#maybe Whumpee knows exactly who these people are and where they’re going

[letitbehurt]

A Whumpee in the back seat of a moving car. Maybe they’re blindfolded. Maybe their hands are tied in front of them. Maybe there are guards on either side of them, each gripping one of Whumpee’s arms.

Maybe it’s dead silent, or maybe the only sounds are coming from Whumpee’s panicked breathing and blurted questions, asking where they’re going, what’s happening, who are these people, why me?

[meraki24601]

I'm The Bad Guy

“So, it really was you. From the very beginning.” Caretaker sighed as they closed the door behind them. The fewer people who saw the horrors that had been done to the unfortunate victim, the better. 

Blood dripped from Whumpee’s hands, splashing into the puddle below as they laughed, “Finally! I thought you would never catch on. I was starting to get bored.”

It was a mistake on Whumpee’s part not to have Caretaker pull their hands from their pockets—or maybe it was intentional. There was a chance Whumpee knew the Caretaker had hidden an emergency call button on their right and a small recording device on their left. “I knew. I didn’t have proof, but I knew. I’m sorry I couldn’t act sooner.”

“You’re apologizing to me? Ha!” Whumpee knelt at their victim’s side, “Shouldn’t you save that for them? Their family? They stayed so strong for so long, but even though you say you knew, you did nothing to stop me. Now, both of us know exactly what color their intestines are.”

“Hey,” Caretaker’s voice was firm as they took two solid steps closer. “It’s over. Whumper is going to jail. You don’t have to keep doing this to yourself.”

The laughter that filled the room was dripping with insanity. “Whumper? Whumper isn’t here. Whumper didn’t do this. I did. Arrest me! Take me to prison. Lock me up for three lifetimes or more!”

“This isn’t your fault.”

Caretaker fell to their knees as Whumpee’s fist connected with their jaw. “Enough! Stop making excuses. You can see what I’ve done. Can’t you imagine the kind of pain they must have been in before they died? Every single one, every single time. I listened to their screams. I washed their blood from my hands, my clothes, and my mind. Now, arrest me before I kill you, too.”

“He’s safe. We found where Whumper was keeping your brother. I’m sorry, I can’t let you see him, but we managed to save him from that rotting cabin.”

“You’re lying.”

“That alone is reason enough to keep Whumper behind bars. They were caught at the scene. They’re being held at a maximum-security facility. Friend and I chose their guards personally.”

“It’s a lie! You’re lying. You, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Arrest me! It’s all there is left for me.”

Caretaker pulled Whumpee to the ground and into their arms. “Breathe, my friend. It’s over. You don’t have to keep pretending.”

Whumpee shook, trying weakly to pull themselves from Caretaker’s hold. “No! You’re lying. You’re a liar. Liar. Liar! Whumper would never let my brother go. I’ll never be free. My brother isn’t safe because, because if that’s true, then they… I killed them. I killed them for nothing.”

Whumpee’s desperate struggles turned to sobbing and clinging to Caretaker so hard they heard their shirt rip in the back from where Whumpee clutched it. “Why did you kill those people?”

“Whumper! They took my brother. They, they, they hurt me. Whumper tore me apart and put me back together and told me if I didn’t do it to whoever they said and, and frame Friend… They said… My brother. They were going to do it to my brother. Only, they promised me he wouldn’t survive. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to, but I… I didn’t… Whumper was…”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Caretaker reached into their pocket to turn off the recording device. They pulled the needle from their pocket and pressed it into Whumpee’s neck as police burst into the room. “Rest now. It’s over.”

[whumptywhumpdump]

Ok, I’m with Bee a little on the whole “you don’t need to be proven wrong or whatever, go ahead and enjoy what you enjoy” lol. A lot of the BBU is suspension of disbelief, as is a bunch of whump (honestly, most regular people wouldn’t survive the things we put our characters through on a regular basis, I don’t think...)

That being said, I love discussing this, so I will give my own two cents on your questions xD

1)

What happened? That’s where most of the suspension of disbelief comes from. Since this is a sandbox universe, I’m sure some creators might have gone and written a whole cohesive history, but mostly we just go with the very basic “the world got more fucked up”. I don’t know, capitalism got worse? Who knows...

What the fuck are whumpers doing for work? Ok, from the amount of stories I know that’s the impression, but actually box boys/babes/buddies aren’t THAT common. In most stories, they’re around, everyone is aware of them, and such, but they’re very much a rich people thing. There are a couple writters who did their universe in a way where well-off middle-class people can get a pet,but that’s still not the majority of people. Most of the time it makes sense. When it doesn’t, once again: suspension ofdisbelief.

“Think of the children!!” No seriously think of the children. About the kidnapping, once again, since it makes for good whump the stories we have make it seem a lot more common than it actually is lol. Most of the BBU writers I interact with have universes where people very much do sign up “willingly” (I put that on quotes because there’s a heavy dose of manipulation, coercion, and situational lack of choice that may be going on) and actual abductions are only a small percentage of the people who become pets. The companies wouldn’t be able to stand as “good companies” in the eyes of the public otherwise.  Now, in relation to the impact that a society with human pets has on the development of children... Well, let’s just say human kind has had some very bad periods in it’s history and there’s still very bad shit happening in many places... The children and see what society however it is.

From the stories I’ve seen so far, possession of a whumpee is free for all. Yeah, no... I haven’t seen any stories where that’s the case. Pets in the BBU are products, once you buy them, you own them. If an owner abandons a pet, they may be taken back by the company, or maybe someone else might try getting them second-hand, but anything that isn’t done by the proper channels and that doesn’t transfer ownership would be considered stealing in any of the universes I’ve read (and those were A LOT)

IK it’s stupid to talk about human rights when talking about Whump. But seriously, WTH is happening with human rights??? There is actually!! Once again, I can only speak for the universes I read and they aren’t exactly human right since pets aren’t technically “people” anymore but the same way you can’t mistreat your animal pets, in theory, you shouldn’t mistreat your human pets either. The issue there is the fact that “discipline” is allowed and encouraged and the line can get quite blurred on what is acceptable, and also the fact that the pets are heavily conditioned not to talk ill against their owners, so they're not likely to be reported. But if someone DOES believe you are mistreating a pet and DOES report your, you could get in trouble. Kinda like abusive parents.

Is there websites to get a whumpee? Most BBU universes have WRU as it’s primary company. The whole sandbox came from a joke originally, but the name stuck, and now more often than not WRU is either a multinational company selling pets around the world or just the largest company in the US, depending on the writer.

2.) That’s your prerrogative. Like I said, you absolutely don’t have to be proven wrong or start liking it. For me, the fact that it’s so widespread and socially accepted is what makes it horrific. I am edlessly fascinated by this universe and the various different ways writers interpret it, but to each their own, there’s plenty of popular whump tropes out there that I don’t enjoy.

Preface: I’m really new to whump and I know nothing about this. I’m willing to be proved wrong on all the point that I will make, just please be kind

Ok, now that’s over with, I’d like to say, that I don’t really understand the appeal of the ‘boy boxed universe’.

I talked about it with my bf earlier, and I’ve got several bones to pick:

1.) Logistically in a world building setting it doesn’t make sense. There would have to be a BIG societal leap to having human pets normalized. There’s prob works that show these big changes, but from the stories I’ve seen so far I haven’t seen them.

What happened? Why did keeping a human pet become a societal norm in universe? Is this a recent event, or were people just doing this since we started living in caves?

What the fuck are whumpers doing for work??? How do they have all this extra money to feed a lil guy in their home?? That’s a lot of money, it’s like raising a kid. And that’s on top of torture equipment. I just KNOW the economy is fucked because of this. I don’t know a lot about economy stuff, but Im not sure how half the labor force being kept in cages is helping money problems

“Think of the children!!” No seriously think of the children. They are living in a world where it’s normalized to be kidnapped. Their options are to be kept inside their whole lives or be taken by creeps. Do parents just not love their children in this universe, do they sell them off at a young age?? If they are kept inside their whole lives, doesn’t that emotionally stunt them? Is this what fuels the in-universe normalized whump fire? Children growing up emotionally stunted and not knowing how to regulate their feelings, resulting in adults who torture people?? That makes sense. but seriously, do parents go out to the mall with their family and see a dude on a leash being dragged by another dude?

From the stories I’ve seen so far, possession of a whumpee is free for all. If you steal them from someone, they are yours now. That doesn’t make sense?? If society is gonna run like this and STILL have a system of justice, an ownership system has to be established. You’ve kidnapped your whumpee, now you have to register them and fill out paperwork to the IRS about tax deductibles.

Feel free to skip this part, IK it’s stupid to talk about human rights when talking about Whump. But seriously, WTH is happening with human rights???? Not EVERYONE is going to whip their pet on a daily basis, and it’s gonna freak someone out each time they see someone walking around with burned skin, or barbed wire, ect. Is some of the abuses that occur looked on in disgust? Is there a law system saying you can’t do certain things to your pet? If this thing is a recent event, is there people who are vehemently against it? Is there a group of caretakers that provide safe havens? HOW normalized is this? Does everyone have a pet or is it just an occasional practice? If basic human rights are being ignored, what’s happening to lgbt rights? Women’s rights? Racial rights?

Is there websites to get a whumpee? Is this more like Facebook market place or Tinder? Can you match with your whumpee, and if so does whumpee consent to this or no. Do they list themselves or does someone else do it for them

2.) Idk Im just not a big fan of it. I’m willing to be proved wrong, but normalization of human pets kinda bores me. As my bf said, it removes the horror of the situation. Kidnapping someone should be a deeply terrifying practice, and if it’s widespread it loses the fun. Plus, I like the stories where torture is an intimate thing. It’s no fun if you are being tortured by a regular shmo, it needs to be someone who’s unhealthily obsessed with you and wants to forcefully explore limits

Yea idk, willing to be proved wrong, and please feel free to send me works that explore these world building things!!

[mimzy-writing-online]

You probably know this by now, I don't know if you keep up with Whumptober, but one of the prompts this year includes "blindness". I'm not blind but based on your posts about writing blind characters, and based on how I would feel if one of my disabilities were used as a whump prompt, I'm not super comfortable with it. I was wondering what your thoughts are on blindness being a Whumptober prompt.

(unironically and with feeling) thanks, I hate it.

Yes, I’m familiar with Whumptober, but I’ve never participated myself and I haven’t seen this year’s prompts.

Edit: I later did see the prompts and check out the blog. I think it's a good set of prompts and I look forward to all the promising content, especially since some of my favorite tropes are there. To be clear before you read this, I have no problem with Whumptober2021 or whump in general. This is not the first time blindness has been included for a list of whump prompts, and it won't be the last.

This post directed at the concept of "blindness" as a whump prompt and why I think it's a bad idea. The intended audience is individual writers thinking about future projects.

The timing of this is almost too perfect because I read a fanfic earlier this week that would meet that prompt exactly. Tags included whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. Now whump, hurt/comfort, and angst with a happy ending are tags I enjoy reading, but blindness as whump has a specific message to it.

To explain that message, I want to discuss what whump is. Many readers are already familiar with the genre, but I think taking the specific definitions and picking apart what it means and what expectations we carry when reading whump fanfiction

Urban Dictionary defines it as: taking a character and putting them through physical and/or mental torment and is typically followed by the same character being treated for their traumas. To indicate the characters place in the situation they’d typically be called a whumpee (the character being hurt/comforted), the whumper (the character that causes harm and trauma), and the caretaker (the character designated the helping/healing/comforting the whumpee).

Fanlore has a page for whump that explains it in depth, including where it started in fanfiction, examples of whump, and even a list of “popular targets” in different fandoms. (Warning: you might find yourself called out on the popular targets list)

“The term whump (or whumping) generally refers to a form of Hurt/Comfort that is heavy on the hurt and is often found in gen stories. The exact definition varies and has evolved over time. Essentially, whump involves taking a canon character, and placing them in physically painful or psychologically-damaging scenarios. Often this character is a fan favorite…”

To add to that, I think an important detail is the distinction Fanlore makes between hurt/comfort and whump:

“While some communities and fandoms may use whump as a synonym for hurt/comfort, there is still a recognition that whump refers to darker and more extreme scenarios. And there are still whump fics been written that have very little, or no comfort at the end of the story.”

The big appeal of hurt/comfort is getting to both explore the darker sides of pain and then experience the catharsis of being taken care of, of being supported by your loved ones as you recover from the trauma. The character is the proxy for experiencing those highs and lows while you yourself are safe at home.

I personally don’t read much/any whump without some h/c involved, but I’m happy there are stories out there for people who do enjoy it. I’m not here to judge what you like reading or what you do to your characters.

What I want is to express how blindness, my disability, used as a whump prompt personally makes me feel and what message it sends to me, to others, and how that message affects my daily life.

Whump undeniably involves watching a character suffer through something painful and traumatic.

My use of the word “suffer” is what I want you to focus on.

Vision loss can be painful and traumatic. I personally developed an anxiety disorder in response to vision loss. Others experience depression. For some it might result in relapsing into old, maladaptive coping mechanisms like drug use, self harm, or eating disorders.

A big part of my anxiety was how people reacted to my vision loss. It was a cause of their stress. They were worried because they genuinely believed I would never live a happy life without normal vision, and that my life would only be struggle and pain.

I recently saw an old friend who hadn’t heard about my vision loss. The conversation was awkward, but the worst part was how they reacted as though I had experienced an insurmountable tragedy. And even when I assured them I’m happy with my life, they clearly didn’t believe me. They acted like I was just lying or in denial.

I love that people want to empathize with my situation and ask themselves what they would do in my situation, but I hate when the conclusion they come to is something along the lines of “I could never do that, I’d be too miserable thinking about everything I lost, I’d never be able to do anything I enjoyed ever again.” But I did go blind. And I’m not miserable, I’m actually happy with the direction my life is going, and I still enjoy my hobbies, even if I engage with them differently.

I’m not suffering. My life didn’t end with vision loss. It’s not ruined, broken, or worthless.

I read a fanfic that was tagged with whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. A general synopsis of the plot: the whumpee had gone blind due to a curse. It was true love’s kiss that broke the curse. Even from the summary I knew it was going to end with whumpee being cured somehow and that I’d leave that fanfic vaguely dissatisfied no matter how good the rest of the fanfic was.

I can say this for the fanfic: the whumpee had already accepted that they would likely be blind for the rest of their life, but everyone around them was treating it as a tragedy that needed to be fixed, working tirelessly for a cure despite the whumpee’s protests that they didn’t have to.

It actually hit home to my personal experience.

I still left it dissatisfied with the ending. I might love curse fics in that fandom, and I love the “true love’s kiss” trope, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the fact that: an actual person out in the world thought the best happy ending, maybe the only happy ending, would be if the character got their sight back.

(note: I clicked kudos and exited out of the story's page because no fanfic writer deserves unsolicited critique or hate, especially for content I consumed for free and at my own volition.)

Why read a story I knew would disappoint me?

Because blindness representation is so damn rare that I feel like I’m wandering in a desert, dying from thirst and desperate for that oasis. But sometimes that oasis is a mirage and the author is unintentionally telling you that your life is actually awful and you’ll never be fully happy like this. And that is a shit mentality to walk through life with.

I don’t appreciate blindness being a whump plot. I hate it. Hundreds (thousands?) of fanfictions featuring blind characters are about to enter the internet and the overall message is going to be “You poor thing! You must be in so much pain, you must be miserable! Who’s going to save you? Who’s going to comfort you? Wouldn’t it be terrible if there was no one in your life to take care of you? You poor helpless thing!”

And I feel objectified. I feel trivialized. The mirage in the desert is going to become a starch, empty room filled with dozens of water bottles, almost all of them poisoned. My representation is going to hurt me personally, and it’s going to reinforce that idea strangers have about how awful my life must be.

(I returned to school this past month, and every day I’m hesitant to tell someone I’m visually impaired because I don’t want to be treated differently. If I’ve managed to pass as sighted this whole time and then suddenly reveal “oh yeah, I’m visually impaired” I feel this instant silence, this pause of awkwardness as people suddenly question how they’re supposed to treat me. They treated me like a person, and now I’m something strange and unfamiliar.)

I’ve worked so hard to improve representation for blind people, to give internet strangers the exposure to a blind person they need to normalize blindness because I hope that if they’re ever so lucky as to meet a blind person, they’ll treat that person with respect. That hope that another person in the blind community will find a friend they feel comfortable and accepted with. I hope that I’ll meet people who accept my blindness as just another aspect of me (like being bisexual or gender fluid or a writer or a cat lover).

Please don’t turn me and my community into a caricature. Don’t erase everything I’ve worked for with this blog.

To be clear, this is not just me saying "I hate the cure trope" again. This is me saying "the purpose of whump is to painfully hurt your favorite character, and I hate that your idea of pain and suffering is my daily (wonderful) life."

[ashintheairlikesnow]

hmmm can vampires get sick? maybe sick vampire chris thinking Jake is gonna pull out or file down his fangs? or just thinking Jake’s gonna hurt him?

CW: Sick whumpee, vampire whumpee, blood drinking, vague implications of past sadistic/creepy whumper, dehumanization, vague tooth/mouth whump (nothing direct, but aftermath)

Sort of a sequel to this piece, part of the Vampire Chris AU

"What hurts?" He keeps his voice low, and carefully doesn't hesitate before he lays a hand over the vampire's forehead. Of course it feels lukewarm, room temperature, but he still goes through the motions of feeling for a fever. It's muscle-memory, instinct, and he keeps forgetting Chris is dead.

He has been dead for a long time, if his occasional comments on what sounds like Prohibition are true.

"Bones," Chris whimpers, twisting where he lays in Jake's bed. There's a bright flush in his cheeks from the blood he'd drained from the two men who broke into the house. Those odd eyes glitter, overbright. "My... m'bones hurt, Jake."

His mouth opens, pulling air in over his tongue and down his throat in soft pants, and Jake is reminded that vampires don't sweat. Not the same way, anyway, although with enough blood they can, in thin sheens of pink-tinged liquid that are even more alarming than their tears.

His fangs are visible this way, razor-sharp canines that come down further than the rest of his teeth, a brighter white than all the others from being pulled and regrowing so many times.

Jake swallows against his nervousness, brushing hair away from the vampire's forehead. His slit pupils are dilated, taking up too much of the iris, and he tells himself that Chris is as scared as he is of the instincts that drive him, barely understands them.

Vampires aren't animals - but when they don't understand themselves, they act like it sometimes.

"Do you think maybe those guys were on something? Like, a drug maybe?" He pets through Chris's hair, fingercombing his hair, and watches Chris's eyes flutter closed.

It's hard not to feel more than a little reassured not having to look at them any longer. Which makes him feel guilty, considering this not-a-kid kid just beat up people for hurting him.

Killed them, his brain whispers. Killed them like he could kill you.

"May, maybe," Chris mumbles, and pants again.

His gums seem oddly dark, where normally they're pale, and Jake frowns. He wishes now he knew more about vampire physiology, that he'd paid more attention in class when they took the safety courses on how to avoid them.

There's not exactly a class on caring for one - not unless you can afford to purchase them outright.

"Well, when you were-... uh, before you found us... did you ever feel like this?"

Chris's eyes blink slowly back open and he nods. "Sometimes. My, my, my, my-... someone would, um, take something before, before the party, and I'd..." He groans and shudders. Jake can see the pain move through his body as he trembles nearly violently. "I'd feel like, like, like this after... for hours..."

"Okay. So... probably you just have to let this get worked out of your system, right? Or... is there a medicine?"

"No... just... just drink more." Chris looks up at him, eyes so wide and sad and scared and hurting, and grabs onto his wrist with one hand. Those cool fingers are never not a little startling, colder than the air around them, than the rest of his body.

Vampires have poor circulation, Jake knows, even when they're filled up on a fresh meal. He's seen Chris heal his own wounds before with his tongue, had him explain that they don't heal on their own with time if they're on hands or feet.

"Chris-"

"You, you, you, you-... can, um, you can take my teeth after. You can. I'll hold still. I'll, I'll be good." Chris's plea is barely a whisper.

His nails, which must have been a little too long when he was killed and turned, dig painfully into Jake's wrist in his desperation.

"I'll be so, so, so so so so good, Jake. So good for you, and then, you can, you you you can take my teeth-... Sir always liked it, it makes me me me cry, we we cry blood, Sir liked to take photos of it-"

"Sssshhhh. Hush, Chris." Jake's mind races. There are others in the house, but-... he can't ask them to give up blood to Chris. They've already taken over cleaning the blood up from the hardwood floor. Nat's already dealt with talking to the cops and the EMTs and the coroner before the bodies were taken away. They already handled hiding Chris in a false-backed closet while Jake was interviewed by police officers who looked interested and excited,, not disturbed.

It's not every day you see a vampire attack, after all.

Mostly they're under control, kept on leashes and muzzled like dangerous dogs, the property of rich celebrities looking for novelty in a world where they already have everything. The few ferals are killed pretty fast.

Or so everyone says.

Jake is starting to wonder if there are more vampires out there than he knows about.

The cops had even insisted on checking the attic, as if Chris was a bat they might find hanging upside down. That had been ridiculous, but it's not like Jake could say he knew better without being asked how he knew so much about them in the first place.

Oh, because we keep one like a stray fucking puppy. That wouldn't go over well.

He feels a little woozy from the adrenaline crash, and still aches from the bruised ribs where he was kicked around. His mouth aches from the duct tape they'd put over it, and he'd got a hell of a rash starting around his wrists. He's so exhausted he might collapse.

But... Chris really did show up right on time, and maybe saved his life.

Chris pulls Jake's wrist to his face, nuzzles into the inside of it against the pale blue veins that show through the thin skin. Jake shudders at the feeling, swallowing back a low-level disgust.

He wonders how old the teenager really is - he wonders that all the time.

"You c-can have my teeth, after," Chris whispers, lips moving against Jake's skin. "You can keep them. Sir used to, to, to keep them in a box and show m-me. Just, please, please help me feel better, Jake, please... It won't hurt."

Jake closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "If it'll help... fine. But I'm not taking your teeth. They're yours."

"Thank you," Chris breathes out. "That's, that's, that's okay. I can still fix it for you. Thank you, Jake." His fangs slip back into Jake's skin as easily as a heated knife through warm butter.

The venom hits his bloodstream before the pain hits his nerves, and Jake feels himself slump over, head falling onto Chris's shoulder as all his limbs go dead.

It almost feels good, as his ribs stop aching, and the bruises stop throbbing on his skin. He can see why rich people love it as a party drug. You could drift in this place of perfect no-pain for a long, long time.

He feels only the wet movement of Chris's tongue, the shift of his fangs, the soft pressure of the other teeth pushing down. Chris purrs softly, drinking his blood like a kitten lapping milk.

