chaotic-orphan - Tumblr blog

chaotic-orphan · 6 days

Text

They are here for me

Prologue

“Dead men don’t just pop out to stretch their legs, Ava!”

“Don’t you shout at me! God, I came here to watch a movie, not to you ambushing us with conspiracy theories!”

Lucas opened his mouth to retort, but had none. Okay, yeah, he had kind of ambushed them on their weekend outing. But he had no other choice. Barging in on her at home was too dangerous. And she wouldn’t have taken that well, either. Hell, staying at his own home was too dangerous. But he needed someone to confide in. Either he was going paranoid, or he really was being watched. And neither was good.

He sat back and, to avoid Ava’s accusing glance, let his gaze roam over to the little girl now happily scurrying along the candy lane. She had been easier to pacify than her aunt; a promise of a later movie with a bag of candy to go with and she was happy to give them some time to discuss things.

A trait she probably hadn’t inherited from her aunt, or well, maybe she had… Always make a good deal. That was Ava’s motto, pounded into him ever since he started working with her. Ava wasn’t easily bought. Even at the office, if he’d try to get her in a good mood, seeing her favourite coffee drink waiting for her on her desk was only met with suspicion. Like it wasn’t just coffee but a bribe.

She was on his side here, but god, he needed something to convince her. Without sounding paranoid.

Ava followed his gaze, the girl now intensely focused, finger running over the containers trying to decide. “You owe me for this. That girl ain't stopping until that bag is full.”

“Yeah, fine, okay. Here’s ten bucks.” He slapped a bill on the side table. “And take this as well.” He carefully but deliberately placed a thumb drive on top of the bill.

Despite her anger and doubt, Ava didn't hesitate. She folded the bill over the drive, neatly packaging it, and tucked it away in her wallet. Only her voice carried her suspicion. “What is this?”

“Everything I have on that man. Files show he should have been released years ago, yet his body was brought in to the morgue directly from the prison. And now he’s gone. Nothing adds up here.”

“You couldn’t wait ‘til Monday—" Ava started, but a voice over the speakers interrupted her.

“Ladies and gentleman, at the request of the police we have to ask you to please evacuate the building through the main exit. We are deeply sorry for the inco—"

Lucas ignored the announcement at first, thinking they were just calling for the next movie to start, but at the word ‘police’ he jumped up. He flew towards the railing of the second floor, overlooking the main lobby of the movie theatre, nearly crashing right into it and leaning over.

At the floor below, people were already making their way out, flanked by a troop of military police who checked everyone leaving the building. A smaller group made their way inside, pushing through the confused crowd. Lucas watched it all unfold, equally confused by the spectacle yet also in total disbelief, ignoring the alarm bells blaring in his head.

A tall man in a long black coat who appeared to be the leader effortlessly made his way through, following his men. He oozed authority, striding his way past the crowd, his manner relaxed and calm, determined, and signalled with a single gesture of his hand for the men to split up and take the surrounding staircases up.

Lucas glanced back towards Ava, who quickly called her niece back to her and stood, ready to leave. He shook his head, gesturing for her to wait just a bit. Because this couldn’t be happening. This was proof he was just paranoid.

When he looked down again, his breath caught.

The tall man, the leader, was looking up. Straight at him. Eyes met. Narrowed. Widened, in Lucas’ case. And he knew.

The man called something out to his troopers but Lucas already pushed himself away from the railing and shot back to Ava.

“They’re here for me—” he started.

“Oh, Lucas, don’t be so dramati—”

“No. Listen. They are here for me!” he said, emphasizing each word. “I don’t have time. Take that drive and get out! You can go through the main entrance. I need you on this, Ava, please!”

And before she could even protest any further, he ran off towards the back, hoping to find an unguarded back entrance.

Useless, really. The building was probably completely surrounded by now, all escape routes cut off. But he had to try. He wasn’t going to surrender himself to them and attempt to talk this out. If they were willing to go to such lengths, in public… there wouldn’t be much to talk about.

He ran through the long hallway connecting the theatres, stomping over the red plush carpet, trying the doors to make for the emergency exit inside, but the doors had already been locked. He cursed a desperate note, continued running. His only way of escape was probably through the double doors. The main entrance, guarded by men who hopefully wouldn’t recognise him if he could just blend in with the crowd and get out, meet up with Ava.

He screeched to a halt as a rumble of heavy footsteps sounded from the end of the hallway, getting louder, getting closer. He turned on his heels and shot the other way. Heard shouts of recognition behind him. Panic seared through him and he nearly stumbled over himself in his haste to get away. Came to an abrupt halt again as two more men blocked his path from the other side.

They were armed… but they didn’t even bother reaching for their guns.

He froze for a second, fell a step back. Nearly tore his neck as he looked back; the other group now slowly closing him in. This couldn’t be happening. Right?! He glanced back and forth at the two groups of men not letting up, advancing on him as if he was a wild animal, as if he was the one who carried a weapon.

He was trapped. Completely trapped. The only option left was…

Fight! His body screamed, adrenaline bracing him, tensing his muscles. Push through!

Surrender! His mind countered instead, turning his limbs to lead with paralyzing fear as if it was already prepping to make him sink to his knees. Don’t make things worse.

Torn, he shot another glance back and forth. And made up his mind.

With a desperate scream he launched himself at the two men, hoping to bulldozer through.

They didn’t even blink.

He crashed right into them. Like crashing into a solid wall. Not giving him one inch.

One caught him by the elbow. An arm slid around his torso. A sharp pain exploded in his knee and he collapsed at their feet, half held up by his arm that was now twisted to his back. He hissed. Pain shot through his shoulder, forcing him face-down to the ground. Where he saw more combat boots drawing nearer.

“N—Get off, get—!”

He struggled with all his might, knowing full well he couldn’t throw off two trained men with their full weight on him. He flailed, begged, screamed. Bucked and twisted to get free. Managed to pull one hand free and driven by this small success, he doubled his efforts.

He vaguely registered slower footsteps drawing nearer, but with another knee forced onto his back he couldn’t look up. His chest pressed into the soft carpet. He trashed again, a final attempt—

When suddenly a harsh grip snared in his hair. His head was pulled up and before he could even realise what was going on, everything exploded in pain as his forehead slammed into the floor.

He couldn’t move a muscle for a few agonising seconds. Heard a distinct click. Made to try and bring his hands to press against his head, but something stopped him. He couldn’t see a thing, nothing but a white flash slowly fading to red, the red of the carpet that scratched his forehead as he stuttered back to life and slowly shook his head with a moan.

Two pairs of strong hands grabbed him by the upper arms, pulled him up. He followed with a groan, slouching in their grip, half bend-over, legs protesting against the weight forced on them. Blood gushed from his nose, dripped over his chin and splattered onto the carpet. His vision was still blurry. He blinked hard, trying to focus, his gaze stuttering over to the man still towering over him even now that they’d scraped him from the floor.

He barely had the strength to raise his head, merely stared straight ahead, eyes at chest height. He tried very hard to focus on one of the shiny buttons of the man’s long black coat until he was pulled upright. His gaze followed up, searching for the man’s eyes. They were the same cold eyes that had looked up at him from the lobby, now looking down with a certain cold condescension.

The man’s hard stare snapped to his subordinates.

“Take him away.” And with an equally cold harsh nod, Lucas was half carried along, down the stairs, the toes of his shoes scraping over the carpet every now and then as he struggled to keep up.

There was no mercy of a quiet exit by the stage door. The unit marched him right down the lobby, through the double doors of the main entrance, clearing a perplexed crowd to carry a bloody, half-conscious man to a police car.

He spotted Ava outside, hand in front of her mouth, eyes wide and fixed on his face. He tried to smile at her, but it probably came out as a twisted grimace. With bloodied teeth, perhaps. Not the reassurance he had in mind.

They deposited him like a limp rag in the back of the police car. The door slammed shut and he sagged against it, taking the pressure off his bound hands. The man getting in the front turned in his seat to look back at him. He could barely make out his face, but it was the man who had smashed his head in. His lips moved. Did he just say something? There was no concern in those eyes whatsoever, so Lucas doubted he asked an ‘are you okay?’.

The car blurred, the world turned to silence. And as the car rumbled to life, his vision joined gave in, everything turning black.

Still untitled prison whump project tag list :) @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop

34 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 9 days

Text

The ascension.

#OH FUCK #THIS IS SO GOOD #I AM SCREAAMAMMMIINNGG #OH MY GOD #ACCKKAKAKAKAK #THE ANGST #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #ascended astarion #art #fan art #artists on tumblr #NOT MY ART #ivyjinna #ivyjinna art #YOU NEVER MISS YOUR HONOUR #IT’S SO GOOD

222 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 10 days

Text

The Party

I'm hosting an event at @the-whumpers-soiree! This scene is the first and may serve as an example. Outside of that, please enjoy as you would any of my drabbles. <3

[EVENT LINK]

(tw: alcohol consumption, kidnapping, knife, noncon touch, intimate/creepy whumper)

Whumpee clutched their drink close, hanging on the wall. Their eyes scanned the room, darting between the flashes of shimmering light in the dim room. The music was loud - but not too loud. The room was full - but not too full. The drinks were strong - but not too….well, you get the idea. Everything was right.

So…what felt so wrong?

Whumpee’s eyes flicked from guest to guest. Smiling faces. Some dancing. Some mingling. Laughing. Joking. A few couples wandered off to the corners into the shadows, evidently enjoying being very close to each other.

Something was wrong.

Whumpee sipped their drink tentatively, trying to choose their next move. They’d only been here half an hour, they couldn’t just leave already. This party was supposed to be for new opportunities. New friends for a new city. New ideas and new roots. A New Year’s party for the new them.

They wished they at least had some friends to huddle in the corner with. Plenty of others lingered along the edges, also watching the crowd - but Whumpee was not nearly social enough to go introduce themself to one of them. Why did they even come to an event designed to help newcomers find new friends if they couldn’t even build up the courage to go make the new friends?

Pathetic.

This place was too nice for them anyway. They were so underdressed for the location - clothes entirely too comfortable to take comfort in. Though, plenty of others seemed to feel the same way, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. Whumpee assumed the party planners just didn’t properly disclose how nice the penthouse venue would be with its glass balconies and matte hardwood floors. They wished they’d have at least picked a button down or something, though.

They tinkered on their phone, trying to decide how long they would make themself stay before they made a move to leave. Or…maybe they should pick a target goal? Find someone else who was lingering alone and try to just……hide with them? Solidarity, and all that.

