#telepathy whump

[tendertenebrosity]

Continuing my Ocean's Echo fanfic stuff. Previous here.

Davi sat on his bunk, across from the reader. Neither of them had precisely unpacked; or rather, Davi hadn't unpacked. The unopened uniform packet was all that Agent Thirty-two had.

“Look, I know this is going to take a lot of getting used to,” he said. “I understand your…” he cast about for a word to describe the outpouring of negative feelings that had flooded through the sync before one of them - he still wasn’t entirely sure who - had managed to shut it off. He gave up. “It’s understandable if you’re viewing this as a punishment. But, please try to think of it as more of a second chance.”

Agent Thirty-two blinked slowly behind his glasses. “Yes, sir,” he said, obediently enough. But something about the way his gaze slid away afterwards hit Davi wrong. He reminded himself that this man was a civilian, he hadn’t had military posture and tone and attitude drummed into him. And since the two of them were sharing quarters now, they were technically in his private space. So it was pretty unfair of Davi to want to snap at him to sit up straight.

Instead, he reached into the reader’s mind - absurdly easy, even for Davi who had never found other people’s barriers difficult - and pressed a command into it. “Answer me truthfully.”

The reader breathed, in and out, slowly. His eyes were suddenly full of trepidation, but he looked to Davi for the questions.

“What did you do?” Davi asked. “To be conscripted. What was your crime?”

“Assault,” the reader said simply. “Stalking and harassment using reader powers. Deep reading without consent.” He wavered for a moment, as if trying to hold something back, but it was shortlived. “I was found not guilty of attempted murder.”

Davi winced. Murder. Yep, all right, you did know that was a possibility. He was going to be tied to this person for the rest of their lives, so he wanted to know what exactly he was dealing with, but he had known when he accepted the assignment he wouldn’t get to pick what kind of criminal he was dealing with. “Who did you stalk and assault?” And probably try to murder?

“My friend’s partner,” the reader said. He closed his eyes, and his mouth quivered and pressed flat. His voice came out calm, though. “Friend and ex-girlfriend. Actually. I’m not likely to do it again, if that’s what worries you.”

Davi eyed the reader’s frame, which was slight and hardly seemed well suited to violence. Well, this could be worse, he thought, trying to be optimistic. A crime of passion is probably better than something calculated.

“And what about the deep reading?”

“Multiple people. Can’t promise I won’t do that again,” the reader said - and winced. “Damn it. I - I just - ”

Davi raised an eyebrow. This was so easy. Davi found himself briefly put out that architect and reader powers weren’t usable in the criminal justice system, but rapidly squashed it. There were reasons for that.

“Well, I can promise you won’t do it again,” Davi said. “Because ‘no reading people’ is going to be one of the - ”

“Wait!” Agent Thirty-two interrupted him, sitting forward, alarmed. His hands gripped the edge of the bunk. “Um. Sir. Sorry - ”

“What?”

“Don’t - don’t write me,” he said, the tone dropping to something that was almost pleading. “Not that, anyway - Don’t write me not to read people. Please. It doesn’t work like that.”

Davi shifted back on his own bunk. “No? Explain, then.”

“I - of course, going deep into somebody like… like I did, a few times, that’s on purpose,” the reader said. His hands crept into his lap and he started fidgeting. “But most reading isn’t that. It’s little bits and pieces. It’s hard to… turn it off.” He swallowed. “I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know what would happen if you wrote me to stop. I’m sorry.”

Davi watched him thoughtfully. He didn’t seem to know any more about architect powers than he did about his own; otherwise he’d have known that most writing wasn’t anywhere near as long-lasting as he seemed to think. Davi’s truth command wouldn’t last through this conversation.

But Davi had seen a few people written to do something impossible, for a laugh, and it had been uncomfortable enough even for ten or twenty seconds.

More than that, though - what was coming through the sync bond, bleeding around the edges of whatever walls they'd both tried to put in its way, was... fear. Dread of being written. Dread of being out of his own control. Davi supposed that was a logical enough fear to have.

“Okay,” he said. “But you’re to respect everyone’s privacy as much as you can. That’s an order even if it isn’t a written one, all right?”

Agent Thirty-two - or Cor? Saelin? Davi was going to need to figure out how to address him when they weren’t on duty - looked relieved. “Yes, sir.”

“In fact,” Davi said, sitting forward again. “We should clear something up. Most orders aren’t going to be write-commands, that sounds fucking exhausting. I only wrote you just now because it’s important, it’s not going to keep on happening.”

Was there a slight relaxation of his reader’s shoulders? Davi hoped so, but couldn’t be sure. The sync felt the same. The reader’s face had returned to a studied blankness.

“And I meant what I said,” Davi said, returning to the script he’d planned out in his head earlier. “About this being a second chance rather than a punishment. It’s a chance to contribute to society and do something positive with your life. This doesn’t have to be what you’re afraid of. It’s a working relationship. Okay? I’m not interested in tormenting you.”

Agent Thirty-two, or possibly Saelin, looked down at his knees, scuffed and faded prison-issue scrubs. “No, sir. I know you’re not.”

“You’re here to help with my work,” Davi said. “Why would I want you miserable? There’s no reason this needs to be any different from any other command-chain relationship on this ship. The ability to write you is just a safety net, and as long as we’re working well together it’ll never need to come into play.” He smiled. “Hell, it’s not even unique to you. I’m strong, I could write half the people on this ship whenever I wanted, but I don’t.”

“You couldn’t,” the reader said, reluctantly. “You would… get in trouble. Not so, for me.”

“True,” Davi said. “But… I’ll make you a deal. Okay?” He took a deep breath. “I won’t write you unless it’s necessary for our work. All right?” He slapped hands on his knees, and stood up. “I promise not to write you unnecessarily, and you promise that it won’t ever be necessary. Does that sound fair to you?”

The reader tipped his head and leaned back a little, as if to get away from Davi in the small space. But he straightened his shoulders and returned his hands to something like a neutral position. “Yes, sir. It won’t be necessary.”

“Great! It’s a deal,” Davi said cheerfully. There, see? We’re all civilised people here. No reason this can’t be just another subordinate. The head-stuff doesn’t have to matter. “Take off the prison stuff, then, because it’s not who you are anymore. You’re a reader with the finest division the Orshan army has. And I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

Agent Thirty-two made an expression that was almost a smile. “Yes, sir,” he agreed.

Continued here.

#Ocean's echo fanfic #whump writing #telepathic whumpee #nonconsensual mind-link #telepathy whump #not sure this is any good but eh #Davi is so damn oblivious to the workings of his own head and also everyone else's #Saelin #Davi

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Whumpee gets a direct brain-to-brain transfer of a person’s entire life and gets knocked out cold from the sheer amount of information. When they wake up, they cannot move, speak, or think any coherent thoughts because their brain is quite literally fried. They have a fever and every little sound is like having their head run through with a sword. When they come to their senses and get over the fever and sound sensitivity, they’re not sure who they are. They start doing things halfway like the person who did the brain transfer, but stop when they realize, “Wait. I’m supposed to be left-handed… Why am I writing with my right hand?”

#whump #telepathy whump #angst #hurt/comfort #sci fi writing prompts #whump prompts

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (Xiv)

Wake up call

Continued from // Masterpost

This one was a struggle, I’m not happy with the end of it, but… the first half is good enough

*~*~*~*~*

Kit woke in the middle of the night, his head on fire as if there was poison lacing through it. He lurched to the side of the bed, rolling over the damp sheets sweat clinging to his forehead and hair. He hit the ground on his hands and knees, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain and resting his forehead on the cool wooden floor of his bedroom.

He groaned, nausea climbing up his throat that he fought not to throw up. What would he even throw up? Bile? He hadn’t eaten anything all day.

Fuck… Kit let out another moan of pain, the terrible clanging pain of it quieting from the hammer on an anvil level pounding. Slowly, dreadfully slowly, Kit sat back on his hips, raising his head to try and sit vertically. He shivered as he set his shoulders against his bed frame, his sweat freezing on his skin, teeth chattering as he looked to his clock.

6.15 a.m.

He needed to get something, painkillers something, water— anything. He grabbed his shirt by the collar and yanked it up over his head, throwing it down beside him on the floor. It landed with a heavy wet slap, but Kit didn’t care. He did the same with his bottoms and pushed himself to his feet, his muscles aching as he walked to his wardrobe and grabbed some fresh pyjamas, pulling them on. Some fresh socks.

The house was almost expectant, eerie, as Kit opened his door and padded down the hall, hand on the railing as he took the stairs. As if the house had been woken with Kit’s nightmare or… something. It felt like he had eyes on him, but he didn’t care enough to investigate the shadows peeking at him in his mind.

He grabbed the painkillers, filled a glass with water and turned to walk back up the stairs. Rain pattered heavy against the roof, wind creaking the gutters and trees outside. The changing shadows were just that, shadows as the dawn tried to yawn awake. The skies oppressed with the rainclouds and poor weather, and Kit fell asleep before first light broke, curling up in Mentor’s bed, arms wrapped around himself, shivering to sleep while the house’s shadows watched over him.

Kit woke again later with that same ear shattering headache that drew a cry from his throat. He didn’t wake in a cold sweat like last time, but the headache was somehow worse like a migraine. The pressure was unbelievable and it felt as if someone had reached inside his skull and took his brain, squeezing it in the palm of their hands like putty and Kit opened his eyes as a single name crossed his mind: Ambrose.

“Motherfucker,” Kit ground out as he got his feet on the ground, the room swaying as he stood. Shit… where did he leave his phone? Kit’s feet stumbled forward just before he reached the door, hand flying out to catch himself on the wall. He wasn’t going to make it downstairs if Ambrose didn’t at least let up a bit.

I’m coming! Kit thought as loud as he could, over the thunderous rolling of sound and pressure. He didn’t even know if Ambrose’s power worked like that. How far was his reach? Could he even hear Kit’s thoughts from so far away? Kit paused at the railing of the stairs, white knuckled grip keeping him upright.

The headache lessened in pressure, but remained there in the back of his mind, thrumming impatient for Kit to reach his phone. Kit walked down the stairs carefully, dreading every step closer he got to his phone. He turned it on and waited for the screen to reboot. There’s no way Ambrose knew where he was, did he? Did he have to be close for his power to work? Or did it just matter that he was in the city — could his reach be that strong?

Kit had only put his pin to unlock the phone in when Ambrose’s name flashed across his phone. Kit answered after the fourth ring, just to piss him off.

“What?”

“Christopher!”

“My name’s not Christopher, Rosey.”

“Fine, Mallory,” Ambrose drawled, far too chirper for Kit who was just dragged out of bed. “You slept in.”

“I would have slept longer if you weren’t so fucking needy.”

“I did knock first, but you weren’t answering your door.”

Kit froze, turning his head to the front door. “I didn’t hear you,” Kit said, voice thankfully even.

“That’s fine. You can see why I went to plan B then. Just let me in now, it’s cold outside.”

