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starculler · 1 month

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strap in for this week's fic flavor: the failsafe episode of season one of the young justice cartoon except the simulation just won't. fuckin. end.

(fics that inspired this at the end)

If I ever did sit down to make my own fic, I'd split it in 3 parts:

The Simulation: bits and pieces of the 40 years Dick lives after most everyone he knows has died

The Return: the immediate aftermath and healing from the trauma of having not-quite-actually lived a whole life only to wake up and find out it was all fake. nothing traumatizing about that whatsoever.

The Unintended Consequence: aka the twist I'd love to add and would hint to in the second part - finding out the simulation, through martian mind fuckery, pulled from the real world (and in many cases, from real minds). Dick meets a bunch of people he didn't think were real outside the confines of his simulated life. A bunch of rowdy, heroism-inclined teens across the years get to meet the sibling/friend/mentor figure they all dreamed up one night.

(actual idea snippets under the cut)

Dick Grayson is 14 and most of the world's heroes have died. He planned a suicide mission that left him the sole survivor of a doomed team he helped found. The invasion may have been stopped, but is this really the price he wanted to pay?

The first face he sees in the infirmary is Roy's, and he has to close his eyes and just breathe for a few minutes because for one painful moment he'd thought it was Wally. But this isn't the world where his best friend miraculously survived alongside him. This is the one where he got his best friend killed and didn't even give him the courtesy of following behind him. Behind them.

Dick Grayson is 27 and has lived longer without Bruce than with him. The invasion's anniversary is always a tough day for him, but that morning seems especially harrowing. He'll get shit for it later, but can't resist stepping out onto the balcony of the manor's master bedroom (Bruce's old bedroom) for a smoke -- his first since he'd promised to quit if Jason, just 15 then, did too.

"Bad habits tend to pile up," he'd said, a rueful quirk to his tired grin. He'd tapped the cigarette twice on the railing and added, lower, "and this one's especially nasty, huh."

He inhales, watches the sun creep across the horizon, and lets acrid smoke burn through his lungs for a long moment before blowing it out in a small cloud. His eyes water, but he doesn't cough. It tastes just as bad as it did the first time he smoked one, not even a year after the invasion and treading water as Robin proved insufficient.

There hadn't been enough heroes to go around then, and Dick had been trained by one of the best. It hadn't been fair, but it had been his plan that had ultimately stopped the invasion. His shoulders everyone's expectations fell on.

He takes another drag, then smudges the lit end against the rail he's leaned on when he hears a boot scuff purposefully against the roofing above him.

"Todd and Pennyworth will be upset with you."

He doesn't turn around. Damian doesn't jump down to join him.

Dick Grayson is 54 and wakes up in a room full of ghosts. He hears his long-dead father-figure tell his long-dead team about a simulation they weren't meant to win. A training exercise gone wrong and only half a day spent under their mentors' careful, if slightly panicked, supervision.

He looks at his hands, watching the way his gloves crease when he flexes them in and out of tight fists. He looks at his team, their eyes a little haunted but shoulders slumped with relief even as they grumble. Batman's heavy, gloved hand settles on his shoulder and the weight of it is a nauseating mix of foreign-familiar.

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

Tears prick his eyes behind his domino mask, and he tells himself the suffocating, acidic void building in his chest is just some leftover side effect of the ordeal and not the grief-guilt of outliving yet another family (no matter that they hadn't been real in the end).

Dick Grayson is 16-going-on-56 and well used to the coincidences piling up between his simulated life and the real thing. Some of it -- missions and villains he remembers cropping up -- he's marked for Bruce to review and sort as he pleases. Some -- security for the cave, team building anecdotes, and training regimens -- he's shared with the team. And some he keeps only for himself.

Tim is one of those. He knows it's not fair to the kid (so much smaller now than he ever was when Dick lived his simulated life), but he can't help being selfish just for this. Tim is the one kid he's sure he didn't make up, and if Dick's taken to babysitting the kid just to be near at least one member of the family he built for himself in the wake of the worst days of his life .... Well, anyone who says shit about it can happily stand in line to have their teeth kicked in.

Despite this, it still catches him off-guard when he sees a familiar face pop up in one of Bruce's reports.

Jason Todd, caught boosting tires off the batmobile, is nearly the same age now as he was when Dick met him. He stares at the words, but none of them really sink in beyond the kid's name and address. He's moving before he's even made the decision.

He's used to the world kicking him when he's down - lived it for 40 frustrating years. But he has Bruce again. And things with Tim have been so good. And he's always been selfish when it comes to family. If he could just see Jason. If he could just meet him. If he could talk to him.

If if if if if--

Inspirations:

Circles in Shattered Mirrors by InfinityIllusion

Fine (But Not Okay) by CharlotteDaBookworm

Verisimilitude by mutemelody

#young justice #young justice cartoon #batfam #batman #dick grayson #thoughts and headcanons #the heart wrenching inability to cope with the fact that you've lived a fully realized life #you've loved and lost and loved again in the face of every unending tragedy #until you've forcefully carved out this one little safe haven for yourself #only to be thrust back to the beginning of one of your greatest traumas - esp one you're partly responsible for!#gotta love it #anyway i am and always have been obsessed with dick grayson and no one can stop me #the simulation was fake but some psychic bs means real world elements filtered in #cue several children with weird dream-memories of half-lived experiences and a massive sense of deja-vu #when they wade into the superhero world #all i can picture is the spiderman pointing meme but it's the batkids at dick lol #my favorite idea is that once Dick gets his grubby hands on Jason and Tim it's all over from there #he's pulling late nights and researching and scouring facial recognition databases until he finds his kids #(he blurs the lines a lot when it comes to considering them his siblings vs kids #on the one hand they're not super far apart in age bar Damian #on the other he hasn't been a kid in any meaningful way since he was 14 and he very nearly raised half of them in some way #(plus side to an au is that i can space the ages out more as needed compared to the show haha)#jason and cass are firmly siblings close as they are to his age #steph tim and duke fluctuate depending on how in trouble or injured they are #i will die by dick being damian's dad tho lmao #babs is more platonic life partner than sibling but very firmly family regardless #this is the dick grabs on to any shred of family he can with both hands and drags them in kicking and screaming if he has to au

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letters-unsending · 10 months

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No. 37

////

There’s a new Superhero in town and Hero, now demoted, is trying his best to handle the change.

