[liliability]

To everyone who still follows me:

I'm doing well and finally got into my dream med school 🎉 I actually miss this account and might start writing again soon

For now I ask you kindly to help me with my college's freshman challenges liking this Instagram photo 💜 My team needs likes to win

[whumping-every-day]

oh fuck! that’s a tasty mental image 😋 ash clumsily, painstakingly, bandaging up callum & easing his pain as much as possible cause he can’t bear to see callum suffer but fully aware that there’s gonna be Consequences for disobeying callum’s explicit fear of his teeth. whatever you do, don’t imagine ash putting the muzzle on HIMSELF so callum groggily enters cell next day & ash immediately kneels at his feet, shaking, head touching stone, hands stretched flat at callum’s boots, anxious mess 😈

hhhHHHHHHH dude. Buddy. My pal. It is not often someone gives me whumperflies with my own characters. So, congratulations!!! This idea swept in and took me for everything I had. 

Warning for needles/stitches/blood/mild gore up ahead! It should also be noted, for those who haven’t followed the last few exchanges, that vampire venom in this universe (from a young vampire) doesn’t turn people, but has pain-numbing qualities! 

-

His hands are covered in blood. There are tears in Ash’s eyes, and an itching in his gums, as he tries again to get the needle through the hunter’s skin. Callum has stopped screaming; now he’s limp, ashen pale as Ash’s clumsy fingers grip the needle.

The hunter is lying on the cot in his room, the third of four renovated cells. Golden hair sticks to Callum’s cheeks and forehead as Ash works. It’s worse like this, when the human is limp and unconscious, because at least when he was conscious and hurting he could tell Ash what to do. 

Continuar lendo

[liliability]

Hey, does anyone have any whumpy comics reccs to read on webtoons?

[deluxewhump]

The Blackmuir Reign

5: “I’m the King. I can do whatever I want.”

Summary: Matteo tells Therrin why he found him slowly dying in a Muirkeep cell. It is not a small secret.

CW: medieval and fantasy whump, royal whump, captivity, power dynamics, captivity, torture, death, implied sexual relationship, poisoning, betrayal, manipulation, hurt/comfort, self-indulgently long chapter ok

-

For two days, Therrin was distracted from his work by thoughts of Matteo upstairs in his bed, sweating out his fever.

He listened at length to his advisor, pored over old accounts with his tax collector. He heard a fisherman complain of a nomad come down from the foothills. He said the man stole his precious and already sparse fish from his nets, and the accused argued it was only so his starving children might see the morning. The people of the river village thought that a poor excuse for thievery and he ought lose a hand. Since loss of life or limb could not be carried out legally without the approval of King or Lord, both parties looked to him for justice.

Therrin retired after nightfall to his chambers, hoping Matteo would be feeling better or at the very least, not worse. He found him sleeping, his forehead cool to the touch.

Continuar lendo

[kirsakarasu]

*shows up several years late to a fandom just to contribute low quality memes* anyways here adsom fandom I thought over the placements for this meme way too much & am still doubting them 😅

[liliability]

@orchidscript

[whumpering-heights]

@octopus-reactivated request "Villain in a blanket", and I felt inspired to draw a scene from one of my personal favourite chapters.

At the mention of Hero, Villain flinched in Sidekick’s hold. “’M scared,” he murmured.   “I know.” said Sidekick.   “”M ti-tired. I’m so tired..” Villain’s voice already started trailing off.   “It’s okay. I got nowhere to be, we can just sit.”  

[deluxewhump]

The Blackmuir Reign

4: No One Is Going To Hurt You

Summary: a short in-between where Therrin has to find a way to remove the shackle on Matteo’s ankle. Matteo, still feverish, misunderstands what is happening to him.

CW: feverish whumpee, restraints, manhandling, misunderstandings, royal whump, fantasy/medieval whump, infection, prisoner whump, fear of amputation, past torture

It was early still on a chill April morning, and Therrin had Matteo wrapped in a fur-lined cloak to ward off the damp. Even so, he shivered in their arms as he and Rudy carried him out of the castle and across the yard.

Snowmelt and foot traffic had turned the yard to intersecting trenches of mud, and long planks had been laid across the worst spots to keep them passable by cart. Rudy and Therrin made an awkward pair, shuffling sideways across the planks in the squelching muck, carrying a barely-conscious Matteo in their arms.

