#family Whump

[whump-galaxy]

The whumper training their child/apprentice to use spells on the whumpee. The whumpee is as obedient as possible, but it’s so difficult seeing the whumper be so kind, so loving to someone. And that someone, in all their innocence and naïveté, being kind to them, the lowly whumpee. Only after lessons though, of course.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XIX)

The blood of the Covenant

Part one // Masterpost // continued from here

It's a day late but listen I just discovered jujutsu kaisen and wowza - I have never related more to a character than Satoru Gojo and the forced self-awareness I now have to endure bc all the other characters are just constantly criticising him - for good reasons ofc but like, I don't need the personal attack? Anyways! ENJOY

~*~*~*~*~*~

The moment Kit’s eyes lazily fluttered open he wanted to shut them again. There was no haziness to the morning, no brief reprieve of waking where there are no thoughts and you exist in a limbo state: halfway between dreaming and consciousness.

No. Not even the incredibly comfortable bed could provide a respite from his mind.

Kit didn’t get any of that.

The first thing that greeted him when he opened his eyes was Ambrose telling him that there was a telekinetic Villain in the city. And the only telekinetic hero Kit knew of was Mentor. There was Sawyer with his shadows too, but that Villain wasn’t Sawyer. Kit knew the coldness of his shadows.

Not to mention the strange thing happening with his own powers around Ambrose. It seemed like all fucking roads just lead back to Ambrose.

Kit had to get out of bed. He had to go downstairs and face Ambrose. He had to watch the news and see the scale of Ment— Villain’s— destruction. He had to call Superhero and try to ignore the feeling in his gut that told him this Villain — whoever he was — was actually Supervillain making an appearance for the first time.

His stomach turned as his mind linked Supervillain and Mentor together, but he couldn’t stop the thought from forming. He couldn’t seem to stop anything lately.

Kit clenched his teeth as he pushed himself up and out of bed. His socked feet touched soft carpet like a cloud and tension seemed to leave his body at the feeling. Ambrose may be a rich, entitled prick, but if Kit could wake up to these carpets every morning maybe he would be too.

He stretched, his limbs cracking as he woke them up. The exhaustion from yesterday’s overused powers had dissipated overnight, leaving Kit a bit more refreshed than usual. Actually, no. Not refreshed. He felt great! Normal. Aside from a mild headache but there was no bone deep tiredness in his limbs.

It felt strange, but in a good way. He clicked his fingers and a small blue bolt formed between them. Before he could be relieved, the bolt sparked violently, red tongues of lightning forked out of the blue until Kit dropped the charge.

Shit.

Kit walked out of the room, and opened a few doors before he found a bathroom. Ignoring the luxury of the room, Kit froze in the doorway. A mirror hung above the sink and reflected Kit’s bright red eyes back at him.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Kit muttered, half-running to the mirror and pulling his eyelids down. “Stop it. Stop it. Snap out of it!”

Kit slapped himself in the face and checked again but nothing. He turned the tap on, maybe he just needed to splash some water in his face. Yeah. That was it.

The water was cool over his fingertips and refreshing as it splashed his face, but when he looked up again all he saw was red. Kit slammed his hand down on the edge of the sink, glaring at his own face in the mirror.

This was all Ambrose’s fault! Before him Kit’s powers were under control! Always under control, but now… this thing with his eyes it made him sick. His electricity was supposed to be blue not red.

“Fuck!” Kit cried, smashing his fist against the edge of the sink again. “Stupid!” Punch. “Fucking.” Punch. “GAAH!” Punch. Punch. Punch.

Ambrose paused with his mug halfway to his lips in the kitchen, hearing a slight commotion upstairs. Mallory must be awake. Then slow, heavy footsteps not even an elephant would make down the stairs.

Kit got to the end of the staircase and looked right and left. The two halls looked identical, both grand and leading different directions. Kit just wanted a coffee… he trudged to the left, trusting his instincts.

From his right, he heard Ambrose: “in here, Mallory.”

Kit was about to throw a tantrum like a toddler, but instead he walked past the staircase and town the hall to the right. On his left he saw a kitchen from some ostentatious show house, like something you’d see on TV, but he ignored it and focused on the Villain sitting at the kitchen island.

His black eyes glinting with amusement as Kit stormed in, going straight for the kettle. Or well, he would’ve gone straight for the kettle had his knees not hit the floor with an echoing thud.

Kit hissed. “What the fuck?”

Ambrose frowned where he sat and stood, walking around the counter to see the hero on his knees in just his boxer shorts and t-shirt, staring up at Ambrose with wide red eyes glowing.

“Morning.” Ambrose said, then a smile came to his lips which bubbled into a laugh at the hero’s confusion. “Oh, I completely forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Kit snapped, trying to move his legs back and stand but he couldn’t. His knees were glued to the floor as if all gravity had amassed in his kneecaps that now seemed to weigh ten tonnes.

“God it seems so faraway now,” Ambrose murmured, being the cryptic fuck that he was.

Small streaks of electricity cackled from Kit’s eyes. “Forgot what?” He asked through clenched teeth. “In case you didn’t know, Rosey, I’m not exactly a morning person, so if you could undo whatever the fuck you’ve done, I’d appreciate it.”

“But you look so good on your knees,” Ambrose told him, reaching a hand out and ruffling Kit’s hair until Kit slapped his hand away. “Like a good puppy.”

“Oh fuck off, dickhead! Let me up.”

Ambrose’s black eyes danced with amusement. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck off. I’m just going to fucking crawl I guess.”

“Ki—it,” Ambrose sing-songed, his voice moving like flute notes through his ears. He recognised the coldness of Ambrose’s powers pulling at his mind, the threat of what he could do.

Kit huffed out a breath. Crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t look at Ambrose as he mumbled: “can I get up?”

“What was that?” Ambrose asked, putting his hand to his ear like a pre-school teacher. “I couldn’t hear you over the coffee brewing.”

Red eyes snapped to black. “Can I get up? Please?!”

“Of course you can get up Kit.”

This time when Kit moved his legs, his knees didn’t keep him rooted to the spot.

“Dick,” he muttered under his breath, forcing himself not to shoulder check the villain as he passed him on the way to the kettle. “Can you undo whatever that is?”

Ambrose hummed. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. It was a measure to teach you manners.”

Fuck off, Kit thought venomously. I just want a coffee. Kit didn’t answer as he zeroed in on the kettle, and plugged it in.

“Oh, I already made a pot of coffee,” Ambrose said. Kit glanced over his shoulder at Ambrose, stare hard. Ambrose gestured to the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen and Kit was about to throw a fit. He wanted to throw the kettle at the man’s head, but he knew he just needed a coffee and then he’d be fine. So he restrained himself and walked to the coffee pot.

The smell of the coffee went straight to his heart. “Is this… drip coffee?” He asked as he poured the black liquid into the cup that was set out for him.

Ambrose scoffed behind him. “I know you’re used to living in squalor, Mallory, but I don’t keep instant coffee in the house.”

“Wow. I’m not complaining,” Kit said, turning to the island and going to sit beside Ambrose. “I mean, I don’t live in squalor, but drip coffee would be nice every morning.”

Ambrose’s black eyes went to Kit’s face as he sat into the stool. Kit was too busy looking at his bare legs to notice. “I forgot my trousers,” he grumbled, feeling the tips of his ears going pink.

Ambrose waved the comment away. “I’m sure you had more pressing issues this morning?”

Kit raised his pained gaze to Ambrose. Black eyes searched Kit’s red ones with a mildly contained annoyance. “I was hoping there wouldn’t be any lingering effects of yesterday.”

“Lingering effects?” Kit repeated incredulously. “Lingering effects?! Oh I’m sorry if my overworked powers are inconveniencing you in any way, Ambrose. I’m so sorry—”

Ambrose waved him away. “Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

While Kit continued speaking over him, sarcasm dripping from every syllable: “so very, devastatingly, sorry that my powers are all out of whack because a fucking sadistic piece of shit just loves to push me until I can’t go further.”

“Apology accepted.”

Kit scoffed, shaking his head and took another gulp of his coffee. Fuck it tasted so good, it almost made him calm down. Almost.

“But the fact of the matter is we have more pressing issues.”

A sardonic smile slid its way onto Kit’s lips, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and gesturing between them. “What is this “we” you speak of?” He asked, red eyes alight with amusement.

“Mentor, Kit. I’m talking about Mentor.”

Kit’s face dropped as he straightened. “What is this we you speak of?” He repeated tightly.

“Mallory—”

“No,” Kit spat venomously, running a hand through his hair. “No, I am not talking about Mentor with the person who destroyed his mind for fun. No. We’re not doing this.”

“Kit— it’s important, we need—”

“STOP SAYING WE!” Kit roared, slamming his hands down on the table. Red sparks erupting around him as his anger grew. He wanted to smile at the look of fear that flashed across Ambrose’s face as the electricity spit and spewed around him, like a thousand hungry tongues hissing at the air around them.

“There is no we, Ambrose.” Kit continued, his voice echoing slightly with static as if he were speaking through an old radio. “There has never been a we. The only thing that joins you and me is Mentor, and that’s a very thin line because you didn’t know about our connection until what? This week?! You have no fucking right to speak to me about—”

“Mentor is my father.”

The silence would have been deafening if Kit’s electricity didn’t stutter and stop with a pathetic jolts like an old man’s fart. Kit’s mind screeched to a stop with a record scratch, before running ten miles a second because what the fuck did Ambrose just fucking say?!

Kit just stared as Ambrose clenched his hands into fists and loosened them again, repeating the gesture as if he were reaching for something he couldn’t quite touch. It felt as if Kit’s eyelids were torn with how wide they stared at the villain in front of him because this was some fucking sick joke, right?!

“It’s not a joke,” Ambrose said quietly, a wry smile on his face when Kit’s immediate thought was: get out of my head. “It’s not a joke, Kit. I wish it were.”

“You’re—” Kit began, but didn’t have enough breath in his lungs to finish the sentence, his eyes prickling with tears that he refused to let fall. “You… you’re lying. There’s no… you don’t even—”

Kit wasn’t making sense. They were all half formed thoughts spilling from lips as he wondered whether he should kill Ambrose where he stood now, or later.