Their eyes locked onto someone nearby - someone sipping their drink as timidly as Whumpee - just hiding in the shadows like them.

Perfect.

Before Whumpee could make a move toward their new potential friend/hiding-in-shame buddy, a new face strolled up to them.

Whumpee blinked up at the stranger as they smiled down at Whumpee.

“Hi! I saw you hanging out over here and…thought you might like a friend?”

“Wh- um - uh- yeah. Yeah - I mean. Hi.”

The stranger laughed lightly. “Not a social butterfly, then?”

Whumpee chewed on their cheek. “Nope - no, not exactly my forte.”

The stranger smiled warmly at them, holding out their hand. “Whumper. Nice to meet you.”

Whumpee shifted their glass into their left hand, patting the condensation off on their shirt before shaking the stranger’s -no, Whumper’s- hand. “I’m Whumpee.”

Their eyes stayed on Whumper’s grip, not quite daring to look up. They blinked at the red glowstick around the other’s wrist. Then to their own blue one. “I - uh - I didn’t realize they had other colors.”

Whumper pulled their hand back, glancing at the red glowstick. “Oh, yeah, they must have run out of blue.”

Whumpee immediately moved to unsnap theirs. “Did you want blue? I can trade y-”

“No no no,” Whumper smirked. “I think red suits me better than it would you. But thank you anyway. You’re a sweet little thing.”

Heat flushed into Whumpee’s cheeks, threatening to burn them if they didn’t get a grip. “Th-thanks-” Fuck what am I even thanking them for?? Whumpee’s stomach turned and soured. Was that…butterflies?

No. No, something wrong. Still wrong.

The drinks and the music and the kind stranger had them almost forgetting for a moment.

Their breath stuttered to a stop as the backs of Whumper’s hand pressed lightly to their cheek, pressed to the flush. Whumpee’s wide eyes stared up at them, twitching back further into the wall. Or did they want to lean in?? Fuck, they were so confused. So close. Too close? Maybe too close.

Whumper’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You seem a little warm, should we go out to the balcony and get you some fresh air?”

Whumpee cleared their throat, tipping their face away from the touch until Whumper retracted their hand. “N-no, I’m okay, but thank you.”

Whumper gave them a charming smile, stepping closer.

Fingers wrapped around theirs, prying the drink from their hand with ease. Whumpee watched as it was taken from them - then set to the side on a small table.

Their heart kicked into a new gear as Whumper stepped closer again - holding them frozen with just a look.

Whumper’s tone was so soft, but laced with something…something darker. Their palm pressed against the wall next to Whumpee’s head when Whumpee tried to take a step to the side. “I really think you should come outside with me.”

Whumpee managed to retreat further into the wall, eyes sliding to the side to see if anyone else was looking. If anyone else noticed their discomfort. If anyone even knew they were there in the shadows.

“N-no, I’m okay, I should probably b-” They flinched as something sharp and cool pressed to their side. Stammering, “wh-wha-t is tha-t-”

Whumper chuckled softly, leaning in to press their lips to Whumpee’s ear. Hot breath danced across their skin, whispering, “It’s a knife, sweetheart. Haven’t you ever had a knife on you before?”

Whumpee swallowed thickly, panic stretching out from their stomach and pooling in their lungs, pulling their breaths shorter and sharper and quicker.

“Wh-what are you doing??”

“Mm…not much. Not yet. Right now, I’m just….persuading you to change your mind about the balcony. Then we can talk more.”

“I- I don’t w-” Whumpee’s protestation squeaked to a stop as the blade pressed further into them, enough to hurt.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Whumpee’s legs were trembling. Shaking hands gripping Whumper’s arms for support. “Y-yeah - yeah let’s….le-ts…balcony-”

“Hmmm…” Whumper smiled against their neck, smirk prickling the tender flesh. “That’s what I thought you said.”

Whumpee’s brain was still scrambling to catch up as Whumper tugged them to the side - grip bruising deep into the muscle above their elbow. They let themself be dragged along, throwing frantic looks over their shoulder. Not sure what to do. What to say. How to stop this. If it was even that bad? Were they overreacting?

No they pulled a KNIFE on you-

They’d barely decided to start struggling by the time Whumper pulled them out into the cool night air, spinning them back against the glass railing of the balcony. The edge of the glass bruised into them - just below the waist.

Not high enough - definitely not high enough.

Whumper was on them in a second. One hand gripping the glass on either side of them. So close. So fucking close. Boxing them in. Pressing them back until Whumpee was leaning back over the darkened shimmering city.

Whumpee’s harsh, stuttering breaths echoed in their skull as they threw a look behind and under them, looking down to the endless plummet - to the ant-like cars zipping back and forth an eternity away. The world seemed to sway and pull, trying to wrench them down into it.

Whumpee sucked in air to scream, but the sound choked out at the base of their throat as Whumper leaned in - forehead pressed to theirs. Whumper’s eyes held theirs. Dark. Hungry.

A hand wrapped around their throat, threatening to shove them over the edge.

Whumpee’s trembling hands wound tight into Whumper’s shirt.

“Go on.” The hand pushed further. “Go ahead and scream if you want. You’ll be falling before anyone can see what happened.”

Whumpee choked out a sob - the sound pressed hard against Whumper’s palm, choking them further and drawing a whimper from their lips. “I- I w- I won’t. I won’t. I won’t- won’t scr-eam-”

Whumper gave them a small smile, pulling back just a touch. The hand stayed on their throat. Whumper stayed close. The glass stayed uncracked and under them.

They made the mistake of looking down again.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

Whumpee’s eyes screwed shut as strangled breaths slid in and out of them to a stuttering cadence.

“Wh-what do you want?”

“How long have you been in the city?”

Whumpee’s eyes blinked open. “Wai- what?”

Their throat constricted as Whumper’s grip tightened. “I don’t like repeating myself, Whumpee.”

The panic was already fully flushed through their system, buckling their knees and prompting every muscle to scream at them - begging them to run. Whumpee tried not to shrink further. Some small bit of logic in the back of their head told them that they couldn’t break the glass, but their mind was screaming that they would if they pushed back against it any harder. The edge was already working a bruise against their spine as they quivered under Whumper’s gaze.

“I- I moved in l-last month.”

“Any family nearby?”

Whumpee’s face screwed up. “...n-o”

“Roommate?”

A tear finally leaked from the corner of their eye, dripping warmth down their cheek. “N-no-”

“Hmm….job?”

Whumpee choked back a sob, eyes pinning shut again. “Hav-haven’t found one yet-”

“Mm…so…in essence - no one would miss you if you just…..disappeared.”

Whumpee’s breath locked up in their lungs. Burning. Filling their mind with concrete and sending sour fear tingling deeper into their bones. They tried to squirm away. “N-no - please just let me-”

Whumpee froze in place, squeaking and clutching tighter as Whumper pressed them back over nothingness again.

“You’re not going anywhere. In fact, you’re not going to do a single. thing. that I don’t allow for the rest of your life. Got that?”

Whumpee twitched out a small, stuttering nod, flinching back.

“Good.”

Whumper pulled back, lacing a hand around the back of Whumpee’s neck - peeling them off the glass and guiding them back inside.

“Let’s get your coat. We’re going home.”

Event tag: @the-whumpers-soiree

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @jadeocean46910 @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @meowsikbox @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @cryptidhongo @rose-pinkie @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @astralrunic @pickywhumpreader @cursedscribbles @uvanuva)

#the whumpers soiree #what an idea #oh this is giving me ideas #i want to write some party whump #mwah mwah mwah #so good #also just #the whumper asking if Whumpee had any connections #and whumpee realising they had none!#TERRIFYING #imagine a party like this in the real world #crazy #what a fun idea #not my writing #painsandconfusion

272 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 11 days

Text

Nighttime

Heavy footsteps slowly made their way up the stairs, the clanking sounds echoing through the silent hall as they drew nearer on the steel grated walkway.

The owner of those boots didn’t care it was nearing midnight, nor did he seem in a hurry. He took slow deliberate steps, knowing he had an audience who were all listening with bated breath. He knew most would still be awake, at least those with a guilty conscience, waiting, waiting for the inevitable, and praying for the footsteps to pass by their cell.

Lucas too lay wide awake, facing the cell door, seeing the drawn out shadow draw nearer through the bars.

He racked his brain, trying to remember if anyone else had drawn Nero’s attention today, had done anything to deserve a nighttime visit. When he couldn’t think of any – the day like all others had passed in a hazy blur – he tried to remember if there was anyone locked away in solitary.

Two out of three options he came up blank and the third option became very real all of a sudden.

Would it be him? Would this be his first visit, finally finding out – unwillingly – what happened behind those closed doors, what caused the begging and the screaming, what was the prime cause for the impeccable record of this prison’s stats for good behaviour?

Something heavy started forming in his stomach, something that spread to all his limbs. He shifted on his bed, the flimsy mattress barely protecting his bruises from the harsh, cold metal underneath, and kept a close watch on the shadow that now drew nearer.

Had he done anything today? Besides being his usual nuisance? He hadn’t talked back (hadn’t had the chance, really), mouthed off, or tried to instigate a fight. All in all, a quiet day. So by that logic, he should be safe. Should. But he knew Nero didn’t need a reason. And that he could hold onto a grudge, coming back with punishment for something that happened days ago. He relished in the false comfort and striking when the victim thought he was safe.

Yet everyone awake was now thinking back on their sins, severely questioning their safety, and praying they would be spared that night.

The shadow was now right outside his cell and he was sure he just made eye contact with the beast. Either time slowed or the man had stopped. But then he blinked and the shadow had passed his door. Clanking footsteps following in its wake.

His shoulders relaxed. And Lucas found himself exhaling his dread.

A couple cells ahead the footsteps stopped. Sounds echoed through the hall, a lock springing open, the creak of the door; the soft prelude. Then soft begging and sobs, whispered pleads. A harsh command. Then quicker footsteps, stumbling along with Nero’s marching, another choked off sob, whispered “please, please, no, I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry!” as they got closer.

"Quiet."

The begging stopped instantly.

The command wasn’t made out of concern to others, nor to not disturb their night’s peace or to remain undetected. Begging just was useless here.

Lucas saw the two dark figures go past, noticing how Nero used his favourite method of transportation: a vice grip on his victim’s neck and simply pushing them along.

A door slammed shut. Then there was silence.

