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chaotic-orphan · 22 days

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The Heretic (4)

It has a name! Previously june of doom day 9~

Read part one here

Continued from here

*~*~*~*~*

Shaw woke with a groan, his head too heavy for his neck to support it. He wanted to open his eyes, but as soon as he did his eyelids shut and Shaw groaned again. The dim lighting igniting a fire of a headache in his brain. He just wanted to sleep again. The fight with Olen had taken a lot out of him and his mind was miles away.

Wait…

His fight with Olen.

Shaw’s eyes snapped open again as he jerked forward in the chair. The clack of chains pulling taut. Shaw didn’t get very far and he cursed… or he would have if not for the fucking gag between his teeth, locking his tongue to the bottom of his mouth.

Shaw’s eyes went wide, glancing down his nose trying to see what it was but even he couldn’t see past his own nose.

Fuck. He needed to get out of here… wherever here was, probably Olen’s villain lair or something stupid like that. Shaw pulled his hands forward again. Both his wrists were locked in different sets of handcuffs keeping his hands apart. Olen probably didn’t know that Shaw couldn’t activate his runes without his voice which… well, fucking sucked because the bastard had covered all his bases with Shaw.

But if Shaw was here… then… Shaw’s heart sank into his stomach. Hero. Nobody was protecting Hero! Superhero could do whatever he wanted, Olen could have already caused a scene and killed them while Shaw was unconscious.

Shaw didn’t care. He started making as much noise as he could, screaming Olen’s name or something that vaguely resembled Olen’s name into his gag. After a solid minute of causing a fuss, Shaw was panting for breath. The gag not helping his breathing situation, as he sucked in air through his nose with a painful grunt. His ribs hurt.

Everything hurt.

God, Olen really didn’t pull his punches.

“Tch.”

Shaw looked up to see Olen standing at the top of the concrete staircase — directly in front of Shaw’s chair —silhouetted inside the doorframe, cigarette in hand. Olen turned his head to face the hall and said: “hey. The brat’s awake.” Before he descended the steps towards Shaw.

“Olen! You bastard let me go,” Shaw said, or tried to say, the gag muffling his words beyond recognition.

Olen waved his hand, batting Shaw’s mumbling away. “I can’t understand you with that thing in your mouth. Save your breath.”

Shaw had so many things he wanted to say. He wanted to ask. He had to know.

Where’s Hero?

Are they safe?

Did you hurt them yet?

Are they… are they still alive?

All questions died on Shaw’s tongue when he saw the second silhouetted figure in the door frame at the top of the stairs.

Superhero.

Shaw’s eyes shot to Olen in accusation, not pleading, more like hurt and betrayed than anything else. Shaw pulled forward in his restraints, cursing under his gag as Superhero came closer towards him. Shaw couldn’t just sit calm and take it, not with Superhero here— he had to do something. Even if it was only struggling futilely against his restraints.

Superhero stared dispassionately down at Shaw, stopping in front of him. Shaw swallowed, glaring back.

“God, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Superhero said reaching down. Shaw jerked his head back out of reach but Superhero caught his jaw all the same, squeezing the pulse points on Shaw’s throat as he tilted his head up. “You’re still useless at fighting.”

As if to prove his point Superhero pressed his finger into Shaw’s cheek until Shaw cried out, cursing Superhero behind the gag.

Superhero’s face didn’t change from the disgusted look he wore when he first saw Shaw, unemotional and inhuman. Superhero let go of Shaw’s jaw and stepped back, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“As much as I love not hearing him talk, we need information from him,” said Superhero casually.

“Are you sure about that?” Olen asked, exhaling smoke into the air.

Superhero’s shark like stare was as dispassionate as ever when he ordered: “remove the gag, Olen.”

Olen obeyed quietly. It felt wrong. Back in their academy days you followed an order from Superhero with yes, sir. Olen moving without the mark of respect was strange. Almost eerie.

Maybe Olen had changed as much as Shaw did.

The moment Olen removed the gag Shaw spit at Superhero. He only had a fraction of a second to enjoy it before his head was whipped to the side, his cheek stinging. Shaw hissed, bringing his head back to face Superhero. He met Superhero’s gaze with hatred fuelled eyes and then his head snapped to the side again, this time Shaw biting back a groan.

His jaw hurt enough from the gag, he didn’t need Superhero’s knuckles aggravating it more.

“You fucking piece of shit,” Shaw said, his voice coming out too high, raspy and croaking. He faced Superhero again, glare a little less fiery, a little more cautious.

“Nice to see you too, Shaw.”

Shaw met Superhero’s eyes, raising an eyebrow at the civility. Superhero inclined his head. “In bruises. Nice to see you covered in bruises.”

Shaw huffed a breath out his nose, then started muttering a spell under his breath. He barely got three words out before Superhero’s hand was on his throat, slamming his head back against the chair. Shaw gasped but no air could enter his lungs with Superhero crushing his windpipe.

His lethal eyes burned with a cold fury down at Shaw. When Superhero spoke his voice was low, dangerous, sending ice down Shaw’s spine. “Try and use your dirty spells again, Shaw, and I’ll knock you out cold. Just so I can wake you and make you watch as I murder Hero in front of you, are we clear?”

Superhero let Shaw’s neck go enough so he could answer. “Yes—” Shaw choked out with a slight wheeze.

Superhero’s eyebrow raised a fraction. It was the only warning Shaw had before Superhero’s hand was on his throat again, face far too close to Shaw’s, eyes far too terrifying and it felt like Shaw was a teenager again under Superhero’s command.

“Come on Shaw,” Superhero chided lightly, his voice like the edge of a dagger. “I know I taught you your manners, or have you forgotten and need a reminder hmm? Tell you what, because I’m generous, I’ll give you one last chance.”

This time, Superhero only removed his hand slightly from Shaw’s throat, leaving his hand there lingering like a promise.

Shaw sucked in a breath, unable to look down or away from Superhero. Shame curled up in his chest like a cat trying to soak up heat— Shaw told himself he’d never bow to Superhero again and yet…

“Yes… sir,” Shaw whispered.

Superhero’s smile was anything but kind. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Olen, did you catch that?”

Shaw didn’t know what Olen did behind him, but he knows he didn’t reply. Maybe a shrug or a gesture or something, but to Shaw it felt like insignificant.

“Me either. Louder, so we can all hear.”

“Yes sir,” Shaw croaked, forcing his voice to be louder, even as his vocal chords screamed at him for pushing them too much after being choked.

Superhero’s lips twitched as he lightly slapped Shaw’s cheek. “Good boy. Look at you, you haven’t forgotten your manners at all. You just needed a little encouragement.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Shaw asked, not caring that his voice was weak as he spoke. Superhero straightened again, allowing Shaw a little extra breathing room that he was grateful for. At least putting some distance between him and the devil himself.

Olen walked around the chair into Shaw’s view, leaning against the wall beside the stairs. His cigarette was gone and he just crossed his arms over his chest, eyes fixed on Shaw. Shaw could see the tension in his shoulders from here, which means Superhero must’ve been pissed when Olen told him he couldn’t kill Hero.

Shaw almost smiled at the thought of pissing Superhero off.

Almost.

“Since when are you a Heretic, Shaw?” Superhero asked, drawing Shaw’s attention back to him. The question kind of stunned him. Superhero tilted his head to the side.

As in… he wanted an answer.

Shaw swallowed before he spoke, licking his dry lips that were chapped from the gag. “I was born a heretic.”

The answer got him a swift slap across the face. Shaw grit his teeth but thankfully it wasn’t hard enough to turn his head, so small victories.

Superhero’s smile was wan. “When did you pick up your practice again? Did Hero know?”

Shaw tried not to give it away. He tried not to react. He didn’t succeed, because the mere mention of Hero’s name and possible threat and danger caused to them by Shaw well… his cuffs clacking against the chair said everything Shaw didn’t want to.

