#trope snippets

[withdrawingramen]

i think shame & its manifestations in whump is not talked about enough. like i love when whumpee is physically unable to tell caretaker about all they went through, not only because it is insanely distressing to relive but also because it's humiliating. 'how can someone be so cruel?' is another question, but we're also talking 'how did i let that happen to myself?' from whumpee's perspective. often times post something traumatizing whumpees develop this deep-seated feeling of hopelessness & helplessness & misguided anger which is just in sweet words not cool

because think about it, the whumpee could not stop anything from happening to them. there's always this notion of having to stand up for yourself, but whumpee didn't even get the chance to. who should you be angry at? whumper? the system? yourself?

the fact that it happened is so terribly real and if paired with the conditioning of whumper & possible victim blaming, the shame eventually turns into this twisted form of denial, where whumpee is unable to confront the fact that they were hurt so bad and it just turns into oh my god i hate that it happened to me. i want to erase that it all happened. i wish i could live just one day forgetting it all and wake up thinking what was i so stressed about? i wish i could walk past whumper and think 'who were they again'? nobody should know about this because i cant deal with it myself and i don't know what i'll do if it all goes out

yk what im talking abt?

[the-ellia-west]

I don't usually make whump posts but here we go

New Whumpees.

Whumpees who don't know where they are or who this person in front of them is. Whumpees who can't handle one cut without screaming.

Whumpees who are either too eager or too afraid to talk back because they haven't had the time to learn yet.

Whumpee having a panic attack right before being tortured.

Whumpee asking too many questions. Whumpee thinking they must have done something wrong.

Whumpees asking 'what are you going to do with that?'

Whumpees panicking when they get hit even after they spilled the information.

New whumpees who don't know how to hide the pain that makes Whumper happy. New whumpees who can't stay awake when they need to. New whumpees who self-sabotage so much they nearly die from the pain.

A new whumpee who is confused, scared, and for the first time, alone.

[chaotic-orphan]

Concussed villain gets kidnapped?

Villain showed up on Hero’s doorstep, heaving in breaths as they slammed their fist on the door. Their arm was ridiculously heavy, and it took everything in them to throw it mercilessly against the wooden door. The effects were meagre knocks that Villain prayed Hero would hear.

If Hero was even home.

What if they were working tonight? Fuck, why didn’t Villain think of that? Their head was pounding so they rested their forehead against the cool wood, letting out a shaky, shallow breath, trying not to anger the fire in their ribs. Blood continued to trickle from their hairline down over their eyes and dripping onto their cheeks.

That wasn’t good.

They heard footsteps behind the door and Villain almost broke down there and then, relief flooding them like a tsunami of feeling, washing away everything that was keeping Villain upright. Tears poured down their cheeks at the thought of safety, hero looking after them… their hero. They could tell them about Superhero’s plans.

They could tell them… Villain put a hand against the door and pushed themselves backwards. They would’ve fallen if not for the arm that snaked around their waist. Villain blinked dumbly and glanced down. Arm around—?

Before they cry out or scream in warning a hand clamped over their mouth and Villain was ripped away from the door and into the shadows. Villain thrashed, struggling in their attacker’s grip, all their screams and cries muffled to nothing but silent pleas.

The door opened and Villain’s struggles renewed but Hero wouldn’t be able to see them from here. Hero wouldn’t know they were even there!

“Hello?” Hero asked into the darkness and Villain whimpered against the hands holding them in an iron cage. Villain threw their body forward, back, trying to dislodge their attackers arms but they didn’t budge even a little.

“If you want Hero to continue to draw breath, Villain, you’ll come quietly.”

Villain froze at the voice. That was… Superhero… the reason why Villain was in this state in the first place. Villain’s struggles renewed as Hero stepped out of their house. If they could even sense something was amiss so close to them then they would investigate. Hero would have to investigate, right? And Hero was in danger too!

Villain had to warn them, they had to!

“Hello?” Hero asked, a note of agitation creeping into their voice.

I’m here! Villain wanted to scream. Hero please! I’m right here.

A pinch in their neck and Villain’s fruitless struggles seized, their blood running cold. They flinched as cold liquid was pushed into their neck. No… no, no, no, no. “That’s it, Villain,” Superhero whispered. “Don’t fight it.”

The hazy world blurred even more and Villain fell back against Superhero’s chest, the fight leaving them almost instantly. What did Superhero drug them with?

Their eyelids shut and Villain forced them back open, with a gargantuan effort. The last thing they saw was Hero frown and close the door before their entire world faded to black in the arms of their enemy.

[villain-enthusiast]

The hero knew they'd be found one day.

So they weren’t entirely surprised when they were ambushed in their house, drugged, and dragged off to the enormous castle that they used to call home. But their anticipation didn’t stop the dread from pooling in their gut as they were tossed, unceremoniously, onto the ground.

They stifled a groan, flexing their bound hands behind them as they tried to shake off the last of the sedative in their system. Someone grabbed the scruff of their collar and yanked them up to their knees before pulling down their blindfold.

They blinked several times at the ground, squinting through the sudden change in light. As their vision cleared, the marbled pattern of the throne room's floor came into view and they involuntarily stiffened.

"Dismissed."

Fuck. That voice. The cold, cutting power laced in every syllable, the venom in each word that had haunted the hero's dreams for years, even after they escaped. Or so they thought they did. The hero's mouth went dry.

They kept their gaze trained down, hearing the guards behind them leave and close the doors with a harsh, resolute click.

Silence stretched between the hero and the villain, who sat languidly on the throne in a grotesque show of vanity. Of pride.

After a moment, the villain sighed. "So you thought you could get away."

The hero swallowed, hard. "I guess I was just playing hard to get." They hated how unstable, how hoarse their voice was.

The villain chuckled dryly. "You, my prized possession, the greatest weapon I've ever had the pleasure of crafting, were just playing hard to get." The hero heard them shift in their seat. "I'm sure that's a fantasy you'd love to be true, but I knew you'd run. Did you really think I haven't dealt with this before?"

"Guess I thought I'd get lucky." The hero looked up then, to stare the villain straight into their eyes.

The villain held their gaze and smiled, flashing teeth. "Unfortunately, even the most precious treasures are always found at some point." They tilted their head, brow furrowing. "Come here."

The hero did not move.

The villain tapped a finger, and an invisible force pulled the hero taut, dragging them towards the foot of the throne. They grit their teeth, knowing better than to struggle, but hating the agonizing memories that flashed through their head of when they used to fight back, of what the villain was capable of beyond simple commands.

"I see you've grown into disobedience after so many years," the villain tutted. "That's certainly fixable, but what I want to know," they dragged a hand through the hero's disheveled hair, who shuddered at the familiar touch, "is if you still remember what I've taught you." Their touch suddenly turned sharp as they grabbed a fistful of—

The hero's body reacted to the pain before their mind did, and they kicked their leg around, slamming their foot into the villain's forearm. Apparently they still remembered a thing or two.

They landed on their stomach, panting as they faced the wide expanse of the gilded room before them. The villain crouched down beside them, placing a boot on their back and squeezing the air from their lungs.

"Look at you. You could've had all this," the villain hissed in their ear. They grabbed the hero's chin, forcing them to look up. "You could've been by my side, sitting with me on the throne. But you chose to run and try to become someone who could overthrow me, the very person who created you. You are nothing, nothing, without me."

For the first time since they've been back, fear struck the hero deep in their heart. "Please," they breathed, and immediately realized their mistake.

Begging was a weakness. A crack in the boulder. An infection in a festering wound. And the villain saw it all too well.

"Forgiveness," the villain murmured, honey-sweet, "is for the traitors. Punishment is for the cowards. Which one do you think you are?"

As the villain's hand tightened on their face, the hero closed their eyes, knowing the question had already been answered for them.

[writersloveroe]

one bed trope dialogue prompts

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

•”wait- there’s seriously only one bed?”

•”no i insist, stay in bed with me,”

•”i didn’t mean to end up so close to you that night we were sharing the bed,”

•”it was so awkward- i woke up and we were cuddling like a couple,”

•”i hope you don’t snore,”

•”can you come a little closer? it’s cold in here,”

•”you know your head was resting on my shoulder as you slept right?”

•”you’re a cute sleeper,”

•”i know this is a bit weird, but can you hold me?”

•”stop hogging the covers!”

•”you kicked me seven times while sleeping,”

•”can you talk to me? i can’t sleep,”

•”there must’ve been some mistake there should be two beds,”

•”sharing a bed with you isn’t the worse thing that could happen, right?”

•”i’ll sleep on the couch- fine, i’ll sleep with you on the bed,”

•”you have cute bedhead,”

[defectivehero]

Bad things happen bingo enemy turned caretaker (villain if possible 😈) PLEASEEUUUHHH🙏🙏🙏

Okay, so my first instinct for this is to go with a villain caretaker, because duh. Then I thought... let's reverse it. Then I thought... nah. Let's make it a bit... interesting. Heeheehee..... Hee...... Heehee.... It may not be exactly what you expected, but I hope you enjoy!

@badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Enemy Turned Caretaker

The hero's hand blurs as they attempt to reach for the doorbell of the far too familiar building. They completely miss and groan, instead attempting to clench their fist and knock on the door itself. The effort is strangely difficult, but they manage to make it work, because within moments the door swings open.

"Oh, hello." The villain says, blinking at the injured hero on their doorstep. "Fancy seeing you here." They don't sound particularly surprised, only annoyed.

"...Hello." The hero manages to respond through the haze of pain. They blink and the villain's teeth grow long and sharp. Another blink and they're gone. The hero must be losing it. Maybe they have a concussion, on top of everything else.

"I assume you need my help." The villain states dryly, nothing but disinterest present in their voice. They cross their arms over their chest.

The hero doesn't bother sugarcoating it. "Yes." They agree. "Please." They add on, if only to appeal to the villain's somewhat masochistic tendencies. And with perfectly awful timing, the hero lurches on their feet, blindly grasping at the doorframe so they don't face-plant into the ground.