////

Before the battle, Hero pressed his ‘super’ pin into Superhero’s palm. The insignia was bronze, but the edges were buffed into a brassy shine from years of pressing it as it sat on his chest, reminding himself in metal grooves his duty to his city and fellow heroes.

“Hero, this…” Superhero curled his hand around the pin, considering Hero with a deep breath, “this is incredibly kind, but I do not want to take this from you. You earned this through many years and I have just begun to lead.”

Superhero went to uncurl his grip, but Hero stayed his movement, folding both hands over Superhero’s fingers.

“Do not think of this as a gift, then,” Hero said, “let it be a weight you must bear.”

“I do not-”

“Please, Superhero, this is more a consolation for me than it is for you.” Superhero already had a pin, gold and gleaming on his collar, and Hero swallowed, squeezing Superhero’s hand one last time before stepping back. Behind Superhero, the other heroes began to file into the room. Hero stiffened and started past Superhero.

“Thank you.” Superhero called to Hero’s back.

Hero paused and turned his head, smile brief but gleaming. His next words were lost to the crowd piling in and Superhero watched as the heroes enfolded him into their mass with happy touches and exclamations of reunion.

////

Jealously curled up his spine as ardently as wonder filled his chest and left no room for breath. Hero sunk back into his seat as Superhero gave his final address to the Organization Council and inclined his head, giving thanks to his audience as if he did not deserve their attentions, as if he had not held them hostage with his brilliance.

After a stroke of silence, the room erupted with praise. Hero did not join the clamor. Instead, he stared at the maps and charts behind Superhero, recalling the masterful plan he had proposed. Hero had known of Superhero’s strength and brazen courage—he’d witnessed it with equal parts terror and fascination on the battle field—but to find his mind was just as sharp and ruthless left Hero reeling.

When they first announced Superhero would be taking his place, Hero was furious. Furious that his men would have to follow a fresh-faced upstart that knew nothing of their city. Furious that they all would suffer due to the Organization’s misplaced confidence in a man who only had brute strength and fame to offer.

But that heated fury was only bitterness now, a slow-acting poison that stirred in Hero’s gut with each successful mission Superhero led. Hero smarted each time his heroes turned toward Superhero in admiration and wondered if it hurt more because he admired Superhero just as much.

“Hero.”

Hero blinked and found that the room had emptied. Scattered paper and pens were all that remained of his coworkers. His own notepad laid rumpled and creased in front of him, so full of scrawl he’d penned notes along the margins to keep up with Superhero’s presentation.

“Sorry,” Hero’s chair screeched back as he stood, “I was lost in thought.”

“Did you have any issues with the strategy?” Superhero asked, nervous though he had no right to be.

“No,” Hero stuffed his notes into his bag, “you—it was brilliant. More than brilliant.” He began to round the table, but Superhero stopped him with a hand at his shoulder. He’d seen that hand crack ship hulls, but there was none of that force now, only a tentative curl of fingers, a weight so slight that Hero wished it heavier.

“Hero,” at his name, Hero tensed, “I want us to be allies. You know this city and organization more than I could ever wish to, and I would appreciate your counsel. I do not want to be alone in this.”

Hero clutched his bag to his side and turned toward Superhero in disbelief. “You have thousands in your command. How could you feel alone?”

“Do not confuse my meaning. I care for every person I lead, but I do not need more followers. I need someone to contest me.” He cleared his throat. “I am terrified by the power that has been given to me and you are well acquainted with it. I just need someone to speak to who is not obligated to listen.”

The bitterness, the acid, welled up from Hero’s stomach and onto his tongue. He loathed the sag of Superhero’s shoulder and the openness in his eyes; this emotional underbelly was too soft to strike. At first, Hero had desperately sought for weakness, for error in everything Superhero did, but now that it was offered up before him, he felt no pleasure at the prospect of tearing in. He looked down.

Superhero’s chest held two pins: one tarnished, one glinting gold. Hero sighed and mirrored Superhero’s hand, placing his own on Superhero’s shoulder.

“You’ve taken my position with much more grace and skill. I believed you to be beyond the want of my help.”

The tension in Superhero’s shoulder bled out beneath Hero’s palm. “I would be a fool to deny help where it can be given.”

“Then you are wiser than me,” he patted Superhero’s shoulder before stepping back, retreating from Superhero’s slight smile.

////

Hero staggered into Superhero’s tent on a freshly bound ankle and slumped onto the rug beside Superhero, splaying himself before the fire. Superhero shifted, frowning at the papers crumpled in his lap. The red light from the fireplace brightened the blood splattered across his neck and darkened the furrow in his brow as he turned his cheek away from Hero.

At his expression, Hero collected himself. He tucked one knee in, but as he attempted to pull in his injured leg, his ankle throbbed and he settled it back down with a shaky breath. Bristling, Superhero turned toward him.

“You should still be with the medics.”

“It’s a small break,” Hero pulled a bag of ice from his pack and dropped it over his ankle, “and I’m still superhuman, even if greater powers such as yours exist. I’ve always healed quick.”

“You shouldn’t have been injured,” Superhero sighed, setting his papers aside.

“Better my broken ankle than your pierced liver.” Perhaps lunging off a building to ward off the spear aimed at Superhero was not the wisest course of action, but it had been the quickest. There was no harm done except for the sickening crunch of bone, tendon and his own pride as he crumpled behind Superhero with a groan.

