#tw arrested

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom Day 3, 10, 18, 19

Ambushed | Smoke | Self-defence | “This can’t be happening!”

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Contains: angst, very brief mention of corporal punishment, ambush, arrest, restraints, corrupt guards, fantasy chloroform, knocked out

WC: 940

Burnt sugar and rotting flesh

The stars were coldly curious, just barely visible now that the sun was almost set. The food taster walked the streets with purpose, toward the palace, toward its high walls and iron gates. His feet ached from the countless steps he’d taken that day as he scoured the city for any word of the girl. His bones creaked with fatigue, his head ached with confusion, his throat pinched with thirst, his chest burned with frustration.

How could no one know who she was?

Guilt, too, prickled at his conscience. He shouldn’t have slipped away in secret. Really, he shouldn’t have even considered leaving without permission. After all, he was sworn to bend to his employer’s whims and well-being, no matter how friendly their bond. Worse, sneaking away before dinner meant he was shirking his duties outright. If word of his disobedience reached the governor? Unquestionably, there would be some measure of punishment awaiting him once they returned to the north.

Whatever that turned out to be—withheld wages, a stern warning, a lash or two with a switch—mattered little. Tonight, it was all insignificant.

He promised himself: another hour of searching, and if his efforts still turned up nothing, he would give up.

When he approached the royal palace’s south gate, his steps faltered.

The air . . .

It was different here.

It didn’t reek, exactly, but it was . . . unwelcoming. Magic lay thick and impassable over the iron bars, spikes, and locks—a curse dense enough that the area even appeared unguarded.

Don’t even try, the spell warned.

Ignoring the acrid tang of hostility on his tongue, the food tester pressed his hands to the lock.

The spell holding it together snapped.

He stepped back, mystified but undeniably pleased that it had worked. Palms slick with perspiration, he slid the mechanisms apart, piece by piece.

“Oi! You!”

Perhaps the area was not as undefended as he thought.

The food taster cursed under his breath, jolting away from the broken lock as harsh voices rang through the air.

“Yes . . . ?” he asked, trying to exude an air of bewilderment as a line of soldiers advanced toward him.

Too late, he realized they were shouting his name.

How did they know his name?

Much too late, he considered that his friend’s dire predictions might actually come true.

“Breaking in, were you?” asked the leader. “Caught you red-handed.”

Had they been looking for him? Waiting for him?

“How . . . how do you know me?” he stammered.

His earlier confidence that he might successfully defend himself was downright laughable. Two guards seized his arms, too strong for him to shake off, while the leader rifled through his pockets.

“Hey! Get—get off!”

The leader paid him no heed; he merely smiled in triumph, displaying the girl’s gold charm with a flourish. “Well. I was told I’d catch a thief tonight. Looks like I did.”

“I’m not a thief,” the food taster protested. “I wanted to return it!”

His objections went ignored.

“You’re under arrest,” the leader said, locking a pair of manacles over the food taster’s wrists.

“You can’t arrest me!” he yelped. “I haven’t done anything!”

The guards looked pointedly at the gate’s broken lock.

“Get moving,” said the leader, pushing him forward. A malicious sort of amusement coloured his tone. “Tell it to the . . . courts.”

“But I—”

Someone shoved him again, rattling the chain, and the food taster stumbled, falling silent in defeat.

They hauled him into a dimly lit office, demanding a full confession. The room boasted dusty, windowless walls and cold grey flagstone for a floor. It stank of old magic and suffering.

With his heart in his throat, the food taster repeatedly defended his innocence. More than once, with irritation unchecked and running rampant, a guard slammed his chained hands back to the table or clipped him hard on the ear.

To his great alarm, his explanation of “I wanted to find her and give it back to her; also, I think she might be in grave danger,” appeared to hold very little sway.

“Oh, save it,” said the leader impatiently, “and shut up.” To the other guards, he said coolly, “I’ll handle the rest of this. Leave us.”

Dread washed through the room when the other guards vanished, although the food taster couldn’t have said why.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he insisted.

“Honestly? I don’t care.”

The food taster’s mouth dropped open as the guard lifted the statement he had just finished painstakingly recording, holding it tauntingly against a torch set into the wall.

The paper flared into smoke and flame.

“What are you doing?” the food taster cried, struck with horror.

“Well, you see . . .” The guard dropped the charred remains of the parchment to the floor. “Someone wants a word with you. In private.” He lowered his voice. “No trail left behind.”

A sickening scent met his senses in a violent assault: a heavy, cloying smell, like burnt sugar and rotting flesh.

Poison.

Not just any poison. He cursed his too-deep knowledge of the subject, for he knew right away what this poison was for. He knew when that soaked cloth clamped over his nose and his mouth, the pungent chemical would cut off his air and overwhelm his senses, muddying his thoughts and sending him straight into the depths of oblivion.

This can’t be happening.

“No! Don’t—”

The last thing he felt was the guard’s free hand holding him down to quell his struggles.

The last thing he heard was his own panicked, muffled breaths.

The last thing he saw was shackled hands growing slack, and the yellow candlelight fading to impenetrable, unforgiving darkness.

June of Doom Masterlist

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@juneofdoom

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

[little-peril-stories]

Febuwhump Day 2 - Solitary Confinement

From Man of Letters:

All the scholar could hear was his own ragged breath. The panicked rasping. The frantic gasp of each intake of air as he tried desperately to regain his senses.