Kit didn’t answer. A beat passed between them. Then, “Kit. I’m waiting.”

Kit licked his lips. “Can you even force me over the phone?”

Ambrose laughed a cold, humourless chuckle. He didn’t answer, instead he said: “Kit, open the front door.”

Apparently he could. Kit felt his feet carry him forward, his heart thundering in his ears, because what if Ambrose knew where he was? What if he was waiting outside that door? Kit didn’t want him in his house. His childhood home, where he had countless memories with Mentor.

Kit swallowed hard as his hand settled on the lock. It clicked open and Kit opened the door. He let out a small laugh as he did, seeing his porch empty of any sadistic villain.

“Kit, I’m getting impatient.”

“I opened the door, Rosey,” Kit told him. Kit felt a sudden sharp streak run through his mind, as if searching for a lie.

“I told you that you weren’t allowed to run, or disappear,” Ambrose said. Kit could hear the cold anger in his voice and could imagine Ambrose’s face right now.

“Maybe you’re losing your touch, Omen,” Kit said with a laugh. “Better luck next time. I’m going back to bed.”

“Kit—!”

“Bye, Rosey. Have a nice day.”

Kit pulled the phone away from his ear to hang up on the bastard when Ambrose’s voice rang out again. “Do you want me to find that water Hero instead, Kit? Oh, what was their name? Tides?”

Kit’s thumb hovered over the red end call button, his heart hammering against his chest. He should hang up. He should hang up. He wanted to hang up. Hasn’t he suffered enough? Wasn’t it somebody else’s turn to suffer the sadist?

His hand was shaking and he wanted to scream. Just end the call! It’s not your fault what a fucking Villain does. You can’t control his actions. Nobody would ever know that you could’ve saved Tides, it would be a tragic accident and—

Mentor’s face flashed through Kit’s mind and he balled his free hand into a fist at his side. Did he really want to have to visit two people in hospital, especially when he could have prevented one of them from being there in the first place?

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick—”

“Fine!” Kit spat into the phone. He could almost see Ambrose’s horrible smile.

“If you are not at your apartment in an hour, I will make good on my threat, Mallory. See you soon.”

Ambrose hung up. Kit stared at his reflection in the black screen of his phone and cursed, slamming the door shut and letting out a long, guttural: “FUCK!”

His voice crackled and echoed with electricity, his phone like a battery in his hand that he was draining. He let out a breath, straightening and focused on moving the charge back into his phone until the screen blinked up at him.

Fuck, at this rate he would need to wear power dampeners just to ensure he didn’t cause any power outages on the way back to his apartment. His apartment… His apartment where Ambrose was waiting, and probably pissed off.

God… how long had he been free of the bastard? Two, three days? Such a short amount of peace, and the first day Kit had spent most of it sleeping! He didn’t even consider enjoying it because exhaustion had forced him into bed.

Kit had a quick shower and left, taking the metro back to his apartment. The entire way his mind raced with the sheer power that Ambrose possessed. How was any Hero ever meant to beat him? To defeat him?

A smaller voice in his mind echoed a poignant: how will I ever defeat him?

But… No, if Ambrose was really as strong as he wanted Kit to believe then he would have taken over the city at any given moment. He could have wiped the minds of the city’s entire population and made them think that Ambrose was the number one hero, and why stop there? Why not the mayor? Or something else more grandiose and Ambrose-y.

No… There’s no way Ambrose would just let the world be if he could do that on such scale. There had to be something local about his ability. Some restraint. Something that stops him from controlling whoever he wants, whenever he wants.

The information didn’t stop his palms from sweating, or the dread from building in his stomach as he came to his stop. The doors opened with a soft whoosh and a creak and Kit stepped out into the underground. His apartment was a five minute walk from here.

He checked his watch. He still had fifteen minutes. He could hang back for a minute, maybe dawdle away some of the time so he wouldn’t have to see Ambrose again for as long as he possibly could. Then Mentor flashed through his mind again and he found himself ascending the steps to street level and walking towards his apartment.

Towards Ambrose.

Towards Omen.

Towards his tormentor.

His heart shudders to a stop when he sees Ambrose in his charcoal overcoat he wore the first day Kit met him on the docks. No doubt he was wearing some expensive suit beneath.

He looked so out of place in front of Kit’s small white block of apartments. He looked too much like a stranger, a foreigner who wasn’t properly acquainted with the style this side of town — as if Ambrose had just walked the wrong side of the river and was about to knock for directions.

Kit’s apartment was on the rougher side of the city because he liked it that way, and too many times he had seen people who dressed like Ambrose getting jumped or mugged on the street in certain alleyways.

Kit almost scoffed at the thought of someone jumping Ambrose. He pitied the imaginary thief who would cross Ambrose’s path.

You crossed my path, Kit.

Kit blinked then stopped. Ambrose was standing on the small path that led up to Kit’s apartment on the second floor. His back was turned to Kit, standing relaxed beside the railing. Ambrose knew that he was here and he didn’t turn his head to show he knew.

You’re so dramatic.

Ambrose turned his head this time, his dark eyes capturing Kit’s and smiling. Tick, tock, tick—

Kit started walking after that. He didn’t want to give the bastard any reason to go after Tides. He checked his phone for the time to see he still had four minutes. He took a breath as he ascended the steps to where Ambrose stood waiting patiently.

Ambrose regarded him with a cool look. “Where were you?”

“Not here.”

Ambrose stared at him for a beat. Then he said, “fine. Open the door.”

Kit didn’t fight his body as it obeyed the command. To be honest he was happy he didn’t have to look at Ambrose for those few precious seconds, his alabaster skin closer to some statue than an actual human.

The lock opened with a click. Kit pushed down on the handle and the moment the door cracked open, Ambrose shoved him inside. Kit stumbled forward, half expecting the attack and turned to face Ambrose once he regained his footing.

Ambrose smiled coldly at him, closing the door behind him and locking it again. “Kit,” he said with a drawn out sigh. “I trusted you to obey the terms of our deal.”

“No, you forced me to obey the terms of our deal,” Kit snapped in reply. “And if you fucked up the terms in the first place, it’s not my fault.”

Ambrose took a step forward, and Kit fought himself not to match it with one back. “Where were you, Kit?”

“If you thought I was just going to wait here like a little puppy for you to drop in whenever you feel like it and torture me, you are sorely mistaken.”

Ambrose clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I knew it was too premature to trust you with your freedom. You’re still so defiant. What have you got left to prove?”

“If you think I’m just going to obey every command you—”

“Get on your knees.”

Kit’s knees hit the floor before he realised what happened. He had only begun to push himself up when Ambrose’s black eyes flashed above him, his lips that horrible red against his marble skin. “Stay on your knees.”

“You’re a fucking—”

“Bark.”

Kit did his best imitation of a dog. He could feel the humiliation crawl pink up his neck at the sound.

“Look at me,” Ambrose said, and Kit glared up at him, fists balling by his sides. “See how you obey every command for me? You’re so good at it, like a little puppy.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“I wouldn’t have had to do any of this if you just told me where you were hiding.”

Kit’s lips curled back into a snarl. “Make me!”

Ambrose clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and walked past Kit. Kit turned his head, but stared back at the door when Ambrose told him to not turn around. He could hear Ambrose taking his jacket off behind him and laying it somewhere. Then he heard the sound of his tap turning on, and a moment later the click of the kettle.

Kit’s lips curled up viciously, his nose crinkling at the sound. What the fuck was Ambrose doing?! It’s ridiculous. Well fuck that. Fuck him. Kit reached for the electricity in his kettle and pulled it from the plug. The kettle stopped thrumming. Ambrose sighed behind Kit and shoes clacking off the wooden floors got closer and closer until Kit could feel Ambrose standing behind him.

“Show me your electricity,” said Ambrose.

“No,” Kit said.

“Show me your electricity, Kit,” Ambrose said again, and this time against his will, Kit’s fingers clicked the spark into his hand and he held up his arm for Ambrose to inspect.

Ambrose hummed behind him. “It’s not red anymore.” Ambrose walked around Kit to face him, and stared down into his eyes. “Hmm.”

“What?” Kit snapped.

Ambrose reached his hand forward and pressed his finger to Kit’s forehead. Kit shivered as the familiar ice cold sludge of Ambrose’s power flooded his brain and his electricity stopped cackling in his hand. The kettle thrummed to life again, back to boiling and Kit stared mutinously ahead at his floor.

“Good lad. You haven’t forgotten the futility of struggling in my absence it seems. You can stand up now.”

Ambrose walked back to the kitchen, but Kit stayed on his knees for another moment before getting to his feet. He walked to his table and sat down at it, running a hand down his face as he watched Ambrose get two mugs from the cupboard and grab the instant coffee.

He hated seeing him. He hated seeing Ambrose so at home in his apartment, as if they were roommates or friends. He wanted so bad to just murder him in that second, but the heaviness of being back here, under Ambrose’s control it was… exhausting. Kit was so tired and it hadn’t been what? Ten minutes yet? Twenty?

“You should really think about getting a cafetière Kit. The coffee is better than instant.”

“Sure, i’ll take your word for it.”

“Oh come on now, you’re not already defeated are you? Are you sulking?”

“Sure.”

Ambrose hummed his disapproval but didn’t say anything else in reply. He walked to the fridge and opened the door, his eyes going to the milk and grabbing it. He frowned staring down at the expiry date. The 21st… that was four… five days ago? Ambrose’s frown deepened as he put the milk back in the fridge and closed the door. His eyes skimming over Kit at his table, expression dazed.

He hadn’t been home in days, or he would have noticed his expired milk. Interesting.

Kit only snapped back into reality when Ambrose placed a cup of steaming black liquid in front of him. “Thanks.”

“Oh Kit, don’t be so glum. This was our deal, right? Your life for a couple visits a week.”

Kit let out a deep sigh as he grabbed his mug closer and stared down into his coffee. Ambrose’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t want this. He wanted Kit to have more life, not less.

“So,” Ambrose began, schooling his features into a more neutral expression. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“My life, right?” Kit said, his eyes finally raising to meet Ambrose’s black ones. “That means you don’t ask about it.”

“Oh come on, tell me what you did while I was gone. The first thing you did.”

Kit immediately thought of his minor breakdown the second Ambrose left and he grimaced, setting his lips into a thin line and bringing the mug into his hands letting it hover just beside his lips.

“I went for a run.”

“And how was your run?”

“It felt… good.” Kit wasn’t lying. The run was the one thing that kept him sane after his minor meltdown. He hoped Ambrose was true to his word and staying out of his mind. Otherwise he would see everything… just in case Kit tried his best to make his mind go blank.

“Now, see? It felt good. I give you back your life, your autonomy in return for a few visits, I’m not unreasonable Kit.”

Kit scoffed and took a sip of his coffee.

“What else did you do? Where did you go?”

Kit stared down at his coffee. Ambrose rolled his eyes. “Do I have to force everything out of you, Kit? I have no qualms about using my powers on you as you know. In fact, I quite enjoy it.”

