#does this count as whump

[queenstarscream]

Fucked up idea. For like a human AU.

Orion putting the Megatronus sticker or Pin instead of a decal on D-16's jacket/shirt

Sentinal literally carving it into D's skin later on

Megatron giving himself a Tattoo of it at the end ( vs all the others getting it done somewhat pain free ).

I am not okay, no.

[riseandfallofsecunit]

As chunks of stone hit the floor, Three leapt back to me and grabbed me around the waist.

It said, “Please hold on. I will—”

“I know!” I yelled and grabbed it around the shoulders. “Just go!”

It bounced up the stairs, two levels, three levels. (Being carried like this was really uncomfortable, I can see why the humans don’t like it.)

[whumble-beeee]

Crack Prompt: Welcome to the Whumpee Store!

(aka totally not bbu what do you MEAN)

Whumpees stacked on shelves grocery store-style

Different aisles for different types of whumpee ("No ma'am, this is actually the conditioned aisle, the defiant aisle is on the other side of the store, aisle 9.")

Workers that are TOTALLY not whumpees themselves probably

Or maybe that teenager helping you really is just your average dead-eyed retail worker. Basically the same thing at this point anyway.

"Sir, that's the price for a fresh unaltered whumpee. You can mold them however you want."

"You want me to do YOUR JOB for you?! What kind of establishment is this?!"

On that note, whumpees made to order

You want a medium-sized defiant whumpee that'll start crying and freeze up the second you turn the lights off? Say less.

Tags on the more dainty and dewey-eyed whumpees that say "Torture with Care"

"Mx., you broke the warranty when you threw your whumpee down the stairs. The instructions clearly state they're meant for household chores only, you'll have to pay full price for a new one."

Whumpees in those sealed plastic action figure boxes, forced into a single pose for. however long it takes you to buy them please buy them they're begging you please PLEASE PLEASE THEY CAN'T TAKE--

Whumpees staring hopefully (or fearfully) at every potential customer that walks by.

BARTERING. RIGHT. IN. FRONT. OF. WHUMPEE.

Customers trying to get the conditioned whumpees to crack so they don't have to pay as much for them.

"I'm not sure this whumpee is trained as well as you say, I'm gonna need a demonstration"

Living weapon whumpees locked behind those stupid glass cabinets that you have to get a store attendant to unlock for you if you want to get at one

^Exotic/rare/expensive ones too

Thank you to all my friends on the Whump World server for all your suggestions and enabling me :) I probably have more too, but this was getting long lmao

@whumperofworlds | @randowhump | @kira-the-whump-enthusiast | @whumpninja

[mackerel08]

can you draw dirk strider eating a ice cream sandwich?! :O3

do not eat shitty sbahj ice cream sandwiches

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 34

Jaskier is a succubus/incubus (Cause some sources say it's based on the entity's gender, and some say the name is based on the gender of the people they have sex with, so if he's a succubus or if he's an incubus is up to you, darling <3) Jaskier hasn't told Geralt of this, of course. He'd rather not add another thing to Geralt's seemingly endless list of things he hates about Jaskier. Jaskier jumps from bed to bed in towns, because he physically feeds on the passion of his little midnight trysts he has with lonely unsatisfied women in town. He'd go for men too, but doesn't need more mobs chasing him out of town and annoying Geralt. Geralt finally snaps at him one night, fed up with getting chased out of three fucking towns in a row. And the worst part isn't even the fact they keep getting thrown out. It's when Jaskier comes to him, ruffled, kiss-bruised, and reeking of sex he had with someone else. Jaskier, scared of Geralt leaving him behind, promises that he'll volunteer to have a dry-spell. No more cuckolding husbands for Jaskier, no sirree! However, being a succubus/incubus means that the longer he goes without some passion, the more weak he gets, and he starts to fall ill. Geralt grows increasingly worried. One night at camp, Geralt kisses Jaskier's forehead when Jaskier is asleep and he watches as color visibly returns to Jaskier's face, and Geralt's medallion hums. Geralt is now suspicious Jaskier has been cursed. Jaskier returns to looking peaky by the next morning. That is, until Geralt drags him into a hug on a hunch, and sure enough, Jaskier looks better. The more romantic the gesture, the more it seems to help Jaskier. Jaskier finally confesses what he is, bawling and sure that Geralt will banish him at the least and kill him at the most. Geralt is horrified, and hugs his friend close, promising he'd never do either. (BECAUSE THE MOUNTAIN BREAKUP SHOULD'VE NEVER LEFT THE WRITING ROOM) Geralt offers to have sex, wanting Jaskier to be healthy again, but Jaskier doesn't want the only time he gets to sleep with the love of his life to be when Geralt doesn't even love him back. He says as such, and Geralt stumbles his way through confessing that Jaskier's feelings are requited, and Geralt loves him too.

