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requests: open

[em-writes-stuff]

Intro Post and all That

Hello all! I try to write semi-often but sometimes life gets in the way and I don’t get around to it. Requests are almost always open, but I won’t post it right away, I schedule my writing for like once a week usually

any and all replies will come from my main blog  ( @theonlythingimfuckingisstupid ) 

Rules | Prompts | Main Blog | Masterpost |  Oc’s (main story) | Current Writing Challenge | Bad Things Happen Bingo Card

[em-writes-stuff]

"Please don't cry" | beg for forgiveness

whumptober day 1

characters: villain, superhero, unnamed crowd

warnings: captivity, non-con touching, public whump

550 words

a/n: this one kinda got away from me a bit, i had to write it over a few different writing sessions and kinda lost the plot each time, so i hope it flows alright :)

~

Superhero bounces on the balls of his feet and peeks around the velvet curtain. He turns, huffs excitedly and flaps his hands at his sides.

"There's quite the turnout tonight!" He says, almost squealing. He turns on his heel and takes a half-step closer to Villain. Cupping her face with his hands, he smiles brightly and raises his eyebrows. "Are you ready?"

Villain tries to pull her face out of his clammy hands, but the ropes holding her arms above her head don't allow for it. She swallows thickly and screws her eyes shut, "Please just let me go."

"Oh," Superhero coos, wiping a tear from her cheek. "Please don't cry. You'll make your mascara run."

"I'm sorry I worked with Supervillain, please-" Villain sniffles and shakes her head, "Please, I don't-"

"Oh hush," Superhero interrupts, striking the side of her face with a firm slap. Villain gasps softly and bites her tongue. "This is happening, there's nothing you can do to stop it."

A spotlight clicks on and Superhero straightens. He dons a performative smile just as the curtains pull apart, exposing the pair of them to nearly a dozen faces. spread throughout a small auditorium, Villain almost recognizes.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" He shouts out to the small audience. "Thank you all for joining me today!"

Villain scans the crowd, letting Superhero's words turn to static in the back of her mind. Everyone avoids eye contact, but they're all looking at her.

Hands tied above her head, turned purple from the lack of bloodflow. An overly ornate dress Superhero had stuffed her into. Makeup that he painted all over her, covering up the bruises that he'd left.

Villain shakes her head and screws her eyes shut, tuning back into what Superhero was saying.

"-tonight! We ravage, feast, let out the terrible that has been locked away since last year. Tonight's volunteer, Villain-" he gestures to Villain and caresses her cheek with the back of his hand- "Who was caught working with Supervillain. And we all know what that means…" He trails off as the audience explodes into cheers.

He turns to Villain and, just for a second, his smile turns sinister. "Ready?"

Villain chews on her lip and stares out into the crowd, terrified by the bloodlust in their eyes.

The rope creaks and her arms lower, just a few inches. She stumbles, the rope no longer holding her upright and Superhero chuckles softly.

"Come on up!" He shouts, "No need for neat and orderly, I just ask that she stays in one piece! We have a busy week ahead of us."

"What-" Villain cuts herself off, watching as they stand and rush to the stage. They climb onto it and run up to her, "Please-"

She cries, tears stinging her eyes as they rip the fabric of the dress, tearing it off of her.

"Stop!" She sobs, stepping back away from the hand trailing along her arm. "Please, stop!" the rope goes taut and a pair of arms wraps around her, holding her on her tiptoes, arms pulled out in front of her.

A scratchy beard rubs on the side of her face, "Hold still."

The arms wrap tighter around her and she whimpers, screwing her eyes shut and ignoring the pairs of hands running along her body.

[thephilosophersapprentice]

Send me an ask with the first sentence of a fanfic and I’ll write the next five.

Saw this on @resting-meme-face‘s blog and wanted to try it.

[em-writes-stuff]

amusement park + (my attempt at) role reversal

day two of whumptober

638 words

warnings: character death, ambush, bleeding out

~

Caretaker smiles at Whumpee from the roller coaster seat as the bar lowers onto his lap. He waves excitedly to her and looks and starts talking to the person next to him, “This is my first time one this one, I’m trying to convince my friend that it’s not terrifying.” he turns his head and his smile falls. 

“Hey, Caretaker.” Whumper’s voice is icily chill and it sends shivers down Caretaker’s spine. “Didn’t think you’d see me again?” 

Caretaker shakes his head and scrambles to lift up the bar to the seat, but the coaster starts moving. 

“You’re supposed to be in prison!” Caretaker says, voice rising in panic. “How are you here?” 

He smiles cruelly and points to where Whumpee stands, “I had a little help.” 

One of the people standing around Whumpee stares up at them and smiles. She takes a step closer to Whumpee and wraps her arm around him, he snaps his attention to her and cries out. 

Whumper slams his fist on the bar and pulls Caretaker’s attention back to him, “You won’t find  him in time.” 

The coaster flips over and twists, turning Caretaker’s stomach over. He screams, fear rising in his throat as he grips the handlebar. Bile fills his mouth and he swallows it back down as the coaster slows. 

Caretaker stares back at the ground, ignoring Whumper’s eyes boring into him. He searches around where Whumpee was for any sign of him, but there’s nothing. No glimpse of his hair, no blur from his shirt, nothing. 

Caretaker squeezes his hands, nails digging into the heel of his hand until blood starts to bead out from under them. He stares at Whumper and grabs him by the collar. 

“Where the hell is he?” he spits, twisting the fabric of the shirt until it pulls Whumper closer to him. 

Whumper chuckles callously and shakes his head. He looks at his watch and then back at Caretaker, “You’re already too late.” 

The bar unlatches and Caretaker flies out of his seat, running into the crowd. He skids to a stop in front of the group next in line and pulls his phone out, pulling up a picture of Whumpee. 

“Did you see where he went?” 

He walks down the line, shoving the phone in their faces until one of them nods and points to the parking lot. Caretaker shouts a thanks as he runs through the thick crowd, pushing people out of his way. 

The overhead lights shine into the parking lot, illuminating the hundreds of cars parked for the fair. He shouts out, “Whumpee! Whumpee where are you?” 

He runs down the rows of cars, dropping to the ground every few rows to check the ground. He calls out again, desperation crawling into his voice, “Whumpee! I’m looking for you! Where are…”

He trails off, something catching his eye. 

His feet hurt from running, but he runs anyway. He runs to the shining puddle growing larger by the second right on the edge of the parking lot. The lights reflect in it, emphasizing the red color. 

Caretaker falls to his knees and collapses forward, catching himself on his forearms. 

He crawls forward, the toes of his shoes dragging on the asphalt. The knees of his jeans soak the blood up, the fabric wicking it up from the ground. 

Whumpee lays in front of Caretaker, breathing shallow and eyes dull. Caretaker sobs and pulls him into his lap, “I’m so sorry.” 

Whumpee shivers, his entire body shakes as the blood slowly drains from his body. 

Caretaker pulls him up until their foreheads are touching and he can feel Whumpee’s breath on his chin, “I’m so, so sorry. I never should have left you.” 

Whumpee’s breath stops, his entire body goes limp and Caretaker collapses on top of him, sobs overtaking his body.

[em-writes-stuff]

race against the clock + search party

334 words

day one of whumptober!

warnings: uhhh, idk?

~

“Whumpee!”Someone’s voice rings out, echoing through the thick trees. 

Whumpee startles awake and someone else calls out, farther away than the first. “Whumpee!” 

He opens his eyes as more people call his name. He can hear their footsteps crunching leaves and snapping twigs with each step. He tries to answer them, but his voice doesn’t come. 

“Whumpee!” 

He tries to speak again, this time just a whisper, but still no luck. His throat is dry and every breath feels like he’s inhaling sand, but he still tries to shout. His lips crack, blood trickling out from the torn flesh as he tries to scream. 

There are people having their own, private conversations Whumpee can hear as they pass by him, talking about school, work, friends, and partners. How they know Whumpee, know they hope he’s alright, how he probably ran away. That one hurts. 

“Whumpee!” 

His hands are tied behind his back, he can’t feel his fingers. Small slivers of moonlight shine on him and he stares up. The jagged top of a hollowed out tree-trunk can be seen, barely made out in the low light. 

“Whumpee!” 

The footsteps around him start to recede, all he can hear are people’s muted voices now. Tears well in his eyes, slowly blurring his vision of the stars. He sobs, chest heaving as he imagines everyone passing him by. 

“Whumpee.”

The voices have gotten less hopeful, less enthusiastic, they’ve already accepted that they won’t find him. He wants to scream, to break through the tree bark and hold his hands above his head as he shouts at them. Scolding them for giving up on him so soon, for acting like he’d left them behind. 