Dead. He’s dead.

They’d thrown him inside, heedless of how his sight failed him and his feet stumbled and scrabbled beneath him. Now he lay motionless, tasting blood, pretending that this was all part of his plan. He didn’t move from where he’d fallen.

He’s dead, and I killed him.

He couldn’t move. He barely wanted to. The deed was done; the choice was made. There was no running, not for him. Not anymore.

The room was quiet, but it was distinctly unlike the soothing peace of the library where he had spent so many hours of his life. This—this was an ominous quiet, heavy with dread, slippery with promise. The promise—and memory—of death.

Leave him in there, they’d said, until the prince arrives.

The thud of a body striking rough stone rang in his ears. It was only once he was already prone—still reeling from the impact—that the scholar realized it had been his own weary, grief-stricken bones and his own torn skin scraping against the floor.

Let the prince decide what to do with the bastard.

[gay-impressionist]

france is burning.

667 people were arrested last night. they are curfews in place. public transport is partially closed at night.

nahel, a 17-year-old, was shot tuesday by the police during a traffic stop. he wasn't violent or armed, he wasn't a threat. but he broke the law and tried to drive away, so the cops killed him.

and now france is rioting.

there is a video so the government isn't trying to deny the facts for once. but the minister of the interior (in charge of the police) still insist that the police shot less people since the 2017 law on public safety.

but an analysis of police statistics by Le Monde, the most read newspaper in france, says otherwise. when the police shot on average 250 people each year in the five years prior to 2017, that number became 297 after 2017. for shots fired specifically on moving vehicles, the average used to be 119 and it's now 150. before 2017, there was an average of 0.06 deaths per shot. now it's 0.32.

more than ever, the police shoots to kill.

so france is burning.

[mythtakens]

9-1-1 + overhead shots

[ev-arrested]

Tim Drake is better than me because if my celebrity crush suddenly became my brother I’d kill myself

[cosmicdreamgrl]

𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘬 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴: (60/?)

[destielmemenews]

The five men claim in a federal lawsuit that Trump knew he was acting with “reckless disregard” for the truth when he said during the September debate with Vice President Kamala Harris that they pleaded guilty to crimes connected to the beating and raping a woman in New York City, and that the five teenagers “badly hurt a person, killed a person” in the attack.

“Defendant Trump’s statements were false and defamatory in numerous respects,” attorneys for the men, now all in their 50s, wrote in the lawsuit filed in federal court in Philadelphia. “Plaintiffs never pled guilty to the Central Park assaults. Plaintiffs all pled not guilty and maintained their innocence throughout their trial and incarceration, as well as after they were released from prison.”

“None of the victims of the Central Park assaults were killed,” the lawyers for Yusef Salaam, Raymond Santana, Kevin Richardson, Antron Brown and Korey Wise wrote.

source 1

source 2

source 3

The Central Park Five and Trump, Explained by NPR

[autocrats-in-love]

I NEED an overly dramatic villain losing to the hero, visibly humiliated by the outcome of their battle. Hero, being the sweetheart they are, comforts the villain, who is currently sobbing on the floor like a literal child

Who's There At the End

The hero’s shaking, gloves hands finally snapped the shears closed over the red wire. The red numbers on the timer  blinked, then switched off. The hero sighed in relief. Another day saved from the villain’s destruction. They stood up and dusted their clothes off, staring at the setting sun. They could finally go home. They had gotten up way too early this morning. They were yawning as they handed the plastic explosive that had been attached to city hall off to a wary police officer.

“It’s fine,” the hero said reassuringly. “They never install backups on their bombs. Just stick it in the evidence locker.”

The hero pushed past officers and approached the chief of police. They tapped him on the shoulder. The chief turned around, moustache twitching in frustration.

“Hey, you find them yet?” the hero asked.

The chief sighed in defeat. The villain had, once again, evaded capture. “No. But we’re close, I can feel it.”

The hero had heard that more than once. They laughed. “Sure. Good night, chief.”

The chief waved the hero away. The hero wasn’t going to look for the villain today. They were too tired. They were about to take off flying when they felt their super suit pockets.

“Crap. My keys.” 

The hero turned around, and walked back up the steps to  city hall. They must have dropped it sometimes when they and the villain were fighting. Or maybe when the villain locked them in that supply closet. The hero walked across the lousy-with-cops lobby and pushed the elevator button. They got in when the elevator dinged, and pushed the button for the sixth floor, where the hero and villain’s grand battle had taken place. The hero watched the number on the screen go up, anxious to get out of here and relax with a book. One, two, three, four, five- 

A weight crashed onto the top of the elevator box. The hero stumbled as the box shook. They rushed to push the emergency stop button. Then they looked up, listening to the patter above their head. Were those footsteps? Then one of the ceiling grates fell down, and the hero had to dive out of the way of it. They huddled under the handle bar, and watched as the figure jumped down into the elevator. The hero’s heart rate spiked. It was the villain. They were probably angry, vengeful. . .and crying? When the villain turned to look at the hero, it was clear there were tears streaming down their puffy face. The villain jumped up when they realised who they had intruded upon.

“Uh, hi,” the hero said with a wave.