“I went to see my mentor,” Kit snapped, eyes locking onto Ambrose’s black ones. “Happy now?”

Ambrose smiled. “Ecstatic. How is Superhero?”

Kit’s grip tightened on his mug of coffee. Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Was Superhero not your mentor?”

Kit set his jaw and looked away. Ambrose wouldn’t know, of course he wouldn’t know. As far as Ambrose knew, Mentor was before Kit’s time. Before Kit ever became a hero. Ambrose probably thought Kit came up through the ranks with Superhero, not Mentor.

And if that’s true then that means Ambrose wouldn’t know what Mentor meant to Kit, and Kit liked it better that way.

“I thought I said I don’t want to talk about my life outside of you,” he said instead of telling Ambrose to fuck off.

Ambrose hummed. “Look at me, Kit.”

Kit obeyed, swallowing as his eyes found Ambrose’s. The two black pools seemed to swirl like a storm, drawing Kit further and further in until he was lost in their abyss.

“I don’t want—”

“I don’t care,” Ambrose cut in, effectively silencing Kit’s protests. “Answer me honestly, is Superhero your mentor?”

“Why do you care?!” Kit snarled.

The corner of Ambrose’s lips tilted up slightly. “I care because you’re trying to hide something from me, and you know how much I love—”

“Torturing people, yeah I know.”

Ambrose sat back in his chair and shrugged his shoulders casually. “Always the hard way.”

Kit’s brows furrowed at the villain. Shit.

“Tell me who your mentor is, Kit.”

“Why?” Kit asked, anger leaking from his voice, replaced with a guarded almost pleading sadness.

“Because you’re protesting too much.”

“Please,” Kit whispered then froze. Ambrose froze too. Then his lips turned up into his smirk and Kit knew Ambrose was going to force him to tell him about Mentor.

“Tell me who-”

It was Kit’s turn to cut Ambrose off. “Mentor,” he ground out through gritted teeth. Ambrose’s eyes widened slightly, his eyebrows twitching up in surprise, his lips slightly parted, froze mid-sentence.

A moment of silence passed between them. The moment turned into a minute, and Kit just closed his eyes and drank his coffee in the silence. He could feel and hear the cogs working in Ambrose’s head trying to match the timelines up and coming up blank.

“You’re joking,” Ambrose said eventually. Kit looked away, it felt as if someone had a hand around their heart and squeezed it. “Oh. I see. You’re not joking… but Mentor was Superhero before—”

“Yeah,” said Kit. “I know.”

“Then—”

Kit’s scoff cut Ambrose off, his eyes going back to Ambrose’s. “What? You want my whole tragic backstory, Rosey?” He asked with a sardonic smile. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Mallory, I—”

“Didn’t know?” Kit supplied, his voice rising in pitch. “You didn’t know? Does it look like I give two shits about what you know or not?! I don’t need your false pity, or your remorse for your actions, Omen, because we both know you don’t mean it.”

Ambrose’s expression darkened. His features schooled into neutrality, but Kit could read him by now. The subtle too-tight wind of his jaw, the coolness in his eyes, Ambrose was pissed and he was about to take it out on Kit. Honestly? Kit didn’t care. He preferred it when Ambrose was cruel to him, at least then he didn’t have to think about Ambrose possibly having human emotions, or being human at all.

When Ambrose was hurting Kit he was just a villain, and Kit could hate him completely without second guessing himself.

Ambrose stood up and Kit braced himself for impact, whatever it was. Then Ambrose grabbed his jacket, and walked towards Kit’s front door. Kit frowned, staring after the villain. “Hey! Where’re—”

“I’ll see you later, Kit.”

The door opened and closed. Kit flinched, his heart pounding in his chest and his thoughts racing through his brain.

Mainly: what the hell was that all about?

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper r @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl l @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast t @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @lovethiswriting

#intoxicating fear #hero villain writing #hero villain snippet #hero villain story #hero #villain #writing #whump writing #writblr #intoxicating fear series #creative writing #Kit Mallory #Oskar Ambrose #Ambrose #omen #mind control #telepathy #telepathic villain #electrical hero #electric hero #mind control villain #telepath villain #hero x villain #villain whumper #telepathic whumper #cruel whumper #hero whumpee #intelligent villain #intelligent whumper #sassy whumpee

[whumpster-dumpster]

hii hope youre doing well! could you do some sci fi whump prompts please? ^^

Sure thing! Since sci-fi has a wide range, the prompts are kind of all over the board:

Spaceship crash

Alien viruses or toxins

Otherwordly parasites

Laser or radiation burns

Prejudice between alien races

Alien interrogation/experimentation

Lost/separated on an unknown planet

Hunted down for collection as a "rare species"

Futuristic biomechanical implants malfunctioning

Telepathic whumper intruding in whumpee's mind

Space sickness (similar symptoms to motion sickness)

Punishment/imprisonment for breaking alien cultural rules

Painkillers/other medicines don't work for whumpee's species

Food poisoning; alien rations unsuitable for whumpee's species

Universal translator breaking; whumpee and other characters struggle to communicate

Alien caretaker(s) trying to treat whumpee's injuries and worsening them instead because they're unfamiliar with their biology

Spaceship systems malfunctioning: losing oxygen, losing heat, increased pressure of gravity, trapped mid-teleporation, etc.

#whump #whump prompts #writing prompts #sci fi #aliens #non human whumpee #non human caretaker #speciesism #burns #implantation #sickness #interrogation #communication breakdown #food poisoning #tw parasites #telepathy #answered ask #astergh0st

[whump-or-whatever]

Love myself a good telepathic/empathic whumpee.

Headaches or migraines from hearing too many thoughts at once, including light and sound sensitivity

Trauma from viewing certain thoughts/memories

Bloody nose or passing out from over-exertion

Feeling other peoples’ strong emotions or pain

Completely zoning out in the middle of conversations when they use their powers

Struggling to control someone’s mind

Having their powers blocked and being cut off from the outside world

Alternatively, being given a drug or something that amplifies their powers to the point that it’s painful

Being held somewhere where they’re surrounded by other people suffering to the point that they can’t block it out (and after being rescued from that place the silence is just as overwhelming)

#whumpee #telepathy #telepathic whumpee #empathic whumpee #whump #whump idea #whump tropes #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump prompts #whump community #whump stuff

[angstylittleguy]

In Which Everything Goes Wonderfully Wrong Characters

-> writing masterpost

Aurora "Rory" Estrada

⋆ A girl that woke up one day and could hear the thoughts of everyone around her, whether she likes it or not.

⋆ She hates that she can't give the people around her any privacy, and she constantly feels like she's intruding and being disrespectful, as she has no right to hear someone's private thoughts.

⋆ Her head constantly hurts, her temples throbbing and no amount of Tylenol can fix that.

⋆ The only thing that can even attempt to battle the flood of voices, is music. Rory never goes anywhere without her headphones.

⋆ After she discovered her ability, her short-term memory declined as she was plagued with the thoughts of everyone but herself. She's started keeping a journal to help her remember things.

⋆ Despite all of the downsides to her ability, she has hopes of becoming a psychologist, and is going to college to get her degree.

⋆ Rory is the one who can sense people like her: people with unwanted abilities. Something about their thoughts are different, laced with an extra something that she didn't understand.

Dalton Richards

⋆ Dalton is disgusted with his powers.

⋆ He was a very private person, never sharing how he was feeling with anyone and he normally kept to himself, dealing with his thoughts on his own.

⋆ But now that he has these stupid abilities? All it does is draw attention to himself, and he's forced to wear his emotions on his sleeve.

⋆ His emotions controlled his height, and it terrified him.

⋆ At first it started with growing or shrinking a few inches, but as the days went by his ability grew stronger and his height changed more drastically.

⋆ When he was sad or upset, he would shrink down to where the smallest of objects would tower over him, and when he was angry his head would brush the ceiling and he would have to hunch over on himself to avoid breaking anything.

⋆ He was terrified of hurting people, and he had no way to control what happened to him.

Bennett Haltiwanger

⋆ Bennett was certain he had the worst power out of everyone.

⋆ Rory had called it the "Groundhog Day" power, and he hated that name. He couldn't think of a better one, though.

⋆ The first time he had discovered his ability, was in a terrible car accident. At first, he had thought it was all a dream, because he woke up in his bed at the beginning of the same day. He and his friends got into the car, Bennett brushing off the bad vibes™ as something from the weird dream he had. Then a car swerved into their lane, and Bennett woke up in his bed once again. The loop repeated over and over and over again, and did not stop until he survived to the next day. A day in which he could not convince his friends to leave the car, and he had to go without them.

⋆ His powers sucked, forcing him to relive a tragedy over and over again until he survived, and often times he could not save the people around him.

⋆ He started isolating himself from people to avoid being stuck in the loop, knowing that he would be the only one to walk out alive.

⋆ His ability scared him. He didn't know what would happen if one day he died from natural causes. What if he got sick? Or died from old age? Would he have to relive that day over and over again, even if there was nothing he could to do to avoid that death?

Josiah Lowell

⋆ When Josiah had discovered his ability, he thought it was permanent.

⋆ He had woken up one day and he had no reflection.

⋆ With absolutely no idea what to do, Josiah just stayed at home in his apartment until it finally wore off. Of course, at the time, he didn't know that it wasn't permanent, and the time that he spent locked away in his room was extremely panic-induced. It took eight days for his reflection to return.

⋆ When he was invisible, he couldn’t feel anything. It’s like his entire body was numb. Sometimes, he would even sink through the floor, as if he no longer held any matter and had the mass of air.

⋆ The invisibility came in spells, with no way to tell when it would happen and how long it would last.

⋆ He had gotten used to it for the most part, and learned to navigate his daily life without making too many changes.

⋆ And then he began to lose feeling in his fingers.

⋆ And his vision began to decline.

Meiling Zhao

⋆ Meiling liked to go fast.

⋆ She had run track and cross country in both middle school and high school, and when she was old enough she got her motorcycle license and began to drag race.

⋆ Needless to say, when she discovered her ability, she wasn't exactly upset about it.

⋆ She used it as often as she could, running around and doing daily tasks as quick as lightning so she had as much free time in her day as possible.

⋆ As the days stretched on and it felt like the sun set less often, Meiling began to feel her body growing tired from the constant usage, her muscles and limbs aching.

#wip: in which everything goes wonderfully wrong #dalton richards #aurora estrada #Bennett haltiwanger #Josiah lowell #meiling zhao #gt community #gt writing #writing wip #oc moodboard #character intro #angst #whump tropes #invisibility #size shifter #size shifting #mind reader #telekinesis #telepathy #superpower oc #superpower whump #abilities #writeblr #whumpee #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #g/t #g/t angst #g/t fearplay

[stillboredman]

Thought / Prompt

CW: the joys of kidnapping and sadism.

An arrogant telepathic hero gets kidnapped by a ruthless villain.

It’s much harder to keep their resolve when they know exactly what’s about to happen to them… and just how much the villain enjoys it.

