#telepath whump

[pigeonwhumps]

Small Spaces

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch

Phoenix tries out being in a small space to prepare for their next mission. It doesn't go too well.

1.6k

CWs: claustrophobia, panic attack, flashbacks, past abuse, past child abuse, telepath whump, mentions of human trafficking, emeto, begging

"So I go through the vent and Santhiya will be there to help me down, right?"

"Yep," confirms Kai. "She'll remove the cover from that side and be ready for you to bring the explosives inside. Once Lian and I have cleared the compound and transferred the data, we blow it all to kingdom come."

"Fucking finally," growls Santhiya, and Morfydd nods fiercely. Phoenix is yet to encounter this particular group of traffickers, but they know that Santhiya was instrumental in helping rescue some of their victims from a burning building before she was even officially part of the team. This is personal, especially for her, and Phoenix isn't about to let everyone down. Even if it is a very small space.

It feels weird, actually planning for explosions. For Phoenix at least they're usually on-the-spot things, to get them out of tight spaces. They don't usually involve so much planning.

Although Phoenix may have, admittedly, enjoyed liaising with engineering on the explosives a little too much.

"Earth to Phoenix. Ready to see if you'll fit in the vent?"

Phoenix nods, looking at the long rectangular cardboard tube that's been put together on the living room floor. It's the size of the vent, and it's so small that their chest goes tight just looking at it. It's about the same size as the cupboard in their old team's quarters.

This isn't a good time to try this out. Not after seeing them again, bringing all the memories back. They haven't slept properly since, and that always makes things worse. But it needs to be done.

They take a deep breath and drop to their knees in front of the makeshift vent.

It's not that long. It'll take a few minutes at most. It's okay, they'll be fine.

Phoenix crawls into the tube. It's small, far too small, their skin feels like there's bugs skittering over it, but there's a light at the end and they focus on that. It's light and it's not going away any time soon, no-one's going to take it away as punishment, it'll be fine.

The light dims, and they rub their wrists, sleeves suddenly feeling too tight and far too cold. The light's not gone, it's dimmed, Indigo's not here to take it away, but everything's too hot and too small and it's closing in on them.

Phoenix blinks and they're shivering, freezing cold, the only light moonlight passing through a tiny crack in the wooden planks, and in the morning Alicia will patch up their knees and they'll go to school still freezing inside, and no-one will notice because this is just normal, why would anyone notice? By tomorrow evening everything will be healed and back to normal, but for now they're stuck here, in the dark and cold with the old wood creaking, trees rustling, chest tight and twisted up, unable to breathe properly, the suffocating walls closing in around them.

Phoenix blinks again and they're back in the pitch-black cupboard, insides burning, wrists in cold metal, their breathing's picking up and the walls are closing in and they don't know how long they're going to be punished for, they could die in here with walls like that.

"Please." They don't know who they're begging when there's no-one who'll listen but they do anyway. "Please, let me out. I'm sorry. Please."

_

Kai frowns as Phoenix comes to a halt partway through the cardboard tube. They were making their way through steadily and then they just... stopped.

"Are they okay in there?" he asks Lian, who's down the other end. He peers into the tube with a frown.

"They look fine, but... they're just not moving."

"Give them a couple of minutes. It's only cardboard, but–"

Kai's interrupted by Santhiya throwing up on the carpet. When she looks up, wiping her mouth, her face is chalk-white, eyes red-rimmed and urgent.

"Get them out of there," she croaks. Kai gets up but Morfydd's already moving, tearing apart the cardboard with intense concentration.

Phoenix is huddled up, arms around their legs, head in their knees. Shaking harder than Kai's seen in a while.

Kai glances at Morfydd, who nods, and crouches down in front of Phoenix.

"Hey. I'm gonna pick you up now, nice and easy, that's it, arms around me." He speaks lowly, pulling Phoenix's unresisting arms around his neck and lifting them up against him. They're still far too light, and drenched in sweat. "Let's get you sat down, yeah? Easy does it. You're safe, Phoenix."

"I'm sorry, sir," murmurs Phoenix, mind somewhere else entirely, "I've learned my lesson."

Kai stiffens slightly, then forces himself to relax, sitting on the sofa with Phoenix on his lap, their head buried in his neck. He rubs their back.

"Shh. Easy, you're safe."

Morfydd drapes a blanket over Phoenix's shoulders and Kai looks over at them as they sit on the sofa arm beside him.

"Cheers. How's Santhiya doing?"

"Not too well. Lian's looking after her."

"I'll leave him to it then."

Morfydd reaches up a hand and rests it on Phoenix's arm. "They were begging. I don't think it was loud enough for anyone else to hear, but... do you know who it was?"

"They called me sir when I picked them up, and there's only three people I've ever heard them call that," replies Kai grimly. "The other members of their former team."

"Fuck," breathes Morfydd.

"Yeah."

"Will it be too much for them if I stay? I know it is for Santhiya, but I need to help someone. I can't just sit by while my friends... well."

"No, you can stay. They trust you. I'm going to turn into a wolf, see if that helps. It does sometimes. Stay though."

Morfydd nods. "What about the mission?"

"Well, we've got over a fortnight until the next shipment goes out. That should be enough time to calm Phoenix down and complete the mission. And I was thinking maybe Santhiya could take Phoenix with her? We'd have to test the weight though. I don't know. But they can't go through the vent."

"No." Morfydd holds Phoenix gently as Kai transforms and curls around them. Phoenix, still mostly out of it, snuggles into Kai's fur, burying themself in it. "They really do like it. You're okay, Phoenix. You're safe."

_

Once Phoenix is out of the cardboard tube, Lian takes Santhiya by the arm and leads her over to the opposite sofa. Morfydd arrives soon after with a blanket and a mug of hot chocolate, draping the blanket over her shoulders. Santhiya holds it in a white-knuckled grip, the other hand lifting the mug to her mouth, absently taking a sip. She looks awful, haunted, ill, in a way that Lian's rarely seen.

"Santhiya?"

"They're so scared," she says quietly, almost in a monotone. "So scared. Their mind was screaming. I haven't had my defences falter so badly in a long time, since... well, you know... but they smashed through them all. They're so scared. So much. It's them I've been hearing at night sometimes, I recognise it now. The fear, the pain... how do they stand it?" She blinks, eyes bright with unshed tears. "How do they stand it all?"

"That's a question only Phoenix can answer," says Lian. "Along with some others." He rubs Santhiya's back and she sways slightly, looking at Lian with more focus. "How are you feeling now? Any quieter?"

"A little. Still making me nauseous."

"Hey, Kai, are you and Phoenix going to stay here a while?" he asks, not looking away from Santhiya.

Kai gives an affirmative yip.

"Okay. I'm taking Santhiya somewhere quieter." He helps Santhiya to stand, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, and puts his arm around her waist to hold her steady. "Let's go to your room, come on."