[eric-the-bmo]

Is there anything cooler than a character going feral and turning against their teammates, thus resulting in those teammates having to forcefully restrain (and possibly fight) their companion, who's still trying to attack them in a blind frenzy?

[scrimblobimblowhump]

whumpee being wheeled into the hospital with that sweet sweet combo of oxygen mask + swaddled in blankets + strapped down to the gurney + all sleepy and delirious >>> 🥺🥺

[whitehairandblood]

CW: blade (just the one), threatening language, begging, hunter/hunted dynamic, animal attack, graphic description of mauling, blood

(Let me know if I missed anything)

"Please... you don't want to do this!"

The vampire's pleas fell on deaf ears as the hunter advanced on their fallen form. They had cornered the vampire in a vast, empty warehouse, away from prying eyes or ears which could hear the vampire's useless pleas for mercy.

The vampire crawled backwards, one hand pressed tightly to the burning wound in their side. A silver tipped arrow, lodged firmly between their ribs, made every breath more painful than the last.

The hunter dropped their crossbow to the floor, unsheathing a blade which glinted in the light of the full moon streaming in through the high windows. Silver. Plated, not cast, but capable of just as much damage. The vampire's eyes fell from the hunter's face, widening in recognition.

"W-wait, wait!" They begged, growing desperate. "You don't know what you're doing. You're going to regret this!"

The hunter scoffed. Vampires and their silver tongues.

"No, I don't think I will." They replied coolly, darkly, stepping closer. The vampire held up their other hand in a pathetic attempt at shielding their face, but the hunter easily bypassed it, grabbing them by the collar of their shirt to haul them up from the ground.

The vampire cried out in pain as the arrow in their side was jostled. Dark blood bubbled out between their fingers to stain their clothes even further. Their feet struggled to find purchase for only a moment, before the hunter's weight pressed them into the brick wall behind them.

Their breath stuttered at the feeling of the silver dagger grazing their throat. It left a line of burning agony as the hunter angled it carefully- sharp point hovering at their adam's apple, ready to pierce.

"I was expecting something more," the hunter mused, "from someone as notorious as you."

The vampire's panic filled eyes focused on the hunter's face. Their pupils had dilated to let in the low light, allowing them to take in every detail of the hunter's face in perfect detail. From the hunter's point of view, it made their eyes look dark and soulless- like a shark that smelled blood in the water.

"They tell horror stories about you, you know." The hunter continued, "Those other hunters. No one has ever come back from hunting you."

The vampire shuddered as the silver blade danced across their throat.

"Why is that?" The hunter asked idly, "What makes a sniweling, cowardly little thing like you so hard to kill? You ran the moment you saw me. You cornered yourself like a moron, and even now you refuse to fight back. Why is that, hm?"

The vampire's hands raised shakily, grasping at the hunter's sleeves. Silver burned into the skin of their throat, making their eyes well with tears and the acrid stench of burning flesh invade their nose.

"Please... you don't have to do this. You can still walk away."

The hunter laughed- laughed, like it was the funniest thing they'd heard, before twisting the fabric of the vampire's shirt and driving their fist further into the vampire's ribcage. The vampire groaned as the air was squeezed from their lungs.

The hunter's grip tightened on their blade, applying careful pressure until the vampire bled and groaned in pain.

"Asnwer the question."

The vampire's squeezed shut eyes cracked open again, focusing back on the hunter's face. They grit their teeth and snarled, refusing to give the hunter the satisfaction of the answer they were looking for. The hunter sneered right back, pressing on the vampire's sternum hard enough to make the edges of the vampire's vision go dark.

"Suit yourself." The hunter growled, dagger poised for the kill. "Any last words?"