“You don’t even share the same last name,” Kit settled on, his mind reeling. Ambrose met his eyes finally and Kit wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want to see the vulnerable humanity lingering in Ambrose’s black gaze, the hard tilt to his brows. The confession seemed to strip Ambrose of everything that him, well… Ambrose, and left a man, no a boy, not much older than Kit sitting before him. “You don’t even look alike! You’re not— you can’t be—”

Ambrose sucked in a breath through his nose, burying his face in his palms and rubbing his eyes. “I can show you my birth certificate if you’d like.”

Kit sprung to his feet because he didn’t know what else to do. His body was wired — no alive — with a restless energy that he couldn’t quell or control and the only way he could do something about it was somehow related to jumping off the stool.

“You— you! There’s— you can’t be Mentor’s son! Mentor didn’t— doesn’t have a family!”

Ambrose scoffed, running his hands down his face until they settled around his cup in front of him, his gaze distant. “He would say that.”

“You’re lying.”

Ambrose turned his head to face Kit, though he didn’t really look at him. More like through him. A wry smile pulled at the edges of his eyes.

“Believe it or not, Kit. The fact remains the same.” Ambrose took a sip of his coffee or tea or whatever, while Kit just stood uselessly staring at Ambrose and trying to logic a way to this being some joke, or ruse. “I wish it wasn’t true either.”

“You— you—” Kit stuttered, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Ambrose widened his eyes slightly, raising a placating hand towards Kit.

“Hey, Kit. Calm down.”

Don’t tell me to calm down, Kit wanted to say but he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t stop shaking, his entire body felt as if he just drank a vat full of caffeine and it wanted to go, go, go. It was as if someone had just jump-started every nerve in his body, every muscle contracting, every blood cell oxygenated and his body felt far too small as everything seemed to constrict inside of him and there wasn’t enough space and his veins felt ready to burst and—

“HEY! KIT!” Ambrose screamed from far, far below Kit. He wondered distantly what was happening, why Ambrose felt so far away. Why Kit felt like he couldn’t breathe and yet never felt more alive at the same time. “FUCK!”

KIT PLEASE! STOP! Ambrose cried in his mind, but there was no power behind his words. It wasn’t a command, which Kit recognised was strange. Ambrose wasn’t one for allowing free will and all.

Still, there was something wrong. Something very wrong with this picture and Kit couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Every time he tried to narrow it down, the thought ran like water through his fingers and he couldn’t really feel his own body anymore.

Kit crashed down to reality when his head cracked off the tile and he groaned. Ambrose was on the floor beside him, far enough away that the sparks didn’t reach him that were still spluttering from Kit’s body, but why was he on the floor?

“Kit? You with me?” Ambrose asked, black eyes wide with… that couldn’t be concern, not in Ambrose’s eyes. Kit must be hallucinating. Maybe this was all just a dream, a terrible bad dream and he would wake up and everything would be fine.

Instead, Kit groaned in pain, trying to push himself up. His muscles wouldn’t listen though and just shook uselessly beside him, not supporting his weight.

“Kit, talk to me, please.”

“Shut… up… dick.”

“You just thrashed my kitchen, Kit, I think I’m allowed to speak to you.”

Kit blinked, rolling onto his back. “I— what?”

Ambrose didn’t have to answer for Kit to see the scorch marks in the ceiling of his perfect kitchen, or the cracks in the shapes of lichtenberg figures in the walls. Kit winced, glancing at Ambrose who looked to be lost in concentration.

“Ambrose… I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“I know.”

“No,” Kit protested, raising his hands in front of his face. They sparked and hissed like Kit was in overdrive, hooked up to his own nuclear reactor, a steady stream of small bolts charging the air around his palms. “I’m not doing this.”

Ambrose nodded, tapping his temple with his index finger. “I know,” he said again, and got to his feet. “The best thing I can think to do is the power dampeners.”

Kit sat up with an effort, pressing his back against a counter in Ambrose’s ridiculously massive kitchen. “Did they work?”

“No, knocking you out, worked. Though I doubt you want to do that every time this happens.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Well, then. Power dampeners it is.” Ambrose said with a breath. “Does the circuit still close if you wear the two of them on one hand?”

Kit shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t tried it. Usually when you’re catching criminals you want their hands bound too.”

“Hmm, I assume it would work the same. Only one way to find out, right?”

Kit nodded, pushing himself to his feet. Only then did he see the real extent of the damage he did. The stools were scattered around the room, appliances ripped out of sockets. Half of the kettle was melded to the door of the microwave, the microwave itself looked like a crushed aluminium can.

Kit glanced down at his fingers, at the red lightning. Did he really do all this without realising?

His mind went back to his Academy days, when he had first arrived and was only learning how emotions tied to his abilities. It was Superhero who sat down with him and taught him that in order to master his gift, he had to cut off the link between his emotions and his abilities, or he wouldn’t get anywhere as a hero.

This red lightning, it seemed, burrowed all the way down to Kit’s emotions — his negative emotions — anger, rage, hatred, confusion. How could he stop something he could barely recognise the warning signs of?

“Don’t think too much about it, Mallory. Let’s just do one thing at a time. The power dampeners.”

Kit nodded. “Right. The power dampeners.” He repeated, glancing down at his bare legs. “And trousers.”

Ambrose smiled. “Yeah. Might be a good idea.”

Kit walked back out of the kitchen, when by the door Ambrose stopped him again. “Kit, if you want fresh clothes, feel free.”

Kit stopped in the door, glancing over his shoulder at Ambrose who looked mildly embarrassed at the offer. It was a strange thing to see on him. He didn’t quite meet Kit’s eye, his hand wound tight around the back of a chair, while the other brought the mug to his lips.

Kit could tease the villain about it. Usually he would, but he felt gross and shit, so he just nodded. “Cheers.”

Ambrose raised his head, meeting Kit’s eyes and nodded slightly. Then Kit took off down the hall and up the ridiculous stairs and into the first room he found last night. He wanted a shower, he decided when he picked his jacket off the ground, taking the power dampeners from his pocket and tossing them on the bed.

Something to relax his muscles and clear his head. That would be heavenly right about now. Kit grabbed his jeans and threw them on the bed too. He bunched a fistful of his shirt and brought it to his nose, and winced at the smell. Yep, okay. He needed a shower.

He turned in the room, taking it in for the first time. It was huge, as was everything in this stupid house. He walked to the wardrobe that was tucked into the corner of the room, opening the doors. He expected suits and tailored trousers, but was pleasantly surprised when he saw a couple of old hoodies hung up. One of them an old Harvard sweatshirt that had the initials O. Ambrose embroidered into the chest.

It felt like important information, but Kit didn’t really care. His mind racing with the fact that Ambrose was somehow related to Mentor. His son? Why wouldn’t he tell Kit that he had a son? Why weren’t there any pictures or mentions of him ever?

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

Kit sighed, closing the doors to the wardrobe and opening the long door beside it. Inside were shelves of t-shirts and sweatpants and jocks and socks.

Kit took what he needed and walked to the bathroom, searching for towels before he locked the door.

“Mallory,” Ambrose said from outside.

Kit walked over to the door to see Ambrose outside, two towels in his hand. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Kit grabbed them and closed the door, locking it and turning on the shower. He ignored the flash of red he saw in the mirror. He stripped and stepped into the shower, and almost gasped at the pressure of the water drumming down on his shoulders and head.

It was so good. Better than a hotel’s pressure good, better than Kit’s shitty apartment shower anyways. He let out a long, soft sigh of relief as he felt the rushing hot water unwind the knots and pressure in his muscles. He could die under the water and he would die happy.

He washed the memories of the last day away. God was it only a day? The stress from work and Superhero’s babying treatment of him after his illness, mixing with the pains of being with Ambrose for any amount of time.

Kit rubbed his neck and collarbone where Ambrose had choked him yesterday, still feeling a phantom tie wrapped around his throat like a weighted shadow. His gaze trailed down to his arms where the cuts Ambrose had forced him to make were glaring up at him. They had scabbed over at this point, almost healing. The scabs turned yellowish-green under the water, then a purple red beneath it.

All this pain, all this… abuse Ambrose had subjected him too. Was this the price for meeting Mentor? He knew it was too good to be true when Mentor chose him, out of everyone in his year, to personally apprentice under.

The man who little by little, wore down his walled defences while building his strength and magic and confidence. Who made sure he ate everyday, who taught him the value of nutrition and how to make a proper cup of tea…

Kit slammed his fist against the tiles of the shower, hot tears mixing with the water on his face. Ambrose was a monster. He couldn’t be related to Mentor. Mentor… Mentor was a saint. He saved the entire city!

He trusted Kit!

Why wouldn’t he tell him that he had a son? Why keep it secret?! Especially someone as powerful as Ambrose, you’d think he would scream it from the rooftops.

But… but… Mentor was alone when he chose Kit. No trace of a family anywhere in his house, no other heroes mentioned it. He was alone, like Kit, and they made a family together. With each other.

Kit knew it was true, that it was real. It was the only thing he had ever been sure of in his life, so why! Kit banged his fist against the tiles again. Why was there an ache in his chest as if his heart was poisoned?! Why was there a voice in the back of his head that sadly told him that Ambrose wasn’t lying?!

Why!

Why!

Why!

Why!

Why?!

Maybe Mentor was the villain from last night. Maybe Kit never really knew him at all. Maybe Mentor only trusted him with a very small part of his life.

Either way Ambrose had the answers. Kit needed to face them, no matter how painful they would no doubt be, to hear him out.

He scoffed, sniffing. “Listen to yourself,” he muttered to the tiles, his voice uncharacteristically empty. “Hearing Ambrose out? What’s wrong with you?”

Kit sniffed, wiping the snot from his face. “Pathetic.”

He glanced to the shelf in the shower and grabbed the shower gel, staring at the bottle. It wasn’t a 3in1. Kit raised his eyes again to see other bottles in the shower. Kit stared. His brain buffering as his hand reached out to grab another bottle.

Shampoo.

Fancy looking shampoo.

Ambrose just wasted his money on fucking everything didn’t he? Was his toilet paper sheet gold?