Lucas pressed his pillow over his head, tried to calm his beating heart, to convince himself the storm had passed and he could go to sleep. Unfortunately, he knew the silence was a short lived one.

That it would soon be filled again. By muffled distant screams.

81 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 15 days

Text

That’s Enough

“Stop it,” Caretaker said once the sound of knuckles thudding mutely turned to squelching. Caretaker stared at Whumpee, the sweat flying from them as they continued to punch the punching bag. “Hey. Whumpee, that’s enough.”

Whumpee didn’t listen. They just kept jabbing in the one two movement they had been doing for the half hour. Caretaker let go of the bag but Whumpee moved with it.

“Hey! Whumpee,” Caretaker hissed, stepping in front of Whumpee, hands up palms facing Whumpee. “That’s enough, you’re hurting yourself.”

Whumpee didn’t listen. Instead, they started punching Caretaker’s hands. Caretaker snapped their hand closed but Whumpee retracted their arm swiftly to their chest to punch again, their eyes distant and hard.

“Whumpee! Whumpee,” Caretaker snapped as Whumpee’s fists started coming harder on Caretaker’s palms. Caretaker stepped forward into Whumpee’s punches and reached a hand up, locking it around Whumpee’s wrist. Whumpee yanked it back but Caretaker held firm.

Only then did Whumpee seem to snap back into themselves. “Let go of me.”

“I said that’s enough, Whumpee. You’re bleeding.”

Whumpee yanked their wrist back towards them but Caretaker didn’t let go. Instead they grabbed Whumpee’s other wrist and clamped their fingers around it too, stopping Whumpee from hurting themself anymore.

Whumpee’s eyes narrowed. “Let go of me, Caretaker! I can look after myself.”

“Clearly you can’t!”

“It’s just a bit of blood!” Whumpee yelled, spit flying from their mouth in anger. “What does it matter?!”

“Blood is meant to be inside your body, Whumpee, not outside.”

“It’s my body,” Whumpee told Caretaker, yanking one of their wrists free. “I’m allowed do what I want to it so let me go.”

“I’m not gonna just stand here and watch you hurt yourself.”

Whumpee let out a crazed, humourless bark of laughter. “Oh, what?” Whumpee asked, eyes glimmering with cruelty. “You want to make me stop, huh? You gonna tie me down like Whumper did because I’m not following your orders? You want to participate like Whumper did?” Whumpee demanded, squaring up to Caretaker, taking a step forward forcing Caretaker back. Whumpee’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Or maybe you want to be the one to make me bleed.”

The question made Caretaker sick. Comparing them to Whumper when all they’ve done is try and help Whumpee? The fact that Whumpee could even make that comparison at all… It was too much. Looking after Whumpee was too much. They let go of Whumpee’s wrist and turned away, walking towards the doors of the gym.

“What? Where are you going now?”

“I told you to stop, Whumpee,” said Caretaker without turning around, pulling off their own gloves. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. Not my problem.”

Caretaker turned and looked over their shoulder at Whumpee as they opened the door. “But I won’t stand here and watch you finish the job Whumper started. Destroy yourself, why don’t you? You’ll do it on your own.”

385 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 15 days

Text

Hero couldn't stand anymore, weakened and aching down to their bones. Destruction and ruin laid all around them, and they felt hopeless.

Standing above them proudly, Villain grinned, delighted and smug.

"Are you going to get back up? Keep trying to defeat me?" Villain's voice was deep and sonorous, full of amusement.

Taking a deep breath, Hero's chest ached. They knew if they tried to stand again, their legs would only give out.

"Please." The word came out desperately, exhausted.

"Aww, are you begging now?" Villain cood, stepping closer to Hero, making them tilt their chin to meet Villain's gaze. "Are you begging me to spare these people? Your friends? Begging me to make the pain go away?"

Villain's touch was deceptively soft as they cupped Hero's jaw, pulling their face closer to where they stood. Hero felt shame swirl deep inside their gut, reaching into their chest and threatening to squeeze their heart.

Hero nodded mutely, and Villain smiled even wider. Their gaze looked possessive, hungry.

"Beg, then." Villain's voice was soft, and they moved one hand from cupping Hero's jaw to brush a stray lock of hair from their face. They lifted a thumb, running it across Hero's bottom lip, smearing the blood that was there.

Lifting their thumb to their own mouth, Villain tasted the blood, making sure Hero was watching, before speaking again.

"Beg, my dear."

#oh fuck #this made me feel things #whumperflies #no one bigger than whumperflies #fuck #hero x villain #not my writing #villain x hero #dialogue prompt #villainousauthor #villainousauthor writing

400 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 15 days

Text

Noo I absolutely agree, and not even comparing it against fandom whump — but even normal novels and TV shows, cause i swear some of the OC Whump stories I have read on tumblr have the best, most engaging characters that I actually care for and adore and just live in my head rent free. I actually care about what happens to them instead of just following them through the plot?! I forgot you could feel like that with some of the lukewarm characters that are just carbon-copy and paste of YA main characters and other Main characters who are just lifeless and bland.

Like Gordon (UGH!!!!!) Emery from hiwthi is the ULTIMATE villain in my brain. He is my roman empire — but then even new OC whump is so GOOD it makes me so happy!

I come for the whump and stay for the plot and my silly little attachments to these characters getting fucked up, mentally, emotionally, physically… it’s so good— it feels like there’s actually high stakes because in Whump you never know if the character will make it out alive. There is no set plot for how it works out in the end, so you feel the urgency.

I just love reading about whump OC’s because I am actually on the edge of my seat, heart in my throat waiting to see what happens next

I think I'm spoiled on the OC whump side of tumblr. This shit is so good. Sorry I can't go back to Fandom whump I am far more invested in like Riot Kings and A Rose Amidst Thorns and Fear no Void and characters like Dog and Mal and Mariano and Aldercy and Altair and Lord Denholm and Nico and Mica. Like they're all so cool and then I go to Fandom whump and I'm bored. Hot take maybe but ugh ocs and original content just hit different.

#OC whump is the best #it is top tier #chef’s kiss #love oc whump #it’s so messed up #in the best way #God Emory #ugghhh i love to hate him #i adore to hate him #he is so evil #and just doesn’t care #Whump OC’s just need a hug #whump thoughts #whump community

261 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 17 days

Text

Warning

"You know what's a shame... Soon, people will not even remember you anymore."

"What's that even supposed to mean?" Whumpee snarled in return, watching with their hands bound behind their back, sitting on their knees as Whumper paced back and forth in front of them.

"I mean, hell, they'll definitely remember you," Whumper continued, ignoring the outburst. "But not in the way you'd want to. Like, how nice you were to them or how much effort you always put into things... how you helped them. Your smile, the twinkle in your eyes, your little preferences, the sound of your voi-- ah, no, wait, they'll definitely remember your voice."

He traced off ominously, a sly grin finally forming on his lips before he carried on.

"Instead, people will look away when your name falls, shudder at the memories the mere mention of you evokes. After a while, they will not even want to think about you. Because the image that comes along with you is too horrible to even think about.

All that you were, it will all be engulfed and you will be so much more. You, my dear, are about to become a warning."

He finally stopped pacing, looked at the stunned Whumpee who finally looked up with fear in their eyes.

"A warning not to mess with me," he said and knelt down in front of them, brushing a lock of hair from their face. "Don't you worry, darling, it's nothing personal."

General whump tag: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan

#i am speechless #and screaming #fuck #the whumper is whumping rn #WOW #the whumperflies….#*bites fist*#not my writing #whumblr #whumblr writing

251 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 18 days

Text

The Heretic (4)

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

Read part one here

Continued from here

*~*~*~*~*

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

Wait…

His fight with Olen.

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

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

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

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

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

Everything hurt.

God, Olen really didn’t pull his punches.

“Tch.”

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

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

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

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

Where’s Hero?

Are they safe?

Did you hurt them yet?

Are they… are they still alive?

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

Superhero.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe Olen had changed as much as Shaw did.

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

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

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

“Nice to see you too, Shaw.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes… sir,” Shaw whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shaw almost smiled at the thought of pissing Superhero off.

Almost.

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

As in… he wanted an answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Recently enough.”

“How recent?”

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

“What is the church planning?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The strong survive, Shaw.”

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

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

“Hero doesn’t need protection—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s going to stop me, Shaw? You?”

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

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

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

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

Hero’s alive.

He can rest.

34 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 18 days

Text

#where is option four?#all of the above #asa’s light #poll #not my writing #whump-bunny

2 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 18 days

Text

Jaybird screaming in the dead of night

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

“Hey Jay,” Zayne sang, slowly, menacingly, butchering ‘Hey Jude’, while swirling himself around the corner into the kitchen startling Jay. “Don’t be afraid.”

Jay, at the first notes of his name in rhyme, turned away from the counter and his dinner prep, his eyebrows raising in surprise and the hairs on his arms in alarm. Just hearing his name in song gave him many reasons to be afraid. He raised his chopping knife in an automatic response, just holding it out in front of him.

“Drop the knife,” Zayne said, now stepping forward and emphasizing his words with the click of his own knife, flicking it up, “Unless you want to compare which one is sharper.”

His kitchen knife might not be as sharp, but it was coated in onion juices. Not an experiment Jay wanted to engage in. With a loud clank, he dropped it in the sink, falling another step back.

Zayne kept advancing on him, slowly, backing him into the dark corner of the kitchen, talking and waving his knife about with every step. “So, I just bumped into your neighbour, downstairs. Or well, he almost fully crashed into me, really. So I shouted after him, holding the door open for him, ‘Hey, what’s the hurry?!’ And you know what he shouted back?”

Probably, yeah, Jay had an inkling of where this was going. And how it was now going to bite – stab – him in the arse. But he kept his mouth shut, dread stealing his voice and knowing Zayne would continue his terrorizing monologue anyway.

Which he did. “He said, ‘Sorry, I’m late!’. So I asked, ‘Late for what?!’” The conversational tone fell away as he leaned forward against Jay, one hand brushing against his, pinning him to the kitchen counter. “Work,” he breathed in Jay’s face. “He was late for work.”

Jay leaned back as far as he could, hands on the edge of the counter, arms bending. He tried to make a soft hum in feigned surprise, but it turned to a soft but sharp inhale as the knife was brought up in his face.

“You never told me he works night shifts,” Zayne crooned, brushing the flat of the knife over Jay’s jawline.