The villain lets out a long-suffering sigh, clearly annoyed. "Fine, fine." They drawl. "Can't have the city's favorite hero dying on my doorstep. It would certainly raise questions." The villain sidles up to the hero and throws the hero's arm around their shoulder, guiding them into the room and onto the nearby sofa. There's already some sort of towel over it, the hero notes dazedly as they're gently guided down to sit. Their enemy must collapse on this piece of furniture, bleeding and exhausted, rather often.

The villain works quietly and methodically. They must be practiced with this sort of thing. After all, the hero has inflicted injuries upon them before.

The hero is silent for a while, before their curiosity gets the best of them. "You know, you're supposed to ask, 'Who did this to you?'" They say with slight amusement. Indeed, the villain has been almost uncharacteristically speechless as they've patched them up.

"Ah, I suppose I should." The villain says with a smile of recognition. They finish with the bandages, a deceptively gentle gesture that leaves the hero almost struggling for breath. "But I already know."

The hero's chest lurches. Something doesn't feel right all of a sudden. The world swirls and blurs around them, and all they can see is their enemy looming over them with that knowing smile on their face. Fuck. Fuck. "You do." They say skeptically. The past hour flies before their eyes in quick glimpses: beaten to a pulp, abandoned in an alleyway, the villain's far too opportune appearance...

"Yes." The villain confirms with a hum, sitting on the opposite arm of the sofa and looking down at them. "I must say, it went rather well. Exceeded my expectations, really." They grin.

"How...?" The hero chokes out, despite already knowing the answer. They're not even bound or restrained, but they feel so incredibly powerless. The fatigue eating at their bones is enough to leave them practically immobile underneath their enemy's gaze. Their wounds still burn, their muscles still aching from the exertion.

"Oh, you know," the villain waves a hand flippantly. "I just got a few of my men—the rather brutish ones—to ambush you. Leave you for dead in an alleyway, conveniently located near my headquarters."

...And the hero fell for it—hook, line, and sinker. They could've gone anywhere else, yet they went right to their enemy. What the hell compelled them to run straight to the villain's doorstep? They've made a grave oversight, assuming the villain's treatment came for free. Their enemy never does anything out of the good of their heart.

"Too easy, really." The villain continues, a smile on their face. "You fell right into my arms, just as I planned." They rest their chin on their hand and stare at them.

The hero feels like they're going to throw up. "...And now?" The hero whispers, their heart racing. They are not safe here—that much is abundantly clear.

"Ah, yes, now." The villain hums. They tap their fingers against their chin, before letting their arms fall to rest on their knees. "Well, there are nearly infinite possibilities."

"As much as I'd hate to destroy all my hard work," the villain trails off, dragging their finger up the hero's bandaged ankle. They suddenly strengthen their grip and the hero hisses at the uncomfortable pressure. "I quite like the idea of cutting you up again."

The hero stares at them with a mix of disbelief, frustration, and horror. Their enemy only laughs.

©2025, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

Bad Things Happen Bingo Masterlist

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[ghost-bxrd]

Sharing more snippets of this because nobody’s gonna care for this fic anyway but I need to get it out of my system so badly I’ll be useless for anything else if I don’t lol

[istoleyoursphenoidbone]

Would You Fall In Love With Me Again?

DPxDC (With a smidgen of Epic the Musical)

Okay, so yall really liked my last one (and thanks to all of you, I'm glad you guys enjoyed). I wanted to try my hand again and see how this goes, idk about you guys, but Epic the Musical has been my soundtrack for weeks now, and the Ithaca Saga has my heart so...Husbands!Danny and Jason torn apart due to bad resurrection? Why not.

Warning for referenced character death and blood mention, nothing too graphic, tho. Pit Rage makes people do questionable things, ya know?

The Justice League's meeting room was cloaked in unnatural shadows, the atmosphere thick with tension, like the heavy silence before a storm. A team from Justice League Dark stood in the center, preparing for a ritual. Zatanna, her voice a whispered incantation, traced glowing glyphs onto the marble floor. Constantine, who had been trying to tell them all this would be a bad idea, leaned against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the no-smoking signs, while Doctor Fate floated nearby, his ethereal presence a calm amid the chaos.

Batman stood at the edge of the circle, arms crossed. He hated magic—always had—but these were desperate times. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, had been spiraling for months. His vendetta against Gotham’s Rogues had left behind a trail of bodies, destruction, and secrets too dangerous to let slip. But it was more than just Jason’s rage. Strange energy readings tied to the Infinite Realms had begun to swirl around his every move. Whatever connection Jason had to that otherworldly dimension had become unstable, and they needed answers—answers only the Ghost King could provide.

“Are we ready?” Batman’s voice cut through the room. Zatanna nodded, stepping back as the last glyph flared to life. “The summoning spell is complete. Brace yourselves. This entity isn’t like anything we’ve dealt with before.” Constantine snorted, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “Ain’t that just bloody reassuring.”

The air split with a deafening crack, and green light spiraled upward, forming a vortex. From it stepped a figure draped in black armor, a faint crown glowing above his head, his eyes burning with an eerie green light. Danny Phantom, the Ghost King, stood before them. "Who dares to summon the High King of the Infinite Realms?" His voice carried an unearthly echo, a stark contrast to the mortal men and women in the room.

Constantine muttered something under his breath—likely a curse—but Wonder Woman stepped forward, her voice steady. “We require your assistance, Ghost King. There’s a man, the Red Hood, aka Jason Todd, whose actions have drawn the attention of both our realm and yours.” Danny’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. “Jason Todd?” Batman stepped forward, his voice rough but resolute. “He’s my son.”

Danny’s gaze snapped to him, the glowing green light flickering with intensity. “Your son,” he repeated, his tone colder now, sharper. Zatanna stepped in to explain, her voice calm but urgent. “Jason is targeting Gotham’s Rogues, several have been killed. But it seems he has a connection to the Infinite Realms. His ectoplasmic energy is spiking. We believe he’s drawing power from your domain, whether he knows it or not.” Danny’s expression darkened, and his voice dropped to a low, almost imperceptible growl. “And you want me to stop him.”

“Not stop,” Wonder Woman corrected gently. “Help. If he’s tied to your realm, we need to understand why—and how to sever that connection, if necessary.” Danny stood motionless, the green light in his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions none of them could decipher. After a long moment, he nodded, sharp and final. “I’ll handle it. Alone.” Batman started to protest, but Danny cut him off with a steady gaze, his voice softening, just a fraction. “You’ve done your part. Let me do mine.” Without waiting for a response, Danny turned and stepped back into the swirling portal, leaving the Justice League in a heavy, uneasy silence.

---

The Infinite Realms churned around Danny as he passed through the portal, an energy that mirrored the restlessness gnawing at his heart. When he had been summoned, he had expected a crisis—another rift in the realms or a rogue spirit threatening the balance, hell even just cultists trying to mess with the order of things again. What he hadn’t expected was to be summoned to deal with him.

Jason...his sweet and loving Jason.

As the portal closed behind him, Danny heard Batman’s grim explanation echo in his mind: Red Hood was spiraling. He’d already killed Joker, Riddler, and Two-Face. And it seemed like Penguin was next. The Pit Rage had taken hold, and no one—least of all Bruce—had been able to pull Jason from the edge. The Justice League had turned to him because the energy Jason radiated had drawn their attention to the Infinite Realms.

It had been twenty years since Jason disappeared from the Realms—twenty long years since Danny had watched his husband, the man he had married in death, pulled from his side and resurrected in the mortal world. For Danny, it felt like an eternity.

As Danny emerged from the portal into Gotham’s shadowed streets, the oppressive energy in the air pulled at him, thick with Jason’s rage. He could feel the ectoplasmic aura that surrounded him, like a storm cloud about to break. But more than that, Danny could feel the familiar tug of Jason’s presence. It was raw, chaotic—lost.

And Danny? He was all too familiar with being lost.

There was no turning back now. Jason was out there, a tempest of pain and blood, and Danny couldn’t stop the wave of dread that surged through him. This was his husband—the man he had fallen in love with, over and over again—and now he was out of control.

Danny’s eyes glowed as he moved deeper into the city, knowing that whatever happened next, he wouldn’t be alone in facing it. Not this time. Jason Todd stood among the wreckage of a smuggling ring’s hideout. The docks were eerily silent except for the gentle lap of water against the pier. Blood slicked his gloved hands, and his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. The Pit Rage roared in his ears, demanding more—more destruction, more vengeance, and more blood.

The ghostly glow appeared behind him, and Jason spun, guns drawn. The figure emerging from the green light made him falter.

Danny.

Jason blinked, the haze of rage momentarily thinning. He couldn’t trust his eyes, not after everything. But the way Danny looked at him—with love, pain, and something infinite in his glowing green eyes—cut through Jason’s defenses. “Jason,” Danny said softly, his voice trembling but steady. Jason lowered his guns, his shoulders slumping. “Danny?”

Danny stepped closer, his glowing cape billowing behind him. “It’s been twenty years.” Jason flinched. “Eight.” His voice cracked. “Only eight here.” Danny’s eyes softened. “It felt like forever.” Jason staggered back, shaking his head. “I’m not—” He gestured at the blood staining his armor. “I’m not who I was. You shouldn’t be here.”

Danny reached out but didn’t touch him, his hands hovering just inches away. “You’re still you, Jason. You’re still my husband.” Jason’s laugh was bitter, almost a sob. “You don’t understand. I’ve killed them. Joker. Riddler. Two-Face. There’s no redemption for me. I’ve left a trail of blood and bodies. I’m not the man you fell in love with. I’m not—”

“Stop,” Danny interrupted, his voice firm. “Stop telling me who you think you are. I know you. I’ve always known you.” Jason clenched his fists. “Would you still love me if you knew all I’ve done? The things I can’t take back? The lives I’ve destroyed?” Danny took a step forward, his expression raw with emotion. “Yes. I would. I do.” Jason’s knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, his hands covering his face. “I’ve tried to fight it, Danny. I’ve tried to be better, but the rage... it doesn’t stop. It’s like drowning, and every time I surface, there’s more blood.”

