new business open!

saffron aubert invites everyone to the grand opening of her new establishment: Sammie's Place. it will feature all ages entertainment from 11am to 5pm, and adult entertainment from 6pm to 12am. the back room will contain cots for those who choose to stay for the adult entertainment.

(all positions full) Owner/Staff Manager - Saffron Aubert Talent Manager - Joey Albright Stage Manager - Ciara Winters Lightning Technician: Grayson Waters Bouncer - Jae-Sung Bouncer/Door - Esparanza Calloway Bartender - Mallory Clarke Bartender - Lynx Bartender - Winifred Barrett Bartender - Rhys Bennett Server - Savannah Lacey Server - Grace Summers Server - Nadine Briggs Server - Romina Lanzo Server - Elora Sakamoto

Current Talent -

Addison Gallagher - music act Ames Shehadi - aerial silk act Cassius Romero - stripper Clementine Hanlon - dancer/stripper Etienne LeDeux - card tricks Georgia Hicks - burlesque (incl. Nadine Briggs and Abby Cromwell) Kiara Clark - dancer Lynx - fire eating Maverick Cafferty - music/trick act Max Hampton - dancer/stripper Monty Larkin - magician (asst. Nadine Briggs) Natalie Gray - music act Peyton Wilson - stripper Santiago Ayala - music act Stella Hendrix - art performance Val Moreno - music act

Apartment 307-11 (Bruises)

TWs: Gore, brief mention of emeto, creepy and unstable whumper

Morning didn’t come for a long time. Elora’s body clung to sleep as it fought desperately to even begin to heal the severe wounds that had been inflicted the day prior. Merely surviving was beginning to become much harder of a task then she’d ever hoped it would be; waiting around for someone to save her wasn’t quite working out, and neither was saving herself. She was having to fight tooth and nail just to live, which was both exhausting and incredibly depressing.

She finally opened her eyes as she felt a hand roughly shaking her shoulder, jerking her body around until she begrudgingly awoke. She pushed stray hairs away from her face and tried to roll over, but the man’s voice was booming with its volume and closeness to her ear.

“Elora. Get up. It’s almost two o’clock.”

She wanted to tell him to fuck off, that if he was going to torture her, she had every right to sleep however much she wanted to, but she knew it was irresponsible to be causing any trouble in the state she was in. Her body had withstood so much abuse in the days she’d been there already, she feared that without time to heal, anything else major could easily tip her over the edge of life and death, make her pass out and not wake back up.

And hell if she was ready to die.

“I’m awake,” she said in a dull, monotone voice, her eyes still adjusting to the light streaming into the room through the opened blinds. She sat herself up, slowly, cringing at the pain of her ankle dragging along the sheets.

“Good,” she heard him mutter, and she resisted the urge to scowl at him. The last thing she cared about was his approval, and yet here she was, walking on eggshells to avoid setting him off. What a mess she’d gotten herself into.

“I’m not going to do anything today,” he told her. For some odd reason, it wasn’t very reassuring. “I’m not stupid. I’m not trying to kill you.”

Her lips moved much faster than her mind. “Gee, thanks.”

He shot her a glare. It made her skin crawl, just the pure intensity in his eyes.

“Watch it.”

She did. She didn’t want to, but something about his tone and expression made her deeply uncomfortable to the point that she feared doing anything but precisely what he wanted.

“You wanna take a shower? You need it,” he said plainly. God, he couldn’t even extend a kind gesture without being a douche about it. Elora wanted to spit back that she wondered why she needed a shower. Maybe it was the layers of dried blood coating her skin, or the dirt from being mercilessly dragged along the ground the night of her kidnapping. She kept her words to herself, though, responding only with a nod.

She could already imagine it, the warm water running down her body, washing away the blood and the sweat and the dirt and the fear she was certain he could smell. How she craved it, the simple pleasure of being clean-something she’d already lost.

“Okay. Up we go, then.” The man lifted her up from the bed, an arm tucked beneath her knees and the other behind her back. She hated every minute of being so close to him. His breath smelled like cigarettes and his shirt was scratchy. Every bit of her body screamed at her to get out of his grip, but she was stuck, without another choice in the matter. A bitter horror fell upon her at the realization that this was her new reality whenever she had to move around the apartment. It wasn’t like she could get up and walk around. The persistent throbbing in her ankle was a painful reminder of that.

At the very least, the walk was short. He just carried her into the master bathroom and set her down in the tub. It was slightly roomier than the one she was usually kept in, but clearly much more used. A couple bottles of mens’ 3-and-1 wash lined the ledges and the floor was damp.

“Might be weird not standing up, but you’re smart. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Elora nodded, but the man just stood there, leaving the air stale with the silence in the room. She looked up at him for a moment, trying to gauge what he was doing, what he was thinking. She hoped he’d leave. While she knew he probably had a difficult time trusting her alone after the mishap yesterday, privacy was still a much-appreciated commodity. He stared at the wall for a second, not looking her in the eyes, before muttering about grabbing something and walking out. Elora froze, fearing he was going to bring back some awful instrument of torture, but instead, he merely returned with a pile of items in his arms. An old, worn towel and washcloth made the base, with a haphazardly-folded set of clothes atop it, and faded, half-used bottles of drugstore shampoo, conditioner, and body wash over that.

He set the stack down next to her, on the floor by the tub. “Yell when you’re done,” he told her. And that was it. He left.

There was no catch, no earning her prize or cruel tricks. He just left her alone to shower. It was like he felt bad. He should feel bad. But she shook the thought of vengeance from her mind, deciding to just focus on the mercy she’d been shown. She knew she should savor it while she had it, as she doubted it would last long.

Awkwardly twisting her body to avoid using her broken hand, she grabbed the bottles and set them on the ledge of the bathtub, then carefully removed her clothes, grimacing as she had to stretch the cuts lining her arms and drag fabric along her broken ankle. Once she finished, she finally turned on the shower, tensing as cold water rained upon her, but practically melting once it ran warm. It was soothing, though it did slightly sting the wounds it hit. Still, the benefits far outweighed the harm and she shut her eyes to fully take in the comfort, wishing she could stay right in this moment until she was found. Enveloped by the warmth, the man only a passing thought in her mind.

She began with the shampoo, taking her time to work it into her scalp, washing away the dirt, blood, and oil that had built up over the last few days. It felt so nice to be clean, to be free of the filth coating her body. She savored every moment as she washed and conditioned her hair, then took painstaking attention and care as she scrubbed her body with the washcloth, carefully avoiding or only gently dabbing at the wounds littering her body. And even when she had long been done, she remained on the floor of the tub, letting the hot water soothe her aching body as she stared ahead at the wall. She feared that taking too long, though, would make the man suspicious-or worse, angry. So, despite not wanting to and not having a clue when she’d be given this privilege again, she turned off the water and began to dry off with the towel. She didn’t want to get the clothes she’d been given all wet, so she awkwardly and rather maneuvered herself up to sit on the side of the tub. She quickly found that getting dressed was just as much of a struggle as getting undressed-especially as her skin was still damp. Pulling on the plain undershirt and blue sweatpants earned quite a few hisses of pain, and she was more than relieved when the task was over.

There was a sort of longing ache in her heart at the fact that the clothes weren’t hers. It was just another thing that had been stripped from her, another bit taken away. At the very least, though, they were clean. It didn’t seem like they’d been washed, just taken straight from a cheap bulk package. That was probably what they were. Elora didn’t mind, though. At the very least, they were comfortable, and clean. Both fit her relatively well, too, though the legs of the pants were short on her.

She was about to mournfully call for the man as she’d been instructed to do when she looked over herself, just one last time, and found her staring down at the massive bruises covering her fingers and ankle. She’d been preoccupied with getting clean earlier, so her eyes had just skimmed over them, but now that she took the time to really look, she was horrified. They were so much clearer now that the blood was washed away, looking almost cartoonish as she stared in disbelief. Deep shades of blue and purple wrapped her entire ankle joint as it stuck painfully out to the right. She knew that she should set it, but she didn’t have the slightest clue how, and it was far too severe to heal magically. All she could do was look on in shock at how misshapen it looked, how it almost seemed like a watercolor painting, colors coating and speckling the skin. Her fingers, too, were a horrific sight, curled in on themselves, swollen and multicolored. She couldn’t look away from her mangled hand and foot, feeling sick at how mortifyingly intense they were. She wanted to vomit at the mere sight of them, at the thought of the logistics. How many surgeries would it take to fix this when she got out?

If she got out.

Tears slipped down her cheeks and she abandoned the thought of calling for the man at all, just gawking at her injuries, letting the severity seep in, and bawling. Time slipped by quickly and soon she’d been in the bathroom for almost an hour, which prompted the man to come in and check on her. He knocked on the door and called her name, and she startled, her shoulders trembling. She didn’t respond, just sat there until he burst in, swung the door open himself. Their eyes locked and he saw the redness around her eyes, the puffiness of her cheeks. His brow furrowed for a moment. He hadn’t done anything wrong to her, what was her deal? But his gaze followed hers back to her broken limbs, and he gave a knowing sigh.

An awful guilt crept up in him and his expression was stone cold.

“I’m not a bad person, Elora.” His voice was firm, but thick, with a sense of sadness to it. Elora looked up at him from her spot perched on the side of the tub, shocked by his sudden entrance. Her eyes were still teary, threatening to spill more at any moment.

“I’m not.”

The girl still didn’t say a word and Clyde felt his guilt start to turn to anger. “Stop looking at me like that. Like a-like a sad fucking puppy.”

Elora’s bottom lip shook. She sensed it, his rage. She knew that, no matter what she did now, things weren’t going to end well for her. They never did, when he got mad like this.

“I’m not t-trying to-”

“Shut up,” he shouted, and her mouth suddenly closed, her eyes still wide as they stared up at him.

“I’m not a bad person,” he affirmed. “I did what I had to. You-you never fucking listen.”

Elora had no clue what to say, what to do, so she merely nodded in agreement. Sure. Whatever he wanted to believe. Whatever he needed to hear to not hurt her even more when she was already-when she couldn’t handle any more.

The man advanced towards her and she nearly screamed in pure terror. She wanted to back away but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. He bent over and gripped her chin and she inhaled sharply, eyes watery.

“Say it,” he seethed. “Say it. I’m not a bad person.”

She was forced to look in his eyes, their faces just inches apart as he jerked her chin up. Her voice shook as she spoke. “You’re-you’re not a b-b-bad person.” A sharp inhale ended her sentence, petrified that it wasn’t right. That it wouldn’t be enough.”

He released her chin and she felt relief flood her for all but a second before he shoved her off of the ledge of the tub. She landed flat on her back on the tile floor, the air knocked out of her lungs by the force of the fall. She wheezed and tried to sit up, but he was upon her in a second, kneeling on her chest with his hands around her throat to restrict her breathing even further.

“Say it like you mean it,” he insisted. There was nothing but anger in his eyes.

Gasping and sputtering, Elora wheezed, “You’re not a bad person!” Her tone was desperate. She felt like she was dying. But that was all the man needed to hear. He eased off of her and stood, brushed himself off, then simply picked her up from the ground and slung her over a shoulder, a far cry from the gentle way he’d carried her to the bathroom in the first place.

He was grinning. Relief washed over him. A cool, calm feeling.

“You’re right, Elora. I’m not. I’m not a bad person.”

tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out

100 Baby Names You've Never Heard of but Are Going to Want to Use

Every baby is special and unique, but the list of the country's most popular names - Sophia, Emma, Jackson, and Aiden, to name a few - reveal that many babies are crawling around sporting the same name. We looked further into the United States Social Security Administration's (long) list of popular baby names and picked out the most unique of the bunch for you to consider for your one-of-a-kind baby. Read through for 100 unusual baby names you've never heard of, but are definitely going to want to put to use! Boys * Agustin * Anders * Arian * Arlo * Benton * Bodhi * Braylin * Brecken * Bridger * Broderick * Brysen * Camilo * Cayson * Coen * Corban * Cortez * Crew * Damari * Dangelo * Davon * Elian * Eliseo * Enoch * Ethen * Flynn * Gaige * Gibson * Haiden * Ignacio * Jabari * Jakobe * Jaylon * Joziah * Kael * Keon * Keyon * Kyan * Lathan * Leighton * Malaki * Maxton * Mustafa * Quinten * Roderick * Thaddeus * Turner * Vaughn * Vihaan * Yehuda * Zaire Girls * Addilyn * Adley * Analia * Armelle * Aviana * Bexley * Brinley * Britta * Bronwyn * Calla * Camari * Darby * Delaney * Dinah * Elora * Ember * Embry * Farren * Gracen * Grecia * Greer * Harlyn * Hartley * Hensley * Ina * Isa * Jaelyn * Kaia * Laken * Larkin * Lilith * Makena * Maren * Merritt * Mireya * Nimah * Oriana * Rhea * Rowen * Royce * Sena * Syden * Thea * Ulani * Uri * Weylyn * Zael * Zariah * Zaylee * Zuri Related: * You're Going to Want to Name Your Baby After One of These Famous Songs * Less Is More! 50 One-Syllable Baby Names You'll Want to Use * Change It Up! 50 Common Baby Names With a Spelling Twist * 200+ Unique Baby Name Ideas For Pop Culture Fanatics * You Haven't Heard These '80s Baby Names in Ages, but You're Going to Want to Use Them http://bit.ly/2y5ywmY

Apartment 307-9 (Fingore)

TWs: This is a heavy chapter. Fingore, obviously. Nothing with the nails but fingers are broken pretty badly. Proceed with caution, you’re welcome to DM me for a summary instead of reading if gore isn’t your cup of tea :) Head wounds and death threats are also present.

~

The man made a mistake.

Two days after he showed Elora that awful news report, he made a mistake.

He’d cleared his pockets out earlier while looking for his pocket knife, leaving behind a pen, a keyring, a wallet, a pack of cigarettes, and some lint on the lid of the toilet. And when he left after slashing her shoulders for disobeying him, he forgot to put everything back. It all laid within her reach. And while most of it was junk, one thing was her saving grace. The keys. They were so close she could grab them. A small, silver key she’d seen before and knew unlocked the handcuffs around her wrists was visible on the ring.

It felt like it was a trap; it was just too easy. But something in her gut told her it wasn’t. Something told her that he genuinely just forgot. A simple mistake, yet one that was so crucial for her.

It was almost night time. He had gone to work for the day, spent a few hours with her, and cooked a meal. It was the end of his routine. He would go to bed soon. He’d fall asleep and she could simply grab the keys, get out of the handcuffs and leave. It felt surreal, unimaginable that it was just that simple. It had been nearly a week, and still, no one had come for her. Maybe she was just meant to save herself. And she would.

Waiting around for the lights in the apartment to dim, signifying that he had finally gone off to bed felt like eternity. Her heart was racing with anxiety as she sat there, feeling useless; what if he remembered, and she lost her chance? But it would be too dangerous to try to escape while he was awake. She’d only consider it as a last ditch effort, if all else went wrong. For now, she had to be safe. She had to wait.

After thirty minutes that felt much more like several hours, the lights were off. The small bit of light that streamed underneath the crack between the ground and the door disappeared. Elora waited even longer still, just to make sure that he was really asleep. Only after she had nearly fallen asleep herself with boredom did she carefully reach over to her side in the dark, feeling around for the keys the best she could in the darkness. The chain attached to her handcuffs was just barely long enough for her to reach the keyring. She sighed with relief when her fingers finally found the keys in the blackness, clutching them tightly before bringing them over into the bathtub with her. She had been able to make out the small handcuff key from the bit of light that came in through the gap earlier while the man was still awake and the lights were on, but now she couldn’t see a thing, and had to resort to feeling around for the smallest key. After painstakingly surveying them all, she felt it-a small key with a rounded top. What she had seen earlier. Maneuvering it into the lock with her hands bound was another hardship, but she grinned as she figured it out after a few tries, disbelief still clouding her mind. Wow. She was doing this.