“Whumpee?” 

A chill runs down his spine as a pair of eyes peers through a hole in the trunk. His blood runs cold and he quiets his breathing. 

Whumper inches closer to the tree trunk and smiles, “It’s you.” 

He looks around and marks the tree. “I’ll be back for you later.”

[writing-prompt-s]

When the zombie apocalypse came, you were prepared. What you weren’t prepared for was how quickly it ended.

[em-writes-stuff]

It’s been five months and my garden is finally producing tomatoes. I’ve been waiting. I toss them in my harvesting basket and toss a few overripe ones to my chickens. They eat them up before I’m done sorting through the plants. There are zombies outside my perimeter ever day. They’re not trying to get in, mostly they amble around and bump into each other.

It’s been six months and I’ve baked so much zucchini bread I think I’ll be tired of it for the rest of my life. My chickens don’t eat the tomatoes anymore and I’ve started to venture outside my fence. The zombies don’t react to me, but I offer a few scraps every time I leave-just in case they want to know what I’m doing.

It’s been a year and I’m so lonely. I dug the radio out of my storage room and tried to find a working station, but all I got was static. I put the radio out in the coop, my chickens seem to like the noise. The zombies don’t seem to mind it either. They lounge around just outside my fence and hum along with the static. I wonder how long it’ll take for them to get bored of it.

It’s winter again and I have more than enough rations to get me through. The radio stopped working, but the zombies still hum like they did when it worked. Sometimes, I feel like they’re trying to talk to me, but it’s been thirteen months since I’ve talked to anyone so I’m probably making it up.

It’s spring again and everything is growing nicely. I don’t think the zombies like to be rained on so I build them a small shelter with sheet metal from my weapons shed. They liked to watch me build it, even tried to help me with it but it ended with me accidentally hammering a nail into one of them, so I established a no-zombie zone around me when I have the hammer.

The zombies started to talk-for real this time. Just little phrases they picked up from me. They talk to my chickens and each other, even sometimes to me. I can’t help but smile when I hear one of them chitter, “Looks like you had a good night!” When I walk out of the house and hand over a few soft cucumbers. It’s still spring, just eighteen months since the first zombie made the news.

I wake up and pick my oldest, still acceptable to eat watermelon, and cut it open. One half goes to my chickens and the other goes to the zombies in a large bowl. They gather around it and each try a piece. One of them shows me their teeth, a gesture I’ve started to see as a smile since most of their lips have rotted away, and takes another cube from the bowl. “Gooooood stuff,” one of them says, mashing the melon into their teeth. The juice runs down her chin and soaks the faded, tattered, purple dress it has on.

“I’m glad you like it!” I say, turning into my garden. I harvest a few sunflower heads and throw a few to my chickens, fully expecting them to sit there for a few days. One of the zombies reaches his hand through the fence and opens his mouth. His bright yellow shirt has faded to a mellow mustard, stained with tomato juice, dirt, and your everyday, run of the mill zombie fluids.

“Wanna bite?” He asks, wagging his fingers. I nod and pick one of the heads up to pass through the fence. He takes it and offers it to the others around him, “Wanna bite?” He asks them, picking at the leaves.

Something whistles through the air and my friend with the watermelon soaked dress falls onto the ground. Everyone around her scatters and the trees surrounding them splinter from being hit. They shout to each other, “Diva down! Run for the hills!” One of them, the one in green overalls with patchy red hair, stares at me.

I look around for who was shooting and see a few men walk out of the trees, armed to the teeth with weapons I don’t know the names of.

“Ma'am?” One of them asks, stepping on the hem of the purple dress. “What’s your name?”

“You killed her,” I say.

He takes another step and something cracks under his foot. He looks down and lifts his foot up from her rib cage. “It was going to kill you.”

I shake my head and take a step away from my fence, “I don’t know where you’ve been, but my zombies-my friends-aren’t dangerous. I want you to leave.”

Green Overalls walks out from behind the tree with her hands over its head. “Wanna see?” he asks, advancing on the armed man.

He raises his gun and fires without a second thought. It falls to the floor, teeth shooting out of his mouth.

Grey Pants-formerly White Pants-lumbers out into the clearing and bends down over Green Overalls. She pulls her into his lap and cradles him.

“I want you to leave!” I shout. “This is my private property and I do not consent to you being here!”

Grey Pants looks up. She gurgles, because his throat is decaying, “Leave!”

He shoots, and it falls on top of Green Overalls.

He looks over his shoulder and someone nearly two feet taller than me walks out from where he came, “Ma'am, we’re going to have to ask you to come with us. Your mental state is questionable and we can’t trust that you’re not infected.”

The tall man walks up to my gate and reaches his arm over. He undoes the latch and pushes the gate open. I back away until my back hits the greenhouse.

“Don’t make this hard,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “It’s been a really long day.”

I hang my head and let him lead me out of my home. Away from my chickens, my garden, and my friends.

Yellow Shirt steps in front of us and puts a hand up, “You’re being silly!” she garbles.

The tall man shoots him in the face and he falls on me, flesh sloughing off onto me. I scramble backward and fall onto my ass, Yellow Shirt’s corpse moving with me.

It’s been twenty months and all the zombies are gone. They didn’t need to be, we could have lived with them. It’s been twenty months and there’s a new branch of the military that trapes through people’s houses in search of zombies to kill.

[writing-prompt-s]

When the zombie apocalypse came, you were prepared. What you weren’t prepared for was how quickly it ended.

[em-writes-stuff]

It's been five months and my garden is finally producing tomatoes. I've been waiting. I toss them in my harvesting basket and toss a few overripe ones to my chickens. They eat them up before I'm done sorting through the plants. There are zombies outside my perimeter ever day. They're not trying to get in, mostly they amble around and bump into each other.

It's been six months and I've baked so much zucchini bread I think I'll be tired of it for the rest of my life. My chickens don't eat the tomatoes anymore and I've started to venture outside my fence. The zombies don't react to me, but I offer a few scraps every time I leave-just in case they want to know what I'm doing.

It's been a year and I'm so lonely. I dug the radio out of my storage room and tried to find a working station, but all I got was static. I put the radio out in the coop, my chickens seem to like the noise. The zombies don't seem to mind it either. They lounge around just outside my fence and hum along with the static. I wonder how long it'll take for them to get bored of it.

It's winter again and I have more than enough rations to get me through. The radio stopped working, but the zombies still hum like they did when it worked. Sometimes, I feel like they're trying to talk to me, but it's been thirteen months since I've talked to anyone so I'm probably making it up.

It's spring again and everything is growing nicely. I don't think the zombies like to be rained on so I build them a small shelter with sheet metal from my weapons shed. They liked to watch me build it, even tried to help me with it but it ended with me accidentally hammering a nail into one of them, so I established a no-zombie zone around me when I have the hammer.

The zombies started to talk-for real this time. Just little phrases they picked up from me. They talk to my chickens and each other, even sometimes to me. I can't help but smile when I hear one of them chitter, "Looks like you had a good night!" When I walk out of the house and hand over a few soft cucumbers. It's still spring, just eighteen months since the first zombie made the news.

I wake up and pick my oldest, still acceptable to eat watermelon, and cut it open. One half goes to my chickens and the other goes to the zombies in a large bowl. They gather around it and each try a piece. One of them shows me their teeth, a gesture I've started to see as a smile since most of their lips have rotted away, and takes another cube from the bowl. "Gooooood stuff," one of them says, mashing the melon into their teeth. The juice runs down her chin and soaks the faded, tattered, purple dress it has on.

"I'm glad you like it!" I say, turning into my garden. I harvest a few sunflower heads and throw a few to my chickens, fully expecting them to sit there for a few days. One of the zombies reaches his hand through the fence and opens his mouth. His bright yellow shirt has faded to a mellow mustard, stained with tomato juice, dirt, and your everyday, run of the mill zombie fluids.

"Wanna bite?" He asks, wagging his fingers. I nod and pick one of the heads up to pass through the fence. He takes it and offers it to the others around him, "Wanna bite?" He asks them, picking at the leaves.

Something whistles through the air and my friend with the watermelon soaked dress falls onto the ground. Everyone around her scatters and the trees surrounding them splinter from being hit. They shout to each other, "Diva down! Run for the hills!" One of them, the one in green overalls with patchy red hair, stares at me.

I look around for who was shooting and see a few men walk out of the trees, armed to the teeth with weapons I don't know the names of.

"Ma'am?" One of them asks, stepping on the hem of the purple dress. "What's your name?"

"You killed her," I say.

He takes another step and something cracks under his foot. He looks down and lifts his foot up from her rib cage. "It was going to kill you."