#original #thought / prompt #downsides of telepathy #hero x villain #whump

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

8,5, and 1 for the hurt/comfort ask game please?

Hi Anon! I’d love to! Thanks for requesting this, here you go! (P.S. sorry that it's short!)

“It’s all too loud,” Whumpee cried, “Caretaker, it’s all too loud!”

Caretaker was crouched down in front of the kneeling Whumpee, who had their hands over their ears and was shaking terribly. Trickles of blood made their way out of Whumpee’s nose and down their face.

“I know, Whumpee,” Caretaker said softly, “your telepathy and psychic powers are out of control, just try to calm down. Focus on my voice and my voice only.”

That seemed to help for a moment, but after half a minute Whumpee cried out and curled further in on themselves.

“I can hear the entire city,” Whumpee sobbed, “it’s too much, I- GAH!”

Objects in the room began to levitate as Whumpee’s eyes glowed with their power. The items swirled around the room in a wide circle, going faster and faster until a steady wind kicked up. Caretaker’s eyes widened and they grabbed Whumpee by the shoulders.

“Whumpee, listen to me,” Caretaker said, “only you can stop this, try to focus, you can do it.”

Whumpee nodded and screwed their eyes shut. Slowly but surely, the objects in the room slowed down and returned to their rightful places. Whumpee swayed to the side; Caretaker caught them before they could hit the ground.

“Whumpee?” Caretaker asked.

Whumpee didn’t respond. They had passed out trying to control their power.

“Oh, Whumpee…”

Caretaker lifted Whumpee into a bridal carry and made their way to Whumpee’s bedroom. They tucked Whumpee under the covers and wiped away the blood with a tissue. They sat down by Whumpee’s bedside and squeezed their hand.

“You did so good, Whumpee,” Caretaker said softly, “you’re gonna be okay.”

#powers out of control #fainting #bridal carry #ask game #whump ask game #hurt/comfort ask game #writing #writeblr #creative writing #whump #snippet #as requested #whumpee x caretaker #caretaker x whumpee #no whumper #telepathy #telepathic whumpee #psychic #psychic whumpee #nosebleed #psychic nosebleed #sensory overload

[morgansunflower]

Heal What Was Broken

Bruce Wayne X Wife! Reader

Warnings:suggestive content, explicit language and nudity.

Words:1437

She's the only one who can save him.

My knees desire to buckle to see him so.. Broken. He sat cross legged. Wearing sweats and a straight jacket. He was inside a large glass box. He was a danger to us, to himself and to his legacy. I had been on a league mission when my son called me. He was alive but his mind and his heart need to be heald. Jason places his open palm on my shoulder. I place my hand on his own. He's really alive.

"he needs you"

"I'll do everything I can.. It's probably best the room is cleared"

"ok" he answered.

As the room was empty I look into my husband's maddening eyes. He's still in there. He has to be. I say the spell to enter his mind. All I saw was darkness. I take steps as I hear a soft laughter. There was Bruce. He was wearing Batman uniform. He was innocently watching himself as he was younger with his parents. Though as his father said his last words the memory stopped and went back to him laughing.

"Bruce" I uttered softly.

He turns to face me looking at me like a stranger. My heart breaks. This is going to be a long process. He can't remember me. I have to be strong. I can't break down.

"who are you?... You seem very familiar.." he stared at me trying to figure out who i am.

"I am someone who loves you very much. I am here to help you remember who you are"

He looks at the memory. His voice begins to heavy and his body shakes. He tightly closes his eyes with his fist clench. My heart beating heavily for his disparity.

"No!! I can't.. I can't relive this! I WON'T!!" he refused.

"you are so strong Bruce" I touch the, Batman symbol on his uniform. My tears well up "you are more than this. You're a father, a husband and a son. You are a good man and a savior"

He looks at, me wiry his pleading blue eyes "could you?..." he stammered half-embarrassed and half-broken.

I wrap my arms around him. I didn't see with my own eyes. I hear the gunfire. He fully breaks in my arms. His knees bend from the force of his heart breaking. I held onto him for a moment.

"I know it is hard to believe, but this, will get better"

He held my hand as I guided him to his future. Alfred trying to be there for him through his pain. We went through our childhood memories. The day we met. The day he first kissed me. I began to heavily blush as he watched the first time we made beautiful and sweet love. Our break up that broke my heart. I tried so hard to keep myself together. As he saw me crying in the memory, he held my hand a little tighter. The day he came to me in near tears begging me to forgive him. The night Grayson lost his birth parents. The first time he said Dad to Bruce. The day Robin's fears came to surface from the fear toxins. Our beautiful wedding day.. Both Alfred and Clark nearly crying. The honeymoon that couldn't last long enough.

"I fell in love with you over and over again" he uttered my heart leaping.

Then he saw, his fight with Grayson. Our little bird left the nest that day. Bruce, looked down defeated as if he was ashamed. Like he failed his son. I kissed his shoulder. Then we came to the, memory of a, little boy stealing tires from the bat-mobile. Then we came to when Jason had the flu. It was the moment Jason knew we genuinely loved him as our own. The day Barbara was shot that changed her life forever. Then to the day I lost him... I utter the words to leave his mind. Bruce lays his face on my thigh. Ah thick hitch left his lips as he shakes. His breathing heavy. I use the spell to rid of the straight jacket. He quickly clung to my waist genuinely scared this moment wasn't real. I kiss his face rubbing his back. I nearly shake from the overwhelming emotions that hit me. I have him back.

"it's OK.. It's gonna be OK Bruce. I'm right here.. I'm here. You're safe now. I've got you" I assured him

My hands shaking while I rub his face. I cried and kneel down. I hold his tired face in my hands. His eyes were swelled and baggy from lack of sleep. I kiss him. He kisses me deeply wrapping his strong arm's around me. I began to heavily cry in his arms. He's back.

"I love you" he says shakily with so much rawness.

"I love you too. I was so scared Bruce" I shake, my head gently shaking him "don't you die on me again Bruce.. I can't.. Ever go through that again" I demanded squeezing him tightly.

"I won't.. You're my all" his eye's shake as his tears fall down his pale face "my beautiful wife" he kisses the palm of my hand "I am.. Thrilled.. to be back with you"

I take us to our room. I couldn't let go of Bruce. The family needed to see him but... We couldn't stop holding each other. We went into the bathroom. My husband was still quite weak. His shoulders remained slouched, his eyes were still swelled. He rest his head on my neck. I lean him against the sink. I rid him of his uniform. He moves sitting on the toilet seat. I start a warm bath for him. I gently hummed. I hear Bruce take a deep breath as he tries to stand.

"what are you thinking?" I asked softly approaching him "let me help you"

He put his arm over my shoulder as I guide him into the tub. He carefully clings to me. I lower him into the water. He rest his large arms on the rim of the tub.

"lean your head back so I can wash your hair"

He nodded taking another deep breath. He leans his head back. I take a small glass bowl and fill it with water. I then place my hand above his eyes and pour it onto his dark hair. He holds my arm I put the bowl on the floor. He began to shake as he kisses my hand. He looks at me with his heart crying out to me. He didn't have to say anything. I kiss his cheek and I raise to my feet. I began to rid of my clothes. I know how I must look much different to him, but he didn't say anything. He treated me like I'm beautiful to him. As I kiss him we, made up for lost time. Making the best love we had in such a long time. It was perfect. Moments later Bruce dressed in his sweatpants and his robe. I wore my sweatpants, t-shirt and my black robe. I held his face in my hands. He lays his forehead among my own.

"I need you to do something for me... You can't let you're pride out way how you feel. They need their father and poor Alfred hasn't been the same. They need a.. Hug Bruce"

He grunted in response kissing my hand. I knew deep down he agreed with me sometimes he just needed a little push. We depart to the family room. Alfred placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder with a tearfully and wide smile. He hugged his son. Bruce wrapped his arms around Alfred.

"you're thin. I aquire you to have a full night's rest and a early dinner.. I'll even allow some cookies"

The old man parted. Bruce had to keep from falling as Grayson nearly tackled him in a hug. Our oldest began to cry like a child, in Bruce's arms. Jason was trying so hard to keep from falling out of control of his emotions. He was so close to crying, to breaking. Bruce places his hand on Jason's shoulder. Jason shakes his head unable to withstand the emotions that were thrusting to his heart. Bruce gently pushes Jason to him. A, tear falls down Jason's face. He lays his head in Bruce's neck as if he was trying to hide. He broke in Bruce's arms. Bruce held both the boys tightly. I hear a soft cry from the nursery. Bruce's eyes went wide as he looks at me.

"that would be Damian. Must've heard his daddy and wants to meet him"

Requested taglist @too-strong-to-lose

#batman death in the family #bruce wayne x wife! reader #Magic! Reader #She's got cool powers #Telepathy #Kinda like M'gann and Zatanna #Bruce Wayne neeeds Y/N #For his sanity #Nudity #Bath #Whump! Bruce Wayne #Whump! Batman #Jason Todd loves his parents #Upest Batfamily #Crying Batfamily #Dick Grayson is a ball of emotion #Alfred Pennyworth is the best #Jason Todd gets a hug #Baby Damian Wayne

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Thank You For Fish

CW: Aftermath of torture, caretaking, glass in skin, captivity, loneliness, isolation, mer whumpee

For @whumptober 2022, day 2: cornered / caged

Signs of the Sea Masterlist, follows directly after Creeping Ambition

-

The sound of the mer's cry echoes off the ceiling and walls, his back arching, fin slapping down against flat with a heavy smack. 

"Sssshhhh, hold still. Just a few more."

The mer whistles and looks up to where the Bahram looms over him. The human man lays a hand on his cold shoulder, palm warm and soft compared to the mer. Brown with red and pink and beige beneath looks odd, in the mer's eyes, much stranger than the familiar cool grayish-white of the mer's rubbery, waterproof skin. 

"Just a few more," The Bahram repeats, and his thumb rubs, soothing, back and forth. Laid out on the platform over the small circle of water he must live in alone, the mer closes his eyes, breathing the water-heavy air through flared nasal slits, gills flat against his neck. 

There's a pause. "I'm sorry," the Bahram says, voice low. 

Then sharp bright pain spikes at his left hip and he whistles, his tail twitching and jerking. "Nnnnn… nnnnnnooo, Bbhhh-rrrmmm," He wails, forcing his lips to form the clumsy, noisy syllables around his sharp fangs, to shift his tongue in their blunt song-speak. 

"It's okay," The Bahram repeats, his jaw set and hard. "Just two more. Hold still for me, just two more…"

The pain suddenly rises again, a wave slamming the mer against a dry hot shore.

 "Got it!"

