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surplus-of-sarcasm · 4 months

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31st Story

Part 2

TW: Captivity, implied past torture, blood mention, restraints, mistrust, starvation mention, defiant whumpee, corrupt system, knife

Heyyy! Long-time no see. I blame college 100% because it takes up all my time, seriously. Happy New Year tho 💙

Villain could tell himself he was already used to the cold, hard embrace of the dull rock of his cell, to the claustrophobia-inducing lack of windows, to the fact that the only times he ever got to see the light was when someone walked in to beat him senseless, a feat made incredibly easy with the help of the chains that shackled his wrists and ankles, not allowing for much movement.

He could pretend that being covered in blood and filth, dazed and starving, was nothing to him, that the maddening urge to find out what time it was wasn't gnawing at him torturously.

"In here, wishful thinking is all you are capable of," a sunken-faced, old prisoner had told him before he was thrown into his personal hellhole. He hadn't said anything, but he'd believed the old hag to be weak and hopeless, and thus so was her sentiment.

Right now, all he wondered was if he'd break even faster than that woman might have. The villain screwed his eyes shut, hoping it would stop the chain of thoughts poisoning his mind, but all that did was make him think clearer, every disturbing image he tried so desperately to expel growing clearer and more vivid by the moment.

It was bad enough handling the physical pain, where every time he so much as shifted his form slightly, the tormented muscles in his back would scream in protest. But the physical side was tolerable, compared to being left at the mercy of his mind; a cruel, sinister thing.

So consumed he was in his own reverie, he hadn't even noticed as the door to his cell was unlocked, at least not until the light skirting around the corner had him snapping his eyes open and sitting up.

"This doesn't look good on you," a silky, almost serpentine voice called out.

"Superhero?" he asked, despising the note of trepidation in his voice.

"No. Just her lacklustre twin," she scoffed.

"Vigilante," he deduced with a slight fall of his shoulders in relief. It's not that he believed Vigilante would treat him well, it's just that no one could rival Superhero in cruelty.

"Still ever the genius," she responded dryly.

"What do you want?" he asked, almost desperate. If she was here to torment him, he wanted her to get over with it. It was becoming progressively more difficult to bear the state in which he was in, the one chock-full of waiting and thinning patience, of hoping the pain would start so it could end, that this time would pass faster.

Except it never did.

"It's strange seeing someone normally so high and mighty like this," she attested, dodging his question.

The older version of him would have let out a frustrated snarl and cussed her out for annoying him, but now all he could do was bite his tongue and stare at her with his new resting face, broken and defeated.

"Well, I'm not here to hurt you," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

That was a response, albeit an indirect one. And of course, she wasn't here to hurt him. She was here to make sure he was comfortable, that he was enjoying his five-star stay in this resort in hell.

Sucks to have an army of enemies and not a single semblance of a friend.

He and Vigilante hadn't really had any direct bad blood, but he was a villain locked up in here, so by default, he was supposed to be her enemy, right? It didn't matter who walked in here or whether they knew him or not. They just loved to see him break, to see him, once so relentlessly powerful, reduced to less than nothing. Perhaps it brought them a sort of sick satisfaction, but he didn't know much about satisfaction anymore to judge.

"I'm going to get you out of here," she said casually, like promising him the impossible was some sort of small punishment, nothing to tear himself up about. Maybe she could rival her sister in cruelty.

Without warning, a hysterical laugh escaped his throat, only for him to bite his lip and stop abruptly, trying to clamp a hand over his mouth only for him to remember he was chained up.

Vigilante's face fell, and his own had silent tears streaming down it. He felt as though he couldn't breathe, as though bricks were raining down on his shoulders and crushing his bones into nothing. His whole being seemed to itch with dread.

"Villain?" Vigilante called out, looking a mixture of confused and horrified.

"Just get over with it! Torture me until the floor runs red with my blood, tell me how death is a mercy above vermin like myself, and tell me to take it with a smile. Hit me harder when I can't bring myself to do it. Hit me until I feel all the pain of death but never attain it. Remember my current words as defiance, as another crime I've committed. I think watching me be humbled to the nothing I truly am will entertain you as any show would," he spat, only for regret to colour his features just as fast.

"Damn it. Villain, I don't want to do. . .any of this to you," Vigilante started, careful, trying for a semblance of gentle, something she was never particularly good at. "Like I said, I'm going to get you out of here," she continued again, hoping the stern tone indicated she was serious and not somehow going to torture him.

She'd never particularly liked him, mainly because he'd always been ice-cold, calculated to a point he seemed inhuman at times, no emotion whatsoever showing up on his face, besides a cool smugness. And by virtue of all the terrible things he'd done, all the blood on his hands. And yet, he was far from the worst thing out there, and most definitely not the villain in her story.

"And let's pretend you're telling the truth, which is completely fine by me because any mercy I've ever had here has always been a pretence, a figment of my imagination, you know. What could you possibly gain from this?" He raised an eyebrow, bearing a small resemblance to his usual self. Well, at least there was a slight amount of fight left in him, even if he was clearly holding back tears now.

But the villain's question wasn't completely outlandish. Vigilante did want something from him, but it wasn't a favour he would ever come to hate. "I need your help. My sister may seem like the goddamn tooth fairy to those who don't know better, but we know what her regime is really doing. This isn't about fighting crime, it's about her insatiable addiction to power."

"And where do I belong here?" The villain's voice still held the same disbelieving tone, his shoulders managing to tense even further.

"You're one of the few people who challenged her, Villain. And as much as it pains me to say it, you're a good strategist," she explained, even though she knew she'd barely convinced him in the slightest.

"I can't be the only one fitting that description, but I can be the only one owing you a favour too," he answered. Even if he didn't look half as confident, half as untouchable as before, the criminal was still just as clever. But it also meant he wasn't believing her anytime soon. Still, he wasn't wrong. The villain may not have smelled like roses all the time, but he'd be loyal to make sure they were even; a man of his word.

"What's it gonna be, Villain? Come with me or stay here?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest, growing impatient.

Well, it didn't make sense for her to give him a choice if she was going to torture him, but sense no longer governed things in his mind, letting a fearful apprehension replace it, no matter how humiliating. The choice could easily be an illusion, another cruel joke in this comedy skit from the filthiest parts of hell.

But it could be a chance, and he was desperate. So desperate he'd risk feeling even further degraded when she laughed in his face and put him through whatever torment she'd have planned.

"Fine," he answered, looking up at her with trepidation in his eyes. He could already feel the regret tasting like salt on his tongue and the burn of acid at the back of his throat he recognised as shame.

So when the sound of his chains being unlocked rang in his ears, and the vigilante helped him up, the feeling of surprise was palpable.

"I just need to handcuff you while they can see us," she explained, noticing how slowly the villain nodded, mistrust still burning in his eyes.

She didn't like how weightless he seemed against her, barely able to walk. She hadn't fought him much, but she clearly remembered that while his frame was somewhat slender, the villain's build still used to be athletic. It was no surprise he'd deteriorated, but that didn't make his fate any less cruel.

"I'm moving him to the other facility," she announced, practically dragging the half-starved villain with her, the only response being curt nods from the guards.

They were lucky that no one here would dare question Superhero and by default, her sister, if they could even tell the difference between both.

And sure enough, there was an entry documented into the other facility, done with the help of a few handsomely paid workers. And while Superhero wouldn't buy into the lie for long, it would at least make sure she didn’t notice immediately that something was up.