Something in the vampire's expression shifted, so sudden and so unexpected that it took a moment for the hunter to process the change.

The fear had been replaced by a haunting, eerie calmness, the hint of a smile evident in the curling of the vampire's lips. They stared at the hunter with those dark, cold eyes, so devoid of any emotion that it was hard to believe there had ever been any present. Once again, the image of a shark leapt to the hunter's mind- one which had slowly begun to circle its prey.

The hunter's breath caught, their grip loosening.

The vampire's smile only widened, eyes flicking to the hunter's right for only a moment before returning to the hunter's own.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Their only true warning was the sound of shattering glass and a snarling, low growl, before they were bowled over by something solid slamming into them at full force.

The hunter collided shoulder first with the rough concrete, skidding several feet across the ground before coming to a stop. Dazed from the impact and entirely caught off guard, it took one moment too long for the hunter to gather themself and scramble to their feet.

They didn't even make it off the ground before claws dug into their shoulders, pinning them to the ground as whatever had attacked them perched its entire weight atop them. The hunter cried out, hands scrambling to grab onto their assailant's wrists. They were met with coarse, dense fur, the skin underneath burning hot to the touch.

The hunter's mind reeled as they forced themself to look up. The werewolf on top of them snarled, teeth glinting mere inches from the hunter's face. Its breath fanned across their face, hot and stifling, its growl reverberating inside the hunter's own ribcage with its intensity. A pair of glinting eyes stared them down, filled with frightening intelligence and unfathomable rage.

The hunter didn't get the chance to react as those teeth flashed before their eyes, burying themselves in the soft flesh between their neck and shoulder. The hunter wailed, red hot agony lancing across their entire body as the werewolf only tightened its grip and began to shake them around violently. Its claws had dislodged themselves from the hunter's body, allowing it to drag them bodily across the ground like they weighed nothing at all, smearing blood and saliva on the grey concrete.

The hunter screamed as the muscles in their shoulder tore apart and their shoulder dislocated, clawing at the werewolf's face in a desperate attempt to make it let go. The werewolf only dragged them under itself again, letting go for only a moment before biting down again, claws raking across the hunter's body.

The hunter's screams filled the empty warehouse until the echoes became indisinguishable from the sound itself.

And then, suddenly, it all stopped.

The werewolf finally let go just as the hunter though it might tear their arm off completely, its weight disappearing just as suddenly as it had pinned them.

The hunter lay there in agony, ragged sobs and shallow breaths making their head swim. There was a constant, high pitched ringing in their ears, evident in the sudden absence of the werewolf's snarling growls.

And then that ringing stopped as well, tapering off into a... a wolf whistle, coming from the direction of the vampire, right where the hunter had left them.

The hunter forced themself to turn their head, watching with terrified eyes as the vampire stood up from where they had been dropped. Once they were steady on their feet, they turned to look at the hunter's fallen form, expression filled with grim satisfaction.

Nothing remained of the scared, defenseless prey animal that had lured the hunter in so easily. It was like they were looking at a whole different person.

The werewolf hovered near them, eyes fixated on the hunter. Blood matted in the fur of its canine muzzle, and it held the hunter's gaze as it slowly and deliberately licked its lips clean.

The vampire took a moment to yank the arrow from between their ribs- and that was that. They massaged the spot as if it was nothing more than a pulled muscle, holding the arrow out casually for the werewolf to sniff. The werewolf did, pulling a face like it was disgusted.

Then it spoke.

"They thought they could bring you down with only one arrow?"

The vampire chuckled, running a hand along the top of the werewolf's head. "And a dagger. Let's be fair now."

The werewolf rolled its eyes, and it was all the hunter could do to not lose their mind then and there.

"Really, love," the vampire cooed, cradling the werewolf's enormous face in both hands, "you can stop with the theatrics now. My brave guard dog, coming to my rescue."

The werewolf's tongue darted out to lick at the vampire's nose, lips curling into a canine smile. "Did you see the look on their face? Oh, it was priceless." Then, after a moment of consideration, "I really like this one."

The vampire's fond expression turned sour and it was their turn to roll their eyes. "Oh, please. They're a dime a dozen. Except this one might be even more irritating than the rest."

