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fleur-a-whump · 4 months ago

Text

Overloaded (#2)

late night sparks

guys guess what!! little villain guy has a name!! it’s Jasper and we love him dearly. also team leader’s got a name too, it’s Miguel, but we don’t really care about him because he’s a bitch. plus new character reveal: Chase, a teammate. he is also, unsurprisingly, a bitch.

Content: ex-villain whumpee, hero/leader whumper, manipulative whumper, collars, electrocution (for realsies this time), implied referenced abuse of a minor, referenced bullying, bad team dynamics, adult language

in which Miguel gets worse. takes place probably a few months after "preventative measures"

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jasper's back was sore. And his arms. And his everything.

He sat kneeling on the kitchen floor, determinately ignoring the pins and needles that pricked at his calves. He couldn't stop, couldn't take a break till the floor was spotless. Chase had once again threatened some mixture of violence and telling on him to Miguel for insubordination if he didn't do the man's chores.

Big man-child, Jasper thought bitterly.

So, here he was, scrubbing well past midnight, after having spent the day straining his powers in the lab and doing his own chores.

Jasper sat back to indulge a long, dramatic yawn. He nearly jumps out of his skin when an impatient ahem cuts through the previously dead silent kitchen. His bleary eyes take several long moments to focus on Miguel, leaning against the doorway. The hero would look casual if it weren’t for the peeved look on his face. Jasper’s stomach does a somersault.

Sheepish, Jasper drawls, “Heyyy, Miguel…”

Miguel is not amused. “What the fuck are you doing out here,” he snaps.

Jasper squeezes his hands into fists to quell the tremors. He stutters, “J-just cleaning.”

The villain can hardly finish the statement before the unsettling and painful electricity of the collar arcs through him. His muscles seize and ache and burn and it feels like death and he can't breathe—

Just as quickly as it began, the electricity stops. He gasps and collapses to the side, just barely able to catch himself on his forearm. Small, choked-off whimpers escape him as he tries to catch his breath and keep his volume to a minimum. His father never liked to hear him whine.

Jasper continues to shudder as his powers go haywire. The typically comforting restless skittering of his own electricity under his skin now burns as it travels across the newly fried neurons. More than that, it feels wrong for such a core part of his being to cause him pain. The feeling is everywhere, from the tip of his nose to his toes, and it is everything. Little sparks and crackles of energy fly from his shaking hands as it becomes too painful to completely contain his powers. Simply existing—not to mention actually using his powers—will be painful while his body tries to recover from the unnaturally strong current, engineered just for him.

As his body gradually backs down from its state of panic, ire at the punishment surges within him. The hero didn’t even let him explain. It was Chase who ordered him to do his chores; ordered him to not leave this room until it was spotless.

“I was just following orders!” he bursts.

Oh shit.

A quick glance at Miguel and his quirked eyebrow lets him know just how badly he just fucked up. And even if it didn't, the second burst of electricity from the collar definitely spells it out for him.

A guttural groan escapes his clenched teeth as he feels the current worm its way through his neurons, igniting them. The burning, all-encompassing pain is all he knows. Spots cloud his vision. Seconds feel like minutes, feel like hours, feel like eternity, until he wonders if that's all he'll ever feel. Nothing but the gut-wrenching pain of his greatest gift, so deeply intertwined with his being, turned against him and ripping him apart from the inside out.

And then, it stops.

Jasper’s body fully gives out this time, his chin bouncing off the tile and teeth clacking painfully. He's a pitiful mess of useless limbs. His muscles feel like jelly and yet are still forced to endure the waves of aftershock, twitching and spasming irregularly. Each movement is agony.

He gulps oxygen, having still been out of breath from the first shock. He can hardly hear his own moans and whimpers bouncing around the kitchen with each breath over the ringing in his ears, and he has zero energy to control them this time.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he can't help the delayed but violent flinch that ripples through him. But the hand is soft, gentle, as it pulls him to lie on his back. It guides his hand to rest on someone's chest, to follow as it rises and falls rhythmically. He latches onto it, using it as a guide to breathe and bring himself back to reality. Another hand gently cards through his loose curls as he works to steady his breathing and his vision clears. If he eagerly leans into the gentle touch, well, he can blame it on his delirious state.