✨️Break✨️

The drive to Vigilante's house was almost torturously long and reeking of the tension of two people who weren't used to each other. The villain ran his fingers over his wrists, now free of handcuffs, but they still hurt. All of him hurt, a constant, dull pain that he was almost used to, but that didn't mean he didn't miss the times where he could remember moments without aches all over his body.

That was only the least of it anyway.

"I think you'd want to clean up," the vigilante had suggested when they'd got to her house.

Instead of an off-hand "yeah" like he'd meant to, the first words that foolishly came tumbling out of his mouth were: "I can?"

This wasn't an option they gave him back there, and soon enough he'd stopped caring entirely.

"Oh," Vigilante had responded, giving him a solemn look. "I mean, yes, of course you can," she corrected hastily.

He nodded, quite literally shoving himself into the bathroom and swallowing down the awkward shame in his throat.

He'd grown so accustomed to pain that he'd barely even noticed the sting of the hot water on his open, practically fresh wounds, or how the shower water underneath him turned a dull pink. He was a lot more focused on how his sore muscles relaxed with the heat, how he seemed to get lighter with all the dirt off him, good sensations having become foreign to him in the time of his captivity.

He walked out to find a change of clothes (his clothes) on the bed in the room outside, catching his reflection in the mirror, bruises lining his cheekbones and jaw and heavy, dark circles underneath his eyes. The villain simply ignored the old memories of himself taking the time to style his hair and care for his skin, his mind hardwired for survival, looking around the room for anything he could use in case he had to defend himself.

Not that Vigilante was stupid enough for that.

Still, if she wished to hurt him, she could've done it faster, could've done it earlier. Maybe the villain wouldn't trust her blindly, but so far, he hated her less bitterly than he hated everyone else.

"How'd you get these?" he asked, walking out, looking down at the black zip-up hoodie and black sweats.

Vigilante shrugged. "From your place."

"You broke into my- whatever." It wasn't the strangest part about the situation now. "What are we supposed to do?"

"I think you need to rest," she suggested.

And she was entirely correct, given his exhaustion and how the shower had made him somewhat sleepy, so he nodded his head, walking into "his" room and waiting until she walked up to her room, waiting until he could walk out and check if she'd slept, and once he was sure, he walked into the kitchen, picking up a knife and bringing it to his room.

The villain knew it was scummy, but he wasn't about to risk being hurt again, and if the vigilante truly had good intentions, the knife would never be put to use. Still, the villain had managed to fall into a fitful sleep, still better than any night he spent curled up on a cold, hard floor.

Trust is never easy, especially for those who have been hurt one too many times. But people were not made to live forever encased in solitude, a safe option to the blind and foolish, but never a permanent solution. And while taking a risk in times of suffering might seem like a wretched fate, sometimes it is the lifeline you need to breathe again.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @ghostofnorth

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

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chaotic-orphan · 4 months

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Intoxicating Fear (VIII)

A visitor comes a-knocking

Dedicated to @xxgalgurlxx for their lovely comments and to everyone who comments before or enjoys this series! It got number one on the poll on my blog so really, thank you for reading <3 and Happy New Year!

Read part one here

Continued from this part here

*~*~*~*~*

Kit woke to a knock at his door. He ignored it, thinking it was just Ambrose come to fucking gloat about Kit being under his thumb or threatening to get Kit to murder all his friends.

You know, the normal stuff.

Kit only realised his mistake when Ambrose barged into his room, slightly ruffled as if he were worried.

“Kit? You in there?”

Hope bloomed like rot in Kit’s stomach at the sound of Superhero’s voice.

Superhero’s voice.

At Kit’s front door.

Kit glanced at Ambrose briefly before jumping out of bed and sprinting towards his bedroom door. Ambrose caught him around the waist, but Kit shoved him away and kept running. Kit cleared his bedroom door, adrenaline fuelling his every movement. The shortest path to the front door was through his couch, so Kit vaulted over it as he ran towards the door where Superhero stood on the other side waiting, his saviour.

If he could reach the door before Ambrose, he could be free.

Kit’s hand wrapped around the door handle before Ambrose’s chilling power flooded Kit, and he collapsed suddenly like a puppet who’s strings had been cut. Whatever Kit had done, he did it right. Kit’s body grew heavier than an anvil, but he kept his hand on the door handle to his apartment as he fell to the floor. The last thing Kit saw before his brain turned off was Superhero’s concerned eyes blinking down at Kit as he pushed the front door open and if he could’ve, Kit would have smiled.

Instead, the darkness swallowed him whole and Kit drifted into Ambrose’s forced abyss of sleep for the first time without fear.

*~*~*~*~*

When Kit woke up again, he was in his bed, head pounding with the thunderous headache that always came after Ambrose's power forced him to sleep. Kit opened his eyes but quickly shut them again, groaning at how bright the light was in the room.

“Kit,” Superhero said. Kit’s heart hammered in his chest at the sound of his voice. He was still here; Ambrose didn’t stop him. “Hey, Kit it’s me. You’re okay.”

“Is he awake?” Ambrose.

Kit jerked up but groaned again, his entire upper body aching with the effort. He didn’t even get two inches up before collapsing onto the bed again. Kit couldn’t even form the words to speak, to warn Superhero about Ambrose.

Someone settled down next to Kit, the bed dipping with the weight. Kit risked opening his eyes only to meet Ambrose’s dark eyes and too red lips smiling down at him. The face that haunted his dreams. Ambrose was holding a glass of water in his hand and reached a cold hand under Kit’s head and tipped it up until Kit’s lips met the edge of the glass.

“You are not going to tell Superhero anything,” Ambrose’s voice echoed in Kit’s mind. Kit tried to pull away, to protest and warn Superhero that Omen was right there in front of him, but his body wouldn’t respond. Refused to even twitch away. “You will tell Superhero that you’re sick, that we’re childhood friends, and I am here to help you recover.”

Kit felt the compulsion weigh him down, and tears sprung to his eyes at the helplessness of his situation.

Superhero was here.

Is here!

Right here. In Kit’s house, in his room!

Now was the only time that Kit could tell him, warn him, escape from Omen.

His one and only chance was sitting by Kit’s bedside, but he couldn’t do anything except exactly what Ambrose wanted him to do.

Ambrose pulled the glass away from Kit’s lips and put the back of his hand on Kit’s forehead. “Say thank you,” Ambrose told Kit, his command echoing in Kit’s head.

Kit tried… he really tried to say nothing. To swallow the words that were crawling up his throat, but he came out anyways, raspy and raw.

“Thank you,” Kit said with a slight cough.

Ambrose frowned. “You still have a slight temperature, Kit. Maybe we should take the blankets off.”

Kit protested with a meek, “no,” but Ambrose took them off anyways.

“It’s for your own good, Kit. I know you’re cold but if we don’t get your temperature down, you’ll be in trouble.”

Kit was trembling alright, but it wasn’t from some made up sickness that Ambrose said he had. Kit was trying to fight Ambrose’s compulsion with every fibre of his being, but he couldn’t do more than pull against it while Ambrose pushed him to obey.

“I’ll go get a wet cloth,” said Ambrose, standing from the bed and putting the glass on the table. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Kit watched Ambrose leave and waited until the door closed to turn his attention to Superhero. Superhero smiled warmly at Kit.

“Superhero…” Kit said, his voice crackling.