The hunter flinched when the vampire's gaze settled on them, eyes raking over their mangled body without the barest hint of empathy. Like they were a bug, about to be squashed under the vampire's heel.

The werewolf followed their gaze, and the hunter could feel panic beginning to claw its way up their throat as their eyes were forced to meet. The burning agony of their torn arm and shoulder flared to life again, demanding their attention. They were losing blood, too much blood. They would not survive another attack.

But the werewolf didn't move to attack. Instead, its body began to shift and change.

Its previously quadruped stance turned into a bipedal one as it stood up on its hind legs, height rapidly diminishing until it stood tall about a foot above the vampire. Its fur seemed to recede into its body, canine features smoothing into something more human-like, claws and teeth and wagging tail disappearing in a matter of seconds.

It was nothing like what the hunter had been expecting. All those tales of painful, grueling transformations, of snapping bones and tearing muscles and agonized howls mistaken to be those of wolves' - had they all been lies? For what purpose?

By the end, the werewolf hardly looked anything other than human. It- they? Stood tall for a human, and their eyes retained their unnatural luminosity, but other than that, there was no way to tell what they might have once been.

All except for one, tiny detail; their face remained covered in the hunter's drying blood.

From nose to chin and down their neck, the darkening blood served as a stark reminder of just what the hunter was dealing with here.

"There you are, love." The vampire said, placing a hand on the werewolf's cheek, which the latter leaned into gratefully.

"I really, really do like this one." The werewolf murmured, both hands coming up to hold onto and brush against the vampire's wrist. Their eyes softened, looking pleadingly at the vampire from under their eyelashes- a commendable feat, considering it was the vampire who had to look up in order for their eyes to meet.

The hunter averted their eyes. It felt... wrong for them to witness the scene, even under the circumstances. They felt, absurdly, like they were intruding on something private.

The vampire sighed wearily, but whatever internal struggle they had to put up lasted for only a moment. "I never could say no to you."

The hunter's stomach dropped at the words. They should have felt relieved- it meant they wouldn't be killed, right? But if *this* is what the werewolf did to the things they liked... the hunter didn't dare to think of the alternative.

They jumped at the sound of approaching footsteps- one pair loud and purposeful, and the other near silent. Bare feet shuffling along the concrete.

The hunter turned their head again, withering glare locked and loaded. The vampire caught their gaze first, neutral expression shifting into a dark, entirely self-satisfied smirk.

"I told you you would regret coming after me."

[whump-queen]

Silver

tags: forced intox, manhandling, "servant" whump but lets be honest he's basically a pet

-----------

Seven could smell the sharp sting of tequilia on Wes’ breath before he even saw the bottle.  

“Open up, servant.” Wes smiled and leaned in, forcing the stench further into Seven’s face, making him nearly gag at what he knew was coming. God he could already taste it. 

Seven tried to pull away, but a heavy hand found the back of his neck and harshly gripped his hair, holding him fast while the other hand messily shoved the bottle of silver upward and forced it past Seven’s lips. 

Seven knew not to struggle. He how to close his nose without plugging it by now. He’d hold his breath. He’d hold his—fuck. It burned in his empty stomach instantly. 

Considering all the occasions Wes had forced his servant to drink, Seven should’ve been an expert at this. But experience didn’t mean his nights went without mishap, and just because he knew how to drink it down for a few sips, it didn’t mean Wes would let up this time, forcing him to take gulp after excruciating fiery gulp until his mind was screaming for oxygen and for the poison to stop. Just stop. 

He could feel hot tears running down his face. He needed to breathe. It took everything in him to swallow and not fucking wretch as soon as Wes yanked the bottle away. Oxygen hit his lungs and he gasped for breath until he felt lightheaded.

“Can’t waste it all on a fucking servant,” Wes sneered, releasing his fingers from Seven’s hair, roughly tousling it instead. The force of his hand made the room spin and Seven could already feel it hitting him. Burning away deep his stomach and making his face feel hot and tingly. 

Wes turned away and Seven instantly grasped the wall, taking a few agonizing deep breaths, just trying so hard not to throw up. 

He’d done that before. On a night much like this one, and Wes had made him clean it all up while still nearly blacked out, promising that the next time, he’d clean it with his tongue. 

