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painsandconfusion · 27 days

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Off Guard

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Thirty-eight

(tw: electrocution, escape attempt, concussion, torture, death mention, murder mention, plotting murder, handcuffs, stun gun, blood, beating, unintentional self harm (bloody knuckles)) [Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Ethan’s fingers tingled as he walked, flicking them against each other by his side to stave off the sensation as he moved down the hall.

He didn’t want to be too loud. Not tonight. The light was off in Nate’s room, so the bastard must finally be getting some half decent sleep. No reason to wake him and have the idiot trying to take over the scene. Again.

He shoved open the workshop doors, ignoring the slight grinding whine the hinges gave off - though still subconciously noting to add some kind of oil or whatever the fuck you do with hinges later. As the lights snapped on, the pitiful lump of a man in the middle of the room curled into his chains, a small sound of displeasure coming off of him.

“What, were you sleeping? I’m sorry-” Ethan stepped up to him, almost delicately pressing a foot down onto a dried slurry of blood that gashed over Crawford’s thigh.

“Hnn-stopstto-”

“Hmm… I dunno, maybe beg a little more and see if it puts me in a good mood?” The edges of his mouth seemed to shift, tugging like curtains pulled by a string on the other side of the room to coax a smile out of him.

Getting there, at least.

It was an almost completely forgotten sensation. Smiling without meaning to. It pulled an entirely different set of muscles than the simple, polite curve he gave to people he wanted to shut up or leave him alone. Different than the ruse he put on or the sarcastic toothy grin he threw in Nate’s direction in place of a verbal response. This was something different entirely. Like a little parasite had carved up inside his cheek and gnawed at the thin strands of muscle until they tightened like strings of a violin, ready for the steady screech of rosin to truly set them alight.

“Y’mdnr-”

“Hmm~?” Ethan’s foot ground in further, leaning in to see Crawford’s face as the man squished it against the cement.

Another incoherent slurry of sound pressed from the man’s throat, still curled into a ball around the spot where the shackle lashed him to the ground.

Ethan rolled his eyes, pushing off the man with a small kicking shove before crouching down and squirming his hand into the knotted ball of a man to grab his jaw. Twist him round. Hear his neck crackle with the fresh movement after nights sleeping on cement.

“Use your words,” he prompted, forefinger alone relenting the grip to taptaptap on Crawford’s jaw.

.PaiN.

Pain.

Ethan knew pain.

Close friends as they were for so many years, it was strange he found himself at a loss for its name when it reared its ugly head once more, overwhelming his mind in a single snap of blank, processing emptiness.

Ethan felt the echoing crack as his head hit the concrete, remnants of what he was finally recognizing as electricity buzzing down his twitching legs.

Some strangled growl ripped up his throat as he tried to right himself enough to grab for the man who was shoving on top of him, but his arms were slow - groggy from sleeplessness, shock and lost, aimless electrons trying to find their way underground.

He shoved at Crawford only to feel the prongs of the stun gun shoved hard into his collarbone, burning agony through the skin and crackling as if eating through the bone itself as he thrashed to shove the searing pain away.

My name is Ethan Scott. The mantra lit up the back of his skull without prompt or ask. It was just there.

It begged him to fall stoic. To sit still and take it. Be tough. Be a good b-

No.

No-

NO.

My name is Ethan Scott and you cannot break me.

He won’t sit still- he can’t. Taking it isn’t strength right now, taking it is defeat.

Crawford was the one in chains today.

Ethan’s hands scrabbled for Crawford’s arm, finally knocking the thing off of his flesh with a roaring gasp, shoving the other man off of him as best he could.

Knuckles snapped against his nose, crunching it back. Some dull part of his mind calculated that that wasn’t even half the force of Crawford’s normal blows, but it locked up his mind anyway, pushing his gaze hazy and blurred as heat snapped across his sinuses and exploded behind his eyes.

There was blood. He could taste it.