Superhero let out a scoff. “Of course they did. No matter, I’ll make sure they learn the error of their ways.”

“Don’t fucking touch them!” Shaw all but growled. Superhero’s humourless smile stretched into a teasing grin.

“Or what? What will you do, Shaw? Threatening me from your position… I don’t know if it’s brave or stupid.”

“Why do you even want to kill Hero?” Shaw demanded hotly. “They’ve only ever followed your orders. Done as you asked!”

Superhero rolled his eyes. “Is this the part where I reveal all my evil plans to you, Shaw? Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

Shaw’s eyes went from Superhero to Olen’s, then back again, squinting a little. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“I don’t think it would say a lot coming from you. If we want to talk about stupidity, at least I’m not handcuffed to a chair,” Superhero replied smoothly.

Shaw grit his teeth, pulling slightly on the handcuffs, more to do something than actually trying to escape.

“When did you find your faith again, Shaw?” Superhero asked. Shaw looked down, away from Superhero’s harsh gaze. He could feel the hatred in the room emanating from his captors. Heresy wasn’t something that would win you popularity among normal people.

“Recently enough.”

“How recent?”

Shaw click his tongue against his teeth, shrugging. “I don’t know. The last couple of months?”

“What is the church planning?”

Shaw stared at Superhero, brows knitting together. “I’m not back in the church.”

Superhero blinked, expression unreadable. Shaw looked from Superhero to Olen, eyes a bit desperate. Though, with the look on Olen’s face, Shaw knew he was searching for a friendly face in vain. His glare returned to his eyes as he turned back to Superhero.

“I’m not with the church, Superhero. I told you about what they do, what they did to me. I would never—”

Superhero didn’t say anything. Just stared down impassively. Shaw scoffed, reclining back into his seat with a shrug. “Faith and religion are two different things, Superhero.”

“Fine. Then who helped you find your faith again?”

“What does it matter!” Shaw yelled. Superhero punched him again, his knuckles cracking against Shaw’s cheek and Shaw cursed as pain flamed hot across his face. He didn’t turn his head to face Superhero again. Instead, stupidly, naively, his eyes met Olen’s in a desperate plea.

“It matters because I say so. You had so much potential, now look at you. Wasting it. Squandering all of our hard work with your filthy, blood drunk love of ambivalent gods. Pathetic.”

“Honestly? Their magic is pretty handy. So is their blood, but I guess Olen could tell you all about that. After all, it did stop you in your plan to kill Hero,” said Shaw with a shit eating grin as he turned back to face Superhero. “At least I have something while you godless, carnal fucks just languish here useless.”

Superhero blinked, entirely unimpressed. “You forget your beloved Hero is one of those carnal fucks.”

“No, Hero’s different. They’re good. You know, like what heroes are meant to be.”

“The strong survive, Shaw.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shaw snapped. Superhero let out a sigh, as he started walking in a slow circle around Shaw’s chair.

“There’s a reason that Hero’s goodness is the exception and not the rule, but you already knew that didn’t you? It’s why you waited there in the alleyway. How can a hero who needs protection survive in a world like this?”

“Hero doesn’t need protection—”

“You seem to think they do. Their naivety of how good the world is and how good people inherently are, well…” Superhero said with a smug smile as he came to stand in front of Shaw again. “Let’s just say, it will kill them before I get the chance to.”

Superhero’s words hung in the air thick and dense. He didn’t elaborate further, and after a minute or so the words took on a life of their own and started crawling under Shaw’s skin.

“As long as I’m alive I won’t let anything happen to them,” Shaw told Superhero. He twisted his wrists in the cuffs, hoping that he could rub his wrist hard enough to draw blood from the metal.

Superhero stared at him for a long, drawn out moment. Then he turned his back on Shaw to face Olen. “He’s not going to tell us anything right now. Gag him and we’ll try again in a few days.”

“Wait!” Shaw cried. Shit shit shit. If they gag him he won’t be able to get out of here but then— he doesn’t even know what they want from him?! He pulled at the cuffs harshly, praying that he’d bleed. Come on! He has to stall them longer. “What? You want to know how I got my faith back? I’m telling the truth, it doesn’t just go away.”

Superhero glanced at Shaw over his shoulder. “It doesn’t just come back either, Shaw. Who encouraged you to practice heresy again?”

Shaw set his jaw, his eyes burning as he stared into Superhero’s dispassionate eyes. “You’re protecting someone,” Superhero told him, his voice light and airy. “Friend, family, preacher? Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to give them up today.”

“Why does the heresy even bother you? You’re Superhero the city loves you!”

“As long as the black church still operates from the shadows and has their secret heretics practicing their magic, they will always be a threat Shaw. You know this. Isn’t that why we worked so hard to beat it out of you in the first place?”

“No you tortured me! There was no hard work on your part,” Shaw hissed.

Superhero’s eyes glinted cruelly. “I mean, you didn’t restrain yourself. There was some work on my part. Or did the whippings leave such a fleeting memory? We can start them again if you need a refresher.”

Shaw glared up at Superhero, lips curling back in hatred. “My people are peaceful, Superhero. Most of us are peaceful. Of course there’s some bad people but you can’t kill us all for a few bad people!”

“Who’s going to stop me, Shaw? You?”

“You can’t just go on a witch hunt and eradicate us all! That’s— that’s,” Shaw’s breath hitched as he felt blood slide down his wrist onto his thumb. Yes! Fuck. “That’s madness, Superhero.”

Superhero shrugged. “I guess I’m a little mad then.” That was the end of the conversation. Superhero turned and nodded at Olen before walking to the staircase. Olen had just pushed off the wall when Shaw clicked his fingers and quickly muttered the spell under his breath.

Superhero turned back, rage and murder in his eyes as Olen lunged for Shaw. Shaw grinned at them both, his skin glowing the strange silver and then he was gone.

He collapsed back into his bedroom in his apartment, stumbling back against the bed before lying down on top of it. He felt nausea climb up his throat but he wrestled it down with a groan. He pulled his hands in front of him, staring at his bloodied wrist. His hands were shaking, his body exhausted, his mind spent. He should really have a shower and clean himself up, but instead he kicked off his shoes and curled into a ball on his bed.

Hero’s alive.

He can rest.

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avvail · 2 years

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Villain and Flirtatious Hero in battle, Villain formly abused by a very creepy intimate whumper, Hero is unaware of this. Bonus points for Hero flirtatiously pinning Villain and misunderstanding their terror

tw: implied past abuse

There were mess of limbs as they rolled across the floor, the momentum making them spiral. Hero managed to get their bearings and gripped the villain’s shoulders firmly, shoving them down onto their back. They came to an abrupt stop and Villain gasped in surprise, their eyes fluttering closed.

Hero drew in a sharp breath, before their lips pulled into a smug smirk. “We’ve got to stop ending up like this.”

Hero settled their weight on the villain’s hips, keeping them hopelessly pinned down. They seized their wrists and slid their arms above their head, leaning closer to their face. The villain had only just opened their eyes and were staring at them, expression shocked.

Hero found them too adorable. Too easy to tease and watch a cute little flush rise on their cheeks. Red looked good on them and Hero wanted to see it more often.

“This is my favourite position of yours,” they purred, tightening their grip on their wrists when Villain tried to twist away. “Although, there are a few more I’d like to introduce you to. I bet you’d look very pretty.”

Villain’s eyes widened and the hero’s grin broadened. They could feel their hands fidgeting and their body almost twitching under them, and it was only enlightening their own desire to see the villain a blushing mess. They gripped their wrists in one hand and let the other trail down their cheek, relishing in the way they winced.

“What do you say? Want to take this elsewhere?”

Hero was expecting and incoherent mess of a response, or that cute thing they did when they were at a loss of words. They weren’t expecting tears to start sliding down their cheeks.

Hero froze in shock. The villain seemed to disintegrate into a series of violent sobs, squirming in panic and trying to yank out of their grasp. “No!”