The villain glared at them. For some reason, it made the hero sad. The hero was about to get to their feet to defend themselves--not that they were in any mood for a second round--when the villain sighed and collapsed on the ground. They brought their knees to their chest and buried their face in their lap. The hero could hear their enemy sobbing and sniffling. The hero was caught off guard by the apparent vulnerability they were being shown. The villain was usually very hard to read. The hero knew they shouldn’t let their guard down. But, after considering for a moment, they scooted over to the villain.

“Is everything okay?” the hero asked. 

The villain didn’t look up, or respond. They continued crying without restraint. The hero hesitated. Then they moved their hand to the villain’s back. The villain whipped their head up, snapping their fingers around the hero’s wrist.

“Don’t try anything,” the villain said raspily. 

They squeezed the hero’s wrist, making heat bloom from the area.

“Ow! I was trying to be nice,” the hero said.

The villain didn’t look convinced. Their glare was wet, their brown eyes shining under the fluorescents. The hero gulped. 

“Look, I know it’s hard to lose-”

More tears welled in the villain’s eyes. “No, you don’t! You always win. Not just against me, either. You have everything, and I’m just stuck taking the scraps you leave behind!”

The villain’s voice broke at the end. It made the hero soften.

“You tried to explode a building,” the hero said gently.

“Yeah, I couldn’t even do that,” the villain said, staring at the hero’s exposed wrist. “I’m such a disappointment.”

“A disappointment? To whom?” the hero said.

The villain sighed. “Just. . .the people who expect things from me.”

Ah. The hero was a public figure, too. They could relate. 

“I get it.”

The villain looked sceptical. “You don’t fail, though. You always win. You’re always ahead. Everyone loves you.”

The hero laughed. “Are you kidding? Have you seen the articles written about me? About how I’m too nonchalant, too slow, that I’ve never been able to arrest you.”

The villain blinked slowly, processing. “Really?”

The hero nodded. The villain loosened their grip on them. “Then- how does it all not get to you?”

The hero shrugged. “I mean, I am pretty nonchalant.”

The villain rolled their eyes.

“But, also, these reporters don’t know me. They don’t know that it is actually pretty hard to get the upper hand on you. They don’t even know my real name. So why would I trust their opinion?”

The villain wiped their eyes. When they looked back at the hero, they had a small smile on their face. Their hand dropped the hero’s wrist. 

“Did you say it’s hard to beat me?”

“Uh-” the hero felt themselves blushing.

The villain laughed, the colour returning to their cheeks. “Am I your arch nemesis? Does the thought of taking me down haunt you every waking hour?”

The hero pushed the villain’s face away from them. “Shut up.” 

The hero’s phone started ringing. They pulled it from their pocket. The chief of police. The hero picked it up.

“Hello?” came the chief’s panicked voice through the line.

“Hey, chief,” the hero responded.

The villain’s eyes widened in fear. They seemed to be genuinely scared of the chief.

“Officers are saying you’re stuck in an elevator. We’re still searching for them-” the hero smiled at the gruff voice the chief used when talking about the villain. “-but there’s no sign so far. Are they with you? Are you cornered in the elevator?”

The hero thought about it for a moment. Sure, the chief would be over the moon to finally have the villain. But, on the other hand. . .the villain was having a pretty crappy day.

“Nope. Haven’t seen anyone. A ceiling grate just fell and I was worried the whole roof would come crashing down. I’ll probably be out in a few minutes.”

“Okay, then. But be careful. They could still be lurking around.”

“Uh huh. Bye, chief.”

The hero hung up the phone. The villain stared at them. The hero shrugged in response.

“Why?” the villain asked.

“Because now you owe me one,” the hero said. “But you definitely need to get out of here. The chief is on a rampage to find you.” 

The villain sniffed one last time. Then they pulled the villain into a hug. It surprised the hero, and ignited a heat that they hadn’t felt in a long time. They hugged the villain back. When the two separated, the villain said, “Oh! I know how to pay you back.”

The hero raised an eyebrow. “How?” 

The villain tossed the hero something small. The hero caught it in between their hands.

“Oh, my keys!”

They looked up to thank the villain, but their enemy had disappeared.

[yesloulou]

Carlos arrested for hotness leaving quali at Miami 2024

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was exploring the new dorms my school made and talking to my friend about who’s all rooming together. After a little while he turns to me and says; “Did you hear that Mr. C is getting arrested?”

“Oh my God, no way! What for?”

“Making meth. Come on I’ll show you-“

He takes me down the hall to one of the dorms where the door was conveniently open so I could see in, where my teacher Mr. C was sat in front of a fish tank that was pouring out a fine white powder. We watch on as a whole squad of police run down the hall, into the dorm room, grab Mr. C, and drag him away.

[aurorangen]

For how long will I have to live with this pain?

Transcript:

[Starting high school was a fresh start for me. I met new people and my best friends were by my side. I made lots of happy memories and forgot the bad things from primary school. It was all perfect when it began]

[That day, it started like any other day until I got to school. I was met with staring eyes and whispering voices. Talks about a missing person. Kingsley? Could he be related to Ashton Kingsley? 4 months have passed since the shed incident and we never talked about him at home. I hadn't thought about him in a while]

[Billy drove me home after school and I asked about the missing person case. The man was Dr Anton Boerescu and he showed me the newspaper, it was that doctor again. He kept quiet about my dad when he talked though. I was reading the article then looked up and saw an undercover police car parked on my house drive]

Police Officer: Payton Wilkinson, you are under arrest for the murder of Ashton Kingsley-

[My heart was racing and I was too stunned to speak. I couldn't understand what was happening. Billy tried to take control of the situation, demanding details as he recognised the officers from the other station]

[I wanted to run to my mum, but I was stopped and I froze at the sight. All I could see was her shaking while being handcuffed, crying and denying the accusations. I could hear Billy contacting his chief: he had no power]

Payton: [begging] Please! I would never do such a thing! Billy take care of Vincent! Make sure nothing-

[I was so scared: the police were arresting her for murder. I didn't know what to believe and started suspecting my own mother. The times she didn't seem like her usual self, if she was at work while I was at school, how much she despised him, why she has never mentioned his name. I fell to my knees. She couldn't have, could she?]

