#battle whump

[chaotic-orphan]

Vendetta (IX)

Read part one here // Continued from this part here

*~*~*~*~*

Hero ducked under outstretched arms. Feigned left, lunged right. A flash of colour to their left, then heat. Hero sidestepped the tendrils of fire that shot out from the villain’s hands. They weren’t quick enough. The flames caught Hero’s shoulder and they faltered with a cry, their hand going to the burns, but they grit their teeth and kept moving forward, charging Fire Villain.

Hero grabbed Fire Villain’s wrist in a death grip, nullifying their ability. Their hand chopped through the air going for the throat. Fire villain gasped, doubled over, struggling back a step, clicking their fingers for flames that wouldn’t ignite. Hero yanked them closer by the wrist and crunched their elbow into Fire villain’s nose, eliciting a shriek of pain. Hero finally let go, sweeping fire villain’s legs from under them. Stomping on their ankle as they fell, then their face and bolted again.

Ahead of them shouts of encouragement only harshened the headache pounding in Hero’s ears, pushing themselves faster. Their shoulder burned as the wind caught it, but Hero kept pushing forward, gritting their teeth against the pain. They had to get to Superhero. They had to stop Supervillain.

They had to stop the war right here, right now.

Hero barrelled through the crowd of villains, undetected by the group whose attention was fixed on Superhero and Supervillain in the centre.

Superhero’s eyes widened when they met Hero’s. Supervillain took the opportunity to dash forward, swinging Hero’s sword down in an arc. Superhero barely had enough time to cross his arms in an X shape over their head, catching the blade on their vambrace. Supervillain tossed his lazy gaze over his shoulder, keeping the pressure on Superhero’s arms with ease, icy eyes landing on Hero.

A horrible grin stretched across his face as Hero pushed into the circle with the pair. “Ah, Hero. Come to enjoy the show? Out of your cuffs and everything. Naughty, naughty. Superhero… you should’ve raised them with better manners.”

Superhero threw their arms up while Supervillain was distracted, pushing the sword away and sidestepping the edge. He lunged on the inside of the blade, batting it away with his forearm and kicking Supervillain back to the edge of the tight circle of villains. Hands reached out to keep Supervillain up, ensuring he didn’t fall.

“Hero,” Superhero said, a muscle in his jaw tightening as Hero stepped towards Supervillain. Supervillain backed up to keep both Hero and Superhero in his vision, swinging the sword in his hand.

Hero narrowed their eyes into a burning glare, catching their breath from running through the battlefield that stank of blood and shit. The group somehow smelled worse, pungent heat mixing with sweat.

Hero’s mouth was dry from running, but they pushed through everything in their body that was telling them to stop. To lie down and go home. That told them this was too hard, they should give up now. You’ve done enough now, Vigilante is gone. Give up fighting, nobody will think less of you.

“That’s my sword,” Hero told Supervillain, ignoring the intrusive thoughts screaming in their head. They put their hand out, palm up. “I’d like it back now.”

Supervillain tsked. “Hero… it’s kind of concerning that you want my attention so badly. Clearly Superhero’s opinion of you has gone to your head. You’re not everyone’s sweetheart.”

A pop behind Hero and something was shoved into their hands. Another pop and Hero glanced down to see their sheath with their secondary sword. Hero wanted to close their eyes and pray, thank the Gods for Teleport, but instead they drew their sword, dropping their scabbard to the ground. Wiping their sweaty palms on their trousers, Hero tightened their fingers around the hilt to get a better grip.

Supervillain smirked at the pair of heroes ahead of him.

“Two on one is a little unfair, wouldn’t you say, lads?” A cheer around them. Hero and Superhero retreated, back to back on instinct, looking warily around them.

Hero saw a flash of Supervillain’s toothy grin as he stabbed Hero’s sword into the dirt, leaning his weight on top of it like it was a cane and crossing his legs. Entirely too casual, his voice dipped, darkening as he said: “How about we even the odds?”

Another cry and the swarm of Villains descended like a plague of locusts upon them. Hero kicked out at the first Villain that ran at them, leaning on Superhero’s back to get more force behind it. The next one lunged while someone pulled at Hero’s shirt, trying to yank them to the right and away from Superhero.

Hero jutted their arm up sharply, deflecting a blow with the flat of their blade, but they were too slow. A fist crunched into Hero’s face from the left and they stumbled and then there were hands on them. Hero kicked out, thrashing and raging against the hands holding them. They were sharply pulled to the left, the hands on them unrelenting, but Hero kicked out at the Villain trying to body check them on the right.

A villain sprung up in front of them and Hero barely dodged the knife going for their eye. Hero punched them in the solar plexus and the Villain folded, but they didn’t get to fall.

Blood splattered across Hero’s face, and they flinched and froze for a split second, stumbling back into the hands of villains. The taste of iron infested their mouth, heightening the stench of blood and metal that surrounded them. The villain that they just punched— their head was ripped open and their deadweight fell on top of Hero. Hero fought back a retch, struggling to push the body off them.

Two bright yellow eyes the colour of pus gleamed down at Hero, a wicked grin on a pretty face and they were speaking but Hero couldn’t hear them over the cacophony of sound that assaulted their senses. Her face was covered in blood too, blood that she licked from her fingers, as if it was sauce leftover from chicken wings.

Hero threw their arms up in defence, not hearing anything over the pounding of their thundering heart.

The girl stumbled forward, her mouth falling open, frozen in shock. Hero only distantly realised the hand that was through her chest, roughly pulling out after the girl fell like a rag-doll to the ground, motionless. The look of surprise etched into her face forever.

Superhero was in front of them then, grabbing Hero and yanking them up, their hand like a vice around Hero’s arm. Hero flinched when their eyes met Superhero’s. There was a horrible sense of urgency in them that Hero couldn’t feel, their body felt numb. Did they have pieces of that Villain’s face on their—

“Hero! Hero! Snap out of it!” Superhero cried, but Hero’s eyes drifted down to Superhero’s hand, slick with blood. Superhero moved like a blur around them. One Villain stepped towards the pair and Superhero whirled, both hands finding the villain’s head. A swift movement and the villain’s neck snapped and they fell.

“Hero!” Superhero screamed, glancing behind him at the still comatose Hero who was just standing there. Another Villain went to attack Hero, but Superhero got there first, breaking the Villain’s arm, then ripping it from the socket. The Villain screamed as Superhero smashed their foot against the Villain’s knee, crippling them and shoving them away.

Hero blinked at Superhero, recognition flashing in their eyes. “Hero- we have to—”

A crackle of electricity behind Superhero and Hero’s body moved before their mind realised it. They shoved Superhero out of the way and lunged forward, grabbing the electric villain’s arm, and nullifying their ability before they surged their sword arm forward and up, under the Villain’s armour. Their sword poked out of the villain’s mouth, who stared at Hero with a horrible knowing they were about to die on their face. Don’t think about it, Hero told themselves. Keep moving. Don’t think. Keep moving. Blood splattered across their face as Hero pulled their sword out, kicking the corpse back into another group of villains.

And more were coming.

It seemed like every Villain they cut down, four more took their place, and the circle was getting smaller and smaller and Hero could barely catch their breath between the bodies.

Don’t think. Keep moving.

Slice. Block. Superhero’s fist cracked and crunched into Villains behind Hero, but they kept fighting.

Kick. Punch. Another haunted expression. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.

They had to win.

Another death at Hero’s hands. Keep moving.

They had to stop Supervillain here.

Another body fell and three more Villains surged forward with cries of bloodlust. Hero cut them down like weeds. Don’t think.

