orangeduckweed

[orangeduckweed]

fans of characters that hate vulnerability will be like “i cant wait until they cry 😍 cant wait until the weight of their emotions breaks them 😍”

[orangeduckweed]

Thinking about manhandling again (a common pasttime)

Whumpee being forced to their knees in front of Whumper and/or their team

Pushing Whumpee's head down to make them stare at the floor and keeping them in the uncomfortable slumped posture

Whumpee being hauled to their feet by a grip on their upper arm, maybe causing bruising

A hand on the back of Whumpee's neck to force them down, either to the ground or over a surface like a table in order to wrestle them into cuffs

Dragging Whumpee back by the ankle when they try to crawl away from Whumper

Shoving a handcuffed Whumpee forward impatiently

Whumper surprising Whumpee and grabbing them from behind, an arm wrapping around their neck or a hand covering their mouth to keep them quiet

Just

Manhandling~

[orangeduckweed]

"...This isn't real. You're not real."

[orangeduckweed]

No. 18

Due to a malfunction of Villain’s mind-control powers, Hero and Villain are forced to share each others emotions. Throughout the process, they learn quite a lot about each other.

I apologize in advance. This is cheesier than a charcuterie board. All fluff, no substance, sorry. I like writing dumb and light stuff.

////

“Happy to see me?” Villain said, jesting, but he soon felt it too, a bright sensation bursting at the crown of his sternum. He rubbed the spot as he waited; he knew it wasn’t his. Hero scaled up the building’s rusted ductwork and clambered onto the clay-tiled roof. His doggish grin appeared before the rest of him.

“Of course,” he smiled, sitting beside villain at the sloped edge. There was dizzying distance down and it filled him with a hot lick of thrill, and Villain felt it too.

From beneath the dark frame of his hair, Villain observed the young man. His emotions were rich and frequent, in bursts and fizzes, as if he never pondered one thing long enough to care in any prolonged manner. Villain almost considered him fickle. These emotions were surface level, insubstantial, and he thought that was his entirety, until last night. An ache overtook his chest. Its weight pressed down and wrapped up his lungs.

He felt like he’d never breathe again the pain was so bad. It was a concoction of sadness and anger, and a pervading sense of loss, not of others, but of self. He learned a lot that night.

This situation was entirely accidental. Hero was never a target of his and was the unfortunate victim of rebound, which had altered the intentions of his attack into something less harmful, but equally profound. Hero was still young and green. No organization has sucked him in and his sense of justice was refreshing. Hero was the type of kid who fed strays, picked litter, and did any number of small things to make the world better, in addition to bashing the lowest echelons of crime.

Villain was glad he hadn’t harmed him. He raised his hand and ruffled his hair. It sprung in every direction like hay but was softer than it looked. “I’m here if you need to talk.”

The burst came again, a similar thrill, but quick to mellow and seep into his limbs. Hero’s eyes reflected the far-off city lights as he carefully looked from the sky then up at Villain. The smile was more tentative now

“Talking about it will make it seem real. I’m not ready now.”

So, they sat in silence and took in the city. Even washed out in the light, the stars were bright that night and time seemed endless and the world infinite.

////

Two weeks passed and they met once more. This time, they sat on the roof’s crest, where the tile was weaker but the view was wide and spread far into a darkness neither could see. Hero tucked his knees to his chest and pointed out the buildings he knew. He learned that Villain was new to the city, so recommended all sorts of things and recounted a few memories he wanted to share.

Villain’s emotions were always subtle and some seemed to last for days. As he listened to Hero talk, they were a low murmur, like the song of a small creek. It was warm as he came and slowly cooled as he left. From that, he liked to think they were friends. They met very little but knew how the other felt all day long. They accompanied each other in this very weird and distant way.

He peeked at Villain. He was five years older and his maturity came through in every facet of himself. The lines of his face were composed — fierce, yet refined. His sour mouth balanced the flirtatious tilt of his eyes and his gentle nose played down the steel edge of his jaw. Everything he spoke was measured and he lived and moved with grace. Even his emotions were leveled and unperturbed by most external factors in his life.

