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[whump-ohmy]

Febuwhump Day 3

@featherlovesrobots wrote this one again, with me doing some extremely light editing (totally counts as work ;)

Day 3: Pinned Down

Smoke stings Ultraviolet’s eyes, sharp and blinding. She squints against the cloud and listens for the calls of the hostages. There was a scream not too long ago — there’s no way they’ve suffocated already.

���Where are you?” Ultraviolet shouts through her rebreather. “It’s okay, I’m here to help!”

A muffled “we’re in he—” that shatters into a fit of coughs. Ultraviolet follows the voice, hopping over debris and ducking into hallways until she reaches it — the door to a small broom closet. She yanks it open, revealing three people packed together with ropes.

“It’s okay,” Ultraviolet promises. “Just— just hold still. I’ll get you out of here, alright?”

She pools energy in her palm until it fizzes into a flickering ball of bright violet light. “This won’t hurt, I’ve just gotta get rid of the—” Zap! The ropes fall to the floor with a thud, charred. “—Ropes. Okay. That’s good. I didn’t burn anyone, did I?”

Two heads shake. The shortest person — god, is that a kid? — slumps to the side, head lolling. Ultraviolet catches him by the shoulders and tries to steady, but he’s unconscious. She pulls him into a fireman’s carry. “Come on,” she says to the others. “This way. I’ll lead you out — just make sure to keep up.”

The hostages follow behind Ultraviolet, stumbling and choking. She wishes she had three more rebreathers, and really wishes she could give them hers — but that wouldn’t do anything other than lose them their guide. She leads them through the rubble until they’re at the window, hanging open. She kicks the screen door apart and shifts the kid into her arms, holding him out into the frigid night air.

“Starstorm! I’ve got three more!” Ultraviolet shouts.

“Toss them this way! I’ll—” Starstorm’s response drowns out, muffled by cracks and rumbles. A crash nearby, and the sound of broken glass. This place is falling apart — Ultraviolet needs to get these people out fast. Hopefully they’re the last ones. First, she throws the kid — close enough for Starstorm to grab him.

“Okay, who’s next?” Ultraviolet pants.

“We— kh— have to jump… out a window?” One gapes, yanking her collar up to her mouth. The other steps forward, allowing Ultraviolet to grab her around the waist and hoist her out.

“I’m gonna let go now, okay?” Ultraviolet looses her grip. “Don’t worry, my teammates are down there — they won’t let you hit the ground.”

The hostage nods. Ultraviolet drops her. Now, for the last one…

“Wait—” A strangled cough seizes her body, and she doubles over, backing away. “Wait, I— I don’t— isn’t there another—”

“Sorry, but you can’t stay here and there’s really no other way out. The doors are blocked, and I’m definitely not strong enough to move the rubble. So, just—”

A chunk of the ceiling slams through the floor. The hostage flinches and springs away, ducking behind a pillar — which, by the way, has seen better days. Ultraviolet steps towards the hostage. “Come on, please. It’s— it’s getting really dangerous, you can see that. We need to get out.”

“No, I’m— I’m sorry, I just… there has to be… another way out,” the hostage chokes.

Ultraviolet sighs. “No, just — come on!”

CrRrrkKk…

Ultraviolet freezes stiff. Her eyes dart up, where a giant gaping crack pierces the ceiling. The hostage follows her gaze and her eyes widen. The ceiling breaks again, a heavy snap that bites at Ultraviolet’s ears. She lunges forward, shoving the hostage out of the way before—

The side of her rebreather smashes into her jaw, pressed harder by the slam of the ceiling onto her back. The pain strikes instantly, crashing over her and ripping, pulsing, destroying. She cries out. Gasps and shudders. Tears well up in her eyes and threaten to stream.

“Oh god,” whimpers the hostage.

Right. The hostage.

“T-take… take my… rebreather.” Talking’s never been this hard. “Put… it on. Maybe, nnh… maybe the other… team is… still downstairs…”

“What about you?” She gasps.

“I’ll.. ghk… be… fine.” It’s true. Ultraviolet will be fine — she will, won’t she? She’s always fine. No matter what happens, the others always come for her and she’s always fine.