Kit shrugged, putting the shower gel back and squeezed out some shampoo onto his hand. It smelled good. It smelled fancy.

Kit quickly showered and dried himself, wrapping the towel around his waist as he walked out to his room. Kit changed into a new t-shirt he borrowed from Ambrose and pulled on his jeans and jacket and runners.

The power dampeners he fastened around his right wrist, feeling his powers immediately diminish. When he locked the second one around the same wrist he snapped his fingers on his left hand. Nothing.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

One problem down.

He pocketed the key and left the room. Ambrose was standing in his kitchen, also dressed, his hair wet from a shower. Ambrose wore a loose sweatshirt that looked soft and black cargo pants that tucked into his boots.

Kit held up his hand triumphantly as he fell to his knees. “The power dampeners worked.”

Ambrose raised his head from an iPad, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. “And you have pants.”

“Mission successful!” Kit beamed, not caring that he was still compelled to kneel in front of Ambrose like some servant to a king.

“Good.” Ambrose said with a nod, sliding the iPad across the counter top. “You can stand, Kit. I have some bad news.”

Kit groaned, pulling himself to his feet. “What now?”

The frustration died in his throat when he saw the headlines: Water Hero kidnapped by new Supervillain, Superhero reports.

“What?” Kit asked with a breath, looking at Ambrose. “What is this?”

Ambrose stood with his arms across his chest, a hand on his mouth as he shrugged with one shoulder. “That villain last night—”

“But why would he take her?” He said “he” instead of Mentor because his brain didn’t equate the two. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“I don’t know.”

“There has to be a reason?” Kit demanded, scrolling through the article.

“I already checked,” Ambrose said with a shake of his head. He waited patiently until Kit fact checked that there was no mention of why the villain took her. Kit turned his sad eyes to Ambrose again, putting the iPad on the counter. “I think we need to go see Mentor.”

Kit deflated at the suggestion. He knew that this was coming. That eventually they’d have to go and see Mentor and check to see if he really is — if he could be…

Fuck.

Kit didn’t want to think about it.

He steeled his expression and his resolve. “Fine. You can explain everything on the way.”

Ambrose nodded stiffly, not fond of sharing his past with the Hero, but maybe, it was time to share everything, especially if that new supervillain is Mentor.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Whumpee who went through familial abuse but never told their partner until it was forced out months- maybe even years- into their relationship. And Whumpee telling their partner “I didn’t know how you would react if you found out that the people who raised me don’t even want me. I didn’t think I could handle if you started asking ‘why’ and realized that you felt the same.”

tw: implied/referenced abuse

whumpee falling in love with caretaker because caretaker is “everything their abusive father is not”

whumpee falling in love with caretaker because caretaker makes it feel like home for the first time, since whumpee’s house, where they lived with their abusive family, was never a home to them. but rather a prison.

whumpee falling in love with caretaker because caretaker makes them feel safe the way their parents could never.

whumpee falling in love with caretaker because they can truly be themself around caretaker without having to live in constant fear that they’d do something wrong that might anger the other.

whumpee falling in love with caretaker because, for the first time in their life, they don’t have to be afraid to let themself be happy anymore.

and caretaker reassuring whumpee that their past is behind them, and all those scars whumpee has — whether they’re on the outside or the inside — caretaker will kiss each and every single one of them because they’re a part of whumpee, and caretaker accepts and loves every part of whumpee wholeheartedly and unconditionally.

caretaker reassuring and reminding whumpee that they are deserving of being happy and loved.

caretaker reassuring whumpee that their family can never ever hurt them again.

caretaker reassuring whumpee that whumpee is a survivor.

[loserwithsyle]

Thinking about Whumper and Caretaker being siblings.

A whumper who used to comfort and be Caretaker's caretaker back when they were kids, but grew up to be just like their abuser.

Caretaker finding out that Whumper, their beloved sibling, did fucked up things to a child just like their own parent had done to them.

Caretaker listening to the young whumpee cry, and instead of being able to comfort them are so wrapped up in their own traumatic memories

The child whumpee who saw Whumper as a parental figure getting upset whenever this formally estranged aunt/uncle says bad things about Whumper.

Perhaps there was even a second parental figure involved. Are they being hurt? Did they encourage Whumper? Were they ever there for Whumpee?

Family dynamics in whump can be utilized in so many different ways

[courtneygacha]

Superhero prompt!

Your mom’s a Superhero, your dad’s a Supervillain, your brother’s a hero, your sister’s a villain.

And you? You’ve been used as bait for both sides, all your life. You get kidnapped by your father to cause issues your mother and occasionally vise versa.

So, it’s a little surprising when a you get kidnapped by someone who isn’t a member of your family.

Now it’s a race, and you are the prize.

Your life is, at least.

[em-writes-stuff]

"please don't"

day 20 of @febuwhump

caretaker and whumpee

1095 words

warnings: implied past abuse, young whumpee

~

Caretaker jumps up when someone knocks on the door. She trips over her feet to get to the door and nearly hits her head on the handle when she gets there. She takes a deep breath and looks through the peephole, not expecting her little brother to be standing there in a bundle of thin blankets. 

She unlocks the door and looks at him. His eyes are unfocused, trained somewhere on the ground. Bruises litter his arms, legs, and what she can see of his torso. His hair is caked in mud and the curls that she took so much time to care for are dull and lifeless. His lip is split and his cheekbone bruised. Basically, he looks like he’s been thrown off a cliff. 

“Whumpee?” She asks, taking a step out onto the porch. 

He steps back on reflex, eyes focusing when he looks at her. For a second, he doesn’t recognize her. Then his eyes light with relief and he slumps forward, falling into her arms. “Caretaker.” 

She catches him, hand coming around his back to support him. “What happened?” 

He shakes his head and leans closer to her, arm wrapping tightly around her waist. “I’m fine.” 

“Ok,” she says. “We don’t have to talk about it. Let’s go inside, alright?” He nods and lets her lead him into the house. “Are you hungry? I’ve got a few microwave meals in the freezer or we could order take out.” 

She stops in the living room and peels him off of her, holding him an arms length away. “That blanket is filthy,” she says without thinking. She takes hold of it and tries to unwrap Whumpee from it, not seeing the terror in his face. 

He swats her hand away and pulls it tighter around himself. “Please,” he says, looking at the ground. “Don’t.” 

Caretaker nods and backs away, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

She clears her throat and shifts her feet. “So…dinner?” 

Whumpee looks up from the ground and nods. Caretaker smiles softly and turns into the kitchen. “Ok, I’ve got white cheddar macaroni and cheese or beef ravioli. Which do you want?” 

She walks out of the kitchen, both boxes in hand and holds them out to him. He looks at the boxes and shrugs, “Whichever you don’t want.” 

She laughs and turns the boxes toward her, “I bought them both, so I want both of them.” Whumpee’s face falls and she quickly comes up with a solution. “How about I cook both of them, see which one I want then, and bring the other one out to you. We can eat on the couch like we used to when you’d stay home sick from school? Maybe turn on an old movie?” 

He forces a smile and nods, “That sounds nice.” 

She beams and turns back into the kitchen. “I’ll put these in now. You’ve got enough time to go and change if you want to. I know it’s been a while…but you’ve slimmed down so you might fit in your old clothes again.” 

He stands there for a second before walking down the hallway to his old room. 

There’s dust on the handle when he turns it and the door squeaks open. He walks into his room and turns the lamp on, then turns it off when he sees the dust covering it. The door doesn’t quite close, so he does his best before walking over to the window and opening the blinds, letting the afternoon sun filter in. 

Caretaker tiptoes down the hallway and peeks into Whumpee’s room. He’s standing in front of the window with his eyes closed. He’d dropped the blanket and Caretaker turns around, guilty that she would invade Whumpee’s privacy like that. She takes a deep breath and knocks softly on the door. “Hey, there’s about two minutes left. You almost ready?” She can hear him shuffling around in the room and nods to herself. “Just come out when you’re done, ok? I’ll pull a movie up and be on the couch.” 

There’s a sound of confirmation from him and she turns back down the hallway and into the living room. She picks up the remote and scrolls through the channels before finding something that she and Whumpee used to watch all the time. She clicks on it and turns the volume up. 

The microwave beeps and she hurries into the kitchen to take it out before it beeps again. It burns her hand and she drops it, cursing softly to herself. 

The red sauce splatters all over the floor and nearby cabinets. She curses and picks up the ravioli with her fingers, dropping them back in the bowl. Her fingertips burn by the time she’s done, so she runs her hand under cool water for a minute while she digs through a drawer with the other hand, looking for a washcloth. She runs the cloth under the water and wrings it out in the sink. 

The sauce didn’t have time to dry, so it comes up easily, only staining the rug in front of the sink. She rinses the rag out and hangs it on the faucet, then pulls two forks out of the sink to wash. 

She can hear Whumpee’s footsteps in the living room and yells over to him, “I’m almost done! Just need to wash silverware and I’ll be out! Get comfortable, I think there’s a blanket in the cabinet!” 

He doesn’t respond, but she can hear the cabinet open and something fall out. 

“You ok?” She asks, tilting back to look into the living room. 

Whumpee’s stood in front of the cabinet, eyes locked on whatever fell. He’s in long sleeves and sweatpants, both of which pool around him. 

“Whumpee?” 

His head snaps up to look at her and he nods, “Yeah, just…scared me is all.” 

She smiles and dries the forks off with a towel, then sticks them in the bowls and walks to the living room. 

“You get macaroni tonight.” she says, holding the bowl out to him. “Careful, it’s hot.” 

He takes it and picks up a blanket from the floor. Wrapping it around himself, he sits on the couch and scoots back into the corner of it, knees drawn up to his chest. 

Caretaker looks at him and bites her cheek, debating what to do. She decides to pick up a blanket and sit on the other side of the couch, leg extended so it’s almost touching Whumpee. 

For a second, he stares at it, but then turns his attention back to the food. 

[royal-whims]

The brother ran his fingers through his sister’s hair as she shook, curled into his lap. She was crying quietly, sucking in quick gasps of breath that cut off as if she was trying to silence herself. The thought made him twitch with rage. He fought to keep him muscles calm and nonthreatening, not wanting to frighten her. But it was hard. Very hard.