He hoped this curse of theirs would stay for a while. Villain’s silent accompaniment was something he looked forward to. On their lonely rooftop, the view of the city belonged to them alone. They didn’t need words. Everything was already shared between them.

////

The weight of the pain grew heavier and the feeling was harder to withstand. Villain, who lived his life numb, struggled to work with bursts. Happiness was light and easier to quell, but Hero’s sadness was so deep and powerful, it was hard to discern it from his own emotions. Often, he’d wake in the middle of night, breathless and squeezed. He’d nurse a cup of water and sit on his cold, metal balcony to see the city.

He stay up with him and hope he was watching the same view. The sunrise spilled over the city like a blooming rose, washing the high rises and their long, mirrored facades in a pinkish light. It was beautiful, but he wondered, faintly, how it’d look like from the rooftop.

With the aches more frequent, he came a little earlier to smooth out his thoughts. The horizon was clouded and red. On the passing wind, he smelled the stirrings of rain, but still waited. Hero’s emotions were enough to entertain him. They slipped up and down and to each side; he was certainty confused and troubled.

The rain came down and followed the furrows of the roof in silver lines. His hair was wet, but at least his jacket was warm. By the time he grew cold and his fingers were numbed and red, Hero came, nearly an hour late, looking infinitely more miserable than the drenched villain. Villain met him at the roof’s edge and dragged him beneath into an open attic.

“Can you talk to me now?” As soon as the question fell, Villain choked on a wad of sadness, shoved like icy lump in his throat. Hero backed away, fisting his hair. It hurt the both of them.

“Sorry,” he quickly readjusted, “I’ll be silent. Stay.” Villain pulled Hero from the rain that lashed through the cracked window and combed the moisture from his hair as he sat him down. It was easier to be quiet with the churn of the storm and low rattle of glass and metal, but for the first time, Villain had a lot to say. He knew, however, he was in no place to make a sound. He sat close, but still a distance away and let his silence breathe comfort.

Tonight, they watched the rain. It wasn’t their city, but it spoke in rumbles and fierce patters, saying what the pair couldn’t. As Villain blew the heat back into his knuckles, he gazed at Hero.

He hadn’t smiled.

////

This time, Villain waited for him roosted on one of the broken chimneys, staring far out into the horizon.

He climbed down as he saw Hero and welcomed him with the familiar comb-through of his head. Though he caught a knot this once and disentangled from it wordlessly. He was warmer now and even Hero felt it with surety.

Both were tired from Hero’s nightly stretches of sadness, which had grown more frequent, and worrying, more so to Villain. Even the springy Hero moved a bit slow and his words came with certain a languor. When their words fizzled out and their silence came, Hero tilted his way and rested on his shoulder, his eyelids dripping down to his cheeks. Despite his external calm, Villain felt that liquid and hot thrill, seeping down to tips of his fingers. He ruffled his hair and held his shoulder lightly.

From afar, Hero was as social as a dog, but up close, he was like the old and grizzled tomcat at the street corner. One quick movement and he was gone, so he was careful. Yet, his heart uncovered him. Perhaps even more adamant than Hero’s own, his heat leapt up and Hero’s eyes opened wide.

At the moment, Villain was oblivious, entertained by the glow of the skyline, but Hero felt his face was a bit colored.

Just a bit.

////

“Do you want to head down this time?” Villain asked, just as Hero was halfway in his ascent, clinging to the metal lining of one of the building’s old conditioning chutes. He could tell Villain was a bit different today. There was some blockage and something swelled behind it, but enough tendrils came to suffuse his baseline of warmth.

He gawked as Villain leapt all the way down and no crunch split from his ankles. Hero came to question how powerful he really was.