“I mean, it never really came u—”

“But then it all started making sense, you know. How you always tried to hold back on your screaming in the afternoon. And here I was, making an effort to keep the noise down at night…”

The knife fell away from Jay’s clenched jaw, dropped against his clavicle and disappeared under his collar. The cold sensation turned sharper, gradually pressing into his skin.

“Well, no need to worry about that now, you don’t have to hold back. He just left. You can scream as much as you want.”

~Bonus~

Zayne leaned back and pulled the kitchen knife from the sink.

“What were you chopping?” he asked, turning the knife back and forth as if he could analyse what was on it (instead of, you know, looking back).

“Onions...”

“Hm.” He swiped his own blade over the knife as if sharpening it, making them sing a threatening tune together. “Do you think it stings in more than just your eyes?”

“You don't need onions to make me cry,” Jay tried to goad him into dropping the knife. He didn’t need a dual-wielding Zayne.

Zayne merely stared at him, eyes softening to a fond expression as he was mulling it over and the stupidity of Jay’s words hit him.

“You’re right,” he said, to Jay’s short-lived relieve. Then his tone shifted and he merely whispered: “I don't.”

Tag list:

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98 @whumpifi @painless-and-colourful @withdrawingramen

#i saw this #and the happy sigh that escaped my lips #was pure bliss #i love these two so much #the best boys #zayne just ruining Jay’s days #and nights #so polite of him #to consider Jay’s neighbours #what a nice whumper #hiwthi #not my writing #whumblr writing #whumblr

52 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 19 days

Text

Bloody Hands

CW: Murder, child abuse, mentions of broken fingers, lab whump, parent whumper, 14-year-old whumpee, 55-year-old whumpee

Synopsis: Asa has been held prisoner and siphoned of his blood for a month now. Things have become pretty monotonous, until his father decides to show him the fruit of his research. Asa is forced to watch as Adam tests his immortality serum on an unwilling victim, the first of many.

A month has gone by since Asa learned the truth about his father.

The days pass like molasses, crammed into a cell with only his boredom to keep him company. Though, “cell” is an ill-fitting word.

It's just a room, really. The walls are painted a light blue. The bed is soft and warm. A window on the far wall lets light trickle down onto the hardwood floor. There's even an attached bathroom. It would be, for all intents and purposes, a completely normal bedroom, were it not for the long metal chain connecting Asa’s left foot to the floor.

He tried to pick the lock. Once. During the first couple of days. But all that earned him was a set of broken fingers. They healed within the hour, but the message was made clear. Adam would not hesitate to break him if he stepped out of line.

The window was another idea, for all of two seconds. Upon closer inspection, Asa quickly realized it’s just a screen, projecting an image of the outside into his sad little room. The trickling light, just another one of Adam’s lies.

He couldn't bring himself to smash it. The illusion of sunlight is better than no light at all.

These days, he spends most of his time just staring at it. He watches the holographic leaves sway in the digital wind. Sometimes, he'll spot a cardinal flutter into view. It'll stay for a moment, preening its wings, before taking flight once more, as if mocking Asa’s own inability to do so.

He wonders if the footage is real, recorded in some park far away from his prison, or if it truly is just a hologram, a computer’s approximation of what the outside world should look like.

Asa doesn't know which would be worse.

Adam brings him food every few hours or so.

Sometimes he talks. Sometimes he doesn't. Asa never talks… or at least, he didn't used to.

But lately, the time alone has taken its toll. Asa finds himself saying things he never would have before, being more open than he should be. He talks about Liam, about their time together on the streets. And in turn, Adam tells fantastical stories about his life, spanning over centuries and empires of old. He talks about his time as a pirate, or as a political prisoner, or a revolutionary. (Asa has no way of knowing if any of his stories are true, but at the very least, they're entertaining.)

If there's one thing he’s learned about Adam, it's that he is very lonely. And though Asa would love to keep ignoring him out of spite, loneliness is something they have in common. So, Adam will tell the story of the time he convinced a nobleman to trade his carriage for what he thought was a potion of youth, Asa will offer his own tale of the time he and Liam cheated a street con out of $500, and they both try to act like Asa isn't chained to the floor in a room with no real window.

They act until they can't anymore. Until Adam needs more blood.

It's the one thing Asa still fights.

“Are we really doing this again?” Adam will say, rolling his eyes, pushing an empty wheelchair. And Asa will scowl and press himself into the corner of the room like a feral animal.

Things can go a number of ways after that. Adam might yank the chain connected to Asa’s foot and pull him across the floor. He might go for a sedative. He might just manhandle Asa with brute strength. (Which isn't difficult, considering Asa’s half his size.) But no matter how it goes, it always ends in the same way. Asa, restrained to the chair, getting pushed to the lab, blood drained until he can't see straight.

Except today, Adam goes off-script.

He comes in early one morning, just as Asa wakes up from another dreamless sleep. (At least, Asa assumes it's morning. The window screen has lied before.) Adam is smiling like a madman; never a good thing.

“When you finish your breakfast, I have a surprise for you.” He says, handing Asa a plate of scrambled eggs and dry toast.

A few weeks ago, Asa would have thrown the plate at Adam’s face… and he still would, if provoked. But Asa’s already lightheaded from constant blood loss. He'd rather not add hunger into the mix. So he eats, albeit begrudgingly, refusing to meet Adam’s eyes.

“Good boy.” Adam smirks, when Asa hands him back the plate. And oh, how Asa wants to throttle him. “Now then, you know the drill.”

He gestures to the wheelchair, leather straps hanging down, waiting to wrap Asa in their cold embrace. Asa stiffens, eyes scanning the room for an escape. But there isn't one. There never is. Before Asa can make a move, Adam grabs his wrist and pulls. Asa yelps, all but falling off the bed. He yanks at his arm, trying in vain to break free, but he's no match for Adam’s grip.

Adam deposits him in the chair with a practiced efficiency, first securing his wrists to the armrests, then following suit with his legs. All the while, Asa screams words that would make a sailor blush, struggling and squirming until he's out of breath.

Adam gives him a look. “Are you done?”

Asa glares, and Adam takes that as his cue to get going.

The ride to the lab is silent, as always. And yet, Asa can feel a sort of… giddiness coming off of Adam. A radiating sense of excitement that only grows as they approach the lab.

And when the door opens, Asa finds out why.

“Who the fuck is that?”

There, strapped to the lab table in Asa’s place, is a complete stranger. A man, probably in his forties or fifties, writhing in his bonds, his mouth gagged. As the door opens, his head jerks to the side, eyes flashing with fear when he sees Adam. And then his gaze falls to Asa, and he… softens. It's an expression Asa hasn't seen directed towards him in a long time.

“Adam… Who. The fuck. Is that.” Asa repeats, head straining to look up at his father. Adam isn't looking at him, instead staring straight ahead at his new captive. His new toy.

“That's Dave. He very graciously agreed to help me out with my research today.” Adam chirps, pushing Asa forward and locking his chair into place. He walks around the table and pinches Dave’s cheek. If looks could kill, Adam would be dead. “Well, he didn't agree, exactly. But if he didn't want to be kidnapped then maybe he should have made some friends or stayed in touch with family so he wouldn't have been so easy to make disappear.”

Asa swallows. Suddenly his mouth feels very dry.

For Adam to experiment on him, well, it isn't okay, but unfortunately he's gotten more than used to it at this point. It almost feels like a given. Just another messed up part of his messed up life. But to see someone else in the same position…

“What are you gonna do to him?” Asa asks, voice wavering far too much for his liking.

Adam beams, “Potentially, I'm about to make history.”

“Let-let him go. He doesn't deserve this.” Asa doesn't know exactly what “this” might be, but he's certain that both he and the struggling man do not want to find out. Meanwhile, the man’s eyes are still boring into Asa’s soul, as if begging him for help.

“Doesn't he?” Adam scoffs, “You have a lot of faith in humanity, my friend. Let's see what old Dave has to say about this, hm?”

Adam reaches behind Dave’s head and undoes the gag.

“LEMME GO YOU MOTHER FU-” Dave screams, but Adam cuts him off with a finger pressed to his lips.

“Ah ah ah, shhh… there are children present.” Adam says, gesturing to Asa. As if he hadn’t said much worse only a few minutes prior.

Dave’s attention turns to Asa once again, and once again, his expression softens.

“Are you okay, kid?”

Asa blinks.

“I…” He trails off. The short answer is no, he supposes. Although compared to the time he spent bound in a straightjacket in a dark closet, he's doing just fine. Honestly, it’s been so long since anyone’s cared about his well being enough to ask that Asa doesn’t know what to say.

“Not really.” He finally replies.

The man frowns, turning his head to look back at Adam.

“Look, I won't say anything to the cops, I swear. Just let me and the kid go.” He begs. If only he knew that the cops would just drive him back to Adam’s penthouse. Asa almost laughs at the idea. Adam does laugh.

“Aw, look at that Asa. He’s trying to be all righteous.” Adam chides. “As if he doesn't think you and I are abominations.”

The room goes silent. Asa blinks. Did he hear that correctly? He knows Adam isn’t the picture of sanity, but this is a new level of strange.

Dave’s brows furrow.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“Keep up, Dave. I'm saying that Asa has Light. Just like me.” Adam smirks. “Don't believe me? I'll prove it.”

Without a breath of explanation, Adam turns on his heel and struts to Asa’s side. In one fluid motion, he grabs a scalpel from the countertop and cuts into Asa’s arm.

“Agh-!” Asa yelps. He can only watch as his golden blood beads to the surface. Adam swipes some off with his finger and holds it up for Dave to see.

“See this blood? Neat, isn't it? And look, his cut is already healing.” It’s true. In a matter of seconds, Asa’s skin knits the small cut back together. The stinging pain fades, leaving only a tiny puddle of drying blood to remember it by. Like it never even happened.

But it did happen, and by the look on his face, Dave isn’t happy about it. He stares at Asa with a mix of betrayal, fear, and worst of all… hate. Asa’s heart sinks into his stomach. But even so, he can’t let Adam hurt anyone else.

“Leave him alone!” Asa yells. Adam raises a brow.

“Don't you get it, Asa? He hates people like us.” Adam shakes his head, talking to Asa like he’s a toddler who just can’t grasp a simple concept. “I spoke with him ad nauseum on the subject last night. He thinks that the LRA should be abolished.”

“It should!” Asa says.

Adam shushes him, “You didn't let me finish.”

“He thinks it should be abolished, because he thinks people with Light should be exterminated rather than studied.” Adam frowns, glaring at Dave from the corner of his eyes. “He'd like nothing more than to see you and I dead. Isn't that right, Dave?”