Santhiya nods, putting one foot in front of the other until they reach her bedroom, Lian sitting down with her on the edge of the bed.

"Better?"

"Yeah. I can think again now." The colour's slowly coming back into her cheeks, and she drums her fingers on Lian's leg. "I think... maybe I should've guessed it was them, waking me, after what happened last week. They told you, right?"

"About bumping into their team downstairs? Yeah. No wonder they're getting nightmares strong enough to break through your defences. I mean, only Kai knows what actually happened with their team, but it was clearly bad. Kai wouldn't have spent so much time away if it wasn't."

Santhiya snorts wetly. "I think 'bad' is an understatement. Their reaction... I never want to see them that small again."

Lian nods, handing his friend a tissue. "How are you, though? How's your head?"

"Sore. Fuzzy. Phoenix's mind was a lot. I can still hear their screams."

"Let's get you some painkillers then. Do you want me to stay?"

Santhiya nods, swallowing the pills. "I need a distraction. And I want to try building up my defences more. Not right now, but... later. That sounds bad. I just... it's too much."

Lian shakes his head. "It's not bad, Santh. You shouldn't have to hear people in distress when you're not prepared for it, even if they're your friends. We can certainly work on that."

"It doesn't seem right. I can hear people's worst thoughts but I can't do anything to help. It's not fair."

Lian sighs. He's heard many variations on those words in his time mentoring Santhiya. "One person can't do everything. Just knowing people are in trouble, telling us that, that can be enough. Besides, with Phoenix specifically, your presence as their friend is enough to help."

"But they're so– so hurt. How can just my presence help so much? It doesn't seem right. They can't be that fond of me."

"They are. Believe me, Santh, I've seen the way they look at you. They really, really are."

[distracted-obsessions]

A little inspired by this post

Sunshine Whumpee who gets extremely aggressive when someone tries to poke at their mask.

Someone new joins the team, and they can tell there's more to Whumpee than their sunshiney persona. Maybe they're Whumper or someone who knew him. Maybe they're a Telepath who can hear Whumpee's brain recontextualize the world to fit life after Whumper, and it's so different from their personality that they think Whumpee has ulterior motives.

Newbie starts trying to get Whumpee to show their true colors. Whumpee starts out kind and bright like they always are, but the more Newbie pushes, the more Whumpee shuts down around them, going from talking a mile a minute as they always do to shutting down conversations and giving the barest hint of acknowledgment that they can.

Newbie thinks that they're getting close and keeps pushing. And everything goes according to plan.

Right up until one comment makes Whumpee launch at Newbie and try to claw their face off like a rabid animal, screaming, "SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! YOU DON'T KNOW ME, GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XIX)

The blood of the Covenant

Part one // Masterpost // continued from here

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

~*~*~*~*~*~

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

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

Kit didn’t get any of that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kit hissed. “What the fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh fuck off, dickhead! Let me up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course you can get up Kit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Apology accepted.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mallory—”

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

“Kit— it’s important, we need—”

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

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

“Mentor is my father.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re lying.”

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

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

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

“Hey, Kit. Calm down.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kit, talk to me, please.”

“Shut… up… dick.”

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“I’d rather not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mallory,” Ambrose said from outside.

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He trusted Kit!

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

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

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

Why!

Why!

Why!

Why!

Why?!

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

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

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

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

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

Shampoo.

Fancy looking shampoo.

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

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

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

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

He breathed a sigh of relief.

One problem down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

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

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

Fuck.

Kit didn’t want to think about it.

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

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

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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

[whenshesayshush]

The mind is such a funny space (with these specters centerstage)

Fandom: Fate: The Winx Saga Ships/Characters: Musa/Riven, Kat, Luke, Male OC Word count: 7,142

He should’ve made her put feelers out for the Blood Witches. It’s so, so obvious they would be comfortable moving in with only two soldiers left, one of which injured, and he’s just idiotically played into their hands like he’s new to this, like he doesn’t spend hours upon hours theorizing battles so he can expect the unexpected. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?” the man behind him triumphantly taunts. “Don’t feel too bad, neither will she.” The second Blood Witch is a woman, with jet-black hair and legs like a runway model, and yet she’s sneaking up on Musa unnoticed, using the distraction and the distortion from the shadow creatures to close in from the side. His stomach plummets. Against better judgment, he tries to call out, but although he’s clearly being left alive right now, his larynx is too obstructed to produce any sound other than a guttural rattle. Come on, he thinks desperately as the Blood Witch chuckles in his ear, feel her.

Read on ao3

[snakebites-and-ink]

CW: FORCED SUICIDE, drug overdose, mind/body control, major character death. This is the darkest thing I've written thus far, so reader beware.

It was ridiculously easy for Holland to get into Ezekiel’s house. Not that his security was bad; it would have kept any normal person out, and he never forgot to lock his door. But for Holland, it was a simple matter to reach inside with their mind and turn the mechanism as perfectly as if they had the key. They had yet to meet a lock that could so much as challenge them.

They saw themself in with all the ease and confidence of someone letting themself into their own house. They started looking around for Ezekiel, using both their eyes and their telepathic sense.

It was his fault their sibling was dead. They were going to settle the score.

Ezekiel wasn’t in one of the rooms within view of the door they’d just come in, but his car was in the driveway and Holland hadn’t seen any sign of him leaving. Though he was further back in the house, it didn’t take long for them to find him.

They leaned against the doorway of the room he was in, not bothering to conceal their approach. His head snapped up, startled to hear any noise when he’d thought himself alone in the house.

“What?” he said, stunned.

“Hello, Ezekiel,” Holland greeted without a hint of warmth.

Ezekiel looked at them and paled. Holland smiled, but there was no joy in it: only malice.

“You…what are you doing here!?” he asked nervously.

“I’m going to kill you,” they said simply.

A tense beat passed, then Ezekiel broke into a run and tried to bolt past them. Holland caught him with their power before he could even leave the room, sending a silent command to stop that overrode the signal from his own brain. He stood in place, body not even coiled to spring again, his desperation showing only on his face. “Please let me go,” he plead tremblingly.

Holland ignored the request and stepped closer to him.They were tempted to simply make him stop breathing and watch as he writhed and turned blue, unable to resist their influence even as it killed him. But asphyxiation without a discernible cause was too easily tied to a powered murder. 

“I don’t want to die,” he sniveled.

“I want you to. You don’t get a say.”

"I'll do anything!"

"You want to know what it would take to earn my forgiveness?"

"Yes! Please! Whatever it takes."

"Get me my sibling back." Their gaze went dark and cold, shutters closing over the hint of teasing lightness in their expression.

"But that's impossible!"

"Hm. Then I guess it's impossible for you to be spared."

“No, please—” he cut off with a flinch as he felt a foreign presence invade his mind. Holland had gotten information without him feeling anything before, so he knew they must want him to know they were in his head. They presumably didn’t want him to know what it was they were doing, though, because he couldn't tell the specifics, just that they were there.

