#but Nemesis' thing is whips soo

[m4gp13]

the other day we were discussing on the server about demigods using more magic transforming weapons like riptide and demigods using weapons associated with their parents and I would like to submit for the class Ethan using a whip that's disguised as one of those rulers that can fold in half, because Nemesis is associated with whips and measuring rods

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Fire

Thorns & Jasmine

In which the reason for Firethorn’s other half of the name becomes rather clear and things take a turn for the worse.

Warnings: Captivity, manhandling, burns + eye whump (more angst than gore), broken bones, dehydration, noncon touching (non-sexual), female whumper, multiple whumpers, wishing for death

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Soo, uh, this is skipping a couple of days. @brutal-nemesis​​ prompt for January was just too tempting, because that scene was right here on my todo list. Like on the top of my list. (งツ)ว

There’s nothing essential in between, just, you know, some more suffering salad. One or two of these days will be posted in the next weeks.

When the morning came, Caldyn didn’t feel like he was dying anymore. He wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

The bit of water hadn’t been enough to truly save him, to allow him to heal. It had just been enough to keep him alive a bit longer, and that probably wasn’t a good thing, either. He raised his right hand, flexing his fingers, noticing that he could feel them again. He could also feel the broken fingers of his left hand again, so he tried not to move them, because that, too, wasn’t a good thing.

Thinking about it, there really weren’t many good things left.

He licked his lips, and they were still as dry and brittle as before, the spot where Craig’s whip had split them painfully hardened. At least his eyes weren’t as dry anymore, didn’t burn as he stared up to the cage, to the red leaves that had become his whole world. The rain had stopped. Caldyn tried to imagine the sun, somewhere above the thicket, warm and bright and comforting. Oh how he wished to see it again, to feel it again, to escape this horrible twilight for just one moment.

But there was no escape, and deep inside he already knew he would die here.

The whisper was still in his mind, like a voice too quiet to be understood. Meaning, faint and raw, temptation and salvation. It was barely audible when he kept himself awake, tracing the branches of his cage with his eyes, to the left, to the right, crisscrossing and circling. It grew louder when his lids became too heavy to keep them open anymore, when his consciousness drifted away, promising him things in the short moment before his mind slipped away. When he awoke, the memory still lingered, making him tremble in helpless fear. Was this the Scourge? Trying to lure him, not with the threat of more pain, but with the promise of healing? It wouldn’t work. Caldyn forced his eyes open, to look for anything to hold on to, to drown out the whisper in his mind. He wouldn’t become one of them.

But it hurt so much, and he didn’t want to die here, alone and in pain, but he would. And he shouldn’t cry, to not waste any more water, but he wanted to. Or perhaps he should, because there was no way to get out of this, and every day he held on just meant one more day to suffer, one more chance for the Scourge to take him. But he was too exhausted to cry, too exhausted to think, focusing his every thought on blocking out the Scourge, until his consciousness left him the next time.

When Caldyn awoke again, it was to the sound of steps, to the rustle as the branches of his cage moved. He didn’t have the strength left to lift his head, to find out who was coming for him; Gawyn or Craig or someone else, it didn’t matter, all they ever brought was more pain.

A shadow fell over him, a figure brown and purple and red, and suddenly, it mattered after all. Because as much as he feared every one of the Ceodh, it was Firethorn he feared most. Her aura that seemed to tear his soul apart when she spoke, her calculating cruelty, trying to find something in him, to draw something out of him with everything she did to him.

Caldyn resisted the urge to crawl away from her, knowing that there was no escape, that he would only hurt himself in an attempt to move. The dim light left Firethorn’s face in the shadows, but what he could see of it seemed furious, and she looked at him as if he was an insect she intended to squish.

“You just won’t give up, will you? Do you really believe there is a way out of this for you?”

A small gesture of her hand made two of the Ceodh step forward, grab Caldyn by his arms and pull him up. His broken legs dangled uselessly on the floor, his chest heaving in short, hacked breaths as he fought not to move, not to try and stand up and keep his balance, not to pass out from the pain. His knees were just above the ground, and as they dipped down for a second, putting a part of his weight on his broken knee, the agony it caused made his vision fade and him choke on a scream.