"Nnnnoooooooo!" The mer's head smacks back into the platform as a glass shard is pulled out from burying itself so deep that Kima feels hot dark blood well up over the skin below his navel. "Nnnnnooooo, sssssstuh-... puh-"

"I can't," The Bahram says, but he pauses, lowering his head. His chin dips, and the mer opens his eyes and whimpers as he watches the saltwater dripping from the Bahram's, running down his face like floodwaters finding the sea. "I have to clean it all up, Kima, it's my-... my job-"

"Nnnno hurrrrt, nnnnoooo…" Kima's voice rises to a shriek, and he jerks upwards only to have the Bahram's strong hand lay flat on his chest to force him back into his back. "Nonono-... Nnnno, nnnno-"

"Last one," The Bahram says, but the mer barely hears the words over his own whistling keens, and they mean nothing, only sounds. 

The last piece of glass is the worst. 

"Okay," The Bahram says, and leans down. His forehead presses against the mer's. His voice is a whisper even though the two of them are alone. "Share with me. Share it."

The mer whimpers and feels the Bahram's thoughts open to his own. Split between them, the hot throb of pain through his stomach and down his tail is lessened. Both of them breathe, and the Bahram's breath is humid, there is water in it. 

Hurt. 

I know, I know, I'm sorry. But if I left them in, they could infect, they'd make it even worse.

Hurt, Bahram. Kima hurt. 

I know, I know… it's over now. 

Give blood? Fish for hurt? 

The guilt and self-loathing that lances through the mer's mind is unfamiliar and hard to read. It washes over him, riptide, steals the very air from his overworked lungs. You don't need to give any more today, Kima. 

Fish? Fish for hurt?

The Bahram pulls back, and looks away from him. The saltwater tears mark his face again. "Yeah," He breathes out loud, and their connection is gone. The pain overwhelms as it returns to him, and the mer whimpers, rolling onto his side, pressing a hand over one of the hurting places and pulling it back to find dark burgundy blood smears along his palm and marking the tips of his claws. 

"I'll get the fish," The Bahram speaks in a heavy voice, signing with hands as his mouth moves, hand flat, fingers up next to his face before he tips his fingers like a cup falling over and moves his hand forward, dropping it down to meet the other in loose shapes like the mer's claws, closing to fists as they move back against his body. Fluidly shifting as he says 'fish' to make the sign Kima knows best, dropping one hand and moving the other, palm facing in, in a wave pattern swimming through air. 

"Fsssshhh," Kima repeats, hopefully, and echoes the gesture with his bloody hand. 

The Bahram swallows hard at the sight, but nods. "Go," He says, and signs, pointing to the tank beneath them. The mer rolls until he is off the platform, falling just a few feet before slipping easily into the water below, gills opening up as nasal slits close. 

The spots where the glass was pulled out ache and sting, but being here in the water again feels so good that Kima can almost ignore it. He swims a slow circle around the tank, stretching out his tail and arms, as the Bahram climbs down the ladder and walks across the room. 

He opens a door, disappears into it, and Kima stays close to the edge, the wall he cannot see that cages him here, so he can watch for the Bahram's return. 

Water rushes and speaks around him. He hears the soft hum of something called the filter, the slosh of water slipping against the invisible walls near the top. He sings, an alone-song, just to give the water a little of the noise that makes it feel more like home. 

Kima hopes for living fish. Now and then fish stunned by the sudden change are dropped into the tank, and the mer hunts them with ferocious zeal, desperate to use his tail as he is meant to, to rip with teeth and tear with claws. 

More often, lately, the fish are already dead. 

Today, it is corpses dropped from the bucket into the water when the Bahram returns. He doesn't stay to watch, just climbs back down the ladder, walks away. 

The mer eats the sad motionless meal, because his stomach is empty if he doesn't, but it isn't right. And the Bahram used to try hard to bring living fish, but he doesn't anymore. 

 Something is wrong with the Bahram, and Kima is frightened because he cannot understand what has changed. 

Like how the Bahram speaks to him less. Instead, he stares and stares at him through the other side of the unseen wall, or he looks away entirely. 

Sometimes Kima watches him as he goes to the seat and moves his fingers over a rectangle, looking into another rectangle that beams a soft blue-tinged light. He wears black plastic circles over his ears, and sometimes laughs or cries as if they speak to him. Sometimes he holds a black thing in his hands while staring at another black-edged thing with moving things inside it that never seem to come out, like there are tiny other worlds trapped in these odd boxes. 

Sometimes, the Bahram eats. He sits with a bowl in his hands and eats slurpy things like narrow white curling worms in a steaming hot liquid, called ramen. When Kima pokes his head up from the water and opens his nasal slits, it smells good. Like salt.

When he eats, the mer knows it means he will soon eat, so he swims rapid circles around this small space, jumps up out of the water to the warm air under the little sun, chirps and clicks to try and make Bahram smile and laugh. 

Sometimes he does. 

Sometimes he doesn't.

These days, days of shared pain and dead fish, the Bahram doesn't speak to him much after the matriarch finishes hurting him. Just watches him, or goes right back to what he does on the boxes. And eventually, the matriarch calls for them again, and they… 

They must go wherever she says, he and the Bahram. The mer must hurt, because she wants to hurt him. And the Bahram must help her do it. 

But after, the Bahram is kind, offering to share his pain and fear. He needs there to be someone kind, and the Miah does not come so much now. 

Last time, she spat signs with her fingers about how she was tired of watching a child die. She didn't know Kima was watching her hands that day. 

But today, just outside the tank, the Bahram is looking, now. He sits on the couch, but he is looking at Kima. 

Kima tips his head to one side, white hair floating around him, gills flaring and closing again as he filters oxygen from the surrounding saltwater. Wide green eyes watch the Bahram as he watches back. 

Thank you for fish, Kima says with his hands in the human way. 

The Bahram looks sad and doesn't answer. 

His hair is dirty and his eyes seem dark and ringed in shadows. Along his jaw is darkness - stubble, the Bahram said once when the mer touched a delicate claw to his face and clicked. Kima blows bubbles under the water, but it doesn't make him smile. So he tries to remember the words, clumsy, claws catching in the water, languid and slow. He draws them from eyes down to jaw, turning his mouth into a frown, then closes all his claws but one and draws an oval from chin to the top of his head and back down again. 

Sad face. 

The Bahram blinks at him, then huffs a laugh. There's no smile in the motion of his shoulders, though, no real warmth. He signs back, mouth moving. If he speaks, Kima can't hear him, really. Just low tones, like a podsong, filtered through the sound of water. "Yes," The Bahram says with his hands and his face, "I think I have a very sad face now. I feel bad for hurting you, but she's right. If I quit, I lose… I lose everything all over again. If she fires me… I can't fail again, Kima. I'm so sorry. I can't fail another thing. Maman's heart would break."

Kima hesitates, hands hovering in the water, trying to turn his own thoughts - thoughts that look like currents and sound like the songs of his family - into the clumsier tooth, claw, tongue words the humans use. 

His tail flipper flicks back and forth, back and forth.  Bruises and scraped spots throb under his skin, where dark blood pools, at wrists and hips where the awful rough human vines tie him down. He tore himself free today, but the wounds rubbed deeper as he did. Everything aches with the beat of his pulse. Everything hurts.  

He touches his forehead with the tips of four claws, then folds three down as he draws his hand back and out, so only the smallest claw and his thumb stand out. 

Why? 

How can heart break?  

"It's a figure of-... Never mind. Why?" The Bahram echoes the motion Kima just made, and then looks to the side, towards the door that the mer is wheeled through. Beyond is the flat table with the tying-down, the pain, the needle-sticks, give blood. Pain that earns him the promise of fish, of food in his yawning, empty belly. 

Beyond that door is the place of matriarch of the Bahram, the female who directs the pod. Where his scales are removed, his skin cut away, sliced into strips the matriarch takes from him to study layers, she says to see how he stays warm. Beyond the door is the pain and terror. 

Kima shifts back through the water, away from even the sight of that door. His heart beats faster, when he follows the Bahram's gaze. 

The Bahram is silent, for a long time.

"Because I'm not getting better," The Bahram says, with only his mouth now. "Because I'm a monster, now, for money, and I thought maybe I wouldn’t care but I do. Because I'm a fucking failure. I'm as caged as you are, just as cornered, but I could leave, if I wanted. And you can't. Because of me.”

The Bahram stands up and walks away, ignoring Kima's signs to ask what he means. Even when he makes a fist and knocks on the tank, Bahram never looks back. He just goes to the desk and sits down with his back to Kima, who droops as he realizes the Bahram will not speak anymore and won't play with him tonight. Not even a little, not even the small gentle play that does not make him hurt any worse.  

He didn't want to play last night either. 

Or the night before. 

The mer winds his way through the water to the little cave he has to sleep in, slipping into the soothing, safer dark space set apart from the otherwise constant light. 

Alone, the mer curls around one of the real things, a soft ball of sea moss that he can hold. He wraps his arms around it and buried his face in its softness. In its tiny spaces he can almost smell the wilder waters he knows must still be out there somewhere, beyond the invisible wall around his little sea, outside and far away from this stone place surrounding him. To the edge of land where it meets the big water, where his pod - somewhere - swims free. 

He may never see them again - but he knows they are out there. 

He wishes the Bahram would play.

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @thefancydoughnut @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @yet-another-heathen @fanmanga1357-blog @justabitofwhump @crystalrainwing @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @orchidscript @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up plus @whumpworldld for whumptober tag list

#whumptober2022 #no. 2 #caged #cornered #captivity #isolation #mer whump #mer whumpee #signs of the sea #reluctant whumper #caretaker and whumpee #glass in skin #aftermath of torture #inhuman whumpee #telepathy #depression tw #blackmailed whumper

[pigeonwhumps]

Small Spaces

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch

Phoenix tries out being in a small space to prepare for their next mission. It doesn't go too well.

1.6k

CWs: claustrophobia, panic attack, flashbacks, past abuse, past child abuse, telepath whump, mentions of human trafficking, emeto, begging

"So I go through the vent and Santhiya will be there to help me down, right?"

"Yep," confirms Kai. "She'll remove the cover from that side and be ready for you to bring the explosives inside. Once Lian and I have cleared the compound and transferred the data, we blow it all to kingdom come."

"Fucking finally," growls Santhiya, and Morfydd nods fiercely. Phoenix is yet to encounter this particular group of traffickers, but they know that Santhiya was instrumental in helping rescue some of their victims from a burning building before she was even officially part of the team. This is personal, especially for her, and Phoenix isn't about to let everyone down. Even if it is a very small space.

It feels weird, actually planning for explosions. For Phoenix at least they're usually on-the-spot things, to get them out of tight spaces. They don't usually involve so much planning.

Although Phoenix may have, admittedly, enjoyed liaising with engineering on the explosives a little too much.

"Earth to Phoenix. Ready to see if you'll fit in the vent?"

Phoenix nods, looking at the long rectangular cardboard tube that's been put together on the living room floor. It's the size of the vent, and it's so small that their chest goes tight just looking at it. It's about the same size as the cupboard in their old team's quarters.

This isn't a good time to try this out. Not after seeing them again, bringing all the memories back. They haven't slept properly since, and that always makes things worse. But it needs to be done.

They take a deep breath and drop to their knees in front of the makeshift vent.