As if he wasn’t already acutely aware of his helplessness.

“I came here for revenge, and I am going to get it. You aren’t going to make it out of this alive.” They spoke with a false casualness that belied the situation. “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Don’t kill me, I can’t die yet—”

"Your relations won't even have the closure of hunting a killer,” they went on. “It'll look exactly like a suicide."

The corner of their mouth twitched in a small smile as presumably they found what they were looking for. The sense he had of their presence in his mind faded somewhat.

“Come on.” They headed down the hall, and against his will he trailed after them like a dog called to heel.

They came to a stop standing next to his medicine cabinet. Holland opened it with their mind, and from their expression it was clearly exactly what they expected. They hadn’t had to search, knowing exactly where to find what they were looking for thanks to the information they’d found in Ezekiel’s head.

Holland’s gaze settled on a full bottle of drugs. They telekinetically lifted the bottle from the cabinet, and sent it to Ezekiel, who took it. Or rather, his hand did. Ezekiel himself had no part in the action.

He realized, then, what they intended. "Please, no," he plead shakily.

"There's nothing you can do to change my mind. Keep begging though. I rather like it."

He did beg more, though out of neither compliance nor psychic influence. Out of fear. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to die.

Not that that mattered. He didn’t get a say in his own actions, much less his life.

He shook a few pills out onto his palm. He couldn't even pause there and stare at them to brace himself before Holland made him pop them into his mouth and swallow. Then they repeated the process.

They were forcing him to down the bottle a few pills at a time. He wondered why they didn't just make him pour the whole thing down his throat at once. 

You could choke. I don't want this over too fast.

Of course they didn't. And they were still in his head, listening in on all his thoughts. He grimaced as they made him swallow another palmful.

Again and again his hands tossed the unwanted pills down his throat under Holland’s direction. There wasn’t a thing Ezekiel could do.

He polished off the bottle and was forced to just sit there and wait for the drug to take effect. It didn’t take long.

Instead of allowing his mind to get overwhelmed by it, the psychic held his consciousness above the drug, so he was all too aware of his dying moments. As he was kept from the mental effects, he felt the physical effects all too clearly.

It was getting hard to breathe. He panted and still felt short on oxygen. He was sick to his stomach and in pain. Tremors racked through him repeatedly.

Holland sat and watched pleasedly, chin resting on their hands. They looked as satisfied as the cat that caught the mouse.

He felt a tickle on his face and wiped it to find that he was foaming at the mouth. Distantly Ezekiel thought maybe it was good that this would be over soon and not leave him to live with the repercussions. Maybe in a way it was also good that the psychic wanted him to feel the real fear of his death if it kept the overdose from stealing his sanity as well—but that thought was quickly rejected as another bout of pain shot through him.

He convulsed and gurgled and struggled to breathe, and Holland watched as the life left him. They stayed as they were for a few moments as the now-motionless body cooled. His death didn't fill the hole in their heart, but it eased something. 

"Well, this was fun," they said to the corpse. They psychokinetically wiped the fingerprints from everything they might have touched and scanned for any hairs or other traces they might have left, then took their leave.

[veny-many]

What if Plo Koon could actually feel others emotions or thoughts?

Like

Anakin: We need to fine her!! She needs me!!

Plo: She would be fine.(Feeling aggressive and unstoppable little 'soka's energy far away)

Or

Obi-wan: We need to stop her from leaving...

Plo: No... (Feeling deep disappointment and sadness in little 'soka that could not be changed)

Or

Boost: Someone will looking for us right?

Wolffe: (oh no I can't tell them truth that we will die here but I can't give them false hope either what should I do)

Wolffe: (What would General say in this situation? Oh if General would help me...)(Looks to General)

Plo: We will do what we can for chance of survival. We have work now.

Or

Wolffe: General, you look like so shaken. Are you all right, sir?

Plo: I'm alright for now, thank you for the concern, Commander.(Feeling all the death screams and pains of thousands soldiers death in cold space)

[whump-or-whatever]

Telepathic Whumper who used to be a Whumpee projecting the memories of their past experiences and pain into the mind of new Whumpee in lieu of actually torturing them

[canisonicscrewyou]

the way I need to start getting back on my roleplay blog and doing stuff with it bc the only thought on my mind when I woke up today was just 'hhh thoschei rp,,,'

[wolfeyedwitch]

whump ideas for telepathic characters?

This isn't a particularly whumpy post, but this is what this question made me think of:

Telepathy, but make it abstract. Make it overwhelming. Make other people's thoughts so foreign to the telepath's brain that everything is incomprehensible.

The way I see it, we all have vastly different ways of thinking, and speaking out loud is the filter through which it becomes halfway intelligible to other people. Maybe you think in images, but another person has aphantasia and can't imagine images at all. Or the person whose thoughts you're hearing is neurodivergent and notices things that you have never even thought about, like the noise that the light bulbs are making.

We are all sentenced to solitary confinement in our own bodies for life. Now imagine trying to understand another person's lived experience when you're thrust into it without any warning.

[tendertenebrosity]

Continuing my Ocean's Echo fanfic stuff. Previous here.

Davi sat on his bunk, across from the reader. Neither of them had precisely unpacked; or rather, Davi hadn't unpacked. The unopened uniform packet was all that Agent Thirty-two had.

“Look, I know this is going to take a lot of getting used to,” he said. “I understand your…” he cast about for a word to describe the outpouring of negative feelings that had flooded through the sync before one of them - he still wasn’t entirely sure who - had managed to shut it off. He gave up. “It’s understandable if you’re viewing this as a punishment. But, please try to think of it as more of a second chance.”

Agent Thirty-two blinked slowly behind his glasses. “Yes, sir,” he said, obediently enough. But something about the way his gaze slid away afterwards hit Davi wrong. He reminded himself that this man was a civilian, he hadn’t had military posture and tone and attitude drummed into him. And since the two of them were sharing quarters now, they were technically in his private space. So it was pretty unfair of Davi to want to snap at him to sit up straight.

Instead, he reached into the reader’s mind - absurdly easy, even for Davi who had never found other people’s barriers difficult - and pressed a command into it. “Answer me truthfully.”

The reader breathed, in and out, slowly. His eyes were suddenly full of trepidation, but he looked to Davi for the questions.

“What did you do?” Davi asked. “To be conscripted. What was your crime?”

“Assault,” the reader said simply. “Stalking and harassment using reader powers. Deep reading without consent.” He wavered for a moment, as if trying to hold something back, but it was shortlived. “I was found not guilty of attempted murder.”

Davi winced. Murder. Yep, all right, you did know that was a possibility. He was going to be tied to this person for the rest of their lives, so he wanted to know what exactly he was dealing with, but he had known when he accepted the assignment he wouldn’t get to pick what kind of criminal he was dealing with. “Who did you stalk and assault?” And probably try to murder?