I shake my head and take a step away from my fence, "I don't know where you've been, but my zombies-my friends-aren't dangerous. I want you to leave."

Green Overalls walks out from behind the tree with her hands over its head. "Wanna see?" he asks, advancing on the armed man.

He raises his gun and fires without a second thought. It falls to the floor, teeth shooting out of his mouth.

Grey Pants-formerly White Pants-lumbers out into the clearing and bends down over Green Overalls. She pulls her into his lap and cradles him.

"I want you to leave!" I shout. "This is my private property and I do not consent to you being here!"

Grey Pants looks up. She gurgles, because his throat is decaying, "Leave!"

He shoots, and it falls on top of Green Overalls.

He looks over his shoulder and someone nearly two feet taller than me walks out from where he came, "Ma'am, we're going to have to ask you to come with us. Your mental state is questionable and we can't trust that you're not infected."

The tall man walks up to my gate and reaches his arm over. He undoes the latch and pushes the gate open. I back away until my back hits the greenhouse.

"Don't make this hard," he says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "It's been a really long day."

I hang my head and let him lead me out of my home. Away from my chickens, my garden, and my friends.

Yellow Shirt steps in front of us and puts a hand up, "You're being silly!" she garbles.

The tall man shoots him in the face and he falls on me, flesh sloughing off onto me. I scramble backward and fall onto my ass, Yellow Shirt's corpse moving with me.

It's been twenty months and all the zombies are gone. They didn't need to be, we could have lived with them. It's been twenty months and there's a new branch of the military that trapes through people's houses in search of zombies to kill.

[em-writes-stuff]

The Knight of the Undying Forest

a/n: I voted in a poll and was inspired, have this as a result

no fandom, no named characters, will be part of a story of mine eventually

1197 words

warnings: fighting, dying, rotting corpse

~

Every year, there are dozens of men who venture into the Undying Forest to chop down the tree in its center. And I won’t lie, I’m one of them. The famed tree is over one thousand years old. It’s an ecosystem of its own with species that don’t exist anywhere else. It’s a privilege to be able to see it, imagine what it feels like to be the one to take it down. 

Nearly tripping over a root, I fall through a curtain of ivy and finally lay eyes on it. It’s at least ten meters in diameter at its base. The wood is a light white, with a light blue hue. The leaves fall on the ground, going from a lemony yellow to a blush pink. The colors clash with the rest of the forest, the smell of rotting barely distracting from the smell of warm dirt coming from the tree. 

I step onto the circle of leaves surrounding the tree and a chill runs down my spine. I wrap my cloak tightly around myself and hold onto my saw’s handle. There is nothing in this world that will stop me from felling this tree. 

Something moves against the bark of the tree. How didn’t I see it before? A knight in black armour makes itself seen. 

That might stop me. 

The knight draws its blade and stands ready, sword held high and ready to strike. I hold my saw, wishing I hadn’t sprung for it and had brought my axe instead. 

The knight stops in its tracks and nods to something behind me. 

“Arm yourself,” it says, lowering its sword. “I will not fight an unarmed man.” 

Behind me, there’s a rotting corpse still holding onto its weapon. Gingerly, I walk up to it and try to coax the sword from its hands. “Come on, just give it up. You don’t need it anymore.” 

The blade slides out of the corpse’s hands with ease and I stumble backwards, falling on my ass. I rush to my feet and raise my blade. 

The knight copies me, it takes a few steps back into the circle of leaves and closes its eyes for a moment. 

Before I can react, the knight rushes up to me. I dodge out of the way and the sword hits the air where my chest was a mere second ago. I exhale sharply and raise the sword above my head, swinging it at its shoulder, hoping it’s not much different from an axe. 

It is. 

The blade misses its shoulder completely and buries itself into the ground. I pull at the hilt of the sword and beg it to release from the dirt, tearing the muscles in my shoulders and back. 

It frees itself from the ground and the knight attacks again. It knicks my leg and I fall to the ground, clutching my leg with one hand and barely holding onto my blade with the other. The knight stands over me, its black armour blocking out any light the sun was casting through the thick blanket of leaves above us. I hold the blade up, using it to shield my face and the knight tilts its head at me. 

With the hand I was using to nurse my wound, I pull the knight’s ankle and throw off its balance. It falls chest first into my sword. 

The knight groans and rolls off of me, the sword twisting in its chest. It screams in pain and the entire forest reacts to it. Bird song turns into frantic cawing, feathers flapping anxiously as the knight writhes on the ground. All the rodents’ feet can be heard running over branches and scurrying away from the tree. 

The knight laughs. 

I roll onto my side and stare at it quizzically as it laughs. 

“Incredible,” the knight says, lifting its head to level with mine. “Even at my strongest, you manage to beat me. With a dirty trick!” 

Its head lowers back onto the ground and I stand up. “Why is that funny?” 

“Oh,” says the knight, taking a few breaths. “I guess it’s not. I’ve just…fought thousands of men trying to kill her and none have been successful. Because they’ve all been honorable and noble knights. They pulled no tricks, fought with valor and died with honor. But you!” the black knight laughs and throws its head back, “You are going to hate what’s going to happen next.” 

I stumble back as the knight’s head falls. I reach for my swor-the sword and hold it to the knight’s throat. 

It crumbles. 

Without warning, the knight’s skin sinks into itself and turns to dust. The armour falls into itself, no longer held in place by a body. I stare at the armour, then at the knight’s sword and drop mine-I drop the sword in my hand. It’s not mine; I stole it from a corpse. 

The knight’s sword glimmers in the sun, the black metal turning into shimmering purple and green. It calls to me, draws me close to it. So close I can smell my blood on it. I reach out to it and the knight’s words ring in my head. 

“You are going to hate what’s going to happen next.” 

I pull my hand back and tuck it in my belt. Suddenly more aware of the forest around me, I’m hyper aware of every little movement. Every deer hoof snapping a twig is some magical forest-dwelling creature coming to kill me. 

There’s time to bring the entire forest to an end. My saw is just outside the circle of leaves. I need to hurry. 

I try to run outside the circle, but the leaves extend with me. The saw is cast backward and no matter how far I stretch my arm out, it’s always just out of reach. 

“Fuck!” I shout, stomping my foot into the ground. 

In defeat, I lay on the leaves. The scent of warm dirt engulfs me and I close my eyes for just a second. 

When I open them, the black knight’s sword is next to me. I roll away from it and jump to my feet. My hand reaches toward the sword, palm open and ready to embrace the hilt of the weapon. 

I wrap my fingers around it and my entire body lights up with pain. I hold on tight to the sword as if it’s the only thing keeping me alive- maybe it is. 

The pain dies down and I open my eyes. The armour envelops me, sculpting to my body. I stare in amazement as the legs lengthen, the chest gets smaller and the arms become less defined. Is that what I look like? 

The helmet. 

It hovers in front of me, suspended in the air by magic. I nod, I don’t know why. 

The neck of the helmet widens enough to fit over my head and lowers until I can look out of the visor. The metal sculps tightly around my throat and welds itself to the rest of my suit. I hold the sword in my hand and place it in its scabbard. 

Then I fall to the ground and begin to dream.

[em-writes-stuff]

The Knight of the Undying Forest

a/n: I voted in a poll and was inspired, have this as a result

no fandom, no named characters, will be part of a story of mine eventually

1197 words

warnings: fighting, dying, rotting corpse

~

Every year, there are dozens of men who venture into the Undying Forest to chop down the tree in its center. And I won’t lie, I’m one of them. The famed tree is over one thousand years old. It’s an ecosystem of its own with species that don’t exist anywhere else. It’s a privilege to be able to see it, imagine what it feels like to be the one to take it down. 

Nearly tripping over a root, I fall through a curtain of ivy and finally lay eyes on it. It’s at least ten meters in diameter at its base. The wood is a light white, with a light blue hue. The leaves fall on the ground, going from a lemony yellow to a blush pink. The colors clash with the rest of the forest, the smell of rotting barely distracting from the smell of warm dirt coming from the tree. 

I step onto the circle of leaves surrounding the tree and a chill runs down my spine. I wrap my cloak tightly around myself and hold onto my saw’s handle. There is nothing in this world that will stop me from felling this tree. 

Something moves against the bark of the tree. How didn’t I see it before? A knight in black armour makes itself seen. 

That might stop me. 

The knight draws its blade and stands ready, sword held high and ready to strike. I hold my saw, wishing I hadn’t sprung for it and had brought my axe instead. 

The knight stops in its tracks and nods to something behind me. 

“Arm yourself,” it says, lowering its sword. “I will not fight an unarmed man.” 