It's not that long. It'll take a few minutes at most. It's okay, they'll be fine.

Phoenix crawls into the tube. It's small, far too small, their skin feels like there's bugs skittering over it, but there's a light at the end and they focus on that. It's light and it's not going away any time soon, no-one's going to take it away as punishment, it'll be fine.

The light dims, and they rub their wrists, sleeves suddenly feeling too tight and far too cold. The light's not gone, it's dimmed, Indigo's not here to take it away, but everything's too hot and too small and it's closing in on them.

Phoenix blinks and they're shivering, freezing cold, the only light moonlight passing through a tiny crack in the wooden planks, and in the morning Alicia will patch up their knees and they'll go to school still freezing inside, and no-one will notice because this is just normal, why would anyone notice? By tomorrow evening everything will be healed and back to normal, but for now they're stuck here, in the dark and cold with the old wood creaking, trees rustling, chest tight and twisted up, unable to breathe properly, the suffocating walls closing in around them.

Phoenix blinks again and they're back in the pitch-black cupboard, insides burning, wrists in cold metal, their breathing's picking up and the walls are closing in and they don't know how long they're going to be punished for, they could die in here with walls like that.

"Please." They don't know who they're begging when there's no-one who'll listen but they do anyway. "Please, let me out. I'm sorry. Please."

_

Kai frowns as Phoenix comes to a halt partway through the cardboard tube. They were making their way through steadily and then they just... stopped.

"Are they okay in there?" he asks Lian, who's down the other end. He peers into the tube with a frown.

"They look fine, but... they're just not moving."

"Give them a couple of minutes. It's only cardboard, but–"

Kai's interrupted by Santhiya throwing up on the carpet. When she looks up, wiping her mouth, her face is chalk-white, eyes red-rimmed and urgent.

"Get them out of there," she croaks. Kai gets up but Morfydd's already moving, tearing apart the cardboard with intense concentration.

Phoenix is huddled up, arms around their legs, head in their knees. Shaking harder than Kai's seen in a while.

Kai glances at Morfydd, who nods, and crouches down in front of Phoenix.

"Hey. I'm gonna pick you up now, nice and easy, that's it, arms around me." He speaks lowly, pulling Phoenix's unresisting arms around his neck and lifting them up against him. They're still far too light, and drenched in sweat. "Let's get you sat down, yeah? Easy does it. You're safe, Phoenix."

"I'm sorry, sir," murmurs Phoenix, mind somewhere else entirely, "I've learned my lesson."

Kai stiffens slightly, then forces himself to relax, sitting on the sofa with Phoenix on his lap, their head buried in his neck. He rubs their back.

"Shh. Easy, you're safe."

Morfydd drapes a blanket over Phoenix's shoulders and Kai looks over at them as they sit on the sofa arm beside him.

"Cheers. How's Santhiya doing?"

"Not too well. Lian's looking after her."

"I'll leave him to it then."

Morfydd reaches up a hand and rests it on Phoenix's arm. "They were begging. I don't think it was loud enough for anyone else to hear, but... do you know who it was?"

"They called me sir when I picked them up, and there's only three people I've ever heard them call that," replies Kai grimly. "The other members of their former team."

"Fuck," breathes Morfydd.

"Yeah."

"Will it be too much for them if I stay? I know it is for Santhiya, but I need to help someone. I can't just sit by while my friends... well."

"No, you can stay. They trust you. I'm going to turn into a wolf, see if that helps. It does sometimes. Stay though."

Morfydd nods. "What about the mission?"

"Well, we've got over a fortnight until the next shipment goes out. That should be enough time to calm Phoenix down and complete the mission. And I was thinking maybe Santhiya could take Phoenix with her? We'd have to test the weight though. I don't know. But they can't go through the vent."

"No." Morfydd holds Phoenix gently as Kai transforms and curls around them. Phoenix, still mostly out of it, snuggles into Kai's fur, burying themself in it. "They really do like it. You're okay, Phoenix. You're safe."

_

Once Phoenix is out of the cardboard tube, Lian takes Santhiya by the arm and leads her over to the opposite sofa. Morfydd arrives soon after with a blanket and a mug of hot chocolate, draping the blanket over her shoulders. Santhiya holds it in a white-knuckled grip, the other hand lifting the mug to her mouth, absently taking a sip. She looks awful, haunted, ill, in a way that Lian's rarely seen.

"Santhiya?"

"They're so scared," she says quietly, almost in a monotone. "So scared. Their mind was screaming. I haven't had my defences falter so badly in a long time, since... well, you know... but they smashed through them all. They're so scared. So much. It's them I've been hearing at night sometimes, I recognise it now. The fear, the pain... how do they stand it?" She blinks, eyes bright with unshed tears. "How do they stand it all?"

"That's a question only Phoenix can answer," says Lian. "Along with some others." He rubs Santhiya's back and she sways slightly, looking at Lian with more focus. "How are you feeling now? Any quieter?"

"A little. Still making me nauseous."

"Hey, Kai, are you and Phoenix going to stay here a while?" he asks, not looking away from Santhiya.

Kai gives an affirmative yip.

"Okay. I'm taking Santhiya somewhere quieter." He helps Santhiya to stand, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, and puts his arm around her waist to hold her steady. "Let's go to your room, come on."

Santhiya nods, putting one foot in front of the other until they reach her bedroom, Lian sitting down with her on the edge of the bed.

"Better?"

"Yeah. I can think again now." The colour's slowly coming back into her cheeks, and she drums her fingers on Lian's leg. "I think... maybe I should've guessed it was them, waking me, after what happened last week. They told you, right?"

"About bumping into their team downstairs? Yeah. No wonder they're getting nightmares strong enough to break through your defences. I mean, only Kai knows what actually happened with their team, but it was clearly bad. Kai wouldn't have spent so much time away if it wasn't."

Santhiya snorts wetly. "I think 'bad' is an understatement. Their reaction... I never want to see them that small again."

Lian nods, handing his friend a tissue. "How are you, though? How's your head?"

"Sore. Fuzzy. Phoenix's mind was a lot. I can still hear their screams."

"Let's get you some painkillers then. Do you want me to stay?"

Santhiya nods, swallowing the pills. "I need a distraction. And I want to try building up my defences more. Not right now, but... later. That sounds bad. I just... it's too much."

Lian shakes his head. "It's not bad, Santh. You shouldn't have to hear people in distress when you're not prepared for it, even if they're your friends. We can certainly work on that."

"It doesn't seem right. I can hear people's worst thoughts but I can't do anything to help. It's not fair."

Lian sighs. He's heard many variations on those words in his time mentoring Santhiya. "One person can't do everything. Just knowing people are in trouble, telling us that, that can be enough. Besides, with Phoenix specifically, your presence as their friend is enough to help."

"But they're so– so hurt. How can just my presence help so much? It doesn't seem right. They can't be that fond of me."

"They are. Believe me, Santh, I've seen the way they look at you. They really, really are."

#whump #whump writing #claustrophobia #flashbacks #past abuse #past minor whump #telepath whump #telepathy #emeto #begging #whumpee and caretaker #hero whump #hero whumpee #hero whumper #immortal whump #immortal whumpee #caretaker turned whumpee #recovery whump #lady whump #immortal cannon fodder #phoenix oc #kai oc #morfydd oc #santhiya oc #lian oc #phoenix likes explosives #like a lot #bbys gotta have a conversation soon about how its Not Normal to be locked in small dark spaces whenever they fuck up #or dont

[tendertenebrosity]

New piece for my Ocean's Echo fan characters! Masterpost here.

Saelin Cor had long since stopped judging the people around him for the stray, incidental thoughts that flitted past his awareness like minnows. A lot of them were just silly and shallow. Many were unreasonable - petty, unfair, disproportionately angry.

Most people knew it, too. It just wasn’t something anybody could help.

What mattered the deeper patterns of thought that Saelin had to focus on to sense. Actual intention, action and deliberate choices.

Saelin could quite happily judge people on those.

Davi had just had a whole morning full of briefings and seminars. It would have been nice if Saelin could be excused from that kind of thing, since Davi would send him all the information he needed to know and nobody ever asked his opinion. People rarely even acknowledged him where he sat beside Davi (or sometimes slightly behind, which felt just great). But that didn’t seem to be allowed.

Now, as they walked down the corridor into the mess hall, past the streams of military personnel, Saelin took a deep breath and steadied himself against the flash and flutter of hungry, thirsty, I can’t believe he did that, ugh what is taking this bitch so long, wow look at them, longing…

“If you go get the food, I’ll get coffee,” Davi said, turning away.

A quick scan of the crowded mess hall didn’t detect any of the handful of people he knew, so Saelin didn’t have any real cause to object to Davi’s assumption that they’d sit together. Probably with some of the other pilots, none of whom were synced except Davi. Fantastic. Exactly what I need.

Saelin wove his way between the crowds of people, through the billowing clouds of noise that nobody but him ever perceived, towards the food lines.

… did she see me, Lights my back hurts, for fuck’s sake not this guy again…

And it was then, collecting his tray and weaving his way through the crowd, that Saelin realised he had gone all day without once consciously thinking about the sync bond or the looming counterweight of Davi Antrell’s mind on the other end of it.

It was just… there. He had not thought about it.

He wanted to throw the tray in his hands. The urge, the need to do it rose up in his chest and made his hands tremble; he wanted to dump its contents on the ground and fling the whole thing as hard and as far away from him as possible. Maybe it’d break. He wanted to break it against the ground, and scream or cry, and run. To break something, to make noise, to show some kind of external sign of the horror and grief and rejection that pressed against his skin. No. No. No. Can’t.

He’d been here for six months.

And this was normal now.

Saelin took a deep breath, resettled the weight of the tray in his hands, and resumed walking. Probably the mugs and bowls wouldn’t have broken anyway, he told himself distantly. Not the way he wanted them to.

He was aware of the sync bond now. So was Davi; there was no way he wouldn’t have felt that sudden tempest of emotion. Here he was now, sliding alarm, inquiry and concern down the bond.

Saelin pushed back, more firmly than he probably should have. No need. Wait.

When Saelin slid the tray onto the table and dropped into the seat beside him, Davi frowned at him.

“What was that?” he asked, aloud, but under his breath.

“Nothing,” Saelin said.

Irritated concern pulsed across the sync. “Did somebody say something to you?”

The protective edge to the question was annoying. “No.”

“Saelin…” Davi glanced behind Saelin, his eyes scanning across the crowded mess hall. “Don’t pretend you didn’t flip out just now. If somebody did or said something, you need to tell me about it.”

No, I don’t, Saelin wanted to say. In fact, if I were being bullied, telling you so you could pull rank on whoever it is would probably not result in anyone thinking better of me.

The murmuring of thoughts pressed in around Saelin, distracting him from the conversation. Someone two tables back was engaged in a furious argument with the supervisor they’d just left, sitting alone and stabbing a fork at their meal viciously.

The non-synced pilot sitting across from Davi was carefully keeping his face blank and wondering with queasy fascination about the sync bond and what it felt like.