A particularly painful sob tore through her before she could stop it and the sound wrenched at his heart. His expression gained a murderous edge and he was glad she could not see him.

Whumper was going to die.

He quietly drew a hand over her back in a soothing, circular motion, trying to quell her hitching breaths.

His vision was blinded by red, fantasies of the blood of Whumper on his hands as he made them suffer for what they did to his sister. Even while rubbing her back, something meant to be helpful, he had to be careful not to brush over the bruises he knew were there, no matter how much she tried to deny they existed.

The ones that Whumper gave her.

He darkened.

“I’m going to kill them.”

His sister stuttered and froze, sobs halting suddenly. She quickly jerked her head up at him and he correspondingly looked down. He knew his face did not look very inviting at the moment, but there wasn’t much he could do for it, and he simply continued petting her hair, anger present and all.

“You- You can’t-.” She choked out.

He raised an eyebrow, “I can’t?”

“You can’t go after them.” She whispered, voice raw from crying. “They’ll- they’ll come for you too and then I won’t know what to do please please say you won’t-.” She started to hyperventilate.

He cursed. What was I thinking? he thought to himself, hastily moving to calm her down.

“Hey, hey shh it’s fine, look, it’s fine,” he said frantically, trying to stop her from curling in on herself. “Can you breathe with me? Here, let’s take some deep breaths together, okay? One, two.” He took exaggerated breaths until she slowly followed suit, her breathing ceasing it’s erratic pattern.

“Good job,” he said, returning to rubbing careful circles on her back, “Hey, look, it’s fine see?,” he tried to sound warm and not betray the bloodthirst coursing through him. “I’m not going to go after them.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes and tear-ridden cheeks. “You’re not?” She asked tentatively.

Oh, he was going to strangle Whumper.

“No, I’m not,” he said quietly, restraining himself. “So calm down, don’t stress yourself out. I’m right here, aren’t I?” They’d only ever had each other.

She exhaled in relief, muttering a quiet yes and sank back down into the comfort.

He dropped his facade and his eyes narrowed, face instantly turning solemn. He continued absently petting her hair, only to calm her, but something else entirely was on his mind.

Sorry sis, he thought. He wasn’t wholly unapologetic, but he certainly had his mind made up.

Whumper is going to die.

[oopsiwhumpeditagain]

whumpee being related to whumper, but neither of them knowing.

- one of them finding out and not knowing what to do

- caretaker finding out and trying to tell whumpee but whumpee doesn't believe them

- whumper finding out that whumpee is their child and regretting their actions

- whumper getting worse after finding out because they have a bad relationship with the rest of their family

- finding out at a family reunion

- going through an old scrapbook and seeing a picture of the other

- one or both of them changed their name and the other doesn't realize that they used to be super close

- other family members support/help whumper, even if they know that the two are related

- caretaker not being a fan of whumpee's family in the first place, so whumpee thinks that they are lying about whumper being related to them so that they become more distant from their family

[whump-n-comfort]

i always enjoy when family whump is pitted against team whump in a this or that competition because WITHOUT FAIL my immediate first thought is just "why not both?"

two siblings tied up together, promising their captor that they'll go along with anything as long as they don't hurt the other? a spouse fearing for their life and begging their attacker to give them one last opportunity to tell their partner goodbye, even if it's through a voicemail from a phone? someone's child on an undercover mission to take their most hated adversary down and having to stay in character as they listen to the adversary plot to go after their parent as a bargaining chip against them, their fists clenching at their waist so hard they might break skin? when a character has been working with a team for so long they start referring to them as "their family" in their head/outside of work instead of as just "their team"?

10/10 content, i wish to see more of it in mainstream media i beg 🤲

[whump-galaxy]

A teammate being forced to torture the whumpee…and finding out they actually like it.

Their captor takes notice of the glint in their eye whenever the opportunity arises to be the whumper.

The teammate feels great shame for hurting their friend, their family, but maybe it’s better that it’s them doing it, and not a completely uncaring whumper.

[chaotic-orphan]

Delirious Villain x Hero Caretaker (4)

TW: family abuse, abusive older brother, sick fic, sick whumpee, weak whumpee, PTSD, whumpee afraid of being sick, neglect, vomit mentions, flu-like symptoms, violence, rough beating, callous whumper, sadistic whumper

Read part one here // continued from here

This part is dedicated to @sausages-things!!! Thank you for your comments, I hope you enjoy!!

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hero woke up in the same position they went to sleep in, Villain in their arms cuddling into their chest. They smiled at Villain who was still sleeping soundly for the first time in days. No late-night vomit trips to the toilet, or night terrors, or throwing the blankets off and stripping to fight the cold sweats. Hero let out a soft sigh. They could stay like this forever.

They pressed the back of their fingers against Villain’s forehead. No fever. He wasn't terribly hot or cold, just warm — a normal, human temperature. Hero let out a breath of relief. Then started carding their fingers through Villain’s hair, pushing the damp strands off their lover’s face. Villain even looked less pale, raising Hero’s spirits that hopefully Villain would be on the mend after all the heartache of the last few days.

Hero’s phone rang from somewhere in the house and Hero stifled a groan. They really didn’t want to move or disturb Villain in their arms. Maybe if they ignored it, the caller would give up on their endeavour and Hero could stay in bed with Villain. Besides, it wasn’t anyone important. Hero booked time off in work so they could wait on Villain hand and foot, look after everything Villain couldn’t. It’s what partners were for, to be there for each other.

The ringtone stopped and Hero smiled, glancing down at Villain again. Their peace only lasted a fraction of a second, before their phone started ringing again. Hero seriously contemplated waiting it out, but what if it was something important? What if some new villain was decimating an entire city block? Villain would understand if Hero had to go and stop them.

Well, understand, yes, but Villain wouldn't let Hero go alone. Hero blushed as they remembered the last time they tried to leave to stop a new villain fresh in the city.

“I really have to go, Vil.”

Villain slammed his hand out on the opposing wall, stopping Hero from leaving Villain's room, back when they were initially dating. Hero rolled their eyes at Villain, crossing their arms across their chest.

“What if I say no?”

“Villain—”

“What if,” Villain continued, stepping in front of Hero and crowding them so Hero was pushed back a step. “There is another villain who wants your complete attention?"

“Is this same villain acting like a complete child right now?”

Villain chuckled in reply. The deep chuckle that wound a knot in Hero’s stomach and set their heart aflutter. He forced Hero back a step, then another until Hero was backed against the wall.

“Vil—”

Villain reached a hand up to cup Hero’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting their head up to look Villain in the eyes. “Do I have to threaten an orphanage, or kidnap the mayor to get an ounce of your attention?”

“I’ve given you attention all night.”

“I don’t like sharing,” Villain said, stepping forward and closing all remaining distance between them. “What if you chat with this new villain and he sweeps you off your feet?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Hero said, ignoring the sudden, breathless quality of their voice.

“Am I? That’s what happened with you and me.”

Hero grabbed Villain’s wrist, not trying to dislodge his hold on Hero, but instead rubbing soothing circles over it, their other hand reaching to Villain’s cheek.

“This new villain isn’t you.”

“Damn right he isn’t.” Villain all but growled, smashing his lips to Hero’s, melting any words that still lingered on Hero’s tongue. The kiss was hungry, Villain deepening it quickly, forcing Hero’s head back against the wall when Hero tried to return the passion. This wasn’t a loving kiss, it was passionate, possessory. Villain showing Hero exactly who they belonged to; drawing a distinct line between Villain and all other villains that Hero had to fight.

Villain pulled back, pecking Hero once more before he nodded and stepped back. Hero blinked dazed up at Villain. Villain smiled wolfishly down at Hero, a flash of white and smouldering eyes.

“Come on, Hero. We have a villain to get rid of.”

Hero nodded stupidly, then shook their head, eyes narrowing as clarity hit them like a smack in the face. “Wait! What? You’re coming?! What if someone sees?! What if they—”

“What if they somehow think we’re dating? Darling, I’m not suggesting we arrive at the same time. You can swoop in, save the day, be the Hero I adore,” Villain said, brushing a stray hair from Hero’s eyes. “And I will dispose of this new villain once you rescue the hostages, hmm?”

“Villain—”

“I do love it when you say my name.”

“I don’t want you to kill—”

“Who said anything about killing, my dear? I’ll simply share my experiences and push them down the path of the righteous. To use their powers for good.”

Hero agreed at the time, but the other villain from that night never showed up again, and Hero didn’t think it was from Villain’s persuasive argument.

Hero cursed under their breath before slowly disentangling themselves from Villain and slipping out of bed unnoticed. Villain stirred briefly, but just snuggled into the pillow Hero was leaning on and settled again. Hero held back a groan as they opened the door to their bedroom and quickly shut it again so the noise wouldn’t disturb Villain.

Hero marched towards the counter, grabbing their phone and yanking it off charge, not even bothering to look at the caller ID when they barked: “what?”

“Hero! I’ve been trying to reach you for the last twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, Superhero,” Hero said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose, leaning heavily against the counter. “Listen, I have the rest of this week booked off.”

“I know, but Hero I need you.”

“Get Other Hero.”

“Have you not watched the news?” Superhero asked, almost heartbroken down the line. Hero’s heart seized in their chest. “Hero… Supervillain struck again last night. Other Hero and Sidekick were out on patrol when—” Superhero’s voice caught, and Hero lurched forward. “They… uh… they don’t think Sidekick’s gonna make it, Hero.”

“What?” Hero whispered.

“Please,” Superhero pleaded. “There’s not enough— I need you here, Hero. Or even to protect —”

“Of… of course, Superhero. I’m, I’ll be twenty minutes, but I’ll be there, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry. I know that your partner—”

“It’s okay,” Hero cut in. “Honestly, Superhero. Twenty minutes.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll see you then.”

Hero cursed checking the time. They had to get ready. They had to leave Villain a note or something, shit they had to get ready. They paused at the door to their bedroom, not wanting to wake Villain up. They pivoted on their heel, turning to the laundry room and praying that — yes! Clean clothes! Perfect. They wouldn’t have to disturb Villain at all, and Villain could get the rest he needed.