[serickswrites]

I Don't Feel So Good

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, electrocution, rescue, hospital, cardiac arrest, cpr, unclear character status, forced to watch

"I....I don't feel so good, C-C-Caretaker," Whumpee said as they slumped over in their chair. "D-D-Dizzy."

"It's ok, Whumpee. Help is here. Hold on. Just hold on," Caretaker said, wishing they could slip the cuffs that kept them away from Whumpee.

Time passed strangely for Caretaker. It seemed as though time had frozen when Whumper was in the room with them. But then time passed swiftly when Whumper had left them alone for an hour. And now, time seemed distorted, speeding up and slowing down. It had been torture watching Whumper spend the last hour shocking Whumpee with the car battery. And now that help had arrived, the waiting was torture.

Whumper had rushed from the room, leaving Whumpee still hooked up to the battery, when the sound of a door giving way startled the three of them. "Help is here, Whumpee. We're saved. Help is here."

Caretaker repeated it over and over as they watched Whumpee struggle to breathe. They opened their mouth to say something, but a group of people rushed into the room. Time seemed to jump for Caretaker, the rescuer's movements disjointed and fast. Before Caretaker could say much, they found themself in the back of an ambulance with Whumpee, rushing to the emergency room.

Whumpee lay on the gurney, their face pale and drawn with pain. The paramedic quickly hooked Whumpee up to various leads and monitors. Caretaker squeezed Whumpee's hand tightly. "You're going to be ok. They're taking us to get you checked out, you're going to be ok." Time was slow in the ambulance. Time was too slow. Whumpee needed help. But the ambulance seemed frozen in time for Caretaker.

A monitor screamed a warning and the paramedic looked up. They called to their partner, "They're in V-Fib. I'm going to defibrillate."

Caretaker's heart began to pound. Whumpee was getting worse. "Please, stay with me, Whumpee."

"I need you to step back, Caretaker," the paramedic said as they attached the sticky patches to Whumpee's chest. "Let me take care of them."

Whumpee's eyes frantically searched for Caretaker's as Caretaker pulled away. "I'm right here. You're going to be ok, Whumpee. You're going to be ok."

The paramedic took the paddles and paused before placing them on Whumpee's chest. "Whumpee, I know you're not feeling very good right now. This isn't going to feel great either. But your heart is beating in a rhythm that isn't good or sustainable. I'm going to try and shock you back into the correct rhythm."

Whumpee nodded their understanding, though their eyes were beginning to get hazy.

"Stay with me, Whumpee. You're going to be ok," Caretaker murmured as they started to reach for Whumpee again.

"Clear!" The paramedic said as they pressed the paddles to Whumpee's chest. Caretaker quickly yanked their hand back to avoid being shocked.

Whumpee's body convulsed with the shock. The paramedic watched the monitor. "I'm going to shock you again, Whumpee. Your heart rhythm isn't quite where it should be."

Whumpee nodded weakly, blinking their eyes slowly. "Clear!" the paramedic said as they deployed the paddles once more.

Caretaker held their breath as they watched Whumpee's body move. The monitor continued with the same sound, the same warning alarm that Whumpee's heart wasn't cooperating.

"Clear!" the Paramedic said again.

But as they started to deploy the paddles once more, Caretaker's stomach dropped as they heard the monitor let one continuous streak and the line that had been erratic mirroring Whumpee's heart beat became flat.

"Asystole," the paramedic called out, putting the paddles back onto the machine, "starting compressions."

Caretaker couldn't breathe around the terror gripping them as they watched the paramedic begin compressions on Whumpee. Couldn't breathe around the terror gripping them as the ambulance stopped, pulling into a med bay. Couldn't breathe around the terror gripping them as they stared into Whumpee's half lidded, empty eyes.

"Come on, breathe, Whumpee. Breathe, damn it!" The paramedic said as they continued to pound on Whumpee's chest.

Caretaker started to reach out to Whumpee, to take Whumpee's hand in theirs. Started to reach out to beg Whumpee to breathe, to stay with them. Started to reach out to try and bring Whumpee back to them. But as their fingertips brushed Whumpee's, the door to the ambulance swung open and they were swarmed by the medical team.

Whumpee was wheeled away from them before they could say or do anything. Wheeled away with the medic still performing CPR. Wheeled away to somewhere Caretaker couldn't go.

Caretaker began to sob as they realized Whumpee might be gone. Might be gone to somewhere permanently. Might be....dead.

Caretaker jumped as a nurse put a hand on their shoulder. "Caretaker," they said softly, "let's take a look at you."

"They....they need help," Caretaker whispered, unable to say the words that they feared were true.

"Whumpee has a great medical team looking after them. Let's get you looked at and then I can find out how Whumpee's doing, is that ok?"