It was possibly the iron manacle on the prisoner’s ankle, the healers agreed, making him stay so sickly. It had chafed and never been allowed to heal, and the skin underneath was red and inflamed like a bad cut. It had to come off, they said, and only then they could hope to treat it.

Therrin would not be responsible for delivering the news to Saxon of his brother’s death a second time.

Matteo whimpered in his fever-sleep when they set him down in the smith’s shop, lying on an unsanded bench.

Therrin clapped Rudy’s shoulder in thanks. They had a shorthand, he and Rudy. Rudy had been with him in the long months spent on horseback and sleeping on frozen ground before the siege. Rudy was a man of few words and flaming red hair, with thick smatterings of freckles on his face and forearms. He was quick with a sword, and he knew all the same southern songs that Therrin did. “Too big to take offense”, Lord Barrman once said of Rudy while they were on the road, “and too noble to give it.”

“This it, Your Grace?” asked the smith, eyeing the shackle with doubt. He was a burly man, black of hair and with deep wrinkles in his forehead and at the sides of his mouth, suggesting ample experience in his graft. Good, Therrin thought.

“I need it gone,” Therrin replied. “It may be contributing to the fever.”

The smith wiped his calloused hands on his apron and examined the rusted shackle that was nearly fused with Matteo’s ankle.

“I’m guessing you wouldn’t be comin’ to me if taking the foot was an option, Sire?”

From the corner of his eye, Therrin saw Rudy’s glance.

“You guess correctly.”

“And if we run clean outta other ideas?” the smith asked.

“I’d ask a second opinion first,” Therrin said cooly. “Begging your pardon.”

“Not at all, Your Grace. Just seeing what we’re getting into. But I’ve got something that will do the trick, I think. The rust is stopping the key being any use, but it weakens the iron. Hold him down? I can’t have him rollin’ off the bench.”

Therrin and Rudy each knelt on the dirt floor and took one of Matteo’s shoulders loosely on either side.

The smith observed several angles before trying anything, standing at Matteo’s feet and then his hip, assessing where he would have the best leverage for his arm, the best grip with the tool.

“Hold him,” he muttered in warning before clamping the iron teeth into the shackle and giving it his first go. The sound was unpleasant, a grinding resistance of metal on metal.

Matteo moaned and his eyes fluttered as if to open. Therrin and Rudy tightened their grips.

“Stay asleep,” Therrin murmured. “Stay under.”

The next inch of work required a wrenching motion of the smiths arm, like he was putting all his weight into the torque of the tool to bite into the rusted shackle. Matteo’s eyes opened and he stiffened, taking in his alarming surroundings like he’d been dropped into an ice lake.

He screamed hoarsely, pulling his foot away from the smith and trying to roll off the bench. Therrin and Rudy held him fast, pressing his shoulder blades back down to the wood. He cried out, frantic, eyes glassy.

The smith cursed and grabbed him by the shin to straighten the leg beck out. He pulled a length of slim rope from his utility belt and wrapped it round the bench, securing Matteo’s leg at the knee. Matteo arched his back, bucking his hips like a wild thing.

“Nonono,” he sobbed. “Don’t do this. Henry…ask my father, he will pay you! Hell give you— whatever you want…anything you… please, what do you want?!” he sobbed. With the rest of his body immobilized, he banged his head back against the bench.

Therrin grabbed a fistful of his hair and held fast. “Shh. No one is going to hurt you, Mattie. Lie still.”

Still, he tried to writhe out of their grips. Rudy adjusted his knee on the ground so he could put his upper body into stabilizing Matteo, using not just his hands but his forearm and upper body to hold him still.

“God, please, stop,” Matteo sobbed, going limp with exhaustion, maybe finally realizing the futility of fighting three stronger men and a coil of rope. “I’ll do anything you ask,” he rasped. “Ask me and I’ll do it, I swear. Don’t do this— don’t do it…I can… I can be good, I— you can cut my hands again, I—I won’t scream…” Feverish eyes fixed on Therrin, bright with tears. “Y-your Grace… please, mercy.”

“No one is cutting anything off of you,” Therrin said gruffly. It was strange to imagine the boy he once knew was the same as the one on this bench, those same eyes, once fearless and proud to the point of snobbish. “We’re taking the shackle off of your foot, Matteo.”

“Don’t take it,” he begged, confused and frightened. “Nonono, I’ll pay you, my— I didn’t kill him… I didn’t…you don’t understand, I can—”

“The iron, Mattie,” he said, and risked letting to of Matteo’s dark hair to cup his cheek in his palm. He held him there, hoping to get through to him. “No one is hurting you. Do you understand? We’re not taking your foot.”