It goes on and on, and for one terrifying second Jake thinks he's not going to stop until he's dead.

"Ch-... Chris-"

Those fangs slip suddenly out of his skin, the wet cool tongue licks rough over his wounds - closing them instantly.

The venom slowly fades, the aches and pains settling back into his body. Jake groans, feeling weak and exhausted.

Chris has to push him up off his shoulder, with unnatural strength moving him to lay on his side on the bed. Jake can barely keep his eyes open.

Chris, leaning over him, could rip his throat out and he couldn't even raise a hand to try and defend himself right now. Jake sees the body of the first dead robber behind his eyelids, the expression of horror written in eternal rictus in his expression, the blood down his shirt and puddled beneath him on the floor. The other man, fighting until he stopped, slumping until Chris had drained him to death.

"I feel better," Chris whispers, kneading at Jake's shirt briefly. "I, I, I feel so much better. Go to, um, go to sleep, Jake. I'll fix it so you're safe."

Jake can't even begin to understand what that means before he's already slid into something more like unconsciousness than actual sleep. The world around him simply goes black, and the last thing he feels is Chris pulling a blanket up to his chin.

The last thing he hears is those soft padding footsteps leaving the room.

When he wakes, he finds two fangs, pristine white with bloodied roots, sitting in a washcloth next to where his head lays on the pillow. he finds a pair of small pliers on the bathroom sink, with droplets of red around them.

The sun is shining outside the window, a bird singing loud enough to drive a drillbit into his head, and Chris is curled up asleep in the dark at the back of a closet, mouth slightly open.

Jake stares down at the empty spots where his fangs should be, and wonders if he's grateful, or horrified.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband

[whump-a-la-mode]

Gilded Cage - Part 5

I really need to get better at writing the choices, as once again a single choice got every vote. I suppose we all want the same thing for our poor whumpee ^^. Based on the votes, Villain will trust Sidekick.

Thanks to everyone so much for reading, once again!

CW// Imprisonment, collars, shock collars, villain whumpee, (fantasy) steroids, pills, syringes, medical talk, extensive discussion of fire, not caring if one lives or dies, public events, restraints, comparing oneself to a doll/dog, endangerment of the public

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Villain felt their mouth grow horribly dry as they stared at the offered hand.

It would have been terribly simple to raise their hand. To accept. To go along. That warmth in their veins, it was begging them to do so.

But... It wasn’t what the Heroes would want.

They’d spent so long placidly following their will like a dog. Yet no matter how long their leash became, the very idea of going against the Heroes’ will felt utterly alien.

They weren’t stupid. This was a life or death decision, certainly. The question being, which choice would lead to which outcome. To that, they did not know the answer.

But it had been so long since they had said no, they were unsure if their lips could still produce the word.

And, somewhere, in a part of them long since beaten into submission, they knew they wanted to fight back. Even if they were going to die, they didn’t want to go quietly. It was a petty move, a pathetic death throe, but it did not matter.

Villain shook Sidekick’s hand. Yet, at the end of the gesture, they did not release their grip. Their gaze lifted, meeting that of their visitor.

“I trust you. But... But I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

Villain flinched.

“Uh, sorry. It means go ahead.”

“O-ok. I just wanted to know... who hurt me?” Their lips shook even as they spoke.

Sidekick frowned, hesitating a moment. Villain felt their palm grow clammy.

“I don’t know.” They finally shook their head. “We don’t know who hurt you.”

“It wasn’t Journalist?”

“I don’t... I don’t have any way to know that for sure.”

“Okay.”

“We can try to find that out but, there’s bigger problems, right now. We don’t have a lot of time. Do you remember the signal? What you need to look for?”

“When the sun disappears.”

“Exactly. Before you go on stage, also, um, take these.”

Sidekick moved their arm so quickly that Villain nearly startled. They dug in their pocket for a moment, removing a tiny plastic box, smaller than a thumbnail. They held it forth, offering it to Villain, who took it. It was awfully difficult to hold in trembling fingers.

“Can I open it?”

“Mhm.”

They did so, though it took considerable effort. Contained within were two small pills, each circular and vaguely peach in color.

“Pills.”

“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone, okay? They’re going to help.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. They’ll help.”

“Okay.”

“I need to get going now, okay? I am really not supposed to be in here in the first place. Don’t tell anyone I was here. This conversation didn’t happen, got it?”

“Got it.”

Sidekick nodded in approval, getting up from the bed as Villain tucked the pillbox below their pillow. The former reached the door, grasping the knob, before frowning again and turning back to the bed.

“Villain?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you don’t like Hero. And I know they’ve done some... not great things. To you and to others. But they’re not a bad person. They just want to do what’s best for everyone. I promise that they’re not as bad as you think.”

The next words were quiet, muttered so lowly that they could have been mistaken as a breath. But Villain heard them. They know they did, as they shivered upon hearing them.

“At least, I don’t want them to be.”

Sidekick shook their head, raising it and their voice in equal turn.

“So, just, please try not to hurt them. Please?”

“I- I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Okay.” Their shoulders slumped. “Don’t try to contact me. Everything will be okay.”

With that, the door opened and closed, and again, Villain was alone.

In the absence of pain, doubt welled in, filling the pit in their stomach where a personality once resided.

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The syringe did not hurt going in.

That was the most worrying part about it. It wasn’t that Villain was unused to the presence of needles-- every other week, they saw the in-house physicians at the base. Ensuring that they were strong enough. It was excessive, certainly, but Hero did not allow for surprises, especially not in any form that would show on-camera.

Thus, they had long since learned to stop their instinctive flinching away from the sharp prick. It wasn’t that. They felt the prick, yes, but it did not hurt. It was simply an emotionless report. Something had breached their flesh-- there was nothing more to it than that.

Maybe that was the whole point of the thing, they supposed.

Doctor, who seemed to have unofficially taken up the case, turned away to fuss over tools on a countertop. There was an awfully sorrowful air about them. They didn’t want to meet Villain’s eyes.

“How have you been feeling?” They muttered, seemingly paying only a cursory amount of attention.

“Fine.”

“Any pain?”

“No.”

“Numbness?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“That’s good.”

The physician turned, placing the buds of a stethoscope in their ears.

“Can you breathe?”

“I hope so.”

“Don’t joke.”

They kneeled down, in front of the uncomfortable plastic chair on which Villain was seated. The chill of the stethoscope’s bell could be felt even through their clothes; a soothing cold against an overwhelming warmth.

Villain hated the silence. The observations, the readings, all of it. People looking at them, examining every inch of them, yet not finding it important to tell them so much as what they were looking for.

They wondered, for a single humorous moment, in the Heroes had assigned a veterinarian to take care of them. One final joke.

Doctor stood back to their full height, removing the buds from their ears. Their lips pursed into a fine line.

“You’re terribly lucky, you know.”

“I know.”

“Your breathing sounds okay. It’s a miracle, by all accounts.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah...”

Villain placed their hands upon their knees, letting themself slump forward in the rigid seat. They cast their gaze downwards.

The warmth had been fading over the past few hours, if only slightly, but now, it had been refreshed to its full strength. Just another thing to fill in the spaces left behind by all the things they had lost. They hated the thought, and though it made them bite their tongue, they could not help but sometimes feel that the only things they had left were their name and their body. Both things that could so easily be taken.

“Doctor?”

Again, the physician had turned, determined not to gaze upon their patient.

“Yes?”

“Who hurt me?”

“That’s a very vague question.”

“Who shattered all my ribs? Who broke my leg? Who-”

“Okay. I get your point.”

“Do you know?”

“I-” Doctor bit their lip. “Yes.”

“Please. I want to know.”

“That’s classified. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.”

“I can’t even know who’s killing me?”

An exasperated sigh, followed by the clicking of metal as Doctor put down their instruments, one by one. They turned, countenance downcast in despair. Villain sat up, leaning back, ready for all the world to be screamed at and shook. But the only noise was that of Doctor’s quiet tone:

“Hold out your hand, please.”

Villain did so. Doctor gripped it, interlacing their fingers in a way that sent a dulled shiver along their spine. It was a firm grasp, but not in a hostile sense.

“Warm it now, please.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Your hand. Make it warm.”

For a moment, they were struck by the absurdity of the request. No one could simply will a body part to heat or cool. When they realized that that assumption was wrong, they felt suddenly nauseous.

Their powers. They still had them, somewhere. Buried and long forgotten. A warmth not produced by syringes and injections, but by will itself.

“I don’t- I don’t have permission to do that. My powers are not to be used. I don’t even know if I can-”

“I have all the permissions. All the papers and whatever, I have authorization. It’s for medical reasons. For your health.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain.”

Villain nodded hesitantly.

Digging for their powers felt like searching for the name of a childhood friend. A fact once comically simple rendered obscure. It was not where they had left it, not in the place that had once housed a fiery personality and sharp tongue. Instead, they found it buried, among memories and tears and pains long repressed. Among the images of what their face had once looked like, neck unmarred.

From the depths, they retrieved them. The flame struggled to find itself, at first. Flickering and sputtering. But, at last, it steadied itself, and its warmth crept outwards. Flowing into Villain’s palm, to the ends of their fingers.

Though slight, Doctor smiled.

“You make fire. That was all you were, once. Before they knew your name. The pyrokinetic. The arsonist. But you have not been that for a long time. And you are afraid of becoming it, ever again.

You are afraid of destruction. Of burning the foundations of the world until its roof collapses upon you. I know you are. Do not forget that I know you as well as they do.

Flame, it requires three things to be produced. Fuel, heat, and oxygen. You only supply the heat. Do you truly think warmth to be evil? Is goodness epitomized by living in frigid cold?”

It took Villain a moment to realize that they were being asked a question. They blinked, replying:

“I- No. It isn’t.”

“So, if warmth is not evil, then why are you?”

“I make fire-”

“You make warmth. Heat. The mother of all life.”

The grip on Villain’s hand grew stronger, firmer.

“I do not think that you are evil. Even if my opinion means nothing, I thought that you deserved to understand that. Do you understand?”

“I don’t know.”

“You will, I think. When it’s time.”

With that, whatever smile Doctor had managed to produce fell back to its frown. They turned, again.

“Doctor?”

“Yes, Villain?”

They hesitated a moment, their next words catching on the scales of their desert-dry tongue.

“Am I going to die?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I... I don’t know. Hero hasn’t told me yet.”

Doctor stiffened, but did not say anything. For a few moments, they sat once more in silence as the doctor shifted among their equipment. It was Villain who at last spoke up, tone quieter than the buzzing machines around.

“What was the reason, for holding my hand? What were you checking for?”

A chuckle.

“Nothing at all, Villain. Nothing at all.”

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If it was possible, Villain somehow managed to feel lonelier the three days after the incident than usual.

Out of all the things they had gotten used to, they wished desperately that the loneliness was one of them. It was a horrible, overwhelming thing. The only pain that still truly hurt.

Their life was simple, and by many accounts, comfortable. Certainly, the room in which they spent their life was comfortable. Plush blankets and soft mattresses, ivory bookshelves and televisions. Their choice of video entertainment was practically limitless, and their well-organized collection of books ranged from Stephen King to Jane Austin and back again.

It was nice. Comfortable.

Every day, they would wake up, shower, get dressed, and... sit. Just sit. Staring at the television sometimes. Staring at a book at others. But always, they sat. Waiting.

They had long since stopped watching much in the way of TV. Watching the conversations, the love stories, the friendships... it all made them feel sick to their stomach.

At some point, they would be called to lunch. Their time to eat was limited, after which they would be returned to their room until dinner, when the same procedure was repeated. Such a rhythm was only accented by their press appearances, as well as frequent visits to doctors and hair stylists. Maintaining their appearance, or updating it if the current trends so desired.

They were lonely. Horribly, painfully lonely. They couldn’t remember the last time they had talked to a human being. A real one. Or, at least, someone who saw them as a human being, rather than a prop or a canvas. Even their interactions outside of their cage were stilted. Impersonal.

Impersonal, for as far as anyone was anymore concerned, they were no longer a person.

Those three days, however, had somehow managed to be worse. They felt with painful presence that they were no longer being contained, but hidden. Intentionally kept from view.

Their meals were eaten in their cell, now, and their media appearance the day after the attack had been short and nerve-wracking.

Now, on the fourth day, even being dragged from their room and taken to a car felt like a cause for celebration. The guards did not speak to them as much as they spoke orders, but that was okay. It was still speech, still words. That was enough.

The car was the usual one that they were transported in, shoved into the back seat and blocked from the outside by a wall of tinted windows.

At one point in time, in a time that now felt to be ancient history, there had been more security to the vehicle. A system of chains, on their wrists and ankles, securing them firmly to the seat. Once they were out of the base, the Heroes seemed to consider them more dangerous.

Of course, at that point, they were well aware that melting metal was well within Villain’s capabilities.

The metallic substance that Hero created, however, was an exception to that rule. They were unaware if the material had ever been given a name. It was a simple thing, appearing from air itself and being molded into any shape Hero so desired. That shape, from then after, could only be altered by its creator.

It was the only reason they had not simply melted off their collar and fled into the night. The device could not be removed except by those brutish hands.

The same material was used in those shackles that secured them to the seat. They were still there, hanging, useless. Their physical purpose was now secured by a psychological one.

Villain buckled themself in.

The driver was a nobody, one of the many employees that the Heroes maintained on their payroll. Villain wished nothing more than to lean back in their seat, to relax. But they knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

As soon as they had heard the guards’ footsteps outside their door, they had shoved Sidekick’s pillbox into the very bottom of their pocket. Now, they felt it digging into their leg. A tiny, horrible reminder.

Today, they could not relax.

They had spent so long pondering. They were under no obligation to go along with Sidekick’s plan. They had given their word, yes, but their words meant nothing. Their voice was a vector for scripts, and their agreement had not been scripted.

It would be so simple. To get up on stage, perform their tricks, and get off. Keep on the straight and narrow path that they walked so religiously.

In the pit of their stomach, it was what they wanted to do. But the very thought of going back to that cell, of living like a good, well trained mutt, made them feel even sicker than the thought of punishment.

The drive to the event center was not a long one, though it was made considerably more difficult by the throngs of vehicles belonging to both civilians and the press, filling the streets with the smell of gasoline. Originally, the conference had been meant to take place in a local auditorium, but overwhelming demand had switched the venue to a full-on stadium.

Instead of moving to the front parking lot, when the car made it to the building, it instead maneuvered around a small, blocked-off side street, to a lot where only a few vehicles were parked, all marked with the logo of the Organization of Heroes.

Villain’s door was not locked, and they opened it on their own, moving unsupervised and unfettered to the performers’ entrance. The Heroes got out of their own vehicles in turn, moving at their own paces towards the entrance. Watching them, but not exactly closely.

Inside the back entrance was a throng of activity. Cameramen and organizers and makeup artists. A few of the latter began drifting towards Villain, but they did not think that they could stand that overwhelming touch. Not today.

Behind them, the Heroes entered, though they did not speak. They would issue their orders when they were needed.

The minuscule pillbox in their pocket made its presence known by shifting against their leg, sending a dulled shiver through Villain’s spine. Half to escape the approaching artists and half to comfort their own nerves, they quickly ducked into the nearest bathroom.

The cool air and the sound of their feet on tile at least did something to help the warm numbness flooding their fingertips.

Again, Villain could not stop themself from looking in the mirror.

They recognized their face even less. The makeup work to restore their appearance had been extensive, and even now, they felt almost to be staring at a doll.

That’s what they were, wasn’t it?

They wanted to scream.

Instead, they turned on the water, as cold as they could make it, running their hands under the faucet. The second the liquid struck their skin, it fizzled and turned to steam, quickly obscuring the image in the mirror.

Villain breathed as deeply as they could with numb lungs. They willed the heat to retreat from their palms, for the flame to calm itself, but the steam only billowed hotter.

A knock sounded on the door. The steam turned to flame.

“Villain?” A voice called. One of the Heroes. “Are you in there?”

“I’ll be out in a second.” They replied, moving quickly to flush the toilet before returning to the sink. That seemed to satisfy the hero enough, their footsteps heading away.

Their face could no longer be seen in the mirror on account of the fog.

Villain felt their own shaky hand move to their pocket, removing the pillbox and prying it open. Those little round things stared back at them.

They had a choice to make, and for the first time, they made it for themself.

The pills tasted like nothing, dryly sliding down their throat.

Starting from their chest and flooding outwards, they felt the warmth of numbness transform into something hotter, something sour that tore at the edges of their veins. They moved to the toilet, attempting to flush the pillbox, but found that the plastic had already melted in their hand. They washed it down the sink drain, even as the handles warped beneath their fingers.

Villain trembled.

They hadn’t used power enhancers before, had never had access, but the feeling...

Even without looking in the mirror, they knew they were smiling.

It felt like being a villain again.

The doorknob flinched away from them as they turned it, heading back out into the fray. They hardly look at the Heroes who whisked them away, hurriedly instructing them as they hurried towards the stage.

“Just let Hero do the talking.”

“We don’t need your input, this time.”

“Just smile.”

With that, they opened the backstage entrance, and headed up. The stage was relatively makeshift, the kind used when bands performed in the stadium. Despite its lack of permanent nature, the stage lights were sweltering, their heat overwhelming as soon as the door was opened.

Villain loved it.

Wait- What were they thinking?

As the Heroes moved onto the stage, an overwhelming cheer erupted from all sides. When Villain did the same, they were met with concerned muttering.

They gave the widest smile they could.

The stage was open to the air, the fresh air making them feel as though they could finally breathe. They moved to be at Hero’s side, beside a podium.

Of course they were nervous. Performing always made them nervous. Perhaps it wasn’t stage fright, but they always remained terrified that they would make a mistake.

It helped, somewhat, that the bright sun overhead prevented them from seeing the stadium seats that surrounded them. The glare was simply that strong.

The sound of microphones turning on pierced Villain’s ears as they stood at Hero’s side and smiled.

“Thank you, everyone, for being here today.” Hero’s voice was so charming that Villain almost thought, for a moment, that they were kind. “We are so grateful for your concern regarding recent events. I would like to begin by pointing out that, as you can see, Villain is just fine.”

They laid a hand upon their shoulder.

“We are well aware of the rumors of their death. They are completely unfounded. Their recovery is advancing quickly. But that does not mean that they were not harmed, and that does not mean that a criminal is not on the loose.”

A grumbling, groaning noise filled the air-- the breathing of an ancient beast. It took Villain a moment to realize that the noise was coming from above, though looking upwards made them flinch against the sunlight.

The stadium roof, with horrible slowness, ground inwards.

Hero looked up, smile still well on their face. With a joking tone, they stated:

“Looks like we’re expecting some rain. No worries, folks.”

No worries.

Villain felt their weak heart skip a beat in their chest.

They were waiting for the sun to disappear. The throbbing of blood in their veins quickened.

Still with agonizing slowness, the roof, bit by bit, cut out the sunlight-- and more importantly, its glare.

Row by row, person by person, Villain watched as the stadium seats were revealed, along with their occupants. Some were reporters, newspeople, but the majority were civilians. Dressed in casual clothes. Young and old, smiling and frowning, and all innocent.

The roof got louder as it reached its half point.

Heat pumped in their veins with such a force that they worried it would break through their flesh.

They understood, now, what Sidekick wanted. They had asked for chaos, and had given Villain these pills...

They wanted a scene, certainly, but more than that, they wanted a show.

Sidekick wanted Villain to destroy this place. To light the stadium ablaze. They were sure of it.

The roof continued to close, only a hint of sunlight peeking through.

More people. Almost every seat was filled.

Villain felt heat gather in their fingertips.

They swallowed.

Were they a hero, or a villain?

What was the real difference?

The roof closed, and the sun disappeared.

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What should our Whumpee do? It’s up to you to decide!

There are two options, each one leading to a separate story branch. To vote, feel free to use any means you would like to contact me. Replying or reblogging this post works just fine, as does PMing me directly or sending me an ask. I am unsure when I will be writing the next part, so as long as the next part hasn’t been posted yet, voting is still open!

I will choose the story path based on which option has more votes. This time, I do not have any questions to go along with the options (mostly just cause I couldn’t think of any oops,) but feel free to add any ideas you would like! The choices and questions for this part are as follows:

A) You are a villain, go through with the plan and burn the stadium B) You are a hero, continue the press conference as normal

@whumpilicious has recommended a third option for this choice:

C) You are an antihero, attack Hero specifically

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact me. This is my first time doing anything like this, so I apologize if it’s odd or confusing ^^

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Whumptober Day 31: Something Within Him

HAPPY WHUMPTOBER EVERYONE!

Summary: Written for the final day of Whumptober, Day 31. Set during RttE. Viggo has always looked at him like he knows something about Hiccup that he, himself, doesn't know. Hiccup can't phantom what it could possibly be and he isn't interested in finding out. But then one day he's captured and he figures that maybe he should've at least wondered.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid, Toothless, Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Viggo

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Words: 13 627

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Experiment

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: THIS IS IT! WHUMPTOBER DAY 31 HAS FINALLY ARRIVED! MY GRAND FINALE FOR THIS YEAR'S WHUMPTOBER IS HERE! ALL 13K OF IT!

I started at midday and now it's 2am for me! I said that this was going to take all day to spell-check and it did! :'D

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

ENJOY!

Ao3

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Viggo has always looked at him like he knows something about Hiccup that he, himself, doesn't know. Hiccup can't phantom what it could possibly be and he isn't interested in finding out. Whatever Viggo knows, or thinks he knows, so long as he doesn't use it against him, it matters little to Hiccup.

But then he's captured. And Hiccup wonders, staring at the bars of his cage, that maybe he should've at least wondered what it is that the Dragon Hunter Chief has on him.

The place he's being held in, it isn't their usual base. Hiccup has only seen the inside of it, but this is what appears to be a giant cave chamber. There is a large pool and so far, having been stuck in this cage, Hiccup hasn't been able to see how deep it actually is. From his position, though, he can't see the bottom.

And there is a considerably sized hole in the ceiling, where sunlight comes through during the day. But it is evening now, the sun has set and the moon can be seen reflecting what little light it can down into this cave.

Toothless isn't here, for some reason Viggo simply left his dragon behind. Viggo is here, however. It's just the two of them, no Dragon Hunters, and Hiccup wonders what he's planning as he stares at the man's back.

In front of Viggo, there is a table. On it there are books, one of which is splayed open, tools Hiccup can't quite see and are making him nervous, and a bottle with... something. All in all, everything about this scene before him brings him nothing but discomfort.

Finally, Viggo breaks this silence between them.

"Have you ever wondered where this connection with dragons of yours comes from?" He asks, a peculiar question to break the ice with. Hiccup shrugs, not interested in answering him, worried for Toothless and worried for himself. Doesn't matter if Viggo can't see him since his back is turned to him.