They had to end the war. End all the fighting, all the dying.

Just stop, Hero. Give up, nobody would think less of you. The thought made Hero pause in their movements. A mistake, they realised too late.

A hand clamped down on Hero’s hair and they were dragged back. Hero let out a startled cry, losing their footing as they were yanked back. Hero swung their sword at the Villains coming towards them.

“Hero!” Superhero cried from somewhere in the masses. Hero adjusted their grip on the sword until the blade was aimed behind them, grabbing the hilt with both hands they drove it backwards and up. A sudden, piercing scream and Hero jerked forwards, their hair still heavy.

Hero whirled. A villain was standing clutching a bleeding stump and screaming. Hero shook, their entire body trembling as they reached for their hair and found the hand still bunched in their hair. Hero ripped it off, the smell of piss and sweat overwhelming them as fell back, the ground growing slippy. Tears sprung to their eyes, but Hero had to get up. They had to get up or they’d die.

Hero dug their sword into the ground and pulled themself up with an effort. It felt as if all of Hero’s energy was zapped from them as they got to shaking feet.

They barely had the chance to catch their breath before a villain was rushing them. Hero didn’t think, they lifted their sword and let the Villain impale themselves. The Villain didn’t die immediately, and horrifically Hero’s sword got caught between the Villain’s ribs when Hero tried to yank it out. Hero planted a foot on the Villain’s pelvis, yanking on the sword but it didn’t budge an inch. Instead, Hero kicked them back into the masses of bodies, unarmed.

Shit they should really find—

“HERO!”

Superhero… Hero turned to Superhero’s voice. Their mind a fog. It felt as if their eyes were too slow to catch up with their surroundings that seemed to zoom past them. A sudden pit opened up in their stomach, their mind screaming DANGER! But Hero was turning towards Superhero, exhaustion pulling at their muscles. Tiredness pulling at their eyes.

Chocolate brown curls fell over a pair of cool, cold eyes that flashed with malice. Hero barely had time to process before something hard slammed against their jaw. Hero’s head whipped to the side and was righted by a cold hand, before it hit them again in the same place.

The world spun around them as Hero spluttered out a gasp, raising their knee to try and dislodge Villain from them. Villain smiled a cold smile. A flash of metal and the breath was taken from Hero who folded around the object, their legs giving up on them.

“Shh, Hero,” Villain cooed, running their hand through Hero’s matted hair. “It’s okay. You fought well, Vigilante would be proud.”

“HERO!”

Hero let out a loud cry, spitting blood, thrusting their elbow up towards Villain. Their strike went wide, Villain parrying with his gun and hit Hero over the head again. Hero would have fallen if Villain wasn’t holding them up, they realised, with how heavy they were leaning on Villain’s arm. They wanted to throw up, they wanted to sleep.

They needed to end this war.

A cold mocking voice piped up from the back of their head: you’re going to end this war? With what?! With who! The war won’t be finished by some half-conscious, possibly concussed, disarmed mess that needs someone else to hold them up!

Hero winced. The voice was so loud, their shouts echoing around Hero’s dumb head like a cavern.

A thick, cold shadow crawled from Villain’s fingertips around Hero’s neck like a collar and leash, choking them. Hero gasped, hands flying to their throat to try and dispel the shadow but nothing. Villain yanked their hands down, tying them in front of Hero with his whip and yanked Hero forward again.

Hero followed because they couldn’t not, they didn’t have the energy to pull against Villain, their legs shaking as Villain paraded them through the crowd of villains. The heat from the bodies squeezing Hero on all sides threatened to knock them out from pure exhaustion and lack of air. Everything was too much, it was all too much.

The air smelled of smoke and vomit, and iron. Hero gasped on no air, struggling to breathe with the little leeway that Villain granted on Hero’s neck pulling tighter the more Hero resisted. They weren’t trying to resist they just couldn’t… their body didn’t want to move anymore, they could barely fucking see straight. Everything was reduced to whirling colours, a deafening ringing sounded between Hero’s ears, blocking out all other sounds. Or could everyone hear that?

When they finally emerged into the middle of the significantly thinned circle of villains, Hero’s eyes went to Superhero who was fighting Crow. Hero yanked against the whip in Villain’s hands. They had to get free. They had to help Superhero…

Villain only pulled the whip sharp in reply and Hero was yanked forwards. Their feet couldn’t gain purchase fast enough on the wet ground and they slipped, hands out to catch themselves. Villain yanked on the whip at the last second and Hero’s plunged face-first into the blood-stained mud. They shot up immediately, spewing and sputtering out the taste in their mouth.

Hero’s eyes shot to Superhero who was covered in blood, his hands stained to his shoulders with the dried, flaked crimson and fresh blood dripped from his fingertips. Someone kicked Superhero in the back of the knee and Superhero fell to his knees.

“No…” Hero mumbled, their tongue fat in their mouth. They army crawled forward. “Superhero… no… get up.”

Villain grabbed Hero by the hair and yanked their head up so they could get a better view of their fallen leader. Supervillain stepped in front of Superhero, Hero’s sword coated in blood already. For a single, heart breaking moment, Superhero’s kind eyes met Hero’s. Something sad pulled at the edges of his smile.

Hero mirrored the frown, needing their brain to process what it meant. What was happening? What were they looking at?!

Hero struggled against Villain’s hold, more out of instinct than anything else, but they didn’t get anywhere. They stiffened when the gun pressed against their temple.

“Here is the great Superhero,” Supervillain yelled. “A symbol of the old world order. A symbol of powered individuals forced to live in hiding. Told that we’re freaks, and dangers to society!”

Supervillain turned in a circle, looking every member of his captive audience in the eye. “Well I say no more.”

There was a chorus of cheers.

“I say NO MORE!” He screamed, and the cheer turned to screams and riotous applause. It exasperated the thundering headache that threatened to burst Hero’s skull. They slumped against the gun at their temple, but quickly perked up with a hiss when Villain yanked on their hair again.

Supervillain smirked at Hero, on their knees, shaking their head. “Supervillain… please… don’t… don’t do this.”

“I’m so glad you’re here to witness this, Hero,” Supervillain told them. Hero felt bile rise in their throat at the elation in his voice. “Let it serve as a reminder of what happens to those that oppose me.”

The ringing got louder as Hero’s desperate eyes went to Superhero’s. Superhero still smiling sadly at them. Hero lurched forward with a cry of protest as Supervillain turned.

“It’s okay, Hero,” Superhero said. “Everything will be—”

The sword plunged under Superhero’s armour. Hero watched as blood gurgled up and over his lips, a small trickle at first. Then, a waterfall. Supervillain twisted the sword before yanking it out, scraping against bone and wet flesh. In the distance someone was screaming.

Hero blinked at the scene, flinching when some of the blood from Supervillain’s blade flicked back onto them. Superhero… that was… that was Superhero’s blood. Hero didn’t lower their gaze from Superhero’s face. At one point Superhero fell forward. One of the Villains behind Superhero grabbed him and pulled him up so Supervillain could plunge the sword in again.

This time it ripped. Villains still cheered, someone was still screaming. Hero couldn’t take their eyes off Superhero’s face, the same sad smile echoing back at Hero.

Frozen. This was how Superhero’s face would remain forever. Like all the Villains that Hero killed today. This was how his face would stay. A sad, knowing smile on his face. Nothing shocked or terrified, Superhero greeted death with a smile on his face. A smile that was to reassure Hero, to make Hero feel better.

A smile that said: it’s okay. I know. We tried our best and we failed, and it’s okay.

That wasn’t how Superhero was supposed to greet death.