She was hasty to turn the key, removing the handcuffs from her red, achy wrists. But in her rush, she dropped the keys as she wiggled her hand loose from the right cuff.

There was a loud CLANG! as they hit the metal plug of the tub, reverberating so loudly it sounded like a huge, ringing bell in the dead silent room. Elora’s heart began to pound all over again. She sat completely still for a moment, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, petrified that she had woken the man up.

And her worst fear was confirmed as she heard stirring in the room down the hall. Shit! Abandoning all caution, she stood as fast as she could, climbed out of the bathtub, and dashed to the bathroom door. Agony lit up along her leg as several of the sloppy stitches in the large gash on her thigh split with the sudden movement. She suppressed a scream as she slapped a hand over her mouth and applied pressure to the wound with her other, costing valuable time. Just get out the door. You just have to get out of the door. She hurriedly swung open the bathroom door, running into the hallway.

She made it all but a step until a heavy figure slammed into her in the dark, tackling her to the ground. She hit the old carpet with a thud, groaning as she cried. What had been her only chance was completely foiled. She knew he’d never mess up like this again. “NO!” She shouted, wriggling desperately as she sobbed. “NO, GET OFF OF ME!” Her voice was shrill as she screamed.

“Oh, you bitch,” the man’s voice grumbled. All of the sudden, Elora felt a cold blade at her throat and she panicked, going limp in an instant.

The lights in the hallway turned on after his hand felt around the wall for the switch, revealing an enraged face she knew she’d have nightmares of for a long time staring down at her.

He was almost bright red, scowling as he held the knife to her throat.

“Do you want to die?” he asked, pressing the blade in just enough to form a small line of blood. Elora shook her head just slightly, her eyes wide as she was too scared even to speak.

“Then stay right here.”

The man eased off of her slowly, leaving her on the floor. For a moment, she considered getting up and continuing to run, but a second glare stifled that thought quickly. He had a knife. He had the upper hand. She laid on the floor, dejected, shaking in fear and anticipation of what was going to come next as the man stomped off into the living room. He was unpredictable when he was angry. All she knew was that pain would come.

She heard him rifling through one of the old boxes. He pulled something out-she could hear the displacement of the other items, clanking into each other-and then there was a click, more rifling, and another click. The noise stopped and his footsteps pounded back towards her.

A mallet rested in his hands. The wooden handle and metal head looked impossibly massive from where she laid on the ground. She knew what was happening the moment she saw it, yet still, she was in disbelief, denying the inevitable. She shook her head rapidly, sitting up, even scooting backwards until she hit the wall at the end of the hallway.

“Which hand did you grab them with?”

Elora looked up at him, her eyes watery and confused. Her voice was a tiny, crackled whisper when she replied. “What?”

“The keys. Which hand did you grab them with? Tell me or I’ll break them both.” His voice was firmer, rougher this time. She had a feeling that refusing to answer might end her up with her head smashed in rather than her fingers. And she’d grabbed the keys with her right, purely based on how she was positioned. Had the faucet she was chained to been on the opposite wall, it would’ve been her left. Her dominant hand, crushed to bits. It was a bit of mercy, perhaps, from the universe.

Still, she found it hard to answer. Her shoulders shook and she inhaled sharply twice before forcing the word right out, then dissolving into sobs.

The man was scarily unemotional, showing no anger, no fury towards her. He was the calmest she’d ever seen him, standing there with the mallet in his hands. He abandoned all his rage when he dug out the toolkit and retrieved the mallet from it.

“You stole the keys. I have to do this. You have to learn.”

In a way, it sounded more like he was rationalizing with himself rather than her, excusing his actions like he felt bad about them. Like he had to reassure himself. It was sickening.

And with that he descended upon her, shoving her down the wall with a heavy foot on her shoulder. She screamed as she slid down until her head was back on the carpet, and then he dropped, kneeling on her stomach with one leg to pin her down, the other balancing himself. A rough hand wrapped around her right wrist and pinned her hand flat to the ground while the other held the mallet high, above his head, and brought it down.

The first wave of pain was nauseating. There was a sharp cracking that worsened by the second before turning to a deep throb. She screamed until she was coughing and the man held the mallet above her, staring into her eyes. He paused, hesitating until she looked back at him. There was a spacey look in his eyes.

Then he brought it down on her fingers again, then up, then down, rapidly, again and again and again until Elora lost count. She was screaming so loudly her ears were ringing, thrashing and groaning as the pain intensified each time he hit her fingers. They were done for, wholly broken after the second hit, but the man just kept going. It was like he was entranced, no rhyme or reason to his actions other than pain. Any time she wiggled he simply increased the pressure on her torso until it was hard to breathe, deaf to her screams as he kept striking with the mallet.

He didn’t snap out of it until twenty or thirty strikes later when her screams died out and turned to choked, gasping inhales with each hit, which apparently was concerning enough for him to ease off of her chest and let the mallet drop to the floor. He exhaled heavily and wiped his hand across his forehead, genuinely extenuated from the effort.

Elora immediately gasped for air and curled onto her side, closing her eyes and clutching her right hand tightly to her chest. She wailed loudly, throbbing pain shooting through her hand, pulsating every second with no relief. she wasn’t looking at it, only focusing on protecting herself, but her hand was a sorry sight. The fragile bones of her fingers were pulverized practically to dust, and while he hadn’t been aiming for her hand, just the fingers, it still took quite a beating from slipped strikes, several bones cracked or fractured. Her fingers were bent in several unnatural directions, and had an almost flattened appearance, crushed beyond anything easily repairable. She refused to look, but the pain, the intense, throbbing agony, told her enough.

She opened her squeezed-shut eyes for a moment and saw the man stand up and dust himself off, leaving the mallet behind on the floor, just beside her. His back was to her, about to walk off, when she had a revelation.

It doesn’t have to be over yet.

She was still unchained. The front door was still right there. She had the upper hand.

And she’d be damned if she didn’t at least try to save herself while she still had a fighting chance.

She rolled over onto her back, seconding guessing herself for a moment before shaking the thought off. She grabbed the mallet with her good hand, sat herself up, then stood quietly behind him.

Then, she hit him as hard as she could in the back of the head.

He crumbled to the ground immediately, falling to his hands and knees as he groaned, shouting a few swears and rubbing futilely at the wound.

But Elora didn’t stay to watch him. She didn’t even see him fall as she turned and sprinted for the door, the mallet still in her hand.

She was doing it. She’d be free.

But something was odd. She didn’t hear footsteps chasing behind her. She only heard him get up. And as she reached the front door after dashing through the apartment, she heard laughing. Loud, throaty cackling.

She turned her head and saw the man standing there, staring at her, laughing. She turned back to the door, and she saw the reason for laughter.

Two padlocks held the door closed, one with a keyhole and the other with a numerical keypad. Additionally, across the middle was a huge bar she was far too weak to lift up, especially with one hand. No. No no no no nonononononono she was right here, she did it, she had to get out, she needed to get out now-

There was no getting out. He’d told her that, hadn’t he?

She screamed as the man started to walk forward, towards her. She pressed her back to the door, extended her good hand and tried to keep him back, but there was nowhere else to go.

He was still laughing. “You really fucked up, didn’t you?”

Her eyes were shut tightly in fear and defeat as he reached her, pried the mallet from her hand, and seized her by the neck before smashing her head into the wall until her body fell limply to the floor.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out

Apartment 307-8 (Grabbed by the hair)

Hi guys!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. School and work have been crazy but luckily I'm out of school next week so I'll have much more time and be posting more frequently! Apologies for the short chapter, I have no idea why but it just kicked my butt lol. I tried doing some cool multimedia stuff, I hope you enjoy! This is @sableflynn's BTHB request, grabbed by the hair.

TWs: Creepy, possessive whumper, mention of branding, also this chapter made me sad bc I love my mom and Elora's mom is sad so warning for that lmao

Elora was still lying there crying hours later. The tears had slowed from her initial keening sobs, but they still fell steadily down her face, accumulating in a small puddle on the tile by her head. She could see a bit of her reflection in the salty water; just her eyes, mostly. She saw green eyes that had once been so full of hope and life that were fading, the slow abandonment of hope almost making them gray out. She wanted to lie there forever, staring into her own eyes, until oblivion took her. If she cleared her head enough, she could pretend she was elsewhere, somewhere warm and loving; the blanket draped over her body did help with the fantasy, though she always knew somewhere in the back of her head that it was just that: a fantasy. She was still here. With him.

Clyde tried to give her time to recover, but his patience wore eventually. He began to get antsy after a few hours of watching her lie there, doing nothing but cry. Admittedly, he did enjoy it at first-seeing her so weak, so docile, because of him-but it eventually grew tiresome. Watching each tear drip down into the puddle became like watching paint dry.

He stood up abruptly. Elora was startled by the motion, flinching before stilling and watching him very carefully. What was he going to do?

“Get up,” he said simply.

Elora froze. She still felt sick, dizzy with pain and the lingering scent of her burning flesh in the bathroom. But why would he care about that? Why should she disobey him, when she knew what would happen?

Yet pride and pain got the better of her again.

“I can’t,” she whimpered. She felt weak. “I hurt. You hurt me.”

The piercing sound of a loud, sudden laugh began to echo through the bathroom. It reminded Elora of the laugh of a hyena. She winced.

“Darling, did you not think that was the point?”

Her expression hardened and her heart thumped in her chest. That was the point. She wanted to say something, but her mouth suddenly got dry.

The man simply grinned. “Get up,” he repeated, but she didn’t. She just laid there, dumbfounded.

He groaned angrily, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Be that way.”

He gathered up her hair in his hand, locked his fingers in a tight fist, and pulled up. Elora yelped and scrambled to get to her feet to relieve the pain, but he didn’t give her the chance; he carelessly dragged her off, out of the bathroom, through the hallway, and into the living room. She screamed and thrashed wildly, her hands desperately trying to push him away as her scalp burned like fire. Again and again, her feet scraped the ground to no avail, kicking and kicking but never able to gain enough traction to stand as she was mercilessly dragged. The man finally dropped her on the floor at the foot of a worn leather couch, releasing his death grip on her hair. Her hands immediately flew up to her head, applying gentle pressure to her scalp to try to ease the burning pain as she looked around the new room.

The living room was barren, like the man had half moved into it then given up. There was a dusty box in the corner, the couch, a worn coffee table, a small stand, and an old TV. Other than that, it was empty, in an eerie way. The aged carpet spanned the floor like an ocean.

The pressure didn’t do much and Elora dropped her hands, still wincing as the man plopped himself on the couch behind her, the leather making a loud crackling noise as he sat. She whipped her head around as her shoulders raised up to her ears instinctively. The man made a sour face, his features twisting into an ugly frown.

“Relax,” he commanded, forcefully pushing her shoulders down. At first, she tried to wiggle away, but that idea was abandoned when he tightened his grip, clearly as a warning. He grabbed the TV remote from the arm of the couch and turned it on. It started on some history channel documentary about cars, but Clyde quickly flipped through channels until he found the local news station.

A grin spread across his face as he read the blue banner spanning across the bottom of the screen. They were just in time.

UP NEXT: CAPE COD GIRL GOES MISSING; DESPERATE MOTHER PLEADS FOR HER RETURN

His hands wandered to Elora’s scalp and began to gently card through her hair. She inhaled sharply, and it took everything she had in her not to immediately shove him off. Somehow the gentleness felt worse than the pain; the false sense of care disgusted her. He was a maniac. He hurt her, he branded her, and now he was sitting on the couch petting her hair, pretending like none of it happened. It didn’t escape her attention how he set her on the floor instead of the couch, below him, like a dog.

The banner was bad enough, but she felt sick to her stomach when the station cut to a reporter sitting at a desk with a picture of her on half of the screen. It was the picture her mom took of her at the orchard last fall. It was candid; she remembered it. She was intently focused on a butterfly off on a tree, ignoring her mom as she snapped the photo. It was one of her favorite pictures of herself. And now, it was plastered all over the news.

The reporter on the TV began to speak. “Tonight, a desperate mother pleads for her missing daughter’s safe return. Elora Larkin, nineteen, of Barnstable county, Massachusetts has been missing since Friday night. She was last seen walking home from her job at Agathangelou’s bakery, wearing khakis, a black t-shirt, and black sneakers. The police have opened a tip line and are offering an unspecified reward for any information that leads to Miss Larkin.”

Elora felt a lurching sensation in her stomach, so visceral she wanted to throw up. That was her. On the news. Gone. Missing.

Behind her, the man chuckled.

“Look at that, baby. You’re all over New England.”

“I’m not your baby,” she snapped, turning around. But her head was spinning. All over New England? It wasn’t the Cape Cod news station on the TV. It wasn’t even a state news channel. It was entirely unfamiliar, the reporter’s face one she’d never seen.. So he’d taken her across state lines, making her chances of being found lower yet.

The man shushed her and put a finger up to her lips. “Watch.” She almost bit him, but decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable punishment that would follow. Besides, they might say something useful, something that could help her. She needed to pay attention.

The screen changed, and a missing persons poster popped up. Hers.

It was up for a minute before it faded away as the reporter came back on the screen.

“Such a sad story. Everyone in the studio is hoping and praying for her safe return. Unfortunately, vigilance is so important in this day and age. Up next, we have a recording of a press conference with the girl’s mother.

The girl’s mother. Her mother. Elora felt her heartbeat thumping in her chest.

And there she was. Jodie was standing at a podium in a building that had to be a police station. Demetrios was standing by her side, offering support by merely being present. While Elora hadn’t seen him cry even once in all the years she’d known him, he now looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Her mom started to speak. She looked so sad. Withered, like the life had been sucked out of her, from fear and overthinking and sleepless nights.

“My daughter-My daughter Elora has been missing since Friday night. She’s got-she’s got blonde hair, and green eyes, and she’s real tall. I’m sure pictures have gone around by now. She was walking home from work and-and then she disappeared. We were supposed to have dinner Sunday and she never came. It was supposed to be her weekend off. I- If someone has her, please, I’m begging you, let her go. Bring her home safe. She’s a good kid, she works hard, she rescues cats in her spare time...she doesn’t deserve this. And Elora, if you’re seeing this, I love you. I love you so much, honey. If you chose to leave, please just tell us you’re okay. It’s okay. You can go see the world, just tell us you’re okay. And if something-something bad happened, we’re gonna find you. I promise, baby, I love you and we’re gonna bring you home. Promise.”

At that point, she set the microphone down and began to cry, tears streaming down her face as she hurried off to an exit, the cameras following her for a few moments. Elora’s heart twisted in knots. Seeing her mom’s face brought her so much joy, yet knowing how worried she had to be made her feel sick with guilt.

But she promised. She promised she’d find her.

“That your mom?”

Elora stilled. He already knew the answer.

"She’s kinda pathetic. Could barely keep it together long enough to tell them about you.”

She went cold. “Stop,” she seethed. Her voice was eerily calm, given her anger.

"Or what?” he replied, twisting her hair up in his hand and giving it another tug.

Elora was silent. There was no or what. She knew that.

The reporter came back on the screen.

“Well, folks, that’s all we have on the case for tonight. Remember to be safe and vigilant. This has been Hannah Brown with News12.”

The man released her hair, picked up the remote, and turned off the T.V.

“Notice how they only talked about you, not me?”

Elora turned her head around. She was crying.

“What?”