Danny knelt in front of him, his hand finally resting on Jason’s shoulder. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve felt it too—the weight of things you can’t undo. But you’re not alone anymore. I’ve been waiting for you, Jason. Waiting for you to come back to me.” Jason’s breath hitched, and he looked up, his blue eyes rimmed with tears. “How can you still love me after everything? I’m not... I’m not the man you knew.”

Danny smiled, his own eyes glistening. “You’re still the man I fell in love with. You’re still the man who carved our initials into a tree in the Infinite Realms. The man who made me laugh, who promised me forever. And I meant it when I said forever, Jason. No matter where or when or what you’ve done, I’ll love you. Always.”

Jason let out a shuddering breath, and for the first time in years, the weight on his chest lightened. He leaned into Danny’s touch, the Pit Rage ebbing as warmth spread through him. Danny cupped his face, their foreheads touching. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. Let me help you. Let me love you.” Jason closed his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.” Danny’s laugh was soft and full of love. “That’s for me to decide. And I’ve decided—over and over again—that I’ll always choose you.”

Jason’s arms wrapped around Danny, holding him tightly as if afraid he might disappear. But Danny held him just as firmly, grounding him, anchoring him. The green glow of the Infinite Realms pulsed around them, a quiet promise of redemption, of love that could weather even the darkest storms.

---

Danny didn’t leave Jason’s side that night, nor would he ever again. Together, they began the long, painful process of healing. The road ahead wasn’t easy, but they faced it together, their love, a beacon in the darkness.

The heroes would just have to get used to the unearthly presence of the Ghost King in their plane of existence. And no matter how much time passed, Danny knew one thing would never change: he would fall in love with Jason Todd, over and over again, for eternity.

[writtenbyan-aries]

Summary: full one shot based off of this snippet - I added more details to this one.

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, fighter!Jake, fighting, mentions of blood, cuts, bruises, punching, kicking, kissing, alcohol consumption, hair pulling, tiny bit of blood play, biting, scratching, unprotected sex, filth

Word count: 5.3k | not edited

Y/n’s outfit did this fic - here

You stared down at the ticket in your hand, leg bouncing up and down as a raging pace as you wait, very impatiently for your plane to finally be ready.

You wanted to get out of there, your hometown was nothing but stress and tears. You thought that coming home for a little would help things - but in reality, it only made them worse.

Made you want to leave and never look back.

And that’s what you did.

You felt full relief inching closer and closer, but you knew you weren’t going to fully get that until you were on that plane, on your way to LA.

“Now boarding flight number 225 to Los Angeles…”

You glance down at your ticket and jump up, tossing your bag strap onto your shoulder as you wheel your slightly beat up suitcase behind you.

——

As you unbuckle your seat belt, you glance out of the window, smiling as you see the sun shining down on the new world outside.

You stood up, grabbed your bag and waited as patiently as you could to get off of the plane.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked around for options on how to get yourself away from this airport. There was a small strip of places that looked alive and open.

You walked into a place called, The Night Owl - fitting, considering it’s almost midnight.

You look around, sighing at the dead energy inside the bar. You give the older bartender a small smile as you walk up to the bar, setting your bag down on the seat next to the one you take for yourself, “Can I get a glass of wine please.”

He raises his brows, “Any particular kind?”

You shake your head, “A good one.” You laugh weakly and he nods, giving you small smile, “Coming right up.”

You look around, nothing really catching your attention, which is boring, to say the least.

You let out a sigh as you turn back around, reaching out to take the glass immediately after the bartender sets it down, “Thank you.”

“Eight dollars whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, digging into your purse. You lay a ten down, “I don’t need change.”

“Thank you.” He nods and as soon as you go to take a sip, some guy slides in between your hair and the one your bag isn’t on, “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

You instantly regretted coming in here.

“Just waiting on a friend.” You lie, trying to just get him off your back.

“Ah, okay. So one time thing, then yeah? Do you live around here?” He continues to pry and you let out a sigh, “Those are some pretty deep questions for someone I don’t even know the name of.”

He stares at you for a few seconds, “Oh shit. Sorry, I was just so caught up in your beautiful-“

“I’m not going home with you.”

He nods, “Straight to it, alright.” He takes a swig of his beer as he walks away and you can’t help but laugh when his friends boo him.

Probably the highlight of the night.

——

You finish your second glass of wine and Mel, the bartender, comes back over, “Can I get you one more before I start closing up?”

You tilt your head, “Just put a little blackberry bourbon in a glass for me.”

He nods, “You got it.”

As you wait for your drink to arrive, you pull your phone out, hoping there’s a slight chance it would turn on.

But no luck.

You sigh, tossing it into your purse as Mel sets the clear glass down in front of you.

“Thank you.” You gave Mel a smile before digging in your purse.

He nods and you lay a twenty down, “Keep the change, Mell.” He smile, “Thank you, y/n.” You nod and look down at your drink, mind racing about why you decided to move to L.A.

Why did I come here? Because you couldn’t be around your family any longer.

Do I have a reason to be here? Because you need to grow.

Can I really fit in and-

“This seat taken?” A deep voice pulls you from your thoughts and you look up, slowly turning your head.

A, very tall, guy with a beanie covering his black choppy looking hair, stands there with a small smile on his lips.

He was fairly cute, you couldn’t lie, so you shake your head, “Not at all.” You smile and sit up, turning towards him slightly as he sits down.

“I’m Jake.” He holds his hand out and you look down, shocked when you see his busted up and bruised hand, “Um.” You tilt your head as you take his hand, “Y/n.”

You couldn’t lie, your heart started pounding a little harder when your eyes were met with his bruised knuckles.

It wasn’t something you were really expecting to see right off the bat, but you still felt - safe.

You look up at him and a smile spreads across his have as you speak, “I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Are you okay? Do you need like medical attention or something?”

He shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink, “Nah, nah. I’m alright, sweetheart.”

Your heart skips a beat and you can feel your cheeks growing redder.

“Thank you for asking.” He smiles and you nod, “I mean, if you say so.” You laugh slightly, eyes moving back down to fixate on your freshly manicured hand in his.

The deep colored bruising and the dark red scabs not only intrigued you in a, what do you do on a daily basis kind of way, but also in a wow nothing has ever turned you on like this before way, too.

“You can ask.” Jake’s voice causes your eyes to snap up to his, “what?”

He chuckles, sipping on his drink, “I said. You can ask.”

“Uh, ask what?” You play dumb and Jake squeezes your fingers that are still lingering on his palm. He leans in and his eyes move from your lips to your eyes, “Ask me what I do to make my hands look like this.”

You felt your stomach flip and you tilt your head slightly as your eyes move between his.

A slight smirk plays with your lips, “Tell me, Jake.” You circle his palm with your fingers slowly, “What do you do to get your hands all beat up like this?”

Jake looks up at the clock, “Actually, come with me.”

Usually, a guy telling a girl he just met to, come with me, would usually raise red flags, but you’ve basically held Jake’s hand the whole time have been sitting here chatting.

Jake, as already said, and still as weird as it sounds, makes you feel safe, so you had no problem following him to his car.

“Here. You can put your bags in there for now.” You nod as you watch him open the back door. You nod and toss your duffle in before Jake lifts your suitcase and lays it on the seat, “Alright.” He closes the door and holds his hand out, “Follow me.”

You take his hand, waking with him around the building of the bar you were just in, “Where are we going?” You ask as you walk under Jake’s arm.

He turns, arm still on the door, a smirk on his lips as you look back at him, “You scared, darlin’?”

A smirk grows on your lips as you shake your head, “No. I trust you.”

He nods, taking your hand into his again, “Atta girl.”

You smile to yourself as you look around once you reach the bottom of the long staircase, “What is this place? Looks like an old subway station.” Your eyes fall to him as he stops and you can hear faint shouting and chanting coming from, somewhere.

Jake reaches for the handle of the old door, “You’re good.” Your eyes watch as his busted up and ring cladded fingers wrap around the handle, “And this..” he opens the door, “..Is how my hands get all fucked up.”

You raise your brows and he nods towards the open door, “Just stay with me. You’ll be good.”

You walk in and the shouting grows louder the further into the green lit room you go. Jake walks you up to a balcony and your eyes scan down over the scene below you, taking in what you’re actually witnessing.

You take a sharp breath as the one guy below in a ring formed by the, what you can only assume is, members, takes a bad punch to the jaw.

“Knocked out.” Jake says in a low voice as he leans in towards you. You smile slightly, “So what..” you bite your lip and look up at him, “You fight for a living?”

Jake turns around, crossing his arms as he puts an unlit cigarette in between his lips, “You can say that.”

“I know he’s here!” A guy, who is very angry, yells which catches both of your attentions. You lean over and Jake stops you from going any further by putting his hand flat on your chest.

You look from Jake, back down to the pit below you, and see a guy spinning around slowly, looking at each crowd member in the face, “Webber. Where the fuck you at, brother?”

You look over at Jake who shakes his head laughing, “I knew he’d show up sooner or later.” Jake flicks the ash off of his cigarette.

“Is he looking for you?” You ask as your brows shoot upward. Jake nods, “Uh huh.” He lets out an exaggerated sigh and holds the burning cigarette between his lips as he starts to take his rings off.

He extends his hand out to you, “Can you be a doll and hold these for me, please?”

You nod, looking down to your hand as you bring it up and open it, allowing him to drop his collection of rings into your palm.

He flashes you a smile, “Thanks, now stay close to me on the way down and at the front of the ring when I’m in it, got it?.”

You give him a few nods as you stuff his rings into your pocket before quickly taking his hand, following him down a rickety looking spiral staircase.

Everyone looks towards you and Jake. Their eyes moving between the two of you, and right now. In this moment, you have never felt so out of place somewhere - and your cream colored cardigan was surely bound to make you stick out like a sore thumb.

Jake pulls you through the crowd, his grip tight on your body. You did feel super safe with him, especially now with knowing he can actually fight. You stop as you get to the opening and Jake shrugs off his jacket, “Heard you were lookin’ for me.”

Your eyes scan up and down his back. His tattoos, scars, fresh and old bruises moving with his muscles.

You take his jacket as he extends his arm back, almost like muscle memory. The guy cracks his knuckles and then lifts his hand to his chin, “Wanted to take a crack at knocking you down from your rankin’ a lil bit.”

