#powerful whumper

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XXI)

Keep your friends close

Read part one here // masterpost // continued from here

As promised besties!

~*~*~*~*~*~

When they arrive at Kit’s apartment, Kit leans forward and frowns. “I think that’s Superhero’s car.”

Ambrose doesn’t respond as he parks the car and the pair get out. Superhero does the same, but it’s more of an effort for him. He opens the door and then kicks it open with his boot, grabbing the top of the door with his hand and pulling himself up and out of the car. Only when he closes the door does Kit see why.

“Superhero…” Kit said, looking for the words. Superhero looked like shit. As if he had just been caught up in a sudden all-out brawl with an army of villains attacking at once. He tried for a dim smile, but the effort seemed to aggravate his black and blue bruised eye and jaw.

He walked with a limp, his movements slow and staccato-ed, as if he were a hundred-year-old man and not the best active Superhero in the city. Kit went to him, despite his protests and threw his arm over Kit’s shoulder, helping him towards the steps of Kit’s apartment.

Ambrose went ahead and opened the door for Kit and Superhero, holding it open while Kit half-dragged Superhero inside and to the kitchen chairs. Superhero shrugged Kit away. “Stop with the fuss, Kit. I’m fine. I can walk on my own.”

Kit frowned, stepping back. “You look like shit, what happened?”

“What do you think happened?” Superhero snapped, wincing as he shifted his weight to one leg. “Mentor happened.”

Kit glanced at Ambrose before speaking. “The new Supervillain? No, Superhero it’s not Mentor.”

“How do you know!” Superhero spat. “You weren’t there, Mallory! Where were you?”

“I was—” Kit began, but was cut off when Superhero was in his face a second later, curling his fingers into the fabric of Kit’s shirt and slamming him back against the wall. The effect stealing his breath for a moment.

“WHERE WERE YOU?! I called and you didn’t come! You didn’t answer, and you call yourself a Hero?!”

The words were like a slap in the face, burning Kit as Superhero spoke them. “That’s enough,” Ambrose said, his voice hard.

Superhero didn’t look at him. “This doesn’t concern you. This is a work matter.”

“And if you don’t want to get more bruised up than you already are, I suggest you step back,” Ambrose said, his voice oozing with cold authority. Kit’s wide blue eyes went to Ambrose who was defending him. “Now.”

Superhero scoffed and pushed against Kit’s chest before releasing him and turning in place, his hand going to the back of his neck.

“Why didn’t you pick up?” Superhero asked again, his voice hollow.

It was as if lightning struck his heart, splintering it down the middle. “I didn’t have my phone.”

Superhero laughed, a dry, humourless thing. “You didn’t have your phone,” he repeated. “Is that what I’ll say to the Mayor when she questions me about the new supervillain? Sorry about the damage, Mayor, my heroes didn’t have their phones so we were short-staffed.”

“It’s not Mentor,” Kit told him. Superhero looked over his shoulder at Kit, his eyes burning.

“What?”

Kit took a breath. “It’s not Mentor. We just confirmed his alibi.”

Superhero laughed again, turning to face them, this time loud and hysterical, unhinged. It left Kit feeling a little colder. Superhero spread his arms out wide.

“You just confirmed an alibi? Of the only man in the city’s history that uses telekinesis?! That’s where you were! Not worried about the Supervillain, or the threat posed, or fucking Tides!” Superhero roared, slamming his fist out against Kit’s wall and putting a hole in the plaster. Kit flinched. “He took Tides, and where were you? Hmm? Having tea with Mentor?”

“Where were you.”

It was Ambrose who spoke that time. His voice carrying like the cold sound of reason through the volcanic eruption of emotions between the two heroes. All eyes turned to Ambrose, a beat of silence passing between them.

“What?” Superhero asked, voice tight.

“Where were you,” Ambrose repeated, tilting his head. “You’re Mentor’s replacement, shouldn’t you have been able to deal with the threat? Or are you just that incompetent?”

Superhero’s nostrils flared. “How dare you—”

“Kit wasn’t on duty last night,” Ambrose continued, his voice unflinchingly even. “In fact, he had just gotten off shift before the Supervillain attack. So my question is then isn’t are you incompetent, because I know you are if you expect overworked and exhausted staff to try and pick up your slack.”

“You didn’t see him,” Superhero said, livid. “You weren’t there.”

“I saw the footage,” Ambrose replied without missing a beat. “He’s strong, but he’s not unbeatable. Kit’s been having problems of his own with his powers, but I doubt you know anything about that.”

Superhero’s eyes went to Kit who swallowed, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. That wasn’t exactly something he wanted Superhero, or anyone, really, to know.

“And if he had been fighting last night then there could have been more damage done to property and people. How would you explain that to the Mayor?”

The words felt like a punch to the gut. Kit knew they were true, but it didn’t make them any easier to swallow. Ambrose was right. He didn’t have control of his powers, and if he went up against Supervillain he didn’t know if he would kill them. He could even mistake friend for foe in that state, when the power just wanted to claim everything near him. Indiscriminate chaos would be unleashed, and then Kit would become the new threat to the city.

They’d lock him up in the Super prison and throw away the key. He didn’t want to go there… he heard horror stories of the guards from that prison. More monsters than men.

“Mentor was once the strongest hero in the city,” Ambrose continued. “And look at him now.”

Superhero scoffed. “Yeah. Let me just phone up Omen real quick. I’m sure he’ll be magnanimous and help us fight another villain and all will be fine,” he sneered.

Kit crossed his arms over his chest, one hand going to his lips and picking at the dead skin over his bottom lip. He hadn’t considered using Ambrose to fight Supervillain. If it worked the first time then surely Ambrose can just use his voice to order the new Supervillain to surrender and stop.

Kit felt black eyes burning a hole in the side of his face, and he glanced back at Ambrose, shoulder lifting in a half-shrug as if to say: it’s worth a shot.

Ambrose didn’t answer, he just huffed a breath out his nose and turned his attention back to Superhero.

“The news said that Tides was kidnapped,” Kit said, quietly. Superhero tensed at the mention of her name and Kit felt guilt that wasn’t his pool in his gut.

A muscle in Superhero’s jaw clicked as he shifted his weight again, leaning back against the counter in Kit’s kitchen with a wince. “Supervillain took her,” Superhero said, his voice low and raw. “It was in the heat of the battle and he backed off after he fought— after we fought and I lost. He took her…”

“Do you know where?” Kit asked. Superhero met his imploring gaze with frightened, guarded eyes. Superhero shook his head. “Shit.”

Ambrose’s black eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say a thing.

“I need every available Hero working tonight, Kit. I’m calling in retired Heroes and old friends I know can help fight this monster. And when we do we’ll beat the shit out of him until he tells us where Tides is.”

Kit nodded, his mouth set into a firm line. “Okay,” Kit said. Ambrose wanted to protest, to caution Kit about his powers because what if that other version of Kit appeared? Then they’d have more problems than one maniac destroying the city.

Kit walked Superhero out the door, but that’s as far as he went. “Keep your phone on Mallory. We’ll start patrols after rush hour when everyone’s gone home.”

“And hope he doesn’t strike before that?”

Superhero grimaced. “I have a feeling he won’t.”

Kit didn’t agree but nodded nonetheless and Superhero left. Kit closed the door behind him and grabbed his phone from the couch where he had thrown it with his keys last night after work.

He had a million missed calls from Superhero and… Tides… Kit’s grip tightened on his phone, turning his knuckles white as he stared down at her name.

Ambrose sensed the mood shift, popping his head out of the kitchenette. “What? What’s wrong?”

Kit swallowed thickly but it didn’t replace any of the moisture that evaporated from his mouth. Was it her? Did she call me or was it Supervillain?

Kit searched the call log against Superhero’s. Superhero called two hours before Tides did, which meant that it was before the fight, or at least during it, but Tides called way later. Twice.

A taunt?

Did Supervillain want to make him mad? Did it matter? If Supervillain wanted to talk to him, it could only be about Tides, right?

His thumb hovered over the call button. “Don’t do it, Mallory.”

Kit didn’t look up. “Why not?”

“Because you’d only be feeding his ego. That’s exactly what he wants, so don’t do it.”

“And if I don’t?” Kit demanded, his head snapping up to look at Ambrose, blue eyes locking with black. “What if he hurts Tides?”

Ambrose kept his voice infuriatingly neutral and calm when he said: “he probably already has.”

Kit’s hand shook and he wanted so badly to just throw his phone across the room and scream. Why couldn’t he get a break! Just fucking once! Ambrose’s footsteps trailed off into the kitchen, a plug in a socket, then the gushing of water filling the kettle and a soft click followed by a rumble.

Two ceramic mugs hit the countertop. A drawer opened and a rummaging of cutlery. Ambrose was making coffee. Kit wanted to laugh, but he was afraid if he did it would open the door for all his other emotions to flood out and he would end up crying instead. He didn’t want to cry anymore today.

He walked to his table and sat down heavily into one of the chairs, sighing, locking his phone and putting it on the table.

“What do we do?” He found himself asking. When did I become we?

Ambrose’s kept his back to him as the kettle boiled. “I think you patrol tonight. Follow Superhero’s plan. It seems like the most logical solution.”

Kit nodded, though Ambrose didn’t see. “I’ll look for more information on this new Supervillain,” Ambrose said, turning and bringing two steaming cups towards the table.

Kit tilted his head. “How?”

Ambrose smiled a secretive smile. “I have friends.”

Kit scoffed. Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not,” Ambrose laughed, sitting down opposite Kit. “I have friends, civilian, and Villain contacts. I can ask around to see if anyone knows anything about this new Supervillain.”

Kit nodded, grabbing the cup between his palms. The metal power dampeners clacked against the wood like bracelets on his wrist. His brows pinched together and down on his face.

“You control your powers, Kit,” Ambrose said. “Not the other way around. It’s like when you first discovered your abilities all over again. You have to disconnect your emotions from this new stronger electricity.”

“Easy for you to say,” Kit grumbled. “You have no skin in the game.”

A thick silence blanketed them, not uncomfortable just noticeable. They took a sip of their coffee, Ambrose grimacing at the taste and sat back, Kit letting out a breath through his nose.

“This Supervillain is dragging my father’s name through the mud,” Ambrose said eventually. Kit looked at him. His sharp features were pulled into an expression of contemplation, as if this was an abstract idea he hadn’t explored yet, but knew to be true anyways. “Only I’m allowed to do that. I destroyed his legacy, and now some other villain is trying to feast on my sloppy seconds. I don’t work with other Villains, and I won’t be insulted by them either.”

Kit raised his brows. “So we have a mutual enemy.”

Black eyes met Kit’s blue. Something soft smoothed the harsh edges in Ambrose’s face. “We do,” he agreed. “We’ll take him down, kill him, and all will be well.”

Kit blanched. “What!”

“What?”

“We can’t kill him!”

Ambrose blinked. Considered, then spoke. “Okay. I’ll kill him.”

“You can’t just kill people, Rosey!”

“I can do whatever I like, Mallory. You should know that by now.”

Kit narrowed his eyes. “I guess we’ll have to see who gets to him first, then.”

Ambrose grinned. His black eyes like two pools of ink drawing Kit in, his lips a flash of red. Kit blinked and they were their normal colour again. He must’ve imagined it.

“I guess we will.”

*~*~*~*~*

Kit was patrolling the third district. Superhero put him a little further out than he would’ve liked. When Kit tried to protest, to tell him he should be in first where Supervillain attacked last, Superhero shot him a tired look and Kit begrudgingly accepted.

It was nice to be back in his hero outfit. It always felt like a second skin, not spandex like spiderman, he couldn’t rock that. Instead he opted for more practical clothes. He wore his black jacket that Tailor had made specially for him, the material was as light as a cotton t-shirt but knife proof and more conductive for his electricity. The upper arms were the same shade of electric blue as his powers with white in the shape of a lightning bolt detailed in the centre.

The jacket fit him snug and kept him warm without being bulky or restrictive. The first time he tried it on he shot Tailor and unimpressed glance when he zipped it up.

“It’s too light, wait… what're you do— TAILOR!” Kit cried as she came at him with a knife. It went straight into his chest and he didn’t feel a thing. Kit glanced up at her to see her smiling. “ARE YOU CRAZY?!”

“Ah, don’t be dramatic,” she said, waving the knife all blasé. “I made it myself. It’s perfect. Look,” then she swung the knife into his neck. Kit gasped as he took the impact, though he had to admit, it was far less than what a knife to the throat should have been.