He scoffed. “I said, notice how they only ran their mouths about you the whole time. Never said a word about me. You know what that means? They don’t know jack shit about me. They don’t know who you’re with or where you are. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but we’re in Connecticut. We crossed state lines twice. They’re never going to find you, you know that?

She tried to hide it, but he could see her expression falling with every word he said, hope beginning to seep out of her. She shook her head vigorously, her bottom lip trembling.

“N-no! No, they will, you’re just crazy! You’re just fucking crazy!”

A scowl formed on his lips. “No, they won’t.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but in a split second, his hand was gripping tightly around her throat, cutting off her air. Her eyes went wide.

“No one is coming to save you.”

Elora swallowed, fear bright in her eyes. She tried to rip herself away, but the man raked his fingers across the fresh brand on her collarbone, sending her to the ground, keeling in pain.

“We could’ve had a nice evening if you behaved. Listened,” he grumbled, standing and once again grabbing her hair tightly before dragging her off towards the bathroom.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out @badthingshappenbingo

Apartment 307-7 (This is for Your Own Good)

this is for your own good-requested by @magpiewhump

TWs: Heavy chapter overall. Creepy, sadistic whumper, noncon nonsexual touching, branding, victim-blaming, passing thought of emeto but none actually shown, thoughts of death

Clyde started to worry about Elora when she still hadn’t woken back up at six p.m when he got back from work, over ten hours after she passed out due to him completely exhausting her magic. He walked in and checked on her the very moment after he put his things down on the kitchen counter, and there she was, still passed out, curled up on her side like a little terrified animal. He left, deciding to let her sleep some more-he was concerned, of course, but not terribly so. She did seem rather drained when he left. He would’ve loved to spend the evening with her, but he resolved to show a little sympathy and let her sleep. Still, he checked on her about every hour, only to find her still passed out in the exact same position every single time. He began to get irritated when she still wasn’t up around eleven-he just wanted to sleep, at that point, but he was worried she’d wake up at any moment and start causing a scene. Screaming, trying to escape, doing whatever it was she did-hell, he didn’t know. She was unpredictable.

He still didn’t even know what he thought about her. He was fascinated, of course, by her magic, by her mere life-that’s why he had to have her-but he still didn’t know how he felt about her as a person. She was awfully stubborn and had terrible language for a young woman, but she was beautiful, exquisitely so, especially when her eyes were watery with tears and she had that determined expression despite the fear he knew was crippling her.

God, he just wanted to break her. He wanted to study her first and foremost, of course, but as a side project of sorts, he wanted to see that iron resolution dissolve, just like that, because of him.

He decided to head to sleep, freshening up in his master bath before heading to sleep. His room was nothing special; it smelled like a mix of dirty bath mats and moth balls, and all it really had for furniture was a desk on the verge of collapsing, a mattress on the floor, and boxes that still hadn’t been unpacked despite him having moved in over a decade ago.

But that night, he went to sleep happy, unbothered by the chaos and dirty apartment and his seemingly menial life. Because he knew what to do. He had direction, for once. Elora brought him that. She was like a quest, a puzzle to solve, and he’d had a eureka moment. To break her, he’d have to teach her that she wasn’t her own anymore. That she was his, because clearly, she’d been struggling with the concept.

And he knew exactly how to do it.

~

When Elora woke up, she felt like she was having the worst hangover she'd ever experienced, multiplied by ten. She was dizzy, her mouth was dry, and a pounding headache had settled in the back of her skull, each throb feeling like a firework exploding inside her head.

It was pitch black, not a single ray of light coming in from the crack underneath the door, so she assumed that it was either the middle of the night or early morning. That meant she slept for, god-eighteen, twenty hours? That was probably half of why she felt like shit. Draining her body of all the energy it had like that was both excruciatingly painful and awfully exhausting. It was also decidedly horrible for her body-she was never supposed to work herself like that. Hell, she wasn’t sure how she even survived exerting that much.

At the very least, she had some time to herself. It was nice to be alone for a while, to recoup between sessions of vicious torture.

She sat back against the wall, staring up at the pitch black ceiling. Time was fuzzy, but she thought it was...Tuesday, now? So her mom certainly knew she was gone, and she had told the police, and they were looking for her.

She hoped. She just-she really, really hoped that someone was coming for her soon. Before anything worse happened, while she could still come back from it. While she could still come home alive, herself, shaken, but herself.

She ended up dozing off for a few minutes and waking up again a few times as the hours passed by, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She knew exactly when the sun was rising; the crack underneath the door slowly began to get less dark, going from black, to an inky gray, to a pale orange, and finally, to real yellow light. A little sliver of a sunrise. Even after just a couple of days, she missed the sun. The bathroom was windowless, and that alone made it suffocating. She’d do anything, pay any amount of money in the world, just to go outside, see a sunrise, and breathe. Just breathe, for a moment, just catch her breath.

As excited as she wanted to be about the taste of a sunrise, all she felt was dread. Every morning she’d been awake to see the pattern, so far, she’d noted that he came in just after sunrise.

So she only had a few minutes, then.

She just hoped that he would make the pain brief.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply when she heard his footsteps pattering down the hallway, exhaling when she heard the doorknob turn.

He flicked the light switch on and the sudden brightness hurt her eyes, so much so that she quickly wrenched them shut. And when he spoke, it felt like his voice was booming, much louder than it actually was. She wanted to cover her ears, but resisted the urge, much too scared to take out another sense and be so vulnerable to him.

He acknowledged her reactions with a hum, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Jeez, you’ve been out for a while. It’s about time you woke up. What’s the face for? You okay?”

Elora shook her head, replying bitterly. “Not supposed to use that much magic. Feels kinda like a really bad hangover.” He always smelled like cheap beer. Maybe he’d have some sympathy for that.

“Mh. You’ll be fine. We have things to do today.”

Elora opened her eyes, at that point, looking over at him despite the deep burning sensation in her eyes. He was holding something behind his back, out of her view.

“I-I’ll do what you want,” she said shakily. “Whatever magic shit. I don’t care. We can-h-how about we just act symbiotically, huh? I’ll do whatever you want and you just don’t hurt me. Easy deal on your end, really.”

The man scoffed. “Funnily enough, I actually don’t need anything from you today. Just for you to stay still and be a good girl. I’ve got something to teach you.”

Her throat felt like it was coated in honey. She wanted to spit back that the last thing she would ever do is be a good girl, but she couldn’t form words. It was hard to breathe properly. She knew she was panicking. What did he mean?

Casually, he revealed what was behind his back. It looked like a big pen, with a long cord on one tapered end and a thick, linear metal tip on the other. He plugged the cord into the wall and set it down. Dimly, Elora wondered where she’d seen a weird pen like that. She knew it seemed familiar, it was for crafts, but she couldn’t remember quite what it was for. She blinked, her panic slowing her thoughts-

Woodburning. It was used for woodburning.

Her mouth dropped open in shock, her eyes instantly tearful as she looked on in pure horror, knowing what was going to be done to her. Clyde basked in her terror, grinning as he watched realization and fear strike her.

She was frozen, shocked into silence, so he took the opportunity to speak first. “You seem to be having a hard time with the concept that you’re mine. And what better way to mark that something is yours other than putting your name on it? That’s how I get my coworkers to stop eating my tuna salad from the community fridge.” He stopped to laugh at his own joke. No one liked tuna salad but him. His coworkers would never touch it. Elora looked utterly terrified. He didn’t care a bit, and went on. “But of course, you don’t need to know who I am. You don’t need my name. All you need to worry your pretty little head about is being good for me, got it? So what better than to teach you than to just mark you as mine?”

As panicked as she was, Elora suddenly went into survival mode, no longer able to just stand there and wait to be hurt. “NO!” she screamed. “No, please, I c-can learn! Please, you don’t need to do that. I-I-I told you, I’ll do what you want today, please!”

The man grinned, wagging his pointer finger at her. “Uh-uh-uh. We’re past that, little lark. You already showed me that you don’t know who you belong to when you so rudely refused to do as I told you with the plant and adamantly denied to heal yourself up until I made you.”

He stepped towards her, and she screamed, scrambling back to the other side of the bathtub. It didn’t do much, of course; he was still able to grab her just as easily. She kept screeching, and she fought, she fought tooth and nail, scratching, kicking, trying to bite him, but nothing worked. She was already getting weaker by the day.. He managed to unlock her handcuffs and lift her out of the tub within a minute, completely stopping her desperate fight when he threw her down on the hard tile by the sink where the pen was plugged into an outlet, knocking the breath out of her. She sputtered and coughed, trying to roll on her side, but before she could, he stopped her, straddling her waist, pinning her legs down with his own, and both her arms with his left, pulled tightly across her chest, his elbow digging into her right arm, keeping it in place, and his hand holding down her left. With his right hand, he grabbed the woodburner, the cord just long enough to reach down to the floor.

He frowned as he looked down at her screaming, thrashing form, then put the burner down. For a moment, Elora thought she was free. She thought she was free, she thought he was safe, she thought he reconsidered, she thought he wouldn’t do it.

“Woops. Forgot a step. You’re too damn much of a fighter.” Instead of letting her go like she wished, he fumbled to unbutton all three buttons on the top of her polo shirt. She felt like vomiting the entire time his fingers brushed against the skin of her chest, undoing the buttons painfully slowly, one by one. She shivered, but the room felt hot.

He picked up the burner again. “This is for your own good,” he said, his voice gruff and firm. He pulled her unbuttoned shirt to his right and brought the hot metal tip down upon her left collarbone.

The agony was blinding. She saw pure white as she screamed, keening, much louder than she had been before. She dimly felt the pain move up against her skin as the woodburner stroked upwards, then down diagonally, then up again diagonally, then back down. It left a trail of searing, red-hot pain. M. Mine.

Three more letters to go, and she already felt more blinding pain than she thought was possible.

Clyde frowned at her screaming, briefly putting the woodburner to the side, exchanging the pain for a gentle touch, softly running his hand through her hair. She continued screaming and tried to wiggle away from his hand, yet he ignored her blatant discomfort.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Quiet, my darling, it’ll be over soon.”

His words were far from comforting, though her screams did stop for all but a moment. They continued when he brought the woodburner back to her skin, drawing out an I, three torturous burning strokes. She thought she might pass out, might vomit, might die, the pain was so bad.

“Halfway there,” he said gently, when he finished burning the I into her skin. His voice had become gentle, kind. She didn’t understand it. “Shh, you’re alright. I had to do this, you know. This is for you. To help you learn.”

She shook her head madly, tears falling down her face and onto the tile floor. “Stop,” she croaked, her voice breaking. “Please, stop.”

He seemed genuinely apologetic. Maybe this was too much for him, too. Or maybe it was all an act. Elora couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. We’re halfway done already. It would be strange to stop here, with half of a word, no?”

And with that, he went on, with just as much brutal carelessness for her pain.

N. She had been switching between staring up at the ceiling blankly and squeezing her eyes shut while he branded her, but she was looking up for this letter, watching the ceiling spin, watching black spots dot her vision, watching as she slipped in and out of consciousness for a few seconds at the time.

She couldn’t even say that she was getting used to it. It hurt just as much now, a minute later, as it had when he started.

The smell started to catch up with her halfway through the N. It was awful, the overwhelmingly sickening scent seeping in and filling her nostrils. She couldn’t escape it. She had to breathe, had to inhale the scent of her burning flesh. There was no choice.

Just as the last upward stroke of the N danced like fire across her skin, the man’s hand carded through her hair again, his fingers rubbing her scalp kindly.

“Almost done, honey. Almost done. You’re doing great.”

She didn’t even have the strength to shake her head. She wasn’t his honey, she wasn’t doing great, this wasn’t for her, it was for him, he was crazy-

Her screams began to die out, her throat burning and raw, begging for air. They turned to weak, sobs, her expression twisted with agony.

E. A stroke up, one to the side at the top of that, another sidestroke in the middle, another at the bottom. She started to feel like she was up on the ceiling, floating. She couldn’t handle this.

What she felt was more than pain. She didn’t know how to describe it. But it was much, much worse than any sort of pain she knew. The burning agony mixed with the scent of her charred flesh in the air, the sensation of the man’s weight on top of her, his hand in her hair, his fingers unbuttoning her shirt combined to create the the most horrific thing she’d ever felt.

It was a new kind of misery. Something much worse than she even knew existed.

She gasped for air as the man slowly eased off of her, her chest finally able to expand properly. He let her arms go first, as a trial. She didn’t make any attempt to retaliate, so he got off of her legs, too, and stood. She laid there, half disassociated. The pain was too much for her to bear. Even though the woodburner was no longer directly on her skin, it still hurt just as much as when the hot metal had been making direct contact with her collarbone. It was still pure, utter agony.

“Remember,” the man’s voice boomed. “This was for you. You chose this, with your actions.”

She didn’t shake her head no, but she didn’t agree, either. She stayed perfectly still, right where she was, sobbing. She just sobbed. That was all she could do.

“Ice,” she begged weakly, her voice hoarse from her screams.

The man chuckled. “Oh, no, sweetie, no can do. Don’t want you getting any sort of first aid. I need it to scar as much as possible. That was the whole point.” He chuckled. Another sob ripped from her throat, and he began to feel slightly guilty.

“Here. I can do something for you. He opened the bathroom door and left, the burning flesh scent thankfully beginning to waft out. Elora knew that she should have gotten up and ran for the door the moment he left. She knew that she was missing what was probably her only chance to escape.

But she couldn’t make herself do it. She couldn’t make herself move.

He was back a few moments later, with a pillow and a blanket from his bed. He lifted her head up and placed the pillow beneath beneath it, shielding it from the hard tile. He draped the blanket over her body, smoothing it down around her with care. She’d be disgusted by his falsified kindness if she weren’t so distracted by the pain.

“And I’ll let you stay uncuffed for a while. I’m sorry, Elora, I really am, but this was the only way. You and I both know that. I’ll have to call out of work, can’t trust you alone and unchained. But that’s fine. I’ll just stay right here until you’re feeling a little better.”

He slid down the wall and sat across from her. All he could see on her face was pure sorrow. She didn’t sleep, despite the pillow and blanket; she wasn’t tired. She just hurt. She lay there, limp, weak, and crying, the pillowcase soaking up her silent tears as she pressed her mouth into a tight, thin line.

Clyde stared at her for several minutes then sighed and lit a cigarette. They’d be here for a while.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas

@badthingshappenbingo

Apartment 307-10 (Tears of Fear)

TWs: Like the last, this is a very heavy chapter. Overall TW for gore and graphic descriptions of the breaking and dislocation of bones. You are welcome to DM me for a chapter summary if this one isn’t your thing!

Elora wasn’t somewhere familiar when she awoke.

She didn’t open her eyes to yellowing tile and fluorescent light, but to a messy bedroom, with an unmade bed and beer cans scattered across the floor. Chains didn’t hold her to the faucet of a bathtub, rather, ropes bound her securely to an office chair. Each of her wrists were tied to the arms of the chair, though the right was much looser than the left. Mercy. Her hand was throbbing horribly enough on its own-she didn’t need the additional pressure of tight ropes. She wouldn’t dare move it even if it weren’t secured, too afraid she’d injure it further. Her chest was bound to the back of the chair and her right leg was tied to a bottom leg, but the left one was free. Why did he leave it free? She wriggled to test the ropes, but there was no hope of slipping out of them.

She tried to be as quiet as she could; if he didn’t know she was awake, he wouldn’t come in and hurt her. In the first few days, she’d always wake up screaming and thrashing, demanding her freedom-but now, she just wanted him to stay away. She was in so much pain between the throbbing of her hand, which was starting to swell and turn purple, and the aching of her head, she didn’t know if she could handle anything more without crumbling entirely. And this seemed awfully sinister; nothing good was going to come from her being tied up in an unfamiliar room.