You were interested to know what Jake’s rank was.

He cracks his neck and Jake puts his hand to his ear, “And what rank would that be?”

The guy across from him laughs, “I’m here to remove your title as undefeated champion, Mr. Jake Webber.”

Undefeated champion.. You feel your heart beat harder when you hear the words roar off his tongue. Your breath gets caught in your throat.

You were the safest person in this room.

Jake slips his shirt off over his head, you also take that and drape it over his jacket. Jake quickly stretches his arms a few times and shrugs, “Let’s see you try.”

He motions with his hand, “Bring it, big boy.”

Even though you were smiling behind your fingers, you were nervously chewing on your nails, too. You just met this guy and if he gets hurt, it’s like you’d be able to feel the pain, too.

The guy wasn’t any bigger than Jake, though. Well, ego wise, definitely.

Jake looked back at you, giving you a wink before looking back at the guy walking over to him, fists balled and ready to swing.

You hold your breath as you wait for the first punch to be thrown.

Jake moves, getting them to walk in a circle, getting the crowd amped up right before the guy swings on Jake, groaning in frustration when Jake dodges it.

The longer you stood there, watching it all play out, the more you felt like you belonged there, and walking in with Jake really seemed to help that - hell, especially now with knowing he’s an undefeated champ and all.

Jake swings, popping the guy in his jaw and he laughs, “I think you have the theater and the ring mixed up, there pal.” Jake shoots, cocking his head, “I’m here to fight, not dance.”

The guy lets out a loud yell as he runs towards Jake, and you gasp as Jake’s back meets the dark, blood stained concrete below him.

The guy pulls his arm back just to swing but Jake quickly manages to escape and get two punches to his face before scurrying to stand up.

You were impressed, absolutely mesmerized with seeing Jake like this. The sweat glistening off his body in the glowing green lights.

The way he can take more than a punch and not bat an eye, fuck. You practically had to wipe the drool off of your chin before anyone noticed.

“Come on, Jake.” You mumble to yourself, bouncing up and down in your spot. Jake’s head snaps to the left as he eats another punch, his cheek busted open slightly, but not as bad as the other guys. Yet.

Your lip is pulled tightly between your teeth, biting down harder each time Jake gets hit. Your eyes watch as he stumbles back, falling at your feet.

Before you can bend down to try and help him, he’s already halfway up your body.

You knew what was coming, as he drug his face up extremely really close to yours.

Your heart is beating at a high rate speed. His lips press to yours, giving you a sloppy, but still the hottest kiss you’ve ever received in your life, before he pulls away, a cocky smirk on his face.

The crowd goes absolutely mad, but you ignore that as you hold your stare on Jake. Focusing on him to get yet, another win.

You were also too into watching him completely obliterate this prick, to realize that Jake’s blood was smeared on to your face now, too.

“Alright. Alright.” A guy goes out, pulling Jake off of the weakened figure lying on the ground. Jake stands up, turning out and holding his arm up.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

And so do you.

The arm that isn’t holding his jacket gets thrown into the air as you jump up and down smiling at the people around you.

You were so proud of him, and he noticed that right away.

Jake looks around for a second before locking his eyes onto you again. He smirks and nods his head, cocking his jaw as he snatches the money from the guy’s hand and immediately walks over to you.

“That was so ho-“

He cuts you off as he pulls you into him, his arms going around your waist to lift you up off the ground as his lips meet yours.

You don’t even cringe at the new blood mixing with the dried blood on your face,

“C’mon.” Jake sets you down on your feet, arm still around your body, “Let’s get out of here.”

He leads you up the steps and back out into the hall, immediately pressing your back against the old brick wall. His hands cup your cheeks, thumb smearing his blood over your skin, “You look so pretty with my blood on your face.”

You smile and lick your lips, “Sorry for being so blunt but you are incredibly, fucking hot.”

He pulls you in and kisses over your cheek to your lips, “I hope you don’t have any plans tonight, because you’re coming home with me.”

You rest your head back against the wall and bite your lip, “As a matter of fact, my schedule is free.”

He smiles down at you, “Good.” He steps back pulling the dented pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering you one before taking one for himself.

“Sure.” You smile, “I can get you a n-“

“No need.” He lifts the lighter and you inhale as the end starts to burn. You close your eyes, feeling the buzz from the nicotine do its thing.

“Come on.” He extends his hand out, waiting for you to take it before he behind leading you towards the exit door. He holds it open, his head moving as he watches you walk by him and he’s immediately back to holding you against him as he walks you back around the bar to his car.

“You sure you want to come home with me?” Jake asks as he opens his car door. You look up at him, “I promise, me falling for a serial killer wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing to happen to me.”

“That’s.. actually..” Jake laughs slightly, “I’m sorry?”

You laugh, shaking your head, “That’s a story for another time.” You go to get in the car but stop, looking back up at him, “If I even make it that long.”

Jake laughs, rolling his eyes as he sighs, “Only time will tell.” He laughs again as he shuts the door and jogs around to get in.

“So can I ask about.. that..” you motion to where you walked from and Jake nods, “Of course. What do you want to know, sweetheart?”

Jake starts driving and you purse your lips, “How do you know when you’re done fighting, like does it have to end in a knockout, or whatever?”

Jake reaches over and your hand instantly moves to interlock your fingers with his, “So basically..” he chuckles slightly, “It’s not over until I win, but yeah. Most of the time it’s by knockout, or if your opponent taps out.”

“Have you had that happen?” You look over at him and he nods, “Oh yeah.” He laughs, “Plenty of times. Guys think they’re all big and bad until they realize they can bark but they can’t bite for shit.”

“Aren’t you scared?” You ask, quieter than the last and he looks over at you for a few seconds before looking back onto the headlight lit road, “Of what?”

You shrug, “I don’t know. Can’t you die doing that?”

“You can die doing anything, y/n.” Jake chuckles, waiting a few seconds before he continues, “I mean, I was at first.. I guess?”

He shrugs, “My first fight.” He clicks his tongue, “I remember this clear as fucking day. My friend told me about this underground fight club that his friend took him to, and you need to know people to get in to this, right?”

You nod, smiling at the excitement in his tone, “Next thing I know, Colby is pushing me into this ring and I come out two hundred dollars richer. So I started working out, boxing mainly just so I can stay in shape with this.”

“I mean.” You shrug, biting down on your lip, “The way you held onto that..” You furrow your brows, “Oh what is it?”

He looks over at you confused and you smirk as you squeeze his hand with each word, “Undefeated champion?”

He smirks and shakes his head, smiling big as he pulls into the parking stall, “Oh..Did I forget to mention that?” He looks over at you and you nod, “I mean, I guess I can let it slide.”

“Yeah?” Jake asks tilting his head.

You smirk over at him, unbuckling your seatbelt before you lean in, “Yeah.”

Jake’s seatbelt is undone and he’s closing the space between you with his hands on your cheeks and lips on yours.

You moan lowly against his lips and push yourself up off the seat to lean more into him.

Jake slides his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, “Mm, alright. Come on. I need to wash this off.” He nods down towards his hands as he leans back.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at your cheek, too.”

Jake stares at you for a few seconds and your brow twitches, “Is that.. did I cross a line?”

He shakes his head, hand reaching over to gently cup your face, “No, not at all.” His thumb gently brushes over the dried red marks, “Just never had anyone who cared about me like that.”

You lay your hand on his wrist, patting gently, “Well, you’re giving me a place to stay tonight, so I feel like if I can help out in anyway-“

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” You laugh, looking up at him, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just, I basically left home without a trace, looking for somewhere no one knew what my name was.”

“So why did you tell me what it was, y/n?” Jake tries to fight back a smirk and you shrug, “I think I just knew I’d be safe with you.”

You were like a shot of espresso to Jake.

As soon as he seen you, he couldn’t shake this constant feeling that he needed to know you, and to say that he was shocked when you obliged to go with him on a random side quest in the middle of the night was an understatement.

“Y’know..” Jake says, hand still laying on your cheek, “That was my best fight, and I’ve been doing this for..” he blows out a breath of air, “Four years now?”

“Because of the guy calling you out?” You tilt your head into his hand more and Jake’s eyes immediately move to your face, voice low as he subtly shakes his head, “Because you were there.”

“Me?” You ask as if he was talking to someone else, which gets him to laugh, “Yes, sweetheart. You.”

You shift around in your seat, the more you sat here and just talked with Jake, you’re finding out all you need to know - and you weren’t leaving without him.

“Can we.. go inside.” You move your eyes to meet his and he nods, “Fuck yeah we can go inside. Hold on.”

He gets out, running around to open up the back door of his car to retrieve your luggage before moving to open up your door, “Okay, here we are.”

You smile up at him, shaking your head as you take his hand to get out of the car, “Thank you.”

He nods, “Silver key, top lock. I got these.” He motions to your bags and you just cannot stop smiling with him, “Okay.”

You take the keys from Jake’s hands, your fingers brushing against his and you feel that same adrenaline you felt back at the fight, starting to course through your veins.

You swallow, turning on your heel to walk up towards his door. Jake’s eyes were burning into your back, he knew there was something about you, just like there was something about him.

You push the door open, moving out of the way for Jake to go in but he stops, “Ladies first.”

You feel shy and giddy around him.

You’ve never felt this was with anyone. You always close everyone out, scared to let them in, but maybe you needed this change.

Maybe this change came with added bonuses, but you weren’t complaining, not anymore.

You walk in, turning around after finding the lights, to see what you can help Jake with, “Don’t your hands hurt, Jake?” Your eyes move from his face to his hands, “They look like they do.”

He shakes his head as he walks over to you, finger tilting your chin up so he can kiss you, “Mm fine, love. Okay.” His lips go back to pecking yours and you slide your hands up his chest, “Is this a one night stand?”

“This is whatever you want it to be, baby.” Jake kisses down your neck, “I just have this feeling like you’re supposed to be in my life.”

You lean back slightly, nodding as you look at him, “That’s how I feel.”

