#mwmday22

[serickswrites]

Too Long

Warnings: restraints, torture, captivity

Whumpee blinked hard against the darkness threatening to suck them under. They were so tired. But they couldn't sleep. If they did, they would dislocate their shoulders.

Whumper had hooked their cuffs to a strap hanging from the rafters and left them to stand. Almost two days ago. They hadn't touched Whumpee in all that time. They just left Whumpee to stand.

And Whumpee had to stay awake. Each time they started to drift off, they would jerk awake as all their weight was placed on their shoulders. This went on for hours at a time. Whumpee was so tired. They just needed twenty minutes. Twenty minutes and they would be fine.

They could hear Whumper and Accomplice talking in the hall. "It's been here for too long, Whumper. You have to get rid of it."

"I haven't had my fun yet," Whumper whined. "Let me have some fun. Then I'll get rid of it."

"You've had it standing there for almost two days. How much more fun do you need?" Accomplice growled.

They were arguing about Whumpee. Whumpee's heartbeat quickened as they waited to hear Whumper's response.

"So much more," Whumper said, and Whumpee could almost hear the sadistic smile in Whumper's voice.

[shes-some-other-where]

“It’s been too long.”

Contains: villainous gloating, restraints, chains, gag, physical violence

“You know,” said the overseer, “it’s been too long since I’ve seen that fear in your eyes. Much too long.”

As if it would protect him, the prisoner closed his eyes, desperate to hide whatever the overseer sought.

“Look at me, mutt,” the overseer said. “I have news for you.”

He didn’t open his eyes until the back of the overseer’s hand cracked against his cheek.

“Disobedient dogs like you…” The overseer smirked. “They don’t get to stay in the lap of luxury like this. You lost your chance, scum.”

The prisoner’s eyes widened; the overseer grinned.

“There it is.”

suggested reading order | MWM event masterlist

<<< previous | next >>>

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

[shywhumpauthor]

The Merry Whump of May—Day Twenty-Two (Hero saved by supervillain part 3)

“You can lead a bitch to water, but you can’t make them drink”

Origami | Amnesia | Attic

Alt prompt- Teacup

Previous || Merry Whump of May Masterlist

Hi yes I know this is awful and doesn’t make sense really I was really rushing to get it done if/when it’s continued I promise the next will be better

Cw: Kinda kidnapping, mentioned torture, disorientation, kinda implied drugging maybe

Hero woke up feeling warm and comfortable.

It wasn’t a startle awake, like the brutal grounding after their typical nightmares, not one that left them drenched in sweat and out of breath. It wasn’t one where they woke up screaming, sobbing from the twisted memories that plagued their sleep, no.

It was a nice, gentle wake, dawning on them slowly like a morning sun rising to cast a soft glow over their face. Their body felt surprisingly light, without a single worry weighing down on them. Nothing prompting them to get up, no sirens or screams for help or urgent assignments from the Agency. There was nothing but their own will to guide them as they lay there for many minutes longer, before finally opening their eyes.

They were in a king-sized four-poster bed, sheets as soft as cashmere pooled around them, a thick duvet pulled to their shoulders. The room they were in was large and airy, a wall of windows gaping out towards a cityscape on their left. They could see the sun, just barely peeking around the side of the window, the bed positioned in such a spot where the light could bathe over them without glaring. The room was furnished to follow a French country sort of theme, whites and beiges layering with just enough color spotted around to not make it feel washed out.

Hero was warm, the room a perfect temperature where they could be cocooned in blankets without overheating, but not cold enough to force them to stay huddled in bed.

They took their time getting up, blissfully ignoring the memories of what had happened when they were last conscious. At least, until they tried to sit up, and a tight pain tugging across their chest stole their breath.

Hero couldn’t help the gasp, a hand raising unsteadily to their chest as they fumbled to get the blankets off of them.