When Miguel's face finally comes into focus above him, a shiver runs through him, and he averts his gaze. He'll blame that on his still-spasming muscles.

Miguel’s soft voice calls for his attention again. He focuses back on his leader’s face, haloed above him by the bright kitchen lights.

“There you are. You're alright, it's okay,” he soothes.

The hero lets Jasper relish the contact a moment longer before gently returning his hand to his own chest.

Jasper swallows the whimper at the loss.

Miguel lets out a long-suffering sigh. It gives Jasper whiplash how suddenly the familiar weight of anxiety settles back in his chest.

“I don't like doing that, man. You know better than to be in the common areas after your curfew, and you definitely know better than to talk back, bud. I don't wanna have to punish you, but the rules are rules for a reason. Yeah, they're to protect the team, but they're also to protect you. What if you'd had another episode with your powers?”

He decidedly doesn’t think about the ‘episodes’ Miguel is referring to. Still, the disappointment in his savior's voice hurt almost as much as the electricity. His eyes flood with tears as guilt settles like a rock in his stomach. The hero was right. He knew the rules, and he agreed to them. Anything to stay. Anything to be good.

His voice breaks, small and shaky, as he says, “I-I'm really s-sorry, Mig-guel.”

The villain’s not one hundred percent sure what exactly he's sorry for, but, fuck, is he sorry.

“Okay, that's alright, don't cry. I think you've learned your lesson. You're fine.”

The words should be comforting. The edge to his tone, however, is not. Jasper blinks hard to clear the tears, not wanting to annoy him. That was another thing his father didn't like.

Miguel brings him back to the present, asking, “Why are you cleaning the floor anyways? That's not on your list for this week.”

Jasper swallows hard past the lump still in his throat. He’s afraid of what Chase will do to him if he tells Miguel and Miguel decides he doesn’t like that. However, he’s more “Chase s-said I should be busy all the t-time to k-keep me out of trouble…”

Miguel hums in thought, ever casual as Jasper trembles on the floor below of him.

“I actually like that idea. We wouldn't want you getting bored. You'd be helping the team out a lot too, taking some work off our plates so we can train more. I'll work on the new chore schedule in the morning.”

Jasper bit his lip. He could read between the lines.

“A-and, my training?”

“We can reduce it some,” Miguel says, thoughtful. “I know you've been struggling to keep up.”

He makes it sound like a kindness, voice full of sympathy. No matter how gentle the tone, Jasper has to blink the tears from his eyes again. He knew he wasn't the strongest or the most capable, but that was the point of training. He'd never be good enough to redeem himself without the chance to train.

Miguel sighs again and stands. He suddenly reaches towards him. Jasper has to carefully control the urge to flinch, not knowing what to expect from the movement. He never knows what to expect.

Miguel simply holds it out towards him, however, expectantly. It takes Jasper a moment to realize he's trying to help him up. He takes the hand after that moment's hesitation and wavers on unsteady feet as the blood finally rushes back into his legs. He blinks spots from his vision, gripping Miguel for dear life until he's sure he's not going to pass out.

The hero gives him an easy smile, clapping a hand on his shoulder just a bit too hard. He nudges him in the direction of the bedrooms.

“You look tired, man. I think it's time for bed,” he all but coos.

It sounds like a caring gesture, or at the very least a joke. Jasper knows it's an order.

He dutifully mumbles, “Goodnight,” before making his way to the door slowly. He knows he probably looks like a newborn fawn as his jittery body tries to carry him to his bed.

“And Jasper?”

A slight jolt of anxiety stops him as he turns back to his leader.

“If I catch you out past curfew again, we're going to have an issue worth more than a little jolt, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the villain says, too tired to bite back the honorific once totally engrained in him.

He doesn't notice the way Miguel preens at the submission.

“Attaboy, Jasper. Goodnight.”

The praise rings hollow after the night's events, but as he makes his way back to his room, dead on his feet, he allows the praise to warm him.