Not… not making an expression to comfort Hero.

That can’t be how Superhero dies.

It seemed as if the entire world rushed by Hero’s ears, bringing them back to the present with a renewed laser focus.

That can’t be how Superhero dies!

Hero sucked in a breath as the sword squelched out of Superhero. Someone said something, Supervillain gestured. He pulled out a dagger and sliced an arc down Superhero’s face. Hero struggled in Villain’s hold, roaring:

“GET OFF HIM!” Hero screamed, surging forwards but they were wrenched back, their voice going hoarse as they struggled in vain against Villain’s hold. “DON’T TOUCH HIM! STOP! STOP!”

Something hard hit the back of Hero’s head and they jolted forwards, collapsing onto their elbows, crying into the dirt. Twin streams of spit, snot and tears fell onto the ground under Hero’s head and they squeezed their eyes shut, not wanting to see it anymore. See Supervillain cutting Superhero’s body because… because Superhero… Superhero didn’t lose.

Superhero didn’t die with a smile.

Superhero never lost. Superhero may have cut it close every once in a while but he always walked away from a fight. Superhero wasn’t—

A sharp tug in their hair and Hero was yanked to their knees again, then to their feet. Hero threw their elbow back, catching something but what they didn’t care as they bolted towards Superhero.

They fell to their knees beside his body, their hands reaching to Superhero’s pulse. It was faint, but it was there.

Hero turned wet eyes to Supervillain, pleading. A black figure from the corner of their eye advanced on them, but Supervillain held a hand up, stopping them.

“Plea— p-p-please,” Hero whispered, sniffing, their voice hoarse and quiet, but Supervillain heard. He tilted his head, eyes drinking in Hero’s broken state. “Please… don’t kill him, please… please. I’m— i’m begging you, Supervillain. I’ll do ah-anything.”

Superhero can’t die with a comforting smile on his face. That wasn’t his death, that can’t be his death. Always looking out for someone other than his stupid fucking self! Superhero deserved to be selfish in death! At least in death!

Supervillain leaned back, pursing his lips as if he was chewing Hero’s words, tasting them, trying to find some flavour within them to his liking. He leaned forward, cupping Hero’s cheek in his hand and thumbing away the trails of tears and dirt and blood.

Hero shook in his hold but didn’t dare pull away. “Would you show me the same consideration?”

Hero blinked, sniffing. “What?”

Supervillain’s expression wasn’t mocking or cruel, he looked genuine. Patient, even. “If the roles were reversed, Hero. If Superhero had won and I was on the ground, dying, would you let Superhero kill me here? In the dirt?”

Hero’s breath hitched, their eyes drifting to Superhero’s face, his lips stained bright red with blood. Unnatural. Superhero’s lips were never bright red. Supervillain gently tilted Hero’s head back to him.

“Would you?” He asked, voice soft.

Hero’s bottom lip quivered. “I- I don’t think an-anyone should d-die like this.”

Supervillain smiled. It was kind, without malice. Hero swallowed the lump in their throat. Not daring to let themself hope but- but what if?

“So what would you do, Hero? Take me prisoner? Have a trial for my crimes?”

Hero shivered. “Yes.”

Supervillain paused. Hero held their breath as Supervillain pulled away and got to his feet with a grunt. He surprised Hero by walking over to them and helping Hero to their feet too, gentle movements all the while. Not too fast, trying not to spook the trembling Hero. Hero protested leaving Superhero’s side by Supervillain shushed them.

“It’s okay, Hero,” Supervillain coaxed, whispering sweet nothings into Hero’s matted hair. “There we go. Villain?”

Two more hands grabbed Hero’s shoulders. “Be gentle with them,” Supervillain told Villain as he pulled away.

Hero grabbed Supervillain’s arm before he could. Burning eyes met ice cold glaciers that smiled warmly at Hero. “You’re- you’re not going to k-kill him?”

“No, Hero. I won’t kill him.” Supervillain said softly and Hero’s legs went from under them in relief. Villain held them up while Hero cried, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Supervillain spread his arms out, bending down to scoop Hero’s sword from the dirt. Villain held Hero loosely to the side, their eyes never leaving Superhero’s body.

“My friends!” Supervillain boomed, his voice carrying over the battleground. “We’ve won!”

The field erupted into applause and cheers, villains roaring their triumph and chanting Supervillain’s name.

“Hero has begged me to spare Superhero’s life,” Supervillain bellowed with a grin, turning to face Hero again and winking. Hero flinched at the chorus of boo’s and mocking aww’s, jarring and vicious. “So I will not kill Superhero.”

Hero risked a baffled smile, though it probably looked pathetic. Maybe Supervillain was telling the truth. Maybe he did want to stop this endless violence between heroes and villains. Hero’s eyes got their determination back and they nodded at Supervillain, who returned the gesture with a smile of his own.

His arms still spread to his rowdy crowd, Supervillain’s icy eyes turned sharp, cunning twisting the side of his lips up and when he looked at Hero again there was something off about the picture. Something that told Hero there was something wrong. What were they missing?

What were they missing?

Grieves walked from the crowd that parted for him, walking up behind Supervillain. He plucked the sword from Supervillain’s hands who never took his eyes off of Hero. Grieves didn’t break his stride as he turned Hero’s sword upside down, walking towards Superhero on the ground.

Hero’s eyes widened too late, their face pulled from peace to horror in the space of a second. They lunged forward while Grieves slammed the blade of Hero’s sword through Superhero’s armour and into his heart.

Arms locked around Hero as they sprung for Supervillain, an animalistic shriek pulled from deep within their bones. “YOU FUCKING MONSTER! YOU BASTARD! YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T—” Hero screamed over the cries of victory and celebration.

Supervillain walked around Grieves to Hero who was practically foaming at the mouth, blood-stained-spittle flying as they screamed. “YOU’RE A LIAR! YOU’RE A LIAR!”

Supervillain pinched Hero’s chin jutting Hero’s attention towards him. His arctic gaze freezing Hero solid. “I didn’t lie, Hero. I held up my end of our bargain. I said I wouldn’t kill him. And I didn’t,” Supervillain said very matter-of-factly, as if he were speaking to a child throwing a tantrum. Though his wide smile betrayed his joy and malicious intentions. “Grieves killed him.”

“You fucking MONSTER! I’ll kill you!” Hero vowed, their promise coming out guttural, voice hoarse with grief and despair; broken. “I’ll—”

“Promises, promises,” Supervillain said, dropping Hero’s chin. “Superhero had to die, but that was only half of the main event, dear Hero. Now to the good part.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call: @micechomper @aarika-merrill @silentpotat0 @dutifullykrispyland @gloriousqueen101

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Mech Suit Mayhem

Coolant leak inside the suit causing the coolant to drip into the whumpee’s mouth and/or eyes and chemically burn them.

Coolant leak outside the suit causing the suit to overheat and cook the whumpee like it’s an E-Z Bake Oven.

Whumpee falls unconscious during a rain storm that lasts for days and is unable to move when they awake because their joints are rusted together.

Springtrap-like injuries from the suit when it takes damage, components stabbing and crushing the whumpee inside.

Catalytic converter (or whatever it is) failing, causing the suit to emit toxic fumes to the user; they go loopy before having more severe symptoms of smoke inhalation.

Getting locked in the mech suit for days — either because of a malfunction, because they’re in battle, or because they’re underwater or in space — and being unable to take it off to eat or drink anything, perhaps also having to run around in their own filth and stench as well.

The mech suit accidentally gets locked into autopilot mode and forces Whumpee to move their limbs, walking and flying, when they are injured or weak and absolutely should NOT be walking and flying.