“I’m here, Kit. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“Doesn’t—” Kit heaved, rolling his heavy body over in the bed. “Doesn’t ma— matter. Ambrose—”

“Doesn’t matter?” Superhero asked, moving closer to Kit and pushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. “Of course it matters, Kit. I’m just sad that you didn’t tell me you were sick. I would have understood.”

“No,” Kit moaned, rolling out of the bed and onto the floor with a hard thud. “Ambrose—”

“I’m here,” Ambrose said from the doorway. Ambrose rushed in and handed the cloth to Superhero who placed it on Kit’s bedside locker. Ambrose went to Kit’s side, Superhero quickly joining them on the floor. “Kit, you can’t keep doing this.”

“What’s wrong?” Superhero asked, helping Ambrose get Kit back onto the bed.

“No,” Kit moaned. “No, no.”

“His fever has been coming and going the last two days. He starts speaking gibberish. Yesterday he said he was part fish,” Ambrose told Superhero with a laugh as he settled Kit in the middle of the bed. “There we go. Can you hand me the cloth?”

Superhero nodded, grabbing the cloth off the table and pressed it into Ambrose’s hand. Ambrose put it on Kit’s forehead, who groaned and protested and weakly grabbed Ambrose’s wrist trying to push him off.

Kit narrowed his eyes at Ambrose, chest heaving with the effort as he spat: “don’t— nngh… fucking touch me!”

Blue electricity sparked from Kit’s hand to Ambrose’s wrist. Ambrose quickly retracted his hand to his chest with a soft gasp. Superhero glanced at Kit then Ambrose with a half-smile.

“Does he keep doing that?” Superhero asked.

Ambrose narrowed his eyes at Kit slightly.

“No, that one’s new,” Ambrose said in a way that would seem perfectly innocent to an onlooker like Superhero, but Kit knew would mean a world of pain for him when Superhero left.

If Superhero left.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear Kit,” Ambrose cooed, voice hard and cold as it pierced Kit’s mind with a sudden pain. “Superhero will be leaving shortly and when he does, oh Kit, sweet Kit. I have been nice to you for far too long. I think you forget exactly what I can and will do to you.”

Kit glared at Ambrose through half lidded eyes, though he doubted it had the terrifying effect that Kit desired it to.

“No more using your powers, little Kit,” Ambrose ordered, the compulsion taking root almost instantly.

“I hate you,” Kit thought mutinously.

Ambrose smiled. “Oh, I know. Just be good for me now and I won’t punish you as hard as I intend to later.”

Kit reached for his power anyways and found a vacuous mass in his body that was locked down tight leaving Kit powerless and at Ambrose’s mercy again.

“Kit,” Superhero said. Kit blinked and glanced to his left to see Superhero’s sympathetic eyes. Kit had nearly forgotten he was here. Even if he was it didn’t matter. None of this mattered, not while Ambrose still has him under his thumb locked away from everything that made him… well, Kit.

Tears sprung to Kit’s eyes when he met Superhero’s, helpless and weak and impossible to hold back or control.

“Kit…” Superhero said softly, pressing a hand to Kit’s cheek and rubbing the first tear away as it fell. “It’s alright. I know everything must be confusing and wrong, but Ambrose and I we will stay by your side until you get better. Okay?”

Kit nodded weakly, more tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “Good,” said Superhero. “Now get some rest. Ambrose and I will be just outside if you need us.”

Superhero stood and slapped Ambrose on the back reassuringly.

“Yeah, what Superhero said,” Ambrose echoed. “Try and get some sleep. Call us if you need anything.”

Kit wanted to protest: to scream and cry and rush out of bed and punch Ambrose in the face and tell Superhero the truth, but his eyelids were already pulling down over his eyes growing heavy and Kit was far too weak to resist it. Soon the darkness settled over Kit's eyes and his limbs grew heavy, and he couldn't do anything but be whisked away.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

The Orphanage (plz lemme know if you want to be added or removed <;3) - @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whatwhumpcomments @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @princess-bubble-blossom @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations

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villainsandheroes · 9 months

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Overworked Heroes

I love a good overworked hero. So tired but still trying to keep that public eye image of themselves strong.

But, I don’t mean just tired.

I mean staying up till 4 AM only to wake up at 5 to start more paperwork or commute to their day job. Or setting that alarm for 30 minutes, just in desperate need of a nap, because they didn’t sleep at all, there just isn’t the time with all of the hero work they keep getting.

Heroes who are just living off of coffee and energy drinks and yet it ceases to help. Thief hands are constantly jittering from the boosts of caffeine and yet they’re still so tired.

Heroes that can’t even go to bed, only making it as far as the couch. Better yet, falling asleep at their desk or after driving home about to get out of the car and just passing out until they’re waking up to phone notifications from the hero agency.

Heroes who desperately need sleep. And it’s not even one particular villain’s fault. If anything it’s the government and their poor treatment of heroes.

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relicofkorax · 1 month

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in my world sun doesn't outright kill vampires instead it's a slow burn. Photosensitivity that turns to blindness, peeling, blistering, splitting skin to third degree burns over time. So as part of an interrogation/punishment a vampire character was chained up in a cage in the desert sun and heat until he came clean

#whump #vampire whumpee #sanguine universe #whump prompt #drinking blood actually heals them though and they can regenerate most parts of their bodies aside from the heart #brain.. kinda but they usually come back crazy and corrupted

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whumpwillow · 2 years

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Whumpees who choose the corruption arc. Not because they’re evil or desire violence, but because they believe its protecting them & their loved ones from something worse than themselves.

#corruption arc #whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump tropes #whumpee #whump scenario #whump ideas

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automeris-io-moth · 1 year

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Tis, I the weirdly obsessive fanatic of your blog. Yes, I have slipped into your asks. No, you cannot get rid of me, I will forever be a piece of gum stuck to your shoe.

Anyway with that being said, (I dont know if you are open to part two requests but if you are) may I request a part two of “One to go”? I know you’ve posted it very recently but I’m a selfish, greedy fool who is in desperate need of your writing.

Sincerely, the weirdly obsessive fanatic.

(Seriously though, if I’m getting annoying feel free to spray me with a pesticide.)

- 🤎

One to go pt.2

Part one

The room smelled of ash and wood, warm, orange light illuminated the room, flickering shadows on the walls. The walls were painted in an ashy kind of brown, as in their father’s old studio back at the hills, tainted in a light yellow undertone. Then, they concluded, it could not be the Hero’s base Civilian last remembered being, they wouldn’t smoke and leave ash roaming around for long enough to taint inside of their building, the press would talk.

Civilian was finding themselves counting aimlessly the cracks and lumps up in the ceiling looking to dissipate the fuzziness they still felt, the usual sensation of being barely woken up, known and common, still, that time, it felt heavier, harder to break off of.

Something was off, many things. Their head was heavy, and an odd feeling settled deep inside their stomach, they could identify the reason for neither, swallowing harshly to soothe the dryness on their throat, and trying with that to ground themselves a little better.

Warm fingers settled over their freezing skin, holding their right arm carefully, thumb caressing over her skin steadily, almost mechanically.

Until it stopped.

“You’re awake,” a voice said, a voice they remembered having heard from somewhere, even when the where was still quite blurry “I’m glad, how are you…?”

It was nausea, they came to find the unsettledness in their stomach, as they sat up straight, throwing their head over the side of the bed and emptying their stomach on the dark wooden floor.

…On the dark wooden floors.