He'll take what he can get.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

jasper doesn't deserve this :( but he will get more >:)

tags!! lmk if you wanna be added (or removed, I added some extra people)!!

@whumpsday

@sergeant-jasper (yo i didn't even realize lol)

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@crystalrose141

@aloafofbreadwithanxiety

@paingoes

@elizaisnotokay

@quaggasus

#ex villain whumpee #villain whumpee #hero whumper #manipulative whumper #emotional manipulation #heroes and villains #shock collar #electrocution #team whump #bad team dynamics #whump #whump fic #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #god so many tags #guys im stressed this is scary #overloaded

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toxintouch · 1 month ago

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Yooooooo, you write fan fictions, don't you? Halloween is, like, right over there *points*. would you be willing to do one of mhin taking sparrow ghost hunting? and maybe even having a "guest appearance" of a certain shadow manipulator?

if this has already been done, could you point me in the right direction?

thank you~

I've never seen a fic like that but omg. This is such a brilliant idea, I love how all the pieces come together so perfectly–Vere being said to be responsible for his fair share of local ghost stories, mentions of Mhin and haunted houses in the Uquiz results… Premium thoughts. I had a lot of fun writing this, ty for giving me the prompt!! :>

It took a couple of extra days but it's also longer (~2900 words) so hopefully that makes up for it. p.s sorry if u meant it to be more gen bc I wrote romantic pining lol Volume Warning! Ambiance (~BEAUTIFUL FOX NOISES) for y'all /j

Cold Spots

You pull your cloak tighter around yourself, sheltering your remaining body heat from the howling wind.

You ignore the shiver that creeps down your spine.

You’ve been warned that the night is chilly in Eridia at this time of year, but you haven’t quite scraped together enough coin to afford more layers. So you huddle closer to the swaying lamplight of the Wet Wick, attempting to leech warmth from the cheery (if occasionally overwhelming) atmosphere of the bar. You’re on edge, wary about straying too far from the Wick’s affable open doors and the balmy light spilling out of them.

You crane your neck to peer as far as you can around the corner without moving, eyeing the myriad of nearby alleyways, all full to the brim with shadows, searching for a familiar splash of moonlight and blue sweeping through the night.

That’s when you feel eyes on your back.

You freeze, all of your senses on high alert.

“You’re where I asked you to be.” Mhin says in lieu of a greeting. You startle, reeling around to face them. Even when you're expecting them, they have the uncanny ability of sneaking up on you.

“You say that like you’re surprised.” You chide, in mock affront. “You’ll notice that I’m also on time.” Your giddiness shows on your face, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t act so pleased with yourself,” they snipe while rolling their eyes, “for anyone else, that’s the bare minimum.” They frown, looking you up and down with their arms tightly crossed. “...Is that what you’re wearing?”

Any further quips you have for them die in your mouth, drowned out by nervous chuckling. You realize they must be asking (in their own way) if you’re not going to get too cold. You know you could just ask Leander or Kuras for some seasonally appropriate attire but you’d rather not rely on further charity if you can’t help it. Hence: “I’m, um, warm blooded?” You mean to inject an appropriate amount of bravado into your voice, but it comes out as more of a question.

Mhin sighs, long eyelashes brushing their cheeks as they close their eyes for one long moment. “Sometimes I wonder… Fine. Let’s just get going.”

The floorboards shriek beneath your feet as you step across the threshold. The entire shack seems to groan and sway, protesting audibly against the wind. You stick close to Mhin’s back as they hold their gas lamp up, casting an eerie glow about the interior of the abandoned building. Their keen eyes do a quick sweep before they nod decisively and usher you inside with a single precise motion.

The bellow of the wind sounds almost like a scream as the door shuts behind you.

“So, what are we looking for, exactly?” Your voice comes out hushed, the haunting atmosphere insisting that you behave accordingly.

“Likely nothing.” Mhin responds. “Actual ghost sightings are very rare. And of those, few recorded instances come from trustworthy sources. People in Eridia can be quite superstitious. Count on rats or other pests. It’s more plausible that this is a mere infestation rather than–”

The roof above your heads gives a long, low creeaaaak.