Seemingly receiving no answer, Viggo turns to face him.

"Well?"

"What does it matter?" This time Hiccup asks. It requires talking, which he isn't a fan of as he's a little annoyed with his current situation, but it still doesn't answer the man's question.

Viggo isn't even bothered. Something got the man in too much of a good mood and that honestly just makes Hiccup's mood even worse.

That and that this means he has something special planned for his captive tonight, which can only mean bad news for Hiccup.

"What about your natural innate ability of flight?" He asks. It's as if Hiccup isn't held against his will and they are talking under more casual circumstances.

Legs crossed and elbows resting on his knees, Hiccup's brows furrow.

"What natural ability?" He asks, genuinely curious as he, while he's quite good at it, doesn't have his own wings. He needs Toothless in order to fly, he can hardly call that natural. Certainly not innate.

Viggo, however, thinks he's just playing dumb.

"My sources tell me all I need to know and they've told me how you and your dragon have always flown so perfectly together, like you are one dragon. You're certain you don't know why that may be?" He speaks his next question and Hiccup looks off to the side for a moment. It all comes down to his bond with Toothless and how well they understand one another, it's not that mysterious.

"Let me rephrase my inquiry, how did your first flight go?" Ah, a question he can answer!

"Quite disastrous actually." Hiccup tells him nonchalantly, a slight smirk, but Viggo ignores this response.

"When the two of you were up in the air together for the first time, what did it feel like? Did it feel right? Did you feel a sudden burst, an epiphany, and suddenly you knew what to do?" Viggo asks and Hiccup hopes the surprise isn't too obvious on his face.

That managed to trigger a memory. He's reminded of his first flight with Toothless and while it had truly been disastrous, he did feel exactly what Viggo is describing to him.

He remembers letting go of his cheat sheet and simply letting pure instinct and his little experience guide him as he and Toothless weaved through those sea stacks. It had felt like a sudden epiphany, like he finally realized how flying truly worked. And yes, it had instantaneously felt right, like he was always meant to be in the sky.

But he can't tell Viggo that. For whatever reason this man is interrogating him about this and that means he can't tell him.

Hiccup wishes he has something to keep his hands busy with, they're restless. He stands up.

"What's with all these questions? If you're thinking about me teaching you to bond with and ride a dragon, you can forget it!" Hiccup reassures him that he won't, tiring of all this interrogating and not liking where all of this is going.

There is a smirk on Viggo's face as he knows that he hit the nail on the head. Hiccup is such an open book, how can he not reveal it?

"I have no interest in riding dragons myself, my Dear, this is simply more evidence to a theory of mine."

"Theory? What theory?" Hiccup moves closer to the bars of his cage, not liking those words. But Viggo has already turned his back to him again and is reading through the pages of whatever book he has lain in front of him.

It's thick and dusty. Hiccup trusts it just about as much as he trusts anything else in this cave.

"Viggo, what theory?" He tries again.

He doesn't like that he's been put in this cage. It's big, too, obviously meant to hold something that is not him. Although, the bars aren't wide enough to slip or crawl through.

Viggo doesn't care to answer and why should he? His prisoner is at his mercy, not the other way around. It does little to settle Hiccup's nerves.

Then he turns away from the table and approaches with the key in hand. Hiccup, noticing, steps away from the gate and backs up to the other end of the cage.

With a swift motion, Viggo inserts the key and turns, unlocking the cage and swinging it open before gesturing to his prisoner that he may step out of his cell.

He almost appears too trusting, seemingly relying on Hiccup not to run away and Hiccup, therefore, decides that he won't. Not because he sees this as a good sign, not at all. That Viggo is being so "trusting" only means he has this place more guarded than it first appeared to be to him.

But Hiccup doesn't step out. He crosses his arms and stares at his captor, as if telling him "you really think I'm falling for this?" As if he would ever see this as anything other than a blatant trap, no matter how suspiciously amicable Viggo is being.

"I'm giving you the choice to cooperate and let this be a learning experience for both of us. You do love knowledge, do you not? Or have I completely misread, Hiccup Haddock?" Viggo suggests, Hiccup's reluctance not fouling his mood, and so he decides to step out.

Doing this the hard way most likely means calling in the help of Dragon Hunters who would love to manhandle him until he's bruised all over. More Hunters simply means more trouble for him. If it's only Viggo he has to worry about, he might have a chance.

Besides, maybe there is something a little tempting about his foe's offer, if only to see what kind of information he's hoping to garner and how helpful it's going to be to him and the Dragon Riders.

Viggo smiles as he passes him by on the way to the table, or rather, smirks as he does. Just short of saying; "Now there's a good boy."

Hiccup tries not to let it get to him or at least not show that it is. The last thing he wants is to give him any more ammo than he already has.

Standing by his table, Viggo briefly turns back to Hiccup.

"Mind joining me?" He asks and gestures to the workspace in front of him. Probably having little choice, Hiccup joins him.

He doesn't like standing next to him, but what truly sends a chill down his spine is what he sees lying before him.

The book the Dragon Hunter Chief was reading is closed now. It's as if he doesn't want Hiccup to see what he's so fascinated by that he wants Hiccup's help of all people.

Or he guesses that's why he's here. He certainly hopes it isn't to become the subject of that fascination. Because he can now see those tools and he doesn't like what he's seeing.

There are knives of all sizes, though most likely all just as equally as sharp. A small hammer and a chisel, not the kind you would use for hard work, but rather for more delicate tasks instead. There's a saw as well as many more, but Hiccup can't imagine what Viggo would want to use this for. He doesn't want to imagine what any of these things can be used for.

Just what is Viggo planning? Those tools aren't going to be used on him, are they? And what about that mystery bottle? Whatever it's containing, Hiccup is willing to bet it can't be anything good.

He's rearranging them, making sure they lie neatly on the wooden surface. Hiccup can't tell if he's doing it out of compulsion or just to make him nervous.

"Tell me about your dragons. What is your relation to them?"

"Excuse me?" Hiccup asks, briefly glancing up at him, but then deciding that it must be a better idea to watch his hands.

"The dragon pack on Berk. My sources tell me that, amongst all the Vikings, it's you the dragons listen to the most, even above the highest authority figure in your village, your father. Why is that?" He asks so casually as if they're having a simple conversation and completely ignoring the fact that they're enemies.

The last thing Hiccup would want to talk with him about are the dragons Viggo would very much like to capture and sell. Either whole or piece by piece.

"Why would I tell you about Berk's pack? The pack that counts on me to protect them?" What Hiccup wanted was to emphasize how the man with him should not expect anything out of him, that his lips are sealed, but that isn't what Viggo hears.

"They count on you, do they? You specifically? Firebreathing dragons, a whole pack of them, rely on you, a single human, to keep them safe? And you honestly expect me not to ask you any more questions?" Viggo places a hand on the table as he faces his current "partner" in science.

Hiccup doesn't like this. He doesn't like this at all. Viggo's whole demeanor tonight is so peculiar. There is such curiosity, such fascination, and in the usual Grimborn way, they present themselves in such a malicious way.

"No, I'm not answering your questions, Viggo!" Hiccup smacks his hand on the wood, hoping to show how determined he is not to answer.

Viggo doesn't look entirely too pleased with this display, glancing at Hiccup's hand on the table.

"Are you sure that's what you want to be? Difficult? Did my offer to perform this experiment as equals not satisfy you? I can always call in outside help." So he lets out a subtle threat and Hiccup can't quite tell which one he should be more afraid of. The verbal one, or the one where Viggo gently fingers the saw lying on his side of the table.

So if he refuses to answer his questions, he doesn't just have some good old manhandling to look forward to, but whatever that saw can be used for as well?

Viggo is going straight for the kill on this one, isn't he? Whatever this "experiment" that he just mentioned is about, it's big enough that he isn't willing to take things slow. Either Hiccup cooperates right this instant until it's all over, or he risks being held down and lose a couple more body parts.

Hiccup swallows visibly, shaken by the threat. His gaze meets Viggo's.

"Well?"

Hiccup lets out a sigh. Perhaps to calm himself?

"You've heard of the Red Death before?" He asks once he's managed to regain his composure a little. He hopes he isn't shaking, he's usually good at steadying himself.

"Yes, of course. I've done my research ever since our very first encounter. At first, I thought the tale of the Boy and the Dragon who defeated the Red Death was nothing but a way for a disappointed father to make up for his disgraceful son. After all, that is the way it goes with you Vikings, is it not?" Viggo responds to his question and in a more timely manner than his "equal".

Hiccup feels himself getting a little angry at that comment and looks away. It hits a sore spot.

"But then our games properly started and I realized that, if anybody would successfully destroy a dragon that size, it would have to be you," Viggo speaks to him with an air of admiration, as if hearing the truth behind this tall tale has pleasantly surprised him.

"However, as much as I would love to discuss this story with you, we don't have the time as you've left my question unanswered." Hiccup fights the urge to sigh again.

"The Red Death, she acted like a queen for the pack that now lives with us on Berk. Fishlegs thinks that, since it was my plan that defeated her and there were plenty of dragons to see that, I may have taken her place. But it's just a theory!" He emphasizes that last part. He doesn't want Viggo to get any crazy ideas.

But Viggo, he just looks content with this information, like Hiccup just reaffirmed something he already knows.

"But you knew that already." So he states and crosses his arms, but whether it's in agitation or defense, he doesn't know.

"I had my suspicions. Perhaps I didn't take you for a "queen", but yes, I had my suspicions." The man says, taking some enjoyment out of annoying his young, and temporary, cohort.

This entire situation, Hiccup finds that Viggo is having way too much fun. This isn't some friendly meeting that they're having.

No, it isn't and he hates everything about this. Standing here next to Viggo, talking with Viggo, almost as if they are partners or fellow scholars. It feels so wrong.

And he soon finds it's about to get a whole lot worse than this.

"But now that this is sorted, I want you to undress."

"Wait, you want me to what?" Hiccup wasn't exactly making himself comfortable, but that still takes him off guard.

Viggo picks up a knife before he answers and admires its glint in the torchlight.

"You heard me. This experiment requires you in a state of undress. Don't worry, I only need you to remove your armor and your tunic." He answers as if that is in any way comforting. Especially when he's playing with that knife in that manner.

"I'm-I'm not going to..." His words end there, his level of discomfort rises dramatically.

"Hmm, I could always-"

"O-okay, fine!" He knows what Viggo wants to say, he wants to threaten him with "outside help" again. And if there is something that would make stripping for Viggo Grimborn worse, it's stripping in front of and being stripped by Viggo Grimborn and his men. It would be humiliating.

So he does it voluntarily, or about as voluntary as undressing under duress is. First removing his pauldrons before pulling his chest armor off. At his tunic, he hesitates.

"Well?" Viggo presses when he notices Hiccup's reluctance. His good mood takes another little dip, he's growing impatient.

"I-I-I can't just... Viggo, hey!" Hiccup is about to his express his hesitation when Viggo takes the knife in his hand, grabs Hiccup's tunic, and cuts right through it. Because of his carelessness, it grazes his skin and creates both a red line and an accompanying awful stinging on his chest.

Hiccup backs away startled and looks down at himself, hands grabbing the cut pieces of his clothing. The cut is already bleeding and Viggo managed to get through most of his tunic as well as his undertunic. He glares up at him and Viggo returns the favor.

"I am a man with reasonable patience, Hiccup Haddock, but my patience is wearing thin. I am not taking the time to watch you dilly-dally when we have a schedule to uphold."

"A schedule? Is there an actual schedule or are you just saying that because we're running out of time?" Hiccup asks him, angry with his current situation.

Though he asks this, neither sound like a good option. A schedule can mean that Viggo wants this to be a regular thing, undressing for whatever reason, for however long Hiccup will be held captive by him before the Dragon Riders eventually save him. Meanwhile running out of time may suggest that there is something Viggo wants done before it's too late to do it and that can make a man desperate and unpredictable as a result. So really, neither are preferable.

Viggo doesn't answer his question, instead furrowing his brow.

"Tunic, Hiccup."

So he removes them, both layers, and is left bare from the figurative belt up. As if this couldn't get any worse, though Hiccup has a feeling it might still get worse and in so many ways.

He can feel Viggo's gaze on him and he can't bring himself to meet it. After all their interactions and Viggo's subtle hints, making himself vulnerable in this way isn't exactly something he wanted to do.

Gods, he can feel Viggo's eyes on him as he passes him by, knife just grazing his arm harmlessly and making goosebumps appear on his skin.

He's doing it on purpose, he must be. He can't let it get to him.

But he does, his breath hitches when the knife leaves his skin and Viggo walks away from him. He can't tell if it's because of discomfort, his nerves, or something else entirely.

The Dragon Hunter Chief approaches something standing in the beam of moonlight coming down from the hole in the ceiling. It's elevated and flat, but still made of rock, like some sort of pedestal has been carved out. Hiccup isn't sure if he wants to follow him, nervous about what might happen when he does.

"Are you coming or not?" Unfortunately, his captor isn't giving him much of a choice.

"Viggo, what are we doing here? You demand answers from me, threaten me with force if I hesitate to give them, the least you can do is tell me what I can expect in the next... however long this is going to take." Though he's used to the cold north, he shivers as he speaks.

"You'll see." Of course, that's the answer that he gives him.

"Pedestal, get on it." Viggo orders next and Hiccup figures he has to. Otherwise, he'll just be threatened by "outside help" some more.

So he gets on it, attempting to stand, but then Viggo pulls him down onto his knees. His upper body is already bare and vulnerable, might as well be forced into a submissive position, too.

Hiccup grunts and almost fights it. He was right to think that things can still get worse.

Viggo is standing behind him now, rolling the blade in his hand. Hiccup can feel his heart pounding. He hates having that man so close and beyond his view.

His free hand settles on his shoulder and Hiccup nearly jumps straight to his feet because of how on edge he is.

His hand is warm, though, warmer than Hiccup would like it to be.

"What're you doing?"

"Calm yourself. No need to get worked up and make this experience any more unpleasant than it needs to be." Hiccup glares at his fists as they rest on his lap. How is he supposed to listen when that is the kind of reassurance he's being given?

He wishes he wasn't shaking, but he is. He's so aware of everything, he's pretty sure he can hear the man behind him breathe.

The cold of the knife touches the skin on his back, a little above his right shoulder blade.

"Viggo-"

"Relax, don't struggle and it'll be over soon."

The blade nicks into his flesh and Hiccup can't take it anymore. He jumps to his feet and spins around to face the other, removing himself from the platform.

"No, I can't do this! I'm answering your questions, I've stripped down to just my pants, and now you expect me to just let you cut into my body?! And for what?! You haven't given me any answers of your own and you refuse to explain what you're endgame is!" Hiccup raises his voice, heart pounding.

Viggo simply watches him, wearing an expression that tells Hiccup that he's not even considering changing this one-sided exchange of information.

"Fine, if you want to do it the hard way." So he calls in two of his men to grab Hiccup, one on each arm, to force him back upon the rock.

"What?! No!" Grunting, Hiccup attempts to fight them, struggling himself free on one side before a third Hunter joins them to pull the lead Dragon Rider back onto the pedestal.

"No, let go! Viggo! Viggo, all I want is some answers! I don't understand why you can't give me those. What are you planning on doing to me?!" It is frightening. To be manhandled in such a way by three men both bigger and stronger than him, to be forced back down on his knees and held down to keep him at the mercy of Viggo Grimborn and his questionable actions.

"I've told you, Hiccup, you'll have to wait and see. Something things are better left to be experienced. Now be quiet and take it." Viggo glowers down at him. That is about the only explanation he'll be getting from him and all it does is make him even more anxious.

Viggo supposes this isn't a bad thing. A fast heartbeat just means it'll be spread through his system faster.

Taking place behind him again, Viggo replaces the blade on his back, presses, and drags it down. It is slow and methodical, he's more concerned with keeping his cut straight than he is with Hiccup's comfort.

And Hiccup, he's left to deal with it. He doesn't want to show how much it pains him to have his flesh slowly split open, but there are pained whimpers he can't suppress. And neither can he stop the shivers of his body, nor the way the muscles of his back contract, as if they stand a chance of stopping this.

Viggo is done after it is repeated on the left side of his spine as well, but the three Dragon Hunters don't let go.

"Fuck..." A curse slips past his lips this time. It hurts so bad and those two slashes aren't all that short either. His neck is starting to hurt, too, from the way he's being held.

The three men keeping him pinned let out a chuckle, laughing at his misery.

"Quiet. We aren't here for hilarity or pranks." Viggo suddenly sounds farther away. Hiccup wants to look, but his restrainers aren't allowing him to.

It sounds like Viggo is back by the table and Hiccup hopes that it isn't to pick a different torture device.

"You, let him go." The Hunter Chief orders the man holding Hiccup's neck to release him and he does. After a little push for extra measure, naturally.

Viggo returns and kneels down in front of Hiccup holding the bottle that was previously standing next to the mystery book.

"Tell me, Hiccup Haddock, what do you know about Fireworm Queens and the gell they secrete for their young ones?" He asks.

"What can I tell you that the Dragon-Eye hasn't already?" Hiccup asks in turn, still an edge to his tone despite his watery eyes.

"I am simply testing your knowledge, no need to be so hostile." He can't tell if Viggo is actually being serious or not. He does all of this to him and then expects Hiccup to not get hostile? He must be joking.

Viggo stands and uncorks the opaque bottle. A smell that is horrendously sweet fills the air almost immediately and makes everyone present gag at the intensity. Their nostrils burn.

"That's-"

"The secretion of a Fireworm Queen is contained within this bottle, but it isn't the kind fed to all her offspring. Can you tell?" He asks and Hiccup supposes that he can.

That scent is familiar, he remembers smelling it in the cavern of the Fireworm Queen he and the Dragon Riders went to, to save Hookfang's life once or when that same dragon came to them for help. But that smell wasn't as strong as the one he can smell now. This one is much, much stronger, to the point that it makes him want to throw up. He has a feeling he knows what it is.

Noticing Hiccup's refusal to respond by how he clenches his jaw, Viggo answers for him.

"This is the hormonal gel given to Fireform larvae that are meant to become queens someday. It is potent and it is the star of today's experiment. Well, the two of you share the spot." He tells him with a smirk and then moves behind him again.

Hiccup watches him go until he's out of sight, dread knotting his stomach.

"Do you know what it does? It makes a Fireworm independent from the gel that gives them their heat, it enables them to produce it themselves, changes them so they can grow in the same size and strength as the queens before them. They become a queen themselves." Hiccup can hear Viggo pull something out by the way it's dripping the gel back into the bottle. Fireworm gel shouldn't be this liquid.

"Do you know what this means, Hiccup? With a certain dosage, a Fireworm's hormonal gel can change a larvae's very physiology to the point that they become an entirely new kind of dragon. It brings out that which is hidden deeply within them to elevate them to something new. Imagine the kind of power such a gel can give if experimented with, imagine the possibilities." There is such passion in Viggo's words as he dumps all of this info on his abductee.

"You're very talkative all of a sudden," Hiccup says.

"I am merely sharing what I know."

Something is placed on his back over one of his injuries, splatting onto his person before it's properly put in place. It feels like a long strip of cloth drenched in diluted gell and it's mingling with his blood, soaked up by his wound.

It feels cold at first, until the gel seems to activate with his body heat and quickly warms up to the point of hurting. Hiccup breathes through it as much as he can. If it's this intense in a diluted form, what is the gell like in its true form?

The same thing happens to his other cut and Hiccup hisses as the second strip heats up, too.

"Can't imagine it to be too comfortable." Viggo sasses, as if that's something Hiccup wants to hear.

"Oh... Why-why are you doing this? What are you hoping to accomplish?" Hiccup tries once more, his cheeks flushing as the temperatures of his body rises. Within moments he feels feverish.

"What I am trying to accomplish? Hopefully, the exact result I'm looking for." Again, not what he wants to hear.

Viggo appears in front of him again and grabs his chin. Hiccup tries to break free, but Viggo's grip is tight.

The muffled sound of an explosion shakes the cave chamber and small stones drop down from the ceiling here and there.

"Dragon Riders." One of the Hunters mutters and another groans in dismay.

Meanwhile, Hiccup feels relief wash over him.

At least for a short moment.

"Then we'll have to hurry." Viggo's grip on his chin tightens and he forces his mouth open. Hiccup struggles to break free, but the third man joins in again and grabs hold of his hair and jaw.

"No!" A garbled yell leaves Hiccup, but it's no use. Whatever else remains in the bottle, Viggo forces it down his throat and this isn't as diluted as the gell on the strips of cloth.

The effect is instantaneous. His lips, the entire inside of his mouth, his throat, everything becomes unbearably tingly and hot. It's as if he's being burned from the inside out and it makes him panic. If he wasn't crying already, he certainly is now.

Covering his mouth and nose, Viggo keeps Hiccup from spitting it back out, smiling all the while.

"You'll have to forgive, my Dear, but considering our circumstances, I was forced to give you more than the natural doses. Much, much more." He tells him and Hiccup can feel it, with the way he's burning from the inside out.

There is another explosion, followed by another.

"I really wish I could stay and see what happens, but it is time for me to leave soon." He says as he still keeps his hand in place. He doesn't plan on letting go until he's certain it's all gone.

Or until a plasma blast sends them all flying.

It isn't aimed at them, but at the ground instead, lest the Night Fury responsible ends up hitting his own Rider. But the force behind the shot is still powerful enough to fling all five of them.

Hiccup falls to the ground and rolls in the direction of the lake. As per his luck, he falls right in, ending up completely submerged.

Or perhaps it is fortunate, the hot sensation on his lips and tongue alleviates just a tad bit with the cooling water.

"Hiccup!" That is Astrid's muffled yell and Toothless roars in unison with her.

Hiccup can't see what is happening, cringing as the freezing water cools his body and takes his breath away.

He doesn't regain any movement, body locked by cold, but he doesn't have to. Toothless dives right in to pull him out.

Sputtering out water after he's pulled to the surface, Hiccup clings to his dragon and fervently rubs at his face. That burning on his lips and mouth, it needs to go and water is his best option. He tries to wash everything off.

Toothless doesn't quite get what is wrong, but he lets Hiccup do as he wishes. If it helps him to wash whatever it is that is wrong with him off, then he will try and stay as still as he can. Hiccup is holding onto him for support.

Once the burning tingling has been taken care of, Hiccup lets Toothless pull him onto solid ground. It isn't completely gone yet, but it has lessened enough to make it bearable. Just slightly more bearable than it was before, that is.

Astrid helps him get out of the water, grabbing Hiccup's hands to pull him up. The other Dragon Riders are there, too, and they surround him immediately, helping with getting him up. Toothless follows swiftly.