Superhero leaned forward and skimmed his fingers across the Hero’s shin. Between his rolled pant leg and wrapped foot, the skin was purpled and swollen, and throbbed in ticklish pain as Superhero’s hand wrapped gingerly around it. The animal part of him wanted to kick the touch away from his wound, but Superhero’s profile was severe, so he leaned further back on his palms, stomach folding and breath shallowing.

A thin film of ice crackled out from Superhero’s palm, delicate as a fly’s wing. Hero would have laughed at the incredulity of it if not for the gentle retreat of Superhero’s fingers. Why, he’d seen Superhero turn rippling lakes white. He’d seen him render flesh dark and dead, but almost as soon as his touch left, the ice had begun to crack and melt, trickling cooly over his welt-hot skin.

“You are a wonder,” Hero breathed, “truly. I could not even begin to use my power as finely as you have.”

Superhero dropped his hand into his lap, staring at Hero with raised brows. “Do not undermine your power for my sake.”

“I am telling the truth.” Hero replied, spreading out his fingers and calling fire to his skin. It burned a low, deep red but still encased the entirety of hand and the bone of his wrist. “This the smallest fire I can summon. What you did would be like commanding smoke and I have only seen it done by the masters who have taught me.”

Superhero cowed at that, shoulders hunching, “and yet, even a spear can take me unawares.”

“It did not take you. I was there.”

“I did not ask you for your friendship so that you could shield me.” Superhero muttered, staring at the blistering fire and ice melt pooling around Hero’s foot.

“Any hero, friend or not, would do the same. And you, you would do the same for me. I have no doubt.” Hero reached and placed his hand over the twin insignias on Superhero’s chest. Beneath, Superhero’s skin bloomed with feeling and warmth, and he half wondered if Hero had chosen to burn him instead.

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meraki24601 · 10 months

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Hi could you write something about a mute villain (since birth) who is being tortured by heroes team (like hurt every time they don’t answer a question). And as soon as villain passes out it clicks in hero’s mind that something isn’t right. It’s a quest to stop superhero’s torture session but hero manages and takes villain home. They wake up to soft humming and a hand carding thought their hair. Lots of fluff then

Thankss

Oh, that's good! I really like that prompt! I wanted to do more with this but it was already so long lol. Hope you enjoy!

---*-***-*---

Muted

Teammate dragged Villain into the base, unconscious and bleeding, nearly an hour ago.

They claimed they found Villain all alone in an alleyway. They also claimed the knife sticking out of their stomach wasn’t theirs. Based on the scrapes and budding bruises, Teammate wasn’t gentle when carrying the injured criminal back to their hideout. Superhero clapped Teammate on the back before dragging Villain to an interrogation room instead of the infirmary.

Supervillain has been Superhero’s worst enemy since they discovered Superhero’s identity and slowly killed everyone with any connection to Hero’s mentor. Now that Superhero had Villain, Supervillain’s right-hand man, Hero wasn’t sure they wanted to see how far Superhero was willing to go for revenge. When Superhero asked Hero to bring a surgical table from Medbay to Interrogation, they breathed a sigh of relief. It made sense to want to keep the dangerous criminal contained. They could administer first aid with relative safety.

Agonized screams echoing through the hall erased Hero’s hope for a peaceful resolution to the long day.

“Tell me! Where is Supervillain’s base?” Superhero yelled as Hero pushed the surgical table through the interrogation room door. Villain smiled from their spot on the floor under Superhero. Teammate held their arms as Superhero dragged the knife slowly out of their stomach, simultaneously removing the long blade and ripping the wound open even further. Hero thought they might throw up as Villain’s face twisted in pain.

The moment the tip of the blade left their body, Villain’s smirk returned, if a little more tired than before. “Smile all you want,” Superhero whispered as they wiped the blood from the knife on Villain’s cheek, “I’ll break you soon enough.”

Hero made a small noise to alert the three of their arrival. Superhero and Teammate immediately jumped up and tossed Villain on the table, strapping them down tightly. They didn’t watch how Villain reacted to their abuse. They didn’t see the fear in Villain's eyes when their hands were tied down so tightly they could barely lift their fingers off the metal table. They didn’t see how badly Villain had already been broken.

What came next wasn’t a surprise to Hero. Superhero and Teammate were excellent fighters. With their size and appearance, they could often scare enemies into talking before they even asked the first question. Hero, on the other hand, was good with a knife.

Since Hero was smaller than the others, they were often the one the bad guys captured for information or ransom. They had been tortured and forced to torture others. Hero had learned from experience, and they remembered their lessons. It was a secret their team guarded fiercely. Also, one Superhero liked to force Hero to use to their advantage. So when Superhero handed Hero the knife, Hero wasn’t surprised.

Under Superhero’s merciless control, Hero took the knife to Villain. They tried to resist and hide how much pain they were in, but soon Villain was screaming loud enough Hero’s ears started to ring. Hero was careful to avoid actions that seemed to bring absolute terror to Villain’s eyes. They argued with Superhero and Teammate over how far they really needed to go.

Villain wasn’t going to talk. There was no resolve in Villain’s eyes. No fight or anything that could possibly be helping them guard their words. They hadn’t spoken a single word since they had arrived. No words of hate or pride. All Hero saw was fear and acceptance, and it didn’t make Hero feel very heroic.

Finally, Villain passed out and Superhero gave Hero a break. That was when everything started to make sense. While Superhero and Teammate discussed their next steps, Hero examined the knife they had been handed. Supervillain’s brand was burned into the blade.

Teammate hadn’t lied. Supervillain had stabbed Villain and left them for dead. Villain’s reactions had been strange for a reason. Now they were looking, Hero saw Villain’s hands twitching in a familiar pattern, even as they lay there, unconscious.

Hero jumped to their feet. “Let me take them home.”

Superhero laughed, “Home? You want to set our best chance at finding Supervillain free?”