There was no such thing in their home not in the base of the friend they had so stupidly go to visit, it wasn't worth it, everyone said, with blood and ash constantly staining the carpets and marble, fancy, expensive wood was simply a bad idea, harder to clean, easier to stain.

They sat up back straight after thinking themselves finished, holding their arms close with their hands, aiming to prevent the shivering from both the morning coldness and the fear building in their back and their arms and their legs.

“You’re all right, Civilian,” Supervillian said, voice calm for such a situation “oh dear, you certainly can’t handle sedatives very well, I’ll write it down.”

“Se…sedatives?” their voice trembled.

The other stood, gracefully reaching for a glass on the nightstand, handing it to the Civilian, who watched it closely yet never really took it.

“None of that now, you need to drink something, you’ve been out for two days and a night,” they said, pushing further against the other’s hands, Civilian shook their head, pushing it right back at them.

Supervillian sighed, gulping down a drink from the glass, then offering it back again.

“It was not me who drugged you.”

After being offered it yet again, Civilian grabbed it quickly, drinking it down to wash the taste left in their mouth. They took a deep breath, and stared back at the criminal sitting so casually before them.

No one said anything for a minute.

“It wasn’t Hero.”

“Were they not?”

“Of course they were not!” of course, they repeated in their head, trying to remember the events of the night prior.

“You don’t remember, do you?” the criminal asked, brow lifted and smile amused. “You were laying on the secondary living room when I reached the place, they kept the fire on, so very considerate, smoke gathering around a very closed room with a very much locked door.”

Civilian laid back, nausea threatening to return. They stayed focused or so they tried, in the other’s words.

“You did say some very interesting things, probably was the fever more than the sedative speaking.”

“What did I say?” Civilian asked, heart racing at the thought of saying something they shouldn’t have with such a character listening.

“You talked about Hero quite a bit, how excited you were for them to return, you didn’t quite finish telling them about your discovery, the DNA fragment which predisposes, after a certain activation through epigenetic changes, the appearance of powers, if I remember correctly.”

“I don’t…I shouldn’t.”

“I’m guessing they weren’t a fan of your discovery, circumstances given.”

But of course there was an explanation, Civilian thought, an event of great relevance between them telling Hero about their investigation, being locked in a room full of smoke, and Supervillian getting to them. They were not even sure if what the criminal said was true or a very elaborated story to make them hesitate andescape.

They wouldn’t, of course, they had to leave, they’d already talked enough.

“I’d love to have that head of yours on my side.”

Civilian threw up once more.

***

Supervillain stared at the security cameras in their office.

First escape attempt, three hours and forty-five minutes after leaving them to sleep.

They had to go catch their new official personal scientist.

Part three

Part four

Masterlist

I am, in fact, open to requests for second parts, even more so for one that I was really excited about doing.

It feels a bit strange that people are really liking what I write, I'm quite happy about it.

Thank you very much for the request :) I hope it lives to the expectation, maybe I will continue it to a third part with a bit more Supervillain-Civilian closeness

By the way, rereading some pieces I've seen that I have some typos and grammatical mistakes, I've been correcting them as I go, sorry :(

That's all, bye :)

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whumpshaped · 1 year

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Chapter 4: Emergency

Silence Masterlist

trigger warnings: institutionalised/normalised pet whump, it/its used as the default for pets, environmental whump, unwanted rescue, noncon undressing (to treat potential hypothermia), collar assumed to have been taken away forever, sick whumpee, morally dubious caretaker, past trauma, corruption

Rayan didn't bring up the doctor again, or the offer for Sil to join him in his house. Instead he brought it little pieces of the much dreaded inside, sweaters, blankets, warm drinks and soup, trying to coax it further out of its shell. He spent their limited time together talking to it, asking how it was feeling, in Sil’s words, ‘pretending it was a person’. At this point, Rayan was pretty certain that its owner was just an all around horrible person. In what world were pets undeserving of a few words of comfort? Well… in Sil’s world, apparently.

It had been easy to forget how cold it was really getting while bundled up in warm coats himself, thinking maybe slow and steady was eventually going to win the race. It had been easy to forget that time was very much of the essence, and one day, he woke up to white skies and snow-covered rooftops.

Rayan didn’t immediately register the implications of that. Once again, he was cosy under the blankets, with soft pyjamas and fuzzy socks on his feet. He was still stretching and rolling this way and that when suddenly, something clicked in his head. Sil.

He had never put on clothes quicker than he did that morning. He ran outside with his coat half open, racing to the dumpster that was now all white and icy - and behind it, there it was. Poor, shivering Sil, curled up into the tightest ball of misery and borrowed sweaters. It had made itself a little nest with all the fabric Rayan had previously brought it, but it did very little to keep out the winter chill.

“Oh, Sil…” He swallowed and looked around, cursing himself for being so careless. He should’ve been looking at the weather forecast religiously. He should’ve been more stern! He should’ve just brought Sil inside when it had begun to get so cold, instead of waiting around to gain its trust so fully. No, he was stupider than that - he was trying to wait until it asked to be let inside. Sil was never going to ask. He’d thought he was giving it space, but he was doing nothing but letting it turn into a betrayal-flavoured popsicle.

He scooped up the shivering thing into his arms carefully, his heart breaking further when Sil didn’t even have the energy to push him away. It groaned quietly, murmuring something that was most likely a protest, but other than that, it seemed to cling more than it was trying to get away.

Rayan walked all the way back to his home and set it down on the couch, biting his lip as he thought back to his first-aid classes and the fact that he was going to have to undress Sil. He had tried his best to respect its boundaries, but this just wasn’t the time to agonise over that. Maybe Sil would hate his guts forever, but god, he just wanted to make sure it would be around to do that.

He carefully removed all of its wet clothes, piling them on the floor. Upon reaching the collar, he hesitated. Sil had always been fiercely protective over it. He didn’t get it - he thought its owner was a bad person, someone deserving of their pet running away from them, but seeing Sil be so adamant on keeping it on, he didn’t know anymore. He’d tried to understand, but his questions only seemed to annoy the pet.

“You wanna take it away?”

“No, that’s not-”

“So stop asking. It’s none of your business whether I keep it on.”

He grabbed a clean towel and gently patted Sil down, then left the fluffy thing on top of it while he went to fetch some dry clothes. It felt strange to have a barely conscious pet on his couch, dressed in his own sweater and pants, but he couldn’t afford to just stand there and dissect the feeling. He ran back to the bedroom for extra blankets and draped those over it as well, just to be a hundred percent sure it wasn’t going to wake up to any sort of cold. Only then did he slip out the front door to retrieve the rest of the blankets from the snow, the ones he couldn’t immediately pick up along with Sil.

He considered calling emergency services. In truth, he barely had any idea what he was doing, only relying on something he’d learned in tenth grade along with his driver’s ed course. But he knew more about first-aid than Sil’s predicament. What if he was dooming it by calling them? Because honestly, nothing about this entire thing was adding up in his head.

First of all, how did the PPA not pick up on the abuse Sil had so clearly gone through? There were annual welfare checks for all the pets in Lezune, around the entire damn country, specifically to ensure that cases like this were prevented. But even if prevention failed, the PPA were supposed to pick up on bad situations and remove the pet immediately, revoke its owner’s licence, and make it as right as they possibly could. There was a chance that someone had inflicted all of these injuries upon the poor thing in less than the span of a year, before the first check-up was due, and Rayan actually hoped that was the case.