Gingerly, the hostage’s fingers close around the edges of the rebreather. It unbuckles and slides away from her face. She braces herself for what comes next — breathing is about to get even more difficult than it already is.

The smoke tastes sharp and gritty, smothering and stinging at the back of her throat and stabbing at her sinuses. She shuts her eyes against another throb of pain running up her spine. So heavy. Everything is so… heavy.

The hostage is gone. Hopefully off to find Moonshine — god, Moonshine had better not have already left.

She glances at the window. Sabitra… Sabitra is shouting something.

It’s okay. They’ll come for her. All she has to do is make it.

[whump-ohmy]

Whump Intro!

Hello there! My name is Harley (she/her), your new local whump writer, exclusively on tumblr, soon coming to ao3 :D I've liked whump since I could remember and way before I even had a name to put to it, and I have been lurking here for a while now. But the time for crawling out of the shadows and writing my own things has come!

I'm doing the Bad Things Happen Bingo and so far, I have one prompt fill up, and three more written ones sitting in my folder and waiting to be edited. Tags for it: #my writing #bad things happen bingo

I am still really new to actually interacting in this community and writing things, so I don't really know exactly how things work but hopefully this will turn out well :) --- Some tropes I love:

- Lady whump (I really, really just want some women in my fiction) - Hurt AND comfort - Fantasy / medieval whump - Nonhuman characters - Defiant whumpees - Touch-starved - Torture; whipping, beating, stress positions, etc. Tropes that are meh / I don't really like:

- BBU (occasionally I do circle back to it, but it's not really my thing) - Hurt no comfort - Medical whump - Lab whump - Carewhumper Squicks:

- Extreme gore - Eye / teeth injuries ---

Other things I'm working on:

I also have 30k of a completed series sitting in my folder though it needs a LOT of editing before I post it. Here's a quick overview of it for those interested:

A thief and assassin unable to leave her occupation and bound to the whims of a cruel and powerful earl, is captured after she is given false information. To her surprise, she is freed though the consequences for failing her mission soon prove to be almost worse than death. In the end, the person who saves her is one who she had expected would be amongst those cheering the most for her death.

If anyone would like to beta for this or knows where I could find a beta, I'd really appreciate it! I'm terrible at editing and a second perspective would be really nice.

[whump-ohmy]

Tied to a Chair

My first fill for the BTH bingo! And my first piece of whump writing I've published at all actually. This is fairly short, but it was really fun to write. I've already got three other prompt fills written too, I just need to edit them.

Summary: Hero is captured by Supervillain to be used as ransom and tortured.

WC: 1,692 TW's: Swearing, broken bones, blood

@badthingshappenbingo

---

Hero tried to pull herself away but was pushed into the ground by a heavy boot pressing down on her back. Hero tried to twist back and grab Henchman's leg, but was harshly twisted and slammed into the ground again. Hero's breath caught in her throat when Henchman twisted her injured arm.

The rest of the villains were closing in on her. She breathed heavily, warm blood seeping through her fingers. There was nowhere to go. No time to call for help. Supervillain gestured to the person to let go of her and held her down, twisting her arms behind her back. Hands probed at lining of her shirt and the cuffs of her sleeves.

"Get the fuck away from me," Hero said.

"Ah, there it is," Supervillain held out a tiny device. With a swoop of fear in her gut, Hero realized it was her tracker device which reported her location to the hero headquarters.

"How did you know that was there?" she asked, mouth dry.

"Trade secret," Supervillain smirked and she flung the tracker onto a rooftop. Hero's heart sank.

"Fuck you," Hero said emphatically.

Supervillain tsked. "What a mouth you have. Be a little more grateful. We aren't even killing you. Well, we have been trying to capture you for months now—wouldn't want to waste so much time and effort after all."

Her vision was starting to spin and she felt like her strength was slipping like sand through her fingers.

"You want me to be fucking grateful for not killing m—" Hero let out a choked off scream as a boot pressed down on her injured leg.

"Be quiet," Supervillain hissed and turned to the others. "Come on, let's get our lovely Hero out of here before reinforcements come."