You both pause for a beat, listening to silence.

“How would we know if it's a real ghost?” You ask, more out of curiosity than anything. You’re not about to waste the opportunity, if Mhin is willing to keep talking.

“Depends on the type of ghost.” Another protest from the floorboards as Mhin wanders further into the dark. Since you don’t have a lantern of your own, you have no choice but to follow close behind. Unless you want to stumble around with nothing but the shatters of dusty moonlight cast through the cracked windows to guide your way.

Mhin and you make a quick round of the small building, finding it mostly empty, only a few pieces of broken furniture left behind. You draw closer to the back wall, carefully avoiding moth-eaten curtains, heeding Mhin’s warning about a small step. Based on the layout, you think this place might have been a bar or entertainment hall of some sort. You imagine it had a nice, cozy parlor at one time, though now it’s fallen into squalor. As Mhin examines the walls for signs of pests and other clues, you examine the graffiti strewn across them: crude jokes and lewd drawings, mostly. Some scattered names, belonging to people and gangs you’ve never heard of before.

Framed in the center, though, there's a huge riot of colorful paint. An abstract painting with no proper canvas. It's beautiful, somehow, though hauntingly morose. The artist has contained their work in a neat square, not a single streak of color escaping the precisely imposed prison. You’re not sure what the intent of the artist was choosing somewhere like this to display it…

“Is there a type of ghost that makes artwork?” You wonder aloud. You almost wish that Mhin would hand you the lantern so you can get a better look.

Mhin clicks their tongue, sparing barely a glance toward the makeshift painting. “I wouldn't define that as art.” Mhin follows the line of the wall to the corner, their lantern held up to the wall. “That’s just…paint. If you’re looking for ghosts, try looking for scratch marks. Those are a possible indicator, though not always a reliable one. A sudden feeling of hot, or cold–any otherwise unexplainable temperature change. A strange odor…”

You give the air a sniff. “...I don’t smell anything. Do you?”

“Dust. Rotting wood. And you’ve stopped using Leander’s bath soaps, which I’ll commend you for. Why anybody would want to smell that strongly of–” Mhin stops and gives a short whiff, their mouth slightly parted. Their brows furrow. “It is unusual…I don't see or smell any signs of rats or roaches. No vultures either…”

“Maybe something else scared them away?” You posit. You shuffle closer to Mhin, not liking the way the shadows around you seem to flow and ebb the longer you look at them, your mind making up shapes. There’s a silly part of you that wants to feel Mhin’s cloak between your bandaged fingers as reassurance that they’ll stay close. They’d probably hate to know that you see them as something to cling to–a source of comfort, safety.

You try to take another step closer to further dampen your trepidation, but instead you trip over– something–and stumble directly into Mhin. They catch you on impulse, strong and quick enough to steady you with one arm while holding the lantern with the other. You breathe an apology, your lips bumping against their chin as they help you get your feet back under you.

You both search the ground to determine what knocked you off your balance.

It's a dirty old rug, rucked up at one edge.

A long line of what appears to be claw marks lies half uncovered below it. Mhin kneels beside the marks, studying them intently, carefully moving the rug to reveal yet more splintered wood. “I’m not sure what could have done this,” they admit. “The marks are fresh, but none of the dust was disrupted…”

The floorboards groan another protest, though it bounds off the walls in strange ways, making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where the sound originated.

“Aural contortions.” Mhin announces. “And a feeling that you’re being watched. Reflective surfaces will behave oddly as well. Hold this.” Mhin hands you the lantern (more: shoves it into your grasp, really) reaching into their satchel. Their nimble hands pull out a handful of alchemical concoctions, one which shines like the inside of a seashell, a tiny silver locket, which they flick open to reveal a small mirror. There’s symbols etched into it, so old and worn away you can’t make them out.

You draw the lantern closer at their behest, illuminating a small smile spread across their face.

Is Mhin …Having fun?

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You ask, hoping they don’t notice the warmth in your voice. Getting scolded would kind of ruin the mood.