Because the other possibility was bribery. That was his first thought on the day that he’d met Sil, and while he’d tried to be understanding and go through the information he had with a clear head, he just kept coming back to the same conclusion. A regular owner would’ve long been jailed for severe neglect and abuse, but some people just had a way with… words. He supposed the money did most of the talking.

That would also explain why Sil hadn’t gone to the authorities to be checked into a shelter. Its chip would’ve been read, and its owner would’ve likely figured out a way to get it right back to the same abusive home it had escaped from, rendering all of its efforts useless.

Sil let out a pained moan, and Rayan was immediately by its side, kneeling next to the couch and waiting for any sort of request from the pet. “Sil? Uh, try not to freak out, okay? I brought you inside because of the cold, you’re in my living room. Do you need anything? A warm drink? Soup?”

“Where’s my collar…” it mumbled.

“Right next to us. Your clothes are here too. I’m gonna wash everything for you, okay?”

“No!” its eyes snapped open fully, and it turned to Rayan with the most panicked expression he’d ever seen. “No, n-no, please, I need it, please, don’t touch my clothes… please give back my collar, please…”

“Hey, hey, calm down-”

“I need it, it’s all I have, please, give it back!” Sil tried to push itself up, immediately failing with the weight of all those blankets on top of it. Rayan gently pushed it back down onto the couch, hushing it.

“I’ll give it back. I’ll give it back right now, okay? I’ll put it right next to you, but please, don’t put it back on. It’s all wet and dirty.”

“Just give it back,” it repeated brokenly, and Rayan quickly snatched it up from the floor and laid it right next to its face. Sil seemed to calm down considerably at that, scooting over so it could press its cheek against the leather. It closed its eyes again, breathing a sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry I took it without asking,” Rayan said softly as he sat back down on the floor. “I was just trying to get all the wet stuff off of you, so you wouldn’t get sick.”

“Please don’t take my clothes…” It looked at Rayan pleadingly, and he just didn’t have the heart to say no. He could’ve - he easily could’ve. Sil was defenceless and weak, it couldn’t even get up from the couch without assistance. He could’ve taken those clothes and ripped them apart right in front of it if he wanted to. He pushed all the horrible, intrusive thoughts away, almost tearing up at the fact that its previous owner might’ve done quite similar things to it.

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

Sil nodded in response, wincing as it tried to turn over and find a more comfortable position. Seeing that, a theory began to form in Rayan’s head as to why a runaway pet would just stay in one spot for weeks, aside from the free food. The constant walking and running it must’ve had to do was likely taking a toll on its battered body. That was probably why it had decided to put all its eggs in one Rayan-shaped basket… it didn’t have a choice anymore. Not with winter approaching.

He stayed right there until Sil drifted off, wondering how any pet could be so extremely loyal to an abusive owner. It was clearly so attached, Rayan couldn’t even imagine the emotional turmoil it must’ve caused it to run off. It must’ve been a life or death situation to push it over the edge. And for someone to take advantage of that devotion and love, that trust… He shook his head and got up, grabbing Sil’s clothes and bringing them to the closest possible radiator. Maybe they’d even fully dry by the time the pet woke up, and he could just place them back on the floor where they were without it noticing a single thing.

He tried to shake out the individual pieces as gently as he could so the sound wouldn’t wake Sil, but when he got to the pants, something fell out. Thankfully it landed on the carpet, so even though it seemed like a piece of metal, the noise was barely audible. He put the worn pair of slacks on the radiator and picked up the thing, realising with glee that it was a name tag. That was perfect! He could track who the owner was, he just had to read the-

Rayan deflated when he turned it around and saw that the engraving was too scratched up and faded to make out anything. He could see some digits of the facility number, and then a capital B… maybe that was supposed to be Sil’s name, then? It seemed too short to be its owner’s name. Plus, there was another name right under it, something that resembled his own much more closely. And lastly, maybe a phone number? He couldn’t even see the area code.

He sighed and put the trinket on top of the pants, so Sil could find it later; then he thought better of it and slipped it back into the pocket. He had the feeling Sil wouldn’t appreciate the fact that he’d tried to read it.

But didn’t it say that its owner refused to give it a name? So what was up with that pet name-looking row? Rayan walked back to the couch and sat down on the floor, pulling out his phone and looking up some of the biggest national news outlets, as well as some regional ones. Maybe someone had lost a pet recently. And maybe it was someone whose name fit perfectly into the blanks on that name tag.

taglist: @whumpsday @whump-queen @whump-blog @alexkolax @ha-ha-one @hidden-dreamland @looptheloup @batfacedliar-yetagain @oddsconvert @pinkraindropsfell @project-xiii

#silence #whump #whump writing #pet whump #environmental whump #dehumanisation #past trauma #morally dubious caretaker #unwanted rescue #noncon undressing #overstepping of boundaries #sick whumpee #corruption mention

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mylittlewumperland · 1 year

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When the villain gets captured by the hero, but then the villain realizes that the hero is like actually crazy-

Villain: -

" you're gonna do what now!? "

" wait! Sto-- " ( muffled noises )

" W-we can talk about this- l-like civilized people r-right?.. "

" WAIT I DIDN'T MEAN IT! "

" you're insane. "

( lots of defiant little murderous glares )

( sobs ) - " you're no HERO! "

" once I get outta here- we'll see who the people really love- "

( bloody noses )

( bloody lips )

" This isn't you!! "

" NO! "

( the classic. " I'ma kill you when I get outta here ".

Hero: -

" no one's coming for you. "

" how pathetic "

" can't even defend yourself. "

" a villain doesn't deserve freedom "

( little snarky comments )

( touchy feely )

" oh villain " - ( holds their chin up ) - " I'm just getting started "

" no need to struggle "

" where's that FIRE in your eyes, the MURDEROUS intent?! "

" I'm gonna put you through the hell you once despised. "

( the mocking laughs )

( the hero misleading the people )

( hero gaslighting villain's family )

" well of course- I'm just-- testing your limits- "

#whump community #whumpblr #Whump #whump writing #whump prompts #Whumper #hero x supervillain #hero x villain #Corrupt hero #whump tropes #whump scenario #whump prompt #whumpee

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seetheothersideofparadise · 1 year

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Hero Whumpers are so GOOD. There’s so many different flavors.

Hero Whumper who sees beating up Villains as their job and doesn’t see any reason to hold back. They’re the scum of the earth to them— maybe not even people.

Hero Whumper who uses their status as an excuse for the things they do. They’re a Hero, who is anyone to question what they do? They save the city day in and day out, they should be above the law. Hell, maybe they even see themselves as god-like.

Hero Whumper who is just doing as they are told. Capture the Villain, get information out of them at any cost— They’re not cruel out of malice, only necessity. Maybe they feel bad. Maybe they make sure to patch them up afterwards. But if their superiors tell them to do one thing, they do it, no questions asked. It’s how they were trained, after all.

Hero Whumper who genuinely believes they’re doing the right thing even if they’re not. The road to hell is paved with good intentions— it’s just for the city. Anything for the public. This is necessary.

Hero Whumper who doesn’t hold back even with other Heroes. Maybe they take out those who rank higher than them. Maybe they push around the newbies so they know their place. Maybe they just see themselves as superior— or maybe alternatively they feel inferior and they need to take it out on someone who’s ‘Better’ than them in some way to get rid of the feeling. Maybe they’re just making sure everyone follows their rule, or trains them to be better and to their standards. Maybe they target ‘Villain Sympathizers’ specifically.