Dave says nothing in response, probably too scared of Adam to speak, but the look on his face says it all. Still, Asa refuses to believe it. This wouldn’t be the first time Adam’s lied to him. There’s no way this guy would turn on Asa just for having Light.

Asa takes a breath. "Is that true? Do… Do you really hate people with Light?"

And for a moment, it seems like Dave will say no. Like even if he did have prejudices before, he would abandon them now and stand with Asa. Perhaps they could even take down Adam by working together. For a moment, the soft glance from before is back.

But then, the man shakes his head. And when he looks at Asa again, his eyes are filled with nothing but hate.

"Don't talk to me… you monster-."

Adam reaffixes the gag before he can continue. But Asa heard enough. Even in the face of certain danger, he clung to his hatred like a lifeline. Asa sighs, allowing his gaze to fall to the floor.

He’s so tired.

Adam clears his throat, "Well, now that that's cleared up, let's begin, shall we?"

From a black case on the counter, Adam procures a syringe and a small vial of glowing, golden liquid. When the glint catches Asa’s eye, he gasps.

"Is that…"

"Your blood? Yes. As well as a synthetic virus that I've developed to hijack his genetic code and replace it. If it works correctly, then this man will receive a carbon copy of our Light." Adam replies.

"And if not?" Asa frowns. The question seems to take Adam aback for a moment; like he didn’t expect Asa to care. But the moment of hesitation is over in a heartbeat, and his excitement returns in full swing.

"I suppose we'll find out together." He replies. Immediately, Asa’s mind swims with the worst case scenarios, the risks that Adam himself has warned him of.

‘There’s a possibility your Light will cause the body of the recipient to prematurely Atrophy, which would be fatal.’

Asa pales.

"No- you can't do this!" He yelps, filled with a newfound urgency.

"Are you going to stop me?” Adam chuckles, "I really don't see your problem. This man wants you and all of your little friends dead. And now, he's going to become the very thing he hates most. If that's not poetic, I don't know what is."

There's a part of Asa, bigger than he'd like to admit, that wants to agree with that. He wonders why he's risking Adam’s wrath for a man who clearly despises him. The vindictive part of Asa wants to sit back with a smile and let whatever happens, happen. But then, that's why Adam picked this particular victim isn’t it?

Asa knows what Adam is trying to do. As much as he wants the perfect bio-weapon, he also wants the perfect son. Every word, every action, all of it is carefully calculated in pursuit of one goal. To get Asa on his side. Without a doubt, Adam chose Dave for that purpose. And Asa would rather die than let Adam get away with it.

"Even if he's an asshole, he doesn't deserve this. Let him go.” Asa growls. For a moment, both Adam and Dave stare at him, wide-eyed. And though Asa doesn't meet Dave’s gaze, he could swear he sees a tear fall down his cheek.

The moment passes, and Adam shakes his head. It seems that some of the wind has been sapped from his sails.

"I think we'll just have to agree to disagree. For now, just sit back and enjoy the show, Asa. I'm doing this for you." He sighs, readying his syringe.

"No! You're doing this for you!" Asa snaps, but Adam is done listening to him.

Adam turns to his test subject, who looks up at him in utter terror. "Welp, looks like your time is up. If you survive this, I'll buy you a whiskey. My treat."

Without hesitation, Adam plunges the syringe into the man’s neck. Asa can only watch as the golden serum drains into his veins like a poison.

Immediately, the man’s body begins to convulse, limbs jerking and shaking in their restraints. He lets out a heart wrenching scream, and Asa screams too, begging Adam to stop. But it's too late.

Golden light pours out of the man's every orifice. As the serum trails through his nervous system, his scars fade, wrinkles smooth, even his teeth whiten. The years melt off him before Asa’s eyes. Seconds later, the glow fades and the room goes quiet. For a moment, Asa thinks it worked.

But then, the man’s body jerks and snaps at an unnatural angle. The screaming begins anew. He starts coughing up blood. Red blood. Too much blood.

The screaming stops. Dave convulses once more, before falling limp. Permanently, this time. Adam clicks his tongue.

"Well I can't say I'm surprised.”

Asa stares at the place where Dave used to be. He stares at the body, a corpse now, stuck somewhere halfway between young and old. A smooth, lineless face now marred with blood and vomit. Further down, his hands, permanently clenched, weathered and aged; the serum hadn't gotten to them yet. His eyes are wide open, yet unseeing. At some point during the transformation, his irises had turned gold.

Asa doesn't realize he's crying until he hears a wail fall from his throat. His breaths turn into hysterical sobs as the reality of the situation begins to set in. He can't even protest as he feels Adam card his fingers through his hair, hungry for any comfort he can get.

“Shhh… it's okay, you're fine. It's over. He's gone.” From the outside, Adam looks the part of the caring father, comforting his weeping son. But the implication of his words is clear. Stop crying. Now.

Asa wants to, he really does. But the corpse is staring at him, boring into his soul with dead, golden eyes, screaming that it's his fault. And it is, isn't it?

The poison was produced by his cells. It flows through his veins, keeps him alive, only to be siphoned out by a mad man who wants to save the world by destroying it. And the only reason Adam has access to it is because Asa was too stupid to evade him… and too weak to escape him.

Even now, he'd grow complacent, thinking that Adam was… not a friend, but someone to talk to. The only company he had. But now, staring at the face of Adam’s first victim, of Asa’s first victim, the illusion is broken. This isn't only about Asa’s freedom anymore.

Beside him, Adam is still whispering in his ear, saying whatever he thinks might stop Asa’s latest “meltdown.”

“Shhhh… Asa if you don't calm down, I’ll have to drug you.” He says, which brings Asa back to reality. He can't fall apart. Not here. Not now. Not while Adam is watching. He forces himself to take deep breaths.

“There we go.” Adam smirks. “I thought you’d never calm down.”

Asa tears his gaze away from the corpse, fearing that looking at it would only send him spiraling. Instead, he focuses on Adam’s face, looking down on him with a condescending smile.

“Look, I know it can be disappointing when an experiment fails, but it's alright. I'll just go back to the drawing board. These things happen.” He says, as if the death of a man is nothing compared to the unsatisfactory results. Asa would laugh if he weren't terrified.

Asa swallows, tasting his next words on his tongue.

“You… you killed him.”

“I did.” Adam replies.

“With my blood.”

“Uh-huh.”

Asa trembles, shrinking down in his seat. “You can't… you can't do this again. You can't…”

He trails off. Adam’s gaze is hard as stone, cold and unfeeling. Asa realizes, with a sinking fear, that there's nothing he can say to stop this. Adam's mind is made up. It has been for centuries.

His father sighs, putting a hand on his shoulder that Asa doesn't dare shrug off.

“I'm building a paradise, son. Unfortunately, sacrifices must be made.”

“How many!?” Asa snaps, tears threatening to fall once more.

“As many as it takes.”

He can picture it. The bodies. Half-aged, malformed, frightened agony frozen on their faces, floating in pools of gold and red blood. He can hear the screams of the survivors, the ones unlucky enough to be granted the curse of immortality. Where Adam sees a future paradise, Asa can only see one thing. Hell.

And he's the only one who can stop it from coming to pass.

“I won't let you…” He says, voice trembling.

Adam raises a brow. “Excuse me?”

Broken fingers. That’s what Asa got the last time he disobeyed. He can only wonder what Adam will do this time. But in the end, it doesn't matter.

“I won't let you do this. I won't let you use my blood to hurt people.”

Asa hopes his voice is stronger this time, less like a child’s and more like a hero’s. That’s what he needs to be right now. For the world’s sake… and his own.

Adam’s laugh echoes through the lab, ringing in Asa’s ears, bouncing off the walls and the cooling corpse behind him.

“Oh, Asa…�� He chuckles.

“How are you going to stop me?”

Tag list: @orphans-parent @micechomper

(if you would like to be tagged in future works, please let me know ^-^)

#holy fuck #i am speechless #breathless #fuuuuccckkk #fuck #so good #so beyond good #whump-bunny #whump-bunny writing #Asa’s light

23 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 19 days

Note

hello! i love "the stranger" so much and was wondering if you're planning to continue it?

The Stranger (4)

Read part one here

Continued from here

Hellooooo yes! Absolutely! The first half was in my drafts from febuwhump so this has been worked on in the last few months so wooooo! I forgot about this and the heretic series but now I’m like oh hon hon hon anyway, enjoy!!!!

*~*~*~*~*

“There,” said the Mayor to Hero as he walked into his office. “We did everything you asked, look, even the rug is gone to be dry cleaned. So do you wanna tell me why we had to go through this big song and dance for you, Princess?”

Hero blinked, staring out the Mayor’s window into the street below, back turned to the Mayor. “You didn’t do it for me,” they said, eyes fixing on the sky, blue cast in streaks of orange and reds.

“Then who did I do it for? Myself?” Mayor asked with a scoff. “Jesus fucking Christ. You heroes and your drama. I need a drink. You want one? Whiskey okay?”

“I’m still on the clock, sir.”

“Me too, which means we’re getting paid to drink. Isn’t that wonderful? I love politics.”

Hero rolled their eyes. “I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself,” Mayor said as he crossed his office to a small table in the corner where his decanter of whiskey sat waiting beside two crystal clean glasses. Mayor lifted the stopper with a soft clink as he poured two fingers of the honey coloured liquid. “So how did you know that showing the kid his shadowed brains was going to work?”

Hero turned to face Mayor slowly, and shrugged. “I hoped.”

Mayor let out a bark of laughter, brown eyes meeting Hero’s. “You hoped? Come on. You gotta do better than that, Hero.”

Hero pinched their lips together looking for a better answer to give to Mayor, but honestly? Hero just hoped it would be enough to stop the compulsion or whatever was done to the boy.

Mayor nodded his head to the two leather arm chairs to the right of the window and Hero obliged his request, settling into the one opposite Mayor.

“I think because he said he had to blow his brains out in front of you,” Hero continued, brown furrowing as their thoughts processed. “It’s not a clear objective. How would they know if their brains were splattered all over your wall if they couldn’t see it for themselves?”

Mayor nodded, swirling the liquid in his glass as Hero spoke. He was far better than the last Mayor the city had, Hero thought, observing him then. He wasn’t an idiot, he was shrewd and smart. He saw things from a different perspective but you didn’t have to spell everything out for him. He could put two and two together just fine.

“So you acted on instinct, then?”

“Yes sir.”