Behind me, there’s a rotting corpse still holding onto its weapon. Gingerly, I walk up to it and try to coax the sword from its hands. “Come on, just give it up. You don’t need it anymore.” 

The blade slides out of the corpse’s hands with ease and I stumble backwards, falling on my ass. I rush to my feet and raise my blade. 

The knight copies me, it takes a few steps back into the circle of leaves and closes its eyes for a moment. 

Before I can react, the knight rushes up to me. I dodge out of the way and the sword hits the air where my chest was a mere second ago. I exhale sharply and raise the sword above my head, swinging it at its shoulder, hoping it’s not much different from an axe. 

It is. 

The blade misses its shoulder completely and buries itself into the ground. I pull at the hilt of the sword and beg it to release from the dirt, tearing the muscles in my shoulders and back. 

It frees itself from the ground and the knight attacks again. It knicks my leg and I fall to the ground, clutching my leg with one hand and barely holding onto my blade with the other. The knight stands over me, its black armour blocking out any light the sun was casting through the thick blanket of leaves above us. I hold the blade up, using it to shield my face and the knight tilts its head at me. 

With the hand I was using to nurse my wound, I pull the knight’s ankle and throw off its balance. It falls chest first into my sword. 

The knight groans and rolls off of me, the sword twisting in its chest. It screams in pain and the entire forest reacts to it. Bird song turns into frantic cawing, feathers flapping anxiously as the knight writhes on the ground. All the rodents’ feet can be heard running over branches and scurrying away from the tree. 

The knight laughs. 

I roll onto my side and stare at it quizzically as it laughs. 

“Incredible,” the knight says, lifting its head to level with mine. “Even at my strongest, you manage to beat me. With a dirty trick!” 

Its head lowers back onto the ground and I stand up. “Why is that funny?” 

“Oh,” says the knight, taking a few breaths. “I guess it’s not. I’ve just…fought thousands of men trying to kill her and none have been successful. Because they’ve all been honorable and noble knights. They pulled no tricks, fought with valor and died with honor. But you!” the black knight laughs and throws its head back, “You are going to hate what’s going to happen next.” 

I stumble back as the knight’s head falls. I reach for my swor-the sword and hold it to the knight’s throat. 

It crumbles. 

Without warning, the knight’s skin sinks into itself and turns to dust. The armour falls into itself, no longer held in place by a body. I stare at the armour, then at the knight’s sword and drop mine-I drop the sword in my hand. It’s not mine; I stole it from a corpse. 

The knight’s sword glimmers in the sun, the black metal turning into shimmering purple and green. It calls to me, draws me close to it. So close I can smell my blood on it. I reach out to it and the knight’s words ring in my head. 

“You are going to hate what’s going to happen next.” 

I pull my hand back and tuck it in my belt. Suddenly more aware of the forest around me, I’m hyper aware of every little movement. Every deer hoof snapping a twig is some magical forest-dwelling creature coming to kill me. 

There’s time to bring the entire forest to an end. My saw is just outside the circle of leaves. I need to hurry. 

I try to run outside the circle, but the leaves extend with me. The saw is cast backward and no matter how far I stretch my arm out, it’s always just out of reach. 

“Fuck!” I shout, stomping my foot into the ground. 

In defeat, I lay on the leaves. The scent of warm dirt engulfs me and I close my eyes for just a second. 

When I open them, the black knight’s sword is next to me. I roll away from it and jump to my feet. My hand reaches toward the sword, palm open and ready to embrace the hilt of the weapon. 

I wrap my fingers around it and my entire body lights up with pain. I hold on tight to the sword as if it’s the only thing keeping me alive- maybe it is. 

The pain dies down and I open my eyes. The armour envelops me, sculpting to my body. I stare in amazement as the legs lengthen, the chest gets smaller and the arms become less defined. Is that what I look like? 

The helmet. 

It hovers in front of me, suspended in the air by magic. I nod, I don’t know why. 

The neck of the helmet widens enough to fit over my head and lowers until I can look out of the visor. The metal sculps tightly around my throat and welds itself to the rest of my suit. I hold the sword in my hand and place it in its scabbard. 

Then I fall to the ground and begin to dream.

[theonlythingimfuckingisstupid]

if you ever find a typo in my fics im so so sorry. you see i have this issue where the words leave my brain and i never edit. its chronic and theres no cure :(

[em-writes-stuff]

presumed dead

day 23 of @febuwhump

supervillain, hero, villain, and medic

1887 words

warnings: captivity, cursing, stress positions, implied past torture/abuse

~

Supervillain leans against the wall, arms crossed in front of her chest. She rolls her eyes and kicks off the wall, walking toward Hero. 

His head hangs low to his chest, if not for the rope tied around his stomach, he would be slumped over. His legs and arms are bound to the chair, keeping him from moving. 

Supervillain grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls his head back, forcing him to look up at her. His eyes open and he yelps in pain. 

“What the hell?” He shouts, trying to free himself from his bindings. Supervillain pulls down harder on his hair, pulling his attention to her. He stills and smiles, “Oh, it’s just you.” 

She lets go of his hair and takes a step back. “You know why you’re here.” 

“Oh, I thought you’d gotten over him!” Hero says, slouching forward slightly. “Tell me it’s not about Villain.” 

“You need to pay for what you did to him,” she says, anger dripping like venom from her voice. 

Hero chuckles and looks at her, his head tilted. “Don’t you mean what I’ve been doing to him?” 

Supervillain’s face falls, she takes a step back and shakes her head. “What are you talking about?” 

“Oh my god, you didn’t know.” Hero says. “How could you have known? I mean, I told you I was going to kill him. I told you I had killed him. I even sent you a fucking finger in the mail. But I thought somehow you knew.” 

He laughs and runs his tongue along his teeth. Supervillain shakes her head, “You-” she exhales sharply. “What? You didn’t-” 

Hero cuts her off, throwing his head back laughing. “I didn’t kill him!” he extends his neck as far as it goes and whispers. “He’s been with me the whole fucking time. And boy, can he scream.” 

Supervillain sniffs and swallows the sobs swelling in her throat. “Where is he?” 

“There’s an abandoned building…just off the highway about a mile and a half from here,” Hero says with a smile. “If you hurry, you might make it before…well, you’ll see.” 

Supervillain runs out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She looks at the map tacked up on the wall and finds the building Hero was talking about. 

She runs to the kitchen and grabs the first-aid kit out from under the sink and runs outside. She dials a number on her phone as she turns the key in her car. 

“Hello?” the voice on the other end says. 

“Medic?” she asks, voice shaking. She pulls out of the driveway and turns onto the highway. 

“Supervillain?” 

“I need you. Um…Villain needs you.” 

There’s a moment of silence and Medic shuffles around, sending static through the line. “Villain’s dead, Supervillain. Remember?” 

She shakes her head, “No, he’s not. I thought- I thought he was but…just. Please meet me at my place. Please. I- this is important to me.” 

She waits, silently begging them to say something. 

Medic takes a deep breath, exhaling heavily. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Please hurry.” she begs, hanging up and stepping out of her car. 

The warehouse stands in front of her, boarded up. She runs around to the back of the building and peels a board off from the siding. She ducks inside and bites her bottom lip. 

The air is musty with a tinge of iron floating around. Light filters in through holes in the roof, illuminating the dust in the air. A gas mask sits on a table, mostly clear of dust. 

It catches Supervillain’s eye and she walks up to it, covering her mouth with the collar of her shirt. Behind the table, there are dozens of pictures tacked up on the wall. 

They’re all of Villain in different positions, each more painful looking than the last. 

In each picture, his body is contorted, ropes tied around his legs and arms, holding them in impossible positions. Bile rises in her throat. 

She holds a fist to her mouth and swallows thickly, turning from the pictures. 

In one corner of the building, she sees a lumpy mattress. She hurries over to it and sees Villain’s hair poking out from under a blanket. It’s longer, matted, and caked in blood and dirt, but it’s Villain’s hair. 

She looks up and blinks, trying to fight the tears threatening to run down her cheeks. 

A whimper pulls her attention and she drops to her knees. “Villain?” 

She takes the blanket off of him and gasps. 

His right leg is tied to itself, calf flush with his hamstring. His left foot is tied to his right thigh and his knee is secured against his chest with a bow, making it so that he’s lying with his back curled. His right arm is locked under the bend in his right leg, wrist tied to a rope around his neck. His left arm is tucked under his back, knuckles against his spine. 

“Villain, it’s me, it’s Supervillain. I’m gonna get you untied.” 

“No,” he shakes his head weakly and points at something with his right hand. “Loo…”

She searches for what he’s pointing at and freezes when she sees it. 