As much as she tried to silence herself, she couldn’t help but let a few groans escape her lips when sudden waves of pain or nausea hit her. She never knew when they’d come, but when they did, it was awful; her hand would suddenly start feeling like it’d implode, and her stomach twisted in knots, all at random intervals. The man must have heard one of her pained cries, because a few moments later, he waltzed into the room, a menacing look in his eyes and the familiar mallet looking heavy in his hands.

Her expression fell immediately as she began to shake her head rapidly. Her heart was hammering inside her chest; out of everything he’d done, all of the pain he’d caused her, she’d take anything over the agony of her bones being smashed to pieces by the heavy tool. She didn’t know if she could take any more hits on her hand- it looked sickening enough as it was-but what else could he want from her?

Her leg. Her free leg. He didn’t make a mistake. It was untied for a reason. He broke her fingers for stealing, he’d-for running-he would-

Tears began to well in her eyes as she realized what was going to happen and how helpless she was to it all. She was terrified, her vision blurring with tears of pure fear as he started walking towards her.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. He didn’t stop advancing. “I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, I learned, you don’t have to-“

She felt a rough-skinned finger at her lips and let out a weak, broken sob, tears falling down her face and dripping on his hand.

“How could you possibly have learned? I didn’t punish you for running. Only for stealing.” The man’s voice was matter-of-fact, showing little sympathy for her plight. Fear so potent it made her chest feel tight ran through Elora as she continued to shake her head, breathing unevenly. Her hand hurt so badly. So, so badly already. But her ankle? That was bigger-that would be-he’d have to do more-hit it harder-

She began to cry even more, wailing, not holding on to even a shred of dignity in her terror. “Please. Please, it hurts. I can’t-I learned-I can’t do-again-“ her words were choppy as she inhaled and sobbed between each one, desperately pleading for her safety. “I’m scared,” she whispered, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

The man paused for a moment, like he was thinking. She started to let relief seep into her, but then he uttered one word that made her go stone cold.

“Good.”

He spun the chair around, so she was facing the wall and an old wooden desk. Elora began to scream, but he ignored her as if he couldn’t hear her, going scarily calm like he did when he broke her fingers. He ducked beneath the chair and pulled the lever to lift it up high, until her hips were almost level with the desk. At that point, he reached for her free leg. She kicked it wildly, trying to escape his grasp, even managing to nail him in the chin at one point. The terrifying glare and intimidating don’t that came after stopped her in clear her tracks, long enough for him to grab her leg with a tight grip.

“You don’t have to,” she pleaded as he set her left foot on the desk. “I learned. I know-I won’t try it again. Ever. I promise.” She was lying through her teeth, but god, she’d do anything to save herself.

“I don’t give a shit,” he replied coolly, standing at her side and lining up the mallet with her ankle. He lifted it up above his head and Elora squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for a world of pain.

But nothing could have prepared her. Not any deep breaths, not any shut eyes, not even knowing the agony from her hand. The pain was explosive even from the first strike as the man brought the mallet down with as much force as it seemed was humanly possible. And her ankle, of course, was much less fragile than her fingers-it would take much more force to shatter it, more hits, more pain-none of which she was equipped to handle.

She screamed even with the first hit, dissolving into hiccuping sobs. “You d-don’t have to,” she pleaded, making the man stop for just a moment, staring intently at her. His gaze felt like fire and she wanted nothing more than to dissolve into the floor and never come back..

“Yes, I do,” he chided firmly. “Shut up.”

Her words must have had the opposite effect of what she wanted, because the second strike felt even more violent, as did the third and fourth as he picked up the pace, with little care for her ear-piercing screams and fervent thrashing. At first, the bones merely fractured, but with each strike they splintered and cracked further until sharp shards of bone poked dangerously close to the surface of her skin. And like the last time, the man seemed barely cognizant of what he was doing-he just kept going, with absolutely no awareness of her reactions.

Her vision was beginning to blur and darken as time went on and the pain continued to skyrocket with every hit, her mind spinning as the brutality of it all was just too much for her to handle. Just when she thought she might pass out, a loud crack resounded through the room. At first, she feared the worst, thinking it had been the sound of one of her own bones breaking. But when she blinked the floaters out of her vision and grounded herself, looking ahead, she saw that the desk had begun to split and splinter from the mere force of the mallet coming down on it. It was thick-it looked sturdy, but even the wood couldn’t withstand the force of the missed strikes of the mallet. The man, of course, paid no attention, continuing to strike at her mangled ankle.

He hit her again and again, missing her ankle half of the time in his daze until the desk finally gave out, the wooden surface simply splitting in half and caving in with an even louder crack. Her leg fell in an instant and her butchered ankle hit the floor with so much force from the sudden drop that the shattered bones slipped out of the joint, leaving it now both badly broken and dislocated.

Elora couldn’t even scream as the horrific pain exploded all up and down her leg. The noise that came from her throat sounded like inhuman-she let out a strangled, animalistic gasp as all the air pushed out of her lungs with the force. Her vision instantly blackened to the point of total darkness with the intense pain, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as her body went limp and lax against the ropes binding her to the chair. The man must have realized the gravity of the situation-his mistake- at that point, because in an instant, she heard the mallet hit the floor and felt rough hands against her face, grabbing and stabilizing her head from either side.

“Hey now,” she heard his voice call. “Alright, all done. Wake up.”

But she didn't. Her hearing, too, slipped, as she let her eyelids shut, not unconscious but not quite awake, either. She was swimming in blackness, the pain so immense it was too much to bear. She was relieved to finally just rest, but moments later, she felt cold water splash across her face and run down her chest, soaking her shirt. She shivered and her eyes opened, seeing the man standing in front of the broken desk, staring down at her like some kind of giant.

“Welcome back,” he grumbled. “Come on, now, we’re done. It’s over.”

Elora looked up at him, making eye contact for all but a moment before her chin dropped down and she brokenly sobbed. She trembled, shutting her eyes tightly as bitter terror ran through her veins.

The man sighed heavily and she felt the ropes around her chest loosen. They fell to the floor and she slumped forward, but he was there in an instant to catch her, supporting her with his shoulder as he turned to the side to untie the ropes around her wrists. She wanted to move away from him, a faint feeling of disgust clouding her mind as her body rested against his, but she was too exhausted, too drunk on pain and fear to do anything about it.

“Almost done,” he muttered, crouching down to untie her left leg. She bitterly thought that she should kick him again, but she didn’t have the energy to even move her leg. She didn’t protest as he lifted her out of the chair, lifting her over a shoulder before carrying her to the bed. He set her down with a surprising amount of caution, careful to support her head and not jostle her hand or her ankle on the way down. Elora was only dimly aware of what was going on, lost to the pain as he tucked the blankets around her and slipped a pillow underneath her head.

She wanted to be comforted by the bed-she hadn’t slept anywhere comfortable in a week, it should have felt like sweet relief-but she couldn’t. Something felt so viscerally wrong-the bed smelled like cigarettes and old sweat, the sheets were scratchy, and she could feel his gaze on her. It didn’t feel right. And something about the fact that it wasn’t just a bed, but his, sparked a fear so potent she was afraid to even sleep.

But he didn’t join her, rather settling down on the floor beside her with his back against the wall.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” he said. “I really do. But you never learn. That’s the problem with you, Elora. I keep trying to reach you better, but you never learn.”

She felt a lump form in her throat. There were so many things she wanted to say, so much anger, so much hate, but she knew stepping out of line was the last thing she should do.

“I know,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t really sorry.

“If you just did what I asked, it wouldn’t be this way.”

She thought about that for a moment, but in the end, she knew he was lying. This wasn’t about her. It never had been. It was always about him. She stayed silent.

“If you can’t learn not to steal, not to run yourself, I just have to take away the option. That’s how it is.”

Elora turned on her side and curled up into a tight ball, facing away from him. “Stop,” she mumbled. Her voice and her eyes were teary.

“It’s been a hard day, hasn't it?” the man asked, getting up from the ground to sit beside her on the bed. She cringed as his hands began to comb through her hair, painfully catching on knots several times before he sighed and gave up on the endeavor.

“You should clean yourself up soon. Brush through your hair, get some fresh clothes. Maybe we could do that tomorrow, if you’re good.”

She shook her head. She didn’t want any of that. She just wanted to sleep.

“It’s hard now, but think about it. In a few weeks, months, you’ll be so well-behaved. We won’t have to do anything like this ever again. Look at you now. You’re already breaking and we’ve hardly done a thing. Just imagine it.”

The mere thought made Elora press her face into the pillow and bawl.

The man sighed and stood. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you some space. Get some rest.”

He left for the door and Elora heard it shut behind him as he walked off. It didn’t take long before she’d cried herself to sleep.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out

Apartment 307-6 (Harmful Healing)

start here last chapter

requested by anon

TW: Death threats made in this chapter

Morning came, and for the first time since her capture, Elora wasn’t up anxiously waiting for the man to return. She was fast asleep when he strolled in; her body was weakened and exhausted from the day prior, the perfect storm for her to rest deeply, and for a long time.

Her pleasant dreams and hours of rest shattered, though, when she awoke to a rough hand grabbing and shaking her shoulder. She blinked tiredly for a few seconds before registering that it was his hand grabbing her, and at that point, she flinched, pushing back against the wall as she tried to scramble out of his grip. His hand didn’t release her, though, and her eyes were bright and fearful as she looked up at him, her whole body shaking just the slightest bit.

He huffed. “So flinchy. You’re going to have to learn that you’re mine somehow, someday. Don’t forget that.”

Elora said nothing, keeping her fear and anger and disgust to herself. Please be looking for me, mom. Please.

He pulled away, finally, standing up straight. She knew from when he attacked her that he was a couple inches shorter than her, but when she was chained down, forced to stare up at him, he felt immeasurably tall, immeasurably powerful.

She could still feel his hand on her shoulder like it had been made of acid, still seeping and burning into her skin. It might as well have been. She’d always enjoyed affection, gentle little touches here and there from people who loved her-but every time the man touched her, it felt wrong. Awful. Like fire against her skin.

He coughed, as if to gain her attention, like he didn’t already have it, every bit of his presence keeping her on edge.

“Since you’ve decided you don’t want anything to do with the plant, we’re going to try something else I know you can do.”

Elora’s expression darkened, her mind filling with all the terrible possibilities of whatever the hell that could mean. What else did he know?

Without warning, he pulled out his pocket knife and slashed it along her thigh, dangerously close to the large, sloppily-stitched wound from the first day. In one slice, another hole was torn in her pants, and a small, bloodied red line formed. Elora whimpered, but didn’t have much else of a reaction; he had given her much worse pain so far. She didn’t understand the purpose of this, here and now, when she’d had so much worse. The pain was sharp, but minimal, stinging as her blood started to coagulate in the air.

“Heal it,” the man instructed.

Her heart sank.

He knew that, too?

“I-” the girl started, before Clyde grasped her chin and dug his dirty fingernails into her skin.

“You know what happens when you don’t listen. You know. It’s not that fucking hard, Elora.”

She swallowed, hard. She could feel her heart thumping in her throat, rhythmically, like an instrument. Thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump-

In a way, he was right. It wouldn’t be hard to give in. In all honesty, it would be easy.

The lines were beginning to blur between what resistance was beneficial to her psyche, and what would be better for her to just let go.

But this, she knew she wanted to resist. Needed to.

Her healing was only ever meant to help others. Never herself. She’d tried, several times, to heal her own body, and the results were always horrifically painful. Whenever she used her magic to heal, she absorbed the pain of the individual that she was healing; it was a simple transfer of energy. She took away the wound, closed up the edges, and bore just the pain, not the physical injury, briefly, just how brief depending on the severity of the wound. She never took much joy in it, but for situations that called for her help- emergencies, hurt kids, severe bleeding or head injuries, and the like-she’d do it. After all, she bore the pain for a much shorter amount of time than those who had been hurt in the first place. It felt like her duty to help, when it would be so much easier for her to take the pain temporarily than for the one who attained it in the first place to hold onto it for days, weeks, months, even.

But that blessing, the ability to transfer another’s pain to herself, to give mercy, became a curse, when turned on herself. Instead of experiencing just her own, usual level of pain, it reverberated like an echo chamber, intensifying every second until it was explosive, muchmore than she could handle. She phantom-experienced her own pain twice over initially, and then quadrupled and so on, going on and on, growing exponentially from there, leading to an amplified misery like no other. Even healing a tiny bruise off of her own skin felt like healing a bullet wound.

And the man was making cuts. Big ones.

“I c-can’t do that,” she stammered.

He tilted her chin up with the blade of the knife, forcing her to tilt her head back in order to escape the sharp point.

“Yes you can,” he growled.

She looked over at him, cold fear in her eyes.

“Y-you don’t understand,” she continued. “I can’t.”

“Elora.”

The man’s voice was eerily calm. He didn’t have to say another word; that tone, and the glare, were enough to make her skin crawl.

“Y-you’re right about the healing,” she stammered, “but that’s just for others. I c-can’t do it to myself, it doesn’t work like that. Don’t you-don’t you think I would’ve healed myself and run away from here a-already, if I could?”

He sighed heavily, standing up straight and spinning the knife around casually.

“You can,” he said. “You just don’t want to. It hurts you, I know. But what’s a little pain, in comparison to your life, my lark? I’m being gentle, light with this knife. But just as easily, I could dig it deep into your throat, cut you ear to ear. You’d be gone within minutes. Is that what you want? If I were you, I’d choose a little pain, no?”

There he was with those nicknames again. Elora swallowed, staring ahead at the wall in silence, her eyes blurring in and out of focus as she looked at the white tiles. She still didn’t know him very well, but he didn’t seem to be lying. No, he seemed impulsive, impulsive enough to kill her simply for noncompliance.

And she didn’t want to die.

“Okay,” she whispered.

She placed her hands on either edge of the cut on her thigh, inhaling deeply before closing her eyes, focusing deeply on directing her magic to the wound.

She wasn’t watching it, but she could feel it as it started to close, the pain going from a small throb to a roaring wave in just a few moments.

Clyde stood there, watching in pure awe. He didn’t pay much attention to her agony, too focused on staring at the healing wound in amazement. That was quite the trick, and a useful one, too. Imagine how much you could punish her, over and over, simply by making her heal herself up only to repeat the same torture.

It didn’t take much longer than ten or fifteen seconds, but by the end, she was writhing in agony, sucking in breaths sharply through her teeth. When she finally did open her eyes, she saw her skin, perfectly clear and in tact, like the man had never cut her.

“Do it again,” he instructed.

Elora let out a shaky breath. “Please,” she started. “You know it-”

“Did I ask you if you wanted to? No, I told you to do it again.”

Elora looked down, biting her lip. Do it, or he’ll kill you.

“Where?” She asked. “You just-you only cut me once, just now.”

He huffed. “I suggest you choose another spot yourself. You’re covered in plenty of cuts. Unless you’d like me to slash you again, hmm?”

She shook her head immediately, pausing for a moment to think. What would hurt the least to heal?

The cuts on her arm from yesterday. They had already started to close up, and they were small. Just one wouldn’t take her very long. She moved her hand and covered one cut with her fingers, taking a moment to focus and breathe before she began.

The man smiled. “Ambitious, aren’t you? Go on then, since you chose your arm. Fix them all.”

Her heart dropped. “N-no! You said one more! I didn’t mean-”

He cut her off again. “Right, and now I said them all. Go on. Do I need to remind you of the consequences your actions can bring?”

He’ll kill you. He will.

She shook her head, trying to be calm. She would-she had to try.