“My friend’s partner,” the reader said. He closed his eyes, and his mouth quivered and pressed flat. His voice came out calm, though. “Friend and ex-girlfriend. Actually. I’m not likely to do it again, if that’s what worries you.”

Davi eyed the reader’s frame, which was slight and hardly seemed well suited to violence. Well, this could be worse, he thought, trying to be optimistic. A crime of passion is probably better than something calculated.

“And what about the deep reading?”

“Multiple people. Can’t promise I won’t do that again,” the reader said - and winced. “Damn it. I - I just - ”

Davi raised an eyebrow. This was so easy. Davi found himself briefly put out that architect and reader powers weren’t usable in the criminal justice system, but rapidly squashed it. There were reasons for that.

“Well, I can promise you won’t do it again,” Davi said. “Because ‘no reading people’ is going to be one of the - ”

“Wait!” Agent Thirty-two interrupted him, sitting forward, alarmed. His hands gripped the edge of the bunk. “Um. Sir. Sorry - ”

“What?”

“Don’t - don’t write me,” he said, the tone dropping to something that was almost pleading. “Not that, anyway - Don’t write me not to read people. Please. It doesn’t work like that.”

Davi shifted back on his own bunk. “No? Explain, then.”

“I - of course, going deep into somebody like… like I did, a few times, that’s on purpose,” the reader said. His hands crept into his lap and he started fidgeting. “But most reading isn’t that. It’s little bits and pieces. It’s hard to… turn it off.” He swallowed. “I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know what would happen if you wrote me to stop. I’m sorry.”

Davi watched him thoughtfully. He didn’t seem to know any more about architect powers than he did about his own; otherwise he’d have known that most writing wasn’t anywhere near as long-lasting as he seemed to think. Davi’s truth command wouldn’t last through this conversation.

But Davi had seen a few people written to do something impossible, for a laugh, and it had been uncomfortable enough even for ten or twenty seconds.

More than that, though - what was coming through the sync bond, bleeding around the edges of whatever walls they'd both tried to put in its way, was... fear. Dread of being written. Dread of being out of his own control. Davi supposed that was a logical enough fear to have.

“Okay,” he said. “But you’re to respect everyone’s privacy as much as you can. That’s an order even if it isn’t a written one, all right?”

Agent Thirty-two - or Cor? Saelin? Davi was going to need to figure out how to address him when they weren’t on duty - looked relieved. “Yes, sir.”

“In fact,” Davi said, sitting forward again. “We should clear something up. Most orders aren’t going to be write-commands, that sounds fucking exhausting. I only wrote you just now because it’s important, it’s not going to keep on happening.”

Was there a slight relaxation of his reader’s shoulders? Davi hoped so, but couldn’t be sure. The sync felt the same. The reader’s face had returned to a studied blankness.

“And I meant what I said,” Davi said, returning to the script he’d planned out in his head earlier. “About this being a second chance rather than a punishment. It’s a chance to contribute to society and do something positive with your life. This doesn’t have to be what you’re afraid of. It’s a working relationship. Okay? I’m not interested in tormenting you.”

Agent Thirty-two, or possibly Saelin, looked down at his knees, scuffed and faded prison-issue scrubs. “No, sir. I know you’re not.”

“You’re here to help with my work,” Davi said. “Why would I want you miserable? There’s no reason this needs to be any different from any other command-chain relationship on this ship. The ability to write you is just a safety net, and as long as we’re working well together it’ll never need to come into play.” He smiled. “Hell, it’s not even unique to you. I’m strong, I could write half the people on this ship whenever I wanted, but I don’t.”

“You couldn’t,” the reader said, reluctantly. “You would… get in trouble. Not so, for me.”

“True,” Davi said. “But… I’ll make you a deal. Okay?” He took a deep breath. “I won’t write you unless it’s necessary for our work. All right?” He slapped hands on his knees, and stood up. “I promise not to write you unnecessarily, and you promise that it won’t ever be necessary. Does that sound fair to you?”

The reader tipped his head and leaned back a little, as if to get away from Davi in the small space. But he straightened his shoulders and returned his hands to something like a neutral position. “Yes, sir. It won’t be necessary.”

“Great! It’s a deal,” Davi said cheerfully. There, see? We’re all civilised people here. No reason this can’t be just another subordinate. The head-stuff doesn’t have to matter. “Take off the prison stuff, then, because it’s not who you are anymore. You’re a reader with the finest division the Orshan army has. And I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

Agent Thirty-two made an expression that was almost a smile. “Yes, sir,” he agreed.

Continued here.

[iriswords]

whump idea: telepath whumper, leading to a whumpee who is not only punished for their words and actions but also for their thoughts. possibilities for whump with this are numerous, and so are the possibilities for after-rescue whump.

feel free to add to this or write something around the idea, but please tag me if you do, I'd love to see what people do with this idea

[doyouevermakeasound]

Febuwhump Prompt Day 13: Forced to Hurt a Loved One CW: Magic whump, telepathy

They couldn’t escape the jeers and jabs from whumper from inside their head as whumpee stared across the threshold at caretaker, who already had tears at the corner of their eyes.  

“You don’t mean that whumpee, do you?”  

The damage was done, even if whumpee backtracked the doubt would always be pricking at the back of caretaker’s mind.  They tried their best to maintain a stoic composure.  “Leave.”  They tried adding as much venom as they could to their statement.

Slam the door in their face.  Whumper’s voice boomed across whumpee’s own self doubting thoughts.

“Don’t come back.”  Then they shut the door.  

Sobbing filtered in, covering the sounds of crunching gravel, as caretaker left.

The weight of what just happened came crashing down on whumpee, they slid down the door as sobs ripped through them. 

At least you will always have me.

@febuwhump

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XVI)

Surprise visitor

TW: strangulation, choking, strangling

Part one // Masterpost // continued from here

~*~*~*~*~*~

The commute home was quiet for the most part, uneventful. Kit wore headphones to silence the world around him and let his mind go blank as he stepped out from the underground into the cool night air. The sky was halfway through its change, streaks of purple and red striking through the slowly darkening blues. Kit’s breath reflected back at him on the air, and he pulled his jacket tighter around him as he walked up the steps to his apartment.

Thoughts of a warm shower and dinner was tantalising as he unlocked his door and stepped in, pocketing his keys. He didn’t get a chance to close the door when his head was slammed again the wall. Kit cursed, clicking his fingers as electricity pulsed around his hand like a glove.

He swung his hand out blindly, hoping he’d hit his attacker. His attacker stepped back, to avoid Kit’s wild swing or because Kit managed to land a blow, Kit didn’t know or care as he stumbled further into his apartment. His eyes searched the darkness futilely, with a click of his fingers his lights came on and he was faced with the familiar dark eyes of Ambrose.