“No. I want to take them home.” Hero started loosening the straps around Villain’s wrists. “My home.”

Superhero and Teammate didn’t care for the idea. They argued and yelled at Hero until Villain woke up. Immediately the two turned their anger on Villain. They screamed questions and hit their broken enemy until Villain again lost consciousness.

“That didn’t work, did it?” Hero asked. Superhero looked ready to hit Hero in Villain’s place, but Hero held up their hands in surrender. “Look, I’m the one who gets the information, right? What we’re doing here, I promise you right now, you’ll kill them before you get anything out of them. If you let me take them home, I can get them to talk. You have to trust me to do my job.”

Superhero let them go.

Villain didn’t wake up on the car ride to Hero’s house. Hero managed to clean Villain’s wounds and body, stitch and wrap their assorted cuts and injuries, and gather pain relievers and a warm cup of tea before Villain opened their eyes. Hero held Villain’s head in their lap, waiting patiently for their enemy to fully wake.

Eyes unfocused, Villain seemed confused as they looked around their new surroundings. They looked down at their unbound hands, then over to the TV turned down low for gentle background noise, then up at Hero. As expected, Villain jerked in Hero’s lap, trying to rise, but they cried out as the motion pulled at their wounds and collapsed back onto Hero’s lap.

Hero didn’t touch them. They waited until Villain’s breathing leveled out to speak, “It’s alright. You’re safe now, but I do need you to talk to me.”

Villain weakly shook their head with a small, strangled laugh. Hero cupped their cheek and Villain flinched away, their eyes stayed focused on Hero, “I mean it. I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t let Superhero or Teammate hurt you either. Now, I need to know how much pain you’re in so I know what to give you.”

Villain tried to turn their head away, but Hero held them still, using their free hand to sign “Talk.”

The shock in Villain’s eyes made Hero’s heart clench. Villain’s hands twitched up to reply, but they froze and slowly lowered them back to their sides. Hero could see the question in their eyes. Hero took their hand off Villain’s face, moving slowly, they signed, “My sister is deaf. Are you?”

Hero could see Villain’s hesitation, but also a touch of excitement as they simply replied, “Mute.”

“Thank you for telling me. 1-10, how much pain are you in?” When Villain signed their pain was an 8, Hero couldn’t help but sigh. “I’m sorry. I have some medicine I can give you if you’re comfortable taking it. I need to take some myself. I’m still recovering from my last injury.”

Villain seemed skeptical and watched as Hero left the couch to grab the medicine from the nearby bathroom. Hero grabbed the bottle but waited to pour out the pills until they were back in front of Villain. “One for me, one for you,” They groaned out loud as they offered Villain the first choice of the offered medicine. Hero couldn’t help the grin as Villain took one of the pills but waited to swallow it.

Hero sat next to them and poured both of them tea from the steaming pot on the coffee table. They handed Villain a cup and blew on their own before using the hot liquid to take their pill. Villain followed suit. Now came the hard part.

Carefully getting Villain’s attention, Hero signed, “I’m sorry for what Superhero made me do to you. I don’t blame you for not trusting me since until now we’ve been enemies, but can I ask you a question? Maybe we can take turns asking each other? You can refuse to answer if you want.”

Villain sighed, “Me first?”

“Sure. Ask away.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No. Superhero might be out for revenge, but what they made me do before was not right. I refuse to kill. Especially when the person is a victim like I think you are. Now, can you tell me why Supervillain tried to kill you?”

Villain’s eyes darted to the floor. Their hands clutched at their stomach and slid over other wounds I hadn’t given them. As Villain’s chest started to heave with panic, Hero slid to the floor in front of them. Villain flinched and tried to stand, but their wounds caught and they collapsed back on the couch with a cry.

Hero slid their hands under Villains, not restraining them, but letting Villain hold them as tight as they needed. “It’s alright, Villain.” Hero spoke, “You’re safe. Supervillain isn’t going to hurt you. I’m going to hold you, okay? If you don’t want me to or if it becomes too much, push me away and I’ll let go. I promise.”

Ever so slowly, Hero slid back onto the couch and pulled Villain into their lap. They wrapped one arm around Villain, careful not to aggravate their injuries, and the other pushed Villain’s head down on their shoulder, carefully combing through their hair.

How long had Hero been fighting a victim? Did Villain ever actually want to work with Supervillain? Did Hero actually want to know the answer to those questions? Either way, as Villain raised their hands to talk, Hero knew they were about to find out.

Part 2

#whump #whump fic #whump scenario #rescue #whump writing #whump ideas #whump tropes #hero #villain #superhero #supervillain #captured #unconscious #injured #not graphic torture

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syncopein3d · 2 months

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@whumppromptoftheday This is from your prompt!

CW: badly injured whumpee, implied past violence, robbery, begging.

Broken World

1. Rescue

The Ripper stepped out of a violent tear in reality and into a dark hall. The rift in this universe annealed itself almost immediately, the maddening uncolors of the Other Place quickly vanishing. Then Ripper had to bend almost double for a moment, swallowing the taste of blood as they waited for the pain to stop. They didn’t make a noise. They’d learned not to do that a long time ago.

It was hard to get carnite. A lot of it had been mined out, and it was the source of one of only a few ways to permanently alter the function of metapowers without removing them. It was therefore tremendously valuable. The cache supposedly being kept here in Registered Metahuman Team 99B’s base was said to weigh five kilos and be worth about a billion dollars.

Ripper snorted back more blood inside the medical mask. Real costumes were for people who wanted to be on the news. Ripper was wearing gray sweats and a dingy white tank top with a black hoodie. Their mask was just a black N-95. They weren’t even wearing real shoes. They had tabi socks with lightly textured soles, almost noiseless on the institutional tile floor as they walked down the hall. Their gray backpack was the most expensive thing on them, metal-less, high-density ceramic zippers only.