She whimpered as soon as her magic made contact with the first cut. Her fingers on the hand of the arm being healed curled up and grabbed a fistful of her shirt, trying to brace herself against the pain. It didn’t do much. The dread was almost as bad as the pain, cold fear seeping into her every time she looked at her arm. It was cut up and down-there were at least thirty of them, maybe more.

Worse than anything else was the man’s glare. He was staring at her, with an amused sense of wonder. Every time she looked up, she saw him smiling.

She tried to do as he told her. She did. She knew he would kill her. But after cut six or seven-she had a hard time keeping track, especially because they disappeared without a scar-she let her healing arm drop, her fingers twitching slightly. She couldn’t do it anymore. The pain that had grown was excruciating, worse than anything that had happened before, and her energy was near completely depleted.

“Why the hell did you stop?” the man shouted at her. She looked away from him. She was so exhausted, it was hard to focus. She’d just woken up, but she wanted to curl up and sleep. Using that much magic, in a way she was never supposed to, felt like it sucked the life force out of her just like a leech.

“I-I can only do so much,” she explained. “O-only have so much in me.” Her body was starting to droop, just about ready to give in to sleep.

Clyde didn’t like that answer. He grabbed her arm roughly and returned it to the cuts, but even he could feel that she was becoming loose and limp, from what he assumed was pure exhaustion. When he let her arm down and nothing happened besides a quiet groan from the girl, he gave up.

“That was hardly anything. God, you’re useless. We’ll have to work on that, and your...disregard of my authority. You know, I think I know exactly what to do. Perhaps we’ll take a little trip away from the bathtub tomorrow.”

With that, he turned and left the bathroom. Moments later, Elora turned on her side and slept, left without the time awake to wonder what he meant by that.

@exploringspaceinpyjamas @badthingshappenbingo

(let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!)

Elora Series-2

Back at it again with part 2!!

I am slightly sleep deprived excuse grammatical errors.

TWs: mention of drugging, possessive whumper.

     Clyde Anderson wasn’t an idiot.

     He was reckless, maybe, and a little crazy, but he wasn’t an idiot. He had left a completely clean crime scene; not a single strand of hair was left behind, not a single lost eyelash, nothing. As soon as Elora finally gave in and passed out, he took the SIM card out of her phone and crushed it to bits with his foot, though he kept the device itself to dispose of farther away. It didn’t take him long at all to secure her wrists and ankles with thick rope, just to ensure she couldn’t try anything in the off chance that she woke up before they reached their destination. Once she was tied up properly, he shoved her and her bag into the trunk before getting back into the driver’s seat and speeding off.

     The drive was long, but not terribly so; it was just about two hours, driven straight through. That was another of the geniuses to his plan; they’d be crossing state lines, twice. That, on top of the squeaky clean scene, made Clyde confident that the police wouldn’t have even the slightest chance of ever finding Elora. 

     In all honesty, he didn’t know what he was going to do with her. He had a couple of plans, but after that, he was lost. It didn’t seem plausible to keep her forever, but a body to hide would complicate things even further. He could let her go, eventually, but he’d have to rough her up pretty bad to scare her out of telling anyone about him.

     Overthinking was a demon. That was a problem to be dealt with later. All he knew at the moment was that he had to have her, and now he did.

     Ever since some drunk guy at the bar started rambling to him the wretched bitch who killed his niece, curiosity had eaten at his soul, itching to know more. They became newfound drinking buddies, and he pressed the other man for details every night out for weeks, yet somehow came off without any suspicion. Clyde asked for all sorts of things-her name, where she was from, how she knew his niece-and Dante always answered without question. 

     The gist of the story he was given was that Dante’s niece, Wren, had been dating this girl for years, which he had never liked in the first place, but one day, when they were sixteen, she took Wren up a mountain and killed her. Clyde had a feeling that wasn’t the entire story, but he truly didn’t care. His fascination was with the Elora, not what she’d done three years ago.

     He truly didn’t need much information from Dante, anyways. After a few basic questions, he got everything else he needed from facebook stalking.

     And now he’d been watching her for almost five months.

    It still felt surreal that he’d finally talked  himself into biting back his worries and taking her. He couldn’t explain his feelings about the situation if his life depended on it, but something felt so viscerally right now that she was finally with him, just a few feet away in the trunk.  It was as if Elora had always belonged to him, and now things were just as they were supposed to be. 

     He had her. He finally fucking had her.

     About thirty miles away from where he grabbed her, he tossed her SIM-cardless phone out of the window into a soaked ditch on the side of the road. Even if the device was recovered, it wouldn’t have a chance of turning on after soaking in rainwater for so long. 

     The rest of the drive passed uneventfully, just as Clyde had hoped. He never stopped once, and was incredibly careful to drive lawfully so as to not attract the attention of any cops.

      Their final destination was a shitty apartment in an even shittier town in Connecticut. The name Pleasant Park Apartments poorly hid the harsh reality of asbestos-filled walls, cigarette butts lining the sidewalks like snow, and neighbors who were either always too high to give a shit about anything or just naturally apathetic on their own. Clyde had been there for seven years, and was numb to the conditions at this point. He used to live in a nice condo on the better side of town, but after some bitch that couldn’t take a damn joke got fired from his job as a mechanic that paid a pretty penny, he couldn’t afford it anymore. His new job as an insurance agent hardly covered rent for the shithole he had now, but it was all that he could get. At least the coworkers weren’t shit.

     After parking the sedan close to his building, Clyde took Elora’s bag out of the trunk and slung it over his shoulder, then proceeded to lift her out of the trunk, holding her beneath her knees and around her back in a bridal carry. She was still completely limp, her body almost jelly-like in its unconscious state. He didn’t anticipate just how heavy she’d feel when he had to carry her up three flights of stairs. By the time he put his key in the door of apartment 307, he was panting heavily, more than ready to drop her in the bathroom prison he’d already prepared for her. 

     The bathroom was obviously not an ideal location; a basement would have been preferable, but in a two bed two bath apartment, there wasn’t another place to put her. The spare bedroom was too close to the outside and had windows-what if a cop patrolling around looking for druggies heard her, or she lifted the blinds to signal for help? The master bath and bedroom weren’t options for the same reason, and neither were the kitchen or the living room, with far too much open space to properly contain Elora. That left the small guest bathroom in the hallway; the door to it was directly across from the front door of the apartment, but that was the only negative. It didn’t have any external walls, and was easy to rig into somewhat of a cell.

     It wasn’t anything fancy, but it wasn’t awful, either. Clyde had never used it, sticking to the master, so it was clean, but the decor was straight out of the eighties, with yellowing floral wallpaper and a big white mat that had begun to grow mold from the surrounding humidity in the center of the room. The bathtub was straight ahead from the door, and the very clearly aged toilet and vanity were along the right wall, lining up with the showerhead. 

     Clyde did indeed drop Elora, kicking the door closed behind himself then immediately heading over to the bathroom and all but tossing her into the tub. He flinched, though, at the sound of her head smacking against the hard tile that lined the side walls. That was probably overkill-even he knew that.

     He didn’t have time to fuss over it, though. He didn’t know how much time he had until she woke up. 

     A week prior to the kidnapping, he’d purchased a length of heavy duty chain and a few padlocks from a local store. With a bit of ingenuity, he figured out a way to rig them to the bathtub’s faucet without having to install any sort of extra hardware into the walls to prevent them from slipping off. All it took was the tension of looping them around both the faucet and the handle that controlled the water and a few extra wraps around; after being secured with several padlocks, there wasn’t a single plausible way for the chains to be pulled off of the wall. All he had to do after that was secure the loose end of the chain to a pair of handcuffs with another padlock, and he had all he needed to keep Elora exactly where he wanted her to be.

     He untied the ropes from her hands and feet, replacing those around her hands with the cuffs. He didn’t worry about securing her feet in any way, as the amount of chain left after the jerry-rigged suspension between the handle and faucet was so short that she would have to hunch over to stand, anyways. She wouldn’t be able to go far with that.

     He double-checked everything before leaving the bathroom, each padlock, each individual chain link, and the bathroom itself for any hazards that could be within her reach. There were none. Everything was utterly perfect.

     Satisfied, Clyde turned off the lights, closed the door, and headed into his bedroom which was just a door away down the hallway, a gleeful smile on his face.

-

     Elora awoke slowly, in several stages. At first, she couldn’t even tell that she was waking up at all, as wherever she was, it was pitch black. She then realized that she was in fact somewhere, and that somewhere was unfamiliar. She bolted upright with a start. Her head ached horribly from the sudden motion and she flinched, sucking in a loud breath. Ow, shit. Confusion then hit her. Where was she?

     The memories came next. She jerked her wrists back abruptly and heard the clanking of metal, feeling tightness around her wrists as something resisted them moving. It kept them together when she tried to pull them apart, as well..handcuffs?

     Her first instinct was to scream and jerk as much as she could, fighting chains that she couldn’t even see. She thrashed as hard as she could, her throat feeling raw as she screamed for what felt like an hour.

     Soon, though, she fell silent. Dead silent. She swore she could hear footsteps, and they were getting louder. Maybe someone was coming to help her? This could all be a huge misunderstanding.

     A door she didn’t even know was there opened and she held her breath. A small amount of light came into the room, but it seemed to be dark outside of wherever she was, too.

     She watched as a shadowy figure reached into the room, flipping a light switch. Bright fluorescent lights crackled on immediately, and Elora blinked, her eyes having become accustomed to the darkness.

     She whipped her head around to look at the figure after her eyes adjusted. They panned to his face, first; he was a man, with a scraggly goatee and brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed or cut in a long time. His eyes were brown, the whites bloodshot. She could see it in his face that he was slightly overweight, and his skin had an almost-sunburned appearance despite it being the middle of November.

     His mouth started moving. He was speaking. His voice was rough and loud.

     “Hello.”

     Elora’s eyes then panned down to his body. She recognized the clothes he was wearing. She recognized them. It had been too dark to make out his face when she was being kidnapped, but she remembered his clothes. A gray tee shirt and straight-leg jeans. He took her. He was the one. He-

     She began screaming again, and then she heard him laugh at the sound of her cries.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas

Elora Series-1

hi friends!!

I’ve been meaning/wanting to turn my Elora shorts into a full fledged story for a while now, but never had the proper motivation and ideas to do it, but I’ve decided now is the time to start! I’m super excited to share this with you all :) I’m going to try to post consistently, let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist!

TWs-nothing too bad is happening yet. Drugging and kidnapping, obviously.

Enjoy!

     “Are you sure you don’t want a ride home, kiddo?”

     Elora Larkin gave a wry smile from behind the register of Agathangelou’s, the local, well-loved bakery native to Cape Cod. She’d gotten her very first job here as a bright-eyed sixteen year old with trouble telling sugar from salt, but over the past three and a half years, her boss and the owner, Demetrios Agathangelou, had the pleasure of watching her flourish into not only a hell of a good baker, but also a confident, well-adjusted adult.

     Elora was a tall, willowy woman, with long blonde hair that fell to the small of her back in waves. Her eyes were a deep shade of green, complimented by a few freckles that dotted her rounded facial features. Her body language seemed to nearly constantly be open and friendly.

     Demetrios was an older man, with graying hair, bright blue eyes, and lines across his face that made him look like he was always smiling, which wasn’t far from the truth. If anyone in his life were asked to describe him in one word, it would undoubtedly be kind. He cared for his family and his employees above all else, far above any concerns of profit or productivity. The incredible workplace he’d created through his gentle nature, though, meant that there were very few worries about any of that nonsense, anyways. They made plenty of money to keep everyone afloat, with enough left over to buy fancy new machines that made Elora extra excited to come in to work every once in a while.

     His kindness was why he always asked her if she’d like to be driven home after her evening shifts like clockwork. She’d bought a small cottage just a mile down the road only a few months ago, and ever since then, she’d begun walking to and from work, both for the joy of the outdoors and to cut down on her carbon footprint. Before then, her mom would drive her every day, always stopping in for a few minutes to greet Demetrios. Their connection was how Elora got the job in the first place; his wife, Lucia, worked as a neonatal nurse at the local hospital along with Elora’s mother, Jodie.

     Elora’s walking habit always worried Demetrios, especially when she worked late and it was dark by the time she clocked out. She always passed on his offers to drive her home, though, despite his insistence. She was a stubborn girl, set in her ways; that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

     She wiped her hands off on her apron before untying it behind her back, locking up the register and stepping out from behind the counter.

     “I’m okay, Dima. Promise.”

     Demetrios gave her a look that was almost fatherly, resisting the urge to put his hands on his hips. Elora grabbed her backpack from the break room and put her apron away in it, her grin cracking wider at his expression. 

     “Oh, come on. It’s nice out. Autumn breeze and everything.”

     Demetrios simply shook his head at her, smiling back.

     “Go home, you mule. See you Monday.”

     Elora grinned. She was excited to have the upcoming weekend off; she usually worked a Saturday or Sunday shift, at least, but Demetrios had insisted on a nice long break, and she was looking forward to it now that she had gotten used to the idea of it. She already had plans; tomorrow she was going to go down to the beach and read out there all day, and Sunday, she’d go over to her mom’s for dinner.

     “See you Monday.”

     She slipped out of the front door of the charming bakery, giving one last wave through the window before she headed off towards her home.

     The streets were just as quiet as usual, the sidewalk covered in leaves that crunched under her feet as she set on home. When she’d first moved, going home alone at night had unnerved her, but now, she was familiar enough with the whole route that she didn’t have a single worry. It was the same old walk every morning and night she worked. Nothing was ever wrong.

     And she was right-tonight, as usual, nothing was wrong. Following a few minutes of walking, she could see her cottage at the end of the road after taking her normal right turn.

      Nothing was out of the ordinary until a car she didn’t recognize started following behind her. She looked over her shoulder, the bright headlights shining right at her.

     Okay, that was weird, but not too weird. Maybe they’re just lost. Oh! Or maybe they’re the one who moved into that house up on North street. That would make sense.

     The car was just a small black sedan, anyways. It looked shabby, and Elora really had no reason to fear it. She turned her head back in front of herself, continuing to walk on like normal. It was probably better to mind her business, anyways. She didn’t want to be rude. She kept on going, shaking off any fears she had.

    Just a few seconds later, she heard the car abruptly break, and the driver’s      side door opened with a pop. She whipped around, turning on the flashlight on her phone and pointing it towards the car. Instinctually, a strong pulse of magic flowed and sat around her fingertips, its energy buzzing beneath her skin.

     “Hello?” She called into the night, ready to change from the flashlight to the phone app to dial 911 in all but an instant. 

     There was dead silence. A figure stood there, unmoving, their features indiscernible in the low light. Yep, okay, time to call the police, time to run-

     She didn’t have enough time to get past the nine before they pounced. 

     Elora screamed at the top of her lungs as her phone was knocked out of her hand. The attacker tried to wrap an arm around her neck, but she shoved it off, muttering a spell under her breath that sent a shockwave of sharp pain through them. She winced at the sound of the load groan of pain that resulted, guilt eating her. 

     Magic isn’t supposed to be used like this. But she-there isn’t another choice, is there?

     The attacker had already picked up her dropped phone, leaving her with no choice but to turn on her heel and sprint back towards the bakery. It was a ten minute walk from this point, but she could make it a two minute run.

     Unfortunately, the attacker was right back behind her in seconds. Frustrated by their initial failure, they lunged at Elora, their weight sending the both of them tumbling to the ground. Elora screamed gain, her cry sharp in the silence of the night. 

     Before she could even think of what to do next, they flipped Elora over, straddling her waist. She kicked and clawed at their face with her nails, but in one swift movement, they pinned both of her arms against her sides by leaning down and draping one large arm across her upper body, applying all the force they could. Without hesitation, they used their free hand to hold a rag they’d been carrying since they got out of the car to her face, their fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.