“This was fun for a while, but I’m growing tired of this.” The coldness behind Firethorn’s words made Caldyn blink, desperately trying to see her, to see what she would be doing, black spots still dancing in front of his eyes. “I would have liked to have you whole. Your skills would have been such a gain for the Scourge, but at this point, I’ll take what I can get.”

She had never touched him before, and as she now rested her hand on his cheek, terror filled him to the core. She was wearing no gloves, nothing to protect her from his magic, but he was unable to even try and take advantage of it. There was no concentration left in his mind, no clear thought, only terror and disgust. Her hand smelled of lilac, heavy and sweet. It mixed with the scent of decay that surrounded him, made him feel sick.

“And I will get you. You think you’re so strong. Let’s see how long you can resist the Scourge when its whispers are all that’s left for you.”

She withdrew her hand to beckon another Ceodh closer. Caldyn couldn’t see them, stepping behind him, grabbing the withered, broken branches on his head with gloved hands. They bent his head back, exposing his neck, forcing him to look up at Firethorn.

Was that it? Would she kill him now? It almost surprised him how much this thought still terrified him. He tried to free himself, but it was hopeless. Hanging between the two Ceodh, he didn’t have the strength to try and escape their grip, to free his arms. He couldn’t even move his head, couldn’t look away, and didn’t dare to close his eyes.

Then light flickered as another lost one approached Firethorn, handing her a torch. It illuminated her, drawing dancing shadows onto her features, giving her eyes an eerie orange glow. She took it, weighing it thoughtfully and way, way too close to Caldyn’s face.

Whatever Craig and the others had done to him, Caldyn had never lost his pride. But when he felt the fire so close to him that the few remaining, lifeless blossoms in his hair shriveled and the smell of burnt leaves mingled with the ever-present rot, something inside him broke.

“Please... no, please... please don’t. Don’t do that.”

He hadn’t meant to beg, but the words left his mouth without him being able to stop them. Tears were welling up in his eyes as he tried to recoil from the flames. Fire. He hated fire. He couldn’t heal what had been burned by it, it was the one thing he was truly powerless against.

The Ceodh tightened their grip in his hair, straining his neck as they pulled his head further back. Caldyn could only stare into the flames, shaking uncontrollably.

“Please, I’d do —”

He wanted to say he’d do anything, but it wasn’t true. Even now, half mad with terror, he couldn’t become one of them. He couldn’t give his body and soul to the cruel Scourge, only to inflict the very same pain on others. To allow the Ceodh to use his magic to hurt, to kill, when he had only ever wanted to use it to heal. As much as seeing Gawyn had hurt, it had also strengthened his resolve. If he gave in, there would be nothing left of him.

Caldyn clenched his teeth, trying to keep it together, but unable to stop the terrified sobs from escaping his lips. He didn’t care about the tears running down his cheeks, about the water they wasted. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. They could take everything from him, his hope and his sight and even his life, but the one thing they wanted, they wouldn’t get.

Firethorn had hesitated, perhaps giving him this one last chance to change his mind. When he didn’t, she lowered the torch towards him.

“No, please! No, no, no...” His pleas turned into sobs as he closed his eyes against the incoming heat. “Please don’t. Take it away, please, take—”

The torch hadn’t yet touched his face when the heat ignited Caldyn’s tears. He screamed as the flames licked up his face, searing his bark, charring his lid, squeezed shut in horror. Firethorn paused with a dark chuckle, holding the torch steady, not pulling it back, not lowering it.

The flames didn’t last long, but there was no reprieve. Before they had fully died down, she moved the torch closer, and Caldyn felt the heat increase. He wanted to beg, to scream, but there was no air, and he couldn’t breathe. There was only heat, filling his lungs, searing his skin.

Then his whole world exploded into agony. His body convulsed, trying to break free, but he was trapped, his legs twisting uselessly under him. There was a snap in his broken knee, but he didn’t feel any pain, he couldn’t feel anything but the fire, melting his bark, burning through his lid, destroying his left eye.

He heard a scream, and then he realized it was him screaming. There was nothing else he could do. All he could do was scream, scream and burn, and it didn’t stop, even as the torch was taken away again. There was no past anymore and no future, just each endless moment, filled with agony and dreadful nothingness where light should be.

After a while, Caldyn managed to hold on to some breaths long enough for him to speak, the same word, over and over and over, the meaning behind each one mirroring the despair that was tearing him apart.