Comparably slow, Hero slid back down the metal piping and bounced from alcove to underhang to plummet the same distance and have his bones all in place. He swept the dust from his pants and tailed Villain out from the alleyway and into the street. The road was in a less trodden block of the city — perhaps, because it was nearly at the edge —, so the pair traveled at each other’s side with ease and maintained a low chatter.

Villain led him into a cozy little dinner, with hanging bulbs for lights and black, low-set tables. The booth seats were worn, but soft, and the low glow of the room looked well on Villain as he talked. All the while, something kept on building and Hero waited.

Their food came quickly. They’d only ordered a big basket of fries, which were greased and salted, and seemed to melt at the tip of his tongue. The two also entertained their respective milkshakes, sipping amidst conversation, but at that point, Hero had grown impatient. Villain’s emotions had never been quite so itchy. He flicked a particularly crispy fry at Villain’s chest.

“Say it.” He asked and Villain’s hands tightened around the curved glass of his shake.

“I don’t want this to be it.” Villain swallowed. “I don’t want a wait every two weeks to see you.”

A heady rush of heat escaped the dam, in tandem with Hero’s own. Hero hunched over and his his face in the fold of his arms. His face was so hot it was tight. He laughed and his chest shook.

“You want my number too?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna tell me anything else?” He teased, peeking up from his arms. Even the yellow lighting could not dampen the fluster on Villain’s cheeks and it just kept getting redder. He had strict control over his face, save for the color, which made for quite the sight.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“Please don’t ask.”

////

And by the time it came to rain again, Villain was able to keep close. He held Hero in his arms and listened to the lull of the rain and the whisper of the wind. The sadness was still there and it’d be there for a while, but they were together, in their city and in their silence.

[orangeduckweed]

Fever

“We need to keep moving.”

“You’re dead on your feet,” Villain sped up to catch Hero, “you’re going to drop when we’re halfway through the forest.”

“There were making noise outside the Village last night. We can’t go back into town.” Hero turned his head to address Villain, but continued his forward march. Bursts of flame licked over his neck and exposed jaw. Beneath his skin, orange light sparked, patterned in shifting webs.

“You need a doctor. Or an alchemist.” Villain strode forward to match Hero’s hurried strides. “Look, whatever you have going on, you should take care of it now. We can hide and throw the Organization off of our tracks later.”

“I can handle it.” Hero sniffed. “I know my body.”

////

Hero groaned as Villain dragged him further into the river.

The water steamed as it passed over his body and the hot vapor fumed against Villain’s arms and chest. Even damp, warm and exceedingly uncomfortable, Villain held Hero’s limp form, blistered hands tucked beneath his armpits.

“You’re paying me back,” Hero’s heels clattered over the slick river pebbles, “for the shirt and the resistance scroll.”

Villain continued muttering until the water sloshed halfway up his shins. He shifted down to sit, then pulled Hero’s head onto his lap.

“What the hell am I doing? Your brain’s probably mush already.”

He scooped up a palmful of water and trickled it over Hero’s forehead. Instead of hissing into a wave of vapor, the water remained on Hero’s face, trickling down his red-hot cheeks and chin.

At the sensation, Hero murmured. Then, his eyelids twitched—a reassuring sign of awareness.

Villain gathered more water and smoothed it over Hero’s temples, then into his hair.

[orangeduckweed]

Give me whumpees who are angry, dysregulated, and horrible during recovery.

I love a quiet and anxious whumpee as much as the next person, but whumpees that are explosive and upset hit so much harder for me. It's really difficult to be a nice person when you're dealing with so much mental and/or physical trauma.* Pain makes you a bitch. It's frustrating. It hurts. At some point, whumpee is going to snap.

Shoving people away. Yelling. Violent outbursts, throwing things, reckless behaviour. Caretaker doesn't know what to do or how to leave. Whumpee doesn't know how to stop or make it any better.

They're fighting, again, and whumpee is yelling and shouting because they're trying to make themselves understood, but they can't find the words to articulate it so they have to show the feeling instead. Caretaker is tired of being on the receiving end of it so they're shouting back, which just makes both of them more upset.