All the lights were out because nobody was here. The Ninety-Nines were at a parade doing security for the mayor or someone. Ripper didn’t know who and didn’t have a reason to care. The important thing was that Silverant and Teledyne weren’t here, no annoyingly perky speedster, no super strong asshole who could break Ripper’s spine with a tiny finger-flick. None of the others were that dangerous to someone quiet and careful, Ripper told itself.

The ventilation hummed constantly, but the heat felt like it wasn’t doing much. The air was cold. The Ripper knew they were four stories below ground; they needed really precise imaging to get into somewhere they’d never been. It hadn’t been cheap, either. Not many people had been down here on the Vault level. The rooms on either side had little windows in their heavy steel doors. Ripper peeked in all of them until it found the one that looked like a biology lab more than a place to keep rocks: microscopes, fridges, centrifuges. A good look from the door was enough.

Ripper stepped back and reached into the world inside itself and tore it open, clawing at their chest. Their hands went from brown to light blue to flat black as they exhaled into a silent scream. Inside became outside, and now they were in the Other Place, grasping in front of them to tear at the membrane of something made of colors that weren’t real and didn’t make sense. They had to get out before they could focus on the idea that they weren’t real here, either, or it might stop existing before it could get through.

The membrane tore, burning and wet under their fingers, and they slid out into the glittering dark of the lab. They stifled a cough. There was no recording equipment this far down, but it felt so loud in the quiet.

They turned on the overhead lights and rifled all the cupboards. Nothing was locked, not a good sign. And while they were reading the labels on all the little shelves above the counter, someone made a noise.

Ripper froze.

It happened again. Someone had made a sort of whimpering moan that ended in a gasp, like maybe they’d breathed too deep and it hurt. It came from behind one of three doors in the back of the lab. These had bigger windows in them, laced with a diamond pattern of metal reinforcement, so it could see that two were empty. All of them were bolted shut.

In the third one, there was a man tied to a steel chair.

Ripper stood there staring, still swallowing blood inside the mask. That was normal. This wasn’t.

He was middle sized, dark haired, not as brown as the Ripper. He’d been in decent shape before someone beat him with… Ripper measured the size of their own fist with the bruises on his naked belly. The knuckle marks were bigger. Was that Teledyne, Ripper wondered, just pulling his punches? The man’s eyes were swollen, and there was a cut above one eye that had matted his eyebrow and blinded him with blood.

The blood looked sticky and half-crusted. Around his nose it was still red, in horrid congealed bits atop the black. It had taken longer to dry up. His eyes couldn’t be seen at all between the swelling and the dim overhead light. His cheeks were deeply hollow. Bands of muscle pulled tight and stringy across his ribs. A blow had left a mark there, black and blue and swollen. Ripper realized that some of the marks were yellow around it, and tried not to gag as they realized why, that someone had waited for the bruises to fade a little and then hit him there again. Cuts around his jaw showed someone had shaved him carelessly, and a deep shadow said it hadn’t been today. His light gray sweats were spotted with blood drips. His feet looked almost black. They had no toenails.

Hairs stood all the way up along Ripper’s spine. It almost cut and ran right then, but a billion was a lot, and maybe this man knew where it was kept. So instead they unbolted both bolts and opened the door. A thin slice of bright light seemed to hit him like a blow; he jerked back, turning his face away as he wheezed. Ripper heard him swear under his breath.

“I won’t hurt you,” Ripper said. “I’m not one of them.” Their voice sounded rough. It usually did. But it didn’t sound like anyone else’s voice. The man looked around, squinting at the bright light.

“For God’s sake, turn that off,” he said. The Ripper went to turn off the lab lights and came back.

“Tell me where the carnite is and I’ll take you with me,” Ripper said.

“Untie me and I’ll show you,” he said. It took him a couple of tries to get that all out.

The Ripper considered that, looking him over from under their hood. He wasn’t too big. Ripper was taller. And he was in bad, bad shape. Maybe he wouldn’t try anything dumb.

“Yeah, all right.” It walked around to look at the back of the chair. The man’s wrists were zip-tied to each other and the middle bar of the tall chair-back. He had pulled hard enough to make them bleed, but not too recently. The blood had dried all the way. The Ripper pulled at them slightly, getting them off his skin a tiny bit.

“Hold still.” The smallest tear between its fingertips, the smallest gate to the Other Place, separated the plastic like it had been cut. They did it again at the ankles, one by one. THAT didn’t hurt enough to matter. There was only a faint looming shadow for warning before the man crumpled forward. Ripper grabbed at his waist as his cheek smacked into Ripper’s shoulder.

“Hey, careful!”

“Stronger than you look,” the man mumbled, groping weakly at Ripper’s upper arms as he knelt there. He stank of old blood and sweat. “Tha’s good, cause you’re gon’ have to help me walk.”

“Yeah, fine. Come on.” Between the two of them, they managed to get him mostly upright, leaning on Ripper with his arm drawn across its shoulder. “Okay, where’s the carnite?”

“Can you really gemme out of here?” he asked.

“Sure. Organic bodies are easy enough. The Other Place doesn’t like metal, though. You have a pacemaker or anything? Fillings?” He didn’t seem to have any jewelry.

“Nah,” the man said. He wheezed every time he breathed.

“Then no problem. Where’s the carnite?”

“There’s’s secret panel,” the man said. “Kick th’ wall by the blood fridge. That one.” He pointed weakly at a chest-high fridge with a clear front and rows and rows of vials. The Ripper hauled him over there and kicked at the wall with a heel in the spot where there was a smudge. Something hissed, and the panel popped forward and to the side in one abrupt movement.

Inside was a niche with a couple of shelves. There was a green gemstone as big as the Ripper’s fist, a pair of vials of red and blue liquid, and a steel case with a couple of wire fasteners like an ammo box.

The Ripper lowered the man to sit on the floor and reached in to get the case.