So Seven braced himself against the wall and tried to focus on his breath. He inhaled. God fuck. He exhaled. Fuck. He was going to gag.

Water.

He needed water.

This was going to be a long night. 

.

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series masterlist

[ro-sham-no]

i remember my college acceptance letter, a poem by me.

thanks to @samwhump for the encouragement :) <33333

[uriswhumpchamber]

Whumpee rushes to their friend, unconscious on the ground, kneeling down beside them to check before they even realize what they're doing. Their friend is breathing, even if softly - and they don't seem hurt, no. Maybe there's the mark left by a needle, or the smell of chemicals, or the marks left by a spell - or maybe there is nothing at all, and it's the exhaustion - or maybe there is nothing at all because it's something else, they've both taken medication from Whumper before, after all.

It's Whumper they hear, walking towards them both - and Whumpee hugs their friend, trying to cover them enough, even if they know it's useless.

And even if they know it's useless, it does not take more than a moment for them to start pleading - not for mercy, because that is not something granted to people like them. For their friend's safety - for their friend's wellbeing. For them to not be hurt - not be hurt more. For them to be left alone, just this once, please, they will be so good, please-

“Fine. Let them go,” Whumper says, and they feel something that almost tastes like euphoria.

They obey, of course. Before they can turn around, before they can show the bitter gratitude they're supposed to, a hand grabs them by the back of their neck.

“Your turn, then.”

Whumper's laugh gets cut short by them begging, again - not there, anywhere else, please, just not in front of them, just not there-

The grip gets tighter, their head almost hitting the ground as they're shoved down, their face right beside their friend's. So close it almost reminds them of sleeping together, the hope of the first rays of sunlight from the window before having to sneak back out, and something stirs in their belly. They know they should brace, but they can't - their body might as well belong to someone else, weak and so detached from their brain they cannot even attempt to order it to prepare.

“Be quiet. You wouldn't want to wake them, would you?”

No. No, never.

[whumblr]

Those who care

Crossed out - Continued from ch.2 - Prologue

-

“You’re just in time for breakfast, newbie,” the guard said, chipper, as if he was actually bringing good news. “Hurry along and come find me after so we can get you settled and find you a job.”

Lucas, sitting on the edge of the bed of the holding cell, glared up but didn’t say anything. With barely a few hours of sleep under his belt after a night of processing and protesting all the way, his fire had fizzled out.

He followed along meekly, his stomach jittering over being thrown right in with the other prisoners. Mathison and the guards had to abide by certain rules, but the other men here might not have much to lose. And the new guy was fresh meat.

Hesitantly, he made his way over to wait in line. Picked up a tray and unconsciously kept it in front of his torso, like some shield he could hide behind.

While he did get some looks, and eyes lingered over the bruise on his forehead, no one made any comments. No one pointed out the new guy. No one hassled him, slapping the tray from his hands or something, to test out whether he would stand up for himself. No ‘well, well, well, what have we here’. Actually, no one really did anything; it was rather quiet throughout the food hall. Just some hushed conversations at the tables. Not the boisterous activity he’d expected.

Maybe he’d watched too many movies…

He didn’t want to plant himself right in the middle of a full table, so he set his tray down at a table where only three men were already eating. In silence.

Just when a sense of relief washed over him and he started chastising himself for expecting the unrealistic worst of all, heavy footsteps quickly drew nearer.

Mathison marched into the cafeteria. With a purpose. This time, he wasn’t wearing his white dress shirt, but a long sleeved cargo shirt with shoulder straps like the rest of the guards, only in dark grey instead of the blue they were wearing. He straight up looked like a drill sergeant, charging forward like a bull.

Lucas froze and snapped back into full alert, sure that the man was here for him. But Mathison didn’t even look in his direction. Instead, he stopped next to one of the other prisoners, who shot up like an arrow.

Lucas blinked, not sure whether to be relieved or frustrated that he wasn’t being released, that this whole thing wasn’t a scam to scare him straight. He forced the rush of adrenaline back down with deep breaths. He watched on, keeping his head down like the others, peering at the two just from under his eyelids. They had a hushed conversation, with the man getting more and more panicked, shaking his head in denial, hands outstretched in placating gestures.