     Elora thrashed with everything she had, desperate to get away. They weren’t far from the bakery; if she could just get up, she’d have a fighting chance…

     The rag smelled like chemicals. She knew instantly that this was bad, really bad. She held her breath while kicking and trying to utter spells that were too muffled by the fabric to have any effect. She could only resist breathing for so long, though; after hardly half a minute, her body forced her to gasp for air, taking the chloroform soaked into the rag deep into her lungs.

    Her thrashing stopped a few moments later. And a few moments after that, she was out.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas 

Apartment 307-5

TWs: Parental grief, implied death of a child, mention/recount of torture

Sunday night was cold and dark; large, gray clouds hung in the near-black sky, joined by the splatter of shining stars. It was going to rain soon. Even if it did, Jodie Larkin didn’t care. She was busy desperately trying to get a hold of Demetrios. The end of November was in sight, the air far too frigid for one to be outside without a coat, but Jodie was out on her porch in a dress and sandals anyways, too frantic to bother changing out of her Sunday best. She paced back and forward as she held her phone up to her ear, praying the man on the other end of the line would pick up. He didn’t the first time she called, nor the second, nor the third, but she was too worried to give up and leave him alone for the night.

Finally, on the last ring of the fourth call, just when she had begun to lose hope, a familiar, deep voice spoke through the phone’s speakers.

“Hello? Is everything alright, Jodie?” Demetrios asked, his tone softening with worry. It was unusual for her to call several times in a row, especially so late in the evening on a Sunday. It was nearly ten o’clock.

From her porch, Jodie sighed heavily with relief, gently rubbing her temples.

“Hi! Hi, thank god. I’m so sorry to be bothering you. I was just-Oh, god, I think something is wrong. I-when was the last time you saw Elora? She was meant to be here for dinner four hours ago. I tried calling her, but her phone went straight to voicemail, and my texts won’t go through, either. I know it’s only been a couple hours, but it’s weird, you know? I’m worried. I thought it was strange when she didn’t text me about her day or anything yesterday, either. She usually does when she goes out and does fun things. So there’s that, and now she just didn’t show up, and it’s worrying me. God, I’m rambling, I-” she paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s a parental thing, you get it. I just wanted to know the last time you heard from her.”

In his home, Demetrios sat in a leather recliner, his expression slowly becoming troubled as he listened to Jodie’s frantic rambling. His wife, Lucia, sat a few feet away from him on the couch, a blanket tossed over her legs and a book nestled in her lap. She could faintly hear the conversation through Demetrios’ phone, though, and closed her book upon hearing that something was wrong with Elora, setting it to the side as she stood and walked towards him. He motioned for her to hold on, clearing his throat.

“I saw her leaving the bakery Friday night,” he explained calmly. “I offered to drive her home, and she refused, like always. You’ve raised a headstrong girl, Jodie. Look, I’m sure everything is alright. She probably got caught up with friends or nature or a sewing project. I’ll let you know if she doesn’t come into work tomorrow, alright? I’m sure she’s fine. She’s more than likely just making the most out of her last couple months as a teenager and being a delinquent.”

He chuckled, the familiar sound calming Jodie’s nerves. She sighed deeply, nodding to herself. She knew he couldn’t see her; the action was to reassure herself, more than anything.

“You know, you’re probably right. I just...worry about her. She’s my whole family, you know? Just call me as soon as you can in the morning, alright?”

Demetrios sounded sympathetic. He knew, better than anyone, what it was like to lose a child. Only, he knew the pain of losing one forever, not just for a few worrisome hours.

“Of course.”

“Thank you again. I don’t know what we’d do without you. Sorry for being so frazzled. You know how I am.” Jodie chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s normal to worry, Jodie. She’s still your baby even though she’s growing up. You have a good night, okay? Get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”

She nodded, again, for her own reassurance. “Right. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Jodie hung up the phone and headed inside, sighing deeply. She kicked her shoes off and headed into her bedroom, deciding to take Demetrios’ advice and relax. Get some sleep.

This would all just be a funny story in the morning. Elora would come home and she’d scold her and then everything would be okay. She plugged in her phone and rolled over, facing away from it. The house felt scarily empty, the same way it had for months since Elora had moved out. Only tonight, it felt even emptier than normal.

Five text messages were left sent, but not delivered, on her phone.

11/29/18 6:15 PM: You’re late! Hurry up, kiddo, lasagna’s getting cold.

11/29/18 6:42 PM: You okay? Call me.

11/29/18 7:27 PM: Please call me.

11/29/18 8:59 PM: What’s up? Where are you?

11/29/18 9:36 PM: I love you, E. Please call me as soon as you see this. Love you.

“What was that all about?” Lucia asked, her hands on her hips and her brow furrowed with worry. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.

“It was Jodie,” Demetrios explained. “Elora didn’t show up to dinner and her phone’s going to voicemail. She’s worried, but I think she’d probably just sidetracked with something. Or partying. I don’t know. She’s still practically a kid and I gave her a free weekend. She could be getting into all sorts of things.”

Lucia nodded, considering for a moment. “I’m sure she’s fine. I wouldn’t worry until tomorrow. But it’s natural for Jodie to worry, she’s her only baby and she just moved out. We’re both working the morning shift tomorrow. I’ll try to reassure her.”

“You’re an angel, you know what?” Demetrios smiled.

Lucia leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, smiling back. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, I love you.”

Demetrios nodded. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

With that, Lucia nodded and walked off.

Eventually, Demetrios joined her in bed, and the pair slept peacefully, curled up with each other in a messy tangle of limbs. Together, just the way they liked it.

~

Somewhere far away, Elora was sleeping, too. Or at least trying to. She couldn’t get comfortable, surrounded by walls of hard ceramic and chains and blood. So much blood. She assumed that today, Sunday, had been the man’s day off, because he’d spent what felt like the whole day with her, only giving her a reprieve after hours of what she could only describe as torture. Her head was still pounding from the night before, but he didn’t seem to care, as he shouted at her again and again about that stupid little aloe plant. He still wanted her to grow it, but she wouldn’t give in. Couldn’t. She needed to be strong. At first, he’d just slap her, then ask again, but after a bright red handprint from repeated impact was clear across her cheek, he moved on, bringing back the pocket knife. He cut her across her arm, again and again, then went back and dug his fingernails into the gashes. She thrashed and cried, but still didn’t give in, for the whole day. Now, though, she almost wished she had. The dull sting in her arm was a constant, bitter reminder of her defiance, and one of the only sensations she had in the dark room. She couldn’t see an inch in front of her face in the darkness, but she could feel the sting. And the throb from her thigh. Constantly.

She stared up at the ceiling, trying to stop the tears from welling up. She didn’t know why she kept trying to hold them back; they always came and slid down her face, anyways, no matter how hard she tried. Maybe it was just the shred of dignity she had left, begging to be held on to.

It was cold in the bathroom. There were no windows for heat from the sun to seep through, and she wasn’t sure if the apartment even had a formal heating system. If it did, the man wasn’t turning it on. It was cold enough to amplify her misery, but not actually harm her. Probably intentional.

She didn’t actually fall asleep for a long time. She rotated around near-constantly, trying to get somewhat comfortable to absolutely no avail. There was no way to position herself without agitating something. Her aching head, her stinging arm, her sore thigh-one always screamed out in complaint from the way she laid.

When her eyes finally did shut and her breathing became even, it was more of passing out from exhaustion than true sleep.

Still, that night, she dreamed of her mother. Her mind painted a vivid picture of the two of them picking apples at an orchard together, the rows and rows of trees bringing about the most poignant feeling of peace. The breeze was soft, the fall weather still just warm enough to wear her favorite shorts. In the morning, she would wake up with a sad sense of longing, wishing it had been real, but for the moment, she was happy.

~

Demetrios got ready for work just like normal the next morning. He hardly even remembered the conversation he had with Jodie the past night, paying it little mind. He was certain that Elora would come into work like normal, perhaps a little hungover, and he’d be able call her mother and assure her of her safety.

And so he kissed Lucia on the forehead and drove to the bakery, dressed in his usual uniform of khakis, a t-shirt, and an apron that had seen many years of stains. He pulled into the parking lot in his spot, unlocked the front door, and began opening like he always did. He cleaned, prepared ingredients for the day, filled the cases-everything like normal. They didn’t open until 8, and it was still only 7:30 by the time he finished preparing everything for the day. He didn’t worry.

He started watching the window around 7:40. He was sitting behind the register, with a clear view of the parking lot. He was sure he’d see Elora walk through the doors.

Three of his other employees came through the front door between 7:40 and 8:00, smiling and waving obliviously.

But Elora never came. She usually came in right around 7:50, but there was still no sign of her by 8:00 when they opened.

Maybe she was just late. He tried to convince himself of that, but when 9:00 came and he’d been acting so nervously that even the regulars noticed it, he knew he had to call Jodie.

He ducked outside quickly before any employees could question for him, anxiously tapping his foot against the deck. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed Jodie, breathing deeply. It was going to hurt to tell her this.

Jodie answered on the second ring, clearly having been waiting for him to call. She stepped out into the hallway, away from all the rooms, praying that Demetrios was calling because Elora just got in a little late and a little disheveled.

She spoke first, hope potent in her voice. “Hello? Is she there?”

Demetrios sucked in a breath. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened, but I’ll help you figure it out, alright? Lucia and I will. We care about her, too. You’re family and we’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

It felt like a few years of her life force was sucked out of her when she heard the answer. No. Your daughter isn’t here, Jodie, she could be somewhere, anywhere, hurt or dead or worse.

She wanted to break down, she really did, But she had patients to tend to. And so she shoved down the pain, compartmentalized it into a little box and set it to the side to be dealt with later. All she could offer was a tiny squeak of acknowledgment, not wanting to speak too much for fear of bursting into tears right then and there.

She hung up the phone before Demetrios could say anything else. When she turned around, prepared to head back into the ward and continue her rounds, she found that Lucia had followed her out.

Lucia didn’t even have to ask her. Jodie just shook her head. Lucia frowned, then stepped forward, putting a gentle, reassuring hand on her back.

Jodie rested her head on Lucia’s shoulder and sobbed.

“What if no one finds her?” she asked between cries, shaking her head. “It’s not like her. It’s not-no one has seen her since Friday.”

Lucia rubbed her back lightly, shushing her gently. “After our shift, we can go down to the police station and file a report together, okay? It’s gonna be okay, Jodie, I promise.”

The other woman sniffled and held back another sob. Your job, Jodie.

She nodded, her chest heaving with a heavy breath as she leaned into Lucia. Their shift was another nine hours, they were losing time, she was losing time, she was losing her daughter-

She swallowed and nodded.

“Okay.”

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas

Apartment 307-4

Sorry for the impromptu little break haha! School got busy and I wasn't feeling like writing :( Glad I'm back at it though! I hope you all enjoy!

I swear it wasn't meant to be that whumpy of a chapter but then it just happened...

TWs: Needles, needles under the skin, head injury

Elora slept for a long time. She didn’t know exactly how long, but when she woke up, she had that familiar groggy feeling she always got when she napped for too long after work. Her best guess was that it was currently sometime in the afternoon, but that was really a shot in the dark. She didn’t have a single clue other than how she felt.

She briefly considered screaming out for help, but she feared that it would only attract the attention of that man and make him angry. She needed to be strategic about this.

Thankfully, she saw that she still had one unrestrained hand, and the sewing kit was still out, splayed across her lap. He must not have come back while she was asleep. She was grateful for that. What she also unfortunately caught a glimpse of was her leg. It didn’t look good last night, and it was still...less than desirable. All she could say was that the skin certainly was held together tightly, but the dried blood and little bruises from burst capillaries surrounding the spots where the needle had gone in weren’t pretty. The fear of infection still loomed over her, but there wasn’t much she could do other than hope she’d be out of here soon so that a doctor could look over it..

What she could-and did-try was picking the lock on her handcuffs. She attempted with a needle, first, sticking it in the keyhole and jiggling it around for a bit, trying to push back all of the pins in the lock. It didn’t work, and so she tried every other needle in the kit, and a needle threader, and a seam ripper, and a bobby pin she had in her pocket, and the mini-scissors, and the plastic she bent off from a spool of thread; nothing worked. They weren’t cheap cuffs-nothing was going to get her out besides a key that she didn’t have.

She groaned in frustration, throwing her head back. What the hell was she going to do? It was still only Saturday. She doubted anyone even knew she was gone yet. No one would think anything was wrong until Sunday, or Monday, at the latest.

Her mom would know she would never just ditch dinner without warning, and Demetrios would certainly know she wouldn’t just skip work without calling out. Monday, at the latest, someone would know for sure. She just needed to hold out until then. The police would come and arrest that crazy fucking man, and she’d get away with only a few little bumps and scrapes and one big cut. She’d be fine.

Just Monday. She only had to make it to Monday.

She rested her head against the back of the tub, awkwardly half-splayed out on her side due to the short chain of her restrained hand. She tried desperately to think of a creative way out, just one little idea to worm her way free, but she had nothing. She didn’t know any spells that could break the chains, nor give her enough strength to break them herself. And without a spell, she was useless. Her magic was present, tingling under her skin, but there was nothing for it to do.

She only ever focused on positive uses. Growing plants, healing, making little shapes out of water for little kids to stare at with toothy grins. Never anything destructive, never anything to hurt beyond one or two that gave mild shocks, only to be used in emergencies.

Yeah, well, they didn’t work in an emergency anyways.

She cursed herself for only ever focusing on being a stupid little ray of sunshine. She had the power within her to break free, to kill that man and run off, but she didn’t know how. She just never learned. If she had only taken the time to learn something, this wouldn’t be happening.

What ifs and nonsensical escape plans filled her mind for hours. She wanted to take a moment to stop and calm down, but her mind made her race through every single possibility. She entertained every idea, trying desperately to make them work in her mind. Deep in her gut, though, she knew that, no matter how hard she dreamed, they wouldn’t work. Unless the handcuffs came off, she wasn’t getting out.

Her mind finally ran dry, allowing her to stare up at the ceiling with empty eyes. Her sense of time was blurry; boredom ate at her, as did a dull, constant throb from her thigh.

After what she thought had to be at least several hours, she heard a loud sound coming from outside the bathroom door. She sat up immediately, attentively staring at the door. She thought it sounded like the front door of the apartment opening-and that was confirmed when she heard loud footsteps begin to thump inside, and the door slammed closed. Familiar dread seeped back in, and she held her breath for a moment.

She still didn’t even know what he wanted. What if he hurt her again?

Thankfully, he didn’t come for her immediately; she heard ruffling around in what she had identified to be the kitchen for a few minutes before he came. The time did come, though, where his footsteps approached the door, and she knew his return was inevitable.

Be brave. Her mom always told her that.

The door opened. She noticed that the man was carrying a paper plate, though she couldn’t see what was on it because he was so much taller standing than she was sitting chained to the tub.

“You must be hungry,” he said. His tone almost felt caring. She could’ve mistaken it for a concerned friend after she missed her lunch break if she didn’t know the sinister truth.

She simply scowled, throwing him her dirtiest look. He only smiled in return.

“Has no one ever told you not to bite the hand that feeds you?” He asked mockingly.

“I haven’t bitten you yet. Get a couple feet closer and I will,” Elora sneered back.

His expression hardened, but he said nothing, simply shaking his head. He stepped forward and placed the plate down on the closed toilet lid, close enough for her to reach, then retreated, minding her free hand. He needed to put it back in the cuffs, but didn’t want to deal with it just yet. Going to work all day was exhausting.

The plate had a ham and cheese sandwich and a package of miniature chocolate chip cookies on it. Elora only looked at it with disdain. She certainly was hungry-she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day prior, but it was a battle of wills. She didn’t want to take anything from him, not even the basic necessity of food.