He glanced down at the grey undershirt she had given him, that went all the way up his neck. Now he looked impressed. “What? Even the grey shirt?”

“Of course,” she replied, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “It’s not bulletproof but hopefully any bullets flying your way won’t be fatal.”

“Hopefully?” Kit asked.

His trousers were black combats, lined with trace amounts of silver that Tailor somehow wove through the fabric. All he knew was that he was strong when he wore his suit, and his power was potent. He had a new set of power dampeners hanging from his belt (along with the old ones locked around his wrist), his walkie talkie and a taser gun just in case he needed a little extra juice at any time.

Though he presumed he wouldn’t need to use the taser tonight. His red lightning was a monster, powerful and dangerous, but like Ambrose said, he controlled it. Not the other way around, as long as he stayed calm he would be fine. The further you got from the inner city the less crime there was. At least, superpowered crime. That’s all the jurisdiction the Heroes had to go after anyways. The police handled the regular criminals.

Kit had to go back to Tailor to get a new mask, after Ambrose did who knows what with his old one. It was the same design as before, a black mask that went over the lower part of his face. It had a ventilator so he could breathe, and a voice changer that made his voice cackle as much as his electricity.

The radio cackled to life at his hip and Sawyer’s voice came through. “Anything over there?”

“No, it’s quiet,” Kit replied. “Nothing to report. What about you?”

“Same.”

“Where are you stationed?“

“Further out than I should be, I’m on the outskirts of old town.”

Kit frowned. Sawyer was a better Hero than Kit was. Where Kit was speed and power, Sawyer was precision and finesse. He could probably secure Supervillain better than Kit could, and his powers were basically a match against telekinesis with his shadows and crows.

“Strange.”

“Tell me about it,” Sawyer huffed. “Look, just radio me if anything happens and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Crowe.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Kit clipped his walkie back into his belt and let out a sigh. He wished he was in the first district where the action is. Ambrose was the reason Superhero was going easy on him, making him appear to be sick with his ability malfunction. Leaving Kit to patrol the quiet district instead of being in the thick of it.

He wandered along the rooftops, taking his time, straining his ears, enjoying the wind on his face and hair. He missed the cool, crisp air of nighttime. He missed being able to feel the electric currents in the air from televisions and people’s appliances plugged in. From the roof he could feel the electric currents in the air, flying faster than during the day when it’s warm out. Or at least, when the sun’s out.

It gave him a little buzz that made him feel antsy for a fight, his skin thrumming with energy. As if his prayers were being answered, Kit heard a sharp cry from below and he bolted towards the fire escape. He was down within a minute, feet hitting off the tarmac of the alleyway. Then he was taking off down the streets towards the sound. His body hummed with the flowing currents, coming more alive as he pushed his muscles faster.

God, he missed this.

“Stop! Stop! Henry, stop!”

Kit heard as he took a sharp corner to take in the scene in front of him. A woman stood behind a young boy, maybe 11 or 12 who stood with their hands up, palms facing a man dressed in all black.

“Nah, go on, kid. I’m quaking in my boots,” the man said.

“Please! Just take my purse and go.”

“No, Mom!” The kid protested and a small spurt of water flowed from his palm and squirted the thief in the face. The same effect of a clown’s flower spraying water in their patrons face, harmless.

The thief laughed and patted the boy, Henry’s head. “You’ll be one of ‘em heroes one day, ain’t that right?”

Kit stuck to the shadows, remaining unseen for now. “I wouldn’t sign up to them, kid. What you really wanna do if you wanna use your powers, is join Supervillain…”

“I’ll be a hero!” Henry cried and went to punch the thief. The thief caught his fist and tilted his head, glancing up at the mother.

She held her hands out placatingly. “Please, please he’s just a boy. Don’t hurt him.”

“Stand down, little hero,” the thief said. Instead Henry bit the man. The thief cursed, retracting his hand sharply and went to slap the boy. Kit caught his hand before it could make contact, smiling eyes meeting the thief’s.

“Alright there pal?”

The thief’s eyes widened. “M-malyn.”

“Thought you were just about to hit that kid, you know, the one half your height. My eyes must’ve been playing tricks though right?”

The man’s face contorted with rage. “You! You can’t interfere in this crime! You’re powered, your jurisdiction is powered criminals.”

“I know,” Kit shrugged. “That’s why I called the cops. Although, I don’t need my powers to do this.”

Kit punched the thief square in the face and released him. The thief cried out, but Kit didn’t stop. He stepped in close and sent a couple quick jabs to the thief’s stomach, ending with a sharp knee to the solar plexus. The thief gasped and fell to the ground with a groan, trying to get the wind back into his lungs.

Kit turned to the boy and his mom and saluted them. “Sorry you had to see that,” Kit said, his voice changer distorting his voice. He turned it off and crouched to be face to face with the kid. “You were so brave protecting your mom like that. Thanks for holding him off until I got here.”

Kit held his fist out and the kid blushed and bumped it with his own. “Great. Next time though, maybe listen to your mom.”

The boy nodded. Kit stood and turned his attention to the woman. “Would you like me to walk you home?”

“No,” the woman said, shaking her head, wide eyes only half focused on Kit. “No. I think we’ll wait for the police.”

“Okay. No problem.”

As if on cue, sirens sounded close by. Kit waited until the lights were just outside the alleyway before he turned back to the thief. He grabbed him and punched him one more time to keep him down before dragging him down to the mouth of the alleyway.

“Malyn,” Detective said with a disapproving stare. Kit passed the thief to her partner and switched the voice changer back on.

“Detective.”

“You’re not supposed to interfere with regular people.”

“I didn’t touch him. Not a single electric pulse in his body was harmed.”

“Mmhm, and what about his nose?”

Kit shrugged. “He walked into the wall.”

Detective hit Kit’s arm and Kit held his hands up. “You’re not too old that I can’t call your father, Malyn.”

Kit shook his hands side to side at Detective. “Uh, no need. I’m going. Look? I am walking away, ma’am.”

“Yeah, keep walking.”

Kit took off into a half jog just to make sure Detective didn’t follow through with her threat.

The rest of the night passed quietly. Kit radioed Tides. “Any update, Sawyer?” He was on the roof of the local supermarket, it was tall, letting him see a wide part of third. When there was no reply Kit frowned and turned towards the Old Town Clocktower sticking out of the sky. “Sawyer? You there?”

Anxiety gripped his chest the longer he went without an answer. Then, static and: “Malyn! Are you there?”

Sawyer?

“Malyn,” Sawyer called over the radio, his voice cutting out and crackling. “Get down— first— ambush.”

Kit took off with a curse. Shit, how was he going to get to first in time to help the other heroes? Kit grabbed his walkie as he veered onto main street, sprinting now, his electricity sparking him forwards at inhuman speed.

“Superhero! It’s Malyn, listen. Crowe said there’s an attack in first.”

“What?” Superhero asked. “I’m at the tower, Malyn.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Kit replied. “Superhero? Superhero! Fuck!”

Kit clipped the radio to his belt as he got closer and closer to first, passing through second towards the inner city. Sawyer was meant to be patrolling fourth tonight… maybe he should— No, forget it. Keep moving to first. They needed him, they needed backup. Kit ignored the warning bells ringing in his mind as he passed from third into second before his energy expired and he caught his breath leaning on a wall.

God, it and been so long since he exerted himself like this. It wouldn’t take long for his cells to replenish, not on a perfect night like tonight where the conditions were ideal for him. He decided to walk the rest of the way to conserve the energy as he built it back up, but then that would mean getting there slower than he’d like.

His radio crackled to life at his hip and he quickly grabbed it, bringing it to his mouth to speak when another voice beat him to it: “attention all heroes, I repeat, attention all heroes.”

Kit paused, his steps faltering to a stop. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” the voice continued, distorted over the radio. “But since nobody else will roll out the welcome wagon I figured I’d do it myself.”

Kit started running again, his ears open and his eyes peeled as he ran towards First. He didn’t recognise the voice. Which, obviously he didn’t, that’s what voice distorters were for, but… there was something in the back of his brain that twinged familiar.

It’s not… it’s not Omen, he knew that for definite. Omen’s far more flashy and open, not fearing being known, this new villain was… more cautious.

“I proved too much for Crowe poor dear, and Tides… well, she’s had a night of fun with me last night. But I think I know what these heroes need… like, a Hero for heroes.” Kit grit his teeth at the slight as he passed from second into first. His eyes zeroed in on the Hero tower looming in front of him and he paused, looking around.

“What do you say, Malyn? You wanna test your luck with me, hmm? Tick-tock.”

Come on, Kit, think.

If I were a supervillain, I wouldn’t attack close to the Hero tower so the heroes could get reinforcements… as little ease of access to help as possible.

“Tick-tock,” Supervillain said from the radio again and the realisation dawned on Kit. He turned to the right where old town was and took off once more.

Old town would be the perfect breeding ground for villains to make a name for themselves too. No heroes were ever really appointed here anymore, not since Superhero took over. So why did he appoint Sawyer here tonight? Just covering his arse? Mentor looked after the people who lived in old town, the people who earned an honest living and couldn’t afford to move away from the new slums of the city.

Kit knew the winding, narrow streets like the back of his hand, it was his home once upon a time. Maybe that was why Mentor took extra care of it. The place basically self-regulated itself, and most of the people were good as long as didn’t cross them. They were all in the same boat after all.

Kit didn’t have time to reminisce, or take a moment to breathe in being back here after so long. All that could wait until later, after he beat the shit out of Supervillain and saved the day. If everything went well.

Kit stopped outside the clocktower courtyard, staring up into the clock face high above him. The clocktower had been out of use for years now, Kit only vaguely remembered it working when he was younger.

The courtyard in of itself was walled in like a garden, a meeting place if ever there was one. Kit walked onto the cobblestones, turning as he searched for any sign of Supervillain or Tides, or Sawyer.

His radio buzzed to life again, Supervillain’s voice crackling to life: “ah, good. You’re here.”

Confirmation. He was in the right place, which meant— Kit glanced up at the tower, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, I’m here. How about you come out of hiding, coward?”

“How cute, trying to bait me with petty insults. Unfortunately, Malyn, you have no bargaining power here. Come up or Crowe here dies. If you’re not here in two minutes, I’ll take it you mean to forfeit his life. Ta-ta.”

Kit cursed and ran for the clocktower door, shouldering it open and running through, taking the stairs two at a time, climbing higher and higher up the stairs, passing the first platform and the second. He quickly unclipped the power dampeners from his wrist which almost winded him when the flurry of his abilities roared like a sleeping Dragon that was wrestled from a deep slumber.

Kit groaned, hand on the railings taking in a deep breath. He didn’t have time for this. The structure was mostly wooden, it was fine. He’d be fine. Red lightning cackled around his hands as he reached the clocktower room. This room was bigger than the rest, the clock face let in the moonlight from the night sky.

“NNGH!” Tides cried out into her gag when Kit emerged onto the fifth floor. His breath was stolen from him a second time seeing her alive. She was alive.

A man stood with his back to Kit, facing the view of the city, hands behind his back. Kit’s eyes went to Tides who was kneeling on the ground behind Supervillain, her hands locked in power dampeners above a rafter. Blood trickled down her face from her hairline, her right eye and jaw bruised and a cloth tied so tight around her mouth that it cut into her cheeks, not letting her mouth close properly. Crowe was unconscious on the other side of Supervillain, hands cuffed behind his back.

“Good. You’re finally here,” Supervillain said turning, his voice distorted through his mask that hid every inch of his face from Kit. There wasn’t even any features carved into it, but a flat surface, like a robot or a wall, split down the middle; one half solid silver, the other crimson. “I was getting bored of waiting. Don’t worry, though, Tides kept me entertained while you were making your way, and then Crowe came to her rescue. Misguided boy.”

“Let them go,” Kit said, electricity sparking to life in his hands forming gloves of lightning up and down his arms.

Supervillain tilted his head. “You only got here. If I release them, you’ll leave.”

“Just who the hell do you think you are?” Kit spat, taking a step forward. “The entire Hero tower is following me here, or are you really so stupid as to think you’ll get away with attacking my friends?”

Supervillain laughed. It was entirely too calm, a light chuckle, eerie, making Kit’s hairs stand on end. “You think you’re the only one with friends, Malyn?”