Their torso was bound with soft white bandages, tight enough they could feel the pressure against their sides, but not for it to be uncomfortable. Across the front of their chest, spots of blood had managed to seep through where the wounds had been deepest, but they looked like they had dried since.

They couldn’t ignore the flashes of memory any longer. Things were spotty after their encounter with Villain, but they remembered enough to know what had happened.

They remembered the gash in the back of Villain’s head, caved in and deep enough to reveal slivers of skull.

Hero forced themself to push that from their mind. They couldn’t think about that. Not with their stomach already twisted in knots, bile leaving a sour taste in their throat.

Shakily, Hero climbed out of the bed, bracing their hands against the high mattress as their legs trembled under their weight. They gave themself a moment to stable, looking around the room as they did so.

They knew exactly where they were.

Questions and fear stung their mind, but they were able to dismiss most of them. They kept their mind steady, forcing themself to remain rational as their eyes fell upon a neatly folded stack of clothes on the nightstand next to the bed.

Supervillain. They knew that. Supervillain had killed Villain and saved them. Kidnapped them? Saved? Hero’s hand rose to the clothes, unfolding the shirt from the pile. It was long sleeved, made of soft, breathable cotton. Below them, a pair of comfortable lounge pants, which Hero realized just how desperately they needed to change as they took in the sorry state of their current—remaining—attire. Their shirt was gone, pants ruined, stained with blood and dirt and things that Hero didn’t even want to think about, torn at the knees and various places where they had scraped against the pavement.

They didn’t think twice as they changed, tugging off their clothes with a bit of difficulty from their limited motion, frowning at the state of their skin below before pulling on the provided ones.

Hero knew they were going to fit before they had put them on, but still, it was unsettling how they fit perfectly. Just the way they liked, too. Not too tight around the arms, fitted shoulders but with enough give they could move naturally.

They braced a hand against one of the bedposts, turning to face out at the room. Unsure what to do, they tried to fold their dirty clothes and tuck them aside, but they slipped from their hands and Hero couldn’t bend to pick them up, so they shuffled them into a pile with their foot and hoped that was good enough.

It felt so wrong compared to the classy, clean aesthetic of the room, but what were they going to do about it?

Across the room, there was a large arching door, propped open a few inches with a doorstop.

They weren’t a captive, that much was clear by now. Or at least, if they were, it was one of the most civilized hostage situations they’d ever been a part of.

Hero liked to think that they were rational. That they thought things through, planned before acting. And most of the time, they did, but there was something, a certain weightlessness to their thoughts that dissuaded any sort of forethought. They heard faint music, the airy sounds of a piano and strings, content and cheerful that made all of their worries and fear slip away.

They were following the sounds out of the bedroom, down a large hall with a carpeted runner, and into an open kitchen before so much as thinking about what—more specifically who—they’d encounter outside.

Before last night, Hero had never seen Supervillain. At least not clearly. Blurred, grainy images from security cameras, a single glance on the news, but never enough to see them.

It was… odd, seeing them. Even from the night before, Hero’s sight had been obscured by tears and shadows, they hadn’t gotten a good look at the supposed criminal who had saved them.

They looked normal.

No, that wasn’t right at all. They were about as far from normal as possible. They were tall and built sturdily, a power radiating off them that could be felt even from across the room, and not just in terms of supernatural abilities. Supervillain sat at a counter island, sipping from a teacup while humming along to the music that played from a concealed speaker. There was a book open in front of them, and they were dressed in a simple white shirt and sweats, as unthreatening as they could ever possibly appear.

Still, it was almost dizzying, as Hero took a hesitant step into the kitchen, socks sliding soundlessly across the vinyl floor. They barely dared to breathe, but still, the criminal must have heard them, turning to look over their shoulder.

Their mouth cracked into a warm smile, but the kind effect was destroyed by the jagged scar that twisted from the corner of their mouth up towards their eyebrow, and Hero couldn’t help the sinking stone of fear that dropped into their stomach. Hero certainly hadn’t noticed that the night before.