Mayor chuckled to himself, bringing the glass to his lips. “I should give you a medal,” he said before taking a sip.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” said Hero lightly. “Besides, that kid’s death wasn’t what the intended murderer wanted.”

Mayor’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No, I was thinking the same thing.”

“If they wanted to send you a message, or me for that matter,” said Hero, eyes darkening. “Then they could be more organised than I initially imagined.”

It was Mayor’s turn to study Hero’s face as they fell into a silence. After a beat Mayor said: “you think it has something to do with your missing Vigilante?”

“I’m hoping it doesn’t,” Hero replied.

“You and your hope.”

Hero shook their head. “Honestly Mayor, sometimes it’s all I got.”

“Well that’s your job, ain’t it? Be the symbol of hope, be an inspiration. You leave the realistic side of things in the city to me, Hero, and I’ll make sure you won’t be impeded while you hunt this fucking Villain down and make him pay.”

Hero’s eyes met Mayor’s which burned like hot coals, simmering with a dark rage. Hero swallowed and nodded.

“Yes sir,” Hero said and got to their feet. They were at the door, a hand on the handle when Mayor stopped them in their tracks.

“Oh, and Hero? Don’t let the suicide kid out of custody until you find this new Villain. It’s best if we let them presume he’s dead.”

“Yes sir.”

Hero left the Mayor’s office and stepped outside city hall with a feeling of dread curling around their stomach. Vigilante should have told them about the Mayor’s kid. They should have contacted Hero, so why— there was something scratching lightly at the back of Hero’s mind, infuriating and annoying. As if every time they tried to look into the one place they couldn’t, their mind shifted their attention away from it, onto something else.

Hero should contact them. Hero did just that on the way out of city hall. They typed a quick message to Vigilante: meet me tonight? Then pocketed their phone. If Vigilante was okay they would see it, and if they weren’t… well. Hero didn’t really want to think about that.

*~*~*~*~*

Vigilante was stuck in the house when Karma was gone. They didn’t know where Karma went, but they do know that Karma had commanded them not to leave.

“Don’t try and hurt yourself. Don’t kill yourself. Don’t harm yourself or the house in anyway. You are not allowed to put your shoes on, socks are fine. The rest of your time, well,” Karma said with a horrible smile. “You can do what you please otherwise.”

When Karma left, the first thing Vigilante tried to do was leave the house. They swung open the front door and tried to step through but found they couldn’t, as if an invisible barrier was surrounding the doorframe. Vigilante threw themselves against it, over and over and over again, waiting for it to slip and crack, maybe even wear it down. Even after Vigilante had tired themselves out the barrier remained.

Vigilante turned away with a huff, cursing Karma. Their eyes strayed to the window and Vigilante crossed the distance in seconds, unlatching it and shoving the window open. Vigilante stuck their hand out, but the same invisible barrier was there, preventing Vigilante from leaving.

“Fuck!”

They couldn’t leave. They couldn’t leave! Which meant that when Karma came home Vigilante would still be in his fucking house, with no fucking shoes on and no chance to run or flee, or get help.

They were powerless, completely and utterly powerless. Who the hell could even think to win against someone with Karma’s power? What couldn’t he do? The fire boy’s face crept its way into Vigilante’s mind and they wanted to scream.

They wished Hero was here, even if Vigilante had been avoiding them recently. Even Hero was powerless against Karma’s commands. That dead look in Hero’s eyes haunted them. If Vigilante hadn’t been interesting enough then Hero and Vigilante would be dead that night on the roof.

Wait… Hero.

Karma didn’t say Vigilante couldn’t contact anyone outside the house. They didn’t say anything about calling the Hero agency, or— or Hero. Vigilante ran to the door, more specifically the table beside the door and searched for post for Karma’s address.

Nothing.

Vigilante frowned. Okay. That was fine. They just needed to do a little exploring to find Karma’s secrets. Except Karma’s house was huge, like old money huge. More like an estate than a house, with expensive looking dark wooden floors and marble countertops. In front of Vigilante was exposed brickwork that was somehow still insulated to keep in the heat.

Vigilante remembered exposed brickwork from their childhood home, how cold it had been. The damp set in towards the end of Autumn in the rain and Vigilante would be wrapped in layers trying to keep warm as the draught chilled their blood. Yet here, in Karma’s fucking house of all places, exposed brickwork was nothing more than a decorative piece. A “rustic” display.

It made something jealous and violent flare Vigilante’s chest hot, and they turned away from it before they would try to damage the wall. They should take advantage of Karma being gone. Try and find out as much about the Villain as they could so that when they escaped they could tell Hero everything.

Vigilante’s stomach tied itself into a knot at the thought of Hero. Of all the Heroes that could have been in city hall why did it have to be Hero? Vigilante’s Hero. Vigilante should have stopped Karma before he ordered that fire boy to die… God, Vigilante didn’t even know his name and Hero had to see— witness that boy…

Vigilante swallowed and shook the thought from their head. No. They couldn’t think like that. They had to do what they could right now, which was search for any information on Karma. Everything else would have to wait.

The first order of business was to find an office of some sort, or a study, or a… something else that Karma would try and hide from Vigilante. Their best bet was working from top to bottom, and that was what found Vigilante in Karma’s attic. They stood at the top of the ladder, the musty scent of boxes and storage and insulation greeting them with an uncomfortable warmth.

Okay. Nothing there.

Room one complete.

Vigilante let the ladder up and searched the rooms on the top floor. Mostly bedrooms, except for the two bathrooms. Vigilante stood in the door of Karma’s room not really wanting to enter it. Karma… there was something wrong with him, something inhuman. Vigilante grew up in the dregs where the scum of society supposedly lived; crime rates? high. Poverty? high. Death rates? high. The place where monsters were made, or so the stories went.

For Vigilante, the dregs were home. The wrong side of the city is where they grew up, and they didn’t feel unsafe walking the streets because they’re the people Vigilante grew up with, went to school with, worked with.

But looking at Karma’s room in his big, fancy house and his many guest bedrooms and all his wealth— Vigilante couldn’t help but scoff.

The good people of the city were so afraid of the scruffy riff-raff of the dregs, that they didn’t even glance at their neighbours and see the malice that hid within their own neighbourhood.

Of course, the good part of town also made people like Hero, Vigilante had to remind themselves. They’re not all Karma’s… but the fact that he was from the good tracks, the nice part of the town versus the discrimination Vigilante faced when growing up.

The irony was laughable.

Something horrible curled in Vigilante’s gut that they tried and successfully in ignoring as they rifled through Karma’s chest of drawers. That maybe Hero and Karma knew each other once… maybe they went to the same school, walked by the same neighbourhood, knew someone who knew someone who knew each other.

Vigilante forced the thought to the back of their mind as they stormed out of Karma’s room, nothing of interest lying there and slamming his stupid door closed. They didn’t even stop to let themselves think, instead they kept moving. They just had to keep moving, keep moving forward.

It’s not like Vigilante knew everyone from the dregs anyways, so it was a ridiculous thought to begin with.

The only thing that pulled Vigilante from their thoughts was when they pressed down on a handle and found resistance. The handle didn’t budge. Vigilante’s eyes squared in on it. Jackpot.

Vigilante tried again to find the same result.

Okay. Great. They should check the other rooms before coming back to it, just to make sure.

Living room, dining room, kitchen, foyer, hall, pantry, toilet, utility room.

Back to the locked door. It was in the middle of the foyer, and the walls around it were thin, maybe a narrow room like a closet? Or a stairway… maybe a basement? If Vigilante put a hammer through the wall technically they would still be in the house. Or if they somehow broke the handle off the door?

That seemed like the better option. They needed something heavy. Vigilante found a trophy from some golf tournament because of course the bastard, or one of his fucking affluent family members, plays golf.

Vigilante slammed the trophy down on the handle but stopped an inch above. Their hand trembling like before as their arm locked and Vigilante cursed, and tried again.

“No! No! Come on! Just fucking—” they cried, bringing their hand up and slamming it down again and again. “You fucking— shit!”

Vigilante stepped back, panting as they glared down at the door and the statue in their hand. A sudden, angry impulse took over and they pivoted, throwing the statue down the hall and towards a window.

Or they would have.

If their hand wasn’t glued to the fucking thing— because Vigilante wasn’t allowed to harm themselves or the house in anyway.

Vigilante put the trophy back where it was and walked to the kitchen, turning the kettle on and letting out a sigh as they ran their hands through their hair. They needed a coffee and to calm down. They couldn’t do anything else. They could find out whatever was in that room was later.

While they had peace, Vigilante made a cup of coffee that smelled so good and sat down in Karma’s stupidly comfortable couch and turned on the TV. Hero’s face flashed on the screen, a picture of them as the news anchor spoke about the attack on city hall but it still broke Vigilante’s heart. The screen flashed to the Mayor’s address again and Vigilante switched the channel with a huff.

An episode of Big Bang theory later and Vigilante stiffened. They heard a car pulling into the driveway and then the sound of an engine switching off. Door closing. Vigilante could feel their pulse rising a little, but their breath was steady so they were thankful for that.

A key slide into the lock and clicked open, then footsteps and Karma was home. Vigilante didn’t turn to look at him, they just kept staring ahead, taking care not to flinch as Karma’s steps drew closer and closer until he was right behind them.

“You know, most dogs will greet their owner as they walk through the door,” Karma said with his stupid, smug drawl.

Vigilante scoffed. “I’m not a dog.”

“Oh yeah?” Karma asked, leaning down over the couch and placing his hand on Vigilante’s head. Vigilante to their credit didn’t flinch and they wanted to celebrate that fact, until Karma said: “bark.”

The noise escaped Vigilante’s mouth before they could comprehend the command and they felt the red blush crawl from their gut all the way up their neck and to their face, burning hot.

“See? Good doggie,” Karma mocked, petting Vigilante’s hair. Vigilante pushed his hand off of them with a huff, crossing their arms over their chest. “Oh relax, Vigilante. I’m just messing with you.”

Karma didn’t command them to relax, so Vigilante could remain as stressed as they liked. Karma walked around the couch and sat down on one of the seats, nodding at the TV. Vigilante didn’t dare take their eyes off Karma now.

“Big bang theory? Didn’t know you were a nerd, Achilles.”

“Nothing else on.”

“Hmm, and you didn’t wreck the house so that’s a plus,” Karma said looking around. His eyes stopped on Vigilante’s mug on the coffee table, and he leaned forward and picked it up. He slid a coaster underneath and put the mug back down. “Were you raised in a barn?”