Mhin glances up, blinking at you like they almost forgot you were there. Their tongue peeks out, wetting their lips as they consider. “Yes,” they finally agree, “would you–”

The lamplight is smothered by an unknown force.

The cracked streams of light from the window are gone, leaving you in darkness.

Mhin swears, their voice distorting as if they are suddenly very far away. A moment ago they were crouched beside you, but the shadows surrounding you are so inky you can’t make out their silhouette at all. Instinctively, you reach your hands out in front of you before freezing and reluctantly forcing them back down. If both you and Mhin end up stumbling around with hands outstretched, there’s a possibility that they might accidentally grasp onto you and disrupt your bandages. (You wish you had given into your desire to hold onto them earlier.)

You whisper their name, frantic, hoping they can hear you.

“I’m here,” Mhin assures you, their voice pitched low and cautious. You feel the gentle press of a foot against yours, a light tap of reassurance against the side of your sole. “Stay close.” There’s a brush of fingertips against your back. “If the entity is particularly powerful, it will be able to move objects,” Mhin cautions, “but a ghost should never be capable of causing harm to humans directly. And there’s not much in here that it could throw. Just stay calm. If you don’t keep your emotions in check, it will only be more incensed.”

Light flashes through the room again in a spotlight, guiding your gaze to a particular area of the building.

The abstract mural is defaced, dripping black liquid splattered boldly across the wall like arterial spray. You retreat a step, feeling something wet beneath your feet. There’s a sharp, astringent tang in the air. Musty and earthy-floral. Old velvet and leather, parchment and fresh paint.

You realize, with a sinking feeling of cold terror, that the black ichor on the wall spells your name.

Eyes on you.

Touch like a gossamer spider web. Brushing against the nape of your neck.

“Mhin,” you whisper urgently. “Something just–”

The cold hits you then. Bone deep and all consuming. Judging by the way Mhin swears, they must feel it too. Whatever this unknown entity is, it’s close. And it wants…

Shadow flickers, fingers reaching for you, claws grasping, white glint of teeth.

Mhin sneers audibly, reaching for you and reeling you in by your cloak just before the figure can snatch you up. Their arm wraps around you, guiding you with them as they recede. They sweep their stiletto in a wide arc and you hear the clang of metal on metal, though you have no idea what it was that Mhin hit. Their night vision must be immaculate–you can hardly see more than the fresh glint of their stiletto blade.

“Turns out it is a vermin infestation.”

A bark of laughter.

Very familiar laughter.

The door starts to rattle on its hinges, moving to the rhythm of Vere's glee. Mhin walks over to it, dragging your shaking body with them. With a definitive kick from Mhin and a final cackle from Vere, the door bursts open.

Mhin tugs you out into the open air and slams it behind them.

“Awful fur-bag.” Mhin spits the words out like the mere thought of Vere leaves a bad taste in their mouth.

You’re far enough away that the black paint clinging to both of your shoes is no longer leaving footprints, but you can’t say the same about the bone deep cold.

You’re shivering so hard your teeth start to chatter, adrenaline magnifying the chill in your bones. How did Vere even do that? You rub your arms and nearly stumble into Mhin in the process. Their features twist into a half-formed scowl, eyes sweeping you before softening into something more delicate.

You find yourself staring into eyes that seem to catch the moonlight, words caught in your throat.

“You’re freezing.” Mhin murmurs, resting a hand against the curve of your cheek, testing your temperature.

You’re surprised at the contact. Mhin is always so careful about touching you–it’s something you appreciate, usually, this unspoken agreement between the two of you; Mhin doesn’t ask intrusive questions, just makes silent hypotheses and treats your personal space with care. You appreciate it–usually–but sometimes, (constantly), you wish…

Mhin’s thumb pets against your jaw. They glace away from you as they do, unable to hold your gaze, but they don’t remove their hand, even as the moment hangs heavy in the air. Their hand is soft, you think, fingertips like silk, though you can feel the thick calluses built up at the meat of their palm. Likely hard won and harder lost, trophies from their time as a freelancer and whatever secret misfortune befell them what led them to Eridia. Unthinking, you nuzzle into their touch, luxuriating in the coveted feeling of skin on skin. You have half a mind to turn your head, press your lips against their calluses, kiss them like you’re drawing poison from a wound.