“Please,” Matteo whispered, his cheek hot to the touch. “Therrin.”

“That’s right. It’s just me. It’s alright,” Therrin said. “Lie still, Mattie. We’ve got you. Good boy. Lie still.”

His eyes were closing against his will, like he might drop into sleep again, after all that.

“No one’s going to hurt you,” Therrin promised him. “Close your eyes. You’re alright.”

Matteo’s brows knit in some troubled final thought before slipping back under the pull of his fever.

Rudy looked from Matteo’s face to Therrin. “He trusts you,” he said mildly. An observation.

“He doesn’t trust me as far as he can throw me when he’s lucid,” Therrin muttered. “Thinks I’m going to take him back down there and put him on the rack.”

“Perhaps it’s more telling that he trusts you in this state,” he mused. “If not in his lucid one.”

The smith gave a short snap of a powerful arm, and the last of the shackle fell open, revealing the infected skin beneath it.

They carried Matteo back to the castle, and Rudy helped lay him back in the King’s chambers among the furs.

-

Taglist; @highwaywhump , @melancholy-in-the-morning , @quirkykayleetam , @whumpsday , @redwhump , @myhusbandsasemni , @chai-and-cherries , @whumpthisway , @top-hat-aye , @foggy-whump, @whumpcreations, @mylifeisonthebookshelf , @inpainandsuffering , @extrabitterbrain , @pumpkin-spice-whump , @thecyrulik , @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump , @finder-of-rings , @whump-tr0pes , @the-monarch-whumperfly , @cursedandtired , @shydragonrider

[whumpsday]

"livestreamed torture session where viewers suggest / pay for whumpee to be tortured in specific ways" is such a classic but i just thought of the funniest inversion: livestreamed torture session but the viewers are all sympathetic and paying for whumper to stop and give whumpee a break. chat is all like "fuck dude that's too far" "take the knife out" "let them have some water and a snack" "headpats pls"

[deluxewhump]

Two: Matteo- I’ll Do Whatever You Want

Summary: the new King Blackmuir was once a child ward of the Osier noble family. He finds the youngest Osier son, Matteo, badly kept in his dungeons and pulls him out. Matteo does not expect mercy, or favor.

CW: fantasy/royalty whump, mistreated prisoner, recalling past whump of a minor (corporal punishment), distrust/fear of caretaker, execution mentions, sort of hinting at prefering death over other fates, touch starved

Matteo woke from dreams of terrible thirst. He had the sense he’d woken before, but that it had not truly been waking. He must have drifted close to the surface, his physical pain throbbing like a separate heartbeat.

Keep reading

[deluxewhump]

The Blackmuir Reign

One: King Blackmuir 

Summary: A newly crowned King Therrin remembers a task he’s been putting off for days. He’s been told there is a prisoner in the lowest, coldest cell of the dunegons who might be of interest to him.

CW: fantasy medieval setting, royalty, prisoner whump, captivity, abuse, starvation, political prisoners, child ward/political prisoner, drunkenness, referenced corporal punishment when character was a minor, feverish whumpee, hurt/comfort

Therrin Blackmuir reached up and adjusted his new crown.

It was the crown of a king; not a slim, moonjeweled circlet of silver for a prince but a hearty crown of gold, with speared peaks like a trident. Held in the center was a single ruby, like the molten eye of a dragon.

It pleased him, but wearing it all evening had bruised his head. He took it off for a moment’s relief as he walked alone down the hall, holding it at his side as if it were a tin helmet. His footsteps echoed in the dak corners, and shadows leapt on the wet stones from the light of the braziers.

Continuar lendo

[albino-whumpee]

Still love this concept from 3 years ago 💕

[fuckyeahisawthat]

There is one particular ship dynamic that never fails to wreck me, and I’ll call it Soulmates, But Not Like That. Not in a “some higher power has decided that we are destined to be together” way, but something that is almost the opposite of that. It’s that character who has been alone for a long time, and has maybe convinced themselves that they will be alone forever, and who has a lot of barriers to intimacy with most of the people around them, for whatever the relevant narrative reasons are. And then they just happen to cross paths with this ONE FUCKING PERSON who works for them, through some very specific combination of personality and circumstance and life experience and mutually compatible damage. And there is always the shock of what are the fucking odds, and underneath everything the terror of what if this doesn’t last. what if there’s no one else. I would just go back to being alone. I don’t know if I could do that after knowing this. Because when you finally let down that wall of emotional self-sufficiency the thought of having to put it back up again is painful. And in real life I don’t at all believe that there is only One Designated Person for anyone, but in fiction I do tend to gravitate toward characters who believe themselves to be The Only One in some way, and I will always be emotionally compromised by that dawning sense of oh. You are like me.