The hero released a humourless chuckle. “Hey, Villain, I wasn’t being...serious. There’s no need to cry, I’m really not that bad, am I?”

It was like the villain was scorched under their touch, pinching their eyes shut. “No, no, please. Please stop it–”

Hero knew something was very wrong, and they quickly released them, watching as the villain desperately clawed their way out from underneath them.

“Villain, what...what’s the matter?” They breathed, going to rest a hand on their shoulder, but decided otherwise. “Look, I’m sorry. If I’d known you didn’t like it...”

They felt an ounce of guilt strike their heart. Villain scrubbed their face and curled their arms around themselves, sending them a weak glare.

“Do I look like I like it?” They cried shakily. “Do...I ever look like I like it?”

Hero watched them struggle to drag themselves onto their feet. They wanted to help, but they suddenly didn’t feel very welcome to.

“I just...” They bit their lip. “...misunderstood.”

Villain exhaled slowly and rubbed the tears from their face. The hero lifted themselves up and stared at them, shocked by their reaction. Villain often reacted well to their flirting, but this? This had never happened before. Had they pushed too much?

Villain swallowed and reached into their jacket.

“I’m done. Take it,” they whispered, tossing the reason they’d been fighting in the first place. It clattered to the ground. “I don’t even want it anymore.”

Hero clenched their fists and glanced up at them. “Villain, I’m sorry. Tell me what’s wrong, are...are you okay?”

They waved a hand, turning away. “Fine. Just leave me alone.”

Hero felt like they could do nothing as they watched them disappear into the night.

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epiclamer · 7 days

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This is the post you all have voted for… (i settled for smutty hurt x comfort since you guys were so close)

@save-the-villainous-cat happy two year anniversary baby <3

It wasn’t the end of the world, Villain had been injured in battle countless times before and it was never a problem. But, god, there was so much blood.

They weren’t a very optimistic person by nature, but things had never looked worse for them than at this precise moment. Stumbling blindly through friendly, neighbourhood complexes and past steadily blurring townhouses. Villain could practically feel their demise impending.

“Hey there, stranger~” The criminal gulped, eyes shooting around like a cornered animal looking for an escape. “You’re in pretty rough shape to be standing on two feet…”

Their eyes locked in on a figure—somewhere at the back of their mind they were flooded with a sensation of ease, though they couldn’t quite pinpoint why. They continued to stumble forwards and practically into the stranger’s arms anyways, for whatever reason it felt right.

“Easy— Easy there, Villain… just relax I’ve got you, I’ll take good care of you, huh?”

Warmth spread through the criminal’s mind at the sound of the other’s voice, then down into their muscles before seeping deep to their bones. They blinked and when they opened their eyes again they were laying in a tub, their feet resting at the tap where hot water poured down and into the bath.

For a moment they panicked, but a hand found its way to their shoulder and grounded them back to the present. They knew that hand, they knew that touch.

Hero.

“I’ve got you, baby~” They teased, grinning from ear to ear as they fiddled with the temperature to the water with their free hand.

It all came rushing back to the villain; the fight they had picked with their superior—on purpose—and whatever hope they had left dragging their feet to the hero’s house in a desperate attempt for attention survival.

Hero’s touch was warm where it laid by their collarbone, heating the skin to a feverish degree as it began stitching the villain back together. See, Hero’s powers only worked through touch (something the villain had learned a very long time ago purely on accident), but as much as their touch held only kindness, it did not extend to their healing abilities.

Because, god, did it ever hurt. Painful in some sick and horribly pleasurable way that Villain couldn’t seem to stop craving.

Their collarbone snapped back into place, the bone mending itself back together and their eyes flew open along with the sob that was wrenched from their throat. They flailed, partially to escape the hero’s torturous touch, partially to fall further into their grasp.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay… deep breaths remember?” The crime-stopper’s hand moved down their chest, giving their upper half the gift of a breath as they pained the rest of them.

The villain’s relief was only present for a fleeting moment, as they felt the hero’s fingertips trace the edges of the gash to their chest. Already the ripped skin pulled taught and their torn muscles seized up, under command of the other’s touch.

Villain knew what was coming.

They squirmed, the bath water submerging their legs in its warm embrace, Hero’s hand teasing at their wound, they couldn’t help but try and pull away. “Please—”

The hero shushed them, bringing their free hand to cup the villain’s chin. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” They pressed their hand flat against the gaping hole that should have been the villain’s abdomen, jolting them.

Villain screamed, it was dry and rugged, they recoiled from their nemesis but the only other thing there to hold them was the bath water. “Please, H-Hero, please—” Three more seconds and the criminal was sure to pass out.

Then it stopped. Before the villain could beg again, before they could lose consciousness, the pain stopped.

Cautiously, the villain’s eyes fluttered open, their enemy smiled sweetly back, fingertips now tracing the completely untouched abdomen of the villain’s. They looked normal, they looked okay, even after everything the hero had managed to restore them to their previous glory.

“You okay, gorgeous?”

Villain’s eyes met the hero’s once more, they were gentle yet somewhat mischievous. They nodded, brain completely fogged, maybe from the pain, most likely from the hero’s distracting gaze.

The area still pulsed with the ghost of a previous slash, but there was nothing, just the heat from the hero’s hands. It left a sweet aftertaste on their exhausted mind.

“Think you can handle another round tonight?” They waggled their eyebrows in emphasis, removing one hand to shut off the water to the bath as it began to cover the villain’s stomach.

Villain glared, but only for a moment, some of their usual snideness returning to their demeanour. “Can y-you be a little nicer?”

Hero hummed, eyes glued to their own hands as they made their way down to the inside of the criminal’s thighs, their hands beginning to resume their previous healing glow even under the water. “Really? I thought you liked it rough?”

The villain’s cheeks turned red, but they didn’t have time to retort before the hero placed their hands back against their skin and shut them up with a moan.

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the-three-whumpeteers · 24 days

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The whumpee may had been rescued, but they had scars that would never fade. The marks from shackles that were far too tight were still on their wrists, and whip marks covered their back with little mercy- the whumper had made sure the whumpee never truly forgot them.

#whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #aramis stabs someone #whump prompts #whumper #past whump #scars

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tildeathiwillwrite · 4 months

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Merry Whumpmas 2023 Day 30: Sweating

TW: fever, delirious, past abuse/whump

Whumpee shook their head and mumbled something unintelligible as Caretaker placed the cool, damp cloth on their forehead. Their eyes were half-open but glazed over, their skin slick with sweat. “No…” they muttered, “no!”

“It’s okay…” Caretaker soothed, placing another cloth on the back of Whumpee’s neck. “You got a pretty bad fever, but it’ll be okay, I’m here.”

Whumpee’s eyes flicked about the room, but they showed no sign of hearing or understanding their words. “...Whumper…” they whispered, almost fearfully.

Caretaker stiffened. “Whumper’s not here,” they said hurriedly, touching Whumpee’s hand in reassurance, “It’s just me.”

Whumpee shook their head. “No, please! I’ll be good, I promise!”

Caretaker froze. “Aw, hell….”

“...please…” Whumpee mumbled, closing their eyes. Tears began to drip from underneath the closed lids. “Please… please stop…”

Caretaker intertwined their fingers with Whumpee’s. “Whumper can’t hurt you anymore, okay?” They whispered, still unsure if Whumpee could understand them. “I won’t let them. You hear that? I won’t let them hurt you.”

#merry whumpmas #my writing #whump #whumpee #whump scenario #caretaker #fever whump #fever #delirium whump #implied abuse #past whump #whumper #whumpee x caretaker

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whumpshaped · 6 months

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Thing I'd read for forever: Whumpees who don't think they're people

There's a moment in Linden and Colton in a flashback when Colton breaks and he disregards his own personhood bc "this was too awful to happen to a person" so he doesn't believe he is a person. These things don't happen to people, therefore he must not be one

It's makes me feral! LIKE YES! RATIONALIZE IT!