Shit. This was another ambush. He had to warn Superhero. Just as he reached for his radio, a gun cocked and Tides whimpered. His eyes locked on Tides’, frozen in his movements. He looked up at Supervillain, eyes wide and weary.

Supervillain held his hand out for the radio. Kit’s frown etched deeper into his face, why wouldn’t he just take it? “Let’s not spoil all the fun yet, hmm?”

Kit hesitated. Supervillain pointed the gun to the right of Malyn’s head and pulled the trigger. Kit hissed, his hands going to his ears as Tides screamed. The ringing tilted everything in the room and Kit stumbled to the left, pulling his hand away from his ear to see blood staining his fingers.

“The radio, Malyn.”

Tides cried out through her gag again, but it was muted compared to the screeching noise of the bullet’s aftershock. Kit unclipped the radio and tossed it at Supervillain’s head. He caught it, unfortunately.

“What do you want?” Kit barked, glancing back at Tides. She looked like shit but her eyes were wide and scared.

“What do I want,” Supervillain mused, dropping Kit’s radio to the ground and crushing it under his foot, drawing Kit’s attention back to him. “I want an actual challenge. I want a worthy opponent.”

“So you attack new heroes to find them? Sounds like you’re scared to me.”

“Think of this more like an audition for an opponent. I want someone to make me sweat, it has been an age since I fought.”

“Let me radio Superhero for you then,” Kit tried, risking a step forward. “He’ll give you what you’re looking for.”

“I don’t want a number two Hero who got promoted by chance. I want you,” Supervillain told Kit. Tides cried out again, pulling against her restraints.

Her eyes were wide and frantic as she tried to tell Kit something through the gag, but it was garbled speech. “Ffs… mm. mmOm!”

Kit shook his head not understanding anything that was coming out of her mouth. Supervillain stepped into Kit’s sight line, obscuring Tides from him and he wanted to just beat the fuck out of this guy.

“All this talking,” Supervillain said with a sigh. “I tire of it. Tell you what, Malyn, if you can lay a finger on me, I’ll let your friends go free.”

Kit stopped at the phrase, his mind reeling as a memory played back in his mind. The first time Mentor came to the academy. He set a challenge to find the best student in the academy, Kit could remember it like it was yesterday. Mentor looked more like a god than a man, with his warm smile and larger than life confidence.

When it was Kit’s turn he stared up at the man, awestruck. When Mentor said: “try to land a blow on me.”

Kit blinked. “What?”

“Try and lay a finger on me, a hair, a breath. Get close enough to touch me.”

Kit frowned, looking out to the other training area. Everyone got a turn one-on-one with Mentor, he assumed they would be training. Not fighting the number one Hero in the city.

“You want me to fight you?”

“I want you to show me what you’re made of.”

Kit stared at Supervillain, falling back a step as he took in the man’s build. Broad shoulders, tall, strong build and yet lean.

He hadn’t fought in an age.

Kit’s heart thundered in his chest as blood rushed like a tsunami through his skull, thumping against his ears and chest like a hammer striking an anvil.

It was just a phrase, Kit told himself. It was just a phrase, he repeated, hoping he would believe it because it was impossible. Mentor couldn’t— he wouldn’t— he was in hospital right now for crying out loud. Locked in a secure ward! There’s no way it… he confirmed his alibi just this morning

“MM—” Tides screamed at the top of her lungs. “FFFS… mm-mm.!”

The room seemed to zero in on Kit as horror descended quick and sudden on him, like a bucket of ice water was thrown into his face. He stares into the masked man’s face — the same height, stature, build as Mentor, and asks in a voice like a boys: “Mentor?”

Supervillain laughed again, his voice harsh and distorted. “No time for chatting, Malyn. Fight me. Show me what you’re made of. Or I’ll kill your friends.”

Kit’s lip drew back into a snarl. He clicked his fingers and electricity cackled to life around his hands. He threw a bolt towards Supervillain, who sidestepped the energy hurtling towards him. Kit ran at Supervillain, throwing a punch to his face. Supervillain tilted his head away at the last second. While Kit was stuck in the motion of his punch, Supervillain put a hand on Kit’s chest, the other on his back and swept his legs from under him.

Kit’s eyes went wide as he fell straight onto his back, leaving him slightly winded. He recovered quickly, swiping at Supervillain’s legs with his own. Supervillain danced out of Kit’s range, sending a swift kick to Kit’s chin that rocked his brain.

“Come on, Malyn. I expected better from you.”

Kit shot forward, grabbing at Supervillain’s leg with his hand but before he could make contact one word uttered above him and he couldn’t move: a cold, soft “freeze.”

The world rushed around him, his ear ringing, his mind fizzing, his powers cackling around him. “My my, look at this,” Supervillain said, bending to a crouch. Kit’s eyes followed him, wide and red and frozen with a cold terror because that… only Omen could do that, only… only Ambrose, which meant— which… which meant.

“Sssh, ssh, shh, Malyn. I know you’re scared. Now, kneel.” Kit let out a noise from the back of his throat as his body obeyed the command. “Oh look at you, so good for me. Raise your hands please.” Supervillain praised, eliciting a flurry of shivers down Kit’s spine.

Supervillain reached forward and unclipped Kit’s power dampeners from his belt. Tides cried out behind him but he couldn’t do anything, his body glistened with a cold sweat as he fought against Omen’s Supervillain’s hold on him. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he spoke, his voice hoarse.

“You… all… all along it was you?” Supervillain tilted his masked head at Kit. Same build, same height as Mentor. It couldn’t be, but his mind was screaming at him to accept the facts in front of him.

“I thought we— I thought you were—” I thought we were a team, he wanted to scream. I thought maybe we were… not friends but— but… we had a common enemy!

Why! Why! Why!

“Oh sweet boy,” Supervillain purred, snapping one of the cuffs around Kit’s wrists, hissing as he got a jolt of electricity in the meantime. “You recognise me, do you? I’m honoured. Hands behind your back, now. There’s a good lad.”

Kit flinched when the second power dampener locked behind his back, dimming the crackling in the air, the currents from the night locked away from his touch. Ambrose said he’d kill Supervillain when he found him, but…

“There, now. Look at you. So much more docile when you’re not bursting with lightning at every word, aren’t you?”

Supervillain placed a hand on Kit’s head and rubbed his hair, patting him like a dog. He wanted to be sick. What was it Ambrose called him? Puppy? Puppet? He clearly had no brains in his head if Ambrose had been playing the long game this entire time!

He let his guard down. He opened up to Omen. To the villain that destroy his life and look where that’s got him. An explosion lit up the room of the clocktower, illuminating every grain and plank of wood. Kit flinched as Tides screamed, rattling her cuffs like a lunatic, her tormented screeches turning to sobs..

Kit glared up at Supervillain, which was all he could do. “What did you do?”

“Oh, nothing, really. That would be my friends, causing some chaos so we can get away safe and sound, never to be found.”

Kit let out a shuddering breath. “L-let them go,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “Please. Let them go, please! They have nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, Malyn, dear. No. I need them to keep you in line, so we’re all going together. But don’t worry, the next thing you’ll know, you’ll all be reunited. Sleep. Nighty night now.”

Kit fought the compulsion. He really tried, but with the contact on his head, his efforts were in vain and Kit found himself whirling in the darkness, a scream drifting him off to sleep like a lullaby.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer r @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath h @theonewithallthefixations @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie

[mintflavouredwhump]

A whumpee that everyone tries to possess or control the second they realise what Whumpee is capable of

[jordanstrophe]

Whumper was interrogated while caretaker watched from beyond the glass. Whumper gleefully spoke about everyone they tortured, recalling in great detail. Whumpee in particular was a prominent subject; they seemed to be whumpers favorite.

Each word ate at caretaker; whatever whumper spoke of, caretaker imagined a worse thing to do as revenge.

The interrogator comes back and caretaker demands "just 5 minutes alone" through fuming tears. The interrogator notes caretakers hands in fists, their body shaking with anger, their eyes pure hatred.

"No." They gently shake their head.

"Why." Caretaker spat.

"Because I know what you can do in 5 minutes and I need them alive."

[epiclamer]

This is the post you all have voted for… (i settled for smutty hurt x comfort since you guys were so close)

@save-the-villainous-cat happy two year anniversary baby <3

It wasn’t the end of the world, Villain had been injured in battle countless times before and it was never a problem. But, god, there was so much blood.

They weren’t a very optimistic person by nature, but things had never looked worse for them than at this precise moment. Stumbling blindly through friendly, neighbourhood complexes and past steadily blurring townhouses. Villain could practically feel their demise impending.

“Hey there, stranger~” The criminal gulped, eyes shooting around like a cornered animal looking for an escape. “You’re in pretty rough shape to be standing on two feet…”

Their eyes locked in on a figure—somewhere at the back of their mind they were flooded with a sensation of ease, though they couldn’t quite pinpoint why. They continued to stumble forwards and practically into the stranger’s arms anyways, for whatever reason it felt right.

“Easy— Easy there, Villain… just relax I’ve got you, I’ll take good care of you, huh?”

Warmth spread through the criminal’s mind at the sound of the other’s voice, then down into their muscles before seeping deep to their bones. They blinked and when they opened their eyes again they were laying in a tub, their feet resting at the tap where hot water poured down and into the bath.

For a moment they panicked, but a hand found its way to their shoulder and grounded them back to the present. They knew that hand, they knew that touch.

Hero.

“I’ve got you, baby~” They teased, grinning from ear to ear as they fiddled with the temperature to the water with their free hand.

It all came rushing back to the villain; the fight they had picked with their superior—on purpose—and whatever hope they had left dragging their feet to the hero’s house in a desperate attempt for attention survival.

Hero’s touch was warm where it laid by their collarbone, heating the skin to a feverish degree as it began stitching the villain back together. See, Hero’s powers only worked through touch (something the villain had learned a very long time ago purely on accident), but as much as their touch held only kindness, it did not extend to their healing abilities.

Because, god, did it ever hurt. Painful in some sick and horribly pleasurable way that Villain couldn’t seem to stop craving.

Their collarbone snapped back into place, the bone mending itself back together and their eyes flew open along with the sob that was wrenched from their throat. They flailed, partially to escape the hero’s torturous touch, partially to fall further into their grasp.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay… deep breaths remember?” The crime-stopper’s hand moved down their chest, giving their upper half the gift of a breath as they pained the rest of them.

The villain’s relief was only present for a fleeting moment, as they felt the hero’s fingertips trace the edges of the gash to their chest. Already the ripped skin pulled taught and their torn muscles seized up, under command of the other’s touch.

Villain knew what was coming.

They squirmed, the bath water submerging their legs in its warm embrace, Hero’s hand teasing at their wound, they couldn’t help but try and pull away. “Please—”

The hero shushed them, bringing their free hand to cup the villain’s chin. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” They pressed their hand flat against the gaping hole that should have been the villain’s abdomen, jolting them.

Villain screamed, it was dry and rugged, they recoiled from their nemesis but the only other thing there to hold them was the bath water. “Please, H-Hero, please—” Three more seconds and the criminal was sure to pass out.

Then it stopped. Before the villain could beg again, before they could lose consciousness, the pain stopped.

Cautiously, the villain’s eyes fluttered open, their enemy smiled sweetly back, fingertips now tracing the completely untouched abdomen of the villain’s. They looked normal, they looked okay, even after everything the hero had managed to restore them to their previous glory.

“You okay, gorgeous?”

Villain’s eyes met the hero’s once more, they were gentle yet somewhat mischievous. They nodded, brain completely fogged, maybe from the pain, most likely from the hero’s distracting gaze.

The area still pulsed with the ghost of a previous slash, but there was nothing, just the heat from the hero’s hands. It left a sweet aftertaste on their exhausted mind.

“Think you can handle another round tonight?” They waggled their eyebrows in emphasis, removing one hand to shut off the water to the bath as it began to cover the villain’s stomach.

Villain glared, but only for a moment, some of their usual snideness returning to their demeanour. “Can y-you be a little nicer?”

Hero hummed, eyes glued to their own hands as they made their way down to the inside of the criminal’s thighs, their hands beginning to resume their previous healing glow even under the water. “Really? I thought you liked it rough?”

The villain’s cheeks turned red, but they didn’t have time to retort before the hero placed their hands back against their skin and shut them up with a moan.

[whumpanini]

Okay so picture this... a line up of heroes, all bound and forced to their knees in front of whumper.