And then whumpee finally manages to put the thing into words, stunning them both into silence, before whumpee starts apologising profusely. The whole time they'd just wanted to be understood but couldn't explain themselves and being vulnerable is terrifying and "I never wanted to hurt you too."

Idk just give me dysregulated whumpees.

*this is not saying you cannot be a nice person with trauma, or that trauma makes you a bad person. this is saying that when you're so overwhelmed and constantly in fight or flight, it can be very difficult to be rational or considerate. it happens. that's ok.

[orangeduckweed]

The whumpee didn’t trust anymore, trust had gotten them hurt so many times. Their “friend” had been the whumper, so if safety meant cutting off the rest of their friends then so be it- they could survive on their own. Alone, with nobody to lean on, the whumpee would live as best as they could.

[orangeduckweed]

The whumpee had always been the type to have people rely on them, they would bear everyone’s burdens just to help them- but it was all getting to them. Inevitably, the whumpee buckled, and stumbled enough for the whumper to swoop in and catch them when nobody seemed to be looking.

[orangeduckweed]

no when i say intimacy i mean one of us is bleeding out and the other is putting their entire body weight behind their hands to stop it

[orangeduckweed]

Idk if I've done this but

Reactions to getting slapped

(domestic whump vibes)

Licking their lips and turning teary eyes away and downward

"...right." hoarsely

Raising their own hand to slap back and having their wrist caught by a guard behind them

Opening their mouth to snap at aggressor when they see the hand move slightly again and their mouth goes dry and they stop

Startling back, then looking up at aggressor with betrayed tears in their eyes

Sudden uptick in breathing as their body lurches into fight-or-flight, eyes darting over the ground as they try to control their reaction and "know their place"

Grimacing, "ow!" Only to be slapped again until they run out of protests and are left in shaky, stinging silence

Raising their tone even more, flushing, with "what?! What did I do this time?"

After having been slapped each time they speak, finally crying silently, shuddering, disbelief in their downcast eyes.

Fist shaking at their side as they try to control their reaction

[orangeduckweed]

Love it when caretaker is the one pleading.

“Look at me. Please, please, look at me. No, don’t close your eyes.”

“You need to sleep. Look, we can deal with it tomorrow, just take a nap. Please, I’m asking, for me, just go to sleep.”

“Alright, I’ll do it! I’ll do what you want, just— just don’t hurt them.”

“Get away from them. Leave them alone, they can’t take anymore, please—”

[orangeduckweed]

Whumpees apologizing for bleeding on someone

[orangeduckweed]

Yoooooo characters who rush recovery. Passing out because they’re trying to run around the day after a high fever breaksssss 💖

[orangeduckweed]

Number 33

TW: Blood, lots of death mentioning, injury, even more angst than the last one

"Goddamn it," the hero muttered under his breath.

His mouth tasted like copper, the skin on his lips dry and battered. His breath was laboured, his lungs burning with every rise and fall of his chest. His muscles screamed for mercy, his knees so desperate to buckle, and yet he forced his legs to keep him standing, forcing his arms into a fighting stance. 

The hero knew pain like he knew the back of his hand, had learned to sleep through it even, the type who would train his body to failure because if he was kind to himself, his enemies never would grant him such a luxury.

And he despised it. Right now more than ever when all he wished to do was lean against the wall and sink to the ground. He was sick, so sick of putting his body through the wringer, of treating himself like a machine, and more importantly, he was sick of the villain. This villain in particular.

"Is that all you've got?" the steely, modulated voice of his adversary called out, posture calm but never careless. He was about the same height as the hero, similar build, probably the same age, but it didn't matter. If anything, it infuriated the hero more.

He would show up everyday without fail, never seeming to tire out, a raging fire that would never even settle into a smouldering flame, in contrast to the burnt ash that was the hero. And no matter how hard he hit, he never went for the kill, which baffled the hero because he knew for a fact the villain had killed before. He knew he carried a gun, but he never used it during their fights. 