"Hiccup, are you okay?" Astrid asks, hands on his shoulders, but he takes them away from him. She gives him a look.

"I'm sorry, I just can't stand touching right now." His skin is still too tingly, too sensitive. The other Riders quickly take their hands off him.

"What the Hel is this?" Snotlout asks, referring to the strips of cloth covering what are clearly two bleeding cuts.

"I-I don't-I don't even know where to start. But please, get those off." Hiccup responds. The Fireworm gel seems to have cooled down from the water, a mercy considering what he felt like before.

Fishlegs moves behind him, four of the Riders looking over Hiccup's shoulders to take a look at what their healer will be doing.

"They look like they're stuck," Ruffnut states, just shy of touching the cloth.

"Well, let's hope they're not or we might be hurting Hiccup even more than he already is." Astrid retorts.

Fishlegs studies the strips before taking a corner and pulling a tad just to test the waters. Hiccup cringes.

"Oh no, they're stuck, they're very stuck." Fishlegs notices and stops.

Just like anything dragon-related, cooling it only makes it impossible to work with, much like the amber of Death Song dragons.

"Maybe it's better to take care of this on the Edge. We'll be home, you'll be in your hut, and we'll have a lot more supplies on hand than what we have now." Astrid suggests and Hiccup finds himself mulling it over.

Whatever Viggo's experiment is supposed to accomplish, leaving the gel to just sit on his skin might not be the best idea. But if he has to choose between having this issue taken care of here, in a dank cave with little medical supplies, and his home away from home, where his bed is and his workspace, then his choice is quickly made.

"Let's go home."

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It was an uncomfortable trip. Hiccup was able to fly on his own as his injuries didn't keep him from doing so. A blanket had been fashioned into a makeshift tunic by use of a belt to protect him from the freezing winds, but it couldn't stop the pulling he felt on his back.

The two wounds alone would be troublesome on their own, but with the gel sticking cloth into them makes them feel like they're being pulled on and it's unpleasant at the very least.

Dragon's Edge appearing in the distance is a blessing and they eventually reach it. Before long, Hiccup is in his hut while Astrid and Fishlegs figure out what to do about their current problem. So long as those cuts are covered, they can't treat them and that means they need to get rid of those strips first.

"And you said they felt hot?" Fishlegs asks Hiccup to repeat, wanting to know if he heard right so he can properly think of a solution.

Sitting on a chair and finding no way to sit comfortably with his back situation, Hiccup nods.

"Like Death Song amber before it cools." He nods.

"Maybe we can free you from that Fireworm gel like we free someone from Death Song amber? Heat it up until it lets go?" Astrid suggests, sitting on a chair, too, as is Fishlegs. They're both behind him, inspecting the situation before them.

"Hmmm, yeah, that could work, but we'd need to be quick. That stuff was so hot, too hot, I don't want to burn my back." Hiccup reluctantly replies. He's not looking forward to what they most likely will end up doing to help him, he doesn't want to experience that kind of burning again.

But he knows it and they know it. Astrid and Fishlegs share a look, sharing Hiccup's thought process.

"I'll go grab the Inferno," Astrid says and gets up to fetch it on the loft. Hiccup watches her go for a moment before his attention is taken by Fishlegs.

"We promise to be careful, Hiccup, and we'll try to work as fast as we can." He promises him while Astrid returns with the Dragon blade.

They both look at her, watch her check if it's still covered in Nightmare saliva before she lights it with a button and Hiccup fills with dread.

Astrid joins Fishlegs again and they get to work, Astrid holding the sword at the stiff strips to warm them up.

Fortunately for him, it doesn't take as long as Hiccup fears, the gel becomes workable when heated up and Fishlegs manages to pull the cloth off. The second they let go, Astrid takes the Inferno away and Hiccup breathes a sigh of relief.

At least that's over with, now they can properly care for those cuts.

"Oh, this is going to be troublesome." But that is what Astrid says and Hiccup tenses up in alarm.

"Hiccup, the gel is all up in those cuts. Cleaning them won't be easy." Fishlegs warns him and Hiccup nods.

"Do they need to be stitched?" Hiccup asks.

"With all of this gunk in there? Probably. They aren't too deep, but it might help to avoid further risk for an infection." He tells him and Hiccup supposes that he'll just have to resign himself to the fact that he'll be here for a long while.

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It took well over an hour, maybe two or even three. Bottom line is, Fishlegs and Astrid had to spend a long time heating, cleaning, and treating Hiccup's injuries before they could finally bandage him up.

"What was Viggo thinking?!" Astrid hisses angrily as she washes her hands.

"What does it matter? We all know Viggo's a creep." Snotlout complains. After a rejuvenating dinner, he and the twins have joined the others in Hiccup's hut to see how the treatment of their leader is going.

It's been hours since they got home and the three of them could see how much pain it was putting Hiccup in.

Cleaning open wounds isn't at all pleasant, let alone when a fire needs to be held close to said wounds in order to clean them properly. It wasn't good for neither his cuts nor his healthy skin.

His entire back is now red and tender from being burned and Hiccup trembles again from the abuse he was put through, that they had to put him through. Though they were given little choice, it angers them all.

But his wounds have been stitched and dressed and his newly required first-degree burns have been carefully cooled and treated with healing salve. He's eating now, the first meal he's had since he was taken. Or he's trying to, staring at his bowl of soup as they aren't sure what he's able to eat. Nothing warm in hindsight, the inside of his mouth is still sensitive.

He's quiet and without a doubt still reeling from this experience. He'll be fine eventually, but for a time, he'll need to recover from this mentally, too.

"I wonder what the purpose of this was, though. What was Viggo trying to accomplish?" Fishlegs asks, he's the first one to do so since they got home.

"Did he tell you anything?" Astrid faces Hiccup as she dries her hands. Viggo likes talking to him, maybe he told him something.

But Hiccup quietly shakes his head as there isn't anything to tell. He's too upset to take a spoonful and his stomach is too upset, too. Though it rumbles, he's too nauseous to eat.

"Hey, are you okay?" Noticing this, Astrid asks and approaches.

"Oh yeah, I bet he's fine." Snotlout responds sarcastically, finding her question to be a silly one.

Astrid glares at him momentarily. Of course, she knows he's not okay, but it never hurts to ask and see what he has to say.

"Ye-yeah, I'm fine, I just... I just feel too sick to my stomach to eat." Hiccup tells her, but whether it's because of the gel in his system, in his stomach, or because of the stripping of those strips, he doesn't know. Could even be a combination of all three, could be the exhaustion that this experience has left him with.

"Do you need to lie down?"

"Yeah." Hiccup hands her his bowl and she takes it before he can get up on wobbly legs. Fishlegs helps keep him steady.

Now that his injuries have been properly treated, maybe he can get some rest.

Toothless, who had been lying behind him, stands up to follow him up to the loft. He hasn't had much sleep as of late either due to his Rider disappearing.

The five watch them go up the stairs, noticing Hiccup swaying a few times before he makes it up.

"You want us to come back with your food later?" Astrid asks. Maybe they can heat it up over a fire when he does feel like he can handle a meal.

"No, I just want to be left alone for a bit." It makes sense. After what he's been through, Astrid would want to be left alone, too.

"So can we have Hiccup's food?" Ruffnut asks as they make their way out, the hut's door closing and leaving Hiccup and Toothless bathed in the light of a single candle standing by the bed.

Hiccup sits down on the edge of his bed, sighing and swaying. He feels so sick, the Fireworm gel must not be agreeing with him. He feels sick and he's tired, dying to lie down and curl up. So that's what he does.

He can feel his injuries protesting and almost doesn't go for the covers until Toothless pulls them over him, a corner between his gums.

"Thanks, Bud." Hiccup tells him, closing his eyes. He sleeps under them, not fully, with his back in the kind of state that it is. But his dragon is there to keep him warm, so maybe he can get some shuteye despite his many discomforts.

Soon after he closes his eyes, he sleeps, unaware of what Viggo's experiment has truly wrought upon him.

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A couple of days later, evening arrives and the Riders are finishing their dinner while Astrid serves a sixth plate to bring to Hiccup. After having been briefly gone, Fishlegs returns to them with the medical supplies he would need to change Hiccup's bandages.

Tuffnut watches Astrid.

"Maybe we can get Hiccup to eat here?" He suggests to her, they haven't seen him as he recovers and the only ones who do see him are her and Fishlegs.

"We told you, Hiccup is too sick for visitors," Astrid tells him, surprisingly calm in spite of the fact she's had to repeat it many times already.

"Then how come you and Fishlegs get to see him? I can change a bandage!" Snotlout protests, mouth still full of mutton.

"Hiccup can barely stand our presence at the moment, I'm not exposing him to you or the twins." She tells him, picking the extra plate up.

The truth is, Toothless eventually did cave and come to tell them of the fever plaguing Hiccup. Since then it's only gone from bad to worse.

He's burning up all the time, his temperature dangerously high. He's throwing up everything he eats and drinks, already he's lost some weight. And then there's the pain that he's in. Claiming that every part of him hurts, he lies curled up most of the time, stomach upset.

"My back, there's something wrong with my back."

Astrid and Fishlegs have checked over and over again, even removed the stitches to look at the wounds themselves when he told them to remove them. They've found nothing and believe him to be hallucinating due to the fever.

If anything, keeping Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut out of that hut is a favor to them, even if they don't see it that way.

Astrid and Fishlegs are both exhausted, barely having slept these past few days. Whatever is causing all of this, all they can do is help him be as comfortable as he can be in this.

They've already sent a message to Berk with the fastest Terrible Terror that they have. Now they'll just have to wait for Gothi, Stoick, and Gobber to come. There's no way Hiccup can make that trip back.

They go back to doing their own thing when Stormfly perks up by the entrance, where she waits for her human. Her attention seems to be drawn by something as she squawks and her head tilts like a bird's.

"What's wrong, girl?" Approaching with the plate, Astrid wants to ask her what it is that piques her interest. But Stormfly doesn't have to answer when it comes to them before she can.

It is a long blood-curdling scream that freezes them all in place.

They look at each other for a moment too long after it ends, reeling from the sheer torment in the sound.

"Hiccup!" Astrid yells and drops the plate of food she holds. They all sprint out of the clubhouse and towards the hut. Having been spooked, Stormfly is nowhere to be found.

It doesn't take them long to arrive with their legs carrying them as fast as humanly possible. They open the front entrance to permit themselves entry. As it flips open, they hurry inside and up to the loft to find...

"Oh... my..."

"... Gods..." Snotlout finishes for Astrid, who stare at the sight before them. They all stare.

Hiccup and Toothless are both nowhere to be found. What they're staring at instead is nothing but blood.

Sheets, bed, pillows, bucket, everything is splattered with blood. It's even on the walls and on the ceiling.

"What the fuck happened here?!" Tuffnut asks what they're all wondering, but can't say, too speechless to.

Something on the floor catches Astrid's attention and she leans down to grab it.

It's a torn stitch.

"Fishlegs," She calls him over to take a look.

"Is that..."

"From his back? I think so." Astrid responds, not wanting to imagine how or why it's on the floor and not where it's supposed to be. Snotlout looks as well, an expression of disgust on his face.

"Uh, that's not the only one." Ruffnut mentions and points towards several more pieces on the ground.

"Did they get torn off? What was Hiccup doing to himself?" Snotlout asks, that scream had to be coming from somewhere.

Nobody answers simply because no one can provide him with one. But from the patterns of the blood and the pieces of stitches, it almost looks like an explosion of blood had occurred, like it all came bursting out of the wounds on his back. That alone is mindboggling.

"Hey Astrid, considering our situation, maybe we should tell them how Hiccup was really doing," Fishlegs suggests and that doesn't make them feel too good with what they're about to hear.

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They have left a convenient trail for them. It's a trail of blood, but it's something to find their friends with now that they've gone missing.

"Oh, I hope Hiccup's okay," Fishlegs wonders out loud, his arms full of medical supplies.

Snotlout rolls his eyes, too angry with Fishlegs and Astrid to even say anything now. Though the latter of the two sees it as a blessing, he's sure to make up for his silence soon.

"I'm sure he's fine. Or at least as fine as he can be and Toothless is still with them. They're probably waiting for us." Astrid reassures him.

"Uh, and how do we know that?" Tuffnut asks.

"Yeah, why would they be waiting for us if their first instinct was to run away?" Ruffnut asks and she has a point. That they would run away after an utterly puzzling experience like that is a strange thing to do. Especially for Hiccup, who should know better.

"I'm sure it was just the shock of... what must've happened." Astrid tries to give the incident a term, tries to call it something as things always feel better with a name, but finds she isn't sure what to call it. She also isn't sure anymore if it's a good idea to do this on foot as she naturally thought Hiccup and Toothless wouldn't be getting far. And yet, at the same time she can feel that they're close.

If they pass these trees, they'll find them. If they get past this rock, push through these bushes, but each time they end up being further away than she thinks.

"Ugh, this plan is dumb! We should be getting on our dragons and-" As Snotlout breaks his angry silence to propose a different plan, there is a loud rustling up ahead and they all grow quiet. It sounds like a dragon taking off and breaking through the trees to reach the sky, quite a specific sound, but one they're familiar with.

Recognizing this, they search the nearest opening in the greenery and look to the sky. High above them, they spot a black dragon with a little speck of red leaving the Edge. They would've thought it was Toothless and they would've given chase, if not for the fact that this species has four wings instead of two.

A new species of dragon? Now?

The Dragon Riders can only stare, too perplexed to climb onto their dragons to follow or to even grab a spyglass and see what it is, like it's their first time seeing a dragon.

But as exciting as it is to see another new dragon, they can't follow it. They need to find their team members first.

"What was that?" Tuffnut asks and no one can give him an answer.

They continue on the trail and while it ends quickly after, Hiccup and Toothless are nowhere to be found.

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They tried to find their missing friends. The ceiling window was open and they figured that must be how they got away unseen. But after deducing that, they didn't get very far as the blood trail they followed ended after a little while with no further leads. It's like Hiccup and Toothless just vanished into thin air. Dragon's Edge isn't a small island either, finding them again will be hard.

But they've tried. They've searched the forests, they've searched the caves, any place where a human and a Night Fury could hide, only to come up with nothing.

So the Dragon Riders have decided to make a detour.

"You two shouldn't have lied about Hiccup!" Angered by the hiding and the deadends, Snotlout scolds two of the other Riders. He rides on top of Hookfang as they're all mid-flight.

But for once, Hookfang agrees with his human. He is of the opinion that Stormfly's and Meatlug's humans should've been more honest with the group.

"We didn't lie, Snotlout. Hiccup was sick, nobody could see this coming." Astrid is having none of that. She worries and she's been mulling the past few days over and over, trying to think of anything that she thought of as suspicious, but there really is nothing she can think of. She knows Fishlegs has been doing the same in vain.

There is nothing that pointed towards his back bursting open at the seams. The seams being the cuts Viggo put there.

"I still think you should've told us!" Snotlout exclaims.

"So you've mentioned." Astrid retorts, but before the former can say something again, Fishlegs speaks up.

"There it is!" He shouts, pointing towards the island in the distance.

They've left Dragon's Edge and their search to take another look at the place where Viggo held Hiccup and experimented on him. They don't expect to find anything, but finding Hiccup and Toothless first without a way to help might not be so wise. If there is anything this place can tell them that'll help, they would love to know.

What a first glance tells them? That the Dragon Hunters have packed up and left, the island is abandoned. Not surprising and not entirely a bad thing as that saves them the trouble of a battle, but only if Viggo left behind some clue to what he's done to their leader.

They find the cave quickly and ascend down the hole in the ceiling, steering there as they have little interest in the rest of the island for the time being. The hole is big enough even for Hookfang's wings to fit through.

Unsurprisingly, this place has been cleared as well. Everything's been taken.

Everything, except for one thing, a single book.

"Huh, that's weird." Snotlout remarks, most likely saying what they're all thinking as they land. His voice, Hookfang's last wing flaps, everything echoes here.

"Why would Viggo just leave something like that here? That not like him." Fishlegs wonders out loud. Meatlug, who he still sits on, gurgles worryingly in agreement. It is strange and she doesn't like it a bit.

"Maybe he forgot?" Tuffnut hesitantly suggests an explanation.

"Eh, I don't know, looks more like a trick to me." But Ruffnut offers a different perspective.

They all dismount, standing near the pedestal-like carved rock that still has Hiccup's blood on it. There isn't a lot, definitely outweighed by the bloodbath they found in his hut, but their eyes are still drawn to it.

"Ugh," Snotlout shows his disgust for what happened here.

Leaving her dragon's side, Astrid approaches the pedestal to get the book.

"Careful, what if it's a trap?" Fishlegs fears.

"No, I don't think so. I think Viggo left this here for us to find." Astrid thinks, picking the old book up with little problem. Which is a worrying thing to think. Because knowing Viggo, it most likely means he's done what he set out to do and that he wants to gloat to the Riders about another victory by leaving this behind.

The question now is, what will this book mean for them? Will it be an explanation or just more questions?

Astrid returns to her friends with it and they all gather around her to see. She flips it open.

At first glance, the book seems a little odd. There are pages showing strange creatures, texts detailing myths and legends even older than Vikings, a whole section on dragons. There is even something about the Fireworms and their queens, which is one of the pages bookmarked by the man who left this book for them to find.

Because, oh yes, Viggo has bookmarked a few pages for them. He's telling them what they should read, even leaving the occasional note to show which parts are important to read. And they know it's addressed to them as Viggo mentions Hiccup by name.

So clearly he expects his rival to be alive. If anything, it slightly eases the worry that Hiccup might be lying dead somewhere with Toothless in no state to get their friends.

Though it hurts their pride to give into Viggo's mockery, Astrid releases a deeply agitated sigh and turns to the first bookmark.

It is the aforementioned section on Fireworms, their queens, and their gel.

"So what is all of this supposed to mean?" Snotlout asks. Though the Dragons have a slightly easier time to see what is being shown, the Riders are all squeezed together behind Astrid to look over her shoulder and read what's been written.

What they read, isn't new information. They know how the gel works, they know how Fireworm Queens are made.

"For as sophisticated and handsome as he is, Viggo's a dick," Ruffnut says, feeling offended by the Hunter Chief's need to belittle their dragon knowledge.

"So we know from Hiccup that Fireworm gel was used on him, but this information doesn't explain why it was used on him or what it was supposed to do." Fishlegs mentions, so Astrid turns to a different bookmark and that's where the book's strange nature reappears again, causing even an array of befuddling reactions from the Dragons.

The pictures are the oddest part so far and they haven't even gotten to the walls of text yet.

"Uh, are those...?" Snotlout can barely finish his sentence, too spooked and confused.

"Awesome dragon people?! Sign me the fuck up!" Ruffnut excitedly declares, practically climbing over Snotlout to take a better look.

What they're looking at is indeed a page full of sketches with humans in possession of some very draconic traits. Horns, claws, spines, even large and majestic wings. The way they were drawn was in a strange mixture of both beauty and creepy. There appears to be a thin line between the two.

"Oh, yeah, sounds like real fun. I, too, want blood spurting out of me with such force that it hits the ceiling." Snotlout claps back at her, disgruntled with her words, whatever these dragon people have to do with what happened to Hiccup.

"Fishlegs, what do you make of this?" Astrid asks and hands the book over to him. Fishlegs takes it and pages through it, skimming the contents to get a general idea of what it's saying, paying special attention to the parts Viggo has marked for them.

"I'm not really sure. The author of this book clearly likes to talk about these stories revolving around a winged kind of people in this section. Like, a dragon species that look like humans or are something between humans and dragons or were once humans and turned into dragons." Fishlegs explains the gist of it, still paging through the book.

"So like the Wingmaidens?" Snotlout asks, curiously attempting to take another peek. He brings up Atali and her people because he wants to make sense of this. Things like books didn't always mean what they said, they were tricky like that. People with tiny dragons to carry them make a lot more sense to him than people who are dragons themselves.

"No, no baby dragons. More like, these people had wings of their own, they were born with them!" Fishlegs replies, fascinated by the very concept.

"Had?" But Astrid can't help but notice the wording he uses. Is it a coincidence or on purpose?

"Yes, had! This book talks about them supposedly having gone extinct a few generations back. During the time when Hamish the First became chief of Berk!" He responds.

"But in order for something to go extinct-" Fishlegs cuts Astrid off.

"They first need to have existed! And that's what this book is implying. That they weren't legends at all, but real!" He claims. This book implies that about a lot of things they know aren't real.

"So what's that got to do with Hiccup? He doesn't have wings. Or claws, or horns, or fire, he's not a dragon! Not in a literal sense." Snotlout brings up a point.

"Uh, obviously he is." Ruffnut rolls with her eyes in amusement.

"That's why he's also a magical creature because he's a dragon!" Tuffnut agrees, neither of them knowing how right their attempt at helping everyone relax will end up being.

The remaining three Riders and the Dragons focus back on their biggest clue so far, the book

"We should put him a year in the wild."

"Yeah,"

"He'll be so feral!"

"Yeah!"

"Can you two please take this seriously! The only way we can help Hiccup is if we take this seriously and find out what exactly Viggo wanted with him." Astrid scolds them when she has heard enough.

"Viggo wanted Hiccup to grow wings and you want us to take this seriously?" Tuffnut protests at the ridiculousness of it all. Viggo gets to do this and they let him get away with it?

"Uh yeah, not likely," Ruffnut says with a shake of her head.

"Viggo didn't want Hiccup to grow wings, that's ridiculous!" Astrid raises her voice.

"It kind of looks like that's exactly what he wanted to do, actually. He wants us to know about the Fireworm gel and the tales of these ancient people? This might be exactly what he's hinting at." Fishlegs argues in defense of the twins.

"But Hiccup is human!"

"Remember the cuts Viggo made? Those can't be a coincidence!"

"Okay, so let's pretend that's what he wanted to do, does it matter? We're here to find out what happened to Hiccup in his hut, not try to crawl inside a creep's head!" Snotlout puts an end to the discussion by diverting it just a tad.

"Except if... you know... he succeeded?" It's an outrageous suggestion, but Fishlegs still makes it.

They'll all have to take a moment to stare, the notion that that's what caused the mess in his hut not quite what they thought of. Even the Dragons are surprised.

"Okay, that's it, you're fired from dragon nerd duty." Snotlout decides, arms crossed.

"A winged Hiccup, you say. I'd tap that. The question is, will Astrid? Because if she won't I'm available." Ruffnut jokes, her brother nodding in agreement.

"Ugh, muttonheads."

Meanwhile, Astrid makes her way back to Stormfly, who lets her on her back.

"What're you doing?" Snotlout asks.

"We're going back to the Edge. We've done everything we can here and we know what we need to know." Astrid says.