Just. So many things you could do, and that's not even bringing into account using their powers as tools for whump.

#hero whumper #whump prompt #corrupt superhero #sadistic whumper #reluctant whumper #villain whumpee #hero whumpee #whump ideas #just. so many different things you can do

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whumpasaurus101 · 1 year

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no thoughts, just brain thinking of scooping up mini whumpee after their punishment, feeling their body practically jump with each gasp between cries.

Their body quivers and trembles as I tell them that it's okay now.

and...and maybe if i feel extra mean, i squeeze them in my hand with just a liiiiiiitle too much pressure, hearing the hitch in their breath, followed by a wheezed whimper

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m1ch34l-lll · 1 year

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Whump ideas !! bc i love whump sm <33

whumpee doesnt want to do something so whumper demands them to listen to them (whether through hypnosis, drugged whumpee, magic, or just downright threatening) the whumpee, tears threatening to fall from their eyes has no choice but to look at their tormenter, pleading (silently or loudly) for the whumper to stop, being completely helpless

whumpee is drugged and becomes extremely dopey and starts being clingy and babbles about how much they love their whumper

+ bonus points if they are hallucinating the whumper as someone else

alternatively, its the caretaker who gets loved on, getting more and more concerned for their whumpee as time passes

whumpee's drink gets spiked by their whumper (who had hurt them previously) and whumpee stumbles around as whumper follows, eventually whumpee falls right onto whumper and their eyes go wide as whumper shushes whumpee and they pass out

whumpee gets in a fight with caretaker, who in their anger locks the whumpee outside (its raining) and after calming down has to take care of and apologise to a shivering and whimpering whumpee

+ bonus points if the whumpee still doesnt trust caretaker and tries fighting back/starts flinching

+ bonus bonus points if caretaker slips them some sedatives and watches as whumpee's limbs get weaker and weaker

whumper locks whumpee into a janitor's closet with the lights taped off as a "prank" and in their fear whumpee knocks over different cleaning supplies, making them slowly suffocate in the cramped space

whumpee gets progressively paranoid that whumper is going to come back and when they do, whumpee is strangely relieved and starts slipping into whatever mindset whumper put them in

+ bonus if caretaker manages to free whumpee before anything really happens but whumpee has to redo months of therapy and still sometimes forgets theyre not with whumper anymore

happy writing !! and tag me if you made something !

#whump writing #whump ideas #whump inspiration #whump inspo #whumper #whumpee #caretaker #drugging whump #spiked drinks #fighting #suffocating #mind corruption

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chaotic-orphan · 1 month

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Intoxicating Fear (Xiii)

Family Time

Continued from // Masterpost

*~*~*~*~*

Kit’s palms were sweating as he walked into the hospital, stopping at the reception desk and smiling at the receptionist, Heather. She smiled with her painted red lips when she saw Kit. It shouldn’t have made him nauseous, Heather always had red lipstick on and it suited her. She was very pretty with her blonde hair and big blue eyes and red lips, but it just reminded him now of Ambrose.

“Hey Kit, you goin’ up to your old man?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay.”

“Of course, doll. Go right ahead.”

Kit thanked her and walked on to the stairs. He needed the stairs to give him the time to gather his thoughts. What was he going to say? How was he going talk to him after knowing exactly what Ambrose was like? When he knew exactly what Omen was capable of… and Kit was getting off light.

His mind was still somewhat in tact. How was he supposed to look at him, the man that took Kit into his house and raised him, and know that he had been spared?

The guilt bloomed like tar in his gut; pitch black, oozing and heavy. Fuck, his hands were shaking. What if his powers flared up when he was in there? He couldn’t control his red lightning that Ambrose kept bringing out in him… and it only happened when he was… well, angry, but —

Fuck.

Kit paused on the final step to Mentor’s floor. How much of himself would he see in Mentor now? How much suffering? Would he recognise the commands that Ambrose plagued his mind with?

It didn’t matter.

That was the thought that forced him up the final step and down the hallway to the psych ward. It didn’t matter what he thought or what he would see or face, because it was Mentor. If the roles were reversed, Kit knows that Mentor would be in here to see him— every single day, not every week.

The power-proofed psych ward was on the basement floor so if patients wanted to jump out of windows they could do it with minimal damage to themselves or others.

Kit hated walking up to the doors and pressing the button to be buzzed in. Hated how he knew that even if somehow Mentor got better miraculously, he wouldn’t be able to get out himself and come home.

Kit hadn’t been to Mentor’s house since the docks either, he should probably pay it a visit, put on the heat. The thoughts of the empty house getting damp and lonely… well, Kit just knew that mentor wouldn’t want that.

The door buzzed and Kit pushed it open. He walked down the hall, took a right at the nurses station and then stopped at the last door on the left. It was opened, so was his window. Mentor sat in his armchair staring at the birds as they sang a happy tune.

Kit paused at the door, just watching Mentor as he hummed softly back to the birds. He looked peaceful, wearing his favourite maroon sweater that Kit had gotten him one Christmas and his blue and red chequered pyjama bottoms.

Kit swallowed and stepped into the room, but where before Mentor would have noticed him lingering in the doorway, he didn’t even turn his head as Kit walked into the room and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Mentor,” said Kit softly. The corner of Mentor’s lips quipped up into a small smile at Kit’s voice, and Kit wanted to cry. He caught him on one of his rare good days. “How are you doing?”

“The birds are singing, Kit,” Mentor replied, his gaze dreamy. “The sun is shining. You’re here. I’m somewhat lucid.”

He turned his head to Kit, his warm blue eyes smiling. “I think I’m doing pretty great.”

Kit couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t a conscious thought, but he had crossed the short distance between the bed and Mentor’s chair to throw his arms around his— his family. He wanted so badly to tell him everything that had happened. Why he hasn’t visited in the last three months. Explain everything, tell him he knew what Mentor was going through because he was going through it too.

He settled for Mentor’s arms wrapping around him in their strong warm embrace, not at all cold like Ambrose.

“Hey kiddo, it’s okay.”

“I just…” the words choked on the way out, so Kit just squeezed Mentor tighter. “I miss you so much.”

“It’s alright. You’re here now, it’s all that matters isn’t it? Right now. We don’t have long before some nurse will give out to me for having visitors eh?” Kit laughed despite himself and pulled away from Mentor, nodding. Mentor didn’t let Kit’s arm go, he gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. “So we need to catch up on everything important, right?”

Kit nodded, his heart overwhelmed with joy. “Yeah.”

“Go on, sit down,” said Mentor, gesturing to the bed and Kit obeyed.

Mentor leaned forward and clasped his hands together, dropping them between his knees and fixing his features into a more sombre expression. Kit had the sudden feeling that Mentor somehow knew about Ambrose and his whole tragic ordeal, but then something glimmered in his eyes — an old familiar mischief that Superhero said Kit inherited from Mentor.

“Who’s top of the premier league? What have I missed? What about the rugby, and your car guys— what’re they called?”

“Formula one?” Kit asked with a startled laugh. He forgot he could be happy, but Kit wasn’t thinking about anything other than how good he felt.

“Yeah! Formula one, Ferrari and all them. I need all the updates because they only have the shit channels in here, and none of them are sports.”

Kit laughed again before he descended into a recap of all the sports developments he could think of recently. Well, almost recently if he discounted the last three month gap in his knowledge.

From sports they went onto movies, from movies they talked about the house and Kit’s apartment and then Mentor asked: “and how about work? Are you still in the Hero business?”