Mhin catches your chin between their thumb and pointer finger. Their grip is assertive, certain. You’d worry that you’ve angered them somehow, but the intensity of their gaze, the subtle tilt of their head, the flush of their cheeks, the featherlight caress of their breath on your lips…

–You think they might–

They back away abruptly in one smooth stride. Their hands work quickly at the intricate clasp on their cloak. Oh, now they’re really looking away.

“Wear this while we head back. You didn’t come to this city to die of cold.”

They look at their bracers pointedly as you hesitate, as if itching to adjust them. You slowly reach out and put the garment on.

The trek back to the Wick is uneventful. The occasional star glances out from the pall of clouds constantly lingering in the Eridian sky. You look for the waning moon, finding its reticent light and following it home. You return Mhin’s cloak at the door, careful to hold it in a way that allows them to take it without having to touch you – touch your bandages.

Mhin looks, oddly, a little reluctant to see it returned. You’re not sure how else you can possibly read their body language. Their hunched shoulders, the downturn of their mouth, their uncharacteristic lingering. Holding the cloak in their hands like they can’t quite decide what to think of it.

They let out a sharp breath.

Mhin levels you with a pointed glare as they settle their mantle across their shoulders, affixing the clasp without need to look down. “Buy some warmer clothes.” they order, “Tell Leander that the contract is complete and the buyer’s ‘ghost problem’ is solved. The building should be fine for renovations, just tell them to start their renewal project on a day when the Senobium is actually holding Vere’s leash.”

“You’ll come back for your cut tomorrow…?” Confusion rolls off your lips.

“No.” Mhin crosses their arms again. “I just told you to buy some warmer clothes, didn’t I? Consider it hazard pay.” Again, that disgusted tone Mhin reserves for Vere. “Even with that taken into consideration, you’ll still owe me, though. Don’t forget. I’ll collect some day; everyone does in this city.”

You’re not sure what to say. Mhin is insisting that this is just a loan, and you believe that wholeheartedly. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t charity. Mhin’s also offering you transparency–an open disclosure of the deal you’re agreeing to. You take their cut, buy what you need, and resolve to pay it back when you can. And if Mhin needs something similar in the future, you’ll return them in kind.

You think you stumble over your words a little, but you agree to their offer.

“I’ll be back to collect another contract. Hopefully something that’s not a waste of my time.”

And a promise to come back is a promise to see you again, isn’t it? To include you in their life? Is that what you’re supposed to take from this? That Mhin cares for you, even if they won’t–

Or is it your foolish heart, showing you a path that isn’t really there?

“Goodnight, Mhin.” You say the words, but their back is already turned, steps already taken.

✦ EXTENDED ENDING...? ✦

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention. It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you. On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort. You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips. His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

✦Heat Signature (Vere Continuation) ->

#Mhin is an ABSTRACT ART HATER that is my headcanon looll #WHEEEE HAPPY SCARY SEASON!! I HOPE U LIKED I HOPE U HAD FUN #you get to choose if sparrow screams and vere lols and says peace out i’ve had my fun orrrr #it’s an open ending :)#Wow Vere u ruined date night #ummm Sparrow Mhin is not only careful about touching you for your own benefit #Mhin is also. White knuckling their self control.#If they let themself touch even a little…they might just want to touch a lot #this whole thing is just: how many tropes can I pack into here?#ya’ll think ghosts are real in TS universe??#wouldn’t that be interesting… >:3 #ALSO THE EXTENDED ENDING IS ME PLAYING WITH THAT HORROR MOVIE TROPE WHERE THE CREATURE ETC ALWAYS COMES BACK AT THE END #Mhin x reader #surprise! vere x reader - just a smidge??#Touchstarved Game #Touchstarved game fanfic #mhin touchstarved #toxintouch: {pick} prompt {your poison}#that’s a stupid long tag but i think it’s funny tbh so i’m #toxintouch writing

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