Vigilante didn’t answer. They stubbornly stared at the TV, tracking Karma’s movements from the corner of their eye. “Did you kill anyone today?”

Karma laughed. “No,” he said, relaxing back into the couch cushions. “I told you I wouldn’t do that without you anymore, didn’t I?”

Vigilante’s head whipped to the side in anger, eyes blazing. “You can’t—”

Karma turned his head, a smirk on his face and his cold dead eyes froze Vigilante’s protest mid sentence. He tilted his head to the side, his smirk widening.

“What? I can’t do that? I can’t make you watch? I can’t do whatever I want?”

Vigilante’s lips curled back into a snarl. “You won’t get away with it, not after your stunt in city hall.”

“You forget that I wanted what happened in city hall, to happen, Vigilante, so it did. The only reason I don’t know your civilian identity is because I let you keep your mask. You think you’d be so brave without it, hmm?”

The threat struck a chord in Vigilante’s chest that wound up tight. They kept their glare on Karma though because they had nothing to retort.

“Oh, don’t believe me? Vigilante, take off—”

“Wait!” Vigilante cried, stretching a hand out as if that would stop Karma in his tracks. To their surprise it did. Karma stopped the command, but his eyes glittered with that knowing malice. Vigilante huffed out a breath and looked away.

“See? You really want to waste your breath with threats and insults and defiance, when you know you can’t win against me?”

I can’t win, Vigilante didn’t say, but Hero can.

“It’s cute, honestly. You have that can-do hero attitude. It’s why you’re sitting on my couch in the first place if you remember, for foiling my plans of putting the saving the mayor’s kid in the hospital—”

Vigilante’s eyes narrowed. “You were trying to kill him. Don’t give me that bullsh—!”

“— but,” Karma said pointedly, cutting off Vigilante and effectively shutting them up. His eyes glowered dangerously at them. Every place they roamed over Vigilante’s face felt as if there were maggots crawling beneath it. “It would serve you well to remember: not to piss me off.”

“Oh yeah? Or what?” Vigilante hissed. They were so sick of being afraid of this fucking bastard. They wanted so badly just once to wipe his stupid smirk off his face.

Karma reclined back further into the couch, pursing his lips. “You know, Vigilante, the thing about dogs is that if you give them too much freedom they forget their place. Dogs shouldn’t be allowed on the furniture.”

Vigilante stood. “Suits me better anyways.”

“Kneel.”

Vigilante blinked and their knees had already hit the floor. They raised their head and stared up into Karma’s eyes, moving to get to their feet again when Karma spoke.

“Ah-ah, stay.”

Vigilante swallowed the whine that wanted to crawl up their throat, settling all their energy into their glare instead.

“See? Much better, now you know your place.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“Oh, you don’t know nothing yet, Vigilante. In fact,” Karma said, eyes twinkling with cruelty as he leaned forward on the couch. “I have a little trip planned for us tonight.”

Vigilante’s heart pressed against their ribs, as if it had just turned to lead and threatened to break free from their chest.

An outing planned? That meant that… someone was going to die and Vigilante would have to sit by and watch again and not be able to do anything to stop Karma again.

“No—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Karma chided lightly, lifting his index finger and wagging it side to side as he tutted. “It’s a nice surprise. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“I don’t want—”

“Shut up,” Karma commanded as he reached his arm back to fiddle for something in his jacket pocket. Vigilante could only stare mutely as Karma pulled out Vigilante’s own phone. He tapped the screen and then turned it to face Vigilante but he didn’t even have to.

Vigilante already knew.

The realisation settling like stones in the sea the moment Vigilante saw their phone.

Hero.

Vigilante’s bottom lip trembled, but they fought it back, biting it to stop it from quivering as they read the short message.

Meet me tonight?

Just three words, three simple words. Meeting Hero was how Vigilante was here in the first place and now Karma was going to force them to do something awful, something… well, Vigilante didn’t even want to think about it.

“Aww, puppy? You’re not happy? Your friend wants a play date.”

Vigilante shook their head, it was the only thing they could do. Karma’s smile turned cruel as he forced his lips into a mocking pout. “No? Well, I guess I’ll just go see them alone then.”

Vigilante’s hand shot out grabbing Karma’s wrist before he could turn away and shooting him a look that Vigilante hoped meant business. Karma grinned down at Vigilante, a flash of his teeth sent shivers down Vigilante’s spine but they didn’t relent.

“No? I guess it’s a date then. I’ll let Hero know.”

23 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 21 days

Text

Tortured? I Was Tortured Once.

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 5

Content: disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, past captivity references, torture, threats, begging, blood

* * * * * * * *

Except from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[{When hero-keeping in the short term}... it's imperative to do everything in your power to keep your identity a secret; wear a mask to hide your face, cover as much of your body as possible to minimize the amount of prints, hair, or other forms of DNA/evidence you could leave behind at the scene. Use a voice modulator, and if you can help it, don’t even be in the same room with the hero when they are conscious. Most importantly, do not tell the hero any identifying details about yourself, your loved ones, or your past.

This is solely to protect you, the dastardly villain! Should the hero ever escape or decide to take revenge (not that a hero would ever dare, as long as you follow the instructions in this guide!), you want to make it nigh impossible to find you and hurt you, lest they turn you into their captured villain!]

* * * * * * * *

“Alright!” Deeby clapped his hands together, chipper than ever. “So, back when I was in the early days of my job, I sometimes made some… questionable choices. Dangerous ones. Not that what I do isn’t dangerous, I can handle the dangers of the job. I mean I fucked with the wrong people. Powerful people. Not in the sense of… y’know, what you have. Super-powers. I mean like they were like a crime lord or CEO, lotta money, lotta power… God, I was a fucking idiot. But hey, live and learn, right?”

He brushed at Stan’s cheek to ease his attention up and away from the floor, where it had been firmly located since the start of the monologue. Stan just leaned away slightly and tried not to let his burning eyes brim over into tears. “I’m still here, right? Still kicking, so I must have done something right.”

“Unfortunately…” Stan mumbled.

“Repite?”

“Nothing.”

Deeby tilted his head matter-of-factly. “Look, if you’re gonna be defiant, at least do it loud and proud, bud.” He ruffled Stan’s hair much too aggressively for Stan’s liking.

“Might actually respect you if you did that. Anyway, I’m sure you can figure out what basically happened after that; I got hired to rough up some asshole’s waste-of-space trust fund kid, gave him back with a couple bones broken and a couple extra bullet holes, but he was fine, then daddy got mad and managed to find me somehow, and here’s where it gets really interesting, bud. You wanna know what this chain’s for?”

He reached up and jangled the metal loops reaching down from the ceiling, and the chain shifted just enough to barely nudge into Stan and nearly send him careening backward again from fear.

“Uh…” He’d been doing his damndest to ignore the mercenary and retreat into himself, and was actually half succeeding right up until the required audience participation. The question just served to jarringly rip him back headfirst into the painful and hopeless despair of the present situation. “Not–... Not really…”

“Sucks to be you then, I guess. So I get knocked out and kidnapped, and I wake up in this, like, fucked up white-tiled torture room with like a drain in the floor and suspicious cabinets and all that, and then I'm strung up in the center of the room–...”

He grabbed Stan's arms and wrenched them up all the way above his head, so his wrists were together in Deeby's hands and held flush with the chain. Then he pulled up even more. Stan squeaked and briefly struggled to tug away, but quickly fell into pliable stiffness under the mercenary’s warning stare. So instead, he stretched as tall as he could, shoulders pressing the sides of the collar into his neck to try and relieve the tension. It didn't really work.

“...–Like this. So I was literally hanging from the ceiling from my wrists, feet barely even touching the ground, cuffs grinding into my wrists so bad they were already bleeding when I woke up, it hurt like shit. Hold your arms up there, would ya bud?”

Deeby let go of Stan's wrists and he immediately pulled them back into his sides. No way he was holding himself in a torture position. No way.

That was until the mercenary regrabbed his wrists and slammed them back up into the chain, leaning down slightly and getting way too close to Stan’s face. He could feel the body heat radiating off the man.

Stan leaned away as much as he physically could, which wasn’t much with his arms holding him excruciatingly erect.

“You’re really starting to get on my nerves,” Deeby growled, not a trace of his usual smile highlighting his fiery eyes. “Hold the position or I’ll lock your handcuffs up there just like they did to me and we can roleplay it exactly as it played out. You wanna do that instead?”

Stan managed a minuscule shake of the head. He was sure he’d be able to feel the bounty hunter’s breath on his face if it weren’t for the mask.

“Speak up, runt.”

“G-got it,” Stan breathed.

Deeby more tentatively let go of Stan's wrists this time, an unnecessary precaution, since Stan grasped the chain and held onto it for dear life so as not to anger him further.

This isn't so bad. He lied to himself, Deeby mercifully backing up to more than inches away from his face. At least there aren't any flashbacks now. Just have to hold the chain.

“Yeah, just like that. Perfect.”

He held up his fingers to create a fake camera frame around Stan. As if he knew exactly what picture he wanted to paint with Stan's body.

“So I woke up like that, hanging by the wrists, and of course I recognized the guy because I do my research, y'know? So I woke up and I already knew exactly what was happening. He tried to monologue at me, I bantered back, the guy was getting all pissy because I guess I was too smug or whatever. And… well, I forgot to say, when I woke up, they'd taken off my shirt–”

Deeby started to twiddle at the top button on Stan's button-down and, with an amount of force that surprised the both of them, Stan slapped his hand away and nearly toppled to the ground jumping backward.

“Don't touch my shirt!” he yelped. He tripped over the chain that anchored him to the corner sending spirals of agony out from his knee again before he stabilized himself and stared at the mercenary in abject terror.

Deeby stared back in disbelief. Then a flash of danger, a slight tilt of the chin, furrowing of the eyebrows, a tensing of the shoulders.

“You… really don't know when to quit. Do you?” he growled.

Stan took another small limp back. “I–”

“I'm not gonna take your shirt off.” Stan barely withheld the primal urge to fully turn around and run when the mercenary surged forward, grabbed Stan by the chain of the handcuffs, and yanked him forward. The southern twang rang so hopelessly clear through his wrathful voice. “I am many unsavory things, but a perv ain't fuckin’ one of 'em. Get back over here and stay before I kick your ass again.”