Hero barely heard Supervillain's words. The wound in her leg was still bleeding and her fractured arm was as good as useless. She couldn't fight against all of them and with her tracker not on her when would her teammates manage to find her? It couldn't be— They held a much closer eye on Supervillain than she would know; it couldn't be too hard to find her even without the tracker. She wondered when they would even notice. She wasn't the most... popular member of the group but surely someone would notice that she hadn't come back or that her tracker wasn't moving soon enough?

When the other villains bent down to tie her arms, it only took one twist of her fractured arm to make it all too much and send the last strand of her mind floating into unconsciousness.

When Hero awoke, the first thing she noticed was the her entire body felt like absolute, total, beaten up trash. The second things that she noticed was that, strangely, she was sitting in a chair. Hero tried to move her arms and was abruptly jolted awake at the searing pain in her left arm.

"Oh good," Supervillain's voice smoothly said. "You're awake. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to get you up myself."

Hero's head snapped up at Supervillain's voice. Her heart beat wildly and she tried to adjust to the bright light in her face. It seemed that she was tied to a heavy chair with both her arms and legs tied to it. There were two bright, portable lights focused on her in an otherwise fairly dark room. Supervillain was standing in front of her and behind were two other people, fiddling with the lighting.

"Where am I?" Hero snarled. "What do you want from me?"

Supervillain's lips twitched in amusement.  She wasn't wearing her usual gear and seemed to be comfortable in this... basement. Creepy, concrete room. Villainous lair where people were imprisoned. Whatever it was. If that wasn't a bad sign, Hero didn't know what was.

"Come on, you hardly think I'll actually tell you, do you?" Supervillain said. "And really, I'm saddened by how low you think of me even after all this time."

"Oh, I don't just think low of you—"

"Trying to engage me in conversation is such a monumentally dull tactic for trying to stall me while your little team works on rescuing you."

Hero snapped her mouth shut. Supervillain raised her eyebrow as if to say 'really?'.

She shook her head, "I don't know why I would have expected anything more from you, Hero. You and your team are all the same. No imagination whatsoever. However," she grinned. "I will tell you one teeny tiny secret after all. Your team won't find you. Not ever. And do you know why? They aren't just wondering where to find you, they are... shall we say, being mislead and actively searching for you in the wrong place. By the time they've realized what utter fools they've been, it will be far too late. That is if they ever realize. See, I have quite an efficient way of getting them to believe false information; there's a traitor in the team."

Hero's mind raced. No. Everyone on that team relied on each other, trusted each other and there had been a traitor all along? But... But who? Who would betray them? How could they have missed someone working for Supervillain?

"Why are you telling me this?" fell out of her mouth.

"How should I say this... I don't expect you to ever be able to blab. And your face when you heard that was just so fun. It's almost a shame you won't be able to relay that back to Superhero. Oh, how I'd love to see their face when they hear that. Although how they'd look when they get your photos is not a bad trade-off."

Hero's mind was still spinning. Her arm and thigh throbbed fiercely and she cast her mind around for possible way of escape while she talked.

"What the fuck do you mean 'my photos'? What are you, some kind of creep? And I assure you, I look great in all my photos so there certainly won't be any disappointment on Superhero's—"

Supervillain reached around the back of the chair. A hand squeezed her broken arm and the world scattered into fractured pieces of pain. When her vision, fainted into being again, she realized that the keening and groaning sound were coming from her.

"You're fucking disgusting," Hero panted out.

Supervillain shook her head. "I can't wait to be rid of that mouth. I suppose you'll learn, in time."

Well that sounded ominous as fuck.

"What are you doing?" Hero asked, voice strained.

"I'm not doing anything. My henchmen will be I suppose. In a minute, the camera will arrive here, and we'll finally get the fun officially started."

"You're... You're making a ransom video?"

"Obviously. Don't be stupid."

But why Hero when they could have waited for and caught someone else who had a lot more influence with the heroes or the public? She knew, and had been told many times by the others, that she was objectively the weakest link in the group.

"Why me of all the people?"

"Why not? What, are you worried that no one will come for you? That you have no friends?" For a moment, Supervillain's expression was almost sickeningly sympathetic before melting away into a grin. Hero gritted her teeth. "Well, don't worry! Even if no one on that team gives a single thought towards you, they are still heroes and I still trust them to start running around like chickens with their heads cut off the minute someone sticks a knife into any person, but especially a fellow hero. Not that they'll ever find you, of course. But they'll undoubtedly jump to my demands the second they see your smashed up face."