“It doesn’t feel like five kilos,” the Ripper said.

“More like four and a half. They. They’b. Been powdering it,” the man said, leaning against the blood fridge with his swollen eyes mostly shut. “So they c’n inject me.”

“What’s your meta?” the Ripper asked, popping the case open. Crushed stone lay in a fat cottony lining. It was the color and sheen of gore. When they poked it, it felt like shards of rock all right, but it was disturbingly warm to the touch. Their stomach turned over. This was it.

“I heal fast. Blood makes other people heal fast, too,” he said. “They said, they.” He stopped to breathe as Ripper closed the case. It turned to look at him.

“They said what?” it asked, a little more gently. They didn’t stop the process of shoving the baggy lining full of carnite into their backpack and zipping it up. They put the empty metal case back.

“Said one more treatment and it won’t. Wear off. Please,” he said. His head swayed as he tried to find Ripper’s face in the shade under their hood. “Don’ leave me here. I can help you. You’re sick, right? Y’sound sick.”

Ripper wasn’t sure he was even telling the truth.

He’d told the truth about the carnite, though. Who cared if he could heal or not? They had what they’d come for. And it would probably piss the Ninety-Nines off not knowing where he’d gone AND losing their cache of the most valuable mineral on the planet.

“You know what, fuck the 99B’s,” Ripper said. “I need both my hands, so you have to hold onto me, all right? Hang on tight.” It grabbed the man’s hands and pulled them around its waist as it turned around, kneeling on the floor. They could feel him resting his face against the backpack, each breath still wheezy and labored.

“Are you a man or a woman?” he asked.

“No,” the Ripper said, and tore the world open.

Part 2 here

#whump #whump prompt #villain #hero #agender villain #superheroes #superpowers #syncopein3d future reference #whumpblr #beaten whumpee #injured whumpee #reluctant caretaker #rescue #begging #cometverse

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 1 year

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Short Prompt # 5

TW: Murder mention, blood mention, pain mentions, exhaustion

"Wh-what do you want?" Hero coughed out, breathless and dizzy. Their vision blurred as they blinked tears out of their eyes as their hazy surroundings melted into an amalgamation of colours and lines.

"Money?" they questioned, struggling to meet Villain's gaze as they tried to prop themself up on their elbows, leaning weakly against the sidewalk.

The criminal laughed heartily, as though this was some sort of ridiculous joke. Which, in all honesty, it was, what with the diamond-studded watch glinting on the villain's wrist and the luxuriant coat draped carelessly across their shoulders. They were in civilian attire, but it didn't matter with only Hero around.

"Alrighhh." They let out a wheeze. "Some. . .special weapon or s-something like that?" Hero slurred, the words falling from their lips at a frustrating speed, like they were trying to speak through molasses, their aching body tormented with involuntary shivers.

Villain crossed their arms and mock-tutted, sauntering a little closer to the hero. "In that area, I have all that I need, want and more. Try again, sweetness."

Hero felt their throat burn with the bile rising in it. "I c-can't give you. . ." they paused, trying to catch their breath, "this, but are you doing this for r-revenge. . .revenge on Superhero? Is that what will make you stop?" They struggled to meet the criminal's gaze, the throbbing in their head making it almost impossible to think straight.

"As entertaining as it would be to watch that insipid little do-gooder fall, if I wanted vengeance, they would be lying face-down in a ditch now, throat slit, left to wither away into the nothing that they truly are," Villain shrugged casually, now shifting their focus onto their neatly filed-down nails, a stark contrast to Hero's chipped and dirty ones.

"Then what?" the crime-fighter choked out, voice breaking, grass green eyes wide with desperation, the villain's elusive behaviour and their offhand attitude eating away at their sanity more than the sharp pains all over their body were, "What could you possibly want, Villain?"

The speed at which they answered them was beyond the hero, so much so, that it drew a loud gasp out of them. "You," they said, voice laden with conviction.

Notes: Hero is NOT rich here. They were going to get the money from the agency. They're either middle-class or somewhat poor. You choose. You can also change Hero's eye colour of you want.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-whump @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

#prompt #hero x villain #a little gremlin's writing #angst?#tired hero #rich villain #superhero #female writers #writers on tumblr #tw death mention #tw blood #tw exhaustion #tw injured hero #hero whumpee #whump

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temiree · 1 year

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My first ever sketch page commission, requested by @altairey for their character Pace, a speedster superhero! :D He also eats a massive amount for that reason. These are currently available for patrons on my Patreon.

#ferret #superhero #anthro #anthropomorphic #furry #hero #sketch #page #digital art #sketch page #eating #hurt #injured #laughing #determined #surprised #commission #my art

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prima-donna-worm · 2 years

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god henry’s death remains SO dark like it’s one thing to be like we’re going to kill people so that there’s real stakes! it’s another to be like this boy is sixteen and he is about to be murdered by his own father and he knows that, and he knows his friends can’t save him, and he knows it’s too late, and the last thing he is going to do before he dies is say to courtney: don’t let this change your mind, don’t let my death be the thing that makes you stop seeing the good in people, that makes you stop believing in humanity like what the FUCK were the writers on

#stargirl #sarah watches stargirl #look i remain a henry used his psychic abilities to save himself somehow and he’s going to come back in another season truther #because it’s comic books and it honestly would be more dumb of us not to that at this point but sTILL #like they could’ve done it where he’s injured in the battle and then they’re with him as he dies or something like that #but doing it where there’s this moment before it happens and they all can see it about to happen he’s not dead yet but he might as well be #and then having him apologize to yolanda and tell courtney not to give up on the world #like i cannot put into words how unhinged that was of a cw teen superhero show to do #joey dying in ep 2 or whatever was dark bc he was a nice kid who was murdered #but making henry stare down his own fate and accept that it can’t be stopped is like. what the fuck guys what the actual fuck

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1mpulsee · 18 days

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// ^^^ has a DNR (do not resuscitate) and has specified he never wants extraordinary measures to keep him alive in his advanced medical directive . has also told almost no one that he’s already set up his medical directive, if they find out he just says it’s because he’s a superhero and those circumstances are more likely than with most people . but when it comes to the DNR and refusal of extreme measures to save him, that’s a strict need to know basis — and his friends and family really don’t need to know .