Even better if they get questioned on their logic and they straight up do not understand.

My absolute favorite thing is a caretaker being like "well you're a human so you must be a person, right?" And whumpee is like "no. not a person. obviously." Literally believing they're built different from other humans. Just how it is.

Like how do you even combat that logic?? You don't. Sorry. This is Whumpee's worldview now. Good luck.

tw dehumanisation, conditioned whumpee, past trauma with multiple whumpers

"I appreciate it," Whumpee said softly. "I do. You're... you're very kind to me, and I know you're trying to comfort me, and it means a lot."

Caretaker listened, unsure where this monologue was going. They knew Whumpee had a lot of issues, a lot of new triggers they had to watch out for and avoid. Had they missed one? Had they upset them in some way?

"But I'm sure there are people who need you. I know– I know this is your decision, and you decide whether you want to waste all this energy on a useless thing like me, but... but if you care for my opinion at all, and you seem like you do, because you're s-so nice, then... then stop wasting time on me. I'm okay. Whatever duty you have in mind for me, I, I can start doing it today."

Caretaker hummed. "The person who needs me right now is you."

Whumpee shook their head a little. "Not a person."

They didn't flinch. They continued holding Whumpee's hands in their own, rubbing circles into the backs of them. "No?"

"Just a thing. A thing to use. I don't need such kind attention, though I am endlessly grateful for it." They shifted, averting their eyes. "I had to say something. I couldn't keep lying and taking advantage of such a kind person. I'm sorry I didn't speak up right away."

"You couldn't," Caretaker reminded them. "You were unconscious when I found you and barely conscious in the following days."

Whumpee didn't have a reply to that, but their guilt was palpable.

"How come you're not a person?" they asked gently. "You seem like one to me."

"I thought so, too. When I was still stupid and useless and arrogant. Bad. But Master taught me what I was. Showed me."

"Showed you?"

"Yes. They stopped pretending I was a person. They treated me like a thing, like I deserved to be treated, and no one said anything. You wouldn't have been able to treat a person like that. Somebody would've said something."

Caretaker tried not to let it show just how crushing those words sounded. Even through such a casual retelling — or maybe because it was so casual, like it was normal, — they could picture everything too vividly. A poor soul trapped in that horrible place, with monsters who brainwashed them to the point where it was all Whumpee knew. Trapped in a small world of torture and humiliation until they gave up the memories and the experiences of their life from before.

"I see," they forced out.

"I'm sorry if that was upsetting, I was just trying to answer truthfully and–"

"I know. You didn't do anything wrong."

Whumpee fell silent, their fearful eyes searching Caretaker's face for any lies or deception.

"For the time being, why don't you think of this little recovery period as maintenance?" they suggested carefully. "Would that make more sense to you?"

"Maintenance?"

"Yes. Repairs, even. Getting you back to full working order instead of pushing you to your limits with barely any rest time over and over again for no reason. You wouldn't do that to a thing you intended to keep for a long time."

Whumpee thought about it. Caretaker could almost hear the cogs turning. "I don't think I was meant to be kept for a long time," they whispered.

Caretaker squeezed their hands, prompting them to look up. "Yes, you were. If Whumper got to treat you however they saw fit, then it's only fair I get to do the same, right? And I would like to treat you like you matter, person or not."

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps @anonymous-tiangou

#asks #echo-goes-aaa #whump #whump drabble #dehumanisation #conditioned whumpee #past trauma #multiple whumpers #recovery fic

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whumperofworlds · 8 months

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A Whumper who has the power to enter dreams. They entered Whumpee's dreams and made them nightmares. Maybe they make them dream about a past trauma. Maybe they make a dream where Caretaker hurts them so bad that when Whumpee wakes up, they're outright terrified of Caretaker. Or maybe they trapped them in nightmares that they can't wake up from, as Caretaker and the team have to find a way to wake them up.

Feel free to add more!

#whump #whump prompt #nightmares #whumper #whumpee #caretaker #team whump #sort of?#dreams #past trauma #sleep #inspired by me having nightmares last night that made me cry

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whumpasaurus101 · 11 months

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Tw: past death, possessive whumper

“Your mine, love,” Whumper cooed, squeeezing the struggling Whumpee tight to their chest, “and nobody can take you away from me.” Whumpee sobbed, their fingers gripping Whumper’s shirt tight, knuckles white as they sobbed.

Their eyes slowly moved to the practically unrecognisably body which now lay on the floor before them, a pool of blood surrounding Caretaker.

“Nobody.”

#whump #whump drabble #whumpee #whumper #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #past death tw #possessive whumper #creepy whumper #lee wrote something :o #omg two posts in a row?????#yandere whumper #yandere whump

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flowercrowngods · 1 year

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*checks time* a prompt for you. eddie's insomnia versus steve the human weighted blanket. 🥺

in which Eddie hasn’t slept in days and feels like he’s losing his mind. fairy lights, music, and Steve lying down on top of him with promises whispered into his skin are what saves him | cw: gets pretty heavy on the insomnia | 2.8k

Eddie doesn’t sleep. Hasn’t slept in a while. He knows it must have been two days. Maybe three. And before that it’s always just been one lucky hour, maybe two, his body collapsing into blissful darkness before black turns red and he’s back in the Upside down, before silence turns into Chrissy screaming at him, for him, because of him.

Eddie doesn’t sleep. And it’s starting to show. His movements are slow, thinking and speaking takes way longer than it used to, than it should, and everything is dulled. Sometimes he hears voices where there are none, sometimes he misses words directed at him before one of the shrimps call for his attention again, annoyed and only a little worried. Only a little, because Eddie is quirky, Eddie is dramatic, Eddie is like that, right? Right?

Wrong. Eddie is just tired. His hands won’t stop shaking, his mouth won’t stop talking, his thoughts won’t stop running. It doesn’t even feel like he’s in control of himself anymore, and it’s beginning to be real scary.

But even when he thinks, screw the nightmares, I just want some sleep, rest won’t find him. The constant thrum of anxiety keeps it all away and he’s starting to get frustrated, angry, desperate.

He just wants to sleep. Please. The laundry already starts talking to him, and he doesn’t remember hanging it up, and almost panics when it’s gone.

This is fine. It’s all fine. His joints ache, his scars itch, sometimes smiling hurts, but it’s all fine. He just needs sleep.

It all comes to a head when he’s hosting Hellfire for the kids two weeks since his last full night of sleep — and a full night is being generous, because his standards have gone so low as to that meaning he got five hours of almost uninterrupted sleep. Magically, the kids don’t really suspect anything, don’t even notice the bags under Eddie’s eyes or find their own completely misguided whiz kid explanations for it without so much as asking how he’s been doing. Part of him is glad, because they shouldn’t know, shouldn’t worry, shouldn’t see.

It also helps that even complete and utter sleep deprivation can’t ruin Eddie’s Dungeon Master headspace — and so what if the traitorous elf that asked the kids for help sounds a bit like the angry cabinet door he left open all day yesterday because he always forgot to close it? That’s between Eddie and his mind that he’s absolutely been losing.

Everything goes by without a hitch, the kids busy discussing each other’s moves and yelling and hollering, than watching Eddie massage his temples one, two, three times.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. Except his skin has started tingling three hours ago and he knows he shouldn’t drive the kids home, knows he shouldn’t even be hosting them in this state, but he can’t… He can’t let the Upside Down win.

They didn’t get him with red lightning and murderous bats, and now they won’t get him with nightmares or the lack of sleep.

Maybe he’s been cursed. What if he’s cursed? Fuck, what if he’s actually been cursed to die the slow, agonising death that Dustin gave Mike’s character in the one shot he hosted last week, his brain rotting inside his skull and the cure just out of reach, so close but so far? Is that possible? Is that a thing? It sure feels like it, and—

“Eddie?”