The reality of her situation truly began to sink in. Supervillain would use her for ransom and to get what they wanted from the heroes, but they won't ever really be able to rescue Hero because of the traitor amidst them. They were all just puppets in Supervillain's show. "Oh."

"Oh','" Supervillain mocked. "Get it now? Finally. Aaaand it's here." A rattling tray was wheeled into the concrete room. There was indeed a camera on top. "Finally! Make sure to smile."

And then the first punch came.

Hero was too winded to say anything useful and spoil the video by saying something useful. Before she could recover, the next punch hit her in the face, and she jerked back, screaming when the ropes tying her to the chair pressed against her fractured arm. She was hit again and again. Once, she was kicked in the sternum hard enough for the whole chair to tip backwards and Hero couldn't contain her screams as the whole weight of herself and the chair landed on her arms. She was sure she heard a second crack from her already broken arm. The chair was pulled up again and Hero wasn't given any time to get her bearings before she was being hit again.

"Don't—" Hero gasped, trying to say the words. "Don't listen to Supervillain. There's a traitor. Just leave me her—"

Another punch to her face snapped her head to the side and Hero gritted her teeth when her fractured arm was jerked again. A hit to her stomach left her wheezing.

"You do realize we can just edit that out, right?" Supervillain said. "Also, big mistake. I'll feel so much better about what's coming next now."

Supervillain dug around the cart with the camera before reappearing triumphantly with a knife. Hero shrank away.

"Oh, come on, don't be scared. You have such," a hand dug into the wound on her leg. Hero screamed. "a nice wound here. What do you say about a matching one? No? Two then? Three? Four? I'll even make it look good."

Her fingers dug painfully into the wound and a raw sound was ripped out of Hero's throat. She struggled against the ropes, but they held tight and Hero couldn't do anything more than wobble the chair slightly.

"You're still not answering? I get to pick then."

And then a knife sliced through her thigh. Hero thrashed, trying to get away, but she stayed helplessly bound to the chair.

"Don— Don't— There's a traitor— They're giving you false—"

The knife twisted. Hero screamed.

"Really? Still?"

A hand dug pressed into one of the bruises from the many hits earlier. The knife continued slowly carving. Hero couldn't stop screaming. Not for a while.

[whump-ohmy]

things that always make me happy: serial commenters. there are three types

1) reading a longfic chapter by chapter, leaving an increasingly emotional comment on every chapter, descends into keysmashes near the end: outstanding

2) read one fic by accident, clicked the author name, now working steadily through the backlog and commenting on everything, I wake up to an AO3 inbox full of enthusiasm: precious beyond words

3) the longterm serial commenter whose comment begins with I don’t even know this fandom but because they have followed me from somewhere else: stunning. humbling. magical.

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Being a whump writer means having to find a new way to say “it hurts” over and over again.

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Weirdly specific image in my head with no context:

Two whumpees, curled up together, clinging to each other with a sign nearby reading “Each sold separately.”

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hello whump community, today I put forward for your consideration:

that horrible unwell feeling you get when you're sleep deprived. headaches, stomach aches, feeling cold and disoriented

that's all

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thinking abt a whumpee who tries to escape with the help of a rescuer and gets to the most important part of their escape (overcoming physical barriers, sneaking out without triggering alarms, etc) and makes a slight mistake, and for a split second they just think "well, this is finally it" and are fully okay with it if they die as a result of their mistake.

and then they realize that the escape is actually still going as planned and they choose to put a pin in the realization that they came to terms with their own imminent death so quickly.

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An injured character begging and pleading (or trying bravely, though not entirely successfully, not to, and to mask their need) for pain relief but they've already been given as much as they can safely have for the time-being and they simply have to endure in the interim as their companions are limited to purely physical means of managing or soothing their pain- warm compresses, or ice packs; massaging around the area, or stroking their hair soothingly; distracting them with conversation or reading to them; adjusting their position, propping them up with pillows; giving them a hand to hold and squeeze- wishing all the while they could do more or magically take the pain away/on themselves.