"So what? You're just accepting this stupid theory?" Snotlout asks in disbelieve. But without answering him, Astrid and Stormfly take to the sky.

"Wait, seriously?! I thought you and Fishlegs were the smart ones of the group!" He shouts to her, but still, he and Hookfang follow her home, they all do.

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Once on the Edge, the plan was to search again, to see where Hiccup and Toothless might've gone. That new dragon species might've thrown them for a loop, but not this time. They have tracker dragons and enough medical supplies and a general idea of what has happened, it was time to find them.

Of course, emphasis on "was" as the Dragon Riders arrive home late at night and Smidvarg comes to them with terrible news.

"Smidvarg! What's wrong, Buddy?" Tuffnut asks, a smile still on his face as he's always happy to see his Night Terror buddy.

The Night Terror screeches and shrieks flying off into a direction and expecting the humans and dragons to follow.

"We're following Smidvarg! Come on, Gang!" Astrid decides and they give chase, following the lead Terror to wherever the fire must be.

A fire is exactly what Smidvarg leads them to, a percentage of the forest on the East side of Dragon's Edge is burning, a large plume of smoke rises to the dark sky. And underneath it all, Dragon Hunter ships.

And just to make everything even worse, a plasma blast shoots free of the mess and creates a distress signal that briefly illuminates the sky.

"That must be Toothless!" Fishlegs cries out.

"And Hiccup is probably with them." Astrid acknowledges and Stormfly makes a dive.

Though a quick and effective surprise attack from above was probably the better option, Astrid and Stormfly let out a battle cry together. If only so it may take the Hunters' attention away from their missing friends.

It's a good attempt as a Hunter looks away from their captive to look at the source of that brave yelling.

"Dragon Riders!"

"Guys!" Hiccup shouts, overjoyed to see his friends. Toothless, who has just run out of fire to spend, can feel the relief as well.

"Quick, get a move on!" A Hunter orders, axehead clanging loudly against the cage Hiccup's been put in. The cage located on a cart, it starts to move as it's being pulled away.

"Bud!" Hiccup calls for his Night Fury before a tarp is thrown over him, completely blocking him from view.

"I've heard that a darkened cage is good for an animal, now calm yourself." The Hunter growls mockingly. But Hiccup can't calm, not even now that his friends are finally here and he can hear them engage the Hunters in combat. He doesn't know what took them so long, but they're here now.

"Riders, take care of the accompanying ships! We need Viggo for some answers!" Astrid orders and watches as a tarp-covered cage is moved onto the middle ship. She can hear Toothless and his sounds are coming from the forest. Hiccup must be under there.

The ships that have come for their friends are heavily armed, rightfully expecting a fight, but the Dragon Riders aren't about to be scared off by a few arrows and ballistas.

"Here we go!"

"Oh yeah!" Ruff and Tuff shout as Barch releases a toxic cloud of gas that envelopes a group of Hunters before it is sparked alight. The group screams as they are blown away, their cries cut short much too sudden.

"Come on, Hookfang, let's show them what we've got!" Snotlout tells his dragon and the Nightmare snarls in anticipation. He can feel the fire burning in his throat and he releases his fury onto one of three ships, burning the mast and the majority of the deck.

Meatlug helps, spewing lava in what remains and creating holes through each floor until the molten rock reaches the sea below.

Stormfly, she goes directly for Toothless, grabbing the net thrown over him while Astrid leaps from the saddle and runs at the nearest Hunter, axe raised.

With a cry, she brings it down and it meets the Hunter's sword. They engage each other in battle.

On Viggo's ship, the cage with Hiccup halts before the man himself and the tarp is lifted on one side.

Hiccup, though injured, backs up and hopefully stays out of Viggo's reach.

Viggo stands there, gripping the bars as he takes the sight of Hiccup in, everything that he can see in this darkness.

"You are more then I could've hoped for, my Dear Hiccup. Beautiful results." Viggo remarks and Hiccup hates what he's hearing. These are truly the last words he wants to hear come out of this man's mouth.

But at least he can see the familiar glow of fire, a ship must be burning to a crisp just out of his view. A good thing, it means his friends must be close.

"Viggo!" Astrid screams and Viggo lowers the tarp to hide his prisoner.

Astrid runs up the gangplank, axe bloodied and prepared while Stormfly and Toothless follow her onboard. There are still plenty of Hunters to take care of on this ship. And in the meantime, the other Dragon Riders sink the other ship accompanying the main one.

Viggo has come prepared, more men than usual are present and while the dragons take care of them, Astrid focuses on their Chief. She takes a leap and a swing and makes Viggo step away from the cage.

"Hiccup, we're here for you!" She tells him, loud enough to make sure she's heard through the cover and over the fire. She would like to lift the tarp and have a look at him, but the enemies surrounding them won't allow that. Though she can hear their dragons making quick work of them.

"Yeah, thanks." Hiccup's reply is surprisingly short, like he can't decide whether he should be thrilled or worried. A possible reason nags her in the back of her mind, but still having a hard time believing it, she pushes it away.

"What are you incompetents standing around for?! You're Dragon Hunters!" Viggo's temper flares when it seems like he may lose his experiment's precious results.

His men are useless and as his second ship begins to sink, the other Dragon Riders can all target this one.

With a growl, Viggo draws his sword and faces Astrid. After all his work, he'd rather not lose Hiccup now.

"You're surrounded, Viggo. Give up." Astrid challenges him, axe twirling dexterously in her hands. She's been waiting for this moment ever since Hiccup first got captured.

Viggo isn't too happy with her calls for his surrender, he would much rather just leave, but Astrid clearly isn't about to let him do so. His ship is burning all around him anyway, he won't be getting out of this unless he has a dinghy somewhere or something to distract her or stop her.

But then a burning mast comes falling down and Astrid needs to jump out of the way. It separates her and Hiccup.

"Astrid?!" He calls to her, having heard and felt something heavy fall right by his cage where she stood.

"I'm okay, Babe! Don't worry about me!" She shouts at him from over the roaring flames, looking back at Viggo over the fire only to find him gone.

"No!" She yells, frustrated with the Hunter Chief's disappearance.

Under the tarp, Hiccup makes use of what dragons put in a cage such as this can't take advantage of and that is a pair of hands.

In the dim light, he seeks the lock and thinks of a way to unlock it and free himself. Unfortunately, he has nothing on him, nothing besides his prosthetic. He could try to pry the door open with it.

Removing his prosthetic, back burning and hurting with every move, he uses it to force the cage door open. It takes a lot of effort, but the lock eventually caves with a groan. The door swings open and he's free.

Now what does he do?

Staying isn't an option as the tarp hiding him from view catches on fire. He has no time to think of his next move, his only choice is to get out of here.

Get out of here and expose himself.

Hiccup swallows the dread he feels, knowing he has to come out and reveal himself to the Dragon Riders some time. Now is as good a time as any.

Outside the Dragon Riders have finished the Hunters off, what few there remained, and their search for Viggo proved useless. If that man doesn't want to be found, they won't.

"Where did that bastard go?!" Snotlout growls, still needing to deal him some good old fashioned Jorgenson vengeance.

"Forget Viggo! Hiccup is trapped inside this thing, we need to get him out!" Astrid denies him his revenge, her eye has fallen on the burning tarp and she wants to get it off. She can't remove it with her hands, so her axe will have to do.

Or so she thinks until Stormfly takes initiative and grabs the tarp with her large talons, pulling it off and revealing the cage to be empty.

Astrid stares as Hiccup has apparently managed to slip out in the chaos? The lock appears to have been pried open.

"I'm-I'm here... I didn't leave."

Everyone looks toward the burning quarterdeck and find Toothless already there with his Rider. And Hiccup, he stands there with a mindboggling surprise for them.

Still shirtless, blood stains him and contrasts against his skin. On his back are the results of Viggo's experiment, two large, leathery, black wings akin to that of a Night Fur decorate his back. And in the light of the blaze consuming all around them, he makes for quite a sight.

None of the Dragon Riders say a word, too stunned to even think. The book was telling the truth. These people exist and Hiccup is now one of them.

"Do they hurt?" Astrid asks as she and Fishlegs tend to his back again, wiping down and cleaning the base of their leader's newly acquired wings.

Hiccup has told them how the day he got them went. How the pain in his back grew and grew, like something was dying to break from his skin until it eventually did, erupting out of him with all the blood and gore you'd imagine would accompany a birth such as that.

And when he heard the Riders come, he'd panicked and told Toothless to take him somewhere safe and isolated. This experience had left him a little rattled, to say the least, and he wanted to figure out what had happened to him, what was still happening to him, and if he wasn't just madly hallucinating it all.

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"They do." Hiccup replies and Astrid lightens her touch.

The base certainly looks like something has torn right out of his skin. And though Fishlegs hypothesizes that this will heal nicely and grow to blend together seamlessly, they can't help but cringe at the sight now.

The burns on his back are gone, however. Fishlegs wanted to discuss what this could mean, but Hiccup had made it clear that he is too tired. That and he probably doesn't want to talk about underlying issues or whatnot just yet.

"We're going to leave you alone once we're done. Can't imagine how tired you must be." Astrid promises. They are all back at the hut anyway, so he can get some well-needed rest.

Or rather, they're at Fishlegs' hut since Fishlegs should probably keep an eye on him.

"Yeah, you look like you got dragged behind Meatlug again." Snotlout helpfully states. The twins are here as well and have been looking through the Grimborns' book. Upon closer inspection, much like the Dragon Eye, this book about legends that ended up being true also belongs to the Grimborn family, surprise, surprise.

"Oh, you think that I don't look too hot after growing extra bones, blood, muscle, skin, and what have you overnight?" Hiccup sasses back, so at least that is still intact.

"Eh, I don't know about that. I think the wings just make you look hotter." Ruffnut chimes in.

"Thank you, Ruffnut." Hiccup deadpans and Ruff clicks with her tongue and winks.

But the matter of his relationship with Astrid does bother him. Before Toothless, he couldn't even imagine himself together with her as a normal human being. But now that he's... that he's... this? What will happen to them now?

Astrid can see him think it, noticing first by the drooping of the wings she and Fishlegs are tending to. They're expressive, just like the rest of him, and to her, that means that they are definitely a part of him.

She moves to sit on his edge of the bed and draws his attention. His complexion is a ghostly pale after this experience and his eyes tired. It's a surprise he's even still sitting up after all of this.

"This doesn't change anything between us. I still want to be there for you through everything, the good, the bad, and the unexpected." Astrid tells him with honesty, lightly brushing one leathery wing only to have both of them freak out and spasm at her touch. Hiccup cringes, hearing a bowl clatter to the ground.

"Sorry, Fishlegs." Hiccup apologizes, looking over his shoulder at his fellow dragon enthusiast as he cleans the mess.

"Oh, don't worry about it! They're so new, I bet it's going to take a while to get used to them." Fishlegs accepts the apology, telling Hiccup not to fret.

Ruff and Tuff meanwhile, they share a mischievous look.

"Sensitive?" Astrid asks and Hiccup awkwardly nods. She makes a mental note to be more careful next time she touches them. He doesn't have control over them yet.

"Just promise me one thing. If I ever end up growing wings, that you'll still accept me in your life, too." She requests with a smile.

"You growing wings would be amazing. Just hopefully with less blood and screaming." Hiccup responds, voice still hoarse from that screech he had released when it happened to him.

Astrid smiles at him. Wings or no wings, she still loves him just as much.

"So what exactly does this mean?" Snotlout asks and grabs the book from the twins, who both protest at his thievery.

"If I had to make a guess, I'd say that at least one bloodline must still be alive to this very day." Fishlegs proposes a theory.

"If that's true, then why is Hiccup the only one? And why did Viggo have to make it happen?" Snotlout asks as it would make a lot more sense to him for Hiccup to have just been born with them.

"Survival? The book clearly states that their numbers dwindled rapidly. And Fireworm gel meant to make Fireworm Queens "bring out what was already there", so to speak. So if what makes the dragon people was even faintly present inside of Hiccup, the gel brought it out. And it came out a lot faster than was probably healthy because of the overdose Viggo gave him." Fishlegs give the most likely explanation of what he thinks might be going on here.

"Can I see it? When did this start happening?" Hiccup asks and Snotlout hands him the book. Before he can find the number himself, Fishlegs already has an answer ready for him.

"350 to 400 years ago."

Hiccup finds himself in shock, they all do.

"So when..." Astrid's voice trails.

"When the Red Death began her tyranny and demanded that dragons steal food from newly settled Vikings. These people... my people...? Either way, they must've been hunted down because Vikings thought they might've been the cause." It pains him to say it and he feels hurt thinking these might be his people that this happened to them.

That he's not entirely human, it's still too strange to think about. Even with those two things on his back to prove it.

He hands the book back to Snotlout, who takes it and closes it.

"Does it explain the hand thing?" Tuffnut asks curiously.

"The hand thing has nothing to do with this, Tuff, you can all do it." Hiccup replies. He's too tired to think any more of it. As fascinating as this discovery is, he's completely drained.

"Yeah, except for the fact that we can do the hand thing because you taught us how to understand dragons, Hiccup." Astrid reminds him, gazing at him. She's been holding his hand.

"Toothless taught me!"

"And maybe you understood because you were born with the ability to understand."

Astrid is giving him that look. That look that tells him that, as scary as it is, he should consider the possibility of what this might mean. And Hiccup supposes he doesn't have a defense for that one.

"So we kill the dragon people and it's a dragon man who saves us from all eventually dying from a tireless war against a faceless and nameless foe? Now that would be ironic." Tuffnut states and Ruffnut nods in agreement.

"So great, Hiccup is a dragon man. Which parent did he get it from?" Snotlout has one more question that needs answering.

And since none of them would know, they all look to Hiccup.

"After I got my mom's gift for me back, he told me that she sympathized with the dragons and that this is why she made me a dragon doll. She wanted me to sympathize with them as well. As much as he loves her gift for me now, it used to be his biggest gripe back then, with the whole war still going on. But dragons took her and, well, ate her." Hiccup explains and then looks at Toothless, who's apologetic rumblings draw his attention as if he was the one who did it.

"So I don't know who I would get this from. If I even got this from either of them." Though there is the dragon expert inside of him that tells him that dragons don't prefer humans as food, but fish. And that includes dragons as large as the Stormcutter who took his mother before he even turned one.

And besides, if she were still alive after all these years, she would've come back somehow, right?

Having a feeling what he might be thinking of, Astrid takes and squeezes his shoulder.

"You should rest." She tells him and Hiccup nods. There will still be plenty of time to figure everything out, including what he's going to wear now that none of his tunics are going to fit.

Though some vague ideas might be growing in his mind already.

Astrid and Fishlegs leave the bed, allowing Hiccup to lie down. He's only going to be able to sleep on his side and front from now on. Unless he pulls a Toothless and sleeps upsidedown. Now that would be fun to try out.

"Sleep," Astrid says and presses her lips on his in a kiss, still happy to do so. With or without Snotlout pretending like he's about to throw up his lunch in the background.

Toothless pulls a blanket over him and roars at the others to leave already.

"We know, T, we're leaving," Tuffnut says, hands up, and he leaves together with everyone else. They all give Hiccup one last glance, glad to have him back safe and sound, before they close the door and bathe the hut in darkness.

Hiccup watched them go, petting Toothless on the nose when he comes purring. After the days he's had, he wonders if he'll be able to sleep at all.

He knows the changes aren't done yet. He can feel that his body is still all kinds of wrong and he fears going through another excruciating experience like the birth of his wings.

And when the physical changes to his body are done, there will be other changes. The Riders have alerted him to the Terror mail they've sent to Berk, his father, mentor, and Gothi will be coming to the Edge tomorrow or the day after. They aren't going to take this well and Hiccup worries for his father's reaction the most. After Hiccup deals with those reactions, he'll have to worry about Berk's next.

And then there are the many unanswered questions. Clearly, those draconic humans existed, Hiccup is now living proof of them. But is he truly related to them? And what does that mean for him and his dragons? Has Toothless ever suspected anything?

Pulling his head away from the petting, Toothless rumbles and nudges his Rider, telling him to close his eyes and sleep.

"I will, Bud." Hiccup tells him, eyes heavy with sleep.

He supposes he'll have to wait and let the changes of the future come to him.

Hiccup closes his eyes and hopes his dreams will at least take him to more reassuring places.

[whump-princess]

Insane Asylum Whump Prompts

(Notes and trigger warnings: With these prompts I'm going for the sketchy, creepy, back-in-the-day type insane asylum aesthetic, where the nurses aren't so caring and the doctors use unethical, harmful methods for treatments. Going for the American Horror Story vibe. This isn't a play on irl mental health topics.  Don't come for me if things aren't historically/ medically accurate, this is all fictional. Still TW for mental health, drugs and noncon drugging, abandonment, mention of self harm...

whumpee

Character has psychic abilities and their people deems them unstable and summits them to an asylum against their will. Feeling abandoned and betrayed.

Straight jackets. Grabbed and dragged by the straps. Whumpee is so exhausted from twisting and tugging, but the restraints won't budge. Stuck, trapped, unable to defend themselves.

Forced to take medication, nurses pinning them down and forcing pills down their throat. They’re never told what exactly they are, but they notice they never feel quite right after taking them, dazed and disoriented.

Whumpee knows they're not insane, but after being told and treated like they are makes them believe it must be true.

Sketchy doctor is only keeping them there as another one of their experiments. Another resident tries their best to warn them, although they are usually strung out from the drugs, soggy from all the shock therapy. Whumpee eventually figures out that most of the patients there are the doctors victims, all turned mad by their twisted “treatments”. 

(shock therapy whump prompt)

Padded cells: Waking up to find themselves trapped in a white padded room. They can't recall what happened beforehand. There's seemingly no way out from the inside. The room is suffocating, the air is stuffy, the fluorescent lights irritating on the eyes. Screaming for help does no good when the walls are so thick. How long will they leave me in here? How long has it been? Maybe they wake up with wounds which nurses letter explain as self inflicted. They needed a “time out” after trying to hurt themselves. 

Just being dragged down the hall by the nurses and doctors in general, flailing and screams of protest.

Character is restrained/ tied down to a hospital bed or chair and left for long periods of time, hours, all day, hungry, parched and uncomfortable.

Tied down, eyes pried open and forced to watch hypnotizing videos about “being a good citizen” and other terrorizing things.

Tied down and kept in freezing cold/ burning hot baths.

Nurses that give patients a lollipop when they are good after their “treatments,” aka torture sessions.

Nurses and doctors that like to take advantage of the patients or beat and torture them for fun. Because the patients can't stop them and if they were to tell any one, no one would believe them because they’re just crazy, they’re making stuff up!

The horrendous, agonizing wails of other “patients”, screaming for help.

Character makes friends with the other “patients” and together they plan an escape. (Cue failed escape attempt and punishments!)

Caretaker, who had been at the facility for a long time knows the ins and outs, how to get more food, how to avoid taking medication, and how to keep their sanity. They take the blame when they are caught doing something they shouldn't be because they are used to the punishments by now. When they see each other again in passing, caretaker isn't themself, they're loopy as though they were drugged, or maybe something much worse happened to them.

A needle plunged into the characters arm or neck whenever they act out or have an episode. They're knocked out for what feels like days.

Force feedings because whumpee refuse to eat in protest. The nurses hold them down and shove a tube past their teeth and down their throat and pour in pureed mystery meat and slop, and for extra protein, raw eggs. They’re gagged so they can't throw it back up.

The nice nurse, caretaker, who looks out for the whumpee. The other nurses don't like that their being nice and on their days off they make sure to be extra mean to the whumpee. 

Whumper is an escaped asylum paitent, they themself is turamatized from what was done to them, so their coping mechnisim is to do that exacte same thing to some other poor soul, AKA, whumpee,

[penpatronuswhump]

WHUMPTOBER 2020

No. 25

Fandom: Avengers

Whumpees: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton

Title: The One Where Tony, Steve, and Clint are Tortured 

By: PenPatronus // PenPatronusAooO 

It was a lovely dinner. Tony had it catered by the best restaurant in the city and hired waiters and waitresses to serve everyone. He invited the whole gang to the Tower: Steve, Bruce, Clint, Vision, Wanda, Natasha, Peter, Scott, Sam, Rhodey, Bucky, and Doctor Strange. Tony took a moment to look at everyone seated around the table and admire each of them. He was grateful for them. He’d never had so many friends in his life – friends who knew his sins and accepted him anyway. Friends he was proud to have at his table. Friends he was grateful to for coming to his table. For Thanksgiving he’d have to get a table twice the size so that everyone could bring their significant others and their kids.

 “Mr. Stark?” Peter caught Tony staring. “Mr. Stark, are you ok?”

 Tony grinned. He put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Never better,” he said, and he was surprised to find that he meant that. What was better than a great dinner with your best friends?

 “Mr. Stark, I was thinking… Every organization has a hierarchy, right? I’m probably at the bottom of this one—”

 “The very bottom, kid,” Stark confirmed with a smile.

 “Well, what can I do about that? I mean, what’s a guy gotta do around here to get promoted to, uh, sergeant or something?”

 “Well first,” Tony held up his empty glass, “you can get me more wine.”

 The blue-skinned, black-haired man who appeared in a spiral of red sparkles in front of the bar had sigils in his face that Tony recognized as Norse. His eyes were red, and he held a knife that was stained red. Steve and Clint instantly moved to Tony’s side at the head of the table as the being approached. Everyone else spread out behind them – if they had to use their weapons and powers on the intruder, they didn’t want to hit each other.

 “Where’s my brother?” the man asked with a baritone voice. “Where is Loki?”

 Everyone looked at Steve and Tony.

 “I traced his steps across the universe to this very room. Where is he?”

 It was Tony who took a step forward. “You know, you could introduce yourself. It’s just nice manners when you break into someone’s home. We’re the Avengers. It’s nice to meet you. And you are…?”

 “Helblindi, son of Laufey and Farbauti.”

 “Well I’m Tony, son of Howard and Maria, and I don’t remember inviting you to this dinner. So how about you throw some of that red confetti and zip on out of here.”

 “Until recently I didn’t know I had a brother. Now I can sense him – him and that Asgardian Thor.” Helblindi raised his knife. “Where are they?”

 “They’re not here,” said Steve. “It’s been years since Loki was here. You won’t find them, not on this planet.”

 “They didn’t exactly leave a forwarding address,” Clint chimed in.

 “Then summon them,” the frost being insisted.

 “We don’t know how to do that,” said Natasha from Clint’s right. She wasn’t lying. “We don’t know anything.”

 Helblindi pointed his knife at Nat. “Find Loki or Thor for me, or I’ll kill you.”

 Wanda summoned red magic around her hands. Strange encircled his wrists with golden cuffs. Rhodey, Natasha, Sam, and Clint took out the guns they had in their pockets. Peter and Scott bent at their knees, ready to pounce. Vision floated into the air and raised his palms.