“Please.” Help me. “Please.” Take it away. “Please.” It hurts, it hurts, it hurts so much. “Please.” Just let me go. “Please.” Don’t hurt me anymore. “Please.” Make it stop. “Please.” Let me die.

Caldyn’s voice became quieter with each word, barely audible as his last plea ended in a sob, just to be ignored like all the ones before. His lips still moved, but there was no strength left in him to speak, to beg for mercy she wouldn’t show him.

“It seems I finally found a way to break you.”

The smell of lilac and burnt wood made Caldyn heave as Firethorn laid her hand on his cheek again. She caressed the burnt bark around his ruined eye, then the other side, still unharmed. Involuntarily he opened his right eye. Already half blind from the heat and smoldering sap, Firethorn’s face was nothing more than a blur. New tears spilled as the desperate thought broke through the pain that this, this horrible thicket, her cruel face, would be the last thing he’d ever see.

She didn’t ask him again, and perhaps that was his luck, because this way, he had no time to give in. To give them what they wanted, to spare him the pain he knew would come as she pulled her hand back and moved the torch towards him.

This time, she held it lower, purposefully setting his tears on fire. Caldyn screamed again as the flames burned his face, licking up to his brow, trying to crawl under his right lid. He screamed louder as the flames died down, because he knew she’d lower the torch now, and she did. It burned through his scorched lid, searing his eye, replacing flashes of light with horrible darkness that seemed to suffocate him, wrapping around his chest. There was no air, only heat and smoke and ash, and he couldn’t breathe, but he had to, because he had to scream, or the pain would tear him apart.

When he finally managed to, there wasn’t much of his voice left. His screams were hoarse, his throat already raw, but he couldn’t stop, even as she moved the torch away. The fire stayed, it was still burning him, searing into his head. There was only fire and pain; fire and pain and the smell of burnt bark; fire and pain and the taste of ash and molten sap. And there was Firethorn’s voice, but he couldn’t understand what she said, and it didn’t matter.

Held by the iron grip of the lost ones, Caldyn screamed until he inhaled ash, choking him and turning his screams into choppy sobs. He forgot how to breathe, how to think, how to exist, trapped in unbearable pain that he had no choice but to bear somehow.

He didn’t notice when the lost ones let go of him, letting him drop onto the ground. He didn’t notice when they left. At some point, it could have been hours later or mere minutes, he realized he was alone again, lying on the floor, shaking and crying, his limbs in a twisted pile.

For the briefest moment he tried to concentrate, but he couldn’t. There was no energy left, and no room for any conscious thoughts. Unspoken pleas rang in his mind, begging the pain to stop, to stop, to stop, but it didn’t, it just didn’t. He would have given anything to make it stop, but even the Scourge’s whispers were quiet now; or he just couldn’t hear them anymore over his own screams, still echoing in his mind.

He tried to find something to hold on to, to stop his world from falling apart. His left hand was buried under his weight, but his right hand found a branch of his cage. He grabbed it, squeezed it, welcoming the thorns digging into his palm, tearing it open as he started to shake again. He was desperate to feel anything else, but it didn’t work. The pain didn’t even register in his mind, drowned out by the agony in his eyes. Or what was left of them. There was no breath for the hysterical laugh, dying on his lips, as he wondered if they’d just be gone.

He wanted to reach for them, and he didn’t want to reach for them, and he had to know, and he couldn’t bear to know, and in the end, it didn’t matter anyway, because there was nothing he could do. There was nothing left. No energy. No concentration. No light. No hope.

He couldn’t escape, he couldn’t heal himself, he couldn’t even kill himself. All he could do was wait for his body to give up, to finally wither and fall apart.

Tagging: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @dont-touch-my-soup @frenchfries893 @whump-cravings @siren-of-agony

[velvetchen]

Dynamic | pt. i

[ back to masterlist ]

Scenario: Superhero AU Pairing: Chen/Reader Word Count: 1830 Rating: T (warning for language)

Summary: You’re the leading superhero of the city, and you’ve fought Dynamo for years. It’s the way it should be - good vs. evil, hero vs. villain. But what happens when a bigger evil threatens everything?

next part >>

The warehouse is dark. Really dark.