Old mech suits with black mold growing inside that slowly poison the wearer.

Having to be pried out of a mech suit in a standing position and instantly falling limp into their rescuer’s arms, hair and clothes soaked through with sweat and grime.

Shock absorbers or thrusters failing during a big jump off a cliff, causing severe damage to the wearer’s knees or other joints.

A foreign or alien rescuer not knowing where the suit ends and the whumpee begins due to anatomical and technological differences, so they have to tediously, very carefully grind it away bit-by-bit until they reach the person inside.

Low oxygen notifications.

Low fuel notifications.

Getting trapped in a suit with no fuel or a dead battery.

Being unable to leave the mech suit until the mission is completed to the employer’s terms.

Being monitored inside a mech suit with cameras, life sign sensors, and tracking beacons for their health

Being monitored inside a mech suit with cameras, life sign sensors, and tracking beacons to make sure they aren’t committing treason

[featherlovesrobots]

I want to watch ten seasons of this

You're known by many names, but they all point to one trait you've held all these years: your enemies have never seen you bleed. Your secret? A pinch of illusion magic that hides all the scars and wounds, allowing you to intimidate your foes, even on your last legs.

[sparkchemy]

Whumperless Whump Event Day 15 - Passing out / Exhaustion

Masks off, strings cut ✂️

[dangermousie]

That's it, that's the drama.

and it's glorious.

[lizzylucky]

Draxum hadn't accounted for the fact that when he gave four hatchling turtles the DNA of a human being in order to give them greater intelligence, he would effectively be making himself a surrogate father to actual children, with wildly different needs.

When he sent his gargoyles to obtain a sample of DNA from Big Mama's prized warrior, the intention was to create his own. They were to be the prototypes for an army of simple creatures with just enough heightened intelligence to learn combat and follow commands, that he might defend Yokai kind with.

Instead, he quickly discovered the integration of human DNA had been a little over successful in allowing his test subjects to learn and think and feel in a civilized manner, going so far as to override some of their natural instincts as turtles that would otherwise allow them to learn to care for themselves. He had to feed them, by hand, with bottles.

Like infants.

They were easily distraught by unfamiliar things, and quickly became dependent on Draxum in every sense of the word. They babbled, they cried, they explored things with their hands, their tails, their mouths.

It was an unplanned adjustment needed to be made, but no matter. If anything, learning to understand the new hybrid emotions of these turtles would allow Draxum greater advantages when they grew enough to safely learn combat. Preferences, likes and dislikes, needs, diet, and so on, all became more complex areas of study.

Even a couple years in, he found himself continually surprised. Brain scans had shown that the turtles were more intelligent, still, than anticipated. They, truly, seemed more human in mind and function than anything else, with only some base instincts and behaviors left to influence their personalities. They retained many reptilian traits, but overall had the bipedal anatomy and function of humans and some Yokai. It had been an infuriating discovery at first, but Draxum had to admit that over time he became fond of it.

Each turtle had developed his own personality. The eldest, for example, had a love of plush toys, and showed a fierce protective instinct over the others. The youngest, Draxum had learned, was contrastedly reckless and excitable, not nearly so reserved or gentle as the first. Additionally, he was, decidedly, to be kept away from any and every writing utensil unless under strict supervision (unfortunately, this was learned a little too late, as was evidenced by the clear markings left in several work benches). Then, of course, were the slider and the softshell, who had the most bizarre relationship. They were constantly fighting with each other, but utterly inseparable, and each showed an incredible and unique curiosity, constantly exploring and watching and studying, with concentration filling their eyes in ways Draxum had never seen in other children so young.

Embarrassingly, it took another couple years before Draxum realized he couldn't simply refer to them by their species' names. It certainly was effective, but they were not the mild, simple creatures he had once expected them to be, and he knew that they never would.

Now, they were vocal, playful, inquisitive... energetic. By the gods, were they energetic. They never stopped moving, never stopped talking, never stopped eating, never stopped wanting or needing.

...This is why Draxum never had children of his own. It took all the time and energy he had to spare, and then some. Although it would be a lie to say he wished they were any other way.

They had so much capacity to learn, and with their emotional propensity could one day come to understand exactly why Draxum was doing this, which he knew would be an edge in their combative styles.

As he introduced them, slowly, to more of the world's culture and knowledge, he felt, in a new way, that their very existences were revolutionary. A perfect, synergistic unity between two entirely different families of genetic material, with numerous enhanced abilities. And they were children. They maintained all the properties of regular children, but had so much more in store! Such grand destinies! They would be, inarguably, the greatest warriors of their time when they were grown. They would be the compassionate, skillful heroes of all Yokai, the first of a new generation of super mutants, and the key to overcoming the evils of the humans who had overtaken the surface and posed such threat to all who lived below.

It was with great reluctance that he allowed himself to accept, however, that not all of mankind was evil. There were many forms of art, beautiful in different ways, there were some rare people filled with kindness, inventions that utilized resources in ways Yokai kind had never thought to. Perhaps he had been a little stubborn in his ways, a bias cementing over time that blinded him to some of the beauty that did yet exist in such a species.

Make no mistake, humans were a threat. Innocent families lived in fear, in hiding, of the governments and ruthless sciences designed to invade, to blaspheme the name of knowledge, with no regard for the safety of this people.

Draxum could live with being an outlaw to the Yokai if his experiments would lead to their salvation. He may be their villain in today's papers, but in history books he would be a hero.

Still, he wished to amend some of his practices. Even if only to his turtles, he would be known for his ability to change and understand. He would be fair, and he would be truthful.

And so it was that he told the turtles the nature of their existence. Perhaps he muted some of the details, to protect their minds until they had more understanding, but he would not lie to them about their DNA. He told them of Lou Jitsu, and their human genetics, and he begrudgingly allowed them access to the culture of the humans. He would let them choose their interests unbiased.

In the process, he came to know of some of the revolutionaries of human history. Though he wasn't particularly inclined to believe there were no evils involved, he was intrigued by the strange moral code that the humans boasted from their different time periods. The turtles, as well, were fascinated by the stories of war heroes and generals, seamstresses and inventors, artists and royalty.

Initially, when it came time to redesignate his turtles, Draxum had been inclined toward the names of those whose legacies persisted in the humans' culture even today- perhaps a president for the slider, a scientist for the softshell, a great general for the snapper, and an artist for the young box turtle. It seemed, somehow, clandestinely right; carefully considered to exemplify each of their personalities.

And although he had begun to get used to the possibility of names like "Monroe" and "Edison", his indecision on the matter seemed to be working against him. He was taking too long, and the boys were growing smarter.

It was a day in August, later that year, that he found his two youngest arguing over a Renaissance book, oddly enough. The elder two took to a game of knocking "secret patterns" on each other's carapaces, which he dismissed before he could allow himself the confusion that came with wondering why a five year old would want to knock on a spiked shell for fun.

After breaking up the fight and confiscating the book (which, as it turned out, the youngest only wanted because it had pictures in it, much to the chagrin of the other, who insisted that reading it was much better than just looking at the pictures), Draxum found himself idly flipping through pages of rustic images and rudimentary ideas, developed by people with strange names.

Maybe he was simply too tired to consider it properly, but, feeling defeated in his endeavor, he chose four names at random and assigned them to the young turtles, deciding it had been long enough.

It took a while to get used to, but soon "Raphael", "Leonardo", "Donatello", and "Michaelangelo" truly fit.

Over time, the boys grew... ravenous. They devoured everything- food, information, technique. They were learning quickly everything Draxum taught them. They practiced with Huginn and Muninn, leapt up, around, over, and through everything in the lab, and took special interest in action-filled films.

