. ccs dedicating sets to each other isn’t a sign of exclusivity, but rather us holding onto and appreciating people who still give us at least some motivation to create and post in the first place anymore, because there’s quite literally no one else left by now.