Your steps echo on the damp concrete ground, your bright fuschia suit dull and grey in the small light that streams through the holes in the roofing. You would use your powers to move around, maybe find a good hiding spot – but damn, it was getting even darker. You can barely see a thing. From memory you know there should be a mezzanine lining the back wall and a couple of storage units right about –

“Fuck!” you hiss as you crash into something heavy and metal. There was the storage unit, so the mezzanine stairs should be to your left. Maybe you can hide up there to get a good look at the playing field. If only it weren’t so goddamned dark. Your arch nemesis really had great taste.

A buzzing crack lights the air behind you in bright fluorescence. Too late. You whirl around on your heel, raising your Protogun. As if it would help – all the sonic pulses would dissipate too quickly at this range.

A figure floats right above the giant doorway you’d entered through, illuminated eerily by the lightning crackling over his hands and over his arms. He wears a matte black helmet that lets you see none of his face. You know who it is, though.

“Have you been there the whole time, Dynamo?” you growl, your voice echoing back at you. You don’t lower your gun. Your posture stiffens, muscles tensing, ready to move. In the light coming off him you scout out a few landings you could spring to if you needed, and a large hulking object that looked sturdy enough to guard from any fire.

He doesn’t say anything, just chuckles, and suddenly he’s whizzing towards you, still floating. Damn those Hoverboots. You’ve been wanting those for ages, but they’re just too expensive. Besides, you’re hard enough to catch on your own.

Dynamo stops about twenty feet away, the electricity still rippling over his body. “I could have struck you anytime, and you never would have seen it coming.” He throws his head back and laughs again.

This irks you more than you want to admit. “Well, why didn’t you!”

“You did invite me to a fair duel. As far as I know, striking you unawares is cheating.”

You scowl.

“See? I’m not so evil, after all.” You know behind that mask he’s grinning, even though you’ve never seen his face.

You shift your weight from foot to foot, feeling foolish. “Let’s just start.”

“Yes, m’lady.” And then, in a flash, his lightning bolts are shooting out towards you in a wide arc. Your eyes go wide and you move just as quickly, blinking out of view and reappearing fifteen feet in the air, just above the attack. You know if you teleport closer it’ll just be easier for him to strike. You need to play smarter.

Thing is, he usually outwits you.

As you fall back to the ground, you fire a pulse from your gun. It’s a lucky shot. Hit him in the leg. Even at this distance, the pulses are still too weak to do any real damage. You’d increase the power setting, but this is a duel, not an actual battle. Anything lethal is forbidden - and that includes your primary weapon, the Blade. 

Dynamo barely flinches at the shot. He responds with two bolts of lightning instead, crackling along the ground like whips, moving along the damp floor right toward you. You blink out and reappear right behind him, pushing the gun straight into the small of his back. Before you can pull the trigger, you feel the electricity moving through the gun and into your hand. The muscle spasms and you’re forced to let go. You blink, moving in the air and vaulting up onto the mezzanine.

There’s your gun, though. On the ground. Right next to him. You spit out a few choice words.

His laugh carries up to you. “Dynamo, one. Rush, zero. Try again?” He tosses your gun up into the air and you catch it. It’s powered off, probably fried by his lightning. You swear again and smack it with your palm, hard. Nothing.

“I’m going to get you-”

“Not if I get you first!” He’s laughing. This is fun for him – he isn’t taking it seriously. He isn’t taking you seriously. You grit your teeth. You won’t let him win again.

He gathers his lightning up in his hands again, a dense ball of crackling electricity that you recognize as one of his “signature moves.”

You smile. Maybe it’s time to try out a signature move of your own.

Just as the lightning leaves his hand, you drop into a crouch. Then you blink. You’re at his feet. He sees you, but it’s too late. You sweep your leg out in a wide circle, knocking him onto his back. His helmet hits the ground with a thunk. Then you’re on top of him, ignoring the little shocks of electricity where the fabric of your suit touches his. He can kill you anytime. Pump a lethal amount of electricity into your body and stop your heart.

But this is a duel. You smile, your hands around his throat tightening and your knees on either side, pinning him down. “If I had my Blade, you would be dead.”

“If you had your Blade, this wouldn’t be a fair duel.” He sounds annoyed, like he can’t believe you actually cornered him. The score is evened.

Your smile grows sickly sweet. “Exactly.” You climb off him and extend your hand to help him up. “I hope you pay me back for the Protogun you ruined. Those are expensive.”