Wait.

Steve? Why’s Steve asking for him, calling his name, where is he?

Eddie blinks. And blinks again. Only to find himself in the living room, a shaking hand pressing the telephone to his ear.

He’s been calling Steve. He does not remember. Panic is building inside him and he swallows it down.

I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy. I just need to sleep.

“Eds? You there?”

“Yeah, man,” he says, his voice too shaky, not at all sounding like him, and he wonders if someone’s taking over his body. If Vecna is back. If he’s been possessed. Fuck, he might really he possessed, and he shouldn’t be calling Steve, he should keep them all safe, he should—

“What’s up?” Steve asks then, and Eddie sort of never wants him to stop talking, because his head is quiet when he does. Keep talking, Stevie. Please tell me I’m not going crazy. Tell me I’m not cursed. “You okay? Are the kids still there?”

After a moment Eddie finds his breath and his voice, hoping it sounds more like him now. “Yeah, actually, I was wondering if you could come pick them up around nine-ish? I’m not…” okay, he wants to say, but doesn’t. “I can’t really drive. Today.”

There’s a bit of rustling on the other end of the line and Eddie listens, because listening to Steve, to his voice and his movements, is easier than listening to all the things inside his house that suddenly have a voice now.

“Sure,” Steve says. “Yeah, I can come pick them up, no problem. You okay, though? Do you need anything? I can come over sooner if you want, grab them and end Hellfire early. Just say the word, okay?”

Despite himself, Eddie scoffs. “End Hellfire early? Peasant. Heathen! Heretic!”

And Steve just laughs that soft little laugh of his and Eddie listens like his life depends on it.

“Alright, Munson, you little shit, I’ll be there at nine. I’ll just do two rounds, grab you, Dustin and Will on the second one, yeah?”

“Sure, whatever,” Eddie says. Then Steve’s words process and he asks, “Wait, me?”

“Yes, you. I’m not leaving you alone when you sound like… Like you could really use a hug but don’t wanna ask for it, alright? Trust me, I know all about how that sounds. And you don’t gotta be alone, okay? We can just hang out here, don’t even have to talk, just listen to some music or whatever.”

And Eddie doesn’t know what to say. It’s not the sleep deprivation this time, though, it’s Steve Harrington and the way he always seems to know when something’s up. Maybe Eddie’s voice really didn’t sound like him just now, or maybe Steve is just really fucking perceptive and sweet like that.

“The things you listen to are hardly music, Stevie.” That’s all he says. All he can say without breaking into tears, because hanging out with Steve outside of these walls that mock him, laugh at him, talk with him, sounds exactly like what he needs right now.

Well, what he needs is sleep, but Steve feels like second best. And isn’t that something he never expected to feel.

“Shut up, Munson,” Steve laughs, and it’s soft, soft, soft. “But that’s not a no. So I guess I’ll see you then.”

Just as promised, Steve is there at exactly 9:00pm. Not one minute early, not one second late. Eddie scoffs and shakes his head as he jogs to the front door.

And maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but Steve looks really fucking pretty with that smug half smile and another stupid polo shirt under his grey jacket. Eddie swallows. It’s probably the sleep deprivation. It definitely is. Because suddenly he wants nothing more than for Steve to come and hug him.

Sleep, hug, hang out. That’s his list now. It’s growing.

He obsesses over that while Steve brings Lucas, Erica and Mike home. Dustin and Will are talking strategies and Eddie busies himself cleaning up, sorting his notes and carefully storing his Hellfire stuff in the little cabinet unter his desk.

When he’s done, because maybe this took longer than it should have after he forgot what he was about to do a grand total of three times, Steve’s just pulling up to come get them for the second round.

Eddie grabs a bag with a change of clothes, a notebook because he doesn’t expect to find any sleep anyway and he wants to keep himself busy with something, even though writing takes precious brain power he’s going to be lacking for basic things such as making himself breakfast or remembering to get into the house when he’s standing by the front door.

Not like that has happened before. More than once, that is.

With his bag packed, he goes to grab Will and Dustin and together they head out to where Steve’s waiting outside his car, just leaning against it like he’s the goddamn protagonist of some shitty movie. Maybe he’s seen too many of those. Maybe Steve should stop working at Family Video, the movies are a bad influence apparently.

The car ride is blessedly silent, the only noise being the quiet music coming from the radio, and Eddie closes his eyes as he lets street lights wash over him. In the back, Will and Dustin do the same. Everyone’s tired after Hellfire, Eddie knows. Sometimes he catches Steve smiling when he comments on how he hates driving the kids home after their sessions because they always manage to fall asleep on the short ride home and he gets to be the asshole that wakes them up.

Eyes closed, the vision of Steve’s fond smile and faux exasperation in his mind’s eye, Eddie smiles. It’s only when the constant, pleasant rumble of the engine stops and the world is cast in absolute silence, that he opens his eyes. Steve’s watching him, but instead of that smile Eddie’s been dreaming of, there’s a worried expression waiting for him.

“You look like shit,” Steve says so, so quietly, and Eddie sags into the seat, twisting around to face Steve completely as he loses every ounce of fight left in him.

“Can’t sleep,” he says, rasps, whispers.

Steve just looks at him. He’s always looking, always seeing. “Nightmares?”

Eddie shakes his head, plays with one of the loose threads where his jeans are ripped at the knees. “Not even nightmares, just… Insomnia, Nancy called it. I love how she has a fancy word for everything.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry.” Steve sounds like he means it, and Eddie wants to wrap himself up in that. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Tell me I’m not going crazy?” The words leave his mouth before he can hold them back and Eddie hates how small he sounds, how scared, how tired.

But Steve, oh, Steve, he’s not small or scared or tired. He’s none of that. He’s not weak like Eddie, because after looking for five, six, seven seconds, Steve turns to open his door and gets out of the car. Eddie’s heart sinks and he rubs at his eyes — his dry, aching, burning eyes, protesting at never getting to close anymore.

Then the front passenger door opens and Steve is there, kneeling beside him, taking Eddie’s hands from his eyes and holding them in his own.

“You’re not going crazy, Eddie. I promise you, you’re not going crazy.”

Eddie doesn’t look at Steve, can’t possibly meet the eyes that belong to this incredibly sincere and kind voice. He keeps his eyes on the dashboard instead, watching as the unmoving shadow of a tree morphs into different shapes right before his eyes, his mind playing tricks on him without hiding it anymore.

“Sure feels like it, though,” he whispers. Or he thinks he does. He’s not so sure anymore, watching the one shadow become two, then three. He closes his eyes, clenches them shut like it would make all his problems disappear.

Maybe it does, because like this, there’s only Steve’s voice as he’s talking so gently, so quietly, so unlike anything and everything Eddie has ever known.

The words don’t really register, but one moment Eddie is sitting in the car, the next he’s standing, and it’s warm and it smells like Steve and— oh. They’re hugging. Steve is hugging him. Holding him. Talking still like he knows Eddie needs it, like he knows the world will fade and shift and morph if he doesn’t, like he wants nothing more than to talk Eddie down from this brink of madness.

Then there’s a hand in his and the air is cold again, but it’s fine because there’s a hand and its guiding, holding, soothing.

A door falls closed, a lock clicks, and the hand is still there.

They’re in Steve’s house. Then in Steve’s room. And then there’s music. The hand is gone, and Eddie blinks, his eyes aching, so dry and tired and angry him.

Steve gently, so very gently pushes him to sit down on his bed, but Eddie doesn’t have the strength to sit, so he falls backward until he’s lying on Steve’s bed. It’s soft, comfortable. There’s a string of lights on the wall behind his headboard casting the room in warm light, and Eddie wonders if it’s Christmas soon.

It’s not. It’s August.

It doesn’t make sense.

But they’re pretty.

Eddie is only staring for a while while Steve is off doing something or other, and then he’s back in Eddie’s line of sight.