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A character struggling to hold an injured character down so that another can tend to their wounds, going from restraining them with just firmly-grasped hands, maybe only to the affected limb, to leaning more of their weight down upon them, to fully laying across the struggling, bucking, writhing character to pin them to the surface they're laying on with their full weight, pressing them into the mattress or dirt or boards, digging in a shoulder or knee for extra leverage, fighting to hold them still to prevent further injury and allow the other tending character to work.

[whump-ohmy]

Reblog if people can always jump in your ask with random whump questions!

(Not even all big questions. Things like. 'Poison or drugs?' Or something random like that! Interaction!)

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drifting in and out of consciousness throughout a journey, blinking eyes open and shut to fragmented sights of familiar scenery, wincing at bumps in the road or starts and stops as they go. someone's steadying them, maybe, putting a guarding hand to hold them upright ahead of them on a horse or next to them in a wagon or car seat. sun glinting in their eyes, perhaps, or streetlamps flickering past, faint beyond their closed eyelids. almost home now.

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i see you were/are doing a flower whump game👀???

If you haven't done them already maybe Larkspur or Queen Anne's Lace?? (definitely biased as these are my favs symbolism/folk tale wise lol)

Yep! I did larkspur right here! (And if my symbolism isn’t the ones you were thinking of, I’d love to hear the ones you have! Folk tales and symbolism are my exact jam)

Queen Anne’s Lace

Queen Anne’s lace means “haven.”

- this puts me immediately in mind of one of my FAVORITE whump concepts, a safe house or sanctuary for whumpees.

- it also puts me in mind of one of my other favorite whump concepts, which is when Whumpee has a little hidey-hole they squirrel away in.

- going off the first idea a bit, a whumpee who has a safe space and is then ripped out of it by Whumper.

[whump-ohmy]

The Wandering Ends - Part II: On Death's Door

AN: The title doesn't fully fit, but I couldn't figure a different one out. But, it's time to meet one of my favorite god concepts of all time

Previous/First Part - Next - Master Post

Warnings: recovery whump, cleaning stitches, semi-conscious, struggling to sit, difficulty speaking

----

The mortal groaned as she awoke. Her muscles were stiff from the wound, bandages only making it worse. She didn't recognize where she was, but it was undoubtedly safer here than her previous circumstances.

She braced herself and tried to prop herself up on an elbow. Her vision blurred and she grew faint. The vague figure of a young man came into sight, supporting her torso while slowly trying to lower her back to the bed.

"Stay still, you may undo the stitches." His voice broke through the fog, gentle but still making sure she followed directions, "You're lucky to be alive right now."

The mortal laid back into the covers, trying see the man clearly. She could feel him checking her bandages with practiced hands, moving with clear purpose. He had shoulder length brown hair pulled back into a short ponytail, revealing a gentle, focuesed expression.

He eventually knelt to look her in the eyes, "Do you think you can try talking for me?"

She nodded, momentarily struggling to form syllables, but eventually getting out "Where am I?"

He watched her face, worry crossing his own brow, "You were nearly killed as a human sacrifice, but Peace brought you here for the purpose of healing. You were unconscious for almost a week. This is the temple of Death, and I'm one of his blessed. My name is Osiris."

She was surprised. Had Peace really brought her to the best healers in all of the continent? And to a blessed follower no less?

"Can you tell me your name?"

She coughed and struggled to catch her breath for a moment but eventually got out, "Calian Hale."

"Calian," he said it, visibly intrigued by it, "I'm going to help you sit up. It's going to hurt, but I need you to check your wound. Getting an infection so close to the heart would be fatal."

Calian was reluctant, heart already pounding in her ears as Osiris aided in rolling to her back. She was exhausted, worn out from the stab wound in her back and the effort it took to breathe. So sitting up was a task she was not prepared for.

Osiris was helpful and he looked sympathetic, making sure she had pillows to lean forward into. He moved back into her sight, checking her eyes and pulse before looking up, "It is fully up to you, but may I sit behind you so I can get a better angle on your wound?"