A bag of sand is spilling onto the ground, slowly loosening a rope tied to another bag, significantly lighter than the emptying bag. If the smaller bag falls onto the pressure plate underneath it, it’ll trigger a gun trained on Villain. 

Supervillain stands up and grabs the rope right above the small bag of sand. She cuts the rope with her dagger and sets it on the ground. She turns the gun away from Villain and goes back over to him. 

“Ok, I took care of it, let’s get you out of here, yeah?” she nods to herself and falls to her knees, unsure of where to start. 

Villain makes a pained sound, “Left arm. Start…with my left.” 

She nods and gently coaxes his arm out from under him. The blood rushes back into his arm, turning it pink. Villain mutters and sucks air in through his teeth. 

“What next?” she asks. 

“Other arm,” he says, gasping. 

She cuts the rope connecting his arm to the rope around his neck and sets it on the mattress at his side. She works her dagger blade under the rope around his neck and starts to saw away at it, forcing herself to ignore the bruises along his neck and collarbones. She unties the bow keeping his knee against his chest. 

He falls back, head hitting a thinner spot in the mattress. He moans in pain and turns his head away from Supervillain. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should’ve-”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts. “Just get me out of here.” 

She cuts the rope keeping his foot flat against his right thigh and his leg flops onto the mattress, blood flooding to the areas that the rope was. 

Finally, she cuts the rope binding his right leg together. Villain breathes sharply and shakes his head, trying to keep the leg from moving. 

“What are you doing?” 

All he can manage is, “Hurts.” 

“We have to go, Villain. Sidekick has to know Hero’s missing by now." She pulls him up and he tries to stand next to her, but collapses. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, tears welling in his eyes. “I- I can’t stand.” 

She shakes her head and loops an arm around his waist. “Totally fine, I’ll help you.” 

He whimpers and tries to stand up, but as soon as he puts weight on his foot, he falls again. 

“Ok,” Supervillain says, thinking. “I’ll just carry you.” 

He nods and she puts an arm at the middle of his back and the back of his knees. She lifts him and carries him to where she came in at. 

She looks at the hole she made, then at Villain, and back at the hole. “Any ideas?” 

Villain nods and squeezes his eyes shut. “Put me down…” he exhales shakily and opens his eyes. “Then go through, and drag me out.” 

“Right.” Supervillain says. She nods once and…does nothing. 

“Supervillain.” Villain says. “Hurry please.” 

“Right.” she says again. 

This time, she squats and puts Villain on the ground close to the exit. She ducks through the hole and reaches for Villain’s hands. He flinches and pulls his hands away from her. 

“Sorry.” He rushes. He puts his hands back where they were and lets her grab his wrists. 

She drags him through the hole and picks him back up, holding him close against her. He curls against her, face buried against her shirt. 

“Ok,” she says, stopping. “I’m going to put you in the backseat and drive home. Alright?” 

All he can manage is a nod. 

On the ride back to Supervillain’s house, Villain slowly stretches his arms and legs, letting the muscles get used to moving again. His eyes stay closed, the bright light of the sun unfamiliar to him after the months he’d spent in the warehouse. 

The familiar bumps in Supervillain’s driveway alert him that they’re almost done driving and he sits up slowly. Supervillain opens his car door and holds her hand out to him. He takes it and she pulls him out of the car, looping her arm around his waist to keep him upright. Medic’s car is in the driveway, door open. 

They jump up from their spot on the porch and rush over to Villain’s side. They fuss over him, checking him over for any serious wounds before pulling away. 

Supervillain unlocks the door and pushes inside, forgetting about her guest. 

Hero cranes his neck to look at who’s at the door. He smiles when he hears three sets of shoes. 

“Aren’t you going to check on me?” He asks, voice booming through the house. “I assume you haven’t forgotten about me.” 

Villain freezes, recognizing the voice instantly. His entire body tenses and he shakes his head. “No.” he stumbles back and his back hits the door. “No, what-what’s he doing here?” 

Supervillain urges him forward, “You don’t have to worry about him, he’s tied up in the hallway. Just…get to the couch so Medic can look over you and I’ll deal with him.” 

She drags him to the couch and sits him down, “I’ll be right back.” 

Villain breathes rapidly, barely keeping upright. “Don’t- don’t let him…”

“I won’t. I promise.” Supervillain interrupts. She disappears into the hallway. 

Medic kneels in front of Villain, unzipping their go-bag on the floor next to them. 

“Hey,” they say, tapping his knee. “Deep breaths. Calm down, you need to trust Supervillain.” 

Villain inhales shakily and nods, he exhales and pulls his legs to his chest. Medic does a quick once-over of him and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. 

“You’re going to be alright, but it’ll take time. Your muscles are…” 

“I’ve been tied up for five months, I’ve known they’re atrophied. As long as I’ll get better.” he says, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. 

They nod, “You’ll have to work hard, and may never get back how you were before, but you’ll be alright.” 

Villain sniffles and tears fall down his cheeks. He wipes them away with the blanket and curls more into himself. Medic zips their bag back up and sits next to him, arm slung over his shoulders. 

[em-writes-stuff]

"you weren't meant to be there"

day 22 of @febuwhump

sidekick and hero

694 words

warnings: gunfire, shot in the leg, cursing

~

Sidekick stumbles out of the building, hands held against her ears. The gunfire in the building is drowned out by ringing in her ears and she leans heavily against a wall. She pants, trying to catch her breath. Shakily, she stands up straight and makes her way to her car. 

She turns the key and turns her phone on and calls Hero. 

“Hello?” he says. 

“Hey, Hero. It’s me. I need you to come pick me up, I’m out of gas.” 

“For sure!” He says. “Where are you?” 

“Turn the news on? Behind the building.” she says, looking out of the window nervously. 

“What buildi-” Hero starts to ask before cutting himself off. “What are you doing there? I told you to stay home today, Sidekick.” 

“You…knew this was going to happen?” Sidekick asks. “How could you know?” 

“That…doesn’t matter right now. I’ll explain everything when I come to get you. Just…stay put and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t move.” he hangs up and Sidekick stares at the screen of her phone. 

She turns the phone off and sets it on the passenger seat. The gunfire still echoes from the building and she puts her hands to her ears again, hoping that it blocks the sound. She squeezes her eyes shut and pulls her legs to her chest. 

A sharp pain shoots through her leg. She grunts in pain and opens her eyes. There’s a bloody hole in her pants. 

“Shit.” she curses. 

There’s not a lot of blood, but it’s enough for Sidekick to feel faint. She takes a deep breath and holds both of her hands over the wound. Blood trickles from around her hand and she looks up at the sky, “Please hurry, Hero.” 

There’s a knock on her window and Sidekick opens the door. 

“Took you long enough.” she says, trying to mask the fear in her voice. 

Hero forces a smile and hooks his arm around her waist. “Let’s get to my car before you berate me?” 

“Careful of my leg, I was shot.” she says, hobbling alongside him. 

“You were shot?!” He says, panic leaching into his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me that on the phone?” 

She opens the car door and slides onto the seat, “I hadn’t noticed yet. Just…help me out of this damn car.” 

Slowly, the pair makes their way to Hero’s car and he sets Sidekick in the passenger seat as gently as he can. She hisses in pain and pulls her leg up to her chest, putting her foot on the dashboard. 

Hero slides into his seat and looks at her, “Come on, really? On the dashboard?”

“It’ll slow the bleeding.” Sidekick snaps back. “Idiot.” 

Hero huffs and drives away, leaving the smoking building behind. 

“How did you know?” Sidekick asks, turning to look at Hero. 

He stares ahead, swerving around news trucks and police cars. Sidekick stares at him, eyes boring into his head. 

“Why were you there? You weren’t meant to be there.” Hero says after a minute. “I told you to stay away today.” 

“Right. Because I always have to listen to you.” she retorts. “How’d you know?”

“I planned it. Villain has always met with everyone who supports him on the same day, same place, same time. The plan was to listen in, nobody was supposed to get hurt.” 

“Thank goodness for those guns they brought then, huh?” she snaps. 

Hero parks the car in the driveway and gets out. He opens the passenger door and helps Sidekick out of the car. “Those were just in case. Nobody was supposed-”

“To get hurt. Yeah, yeah. You said that already.” Sidekick interrupts. “Doesn’t change the fact that dozens of people were killed today.” 

Hero helps her sit down on the couch and calls Medic into the living room. Sidekick props her leg up on the coffee table and pulls a pillow over her stomach. 

Medic flies out of his room and plants himself next to Sidekick. 

“If you’ve got this covered,” Hero says, already turning down the hallway. “I’ll be in my room.”

Medic looks at Sidekick quizzically and she shrugs. “I’ll tell you later.” 