Dynamo takes your hand. A strong shock runs through it, more powerful than the last one. “Fucking ow! You asshole!” You drop his hand and clutch yours. He laughs hard, slapping the ground.

“There,” he breathes in between bursts of laughter. “Payment.”

“Screw you, Dynamo, what the hell?” The shock’s gone now, but your hand still throbs.

He gets to his feet and hovers so that you have to crane your neck back almost painfully. “That’s what you get for knocking me on my back with no warning.”

“It was a fight! What did you expect me to do, hug you?”

“I wouldn’t complain if you did.” You could imagine that devilish grin again.

“I know you can’t see behind my mask, but I hope you know I’m rolling my eyes really hard right now.”

“Thanks for telling me.” He starts to move backwards. You can still hear the smile in his voice.

“Thanks for letting me know I entertain you so much!”

“Thanks for almost shooting me point-blank!”

“Again, it was a fucking fight!” You have to yell to reach him at the far end of the warehouse. “Fuck off, Dynamo!”

You hear him laugh as he flies up and out of an open window. So that’s how he got in. Sighing, you just walk over to your dead Protogun and pick it back up. Hopefully your nerdy roommates will know how to rewire it.  

You close your eyes and think of the little abandoned shed not too far from here, where you stashed your clothes and other weapons. Teleporting long distances usually takes a lot of energy, so you try not to jump into places with a lot of people. Like your house, for example. Neither of your roommates actually know you're, well, a superhero. They just think you're unusually obsessed with cosplaying Rush, which isn’t out of the ordinary. Rush is pretty popular, if you say so yourself.

You open your eyes, and you're in the shed. Your pink backpack is right where you left it, covered by an old cardboard box. You pull it out and rummage for your clothes, quickly stripping out of your supersuit and pulling on the old jeans and t-shirt. Then, your glasses. You pull your hair out of its high ponytail and let it hang down around your face. Like this - quiet, mousy Y/N - nobody could ever confuse you for Rush, the badass, foulmouthed superhero that’s been saving the city for years.

Saving it from none other than Dynamo, of course.

There are a couple of other villains here and there, but Dynamo is a supervillain. He usually pulls off the big stuff, like bank heists and plane hijackings and whatnot. But you've been fighting each other for so long that you felt almost like...friends.

Friends that tried to kill each other, anyway.

You pack everything up and sling the backpack on your back. Then you step out of the shed and onto a quiet street in the suburbs.

You know this area well enough, you guess. You’re a volunteer teacher at the district elementary school, and quite a few of your students live in this neighborhood. That's how you found this shed, tucked away near a patch of forest, and set up base.

Hiking your pack higher on your shoulders, you start down the pavement, pulling your phone out of your pocket as you walk.

3 new messages.

One was a marketing message. You deleted it. The other two were from your roommate, Kyungsoo.

Soo: Hey Y/N Soo: I'll be out this weekend, I'm visiting some friends. Just letting you know

You quickly tap out a reply.

Y/N: No problem Soo, thanks for the heads-up!

The phone drops from your hands as you collide with something solid for the second time today. You watch in horror as a crack slashes across the screen.

 "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, are you all right?"

You look up into the eyes of a guy, maybe a few years older than you. He’s flushed and slightly sweaty, like he's been running.

"No, no, it's my fault, I should know better than to text while walking-" You laugh nervously as he bends over to pick up the phone for you. When he notices the crack he frowns, almost pouting. “I’m sorry, I can get that fixed for you.”

“It’s totally okay,” you say, smiling again. “No worries at all. Sorry for crashing into you?”

He grins, the corners of his mouth turning up and his eyes crinkling into half-moons. “It’s good. I wasn’t looking where I was going either.” His smile turns sheepish. “Hey, do you live around here? I don’t recognize you.”

“No, um, I’m just passing through,” you say, laughing nervously again.

“Oh. Nice meeting you. I’m Jongdae,” he says, holding his hand out. You grasp it uncertainly and shake, once, your skin tingling oddly where it touches his. Damn nerves. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you too.”

“See you around, Y/N,” he says, then shoves his hands in his pockets and starts off, whistling a light tune.

You look at your hand. It’s still tingling. Then you look back at him as he walks away. He was handsome, sure, but handsome enough to give you butterflies all over? You shake your head and head off, too.