 Helblindi held his red knife high. “I’ll return here in 72 of your hours. If you don’t have Thor or Loki, then these three men die.” Suddenly, he dropped the knife to the floor, and red light exploded across the room, knocking everyone over. Helblindi marched forward and pulled Clint to his feet by his throat. He did the same thing to Tony, holding the two of them above his head like trophies. Steve, disoriented, dove into tackle him, and that was when all four of them disappeared in a shower of red sparks.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter cried.

 “Clint!” Nat gasped.

 Sam ran to where Steve had been standing. “What happened? Where did he take them?”

 “It this creature is able to cross the universe, then he could be anywhere,” Strange pointed out.

 Nat turned to face the group. “Does anyone know where Thor is or how to contact him? Because, seriously, I don’t.”

 Nobody raised their hands.

 “Crap.”

 ---------

 Steve woke up in a cell the size of a queen-sized bed. He hung from the center of it by cuffs and chains that had all but cut off the circulation in his hands. He stood on shaky feet, fought past the dizziness, and looked around. Clint and Tony were also in bed-sized cages – Clint on Steve’s left and Tony on Steve’s right. Both men were unmoving. Across the room, a SHIELD symbol hung on the wall. Old, abandoned equipment sat everywhere – computers and carts of metal supplies and piles of unopened rations. An abandoned SHIELD base – but where? Steve wrestled with his cuffs and got nowhere.

 Helblindi was sitting on an empty crate, watching Cap come to. He flipped his red knife over and over in his hand. “Where is Loki?” he asked, frustration apparent. “Where is Thor?”

 Steve looked at his teammates. “Are my friends alive?”

 Helblindi stood up, still twirling his knife. “At the moment. Would you like to keep them that way?”

 Steve snorted. “What do you even want with Loki? Why are you looking for that monster?”

 The red knife was aimed at Steve’s throat. “Watch your mouth, mortal. That’s my brother you’re talking about. Don’t you have any brothers?”

 Steve almost said “no,” but then he thought of Bucky, of Sam and Tony and Bruce and Clint, and he said, “Yes.”

 “And you wouldn’t go searching across the universe for them?”

 “I wouldn’t kidnap and threaten to kill people to find them.”

 Helblindi smiled and shrugged in a very Loki-like manner. “To each their own.”

 Steve rolled his eyes. “How about this: the next time Thor stops by, we’ll tell him you’re looking for him and let him know what planet you’re on… As long as it’s not ours.”

 “I appreciate your attempt at compromise. And I might even consider it if I didn’t believe that you’re lying to me.”

 “We’re not lying. We really, truly do not know where Thor and Loki are. And holding my teammates and me here isn’t going to change that.”

 “Desperate people do desperate things,” said Helblindi. “Your teammates back at your base, knowing your lives are at stake, will suddenly find themselves thinking outside the box. They’ll figure out how to summon Thor or Loki and if they don’t, they’ll die, too.”

 ----------

 It was absurdly early in the morning when Jane Foster’s phone rang. Her phone only ever rang that early because of emergencies, so Jane answered it instantly. “Hello?”

 “Dr. Foster? This is Natasha Romanoff.”

 “Natasha—Oh! Yes, oh, yes. Miss Romanoff. Your, uh, reputation precedes you.”

 “As does yours, Doctor.” Nat was talking at breakneck speed. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Dr. Foster—”

 “Jane.”

 “Jane. I’m sorry to disturb you, Jane, but we need your help. Have you heard from Thor lately?”

 The speed of Jane’s heartbeat doubled. “No – no, I’m afraid not… Not for a long time.”

 “Did he leave any way to contact him? Some way to summon him if you needed him?”

 “Like his phone number?” Jane half-laughed. “No, sorry, no.”

 “Dammit.” Natasha sighed. “Jane, there’s something else. Has Thor ever been to your home?”

 “Yeah…? Why? What’s going on?”

 “Well, it turns out that Loki has a brother, and this brother of his is able to… sense, somehow, where Thor and Loki have been. This means that he might show up in your kitchen asking for Thor at any second. You have to get out of there.”

 Jane’s blood froze. “I’ll start packing.”

 “Ok. And while you’re packing – no longer than five minutes, Jane – while you’re packing, I need you to think up a list of anywhere else on earth Thor or Loki may have gone. We need to evac people from those places as soon as possible.”

 “I’m on it.”

 ----------

 Clint recognized where they were immediately when he woke up. He reported to Steve, who was hanging in the cage on his right, “When Loki did his mind control on me and a bunch of SHIELD operatives and scientists, this was sort of our headquarters. We took over this base.”

 Steve perked up a bit. “Where are we?”

 “Near the Jersey border. This place used to be a small airport.”

 Helblindi strutted over to Clint. “My brother can control minds? Fascinating.”

 Clint spat so hard that he hit Helblindi’s boots. “Your brother is an asshole who tried taking over this planet. We kicked his ass.”

 Helblindi’s eyes narrowed. “Did you, now…” He approached the bars to Clint’s cell and waved the knife at him. “Well, maybe I should get a little revenge for him…”

 “Then you’ll want to take it out on me,” Tony suddenly said. Steve and Clint pivoted right and saw Stark on his feet, swaying, but holding his ground. “Since I’m the one who blew up his ship and destroyed his entire army.”

 “Tony,” Steve cautioned.

 Tony ignored him. “You know that Tower you snatched us from? That was where he surrendered – such a loser.”

 Helblindi ignored Clint and went to Tony. He dragged the knife across the cell bars as he walked.

 “Tony.” Steve’s chains rattled as he tried to get out of them.

 Helblindi opened Tony’s cell and entered it, knife first. “What did you say about my brother?”

 “Well,” Tony sneered, “he lost, so he’s a loser, so I called him a loser. Your brother is a loser.”

 “I know you’re just saying these things to draw my attention away from your friend,” Helblindi said. He circled Tony like a hungry vulture. “It’s admirable, honestly. But you’ll still have to pay for those words.”

 “No!” Steve and Clint cried when Helblindi raised the knife and swung it at Tony. He slashed the inventor across his cheekbone, leaving a deep, bleeding cut. Tony didn’t make a sound. Blood rolled down to his chin.

 Helblindi grabbed Stark by the throat and glared at him with those red eyes. “What do you have to say now?”

 Tony glared back. “Give me a category.”

 Helblindi chuckled and let Tony go, sending him dropping backwards in his bonds. “Do you have a hobby, Tony?”

 Tony got back up on his feet. “Several. You want to learn how to crochet?”

 Helblindi sneered. The knife slashed again, this time from the corner of Tony’s mouth straight to his ear. “I have a hobby. It’s been a passion of mind. Family business, you might say. I wonder if my brother loves it as much as I do…”

 “You weren’t kidding when you said you crocheted that winter cap for Lila?” Clint asked Tony.

 “I wasn’t kidding,” Tony confirmed. “Well, I sort of did it. I designed a new type of knitting machine that—” Helblindi stopped Tony short when he whipped the knife for a third time, this time slicing Tony across the shoulder. “Ouch,” Tony growled, more annoyed than in pain.

 “Stop it,” Steve ordered in his most “captain” of voices.

 Helblindi turned his attention away from Tony. The moment his back was turned, Tony leapt up and wrapped his knees around his neck. He squeezed with all his might, pulling the frost being’s body closer so that he could smack that black-haired head with his own. To Tony’s dismay – and Steve and Clint’s – the being just chuckled. Slowly, as if he enjoyed the tension, he reached up, wrapped a hand around Tony’s left ankle, and twisted. They all heard the cracking sound as the ankle broke. Tony yelped and let go. Helblindi pivoted and smacked Tony across the mouth, punched him in the stomach, and clobbered him across the chin. Stark spat blood.

 “Stop!” Steve shouted. “He gets the point!”

 Helblindi locked Tony’s cell and moved into Steve’s. “What’s your name?”

 “Steve Rogers.”

 “Steve Rogers. Strong name, for a Teran. You’re the leader. I could tell by your posture back at the Tower. And by the way everyone looked at you. I respect leaders.” Helblindi cocked his blue head to the side. “Do you have a hobby, Steve?”

 “How about we skip to the part where you tell us what yours is?”

 Helblindi laughed. “Very well. Should I tell you or show you?”

 “Show—?” Steve was cut off when Helblindi sliced him down his arm from the inside of his elbow to his shoulder. He went right, then, and sliced a similar length down Cap’s ribs from his armpit down to his hipbone. Right when Helblindi went in to slice up Cap’s stomach was when Steve yanked down hard on the chains above him. The chains separated from the ceiling and fell straight down. Steve stepped backwards and they piled right down on Helblindi’s head, knocking him out. “CLINT!”

 Barton was already on it. He flipped his body upside down, raising his feet to his hands. He found the lockpick in his shoe and got out of his cuffs in record time. After getting out of his cell, he raced into Steve’s and freed him, then the pair moved to Tony. “About damn time,” Stark muttered, annoyed. “LOOK OUT!”

 The real Helblindi – not the faux version he’d cloned with his magic, as Loki liked to do – emerged from the shadows and kicked Steve in the back, sending both him and Barton into the cage with Tony. Then the frost being, having, unlike Loki, grown up being schooled on magic, used his to slam the three Avengers against the back wall of the cave and hold them there, surrounded by red sparkles. “Well, that was fun,” Helblindi said, smoothing back his black hair. He cracked his knuckles, walked into the cave, and kicked Barton in the stomach so hard that Clint nearly retched. He punched, then, giving Barton an instant black eye. Punch number two split open his lip. Punch number three busted his nose.

 Helblindi stepped back then and massaged his hand. “We have 70 more hours of this fun,” he said, grinning. “You three better get used to it.” Then, with a flair of his fingers that released the Avengers from being held against the wall, Helblindi locked the cage door and disappeared down the hall.

 ---------

 Dr. Erik Selvig answered his cell phone without looking to see who was calling. “Yes?” It was Natasha. They chatted. Selvig had no clue where Thor was, or how to find him. “Try praying,” he recommended.

 “Sir, we need to know every place that Loki and Thor may have been on this planet. It’s our only help to find them.”

 “What about that SHIELD base Loki had Barton and I in right before the attack on New York? The base where we perfected the tech and planned the attack on the Helicarrier?”

 “WHERE IS IT?”

 ----------

 Clint and Steve could only watch – and also try not to watch – as Helblindi surrounded Tony with red sparks and lifted his body up into the air. Lightning flashed beneath Stark’s clothes. Blood dripped from his fingernails. His limbs shook with pain.

 Steve couldn’t stand it. “Me!” he shouted. “Take me!”

 Helblindi grinned as Tony squirmed. “Are you begging?” he asked Cap. “Are you begging me?”

 Steve didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Yes, I’m begging you to take me instead. I’m begging.”

 Tony dropped to the floor of the cell. His eyes were open and twitching. His hands trembled and his legs stretched, retracted, then stretched again as he fought through cramps, bruises, and fire. Helblindi approached the cage. “You know what most people don’t understand about torture, Steve Rogers? It’s the psychological torture that’s most enjoyable. Watching leaders like you, men responsible for other men, look so helpless…” Helblindi rolled his eyes back and smiled wider. “Delicious.” Before Steve could comment, Helblindi pointed his knife at Clint. The unleashed magic lifted Barton from the cell floor just like Tony.

 Clint screamed.

 ----------

 Sam landed the Quinjet a hundred yards away from the target. The team had worked together so much that they no longer needed words. They just started running the minute they left the ship, pairing up, going up and left and right, ready to attack the compound from every angle. Vision, Wanda, Peter, Scott, Sam, Rhodey, Bucky, Bruce, and Strange waited for Natasha’s signal.

 --------

 Helblindi my have knocked him out, Steve decided, because he certainly didn’t remember lying on his side to take a nap. But he woke up from a restless sleep in one corner of the cage. Tony was on his right and Barton was on his left, both lying on their backs. Both bleeding from a hundred different places. Both looking at Steve with lifeless eyes.

 Lifeless.

 The noise that came out of Steve’s chest was part-sob, part roar. He crawled on his hands and knees over to Tony’s prone body and shook Stark by the shoulders. “Tony? Tony! Oh, God, no…” He crawled to Clint and shook him, too. Again, nothing. Barton was dead. Eyes dry, but still sobbing, Steve went back to Tony and put his hands on either side of his friend’s face. “Dammit, no, wake up, WAKE UP!”

 Steve collapsed back on his butt and put his face in his hands. He’d failed his team. Clint and Tony were dead. He didn’t save them. Steve fell over to the right, directly onto Tony’s lifeless chest, and that’s where the tears poured.

 “Cap,” someone whispered. Steve looked up. As soon as he did, the fake bodies beside him disappeared. Tony and Clint – though they looked like corpses – were perfectly alive and sitting side by side at the rear of the cage. “Cap, it’s not real. He’s making you see things,” Tony told him.

 “Oh, God…” Steve gasped. He crawled over to his friends, put a knee between them and wrapped his left arm around Clint and his right around Tony. “Oh, thank God…” Barton and Stark hugged him back.

 A cackle. Helblindi was watching from outside the cell. The son of a bitch was eating popcorn. “You three are adorable,” he mocked. “Honestly. I’ve tortured people to death before and you three are just the most fun I’ve ever had.”

 Steve wiped his eyes dry. He stood, then turned to face the frost being. “Our team’s coming for us,” he told Helblindi. “And when they see the shape you’ve left us in, they’re going to be pissed.”

 Helblindi approached the cage door and so did Cap. “I hope so,” the frost being said, “because it would be nice to have a fair fight.”

 “Oh, there’s going to be a fight,” Steve assured him. “And that fight will end when I snap your neck.”

 Helblindi raised his knife again. “We’ll see about that.”

 All three of them – Tony, Clint, and Steve were lifted into the air by the red magic. Their bodies sizzled, cracked, and burned.

 None of them could resist screaming.

 It was then, right when Helblindi was enjoying his hobby the most, that two legs kicked in the door at the end of the hallway. Vision and Wanda entered and hit Helblindi with an absolute tidal wave of red and yellow energy. The frost being was knocked off guard. His magic broke and Steve, Clint, and Tony fell to the floor. None of them moved.

 Strange came through the door on the opposite side of the hall. He hit Helblindi with blasts of golden light. Simultaneously, Sam and Rhodey aimed their guns down from the rafters and unloaded them into the frost being. On the floor, dropping in from the vents, Bucky and Natasha aimed and fired their weapons, too. And then fingers pried open the roof like a can of tuna and tossed it aside like a frisbee. Scott waited a second for the others to get clear, and then he slammed his foot down directly on Helblindi.

 Peter and Bruce busted into the cage. “Oh, God,” Bruce exhaled when he saw the state that Steve, Clint, and Tony were in. “Are… Are they even alive?”

 Peter rushed to Tony and knelt beside him. “M-Mr. Stark?” He touched his mentor’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back. “Mr. Stark, can you hear me? TONY?”

 The place exploded in red sparks. Peter and Bruce ended up in a dogpile with Clint, Steve, and Tony. Scott was thrown up and out of the building. The others were knocked back against doors and walls. Only half of them got back up on their feet.

 Helblindi wiped imaginary dirt off his shoulder. “Is that the best you’ve got?” he laughed from the middle of a tornado of sparks. He marched into the cage and pulled Tony out of it by his neck. Once he was sure that every eye in the room was on him, he held his red knife to Tony’s throat. Tony was conscious, but barely. He was only on his feet because the frost being held him there. Helblindi shouted, “Last chance! Where is Loki? Where is Thor?”

 A flash of light outside. A roar of color suddenly descended into the room. Even Helblindi needed to shield his eyes. The light retreated into the shape of a person and there, hovering in the center of the base, was a very, very pissed off Carol Danvers. She pointed her fists at Helblindi. “Let him go.”

 “What in Hel are you?” the frost being asked, shocked. He let go of Tony. Stark collapsed to his knees. Unable to find the strength to catch himself, Tony fell forward and landed facedown, spreadeagled. Helblindi kicked him aside on his approach to Captain Marvel. “You’re nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

 “I’m the last thing you’re going to see,” she threatened, “if you don’t leave this planet right now, and never return again.”

 “You’re a goddess,” Helblindi exhaled, in awe. He walked gradually forward as if approaching an altar in a church. “You should be worshipped.”

 Carol landed on the floor and put her arms at her side. “Leave,” she ordered again. “Now.”

 Helblindi spread his palms out and bowed. “A queen,” he decided. “I’ll call you a queen—!” Red sparks exploded from his hands.

 Carol was ready. She reflected the magic right back at Helblindi. The frost being screamed and melted from his own magic.

 It was over.

 “Thanks Carol,” Nat said, breathless, as she rushed by to get to Clint. She practically fell on top of him, and he groaned in pain. “Sorry,” Nat said, flushed and frantic. Her fingers fluttered all over his body, but she found nowhere to touch him that wasn’t bleeding or bruised. “Barton, I’m so sorry… We tried to find you, we tried so hard.”

 “It’s all right, Nat,” Clint said between swollen lips. “It’s all right.”

 Bruce helped Steve sit up. “We gotta get you to a hospital,” Banner concluded.

 Steve wiped his face. “Is T – Is Tony ok?”

 Peter got to Stark first. “Sir?”

 A disoriented Tony opened bruised eyelids. “Hey, kid.”

 Peter’s hands shook. “Hey, Mr. Stark. Are you ok, Sir?”

 Tony looked at him. He didn’t even try to move – or couldn’t. “You know I’m proud of you, right, Pete?”

 Peter didn’t like the sound of that, and neither did any of the Avengers who were crowding around the pair. “Mr. Stark…”

 Tony looked up at his teammates – at Steve and Bruce, Clint and Nat, Sam and Rhodey… “Thanks for coming to my table,” he whispered. And then Tony’s eyes rolled backwards into his skull and he went silent.

 ----------

 Tony woke up alone. He resented that. No one should wake up in a hospital alone.

 A toilet flushed nearby. Steve exited the bathroom. “Oh,” Tony said. “There you are.”

 “Here I am,” said Steve. “How’s that kidney feel?”

 “What’s that?” Tony sat up in bed and poked his body all over. “Kidney?”

 “Here.” Steve gently pulled up Tony’s shirt and revealed a bandage on his left side. “Some of our organs got a little fried. Clint has part of Sam’s liver and you have one of Parker’s kidneys.”

 “The kid gave me an organ?” Tony bellowed. He turned to the door where he was sure, now, that his friends were waiting, out in the hallway. “PARKER!”

 Peter entered with a guilty face. He was in a hospital gown, bandaged up in the same place as Tony. “Yes, Mr. Stark?”

 “YOU…” Tony shook his fist at his young protégé. Then a forefinger pointed out from the fist. “You… Are promoted.”

 Peter beamed.

 The End

[ziploc849]

Family Drama

For context, this is based on this post I made a few days ago! I might make this into a series if people end up enjoying it, so let me know!!!

Also, this is based on one of my paracosms!! I made a whole post about what that is and how that works here if you're curious! Because this is in my paracosm there are characters in this from the Dream SMP, please be aware that these are CHARACTERS and are not portrayals of the actual Creators or even really their DreamSMP characters, this is essentially fanfic with my own OC's involved.

Contains: Captive Whump, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Underage Whump (Whumpee is 17), PLEASE let me know if there's anything else I need to add, I'm not very good at gauging this sort of thing.

~.~.~

Arianna's fine. She is absolutely, completely, entirely fine.

Sure, she's curled up in the corner of an all too familiar cell, praying that she's wrong, that she's misremembering, that there's some other villain who lives here. That it's not him, because it can't be him.

But she's fine!

Totally, completely fine.

At least she's not alone. Phil is sitting on the opposite side of the cell up against the wall, signature green and white hat over his eyes, probably half asleep. Wilbur and Techno are sitting next to each other against the back wall of the cell. They had been talking quietly, trying to figure out some kind of plan to escape, but after a few hours, they had decided to wait it out. Tommy's the closest to the front of the cell, sitting against the iron bars next to the door and staring at the ceiling.

It's hard to know how long it's been, they don't exactly have any clocks to keep the time, and there aren't any windows in the place. At first, the boys had been pacing and scheming, planning a way to get out as soon as the cell door opened, but after what felt like hours and no other people coming down the stairs at the other end of the basement, they all stopped scheming and pacing, and sat down, opting to play it by ear for the time being.

Ari, however, had not spent a single second anywhere except the corner. The others had tried to console her, assuming she was scared for the obvious reasons. After all, she had only joined the team a few months ago, as far as they were aware, this was her first time experiencing anything to this magnitude.

At some point, Tommy had pointed out the strange stain in the center of the cell. Ari had stayed quiet, hoping it was a total coincidence that she could remember the very same stain from months ago.

It had to be a coincidence, it had to be because otherwise, that meant-

A door opens and shuts, and footsteps start making their way down the stairs. Immediately, the others are on their feet, crowding towards the front of the cell, all on edge and ready for a fight.

Ari tries to hide in the stone walls, wishing the grey brick and cement would swallow her whole. Instead, she curls around her knees in tighter and buries her face into her arms.

Footsteps click against the cement, from the bottom of the stairs over to the cell, slow and calculated.

"Who the hell are you, bitch? What do you want with us?" Of course, Tommy is the first to talk, yelling at whoever is on the outside of the cell.

You know who it is. It was stupid to try and escape.

Shut up.

"He brings up a good point." That's Techno, his monotone voice more threatening than usual. "Who are you?"

There isn't a response for a moment, or maybe it's an hour.

"I'm sorry I kept you all waiting-"

Ari's heart drops to her stomach.

It's actually him. Oh shit oh fuck.

"-Life can get so busy, you know. It really was my intention to be here a few hours ago."

Arianna can't breathe. It's too much. She thought she escaped, she had escaped, for three months she was safe and happy and-

"Especially when you have such a precious person to me with you, it really is a crime I didn't come sooner."

No no no no no stop I can't, please be lying please just be another horrible dream I can't do this again no.

She doesn't need to see him to know his eyes are on her. She barely suppresses whimper and tries to press herself further into the walls.

"Really, Ari, running off like that? You had mom so worried!" He laughs, and shivers run down her spine.

"I mean, I had to convince her not to put up Missing posters! Especially when you didn't show up to my birthday, and honestly that just hurt."

She gasps as her head is pulled up by some invisible force. The word telekinesis rings in the back of her mind, but panic overtakes it just as quickly.

Her team is staring at her, wide-eyed and confused, but that doesn't matter because Dream is there with a hand raised and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and she can't move and she can't be here, she can't.

"I'm sure she'll be happy to know her youngest is safe in her older brother's hands, though." He smiles, and Ari can barely suppress a sob. That smile had been in her nightmares for three goddamn months.