Calian nodded, struggling to stay conscious as her vision faded in and out. She was shaking but did her best to supress it, not wanting to bring these people more trouble. Nails digging into the pillows, she cringed against the pain, gritting her teeth.

Osiris placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, "I'm going to clean it. It's going to hurt like Pain himself. Nobody will bother us here if you yell, but just make sure you stay still. Okay?"

Calian wished she was still passed out, maybe she could've avoided all of this, "Yeah."

Osiris gathered himself. He preferred caring for those who were unconscious, finding it easier to aid them when they were not in so much pain. He had cleaned the site before. It was bruised and generally raw, making for an unpleasant sight. He took a deep breath and started cleaning around her stitches.

Calian was in so much pain she barely processed anything else. She didn't know whether she made noise or not. All she knew was the misery of surviving an event in which death would have been more merciful.

She found herself leaning into Osiris's arm holding her chest, breathing heavily as bandages were wrapped once more around her torso. Calian felt weak. She was undoubtedly a strong person, working as a deck hand for a major trading vessel for years. But now she has been reduced to this? It is embarrassing.

Osiris wrapped a cloak around her shoulders, "You can sleep if you need. Death may come check on you himself, but I will tell him to try not to awake you. If you need anything, there's a rope right there," he gestured to the wall beside her bed where a rope leading to the ceiling hung, "It will ring for somebody to come aid you."

Calian gave him a thumbs up, not wanting to lift her head from the pillows.

Osiris nodded, leaving her to attempt to sleep once more.

----

Taglist: @tildeathiwillwrite @mellowwhumps @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @crimsons-whump-pile @whumperofworlds

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10 Non-Lethal Injuries to Add Pain to Your Writing

New Part: 10 Lethal Injury Ideas

If you need a simple way to make your characters feel pain, here are some ideas: 

1. Sprained Ankle

A common injury that can severely limit mobility. This is useful because your characters will have to experience a mild struggle and adapt their plans to their new lack of mobiliy. Perfect to add tension to a chase scene.

2. Rib Contusion

A painful bruise on the ribs can make breathing difficult, helping you sneak in those ragged wheezes during a fight scene. Could also be used for something sport-related! It's impactful enough to leave a lingering pain but not enough to hinder their overall movement.

3. Concussions

This common brain injury can lead to confusion, dizziness, and mood swings, affecting a character’s judgment heavily. It can also cause mild amnesia.

I enjoy using concussions when you need another character to subtly take over the fight/scene, it's an easy way to switch POVs. You could also use it if you need a 'cute' recovery moment with A and B.

4. Fractured Finger

A broken finger can complicate tasks that require fine motor skills. This would be perfect for characters like artists, writers, etc. Or, a fighter who brushes it off as nothing till they try to throw a punch and are hit with pain.

5. Road Rash

Road rash is an abrasion caused by friction. Aka scraping skin. The raw, painful sting resulting from a fall can be a quick but effective way to add pain to your writing. Tip: it's great if you need a mild injury for a child.

6. Shoulder Dislocation

This injury can be excruciating and often leads to an inability to use one arm, forcing characters to confront their limitations while adding urgency to their situation. Good for torture scenes.

7. Deep Laceration

A deep laceration is a cut that requires stitches. As someone who got stitches as a kid, they really aren't that bad! A 2-3 inch wound (in length) provides just enough pain and blood to add that dramatic flair to your writing while not severely deterring your character.

This is also a great wound to look back on since it often scars. Note: the deeper and wider the cut the worse your character's condition. Don't give them a 5 inch deep gash and call that mild.

8. Burns

Whether from fire, chemicals, or hot surfaces, burns can cause intense suffering and lingering trauma. Like the previous injury, the lasting physical and emotional trauma of a burn is a great wound for characters to look back on.

If you want to explore writing burns, read here.

9. Pulled Muscle

This can create ongoing pain and restrict movement, offering a window to force your character to lean on another. Note: I personally use muscle related injuries when I want to focus more on the pain and sprains to focus on a lack of mobility.

10. Tendonitis

Inflammation of a tendon can cause chronic pain and limit a character's ability to perform tasks they usually take for granted. When exploring tendonitis make sure you research well as this can easily turn into a more severe injury.