Hero was pulling on their runner, half hopping around the living room, eyes scouring every inch of the place for the other one. Their eyes drifted back to their bedroom door and cursed under their breath. They didn’t have time to worry about it, it would be fine. Just in and out, and oh fuck they needed their keys to get back in.

“Hero?” Villain asked the moment Hero stepped into the room. Bleary eyes raised above the duvet to Hero who was frozen mid-air reaching for their runner. Hero smiled bashfully at Villain and straightened, apologising as they walked over to the bed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know I said that I had booked time off but something big happened and Superhero called, and he needs—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Villain said softly, putting his hand on Hero’s arm. “Don’t worry about me, I’m feeling loads better.”

Hero almost let out a sigh of relief. “Are you? Or are you just saying that, so I’ll go like yesterday?”

“Hero—”

“Villain.”

As if to make his point, Villain sat up in the bed and leaned over to kiss Hero’s knuckles. “Hey, crimefighter. Look, I’m fine. I feel great.” Hero tilted their head, and Villain pressed on, “you are going to miss a lot of sexy sleeping while you’re gone, though.”

Hero laughed.

“I’m serious,” Villain told them. “Oh, I’m gonna have a day in bed, full of sexy snots in tissues and shitty daytime TV, oh, how will I survive without you?”

“You’re such an idiot,” Hero told them smiling. Villain’s hand tightened in Hero’s.

“I’m your idiot.” Villain replied. “I’ll order soup or food or whatever, I’ll be fine until your home.”

“But if it’s a new Supervillain—” that meant long hours and possibly working multiple shifts to—

Villain’s gaze hardened as he cut in, “I’ll be fine. Go. You saved me yesterday; I can’t hog the city’s Hero twice in a week.”

“What about that time you held me captive in that warehouse?”

Villain’s cocky smile made an appearance on his tired face. It didn’t make as much as an impression as it usually did, with the bags under Villain’s red rimmed eyes and his pale, lacklustre skin. “Darling, that was a weekend getaway for the two of us.”

Hero leaned in and kissed Villain’s forehead. “If you need me, call.”

“I will.”

“Okay, I love you,” Hero said, gathering everything they needed as they left.

Villain reclined back into the pillows on their bed. “I love you too.”

*~*~*~*~*

Hero went straight to the Hero tower, rushing in and bolting to the lift, heading straight for Superhero’s office. When they got to the floor, Hero speed walked the corridor until they found Superhero in his office. His desk was in disarray, holding his head in his hands as Hero opened the door.

“Superhero.” Superhero looked up.

“Hero,” Superhero said, getting to his feet and walking around his desk. “Thank God you’re here. I’m so sorry about your partner. I just—”

“Nevermind that now,” Hero said with a wave. “What can I do? How can I help? You’re not usually this stressed. Tell me everything.”

“It was just — there was no rumours or hints at anything yesterday, or in the past month. It wasn’t disturbingly quiet or unusual, so we thought that it would just be a regular patrol, but Other Hero and Sidekick were hurt bad and they’re in the hospital getting treated…”

“Do you know what villain did this?”

Superhero’s eyes hardened. “I don’t know for sure. It could be a new Supervillain for all we know, but it reminded me a bit of Villain’s MO as well.”

Hero stiffened, a furrow forming between their brows. No way could it have been Villain, they’re home, sick in bed and Hero spent the entire night with them.

“Oh?” Hero asked. “Have you been to the hospital?”

Superhero shook his head. “I’ve been too caught up here. All I know is scraps from other heroes reports but I need someone I can trust to guard them.”

Hero’s frown deepened. “You don’t think a hero had anything to do with it, do you?”

Superhero’s eyes were desperate as he shrugged helplessly, turning to scan the papers on his desk. “I don’t know, Hero. I don’t want to rule out the possibility that a villain may have charmed one of us and somehow manipulated us to give up sensitive information like patrols or something.”

Hero was glad Superhero had his back to them, otherwise he would have seen the pain that crossed Hero’s expression. Villain… Villain would never do that to Hero, would he? He wouldn’t— I mean, Hero knew Villain wasn’t— he wasn’t friendly with other villains, so Villain wouldn’t betray Hero like that. Never.

“I’ll go to the hospital,” Hero said, voice firm. “I’ll get some of the heroes I trust most and recruit them as well. I won’t let anything happen to Other Hero or sidekick; I promise.”

Superhero turned and smiled. He placed a hand on Hero’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Thank you, Hero. You are one of the only heroes I trust would never converse with a villain. That will help everything run smoother here.”

“Of course, Superhero.” Hero forced out, guilt threatening to clog their words. They left as quickly as they had come, leaving Superhero’s office in a flash, back down the corridor to the lift. It was empty when it arrived, something Hero was grateful for. The moment the doors closed they pressed their back flush against the wall, taking in deep breaths. Unaware of who was watching them through the camera in the corner.

*~*~*~*~*

Superhero straightened once he heard the lift doors close at the end of the hall. He walked around his desk and looked at the Hero in the lift through the cameras. Eyes hard as Hero leaned back against the wall, hands braced on their knees. How had he not seen this before? Why had he trusted Hero of all people?! And somehow Villain wormed his way into Hero’s life?! He waited until Hero stepped out of the lift before he switched his computer screen from the cameras and stood from his desk.

He schooled his expression and stepped out of his office. He said to Number Two Hero: “I need to head out, will you hold down the fort while I’m gone?”

“Of course, Sir.”

Superhero thanked them and walked down the corridor to the lift. He needed to pay Villain a little, friendly visit.

*~*~*~*~*

Villain peeled themselves out of bed, skin sticky with sweat. His nose turned up as he caught a whiff of himself and he almost gagged. A shower before anything else was necessary.

He could almost hear Hero telling him that he shouldn’t take a shower, that he’s too weak and what if he slipped or passed out and the water was too hot — and a whole host of other problems that Hero could foresee. Villain smiled softly to himself as he locked the bathroom door.

He was lucky to have them.

*~*~*~*~*

Superhero told Hero that Other Hero and Sidekick were being treated at West-Point General Hospital, which was a pain to get to. It was on the edge of the city and took a forty-minute train to get there and back to the Hero tower, nevermind Hero’s apartment.

They shot Villain a text, informing him that they’d be late home. They hesitated to say the reason: the words: ‘Other Hero and Sidekick were attacked’ stared up at them on the screen. Hatefully, suspicion curled viciously like a snake in Hero’s chest, Superhero’s words of warning.

Villain would never betray me, Hero told themselves. Work and their relationship were completely different for them both.

If that’s true, a nasty voice piped up, why did you delete the explanation?

Hero swallowed thickly and shoved their phone into their pocket.

*~*~*~*~*

Villain let out a sigh of relief once the hot water hit his aching muscles, it felt so good. As if the sickness was being rinsed from his body. He glanced around the bathroom, half-expecting the apparition of his brother to appear again.

No, Villain reminded himself, shaking his head as if he could shake the memory from his head. He’s not here. He’s not real. That was just a hallucination or something. Still, Villain crossed his arms across himself in a self-hug under the warm water.

He pressed his forehead against the cool tile, hoping Hero came home sooner rather than later.

*~*~*~*~*

Hero walked to the reception desk, putting on their best charming smile. “Hi, I’m looking for Other Hero and Sidekick.”

Receptionist nodded and tapped on his keyboard. “Third floor. Room 316.”

“Thank you.”

Hero kept their eyes peeled as they ascended the stairs, looking out for any suspicious characters lurking around. When Hero got to the third floor, they followed the signs towards room 316. The room was left unguarded, and Hero’s heart started to run a little faster in their chest as they approached.

They half expected a massacre in the room, but it was worse than Hero imagined. Only Other Hero lay in the bed, the other was vacant, the door opened. Hero rushed inside, looking for any clues or hints or something that would lead to the missing Sidekick.

Other Hero looked was hooked up to a bunch of monitors, half of her face was swollen with deep purple and black bruises. Some of the cuts had been stitched and a tube was inserted in her mouth.

A gun cocked behind Hero, and they froze. “Come to finish us off, have you?”

Hero frowned, looking over their shoulder to see Sidekick wobbling in the doorway. They didn’t look much better than Other Hero, leaning heavily on the doorframe to keep themselves up.

“Sidekick it’s Hero,” Hero said. At the sound of Hero’s voice, Sidekick thumbed the hammer forward and clicked the safety on, lowering their gun.

“Good, I don’t think I can make it back to the bed.”

Hero immediately went to them and threw an arm over their neck, supporting Sidekick’s weight as they guided them back to bed. “What happened? Why did you leave the bed?”

“I needed the loo,” Sidekick grumbled and hissed as they settled back onto the bed. Hero’s panicked eyes went to Sidekick’s side that was red with bloodstains.

“Who did this to you?” Hero asked as they straightened to further observe Sidekick.

Sidekick shook their head then winced. “We didn’t see them, or at least…” Sidekick glanced at Other Hero, “I don’t think we did,” they said quieter. “I know I didn’t, but I don’t know about Other Hero.”

Hero nodded sympathetically. “Did you get an idea of their abilities? Were they powered?”

“Whatever they were they were strong, Hero. Really fucking strong, and— and I couldn’t fight them. Every time I got close to them, they’d weave out of the way and punch me and send me reeling. Other Hero she at least got a couple of good hits in before he turned all his attention on her.”

Hero frowned, eyes going to Other Hero’s broken body. If what Sidekick was saying was true, then — “how did you survive?”

“What?”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive,” said Hero quickly. “I just — if your opponent was a beast of a thing, how did you both end up in hospital?”

Sidekick scoffed. “Halfway through the fight I radioed for Superhero to help us. He must’ve arrived after I passed out because the next thing, I know I’m here and Other Hero is strapped to machines to keep her fucking breathing.”

Sidekick dissolved into quiet sobs that shook their body, not willing to let any sound out. “I should’ve— I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve been able to— to—”

“It’s okay, Sidekick,” Hero told them gently.