“Agent Thirty-two…”

He needed to give more than this, he realised, Davi didn’t respond well if Saelin gave him nothing.

He sighed, put his hands up to massage his temples as if they hurt. They didn’t, yet. “Nobody said or did anything wrong,” he managed to say. “I just - it’s just one of those days. Nearly dropped something, and I just... Overreacting to minor inconveniences. You know how it is.”

Davi’s face cleared slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, I get it.”

That was an odd thing about this. Saelin had thought, when this began, that the sync bond would let Davi hear his thoughts the way he heard everybody else’s. That it would convey reader powers onto Davi somehow, even if it was just Saelin it worked on.

It didn’t. Unless they were sunk really deep into the sync, one bilobed mind with the ship as its metal body, Davi had no more idea of what Saelin was actually thinking than anybody else did. Emotions came across if Saelin wasn’t careful, intentions sometimes, but conscious thought? No. Saelin could still lie to him.

“You always do get a bit oversensitive at lunch,” Davi said, offhandedly. “Low blood sugar or something?”

And every so often Davi would say something that showed two things simultaneously: that he was actually paying attention to Saelin’s moods and preferences. And that he no more understood what powered those moods than Saelin understood the inner workings of the coffee dispenser.

Saelin fought back another wave of grief and refusal, took a deep breath. He swiped his coffee from Davi’s tray and used it as an excuse not to speak for a moment.

Caffeine made his barriers worse, if anything. But the coffee was the way he took it; Davi remembered without asking now, just as Saelin remembered to snag an extra bread roll and ignore the dessert option when he got Davi’s food.

He kind of wished he had gotten the wrong things on purpose. But that was one of those mean, self-destructive little impulses he already knew decent people pretended they didn’t have.

He should give Davi credit for trying, should extend that little bit of grace that said ‘he didn’t mean that to come out as rude as it did, let it go’.

Saelin didn't want to.

“Or something,” he mumbled. “Sure.”

#emotional whump #Saelin #Davi #Ocean's Echo fanfic #involuntary telepathy #telepathy #nonconsensual mindlink #mind link

[inscrutable-shadow]

Mediwhump May Day 2 - Stitches

@mediwhumpmay Guest stars today are @crash-bump-bring-the-whump's Mariano and Bastian! The Doc just wants a normal day at the clinic but there's always someone scary ringing the doorbell...

The ticking of the wall clock was the only sound in the room. The Doctor certainly was not making any noise: they dare not, with their every move under intense scrutiny. Their patient couldn’t watch them, lying on his stomach as he was in order to give them access to his back. It was the piercing silver eyes of the man in the corner that were drilling through their very soul and making them wary to even take a breath. They thanked whatever blood-soaked god watched over them that their custom surgical sutures made no sound when cut.

The Doctor didn’t scare easily. They’d met all sorts of people: humans, metahumans, and nonhumans alike of varying levels of criminality, and seen all sorts of things that would turn the stomachs of hardened military men. Their baseline idea of horrifying was so skewed they found it nearly impossible to carry on ordinary conversation. But this? Felt like staring down the barrel of a gun. Something about this man extended beyond his body, made him feel enormous, as if the room could barely hold him. Well. Some of that was material reality: he was at least seven feet tall and the clinic’s ceiling sagged in the corner near the door where the (perpetually clogged) gutter was, but still. Was he human? He looked human enough, but that was no indicator.

The patient sighed, breaking the silence, and the Doctor’s hands paused in their stitch work to wait for him to stop moving, lest they do something to irritate the man in the corner. “You’re scaring the doctor, Bastian.”

“Good. Let them be scared. They’ll be more careful.” He looked amused. Indignation flared in the Doctor’s chest for a moment but was quashed by another wave of fear.

The patient turns his head to look at them. “Sorry about him, he’s… protective.” They only stared back, swallowing hard, as if it could resolve the dryness in their throat.

Bastian snorted in a not-entirely-human-sounding way. “Taking you to a shady doctor who might not even have a license? You could have died, Mariano. Damn right, I’m protective. Stop getting yourself torn to shit and maybe I won’t have to be.”

It was true that the young man’s injuries were rather severe, lacerations they’d had to pick glass out of, deep gouges and slashes with some sort of foreign organic material, and a GSW just to top it off. The only mercy was that they weren’t as deep on the upper back, likely because of his clothing. If they had to guess, it had probably been an encounter with some sort of animal shifter, lycanthrope or otherwise. They dared not ask. None of their business. He doesn’t flinch, though, not when they pull a particularly long glass shard from a cut and not when they apply antiseptic to the gouges. From the state of the rest of his skin, it looked like he was used to simply cauterising wounds that bled too much. If he could have reached his own back, he likely would not be here at all.

The Doctor’s stitchwork was as meticulous and precise as ever, although they couldn’t muster up the enjoyment for their work that kept their hands rock steady. It took longer than usual, and they momentarily stopped breathing when they had to pick a suture out and start over. The patient didn’t seem to notice or care, and the looming shadow in the corner didn’t address it. It wasn’t even as if he had done something to deliberately intimidate them; it was just his raw presence that had overtaken the room and the Doctor’s own forceful personality. Truly the most stressful routine procedure they had ever undertaken.

Relief crashed through them as they cleaned up and stripped their gloves. “Er, a-all finished, I suppose.”

Mariano sat up slowly, trying not to flex against the stitches. “Thanks, doctor. What do we owe you?” “N-no, it’s fine…” They really just wanted the interaction to be over. “Don’t be silly, doctor. You shouldn’t work for free.” He smiled reassuringly, and the Doctor suddenly realized that he was just as terrifying as Bastian was. “F-forty, then…” Bastian held out a pair of crumpled bills as Mariano put his shirt back on, grimacing at the damage. “Er… just… avoid tight clothing for at least a week, a-and…” they cleared their throat, steeling themselves, “no moisture for the first day, clean gently with a damp cloth the second, you are free to shower on the third. When the skin seems to have recovered in about ten days, use this to dissolve the stitching.” They handed over a small vial of blue liquid. “It is specially formulated for my surgical thread and ensures you do not need to return. If there are signs of infection, however, I do recommend you seek further medical care.”

“Of course,” said Mariano, in a tone that indicated he had no intent to do so. “Thanks again, doctor.” And the pair were gone, but not before Bastian threw another look over his shoulder that made the Doctor feel as if they were about to be eaten. They were going to need so much coffee after this… Taglist: @i-eat-worlds

#whump #my writing #original fiction #mediwhumpmay #whumpblr #mage of violence #mariano #dragon of diamond #bastian #the doctor five card draw #back alley au #fun fact: the doc will swear up and down that they have no magical ability but actually #they resonate with and amplify other people's abilities especially telepathy #so when there's a lot of magic in a room they can be a bit empathic which in incredibly annoying for someone who claims not to have feeling #they're absolutely pissing their pants here and i'm living for it #coy writes

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating fear (III)

Instant Regret

Part One here // Continued from here // Masterpost

*~*~*~*~*

Kit jerked awake suddenly, letting out a sharp cry as he moved, the motion pulling on his arms without mercy. His feet almost slipped at the movement, but he caught himself before he fell. A shiver ran down his spine as his eyes met the concrete wall in front of him.

He didn’t even get a moment of blissful ignorance, couldn’t even pretend maybe this was all some bad dream and he’d wake up in his bed safe and sound.

The feeling of his power buzzing under his skin wasn’t even a familiar comfort. It was there, he could use it. If he needed to, he could use it. But, if he wanted to stay awake and alert, he couldn’t. He didn’t exactly enjoy frying himself with his own electricity.

It was cruel.

It would have been kinder if Omen had just put him in power dampeners. At least then he could pretend that he couldn’t do anything to save himself.

Kit shook his head. No. He refused to be defeated. He’d get out of here. Get away from Omen, somehow. Starting with the fucking water he was standing in.

Kit looked down to assess his situation while he had a moment of peace. His feet were fully submerged in the clear water up to his ankles. It was just a normal basin. Kit should be able to kick it over. Kit did just that. He kicked the edge of the basin, but it didn’t budge. Kit tried again. All it did was splash some water out. Kit frowned, leaned forward to get a better look then winced as his arms groaned in the chains.

The edges of the basin were bolted down into the ground, or, no, not the ground, some other heavy thing, like a wooden platform.

Fine. The water wasn’t going anywhere but that doesn’t mean Kit had to stay in it.

Kit looked down, lifted a foot, balancing it on the edge of the basin and tested putting weight on it. It slipped down the edges into the water with a weak thunk.

Alright. New plan.

Kit lifted his other foot and ran it down his rolled-up trousers, drying it off slightly before trying again. He got his foot up on the ledge and nearly cried as the weight in his arms lessened.

Okay. Okay. Now the other foot.

He could do this, Kit nodded to himself, bracing his shoulders as he held his weight on his arms above his head and lifted the other foot out of the water.

He got the second foot on the side of the basin, balancing on the first and the pressure on his arms felt as light as a feather.

Kit just stayed there, panting, still as a statue. Oh god that feels so good, he just needed to enjoy it. He was okay. This he could deal with. Kit closed his eyes and took deep breaths.

Slowly in through the nose, long and deep, expanding his chest and filling his lungs with sweet, stress-free air.

Holding it there for a moment.

Then a drawn-out exhale until his entire body deflated like a balloon.

And again.

And again.

He repeated this for another while before finally risking a glance up at his arms to see exactly how they were strung above his head. The metal cuffs were padlocked to a chain that ran up to a hook in the ceiling. The hook curved in and around and it was far too high for Kit to even think about trying to get the chain free.

So his arms were still stuck above his head. Okay. That’s okay… Kit felt the familiar flare of panic rear it’s mighty head in his gut, but he pushed it back down.

He was trapped. There was nothing he could do. Panicking right now wouldn’t help him. He just needed to pause and breathe…

Kit looked down to his feet again. He risked stepping a foot down onto the platform the basin was attached to but it stretched his arms awkwardly, so he stood on the side of the basin again and let out a quiet whine.

“I like that sound,” Omen purred behind them. Kit flinched but thankfully his balance kept him up on the side of the basin, arms relaxing slightly above him, still numb. “Make it for me again.”

“Let me go,” Kit said instead, his voice sounding even more pathetic than his whine.

“Hmm,” is all Omen replied. The sound of his shoes clacking against the concrete was the only thing Kit was focused on at that moment in time. The footsteps and how he got closer and closer, winding Kit’s nerves tighter and tighter until the footsteps stopped.

Kit’s breath hitched.

A hand bunched into the back of his shirt and Kit could barely let out a cry of protest before he was yanked backwards, his feet splashing into the water and his arms felt like they were ripped from his body.

“That sound was even better,” Omen said, a smile in his voice as he walked around to Kit’s front, so Kit could witness Omen in all his horrifying glory.