This is a quick, brief list of ideas to provide writers inspiration. Since it is a shorter blog, I have not covered the injuries in detail. This is inspiration, not a thorough guide. Happy writing! :)

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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Whump Prompt #188

Hero and Villain Prompt

One appears at the other’s doorstep, battered and drugged, confused and frantic.

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So, I know it's common to see the hero at the villain's doorstep asking for help, but what if the roles were reversed?

The villain is at the hero's doorstep, angry (maybe bleeding), ready to report this run-of-the-mill other hero breaking the strict code of the heroes they just encountered.

this took me an absolutely disgusting amount of time to post. and i am ashamed.

"What happened to you?"

The shadows monopolizing the villain's vision make a slow retreat, eventually clearing to reveal the hero standing in front of them. The villain looks down at their abdomen, which is stained crimson and oozing a worrying amount of blood. A helpless sound wrenches its way out of their throat.

They blink dazedly and try to come to terms with the sight before them. "What are you doing here?" The villain asks, their voice sounding slightly unsteady. They fall to the side and manage to catch themself on the side of the building, pressing their free hand to the wall and praying their knees don't crumple from under them. Spirals are running across their vision and sending blurry tears streaming down their face.

"This is my house," the hero answers, their brows furrowed, "What happened?"

Everything comes flooding back to them in a brief and heavy onslaught: the rookie hero, their fight, the lightning-fast swipe of a knife sinking into their skin. The villain takes a shuddering breath. "Genesis happened," they manage to respond. Ordinarily, they'd take a moment to internally cringe at the name. But they can't move past the pain-filled static overtaking their mind right now.

"The rookie?" The hero asks.

"The one and only," the villain mutters darkly. Admittedly, their adrenaline is beginning to die down—leaving room for pain and exhaustion to take over. "They seemed to have, ah, missed the memo. The, you know, rule against stabbing." Their breathing is growing rushed and labored. It's more difficult for them to piece their words together.

"Right," the hero frowns, genuine concern on their face. The villain almost wants to look behind them, certain that they're not the one provoking that sentiment within their enemy. "Well, let's get you inside." The villain's body takes that as a sign to collapse beneath them, and they narrowly avoid a collision with the ground. Thankfully, the hero supports them at the last moment—guiding the villain to lean against them. Their enemy leads them through a fuzzy-looking house—surely that's just the villain's vision acting up—until they're in a nondescript bedroom. The hero guides them to sit on the bed and lean back into a somewhat upright sitting position.

"What else happened?" The hero asks, as they open the closet and evidently grab first-aid supplies. When they return, they glance at the villain expectantly.

Something in the hero's earnest and sincere expression makes the villain laugh. "I got my ass handed to me," they chuckle somewhat hysterically. This remark must alert the hero to something, because understanding passes over their face and they press a firm, cool hand to the villain's forehead once more. The frown on the hero's face only seems to deepen. When the villain blinks, they see their enemy's lips begin to droop and melt right off their face. A strange, panicked sound crawls out of the villain's lips. The hero looks down at them with a truly worried expression.

"Hey-" the villain tries to say. The word falls to dust in the air as their tongue promptly glues itself to the roof of their mouth. They can't seem to speak, regardless of how badly they want to. The hero's expression is turning even more worried than before—a notion the villain truly hadn't thought possible. They try to speak, to reassure their enemy that they're fine, but they can't. The villain lets out a rather embarrassing, weak sound as pain cascades down their abdomen and sends needles down their legs. Something about this isn't right.

The hero is tugging at their shirt, yanking it up to free their abdomen. A sarcastic remark falls flat on the villain’s tongue. They watch as the hero’s face falls and something unnervingly close to fear sets in. The villain can’t say they’ve ever seen that look on their enemy’s face. "Shit," the hero hisses. Yet another abnormality—the hero never swears. "Shit! You didn't tell me the knife was poisoned."

At this point, the villain's vision is swirling in a dizzying array of colors. Surely the hero's compassion and concern for them is a part of a poison-induced hallucination. Surely the villain is going to wake up in a defaced alley somewhere, bleeding out and staring up at the night sky with burning eyes.