Furious eyes flashed to Hero’s face. “You can’t say that! You don’t know what it’s like to be weak! To be beaten so badly that you can’t even move! I should have been able to protect her!”

Hero stood still, lips drawn down tight, not knowing what to say to comfort Sidekick. A voice at the door took their attention.

“Hero. A word.”

Hero turned, frown deepening at the owner of the voice. It was the number three Hero, Ajax. What the hell was he doing here? Hero followed him out, closing the door as they left the room. “What’re you doing here?” Hero asked before Ajax could speak.

“I’m here to watch over them. Make sure the villain they faced doesn’t come back to finish them off,” Ajax said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“But… Superhero sent me to do that.”

“Superhero? He already posted me; I told him I could do it alone. I’ve been itching to get away from the office to tell you the truth.”

Hero’s brows drew together, deep in thought. Why would Superhero send me all this way for no reason? Maybe Ajax needed some support?

“Ah, Hero!” Hero looked up and saw Briar’s smiling face meet theirs. “Paying a visit? How is your partner? I heard he was sick.”

Hero let a smile slide across their features. “Yeah, yeah. It looks like you two got it all covered though. My partner… I actually got to get back to him.”

“Of course,” Briar said, slapping Ajax on the back. “Me and the big guy got everything covered here.”

Ajax shot questioning eyes at Hero, but Hero couldn’t answer any themselves, so they didn’t. Hero nodded and said their goodbyes, before heading back for the train, trying to make sense of Superhero’s emergency call.

Maybe Superhero just forgot he posted other heroes to the hospital? Maybe he was just stressed out… whatever it was it didn’t really matter. It meant Hero could get home to Villain quicker than anticipated. Maybe Villain could help them make sense of this wild goose chase.

Hero glanced at their phone when they got on the train, smiling at Villain’s reply they hadn’t seen until now. At least they were going home earlier and could relax with Villain at home, snuggled up under the blankets, maybe watch a movie or something.

*~*~*~*~*

Villain couldn’t keep the grin off his face after his shower as he towelled his hair dry. His body still ached; his limbs moved with a rust-like creaking, but he felt so much lighter after his shower. So much clearer and fresh.

He smiled as he glanced at their phone, Hero telling him that there was some soup in the fridge, and they might be longer than they initially thought. Villain stared at the words at the end of the text, I love you.

Such simple words that made more warmth bloom in his chest than the shower did. Villain text a quick reply before tossing his phone on the bed. He didn’t really want food right now, maybe some water or tea. He brushed his teeth before the shower to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. He shuddered to think of it, happy it was over.

Villain ignored the idea of food or drink altogether and opted instead to take some painkillers and watch some TV on the sofa, cuddled up under the cow pattern blanket that smelled like Hero.

*~*~*~*~*

Hero stepped out of the lift of the Hero tower, walking towards Superhero’s office. They stopped outside it, but there was no Superhero. Hero frowned and turned, walking onto the map room floor. Second met their eye across the room, frowning as Hero made their way over.

“Hero? Aren’t you on leave?”

Hero frowned. “Yeah, but Superhero called me in. Have you seen them?”

“They went out,” Second told Hero.

“When?”

“About half an hour ago.”

“Do you know where?”

“No, but I didn’t ask.”

Hero nodded. “Right.”

*~*~*~*~*

Villain woke to the sound of the door being opened. He hadn’t realised that he had fallen asleep.

“Hero?” He mumbled, not opening his eyes yet as the door closed. Judge Judy played softly in the background until it was turned off. He felt Hero’s stare on him, sitting down on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Villain cracked an eye open, vision blurry with sleep, but he immediately knew that that wasn’t Hero. Villain jerked back on the couch, blinking themselves awake.

No, no, no, no, no, no…. Why was he having hallucinations again? He felt so much better. Villain shook his head.

“You’re not real, you’re not real,” Villain said to himself.

“Oh, I think you’ll find I’m very real, Villain.”

Villain kicked out on instinct, his feet catching in the blanket he was tangled up in. Superhero chuckled. “You’re still so pathetic,” Superhero said leaning forward. Villain pushed at Superhero’s outstretched hand, eyes widening as it made contact.

“Wh— what?” Villain asked, his entire body shaking with a mixture of adrenaline and fear and groaning muscles. Superhero didn’t answer, instead he batted Villain’s hand away and grabbed Villain by the throat. Villain’s hands went to Superhero’s wrist, trying to pull it off, but Superhero pressed him back into the couch.

“When I heard that Hero was dating a villain, I was concerned, but to realise that that villain was you. Well, I can kill two birds with one stone.”

Villain tried to untangle himself from the blanket, but he was well and truly cocooned no matter how much he kicked.

“I’ve missed you, Villain. And to think you were here, in my city. Hiding under my nose for the longest time, in bed with my best Hero, you’re like a cockroach.”

Villain’s eyes widened in terror. “If you laid a hand on them—”

Superhero tilted his head. “You’ll what? Kick me?”

Before Villain could think to reply, Superhero punched him right in the solar plexus. Villain lurched forward, breath stolen, straight into Superhero’s palm who squeezed, cutting off his air supply.

“Let’s get a proper look at you, hmm?”

Villain barely had time to process the words when Superhero yanked him off the couch by their shirt and tossed him to the ground. Villain barely felt the impact as they rolled, gasping in air as he went, hands protectively curled around his stomach.

“I would’ve thought that Villain, the Villain would have more to offer me. Something formidable, but look at you,” Superhero said, following Villain’s retreat with heavy, deliberate footsteps. “Still as weak as ever. I could kill you right now and let Hero find your mangled corpse, and y’know what?”

Superhero sent a swift kick to Villain’s cheek, whipping Villain’s head to the side. Villain turned over onto his stomach, getting one hand under himself before there was a hand in his hair, yanking thim back.

Villain cried out, grabbing the hand, trying to alleviate the pressure, but Superhero didn’t let up. He pulled Villain back and up to his feet, shoving him forward. Villain’s hands shot out to catch himself on the wall before he fell again.

“There you go, let me get a good look at you,” Superhero said. Villain’s whole-body shook, his legs trembling, struggling to keep himself upright. His limbs ached, screaming at him to rest and relax, but Villain’s terror left him frozen. “Turn around.”

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be real, this isn’t real. This is just another hallucination, Superhero can’t be here, he can’t be… he can’t be…

Superhero’s voice dropped low, chilling Villain to the core. “Do I have to ask twice, or do you remember who’s in charge?”

Villain used the wall to turn themselves, facing Supervillain and staring him in the eyes. He refused to cower anymore.

“Hmm, so Hero’s been slumming it with you, have they?”

“Why?” Villain snapped. “Jealous?”

Superhero laughed, shaking their head slowly. “No,” he replied, tilting his head. “Though I’m sure my advances wouldn’t be refused.”

Villain grit their teeth. “You’re lying.” He was, but to see that flash of fear cross Villain’s face after so long was worth it.

“I just always pictured Hero with someone strong. Y’know, someone who could stand on their own two feet. Someone with a Hero’s physique, you? What, have you completely disregarded your training, or do you want to look like a complete failure?”

Villain shook his head, sweat clinging to the back of his neck as he stepped off the wall. He immediately regretted the decision and stumbled back, gritting his teeth as the world spun and tilted.

“We’re not kids anymore,” Villain said instead or rising to Superhero’s bait. “You don’t have any effect on me.”

“Is that so?”

Villain swallowed hard, humming his reply as Superhero started towards him, taking slow, deliberate steps that sent Villain’s heart racing.

“Because that’s not what I heard. I heard you begging your brother to leave you alone,” Superhero said, relishing the way all colour seemed to leave Villain’s face. “To stop, to beat you instead today, please, please, please.”

“Y—you h-heard that?” Villain asked with a timid voice as Superhero stopped in front of him.

“Oh yes, and I thought it was strange, because well, I wasn’t there, Vil. But don’t worry. Big bro’s here now, and we’re going to make you better.”

“No—” Villain protested, shooting his hand out. Superhero caught it by the wrist and twisted his arm before slamming it back against the wall. “No, no, no, no!”

“Don’t you want to be worthy of Hero? Don’t you love them enough to be perfect?”

“Hero loves me!” Villain cried, tears springing to his eyes as he struggled to get out of Superhero’s grip. But Superhero was too strong. Superhero was always stronger than Villain, and no matter how much Villain trained or wanted to forget it, he was right back where he ran away from. He was back as a kid, Brother overpowering him and staring back into his brother’s callous, dispassionate eyes. “Brother, please.”

Superhero brushed Villain’s hair from his forehead, gently hushing Villain. “Oh, Villain. We haven’t even started yet.” His eyes darkening. “But don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of time for begging later.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Continued here

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Whumpee who suffered childhood abuse, who is called back to their home town to settle some important things, and is forced to be in direct contact with their abuser.

Caretaker accompanying them, holding their hand when facing their Whumper and reassuring them that they’re safe.

Whumper, knowing they won’t be physically able to harm Whumpee, begins saying nasty things about Caretaker. Trying to get into Whumpee’s head that Caretaker has something to gain or is using them.

nothing to add. a classic one ❤️💯💯

[firapolemos05]

The Web and the Lamp

@whumpuary AO3

Prompt 5

Can't move

CW: home invasion, attempted kidnapping, sibling whump, implied past child abuse, past matricide, implied cult childhood, magical immobilization, forced haircut, restraints, gags, threats to a loved one, verbal abuse, burns, blood magic, horror, insects, spiders, whumper turned whumpee

OCs: Bellkiira (he/him), Inithra (she/her), Twilight (they/he), Samhain (she/her)

In hindsight, Bellkiira should’ve noticed something was wrong the moment he stepped into the dark house. Twilight usually left a lamp on in the front room for him when he got home before sunrise.

But he's a creature of the dark. It's no trouble for his vision to transition to grayscale and for the wooden furnishings of his home to come into view. Mud walls decorated with Bellkiira’s paintings. Shelves filled with Twilight’s terracotta pottery. The ability had spared him from many jabbed hips and stubbed toes.

He hangs his cloak on the bronze stand by the entryway and glances over to the arched doorway that leads to his partner's workshop. The curtains are drawn closed, the space beyond dark, so they haven't awakened early to work on a project. 