His hands slide down your sides before he gasps, “Oh shit.” He pulls your cardigan towards him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I-“

“It’s okay. Do you have a washer?” You look up at him, not really worried about the blood. He nods and you smile, “Then I’ll just wash it later.”

You eye the mark on his cheek, but he kisses you to distract right before you can say anything about it.

He backs you up into the wall, his hands slipping under your t-shirt to grip the skin of your waist, “We don’t ha-“

“I want to.” You cut him off, quickly regaining his lips back onto yours. He bends down slightly, tapping the back of your thighs and you jump into his grasp.

He puts one hand on the wall while the other moves to your neck, gripping gently as his hips hold you up.

Your lips part as he slowly squeezes tighter, a moan slipping out as your eyes roll back.

Jake’s lips pepper your face in kisses before he releases his grip, “Bed then shower?”

“Yes.” You whimper out, “please.”

Jake smirks, setting you down on your feet so he can lead you up to his room. It would be a lie to say you made it there without your hands roaming each others bodies.

You were eager to see him shirtless again, the sight alone had you swimming in a pool of your own lust.

As soon as you’re in the room and the doors shut, clothes start flying off. Each of you taking turns to undress the other, getting to impatient so you revert to ripping your own clothes off.

Jake tackles you onto the bed, his lips trailing hungry kisses up and down your neck and over your collar bones, “you are so beautiful.”

You run your hands through his hair, just now realizing he managed to keep his beanie on the whole time he was fighting, “Wait.”

Jake looks up, a nervous look on his face and you smile as you shake your head, “No I still want to do that.” A look of relief washes over him as you laugh slightly, “I just realized that you kept your beanie on your whole fight.”

Jake laughs, “That’s because he hits like a bitch.” His eyes scan over your face, “I’m so glad you were there.”

You smile, “I’m glad I got the last flight to LA.”

He leans in, kissing your lips as you feel the tip of his cock rub the outside of your pussy, “Jake.” You slide your hand down, earning a gasp from him as you wrap your hand around his cock to guide it inside of you.

“Oh shit.” Jake groans, bucking his lips slightly which makes you dig your nails into his shoulders, “Fuck.”

You let out a whine as you dig your heels into his lower back, urging him to go all in, “P-please.”

You look up at him, his lips parted as he moves to brush hair from your face, “I need to just.. fuck you feel so good.” He moans against your lips, slowly pushing his cock into you more, “I’m going to ruin you in the best ways possible.”

You whimper at his words, “I trust you.”

You could tell by Jake’s delayed reaction that, I trust you, wasn’t something he heard often anymore. Which is true, he took everything anyone said anymore with a grain of salt.

Mainly the girls he actually tried to give the time of day to, but with you, it’s like he was told directly by the being that created you - you were his and he was yours.

“You don’t have to-“

Jake cuts you off, “I trust you, too.”

You smile, biting down on your lip when he shifts his hips slightly, “Shit.”

Jake’s hand returns to your throat, squeezing slowly as his hips start to move, “You feel so good.” His lips are right by your ear, his voice low, “Gonna make you mine.”

Your back arches up off the bed as he thrusts his cock into you, hard. A moan is ripped from your throat as your legs tighten around his waist.

His thrusts are hard, almost punishing.

But if Jake thinks you’re the least bit uncomfortable, he stops to make sure you’re okay, and you honestly loved that.

“You okay? You’re kinda starin’ up at me in a daze, babe.” Jake laughs slightly and you nod, “it’s your cheek, I think you opened up your cut again.”

Jake brings a hand to his cheek, thumb rubbing over the freshly leaked blood, “Mm.” He winces slightly, “These are always the worst ones for me.”

“Do you want-“

“No.” Jake turns his attention back onto you, “You’re all I want to focus on right now, okay?” He bites his lip as his eyes move to his red colored thumb, “Can I?”

You glance over and nod, looking up at him as he starts to slowly thrusts again. Your brows furrow and your face twists with pleasure as he brings his thumb over, dragging a red streak down your cheek.

He groans at the image, hand snapping down to your hip as his thrusts grow harder.

Your hands find themselves entangled within his hair, moaning out as he attacks your neck, leaving little purple marks scattered all over your skin.

You earn a groan from him when you pull, squeezing his cock tighter with the walls of your needy cunt.

“You keep doin’ that an I’m about to be done for.” Jake groans, “Fuck, baby. Doing so good.”

You whimper at his praise, arching your back and he takes the time to slip his arm under, holding you to him as your legs fall to rest over his thighs.

He uses his other arm to hold up his weight as he thrusts into you at a, now faster, pace.

He had you screaming at this point, the tip of his cock continuing to bottom out against your best up cervix, you knew you were going to be sore tomorrow.

“Need you to cum for me.” He breathes out, “Can you do that for me?”

You nod your head quickly, eyes screwing shut as you listen to his praise continue, “Such a good girl for me.”

“Taking me so well, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, yes, just like that. Oh fuck, just like that.”

Your vision goes white and your grip on Jake tightens as you moan loudly into his ear.

“That’s my girl.” Jake moans, his thrusts growing more sloppy by the second, “Where do you want me?”

Your legs tighten around his waist, answering his question - just in the nick of time, too. You feel his cock twitch inside of you, his cum being held in by his slowly softening cock.

“Fuck.” You breathe out as you look up at him, pushing his sticky from sweat hair off of his forehead.

He nods, smiling as he lays beside you, “Agreed.”

His hand searches for yours, and when he finds it, your fingers are instantly interlocked with his, taking a few moments just to lay there in the comfortable silence.

“Do you want to go for a shower?” Jake asks, tilting his head up to look at you. You look over at him and nod, “Only if you get one with me.”

“That was the only way I was offering it.” Jake smirks, moving to stand up, “Come on, my little fighter. Gotta wash this blood off your face.”

——

I hope you liked this! Tell me your thoughts! I love you all so much, thank you for reading! 🖤

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[forwhump]

a/n; spoilers for the first three sentences : it’s been haaaaaaaard to always call silas “silas” because he calls himself “seven” for so much of the rest of the story that I get confused when I think about him & it alternates in my head LOL

tw/cw: captivity, medical torture, random acts of violence, gore, amputation, caning

living weapon whumpee

Asset Eleven Seventy Seven, they call him. 

Seven, he thinks of himself. 

Unfortunately, Seven has no will of his own. 

He spends a lot of consecutive time in that small, grey room, in that grey bed, under those grey sheets. Surgeons in black come and go to poke and prod at him — so do doctors, so do nurses, always in black. Seven’s hair is black; everything else is kinda grey, his clothes and his sheets and his pallor. One of his legs is a polished, silvery chrome. Everything else seems to be discoloured scar tissue. 

When he gets to leave the grey room, he gets muzzled with iron and taken further underground. They take him to spaces they call arenas, made to look like the wilderness or like cityscapes or desert landscapes, things Seven has never seen, things he doesn’t really understand. 

He doesn’t need to. They take him to these places, and they remove the muzzle. The shackles. 

They tell him to kill, so he does.

It’s fun. He’d be a filthy fuckin’ liar if he said it wasn’t. It’s the only bit of fun he has. It’s colourful, too. The arenas, too, colours Seven was unfamiliar with, but the colours of violence are his favourite. Splashes of red and pinks and yellows over the endless grey. He doesn’t care for bruising, the blues and the purples, the patterns of them. He doesn’t know why. He’s sure it’s something from before, something he doesn’t remember. 

He knows there was a before. They won’t tell him, and he couldn’t ask if he wanted to, but he’s sure there was. Doctors come to poke and prod at him. Soldiers come to escort him downstairs. Before they do, they muzzle him. They strap him down. Soldiers are always standing guard, hovering close when the doctors come to inspect him. They watch him, and they’re weary. He did something before, something probably horrible. He makes them uneasy. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that he does.  

Still, he does what they tell him to do. He sits in his little grey prison, and he kills when they tell him to kill. Time passes. He isn’t sure how much. 

The cityscape probably isn’t his favourite arena, but it’s where he’s most comfortable. There’s a lot of concrete, a lot of grey. It reminds him of home. 

The uniform they give him is black. It’s the only clothing they give him that’s properly fitted to him, a bulky silhouette that he imagines makes him look like a nightmare. Seven hears a lot of last words, and a lot of them are some version of what the hell are you?, or, amongst themselves, some version of what the hell is that thing? Or please, but that speaks less to Seven. 

Above him, hundreds of feet above him, massive fluorescent lights in the ceiling act as sunlight. The buildings are all hollow blocks of concrete, windows carved from the walls but hollow, emptied of glass. Seven is allowed weapons during these times, he’s allowed to inflict violence to his heart’s desire, but Seven’s never been allowed anything that might potentially show him his reflection. He couldn’t even begin to guess why. He also doesn’t care enough that he’s ever thought too hard about it. 

He doesn’t need his reflection, anyway. He knows well enough. He can see it in the way they always look at him. He can see it in the way the soldier looks up at him from the concrete, his helmet knocked away, his mask bunched up around his throat. He’s crying, and that always makes Seven smile. 

Slowly, he pulls his hands from the opened cavity of the other soldier’s stomach, shreds of tissue and his uniform. They wear black, like Silas. It’s almost funny. 

Even slower, Silas stands. He takes his time pulling his bloody hair back, tying it into a shitty knot at the nape of his neck with bloody hands. He toes the corpse at his feet over onto the open wound that was once his abdomen. Slower still, he steps over him. 

“What the hell are you?” The soldier snivels, pathetic, and Seven thinks, hah. 

He crouches next to him. With a shaking hand, the soldier reaches for his gun, and Seven catches him around the wrist. Crushes it. 

The soldier screams, flails with his other hand, and Seven takes him by that wrist, too. Braces his other hand against his ribcage. Pulls. The sound is as loud as any alarm, echoing off of concrete and metal, a crack and a wet, fleshy sort of sound as Seven severs his arm at the socket. He pulls it from his torso, threads of flesh and sinew that snap, veins pulled loose and stringy. 

The soldier doesn’t scream. The noise he makes is kinda soft and really wet. 

Seven digs his fingers into the open wound and he does scream, that time. With a grin, Seven holds him against the concrete and opens his throat with his fingernails. The soldier gurgles, something panicked, and Seven grins again as he pulls out a handful of flesh and his windpipe. 