“Can I try something?”

Eddie just stares.

“It’s absolutely cool if you don’t want to, man, but I do this with Robbie sometimes when she can’t sleep. It doesnt work on me this way around, I always have to be on top, I hate having something on my chest, but—“

“Stevie, I have very limited brain capacity right now.”

“Right, sorry,” he laughs sheepishly and then rests one knee on the mattress. That’s when it hits Eddie that he’s lying in Steve Haddington’s bed, and that aforementioned Steve Harrington has nothing better to do about it than to fucking smile at him.

“Tell me if it’s bad. Seriously, tell me. Uncomfortable, bad, panic-inducing or just plain wrong, yeah? Tell me.”

And Eddie doesn’t understand what on Earth he’s supposed to tell Steve, when…

Steve’s lying down on top of him. They’re touching from knee to shoulder, Steve’s head landing on his collarbone. He’s warm. He’s heavy, and for a second Eddie can’t breathe and it’s too much, his lungs can’t fill, he can’t—

“Breathe, Eddie.”

And he does. And it’s the easiest breath he took all day. He takes another. And another. And all of them smell of Steve, all of them are warm, all of them a promise that he’s not losing his mind or his sanity. His heart, possibly, but that’s a problem for a different day.

“Better?” Steve asks, his breath leaving goosebumps on Eddie’s skin.

He nods. His hands coming up to wrap around Steve because part of him is still scared that this is a dream, a hallucination, or that Steve will decide it’s enough, he can leave Eddie to his business of losing his mind again.

But Steve’s not going anywhere. He shifts, getting comfortable on top of Eddie and promises into the skin of his throat, “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

And, miraculously, Eddie believes him. The weight of Steve on top of him, his promise now eternalised in Eddie’s skin, and the quiet tunes coming from the record player take him where he hasn’t been in far too long.

He doesn’t even have the time to think about the way his past self would scoff at him for letting Steve Harrington lie down on him like this. For holding him close.

There’s only Steve who keeps him safe from the brink of insanity and guides him to a much gentler, warmer, kinder place. It’s a bit like insanity, actually, but at least here there’s someone to take his hand and hold it.

The last thought that crosses his mind is the list he made earlier. Sleep, hug, hang out.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

This quickly turns into the only way Eddie can fall asleep, and he’s embarrassed about it at first. Feels like a burden and doesn’t ask for it, spends most nights alone and with the resolution that he just won’t sleep. But Steve finds out and makes him come over again or just kidnaps him in broad daylight.

Every night they spend like this, Steve promises the same thing. “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Every night they spend like this, Eddie believes him as he winds his arms around Steve in turn and holds him.

And then, over time, words whispered into skin turn into the tentative press of lips there. They turn into kisses, into more promises, declarations, pleas.

Some nights turn into most nights, into every night, and Eddie doesn’t lose his sleep again, not like that. Sometimes it’s Steve who wakes up from a nightmare but Eddie is there to soothe him, to make promises of his own and to hold him until he’s asleep again.

They make it work. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between sleep and promises, underneath the fairy lights Steve never takes down, they fall in love.

It’s a different kind of insanity, and one that Eddie never wants to run from.

#steddie fic #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #the irony of me writing this because i can’t sleep and posting this at 3am is not lost to me #okay actually im posting this way past 3am because sleep deprived ol me forgot what he was doing lmao #THE IRONY #dio words #sorry for taking this wonderful opportunity for mild hurt and big comfort and just. writing insomniac eddie whump #i am a whumper at heart what’s a dio supposed to do #eddie munson whump #steddie hurt/comfort

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honeycollectswhump · 1 year

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Whumper's title

[masterlist]

It was the end of a lazy evening. Caretaker stretched as the credits of the last movie rolled. Whumpee was draped across her lap and had apparently fallen asleep somewhere during the movie. She wasn’t sure if he even witnessed the climax. Even asleep Whumpee had a soft smile on his lips; he seemed truly at peace.

It hadn’t always been like that.

A year ago, serenity like this would have been unthinkable. Maybe he would have crawled into her lap if she ordered him to, but he wouldn’t have allowed himself to relax. He wouldn’t have been able to.

A year ago, he still called himself Pet or Mutt. He would beg for punishment, beg to be allowed necessities like sleep or food. But never for mercy because he’d thought he didn’t deserve it.

A year ago, Whumpee didn’t even remember they lived together for years prior.

But he did now, and that was all that mattered. God, how she had missed him and the time they spent together. Caretaker wanted to savor it all, savor every little moment she could spend with him.

With a smile playing on her lips, she brushed a stray piece of hair from his scarred face. She didn’t want to wake Whumpee up but she would have to. No matter how much she wanted it, they couldn’t spend the night like this. In the morning, his already aching back would trouble him even more. He was frankly too big for her couch, his feet already dangling over the side. With one hand she was playing with his soft curls, scratching the nape of his neck, and trying to grab the remote with the other – without success.

It had to be done. Caretaker softly whispered his name, tracing his jawline in an attempt to wake him up. He wouldn't budge.

“Whumpee”, the name came out as a soft chuckle. “Whumpee, you need to wake up.”

Again, nothing.

This time she held him by his shoulders and started shaking him gently. Two bleary brown eyes stared up at her, blinking a couple of times. A sleepy groan escaped his lips as he struggled to sit upright. Somehow Caretaker doubted that Whumpee was truly awake.

She stood up and held her hand out to him. “Let’s get you to bed, big guy.”

Loosely, he took her hands and let himself be pulled up, almost immediately resting his head on top of hers.

“Yes, Master”, he breathed into her hair.

Caretaker could feel her blood running cold. She froze, waiting for any indication of what happened, any sign that Whumpee wasn’t feeling well.

But he didn’t. He didn’t tense up or start shaking. He didn’t fall on his knees or stare at her in adoration and obedience or wait for her order. In fact, he didn’t seem to even realize what he’d said. Instead, he just nuzzled further into her locks, almost falling asleep on his feet.

Slowly, she took a step backward, his hands still in hers, waiting to see if he’d follow. Whumpee shuffled along, although at a snail’s pace. Caretaker didn’t know whether to bring up what had happened but one look in his half-lidded eyes told her that any attempt at communication would just pass by him. Chances were he wouldn’t even remember how he got to bed in the morning.

She took him upstairs where –at the sight of his own bed– he staggered forward and flopped down on his messy sheets. Caretaker followed him inside to tuck him in. While she was securing the blanket under his shoulders, Whumpee loosely grabbed one of her hands in his much bigger one and pressed it to his cheek.

“G’night…”, he murmured into her hand.

She couldn’t understand what he said after that and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

This is very much inspired by this post by @whumpadventureprompts (i couldn't find how you want to be tagged when people use your prompts so i hope this is alright)

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echo-goes-mmm · 6 months

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Old Friends (Oneshot) #1

Masterpost

Warnings: briefly implied non-con, off-screen torture

Ugh. What happened? The team… the warehouse… the explosion…

Oh god, the explosion!

Hero bolted upright, his head throbbing. He groaned, screwing his eyes shut. He fumbled for his lamp. But there was no lamp.

He opened his eyes.

He wasn’t in his bedroom at home base.

He was in a dim cell.

Hero was in a dim cell, stripped of all his equipment and chained to a stone wall. In Supervillain’s base.

Fuck.

Steps echoed down the hall.

But instead of Supervillain, a small-framed man limped down the hall with a tray. He looked… vaguely familiar. Or maybe it was a concussion talking.

The man turned to unlock his cell. It was a hand scan opener, which was interesting. Very classy.

He definitely had a concussion.

The man had dark eyebags and even darker hair. He looked like shit, a bruise on his face and his eyes dull. They were purple, so he must be Powered. Still, somewhat familiar.

“Hey,” said Hero, as the man sat down the tray, “Do I know you?”