“Oh Hero, I didn’t think you’d be up yet,” Supervillain set their cup down, and it looked almost humorous dainty in their hand. They stood up, letting their book flip closed. “Here, sit, you shouldn’t be on your feet this soon. Breakfast is almost done, it’ll be ready in just a few minutes,”

They were on the other side of the kitchen, but in just two steps, Supervillain was by their side, pressing a gentle hand against Hero’s back to guide them forwards.

A wave of disorientation crashed over them, the blissfully thoughtless feeling that had led them to the kitchen gone. Their mind was still spinning, trying to comprehend how Supervillain had moved—until they were being guided to sit in one of the island’s stools, a steaming cup of tea placed in front of them.

“You must be starving, you poor thing, I’ll get you some fruit to snack on while this finishes, alright?”

At their side one moment, gone the next, Supervillain stood in front of the fridge digging through the shelves, pulling out a package of freshly bought strawberries.

Then they were back standing next to Hero, placing a small bowl of the freshly cut berries in front of them. Feeling them startle, Supervillain rested a light hand on Hero’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, Hero, I’ll explain everything in a bit, okay? Just eat for now, we’ll talk after breakfast.”

With another smile, Supervillain had moved again, standing by the stove at a sizzling pan.

————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

@annablogsposts

I know this is actually awful I hate it I’m sorry I’m really fucking stressed rn and I feel like crap I just really wanted to post to not fall behind

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Merry Whump of May

@themerrywhumpofmay

May 22- “You can lead a bitch to water but you can’t make them drink.”

[Origami | Amnesia | Attic]

***

(tw: human weapon, creepy whumper, amnesia, broken bones mention)

It takes a nightmare to forge a legend. Steel sharpens steel, but blades cut through paper and skin so easily.

A hundred nights of terror. A screaming void behind their eyes.

From an origami man to a steel blade. What use is paper when you have a weapon?

And now they smile. They lounge against the throne, head tilted so the Monarch can run a hand through their hair. The sensation is as comforting as it is nauseating.

Still, they smile.

What else can they do?

They don’t remember anything else. Smile. Ignore the stares. Do as I command.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Whatever you say, my lord.”

“I live to serve.”

Grovel and kill and maim for you, my lord.

I would destroy you. “My heart is yours, Monarch.”

More screaming in their head. Why can they never remember anything past the screaming?

Was there ever a time when they were human? Were they always a weapon? A blade to be trained at the throat of the Monarch’s enemies.

Was there ever a time without soundless screaming?

One memory surfaces and they flinch without meaning to.

A glint of silver in the dark, filled with water.

Throat-burning-head-hurts. Please. Just a sip.

They can’t reach the bowl, their body refusing to respond. Concrete against their ribs and despair crushing them. Broken legs crumpled beneath the weight of their own body.

Laughter echos above them as the Monarch kicks the bowl aside, spilling all the precious water. “They always said you can lead a bitch to water, but you can’t make them drink.”

The origami has been ripped apart and replaced with steel.

They’re brought to the present when the Monarch twists a hand in their hair, yanking their head back to look up at him.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing, my lord.” How best to rip out your throat with my teeth.

The chains the Monarch hold will only last so long.

[autobot2001]

Painful Death

@mediwhumpmay: alt 3 poisoning @themerrywhumpofmay item 2 hydrochloric acid (snippet from Hidden Killer) TW; death, murder

Austin is given a tour of Que and Wheeljack's science lab. He is interested in science, but he is currently hoping to find something to use for his next kill. Austin knows he needs to be careful about what he takes, and he finds a hidden bottle behind a larger one. Taking the chance, he takes the bottle, a syringe, and a box of needles.

Once back in his room, Austen researches the chemical and its effects on the human body. This information aids in figuring out a plan. The only challenge is figuring out when to cross paths with his target, and social media and his target posting where they go make this easier. Dumbness posting where they go to work out. Austin smiles. Reviewing the map of the area. He's able to figure out where his target lives.