Whumper paces in front of them calmly. They have their hands clasped behind their back as they begin to threaten or make demands of Leader. Then they slowly stop in front of our whumpee. Maybe they look the youngest, most inexperienced, or the most scared but something about them catches whumper's eye.

Leader's eyes go wide as they try to redirect whumper's attention back to them, but it's too late. Whumper places a hand under Youngest's jaw and lifts their gaze to force eye contact. They see the barely hidden fear behind a shaky mask of indifference and they *smile.*

[uuuhshiny]

Vladimir Verevochkin in Double

Premises: A man that looks a lot like the main character (Artem) is a debt collector, because of him doctor lost his home, his family left him. Artem is soon taken by police for stealing he didn't do, and as he keeps saying that it wasn’t him but a man who looks like him, is sent to the mental hospital. Doctor finds out what he’s accused of and plans revenge.

Next

[villainsandheroes]

Hi, I like your writing, and I really liked your "A Discussion" idea with the hero and villain jailed together! I would love to see any other writing you have on that, though only if you want to post it. Have a wonderful day! 💜💜💜

Aw thank you so much! I love you anon :)

Here is that post

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hero paled a little. “What?”

“You heard me.”

They all eyed each other for a minute. “What happens to the other person?” Villain frowned. 

“Well, I’m kinda bored of two pets.” Supervillain pouted. “I think it’s time I get to know one of you more closely.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Supervillain left to give them time to decide, Hero thought Villain would have gotten up and gone to get free. Making a sneering comment to Hero which was supposed to be a joke but in actuality hurt.

But instead, Villain carefully settled back. Moving his chained hands to his lap. “You ready to get out of here?”

“What?” Hero mumbled.

“I’ll stay.” Villain offered quieter.

Hero frowned. “Hold on. Wait-”

“Discussion over Hero.”

He winced at the harshness. It had been a while since Villain had shown such an attitude towards them. Despite it all, they had grown close. They used to fight each other till blood was drawn. Now they were the ones patching each other up after a torture session with Supervillain. 

Hero stayed quiet for a minute, knowing time was running out but trying to figure out what to say. “My job is to help and protect others. If I have the chance to help you and I don’t-“

“Hero. You have the chance to go help hundreds, maybe even thousands of people. I'm not gonna be a hero after this. I won't go out of my way to save people. I won’t return the favor, I'm not like you.”

Hero held back a whine of sorts. “Villain, you are important.”

Villain quietly considered that. Looking down at his arms and legs scattered in scars before over at Hero, some were the same, others were different. They’d been tortured together for years now. He didn’t know why the supervillain was doing this, or why now he wanted one of them gone, but he knew it wasn’t for any good reason.

“Hero. You need to go.”

“B-“

“Ssh.” He mumbled softly. He moved closer before gently wrapping his arm around them, careful not to tangle their chains up. 

Hero looked at him before carefully hugging him back. “I hate you.” He mumbled, gently pressing his face against him for comfort. 

“I know.” Villain chuckled softly. “Hero? Just… don’t forget me. I know saving me may not work-“

“Oh, I will save you.” Hero hissed quietly. 

Villain laughed at that, harder than he had in a long time. After a minute grinning. “Alright. I’ll give you that. Just. If you can’t- please don’t forget me?”

Hero frowned. “I would never.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Supervillain took Hero away Villain could barely watch. Just praying he hadn’t made a mistake and Supervillain was going to kill him.

Supervillain didn’t though. They kept to their word.

They took Hero outside the facility and even took them on a plane flight before going to a random street. Hero’s hands were tied and he was struggling to keep up with Supervillain’s longer stride.

Suddenly he stopped and Hero ran into his back. “Now. I wanted to try this new power on you.”

Hero frowned, looking around at the streets that were full of people. “Wha-“

Supervillain released his arms and held Hero’s head. “I can take away memories.”

Hero thrashed suddenly while trying to get away but Supervillain pinned them onto a wall.

Hero’s memory was wiped in seconds flat.

[patchworkorphan]

Heroic betrayal: part seven

“You must let me show you where you’ll be staying, Hero,” said Supervillain, releasing the chains on Hero’s cuffs and stepping back away from them. Hero narrowed their eyes into a glare, keeping their hands close to their chest as they blinked at Supervillain.

“What do you mean, where I’ll be staying?” They snapped. Supervillain tilted his head as he regarded Hero, a small smile on his lips.

He shrugged. A gesture that should have conveyed a casual thing, but Hero saw right through it. “You can stay in the cellar if you like, though I’d say a bed would be far more comfortable.”

“I’d rather you let me go, or keep our contact to a minimum,” Hero told him. What the hell was he talking about, keeping Hero here? Forcing them to stay? They couldn’t… their brain wouldn’t let them comprehend exactly what this meant. The words just kept repeating in their mind drowning out all sense and reason:

Where you’ll be staying…

Supervillain had planned this, every detail, and Hero didn’t notice. They didn’t know, they didn’t see. Supervillain didn’t let a hint slip about this! Taking Hero captive and not letting them go, and it – though Hero would never admit it – it terrified them.

What if they weren’t as good as a detective as they thought they were? What if… Hero’s eyes studied Supervillain’s face. What if they had only seen what Supervillain wanted them to see?

Supervillain hummed thoughtfully, hands going behind his back. “I’ll show you the room anyways. Give you the tour while we’re at it. We’ll see if you have a change of heart.”

Hero’s nostrils flared as Supervillain turned his back and opened the door Hero initially came through. Supervillain’s knowing smirk remained on his face as he glanced back at Hero. “Come along now, I’m not a patient man.”

“I’d rather stay right here,” Hero told him, voice low. A pathetic attempt at stubbornness. Supervillain inclined his head.

“You can walk out the door, Hero, or be dragged out. Either way, you won’t be staying here. Would you like to keep your dignity intact?” He asked, his tone light and charismatic, his words anything but. Hero hated the way he spoke as if everything was certain. As if he could control everything and it would all work out his way.

Though what Hero hated more was the fact that they knew it was better to comply than to rile him up, so they stood and walked through the door Supervillain held open. They turned their head, looking down the long hallway to their right, where Flynn and Villain were. The door at the end of the hall must be where the kitchen is, but beyond that Hero didn’t know.

Maybe it would be better to know the layout of the house, Hero mused, they could plan their escape more effectively if Supervillain was stupid enough to offer a tour.  Supervillain, instead of turning towards the kitchen, went left, back the way Hero and Flynn came, back towards the cellar.

Hero followed Supervillain cautiously, one eye tracking his figure, the other careful to take note of the layout and the route back to the kitchen if they needed to flee on short notice.

Flee to who? To Flynn? A nasty voice mocked in their head.

At least I know what to expect with Flynn, Hero argued back.

Oh yeah… like how you knew he was a lying, backstabbing villain all this time right?

Hero bit the inside of their cheek instead of fighting with their smug, know-it-all side of their brain. At least when they tasted blood in their mouth, they could justify the pain. They could take their mind off of Flynn and the ache in their chest that they fought so hard to ignore.

Hero’s eyes zeroed in on the door to the basement as they stepped into another hallway. They were half expecting Supervillain to open it and shove them down the stairs before laughing like a cartoon villain and slamming the cellar door closed.

Instead, Supervillain walked past it, and Hero followed mutely, swallowing as they passed the cellar door. Now that it was so close, Hero really didn’t feel like going back there. Back to the cold and defenceless cot in a cell where any of them could come down and gloat.

Where Villain could come back and hurt them again and nobody would stop them.

Maybe a room would be better. At least Hero could barricade the door and break the window or something. They could have a better defensive position. Not be subject to their hosts moods when it takes them. Their nose throbbed at the thought of Villain coming down to their cell again and they shuddered.

Supervillain continued down the hall to another heavy door that looked solid and stiff. There was something strange about it, something Hero only noticed after Supervillain stopped in front of it and raised his hand to a keypad on the wall.

Hero stopped in their tracks. They didn’t want to swap one cell for another, and this one didn’t look as escapable as the cell in the basement. At least there Hero could see out all around them, except for the back wall, but a heavy metal door with an electronic lock would prove far more difficult.

There was a small beep ahead and Supervillain glanced back at Hero over his shoulder. A sly smirk graced his face when he noticed that Hero had stopped following altogether, probably standing six feet back.

“Oh Hero, that’s adorable. Are you frightened?”

“No,” Hero said a little too quickly. A denial. They both knew it. While Supervillain chuckled lightly, Hero wanted to punch themselves. “Where are we going?”

Supervillain’s smile was friendly and carnivorous all at once. “I told you; I’m giving you the tour of the house. Here,” Supervillain said, holding the door open for Hero and gesturing for Hero to walk in first. Hero’s throat went impossibly dry, as if Hero inhaled a pound of sawdust. They swallowed to try and restore some moisture in their mouth because what else could they do?

If they refused to comply, Supervillain would just drag them along anyway and there was no way they could fight back with their powers dampened and their hands cuffed in front of them. The weight of their blades on their back felt heavy in a way they never were before. They were right there… if only they could reach them.

Hero jutted their chin up, steeling their expression as they stormed forward and passed Supervillain, vowing that the moment they got free they would commission thigh braces for their daggers instead. That way they could never be in a humiliating situation like this again.

The room coming into focus drowned out Hero’s plans for new sheaths. Once inside the keypad locked room they stopped short and just stared. It was like the meeting room in the Hero headquarters, except, well… bigger. It was shaped like a hexagon with a domed ceiling that came to a point to let in some light through three skylight windows. The wall in front of Hero had two screens imbedded into it. One played the news on mute that was reporting some local event.

The two walls beside the back one had doors that led off to God knows where, but Hero’s gaze skimmed over them, and went instead to the corkboard on the wall to the left. Pictures of all the top ranked Heroes faces were pinned to the board; Superhero’s, Other Hero’s, and Hero’s were pinned to it. Tears pricked the back of Hero’s eyes when they saw Sidekick’s photo pinned to the wall too, a big red X painted over their face. Hero’s hands shook slightly at the sight… they should have never left Sidekick’s side. They should be at the hospital right now.

Instead, they were knee deep in enemy territory, on a tour of Supervillain’s house. Hero had to pull their gaze away from Sidekick’s face, to study the rest of the room, screwing their lips up tight to try and stop them from trembling.

Hero’s gaze dropped to a desk below the corkboard, where a hero scanner and comms sat, both of them were switched off for now. One Flynn must have stolen… been given. Hero’s hands tightened into fists at the sight. All this time… all this time Flynn was betraying them, betraying the Heroes and he had the nerve to be upset that Hero hated him?

Hero’s gaze flicked back up to Sidekick’s face again and they quickly turned away, looking instead to the giant circular table that dominated the middle of the room. A map of the city was printed on top of it. Hero recognised some of the marks that divided some of the city up. Territories that were occupied or controlled by different groups. Some good, some bad.

Hero stepped closer to the map table, noticing the chess pieces that were spread across it. There was a cluster of white on Hero HQ; the King, two knights, a bishop, a rook, but some other white pieces were dotted throughout the map. There were no black pieces, something Supervillain removed no doubt before Hero walked in. They couldn’t give away all their secrets.

Hero searched the table, making note of the pieces, trying to figure out who they were. A pawn was placed on top of central hospital which made Hero feel sick. They felt Supervillain step up beside them, but Hero didn’t bother to look at him.

“Should I take your silence as a good thing?”

“You can take my silence however you want,” Hero replied. Supervillain hummed beside them. He reached forward and plucked the pawn from the hospital and ran it between his fingers.

“Mmmm, does it have something to do with this?” Hero looked away from the map, lifting their head to stare at the news instead. Supervillain continued undeterred. “It is unfortunate what happened to Sidekick.”

“Don’t talk about them,” Hero snapped.

“What had to happen to them. They were interfering. Hot on Flynn’s scent, we had to dispose of—”

“Shut up,” Hero snarled, whipping their head to Supervillain, and stepping back away from him. “Stop fucking explaining everything you’re doing, or have done, to me like I want to hear your excuses!”

Supervillain cocked a brow at Hero’s outburst. He put the pawn back on top of the hospital, not taking his eyes off of Hero as he did. Hero searched Supervillain’s face, reading it for what he was thinking, and they didn’t like what they found. Realising their mistake too late they took a step back, trying to put some more space between them. Once they could put their weight on their back foot they could kick at Supervillain if he came at them.

Instead, Supervillain clasped his hands behind his back, chewing on words, looking for the best ones before he spoke. Everything was so measured. So controlled. It put Hero off, as if Supervillain was more machine than human.