“Eat,” he instructed her, his voice rough. He folded his arms across his chest.

Elora looked up at him and shook her head, standing her ground.

“No.”

He frowned and stepped forward, reaching out to grip her chin. Before he could, though a sharp pain pricked through his thigh. He looked down, yelping.

Elora had stabbed one of the sewing needles from the kit into his leg, so deep only the eye was sticking out. Stumbling back, he cursed, huffing. He pulled it out, letting out another gasp of pain. A few drops of blood came out of the hole left in his leg, staining a small spot on his jeans dark red.

“You BITCH!” He yelped.

Elora was biting back a smile, proud of herself, but regret started to seep in when he rushed towards her. Before she could react, he grabbed her wrist and put it back in the empty handcuff, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave behind bruises. She began to scream as he grabbed all of the remnants of the sewing kit and tossed them over his shoulder, roughly reaching around her to make sure nothing was left behind. She couldn’t do much; with her limited mobility due to the wound on her thigh and the chains attached to her wrists, all she could do was try and fail miserably to shove him away.

His hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling it so tight her scalp burned. He tugged her head towards himself for a moment, then slammed it back against the tiled wall, her head making a loud crack on impact.

“What is WRONG WITH YOU? UNGRATEFUL! UNGRATEFUL, UNGRATEFUL, UNGRATEFUL!”

He bashed her head into the wall again and again. Tears started pouring down her face after the second blow, and dizziness set in after the third. She felt like she was going to pass out when he finally let her hair go. She slumped over, and he stepped back, scowling.

“Eat,” he commanded. “Now.”

Elora hesitated for a moment, but she caught a quick glimpse of the furious look in his eyes, and nodded, shakily grabbing the sandwich.

“Go on.”

She bit into it. The meat felt slimy in her mouth, the cheese plasticy, and the bread too soft and sticky. It was awful, but she was hungry, and she didn’t want to risk her head again. It was already pounding and spinning from the previous blows. She chewed and swallowed, trying not to let it sit on her tongue for too long. She already felt nauseous, and the unappetizing food didn’t help, but she had no choice but to go on and finish it, hanging her head as soon as she was done.

“The cookies, too,” she heard the man’s voice boom. “I’m sure your blood sugar’s all jacked up from losing so much yesterday. Can’t have you falling over and dying.”

At least he didn’t want her to die. She didn’t want to die, either. She wanted to be saved.

She obeyed, despite the aching nausea. She ate them all, one after another, just to get it over with. They were dry and rough in her mouth. She didn’t feel hungry anymore. Just sick.

The man smiled when she put the empty bag back on the plate, defeated.

"Good girl.”

She cringed. He picked up the trash and left, turning off the lights.

He left her in the darkness as she cried, curling back up on her side and clutching her head.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas

no-whump-on-main writing master list

finally, one post to locate all my writing!

Apartment 307

Summary: Elora Larkin, a young, charismatic baker with magical abilities, is kidnapped by a man with far too much interest in her skills. She is forced to undergo harsh experimentation and cruel punishments. Her friends and family search tirelessly for her, but when all hope is lost, someone unlikely may just be her saving grace.

main story

One

We meet Elora and Demetrios. She walks home and bad things happen.

Two

More information is revealed about Elora’s kidnapper, Clyde. She wakes up to find herself chained in his bathroom.

Three

Clyde sets down some ground rules. Knowing of her magic, he asks her to grow a plant. She refuses and the punishment is harsh.

Four

Clyde brings Elora food. She attacks him and he does not respond kindly.

Five

Elora’s disappearance is finally discovered. Meanwhile, she’s still having a bad time.

Six-Harmful Healing

Elora is forced to painfully heal herself.

Seven-This is for your Own Good

Elora is branded for her disobedience.

Eight-Grabbed by the Hair

Clyde and Elora watch some T.V. Guess what’s on the news? Her missing persons report.

Nine-Fingore

Elora attempts escape. It goes poorly.

Ten-Tears of Fear

Elora’s escape attempt, continued. Mallets and ankles don’t mix very well.

Eleven-Bruises

Post-torture angst and creepiness.

Shorts

These are pieces of writing I wrote prior to turning Apartment 307 into an official story. They are not canon to the main story, though some may fit in to the timeline. They feature Elora and Clyde at various points in her captivity. Note-some characters, such as Wren and Cain, either are not present in the main story or have not been introduced yet.

Stay

Based on a roleplay with @whump-my-dude. Elora’s best friend, Cain, comforts her through nightmares after her captivity.

Run

Another way Elora’s escape attempt could have gone, written before I created the main story. Not canon to the story; her actual attempt is in chapter 9.

Scars

Elora examines-and is saddened by-her scars in the mirror. Clyde is a bastard about it.

Trapped

Clyde brings Elora to his bedroom and forces her to cuddle with him. She spends the night unnerved and sleepless.

Cry

Elora is badly whipped and in unimaginable pain. Clyde steps in as the so-called good guy and creepily comforts her before putting her to bed.

Night

Elora sobs over the hopelessness of her captivity and how exhausted she is with it all. I wrote this as an experimentation with using present tense.

Listen

Clyde beats and berates Elora for not following his instructions. Based on a doodle @burtlederp did for me.

Sanguine

Annalise has been held captive and used as a living bloodbag by her captor, a cruel vampire named Cillian, for nearly two years. She is perfectly conditioned and used to her life in the cold, dark basement, loving nothing more in life than her master. But one day, Cillian decides to host a party and introduce Annalise to several of his vampiric friends. Unfortunately for him, not all of his acquaintances agree with his treatment of Annalise, and one valiantly attempts to save her. A wild goose chase ensues.

(I haven’t updated this story in a while but may one day!)

One

Introduction to Annalise and Cillian as well as some lore. Cillian is creepy.

Two

Cillian readies Annalise for the party. She’s uncertain, but excited.

I also have a separate masterlist for it here

Other

Spotless

AU of a roleplay I had with @whump-my-dude in which Cain is a whumper. He cuts Elora deeply then forces her to clean up the blood.

Vince Whump

Vince, a lowly associate, is badly beaten by fellow members of his mafia for so-called betrayal.

Apartment 307 (Elora Series)-3

Finally picked out a title! I was told “Apartment 307) sounded very Stephen King horror-esque and honestly that’s the dream so I’m going for it!

The hurt starts here so be warned.

TWs: Blood, fear of death, cutting/stabbing, graphic descriptions of a knife wound, mentions of stalking, mentions of vomiting

Special thanks to @sableflynn for being my cheerleader and letting me bounce ideas while I wrote this and @quirkykayleetam and @greatandquestionablecontent for title help!

also long chapter today yay

     Elora didn’t stop screaming until she ran out of breath and couldn’t go on a single second longer. The man lingering in the doorway looked incredibly irritated by that point.

     “It’s real early to be hollering like that,” he said, in that same deep, gravelly voice. Elora looked horrified, but he didn’t seem to care.

    “It’s only four in the morning.”

     Tears were starting to form in the corners of Elora’s eyes. She blinked them out just to get them away, despite the shame she felt for letting them flow.

     Clyde caught a glimpse of the fallen droplets, and felt a strange, warm feeling emanating in his gut.

     Elora swallowed and spoke next, her voice wobbly despite her best efforts to stay calm. “I have-I have money. That’s what you want, right? I have money. Plenty. My mom got a big insurance policy when my Dad passed and she put it all in a savings account for me to go to college, but I decided not to go, you can have it, it’s probably a few hundred thous-”

     The man suddenly screamed at her, and she flinched, her shoulders rising up and hugging her ears.

     “SHUT UP!” He shouted, his face going slightly red. Elora immediately shut her mouth, her entire body shaking. She was afraid to die. She couldn’t die yet, she wasn’t ready. She-

     “I don’t want your money,” he seethed. He seemed to be calming down from his initial outburst, which Elora was grateful for.

      “I don’t want your money, I don’t give a shit about it. I’m not gonna kill you either, okay? Just fucking listen. How about some ground rules, yeah?”

     He stepped forward, shutting the bathroom door behind himself. Elora looked on in terror, not wanting him to get any closer to her. A pit quickly formed in her stomach; if he didn’t want money, what did he want? If it was just money, she could be home by the end of the day. But it wasn’t that easy. Of course it wasn’t. 

      Elora sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, terrified as the man walked up until he was right in front of her.

     “Stop,” he warned. She re-opened her eyes and watched him carefully as he sat down on the closed toilet lid.

     “Rule number one,” he started. “Don’t talk back to me. You can speak when you’re spoken to. And I want you to shut the fuck up and listen while I explain this.”

     Elora’s eyes widened. She wanted to scream, to protest, but she knew in her head that she had to be smart. Getting him angry wouldn’t help her. She stayed quiet, chewing on her lip.

     “Rule two. You stay where I put you and keep out of shit that doesn’t belong to you. I’ll give you a hint-nothing here belongs to you. So keep your hands to yourself.”

     He paused, taking a long breath. In the silence, Elora noted that he smelled heavily of cigarettes.

     “Rule three. You can call me sir, if you have to refer to me at all. I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

     The mere thought of that made Elora feel sick to her stomach.

     “And finally, rule four. You belong to me now, Elora, and the sooner you accept that, the easier this transition is gonna be on you.”

     Elora lost her handle on her emotions entirely. She knew she needed to be rational and level-headed to get out of this, but that last rule made her explode. She didn’t even know how he knew her name.

     “YOU’RE FUCKING CRAZY!” She shouted, bucking wildly against the chains keeping her locked in place in the bathtub. “YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW ME! YOU’RE INSANE!”

     Her heart hammered rapidly in her chest. She was fighting the chains so hard she was already getting out of breath. “LET ME GO YOU CRAZY FUCK!”

     She was so distracted with useless attempts to free herself that she didn’t notice the man had stood up until his hand came down and slapped her roughly across the face. 

     “I told you to shut up,” he seethed. “You will respect me. Understand?”

     Her brow furrowed, filled with rage. “NO! YOU’RE CRAZY, YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM! LET ME GO!”

     He silenced Elora with nothing but a look.

     “I do know you, actually. You just don’t know me.”

     Elora’s expression twisted and fell. 

     “You’re lying,” she said through her teeth.

     “Am I? Are you not Elora Lucille Larkin of 673 Seabrook Lane? Born February 18th, 1999? Daughter of Judith and Parker Larkin? Shame what happened to your dad, really. Cancer is a monster. And you were hardly 12, huh? Must have been rough. My condolences.”

     Elora’s jaw fell wide open. How did he-?

     “You like cats, too, don’t you? I have one here. Maybe she’ll help you adjust. And I know you like to work Tuesdays, because you haven’t had one off in months. God knows how long that pattern had been going on before I started watching, too.” He paused. “Are you really that stupid, Elora? I’d think you’d at least recognize my car by now. It’s been looming around practically everywhere you’ve gone since July.”

     Elora wanted to scream, but no noise would come out. Realization hit her like a train and she was completely mortified, frozen in shock. The sedan. Had he been following her? Was she stupid? If it had been following  that long, she would’ve recognized it, right? Since July. That was five months ago.

     But she didn’t recognize it. She could swear the first time she ever saw it was just before he kidnapped her.

     He stood. “But I’m just lying. You know, I must have made all that up.”

     Without another word, he turned and left the bathroom.

     “Don’t hold your breath. I’ll be back in a minute,” he called through the closed door.

     Elora had to force herself not to cry. She sucked in a breath, her chest so tight it was hard to breathe.

     The man was back within what felt like far less than a minute. She barely had time to process what she’d been told before he returned, holding a small potted aloe plant. 

     He walked over to her and she flinched back again, pressing her body against the farthest wall of the bathtub. He ignored her fearful cower, placing the plant down on the edge of the tub.

     “Grow it,” he commanded. His voice boomed through the small room.

     Elora’s brow furrowed with confusion, for a moment, before that emotion turned into realization, and then finally, strong-willed defiance.

     “What?” Her tone sounded genuinely puzzled, though it was just a ruse.

     “Grow the plant,” he repeated, his voice slightly angrier.

     Elora inhaled, having to clench her fists to keep her voice from wavering. 

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t just-”

     “Shut up,” he growled. “I know who you are and what you can do. Or have you forgotten?

     Shit.

     She abandoned the act, but didn’t give up on her adamant refusal.

     “No,” she told him. “You don’t tell me what to do, you sick fuck!”

     The man laughed again, breathy chuckles that made the hair on her arms stick up. “Oh, but I do. Don’t make me ask you again. Grow the goddamn aloe. I know you can.”

     This time, Elora didn’t reply. Instead, she spat at him. She was forced to sit in the bathtub while he stood, so she couldn’t get him in the face, but she did successfully aim for his hand. While not as bad as a face shot, it was still gross.

     He cursed and wiped his hand off on his pants, storming out of the bathroom. Elora almost smiled, pleased with herself.

     He was so angry that he didn’t bother closing the bathroom door. He turned on the lights in another room, and it was just bright enough for her to make out a kitchen and living room. And the front door, all the way back. If she could just get there-

     Soon. She would. It was a when, not an if. Soon.

     He ducked out of her sight for a good thirty seconds, leaving Elora to look around the small frame of view she had. She could tell it was an apartment, as everything was so compact, it had to be. It looked like a college kid’s apartment at that; it was sparsely decorated and filthy, with random trash on the floor and a thick coat of dust covering everything she could see.

     When he reappeared, the first thing she noticed was that he was holding a knife. It was huge-it looked like a butcher knife. Just the blade itself was easily the size of her forearm and looked sharpened. She swallowed. He didn’t say anything, just stormed towards her. He’s going to use it. He’s going to-

     “Okay, okay, I’ll grow the fucking p-”

     The man was deaf to her offer. It quickly devolved into a desperate plea.

     “Please, I’ll grow the fucking plant, stop-STOPSTOPSTOP YOU’RE CRAZY!” 

     She started to scream before he even hurt her, dread and anticipation and knowingness filling her as he ignored her begging.

     She couldn’t have anticipated the pain that came next. She knew it would hurt, but nothing in her life had ever been so painful. She felt every moment of her skin splitting apart as the blade slammed down against her right thigh, layers of her body just separating all at once. Her vision whitened for several seconds as her screams pierced even her own ears, the sharp sound agonizing as it reverberated in the room. Even Clyde winced at the noise, wondering if he had done too much too soon.

     No, she deserved it. I told her to follow instructions.

     Elora didn’t stop screaming for almost a full minute. Her chest heaved once she finished, gasping for air. The pain in her thigh was both sharp and throbbing, and constant. She realized she had wrenched her eyes shut in anticipation of receiving the wound, and part of her was scared to open them again and look at the damage.

     She opened just one eye at first, but the other quickly followed as she stared on in shock. The blade had easily slit her work khakis open, hardly phased by the barrier of the material.

     The cut looked at least  an inch wide, with little yellow bubbles lining the sides and making way for something that was smooth and reddish purple to be just barely visible in the bottom. Blood was gushing from it steadily, making it hard to tell too much about the true extent of it. She began to panic as the gravity of the situation hit her. Tears poured down her face as she turned her head and looked up at the man, fear constricting her chest. He was holding the now-bloodied knife by his side.

     “I- it-it’s bleeding,” she stammered out, stating the obvious. “It’s bleeding, I-please! Please, I-that’s a lot of b-blood, that’s bad, I need h-help! Please, I don’t want to-I don’t want to um-”

     Die. She doesn’t want to die. She’s scared.

     A choked sob tore from her throat as she found herself staring down at the wound again.

     “You’re fine,” the man said flatly.

     “NO! No, please, I need-”

     He sighed and left the bathroom like a petulant child.