Which didn’t work. All of a sudden, Mathison grabbed him by the neck, dragged him from the table, and punched him full in the face.

The man launched against the wall with a sharp yelp.

Mathison immediately followed up. He swiftly drew the baton from his belt and stepped forward, arm raised.

Lucas’ eyes went wide, breath stalled in his throat; he couldn’t believe what he was seeing here, couldn’t tear his eyes from the scene. The other inmates also watched the two intently. But as soon as the baton struck true and slammed out a scream, everyone cast their eyes down.

Adrenaline flushed through him again, but instead of the cold as ice sensation of fear, this time it was hot, searing in a rage through his veins.

A balled fist trembled against the table, clutching his spoon. The initial shock dissipated and instinct kicked in. He didn’t think about what would happen, and before he even realised it his body prepped to rush over and pull Mathison off the guy.

But just as he was about to stand, a hand shot out over the table and curled around his wrist, pulling him back before he could even straighten his shoulders.

It was the man across from him, half lunged over the table keeping Lucas literally grounded.

“You do not want to cross Nero,” the man said calmly in a low gravelly voice, and cast his eyes down, signalling for Lucas to sit back down. “Don’t try to be a hero. It doesn’t end well.”

So the N stood for Nero. Nero Mathison, Lucas vaguely registered through his anger. “He already hates my guts, anyway,” he snarled in reply.

Rage flared up anew as mangled sounds of pain crossed the hall and Lucas pulled at the man’s grip but he didn’t let go, keeping Lucas from fully standing up and drawing attention to himself.

“All the more reason not to paint a clearer target on your back,” he said. His tone of voice was almost indifferent, but the sharp warning around his wrist and the man’s blazing eyes said otherwise.

The logic of the man’s words may not have registered, but the emotional plea of those eyes did. Enough to make him stop resisting. Slowly, his fist unclenched, muscles relaxed, and he settled back onto the bench. The pressure on his wrist disappeared.

As the man pulled back, Lucas noticed how thin his wrist was. Rather surprising, given his death grip. The man's whole frame was rail thin. His uniform clung loosely around him, the collar of the button-up too wide for his neck, and Lucas hoped it was just the man's nature and not the gross ass and minimalistic scene of treatment and food served here.

Still, despite the man's frame, Lucas would hesitate to call him brittle. There was something about him, perhaps the weathered look of a man who had endured a lot, or his calm demeanour that suggested there was more to him.

Or maybe it was the fact that he could still feel his fingers around his wrist.

And so he hunched back over his breakfast like the rest of the men, taking heed of the warning that still throbbed around his wrist. And trying to ignore the sounds of a baton striking bone and the man now almost retching in the corner.

Didn’t mean he was to accept it, though.

“This happens often?” he grit through his teeth.

“Often enough.” The man shrugged, taking another spoonful of his breakfast slob. He cast a glance upwards, taking Lucas in; watched his set jaw, his fist tremble. “There are often newcomers like you. Those who care. Soon, you will not. You won’t care. You know what you will care about?” He gave a quick nod upwards, raised his eyebrows in question.

Lucas shook his head.

“The only thing you’ll care about is how to make sure it won’t happen to you.”

“That what you did?”

The man nodded.

“Did it happen? To you?” Lucas asked.

“I learn by watching.”

He studied the man's face. Wrinkled and weathered, tawny skin tight over his sharp cheekbones. His expression had mellowed again. His eyes that shone with a sharpness just a moment ago, were now dull and flat, focused on his bowl of breakfast.

Lucas briefly wondered if that was in store for him here as well. A sharpness that broke free whenever he couldn’t contain his rage, but pounded flat every other moment, all empathy beaten out and replaced by self-preservation.

Not yet, though. He clasped his plastic spoon so tight, his hand shook and he was sure he was about to snap his utensil.

He glanced up, watching how Mathison signalled for two guards, who peeled the almost unconscious man from his corner and carried him out.

“How can this happen?” Lucas growled. “How can they just do what they want. Ignore the law?”

The man guffawed, spraying little bits of oatmeal from his lips. “Law has no meaning here. You think only us prisoners are afraid of him?”

Lucas dared another glance around the room, this time looking at the guards who, indeed, had their backs turned to the three men stumbling out of the cafeteria. Only one was looking at the man dangling from the two guards’ shoulders, but he had such a detached look in his eyes, he might as well have been looking through the wall.