"Whumpee....Whumpee needs me. Please, they need me. I need them." Caretaker started forward to try and follow, but the nurse's hand on their shoulder made them stop.

"Whumpee has all the medical team they need. You need to be looked at. Let the doctors do their job with Whumpee. And let me help you. Then I'll look in on Whumpee, ok?" Their voice was calm and soothing.

But Caretaker didn't want to be soothed. Whumpee had been hurt because of them. Had continued to be hurt because of them. They hadn't been able to do anything to help Whumpee. Hadn't been able to get help, escape, or save Whumpee.

And now....And now, Whumpee's heart had stopped beating. Whumpee was.....dead.

"Please, they can't die. Please. Don't let them die," Caretaker said, tears streaming down their face.

"We won't let them die, Caretaker. We're working on bringing them back. Now let's take a look to make sure you're ok."

[demonsinmysoul5000]

[aceofwhump]

Whumptober 2024 - No. 3 WRONGFULLY ARRESTED

Hawaii Five-0 5x18 Pono Kaulike Danny Williams is arrested for the murder of Marco Reyes and sent to a Colombian prison but the real reason for his arrest goes much deeper.

@whumptober

[chaotic-orphan]

Heroic betrayal (viii)

Part one here

Continued from here

TW: Carewhump, carewhumper, broken nose, lady whump, lady whumpee

Happy 4th July to those who celebrate it!! (And those who don’t)

*~*~*~*~*

Hero lingered by the stairs, not quite meeting Flynn’s eyes as he approached her. Instead she stared at the hall Supervillain disappeared down, her heart building itself up and breaking again with every breath she took.

“Hero,” Flynn said, voice soft. Hero swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to compose herself but she was rattled… Supervillain terrified her. “Hey, Hero.”

Hero stumbled back a step, eyes flashing to Flynn’s outstretched hand, as if he was about to touch her cheek. Her eyes hardened into stone as she sharpened her gaze into a chilling glare.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she whispered, deathly quiet. Her voice trembling out of a mix of fear and fury. Flynn had the gall to look hurt by her outburst, as if it was a shock that she would react like this after he left her alone, with Supervillain of all people. She searched his face, looking for a sign of sympathy or vulnerability, any trace of the Flynn she knew. The hero who was always her shoulder to cry on when things got hard.

“Hero,” Flynn said again, her name like a prayer from his lips. “I’m sorry. This is my family. They always have been.”

“And I’m just the job, right?”

Flynn didn’t reply and maybe that said everything. She half-turned her body to the staircase and nodded to him to go first. Mostly to try and hide her unshed tears from him.

Flynn sighed, running his hand through his hair before he started up the stairs. She followed after him, dragging her lead-like feet. Hero stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced to the left while Flynn went to the right. The stairs were in the centre of the landing, two doors to the left, three to the right, but Flynn didn’t go for one of the doors. Hero followed him so he wouldn’t get suspicious of her scoping out the lay of the house, but she almost rolled her eyes when she saw the second set of stairs.

As if sensing her disbelief, Flynn glanced at her over his shoulder and shrugged, a half hearted smile on his face. “I told Supervillain how capable you were. He took it seriously.”

Hero swallowed, the words like a knife in the chest… or more accurately the back. She blinked at him, wanting to scream and charge and hurt him, but she just stared.

Flynn nodded and started up the stairs again. These stairs were cut in half in a double L shape adding more corners; slowing Hero’s escape if she were to come barrelling down them in the middle of the night. She’d waste time having to turn three times, the only benefit was that her pursuers would also have to make the turns.

That little nugget of satisfaction crumbled when Flynn opened the door to her room, because that’s all that was on this floor: one single room. All for her.

So they’d hear her coming.

She bit her lip to keep in the helpless sob that wanted to escape her throat. She had to stay cool. Stay cool, stay cool, Hero. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s—

“So this is your room,” Flynn said as she stepped in, gesturing to the big space that was all hers. He looked back at her to see her reaction and immediately was beside her. “Hero… you’re crying.”

Those two words broke her and she didn’t hold her emotions back any longer. She stepped away from him, trying to put space between them when her knees buckled, going like jelly beneath her and she fell heavy. Flynn caught her before she hit the ground and she hated the way she leaned into him, clinging to his shirt as shaky sobs wracked her body.

He held her tight, one hand on her hair, brushing it from her face so her tears wouldn’t wet it, lightly running his fingers through it. “I know. It’s okay. I know, you’re okay. It’s okay, Hero. Let it out. I’m here.”

There were no words that could fully encapsulate her distress so she didn’t try and speak. She hated how comforting Flynn’s cologne was, how soft his words were in her ears. Everything was so familiar and—

Fake, a nasty voice supplied. All his kindness and love was just a way to get close to you, to keep you close to him so he could betray you and get you here. Keep you here.

The salt from her tears washed into the cut in her lip from Villain and she winced. Usually, she was far more robust than tears making her flinch but she was just exhausted. It was a long night… or day. Or both? Whatever.

She sat up in Flynn’s arms and let him wipe the tears from her cheeks with his thumb and forefinger. He offered her a small, encouraging smile and she forced one onto her face. If she was going to be here for an indefinite long time then she needed at least one person on her side. Since Villain already hated her guts and Supervillain was happy to have her not causing any trouble, the only one who she could sway was Flynn.