The hero's body shivered, sparks of his energy radiating across his arms, exhaustion giving way to a lack of control and yet, he'd been avoiding the use of power for the whole fight, due to how much of a toll it would take on him.

"I asked you a question," the villain continued, impatient, slamming the hero against the wall. 

"Get off of me," he snarled, swinging his leg in a slower, smaller arc than his usual, and even though the villain's voice modulator had rendered the sound warbled and muffled, the hero knew from enough experience that it was a scoff.

"You usually fight harder than this, what the hell is wrong with you?" the criminal chided, having easily countered the hero's kick.

"What's it to you?" he mutters, barely a whisper.

"What was that?" the villain taunted, aiming a punch to his enemy's face.

The hero had never known if you could truly feel your blood boil, but now, he would find out.

You could. 

Heat coursed all over his body, sweat snaking down his already clammy skin in rivulets, his body convulsing as though it hadn't been shaking moments before, and all his pain numbed. Like it had never been. 

He could feel his inside thrum with power as the sparks coursed through his fingers, charging them with an impossible amount of electricity for his current state, and he struck his open fists into the villain's chest, a savage smile drawing itself grotesquely on his battered face, as he watched his enemy get hurled across the sidewalk like a ragdoll.

"I asked you a question," he repeated coolly, and as he watched the villain struggle to get up, he laughed. Maniacal, broken, wild. Teeth bared like an animal. So much that tears streamed down his face, burning his already stinging eyes even further. 

Before the villain could even crawl, the hero had jumped on him with all his weight, snarling viciously as his hands sent another shockwave of pain through the villain, ripping off his adversary's mask. 

It should've been anyone else, any other face than the one he was looking at, a perfect mirror of his own besides a scar through the left eyebrow. The sage green eyes, dark brown curls, the light freckling almost indiscernible from the blood spatter were unmistakable.

This was Leo's face. The face of his twin brother who had his life ripped from him at the painfully young age of sixteen, bleeding out a river of crimson on the hallway, the one with all the lockers at school, his corpse having been tossed through the window like garbage. 

"You're a shape-shifter, aren't you?" he barked, forgoing the use of his power and letting his fingers twist themselves around the villain's neck, grip bruising.

His eyes went wide and terrified. "No, I- I'm not a shape-shifter, I swe-," 

"You're such a shitty liar, you know,” the hero half-sneered, his grip on the villain’s neck still just as harsh. 

The villain’s hands zapped with a power not unlike the hero’s own, finally managing to muster the energy to use it, knocking the hero off of him. 

There was no way to replicate powers. Leo had the same power as his brother. 

This was it. The straw that broke the camel's back. The hero was already on the cusp of insanity, precariously moving across the surface of a frozen lake, already covered in cracks. All that was left was just a little pressure. Just enough to make it shatter into nothing.

The hero had crawled away, sitting with his back against the wall, survival instincts be damned. The pain was all coming back now, the agony in his muscles, the acrid taste of bile in his throat, but he paid it no heed. The man stalking towards him didn't stop looking like Leo, didn't stop sounding like him, the insipid hallucination refusing to fade.

The villain crouched down till he was at eye level with the hero. “Hey. Snap out of it. Just, just look at me, please you're hurt, I need to help you, please,” and his voice breaks, practically begging his enemy, his brother to let him help.

The hero let himself be pulled up, the villain wrapping his arm around his shoulder. He didn't have the energy to resist, to fight back. Fresh tears sprang at his eyes, mixing with dirt as they streamed down his face. He was pulled into a car, set down in the backseat gently, only half-lucid as he was driven. . .to his own house? 

The villain kicked the door in, wasting no time in picking the lock before slamming the door shut again. Logically, the villain knew that first-aid was usually kept in the bathroom or the kitchen, since the hero was so out of it, he could barely say a word, so his first guess was the bathroom and to his luck, he was right, finding what he needed in the cabinet. 