And Draxum grew fonder. He wasn't entirely surprised, of course; it's natural to develop some sense of sentimentality when caring for anything this long. Even if they had been the simple minded turtles he expected, he knew this was inevitable, to a degree.

What startled him was the sudden sense of fear that came with watching them train. The alarm that made his heart beat harder when one of them fell from somewhere high or any time they ran simple drills with weapons not blunted and made from wood.

He subtly began to intensify their defensive strategies, taught them where they were most vulnerable so they could protect those spots, insisted on perfecting their abilities to parry, block, and dodge before anything else.

And, over time, he found himself training them less often than before, thinking, "I must preserve their innocence and prolong their childhood experiences". After all, it was an essential part of development, was it not? If it were tarnished too much, they might become unwise or unjust as warriors. And, really, Raphael was only 8 years old, and he was the eldest; they were much too young to be exposed to the harshness of what their combative training was really for.

He told himself that, time and time again. He told them that, making certain they understood that their training was not a game. It wasn't untrue, certainly.

Really, he just wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to admit to what extent he cared about them, because it was too much. It was more than he could ever have been prepared for. It was more than that passion to protect Yokai kind ever was, and if he ever realized that, he might become the compromise to his own purposes, to the very reason these turtles exist this way to begin with, and then what? What was he to tell them, why was he to train them, who did they exist for if not the inhabitants of the Hidden City?

No. He couldn't do that. He simply would not allow it, not when so much was at stake.

And yet...

More and more often he desired simply to watch them. He was growing weary with worry, and with that tight feeling that arose in his chest each time one of his boys so much as frowned.

Raphael loved to carry his brothers on his shoulders. And he prided himself on being the big brother, in every way. He liked repeating instructions Draxum gave to the others, and tended to play caretaker anytime someone was sad, or had a bruised knee. He often played the "bad guy" in their made up games so the younger ones could "win", he was the mediator in big decisions, like what book they should read before bed, and he seemed always ready with an armful of stuffed animals when he wanted to express affection. So strong, incredibly strong, but soft spoken and sweet.

Leonardo adored Raphael. Just as Raphael did Draxum, Leonardo liked to imitate and repeat instructions. He tended to take charge in many of their childish endeavors, and had a propensity for dramatics and heroism, often pretending to rescue his brothers. This seemed to irritate Donatello to no end, unless he was also playing the hero, and often times he was. The two were usually glued to the hip, though Leonardo liked to make a point to tell all his brothers about everything that went on, and would take a movie night with the three of them over a one on one outing with Draxum any day. He was exuberant and joyous, and very driven by the concept of justice.

Donatello, similarly, seemed to care very dearly about maintaining a bond with all three of his brothers, but he was peculiar, often more reserved and enjoying his alone time. That child read and read like he might never get a chance to again, and he absorbed what he read like a sponge. Quite a few times Draxum found him pulling apart whatever he could get his hands on, and though an effort was made, there was no hiding place the boy couldn't discover in his quest for Draxum's tools. In spite of his quizzical, sometimes stoic nature, Donatello was sensitive, and very thoughtful. He would spend hours talking about his books and his ideas- some of which were very clever- and he was expressive in secondary ways- sitting nearer his brothers even without interacting, crafting things out of paper as gifts. Even the little heart-shaped mark on the back of his soft shell seemed a fitting part of him- he wore his heart on his sleeve, so to speak, and didn't even realize it.

And Michaelangelo. There was an innocence and joy and goodness about the smallest turtle that had struck Draxum. Even when he was younger he always wore a smile and liked to see the good side of things. And he idolized his brothers. With him had grown his creative inclinations, filling every colouring book, drawing on every wall, and absolutely plastering the other turtles with stickers. They were a pain to wash off, but Draxum couldn't bring himself to mind it, especially given the elder three always loved their baths. Ironically, it seemed Michealangelo did not, enjoying it only under specific circumstances. Heat, bubble bath, and bath toys had quickly become a necessity. So too did bath crayons, the need to express himself coming through even when bathing. Everything about the ornate box turtle was bright and colourful.

Draxum... loved them. Dearly. Every facet of their personalities and growth. Every unique trait and behavior.

It was terrifying. He couldn't afford to love them. He couldn't afford to see any more goodness in the humanity they showed. He couldn't afford to change his goals right now.

So he continued disregarding the feeling, trying to reason that everything he did for them was to nurture their instincts as warriors, as science experiments, as specimen.

But a pained scream one day, different from any of the ones he heard when they were frightened as infants, when one of them tripped and fell, when a spat led to hitting, sent his heart into his throat and had him racing through doorways with more urgency than he had felt for anything before.

He had demanded an explanation, panic translating to perceived anger, and three of his boys looked up with teary eyes. Three, but Donatello remained curled up on the ground, wailing his little heart out without ever looking up, and it was one of the most heart wrenching, painful sounds Draxum'd ever heard.

Raphael sat not far from the smaller boy, looking over his shoulder seemingly at nothing, at Donatello, then up at Draxum and back again. Both Leonardo and Michaelangelo burst into frantic, panicked explanations, none of their words coherent enough to understand through their tears.

When Raphael stood, exposing red-tipped spikes on his shell and pointing frantically to Donatello's, it didn't take long to figure out well enough what had happened.

It became quickly a very long day. All four turtles were distraught, and though Draxum had more than enough first aid knowledge to address the situation, bile had threatened to rise the very moment he pulled out the suture kit.

The cuts were deep, and jagged. And poor Donatello cried the entire time, even after a numbing agent had been applied.

Draxum had never thought that in depth about Donatello's soft shell. Not like that. He chose a softshell for the experiment because it would provide greater flexibility, greater agility. It gave an advantage that the hard-shelled turtles did not have.

Now, here... The soft carapace, spongy and leathery and bloody...

It was an accident. Of course it was, Draxum never doubted that. He had to assure that none of his boys were in trouble, no one was in trouble, no one had done anything wrong.

But for the first time he had to be honest with himself. For the first time he couldn't deny how much he cared about the turtles. His turtles. His boys.

He wouldn't, either. If this was what it was, if this was something that could happen again because he insisted on making them into warriors, into fighters- if this could happen on purpose, if this could happen worse, if this could happen with malice and hatred in mind...

Draxum wasn't unused to physical affection, by now. All four boys adored hugs, although Donatello was usually more reserved about them. Now, Donatello clung like his life depended on it, sniffling and whimpering, having cried so long he had no more tears. Draxum clung back, idly smoothing over the edges of the bandages, holding the frightened, exhausted turtle to his chest, cradling.

He did so until well after Donatello fell asleep. He couldn't bring himself to put him down. He accompanied the others to bed, assuring them once more that things were alright, and then simply stood in the walkway, holding his boy tightly.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't go through with it. They were children, every bit as innocent and deserving as the Yokai he wished to avenge and protect. He could train them, prepare them to protect themselves, but he could never send them into battle, ask them to put their lives on the line, much less demand it.

How could he?

It took months of processing, of agonizing his way through the healing process with Donatello, of watching the other boys proving their humanity, their curiosity, and their innocence time and time and time again. His mind was constantly at war with itself, his heart constantly in turmoil and distress, worsened by the turtles' confusion at his sudden change in behavior.

What was even worse was that they would.

They would absolutely sacrifice everything they had for his approval, and for what they understood as "right". He could see them, easily, being willing to submit their very lives to a greater cause if he asked it.