[em-writes-stuff]

unresponsive

day 21 of @febuwhump

villain and hero

1219 words

warnings: past abuse discussed, bruises, cursing, hospital stay mention (not discussed heavily)

a/n: this one kinda got away from me, but oh well? i like it, it's just not that whumpy. anyway, hope you like it!

part one here

~

Villain looks up from his phone and watches a shadow pass his frosted window to the front porch. The figure stands there, frozen. Villain rises from the couch and stuffs his phone in his pocket. He walks over to the door and looks through the peephole. 

Hero stands there, arms wrapped around herself. Villain opens the door and pulls her inside, checking the street for any cars that might have followed her there. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, locking the door. 

She looks through him, barely acknowledging him. 

“Hero, what’s going on?” he says in a soft voice. 

For a few more seconds, they just stand there. Villain trying to calm the worry rising in his chest with every second Hero doesn’t respond. 

Hero chews on the skin inside her cheek, tears welling in her eyes. She finally focuses on Villain and shakes her head, “You were right.” 

Slowly, she unzips her jacket and pulls it down for Villain to see. Her arms are covered in bruises, so is what he can see of the rest of her. 

“Will you help me?” She asks, voice breaking. 

Villain nods, “Of course.” 

He leads her into the living room and sits her down on the couch. She pulls her jacket back over her arms and zips it up. Villain digs through a bin of blankets and tosses one her way, then takes another one out and sets it on the chair next to the couch. 

“Tea?” he asks, already walking to the kitchen. 

She nods, “Yes please.” 

He dips into the kitchen and calls out, “What kind? I’ve got…well how about you just tell me what you like and I’ll bring it over.” 

“Green tea would be great if you’ve got it,” she calls back. 

He rustles through the cabinets and pulls the box out triumphantly, “Green tea: check!” 

He swears he hears her chuckle and he smiles to himself while pouring boiling water into mugs.  Villain sets the mugs on a plate, the tea bags next to them and digs into his cupboard for the sugar. He gets out a few packaged snacks and sets them on the plate and picks it up and brings it into the living room. 

The blanket he tossed onto the chair for himself is on the couch next to Hero now, her eyes dart from him to the cushion, then back to him. He smiles warmly, sets the plate down on the coffee table and plops onto the couch, leaving a cushion between them. 

“I didn’t want to guess on how strong you liked your tea, so I just bought the bag. Take whichever mug you want, I’ll drink whatever. Sugar if you want it, take some snacks, anything you want.” 

Hero smiles and takes the smaller mug. She cups her hands around it and closes her eyes for a second before reaching out and grabbing the tea bag from the plate. She rips the wrapper and dunks it into her mug, swirling it around for a few seconds. 

Villain takes the other mug and does the same with his tea bag, then reaches to grab a package of cookies from the plate.

Villain looks over to her, trying to gauge how to start the conversation. She’s taking a sip of the tea, letting it sit in her mouth before swallowing. He clears his throat and reaches for the remote, “Music?” 

Hero nods, “Sure.” 

He nods and pulls up instrumental music. “This work?” 

She nods again and smiles, “Yeah, thanks.” 

He sets the remote on the coffee table and opens his cookie bag. He offers it to her first, then takes one out when she rejects it. 

“Do…you wanna talk about it?” He asks, wiping the cookie crumbs on his blanket. 

She bites her cheek and shakes her head, “Not right now.” 

Villain shifts into a more comfortable position and nods, “Do you want to talk about anything?” 

She nods, but doesn’t say anything. Villain inhales sharply and sets his mug on his knee. “What about the weather? It’s been crazy lately! I mean- 20’s then 50’s and even the 70’s? What’s up with that? My perennials started to sprout and now I’m afraid they’re gonna freeze next week.” 

Hero chuckles softly and smiles, “Yeah, it’s fucking with my migraines, the pressure change really messes me up.” 

“Migraines suck!” Villain says, leaning forward slightly. “It’s like. Hey do you want to have a constant owch pain in your head? Too bad, here you go!” 

Hero snorts and nods, “Yeah it’s horrible. And it’s so much worse because Superhero wants me to-”

She cuts herself off and looks at her hands, suddenly very interested on the border of the blanket. She bites the inside of her cheek and her brows furrow. She shakes her head and inhales shakily. 

“Yeah, I remember.” Villain says, picking at his fingernails. 

Hero looks up, “What do you mean?” 

He shakes his head, “It was a long time ago…and I’ve changed a lot since then, but I used to be you. Or…I did what you do. I wasn’t you…obviously.” 

“You worked with Superhero?” Hero asks, disbelievingly. 

He nods and takes a deep breath. “I know what he’s like. Used to think that him pushing me was what was best for me…just like you do. But then…” 

He shakes his head and lifts his shirt up, showing off a long, jagged scar along his abdomen. 

“He told me that…everyone fights dirty and I needed to be prepared for it. So he used a piece of broken glass and…” he makes a slicing motion along the length of the scar and drops the shirt, covering the scar once again. 

Hero looks at the floor, “I’m sorry.” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” Villain responds. “Anyway, he told me I couldn’t go to the hospital and had to patch it up myself, because there would be a time where I wouldn’t have the hospital as an option. And naturally, I couldn’t take care of it because I was nineteen…it got infected…and he dropped me off at a hospital. No money, no support, and he pretty much erased my existence.

After a few days in a coma, I figured out he wasn’t worth feeling sad over and I made sure that he could never actually succeed in what he’s been planning.” 

“What’s he been planning?” Hero asks, opening a bag of cookies.

Villain scoffs, “Of course he stopped telling people. He wants to branch out. Cover more cities, get more power. More control. That way he can take over everything. Make it so no one steps out of line, no one can do anything he doesn’t approve of. Of course, that’s not how he says it. He just ‘Wants to be able to keep more people safe.’ And the only way he can do that is by ‘Being able to monitor people who risk the safety of others.’ Which could be anyone, by the way, so he’d have to monitor everyone.” 

Hero shakes her head, “Why hasn’t he…I mean. Why does he let you…y’know? How come-”

“He doesn’t think I’m enough of a threat to kill me.” Villain interrupts. 

She nods to herself, “Is he right?” 

“God I hope not.” Villain says. “Could you imagine? I’ve just been doing all this for no reason?” 

[em-writes-stuff]

truth serum

day 21 of @febuwhump

whumper, caretaker, whumpee

1084 words

warnings: cursing, captive whumpee, recaptured whumpee, drugging, syringe use (not a hospital setting)

~

Caretaker stares at Whumpee, tied up across from her. He’s sleeping, almost peacefully in the chair. His chin rests against his chest and his arms are tied behind the back of the chair, keeping him upright. 

She fights against her own binds, wriggling under the ropes tying her to the arms of the chair. Her feet are bound to the legs of the chair and her chest tied to the back of it. She rocks the chair, almost falling over when the door opens. 

“None of that, Caretaker.” Whumper says, slinking into the room. 

She unrolls a piece of fabric on the table, showing off a large array of tools. 

“What are you doing?” Caretaker asks, eyes darting from the tools to Whumpee. 

Whumper rolls her eyes, “Oh, calm down. This isn’t for him. Not yet at least.'' She walks away from the table and stands in front of Whumpee. “It would be nice if he would wake up though, wouldn’t it?” 

She backhands Whumpee’s cheek, pulling him from his sleep. His eyes fly open, dazed and disorientated.

First, he sees Whumper, standing over him with her hands behind her back, then he sees Caretaker tied up behind her. 

“Let her go!” He shouts, fighting against his restraints. 

Whumper clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “You used to have more respect for me.” 

She shrugs and turns away from him. Caretaker’s eyes follow her back to the table. “It’s fine, I know you’ve done a lot of work to forget all about me. We’ll fix your behavior after a few days, don’t worry.” 

Whumpee shakes his head, seeing the large syringe Whumper picks up from the table. “Don’t…don’t do that. Please.” 

“I just want to get the truth.” she says, walking toward Caretaker. 

For a second, Whumpee relaxes. Whumper wasn’t going to hurt him. She was walking away, she was going to…Caretaker. 

“Stop it!” He shouts, “Stop it! She hasn’t done anything to you!” 

Whumper turns her head, silencing him. “That’s better. Now, you need to shut the fuck up while Caretaker and I chat. Got it?” 

His head hangs, chin hitting his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“He’s always tried to be defiant, but as soon as you remind him who calls the shots, he does whatever you tell him to.” Whumper says, almost fondly. 

Caretaker looks at Whumper, trying to be intimidating, “Let us go.” 