It was Supervillain’s master plan after all, making Flynn become her partner, her best friend… even, in fleeting moments, more than that. It was her greatest mistake, trusting him, leaving an acrid taste in her mouth, or maybe that was just the dried blood. He looked down at her lips, then back to her eyes, a sad look crossing his features.

“Here,” Flynn said, taking her arm gently and pulling a magnetic key from his pocket. He pressed the magnet to the bar and the cuffs clicked open like a ring-binder, freeing her wrists. She retracted them to her chest, slowly getting to her feet. She stood still, rubbing her wrists as she took in the room.

To be fair to Supervillain, it wasn’t the cramped cell like the basement, it was spacious, it had two skylight windows high on the domed roof, high enough that she couldn’t climb out of them without a considerable effort on her part, or maybe she was just tired. A large, extremely comfortable-looking bed was directly in front of the door, pressed against the back wall with two cherry wooden bedside dressers. One had a lamp on it, the other a handful of books.

“There’s clothes in the wardrobe, but if you need anything I can grab it from your apartment or bring some stuff from mine.”

“Okay,” Hero replied. Flynn played with the cuffs in his hand like he so usually did. Always fidgeting when there was something on his mind. She didn’t prompt him to speak like she normally would. She didn’t have it in her.

“Um, if you need anything, my bedroom is the first door on the right from the stairs.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, uh, I’ll leave you then. To get settled in and stuff.”

Hero nodded, biting her lip to keep in her sob. Half of her wanted to jump at him and wrap her arms around him and ask him not to leave her alone, but the other half was stronger, prouder and so she just stayed still as he left and shut the door behind him.

Hero tentatively approached the bed, taking small, easy steps until she sat down into it. The sheets were nice, the duvet cover soft. The duvet was thick, heavy, and Hero could just imagine the warmth and comfort smothering her into unconsciousness.

There was a full length mirror in the small alcove beside the door and Hero almost started crying at her appearance. Her hair was a mess. It looked more like a bird’s nest made with dirt, leaves and twigs, probably from the scuffle in the woods with Flynn. Tear tracks streaked clean trails down their cheeks, cutting through some of the blood that was caked under her nose, and down her chin.

Crimson drops of blood were stained on Hero’s grey tunic that was visible below her thick, leather armour. She wanted nothing more than to just take it all off and burn it. If Supervillain got his way, Hero wouldn’t have a use for it ever again. She shivered at the thought and shoved it down deep inside her, locking it away until she was ready to deal with it.

Hero’s eyes zeroed in on her shoulder harness and she shot to her feet, turning and reaching behind her. Her hands found the familiar grips of her blades and she could’ve screamed. She unsheathed them with a swift, sharp click and a shink. Hero turned again to face the mirror and she smiled when she saw the usual fire in her eyes.

How stupid could Supervillain be that he—

The fire flickered in her eyes to a stupor, a sporadic smoulder, as the light dimmed and fizzled out. Her grip turned white knuckled on her blades, her hands shaking as the realisation dawned on her.

This was just another way to humiliate her. Supervillain knew she would never use them, because if she did… if she even thought about such a thing then Sidekick would die and he’d reduce her to nothing, lock her in the cellar and throwaway the key. Leave her to Villain, or her own despair, whichever killed her first.

She sheathed her daggers and undid the strap of the belt that crisscrossed over her chest and back, deflating as she went through the familiar motions. She pressed a hand to the front and lifted her dual scabbard-pauldron-hybrid over her head, laying it out carefully on a cherry wood table against a wall. Ignoring the fact that the wood in the room was all cherry, and the pang in her chest at sharing that it was her favourite with Flynn. She slipped her armour off as well, though the belts and buckles took more time to unfasten and she let her mind wander into nothingness.

The first thing she noticed when she was relieved of her armour was the stench of her; a mix of blood, sweat and fear clung to her skin. She didn’t want to have a shower, she didn’t want to interact with anyone in the house ever again, but she didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

She walked to the wardrobe and ignored the usual style of clothes she wore as a civilian, grabbing a grey tracksuit bottoms and a sweatshirt, and fresh underwear she walked to the door and opened it. Flynn’s back greeted her, and she paused, brain too slow to process that.

“Can I use the shower?” She asked, voice empty.

Flynn shot to his feet, almost startled at her voice. She blinked at him as he turned. “Uh, yeah. Yes, of course. This way.”

She didn’t talk the entire way down the stairs. Thankfully the bathroom was on the second floor, but it was on the other end of the second floor. Hero’s heart leaped into her throat as hope — that wretched, black thing — bloomed once more. She had to cross the other set of stairs to get to the bathroom. Tantalising information that she locked away in the cunning corner of her mind and continued on as if she were still hopeless and heartbroken. It wasn’t hard to fake, a lie wrapped in truth, all numbed by exhaustion.

Flynn opened the door for her. “Do you need me to show—”

“No,” she replied. “I can figure it out. Thank you.”

She passed him, and when their chests touched a pained expression crossed Flynn’s face. Hero ignored it and closed the door on him, her heart stuttering as she clicked the lock shut. She pressed her forehead against the door, letting out a breath.

How the fuck was she going to survive this?

*~*~*~*~*

Hero’s face was obscured in the mirror, which was fine by her, she didn’t want to see her face, now washed clean of dirt and grime. It still felt like it was on her, a film of filth that coated her entire body. Maybe that was Flynn’s betrayal, she didn’t know, but she felt a little better after the shower.