He was dressed in his usual suit, crisp and free of any wrinkles or creases. He wore a white shirt and a red tie today, a five o’clock shadow covering his jaw that somehow made his dark hair and eyes look darker.

Kit’s lip curled back as he threw his hands wide. “What the fuck! How did you even get in here?!”

Ambrose’s lips moved, but Kit couldn’t hear what he said over Bring me the Horizon playing at top volume in his ears. Kit’s anger dissipated as a realisation came over him and he laughed right in Ambrose’s face.

“Hey Rosey, can’t give me commands if I can’t hear you, dickhead.”

Ambrose tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes as Kit stuck his middle finger up at Ambrose. “Get out of my house, or I’ll give you electro-shock therapy free of charge.”

Take off your headphones, Mallory.

The command was like a snake made of ice slithering through his brain, his body reacting before his mind became aware of the order. Ambrose smiled as Kit’s expression turned sour.

Did you forget that I don’t need your ears to make you obey me, Kit? I just need your mind.

“Fucking show off,” Kit muttered, turning his headphones off and discarding them on his couch. He took off his jacket and did the same, deflating as his prospects of a nice quiet evening and a shower dissipated with his guest’s arrival. “I had a long day. Sue me.”

“Still, you forget your manners around me, Kit,” Ambrose said, beginning to remove his tie from his neck. Sensing the direction Ambrose was about to go down, Kit clicked his fingers quickly and was only starting to raise his hands when Ambrose ordered: “don’t move.”

Kit tried with everything in him to fight the order that settled thick over his body like cement, locking his limbs in place. His hands still sparked with electricity as Ambrose undid the knot of his tie, starting towards Kit.

“Listen, Rosey, I know you’re into some kinky shit, but doesn’t it have to be consensual? I get it, I’m a good-looking guy—”

“Stop talking.” Kit’s lips wired shut and all he could do now was glare up at Ambrose as he stopped in front of him. Ambrose smirked down at him. “You’re so much more palatable this way, Kit. You should consider never speaking again.”

You’re such a dick, Kit thought as loudly as possible, pointing it straight into Ambrose’s mind. Ambrose didn’t reply, his smirk staying on his face as he wrapped his tie around Kit’s neck. He looped it, once, twice and pulled it tight until Kit made a noise in the back of his throat, his breath getting slightly more laboured.

Kit glared at him as Ambrose said: “you may speak.”

“You piece of sh—” Ambrose pulled the tie even tighter until it cut off Kit’s words and tied a knot to secure it properly.

Ambrose chuckled as Kit coughed, his breath catching as Ambrose wrapped the loose end of his tie around his palm.

“Now,” Ambrose hummed, pressing a hand to Kit’s shoulder. “On your knees.”

“Are you serious?” Kit barked, his voice coming out harsh and breathy. Kit fought his shaking legs that ached to obey Ambrose’s order, glaring up into two dark eyes.

“As the plague, you need to learn respect, Kit. Which is why, from now on,” Ambrose grabbed Kit’s face with two hands, forcing Kit to look into his eyes that were enthralling and far too intense to look away from. “When you see me, you will fall to your knees.”

This time Kit dropped like an anchor, his knees smacking off the ground was the least of his concern. Ambrose yanked up on the tie and Kit was choking as his airways were cut off from oxygen. Kit wanted to reach up and claw at Ambrose’s arms; to try and relieve the pressure on his throat but his arms were still locked to his sides. His electricity cackled with his panic before weakening to dull sparks and dissipating altogether.

“See? This just feels right,” Ambrose hummed above him. “You would have the women flocking around you if you just shut up for once in your life. You look almost decent when you’re not running your mouth.”

Kit fought his way through a coughing reply. “Fuck… yo—ou—ou—.”

Ambrose yanked the tie harder and Kit airway was cut off completely. Kit gasped, struggling to breathe trying to pull in air through his nose but there was nothing coming. All thoughts left his mind replaced by a blinding, hot panic.

Kit’s desperation was plain on his face, pleading with Ambrose to let him breathe, but one glance at Ambrose’s coal-like eyes and he knew there would be no mercy.

“I can wait until you pass out and we can try this again, or you can submit to me, and we can move on. It’s your choice, dog. Blink twice if you’ve had enough.”

Kit glared up at him, trying desperately to hold out but his face was going purple, and he thought his head was going to explode. Hating himself, Kit blinked twice, and Ambrose stopped pulling on the tie.

“You can move,” Ambrose told him. No sooner had the words left his mouth that Kit fell forward, hands hitting the floor, gasping bucketfuls of air into his scorched lungs. He choked on the air as it overwhelmed his airways, falling further to rest on his forearms and knees, wheezing as he tried to collect himself.

“You-ou-ou,” Kit wheezed, punctuated by short coughs between, “fuck-king ah-arsehole.”

“Oh, stop flirting, Mallory,” Ambrose said waving the comment away.

Kit satisfied at the amount of oxygen he had now pushed himself back up to his knees. One hand on the floor he began to push himself up again, but Ambrose interjected: “ah-ah-ah. Stay on your knees, good dog.”

Kit wiped the tears from his face, sharpening his gaze to a glare. “I hate you.”

“Standing privileges are earned, Kit. Someone has to teach you manners now that your only parental figure is indisposed.”

Kit’s heart thrummed in his chest, a quick flash of anxiety and hurt at the easy comment. “You—” he began but no other words came to him as humiliation crawled hot and red up his neck and flooded his face.

“I?” Ambrose asked with a shit eating grin, sitting down in Kit’s favourite armchair and spreading out as if it were a throne.

Kit looked away from his coal-like eyes and turned his attention to removing Ambrose’s tie. Until Ambrose stopped him again. “Don’t touch your leash, doggie.”

“Quit calling me a dog!” Kit barked, running a shaky hand through his hair because he couldn’t do anything else.

“I’ll call you whatever I like, Mallory. That’s the beauty of being me. If you want to stop me, then stop me. If you want to disobey, then disobey.”

“I can’t,” Kit spat through gritted teeth.

Ambrose spread his hands in a shrug. “Well, that’s not my problem, is it?”

“It’s your orders I’m following!” Kit said hotly, looked away, his anger getting him nowhere. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. “You know what, forget it. What do you want?”

“I missed you. Can’t an old friend come by and see his favourite pet?”

“Evidently you can do whatever you want,” Kit muttered, sitting back on his heels to alleviate the pressure on his knees.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Ambrose hummed.

An easy silence fell over them, interrupted by Kit’s growling stomach which neither of them commented on. Kit just wanted a shower and food and his bed, to process everything that had happened at work. From his theorising with Tides, to interrupting his meeting Superhero was having with Mr Silver, to his argument with Superhero to put him on the rota for patrols.

“Not now, you’re still recovering.”

