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world-of-fire-and-flight · 2 years

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Love Letters: Part 8

A/N: So…I’ve learned that writing torture is not my jam, so this takes place a few hours or so after Part 7 because I just can’t write graphic torture/whump/gore😊 But the aftermath—now that’s fun😈

Warnings: Implied torture, implied sadistic whumper, past torture, implications of past torture, injury/injuries, blood/blood mention/blood reference (okay, so maybe “lots” of blood if you’re squeamish like I am), knife reference, reference to genocide and mass murder (neither take place. These atrocities are only mentioned and proposed), emotional distress, slight disassociation, manipulation, implied threats, actual threats, broken bones, betrayal, consensual loss of consciousness

Love Letters series masterlist | My masterlist

Hero’s head hung limp against their chest. The strain in their neck had ceased its crying, but it didn’t make whatever part of Hero’s mind still remained from recognizing the minor discomfort. Their breaths were wheezy, nearly gurgling through blood and mucus. Despite their circumstances, despite all the pain, they relished this moment of borderline unconsciousness. They didn’t know how long it had taken for their screams to bother Superhero, or if the bastard had forced themselves to stomach the wails until they simply couldn’t. It wasn’t until well after Hero’s throat had passed the threshold of hoarseness and scratchy that the traitor had finally come barreling down the stairs and put a stop to their lover’s sick game.

“Stop, please, Supervillain,” Superhero pleaded and stepped in front of the master criminal, their back to Hero now.

Hero watched through half-lidded eyes and hazy vision as Superhero gripped their lover’s hand, bloodied and still clutching their current instrument of torture. Thanks to their former friend’s stature, they couldn’t see the master criminal. They couldn’t gauge the situation, but they could certainly gauge the person—the traitor—standing before them.

It wasn’t a plea to let them go. It wasn’t a plea to give them care or even to leave them be. Superhero had only asked for them to stop.

“Why should I? Because you can’t stomach it?” Supervillain said between gritted teeth. From the slight view they had, Hero saw Supervillain’s hand clench as they ripped their other from Superhero’s trembling grasp.

Superhero inhaled sharply. They answered Supervillain quietly, so quietly they may not have said anything at all. “Because I’m asking you to.”

Silence pounded in Hero’s ears alongside the thrumming of their weakened heartbeat.

“Please.” Superhero’s voice cracked.

There was static between the two for only a moment. And then, Supervillain was turning sharply. Hero flinched, jarring their injuries and causing more blood to ooze from the wounds littering their front as Supervillain slammed down the heavy handled knife on the tray of tools, causing more of them to rattle and the clatter to echo throughout the basement.

They saw the moment their former mentor sagged with relief. They could even picture the face they were making: eyes closed, lips slightly parted, and an overall slackness in their features. But they didn’t turn to look at them.

No. Superhero only stepped closer to Supervillain, still fuming over their tools. Hero could see now that the master criminal’s eyes were withdrawn beneath their furrowed brows and the shadows of their face.

If their jaw would allow it, Hero would’ve cracked a smirked. The master criminal was bothered. Bothered by the insecurities Hero had managed to stoke before their torture had started and in between all of their screeching.

They prayed that if this was to be the last thing they did on this earth, then so be it. They could be content with that. If their words—and their bloodcurdling screams—drove these two to tear each other apart and squabble amongst themselves, then good. It would at least buy someone else time to locate the pair, and the Ancient Sword, and put a stop to Superhero’s genocide before it could even begin.

Hero eyed the pair wearily as Superhero set a seemingly gentle hand on Supervillain’s shoulder. The criminal stilled at the touch, eyeing it with something Hero could only read as disdain. Superhero murmured something too low for Hero to hear, but it made the sadistic criminal glance at their lover with a laser focus.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Superhero suggested soothingly. Hero wanted to hurl. How could someone be so tender toward a monster like Supervillain? And in front of their victim, no less?

Supervillain sent a glare in their direction as if they could sense their judgement. And who knew? Maybe they could.

“I’ll leave them be,” Supervillain started, their eyes cutting back to Superhero. “But so will you. You won’t even go near them.”

Superhero swallowed. Their body stuttered a beat, as if they were inclined to look their way, but they didn’t so much as move. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The words settled on Hero’s ears like a lead weight.

They wanted to believe Superhero was stuck between a rock and a hard place, that they had no choice in the matter, and that this was the only means of aid they could conceivably give them. But Hero knew better. Superhero had betrayed them, had sold them out to Supervillain. And if they’d had time, maybe they would’ve found evidence to prove the instinct in them that spat that Superhero had orchestrated the whole thing.

The artifacts heist, the letters, the kidnapping, everything except for their lover’s thorough torture.

But they’d forced Supervillain to stop. Hero believed that they were the only person who could quell Supervillain’s blood thirst, but doubted very much that the master criminal would leave them alone forever—even if they’d promised their lover to do just that.