Now she stared at the door with a mutinous gaze. The locked door was a false blessing of security, but one she clung to with all her heart. She knew she had to leave eventually but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to do a lot of things, swallow her pride and stay in this fucking house filled with enemies that wanted her out of the picture.

Sidekick’s battered body flashed across her eyes and she swallowed the bile that threatened to rise and spew from her mouth.

She got to her feet and stomped over to the door before she lost the nerve. She half expected to see Flynn waiting outside like before, instead she was met with two gleaming eyes.

Hero’s nostrils flared. “Villain.”

“You clean up nicely,” Villain said stepping towards her. Hero fought the urge to step back, narrowing her eyes into a glare. “Of course, your nose is all busted. Definitely broken, I think.”

“What do you want?”

“Me?” Villain asked with a smirk. “I want you dead. As a sign to the rest of your little heroes not to fuck with us.”

Hero closed the distance between them with a step, putting her face in Villain’s, despite her thrumming heart. “Too bad your family wants me alive. I guess we’ll both have to endure this misery.”

“You more so than I. After all, I’m not on house arrest. I can always go and visit sick people in the hospital—”

Hero lunged for Villain but was stopped by her name: “Hero.”

Hero’s head snapped to Supervillain, fear flashing across her features before she could school them properly. Supervillain smiled, his eyes drifting between the pair.

“I trust my child is not causing you any trouble.”

“Not at all,” Villain replied smoothly. “Just waiting for the loo.” Villain shoulder checked Hero on their way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind.

“I see you’ve settled in. I trust your room is to your liking.” Hero swallowed, a pitiful attempt to clear the ashen dryness that came to her mouth when Supervillain spoke to her.

“Flynn made sure of that,” she said, turning and walking back towards her room. She had to pass Supervillain to do that. He caught her arm before she could pass.

“You must let me treat your nose.”

“I thought it was a warning to not act out.”

Supervillain chuckled lightly. “No, sweet Hero. I don’t intend to treat you inhumanly. Besides, I think Sidekick’s life is enough of a threat to keep you in check.”

Hero yanked their arm free. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“How adorable that you think this is an offer you can refuse.” Supervillain gestured for Hero to walk down the stairs to the ground floor. She hesitated, not wanting to spend another second with Supervillain but her heart betrayed her head and she reluctantly turned on her heel, walking downstairs.

Supervillain followed behind. “To the kitchen, Hero,” he instructed. Hero turned right at the hall, passing the dining room and walking straight into what she assumed was the kitchen.

Supervillain chuckled as he followed her in. “You’re already familiar with the layout, I see.”

Hero didn’t reply. Even if she wanted to the words would’ve died on her throat seeing Flynn sitting at the island in the middle of the giant kitchen. It looked like a kitchen from downtown abbey, or the crown or something, but modernised with all new furniture and appliances.

“Hero,” Flynn said, his eyes flicking past her to Supervillain’s, and back again, harder this time. “How was your shower?”

Hero lingered awkward by the door, grabbing her wrist and rubbing her thumb over her skin. “Yeah. It was fine, thanks.”

“Sit beside Flynn, Hero.”

Hero shot him a black look at the order, but she walked towards Flynn anyways. “Why?” Flynn asked, locking his phone and putting it on the counter in front of him.

A phone. Hero tucked that information away in the back of her mind, she hadn’t even thought about phones until now.

“I’m going to re-align her nose so it heals properly.”

Flynn didn’t say anything to the explanation as Hero climbed onto the high chair beside him. She stifled a gasp when she felt Flynn’s hand snake into hers, flooding her with warmth and comfort that she hated coming from him. She hated how her body reacted to him like he was still the one person in the world that could make her feel safe and secure.

That alone she could live with. The thing that turned her stomach, and planted a deep seed of resentment inside her, was the fact that she didn’t pull away from him. She kept her hand firmly in his, his fingers intertwining with hers; that’s what would keep her up at night.

Supervillain walked over to her with a first aid kit in hand. He placed the box on the island counter and stepped in front of Hero, looking down at her with a small smile. Hero didn’t want him to touch her, to be this close to her, but she also didn’t want her nose to fuck up her breathing while she was here.

“May I?” Supervillain asked lifting his hands to her face. Flynn squeezed her fingers reassuringly. Hero swallowed her pride and nodded.

Supervillain cupped Hero’s cheek gently, his other hand going under her chin to tilt her head up as he inspected the damage with intelligent eyes.

“This will not be pleasant,” Supervillain said after a minute of silence. “Though, Flynn can tell you the amount of times I had to reset his nose as a boy. I became a pro.”

“It’s true,” Flynn said with a laugh. “And you had to do Vil’s twice.”

“Okay, Hero. I’m going to count down from three, and I’ll break it and get it over with, okay?”

“Okay.” Hero braced themselves, squeezing Flynn’s hand as hard as she could.

“Good. Three—” Hero let out a sharp cry and a curse as Supervillain grabbed her nose in his hand and re-broke it with a crunch. It sent waves of pain rocketing through her skull as she groaned, spots forming in her vision as she pulled back instinctively. Supervillain kept a hand behind her head so she couldn’t pull away as he re-aligned her nose so it would heal properly.

“There we go, I’m sorry. It’s done, that’s the hard part,” Supervillain said as shocked tears slid down Hero’s cheeks. Supervillain tilted Hero’s head up again, twisting her face left and right, eyes focused on her nose as he moved her head. “Mmm. Marvellous. It looks good to me, but I think just to be sure, we should re-align it properly with the rods.”