Then once again, Stan found himself with his arms pinned above his head and flush against the chain. Though this time, the mercenary clamped his hand over Stan's own, pressed them in so hard that Stan's fingers smushed painfully between the chain links. He didn’t even try to struggle. Just tried to shrink away from his towering presence and keep his eyes on the floor. Not let Deeby see the redness of his eyes that threatened tears.

“So, Stan, whaddya think they did to me next?” Deeby questioned, humor all but gone from his voice. “Strung up, shirt off, completely helpless and at their mercy. What would you do if you were a sick sonofabitch getting revenge on the person who tortured your son?”

Stan stared off to the side. “I… I don't…–”

“Oh come on, bud, you must have some sort of idea. Can't think of a single way you'd hurt–”

“No, no, no no nononoNO!” Stan mutter bordered on shouting as he started trying to yank his hands out of the mercenary’s grasp and only succeeded in yanking them hard enough that he was being held up solely and much more painfully by the cuffs themselves.

He couldn't take this anymore, was Deeby gonna torture him or not?

“I can't think of a single way I'd wanna torture someone! I'm not some– some freak sadist kidnapper-torturer like that guy! Or like you!!”

Deeby hummed lightly, unfazed by yet another one of Stan's outbursts, holding the cuffs firm. “You'll learn.”

Stan growled and yanked again, hard enough that when they didn't give it all, he actually lifted into the air slightly. He cried out from the bite of the metal digging into his wrists and scraping into the top layers of skin. A few drips of blood started to pool on the surface.

If Deeby noticed the scarlet now smeared across Stan's wrists, he didn't show it. He just pulled the chain of the cuffs up further. Stan's elbows locked straight up, pressing into the side of his head. He almost had to go up on his tiptoes.

“Besides,” the hunter continued nonchalantly. “What he did to me isn't what I would do to you, if I were to torture you.”

“IF!?” Stan groaned, trying another weak yank against the cuffs and sending small lightning bolts of pain down his arms. “What do you mean ‘if’?! What–… What do you call this?”

Deeby shrugged. “Foreplay?”

Stan froze dead in his tracks. He could physically feel all the blood leaving his head and rushing down straight to his feet. Foreplay? As in… There was… Ge wouldn't, right? There was no way.

“Y-you–...” He could barely even get words to form properly, barely able to suck in enough air to even speak. “You–... Wait, you–”

“Cálmate, Stan, Christ, it was a joke. Loosen up. Wanna know what I would do, though?”

“Ah…”

His head felt like it had just been dunked underwater. Or maybe that was the concussion coming back haunt this waking nightmare once more. Who’s to say? Why not both, make it a party.

And yet, Deeby still leaned down to whisper in Stan's ear; “There's a reason I put the leash chain on your good leg.”

Before Stan could react, Deeby leaned back on his heels and pulled the chain hanging from the ceiling with him, unbalancing Stan just enough that he had to try to take a step forward to readjust, except the fetter on his ankle caught on the very end of the leash. He couldn't get his good leg under himself for support. Which left–

Stan let out a yelp as his full weight fell onto his injured knee, shooting rivulets of pain all the way up to his spine. And couldn't shift his weight off of it with how to chain dragged him out, so when his knee immediately buckled to save himself from the screeching pain, he had the new problem of the cuffs knawing into his already bloody wrists, which made him scream again and claw desperately at the chain and the hand holding him up until he was death gripping the chain in a half pullup. His arms were already shaking from the strain of it.

“DEEBY!!” He choked out. “Deeby! Deeby please stop, stop, I can't AUAGH–” He slipped and spent agonizing moments flailing before he got another hold again, moments in which Deeby didn't let up at all, despite Stan's amiable requests.

“Deeby you said–!” he could barely squeak out a phrase through the tear-blurred vision and gasping breaths and the sheer amount of concentration it took to focus through the already horrible aches and agony the clench onto the chain and hold himself up and not make it worse. “You said no torture! You– you said–! Let go! You said you wouldn't–”

“I said I wouldn't hurt you if you did what I told you to.” Deeby retorted nonchalantly, pulling back on the chain just a bit more and wrenching Stan even more off balance. “Which you didn't.”

“Let go–!” Stan tugged as hard as he could. No give.

“Repeatedly.”

“I can't–” Stan's voice cracked. His hands were on fire clutching onto the cold metal links. “I can't hold this, I can't, I can't, please let go-o, it– it hurts! Please!”

“That's the point, bud, it's a stress position. It stresses you. You’re doing great, chiquito, taking it like a champ.”

Little droplets of blood left bright red tracks down Stan's forearms as whines squeaked out from behind his gritted teeth in place of the full blown screams he refused to let out.

“I hate you.”

“Tell you what, bud. If you can shut up for just 30 seconds, no whines, no cries, no begging or grand sweeping declarations of feelings, I'll let you down. Deal?”

“That’s–!”

“Take it or leave it. Deal?”

“Deal–! Deal!”

“Great, now mouth-shut.”

Stan immediately squeezed his lips together as violently as possible and focused every single fiber of his being into holding himself up, keeping off his bad knee and not letting the cuffs scrape his arms to bone while also not squeaking in pain or cursing Deeby out. That may have been the hardest part of the entire balancing act. His muscles burned with the strain. His hands started to slip on the chain from the sweat, so he gripped harder, hard enough that his hands started to go numb. That was fine. Less pain, right? Was thirty seconds over yet? Stan just had to pray that Deeby would keep his word this time and actually only do thirty seconds. God he would give anything to just go home. See his family again. Be out of this hell.

Then a new, perfunctory voice shattered his fragile concentration. He'd been so laser focused hadn't even noticed someone else enter the room.

“Oh, did I interrupt an intimate moment? I can come back in ten minutes if you two wanna finish up.”

Stan’s grip slipped on the chain and he cried out, catching himself after an agonizing centimeter fall and praying to anyone that would listen that Deeby wouldn’t get mad at him for it. Though Deeby didn't seem to care too much anymore as his own grip holding Stan's cuffs loosened and a small growl ementated from the bottom of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Then Stan was suddenly freed, cuffs no longer held in the iron grip of a bounty hunter, and he collapsed to the floor in a graceless heap.

* * * * * * * *

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid

23 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 21 days

Note

hi! i love your writing!!!! would you like to write about a hero who went undercover at the villain’s base and they fell in love? maybe they’re afraid that the villain will torture them for information after finding out their identity, but in reality the villain is still in love and possessive of them?

Hero's hands twitch at their sides, a sweat starting to bead on their face. They try swallowing, anxiety making their mouth dry. Villain has been quiet for several minutes now, brow pinched together.

Staring at the evidence that exposes Hero's betrayal, the proof of their undercover mission, their face is unreadable. Finally, after what seems an eternity, they speak.

"You've been working against me this whole time." Villain's voice is tight, like a cord ready to snap.

Hero's heart lurches, pulse drumming in their ears and fear making their knees wobble. What would come next, now that their secret was revealed? Torture? Imagining all the ways Villain could inflict pain upon them, making them spill their secrets made Hero shake even more. Death is certainty. Villain would not forgive this.

"I- this isn't- I wasn't..." Hero fails to find the right words, floundering now as they try and steady their voice.

Villain looks them directly on now, and Hero finds the pain in their face, the anger, to be more cutting than they ever imagined.

"Was the...was the way you looked at me fake too? The way you spoke with me, the way you'd let your touch, your gaze linger." Villain speaks with a fire in their voice now, eyes steel, "Was that all fake? Apart of your mission? To make me think you felt something for me."

Flushing hot at the accusation, Hero is quick to defend themselves, throwing their hands up as they try to reason.

"No! Of course not! That...that wasn't part of my mission." Hero speaks now with less fear, emboldened as they speak only the truth.

"I wasn't supposed to develop feelings...but I did." They find Villain's eyes watching them with an indiscernible emotion as they continue. "I won't lie and pretend I wasn't undercover, but how I felt about you wasn't fake."

Hero's cheeks feel warm, as they realize they're admitting their feelings now. To a villain who's likely to torture them any minute now, no less.

Stepping closer now, backing them up against the wall, Villain is silent for several moments. They reach up, grabbing Hero's wrists as they exam their face for any falsehoods.

"You truly have feelings towards me?" Villain finally asks. Hero nods mutely, not breaking eye contact. They feel their heart racing as Villain steps closer.

Villain pulls them by the wrists, reaching for their own belt and quickly binding their arms with a pair of cuffs. Hero has no time to react, and immediately feels their panic rising. Oh no, this must be where the torture starts. The roaring of their own heart is so loud in their ears they almost miss what Villain says next.

"You obviously can't be trusted around secret information anymore, or the weapons room, for that matter. I'll have to keep you in one of my rooms." Villain muses, as they pull Hero along now, not letting them drag their feet.

"...What?" They don't understand what they mean by this. Villain snorts, rolling their eyes.

"Well I'm not letting you go, obviously. Even if wasn't worried about you taking secret info back to the enemy side, I want to keep you here." Villain's voice is lighter now than from when they first discovered their betrayal.

Hero gulps, looking back up at them. "You're not going to torture me?" They ask hesitantly.

Villain barks out a laugh. It's a rough and warm sound, and it makes Hero feel even more weak.

"Of course not. I'm going to keep you here, I'll make sure you're comfortable, but I'll be damned if I'll let you leave me now."

"I don't understand...why?"

Villain pulls them closer by their bound wrists, their chests nearly pressed together now. Hero can feel their breath across their cheek, lips inches away.

"I'll let you in on another secret, my lovely little spy," Villain begins, voice barely above a whisper now. "I've come to love you, too."

#she’s spicy you’re honour #MMMMM #MMM MMMMM MMMM #chefs kiss #MWAH MWAH MWAH #not my writing

383 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 21 days

Text

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," A voice echoed through the hallway, its tone dripping with playfulness but a shiver rippled down Whumpee's spine as they pushed themself further against the corner of the cabinet.

"You can't hide forever, little one." Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut tight, as tight as they could. Their body shook as they hugged their knees closer to their chest.

Footsteps echoed through the hallway as they grew closer,

Thud, thud, thud, thud, ......

Silence.

Whumpee shot a hand over their mouth, desperate to keep in any sounds but it was no use. The door of the cabinet slowly creaked open and Whumpee shook with sobs. A warm hand cupped their cheek, turning their head to look at Whumper, "Oh little one," They hummed, their thumb gently brushing along Whumpee's cheekbone, "I could smell your fear from miles away."

#eek #hide and seek #love the cat and mouse #the tension #not my writing

611 notes · View notes

chaotic-orphan · 24 days

Text

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

57 notes · View notes