Whumper rolls her eyes and plunges the syringe into Caretaker’s thigh. Caretaker wails in pain, neck straining and fists clenched. The rope across her chest digs into the skin through her shirt, tearing the flesh and drawing blood. 

“Why…are you doing this?” She pants. 

Whumper lets the syringe clatter to the floor and bends down, hands on her knees in front of Caretaker. “We’ll give it a minute to really enter your system then we’ll get started, how does that sound?” 

“Fuck you.” Caretaker spits. 

Whumper clicks her tongue and shakes her head, “So vulgar.” she grabs a fistful of Caretaker’s hair and pulls it, forcing Caretaker to look up at her. “Tell me the truth now, are you ready to start?” 

“No.” Caretaker says, eyes widening. “I don’t want to do this. Make it stop.” 

Whumper lets go of her hair and shakes her head, “I’m afraid I can’t, but don’t worry. The serum is quick acting, it’ll go away in two or three minutes. So let’s get started.” 

“Do you…care about Whumpee?” she asks, standing next to him. 

“Yes.” 

She cups his chin with her hand and pulls his face up to look at Caretaker. “Do you want to keep taking care of him?” 

“No.” Caretaker says, shaking her head frantically. “That’s not what I meant, Whumpee. You have to believe me.” 

“Quiet.” Whumper says. She pulls on Whumpee’s chin, making him look at her. “Did you hear her? She’s on truth serum and she says doesn’t want to keep taking care of you.”  

‘That’s not what I meant!’ Caretaker wants to shout. ‘I want him to get better. Enough so that he can go on his own without needing me!’ but the words don’t come. 

“Tell me, do you want him to live with you anymore?” Whumper asks, running a hand through Whumpee’s hair. 

“No.” she tries to defend herself, to tell him that what she wants doesn’t matter. That if he wants to move out, he can and she’d support him every step of the way, but the words get stuck in her throat. 

A tear wells in Whumpee’s eye. Voice breaking, he asks “Do you want me to go back home with you?” 

“Don’t answer that, it’s a boring question, isn’t it, Caretaker?” Whumper interrupts before she can answer. 

“No.” 

No, it’s not a boring question. Yes, she wants him to go home with her. Yes, she wants to keep taking care of him, yes she wants him to keep living with her. 

“Oh,” Whumper says, pulling away from Whumpee. “Maybe it wasn’t a boring question. Do you want him to stay with me?” She smiles deviously and shakes her head, “That was another silly question, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes.” Caretaker cries. 

Whumpee sobs, leaning forward in his chair. Whumper smirks at Caretaker, pulling Whumpee’s head against her side and patting his back. “I know it’s hard to hear. But you’re a burden to her, so you know it’s best if I let her go and keep you here, right?” 

He nods, “Just let her go. Don’t hurt her, please.” 

Whumper nods, “I wasn’t planning on it. I just needed you to hear her…to make sure you didn’t get any silly ideas about escaping this time. Because now you know how she feels.” 

Whumper pulls away from him, letting his head jerk to the side. She walks up to Caretaker and unties her wrists from the chair, then her ankles. “Let’s get you out of here before anyone realizes you're missing.” she leans in close to her ear and adds, “And before the serum wears off. I don’t want you to say anything to confuse Whumpee.” 

She helps her stand up and leads her out of the room, slamming the door behind them. Caretaker fights against her weakly, “Why would you do that?” 

Whumper shoves her into the back of a van, “I already said. To stop him from getting any silly ideas.” 

She slides the door shut and Caretaker sits there until the door opens again and Whumper pulls her out of the van and throws her on her lawn.  

[em-writes-stuff]

"please don't"

day 20 of @febuwhump

caretaker and whumpee

1095 words

warnings: implied past abuse, young whumpee

~

Caretaker jumps up when someone knocks on the door. She trips over her feet to get to the door and nearly hits her head on the handle when she gets there. She takes a deep breath and looks through the peephole, not expecting her little brother to be standing there in a bundle of thin blankets. 

She unlocks the door and looks at him. His eyes are unfocused, trained somewhere on the ground. Bruises litter his arms, legs, and what she can see of his torso. His hair is caked in mud and the curls that she took so much time to care for are dull and lifeless. His lip is split and his cheekbone bruised. Basically, he looks like he’s been thrown off a cliff. 

“Whumpee?” She asks, taking a step out onto the porch. 

He steps back on reflex, eyes focusing when he looks at her. For a second, he doesn’t recognize her. Then his eyes light with relief and he slumps forward, falling into her arms. “Caretaker.” 

She catches him, hand coming around his back to support him. “What happened?” 

He shakes his head and leans closer to her, arm wrapping tightly around her waist. “I’m fine.” 

“Ok,” she says. “We don’t have to talk about it. Let’s go inside, alright?” He nods and lets her lead him into the house. “Are you hungry? I’ve got a few microwave meals in the freezer or we could order take out.” 

She stops in the living room and peels him off of her, holding him an arms length away. “That blanket is filthy,” she says without thinking. She takes hold of it and tries to unwrap Whumpee from it, not seeing the terror in his face. 

He swats her hand away and pulls it tighter around himself. “Please,” he says, looking at the ground. “Don’t.” 

Caretaker nods and backs away, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

She clears her throat and shifts her feet. “So…dinner?” 

Whumpee looks up from the ground and nods. Caretaker smiles softly and turns into the kitchen. “Ok, I’ve got white cheddar macaroni and cheese or beef ravioli. Which do you want?” 

She walks out of the kitchen, both boxes in hand and holds them out to him. He looks at the boxes and shrugs, “Whichever you don’t want.” 

She laughs and turns the boxes toward her, “I bought them both, so I want both of them.” Whumpee’s face falls and she quickly comes up with a solution. “How about I cook both of them, see which one I want then, and bring the other one out to you. We can eat on the couch like we used to when you’d stay home sick from school? Maybe turn on an old movie?” 

He forces a smile and nods, “That sounds nice.” 

She beams and turns back into the kitchen. “I’ll put these in now. You’ve got enough time to go and change if you want to. I know it’s been a while…but you’ve slimmed down so you might fit in your old clothes again.” 

He stands there for a second before walking down the hallway to his old room. 

There’s dust on the handle when he turns it and the door squeaks open. He walks into his room and turns the lamp on, then turns it off when he sees the dust covering it. The door doesn’t quite close, so he does his best before walking over to the window and opening the blinds, letting the afternoon sun filter in. 

Caretaker tiptoes down the hallway and peeks into Whumpee’s room. He’s standing in front of the window with his eyes closed. He’d dropped the blanket and Caretaker turns around, guilty that she would invade Whumpee’s privacy like that. She takes a deep breath and knocks softly on the door. “Hey, there’s about two minutes left. You almost ready?” She can hear him shuffling around in the room and nods to herself. “Just come out when you’re done, ok? I’ll pull a movie up and be on the couch.” 

There’s a sound of confirmation from him and she turns back down the hallway and into the living room. She picks up the remote and scrolls through the channels before finding something that she and Whumpee used to watch all the time. She clicks on it and turns the volume up. 

The microwave beeps and she hurries into the kitchen to take it out before it beeps again. It burns her hand and she drops it, cursing softly to herself. 

The red sauce splatters all over the floor and nearby cabinets. She curses and picks up the ravioli with her fingers, dropping them back in the bowl. Her fingertips burn by the time she’s done, so she runs her hand under cool water for a minute while she digs through a drawer with the other hand, looking for a washcloth. She runs the cloth under the water and wrings it out in the sink. 

The sauce didn’t have time to dry, so it comes up easily, only staining the rug in front of the sink. She rinses the rag out and hangs it on the faucet, then pulls two forks out of the sink to wash. 

She can hear Whumpee’s footsteps in the living room and yells over to him, “I’m almost done! Just need to wash silverware and I’ll be out! Get comfortable, I think there’s a blanket in the cabinet!” 

He doesn’t respond, but she can hear the cabinet open and something fall out. 

“You ok?” She asks, tilting back to look into the living room. 

Whumpee’s stood in front of the cabinet, eyes locked on whatever fell. He’s in long sleeves and sweatpants, both of which pool around him. 

“Whumpee?” 

His head snaps up to look at her and he nods, “Yeah, just…scared me is all.” 

She smiles and dries the forks off with a towel, then sticks them in the bowls and walks to the living room. 

“You get macaroni tonight.” she says, holding the bowl out to him. “Careful, it’s hot.” 

He takes it and picks up a blanket from the floor. Wrapping it around himself, he sits on the couch and scoots back into the corner of it, knees drawn up to his chest. 

Caretaker looks at him and bites her cheek, debating what to do. She decides to pick up a blanket and sit on the other side of the couch, leg extended so it’s almost touching Whumpee. 