“I know myself,” Kit protested. “Put me down on patrols, Superhero. I’m fine! I wouldn’t be back at work if I was still sick!”

Superhero stared at Kit. Kit stared at Superhero imploringly. Superhero sat back with a sigh. “Okay. Fine, but you’re not patrolling the inner city. I’m putting you on residential.”

“But—”

“No buts, it’s residential or nothing.”

Kit pouted like a child, folding his arms across his chest and looking away. “Fine,” he said after a beat. Something was better than nothing.

Ambrose unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, drawing Kit’s attention to him. He had already unbuttoned his suit jacket before he sat down, and Kit scoffed.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

“You really are so accommodating, Mallory.”

Kit glared at him. something strange struck him. “How’d you get into my apartment?”

Ambrose pulled out a key in reply. Kit shot forward, remembered he was on his knees and had to stop himself before he fell forward. “I made a copy of your key.”

“Yeah, I sort of got that,” Kit said, running a hand through his hair with a huff. “How’d you make a copy?”

“I asked you to give me your key and made you forget that I asked,” Ambrose replied as if it was the most casual thing in the world. “It really is easy to get what I want.”

“Must be nice,” Kit muttered.

Ambrose looked at the key, something flashing over his expression as he turned it over between his fingers. “You would think.”

Kit scoffed, crawling over to the kitchen. “Is this the part where you tell me how hard it is to be able to control everything and everyone to your will? Because I’m all out of sympathy for psychopaths today, so come again another day.”

He had only put the kettle on when Ambrose spoke again. “Come here, Kit.”

“Are you serious?” Kit whined, crawling back towards Ambrose. Kit stopped right in front of Ambrose, glaring into his impassive face. Ambrose reached forward and grabbed the end of Kit’s tie, yanking him up.

Kit yelped and shot his hands out, grabbing the red fabric with his hands trying to alleviate the pressure.

“Let go, Kit.”

“Wait, Ambrose, please. I—” I’m sorry didn’t come to his tongue, his pride wrestling with his self-preservation and winning.

Ambrose tilted his head, black eyes dancing with amusement. “You?” He prompted, wrapping the tie around his knuckles once.

Kit pinched his lips into a thin line, halfway between a grimace and a frown. “Look, I’m—”

“You’re a rude, insolent child?” Ambrose supplied, wrapping the tie around his hand again, drawing Kit up closer towards him. Kit was now high on his knees, his face inches from Ambrose’s. “You need to be taught some manners?”

Kit didn’t say anything.

“I think you—”

“Do you not like my rudeness?” Kit rushed out, straining his neck to try and get more air into his lungs. Ambrose’s death grip didn’t make it exactly easy to breathe. Ambrose tilted his head at Kit, a silent motion for him to continue. “You like that I fight back. You like that you’re able to be rough with me and make me submit because I hate you. I fucking despise you when you do it.”

“You are so bold.”

“And you like it!” Kit all but yelled. Kit cried out as the heel of Ambrose’s palm slammed up into his nose. Blood gushed instantly and Kit’s hands went to his nose instead of the tie, which Ambrose used to his advantage, tightening the tie until it cut off Kit’s air supply.

Ambrose got to his feet dragging Kit along the floor behind him until they cleared the couches. Ambrose released Kit in the open space of the living room, to gasp and curse and choke on blood.

“Don’t bleed on my suit, Mallory. Honestly, were you raised in a barn?” Ambrose asked, removing his suit jacket swiftly and undoing his cuffs as Kit pushed himself to his hands and knees. “Oh wait, I almost forgot. You’re from the Rookery, aren’t you? No wonder you have the manners of a swine.”

“Fuh— fuck off, Rosey.”

“Mmm,” Ambrose hummed, something dark in his tone. a dress shoe was flying towards Kit’s cheek, and he was thrown off balance, his shoulder hitting the ground hard. “That was rude, Mallory. Don’t worry. I’ll whip you into a model citizen.”

Another kick to the face and Kit was on his back on the ground. He didn’t have time to move or blink before Ambrose was on top of him, two molten black eyes gleaming down at him. Kit put his hands up, trying to push the villain off of him. Pain, anger and fear blunted his reflexes, leaving him dizzy and weak.

Ambrose didn’t touch him again. Instead, he started to slowly, methodically roll up his sleeves, his weight pinning Kit to the ground, knees straddling Kit’s waist.

“You know, Mallory, you caught me off guard the last time I was here. I mean, your connection to Mentor, how poetic could all this be, hmm? What sort of God hated you so much that he drew me to you, after I disposed of Mentor?”

“Shut up,” Kit hissed, throwing his fist up. Ambrose caught it and punched his nose. Kit cried out, warm blood beginning to gush again as he bucked his hips trying to throw Ambrose off.

“Manners, Kit. Your elder is speaking.” Ambrose chided with a sickening smirk, tucking his sleeve all the way to just below his elbow. “So, I decided to do some digging into you, into your— oh what did you call it? Your tragic backstory, and damn. Talk about pathetic. Not only did your parents not want you, but apparently neither did any of your precious heroes.”

“Shut up!” Kit roared, grabbing Ambrose by the shirt and planting his foot on the floor, bucking his hip and they went rolling until Kit was on top of Ambrose and started to rain down punches.

Ambrose threw his arms up, forearms protecting his face from Kit’s furious onslaught. Kit let out a roar as he punched, switching from his face to punch Ambrose in the stomach. He managed to get one solid hit on Ambrose’s solar plexus and Ambrose gasped, curling up as he gasped.

Kit’s nose curled up, grabbing Ambrose’s shirt and sending a nasty left hook to his jaw. Ambrose saw blood flying across his face, though it wasn’t his. Ambrose grabbed Kit’s tie and yanked him down. Ambrose slammed his forehead into the bridge of Kit’s nose and Kit cried out.

Ambrose used the distraction to flip them again, slamming his palm into Kit’s nose once more. Kit let out a harsh cry, kicking uselessly, struggling to get away, to get Ambrose off of him.

Ambrose laughed as Kit writhed beneath him, hands cupping his stomach where Kit had punched. If Kit could see right now, he would see the crazed look in Ambrose’s eyes, that were always so impassive or subtle. Splatters of blood painting his alabaster skin with bright red freckles that were starting to dry in.

“Fuck, Kit! This is why I just can’t leave you alone. You’re too much fun, you know that? If you were boring, maybe I’d’ve gotten bored by now, but no.” Ambrose leaned down, grabbing Kit by the collar of his shirt, fists twisting into the fabric. “Look at me Kit.”

It was more of a growl than a command, but still Kit obeyed. Tear-filled blue eyes met sparkling onyx and widened in fear. Ambrose looked insane in that moment, and something primal took over.

One of Kit’s blood-stained hands went to Ambrose’s wrist trying to dislodge it from his shirt while the other pushed at his crisp white shirt, trying to push him off.