Shoving numbly, he was barely keeping up enough to track the bastard’s fingers knotting into his hair and slamming his head into the ground. Again. Again. Again-

And it stopped.

The weight lifted off of him in a blur of white and charcoal grey, sound muffling to the side.

Ethan shoved back, hand moving to his face to press against the bleeding and squeeze his eyes shut to will vision to return to him. His head was spinning, like he was about to tip over and crack against the ground again.

He shoved it back. Forced his eyes open and made them focus on the sounds and movement to his left as he shoved himself up on an elbow to squint at the unknown blur.

It took a moment to process exactly what he was seeing.

Nate was a cheerful kind of bitch. The asshole whose smirk you could never wipe off. The life of the party. Class clown. Charmer. No matter how many screams he ripped out of Ethan, he did it with a gentle, almost seductive tone, grinning, smirking, or smiling almost fondly. He’d only seen Nate angry the once. When they’d met for the second time.

But this savage blur in front of Ethan’s bleary eyes had him wondering if he was knocked into a dream. Blood splattered up Nate’s face from the sheer force of his hits as he drove his fist into Crawford’s face again and again, snapping it back and forth against the unforgiving cement. He didn’t even have to pin the man down - the welp on the floor couldn’t do anything but try to throw his arms up in front of the blows, shielding his face.

Nate didn’t seem to care. He hit them too. Silent yet somehow screaming a rage tha echoed through Ethan’s skull.

Ethan sat there for several long seconds, trying to blink away the mirage in front of him before it slowly sharperned into clarity. It was really happening.

A dull thought finally graced his addled mind. He’s going to kill him.

Immediately a panic pressed up through Ethan’s veins like acid, snapping him to attention and the closest thing to lucidity his star-studded mind could handle. He shoved up to his knees and flopped forward to tackled Nate off of the man. “St- sstop- STOP!”

Nate shoves at Ethan, trying to throw him off enough to get back to Crawford. Ethan could practically see the red smeared over Nate’s eyes as he shoved the man’s hands away, fogged body easily ignoring the nails slicing blood from his arms in their desperation to return to their proper target.

“NATE STOP.” Ethan finally just grabbed Nate’s face, forcing it toward him.

Nate’s eyes stayed on Crawford, but he did slow, chest heaving and teeth barred like some kind of animal.

“..that’s enough-!”

Nate tried to shove off the words along with his hands. “He w-”

“I get to kill him. Me. Not you. Me.”

Nate’s breath stuttered off its ragged rhythm, and his jaw set, lips pinched tight as a glare snapped to Ethan’s eyes at last.

In a surrendering kind of huff, he shoved Ethan off of him again. This time Ethan let himself roll to the side, lying with shallow, echoing breath on the ground as Nate shoved out the workshop doors at a brisk walk, sticky hand leaving a smear of blood like claw marks over the edge of the door.

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(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions-deactiva @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @sunnyesunny @crystallizedme @lumpofsand @taterswhump)

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whump-captain · 2 years

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No. 10 - Poor unfortunate souls

Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

850 words | OC: Ghost Ambulance

is this a heist au? who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ im also not super happy w/ it esp for a day with such good prompts but once again, and i cannot stress it enough: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ the whump came out good and that's what matters lol

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CN: stun gun use, electrocution, burns

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Three things happen at once:

The electronic lock beeps an approval.

A voice from behind shouts: "Hands in the air!"

And Cutter spins around to face the security guard, just in time to see her aim.

Then he feels two hits to the chest. He looks down and follows the zig-zagged lines back to the taser gun in the guard's hands. Just in time to see her finger squeeze the trigger.

Every nerve in his body explodes. Muscles lock, wrenching his spine backwards. The current burns through him like a strobe light, pain sizzling away his vision, then hearing, then thoughts. A strangled, guttural groan forces its way out between his clenched teeth that feel like they're going to crack from the strain. Another impact rattles him as his rigid body hits the ground. He's on fire, convulsing, every tendon threatening to snap.