Kit could feel his smile fade at the question. That was the question of the hour was the it? Was he still a Hero? Could he even be considered one anymore?

He ignored the quiet voice in his head that asked: did he even want to be one anymore?

Instead Kit skirted around the issue. He told Mentor that Superhero had taken over as the new Superhero, that Kit worked closely with him. “Oh yeah. I always liked Superhero. He’s a nice guy, good moral compass.”

Kit told him that they were still hunting down Omen and Mentor’s eyes narrowed into points as sharp as daggers. “No.”

Kit blinked. “What?”

“No,” Mentor repeated. He got out of his chair and he walked towards Kit, grabbing both of Kit’s hands and squeezing them before kneeling in front of Kit. Kit stared down, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Kit promise me! Promise me you won’t go near that man.”

“Mento—”

“Kit!” Mentor cut in, his voice urgent, his eyes pleading with all his soul. “Promise me! You’ll stay miles away from him. He is only pain. I spent twenty years in the Hero business and I had never met a monster before him, Kit. You promise me!”

“I—”

“Promise me!”

“I promise,” Kit whispered. He didn’t mean for it to come out so quietly, but the urgency that Mentor was speaking with— Kit couldn’t say no to him. Not when he was like this. Tension released from Mentor’s shoulders as he let out a sigh, squeezing Kit’s hands again before letting them go and getting to his feet.

He put a hand in Kit’s hair and Kit froze, remembering cold fingers yanking his head up — but no! This was Mentor, not Ambrose. Mentor ruffled his hair affectionately in the same way he used to when he first met Kit and then withdrew his hand.

“You’re a good kid, Kit.”

Kit scoffed as he got to his feet. “Kid? Reckon I could still take you old man.”

Mentor’s eyes lit up with that glimmering mischief that Kit missed so much. “Oh yeah? Think you’re a tough guy now?”

“Tough enough to knock you on your arse.”

Mentor hummed like a monk, bringing his hands together in a pray before moving into a kung-fu pose, palm stretched out in front of him raised towards the ceiling. “You have much yet to learn, young Padawan.”

When Mentor flexed his fingers for Kit to give him his best shot, Kit smiled softly and walked towards him, finally wrapping his arms around Mentor instead. Mentor stiffened initially then relaxed and enveloped Kit in his warmth. “Hey Kid. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair. Mentor wasn’t old enough to be retired, he was only… what? Late thirties? Early forties? He shouldn’t be here in this fucking psych ward, he should be at home with Kit. He should still be the number one hero. He should… he should have his own mind back. If it wasn’t for Ambrose, Mentor could still have his life!

“Hey… hey! Hey!” Mentor started shouting and Kit let go of him, stepping away. Mentor’s face contorted into fear and anger and disgust as he backed up to the wall, gasping. “Hey! What?! What did you do to me?”

Kit’s eyebrows knitted down into pained expression. “Mentor I—”

That was all Kit got out before Mentor was on him. Mentor grabbed Kit by his t-shirt and slammed him back against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs with a harsh hiss. “Mentor!”

Mentor’s fists curled in tight to Kit’s shirt, knuckles digging into Kit’s collarbone painfully. “What did you do to me! Huh! Make it stop! Make them stop!”

Mentor yanked Kit forward and shoved him back harder against the wall. Kit stared with wide eyes, frozen in shock. Mentor… he had never seen Mentor this bad before, where he didn’t even recognise him.

The screaming had alerted some nurses that came running into the room, yelling Mentor’s name.

“You ruined me!” Mentor wailed as nurses put their arms on him and tried to get him off Kit. “You ruined me! You destroyed me!”

“I—” Kit began but cut himself off, no words ready to flow from his lips in his defence.

“Mentor we need you to calm down and let go of Kit,” one of the nurses said.

Mentor shook his head, angry tears bubbling up on the side of his eyes. “You have some nerve showing up here, Omen. I would recognise you anywhere.”

“What?” Kit asked, breathless. His voice coming out so broken, choked. The nurses grabbed Mentor’s wrists and pried him off of Kit.

“Kit, you have to go. I’m sorry.”

“I—”

“Kit, I know it’s very distressing but please.”

He didn’t even look for the nurse who asked him to go. He just left in a stupor.

“Monster! Monster! You’re letting him go! I’LL FIND YOU ONE DAY, OMEN!” Mentor screamed, his voice echoing down the hall all the way to Kit’s ears. Kit flinched at the horrid sound of it, too broken and crazed and angry. “MONSTER! MONSTER! YOU’RE LETTING HIM GO!”

Kit flinched as a hand hit his shoulder. “Oh sorry, Kit.”

Kit turned to face a nurse who had a sad, pitying smile on her face. He was a little numb to it, he didn’t even smile back. “I just want to say he does that with us all,” he said kindly. “He calls us all Omen, and I know it must be shocking to hear it.”

Kit cleared the lump in his throat. “How… uh, how is he?”

“His lucid moments are getting longer, stronger, he remembers more.”

“And these moments?”

The pity in the nurse’s eyes said it all. “Longer, stronger, he’s… well, you saw him.”

Kit nodded because he didn’t trust his voice to speak. He gestured to the door, and cleared his throat and the Nurse nodded. “Yeah, I’ll let you go. Just… just don’t ruminate on it, Kit. That’s not him, that’s not the Mentor you know.”

Yeah, Kit thought, and even his thoughts sounded heartbroken to his ears. I know.

That was the real cruelty of what Ambrose did to Mentor. He took away everything that was Mentor, that made him the number one Hero, a father figure, an older brother. Omen sucked all his goodness out and replaced it with his own sick poison to try and diminish Mentor to nothing but a raving lunatic that had to be locked in a psych ward for his own safety.

When he walked out into the fresh air, Kit threw up in the nearest bin because: that could have been him. Ambrose could any day decide that he’s bored of Kit and then melt his mind like he did to Mentor, he could do it with a simple thought. Destroy him…

No, the nurse was right. Mentor isn’t gone. He isn’t destroyed, Ambrose missed that part even though it’s probably what he wanted. The lucid Mentor Kit hugged and laughed with and grew up with, that was Mentor. Ambrose didn’t destroy Mentor, and he wouldn’t destroy Kit either.

Kit ditched the idea of going back to his shitty apartment where Ambrose was no doubt waiting for him, or possibly waiting for him which was worse.

Kit’s mind went back to the rules and he smirked.

You can’t move apartment.

Ambrose never said anything about moving back home. Technically, Kit wasn’t even moving. He had some clothes back home, he could just relax there for a while. Take a load off. He wasn’t moving anywhere.

He stopped into the shop to grab some groceries before taking the metro back to his real home. Kit and Mentor’s home. It was a nice house, not too big or too small.

Kit remembers when he saw it for the first time, he thought it was huge and too much. The lawn was perfectly mowed, Mentor telling Kit that they would need to plant some flowers or something to cheer it up a little. The hedges around the wall surrounding it made it feel so warm and cosy.

Now the grass was overgrown, the flowers dead, the hedges needed a good chop. Kit frowned as he stared at the house, the stone walls with their big windows that they would throw open in the summer. It was so strange that Mentor wasn’t here with him.

If he was he would rock up beside Kit and pat his back, tell him: “it just needs a bit of work and a bit of love.”

With the drab Autumn weather, the house had an eerie glow to it, like it knew Mentor wasn’t coming home too. That suited him fine, maybe Kit and the house could find some comfort in each other.