Hero’s eyes hardened into a glare. “No,” she said. “It’s fine. It feels fine. It will heal itself.”

“Hero, it probably is—”

She rounded on Flynn, yanking her hand from his. “Oh please! Whose side are you on?”

“I think you need to calm down, Hero,” Supervillain told her. The condescension in his tone just rubbed her the wrong way and before Hero had even realised it a sharp knife was between her fingers, one from the knife block beside the sink. It wasn’t lined the way her blades were but it would do the trick.

“Tell me to calm down again,” she spat, jumping to her feet. “See what happens.”

Flynn got to his feet the same time as Hero, cautiously looking between the two, waiting for Supervillain to give him the word before he did anything. God, how could Hero have been so stupid to trust him?!

Supervillain was the only one of the trio that looked the same before Hero summoned the knife. Actually, if anything, he looked more relaxed as he folded his arms across his chest.

“I don’t need to see what happens, Hero,” he said, fishing something from his pocket. His phone. “I just make a call and Sidekick is smothered in their sleep.”

Hero let the knife fly, the point a line on Supervillain’s throat before settling heavy against his carotid artery. “Hard to do that if you’re dead.”

Supervillain smiled and grabbed the handle of the knife. “That’s fine by me, Hero. Give Villain the satisfaction of killing Sidekick.”

Hero’s shaky resolve crumbled, and her shoulders sagged as she dropped the knife. Its weight settled firm into Supervillain’s hand. He smiled at her and said: “good. Now, sit up and tilt your head back.”

“Dad—”

Supervillain held a hand up. “No, no. She’ll do it. Watch.”

Hero obeyed wordlessly, climbing the stool and tilting her head back, squeezing her fingers into fists on her thighs. “Look at that, Flynn. A hero that can take instruction. You could learn a thing or two from her.”

Neither Flynn nor Hero responded. Something uneasy shifted under Flynn’s skin as he watched the girl he love, the usually passionate, fiery Hero, silent and subdued, waiting to do something she didn’t want to do.

Supervillain took his time, leaving Hero sitting on the chair with her head back. He first crossed the kitchen to put the knife into the dishwasher, then some extra dishes on the sink before washing and drying his hands, Hero’s eyes following him all the while. Her head grew heavy on her shoulders like she was trying to hold back a kettle bell. Her neck strained as she struggled to keep it steady, not to move a muscle because she didn’t want to give Supervillain the satisfaction of seeing her fail.

Supervillain smiled at Flynn as he approached them, and took out two familiar metal rods that he used on Flynn to fix his broken nose last year. “Hold her head for me, Flynn. You know how uncomfortable this can be.”

Flynn hesitated. He didn’t want to touch Hero without asking her after that scene, and it didn’t feel… right to just do it.

“It’s fine, Flynn,” Hero said softly as if reading his mind. Flynn swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, more for himself than anyone else and placed his hands gently under Hero’s head while Supervillain sterilised the metal rods.

Hero closed her eyes as Flynn took the leaden weight from her shoulders, happy that she could finally let go and relax. Flynn was there, right behind her (literally) as she went through this new change in her life that was entirely Flynn’s fault. The mutinous part of herself, that she kept chained in the basement of her mind ever since his betrayal, was preening with the fact that Flynn was there, because he would always be there. The one thing he promised her when they first became partners in the Hero academy.

He would always be there, and here he was; supporting her head through this very hard time. Or maybe it was the sheer exhaustion that had turned her mind to mush, her logic left her and she was left only with this infuriating light feeling of safety in his hands.

“Okay, Hero. This will hurt.”

That was all the warning she got before Supervillain pressed the rods into her nose and she fought the instinct to jerk forward. “Fuck!”

“Try not to speak,” Flynn said softly, rubbing the coarse pads of his thumbs over her temples. Hero whined in the back of her throat as she felt the rods move against the walls of her nose, fixing the cartilage. Even the vibrations from her pained hums seemed to hurt her head.

But Flynn was there, whispering to her.

“You’re doing great.”

“It’s almost done.”

“You’re okay, Hero.”

“It’s okay.”

His encouragement mixed with his motions of her temples brought her into a weird, fugue state where her body only recognised the sensations from Flynn’s hands and voice and numbed everything else. Later on, she would realise he was probably in her head, re-arranging some of the furniture, but in that moment she just closed her eyes and sank into the feeling.

“There,” Supervillain said, pulling the rods free. Hero’s eyes opened lazily, staring up at a grinning Supervillain. “All done. You’ll be perfect in three weeks. Just in time too.”

Hero’s eyelids fluttered, the fuzzy feeling in her taking over now that the danger was passed. “Three weeks?” She heard Flynn say. “That’s too soon.”

“Not at all,” someone said, maybe Supervillain. Probably, who cares. “Three weeks and she’ll have come to see our side of things, Flynn. Just look at her in your hands, completely out of it. I could tell her my big dark secret and she wouldn’t remember, would you Hero?”

“I did that so she wouldn’t freak out—”

Hero didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. She allowed the fuzziness to consume her like a weighted blanket, and finally, mercifully, sleep took her away from the world of consciousness.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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[captain-444]

Stolen joke lol idk who wrote it but you’re a funny one. Quote you every week Amen