“Look at you,” Ambrose whispered, cupping Kit’s cheek and digging him thumb into Kit’s cheekbone. “Knuckles beaten raw, nose broken, blood dripping down your lips and chin and still you try to fight me?”

Ambrose let out a boisterous laugh, verging on hysterical. His eyes narrowing as if Kit was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

“What makes you think you’d stand a chance against me? Like are you stupid? Delusional? Is there something wrong up here?” He asked, tapping Kit’s temple with his finger.

“I think…” Kit said, tightening his grip on Ambrose’s wrist. He sucked in a breath through his mouth, feeling the energy rippling in the air and his eyes turned a static red. “That you talk too much.”

Ambrose was thrown off of Kit before he had time to react. His back smacked off the wall with a dull thud before he slid down. Kit’s entire body cackled to life, his lights flashing in the apartment, his TV turning on and off. All the electrical appliances in the kitchen beeped and buzzed, sparks flying.

Kit got to all fours, gasping in laboured breaths through his mouth, his nose too clogged with blood to breathe through as his body thrummed with an uncontrollable energy. Sparks flew from every part of his body, even his blood which was dripping onto the wooden floor beneath him seemed to glow with the eerie red hue.

Ambrose let out a startled, broken laughter, his muscles spasming as he drew his knee to his chest with a wince. “Phew, Kit. You… you’ve got a dark side. You would be a truly, magnificent villain.”

Kit looked over his shoulder like some wild animal, baring his blood-stained teeth at Ambrose. “Make it stop,” Kit growled, his words filled with static. A particularly nasty strike of lightning erupted from his chest and Kit faltered, crying out. “AMBROSE! Make it stop! Please! Argh!”

Kit’s arms shook and faltered as another shockwave of red electricity thronged from him and he hit the ground. Ambrose watched, licking his lips as Kit fell again to the ground. He let out a soft scoff, pushing his back against the wall to get himself standing again. He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair and took a deep breath. he said, “Kit, stop using your powers.”

 Another shockwave of energy blasted from Kit, staggering Ambrose and pushing him back against the wall. Ambrose’s eyes narrowed. “Kit… hey. Kit! Shit.”

Kit cried out again as another wave of energy was torn from his body. Ambrose kicked Kit onto his back, grabbing the tie and pulling it taut. Kit gasped, wide eyes on Ambrose’s face, kicking out at his legs. “Ah, fuck. Kit! I’m trying to help you, stop … nng… fighting –”

Another red wave hit Ambrose square in the chest, and he was sent flying back against the wall again. The whites of Ambrose’s eyes disappeared completely, his lips turning a deep crimson red. “Kit. STOP using your powers.”  

Kit’s body went impossibly still. The only movement was aftershocks spasming through his body as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. His eyelids grew heavy when Ambrose stepped into view, his lips a bright red against his marble skin. It faded back to their normal colour, still more vibrant than most. Kit couldn’t really focus on them though, thoughts moving through his brain like sludge, heavy and muddled.

Ambrose crouched down beside him, pushing Kit’s hair off his forehead, almost tenderly. “That’s it, Kit. Just relax. I’ll make us that tea while you get your bearings, hmm?”

Kit didn’t move while he stood; he just rest his worn body while his tormentor left to go make him some tea. He wished in that moment that his electricity would consume him, tear through his veins and kill him swifter than an electric chair or a noose. When he closed his eyes they were still gleaming an unnatural red.

*~*~*~*~*

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

[practically-an-x-man]

Fifty Superhero-Inspired Whump Prompts

Couldn't find a lot of whump prompts I liked, so I decided to compile a few of my own! Here's a jumbo list of prompts for superheroes and enhanced characters:

Powers Stripped Away (permanent)

Powers Blocked/Forgotten (temporary)

Powers Enhanced/Too Much Power

Powers Out of Whack

New and Unwanted Powers

No Longer Human

Healing Incorrectly/Healing Around Embedded Object

Allowed to Heal... Just Enough to Survive

Loss of Healing Factor (first time healing at a normal pace)

Anesthesia/Painkillers Burned Off Too Quickly

Awake Through Surgery

Forced to Watch Loved Ones/Sidekicks Injured

Confronted with their Weakness/Kryptonite

Betraying their No-Kill Rule

Put Under Hypnosis/Mind Control

Coming Out of Hypnosis/Consequences of Hypnotized Actions

Telepathic Torture (it's all in their head)

Forced to Relive Trauma/Memories/Nightmares

Forced to Defeat/Kill a Former Ally

Downfall into a Supervillain

Chronic Pain from a Lifetime of Hero Work

Deemed a Villain/Public Scrutiny

Wrong Choice, Right Reason

Trolley Problem (risk a loved one to save civilians)

Dangerous Powers/Forced to Isolate

Alter-Ego Friend is Super-Ego Villain

Superpowered Sleep Deprivation

Starved Until Their Powers Shut Down

Made Into A Lab Rat

Identity Stripped Away/Living Weapon

Loss Of Limb/Eye/Something That Won't Regenerate

Enduring Extreme Temperatures

Physically Unable to Die

Supersuit Melts into their Skin

Child Mistakes Them for a Monster

High-Tech Imprisonment

Alien Disease/Parasite

Unwanted Tech/Cybernetic Enhancement

Adapt or Die/Powers Emerge

Grieving their Normal Life

Outliving Friends/Loved Ones

Accidentally Hurting a Teammate/Innocent

Died and Revived

Working for the Enemy/Undercover/Forced to Defy Moral Code

Foresight/Too Predictable/Can't Get Ahead

Trying to Escape Superhero Life/Tracked Down

Emotions Manipulated

Injected with Paralytic

Dazed, Drugged, or Concussed

Fighting Until They Tear Themselves Apart

[guroseinsei]

all the stottlemeyer/monk fics i've written:

*more under the cut.

i. an old watch with no parts to fix it (2,4k)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Whump, Angst, Pre-Slash, Realization of Feelings.

Summary: No one likes to start their day off on a odd number.

-

ii. no miracle can bring the 'stache back (563)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Established Relationship, Slash, Kissing, Teasing, post-s07e09.

Summary: Turns out, Monk doesn't want the Captain's 'stache gone as much as he'd initially thought.

-

iii. just a little wordplay (1,7k)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Established Relationship, Slash, Caught in the Act, Innuendo, post-s07e10.

Summary: A twist to Mr. Monk and the Other Brother.

“And bring your handcuffs.”

-

iv. a friendly word of advice (2,6k)

Rating: Gen

Tags: protective leland stottlemeyer, semi-estbalished relationship, post-s08e14, hurt/comfort.

Summary: Captain Stottlemeyer hears of a little rumor, one he doesn't like one bit.

-

v. hydrogen (6,4k)

Rating: Mature

Tags: Telepathy, Angst, Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Realization of Feelings, Panic Attack.