He dies quickly. He dies messy. 

Seven stands. Wipes blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. Smears more blood over his face for his efforts. Steps over another body. 

There’s a specific target today. Seven doesn’t know why, what the point of any of this is, why they give him rules, sometimes, but it’s more to do than sit in a bland, grey room, so he does what they tell him to do. Today, he’s looking for somebody in particular. They’d had a picture of him, taken in front of a wall that looked a lot like any of the walls in the district. He was a particular threat, they said. Seven should be careful. Seven needs to do everything in his power to make sure that he dies. 

Seven finds him in an empty, grey building, one with a lot of windows, a lot of fluorescent sunlight. He’s bigger than the other soldiers have been. Noticeably. Not big like Seven is big, but he isn’t one of them, either. He’s somewhere in the middle, something between them. Seven starts to think he might be in for a better fight, and he’d be lying again if he said he hadn’t been itching for one. Slaughter is fun, but that’s because it’s his only fun. Monotony is monotony. 

He doesn’t get a fight at all. The soldier looks up at him, in a black uniform, but it’s different from the soldiers and it’s different from Seven, too. He looks at Seven different, too. He looks at him, and he looks at him for a long time. Seven doesn’t recognize the look on his face. He doesn’t say what the hell are you? or what the hell is that thing? 

He says, “Silas?” 

He says it with a sort of familiarity that stops Seven in his tracks. He doesn’t look tense, or like he’s scared of him at all. Seven doesn’t think he likes that. He thinks he’s disappointed. 

He closes the distance between them and takes him by the throat. The soldier flails, but not for a weapon; he grabs Seven around the wrist. 

“Silas!” He says loudly. “What are you doing?! It’s me!” 

He’s saying a lot of things Seven doesn’t know, but he says it like he should, and it makes him feel — Seven doesn’t know how it makes him feel. He doesn’t like it. He can’t quite breathe around it, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. His lip pulls back from his teeth. 

“It’s me!” The soldier tries again. 

Seven lifts him off his feet. 

The soldier flails again. Grabs Seven’s forearm. “Silas,” he chokes out as his face starts to purple, “what are you doing? It’s me. It’s Hal.” 

Seven can’t explain why he does it, because he doesn’t think about it. It’s an instinct more than anything else, but with a snarl, he drops the soldier on his feet again. 

He inhales deeply, covering his quickly bruising throat with a shaking hand. “What the fuck was that?” He rasps. 

Seven snarls again. Takes a step back. 

The soldier watches him closely. His voice is getting rougher when he says, “what’s wrong with you? It’s me. It’s Hal.” 

Obviously, Seven doesn’t remember Hal, and he doesn’t like the way it’s making Hal look at him. There’s something doe eyed and pathetic about it, something pitying, and it makes Seven’s skin crawl with something like disgust and he doesn’t know why. His hands have been shaking since he woke up in that grey room but they shake a little worse with this. Again, he considers killing him. For some reason, he doesn’t. Takes another step back, instead. 

“It’s me,” he repeats, eyebrows pulling together in the middle, like he’s hopeful this time it’ll spark something. 

Seven angles his head. He doesn’t fuckin’ know. 

The soldier looks at him again. Studies his face. “Silas?” But his voice has gone unbearably soft. 

Seven’s shaking hands twitch. He takes another step back. 

The soldier drops his hand and Seven can hear him swallow. “You don’t know who I am?” 

Seven shakes his head once, just barely. 

“What the fuck?” He exhales softly. He pulls himself up a little straighter, looks at Seven a little closer, studies him like he’s looking to catch him in a lie. Seven doesn’t think he has it in himself to lie. Did he use to? 

Crushed, apparently, by whatever he finds in Seven’s face, the soldier exhales, “what the hell did they do to you, man?” 

But Seven doesn’t know. Seven doesn’t know fuckin’ anything, not before and not since. 

That feeling he doesn’t like, the one he can’t breathe around, the edges of it are sharp and they wedge under his ribcage and it hurts in a way that’s unfamiliar. Usually, these slaughters they send him on are senseless, violence for the sake of violence. All the soldiers killed in these places had been green, unprepared — they never stood a chance against Seven. It’s never even been close. 

Except this one. It’s bigger than the rest of them. It isn’t afraid of him. It remembers him, and it isn’t afraid of him. 

Maybe that’s what his problem is. Seven doesn’t remember a lot, but in all the grey time and slaughter he remembers, he’s never come across even a single person who hasn’t been scared of him. He doesn’t quite know what to do with that. What could he have done that the shadow of it is still splattered across the walls and ceilings of this place but this one, lone soldier isn’t still afraid of him? He looks disappointed, in fact. What does he know? 

What he says is, “we’ve been so worried about you, dude.” 

For some reason, it hurts under Seven’s ribcage just as much as the other thing. He can’t even begin to guess why it hurts. 

“You went to find Wren and you just disappeared,” he’s saying, and he says it with a sort of familiarity, like he’s already forgotten Seven has no idea what he’s talking about and Seven feels like he’s out of his element, Seven feels like he’s drowning. “You all just disappeared. Fuckin’ Point’s been gone, too. We thought —,” and he exhales sharply, “we knew something really fucked up had happened to you.” 

Seven snorts. He can’t help it. 

The soldier smiles, kind of sad, but he has a big smile, regardless. “I’m glad you’re not dead,” he says, and it feels like a punch to the chest for some reason. “Is Wren okay?” 

Seven tilts his head. 

“Wren,” the soldier says slowly. “Who’s been with you. Right?” 

A lot of people are around Seven, pretty constantly. He doesn’t know a single one of them by name. 

His face is falling again. “You have no idea what I’m talking about,” he realizes. Seven kinda shrugs, and he asks, “do you remember…anything?” 

He heaves a wide shoulder. The soldier exhales like Seven hit him. Seven’s already forgotten what he said his name was, and he couldn’t ask again. It’s guilty, the pain this time, and that surprises him. 

“Oh, man,” he says softly. “Wren’s gonna be so bummed.” 

The sunlight, leaking in through the windows, turns red. The bellow of the alarms start to pound, so loud it makes the soldier jump as Seven’s lip curls away from his teeth. He’s familiar, unfortunately, with the sirens. His time’s up. 

The soldiers swarm not seconds later, and Seven scoffs but kneels obediently to be muzzled and shackled. 

“Silas —” the soldier starts to cry, and then he’s gone, dragged from the grey building with his hands tied behind his back. 

“What did he say to you?” one of the soldiers hisses, urgent, but Seven couldn’t tell him if he wanted to. Wouldn’t, anyway. 

With a growl, he cracks the end of his gun into Seven’s mouth, and Seven quickly tilts his face to spit blood at him before the muzzle is pulled tightly over his face. He smiles beneath it. Makes sure his eyes crinkle the way the soldiers’ always do. 

Seven is taken from the arena, but not back to his grey room. He’s taken to a different grey room, stripped down to his grey, thermal pants and led into another grey room, so cramped Seven can’t stand up straight, has to duck his head. He gets shackled to the ground by his throat. They shackle his hands the same. They don’t remove the muzzle. They leave him there. 

Seven can’t say for how long. It feels like it’s a long time. It might be days. 

Eventually, a soldier joins him. “Did you remember?” He asks. 

Seven tips his head back, bored. Of course he didn’t remember. He doesn’t remember anything. 

The soldier curls and uncurls his fist. He says, “why didn’t you kill him?” 

Seven couldn’t answer that if he wanted to. First, he can’t speak. Second, he doesn’t know why he didn’t kill him. He could’ve; he was bigger than the other soldiers, but he wasn’t like Seven. Not even close. What did he say his name was? How would Seven have known him, if that guy wasn’t one of these soldiers? What the hell is that guy? What the hell is Seven, for that matter? 

The caged freak. Was he a soldier once? Was he like that guy? Why would they do this to him? What could he have done? 

The soldier clicks his tongue, unimpressed. He’s been leaning hard on a cane, one that he apparently doesn’t need. He shifts his weight onto his feet and swings it up onto his shoulder. 

Seven doesn’t know a lot of things, but he knows weapons. He thinks, ah, fuck. 

“When the captain gets back,” the soldier explains, “you’ll be disciplined properly. In the meantime,” he says, and he swings his cane into Silas’ back. He can feel the way his skin splits around the impact, but he doesn’t feel himself starting to bleed so much as his back just starts to feel wet. “You’ve been a bad dog,” he says. “Point’s going to be disappointed.” 

He swings the cane again. Hits almost the same spot, and Seven can feel the way his flesh splits, all the way through the meat of his back, a pain that resounds in his bones. 

It’s probably not supposed to, but it makes Seven think. The soldier strikes him again, a solid strike to the chest, and this time, a steel barb at the end of the cane sinks through Seven’s skin and pulls a chunk of meat from beneath his ribcage. 

It’s a pain that's really, oddly familiar, and it makes Seven think. He has a feeling they think that he doesn’t, that he’s incapable of conscious thought, and he can’t speak to tell them otherwise, but it isn't true. He’s left on his own so often he doesn’t do much else but think. He thinks, now, of how familiar this pain is, as the soldier swings again and skins a good portion of his back, peeling flesh back from tissue with a slick sound that’s almost as familiar. 

It seems like an overreaction, really. To skin him for his failure? It makes him think. They’re scared of him, much more scared of him than he realizes, probably more scared of him than he can properly wrap his head around until he knows what he’s done to these people, until he knows what it is they remember when they look at him. They’re scared of him, they don’t trust him, and the field test was a lot more than just a field test. It has to have been. It was something else, something bigger, and Seven failed. Seven disappointed them. They didn’t like what they saw. 

Why? 

He can’t ask, and he doesn’t get a lot more time to think about it. This soldier is just like the other ones, and he’s seeing something in Seven he doesn’t like. He’s trying to get a reaction out of him, and he isn’t getting one. Seven kneels, shackled to the floor, and bleeds quietly, bleeds without a word of complaint. 

The soldier doesn’t like that. He swings a little harder, swings the barbed end of the cane into Silas’ neck. Pulls his throat out. 