For a second, he stares at it, but then turns his attention back to the food. 

[em-writes-stuff]

too weak to move

day 18 of @febuwhump

whumper, villain, whumpee

711 words

warnings: captive whumpee, tied up, implied torture, torturing for information

part one here

~

“Villain,” someone says, drawing out her name. “It’s time to wake up.” 

She blinks awake, bright lights assault her eyes and she tucks her chin to her shoulder, trying to block it out. She can feel something digging into her wrists and ankles; she's tied to a chair. She mumbles, trying to say something, but the words don’t come. 

“Oh, no need for words right now, dear. Just open your eyes for me.” they say, voice smooth as honey. 

Villain forces her eyes open and she sees Whumper standing over her, their face inches from hers. She tries to pull away, to get away from their hot breath on her face, but she can’t. 

Whumper chuckles, “Good job, just like that.” 

They back away from her, hands clasped behind their back. Villain looks around the room, trying to gather information. “What’s-” 

“Shhh,” Whumper says, putting their finger to their lips. “No talking. You’ll wake him up.” they gesture to a sleeping Whumpee on the other side of the room. 

“Oh god,” Villain breathes. “What did you do to him?” 

Whumpee hangs from the ceiling, wrists high above his head. They’re nearly purple from lack of circulation. His chest looks…lumpy and is covered in bruises, the rest of him looks similar. His feet barely touch a stool, supporting a small amount of his weight. 

Whumper sighs, “I wanted to have a chat with him, but he wasn’t very cooperative. Decided to persuade him a little bit. Maybe now that you’re awake I can get what I want to know, huh?” 

Villain shakes her head, “No, just…let him go. He doesn’t know anything.” 

Whumper rolls their eyes and looks at her, “I know he doesn’t know anything. I also know that you’re not going to turn on Supervillain if I try to get it out of you the typical way. The only way I can think to get the information I need is to use him to get to you.” 

Villain shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to block everything out. “You’re insane.” 

They wrinkle their nose at her and walk over to Whumpee. “Oh, Whumpee. It’s time to wake up.” 

They kick the stool out from under him and he jolts awake. 

He cries out, writhing weakly. “Please…” 

Whumper frowns and shakes their head, “We’ve barely started! Don’t start whining yet.” 

“Stop it,” Villain says, pulling against her binds. “What do you want to know?” 

Whumper smiles and turns to her. “Something small to start, I think. How well does Supervillain know Whumpee?” 

“He- he doesn’t. I mean, I’ve talked about him, but they haven’t met yet.” She stammers. 

Whumper frowns and sighs. “I guess I’ll have to get him here using you then.” 

She forces a laugh. “He won’t care.” 

Whumper tilts their head, “Of course he does. You’re his little pet project. He took you in, trained you, and got you to work for him. He won’t just let you stay here and rot. He’s put too much time and energy into you.” 

She shakes her head, trying to put on a brave face. “I betrayed him. He knows it. As soon as he saw the computer when he woke up, he knew. I’m dead to him.” 

Whumper clicks their tongue and takes a step closer to her. “We’ll have to find out, I guess.” 

Whumpee tries to say something, to pull their attention to him for just a second, but he’s too tired. Even if he could manage a few words, he wouldn’t be able to do anything. 

Whumper waves him off, “Remember, it’s time to be quiet, Whumpee.” 

Whumper takes their phone out of their pocket and turns it on, “Ok, Villain. Big smile now, I’m going to send it to Supervillain.” 

She looks down at the ground, ignoring them. 

“Villain…” Whumper warns. “It’s in your best interest to look at the camera right now.” 

After another few seconds of her ignoring them, they grab a fistful of her hair and pull it, forcing her to look up. They snap the picture, the flash blinding her for a second. 

“There, was that so hard?” they chide, sending the picture to Supervillain. “And now…we wait. I suppose we could have a little fun though, couldn’t we?”

[em-writes-stuff]

hostage situation

day 17 of @febuwhump

villain, whumpee, and whumper

941 words

warnings: drugging, captive whumpee

part two here

~

Villain stares at the clock. Supervillain should be asleep by now. She kicks off the blankets and steps into her shoes while pulling a jacket over her shirt. 

Carefully, she slips out of her room and slinks down the hallway into the office, where Supervillain’s computer sits open. She logs on and plugs a flash drive into the computer. Her leg shakes impatiently and she keeps looking in the hallway like Supervillain would come out of his room any minute and catch her. 

Finally, the computer dings softly and she holds the flash drive in her hand, holding it up to the light of the computer. 

She stuffs it in her pocket and grabs her car keys hanging by the door. 

Quietly, she sneaks down the hallway to the front door and unlocks it, freezing when it clicks louder than she thought it ever had. When there’s no movement from Supervillain’s room, she opens the door and walks to her car. She pulls her phone up and calls the unknown number that had texted her earlier that day. 

“Hello?” the voice on the other end says. 

“I have what you asked for. Where are we meeting?” she says, turning the keys in her car. 

“I’ll text you an address.” 

They hang up before she can respond. She looks at the phone and waits for a text. When it comes through, she puts it in her map and follows the directions there. 

Someone’s silhouette is in the window when she arrives, she takes the keys out of her car and hurries up the driveway. She knocks and the figure shifts. It comes to open the door and Villain is face to face with Whumpee. 

“Whumpee?” she asks. “What are you doing-” 

She cuts herself off, finally seeing the figure behind him. Whumpee’s eyes are wide and his neck has bruises around it. 

He flinches and makes a pained noise, “Do you have it?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it. Here,” she says, digging into her pocket. 

The person behind Whumpee pokes their head out and jerks their head. “Give it to him. Then leave.” 

“No- I’m taking him with me. That was the deal. I get this to you and you let him go.” Villain stammers. 

They laugh, “Honey, you need to re-read that text. I said I wouldn’t kill him. Not that you’d get him back. I think I’ll keep him.” 

All the color drains from Whumpee’s face and he shakes his head, mouthing pleas to Villain. 

“New deal. You let him go and I’ll give you more on Supervillain. More than you could ever ask for. More than anyone else knows.” Villain says, still holding the flash drive out to them. 

Whumpee shakes his head again. He mouths, “Leave. They want you.” 

But Villain isn’t paying attention. 

“I’ll have to think about it. Come inside…show me what you’ve brought me is real, then I’ll decide.” 

Whumpee shakes his head frantically, but stops when his captor hits him on the side of his head. Villain bites the inside of her cheek and nods. 

“Ok, but first I need your name.” 

They roll their eyes. “You can call me Whumper.” Villain blinks in surprise and they laugh. “You were expecting Hero. Or maybe Superhero? I’m not that high ranking. Not yet at least. Come inside, come, come. I’ve got some tea on the stove for us. My computer is slow, so it’ll be a while.” 

Again, Whumpee shakes his head. And again Villain ignores him. She walks inside and Whumper locks the door behind her. They gesture to the hallway and Villain obeys; Whumpee stands next to them, eyes fixed on what they’re doing. They put a finger to their lips and make a shushing sound. 

“Not a sound.” they threaten. 

Before leading Villain into the kitchen, Whumper makes sure that Whumpee’s restraints are tight, then pushes him back onto the couch. They watch him writhe in surprise and fall onto the floor; then meet Villain in the hallway. 

“Where’s Whumpee?” she asks, peering over Whumper’s shoulder. 

“Kitchen’s small.” they say curtly. “This way.” 

They lead her through the hallway, past locked doors and the basement staircase to a small kitchen, barely big enough for the oven and dining table. 

“The flash drive will go in this computer,” They say, turning on a small laptop on the table. “I’ll get it started then pour your cup.” 

Villain leans against the wall and watches them work, typing in a very long password then turning to her. “Do you want sugar?” 

“No.” 

They shrug, “Your loss. I get it fresh from my friend. He smuggles it for me. It’s just…better.” They pour the kettle into two mugs and hand one to the Villain. “Peppermint and eucalyptus. My own blend, it’s supposed to calm the nerves.” 

Villain wrinkles her nose, but takes a sip, then another. “It’s not bad.” 

The computer makes a noise and she sets her mug down on the stove top. Digging the flash drive out of her pocket, she walks over to the table and plugs it in. Whumper hoards the space in front of the computer and makes a show of moving the cursor around on the screen. 

Villain rolls her eyes and goes back to her mug, taking another drink. 

“Ah!” they exclaim. “Finally.” 

Villain’s eyes start to droop and she walks back over to the table, leaning heavily on it to look at the screen. “Ok, you’ve got what you want. And like I said…I’ll get-I’ll get you…more. Let me take…Whumpee- let me take him with me and I’ll come back…” 

She slumps forward, head hitting against the table.