He opened the heavy wooden door, the sound of the familiar lock clacking open took, what felt like, a tonne weight off of Kit’s shoulders. It smelled the same way it always did, he couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it smelled like home.

The first thing he needed to do was put on the heat cause fuck it was cold in here. He deposited the groceries on the kitchen island and his keys before waking to the utility room and pressing the heat on.

Please have some heat, please have some heat.

With a click and a whirr the heat came on and Kit silently thanked Mentor and his need to over-prepare for everything, because what if it gets cold in summer. LBetter to have it than want it.

Kit put the groceries away, almost robotically. He wasn’t hungry so he didn’t eat. He clicked the kettle on and grabbed his favourite mug, plopping in four teaspoons of coffee. Then switched the kettle off and left his mug on the countertop.

He turned, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his lower back against the counter, worrying his bottom lip.

He didn’t really want to do anything.

He didn’t remember what it was like to want something.

Well… he did, he just didn’t— he had wanted to not be in pain. He wanted to not be around Ambrose, but after that? He kind of forgot what it was like to have a life of his own. What it was like to live before Ambrose had taken him and tortured him.

He—

He rolled his eyes and let out an audible, frustrated groan. He should go to bed, or, catch up on all the sports he missed. At least then when he saw Mentor again he would be able to tell him about the most recent updates instead of months old information.

Kit walked to the living room and settled down into his favourite seat on the sofa, fighting everything in him not to glance over to Mentor’s empty seat. It’s not like ignoring the seat made him feel any better, he still had that aching, gnawing in his chest that made everything feel a little wrong. A little off.

His phone buzzed in his pocket while he was flipping mindlessly through the sports channels, none of the programs catching his interest or attention at all. Did he really used to watch TV for fun? He could always look up the results or whatever, but it wasn’t really the same. He pulled out his phone, and stared down at the lock screen.

A text from Ambrose lit up the screen. Two simple words, that filled Kit with an unreasonable amount of anger. It hadn’t even been a day yet without the bastard there to torment him. He couldn’t even go a day without gloating.

Ambrose: Miss me yet? :)

Kit turned his phone off. It was dramatic, but it made him feel a little better. As if Kit was the one in control and not the other way around. Kit sighed and threw the phone onto the couch, leaving it there as he turned on off the TV and stood.

Today was just… too much of everything and anything and maybe, just maybe, if he slept tomorrow when he woke up he’d feel a little less like a zombie. A little more human. The idea pushed him towards his bedroom, ascending the stairs with heavy feet.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper r @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @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

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oddsconvert · 2 years

Text

Day Three: "A Hair's Breadth from Death"

Gun to temple | "Say Goodbye" | Impaled

Whumptober Masterlist!

CW: Corrupt Caretaker, Numb/Vengeful/unhinged Whumpee, Whumpee turned whumper, whumper turned whumpee, guns, death threat, revenge, begging, pistol whipping, blood, implied kidnapping/captivity/torture, ambiguous/implied character death, adult language

@whumptober

"Whumpee-"

Hollow eyes, devoid of life, flit up to stare into Caretaker's. Eyes that have seen a thousand horrors. So numb, so exhausted. The fire raging within them long extinguished, leaving a pitch-black darkness and snuffing out all the light.

Caretaker presses the muzzle of the gun deeper into Whumper's temple, their finger hooking just around the trigger. Eager to pull it, to blow the bastard's brains out and finally put an end to Whumpee's suffering.

Close this chapter of their life and help them turn the page to the next.

"Say goodbye to Whumper."

Caretaker grins from ear to ear, their fist coiling in Whumper's hair and tugging it as they groan out, pulling at their handcuffs, thrashing about. Their knees grind into the rough stone beneath them, and all they can see is Whumpee standing dead ahead. That same soulless look about them.

Judge, jury and executioner.

"Fuck! No!" Whumper bellows, wildly swinging their head in an attempt to pull away from the gun. They resign and stare up to Whumpee's looming frame, towering above them.

It's weird. It's too fucking weird for Whumpee to have all the power, and Whumper to be begging on his knees. Like the poles of the earth have swapped, the laws of nature have vanished - and now he's bottom of the food chain.

"I'm sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear? Oh come on, Whumpee. You don't want this!

A nervous twitch flickers in Whumpee's eye as they stare down at their captor. Squeezing their fists with rage. The audacity of them to beg and bargain, after they refused Whumpee's pleas time and time again.

"No…" Whumpee mumbles to themselves, a montone grumble, looking to Caretaker and the gun in his hands, "It's too quick. Give me the gun."

Caretaker falters for a moment, his hand curling defensively around the handle, wanting to keep Whumpee's hands clean of any blood.

But this is their pain, their life that's been stolen and torn apart. They should be the one to do this. They hand it over, and Whumpee near enough snatches it.

"You can be the better person in all this" Whumper pipes up, panic clear in his voice, "Walk away victorious, head held high knowing that you bested me. You escaped my clutches. Bravo. We'll never meet again."

"If I do that, I walk away as a victim. As nothing. Because of you. I won by chance. I won't let anyone else lose to you."

Whumpee crouches down before Whumper, dropping to one knee, using the muzzle of the gun to lift Whumper's chin high in the air, exposing their bobbing Adam's apple as they swallow thick nerves.

The barrel travels over Whumper's wobbling lips, he stays deathly still, his breathing rabbit fast. Whumpee slowly stuffs the gun into his mouth, the muzzle grinding against his teeth, metal resting on his tongue as he whines around the gun, squeezing his eyes shut. But he lets it happen, not wanting to anger Whumpee - playing along with the little power trip they're on.

"I think I've been the better person for long enough. I've sat quietly and let you do whatever you want to me. I screamed when you wanted me to. I cried when you asked me to, I begged for something, anything, when I had nothing."

Whumper shuffles uncomfortably on his knees at that comment, knowing he's entirely at his prisoners mercy right now. Whumpee rises to his height, scoffing at the pathetic sight before them.

They're stomach churning when they see themselves in the poor excuse of a man knelt at their feet.

"Why shouldn't you suffer for once?"

The second the words left their lips, Whumpee felt all the built up rage spill over. All the hatred and despair, charging the brutal blow that Whumpee brings down on Whumper's skull with the butt of the gun. Thwacking him over the head and ignoring the cries of pain, the splitting skin and pooling blood seeping out with each swing.

There's no stopping, it's relentless and it's unleashed something malevolent within him. Even when Whumper is a gasping heap on the floor, flinching and crying out with each hit. A splitting headache ripping through his skull, warm blood gushing out as Whumpee carries on their onslaughting attack.

And Caretaker lets it happen. Stands idly by and watching. Until Whumpee decides they've had enough, Whumper is sufficiently hurt and terrified, laying on their side and heaving for breath they can't draw in. Trembling.

"I've said and done my piece. Put him out of his misery" Whumpee chucks the gun over to Caretaker, just catching it before it clatters on the ground.

With a nod to Caretaker, the gun clicks off safety. The sound so small but feels deafening when Whumper hears it, jumping at the sound and their eyes darting up, growing wide with fearful realisation.

"You owe this to them, Whumper. You took Whumpee away from their life. Now they get to take yours from you."

"Wait-!"

Whumpee exhales a deep sigh of relief.

"Goodbye, Whumper."

Drabble taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumpsday @sparrowsage @whumperfully @wolves-and-winters @ha-ha-one @mannerofwhump @no-terms-and-conditions-apply

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