Suddenly, the weight keeping her head up leaves, and Ari barely has time to feel relieved because suddenly her team is thrown up against the walls, and the door is opened, and Dream is there and the others are screaming and it's too much.

Dream places a hand on her cheek, far too gentle, and wipes away the tears-when had I started crying?- streaking down her face.

"You had us so, so very worried Arianna." He almost sounds genuine, but she knows, she knows it's just a front. His smile is too forced, the glint in his eyes too recognizable, the hand on her cheek too tense. "I'm just glad I found you again before you could hurt yourself."

"P-please, Dream, don't- don't do this, please." She doesn't care about how pitiful she must sound. She doesn't care that begging won't work, because it never does. She only cares about stopping this because she can't be here again.

Dream hisses through his teeth, grimacing slightly. "Now now, don't worry, I'm going to take good care of you and your friends here." He gestures to her team behind him, who have all gone silent, staring at the pair. If Ari was in a state to be able to tell, she'd say they were concerned, and probably a bit confused.

"But you know the rules."

Ari sobs, feet scuttling against the floor to try and get away from her brother, pleas and apologies falling from her mouth because she does, she does know the rules and she's hated them for years and she knows that it's going to hurt and she can't stop crying.

Dream shushes her, moving his hand up to her hair, carding through it, and Ari hates how every instinct in her body wants to melt into the touch.

"I know you don't like it, but you're young, Ari." False sympathy drips from his words, "You're too young to go out on your own, you need to stay here, where it's safe. The rules are in place to keep you safe." She barely manages to bite back her response of it's not safe here it's hell before the hand in her hair tightens into a fist, and suddenly she's being dragged out of the cell, kicking and screaming and begging, and she can hear her team yelling profanities, but they're still being held to the walls of the cell, and then the metal bar door closes like a death sentence.

Over the shouts, Arianna can still hear Dream's voice. She can always hear his fucking voice.

"Now, we've never had much of an audience before, I know, but personally-" He throws her roughly onto the cement floor, in the center of the room-

"I think it'll make it all the more fun."

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villainsicle | Part 11

Comfort! It is happening soon! I promise.

After speaking about Villain, Counselor and Hero both enact their plans to find out more about their mysterious captive. Meanwhile, Medic learns from the past.

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

@trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room

@literally-just-kirby​

@teachunks

@daydreamed-snippets-2nd-blog

@sunflower1000

@lightdrinker

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, conditioned whumpee, drugging, dehumanization, restraints, muzzles, choke chains, collars, pet whump (kinda), conditioning, forced sedation, just an absolutely unhealthy amount of caffeine, blood mention, injury mention, fire mention

“Humans are naturally very fearful things.”

The person in the video, the edges of their face and hair fuzzy with pixel artifacts, spoke. They had an odd grin on their face-- the sort of a news reporter. A trained smile. A very well-trained smile.

Behind them, the setting of the presentation had changed. In lieu of white tile, the floor and ceiling and walls between them glittered with black rubber. The void was broken only by a brightly colored fire extinguisher, leaned against a wall.

“As a species, we’re prey as much as we are predators. Assets are no different. They’re human too, after all. Human enough.”

At the presenter’s side, their Asset wavered. Though the action was represented with little more than a handful of pixels, it was hard not to notice the trembling of their jaw as they struggled to pant, to gasp for breath, yet meeting only the unyielding metal of the muzzle.

Unyielding yet safe, Medic mused. Control without injury. Restraint without damage.

“It’s that fear that allows our program to work as well as it does.” Somehow, that faux smile widened. “Training an Asset is simple. Fear breeds obedience. Once your Asset fears you, once they know that you are, indisputably, in control, then the training process may as well be complete.”

Without so much as a glance away from the camera, the presenter yanked upon their Asset’s leash, sending them stumbling closer as they struggled not to trip over their own feet. Their knees looked to be a moment from buckling. Deftly placing their finger between the device’s prongs, the presenter grabbed hold of the Asset’s collar, forcing their head skywards. The tiny, nearly microscopic puncture wounds upon their neck’s skin was revealed, if only for a moment.

“This Asset is relatively new to our program. They’ve previously harmed another handler. But no history, no matter how bad, can prevent an Asset from being trained. It just means you need to put in a little more effort. A little more fear. A little more control.

I understand fully the skepticism surrounding this program. You, too, may be skeptical that such a program as this can function. But I assure you, it can. This Asset has a long history of violence, attempted escapes, facility damage, and the like. Most would consider them a lost cause. Untrainable.

No one is untrainable.

Before this, they have not been taught a single command. But no one is untrainable.”

For a moment, they turned from the camera-- the first time they had done so. Medic couldn’t help but wonder whether the red-tinged pixels on their neck were from a wound, or simply from a glitch of the file.

The presenter loosened their grip of their prey, just slightly, letting go of their collar, yet still keeping hold on the leash where it attached to the choke chain.

“Sedeo.”

With a sharp, startling pull on their neck, the Asset found themself practically thrown to their knees. The movement was abrupt, such that the pixels representing it blurred and lagged.

The swiftness was followed by silence. The presenter backed away, their prey struggling to their feet. From behind them, where their hands sat straining and folded, Medic could have sworn to have seen a few frames of flame and smoke.

If the presenter noticed, they paid no heed. Once their Asset had recovered, again, they spoke. Again, they ordered.

“Sedeo.”

Their Asset sputtered a moment, backing away as far as their restraint would allow.

The word was repeated, once more. It came as a snap, a whip strike in the air.

“Sedeo!”

At the same moment, the presenter’s hand moved to a loop on their belt, where some indistinguishable object hang.

In a stumbling panic, the Asset dropped to their knees, head bowed. Jaw trembling.

The predator smiled, that plastered, trained grin, as they turned back to the camera. Their trainee still sat, panting and whimpering. A single pixel of red ran down the back of their neck.

“It’s a simple process, really. I assure you this: No one is untrainable.” With the last sentence, their tone took an odd, almost somber dip, before it picked up again with just as much speed. “I’ll see you all in the next video, then! Good luck!”

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The base awoke at 7.

It was like a creature, in its own proper respects, rising slowly, legs stiff as it shook its fur. In the hallways of the quarters, a dozen separate alarm tones could be heard, followed by a dozen bleary eyes blinking. Not long after, the whir of coffee machines would begin, awaking those who had neglected to awake to their morning alarm.

Generally, Counselor awoke before the rest of the creature’s parts. They considered themself an early riser, awaking as the sun did, and oftentimes even before that. Today, however, was an exception to the rule. They had stayed up far too late past midnight to even consider arising at 6. After their alarm buzzed for a few minutes, it gave up.

They did not rise until the knock on their door sounded.

It was hushed in volume and nervous in tone. They had no need to ask who was on the other side.

“Just a minute.” They practically whispered in reply.

That was, about, exactly how long it took for them to rush to prepare themself. In exactly 62 seconds, they emerged into the quarters hallway. Hero was nearly knocked over by the door, saved only by stumbling backwards at the right time.

“Are you ready, then?” Hero raised a brow. Counselor had no clue how they managed to appear so calm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” They shrugged.

“Please don’t let Medic murder you.”

“Yeah I’ll- I’ll try that.”

And with that, they went-- Counselor left, Hero right.

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Attempting to find any individual person in the Resistance’s base was, in most senses of the word, an impossibility. Unlike a needle in a haystack, those in the building were constantly moving about, weaving through the maze of hallways and corridors. It was more like finding a grain of rice in the ocean, than anything. Counselor knew that better than anyone else.

Medic, however, was never a problem to find.

Officially, the base’s medical wing opened its operations at 7, meaning that Medic would be there at 6, or 5, or whatever godawful hour they had decided to wake up at. Regardless of when they arrived, though, they would always be there. Always in that little corner of the building. New recruits often asked if that was where they slept.

Some nights, it was.

Thus, that was where Counselor was headed. They couldn’t quite ignore the tension they held in their shoulders, but they did their best not to display it.

The medical wing was a minuscule thing, tucked away near the center of the structure, with only a single room capable of housing a patient overnight, and another designed for exams.

Counselor pushed open the door that led to the wing, wincing at the creak of steel. They half expected Medic to be on the other side, but they weren’t. All that was there were two closed doors.

On instinct as much as logic, they moved to the first one-- the exam room. It was where the doctor spent most of their day, dealing with everything from horrific injuries to someone, somehow managing to consume a rock.

The motion sensing light clicked on as they opened the door, illuminating only an empty exam table and scattered equipment.

Already, it wasn’t a good sign.

Nerves already turning up a notch, Counselor backed up, moving to the second door. The hospital room. With a deep breath, they unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The room was dark, lit only by the glow of monitors. Their beeping was accented by the steady rhythm of Villain’s shallow snoring.

Counselor had been so distracted by the captive that they only then noticed the fact that Medic was not here, either.

There was no other part of the medical wing. It was tiny, and it wasn’t like the doctor did much else. Maybe they were just making coffee. Or in the bathroom, maybe?

Rationale running through their head, Counselor backed out of the room. They closed the door as quietly as they could, turned, and nearly slammed into Medic. The steaming hot coffee in their hand made Counselor grateful that it had only been a near collision. They took a step back, giving comfortable distance between the two of them.

For a split second, it seemed almost as though Medic didn’t notice them-- their bleary eyes too focused upon the coffee in their mug. A moment later, though, they looked up.

Their gazes locked. There was no anger or hostility in the action, not that Counselor could tell. Yet, there was a tenseness to it. With a dawning sense of dread, they remembered their encounter from the day before.

But, they’d already come this far.

“Hey.” They began. The second their lips moved to form the word, they knew it sounded stupid.

“...Hey.”

“Uh... Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Um-”

“Is there something I can help you with?” Medic blinked, before turning, briefly, to see the door that Counselor was standing in front of. “Are you... Seriously?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to talk.”

“Again, why?”

“Well... I’m sure that you know that I’m in charge of the well-being of everyone living and working here. That includes you. And you look exhausted, everyone has noticed.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your glasses are on upside-down.”

Medic blinked for a moment, before fixing the error.

“That doesn’t discount the fact that people here need medical care.”

“I know it doesn’t. But I also know that you don’t have any appointments until this afternoon.”

“I have a patient to take care of.”

“Mhm. I know, that’s what I’m offering to help you with. How about you go back to sleep, and I can deal with Villain today.”

Medic grimaced.

“They need... very specialized care. It’s the kind of thing that needs to be under a doctor’s supervision.”

“I took a bullet out of your arm in Tampa.” Counselor raised a brow. “I think I can handle it.”

“It’s complicated. I don’t have time to explain.”

“I think I can feed someone Secobarbital just fine, actually.”

That seemed to awake Medic, at least partially, from their half-asleep trance. They looked up.

“How the hell did you-”

“The Head of Facilities isn’t exactly too cagey about inventory.” Counselor smiled, as sweetly and smugly as they could possibly manage. They’d noticed the discrepancy in their medicine stocks the night prior, when checking in on their supply of blankets.

“It‘s... It’s to help them sleep. That’s all.”

“And that’s why you gave them enough to incapacitate a horse?”

Medic bit their lower lip.

“And what are you going to do about it, exactly?”

“Well, I do have my daily check-in with Leader...”

“They won’t care. They know Villain is dangerous. Sedation is completely justified.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that they’d be mad. But if you’re having to sedate your patients... maybe that means you could use some extra help around here. Someone to help with Villain. Someone who’s been looking into their files since the day they came here.”

The longer they spoke, the more Medic’s eyes narrowed.

“What the hell do you want?”

“Either you let me help, or I get Leader to assign me to do so. It’s a zero sum game. But with the first way, they won’t know that you’re misusing our medical supplies.”

“You’re not seriously doing this?”

“Oh, I seriously am.”

For a moment, they stood like that. Medic gripped the coffee cup in their hand with such force that Counselor was surprised that the handle did not simply shatter. After what felt like a nerve-wracking eternity, however, Medic gave their answer:

“Fine. Damn it all to hell.”

“Great!” Again, that smile leapt to Counselor’s countenance. “Sleep well. Oh, and, when you get up, you might want to make some new coffee. Yours might have been swapped out for decaf when you weren’t looking.”

Medic looked to be about to smash something.

“Thanks.” They growled in response.

Counselor couldn’t help but grin, ear to ear, as they turned to enter Villain’s hospital room.

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The knock on the door to Leader’s office came at a rather rare moment in their day-- one of the few moments in which they were alone, not in some meeting or mediating some argument. It had been almost peaceful.

Of course, that peace had to dissolve as soon as the knock sounded. They look up from their desk.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Hero.”

“Hero?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to talk, quick.”

“Uh... Alright. Come on in.”

As the door opened, they quickly combed their hair down with their fingers. It still looked like quite the mess, though, when Hero entered. They gestured for them to sit in the chair across, which they did.

Leader did their best to compose themself on such short notice. They had yet to fully awake, but they sat up straight in their chair, arms on the desk before them. A proper leader, as best as they could manage to be one.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“You uh, you know how Counselor spent like, hours yesterday looking over those files?”

“Yeah? Did they ever go to sleep, even?”

“Eventually, yeah. But I promised that if they got some rest, I’d talk to you.”

“About Villain?”

“Mhm.”

Hero couldn’t help but feel bad about saying it, but it was the truth. Trying to lie to Leader would only sow distrust, which was far from the top of their priorities.

“Anything in specific?” Leader took a drink of a soda. Hero sipped their coffee. “I know they’ve been obsessing over the whole thing but... If I had some kind of magic solution, I’d have told you a long time ago.”

“Their backstory. That’s what they mainly wanted to know about, as far as I could tell. I mean, we all know that they appeared and started doing... villain stuff like six months ago. But besides that?” They made a ring with their fingers. “Zilch. We figured that maybe you’d know something more.”

“Why would you think that?”

As much as Hero wanted to point out how Leader looked about to faint whenever they so much as looked at Villain--Hero had never seen it themself, but had heard enough secondhand-- they knew that that wouldn’t end well.

“Back at Organization, I mean, you were kinda the head of records and stuff, right? We just figured, maybe you’d remember something...”

“I... I hate letting you down.” Even with their sympathetic voice, Hero couldn’t help but see Leader bite their lip. “I know that six months ago, they started attacking various locations around the continent.”

“Do you think they work for Supervillain? For Organization.”

“We all did, at some point. I mean, that’s how we got our powers. Right now, though? It’s... Not a possibility we can reasonably pass up. They don’t exactly act like Supervillain’s other agents, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“What about back when you did work for Organization? Do you remember anything? Anything at all?”

“No.” Leader shook their head. “I’m sorry, but I’m just as in the dark as you.”

Hero nodded, though they noted with frustration the beads of sweat gathering on Leader’s forehead.

“Okay. Thank you.”

They stood, sliding the chair back. They didn’t so much as make eye contact with Leader as they turned, heading for the door.

“Wait.”

Hero turned. The droplets of sweat had started to fall-- combining with the gathering of tears beading in Leader’s eyes. They blinked them away as quickly as they formed.

“Catch.”

Leader reached into, of all things, a pencil holder on their desk, producing a finger-sized piece of machinery. A flash drive. With far too little grace, they threw it, with Hero catching it like an umpire would. Before they left, they glanced at the device, noting with a slight pang of nervousness the text written upon it:

“Property of Organization.”

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The hospital room seemed darker the second time Counselor walked through its door. This time, however, they quickly flicked on the light switch as they let the door close itself behind them. They made no move to lock it. Despite what Medic seemed to think, Villain was their patient. Not their prisoner.

The pale villain seemed to blend into the blank white sheets on which they lay. Counselor noticed with a pang of worry the padded restraints, securing their wrists to the bed frame. They could hardly even walk. It seemed unnecessary at best, cruel at worst.

One day. They couldn’t fix everything, but they had one day. One day to help as much as they could.

With footsteps as soft as they could make them, they approached Villain’s bedside, a gentle hand laid upon their shoulder gently attempting to shake them awake.

They had one day. They’d start with a bath.

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Whumptober Day 9: Coronation

Summary: Written for Whumptober Day 9. Takes place somewhere after Httyd 1. Now fully recovered and the Outcasts and Berserkers taken care off, the dragons think it's time for Hiccup to claim his rightful place.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid, Toothless

Pairing: None

Words: 2 670

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Ritual sacrifice”

Whumpee: Hiccup (+a little bit of Astrid)

Author’s Notes: At first I wanted to write something for the prompt "Ritual Sacrifice", but since the prompts are only suggestions and we are allowed full creative freedom, I decided to drop the "sacrifice" part of the prompt.

Not too certain about this one, I'm a little nervous it's too confusing. But I decided to go with it anyway.

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

Ao3

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It is after a whole week of searching that Astrid finally comes upon Hiccup and Toothless, who had both been missing ever since dinner seven days earlier.

She finds them sitting in the cove, a place that had already been thoroughly checked once by her and the other Dragon Riders and then again and again by Chief Stoick. Because as Hiccup's father, he is understandably worried about his son and his dragon.

Barely having slept or eaten this past week, the man searched all over Berk and in the surrounding ocean, having only a longship and a rescue party to rely on. With Thornado having moved on to begin a new chapter in his life for the sake of three orphaned Thunderdrum hatchlings, Stoick has little choice.

Gobber, too, had been out of his mind with worry. Though knowing that Hiccup is a clever lad and Toothless would never allow harm to befall him, he still fretted for hours into the night. He has accompanied his friend on every search.

And after all their trouble, after all the worrying all of them have done, the entirety of Berk has done, Hiccup and Toothless are both just there in the cove, sitting by the lake and in no apparent hurry to go home.

"Hiccup! Toothless!" Astrid sternly calls their names as Stormfly touches down. There is a twinge of anger igniting a fire in her chest. Okay, maybe it's more than a simple twinge. They've been gone for days!

The Nadder chirps their way as Toothless looks over to watch them land.

They both appear to be unharmed from what she can see and that's all the reassurance Astrid needs. They aren't harmed, so surely they can take an angry rant about what these two have put their village and loved ones through.

Hiccup may not believe it, but everyone has been in an uproar over their disappearance.

As she dismounts, Astrid quickly wipes at her eyes as she approaches, having been maddened by concern, herself. She is ready to begin her tirade and ask the two runaways what the deal was with them disappearing like that for so long, especially with their shaky peace with the Outcasts.

But then she notices something off about Hiccup and her rant is quickly forgotten.

He hasn't turned to her at all as she jumped out of the saddle and came stomping over. It is at least a little bit odd and it's enough to make her wonder if something is wrong. So her stomping slows into a cautious walk before she halts and observes the two.

Toothless is looking her way. He rumbles a greeting and looks rightfully guilty, having some idea of what the two of them must've put their loved ones through.

But Hiccup, he's not even taking a single glance. He's just sitting there with his knees drawn up to his chest and drawing in the dirt, or that is what it appears to her.

"Hiccup," This time she speaks his name in a more worried tone and she manages to run over.

The closer she gets, the more concerned she is.

It's in the middle of the night and maybe she's seeing things, but it's almost like he's covered in blood. His face and the front of his tunic seem to be. Is he hurt?

"Are you... okay?" Astrid comes to stand next to him and struggles to find the right words to use. Her concern is enough to choke her, but she knows better than to force herself into his personal space and be too overbearing. Even if it's to check up on him, Hiccup will not respond well to that.

But she kneels by him and that's when he finally looks up to her.

Astrid's next words, whatever they may have been, end up stuck in her throat when Hiccup's gaze throws her off.

There is something off about his eyes.

She can't quite explain what exactly. Is it the shape? The shape of his pupils seems slightly off. Or maybe she's imagining things. It's so late and she, like everyone else, has barely slept as of late. Her mind must be playing tricks on her.

But then there is also a certain glow to the green of his eyes, like they're reflecting the moonlight just like Toothless' do during the night. As a normally nocturnal dragon, his eyes are adapted to work at the darkest hours of the day, when his exceptional hearing and echoing calls aren't needed.

But Hiccup isn't a dragon, he's a human. And that means she's just seeing things. So she shakes her head to rid herself of these thoughts and focusses on what's more important right now.

"Hiccup, can you talk? Can you tell me if you're okay?" Astrid asks and dares to reach out a hand. First to touch his shoulder and then to run a hand through his blood-crusted bangs, hoping to detangle them and get rid of some of that crust. It's all dried, it's been there for a while.

Toothless watches, his gaze moving from Astrid to Hiccup and back.

Hiccup isn't as responsive. He, too, watches her hand, but ends up not answering her question. Instead, he simply goes back to what he's been doing, drawing in the dirt using a stick.

Astrid isn't mad, finding this to be quite a concerning thing as Hiccup, by nature, is someone who can't stay this quiet and still for this long.

Toothless coos and nudges his Rider's shoulder. It is ineffective as even he can't seem to get Hiccup to respond.

Adjusting slightly to sit in front of him, Toothless presses their foreheads together and Hiccup backs up with a shock, holding his head as if it hurts.

"Hiccup, are you hurt?! Your head, is that where the blood is coming from?" Astrid asks while Toothless lowers himself, crooning his apologies.

If all of this is coming from a head wound she can't see, then Astrid needs to find it and get him to Gothi. Or better yet, take him to Gothi and let her find it.

But then finally, he speaks.

"No, it's just... Too much information... I think?" His voice is quiet, but whatever Toothless just did, it startled him out of this stupor he was in. Like he woke him up from a trance.

"Hiccup,"

"There's too much... going on... in my head?... I don't know what to do with... all... this... Sounds, voices." Hiccup tells her, taking so many pauses as if he's struggling to form his words. What he's saying makes no sense to her, but she's certain it makes sense to him somehow either.

Hiccup leans against Toothless, head resting on his scales. He stares at the water and the reflection of the moon.

His eyes, she tries not to think of them, but they are even more evident with all that blood covering his face. His vest is quite stained and crusted beyond saving. With no injury brought up, it's almost like someone or something has just thrown blood on him. But she can't imagine the kind of situation that would require such a thing and where it may come from sickens her.

Forcing her nausea back down, Astrid wills a hand out and rubs his upper back. Whatever he's seen, whatever he's been through the past week, she can't even begin to imagine. Especially when it affects him, of all people, to this extent.

And yet, Toothless seems strangely unaffected, if a little bit careful with his human. Hiccup's current mental and physical state probably has something to do with it.

As she rubs his back in comfort, his face contorts, his eyes become watery, and his lip trembles. He wants to cry, but he doesn't.

"They all trust me, you know? And... and... and they'll all do exactly as I tell them to... Just like She did." His sentences come out easier, though they still make very little sense to her. And his voice is still too soft.

Astrid waits for him to continue. She can't know for sure without asking, but she has a feeling "She" may be the Red Death. She's at least sure that "they" are the dragons.

"They count on me and I need to deliver as their new... But I don't know... I don't know if I can." He states and she decides to make a guess.