His face looked paler in the dim lighting, as if he were never touched by sunlight. His raven hair was half tied back so strands didn’t fall around his face, hiding all the sharp edges of Omen, his cheek bones, his jaw, the razor-sharp curve of his smile. He wore a black button up shirt today, the top button undone, no tie or suit jacket. He reached a hand up to Kit’s cheek and Kit flinched back, cursing himself silently for it.

“Ever heard of personal space?” Kit bit out with a huff. Omen smiled. He just kept smiling and Kit wanted so badly to just rip it from his face. Just once, to see it slip, but that would leave Kit in a worse off predicament. His body still ached from the last time Omen had got too close.

“Yeah, I know about personal space. I’m just not a fan of it with you. You know, it’s hard for me— this,” Omen said, gesturing between the two of them, grin getting wider. His bottomless black eyes were even smiling. “I’m not used to not using my powers on people. Y’know, knowing exactly what they’re thinking. It’s strange.”

Kit scoffed, “right. So, when you can’t invade somebody’s brain against their consent, you’ll just invade their personal space instead?”

“Hmm,” Ambrose hummed as he placed a hand on Kit’s throat and squeezed until Kit’s feet were splashing up water, and his face turned red. He finally let go and stepped back, his heels hitting the basin’s edge – gasping in air greedily, swallowing oxygen like it was a limited resource.

Well, with Omen’s mood swings it was.

“You put it very succinctly. I just need to know, need to see your fear you’re so desperately trying to hide from me. Need to feel it, do you know what I mean?”

“No, sorry,” Kit said, and even Omen raised a suspicious brow at Kit’s seemingly empathetic tone. “I’m not a sociopath so I recognise normal human emotion without having to be weird about it.”

Omen shrugged, unbothered. He began unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt and rolling up his sleeves slowly, black eyes focused on Kit’s the whole time.

“I imagine it’s not unlike your weirdness, Kit,” Ambrose said, his voice like liquid silver, charming and smooth. Kit understood the term silver tongue when Omen spoke. It’s like you wanted to hear everything he said, hang onto every word. Even without Omen using his power on Kit, his voice still affected him to some extent.

“Us heroes and villains, we’re all where we are today because we didn’t fit into the normal life. We didn’t get powers to squander them and sit in an office all day drinking coffee with normal humans. We’re all weird, even you and your sensitivity to electricity,” Omen said, unbuttoning his second cuff and starting on his other sleeve. He levelled Kit with his black eyes. “My guess is you can feel the electric currents in the environment around you. Am I right? In the air, in the water, in our bodies?”

Kit didn’t say anything, just stared at Omen as he spoke. “Static electricity doesn’t affect you? No?”

Kit must have given something away because Omen smiled.

“Hah, you’re lucky. It can be a real bitch, but I respect you want to keep your power private. My point is, that normal people are affected by static electricity, and you have a resistance to it. That little spark show you exhibited yesterday told me you don’t have full immunity, but a normal person would be dead if they had that much electricity coursing through their body.”

“What’s your point?” Kit snapped, tired with Omen’s villain monologue. He stepped up to Kit, grabbed Kit by the collar of his shirt and yanked him down, causing Kit to cry out.

“What did I say about being nice to me? Didn’t I say I could make things uncomfortable for you?”

Kit’s screams faded into loud groans of pain as he bit down on his tongue, but Ambrose pulled him down harder and Kit couldn’t bear the strain as he cried out.

He reacted on instinct.

He hadn’t meant to do it.

It just happened on reflex.

The strain on his arms, it felt like he was going to pop, and Kit just needed Omen to let go of them, to just stop—

His legs shot up and kicked Omen back. His foot planting squarely on Omen’s chest and knocking him back a couple steps. Omen’s dark eyes went wide with surprise, and he let go of Kit. Kit’s foot landed on the edge of the basin giving Kit some relief from the strain on his arms.

Nothing moved between them.

Not even a breath.

Kit was too scared to dare breathe, to blink, to do anything other than stare at Omen with wide eyes, too stunned to do anything.

Omen’s face cracked. A shocked laughter escaped him, filling the silence of the room. He clapped his hands wordlessly as his melodic laugh filled the air and the dread in Kit’s gut only increased when he should have been reassured.

Omen finally composed himself, and stood up taller than before, delight shining on his face. “You— are just full of surprises, Kit. Here I thought you were deathly afraid of me, and yet, if there was someone I was deathly afraid of… I know I wouldn’t have kicked them of all things.”

“No, no, Omen,” Kit pleaded as Omen advanced on Kit. “Please, I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did, Kit,” Omen said, putting a hand on Kit’s shoulder, and shushing him as Kit flinched. “Ssh, Sssh, sweet Malyn, look at me…”

Kit was shaking his head, his eyes closed. “Look at me,” Ambrose commanded, and Kit opened his eyes, still shaking his head at the villain.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” Omen told Kit, putting a finger under Kit’s chin, stopping Kit from shaking his head. Kit couldn’t fight the shiver that ran under his skin at how close Omen was. What he could do to Kit… without touching him. He didn’t even need to touch Kit for his power, he could do it from across the room. He just wanted to show Kit that he could do whatever he wanted, and Kit would just have to deal with it. The fear came back with a jolt and Kit fought back tears at the overwhelming helplessness of his situation.

“Omen—”

“Hush. Let me bask in your fear, I haven’t seen it all day. It’s like nicotine, it makes the day a bit better, makes the air you breathe a bit cleaner. You’re practically shaking! Look at you, I have one question for you. Are you paying attention?”

Kit nodded because he couldn’t trust his voice.

“Good,” Ambrose praised, “very good. Now, tell me why you fear me so much.”

The chains above Kit were shaking, his teeth rattling in his skull. It was a cold fear that washed over him at the question, at what Omen could do to him.

What Omen could do to him…

And Kit was powerless to stop them, he had no chance.

“Omen… please,” Kit sniffed, fighting the tears back, but the villain heard his voice crack.

Omen sighed and stepped back, removing his hands from Kit. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.

“You know, I really do hate to do this to you,” Omen said. That was all he said. He let Kit’s mind conjure up the rest. Then he felt the icy chill of Omen’s power tugging at his mind and Kit jerked forward in his chains.

Tears streaming freely now.

“No Omen! Omen! No, wait! Wait!”

“You’re just going to go for a little nap for me. Maybe you’ll be more agreeable when you wake.”

“Wait, no! Please!” Kit called into the darkness as Omen blocked Kit’s sight first. He struggled in his chains, trying to gain purchase on anything but he couldn’t hear Omen around him. He couldn’t hear.

Kit’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, blood rushing through like a tsunami’s unforgiving tide.

“Omen, wait!” Kit cried and gasped when he felt Omen’s hand on his hair, yanking his head back harshly.

This time when Omen spoke it was in Kit’s mind.

Nighty night, little Kit.

The last terrifying thought paralysed him as Kit was dragged into unconsciousness, kicking and screaming: how does he know my name?

Kit went still in his chains. Omen double checked his mind to make sure Kit was unconscious then he stepped back away from the hero, walking around to face him. He rubbed his chest from Kit’s kick, still stunned at him for having the audacity to try something like that.

Ambrose smiled to think of it.

He was right for taking Kit.

He was going to be so much fun to break.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Tag-list: @princess-bubble-blossom @nameless-beanie (lmk if you wanna be added or removed)

#writblr #hero villain writing #hero villain snippet #hero villain story #hero #villain #writing #intoxicating fear #IF #scared hero #telepath villain #telepathic villain #telepathy #evil villain #villain whumper #sadistic whumper #Whump writing #whumpblr #hero whumpee #hero whump #kidnapped hero #captivity whump #hero captivity #oh the fear #kidnapped whumpee #terrified whumpee #scary whumper #scary villain #orphan #orphan writing

[whumpster-dumpster]

Telepathic Whumpee who's full of so much stress and sensory overload and so many other people's thoughts that they start to lose track of whose is whose. Do they even know which thoughts are their own anymore?

#whump #whump prompt #writing prompt #powers #uncontrolled powers #stress #sensory overload #telepathy

[yet-another-heathen]

Can you give me prompts for body control whump?

similiar to mind control but the whumpee is awake, can see and talk, just can't move.

TW | graphic mentions of self-harm, broken trust, mentions of mild gore

I actually have an unpublished arc of Liliholm and Page that deals with body control as a power! It's such a delicious trope.

For body control that acts similar to paralysis, the whumper could torture them with almost surgical precision. Who needs anesthesia if you can keep your patient perfectly still while you work? And this way you get to hear every bloody scream and plea, and get to watch them feel every moment of it unhindered. (Just don't kill your whumpee by sending them too deep into medical shock)

Whumpee might be able to see and talk...but only if whumper doesn't extend that control to their tongue and eyelids too. It's a more potent threat than you'd think.

Breath control. Your whumpee's lungs burning for air and vision going dark, unable to do a thing as whumper keeps their ribs frozen in a forced exhale. Hyperventilation is also a fun way to get them to pass out.

For body control that allows the whumper to move their body, the options open up significantly:

Whumpee refusing to leave their cell? Well, that's an easy fix. And if whumper is being mean about it, they can make whumpee crawl, too.

And kneel. And sit, and stand.

Hell, make them bark if you want. What is the one thing whumper could make them do that would make your whumpee feel most humiliated? How many humiliating things does whumper make them do before they find that one perfect thing?

Make them offer a hand to a whumper knowing full well that that scalpel/cigarette/needle is about to go straight into their palm.

"I said open. Your. Mouth."

Making whumpee's body do something that seems mundane and harmless...until they've done it three thousand times on that same spot. Rotating their hands in their handcuffs until the metal has cut deep into bone. Scratching a spot on their leg until it becomes a bloody hole. Hell, even combing their hair over and over and over until patches are falling out would be absolute hell.

Human. Bodies. Are. Not. Meant. To. Sit. Still. There is a reason that people are almost constantly shifting their weight to the other foot, adjusting their hair, fidgeting, repositioning their tongues, and doing dozens of other things we don't even notice—not to mention changes in breathing, blinking rates, and expression. Our tissue NEEDS that. Now imagine taking free movement away from whumpee for hours.

(And as always, it can be fun to get a bit NSFW with it.)

But you see, the most wonderful thing about body control whump is that, if the whumper is able to convincingly puppet whumpee around, then whumpee might not be the only one affected.

Tell me about their friends who see whumpee, someone they've trusted for years, break every ounce of trust they've ever had in them in one day. Show me a whumpee made to do horrible things to the people they love—things that are beyond their ability to repair once they gain back control.

Let the consequences of body control have long-term echoes. Broken friendships, lost jobs, even having to slowly and painfully rebuild trust over something that they never would have done of their own free will.

Do the people around them believe them when they say they were being controlled? How do they cope with the inevitable little seed of doubt, and where later in the story does this doubt resurface?

And as always, please tag me in anything this inspires you to create!! I can't wait to read it

#ask Wick #whump prompt #writing prompt #whump idea #whump ideas #super powered whump #superpowers #body control #telepathy #whump writing #hero whump #gore tw #needle tw #self harm tw #whump #words of a heathen