[whumpering-heights]

Villain rescue, pt. 2

Masterlist

[A/N: Thank you everyone who voted! This is not the reunion yet, but next Villain chapter will have that, don't worry.] CWs at the bottom

Vigilante helped Villain stand up and get out of the cell. Although the thin man moved his feet in an approximation of walking, he had to be basically carried, with Vigilante’s arm around his waist. Together, they shuffled to the stairs leading out of the basement. Vigilante decided that the risk of falling was too big with Villain’s stumbling, and they were going too slow.

“I'm gonna carry you now. Okay?”

The dark-haired man frowned a little and tensed up, but didn’t say anything. There was a moment of silence in the bare hallway.

“Is that okay?” repeated Vigilante. Villain blinked, as though he’d been startled from a daydream.

“Uh, what? I’m sorry, is what okay?”

“Carrying you.” There was a pang of annoyance at repeating himself, but this was immediately crushed by an overwhelming sense of guilt. Villain had his brain scrambled like eggs, Vigilante should be able to deal with speaking clearly.

“Is it okay if I carry you?” He carefully pronounced each word, a little louder than usual. That appeared to be the word move though, because Villain flinched and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Ah, sorry. I’m not... I didn’t realize ‘t was a question. You can carry me, I won’t struggle.”

“That’s not..” Vigilante sighed. How come he felt like he was already screwing up at this, not even a minute after getting Villain out?

Although the frustrated sound was made at his own fumbling, he could feel Villain curl up even tighter. Looking over, he saw that his eyes were staring somewhere far away.

“Shit, no, I didn’t mean... Okay, nevermind. Sorry Villain, you’re doing fine.”

He decided to just get it over with. With shocking ease, he got Villain in a bridal carry. He actually overshot the amount of force he needed, and almost lost his balance.

A grown man shouldn’t weigh this little. It felt closer to the weight of a kid. Vigilante blinked some teariness away. He had no right to be sad about this, and now was not the time anyway.

He could feel Villain’s one free hand, that wasn't still clutching the piece of fabric he had in the cell, gripping his shirt. He wasn’t making eye contact, staring straight ahead and whispering something barely audible.

“Please, don’t drop me..”

Vigilante felt sick. He had to bite his lip to deal with it. Villain was the smarmiest asshole he knew, and to see him reduced to this... This never should have happened. With some effort, he managed to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“Of course I won’t drop you. You’re safe now, Villain.”

There was no response from him as they moved up the stairs, and through the living room. They didn’t see Sidekick again, who must have gone to his room. Vigilante had the urge to call up to him, to remind him of his offer. But that would only make him dig his heels in. He had his number, if he wanted to leave, he could. Vigilante could only hope he’d see the light soon.

Vigilante opened the door, and Villain took a deep breath. When was the last time he’d been outside? It might have been during his arrest.

They really should get going as fast as possible. But Vigilante couldn’t help but give Villain a moment, as he looked up at the blue, cloudless sky with wide eyes. In the sunlight, his horrid, pallid skin became even paler. He seemed feverish, and his shiny eyes were entirely rimmed with tired purple and irritated red. Still, his thin lips formed a shaky smile. He stared at the neatly trimmed trees lining the road, whose bright green leaves almost looked like stained glass in the sunlight.

“It’s spring..” he said, as though that fact was an amazing miracle. “Was... Was I in there all winter? Oh no. I missed Christmas.” He let out a slightly pained laugh, that stopped as quickly as it started. He closed his eyes, and basked in the sun.

“No, Villain..” Vigilante felt sick even saying it out loud, but he deserved to know.

“You missed two. You were in there for over a year.”

Villain’s smile dropped a fraction.

“Oh..”, he said. Vigilante couldn't agree more. What else was there to say but a saddened, but not surprised, “oh”?

Vigilante made his way to the getaway car, a beat-up old thing that he had borrowed from a gym buddy. Usually, he did fine with public transport. But even though the city got wild, carrying a fugitive through the subway was a bit too much to ask.