His gaze wandered to the map, eyes running over everything with a critical eye. “Did you notice anything about the map?”

Hero frowned at the question, their attention turning back to the map as Supervillain walked around the table, stopping directly opposite Hero. They did a quick scan of it, their eyebrows knitting together. Did they miss something? No, they didn’t. The heroes know about the different territories. Maybe Supervillain giving away what heroes they thought were important with the chess pieces but other than that…

Hero’s eyes were drawn to the chess pieces, to the Hero HQ. King, two knights, a bishop, a rook. They saw the other rook and bishop somewhere else, but when they scanned the map again Hero realised what Supervillain was alluding to.

Hero hardened their gaze. “There’s no queen.”

“Very good,” Supervillain praised, and it felt like cockroaches crawled down the back of Hero’s neck. “The queen was far too meddlesome for my liking. Your perfect Sidekick you’ll note is still on the board, that was intentional.”

Hero raised their eyebrows at Supervillain in silent question and froze at his expression. There was no hint of anything human left in him, it was as Hero had imagined Supervillain to look like. Devoid of emotion and yet alive with a vibrant authority that made Hero want to hide away, to cower from — as if Hero was looking directly into the sun, eyes burning but they couldn’t look away.

“An incentive for you, Hero,” he said, his lips twitching up into a cold mockery of a smile. “A gift while you’re here, to make sure you follow the rules.”

Hero recoiled back a step, horror painting their features, as if Supervillain had killed a puppy in front of them and punched them at the same time instead of spoke.

“As long as you behave, well,” Supervillain continued, sea-green eyes drifting down to the pawn over central hospital. Hero’s heart thrummed in their chest and seemed to stop at Supervillain’s next words. “Let’s just say, Sidekick can remain on the board.”

Hero let out a shaky breath that was trapped in their chest, shaking their head. The chain between their cuffs rattled as their hands shook, tears pricking the back of their eyes as their gaze turned accusing and filled with a helpless-fuelled hatred.

“You— you’re threatening Sidekick’s life if I don’t do as you say?!” Hero demanded, voice teetering on the edge of hysterical.

Supervillain tilted his head, as if trying to understand Hero’s emotional response.

“I told you, Hero,” Supervillain began, walking around the table back towards Hero who was too focused on the pawn over the hospital. “We can be civil, this can be a beneficial relationship for us both. I can have you far away from the city, where I know you can’t interfere in the next stage of my plans, and you can rest easy knowing you’re saving Sidekick’s life.”

It was as if the world crumbled underneath Hero’s feet. They wanted nothing more than to collapse there and then, their body flooding with adrenaline as the weight of Supervillain’s words hit them.

It was all too much.

It all felt like too much.

Hero wanted to scream and cry, and punch something— no they wanted to punch Supervillain and Flynn because…

Hero flinched as a comforting hand came down on their shoulder, eyes widening slightly because when did Supervillain get that close.

“It’s a win-win, Hero.” Hero shrugged his hand off their shoulder and stepped back. Wet eyes filled with unshed tears met Supervillain’s sea-green eyes with a helpless kind of hatred. He smiled politely. “You’ll see,” he promised, “in time.”

Hero half expected Supervillain to gloat further, or press Hero on why they were nearly crying, maybe even be cruel and make fun of them. Supervillain walked passed Hero to the door that opened with a beep. Hero followed him with their eyes, biting the inside of their cheek and re-opening the wound.

“Let’s continue the tour, now that we have the unpleasantries out of the way.”

Hero stared at Supervillain, blinked and took a breath and started walking out the door without being prompted this time. They could feel Supervillain’s hungry gaze following them as they submitted compliantly, but what else was there to do? Now that he had threatened Sidekick, who was already in critical condition.

They wanted to be sick. After everything, Sidekick was only in hospital because Supervillain wanted to get to them. They wanted Flynn and Villain to capture Hero and bring them back here, where they— Hero swallowed the sob that threatened to climb their throat — where they would be… staying. Until Supervillain says otherwise.

It all felt so final, so formal, so decided when Hero didn’t make a decision. Supervillain was in control, that’s why he wanted to give Hero the “tour.” Not to show Hero around and let them see all the exits and escape routes, no. He wanted Hero to know that even if Hero knew the way out, even if they knew what doors would be locked and where the keys were, even if escape was within their reach — it didn’t matter.

They couldn’t leave.

If they left, Sidekick would be killed and it would be all their fault.

Again.

“Ah, Flynn,” Supervillain said behind Hero. Hero pulled themselves from their thoughts, raising their eyes to see Flynn standing at the corner between the cellar hall and hall that led to the dining room. He looked worried, his eyes not leaving Hero, who couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Perhaps you’d like to show Hero to their room?”

Hero felt Flynn’s eyes on them, searching their face, imploring them to look at Flynn but they couldn’t. Their stomach was flopping like a fish out of water, threatening to throw their dinner up any moment.

“Uh, yes. I will, thanks.”

“No problem,” Supervillain replied, mirthful as he strode past Hero and down the hall towards Flynn. He clapped a hand on Flynn’s shoulder as he passed and shot one last look over his shoulder at Hero. Hero met his gaze once, fleetingly, then turned their head away again.

Flynn was the first to move, walking closer to Hero who stood like a kicked puppy in the middle of the hall. When Supervillain turned the corner he smiled a satisfied smile to himself.

It was so easy to get Hero’s defence to crumble, and now that Hero wasn’t a threat to his plans, well… the city was about to change.

Whether it wanted to or not.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll-call: @princess-bubble-blossom @morning-star-whump @revrevrew-personal @altvaggie

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Marks

(Masterlist)

girl help i can't stop making bonus content

this is set right around Part XIII, in regard to the “I should probably give you more visible marks.” comment.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, obedient whumpee, somewhat reluctant whumper, dehumanization, power imbalances, physical abuse, minor blood, brief drug mention, death mention)

==============

He got approximately ten million fucking emails calling him an arsonist, or telling him that the experiment is an accident waiting to happen, or asking why he was letting the A-bomb walk around off-leash, why he was letting the bomb walk at all. Accusations he wouldn’t dare repeat. It was all so stupid. Delta was good. Paris never worried about him fragging. But the appearance of insubordination was damning all on its own. It was not a good situation.

Unfortunately, the messages kept coming. From staff he actually respected, too. People he needed. He didn’t even know how word reached them that quickly. He sometimes forgot just how scared they were of Delta. It had never been a popular project. That night, he received many requests for him to be killed outright. Not fucking happening.

Fucking Nezu telling him what to do with his fucking psychic. He was more mad about that than he ever could have been at Delta. That was why he’d gone easy on him. It gave him serious pause whenever his wants overlapped with Nezu’s — sometimes enough to evaporate them completely. He really wasn’t in the mood.

Something had to be done though, by the time the next meeting rolled around. They had to know that Delta had been punished for it, that Paris didn’t just let him get away with everything.

Delta didn’t fight him on it — not that he’d expected him too. He kneeled in front of the desk like he’d been asked. Paris leaned back against it, hitting the pen a few more times than he needed to. 

Delta looked bad. That day had been the only time Paris had ever seen him cry — even weeks later, he hadn’t seemed to recover from it. His eyes were still so pleading, in a way they’d never been before. It was unsettling.

Paris readjusted the only ring he wore on his right hand. It was sapphire — and it was clean. There wasn’t any reason to drag it out. He tilted Delta’s face up a little, tucking the slick hair back behind the webbed fin of his ear. 

“Hold still.” He didn’t want to hit his eye by accident. The jewel was sharp.

He backhanded him hard across the face. Harder than he would have normally. It needed to bruise.

Delta’s head was forced sharply to one side. His hair fell back in his face, totally obscuring it when he looked down at the floor. He didn’t outwardly react, but his next breaths came out shallow and shaky. Yeah, that hurt. 

Paris cupped his face again, moving it back up to examine the injury. It’d landed where he wanted it to — a thin cut right along his cheekbone. He could see the spot where the bruise would form over the next couple hours. Delta winced. Paris gently smoothed over the flushed skin with his thumb. 

“I’m sorry.” Delta’s voice was quiet. It was all he would say recently. 

“I know.”

It was hard to be mad at him when he was so clearly repentant. When he was being this good about it. Paris released him. He’d planned on hitting him across the other side of his face as well, in the interest of covering all his angles. It didn’t feel worth it anymore.

“Hand.”

Delta placed his hand gingerly into Paris’s own. Paris tightened his grip around it, supporting the palm beneath so that it’d absorb the full force of it. Knuckles facing up. Paris reached back for the ruler left out on the desk.

It cracked down hard against his knuckles, fast enough that he didn’t really have time to flinch. His injured hand reflexively tightened around Paris’s in the aftermath; it was the only real physical reaction he’d had. His claws dug painfully into Paris’s hand, not yet breaking the skin.

Paris released his grip on the hand. Delta’s hand relaxed and the claws withdrew, but he didn’t pull it back like he’d expected. He just left it resting there in his grasp.

“Other one.” 

He offered it without resistance. Same routine. Paris brought the ruler back down over his other hand, watching as the first signs of bruising appeared upon them. He placed the ruler back down and released his grip on Delta’s hand. 

“Done.”

There wasn’t much else to do, really. Delta was always dressed in long sleeves and ceremonial garb. For the most part, only his face and hands were exposed on vanguard days. It was enough, though. His expression alone was enough. If he just stayed like that, he’d be fine.

Delta folded both of his hands back into his lap, bright purple and blue against the pale white of clothes. His hair fell messily in his face, but parts of his eyes were still visible. He was still looking at Paris in that desperate, shell-shocked way.

“…Easy. You’re fine.” Paris didn’t know what to say to make him normal again. “The sting will be gone in a few minutes.”

For the hands, anyway, though the numbness would remain. The mark on his face would hurt a lot longer. 

Delta nodded slowly. A small amount of blood appeared by the cut. 

Paris gestured for him to lean forward again. Delta did so, cringing a little. Paris pressed a tissue against his cheek to stop the bleeding. He sighed as it bled straight through.

“…You want a bandaid?” He offered. The bruise would still be visible beneath it. 

“Yeah.” His voice was barely audible. He took the tissue from Paris, keeping the pressure there. 

Paris disappeared for a moment, loudly knocking shit over in the overfilled medicine cabinet. He came back with the split bandage. Delta held still as he applied it over the cut, smoothing it out against his cheek. It was pale white, the same color as his clothes, standing out sharply against the dark blue of his skin.

“…Thank you,” Delta said quietly. Sweetly. It fucking killed him sometimes.

Paris felt something strange in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it. He made a small, noncommittal noise as he discarded the paper into the trash. 

Delta touched the side of his face gently with the newly discolored fingers. Bruises on bruises. He put his hand abruptly back into his lap when Paris looked at him, as if he’d gotten caught. 

“We’re done.” Paris waved him off, sliding the ruler back into the drawer. The pen was starting to kick in. He was getting lightheaded. 

Delta rose slowly, giving something like a curtsy before he left. Or maybe his legs were just unsteady. Paris didn’t really care. 

The door closed quietly. Paris slid the lock shut. He pressed his forehead against the wood grain. Definitely lightheaded.

……

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

cw age gap, implied kidnapping, implied torture, intimate whumper, power dynamic 

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” 

They glanced at the doorway, a cigarette between their full, pink lips. They raised an eyebrow and smirked at Whumper, blowing out a cloud of smoke before replying, “What makes you think I have a bedtime?” 

Whumper smiled and leaned against the wall next to them. Leaving enough distance between them to be casual. “I don’t mind,” they said, not answering the question. “I mean, we do all ages shows for a reason. I think it’s great for kids to see live music.” 

Big, innocent eyes narrowed into a glare. “I’m eighteen, actually. But thanks for your concern.” 

Oh, this one was going to be fun. “Sorry, you just look young is all. Didn't mean to insult you—maybe we could start over? I’m Whumper.” 

“I know, I came to see your band.” Another drag on their cigarette. “I’m Whumpee.” 

Whumpee. The name suited them perfectly. Whumper could imagine saying it tauntingly as they did horrible things to Whumpee. Or whispering it as they comforted them afterwards. Whumper didn’t expect to be so lucky tonight. “Well, Whumpee,” they said, testing it out. “I haven’t seen you at any shows before, but you seem cool. There’s an after party at my place if you wanna come.” 

The kid looked hesitant. “I don’t know, I have class in the morning.” It wasn’t a no. 