“Don’t die on me,” he pleaded, trying his hardest to keep his trembling hands steady as he tried to suture his wounds. Logically, he knew they were non-fatal, and someone as tough as the hero would probably survive, and still, his guilt and fear had a bruising grip on his heartstrings, threatening to tear them apart. He pushed it aside, working quickly until he’d finally managed to stitch the deeper gashes up. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all this,” he half-whispered as the hero let out a sharp hiss, the pain having snapped him into a more lucid state. 

He wrapped the rest in bandages, leaving only to get the hero a glass of water and some pain medication. He didn’t take the pills just yet, setting them and the glass on the coffee table with a pained groan. 

He looked at the man in front of him, who backed away slowly, almost crumbling under the weight of the hero’s steely gaze. He noticed there was a small, black rose tattooed on his right forearm, just like the one Leo had gotten a mouthful from their parents over.

He let a small spark dance on his fingertips, looking at his brother with pleading eyes. “C’mon, you’re clever enough to know powers can’t be replicated. I know it’s insane, all of this, I know you thought you saw my dead body, I know I’m literally legally dead, I know what they made you believe, but I swear I’m really here. I don’t know how to prove it to you any further,” he breathed out, his eyes red-rimmed, exhausted, and glassy with a sheen of tears threatening to spill. He walked towards his brother again, wrapping his arms around him, careful not to jostle the wounds too much. 

The hero flinched at first, but he leaned into the touch. He didn’t know how or why, but Leo was here, he wasn’t dead, wasn’t even very hurt, and even if he felt so overcome with emotion, he needed answers. Needed them so he didn’t feel like he was going insane. 

“Explain,” he said slowly, pulling away from his twin. 

“Ah, I guess I do owe you that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying for a smile, the tension nearly suffocating. 

“The agency was interested in investigating us. Supers are rare enough as is, and we’re the only two people they know of with almost exactly the same power. There are other identical twins with just similar powers, or ones that complement each other, but not like us. The agency weren’t the only people interested, you know.” 

“Go on.” The hero finally picked the glass of water up, downing the painkillers quickly. 

He gulped. “Was out with my friends, and on my way back, I got taken by these -” he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. “Assholes. They wanted to try just one twin first. See if I was worth the trouble. Made me use my powers to their full extent. They liked what they saw, just a little too much,” he bit out tersely. 

“I wasn’t willing to lead them to you.  Torture wasn’t doing them any favours. But they weren’t willing to let me go either. The body you saw the next day wasn’t mine. One of them has the power to modify anyone’s appearance, including her own. They used the corpse of a fresh victim of theirs, of another civilian they murdered in cold blood. She m-made it look like me. And ever since you joined the hero agency, they’ve stopped thinking about trying to keep you for themselves, they just wanted you d-dead.” 

Leo’s breathing had gotten shallower now, and he was looking everywhere but at the hero’s face. “Th-they wanted me to do it. They knew how strong our powers are, and they’re a bunch of filthy cowards. So no matter how many times I ‘failed’, they’d send me back. I never used my power because I wanted to keep you safe. If you found out, this puts you even more at risk.” 

The hero got up, slowly making his way to his brother, wrapping both his arms around him. “We’ll figure this out, Leo. It just means the world to me that you’re back.” 

There are times when nothing seems to make sense, when it seems like your mind is playing another one of its cruel tricks on you. You may not know how the story ends, limited by how far your eyes can see, everything further shrouded in fog. But sometimes all you have is faith and someone you hold dear, so while there might be a million truths to unlock, all you can do is trust you’ll find the keys. 

Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @adamswrongchild @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 @dragonmine-244 @detectivepetrichor @orangeduckweed @red-sigma-vampire-boss6969 @alexii117 @prophecies-bestowed-upon-ye @alphabet-egg

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

[orangeduckweed]

an enemy to lovers and one bed trope but I need their responses in the morning being strangled to eachother

One Bed Trope: Morning After Dialogue

-> feel free to edit as you see fit

"Get off of me."