“Hang in there, come on." Everything is blurry and muddled. The villain's skin is on fire and they weakly try to push themself up, only for the hero to shove them back down. “Don't move too much.” From there, their vision seems to stutter like an old-fashioned camera. A dark curtain falls over their eyes and rises again, revealing the hero hunched over them with a look of concentration on their face.

"This is going to hurt." The hero warns them, before reaching down and ripping them apart. Even the villain's fever-addled mind knows that whatever the hero is doing is supposed to help, but that doesn't dismiss the flames stitching their limbs together. When they blink blearily, they see the hero withdrawing their hand — which is overtaken with a dark crimson. Even with the bone-deep knowledge that the hero has never once truly hurt them, the villain's fear is tight in their chest.

A damp towel is pressed to their forehead and the villain sighs in relief, not realizing that sweat has been beading down their skin. They're shivering and boiling at the same time, forced to nearly seep into the mattress beneath them in a puddle of blood and sweat. Despite the horrible sensation scraping through their ribs, the terror striking at their heart, and the hero's rather loud exclamations urging them to remain awake, their eyelids slip shut.

________

When the villain wakes, it takes them approximately two seconds to comprehend what's happening and form a plan: RUN. They're going to be killed otherwise. Pain knits them together, but they push themself up to a sitting position with a pained hiss through gritted teeth and swing their legs around the side of the bed. The villain can barely bend their arms and legs, let alone walk—but somehow, through their newfound adrenaline, they get off the bed and to their feet. From there, it's an indescribably painful stumble towards the door and through the hall. They're not being particularly quiet, but they don't have the spare energy to commit to anything other than moving as quickly as possible.

Their clumsy attempt eventually takes them through to the living room; before the villain can take another step, they're falling to the ground. They manage to catch themself on the coffee table and soften the blow, but their collision still hurts like hell.

Then the absolute last person they want to see in this condition strides out of the hallway, freezing in place and staring down at them in disbelief. "What-?" The hero exclaims, breaking the distance between them and crouching down to help them to their feet. "You need to sit down!" The hero maintains, guiding them towards the sofa.

The villain forgets that they're supposed to be resisting, for a long moment. The sofa is surprisingly comfortable and they have to remind themself not to let their guard down. "Let me go." The villain then demands.

"I will," the hero promises. The look in their eyes is disgustingly sincere. The villain nearly vomits. Something burns at the back of their throat. "But you have to heal first, you stubborn idiot."

"I don't trust you." The villain blurts out. Typically, they wouldn't say something like that when in such a precarious situation. The hero could easily toss them down the steps and leave them to meet an excruciatingly slow end. There must be lingering traces of poison in their system... or maybe they just can't think very clearly through the pain.

The hero blinks at them, looking entirely unsurprised. They then turn around and promptly walk away. The villain stares after them in utter shock, surprised that their remark provoked that strong of a reaction. It isn't until the hero is walking back into the living room a few minutes later that the villain realizes their departure was a bit more tactical.

Worse, the hero doesn't return empty-handed—they're carrying a giant pile of glinting metal. The villain squints, their vision clearing to show the hero holding a humongous pile of weapons. The hero steps over to the carpet and promptly drops everything in their hands, so it falls at the villain's feet. "There," the hero says, taking a step backwards to prove they're not going to make a grab for a weapon. "That's every weapon I have in the house. Happy?"

The villain stares down at the pile in disbelief, before reaching out and taking a sharp dagger. They press a shaking finger to the edge, ensuring it's sharp, before staring at their enemy. "That was stupid of you." They drop the dagger onto the cushion next to them, deciding to keep it for later.

"It may have been," the hero acquiesces, their hands on their hips. They don't look the least bit concerned and it irks the villain more than they can explain. "But you need to stay put or you'll exacerbate your injuries."

The villain stares at them for a long moment, still entirely perplexed by this strange turn of events. Does the hero trust them? Surely not. This is probably just some flimsy show of pride... right?

The hero's voice breaks through the tense, momentary silence. "I'm making breakfast." They announce. "I'll be back when it's ready." With that, they leave the villain to their confusion.

The villain sits on the hero's sofa in silence, weapons of all kinds scattered around the ground within reach. One thought refuses to leave their mind: they've never felt so powerless.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

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