They watched Whumpee stub out the cigarette on the wall behind them and flick it over the porch railing into the grass. They imagined lighting one of their own just to put it out on Whumpee’s skin. They would probably scream so beautifully as it burned into their wrist or their neck. Delicate, unmarked skin. Oh, Whumper was going to have so much fun breaking them. “Your call,” they said with a shrug before closing the space between them. “But I'd really like it if you were there.” 

Whumpee looked up at them, visibly nervous but making no move to back away. “Yeah?” they breathed, seeming to catch the unspoken implication in Whumper’s statement. 

The other people milling around outside paid them no attention as Whumper placed one of their hands on the kid’s cheek, cold from the winter air. Their nose was red, too—how cute. “Yeah—come party with the rockstars. I promise you’ll have a good time, honey.” 

What Whumper didn’t mention was that once Whumpee made it to their house, they wouldn’t be leaving. Not for a very long time, at least. 

“Okay. I'll come,” Whumpee agreed without much convincing. God, they were easy.  

Whumper smiled, tucking Whumpee’s hair behind their ear. Fingers ghosted down their neck, picturing a collar around it. Imagining how that sweet, young face would look covered in tears. “Awesome. Let me pack up my equipment and then we’ll get going.” 

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XVII)

Unforeseen Side-effect

Part One // Masterpost // Continued from here

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kit sat up with an effort, his entire body tensing as he moved. Aftershocks still singed his nerves as he moved, eliciting sharp hisses of pain.

What the hell was that thing, that red lightning? And why did he only get it around Ambrose?

“I assume that it’s a wild manifestation of your abilities,” Ambrose said from the kitchen. Kit rolled his eyes, about to curse the villain out if a sudden wave of nausea didn’t hit him and stop him in his tracks.

The world was spinning, lethargically slow, and closing his eyes didn’t exactly help matters. What the fuck was that red lightning? Why did it leave him so… weak?

Kit stopped beside the couch, pressing his back against it while he caught his breath and stifled the whine that threatened to spill from the back of his throat.

“You are as pale as a ghost,” Ambrose told Kit with a smirk. “Except for those eyes of course. And your veins.”

Kit’s eyes widened. His veins? What was Ambrose talking about now? Kit brought his hands in front of his eyes, any colour left in him draining as he saw the same angry, neon red colour had permeated all of his veins. Kit rolled up his sleeves, and there they were. Then the cuffs of his jeans, and the veins were there too.

“You’re like a walking glow-stick.”

“For fuck’s sake, just shut up.” Kit said with a groan, gfalling to his hands and knees and pushing himself to get up. He froze, hitting an invisible wall and plopped back down to his arse again. Red eyes met Ambrose’s black ones. “Can you let me stand up?”

I thought you told me to shut up, Ambrose’s voice sounded in Kit’s mind, the same stupid smirk on his same stupid face.

Kit banged his head against the couch with a groan. “You’re such a dickhead! You can give commands through thoughts! Why are you even here?! Why do you love to torture me?” Kit demanded, his voice turning hysterical. “Is this all part of Supervillain’s plan? To drive me mad too?”

The humour vanished from Ambrose’s face in the blink of an eye. “Do I look like I work well with others, Mallory?”

Kit blinked, his eyebrows pinching together, forming a furrow between. “What?”

Ambrose walked forward, closing the distance between them, stopping in front of Kit’s outstretched legs. “Do I look like I take orders from people?”

“No?”

“Then why,” Ambrose began, his voice darkening. “Would you think that I would throw my lot in with Supervillain of all people?”

Kit bent his knee and pushed himself into a straighter sitting position. He threw his hands up in a helpless gesture. “Then what the fuck were you doing on the docks that night?”

Ambrose’s features hardened. “The night I met you?”

“No, the other night on the docks.” Kit deadpanned.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Ambrose said with a shrug. “You can blame that preppy little water hero, what was her name again?”

“Tides.”

“That’s it,” Ambrose said with a click of his fingers. “Tides. The perfect foil to your electricity, Kit. Maybe I should bring her over someti—”

“If you touch her, I’ll fucking kill you.” Ambrose raised his brows, slightly taken aback. Maybe it was the vibrant crackle in his eyes or the echo in his voice, but something about him at that moment didn’t feel like Kit. It felt like something else. Something… wild.

“Promises, promises,” Ambrose said with a wave. “You can stand, Mallory. Clearly, we need to have a long overdue conversation.”

Ambrose walked back to the kitchenette, and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet preparing their coffee and tea. Kit slowly, achingly slow, got to his feet, his entire body zapped of energy. He dragged himself to his table and settled heavy into the chair, ignoring how breathless he was from such a light movement.

Ambrose joined him a few minutes later, neither of them speaking to each other. Ambrose set the coffee in front of Kit, and Kit said: “thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ambrose told him lightly. Ambrose stood again and walked towards Kit, reaching out.

Kit flinched back, throwing his hands up, red eyes pleading. “No, Ambrose no more, please.”

“Relax, Mallory. I’m just undoing the tie.” Ambrose told him. He waited until Kit relaxed, his hands lowering, a wary glint in his eyes as Ambrose started forward again. He quickly undid the knot in the tie, Kit refusing to look at him, instead focusing on the wall behind him. He could smell Ambrose’s expensive cologne from the space between them. It smelled nice, but it was deathly silent.

It was awkward, to say the least.

Ambrose finished with a flourish, gently pulling the fabric from Kit’s throat, sending shivers down his spine. Ambrose folded the tie neatly as he sat down again opposite Kit. When his black eyes flicked up to Kit’s he let out a low whistle, his eyes going to the red bruise around Kit’s throat. It would fade in an hour or two.

“What?” Kit snapped.

A ghost of a smirk flashed over Ambrose’s lips as he picked up his steaming mug. “Let’s just say you have a necktie of your own, now.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck right off, Rosey.” Kit took his own mug and took a sip of the steaming black coffee. His arm spasmed as the liquid met his tongue and spilled coffee all over his arm. Kit hissed, cursing as he wiped the liquid off, humming the pain away.

Ambrose’s dark eyes narrowed over his cup. “Aftershock?”

Kit shook his head. “I don’t know what this is,” he said weakly.

“Hmm.” Ambrose set his mug down on the table, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “In any case, we need to discuss your theory on Supervillain.”

“You said you’re not working for him.”

Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely not, but I am interested to hear your theory.”

“That night on the docks,” Kit repeated.

“I didn’t start a fight with Tides on the dock, Kit. She started a fight with me. I was simply defending myself.”

“And I’m sure you forced her to radio for help, right?”

Ambrose blinked. “No.”

Kit scoffed. “Sure you didn’t.”

“No,” Ambrose said again, straightening his spine. “I didn’t. If I did, I would tell you, Mallory. I’m an honest man.”

“She radioed Superhero and I while we were fighting a fire Villain that was threatening to burn down the residential area in seventh.”

“I never told her to do anything like that, Mallory. I wanted a quiet night. Tides somehow recognised me, and then I had my fun with her.” A shadow of a smirk passed over Ambrose’s face. “Though she wasn’t half as fun as you were.”

Kit frowned. “But that night there was— it felt like there were a series of co-ordinated attacks across the city.”

“Except I didn’t attack your water hero. How many times must I repeat myself?”

“Sorry if you’re a little hard for me to trust right now, Rosey!” Kit growled, slamming his hand on the table. The red in his veins pulsed and burned brighter. Even the blood vessels inside his mouth were emitting light, as if he had just swallowed the sun. “All you’ve done since I’ve met you is torture me, use my own powers against me, broke into my apartment—”

“Kit—” Ambrose said, but sparks flew from Kit’s body as he continued, getting angrier and angrier. Burning hotter and hotter, the light getting brighter and brighter.

“Laughed at me while you beat me, terrorised my every waking moment, kidnapped me and tied me up so you could hurt me some more, or shall I go on?!” His voice crackling at the end like static over an old radio that had lost signal.

“Kit, you need to calm down.” Ambrose said softly, eyes weary at the sparks and heat that was coming off the hero in front of him.

“Wow, look at you, Rosey. How far we’ve come. You’re scared of me for once,” Kit said, planting his hands on the table and rising to his feet. “Good.”

Kit raised his hand, pointing his index finger at Ambrose and raising his thumb, curling his hand into a finger gun. Then he lowered his thumb with a soft: “pew.”

Ambrose went hurtling back against the wall to Kit’s room, cracking the plaster on impact. Ambrose groaned as he fell to the ground, forcing his eyes to focus, but his brain was fried. Everything was coming too slowly for him to react.

Kit stepped around the table, following the telepath. Each step sent jolts of energy through his limbs but Kit couldn’t help it. He kind of liked it. This raw power coursing through him. It made him feel in control.

He ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him to stop. That this was wrong, that this wasn’t him. Oh this was Kit alright. This was all of Kit’s bottled up emotions, finally breaking free and showing Ambrose who really had the power in their relationship.

Kit stopped in front of Ambrose, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him to his feet. He shoved him against the wall, not shocking him, not yet. He just wanted to savour the look of fear in the villain’s face for once. The villain’s disheveled state, where strands of his perfect hair fell over his face, out of his control.

“Mallory, this isn’t you,” Ambrose told him.

Kit tilted his head. “Aww, is that really all you can think of in your defence, Rosey? It’s hard to think with electricity shocking your nervous system, isn’t it?”

“Kit—”

“Kit’s not home right now,” Kit cut in, chuckling darkly. The sound echoing in static across the apartment. “Or, well, he is. He’s me, I’m him. Let’s just say, his compassionate, heroic side isn’t steering the ship at the moment.”

Ambrose clenched his jaw. “Then which part am I speaking to?”

“The one that you created, Rosey.” Kit told him with a threatening purr. His smile widened as Ambrose paled. “The beaten, pathetic, powerless one that gathered every time you told us — not to use our powers. Every time Kit reached for them and couldn’t find them, guess what happened? I was born. A well of kinetic and potential energy, bubbling under the surface, safe in Kit’s subconscious.” Kit laughed and Ambrose flinched. “I liked you, Rosey. You just kept building, and building, and building me up until I spilled over. But y’know what? I like being in the driver seat. It’s fun being conscious.”

Ambrose didn’t know what to do as he stared at the monster in front of him. The monster that he created? Nobody had ever had side effects like this before, well, none that he of. Certainly not enough to make another personality emerge in the subconscious, but then again…

Ambrose set his mouth into a thin line. Kit was top of his class for a reason. Mentor chose him for a reason, and if Kit wasn’t lethal enough with just his skills his ability — electricity — was pure energy, pure force. It would take a lot for Kit to be able to control it, let alone suppress it. Ambrose vaguely recalled studying electricity in school, and all the different types of it.

No, that’s not what he should focus on.

His mind quickly poured over Kit’s words again until he found it, the important information. “Kit’s not home right now. Or well, he is. He’s me, I’m him. Let’s just say, his compassionate, heroic side isn’t steering the ship at the moment.”

Perfect. That meant all Ambrose had to do was reach in and pull the real Kit out to the forefront of his mind. Put him back in control.

Ambrose reached into Kit’s mind, quickly searching the strange cavern until he saw him. Not Kit, but a pulsing ball of blue electricity buried deep in the darkness.

“Mallory!” Ambrose called, his voice echoing in Kit’s mind. “Mallory wake—”

Ambrose screamed as he was pulled out of Kit’s head. It felt as if his body was burning under a stream of molten lava, singeing every nerve and fibre of his being. Every muscle seized and contracted, robbing every thought from his brain before eventually it stopped and he fell forward. His head fell onto Kit’s shoulder, his body riding out the aftershocks with a cry.

“Naughty, naughty Rosey. It’s rude to ask for someone else to join us when the fun’s only beginning! You get to play with Kit all the time, I never get to play with you.”

“Kit—” Ambrose said with a breath, his voice coming out weaker than he had ever heard it.

“Don’t worry. I know how much volts it takes to kill a human, and I only used a fraction of that on you, Rosey. See? We’re still friends! I would be nothing without you.” Kit grabbed Ambrose’s head and straightened him back against the wall. “So, how about we make this party really fun and use half the amount it takes to kill—“”

Kit shut up suddenly, stepping back. Ambrose slid heavy down the wall, mind racing. He had the right mind to glance up at Kit to see a resolute expression grace his lips.