Seven finally does make a sound, an involuntary gurgle. He slumps forward, watching the blood shimmer around his knees, and he doesn’t think much at all as he watches the way the colour shines in the fluorescence. 

The soldier groans in frustration. “You used to be more fun,” he says. 

He hooks the end of the cane into the hollow of Seven’s throat. It sinks through shredded tissue, scrapes the bone of his jaw from the inside. 

It hurts for only a moment. 

Mercifully, then, Seven bleeds to death. 

When he wakes up again, in that bland, grey room, under those bland, grey sheets, his chest, his throat, and his arms are all bandaged. Beneath, he feels tender and sore. He can't remember why.

[catzy88]

Butchlander Hanahaki Disease AU with Homelander who has always craved love, looking for it in all the wrong places, falling in love with his nemesis Billy Butcher who hates him and wants him dead. All the emotional hurt and angst in the world with Homelander's already unstable mental health declining further into deep depression and self-hatred. His physical health deteriorating slowly as well, because even the strongest supe alive isn't immune to the deadly flowers blooming inside him.

Butcher finds out and is gleeful, rubbing it in Homelander's face when they meet. Saying, that it's no wonder the supe has fallen victim to the sickness caused by one-sided love, because who could love a monster like him?

At this point Homelander is already quite far gone with the disease, and hearing the object of his love telling him that he's "an unlovable cunt" causes Homelander to start violently coughing and vomiting a blooming Trillium recurvatum. Looking up at Butcher with wide and terrified eyes, Homelander takes wobbly flight.

Naturally, Butcher doesn't recognize the crimson flower, coated with more crimson of Homelander's blood. But he takes a photo of the mess, and when he shows it to the Boys, they make a reverse image search.

Trillium recurvatum. Bloody Butcher.

And when all heads turn to look at Butcher, there's not much else to say than, "Fuck me", paired with a diabolical grin. Because Butcher just found a way to finally kill the worst supe cunt on Earth. And what a poetic way, too. Homelander destroyed the love of Butcher's life. Now Butcher's going to do the same to Homelander with his mere existence.

But a supe of Homelander's caliber doesn't succumb to any illness or ailment nearly as fast as a regular human would. So, there's a lot of time for Butcher to find more dirt about Vought, since getting rid of Homelander is only one part of dismantling the megacorporation.

So, one day searching an abandoded facility that looks like it had been a lab of some sort at one point, Butcher stumbles on a box with old VHS tapes simply named "John #001", "John #002", "John #003", and so on.

Butcher begins watching the first tape, where there's a small blond, blue-eyed baby that makes Butcher feel at unease. The feeling increases with every video as the child grows and is subjected to absolutely inhumane conditions and torture. And when the child finally gains blood red eyes, shooting lasers from them, there's no doubt about the child's identity anymore. John is Homelander.

Butcher's conflicted. Very conflicted. Because he has this image of Homelander as a ruthless and sick psychopath set in stone. But these videos have made his conviction waver.

So, after all the emotional hurt and angst (not depicted here, because I fail), there's a happy ending with Butcher having snatched Vought's crown jewel right under their nose, slowly warming up to the man known as John, finally returning his feelings, and becoming a real family with their son Ryan.

[withdrawingramen]

honestly whumper just sitting with their back turned against a scene of conflict, legs crossed, calmly listening and immersing themselves in the sounds of violence, sipping on a drink while they leave whumpee to get brutalized and fight back against a dozen other trained fighters is such a sick trope

and then have them dragged up all bloody and on the brink of death to be bleeding out on their knees held up by others just for whumper to look down on them <333

(thank you for the whump gyeongseong creature season 2)

[the-bar-sinister]

“You’ve had me here for weeks now. Please tell me you’re going to untie me. I won’t try to escape.”

“Sorry, babe , trust isn’t won that easily.”

“How can I get you to trust me, then?”

“You could kill someone. How about that? I’ll bring someone here, and you kill them, and then I’ll trust that you’re not going to run away and cry to the cops about this.”

[chaotic-orphan]

Heyy a writing request! How about a whumpee that wakes up on the side of a road and someone finds them (that someone can be whumper or just a stranger your choice :D)

Whumpee was shivering violently when they woke up. Had Whumper taken their blankets again? The rock of a mattress they lay on seemed more firm and cold than before and Whumpee moaned, reaching for the covers just in case they were kicked off the bed somewhere.

Whumpee’s hand wound through something wet and stringy and their eyes flew open.

They weren’t in the room.

They weren’t in their cell that they had called home for who knows how long? Whumpee shot awake, eyes wild and frantic. The darkness surrounded them and took a while for their eyes to adjust as they scrambled back on grass.

The memory came flooding back then and Whumpee stilled. They… they had escaped Whumper, they made a break for it and they ran and ran and ran, and ran some more and… they must have lay down to rest for a while or passed out or something. But they ran! They hoped they were far enough away now to be safe. They didn’t even remember the direction they were running from, they just kept running.

Whumpee wrapped their arms around themselves and shakily got to their feet. Their teeth were chattering uncontrollably, the sound grating a headache that was scraping itself around the edge’s of Whumpee’s skull.

They were still out.

They had broken out of Whumper’s home.

They had escaped Whumper…

That thought warmed their chest and Whumpee… for the first time in a long time, Whumpee smiled to themselves and laughed like a madman into the night air.

Okay, first things first, find a road and then follow it to civilisation. Whumpee could do that. They could do that. They could wave down a car with the sound of their chattering teeth it was so fucking loud.

They laughed to themselves again. Jesus, when was the last time they laughed?

They found the road pretty quickly, it was a miles walk away and then followed it along, walking hopefully in the direction away from Whumper. It was hard to tell in the dark where they were, but they were… they were outside. They were free.

Holy fuck… they were free.

They were freezing; the socks on their feet soaked through and their feet more like two frozen, cement blocks attached to their legs but they were moving and they were away from Whumper, and…

oh god, was Whumper…

They stopped dead in their tracks.

What if the next car that drove by them was Whumper, looking for them? What if Whumpee accidentally flags them down and Whumper opens the door and tells them to get in, god, no. They couldn’t go back.

They couldn’t go back.

Fuck, fuck, they couldn’t catch their breath, it eluded them and they thought it was better to go towards the light. Go into the light. Whumper wouldn’t be in—

A honk of a car horn and the sound of brakes squealing and Whumpee turned away, their hands over their head as a car swerved around them. Whumpee flinched, eyes wild as they turned and looked into the car, but there was nobody inside.

“What the FUCK were you doing?!” A harsh voice demanded furiously. Whumpee backed up as a man approached them, they shook their head, hands flying up in front of them to make the stranger stay back.

“No, no, no, I’m sorry, please!”

“You’re in the middle of the fucking road!” The man bellowed. “What do you mean you’re sorry, I could have hit you! I could have killed you, you fucking—”

The man stopped when Whumpee whimpered. The man’s quiet was worse than when he was giving out to Whumpee. “Hey… sorry, um, sorry for shouting, you scared me is all. I was…”

“I’m sorry sir…”

“No, hey, no. Listen, I— sorry. You uh—” Whumpee looked over at the man. “You have no fucking shoes on. What the fuck? It’s almost freezing and you’re playing Tarzan in the fucking woods? Get in the car.”

Whumpee froze. “What?”

“Get in my car. It’s freezing! You need to warm up or you’ll get pneumonia or something.”

“No, uh, thanks.” Whumpee said, hard to get words out their mouth was chattering so uncontrollably. “I’m— I’m—”

“Look, you’re not okay. We both know that. Don’t insult my intelligence by saying otherwise either. I’ll give you a lift into town, and maybe some socks. That’s all I’m offering. You’ll die before you reach the nearest town walking.”

Whumpee stared at Caretaker. Something like realisation flashed across Caretaker’s face, though it was hard to see in the dark, Whumpee could feel the shift.

“Oh. Right. I’m uh, like… I’m not a serial killer or anything.” He laughed then turned, his hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing at the skin. “Although that’s probably what a serial killer would say.”

Whumpee let out a breath of a laugh. “Most people would say I’m not a murderer, how many people you killed?”

Caretaker’s head snapped up. “No! No, I didn’t, I haven’t— ahahah, I’m not a murderer either, my hands are clean! Look.”

Whumpee felt their fear leave their body as they laughed again. God they felt so light when they laughed. It had been so long since he did so freely.

“Okay. I’ll take the lift.”

Caretaker smiled. A flash of teeth. “Great. Come on, I’m fucking freezing.”

Whumpee followed him to the car and climbed in the passenger side. He was right. The car was warm. When Caretaker climbed in and shut his door he blasted the heat on Whumpee’s face, body and feet. Whumpee melted into the warm leather like goo.

“Oh yeah. Heated seats are nice, huh?” Caretaker asked as he moved the gear stick and reversed before the car pulled off down the road again and they were driving.

“Really nice,” Whumpee hummed, watching the blackness of trees melt into one constant loop as they drove.

After a while Whumpee could feel a question buried beneath Caretaker’s tongue brewing. Maybe because he glanced at Whumpee every so often, catching Whumpee’s attention from the corner of their eye. Maybe it was because his fingers drummed a beat against the steering wheel.

Eventually, Caretaker plucked up the courage and asked: “Can I ask why you were out here on your own? With no shoes? And looking five minutes away from death?”

Whumpee swallowed, and it seemed like the warmth was sapped from their body. The thought of mentioning Whumper sent a shiver down their spine despite the heat, and they debated whether or not they should tell Caretaker.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Whumpee said, their voice quiet.

A pause. “Okay.”

A beat. “It’s just that it’s dangerous to be outside in this weather. And alone in the woods? You’d never know who you’d run into. There’s dangerous people out here,” Caretaker said.

I know, Whumpee thought, but didn’t say. Whumpee shrugged.

Caretaker shaked their head. “You’re lucky I found you,” Caretaker said with a little laugh. “I mean, I wouldn’t even be out here usually. I guess it’s fate that I happened upon you. I’m Caretaker by the way.”

“Whumpee,” Whumpee replied.