The man shrugged. He shook two pills from a bottle, and offered them to Hero.

He eyed them. “What are they?”

“Painkillers,” he said, voice hoarse. “Master wants you to take them.”

“Master? You mean Supervillain.”

“Mhm.” He jostled the painkillers in his palm. What the hell? Supervillain was involved, he didn’t have a choice.

He took the pills, and the man handed him a bottle of water. Thank god.

“Are you two enjoying your reunion?” Hero jumped at the voice. He looked up, and Supervillain was just inside the cell, smirking that horrible grin at them.

The man stood up with the tray, eyes downcast. He moved to stand next to Supervillain, who placed a hand on the back of his neck.

“Reunion?”

“Aw, you don’t remember? Little Laith? Of course, he’s just my dog now. Speak, pup.”

“Woof,” said the man, staring at the floor.

What?

Laith was a snarky, arrogant thief, Hero’s first Powered arrest nearly a decade ago. He could literally disappear into shadows, and occasionally teleport through them. What did Supervillain do to make him so… lifeless?

“I- I thought he was in prison.”

“Anything’s possible when you grease a few palms, sweetheart.” Laith flinched.

“You two have fun.” Supervillain pushed off the wall, waving them off. Hero watched him go.

“Laith?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

“If- If I knew you’d end up here- I wouldn’t have arrested you.”

“It’s okay.” Laith turned and left, sealing the door behind him.

___________________

“My team will come for me,” he panted. His entire body was an open wound, pain searing into his nerves.

“No they won’t, sweetheart.”

“Of course they will, there’s a tracker in my equipment, genius,” he spat.

Supervillain laughed. “You mean the one I had my pup plant on the body in your place? You’re dead, my dear, and all those gadgets are in my hands to study.”

“What- that’s not-” his head spun. Supervillain lit up a cigarette, as if he was enjoying a smoke after getting laid instead of after a torture session.

“Including your comlink. Congratulations on helping me take down your team, Hero. I’m sure you’ll see them soon. You’ll be cell neighbors! How fun.”

___________________

There was a commotion down the hall. Hero peered out past the bars. There was a yelp and a firm voice, but he couldn’t make out the words. Eventually the figures came into view.

Supervillain was dragging Laith by the hair, his heeled boots stomping across the stone floor. Hero shrank away from the sight.

Supervillain tossed Laith into the cell across from him, which had to be on purpose. But he didn’t stop there, pulling out a remote and a cattle prod. Supervillain pressed a button, and the hallway and cells lit up with floodlights.

They drowned out any possible shadows Laith could disappear into. Hero had used the same technique to catch Laith all those years ago. He felt sick watching his own strategy used for torture.

Supervillain pocketed the remote, and the cattle prod sparked.

Oh god.

“My dear pup,” he sighed, “you were doing so well.”

“Please, Master,” begged Laith, “I’m sorry!”

It was the most energetic he had heard Laith in the week he spent in this hell hole. And it was spent begging Supervillain for mercy.

Hero screwed his eyes shut and covered his ears. It didn’t help cover up the screaming.

___________________

Laith brought him lunch, after. Just like usual. As if nothing had happened. Laith trembled, the cup of water rattling on the tray.

“Remember when you disappeared just to taunt me when I chased you? You’d make some comment about how I was an idiot or looked like crap.”

Laith sat the tray down in front of him.

“I remember.”

“What did he do to you? You used to be stealing diamonds and Rembrandts and now you're helping that monster.”

Laith glanced behind him. He sat down next to Hero. He tapped at the black choker around his neck, but on inspection it wasn’t a choker at all.

It was a slim metal power-dampener, a model he’d never seen before. A red light blinked at him. The only bulky part was a small box on the side, and Hero knew what it was on sight. A shock component.

“You can’t leave, can you?” Laith shook his head.

“He hasn’t let me teleport for so long… I don’t know if I can anymore.” Laith was thin and ragged, bruises and burns up and down his face and arms. He shouldn’t be doing anything, much less using his abilities.

Hero didn’t have powers, he relied on his tech. Tech that Supervillain now had. He examined the collar. The lock was obviously in the shock component, and was a clear design flaw.

“I could get it off,” he said, “I’m sure of it. A minute with a piece of wire, and we could get out of here.”

Laith jerked away from him.

“It shocked me when I tired,” he said, despair in his voice. “I can’t take it off.”

“No I- we- could do it. C’mon Laith. You never hurt anyone back then, even when you could. Even when it was easier to than not. Don’t let Supervillain use you to murder innocent people.”

“I can't.”

“Please Laith,” be begged. “People are going to die.”

“He’ll kill me if I fail. Or worse.”

“How much worse can it get?”

___________________

Laith came to him a few days later, outside of the normal meal time.

He opened his palm to reveal a paperclip.

“We don’t have much time,” he said, tilting his neck. “He’ll know I opened your door, and he’ll know once it’s off.” Hero set to work.

“What made you change your mind?”

“I- he- he made me have sex with him again.”

“What?” Hero paused.

“Just work!” he snapped.

“What about my com?”

“What about it?” hissed Laith.

“Supervillain can’t have it.”

“It’s in the office, but-” the collar sparked, and he gasped in pain.

“Sorry!”

“-I don’t know if I have two teleports in me,” finished Laith.

“Okay, fine, we’ll just tell the team when we get back.”

“Wha- ‘we’?!”

The collar popped off, but they didn’t have time to celebrate before the hall lit up in floodlights.

Shit.

“Uh oh,” came a voice over the loudspeakers, “did my little doggy forget his collar?”

Laith whimpered.

“Laith! Focus!” said Hero, grabbing his arm.

“There’s- there’s nowhere to go! I can’t-” Laith gasped for air, hyperventilating.

Hero searched around. Surely there was something the floodlights couldn’t reach. But the whole place must have been designed around it, because-

The collar lay on the floor, casting a tiny shadow.

“Laith, look!” His face lit up, as if he was seeing water in the desert. Laith grabbed Hero’s hand and reached into the sliver of shade.

A coldness overcame them both, and Hero immediately felt nauseous.

They landed in an office, clearly Supervillain’s. Laith snatched something small and white off the desk, and they were off again.

They wound up in the middle of an empty lot of overgrown grass.

“I thought,” panted Hero, doubling over. “You didn’t have two. Guess you’re still an adrenaline junkie.” he joked.

It was right up his alley, but Laith didn’t laugh.

Hero glanced over. Laith lay sprawled out, face down on the dry grass.

“Oh god,” Hero turned him over, and checked his pulse.

He was alive, barely, and still clutching the com.

Hero pulled Laith towards him, cradling him close. He put the com back in his ear. Thank god for secondary trackers.

“I need medical!” he shouted into the com.

“Hero?! You’re alive? Wha-” God, he’d never been so happy to hear that voice.

“Just get here, fast!”

Laith whimpered in his lap, twitching. His head lolled, and Hero shifted to support his neck.

“It’s gonna be okay, buddy. I promise, it’s gonna be okay.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

Bonus: Laith, because I can't stop thinking about him

#yeah sorry i only named Laith cause hes my favorite here. im lazy and its past midnight #my writing #whump #superhero whump #hero whump #supervillain whumper #villain whumpee #pet whump #if u squint #Old Friends

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chaotic-orphan · 10 months

Text

June of Doom, Day Twenty-One:

On three : dehydration // memory loss // choke

CW: torture (explicit), drowning (explicit), choking on water (explicit), memory loss, panic attack (explicit), dehydration (described), PTSD, lab Whump (implied), kind of dissociative episode/ derealisation of Whumpee, blood (mentioned), general violence, cruel Whumper, emotional whump,

*~*~*~*~*

“I don’t want to do it,” said Hero, “I just had a shower.”

“Well I don’t want to do it,” Other Hero hissed. “I did it last time.”

“Yeah but last time was different,” said Hero, matter-of-factly. “You got there first.”