“Ambrose, put me to sleep. Now! Fucking—” Kit dropped to his knees, screaming as red and blue sparks erupted around him. No, not around him. From him. Ambrose looked away, throwing his elbow up to shield his eyes. “AGGGGHHH! NOW! DON’T—”

Ambrose took a sharp breath and slammed his hand out. He reached into Kit’s mind and pulled the plug. Kit’s muscles went rigid, his arms dropping to his sides before he fell to the ground. Ambrose let out a gasp, falling forward to his hands and knees.

Ambrose sucked in a breath, his muscles trembling to keep him up. Fuck.

He pushed himself back onto his arse, eyes locked on the unconscious hero in front of him. His body still pulsed with energy, but at least he was out cold. Ambrose pressed a hand against his chest, still feeling the burn from Kit’s hand on his chest.

He glanced down, brows pinching together when he saw the char mark in the shape of a handprint on his shirt. Ambrose scoffed. “You little shit,” he said to Kit. “This shirt costs more than your apartment.”

Ambrose got to his feet with a groan. It has been a long time since somebody hurt him like that. Well, not counting all the times when Kit had surprised him. He let out a breath, that sounded eerily similar to a laugh, when he remembered Kit knocking him out and waking up tied up and gagged. Oh, those were the days.

He walked over to Kit’s coatrack by the door and rooted around in his overcoat pockets until his fingers touched the metal rings. He pulled them out and released them with a dull thunk.

He personally preferred not having to use Kit’s power dampeners. They weren’t exactly a tool that Ambrose needed. Besides, it was much more fun to force Kit to inhibit his own ability, but Ambrose had told him not to use his powers. He had done that, and somehow, the other Kit somehow managed to access his electricity to overpower Ambrose.

Ambrose walked over to the Hero, staring down at him with something unreadable crossing his expression. This was the kid that Mentor took under his wing, huh? He could see why Mentor would choose him, of all the heroes in the world, never mind the city, he’s the Hero Ambrose chose too, coincidentally.

Entirely coincidental.

It was strange.

There was something about Kit, something about him that drew people in like moths to a flame, but looking down at him now, Ambrose took in how young Mallory looked.

He was everything Ambrose wasn’t; where Ambrose was pale, Kit had a honeyed tan to his skin, and where Ambrose was dark haired, Kit’s hair was light brown. Not to mention the differences between Kit’s ridiculous haircut and Ambrose’s. Honestly, would it kill him to run a comb through his hair every once in a while?

Then again Mentor always had a soft spot for broken things, and who could ever compete with some scrappy orphan?

Ambrose sighed as he crouched in front of Kit, reaching forward to grab the boy’s wrists. A jolt of electricity passed through Ambrose’s arm and he cursed, yanking his hand back and shaking it.

“Even unconscious you’re still a pain in the ass,” Ambrose muttered, carefully reaching forward again and snapping the cuff around Kit’s wrist without touching him. The brightness in his veins dimmed and went out completely after Ambrose snapped the cuff on other his wrist.

He touched Kit’s hand again, testing the waters, and there was no shock or jolt that ran through him. Good. Ambrose got to his feet, satisfied that Kit wasn’t a live wire anymore and walked towards Kit’s bedroom. He opened the wardrobe and grabbed one of Kit’s sweaters, then paused, stretching the fabric.

God. The boy didn’t look this skinny. Ambrose had broad shoulders, something he was proud of, but at the moment he wished he was the same build as the young hero. He put the sweater back in and pulled out a larger hoodie. It was ugly but it’d do.

All of his insulators were back at his house, which meant he’d have to take Kit back too. He needed answers. He needed to understand why Mentor chose Kit, why he took him, why he raised him to follow in his footsteps.

He needed to know why Kit thought Ambrose was working with Supervillain. Too many unanswered questions for his liking, too many variables, and all of them hinged on the volatile hero in front of him. Well, Ambrose never got to where he was today without a little hard work.

At least, he noted, it was dark outside, so he could throw the unconscious hero into the backseat without too many questions.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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

[whumpshaped]

whumptober 21

prompt list masterlist

tw nonhuman whumper (vampire), mind control, dehumanisation, extreme power dynamics

"Don't move."

Whumpee's eyes glazed over instantly at the quiet but firm command. There was someone right on top of them, their hands planted on the bed on either side of their head. All they could make out in the darkness of the room was a silhouette and those enticing, deep red eyes. Why had they been struggling again? They couldn't remember. It wasn't like this was a robbery, it was merely their master taking what belonged to them.

"I'll let you sleep afterwards," Master whispered, and Whumpee felt their heart swell with gratitude. Master was gracious for mentioning a reward, for mentioning an afterwards — that meant there was going to be an afterwards. They weren't going to be drained, not tonight.

"Thank you, Master," they said in a similarly hushed tone as they turned their head, exposing their neck.

They shuddered when Master leaned down and their lips brushed against their skin, their muscles unable to tense up with anticipation as a result of the spell. They didn't fear the bite, nor could they remember a time when they had feared it. The pain of it felt like the most natural thing in the world, and they welcomed it with a small gasp as those sharp fangs sank deep into their flesh, piercing veins and allowing their nutritious blood to flow into Master's mouth.

This was their purpose. They knew that with overwhelming certainty.

They didn't move even after Master had pulled away, just in case they changed their mind and decided to go for seconds. But instead, the vampire merely let out a content sigh and got off the bed. "What fine blood you have," they murmured. "Quite... difficult to resist, really."

Whumpee lit up at the praise. "Thank you, Master. Please, do drink more if it's to your liking." Their own lightheadedness didn't matter one bit, all they wanted were those fangs right back in their neck and their master pleased.

"And kill such a fine human? No, I think I won't." They waved a hand the rest of the apartment. "Go and stop the bleeding."

Whumpee obeyed without hesitation. They walked straight to the bathroom to clean up, then put a bandaid on top of the two neat puncture wounds. They could only hear the footsteps following behind before their master put their hands on their shoulders. The mirror reflected only them.

"I think I'll come back in a couple days to drink from you again. It's a hassle to find new people every time, and especially delicious ones like you."

"I would be honoured, Master," they said reverently, and the vampire sighed again.

"Of course, of course. Maybe next time I'll skip the charm... I'm getting awfully bored of all the scripted responses." They let go and stepped out of the small bathroom. "Until next time, then."

Whumpee came to in front of the mirror, staring at themself in confusion. Why was there a bandaid–

They yelped as their head cleared a bit more, suddenly overcome with pure terror and disgust. Fuck, fuck, a fucking vampire had just been here, they'd been bitten– and the thing threatened to come back... They rushed over to their window and leaned out, desperate for some fresh air.

They were just in time to see a cloaked figure exit their apartment complex below, glancing up at them when they heard the sound of their panting. They pushed themself away from the window with a startled cry, squeezing their eyes shut and curling up on the floor instead.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Was there anything in their lease pertaining to a potential vampire threat?

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps

[the-broken-pen]

Six months ago, when the protagonist had first appeared in the middle of the villain’s compound, scrawny and half feral, the villain hadn’t thought much of it.

And then it happened again.

And again.

The villain thought something of it.

“Let me work with you,” they had begged. The villain was almost certain the protagonist was homeless. “Please, I have powers, I can—”

The villain said yes.

Maybe it had been whatever remnants were left of the villain’s stupid heart. Maybe it was the chocolate donut they had that morning. Maybe it was the desperation coming off the protagonist in waves.

Maybe they were just bored.

They paid it no mind.

The protagonist did have powers, but they were minor. The kind you see in small children, the first in a bloodline to mutate powers. Their great grand children would wield enough power to level buildings, be heroes and villains and everything in between. But for now, they sat in preschool classrooms and summoned the tiniest spark of flame.

The protagonist, trembling like a fawn, sweat slicking their brow, seemed to be one of those children. Albeit an older version.

Not useless, exactly. They had a startling affinity for picking locks—which explained the ability to get into the villain’s compound—a willingness to fight anyone, and a lack of fear. But they weren’t exactly the most useful sidekick the villain could have picked.

The villain wouldn’t trade them for anyone else, though.

Their stupid, half dead heart, it seemed, cared for the protagonist.

So, when the hero set out to kill the protagonist, the villain knew they would do anything to keep them safe.

They caught the hero’s hand, twisting to shove them backwards a step, and they felt rather than saw the protagonist wince.

“Violent today, aren’t we?”

The hero was seething, and it unsettled something in the villain. The hero was unstable, yes. But the villain had never seen them try to kill someone before; they hadn’t even considered the hero might try.

They dodged another blow, the hero’s power blasting apart a building behind them. Their spine prickled, and they dropped to avoid the next hit.

“Just itching to go to prison for homicide, hm?”

When the hero didn’t even attempt to respond to their half-assed banter, the villain’s gut roiled.

“Protagonist,” they said between breaths. “Leave. Now.”

“No.”

They managed to throw the hero to the ground, risking a glance at the protagonist. They were covered in dust, supersuit dirty and torn across one calf, but their feet remained planted, shoulders set. “You heard me. Go back to the compound—“

The protagonist’s eyes widened, and the villain knew they had turned away for too long.

The villain went down hard, ears ringing, as the hero shook out their fist.

“Stop it,” the protagonist’s voice cracked. They took a step forward, wavering like they weren’t sure if they should run or fight.

“Go,” the villain coughed, and the protagonist flinched. They rolled onto their back, struggling to stand as the hero’s power flickered dangerously.

The villain knew, innately, that the next hit would kill them.

The villain sucked in a painful breath.

The hero lunged.

And the protagonist, voice wrecked with fear, screamed, “Dad.”

The villain’s heart stuttered.

There was a flash of light.

In front of them, panting for air like they would never get enough, was the protagonist. The hero’s fist was planted against their chest still, and the villain could tell it had been a death blow. Anyone, even the villain, wouldn’t have survived.

And yet—

The protagonist stood, unharmed.

“Dad,” they said again, and the hero didn’t quite flinch, but it was close. “Stop.”

The silence was deafening.

Something in the hero’s jaw tightened.

“Move,” the hero said lowly. The protagonist didn’t falter.

“No.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“What exactly will you do to me if I don’t listen,” the protagonist gave a sharp laugh. “Hit me? You tried that already.”

The hero sucked in a breath.

“I am your—“

“You are my nothing,” the protagonist corrected. “Certainly not my father. You lost that right when I was eight.”

The villain managed to push themselves to their feet.

“That was stupid,” the villain murmured, but it didn’t have any heat to it. “You couldn’t have known that would work. You had no idea if you could survive a hit like that.”

The protagonist very pointedly did not turn around, shoulders tense.

“I did,” their voice was strained. “He lost the right to fatherhood when I was eight, remember?”

The hero didn’t say anything, but the villain thought that might have been shame creeping its way across their face.

Oh.

Oh.

The hero—

The villain had been harboring the child of the most powerful being on the planet for six months. A child the hero had tried to kill, or at the very least, hurt.

Their heart stuttered.

They had been harboring the most powerful being on the planet, their mind corrected. A drop of blood slid its way down their spine. Power grew with every generation, and with the hero already so powerful, any child they had would be something close to a god.

“You said you had mild telekinesis,” the villain said numbly. The protagonist half turned to look over their shoulder, eyes shiny.

“My mom,” the protagonist. “I got it from her. The rest…”

From the hero.

The protagonist scanned the villain’s face.

They were searching for signs of violence, the villain realized. The protagonist wasn’t afraid of the hero anymore; no, the protagonist had seen the worst they could do. But somehow, the protagonist had begun to care for the villain. And they were terrified the villain—the person they trusted the most—was going to hurt them over a secret. The villain could see it all, scrawled across the protagonist’s face clear as day.

The villain was going to kill the hero. Painfully.

“Protagonist,” the villain kept their voice even. Gentle. Slow. “I’m not mad. And I’m not going to hurt you.” Their eyes slipped past to the protagonist to the hero.

“Him, however, I will be.”

The protagonist worried their lip between their teeth, and the villain watched as their power—their true power—sparked along their shoulder blades.

The villain stepped forwards—

“Don’t,” it was little more than a whisper.

The villain stopped.

The protagonist slid in front of the villain once more. “Just,” they raised a hand, as if taking a moment to choose their next words. “Stay.”

The villain stayed.

When the protagonist’s attention turned back to the hero, it was bloodthirsty. It spoke of war, and hatred, and revenge.

“You’re going to leave,” the protagonist’s voice was sharp enough to cut skin. “And you aren’t going to come back. I don’t care if it’s because you don’t want to, or because you know that if you do, I will kill you and I’ll like it—you won’t come back.”