Bellkiira’s plan was to go whip up some breakfast. Twilight had recently restocked their reserves of black-eye peas and koose seemed to be one of few things unaffected by the drow’s curse of culinary disasterness. 

Plus it never got old to see his partner's face light up with delight whenever he made them food.

That was his plan.

Bellkiira is halfway towards the kitchen when the floor turns red and his body just stops.

He-

His body isn't listening to him. His muscles refuse to move. Apprehension pools into his stomach. 

‘The fuck is happening?’

He can't move.

In his peripheral vision, he could just barely catch the dull red edge of a glowing magic circle beneath his feet.

A glyph.

Someone had broken into his house and trapped it with a Glyph of Warding spell. The fact that its effect appeared to be an inconvenient but harmless stored Hold spell rather than a destructive explosive did nothing to quell Bellkiira’s growing anxiety. 

Is Twilight okay?

Did whoever set this spell hurt them?

He would call to the tabaxi, hopefully asleep safe in bed, but the spell had locked his jaw and tongue in place.

‘No, no, don't panic.’ The spell would only last a minute. As soon as it released him, he'll be able to go check on his partner. It'll be fine. This was probably some prank by one of the lyceum students. Some of the more mischievous teenagers had a habit of pestering him whenever their schoolwork brought them to the archives. He'll be able to move again in a minute. Everything will be-

“You haven't changed at all, brother. Still so foolishly naive.”

With his mind spiraling, Bellkiira had not noticed the other presence in the room before the voice spoke from directly behind him. 

He couldn't see her.

He didn't need to. 

He knew that voice anywhere.

Only the spell's hold on his body prevents Bellkiira from flinging himself across the room. Away from her. Away from the sister he'd never thought he'd see again. It doesn't stop his heart from vaulting into his throat. 

‘How the fuck did she find me?!’

How didn't he see her in the room? Why is she here? 

Hands grab his wrists, wrenching them behind his back while Bellkiira was helpless to resist. Helpless to act on the fear freezing his blood. He feels the cold bite of metal through his gloves as a pair of manacles fasten in place. His mind comes to a quick conclusion. 

Inithra isn't killing him. She means to take him alive. She's bringing him back to that city.

“The High Priestess has ordered your arrest. You have been found guilty of desertion, treason, heresy, and murder. I hope you've gained some semblance of a brain to comprehend the consequences of such crimes.”

There's only one reason Lod'tynan Orbbs'cress would demand the return of a traitor.

His tongue is still. He still can't speak. Can't yell for help. Can't protest as Inithra removes his grimoire from his belt, his spell components and various tool kits.

He can't go back there. Not again. Not after what they did to him last time. What they would've done had his mother not believed he could be re-educated. That had not been a mercy. Bellkiira had magic now. He had grown stronger. Lady Samhain had given him the ability to take his freedom. He would use it now. Just as soon as he could fucking break free from this godsdamn spell.

Something cold and hard clamps over his mouth, and Bellkiira’s panic skyrockets as he recognizes the distinct toxic metallic odor of lead.

“Don't get any ideas,” Inithra hisses into his ear, securing the straps of the gag at the back of his neck. “You disgrace yourself, letting your soul be tainted by magic of a lesser-” Even the sudden pause in her words is enough to frighten him, and when she yanks too hard on his braid, his stomach drops.

‘No. No, don't.’

The disdain in her next words is palatable. “You dare mock our traditions? Braids are a mark of the strong and the loyal. You are neither.” There's the sharp shing of a knife being unsheathed. “The likes of you are not worthy to wear it.”

‘Your name may not mean something nice in your language, but I know a bit of the Elven spoken here on the surface. Bellkiira means strong gems, and you're certainly the strongest gem I know.’

Twilight had said those words to him once. When Bellkiira opened up about everything, revealing to them every scar of his past both physical and emotional. Those words had made his heart flutter.

Inithra was wrong.

He was not about to let her take away the symbol of his freedom. His final ‘fuck you!’ to the so-called family who hurt him, to the society that deemed his purpose was to serve.

It was a merciful moment for the spell to break.

Without hesitation, he lurches forward, and the pain of the pull on his hair is worth breaking from his sister's grip. In moments he's crossed the room, stumbling to keep his balance, then whirls around to finally face his would-be kidnapper. 

The space before him is empty. 

Where-?

He can hear Inithra's footsteps approaching but she's nowhere in sight. An invisibility spell? Divine mages usually didn't have that in their repertoire.

The young drow turns heel and runs. His heart yearns to fight her but he can't, not like this. Not while restrained and without magic. So he books it to the front door. To go get help and get Inithra out of his home.

Only he's left reeling back and falling on his ass, a scream clawing up his throat at the giant fucking spider perched on a web across the entryway.  Its beady eyes bore into him and the terror is consuming. Foregoes all rational thought and overrides it with the sole impulse to flee.

“Seems you've yet to grow out of this childish fear of yours as well.”

The urge to spite her is almost enough to break him out. But not enough. He's scrambling away like a wounded crab attempting to evade a hungry gull and in his panic forgets the gag over his mouth. 

His lips barely work through the incantation of a spell before he realizes his mistake. The faint hum of magic cuts off and the metal on his face and around his wrists warm until they're searing. The howl of pain is muffled against the gag but the stench of burning flesh hits his nose with full potency.

A cold pressure snakes through his body. From the tips of his fingers, up his arms, into his torso, and down his legs, overtaking him with a strange stiffness that stills his writhing. Bellkiira mentally screams in frustration as he finds himself unable to move again. 

Had Inithra cast another Hold-?

There's a chilling sensation of heaviness, then a pulling, and without his consent his body sits up. And stands. And walks. Something pulls on his limbs, forcing muscle and sinew to move against their owner's will. It hurts. Almost like his blood vessels are attempting to bulge through his skin.

As if the vessels themselves had become puppet strings.

The pulling stops just as unseen fingers curl around his neck. 

“Enough of this juvenile rebellion. You are returning with me and you will take whatever punishment the High Priestess has deemed fit with whatever dignity you can trudge from this gutter.”

He can't speak so he lets his eyes do the talking for him. Glaring into the dark hoping she sees the hatred. Contrary to what she may think, he isn't stupid. He knows exactly how this works. The only spell she would know that would teleport them directly back requires all passengers to be willing. Like hell is he just going to let her drag him back there to die-.

“That devil cat is quite fond of you.”

‘No!’

“Does he know what you did?”

‘You leave them alone, you bitch!’

“I suspect you wouldn't want to see him harmed.”

Hot tears prick at the back of his eyes and Bellkiira hates how quickly he breaks. He should’ve known she would stoop low enough to resort to threats. Those words are all that is needed to ring all the fight from him.

‘I'm sorry, Twi.’

He won't even get to say goodbye. 

He's not expecting the slap, and the sharp pain striking his cheek makes him feel like a child again. Weak and small and scared. The force knocks him to the ground and he can't stop the tears from spilling over. And he can't stop the sobs when the knife returns and slices off his treasured braid.

“Figures you would cry for another surface scum,” Inithra sneers with distaste, tossing the hair aside like it's a piece of trash. “Honestly, you should be grateful I'm not killing you here, as much as I wish to. After everything you've done, you don't deserve to mourn him. Not after you made me mourn Mother.”

That mother of theirs did not deserve to be mourned.

She could not stop him from mourning. Twilight would be the only one he would cry over. His only regret. 

A dim glow washes over the room, returning color to Bellkiira’s vision, and his sister's form materializes before him. He almost feels satisfaction seeing her sunken cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. Well, one eye actually, the one not concealed by an eyepatch.

That had been his fault as well.

The sudden presence of light seems to startle her, the realization of not being hidden anymore. At the end of the room a flame rises from an oil lamp. Not even a second later, a vase shatters against her head and terracotta fragments rain across the floor.

Inithra falls hard and whatever force she'd been controlling to puppet her brother falters.

“Kiir!”

Relief and dread meet like two crashing trains. Relief of rescue. Dread of Twilight rushing into the room towards him and right into danger.

Strong arms embrace Bellkiira and maneuver him away from the fallen woman. Twilight takes one look at his face, stricken with tears, burned by the lead gag, his too short hair, and their eyes blow wide with horror.  Their hands make quick work of the straps around his head and the awful thing is thrown to the floor. 

“Is she your-?”

Bellkiira flexes the ache out of his jaw, wincing as the move pulls on burned skin. “Yes,” he confirms. 

Inithra staggers to her feet, blood oozing from her head wound a stark contrast against her braided white hair (oh how he’d envied her growing up). A red eye piercing daggers. 

The tabaxi tightens their protective hold, the gravity of the situation dawning. And if Inithra was as intelligent as she held herself, she'd see that her brother was equally ready to defend his partner. 

“You will submit or you will regret it.”

That gag is finally off. There's two particular words he's been waiting to tell her.

“Fuck you!”

Her eye twitches. “I won't repeat myself again, Trael'yul.”

It's the first time she calls him by name and it isn't even the right one.

Trael'yul.

He would've taken centuries of imprisonment if it meant he'd never have to hear that name again. It wasn't his, never was. Not when the last high priestess he'd known spoke it as she sentenced him to death. Not when his mother first bestowed it to him the day of his centennial.

Trael'yul.

Obedient prize.

Something Bellkiira ensured he would never become, with his mother's death and his escape. 

“That's not my fucking name.”

His sister scoffs. “Of course you would abandon the name mother gave you. You always were a disrespectful brat.”

“Maybe I just wanted a real mother who actually gave a damn about me! Maybe I was just sick and tired of being treated like a slave!”

“That's your damn purpose! As is for all others like you. That is where Lolth has placed you.”

“That fucking spider bitch doesn't give a shit about you! Any of you!” Bellkiira snarls, finally letting forth years worth of contempt and anger. “She's driving you all to ruin! Using you all to feed her own power. Did you know Lod'tynan Orbbs'cress is the only city of the Underdark still under her influence? All the rest have freed themselves and are way better off without her.”

Inithra's face twists and he could really see the resemblance to their mother. She even had the same way of raising her hand before going to slap him.