The three seconds stretch to an eternity in Cutter's scorched consciousness. Then the current stops. But his body keeps seizing, his head slams against the ground over and over again as the pain, like an afterimage, remains in his muscles as lethal, excruciating tension. The air cracks like fireworks, the sound of overloading synapses.

He can't tell how long it lasts. It feels like minutes until the blinding fog dissipates and finally he can feel that this battered body is his again. He's gasping, small whimpers escaping his throat with every desperate inhale. His fingers feel slick; he must have clenched his fists hard enough for the nails to draw blood.

Senses return to him like a movie image fading in; it's all there but feels distant, like he's still separated from the lobby by a screen. But he knows there's no time. Pushing through the ache that lingers like a fresh bruise, he turns onto his side. With a groan of effort, he puts a hand underneath him but immediately his head spins. His newly returned vision swims away again and he lays there for a long, painful moment, forcing deep breaths into his lungs. Something stings him right through the ribcage and he realizes the taser's electrodes are still embedded in his chest. They stick out like bizarre insects, framed by rings of dark soot where they have singed his shirt. The thin rigid wires trail down and tangle with each other. The smell of burnt cotton mixes with that of burnt skin.

Cutter winces as another crack pierces through his head, point blank into his eardrum: his comms earpiece, he realizes. The discharge must have fried the electronics. Elaine is going to be so mad.

A gloved hand appears suddenly in front of him. As if summoned, the huntress herself is leaning over him, face haloed by the backlight. Cutter lets her pull him up; everything wobbles around him again but he manages to catch an unsteady balance.

"Are you okay?" Elaine asks, her eyes fixed on the two electrodes sticking out of his chest. That and the gun itself, abandoned on the floor, make the story clear.

"Yeah." It takes him a moment to answer, but it's mostly the truth. His chest aches like he's been punched and his breath comes choppy. He counters Elaine's tense frown with a smile. "How's my hair?"

She raises her eyebrows - and so has to stop frowning. "It's fine. Your shirt is not."

"A good shirt, too," he muses, picking at the charred fabric. From under it shows the angry red of damaged skin which he has no desire to inspect closer. The sight of the electrodes embedded in it makes his head spin again.

When he grabs the first one, Elaine puts a hand on his shoulder blade; bracing. He yanks it out like pulling a tooth, gasps at the sharp pain - but it feels good to toss it away. A tiny ribbon of smoke trails it as it skids across the polished floor.

Cutter's hand wavers when he reaches for the next one. It's instinct, the body refusing to cause itself more pain. The electrode's surface is still hot between his fingers, the sensation blurring together with the burning on his chest. Blood sticks his skin to the barbed metal. Why is this so difficult? He has to close his eyes, slowly exhale so that the dizziness goes away. He grits his teeth and rips the second electrode out with a grunt.

The sudden motion sends him swaying again but Elaine's hands keep him steady. Though any touch feels now like a fresh bruise on his aching body, he leans on her. All he can do is wait until the world stops reeling around him and his vision finally clears. Even then, the ache remains in his limbs like a leaden, sizzling weight. Suddenly, he feels very, very tired.

But looking down at Elaine's questioning, still worried face, he can't help but grin at her. They'll both be fine. How could they not be, when they're here together? A small hitch like this could never be enough to throw them off track. Not them.

He crooks his head towards the newly unlocked door.

"Shall we?"

#whumptober2022 #no.10 #taser #oc #writing #stun gun #electrocution #captain's stuff #captain's ocs #ghost ambulance #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#<- don't know if i mentioned that #idk if i want this to be an au bc the dynamic between them seems to be 'we've been through so much shit together and we're ride or die #which fits w/ the main canon #but to be frank it would be Very Funny if it was the heist au and they had literally just met #and elaine is like gotta help my fellow heist crew member so we can carry out the plan #but at the same time cutter's like 'f is for friends who steal things together :)'#complete vibe mismatch #for comedy

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