Caretaker smiled. “Nice to meet you Whumpee. Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah,” Whumpee said with a smile. They were warm now, and toasty.

“Thank god,” Caretaker said and turned down the heat. “Sorry, I run hot,” he said by way of apology.

Whumpee laughed. “You should have told me.”

“I had to thaw you out first. Don’t want you dying on me in the passenger seat.”

He kept glancing ag Whumpee from the corner of his eye. “Hey, you look— well, like shit, but exhausted. Just relax and try to get some rest. I’ll let you know when we’re in town and we can bring you to the police station or something, okay?”

Whumpee hummed their answer. They didn’t know if it was a yeah or no, because the mixture of the heat and the hum of the car lulled Whumpee into a heavy, deep sleep.

They woke when the car turned into a driveway, slowing down as it went, the bumps jostling Whumpee’s head and they opened their eyes, blinking awake.

“Ah, sorry for the road,” Caretaker said with a little laugh as they continued down a tree lined road. “I just have to stop off at a friend’s before we go to the town, if that’s okay? It’s uh… kinda the whole reason I’m out this way at all.”

“Yeah, no,” Whumpee said nodding and stretching as they sat up properly. “That’s fine.”

“Thanks, my friend isn’t exactly known for being patient.”

Whumpee laughed, thinking of friend. “We all have some friends like that. It’s all good.”

Caretaker laughed too, his shoulders relaxing a bit as they took the last turn into a drive. “Yeah. I guess we do.”

Only when the house came into view did Whumpee stiffen in their seat. They were… that was… fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Was Caretaker— were they? Oh god, Whumpee got in the car willingly, like an idiot.

Whumper is impatient. Whumpee knew that.

“You— you—” Whumpee stammered. Caretaker smiled over at Whumpee but his eyes immediately widened, suddenly concerned.

“Hey, Whumpee. It’s okay! It’s— this is just my friend’s house.”

“I— you… Whumper—”

“Whumper?” Caretaker asked, a furrow forming between his brows. “How do you know Whumper’s name?”

“I have to— you—” Whumpee stuttered, hands flailing as they reached for the handle of the door. The car was locked. Oh god. Oh fuck. “Please, please, don’t send me back there. I’ll be good. I promise! I promise!”

Whumpee yanked on the handle over and over. “Please!” They wailed, tears streaming down their cheeks. “Please, fuck… I only— I just—”

The car stopped suddenly. Caretaker’s foot slammed on the brake and the two of them lurched forwards. Whumpee gasped as they were flung back against the seat.

Caretaker turned their body to face Whumpee. “Whumpee! Look at me! Look at me, now!”

Whumpee flinched at the harsh tone but obeyed. Caretaker’s eyes were still wide with concern but now something else lingered behind that concern, something horrified and confused.

“Are you… are you saying you look like death because of Whumper?”

Whumpee shook in the heated seat beside Caretaker. If they said yes, what would Caretaker do? Bring them back, drag them by the hair? What if Whumper wasn’t bothered to go out and look for them so he called his friend to pick Whumpee up on the way?

A knock on the window and the pair jumped. Caretaker turned, swallowed and rolled the window down a fraction.

“Hey,” a smiling voice greeted them. Whumpee froze in their seat. That was… Whumper, oh god. He was here. It was only a matter of time before he saw and when he did— “I saw the lights but then you stopped up here, just came to make sure you didn’t have a puncture or anything.”

“No,” Caretaker said quickly. “Sorry, thought I saw a deer. You never know out here.”

Whumper laughed. Whumpee swallowed a whimper. “Yeah. You’re right. Okay then, see you back at the house. It’s freezing out. I’ll leave the door open, just let yourself in.”

Caretaker didn’t hesitate. He kept up his friendly demeanour as he spoke to Whumper like they were old friends, which they were, Whumpee had to remind themselves.

“Yeah, of course. Go. It’s supposed to go below zero today, so get inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Cool,” Whumper said and tapped the car twice before his footsteps disappeared into the darkness. Caretaker didn’t roll up the window until he was sure Whumper was gone.

The pair of them sat like icicles, too afraid to move and break the weighted silence around them. Eventually, Caretaker snapped out of it and rolled the window up. Then he straightened.

“Did Whumper hurt you?”

Whumpee was silent.

“You can tell me, Whumpee. If he hurt you we are backing out of this driveway right now and I am calling the police.”

Whumpee sniffled. Caretaker audibly swallowed. “Okay,” he said with a breath that reflected in the car. “Okay.”

Caretaker nodded. Then he grabbed the gear stick and put the car into reverse. Whumpee’s cried got louder and more strangled as the house disappeared from view again, and the realisation settled heavy in their chest.

They were actually escaping.

They did it.

They escaped from Whumper, and now Caretaker, Whumper’s friend, was about to call the police to help Whumpee. Ready to throw their years of friendship away for Whumpee.

“Thank you,” Whumpee weeped. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” they blubbered. With every expression of gratitude they felt the weight of relief crush them further and further into the seat.

“It’s okay,” Caretaker said. “You’re okay. You’re safe now, Whumpee. Whumper won’t hurt you again.”

Whumpee continued to cry as they pulled out onto the main road, until the heat blasted again, and Caretaker told them to go to sleep. Whumpee obeyed, for the first time in a long time, they went to sleep with a smile on their face, warm and safe.

[greenleaf4stuff]

Of Convenience - Masterpost

(story tag on my blog: "Of Convenience")

Premise: Adar x Celebrimbor / silverscars canon divergence!AU. Political marriage trope. Celebrimbor flees Eregion after discovering that Annatar is not who he claims to be. This lands him in Adar's camp. The uruk proposes an unconventional solution to both of their problems - a political marriage. Celebrimbor accepts. Neither of them expect this to change the course of Middle-earth's history...or for them both to develop genuine feelings for each other in the process.

What started out as a one-shot based on my own little idea under one of my silverscars edits grew into a full-fledged multi-part fanfic when I couldn't stop writing. I wrote the entirety of the main fic (about 42k words) in 2.5 weeks as a result.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5.1 / Part 5.2 / Part 6.1 / Part 6.2* / Part 7.1 / Part 7.2 / Part 8.1 / Part 8.2 / Part 9 / Part 10.1 / Part 10.2* / Part 10.3* / Part 10.4 / Part 11.1 (Epilogue)** / Part 11.2 (Epilogue)**

( *Warnings for descriptions of graphic violence **M Rating for intimacy/smut )

Update 01/29/25 - The Official AO3 link:

Update 02/08/25:

In Convenience

Celebrimbor's and Adar's story continues - in small stories about their married life post-"Of Convenience". Mostly fluff, currently WIP.

Part 1.1 / Part 1.2 / Part 2.1 / Part 2.2

Related Works by other people:

@plotdesigner's take on Adar's POV just after Part 1

@themalhambird's drawing of uruk OC Gurlak

(my trop fanfic) (my trop edits)

[invalidstories]

Enemies at the Café

Warnings: suicide mentions, dark themes

The moon hung low in the night sky casting a soft glow casting over the rooftop where Hero and Villain always found themselves locked in conflict. Each breath they took was visible in the cold foggy night.

Villain's eyes gleamed with malice as they observed Hero's approach, every step deliberate, every movement calculated. They had spent their whole night planning and preparing to show of their newest device to Hero.

But as Hero drew nearer, Villain couldn't help but notice the weariness etched into their features, their shoulders slumped with the burden of their endless battles, and the dark circles under their eyes from sleepless nights.

"You're late," Villain taunted, their voice dripping with contempt as they walked towards their nemesis.

Hero rolled their eyes, a wry smile playing at their lips. "Oh, please," they retorted. "Like I have anything better to do than deal with you."

Villain bristled, their grip tightening on their weapon. But before they could act, Hero held up a hand, resigned.

"Save it," Hero sighed. "I'm done playing this game. Just shoot me and get it over with."

Caught off guard by Hero's surrender, Villain hesitated, their weapon hovering in midair as they stared at their enemy in disbelief. Never had they imagined Hero would surrender so easily.

"There's no fun in fighting a hero who doesn't want to fight," Villain replied softly, their voice gentle as they lowered their weapon and took a step forward. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

Hero said nothing as they allowed Villain to hold their hand and lead them away, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night.

As they disappeared into the darkness, Villain couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over them. At that moment, they realized that victory meant nothing without a worthy adversary to challenge them.

As they reached the end of the street, the Villain hesitated, turning to face Hero.

"Hey," they said softly, "I know this might seem like an odd question, but... do you want to grab a coffee with me?"

Hero blinked in surprise, the weariness momentarily forgotten as they met Villain's gaze. And for the first time in a long while, a small smile tugged at the corners of their lips.

"Yeah," Hero replied, "Sure."

Entering the cozy coffee shop, the atmosphere shifted from the chill of the night to the warm embrace of coffee and soft murmurs. Hero couldn't help but chuckle at one of Villain's jokes, the tension of their earlier encounter slowly easing.

Sitting across from each other, Villain couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in Hero's demeanor. The weariness that had weighed them down moments before had been replaced by a spark of life in their eyes.

"You seem a bit better," Villain remarked, a teasing grin playing on their lips as they took a sip of their coffee.

Hero chuckled, a faint blush dusting their cheeks. "Yeah, well, you're surprisingly good company," they admitted, their voice soft.

"Told you," Villain smirked taking another sip of their drink.

But as the laughter faded, Villain's expression softened as concern crept into their features. "Hey, Hero," they began, their voice serious. "I know we've had our differences, but... I think you could benefit from some help."

Hero's smile faltered, their gaze dropping to the table as they considered Villain's words. It wasn't often that they heard genuine concern from their nemesis.

"I'll think about it," Hero replied, their voice soft but resolute. "Thanks though, Villain. For everything."

Villain grinned, reaching across the table to give Hero's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Anytime, Hero," they said, "Just don't forget to bring your sense of humor next time."

The hero couldn't help but smile at the playful jab, the weight of their troubles momentarily lifted by the simple act of having an unlikely but nice companion. As they walked home, Hero felt a glimmer of hope that maybe they didn't have to face their struggles alone anymore.

"In the end, we're all just humans, trying to find our way in this chaotic world."

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