#⁽ ⠀ ⚡️ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ ⠀ / ⠀ * ⠀ ooc.#⁽ ⠀ ⚡️ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ ⠀ / ⠀ * ⠀ hcs.#// something something fear of revival #// and just doesn’t want those sorts of things #// imo advance directives would b somewhat common for superheroes bc. you could die or get seriously injured at any time #// so it’s not crazy to think Bart would have one #// he just hasn’t told anyone who didn’t HAVE to know what it was #cw medical #cw death

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daydreamerdrew · 1 year

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Tales of Suspense (1959) #84

#unless Tony saw a doctor in his Avengers appearances that I didn’t read #then this is the first time Tony’s seen an actual doctor for his heart #it’s legit weird to see him in a hospital setting #also it seems that Pepper’s opinion of Tony has considerably improved #with all those times he was absent no longer making him look bad with the explanation that he’s ill #and not Tony hiding behind his illness to say that he can’t possibly be Iron Man with such an injured heart #like yeah but he’s just disregarding that and being a superhero anyway and just nearly dies like all the time #marvel #tony stark #pepper potts #happy hogan #my posts #comic panels

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commander-chaoss · 2 years

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People hearing that actresses couldn't eat or breathe properly in the corsets they wore for their movies and thinking "corsets are evil and we should get mad at all of history for their existence even though whether our anger at history is justified or not, directing our energy at what cannot be changed is one of the most futile and hilarious thing one can do" and not "the costumers should design costumes that are functional and also learn how corsets work" is everything I want to know about modern feminism

#corsets aren't even bad #id wear a corset if i could afford one #corsets are awesome #it's like a bra that ALSO supports your posture. amazing.#but even if corsets were these horrible tools of oppression (which they factually arent)#getting mad at their history would be completely useless and stupid #what you SHOULD be doing is holding the filmmakers and costuming departments accountable for endangering their actors #that would actually be useful #and while were at it lets all get mad at the superhero costumes some of these guys have to wear #cause a poorly fit corset won't kill #cause if the actress feels faint they can loosen it much faster than they can take the Spiderman suit off #and the superhero actors are far more likely to be injured and need medical assistance on the job anyway #so its even more scary #costuming #corsets #hollywood #feminism

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seafoam-icecream · 7 months

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“Sometimes, I think it’s better if Hero doesn’t wake up.”

“How can you say that?”

“It’s true. I know it’s going to break their heart when they see what’s become of the world they worked so hard to save.”

#dialogue prompts #story prompts #writing prompts #creative writing prompts #superhero prompts #heroes and villains #injured hero #coma #comatose #comatose hero

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paisleywraith · 2 years

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You gotta stop getting hurt, man.

#SP Creek #craig x tweek #Tweek Tweak #Craig Tucker #bruises #Piece of a story I'm working on #Superhero au where Tweek is still stuck at home but works as a backalley Healer #Cue a brawler who keeps getting into fights hearing about this anxious dude with sick healing powers #Clyde: The guy barely scratched you #Craig already climbing into this guys window: Shut the fuck up I'm injured

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meraki24601 · 9 months

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Hello can I request a part 2 to Muted ?? Thank you♡

Absolutely, Friend! I ended up rewriting this one since I didn't care for how it turned out the first time. Please, enjoy!

Part 1

-----------*-***-*-----------

Muted Part 2

Instead of screaming in anger and hurt for their sure-to-be newfound ally, Hero sighed and began stroking Villain’s hair again. They could feel Villain’s exhaustion as they breathed heavily against Hero’s chest. They had been signing their story for nearly 20 minutes. Every so often they had to stop for a break because of their wounds and the emotional strain. Through it all, Villain hadn’t revealed anything Superhero would want to hear, but they told Hero everything they needed to know.

Supervillain had bought Villain’s parent’s debt when they had been just 15. Enjoying the idea of having a person on their team who couldn’t spill their secrets when tied down in a kidnapping situation, Supervillain decided to take Villain instead of the money. They abused Villain for years. They were Supervillain’s test subject for new torture methods. A sparring partner to beat up when they were upset, and an ear to listen whenever they wanted to talk through their latest plans. Eventually, Villain learned to fight well enough and understood enough of what Supervillain’s organization was doing to become useful on the field.

It was still miserable, Villain didn’t want to help Supervillain, but things had gotten better than when Villain was small. They had even made a friend in the organization. That was where things went wrong. Villain’s friend was Superhero’s spy. Supervillain caught the spy trying to send a message revealing they had learned how to get information through Villain. Their retaliation had been too fast for Villain to explain. In an instant, Villain found themselves half-dead in an alley with Sidekick standing over them.

Hero believed them.

As Villain drifted to sleep in their lap, Hero started thinking about their next steps. They couldn’t give Villain back to Superhero. They’d never listen to reason. If Supervillain found them alive, they’d try to kill Villain again. Villain was too injured to try to escape on their own, and Superhero was very clear that Hero only had 2 days before they had to return Villain.

It was an impossible situation. Hero couldn’t let this keep happening. Villain had suffered enough. If they went back to Superhero, they would have to torture Villain again. If they tried to refuse again, Superhero might just kill them instead. The only thing they provide the team is their ability to extract information and to be a buffer so bad guys don’t go after Supervillain or Sidekick. What happens when Supervillain finds a new victim to replace Villain? Will Hero have to fight and torture them too? They can’t. They don’t want to.