But was he "right"? Even if this experiment had gone exactly as planned, was he right for ever considering putting these turtles into the station of a warrior? Even if they had remained turtles in mind, if they never expressed complex emotion, if they could not speak, if they did not have distinct and colourful personalities, would it have been right?

Was what he saw in them now what they would have been at heart, regardless of circumstance?

Or was it the humanity, that he stole from Lou Jitsu?

Perhaps... perhaps it was time to learn. To consider the root of his motivations.

He couldn't do this to them.

How could he?

[eerieechos]

I bet the Battle of Fornost fucking sucked lol

[pyrepostings]

Box boy-esque universe where recruitment cares a bit about some form of consent to turn people into boxies, so when whumper wants someone who won't be tricked into it they just capture and train their whumpee themselves.

Everyone in this universe is like 'what the fuck you can't do that' and because of corporations protecting themselves and general propaganda (I'm thinking almost apple villifing right to repair type vibe) everyone sees going the homemade route to be barbaric and cruel, but WRU is ethically sourcing and handling their officially branded boxies (of course)

So homemade boxie does get a chance to be rescued and recover and see whumper behind bars, but lives in a system of people going through the exact same thing as them but they don't get justice or sympathy.

Do you think a well meaning but susceptible to propaganda caretaker would purchase an off-the-shelf boxie to help with menial tasks during whumpee's recovery?

Maybe to show that 'you're not like them, see this one likes being depersoned'. Caretaker offhand insulting pet lib activists, thinking that it's an overreaction for whumpee to get mad at them for it.

I just think the contrast and hypocrisy could be neat.

[chaotic-orphan]

Vendetta (VII)

Part one

Continued from here

I have been in Prague all week and it is THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CITY EVER!!!! God I am so jealous of the people who live here— the food, the drinks, the people, the river, the castle, the history!!!!! Get ready for the fantasy story that has been brewing in my head since I got here… anyways!!!

*~*~*~*~*

Supervillain released Hero and Hero instantly retreated back away from him, backing up until their back hit the wall of Superhero’s office. Supervillain smiled at them, tilting his head as he regarded Hero like they were something interesting. A puzzle to solve.

“You… you have powers,” Hero said with a breath, barely above a whisper. Supervillain’s smile grew, his eyes darkening.

“As do you, little Hero. I guess we’re both good at keeping our hands close to our chest.”

“But you— you have never—”

Supervillain’s smile was friendly, but his eyes had this horrible intelligence. A cunning, dark knowing that made the words die on Hero’s tongue. Supervillain turned breaking eye contact and it felt like Hero could finally breathe.

Supervillain walked to Hero’s scabbard that Villain had left balanced on the wall beside the door. Hero stepped forward, not wanting Supervillain to touch their swords. They didn’t want Supervillain anywhere near them, but… but…

Hero was in Supervillain’s territory — Hero’s home, their safe haven — surrounded by villains whose orders were to bring Hero to Supervillain. How far would they get if they tried to fight Supervillain now? How would they even know if Villain was waiting behind the door with Vigilante?

The familiar shink of Hero’s sword being drawn from it’s scabbard drew their attention back to Supervillain. He was gazing down on the metal with his icy eyes, appraising it.

“How do you keep it so clean?”

The question stumped Hero, their eyebrows knitting together as they answered almost automatically. “Umm… well, I have a cloth that I wipe the blood and grime off with— and then the scabbard is lined with wool which re-oils them so they don’t rust.”

Supervillain hummed and picked up Hero’s scabbard and peered inside as if to fact check Hero as they spoke. Then he turned and smiled at Hero.

“So efficient.”

Thank you died in Hero’s throat when the realisation of who they were casually conversing with dawned on them again.

Supervillain tucked the scabbard under his arm, as he ran his fingers along the glinting metal. “We both have our weapons, Hero. You are so skilled with these beautiful things that everyone assumed you were just an adept, or powerless, or had some kind of melee enhanced ability, but you don’t. You’re just skilled as well as powered.”

Hero swallowed but remained silent, eyes fixed on Supervillain’s as his icy gaze tore from the blade and met Hero’s.

“My weapon isn’t as flashy as yours, but perhaps it requires the same amount of work to keep it sharp.” Supervillain tapped his temple with his index finger. He grabbed the scabbard with his free hand and sheathed Hero’s sword before laying it back against the wall furthest from Hero.

“What, your mind? Are you a telepath or something?”

There was a smile in Supervillain’s voice as he said, “look at you, fishing for information.” Supervillain turned back to Hero, a winning smile on his face. “My power will remain a mystery for the time being, Hero. After all that was the plan, no hints or clues until the big reveal.”

“I won’t tell.”

Supervillain barked out a laugh. “Oh Hero. You are just adorable. No,” the humour melted from Supervillain’s face, his expression fading to something more neutral, faraway. “No, I waited too long and planned every detail to ensure this all goes perfectly.”

Supervillain’s eyes snapped to Hero’s as he closed the distance between them. Hero backed up on instinct but their back hit the wall and they cursed themselves for not moving before— but it didn’t matter because Supervillain stopped a foot away, leaving Hero some space.

“You were one of the final pieces I needed to set everything else into motion.”

Hero couldn’t help the helpless anger that bubbled out of their chest. “Why me? You didn’t even know I had an ability until what, ten minutes ago?!”

Supervillain’s smile was warm. It set Hero on edge how friendly Supervillain was, how likeable. He wasn’t parading Hero around in chains (yet) and he just seemed so… humble.

“Yes, but I had a vague hunch, and you confirmed that for me when I touched you.”

Hero clenched their jaw and looked away. It was a mistake. Supervillain was in front of them with one stride and Hero’s terrified eyes went back to him, slamming a hand out to keep some distance between them. Supervillain smiled and grabbed Hero’s arm again.

He let out a soft laugh. “You can control it too, can’t you? Whether or not you use your power. I must have gotten lucky with Vigilante being taken away, your emotions ran high. I doubt you were concentrating too much on your ability.”

“What do you care.”

“You intrigue me, Hero. Trust me, if I could change the world without having to do something this drastic I would.”

“You can stop.” Supervillain’s grip tightened on Hero’s arm in warning, but it didn’t deter Hero. “You don’t have to go through with whatever you’re trying to achieve. There’s still time to stop this. Superhero—”

Supervillain scoffed and dropped Hero’s arm. “Superhero,” he repeated with a hollow laugh. “They are the very essence of why the world must change.”

Hero wanted to inquire further. To know more. To understand why Supervillain was so set on killing heroes and dragging civilians into this all out war. They wanted to dissect his brain and see why he was doing all of this. Any of this!

But a knock came on the door and Supervillain half turned his back to Hero, as if Hero wasn’t a threat and said: “Enter.”

The door opened with Supervillain still half in front of Hero, blocking their quickest exit. If Supervillain was distracted then Hero could try and vault over the desk, make it for the doorway take whatever villain was waiting on the other side.

“Grieves!” The name ran like ice through Hero’s veins, freezing their limbs in place. “What can I do for you, my friend?”

“Supervillain, I just came to report that I haven’t seen your elusive Hero anywhere.”

Hero knew Supervillain was going to step aside before he did it, exposing them to Grieves. Grieves’ smile could chill lava, but his grin was the stuff of nightmares.

“Hero… well. I guess you have the situation in hand, Supervillain.”

“I do. We can gather everyone later, I want to keep this under wraps a little while longer.”

Hero’s rage rushed out of them. “Why?! You can stop the fighting now, stop other people from getting hurt!”

Grieves’ eyes flashed at Hero’s outburst, almost making Hero flinch backwards. Almost.