Austin leaves the base at four in the morning. Liking his target is someone who likes early morning workouts. He finds his target's car and can jumpstart it. He prepares what he needs to get the target to the designated location. He covers himself as he does when approaching his targets.

".... I'll be there at nine," Austin hears his victim. "You'll be a no-show," Austin tells them. "You don't want to challenge me," his target warns. The two start fighting. "Sh, I see you've been preparing for this day," Austin smiles. "I don't even know you." Ystin continues to fight his target until they're by the car. He can tie up his target, gag, and put him in the trunk. "Whoever taught you self-defense sucks." Austin finds his victim's keys, closes the trunk, and speeds off to the location.

Once at his victim's house, he drags his victim into the house after unlocking the door. He drags the victim upstairs to a bedroom.

Austin puts his target on the bed and removes the gag. "Untie me bitch!" Tsk tsk, I thought you'd remember me, Donald." Austin removes his hood and face covering. "You! I was hoping you would have been one of the deceased in the fire." "Who do you think set the fire?! "You're not the only one to underestimate me. In fact, I'm surprised the police didn't warn you, Donald. I've killed the judge who sentenced me, the fucker who runs the asylum, and your torture partner," Austin loves seeing the fear on Donald's face, "now it's your turn." Austin injects the chemical, eager to hear Donald scream, and he thought he'd be waiting a few minutes to hear Donald scream. "What did you inject?! Fuck, it burns!" Austin stays for a few minutes, hearing his victim scream.

"911, what's your emergency?" I hear screaming from my next-door neighbor. Like in pain screaming." The caller tells dispatch who lives at the house the screaming is coming from. They watch from in their home, hoping to see someone run out of the house to help the police with their investigation, but it seems no one leaves the home from when they've called 911 to when emergency services arrive.

Prowl, Jolt, and Ratchet chose to be part of the team who rushes to the home. They are concerned about how much pain the human in the bedroom is in. "The killer is...," the victim tries to say but struggles with the pain. The medics hoped to help with pain to find out what the victim was saying, but he soon goes I ri respiratory failure. They're concerned about how rapidly their patient is declining and worried he won't survive the trip to the hospital.

By the time they get to the hospital, the patient cannot breathe on their own, and their heart rate is above one-hundred beats per minute. The medical team and medics who responded to me the call quickly realize how serious the case was. All believe they'll need a miracle for this patient to survive as they see signs of internal bleeding. Worried surgery isn't an option; the alternative is letting the patient die.

They try all they can in the operating room, but the patient dies within twenty minutes. The surgical team discovers part of the cause of death. "What the hell caused his organs to be corroded?" One of the surgeons asks. They thought they'd have to wait until an autopsy happens, but blood tests showed hydrochloric acid in the blood. "Suicide?" "No, they were trying to say something," Ratchet argues, "perhaps the name of the one who injected this chemical." They know they'll never find out and can't assume it was the Holiday Killer. Worried others are in danger of dying this way, and hating there's nothing they can do to prevent more people from dying this way.

Austin knows he can't reuse the same weapon to kill as much as he loved hearing his victim scream.

[shes-some-other-where]

A death sentence disguised as mercy

Prompt: Straps

Contains: villainous gloating, restraints, chains, gag, death mention

“Looks like you’ve guessed.” The overseer pretended to inspect his knuckles for bruising, but his gaze wandered. Watched the prisoner’s eyes grow wild. “Can’t be trusted to stay put? You’re off to the Pits. Tomorrow.”

The prisoner’s breaths grew shallow.

The Pits. A death sentence disguised as mercy: deep ravines marbled with hairlines of precious minerals, painstakingly collected by convicts who went down—and never returned.

The prisoner’s head sank low.

The overseer loosened the straps of the gag, but no words came once his tongue was free.

“You’ll wish for this place again.” The overseer laughed. “You’ll wish for death.”

suggested reading order | MWM event masterlist

<<< previous | next >>>

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.