“Because you were dragging your feet!”

“You didn’t tell me we were gonna be running on sand! Not all of us are athletic!”

“You look fairly athletic to me,” said Villain who currently tied to the chair. Hero turned to them, eyes wide and smiling with the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah,” said Villain honestly.

Hero blushed then batted their hand through the air, “I’m sure you say that to all your kidnappers.”

Villain leaned back in their chair, exposing their chest and grinned a wolffish grin. “Don’t get kidnapped a lot, not gonna lie. Most people don’t catch me off guard.”

“Well I’m not most people,” said Hero and Villain let out a breathy chuckle.

“You most certainly are not.”

“Well you’re not too bad yourself,” Hero purred. “You work out?”

Villain’s grin got wider, extending to his eyes, “when I’m not trying to do crime I do what I can.”

“No you can tell,” said Hero, with a sultry smile of their own.

Other Hero watched the exchange with their mouth wide open. “You can’t just flirt with the Villain!”

Hero looked back at Other Hero, shooting a glare at their interruption. “We’re trying to have a conversation here.”

“No,” said Other Hero grabbing Hero by the elbow and turning them to face Other Hero again. “We’re trying to have an interrogation here.”

“Exactly,” said Hero, looking over their shoulder and winking at Villain. “I’m trying find out when he’s free for drinks.”

“I’m a little tied up right now,” Villain said and Other Hero made a gagging sound. “But after my day is clear.”

“It’s a date,” Hero said with a wink and turned back to Other Hero. Other Hero rolled their eyes, tutting out loud and walked closer to Villain. Villain’s demeanour changed immediately. Both Heroes noticed.

“Oh, I know you,” said Villain to Other Hero, and Hero glanced at them. “Do you remember your days in Mecha?”

Other Hero froze at the mention of the name and Hero stepped in front of them protectively as if Villain had attacked Other Hero physically and not psychologically.

Other Hero hadn’t heard that name in years and hoped to never hear it again. The place where Other Hero’s nightmares came to life, a place where their skills couldn’t save them. Other Hero wanted to punch Villain in the face for even mentioning it, but they were frozen in place. Their legs like lead and refusing to budge.

“I imagine you don’t remember much,” said Villain, all humour drained from his voice leaving only the malice behind his words. “You probably locked it all away in a little black hole in your mind to never look at again, but I do like to think you remember me.”

Other Hero stared at Villain’s face. At their physique, trying to remember anything familiar, anything at all, but nothing was coming.

“Perhaps a little water might jog your memory,” said Villain and all the blood drained from Other Hero’s face. They remembered fractured images of dying of thirst, sure that was how they were going to leave this world. Dehydrated and alone, in the dark.

Other Hero was sprawled out on the ground when the door opened and light flooded their room. They didn’t look up. They didn’t have the energy to entertain their tormentor today.

“Oh, Other Hero,” a voice cooed. Villain’s voice. “You must be so thirsty. Don’t worry. I brought some water.”

That stirred Other Hero to move. They turned their head and saw a barrel of water and it was like God had smiled on them again. Villain came to Other Hero’s aid, helping them to their feet. Other Hero leaned gratefully against Villain, they nearly wanted to cry at seeing the water. The only thing they needed to survive a little longer. Hold out a little more.

When they got to the barrel, Other Hero leaned down and Villain stopped them with a tut. “Wait. On three, ready?”

Other Hero didn’t really see the point in waiting but they nodded anyway, staring into the beautiful water below them.

“Good,” said Villain, standing a little behind Other Hero so they couldn’t see the smirk on their lips. “One,” said Villain, removing their steadying hand from Other Hero’s waist up their back and settling on the nape of their neck, rubbing soothing circles on the skin.

“Two,” and Other Hero leaned down closer to the water, their fingers dancing with eagerness on the rim of the barrel. “Three.”

Before Other Hero could do anything, Villain’s hand was on their neck shoving them headfirst into the barrel deep and not letting them up. Other Hero screamed into the water, struggling against everything to try and resurface but Villain wouldn’t let them up. They kept them locked there, thrashing, screaming, gasping for air that they were denied. They kicked and flailed but Villain didn’t relent and soon, Other Hero’s struggles became less and they felt their waning strength leave them.

They were going to drown.

A hand in their hair and Other Hero was yanked up, gasping in a big breath and coughing out lungfuls of water.

Villain turned Other Hero to face them, eyes searching their face as they tutted and said: “no. You need more. Your skin’s a little dry looking.”

And they submerged again, trying to hold their breath and pushing back against Villain. They kicked their legs out, hitting Villain but Villain didn’t budge. Their grip was like iron on Other Hero’s neck, Villain’s other hand grabbed the back of their elbow locking them in place.

Other Hero heaved, gasped, choked on the lack of air and dragged water into their lungs in a panic, coughing into the water but still Villain wouldn’t let them up.

Other Hero was breathing heavy, their chest rising and falling too fast, taking in stuttered breaths of barely any air and loosing them too quick to breathe. Oh god, they realised, clutching their chest and turning away from Villain, I’m having a panic attack.

“Looks like you do remember me,” said Villain with a smirk and Hero stepped forward, sending a right hook to Villain’s cheek.

“Shut up,” Hero hissed venomously. Villain straightened again with that same smirk, eyes dancing with delight. Hero turned to Other Hero and grabbed them by the shoulders, ducking under them to get Other Hero to look at them.

“Hey. It’s okay. He can’t hurt you. He’s tied up, Other Hero. You’re not there anymore. He can’t—“

“Oh he can,” Villain sing-songed, and Other Hero blinked wildly, wide eyes trying to focus on Hero but their vision was blurring and they were distantly aware that they were crying but it didn’t matter because they couldn’t breathe. “Funny how memories can still affect us so much, isn’t it Other Hero? I bet you thought you were cured. That you’d left that part of your life behind, but here I am, and here you are. What is that? Fate?”

Hero snarled and let go of Other Hero, punching them again and again and again. “Just shut up!”

Villain’s smile was reduced a smidge but that was enough and when turned back to Other Hero they were leaning against the wall, glaring eyes locked on Villain. “Are—“

“Yeah,” said Other Hero. “I’m fine. Let’s just get what we need and go.”

Hero nodded, coming to stand beside Other Hero. Other Hero smiled sadly at Hero and said: “since you’ve already worked up a sweat…”

“Oh it’ll be my pleasure,” Hero said, cracking their knuckles for effect, eyes on Villain, who still smiled from the chair they were tied to.

“It’s okay,” said Villain. “I yield. You want to know why there’s been an increase in crime in the docks? Shipments in and out, old ladies getting their purses snagged, blah blah blah, right?”

The heroes said nothing, just glared and Villain’s cruel smirk returned to their lips as they leaned forward, blood coating their teeth as they spoke.

“I’ll tell you cause we go way back, Other Hero. You remember Supervillain, right? Genius doctor, ahead of his time. Made us both what we are today, well he’s finally coming home and he’s got a lot of friends coming with him.”

“How many?” Other Hero demanded.

“Every. Last. One of us,” Villain said, their tone taking on one of reverence. “He’s gonna be so happy to see you. See what you’ve become, take you home.”

Hero rolled their eyes, grabbing Other Hero’s arm and pushing them towards the door. “Thanks for the heads up,” said Hero, lifting their hand to wave at the camera then sticking their middle finger up at Villain.

“We still on for drinks later?”

Hero snorted. “In your dreams.”

“Pity,” said Villain. They waited in awkward silence for a beat too long, then Villain spoke again. “Oh? They not letting you out? Maybe because they know how dangerous you are, Other Hero.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to shut up?” Hero hissed, turning to face Villain who was standing beside the chair they were just tied to.

Villain shrugged at Hero’s shock, dropping the rope and flashed that bloody grin: “should’ve gagged me, Hero. Don’t worry, I won’t make the same mistake with you.”

Then the sirens went off.

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