Twilight moves between them, becoming a defensive shield. “Don't you dare.”

For the first time, Inithra addresses them directly. “What do you think you can do, cat? When I can manipulate the blood in your bodies. Perhaps I should make you strike him and teach him his place.”

They tense up with that threat. “Maybe I can't beat you,” they begin, and Bellkiira’s heart soars with pride when they pull a familiar orange maple leaf from their pocket, “but she can.”

‘Oh you brilliant moon.’

With a clench of their fist, the leaf crumbles in Twilight’s hand.

And before Inithra can make some condescending comment - questioning what a mere leaf could do - all three of them feel the pulse of energy that emanates. The flame in the oil lamp burns higher. The shadows around them grow, climbing further up the walls.

And begin to dance.

A breeze coming from nowhere flutters the curtains and rustles their hair. It carries an old graveyard scent of soil and stone. The oil lamp flame burns too high yet the temperature in the room chills to the point Bellkiira can feel goosebumps forming on his arms.

The dancing shadows grow faces.

Glowing eyes and glowing smiles.

Inithra backs away. “What in Lolth’s name-?”

Laughter.

Eerie high-pitched cackling.

The shadows fill the house with a cacophony, taunting gazes turning Inithra into the title character of a dark comedy.

The flames flicker out. A moment of silence. And when they relight seconds later, the air is swarming. Beetles, locusts, moths, and bugs galore. The buzz of countless flying insects joins in with the shadows’ guffaw. They descend upon the threat.

Twilight presses themself into Bellkiira’s side, their tail curling around him in fear as the dark cloud of writhing wings engulfs Inithra. The two spectators can only assume the alarmed scream comes from the drow woman. Her arms thrash and flail against chitinous bodies, the mass so thick not even her face is visible. Her arachnid familiar doesn't last long against the merciless bites, and with a dying hiss, it disappears in a puff of mist, no longer able to hold material form.

Bellkiira touches his head to Twilight’s, the one gesture of reassurance he's able to make with his arms still bound. Nothing of this horror show would harm them, but the frightened tabaxi certainly hadn't expected such a display from their rescuer. They weren't as used to his patron’s mannerisms as he was.

Amidst the laughter and buzzing, a voice sings.

“Come critters and geists, Come scitter and stamp. The moth has caught A spider in her lamp.”

An arm reaches out of the dark and grasps onto Inithra's. The swarm retreats for a moment, and her violet skin is stained red with blood and bites and stings. She stumbles on her feet, chest heaving to gulp down air not filled with insects. The eyepatch had been torn away, revealing the scarred mess of flesh that had once been her right eye. 

Now only a single left eye can glance up to the being towering over her. Large black and yellow wings, dark compound eyes with glowing yellow pinpoints that pierce down through her, the large chitinous arm that dwarfs her own and three others that hold aloft a skeletal scythe, the tip of its blade pricking the bottom of her chin.

“You!” Inithra hisses, recognition in her one eye that morphs into fury.

It's only their second meeting, but one does not simply forget an encounter with Lady Samhain, Reaper of the Harvest Diablerie, second of the Autumn Court.

Especially when said first encounter turned your entire life upside down. 

“You think you can come steal away my little chrysanthemum? Allow your goddess to claim one under my protection? Oh I don't think so, little spider.”

The mass of shadows repeating that final line casts a haunting echo.

Despite her crooked smile, glowing like the carved gourds they light up for the Vigil, Bellkiira notes it's been a long time since he's seen his patron so angry. The last time, his plea had sent that scythe slicing through his mother's throat.

[whump-cravings]

Tiefling Princess (A TR3 AU) - Confrontation

TR3 Masterlist

1176 words | Original Work: AU of TR3 wherein Hakon (unwillingly) and Baltar (willing but unknowingly) each sired a daughter with @lia-wildfire's archdevil Seirixis in a d&d-influenced version of Ironda. The princesses were both raised by Baltar. Content: father-daughter angst and conflict, misunderstanding, stress-induced heart attack, vaguely implied past noncon

Rihada closed her eyes, drawing on the Weave. Illusion rippled over her, erasing her horns and tail, dyeing her skin brown and hair black. When she opened her eyes, they were the same color as Baltar's. She'd practiced in the mirror.

She turned. "Would you love me if I looked like this?"

Brows drawn together, her uncle—her true father glanced her over in his typical cursory fashion. "Look like—" His gaze stopped and his words faltered as he focused, actually looking at her for the first time she could ever recall. His eyes widened and mouth opened, expression stricken.

Pain stabbed at her heart. There it is. How was it that the gaze she had craved for so long hurt so much? She had thought it would be like a warm hug, but instead was like ripping stitches from an open, festering wound.

"I can't believe it," she scoffed, gritting her teeth to ward off tears. "What does prejudice outside the family matter when the biggest bigot is on the throne?"

The king's face screwed up, shoulders hunching. "That's not—"

Rihada wouldn't have his excuses. "How long did it take you to decide you didn't want me?" she demanded. "Was it when you saw the horns?"

Slouching further, Hakon weakly protested, "It's not like that."

"What did you expect when you fucked a devil?"

The king flinched, taking a gasping breath. "You don't—you don't understand."

"I understand enough," she said, tongue lashing with vicious power. "Once a coward, always a coward."

Hakon reached for a drawer, wincing, and fumbled for something in his desk. He grasped at his chest with his other hand, fingers digging in.

Righteous fury spurred her on. After all these years, what right did he have to feel comfortable? Her invisible tail lashed as she leaned onto his desk. "The only thing I wonder is why you never replaced me after papa adopted me. Did you even care about the damage done to his reputation by taking me in?"

A sheen of sweat glistened on the king's forehead as he withdrew a small vial from the drawer. He didn't manage to uncork it; the glass slipped through his shaking fingers and onto the ground, shattering bluish liquid on the carpet. A soft, distressed groan escaped the man, fingers stiffly flexing.

"So where's your perfect human baby?" Rihada pressed viciously. "Was Aunt Mohini just too nice to divorce you when she found out the truth?"

Without a word to his defense, the king slumped forward onto the desk.

Rihada leaned in a little more. "You don't get to ignore me anymore." Her father didn't respond or move, and she slammed the desk with a fist, jostling him. "You owe me that much!"

He didn't respond, uncannily still. Rihada realized she couldn't hear him breathing.

"Uncle?" she said, fear creeping up her spine as she shook him. "Uncle Hakon!"

He wasn't breathing.

Fingers bunching on his shirt, Rihada screamed, "Help!"

No no nonono. This isn't supposed to happen.

You can't die. I can't have killed you. That can't be it.

"Aunt Mohini! Cleric! The king needs help!"

Fiery tears dripped off her chin as she ran around the desk, trying to pick up her uncle—her father the king. But she wasn't strong enough, her knees buckling as she took his weight. She screamed into his lap, sobbing as she clutched at him. "You can't do this to me!"

"Rihada!" Mohini yelled before she burst in, skirts hiked high. "What happened?! What is—pit'non, lomir!" The queen dashed across the room.

"He's not breathing!" Rihada sobbed. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—!"

A warm light misted from Mohini's skin, eyes glowing as she put a hand on Hakon. "Do not go anywhere, lomir," she murmured. The light transferred to the king, and he took a shuddering breath, stirring before falling into a peaceful stillness, breath soft.

Mohini let out a sigh of relief. "What happened?" she asked, stroking Hakon's hair. "And why do you look like this, child?"

"I—I yelled at him," Rihada wept, dropping her human guise as she was reminded of it. "Papa told me the truth of who sired me."

She had wanted him to see her. To acknowledge that she existed and that she was his. Motes of fire rolled out of her eyes again, leaving tracks of soot in their wake.

"Oh," Mohini said, gaze softening from concern to... pity. "Oh, Rihada."

Footsteps and concerned shouts came from the hallway. Mohini raised her head to shout that the emergency was over. Still, a swarm of helpers descended on the king, and the queen ushered Rihada to the side.

"Sweet child. None of this is your fault," she said, wiping almost-too-hot-to-touch tears away from the princess's cheeks, unbothered by the ash that blackened her hand. "I have to go. There will be much concern I must lay to rest."

Not believing Mohini's pacification, but having already caused too much trouble today, Rihada nodded dully. The queen sighed and placed a kiss on Rihada's forehead before departing.

Hakon was carried on a litter to his chambers and examined. Eventually, a Restoration was performed on his heart. "Cardiac arrest," the healers said to each other, and, "broken heart syndrome."

Out of the way, Rihada watched all this with a creeping numbness, tail held low and sooty handkerchief clutched in her hand. Was her mere existence so terrible that it could cause her uncle's heart to fail? Mohini had said it wasn't her fault, but certainly this was a consequence of her wrath, pride, and greed. So why did it still hurt to think that she should be content with everything she already had? Why couldn't she give up on gaining the king's approval?

"Your majesty," someone greeted, snapping Rihada back to awareness. King Hakon groaned softly as he came to, starting to lift himself into a sitting position. No less than two people jumped to help, bolstering him with pillows. He didn't complain about the treatment, his attention elsewhere as he scanned the room.

"Please take deep breaths if you feel discomfort, my king," one of the healers instructed. "You may still feel weak—"

Hakon's eyes alighted on Rihada and fell away as normal. Then, with obvious effort, his gaze flicked back up to her. Rihada shrank under his gaze, head bowing and tail wrapping around a leg as her vision blurred.

Raising a hand, Hakon brushed away one of the fussing servants. "Leave me. All of you."

Normally, none hesitated to follow the orders of the king. However, belying their concern, the healers hesitated. "Your majesty, are you sure that's wise? You just suffered a—"

"And I have no doubt you've performed your duties well. I must speak with the princess privately."

The healers hesitated again, worried glances shot in Rihada's direction. It didn't take much insight to recognize they were concerned about a repeat incident. But Hakon turned a glare on them and they bowed out, one mumbling something about lingering nearby before they vacated the room.

taglist: @nabanna @emcscared-whumps @flat-san @nicolepascaline​ @i-can-even-burn-salad @melennui @thecyrulik @there-will-always-be-blood

[whumppromptoftheday]

whumpee finding out something about their family and confronting their parents about it