“This is your first day here,” the man across said, “yet you already managed to cross Nero?”

“He’s been after me this week. You might even say we ran into each other.”

“Then you’ll want to be careful. Nowhere to run here.”

“Varga!”

Lucas’ shoulders snapped up to his neck as a booming voice suddenly sounded way closer than he’d liked. Shit. He’d been staring too long, too obvious. Mathison stopped next to him. Nero. He didn’t say a word, but looked at him expectantly and Lucas had to bite back an annoyed ‘what?!’.

Nero made a quick and impatient gesture upwards with his fingers. “Up. You will stand when spoken to.”

When Lucas was both too stunned and reluctant to comply, Nero grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him up. Lucas had no choice but to go along and he stumbled over the bench.

Nero got right up into his face. “You have a problem with how I run this prison?” he said, softly but still clear enough that in the deep silence of the room, everyone around him could hear.

“I don’t know where to start.”

Nero squinted his eyes lightly in soft amusement. “You can start by addressing your superiors with respect.”

Lucas couldn’t help but snort at that.

“Let me give you an example.” Nero suddenly pulled back, drawing himself up to full height. “Roskins!” he barked, eyes still fixed on Lucas.

A man two tables down dropped his spoon, snapped up to attention and yelled back as if he were at bootcamp. “Yes, sir?!”

“Good man,” Nero merely said. “Sit back down.”

Immediately, and with a sigh of relief, Roskins fell back down onto his seat, hunching over his plate and keeping his head down.

“You’ll be no different from the rest of them. And for your sake, it’d better be sooner than later, if you still want to be able to get to your feet as fast as he did.”

Lucas hummed and looked Nero dead in the eyes before he replied. “Don’t hold your breath on it. Sir,” he added with a sweet smile.

Nero’s eyes narrowed in a cruel amusement and Lucas practically saw himself rise on the man’s mental shitlist. He was pretty sure he saw his hand twitch up, eager to grab him by the throat and throw him across the room to give him a taste of what had just been inflicted on the man they just carried out of the cafeteria. But nothing happened, and Nero merely took a step back. “Very well,” he said softly. And to Lucas’ surprise – and relief he wasn’t blasted into a corner – he strode away.

Lucas sat back down with a huff.

The man across from him didn’t look up, as if pretending he hadn’t just witnessed that interaction.

“It’s Lucas, by the way,” Lucas sighed, trying to break the heavy silence. “Don’t call me Varga, please. What’s your name?” He immediately mentally slapped himself. This is prison, dumbass, not fucking kindergarten.

The man glanced up, again taking him in in silence, his expression blank and without judgment – on the outside at least. Then he lowered his eyes and stood up, picking up his tray and stepping over the bench. Just when Lucas thought he wasn’t going to answer, he said in a low voice:

“Marcus.”

-

Continued here

Tag list: @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @andithewhumper @tippytappytyping

[raccoonbug]

Static thrummed in the hedgehogs limbs, a heavy vibration under cobalt fur weighing him down like lead. Ice scorched through his veins. It was so cold, almost cold enough to burn, but he could not fall to the corruption. No. Not yet. They needed him.

He clutched to the remnants of his memories with shaking hands, yet pieces slipped through like sand. Sonic had to remember. He couldn’t forget who he was doing this for. Amy. Knuckles.

Tails.

The thought of his little brother drove a surge of determination through his core, fire temporarily beating back the ice sludge in his blood. Sonic was dying. He could feel it. Still, he’d rather let the cyber corruption rend his body limb from limb as it fought to with this world to drag him into cyber space. Rather allow the Guardians to crush him underfoot. Rather have his very soul torn from his body. Anything but letting his friends, his family, his brother down.

The End could kill him, he wouldn’t begrudge them that. But he’d tear apart the very reality they lay in, destroy the gods themselves, before he allowed anyone to harm his family.

Sonic kept walking.

[the-starlit-authoress]

"You hesitated. You always hesitate. Why?" Hero stared down at the Villain pinned under their blade.

"You're imagining things." Villian huffed.

"You could have killed me a few minutes ago and you didn't. You clearly don't want to fight me, so why are you?"