“Mmm, they still need a little training. I would be only too glad to help.” Hero’s skin crawled at the threat. They remembered Teleport recalling some of the hideous things that Grieves had done to her and wanted to keep the villain as far away as possible.

Supervillain laughed. A good natured laugh, as if this was all some joke! “No. Thank you, Grieves. Not yet.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Hero snapped.

The two villains turned their full attention to Hero, and Hero wished they hadn’t. The amusement clear in their faces made Hero sick.

“Perhaps we should, Grieves,” said Supervillain.

Grieves nodded along. “I agree. Actually, I would love to talk about people who aren’t here, if that’s okay with your little pet Hero.”

Hero crossed their arms over their chest and looked away. They felt like a petulant child, but they weren’t going anywhere with Grieves standing in front of the door and Supervillain keeping his eyes on them.

“I didn’t find Hero, I wanted to report but I did find that little thorn in my side. You remember her, right?”

“Teleport?” Supervillain asked and Hero paled. Teleport… no, there was no way. Maybe the name was just common? But then Teleport was anything but common. But maybe it was just a coincidence— a—

“That’s her, but I also found the thorn in your side too.”

Supervillain scoffed. “Please. You found Superhero?”

“No, not that menace.”

Hero’s heart lurched in their chest. There’s no way they’re talking about Medic and Teleport, right? Granted Hero doesn’t remember the pair of them ever being apart but— they couldn’t. Hero didn’t want to believe it.

Then there was a loud pop.

Hero’s breath was stolen from their lungs. Standing dead eyed on the other side of the room was Teleport and Medic, their eyes rimmed with an eerie, ghastly red.

“No…” Hero whispered, taking an unconscious step forward. “No… Medic?”

“You did very well, Grieves. Of course, if you want to—”

Hero didn’t let Supervillain finish. They placed their palm down flat on the table and used it to springboard over, twisting their body so their boot connected with Grieves’ chest.

Grieves’ eyes flashed, and Hero heard Teleport and Medic move beside them but Hero was faster. They reached up and latched their hands around Grieves’ throat, feeling the ice flood their system at locking Grieves’ power down.

Hero slammed Grieves back against the wall with their momentum and twisted, bringing Grieves down to the ground over Hero’s hip. They were on top of them in a second, hands never leaving their throat. Not even as they felt Supervillain grab them from behind.

“Hero?” Medic asked, voice cracking.

“Get out of here!” Hero screamed, voice shrill. “Go! I can’t hold him forever! Teleport go!”

“No, we—” Hero heard a pop a second later and they felt tears prickle the back of their eyes for the second time that day. Hero didn’t let go of Grieves, not until Supervillain forcibly ripped Hero off them and threw Hero into the opposite wall. Hero fell to the ground with a stunned oomph, winded.

Hero didn’t even get a chance to catch their breath before Grieves’ power was on them. It felt like Hero’s brain was set on fire and they screamed, hands reaching up and grabbing their head trying to calm it, cool it, but even their palms were too hot and Hero couldn’t breathe.

Hero didn’t know how long it lasted, but when the fire ebbed from their mind Hero was on their side, gasping, curled into a little ball, a mixture of tears, snot and spit pooling on the ground in front of them. Hero shuddered, nausea climbing up their throat.

“—not yet! Grieves listen to me—”

“I want to flay them alive, Supervillain! At least give me that! Let me warp their mind until they can’t speak anymore!”

“Grieves! Grieves, hey! Listen to me—”

The words were like gunshots through Hero’s head, deafening them and leaving them stupid. Hero coughed out some kind of fluid from their lungs, trying to push themselves up to all fours.

“The only way you will get any kind of revenge is if we stick to the plan, do you understand?”

“Your new unleashed pet is altering the plan! Are you letting your emotions get the better of you?”

Hero didn’t really process the conversation but they felt the tense silence that followed Grieves’ words.

Hero finally got vertical pressing their head against the wall, their stomach turning over itself. They squeezed their eyes shut to try and not hurl in front of the Villains. Supervillain whispered something in Grieves’ ear. Hero groaned, and tried — and failed — to push themselves to their feet. Whatever Grieves did in Hero’s brain made their body feel sluggish and heavy.

Supervillain was in front of Hero then, clicking his fingers in front of Hero’s face. Hero opened their eyes, frowning at the noise. A hand was on Hero’s cheek, thumb under their eye and pulling down. Hero reached up and grabbed Supervillain’s wrist weakly.

“You still with us, Hero?”

“Get’way fro’me.”

“Yep,” said Supervillain with a smile. “You’re there.”

Supervillain let go of Hero, then reached down to grab Hero’s wrist. The familiar sound of power dampeners opening threw Hero on full alert, but the cool cuff closed around their wrist before they could stop Supervillain.

“No,” Hero ground out, but Supervillain didn’t listen. He pulled Hero forward, hooking his arm around their back and pushed them down to lay on their stomach while he fastened the cuffs behind their back. Hero tried to fight him, but he was too strong and Hero was too— Grieved to do anything. Instead they rested their forehead against the cool floor, sighing. That was the only respite Supervillain allowed them before pulling them back up and letting them go once Hero’s back was against the wall again, glaring at him.

“If you had been civil, Hero, I wouldn’t have to do this.”

“Civil!” Hero laughed, voice hollow and dry. “Tell that to your best pal over there who made my friends into his personal little zombies!”

“You are an insolent child,” Grieves said, his voice full of disgust. “If it wasn’t for Supervillain I’d have you choke on your own tongue.”

Hero’s eyes levelled with Grieves’s, a smug lopsided smirk slipping onto their face. “Don’t you have heroes to hunt down and catch?”

Grieves’s nostrils flared. For a few tense moments that seemed to stretch into minutes they just glared at each other while Supervillain got to his feet. He walked over to Grieves and whispered something in his ear that made a dangerous glint dance across Grieves’s eyes.

Grieves walked towards Hero with a swagger that would have been ridiculous had it not instilled Hero’s fight or flight response. All they managed to do before Grieves got close was press their feet to the ground, going to push themselves up again.

They didn’t get the chance.

Grieves grabbed Hero’s hair and yanked their head up, Hero gritting their teeth in response trying to not give him the satisfaction of a scream. Then a knee crunched into Hero’s nose and they cried out, their eyes watering instantly. They didn’t even blink the fresh set of tears from their eyes when Grieves’s knee came up again. Hero’s breath got caught in their throat as the stench of iron drowned out their senses and they felt blood gushing down their nose, over their lips and onto their shirt.

“That’s for messing with me, Hero,” said Grieves, his voice alight with a righteous glee. Grieves brought his knee back and slammed it down onto Hero’s sternum this time. Hero gasped, their body curling around Grieves’ leg as breath was stolen from their lungs— blood splattering across Grieves’s trousers. “And that’s just for fun.”

Grieves left Hero gasping and turned to face Supervillain before nodding at him. “Tell Villain to find me when the time comes, Supervillain.”

“I will, Grieves.”

Then Grieves was gone. Supervillain closed the door after and turned to look down at Hero. Hero spat blood onto the floor glaring up at Supervillain. He just sighed, running a hand down his face.

“You don’t understand what you’re fighting against Hero,” Supervillain said softly. “I know this may seem drastic, but I am trying to end the fighting. I am trying to stop this cycle of violence between Heroes and Villains. What do those words even mean? Who decides who’s a good guy and who’s a bad guy? There is no order in this world.”

“And you’re going to bring order to it, are you?”

Supervillain’s cool eyes cut into Hero. “I’m trying,” he said coldly. Then he shrugged off Hero’s glare and continued: “and I’m succeeding. Now we just need to wait for Superhero to make his last stand, and that is where you come in.”