"Is it weird I'm comfortable?"

"Jesus Christ how did we manage to fall asleep like this?"

"How the hell did you wrap your leg around me?"

"You've been laying on my arm all night and I can't feel it."

"I would've moved to the floor but you were using me as a pillow."

"I almost fist-fought you last night when you took the blanket."

"I have to pee so bad please get up."

"I don't think I'm going to be able to look you in the eyes after this."

"You snore. Loudly."

"I do not snore, you liar."

"We don't have to talk about it, just get dressed."

"It's too early for this, we'll talk about it later."

"I don't understand how I slept so good last night."

"Let's keep it professional, alright?"

"Don't get confused, I was only clinging to you because you stole the blanket and I had no other way to keep warm."

"We're not going to bring this up ever again, right?"

"I slept really good last night." "That makes one of us."

"My arm is still asleep."

"Did you know you talk in your sleep?"

"How did the blanket end up on the floor? No wonder I was freezing."

"Go back to sleep."

"You're the only source of warmth in this stupid hotel, come back to bed before I get hypothermia."

[orangeduckweed]

“I can’t. I can’t feel my leg.”

“…that just means the medicine is working. Try not to move too much.”

[orangeduckweed]

snippet #6

contains: blood, cursing

Hero lay on their back, breathing shallowly as blood leaked in a thin stream through their crimson-stained fingers, adding to a growing pool beneath them. If they had to rank every stab wound they’d received, this one would be at the very bottom. Their eyes were shut tight, the electric pain radiating from their stomach so great that they couldn’t sense when someone else entered the grimy alley.

A nudge to their side made Hero’s eyes fly open, immediately locking contact with the pitying gaze of the perpetrator. “God, you look awful,” Villain said. The sharp sting that the nudge sparked through their body had Hero let out a low groan, but they couldn’t attempt to move. “Oh, come on. Aren’t you going to get up and hit me?”

“The knife was poisoned, you asshole,” Hero managed to rasp through gritted teeth. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Their nemesis crossed their arms. “Hmph. How unsportsmanlike. Who did that, then?”

“Your friend, Other Villain. They said they had information about Supervillain.” The idea seemed so stupid now, the trap obvious. This was what Hero got for choosing to trust a criminal. Though they couldn’t say they had learned anything, as the devious mastermind that stood above them was probably the person they trusted most in the city. 

“First of all, they are absolutely not my friend,” Villain objected. “They’re a conniving, backstabbing bastard. You should’ve called me.”

“A bit late for that, don't you think?” Hero’s voice came out higher, more strained with each word.

The criminal leaned over, studying them with a quick, sweeping look. “Can you walk yet?”

“Do you think I’m lying here for fun?” They snapped. “No, I can’t walk!”

Villain tapped a finger to their chin in mock deliberation. “What a predicament we find ourselves in, my dear Hero. I suppose there is no other recourse but for me to carry you.” 

“No—Villain, wait, Villain-” This time, when Villain reached their hands behind Hero’s back and knees, the touch didn’t immediately spark pain. It wasn’t until they swiftly lifted the crimefighter into their arms that agony seared like a white-hot brand in Hero’s side. They cried out, choking on a scream that became a hoarse cough. The feeling overloaded their senses, turning their nerves into nothing but conduits for pain as Hero sank into their nemesis’ strong grasp, head falling onto Villain’s chest. 

“Hero. Hero, look at me. Look at me.” The sudden intensity of their voice sharpened Hero’s focus, if only a little, and allowed their unfocused gaze to meet Villain’s again. “Jesus, you look like shit.” But an edge of fear was creeping into their tone, something that would have alarmed Hero even further had they been closer to coherence.  

Hero was no longer capable of opening their mouth, let alone providing a vocal response. Villain seemed to understand them anyway. “Stay with me, Hero,” they murmured, and both nemeses braced as best they could as Villain turned around and hurried out of the alley. 

word count: 501

@sausages-things