The pair left in silence with only of the scuffing of their shoes on the cement floor to fill the vacuum. Hero sagged against the pole they were tethered to. Their eyes fell shut. Their mind whirled through a daze. It was strange, just how conscious they were yet they couldn’t string a single, coherent thought together. Nothing could settle in the fog or find stable ground to lay roots into. With what was left of their rationale, Hero knew they were taxed. From the tremble in their stiff muscles to the trickle of drying blood crusting around their wounds, to the weight of their swollen eyes, they simply couldn’t take anymore.

So they promised to let themselves rest. They would rest, and then—Hero didn’t quite know what came after “then.” With each passing second in their newfound, relative safety, their mind refused to work. Thinking became a foreign concept to them. What was a thought? How was it more significant than the sharp breaths through their nose or the cracked spirit slipping through their wounds? How could something as fragile and clouded as their mind be of any use to them now?

Musty air assaulted Hero’s dry tongue and forced itself down their throat as they sucked in a harsh breath. Fingers ghosted over their bloody cheeks, quite literally a phantom touch that Hero wasn’t certain was actually there. Their shoulder screamed as they flinched sharply at the gentle touch. Their head slammed back against the pole they were tied to. Hero’s legs jerked, but couldn’t kick out or move from under them even as they tried to make themselves sit up.

“Hero, stop,” a familiar voice murmured. “You’re only going to hurt yourself more.”

Hero’s swollen and blood-crusted eyes focused blearily on the figure crouching in front of them. Keen eyes and a perfectly schooled face wavered in front of their delirious eyes.

“I’m going to get you out of here. It might hurt, but you’re safe,” the figure told them confidently. They leaned closer to them and Hero turned their head away, ducking their chin into their mangled shoulder. The air around them shifted, and so did the person before them if the warm breath ticking Hero’s skin through their shredded supersuit was any indication. “Try not to move too much. You’re hurt pretty badly.”

Hero gave into the urge to let their eyes fall shut. Somewhere inside of them, a meek voice told them to listen.

Whatever, they thought.

Fingers grazed their curled hands. Hero whimpered as those fingers then began to work at the rope binding their wrists, unintentionally pulling it tighter as they hopefully worked to undo the knot. Hero rubbed their split, chapped lips together, nearly wishing the person before them would just cut it off.

“I didn’t think you’d like that,” they huffed, laughing.

The gears in Hero’s brain shifted just enough for their mind to turn over in recognition.

“Uh…s?” Their barely conscious tongue rasped. You.

“Me.” Other Supervillain’s lips quirked up into a smile, a sight Hero’s half-lidded, half-swollen eyes caught before they were forced to let them close again. Everything was too much effort for their drained body. They flinched as a schwick clicked in their ears, the telltale noise of a knife flicking open. They forced their breaths to remain steady, a task easily completed thanks to the careful coaxing of their intuition.

The rope around their wrists pulled tighter again before it snapped. Hero’s arms gave out. Their muscles trembled violently, strained from the position, from the tension, from being coiled up in the expectation of further pain. Unwillingly but unable to stop themselves or hold themselves up, Hero lurched forward, colliding with Other Supervillain’s expectant embrace.

“It’s okay,” Other Supervillain soothed. “Just rest.”

Hero remained silent. Steeling themselves, they battled against their senses to ignore the surge of pain flooding their system from jarred injuries, stinging cuts, and the itch of dried blood.

From non-threatening stab wounds to shallow cuts, Supervillain had marred their flesh in just the right way to keep them alive—though Hero believed it was no less painful than if the master criminal had a mind to actually kill them.

And who knew, maybe they’d wanted to kill them. Maybe that was their goal, for whatever reason if not for their own bloodlust. All while their lover wanted to rid the city—if not the world—of masked villains and supervillains.

Ever so gently, Other Supervillain managed to reposition Hero so they could slice through the rope binding their ankles behind the pole. Hero groaned as their legs quaked, finally giving into the limpness and breaking the crust of dried blood as their limbs parted weakly. They sagged into Other Supervillain’s weak hold, their cracked lips parted, nearly panting.

“Take all the time you need, Hero. There’s no rush, not anymore.”

Hero tilted their head to look up at them, but the gleaming metal of an ancient pommel peaking out of a plain cloth wrapping beside Other Supervillain caught their eye.

Of course you went for the sword before me. They thought bitterly, perhaps angrier and more surprised than they should’ve been.

“I just happened upon it first,” Other Supervillain assured them, smirking. “Besides, I couldn’t let the Agency get a hold of it. Who knows how deep Superhero’s corruption runs.”

It’s love.

Other Supervillain went rigid. “What is?”

Between them. They love Supervillain. Hero squeezed their eyes shut again, as if that could hide the hideous truth from them. The tension eased from Other Supervillain’s body. Superhero wanted the sword.

“Do you know why?”

Hero shook their head tightly—or as best as they could, anyway. The movement instantly flooded their empty stomach with nausea. Their head rattled with the dull headache, coming to a sharp crescendo as the pain exploded in their temples.

Other Supervillain’s arms carefully shifted around them, gently repositioning them again so they were laying against the hard floor with Hero’s head in their lap. Hero’s lips twisted, but they remained silent. They couldn’t speak even if they’d wanted to. They’d be surprised if all their screaming hadn’t shredded their vocal cords after all—especially since they’d continued to wail even after their voice failed.