     Elora sobbed in fear, looking at the puddle of blood that was already forming beneath her leg. 

     The man came back holding a small box and a hand towel. He tossed them both at Elora, careless of her inability to catch them. The corner of the box landed directly on top of the cut and she groaned, her teeth clenched as tears spilled from her eyes.

     He approached again, holding a small key. She looked on in horror as he undid the handcuffs, letting her right hand free but leaving her left still in one cuff, with just a small amount of give on the chain.

     Elora looked terrified. “What? I-”

     “I know you sew for fun,” he said casually, shrugging. “You make all sorts of stuffed animals, right, and donate ‘em? What a Mother Theresa you are. Anywho, this can’t be much different than patching up a tear in a teddy.”

     Her mouth dropped open in shock. She was acutely aware of the feeling of warmth steadily dripping down her thigh.

     He gave her an angry look.

     “Fix it,” he growled, and left.

     As soon as the door closed, Elora let out a loud sob, covering her mouth with her free hand. No. She can’t. Needles and threads for stitching people are different than ones for sewing, she can’t just do a stitch like she’s sewing fabric. She doesn’t know what to do.

     She interrupted her racing thoughts by looking down at the bloody gash. She had to. It was bleeding badly and she needed it to stop.

     Shakily, she took the towel he threw her and placed it over the wound, trying to soak up some blood so she could at least see what she was working with. The towel was originally tan, but a spot that was a deep shade of reddish brown formed in the middle of it within seconds of her laying over the wound.

     Inhaling deeply, she opened the sewing kit next. It was nothing fancy, just some needles, a seam ripper, some tiny scissors, and small spools of thread. She plucked the spool of white thread and the smallest needle in the box.

     Her hands were so shaky it was difficult to thread the needle. Come on. Come on, just-just-thread, come on-

     She finally got the thread through the eye of the needle. This is bad. It’s probably old, she’s going to get an infection, she could die.

     But there wasn’t another choice. She tied a tiny knot in the two loose ends of the thread and took a deep breath. She held the two sides of the wound together with her left hand, which hardly had enough chain to reach, and gripped the needle with her right.

     She desperately wanted for there to be a way out, but there wasn’t. She was too shaken and too terrified to try any sort of magical healing or painkiller. God knew she would fuck it up and make things worse for herself in the frazzled state she was in.

     Biting her tongue, she moved the blood-soaked rag back and stuck the needle through her skin on the far end of her cut.

     She wailed as soon as it punctured through, the original pain from the wound just amplifying with the sharp prick of the needle piercing through and the uncomfortable tugging of the thread pulling across her skin. She still needed to go back through the other side.

     She bit back her scream this time. He didn’t need to hear it. She saw that glint in his eye when he stabbed her; she knew he liked that she was hurt. She wouldn’t give him any more satisfaction.

     In, and out.

     It hurt so badly, she didn’t know if she could keep herself quiet.

     In, and out.

     She was hardly making any progress. She kept the stitches close together, desperate to keep it closed tightly so she wouldn’t have to do this again.

     In, and out.

     Tears spilled down her cheeks so quickly she could feel little pools forming on her chest.

     In, and out.

     She wondered if anyone even knew she was gone yet. Probably not; this was only the first night. Only the first night, and she got fucking stabbed. What else was going to happen to her?

     In, and out.

     Mom will figure out something is wrong by Sunday at the latest.

     In, and out.

     The agony started to get so bad that her vision spotted.

     Dima will help Mom find her. They’ll find her, right? The police will find her soon. All she needed to do right now was make sure she doesn’t bleed out and then someone will find her soon. They have to.

     In, and out.

     This stuff only ever happened in movies. Maybe it was just a nightmare. Maybe she was going to wake up nice and warm in bed in the morning with her thigh perfectly intact.

     In, and out.

     Maybe it was all a nightmare.

     In, and out.

     It hurt.

     In, and out.

     It hurt a lot.

    In, and out.

     She wanted to puke. The pain was so bad it was hard to breathe.

     She went on and on until the wound was completely stitched. It was hard to count, but she was pretty sure it was thirty seven. Thirty seven tiny stitches. She could have done half of that and still closed it up, but she was terrified of her handiwork not being tight enough or coming apart. Once she did a full row up, she did another back down, forcing herself to double up to keep it secure despite the pain. Relief flooded her as she finally got back to where she started and tied off the remaining thread with a knot.

     She wanted to try to pick the lock on the handcuffs with the sewing tools, but the thought was distant in her mind. Pain danced around and ignited her nerves constantly now that there was thread in her leg that wasn’t meant to be there. It looked bad already; her skin was red with irritation and every point where the needle had gone through her skin was throbbing. The pain was dizzying.

     She couldn’t hold on any longer. With a shudder, she fell back against the wall of the bathtub, her world going black. 

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Every Baby Name We Could Possibly Think Of

Naming your baby is a big decision, and with endless options, it can also be a difficult one. Whether you're going the traditional route or want something more unique (if so, read this first!) it's helpful to have a little, or a lot, of inspiration. Ahead, you'll find nearly every baby name we could think of (close to 1,000!). These aren't just random names we found in a book or concocted ourselves - they're almost all monikers we've heard being used, or we actually know someone who goes by the name. If we missed any, tell us in the comments! A Aaliyah Aaron Abbie Abel Abigail Abraham Adalyn Adam Addilyn Addison Adelaide Adeline Adley Adora Agatha Aiden Alan Albert Aleph Alexander Alexis Ali Alma Alton Ama Amanda Amaryllis Amber Ameila Amélie Amy Anders Anderson Andrea Andrew Angie Angela Angelica Anika Anna Annalise Anne Annie Ansel Apple April Arata Archie Aria Ariane Ariel Arlee Arlo Arman Arthur Arun Arwen Arya Asha Asher Aspen Atticus Aton Aubrey Audrey August Augustus Aurora Ava Avery Axel Aziz B Bailey Barack Barbara Barney Barry Beatrice Beau Beckett Beckham Becky Ben Benedict Benjamin Bennett Bentley Bernadette Beth Bette Betty Beverly Bexley Bianca Bill Billie Bingham Bishop Bitsie Blake Blue Bobby Bodhi Bonnie Bowie Brady Braelynn Brandon Brayden Brecken Bree Brent Brenton Brett Brian Briana Briar Bridgette Brienne Brig Brigham Brinley Brio Britta Brock Brody Bronwyn Brooklyn Bruno Bryan Byron C Caden Caitlin Caity Cale Caleb Calla Calvin Camari Cameron Camilla Carena Carina Carl Carmel Carol Carrey Carter Cary Casey Caspian Cat Catherine Celine Chandler Chanel Channing Charise Charlene Charles Charlotte Chase Cher Cheri Cheriann Cheryl Chevy Chip Chloe Chris Chrissy Christian Christopher Claire Clara Clark Clary Claudia Clementine Clifford Clint Clinton Clyde Colin Collins Condoleezza Connor Conrad Constance Coolidge Cooper Cora Corban Courtney Cruz Related: 100 of the Most Beautiful Baby Names D Daisy Dale Dallas Damon Dane Danica Daniel Danielle Daphne Darby Darlene Darrel Daryl Dashiell Dave David Davina Davis Davon Dawn Dean Deanna Declan Dekel Delaney Delilah Delta Dennis Denzel Desmond Dev Devon Dexter Diane Dinah Dixie Dixon Dolores Dominique Donald Doris Dorothea Dorothy Dot Duke Duncan Dwight Dylan E Easton Ed Eden Edith Edmund Edward Effie Eleanor Elena Eli Eliana Elijah Elise Elizabeth Ella Elle Ellen Ellerie Ellie Elliott Ellis Elodie Eloise Elora Elroy Elsa Elsie Embry Emerson Emily Emma Emmett Eric Erica Esme Esmeralda Esther Ethan Ethel Eugene Evan Eve Evelyn Everett Evie Ewan Ezra F Farah Fay Felix Ferris Finn Fiona Fisher Fitz Fleur Flint Florence Floyd Flynn Ford Forrest Foster Fox Frances Frank Franklin Frederick G Gabe Gabriel Gaige Gail Gant Garrett Garth Gavin Gem Gemma Gene Genesis Gertrude George Gianna Gibson Gigi Gina Ginger Gladys Glenn Gloria Gordon Grace Grady Graham Grant Grayson Greer Gregory Griffin Grover Gus Gwen Gwyneth H Hadlee Hailey Hal Halle Hank Hannah Harding Harlow Harlyn Harold Harper Harriet Harrison Harry Hart Hartley Harvey Haven Hawk Hawthorne Hayden Hayes Hays Hazel Hector Heath Heather Helen Henley Henry Hillary Honor Holden Holly Holt Hope Hubert Hudson Hugo Humphrey Hunter Hurley Hutton Related: Based Off Last Year's Trends, These 30 Names Will Be Among the Most Popular of 2017 I Ian Ida Idris Ike Imanuel Imogen India Indy Ingrid Inizio Ireland Iris Irvin Isa Isaac Isabella Isabelle Isaiah Isla Israel Ivana Ivory J Jack Jackie Jackson Jacob Jacqueline Jaden Jaelyn Jagger Jake James Jameson Jamie Jane January Jason Jasper Jaun Jax Jaxon Jayce Jayden Jeannette Jed Jeff Jefferson Jenna Jess Jessica Jessie Jill Jillian Joan Joanna Joaquin Joe John Jones Jordan Joseph Josephine Josh Joshua Joslyn Joss Joy Joyce Judith Judy Jules Julia Julian Julie Juliet Julius June Juno Justin K Kai Kaia Kale Kalinda Kane Karah Katharine Kathryn Kate Kay Kaya Kaylee Keanu Keegan Keira Keith Kellan Kelly Kelsey Kendall Kennedy Kevin Khloe Kiah Kiele Kiera Kim Kima Kimberly Kingston Kinsley Kirk Kit Kitty Knox Krista Kristen Kurtis Kyle Kylie L Laith Lake Lana Landon Lane Larissa Larkin Laszlo Laura Lauren Lawrence Layla Leah Lee Leia Leighton Leilani Lena Lennon Leo Leonard Leslie Levi Lewis Leyona Lia Liam Liana Lida Lilith Lillian Lily Lincoln Lindsay Lionel Lisa Lisette Liz Logan Lois Lola London Loretta Lorraine Louella Louise Lucas Lucian Lucille Lucy Luke Luna Lux Lyle Lyndon Lynne Related: 100 Unusual Boy Names M Mabel Mabrey Mac Macallan Mackenzie Macy Madeleine Madelyn Madison Mae Maeby Maggie Mahershala Maia Makena Malcolm Maleeya Malia Mamie Mandy Marabelle Marcus Maren Margaret Margot Mari Maria Mariah Mariam Marilyn Marin Marion Marisole Marisse Marjorie Mark Marlene Marlon Marlowe Martha Martin Mary Mason Matilda Matthew Maui Mavis Maximus Maxson May Maya McKinley Megan Melissa Meredith Merritt Meryl Meyer Mia Michael Michelle Mika Mike Mila Mildred Miles Millie Milo Moana Molly Monica Monroe Montgomery Morgan Moses Muhammad Murray Myles N Nahall Nahla Nancy Nanette Naomie Nasima Natalie Nate Nathan Naveen Naya Neil Neisa Neo Neoma Newt Newton Niall Nicholas Nick Nico Nicole Nicolette Nigel Nile Nimah Nixon Noah Noel Nolan Nora Norma Norman North Nova O Obama Octavia Olly Olive Oliver Olivia Omar Opal Ophelia Ordell Oriana Orion Orlando Orson Orville Oscar Otis Otto Owen P Paige Paislee Paloma Pandora Paris Parker Patrick Patsy Paul Payton Pearl Peggy Penelope Penn Penny Perry Pete Peyton Phillip Phoebe Phoenix Phyllis Pierce Piper Polly Poppy Porter Posey Preston Primrose Priya Prudence Priscilla Q Quaid Quincy Quentin Quinn Quinten R Rachel Radley Rae Ralph Ramsey Rayna Rayne Reagan Rebecca Reese Reeve Reid Reign Remi Renly Rex Rhea Rhett Rhys Richard Rick Riley Ripley River Rivers Rob Robert Robin Rome Romy Ronald Ronin Rooney Roosevelt Rory Rosalind Rosalynn Rosamund Rose Rosemary Ross Rowan Roy Royce Ruby Rue Ruth Rutherford Ryan Ryder Related: 100 Unique Yet Beautiful Girls' Names S Sacha Sage Sahara Saint Sam Samuel Sandra Sandy Sansa Sarah Saul Savannah Sawyer Scarlett Schuyler Scout Sean Sebastian Selena Sena Seymour Shane Shannon Shea Shelly Sherlock Sherry Shiloh Shirley Sia Sidney Sienna Simon Skyler Sloan Sofia Solo Sonia Sophia Sophie Spencer Stacy Stanley Stella Stephanie Sterling Stetson Stuart Sue Sullivan Summer Suri Susan Sylvia T Tabitha Tad Tamera Tamsyn Tanner Tara Tate Taylor Teagan Teddy Terrance Thea Thelma Theordore Theresa Thomas Tim Tina Tinley Toby Todd Tom Tony Travis Travon Trent Trey Tricia Trinity Tripp Tristan Troy Truman Turner Tyler Tyson V Valentina Valentine Vance Vaughan Vaughn Vera Vern Victor Victoria Viggo Vince Vincent Viola Violet Virgil Vivian W Waldo Walker Wallis Walter Warren Watson Waverly Wells Wes Wesley Westley Whitney Will Willa William Willow Wilson Winter Wolfe Wren Wyatt X Xander Xavier Xeno Y Yanet Yani Yigal York Yuma Yvette Z Zachary Zahir Zander Zane Zaylee Zayn Zion Zoe Zola Zooey Zora Zuma Zuri Related: These Are the Most Popular Baby Names of 2016 http://bit.ly/2kR9iwY

100 of the Most Beautiful Baby Names

There are so many different monikers floating around and everyone wants their child to have a name that is simply gorgeous, right? We scoured the thousands of names out there to make a list of the absolute most beautiful baby names so you don't have to because "What a beautiful name!" is totally one of the best compliments a parent can get. Scroll through for 100 of them, 50 for boys and 50 for girls (though we love most of them for either sex!). Related: 30 Uncommon Boys' Names That You Might Start Hearing More Beautiful Names For Boys * Anders * Arlo * Asher * Axel * Bailey * Bishop * Bodhi * Brecken * Brinley * Brio * Caspian * Cayson * Corban * Easton * Ellis * Ezra * Elijah * Finn * Gaige * Gibson * Greyson * Holden * Hurley * Idris * Jagger * Jasper * Jaxon * Kai * Kane * Knox * Laszlo * Leighton * Liam * Maximus * Oliver * Orion * Payton * Phoenix * Quinten * Rhys * Ronin * Rowan * Ryder * Schuyler * Stetson * Turner * Vaughn * Wrennyn * Wyatt * Xander Related: 105 Unique Yet Beautiful Girls' Names Beautiful Names For Girls * Adley * Ameila * Aubrey * Aurora * Avery * Bexley * Bree * Brooklyn * Camari * Daisy * Darby * Delaney * Delilah * Elora * Farren * Fiona * Hartley * Ireland * Isla * Ivory * Jaelyn * June * Kiera * Larkin * Leilani * Lilith * Luna * Mae * Nimah * Pearl * Penelope * Quinn * Rae * Rayne * Rhea * Ruby * Sage * Sahara * Savannah * Sophie * Tamsyn * Teagan * Thea * Viola * Weylyn * Willa * Willow * Zaylee * Zola * Zuri http://bit.ly/2TH6sOk