The hero swallowed.

“The city needs me.”

“You are a plague to this city, and I am ridding it of you. Get. Out.”

The hero stumbled a step backwards, as if they had been hit. Their expression twisted.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” the protagonist seethed.

They all knew the protagonist meant it.

The hero was halfway down the block, news vans and reporters scrambling their way onto the scene with cameras raised, when the protagonist called after them.

“Oh, and Dad?” The cameras snapped to them, and the protagonist grinned. It was vicious—it looked like the villain’s. “Parents who abuse their children don’t get to be heroes. Especially not you.”

They waited a beat, two, three.

The press exploded.

Above the din, power crackling around them, the protagonist mouthed two words.

“I win.”

[letitbehurt]

Powerful Whumpees who are absolutely capable of killing Whumper, but are kept from doing so through magic, threats, or similar means.

[unforgivenn]

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY

#6: Bruised and broken

Previous/ Masterlist

CW: captivity, slavery, abuse, violence, blood, broken bones, traumaaaa ^^, pet whump, power dynamics, Overall Noah being a sad boy

Andrey threw the weeping boy on the floor as soon as they reached Andrey's room. He raked his hands through his hair in frustration, circling in the room. Rage pulsed through him like a storm, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.

Noah cowered on the ground, tears mingling with blood on his bruised face. He dared a glance up, but the look in Andrey's eyes sent a shiver down his spine. Fear choked him, but he couldn't stop the small whimper that escaped his lips.

"Not another word out of you if you want to keep all your limbs intact." Andrey's voice was a low growl, filled with barely contained rage.

Noah clamped his mouth shut, his body trembling. He had never seen Andrey this furious. If this was a cartoon, he was sure Andrey's ears would blow steam. The older boy's eyes were wild, his movements erratic as he paced the room like a caged animal. As if Noah wasn't the one who should be frustrated right now.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Andrey spat, stopping to glare at Noah. "Talking back to me in front of our parents? Do you enjoy making me look like a fool?"

Noah shook his head vehemently, his heart pounding. He had only wanted to defend himself, to plead for mercy, but it seemed every word he spoke only made things worse.

"You think you're special, don't you?" Andrey continued, his voice rising. "You think you can get away with anything. I can have you replaced within a second y'know?"

"I-I'm sorry," Noah stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I didn't mean to... I was just..."

But before he could finish his sentence, Andrey's hand came crashing across his face with a sharp crack. Pain exploded behind Noah's eyes, and he stumbled backward, his cheek throbbing where Andrey's hand had struck him.

"Pathetic," Andrey sneered. "You can't even take a hit without crying."

He grabbed Noah by the collar, hauling him to his feet. "You're going to learn respect, Noah. You're going to learn your place in this family."

He let Noah fall down again, his burnt shoulder painfully connecting with a ground, making him let out another cry in pain. Noah flinched violently as Andrey's boot connected with his stomach, the pain shooting through him like a bolt of lightning. Pain exploded through Noah's gut, stealing his breath. He doubled over, gasping for air, but there was no respite. Andrey's boot connected with Noah's ribs, each kick driving the air from his lungs.

"S-Sto- Stop-" Noah's eyes widened, his vision blurred with tears as Andrey pulled him up punching him hard , sending his face reeling back.

"Look at you. Still thinking as if you can give me orders." With a sickening thud, Andrey's fist collided with Noah's jaw, snapping his head back with brutal force. Noah tasted blood, hot and metallic on his tongue. He tried to scream, but no sound came out, only a strangled shout.

He was sure that the fucking stitches had opened up again.

"Please," Noah croaked, barely audible through his pain. "Please, stop..."

But his pleas only seemed to fuel Andrey's rage. He grabbed Noah by the hair, yanking him upright and slamming him against the wall. Noah's head cracked against the stone, sending a new wave of dizziness and pain crashing over him. He smashed his head in the wall again, making stars shoot up in his vision.

"You don't get to beg," Andrey snarled, his face inches from Noah's. "You don't get to plead for mercy. You haven't earned it."

He released Noah, letting him crumple to the floor in a heap. Noah's body was a mass of agony, every nerve screaming in protest as he tried to curl into a protective ball. But the bastard wasn't done. He kicked Noah's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling flat on his back. Before Noah could react, Andrey was on him, straddling his chest and raining down blows with mercilessly.

Each punch was a thunderclap. His vision blurred, blood and tears mingling as he fought to stay conscious. He could feel his body breaking under Andrey's assault, could hear the sickening crunch of bone and the wet smack of flesh meeting flesh. With the amount of pain he was feeling right now, he was damn sure that Andrey had broken a few of his ribs.

In his mind, Noah's thoughts were a chaotic jumble of pain and despair. Why? Why was this happening? What had he done to deserve such cruelty? He had only wanted to be heard, to stand up for himself, and now he was paying the price in blood.

"S-St'hp.. St'hp.. 'm sorry.." Noah sobbed uncontrollably. He didn't know how much longer he could take it. He just wanted the sweet mercy of unconsciousness to be taken over him.

But Andrey showed no signs of stopping. His fists continued to pummel Noah's face, his body, each blow driving Noah further into the depths of agony. Noah's world was shrinking, narrowing down to the relentless rhythm of pain and the overwhelming fear that this would never end.

As Andrey's fists finally slowed, Noah lay there, broken and beaten, his body a canvas of bruises and blood. The room around him was a blur, the pain in his body a constant, throbbing reminder of his place in the world. He could barely think, could barely breathe, every breath a struggle, every movement a fresh wave of torment.

Andrey stood over him, breathing heavily, his knuckles bloodied from the assault. "You are going to learn your place, pet. And if I need to beat it into you, so be it."

Noah didn't respond. He couldn't. He squinted his eyes as if to clear out his vision. He tried speaking but only incohorent mumbling of 'sorry's' came out of him. He just lay there, eyes closed, tears streaming down his face, his body trembling with the aftershocks of the beating. He could barely register Andrey calling the guards. He could barely register the sound of footsteps coming towards him. What was happening?

Noah let out a small whimper when someone held him. Kindly. He couldn't help but lean into the touch desperate for warmth. Damian looked down at young boy with wide pitiful eyes.

"W-What did you do to him..?" He looked at Andrey.

"He needed to know discipline. You should just focus on your work of patching him up."

Damian was... traumatized to say the least. This boy. This boy who was shivering and crying in his arms. This boy who was fucking practically covered in blood was too young to go through this. Fuck it, no one should go through this but Damian knew better than to refuse the heir to Russia. Damian looked back down at Noah, when he made a feeble attempt to speak, his voice was so quiet that Damian had to lean in close just to listen what he was trying to say.

"'m s-so sorry.. 'm srry.. i'm sorry.. i'm sorry.. p-please.. 'm sorry"

Next

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@parasitebunny @anutz1234 @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumped-by-glitter @lordcatwich

@someoneoninternettt @natthebatt @noeul-whumpppssssss1234(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

HI!! okay so with the magical euphoria thingy i screamed into my pillow like twenty million times while reading AUDHSHXH /pOS YOUR WRITING IS AUAHDHAHX!!:?:!;!;:!, ANYWAY.

whumpee uses WAY too much magic in a fight. they’re completely giddy, out of it, and have just horrifically defeated something/someone.

looks around and notices that everyone is silent and terrified of what whumpee is capable of, because holy fuck. they did not need to go that far????

meanwhile whumpee thinks they were doing the right thing and, still incredibly excited from winning, runs over to caretaker!! and doesn’t understand why caretaker flinches away from them!! ^_^

sorry for the heinous grammar its like almost midnight rn :(((

(context)

I’m glad you liked my writing! I’m grinning like a fool rn.

And yes!!! Not every battle ends with Whumpee exhausted and ready to collapse. Sometimes they’re still sparking with energy, too deep into the high to realize they’re acting oddly, but not deep enough to be entirely gone. And honestly? For the people who care about them, for the people who are afraid of them, I think that state would be far, far worse. Awake but not quite aware. Unpredictable.

So like, hear me out.

The squadron is returning back to camp after a long day of missions. Their mage is still with them, in both senses of the word. They’re not fallen into total lunacy yet, still conscious and mobile. Whumpee’s bouncing on their toes, head swiveling on their shoulders like an excited puppy. They’re chatting excitedly, near incomprehensibly, at a soldier that made the mistake of getting too close. The soldier can only nod along to the stream of consciousness leaving Whumpee’s lips.

Caretaker is keeping a hold on Whumpee’s arm, making sure they don’t run off. They know Whumpee will be fine after a night’s rest.

It’s a rare moment of calm. They’re sore and exhausted, but the warm pride of a job well done leaves them feeling satisfied. The atmosphere is light as they trudge through the forest. Peaceful, all things considered.

But then Whumpee freezes, body stiffening all at once as something catches their attention. They turn, eyes focusing on something. A flash of enemy colors flicks in their vision–

Whumpee’s moving before Caretaker can react. Light bursts from their hands, illuminating the dark forest, and the squadron freezes on instinct. Whumpee’s attention, fractured and fleeting moments ago, has sharpened into a deadly edge to focus on a single figure.

Whumpee reaches out a single glowing hand, fingers curling as if grabbing something.

Flanked by two petrified guards, hands shackled behind his back, is a single enemy soldier taken as prisoner. His eyes widen as Whumpee’s attention focuses on him, the man’s bruised and exhausted face contorted in terror. His mouth is open in silent, terrified scream.

Just as Caretaker is reaching out to stop them, Whumpee reaches out with an open hand. Their fingers curl inward as if grabbing something. With a sharp movement their hand is pulled back, fingers clenched shut. The prisoner’s body lurches forward in response.

The crackle of energy cracks through the air, and suddenly something red and dripping and squirming is hovering mere feet from the man. He’s never laid eyes on it before, but the emptiness in his chest tells him exact

The human heart, still beating, falls to the forest floor. Its owner falls a moment later.

Silence follows. Fear and shock runs through the squadron, their minds struggling to comprehend what had just unfolded. Some freeze like a deer in the headlights, terrified that moving will bring Whumpee’s wrath. Others are inching their hands towards their belts, looking for a weapon. Others still are simply trembling from shock, suddenly and violently reminded of the danger in their midsts.

The terror that grips Caretaker is different. They’re afraid for Whumpee. Training kicking into overdrive, Caretaker’s eyes dart over the scene, calculating. Assessing the panic, assessing how long they have until fear turns into action.

They know they have to take control of the situation. Caretaker’s footsteps are firm as they approach Whumpee, exuding confidence they don’t feel, and praying it's enough to keep the situation from escalating.

Caretaker places a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee turns to face them, expression blank

“Whumpee,” Caretaker speaks with trained calmness, voice gentle yet firm. Their smile is a weak, trembling thing, doing little to mask their anxiety. The smile Whumpee gives in return is genuine and bright, oblivious. “We need him alive. We’re taking him in for questioning, remember?”

Whumpee doesn’t respond. Their eyes are more clouded than they were a moment before, their sanity strained even further by that display of power. For a long, breathless moment Whumpee simply stares, a vacant smile plastered over their face.

Caretaker keeps their expression calm, but the tension is suffocating them. All they can hear is the gurgling of a dying man.

And then the moment breaks. Whumpee blinks, and awareness flicks back into their eyes. A tittering giggle creeks out from between their teeth.

“Oh! Right, yes. We need that one alive, don’t we?” Whumpee laughs.

The clearing is still as Whumpee all but skips over to the twitching body. They grab the heart from where it dropped.The muscle is still pulsing weakly, spilling blood over Whumpee’s arms. They don’t seem to notice.

Whumpee calls their magic again, the organ vanishing in a flash. In that same instance, the prisoner’s eyes fly open, bloodless lips widening with a desperate gasp. His next inhale comes out as a sob. He curls inward, limbs close to his chest, as if desperate to keep his heart in its place.

Whumpee doesn’t even give the man a second glance. As their would-be victim sobs, broken and terrified, on the ground, Whumpee happily returns to Caretaker’s side. They reach their hand, now coated a deep red, expectantly towards Caretaker. Caretaker holds Whumpee’s hand with a trained smile, and tries not to flinch at the warm wetness.

Caretaker starts walking, not daring to look back. They know the terrified, hateful, dangerous looks they’ll see if they did.

Whumpee doesn’t notice the way Caretaker's grip tightens, or how they’re maneuvered to walk some distance away from the other soldiers.

The rest of the trip is done in silence.