"As if I'd tell you anything." Villian took advantage of Hero's lowered guard to get out of the hold and get away, leaving Hero with just as many questions and no answers.

~

The next time Hero saw Villain they fell to their knees a few minutes into the fight, clutching their side.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Stay out of it." Villain winced as they pushed themself up. "Stop standing there and fight me."

"I'm not going to fight someone who can barely stand."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

"Fight me."

"No."

"You have to."

"Why?" Hero asked, desperate for a real answer this time. "Why do you insist on fighting me when you're injured? Why are you forcing yourself to attack me?"

"Because I don't have a choice!" Villain shouted, clenching their fist. Their eyes widened slightly when they realized their accidental confession. "Shit."

"What do you mean? Why don't you have a choice?"

Villain glared. "Why do you care?"

"Because I want to help you."

They laughed. It was sad and empty. "Yeah, right. You just want me to let my guard down so you can lock me up."

Hero took a careful few steps towards their enemy. They're not sure if they should be calling them that anymore. "I swear I just want to help. Please. Let me help."

"You heroes are so desperate to help everyone. Have you ever considered there are things you have no place helping with? Or do you just not care as long as you get the credit?"

"No, I-"

"Save it. You can't help me." with that Villain ran from another unfinished fight, aware of the consequences but not caring as long as it ended this conversation.

~

Villain let out a breath as they stepped into their home (If they could even call it that) but quickly tensed when they heard a voice from the doorway.

"You're back early. Again. You better tell me it's because you won this time." Supervillain did not look impressed.

"...No. They got away." Villian muttered, eyes downcast.

"You've been losing a lot lately." Supervillain stepped around behind them. "I thought yesterday's training would have helped strengthen your resolve." they placed their hands on Villian's shoulders and leaned in. "Maybe you need another round. Or perhaps it's time to start training your little brother instead."

Villian felt themself tense even more. "No. Leave him alone. I'll do it."

Supervillain smiled. "I knew I raised a smart kid."

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

June of Doom day 23

 “how many fingers am I holding up?” (poison/rash/double cross)

Villain heard the moment Hero dropped, their body making a dull thump as they fell to the ground. They were limp when Villain arrived, pupils blown wide and eyes opened to mere slits. They wouldn’t be coherent again for several hours. They wouldn’t be conscious at all in a few minutes. Villain had made sure the dose would be strong enough to work quickly.

“I’m sorry about this. I know this isn’t what you wanted,” Villain whispered, knowing that Hero couldn’t hear them. They knew it was wrong, a total betrayal of trust that Hero would never forgive. They’d become close over the months, spending much of their time outside of uniform together. When the capes were off, they weren’t supposed to do things like this, interfering with each others’ plans. And yet here Villain was, betraying that trust and drugging Hero so they couldn't fly off and save the day. 

It was selfish and Villain didn’t expect to be forgiven, but they didn’t regret the decision either. The upcoming raid on Supervillain was a suicide mission with no chance of success, and no amount of Hero’s optimisation would make that less true. Villain had told them as much, had shouted and yelled until their face turned blue, and yet it seemed that nothing they said got through to Hero. 

Carefully, Villain lifted Hero into their arms. Hero groaned at the touch, eyes opening marginally but never focusing on Villain’s face. "I won't let you die, I won't let you become a martyr," Villain promised. They carried Hero up to their shared bedroom, opening the closet and rummaging until they found one of Hero's uniforms. After a whispered apology, Villain made quick work of forcing Hero into their uniform, making sure their mask was firmly in place. They couldn't let Hero's agency think their identity was compromised after all.

With Hero dressed, Villain made quick work of dressing themselves. From there, it was easy for Villain to use their powers to teleport the two of them to an old hideout. It was easy to bind Hero's limp body to a chair, to set them up like a prop for a show. And it was a show, because they wouldn't allow Hero's reputation to be tarnished by an unexplained disappearance on the eve of battle. 

As they began recording the hostage video, Villain gave a wicked grin and prayed it hid the sadness in their eyes. “I suppose you’re all wondering where your precious Hero is, yes?”

[prinx-quail]

I love cursed cat Alastor so much. I feel like pathetic cat Vox would really complete my soul. He isn't here yet, but enjoy the cliffhanger for now!

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