Summary: In which Monk is a telepath and gets more than he bargained for.

--

vi. Room 103 (1,3k)

Rating: Teen

Tags: Mistaken for Being In A Relationship, Pre-Slash.

Summary: A suite upgrade then, for your partner and yourself?"

Partner? Leland thinks.

--

vii. an itch to scratch (3,6k)

Rating: Explicit

Tags: A/B/O dynamics, Porn with (little) Plot, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Strength Kink.

Summary: Leland's always been a giver.

--

viii. the day erased (1,5k)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Light Angst, Pining, Pre-Slash, Comfort.

Summary: It's a late work day and Monk decides to keep the Captain company.

--

ix. a knee jerk reaction (2,2k)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Jealous Leland Stottlemeyer, Post-Season 8, No Spoilers for Season 8, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Mutual Pining, Resolved Romantic Tension.

Summary: Leland doesn't overreact. He really doesn't.

--

x. 20:20 vision (3,4k)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Shooting Range, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Pining Leland Stottlemeyer.

Summary: They all watch, mesmerized, as all of Monk's shots hit every single moving target with perfectly centered 10's.

--

xi. hello, detective. (1,9k)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Pining, Living Together, Pre-Slash, Flirting, Jealous Leland Stottlemeyer, Oblvious Adrian Monk.

Summary: If you don't make the move, someone else always will.

--

xii. quite the endorphin (2,4k)

Rating: Mature

Tags: Touch-Starved Leland Stottlemeyer, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Pining, Pre-Slash, Post-Divorce.

Summary: Letting off some steam is the perfect way to get a little less wound up after a not so great day.

--

xiii. happy shedding season (2,7k)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Catboy AU, Inspired by Fanart, Fluff, Humor, Fur Brushing, Cat Ears, Established Relationship, Obsessive Cleaning, Cat Tails.

Summary: Monk's having a tough time keeping everything pristine clean.

--

xiv. how to make a chicken pot pie (1,4k)

Rating: Teen

Tags: Established Relationship, Cooking, Domestic Bliss, Living Together, Kissing.

Summary: It's chicken pot pie Tuesday. Leland gets a little distracted.

--

xv. wake-up call (2,8k)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Crush at First Sight, Pre-Slash, Neighbors AU.

Summary: Who in their right mind vacuums everyday at four in the damn morning? No one, that's who.

Leland's new neighbour seems to be an exception to that.

--

xvi. right angles (2,5k)

Rating: Teen

Tags: Outsider POV, Married Leland Stottlemeyer/Adrian Monk, Established Relationship, Slash.

Summary: Harry doesn't mind Mr. Monk. He's a model neighbour - he minds his business, keeps to himself and occasionally lends a helping hand. But he wishes the guy would stop arranging the lawn chairs.

Or, at least, that's what his fiancée wants. Which means he does too.

--

xvii. fingertips reaching (2,7k)

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Praise Kink, Touch-Starved Leland Stottlemeyer, PWP, Service Top Leland Stottlemeyer, Overstimulation.

Summary: Adrian's reactions are what really gets Leland going.

--

xviii. bitter taste (1,2k)

Rating: T

Tags: Angst, Jealousy, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Slash.

Summary: Coddle envy for too long and it will begin to curdle.

--

ix. in september (277w)

Rating: Gen

Tags: Domestic, Living Together, Double Drabble, Mr. Monk Is Drunk Again.

Summary: “Let's get you home.” Leland says.

“Oh, mine or yours?”

--

xx. the grass may be greener (2,7k)

Rating: T

Tags: Episode Studies, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash.

Summary: “How're you... How're you feeling?” Adrian asks.

The pit in Leland's stomach has yet to stop gnawing hungrily inside of him, threatening escape.

--

Rating: G

xxi. frozen peas (2,1k)

Tags: Protective Leland Stottlemeyer, Minor Injuries, Pre-Slash

Summary: “What the fuck happened?”

Natalie winces at the same time Adrian's cheek gives a particularly angry throb. It must look ghastly if Leland's reaction from a scale of one to ten is already ranging around nine.

--

xxii. whiskey neat (1,4k)

Rating: T

Tags: Heartbreak, Self-Reflection, Drunken Confessions, Pre-Slash.

Summary: Leland drinks a glass of beer too many.

Or, T.K never said yes.

[i-eat-worlds]

Worlds’s Whumpy Recomendations

[Large Text: World’s Whumpy Recomendations /End ID] Sorted by genre for convenience. If you feel your story fits better in a different category, or would like to add a note let me know and I’ll do that!

BBU/Pet Whump

Do No Harm: Jamie and Sebastian by @peachy-panic (+ Medical/Lab whump)

The Fighter by @hold-him-down

Charles and Ollie by @cupcakes-and-pain

Unintentional by @distinctlywhumpthing (+ Medical/Lab whump)

Guard Dog David and Guard Dog Riley by @redwingedwhump

The Palette by @squishablesunbeam

The Safehouse by @itsawhumpsideblog

Linden and Colton by @whumpzone

Max & Carlo by @deluxewhump

What We Can’t Make Right: Chris by @ashintheairlikesnow

Medical/Lab Whump

Edurance by @whither-wander-whump

Peter and Joy by @alittlewhump

Land of Liars by @whumpy-daydreams

Mediwhump May Masterlist by @demondamage (+Nonhuman Whump, Angles and Demons. Comics)

The Last Lab Rat by @whumpy-wyrms

Marcus/Lucien by @whumpywhumper (+Urban fantasy)

Heroverse

Immortal Cannon Fodder by @pigeonwhumps

And Still and With Bloody Outstretched Hands by @wolfeyedwitch

Honhuman Whump

Our Man Flint by @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night (Vampires)

Blackthorne Hall by @redwingedwhump (Vampires)

Kane & Jim by @whumpsday (Vampires)

The Heart and The Hunger by @wolfeyedwitch (Vampires)

When Hell Comes Knocking by @snaillamp (Demons)

Ash & Callum by @whumping-every-day

Historical/Fantasy

The Shadow of Death by @actress4him (High Fantasy)

The Tiefling by @redwingedwhump (DnD Homebrew)

No Warrior by @secretwhumplair (Medieval, Vikings)

Fog and Furrow by @wildfaewhump (Urban Fantasy/Dystopia, telepaths)

Sci-fi/Futuristic/Dystopian

MD-264N by @pigeonwhumps (Living Weapon Whump)

Morja & Company by @newbornwhumperfly (Conditioned Whumpee)

Riot Kings by @befuddled-calico-whump (Comics)

Weapons Don’t Weep by @wolfeyedwitch (Living Weapon Whump)

Honor Bound by @whump-tr0pes (Near Future Apocalypse-ish)

Other

Freelancers by @whumpacabra (Modern, Mercenary/Millitary whump)

A1 and A2 by @hcnnibal (Modern, Mercenary, Romance, Comics)