"Who are they? Berk? The dragons?" She asks, knowing no one else who would expect such things from Hiccup besides their tribe.

"My head hurts." He simply says, once again not answering her question and Astrid still isn't mad at him for that. He doesn't even look like he can hear her. Is it because "his head is too full"? Whatever that means? Is it the "sounds" or "voices"?

She comes to kneel in front of him and places her hands on his arms. Toothless did it to get his attention, maybe she can get his this way, too.

"Hey, how about we take you home? Back to your dad? And your bed? Does that sound good?" She hopes she isn't making her sentences too complex, wanting him to understand her in this state he's in.

Gazing up at her with haunted eyes, he nods.

Rumbling, Toothless gets up when Hiccup sits up straight to let him. Astrid helps him to his feet. She smiles at him, hoping to alleviate his spirits a little.

Hiccup tries to return it, but he can't. His heart is too heavy with what he's gone through.

She wants to know what it is, what weighs on him so much, but there is a part of her that doesn't want to know.

Toothless comes to stand next to Hiccup and he gets on, climbing in the saddle with Astrid's help. It's not that he necessarily needs it, it's just that she feels like she needs to help him. He seems almost frail, though Astrid knows he's far from that. He's walked off enough crashes from high altitudes and beaten too many foes to be called fragile in any way.

And yet...

His prosthetic can't find its stirrup. He's too confused.

"Wait, let me..." Astrid takes the initiative and helps the metal leg into it, with no complaint from Hiccup, though he's usually so set in his autonomy. Another strange thing, another reason to worry.

"Bud, can we go home? Oh, I mean..." Though his sentence ends that way, he doesn't continue. His face contorts again, brows furrow, like he's trying to think really hard or like his headache is growing worse. Or she thinks what he's suffering from is similar to a headache.

Still, Toothless rumbles, even though Hiccup hasn't said anything that warranted an answer.

Astrid watches them take off, playing with a sidebang, a habit she has when she's troubled.

"Come on, girl." She says eventually and climbs back into the saddle to follow the two home.

"Say, you don't know what's going on, do you?" She asks her dragon this question and this time it's Stormfly she's not receiving an answer from, although her Nadder usually makes sure to always respond to her in some shape or form.

So she does know something and Toothless clearly knows something, the dragons know something. This whole situation is getting stranger and stranger by the second and the lack of answers is killing her.

When the two of them reach the village, they find Hiccup already in the arms of his father, who is kneeling before him and trying to wipe his face clean of the dried blood.

She can hear his voice all the way up here, but though his voice is loud, he's not mad. He wants to know what has happened, where all of that blood has come from, if he's hurt or if anyone has hurt him, but he's not getting any responses either.

"Come on, inside you go. I'll have Gothi come by later." As Astrid and Stormfly land, Stoick decides to bring his son inside once he realizes the same thing. He believes him to be in shock and maybe that's what's going on here. A hand on his upper back, he guides him into their home and away from the growing crowd.

The other Dragon Riders are there as well and stare at Astrid as they figure she might've been the one to bring him back. But though they stare, with varying expressions of confusion, she can only shrug and shake her head. What can she say to them? She's just as confused as they are.

The next day there's just more of the same. Hiccup distancing himself from everyone but Toothless and even staying cooped-up inside his room, barely leaving his bed. They couldn't even get him to stay inside when he was recovering from his amputation. Hiccup is barely able to speak of his experiences and Toothless is simply unable to because he's a dragon and cannot speak the human tongue.

And Gothi, she can't quite figure out what's wrong as, physically, Hiccup is perfectly fine. So she says that she doesn't know what may be wrong, that everything is okay, and Astrid doesn't have any actual reason to be suspicious of her. Although, she has always been under the impression that Gothi always knows more than she's letting on. Just like the time she chose Hiccup over her as champion for dragon killing training, knowing how he was truly "defeating" the training dragons.

In the end, after days of silence, Hiccup suddenly goes back to the way he was before that week, like nothing's ever happened.

It's a startling change that happens overnight. He just comes down the stairs one morning, as cheery as can be, and talks to his father about some future projects of his.

It's good to see him back to his old self again, but Astrid isn't as relieved as she hoped she'd be. All it does is give her more questions than there are answers.

Maybe time will tell what happened during those seven days or maybe one day Hiccup will confide in her. Until then, she's just going to have to live with not knowing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the evening he disappears, Hiccup thinks Toothless has been acting a little strange as of late. As a matter of fact, all the dragons have been acting strangely.

He can't quite put his finger on why he thinks so, there's just something off about the way they behave around him. It's like they're excited about something and they want to tell him all about it, but can't.

So when Toothless pulls him outside of the house one evening shortly after dinner for a flight and it becomes clear that a regular flight around Berk isn't what he's looking for, Hiccup let's him take him to wherever he wants him to be.

Dragon Island is where he takes him and along the way, other dragons of Berk join them on their flight. It's reminiscent of the time he, Toothless, and Astrid got caught in a raiding pack as they returned to the Red Death's nest, their former queen, except this time there is less hostility and fear.

Instead, there is the excitement that he's been seeing in the dragons grown tenfold. They are filled with glee and it's almost contagious as Hiccup feels himself getting a little worked up as well.

Whatever it is that the dragons want to show him, or what it is he thinks they want to show him, he can hardly wait.

He won't get it until it's already been done, but he has recovered from the loss of his leg. And Berk's biggest enemies at the time, the Outcasts and the Berserkers, they have been taken care of. Berk will face a period of stability now, a period of peace. The time for change is now.

It is the perfect time for a human to have his coronation as a dragon and become one of them.

[lektricwhump]

hello hello! i was tagged by the lovely @for-the-love-of-angst to do this picrew challenge. i know i don’t post my ocs here, but i’ll post some of their designs anyway :0 i’m posting text about the oc + then the design. these ocs exist in the same universe but they’re not, like, related, because i am bad at telling cohesive stories. these are probably just the main ones i’m using at the moment first off, we have Tate--art school reject, certified ray of sunshine, maybe don’t look in that weird room at the edge of her main studio space and definitely don’t pay attention to those weird stains on the ground, they are Absolutely Not Blood. as you can see she’s a fun artist friend!  whumper, though she’s the queen of willful denial on that front. it’s just art, she’s just painting people with their own blood, not hurting anyone! ⬇

next up--Jo! sadly, this picrew didn’t have her signature fruit earrings, but i’ll work with what i got. works for the mob--or at least something that calls itself the mob--as a “professional interrogator” which is slang for getting to torture people for a living. she likes her job. a lot--because where the hell else is she gonna get to be violent and make money off it? you’d never guess she ended up here by accident. whumper, obviously, and very, very good at what she does. ⬇

Walter! Jo’s “business partner” against his will. former med student, his involvement in the mob is even more of an accident than hers. caves easily to peer pressure, easily manipulated, too deep into the crime world to have any hope of getting himself out. not exactly a whumper, but present at many, many torture sessions. also, not pictured: the giant scar across the lower right half of his face. ⬇

Fish! ask them what they are, and depending on how trustworthy they deem you to be, they will reply somewhere from “a human with mouldy blood” to “epic space person.” and yes, they do not pronounce that u as silent. eldritch creature turned almost human, except for being physically incapable of dying. ...not like they can’t still get hurt, though. they are a whumpee, and i tend to go a bit overboard with the ways i hurt them. fun fact: lots and lots of trauma around water. :) ⬇

aaaand last one i think because if i did every oc this post would be fifty feet long. here’s Seoyeon! disclaimer: since she’s 11, I do not whump her, but i do enjoy brainstorming crack whump involving her hitting people with throwaway guitars. shortest metalhead you’ll ever meet, will beat you up if you diss any of her favorite bands (currently: slayer and cattle decapitation). also has a bit of a thing for building elaborate minecraft worlds. soooort of a whumper, but only crack whump, and only hurts people who deserve it.  

tagging @pretty-face-breaker​, @crash-bump-bring-the-whump​, @straight-to-the-pain​, @pythagoreanwhump​, and  @sopwithwhump​ . no obligation to respond, just figured i’d tag y’all :)

[killian-whump]

I am so drawn into your insights around asexuality and whump and would be curious to know your current state of mind in both these camps - maybe in the style of a sort of whump manifesto, if I may be so bold. I find it so relatable when you touch on these topics together.

Hi Nonny! I am SO sorry it’s taken me forever and a half to reply to this. I was busy when you sent it, and wanted to wait until I had the time to devote to a good answer… but then as it got later and later, I felt worse and worse about not responding yet and just sort of… avoided it entirely. Sorry!!!

But this is Asexual Awareness Week, so I’m doing it now!

I’m going to start out by saying that I absolutely do not think it’s a mere coincidence that so many whumpers consider themselves asexual. In the world at large, asexuals are a small minority of the population, but in the whump community, they’re practically the majority. That is fascinating.

Now, when I was struggling to understand my own interests in whump, I came to the realization that how most people describe the sensations of sexual attraction (a tightness in the abdomen, a zing in the belly, warmth spreading through them, tingling sensations, moisture in the nether regions, mental preoccupation) is exactly how I feel when I “enjoy” whump. Mind you, seeing whump doesn’t make me want to have sex - but the physical sensations appear to be the same as those felt by other folks when they are actively wanting to have sex.

With that in mind, I came to my own conclusion that somehow my brain was wired differently and was mixing the two things up. I also started considering whump to be, for me, a sexual thing. I can more easily relate to the world at large (a place that’s essentially obsessed with sex) by correlating others’ sexual feelings with my own whumpy feelings. In other words, when I’m at a bar and a friend tells me she’s horny and needs a man to take home, I envision how I feel when I’m in one of my whump moods and I just need whump RIGHT THAT MINUTE and every minute thereafter until the mood passes. “Oh God, girl,” I say. “I feel you. Go get you some.” Because I actually get how she’s feeling, even if my feelings are centered on something entirely different. In general, it also helps me relate to the world around me and all of the advertising and innuendos and constant bombardment of sex everywhere you look. I mean, if they started advertising perfume with giant billboards of tied up whumpees, I WOULD NOT EVER COMPLAIN ABOUT THAT.

So when I joined the Whump Community here on Tumblr, I made a rather premature manifesto of sorts where I urged my fellow whumpers to really dig deep and consider that their feelings may actually be sexual in nature, even if they don’t think they are. For me, coming to the realization that my brain’s wiring was confusing the two concepts provided a LOT of clarity that I was hoping to help others also gain with my insights. In fact, I was so deeply entrenched in pressing the whump/sex connection that I didn’t even think to mention that, while I view my love of whump as sexual in nature - I identify as asexual, because I lack any desire to actually do the deed itself. As it stands, that post of mine does a major disservice to many asexual whumpers (myself included), because it doesn’t account for the lack of sex that is inherent in the whump/sex connection.

Simply put, while it makes me feel more “normal” and able to relate with a sex-obsessed world by correlating whump and sex… there are many among us who identify primarily as asexual and have no interest in having any sexual feelings or fitting in with the sexual world at all. And my original post didn’t account for that. I was too busy sharing my personal revelation of, “You might be sexual after all!” to realize that some folks don’t want to be sexual and don’t want to view their love of whump through that lens.

And that’s perfectly okay, because while the two things are, I feel, intrinsically entwined, they’re also completely and utterly different. There are many asexuals who aren’t whumpers, and many whumpers who aren’t asexual. Where one chooses to place themselves on the spectrum and how they choose to view their orientation and their identity is entirely up to them. And while I do feel that whump and sex are intrinsically connected by their undeniably similar sets of typical physical sensations, that connection can easily be viewed as either a sex/whump one or a nonsex/whump one. In other words, the whump connection is there for many of us, I believe, because the sexual connection isn’t there. Whether one chooses to view it as their unique form of sexual attraction or to see it as a byproduct of a profound lack of such attraction is really up to them to decide.

As for why our minds latch onto whump in the absence of sexual desire… I believe it comes down to intimacy. Whump provides our minds with a vehicle for our very human needs for emotional and physical intimacy. Sex satisfies these drives for sexual beings, but for those who don’t feel any interest in that particular act, we may still desire the intimacy and intense emotion that comes along with it. Whump allows us to experience those things without the physical act of sex.

This also accounts for the differences in preferred viewpoints found throughout the whump community. Some of us relate to the whumper. Some relate to the whumpee. Some relate to the caretaker. Some of us relate to all three in equal turns. I feel that our viewpoint preferences tell us a lot about the kind of intimacy we’re lacking or needing in our lives. Those who prefer the “comfort” part of the H/C dynamic and relate to either the caretaker or the whumpee in those scenes are likely craving love, affection, and some tender loving care - regardless of whether they’re relating to giving or receiving it.

But what of the hurt portion? Most of us enjoy that, too - and that tends to be where a lot of us feel the most guilt and concern over why we enjoy it. However, I think for many of us, it’s simply a matter of driving a scene or a relationship to the point where the “comfort” can occur. It’s less of a primary drive… and more like the foreplay in an intricate emotional dance. Many of us even refer to it as a “build-up” of sorts, and we confess to feeling profoundly unsatisfied when the aftercare doesn’t live up to the desires the scenario built up inside of us.

Again, the correlation between whump and sex shows up here. Foreplay is an essential part of sex for most couples. It enhances the mood and builds up their desire for the main course. So, too, does the hurt portion of the typical hurt/comfort scene. Just as every kiss and caress in a sexual scene increases the desire and makes the payoff more intense, every lash and cruel word in a whump scene increases the whumpee’s need for care and makes our payoff that much more intense.

True, some of us do just enjoy seeing someone in pain. There’s going to be sadists out there in the world, just as there are masochists - and there’s plenty of both in the whump community ;) And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being either one of those things, provided you are finding safe, sane and consensual ways to satisfy your needs. And enjoying fictional whump is absolutely that. However, for those who don’t see themselves as being either of those things… take heart, because your love of seeing people getting hurt may very well be based solely on that pain being necessary in order to make the emotional intimacy you crave possible. And like a Pavlovian dog hearing a bell, you’re going to respond to the things that signal to you that your needs are about to be met (unless, of course, they stiff you on the aftercare - which is precisely WHY that feels like such a betrayal whenever it happens).

So I guess that’s where my mind’s at currently on these two subjects. As always, I welcome any and all thoughts in response! I certainly don’t profess to have all of the answers, but I’m definitely excited by the questions themselves and the journey we’re all on to find the answers for ourselves, once and for all! :)

[set-phasers-to-whump]

i never knew how much it would hurt to feel (this building collapse on top of me)

prompt: buried

whumpee: shawn spencer

fandom: psych

hi and welcome to my very first psych fic! i finished the show a couple weeks ago and finally get to write it! since this is my first fic there is a high chance the characterization is not the best and i do apologize but as i write more it will improve! i hope you like this anyway! (first part of the title is from some kind of disaster by all time low)

Shawn and Gus are poking their way through a falling-down, long-deserted office building on the outskirts of town, looking for clues about the latest murder case that they’ve gotten themselves assigned to. Gus pokes his head through a doorway and immediately recoils with a yelp, hands scrabbling frantically at his face. 

“Spiders!” he shouts, and Shawn shines the beam of his flashlight on Gus’ face. 

“Spider webs,” he says, reaching out to brush them away. “Ooh wait, what’s this - a giant tarantula on the back of your head?”

Gus slaps his hand away, brushes his own hand across the back of his head to confirm that there isn’t really a giant tarantula lurking there, and frowns at Shawn. “If we don’t find any clues soon -”

“C’mon, man, you know it’s a process. This building has two more floors we haven’t even seen yet.”

“Two more floors that look like they might collapse at any second.”

Shawn can’t argue with that, especially when the next step he takes makes his foot sink a couple inches into a rotting floorboard. He gingerly pulls it out and prepares to concede to Gus about the top two floors of the building. 

“Okay, fine, we don’t have to go up -”

The ending of that sentence is drowned out by a horrific crashing noise, and before Shawn has time to process what’s happening, what feels like several tons of stuff is falling down on top of him in the single most painful event of his entire life. He screams, and dust and pieces of who-knows-what fill his mouth and he coughs and his chest burns and he can’t quite breathe right because something is pushing down on him and everything is dark - 

Ah. That would be because his eyes are closed, Shawn realizes, in a moment of blinding clarity. He opens his eyes, blinking rapidly in the dust, and sees...a whole lot of junk. Chunks of plaster and concrete and wood surround him in a sort of enclave, and if he looks out across his body he can see what’s causing the issue with his breathing - a very large, very heavy piece of concrete, probably some kind of support beam. Excellent, Shawn thinks. Being buried alive in a mountain of old office is exactly how I wanted to spend my day. 

He’s trying to distract himself from the pain with this line of thinking, which is half-working. If he can just not focus on how much it hurts for a few moments, until he can make his hands cooperate and grab his phone, or until he has enough air in his lungs to call out to Gus - 

Gus! Shawn is trapped in his own personal bubble of debris, and Gus isn’t here. Which means he’s somewhere else, maybe hurt even worse than Shawn is, or maybe even dead, but Gus isn’t allowed to die, not like this, not - 

“Shawn!”

Thank god you’re alive, buddy, Shawn thinks at Gus’ voice, and then he thinks, oh man, I actually have to yell back to Gus so he doesn’t think I’m dead. He takes as deep a breath as his constricted lungs will allow, which hurts like absolute hell, and shouts, as loudly as he can, “Gus!” 

“Shawn!” he hears Gus yell again, as he tries to ride out the wave of pain burning through his entire chest. Don’t make me yell again, he thinks, forcing himself not to cough despite the large amount of dust that has gotten into his mouth, because he thinks the pain of that might actually kill him. 

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to yell again - he hears shifting noises and knows that Gus is getting closer. He tries to think of a way to let Gus know exactly where he is without opening his mouth again, and then realizes that one of his arms disappears underneath the rubble currently boxing him in. His hand doesn’t feel like it’s buried, though, so he thinks that it must be on the outside, and maybe Gus can see it. He concentrates very hard and wiggles his fingers, taps them on the ground, and hopes that Gus is as close as he sounds. 

And he is. A few seconds of wiggling and tapping pass, and then Shawn feels Gus’ hand touch his own. “Shawn?”

Shawn curls his fingers into the best approximation of a thumbs-up that he can manage. 

“Okay, um, don’t move,” Gus says. Got it, Shawn thinks. Don’t exactly have anywhere to go. “I’m gonna...I’m gonna get you out of there.”

This seems like a pretty good plan to Shawn, except for one thing. He shuts his eyes and prepares himself to speak again. 

“911,” he whispers, and hopes that Gus can hear him. 

“Oh. Right,” Gus says, and Shawn hears the sounds of him dialing, and then explaining that his best friend is buried under debris in an abandoned office building on the edge of town.

“They say it’ll be about twenty minutes,” Gus informs him. “You’re not buried very deep, so I’m gonna try and get you out before then, okay?”

Shawn gives him another thumbs-up, mildly surprised by Gus’...lack of panicking. Not that he’s complaining, because honestly he’s pretty close to panicking himself, and at least one of them needs to remain sane at all times. 

He lies there and listens to the sounds of rubble moving and Gus making various noises of effort to indicate the very difficult work he is doing. All the while, though, he’s talking to Shawn about, talking how stupid this idea was in the first place, and how he could be at work earning money to pay for the new TV in the Psych office instead, and about a million other little things that Shawn would ordinarily groan at and find some way to change the subject.

Now, though, he’s content to listen to Gus and distract himself from the fact that he feels like he’s been run over by a truck carrying a mobile home and then had the mobile home dropped on top of him for good measure. 

It doesn’t actually take that long for Gus to mostly unbury him. There’s still some rubble surrounding him, but apart from the giant concrete thing lying across his chest, he’s basically free. He gives Gus the best smile he can muster in his current situation and wheezes out, “hey.”

“Hey,” Gus replies, checking his watch. “Help should be here in about seven minutes, if that lady at 911 dispatch was telling the truth.”

Shawn nods as best as he can, then experimentally moves his freed arms to the concrete currently crushing his chest. 

“Don’t do that,” Gus warns. “The 911 lady said it would be too heavy and that trying to move it by ourselves might hurt you worse.”

But it hurts, Shawn thinks, petulantly, and this must show on his face because Gus says, “don’t give me that look, Shawn. She said if that beam was gonna crush you, it would have already, so you just have to wait.”

He really doesn’t want to wait. Maybe this beam isn’t going to crush him to death, but it’s making it very difficult to breathe, which in turn is making it very difficult to stay calm, which is then making it harder to breathe - 

He needs to relax. Maybe if he closes his eyes for a few seconds...yeah. That sounds nice. He lets his eyes slip closed and tries to take a calming breath that does approximately nothing. But not two seconds later, his eyes are snapping back open.

“‘Ow,” Shawn mutters, as loudly as he can, as Gus smacks him across the cheek with a surprisingly strong hand. 

“Don’t you dare pass out on me, Shawn.”

“Won’t,” he promises, reluctantly keeping his eyes open. How much longer do I have to keep my eyes open for, exactly? he wonders. 

“When’s...help?”

Gus anxiously checks the time, as though he hadn’t just anxiously checked the time like two seconds ago. “The lady said twenty minutes. It’s been fifteen.”

Five minutes...he can make it five more minutes. Right?

“Talk...to me.”

“I was talking to you, Shawn. Until you decided to almost pass out on me!”

Shawn slowly shakes his head. “Wasn’t gonna.”

Gus shakes his head in return, like he doesn’t believe it, which is fair. But he keeps talking anyway. Shawn wonders whether it’s even possible for Gus to run out of boring things to say to keep people awake. 

True to the 911 lady’s word, exactly five minutes later, help arrives in the form of a firetruck and ambulance. The paramedics immediately get to work on Shawn. In other circumstances, he’d maybe try and fight them on the whole precautionary c-collar situation, but they also give him drugs and an oxygen mask, and both of those things feel absolutely wonderful, so he decides to shut up and let them do what they need to do - namely, free him from his concrete prison. 

Even with the drugs in his system, it hurts, which is surprising considering they’re removing the thing that’s hurting him. But it hurts almost as bad as the initial collapse of the building on top of him had, and it hurts more than actually being pinned under it had. He screams for all of two seconds of intense pain, and then the weight is completely gone and the pain stops and he falls silent with an “oh” of pleased surprise. 

The move onto a backboard and into the back of the ambulance hurts, too, but far less in comparison. Shawn makes it through both of those events with only minor wincing and whimpering, and soon enough they’re on the way to the hospital, and Gus is talking to Jules on the phone, and the only source of pain at all is the iron grip that Gus is keeping on his hand.

aaa thanks sm for reading! hope the characterization wasn’t too abysmal and i hope you enjoyed :) i plan to write plenty more psych whump in the future so if thats what you enjoy you’re in luck!!!