“It might be easier on you if you were unconscious, Hero,” Other Supervillain said softly. “It wouldn’t hurt, I promise.”

Superhero? Hero asked instead.

“Dead, probably. I’ll have to call the Agency once we clear out so they can retrieve the bodies,” they answered unflinchingly. Hero blinked, their mouth parting a little more. The dangerous criminal’s fingers softly grazed Hero’s temple, drawing a light pattern across their brow and back again. “Supervillain won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

Something hard passed over Other Supervillain’s face, or what Hero could see of it beneath their mask. Every movement of their features was like a puzzle, so unlike who they were as Politician. Hero wondered just which one was the alter ego and which was their default—and where that left Hero in their graces.

“I suppose Clerk will give me an earful when I see them next,” Other Supervillain sighed, and if Hero was a little more confidant in their perception of the masked persona, they would say they were being comedically dramatic.

Hero swallowed limply. They were so tired. Everything ached. Every bone, every muscle, every thought. They weren’t sure how much of it was from their injuries and how much of it was a result of their sheer relief at possibly being rescued. It won’t hurt?

“Not a bit. You won’t feel a thing until well after you get medical attention.”

Not your captive, then?

“Too many people would go to war for you.” And just like that, Politician’s personable nature shone through the suave, calculating criminal.

If Hero could manage, they would’ve rolled their eyes. Even if they could, Other Supervillain hadn’t given them a chance to between the time they’d assented to the master criminal’s suggestion and when their consciousness slipped into the soothing darkness of a peaceful rest.

Part 9

Taglist: @selene-stories

A/N 2.0: I’M NOT READY FOR THIS SERIES TO END.

Thank you all for attending my brief post-realization panic and supporting me through my whiplash as what started out as a supposed two-part prompt fill turned into a short series which then turned into my brief foray into writing whump that suddenly came to a screeching halt waaaaaaay sooner than I expected it to. Even though a lot (a lot, holy shit) of this series came as a surprise to me (namely the fact that it was a short series), I’ve loved every second of it…even though it sometimes hurt me. And blindsided me. And gave me whiplash at times.

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a-heart-of-kyber · 5 years

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My dog is very much watching me very closely in a “You aren’t allowed to leave me again.” way and I feel bad about it, but he also feels softer than I remember which is stupid because I was only gone for 4 days.

Which ummmmmm yeah if anyone was curious as to where I’ve been....thanks tumblr for becoming my diary.

Trigger Warning: Suicide

TW: Suicide

So, Monday night my dad and I got into another extreme argument because I am becoming extremely (and very clearly) incapable of handling...him and the way he is and by that I mean his emotional/verbal/psychological abuse and thus this argument resulted in once again me commenting “I just want to fucking kill myself.” because idk if you know but I’ve been treated for suicidal thoughts and depression before so this shit isn’t new.

What’s new is my dad saying, “Why don’t you just do it already?!”

So...not to be topped apparently, I very pissed off went to go take some pills because clearly the why to get through to someone like me is to present a challenge. Eventually...the pills were removed from me which once again resulted in me getting more screamed at and then my dad saying to never talk to him again and me and my mom went to stay with my sister.

Which turned into me going to the ER because my mother asked me too.

Now...I’m not saying this can’t help other people, but the entire resulting situation did not help me other then getting me away from my dad for a few days...which I could’ve done at my sister’s.

Spent 21 straight hours being babysat in the ER with barely any word from anyone about anything. Wearing paper and listening to people screaming. Being told after I did everything voluntarily that if I left I would be arrested until I was driven to a facility 2hrs away by a constable.

Yep...spent 3 days in a psych ward. Lets not discuss intake.

I wanted to leave as soon as I got there. All of the staff was more or less in agreement that I didn’t belong there. Half the techs/nurses thought I was a social worker and were very confused.

Do you want to know what it’s like being hit on continuously by a vulgar/violent ex military man who forced himself onto another one of the women there just hours earlier? It’s not fun I can fucking tell you that much. Idk how I’ll handle being told my eyes are pretty in the future tbh. “Can I stare at you because your eyes are the prettiest I’ve ever seen? I love you because you read. Can I have your name/address/phone number/email address? (I’m going to ask you this repeatedly! While I intermittently attempt to start verbal and physical fights. So like...try not to be scared over not giving me this info and annoying me or anything and also don’t think about me potentially stalking you in the future!) Take my hand. Touch me. Dance with me.”

The others were fine and some were nice and everyone was just trying to get better, but I spent 2 nights thinking this guy was somehow going to break into my room.

The psychiatrist didn’t force me onto any medications because he thinks I just need to learn how to handle stressful situations. But also he thinks I should maybe take something, but my thoughts on that as ‘I’m going to wait til I’m away from the guy who very clearly could sexually assault me thanks.’ All of the other patients were just like “It’s a miracle you’re attempting this without medication.”

Maybe...at a different time or a different person this all could’ve been more helpful, but I’m mostly just angry and waiting for actual therapy for my depression/anxiety.

Also...back home. We’ll see how that goes I guess.

#this is dumb and private #why am i posting it?#to vent maybe #idek anymore #long post

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