Hero blinked, fighting the urge to widen their eyes at Supervillain’s revelation. Hero leaned forward, lips curled back into a snarl.

“They’ll see through this,” Hero told Supervillain, their voice betraying the desperation for them to be right. “I’m obvious bait.”

“If you’re gonna catch a big fish,” Supervillain said with a confident smirk, tilting his head at Hero. “Don’t worry though, we’ll make sure to make a big fuss about you so Superhero comes running to the rescue.”

Hero tried not to flinch backwards, but they still pressed their back into the wall when Supervillain crouched down in front of them, capturing Hero’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“We’ll make a big song and dance about it if it makes you feel better, absolves some of your guilt for being bait— ah, ah, ah,” Supervillain’s grip tightened as Hero tried to turn their head away, keeping Hero facing Supervillain, looking into his icy eyes. His voice softened as he continued. “It’s your biggest flaw, you heroes. Always trying to save something, someone.”

Dread pooled thick and heavy in Hero’s chest, compressing their ribs as if they were caught in a vice, as Supervillain smiled at Hero. “Your fatal flaw… and I’ll use it to eradicate you all.”

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call: @micechomper @aarika-merrill @silentpotat0 @dutifullykrispyland

[aceofwhump]

Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King

[pigeonwhumps]

Battle

Taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Angstpril: alt prompt 1: troubled mind

Inspired by these two prompts by @hurtmyfavsthanks and an anon ask she received. I saw the more recent one and just wrote this straight up within a couple of hours, unable to resist it.

1k

CWs: living weapon, outcast whumpee, magical whumpee, low self-esteem, betrayal kinda, mentions of battle and casualties, mentioned past discrimination

Whumpee doesn't remember much of the battle.

It went by in a haze. They remember red, people falling, screams, unsure which side they were on. They remember the glee, the euphoria, of using their magic. The high of it all.

Now they're starting to come down from that high, and they can see the fear in people's eyes. The injuries, the casualties. Vaguely, they wonder who caused them. Was it them again?

Hands cup their face, gentle, calloused. The only ones that will ever touch them anymore.

Caretaker's.

"Hey. Look at me, now. Not the camp. Me." Whumpee looks up hesitantly, into their loving, warm eyes. One day they'll change. One day... one day they'll harden. Fear, hatred. From all the people they've hurt, on all sides. One day it'll be too much. They're afraid of the day they'll see that, of what will happen then.

But it hasn't happened yet.

Caretaker wipes their cheek softly. "It's okay. Come on, rest. Lay your head down. You're done for today. Close your eyes and rest."

Whumpee crawls into Caretaker's lap. They vaguely register being carried, head being lifted until it meets Caretaker's neck. Whumpee nuzzles into it.

"Shh. You did so well. You're doing so well, Whumpee. I'm proud of you."

Whumpee doesn't want to be. They want to grow flowers. But this is what their magic likes, this is what their king likes, this is what makes Caretaker say those words of praise in just that voice, so they can't stop.

(They ignore the small voice in their head that says that they have no idea what Caretaker's reaction to flowers would be. This is exhilarating, even if they feel an ever-growing bubble of shame at the endless, ruthless violence.)

Caretaker runs a hand through their hair, combing out the knots from the day's work, using a little water to clean the worst of the blood. Whumpee has been through this so many times that they know what to expect without even a glance. He won't hurt them with those eyes. They know his expression, his feelings, and they curl their arms and legs closer around him.

He's so warm.

"S'okay buddy. I'm here."

"Hmm."

Whumpee closes their eyes. It's so... so... they don't think they can sleep yet but they find themself drifting on the exhaustion the magical high always brings.

_

The next morning is... the next morning. As it always is with a new squad, it is very different to the first one.

And as it always is, Whumpee feels a sharp stab of hurt.

The soldiers know who they are, what they are. Have done since the very beginning .They've worked with Whumpee on the preparations, the journey here, for weeks. They know them. Sat around the campfire, shared meals, joked and talked and laughed. They'd been wished good luck yesterday morning, hair ruffled, smiles and reassurances in abundance. Soldier had even fixed their horse's saddle after the straps started to break. Now...

Now, they won't come within arms length of them. Soldier ladles out breakfast to the rest, leaving an empty bowl several feet from Whumpee, not looking them in the eye as he leaves them to fetch their own. He flinches along with several others as they approach the campfire, more whose hands jerk towards their swords. As if they're going to attack. As if they're so out of control that they'd attack their own side on purpose.

They reluctantly let go of Caretaker's hand so he can fetch their breakfast and the healing potion alone. At least he looks them in the eye. At least he sits with them, and talks, and touches them. Helps convince them to take the potion, even though it's bitter and rancid and no-one will improve it for the likes of them, and they won't need it once the adrenaline and euphoria of tomorrow's battle kicks in.

The kindness is only for now. It will change, sooner or later.

Nobody helps the pair of them take down their tent, or pack their saddlebags, and the Sergeant looks about to stop Whumpee from replacing the emergency set of daggers they carry in their boots at all times. A gift from Caretaker.

It's like they have the plague. Or the Devil's Touch, as their old villagers used to say.

They're pretty much alone in the clearing now, the rest of the squad staying as far away as they can without letting Whumpee out of their sight. Just in case they explode or something.

Without a word, Whumpee settles down on the ground beside the smoldering fire, Caretaker sitting on the log behind them. It's a sharply cold morning, dew dampening their breeches, but their leather armour keeps them surprisingly warm.

Caretaker braids their hair quickly and simply, just enough to keep it out of their face. Battlefields aren't the place for complicated hairstyles. Which is a shame, because Caretaker takes pride in that skill, and Whumpee delights in being allowed to display the results.

Whumpee dries their face with the cloth Caretaker hands them wordlessly. They need to get it together. It's not like it's the end of the world or anything. They try to summon the ease by which they sometimes prepare, the eagerness instead of dread that comes with a lot of battles.

It doesn't come. Today is a day for dread, then, and there's nothing they can do about it but pray for a miracle. And a break in the hatred and fear, the violence with which everyone rejects them.

They can't help thinking, though, that the amount of damage they've done, it's no wonder people want them locked away. They are a weapon, after all.

Yes. Definitely one of the bad days.

Caretaker's their handler. They try not to think about it but it's true. He's the only one who might see it, might offer them a brief reprieve. So they summon up all their courage.

"Please..."

Caretaker finishes the braid and kisses their temple. "I'm so sorry, Whumpee. I really am. But you need to do this. We need to do this. The kingdom needs you."

Whumpee nods. They don't blame Caretaker, not really. They need to win this war. And Whumpee needs to use their magic.

But gods do they wish they could stop.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

(remaining panels under the cut for gore)

Test Track AU (T$$ AU Masterlist)

previous /// next (cw: gore)

as suggested by anon!

@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden , @snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @kixngiggles , @echo-goes-aaa , @whumpcateyes , @suspicious-whumping-egg , @cryptidwritings , @painsandconfusion , @grizzlie70 , @bloodsweatandpotato , @ladyblogofficialreporter @whumper-soot , @poeticagony

[loonybun]

since i just answered an ask abt cannibalism on one of my oc blogs, i bring to you one of my favorite underused and yet so so so fucked up tropes: forced cannibalism. specifically used on a whumpee who’s been starved for days. you see the vision right

[astradella]

Fic readers are def familiar with the “what if Ballister and Nimona were a few minutes late to confront the director” trope…

[whiteboywhump]

the way he falls limp in her arms!

movie - alita: battle angel

[womenwhump]

Fullmetal Alchemist