Villain moans slightly in their sleep, their body reflexively pushing away from Hero. They must have felt Hero’s distress. Hero’s muscles were tense, wrapped around the unconscious victim just a little too tightly.

They make a conscious effort to relax, focusing on each muscle one at a time until Villain relaxes as well. Hero struggles for a moment to level out their breathing, but as they count each breath, it slowly becomes easier. Eventually, Hero falls asleep.

************************************

A pained shout in their ear ripped Hero from their sleep.

Their heart. Their heart was being ripped out of their chest. They couldn’t breathe. Darkness surrounded them, but they could see the person trying to attack them in their arms. One of their attacker’s arms was loose, but the other was trapped by Hero’s arms constricting around the person’s chest. Training kicking in, Hero squeezed tighter. They couldn’t let themselves be taken again. Not again. Please, not again.

The attacker’s free arm grabbed at Hero’s head, but they dodged, the hand slipping past them and grabbing something. With a small click, the person retracts their arm, and a light flicks on. Villain. Villain was attacking them! Hero was, wait, Hero was confused. Villain was lying on top of Hero, but they weren’t actually attacking them.

In their confusion, Hero’s grip loosened and Villain pulled their other arm free. Villain’s eyes are wide as they sign safe over and over again. Sign language was the key. The events that transpired earlier that day came rushing back to Hero. Or, earlier the day before, they realized as they glanced over at the clock.

“I’m sorry.” They whispered. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Villain’s hand pressed carefully on Hero’s cheek, turning their head so Hero can see their question. “Nightmare?”

Hero’s hands are shaking too hard. They answer out loud, “Every night.”

Very slowly, Villain nodded, sat up, and slipped off Hero. They gave Hero a small, sympathetic smile before turning to the side to lift their shirt and assess the damage. Hero still saw some of the blood soaking through the bandages despite their efforts. Villain turned back, catching Hero looking, and huffed. They refused to meet Hero’s eye but slowly lifted their shirt so Hero could check the damage.

It wasn’t bad. Only a few of the injuries had reopened. The sight still made Hero nauseous. In lew of commenting, Hero grabbed the first aid kit still sitting in its backpack nearby. They redressed Villain’s wounds in record time.

Villain grabbed Hero’s hand when they started to put away the supplies. “You next.” They signed before pointing at Hero’s side. A small line of red had appeared on their shirt.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll take care of it in a bit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I hope I didn’t scare you too badly. Do you want to sleep some more? If you want to rest here for a moment, I’ll change the sheets on my bed and you can lie down.” Hero shoved the bandages in the backpack and started to pick it up.

Villain grabbed the bag and pulled it from Hero’s hand. Eyes watching closely, Villain pushed on Hero’s shoulder so they rested back against the back of the couch. Very slowly, they signed, “You next.” They lifted the backpack and sat it next to Hero on the couch. “May I help you?”

Hero nodded.

Villain moved with precise care telling of previous experience. Some of Hero’s stitches had ripped, but Villain didn’t turn away. They pulled a needle and thread for sutures out of the bag and went to work on the repair. Every so often they looked up, refusing to continue until Hero confirmed they were okay.

“There. All better.” Villain signed then put the supplies neatly back in the First Aid bag. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hero shook their head, no, and Villain nodded. “Alright, but it’s my turn to ask a question. I don’t want to be a villain, but do you want to be a hero?”

“Yes.” Hero nodded vehemently. “I’ve wanted to be a hero since I was small. Heroes saved my life back then. All I’ve wanted to do since that day was to help people.”

“Do you want to work with Superhero?”

“I… I can’t answer that.”

“Then you’re a victim too. Superhero is no hero if they force you to do things against your will.”

Hero flinched, “How did you know that?”

“You were begging them to stop and jerking as if they were hitting you,” Villain said, then ran their fingers lightly over Hero’s scarred hand. “We’re both trapped. We’ll never be free until Supervillain or Superhero kill us.”

“Run away with me.” Hero slapped their hand over their mouth. They hadn’t meant to say it out loud. They hadn’t fully processed the thought themselves. “Sorry, I didn’t. I’ll go change the sheets.”

Shaking hands stopped Hero from rising. “They’ll never stop hunting us. We’re both injured. I doubt we’ll make it out of town.” Villain signed. Their head was down and their brow was furrowed.

Hero nodded and started to stand again, but Villain stopped them again. They were careful not to touch Hero, but they weren’t shaking anymore. “We’d need bandages, food, and all the money you can get. I don’t know what chance we have, but if you mean it, I’ll go with you. I, I feel safe with you. We might not know much about each other, but I know you have been kinder to me in the past few hours than anyone has my entire life. Is it wrong of me to want more of that?”

“You mean it?” Hero asked, cupping Villain’s hands loosely in their own. “We can leave? We can run away together?”

Villain nodded yes, and Hero lept off the couch to cheer. It was a mistake, really, the movement pulled painfully on Hero’s wounds. They would leave in the morning. Tonight, they needed rest.

With the largest smile they’d had in years, Hero helped Villain to their feet. The two walked hand in hand toward Hero’s bedroom. They both changed into fresh pairs of Hero’s pajamas. Villain barely managed to keep their eyes open as Hero changed the bedsheets and moved aside for Villain to slip in.

As Hero moved to leave the room, Villain caught the hem of their shirt. “Will you sleep in here with me? My dreams weren’t as bad with someone else nearby.”

“What if I hurt you again?” Hero asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You won’t. Please.” Villain’s hands signed slowly and clearly, eager to prove they meant their words.

Hero nodded and slipped into the blankets. They opened their arms wide, “May I hold you?”

Villain slid into Hero’s arms eagerly. Neither knew what the next day would hold, but neither would have to face it alone.

(Part 3)

#whump #whump fic #whump scenario #whump writing #rescue #whump tropes #whump ideas #hero #villain #superhero #supervillain #unconscious #injury whump #injured #medical care #past torture #hurt/comfort

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