He put Villain to his feet. Or, at least, he tried. Villain never put any weight on his right leg, Vigilante noticed. The manacle had rubbed a thick band of red irritation on his ankle, which had a silvery sheen of developing scar tissue. But besides that, his foot seemed oddly slack. It didn’t seem to cause him any pain, though, so Vigilante decided to examine that problem closer another time. For now, they just had to get out there. While supporting Villain, who was wobbling on his one leg, he opened the car door.

“Alright, in you go.”

He gently helped Villain sit down. What Vigilante didn’t notice in his hurry to get out of there, was the way Villain tensed up when he sat down on the soft cushioned chair. The feeling of the leather against his back made him breathe faster, and his eyes went wide and glassy. Vigilante grabbed the seatbelt, and moved to buckle him in.

“Alright, let’s strap you in-”

But as he pulled the belt across Villain’s chest, the man broke from his frozen panicked state, and was hurled into a full-blown frenzy. With weak hands, he tried to push Vigilante away. He leaned as far back as the car would allow, his back pressing against the tunnel console.

“No, no, no, god, please, no!” Villain cried, starting off hushed and desperate, but rising his tone with every word.

Instantly, Vigilante let the strap go and took a step back. Villain flailed and whimpered, before seemingly realizing he wasn’t held in anymore, and he threw himself off the chair like it burned him. He had always been lanky and fairy tall, yet he managed to fit under the dashboard with surprising ease. He sat, curled up on the dirty carpet, and was still whimpering.

“No, god, please, Hero, anything but- please!”

Vigilante knelt down next to the open car door.

“Villain. Can you look at me? I’m not Hero. You’re not in trouble.”

He didn’t seem to hear him, and wouldn’t unfurl enough to look in his direction.

“Please, don’t put me back,” he begged weakly.

Oh, this was going to be rough. Vigilante counted to ten in his head, to make sure his response was as calm as he could make it.

“Okay, help me out here. What’s freaking you out?’ He gestured at the car seat. “Is it the chair?”

From Villain’s cry of terror, that was exactly it.

“Please! Please, no-!”

“Alright!” said Vigilante, perhaps a bit too quickly. He couldn’t have Villain screaming and alerting the whole neighborhood.

“Okay, no problem. No chair, you can stay right there, I won’t put you in.”

It seemed like the words were reaching him, because he let out a shuddering sigh of relief.

“Thank you Hero, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not Hero, Villain.” Vigilante tried to remind him, but there was no further response.

VIgilante took a breath to sigh, but then remembered the way Villain had reacted to that before. He kept his breath until he had closed the door and was sure he couldn’t hear him. Then, he sighed, and added a groan for good measure. How was he so bad at this? Not to mention that being confused for Hero was hitting a lot harder than it ought to. He understood why, of course. He couldn’t blame Villain for being confused. But he still felt defensive at the suggestion.

He rubbed his face, and moved to his side of the car.

“You good in there?” He asked the huddled figure in the footwell.

“Yes, I’m good,” came the murmured reply. It was only as Vigilante backed out, that he realized he probably thought he’d meant “well-behaved”, instead of “comfortable”... Well, too late to explain now.

Hero lived in a totally different, more affluent, part of the city than Vigilante, so they had to drive for a bit. After a while, Vigilante checked in.

“How are you doing, Villain?”

He could only see his bony legs and skeletal hands wrapped around them. But he could hear, from his voice, that he wasn’t frantic anymore. He sounded a bit more like himself, albeit dazed and downtrodden.

“I feel foolish,” confessed Villain. “It’s not the chair. And you’re not Hero. I’m sorry for freaking out.”

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m just glad you’re back.”

Villain sat, cramped in the dark space below the glove compartment. Although he was slowly coming back to the present, the leftover adrenaline left him jittery. He was probably going to pass out soon from exerting himself, he knew it. And then he’d wake up... where, exactly?

Prison, most likely. Although Vigilante technically wasn’t in the city’s employ, and used his own moral code, he was still a crimefighter. A damn good one, at that.

Or maybe it wouldn’t be prison. Maybe Vigilante was inspired by Hero’s “work” on him, and wanted to try for himself. They had worked together in the past, after all.

“Vigilante,” Villain asked, and a stubborn part of him hated how meek he sounded now, “where are you taking me?”

Vigilante sounded a bit surprised at the question.

“Oh, my place, of course. It’s only my apartment, but I got some supplies for you. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

Villain felt a chill move through his heart. So he was going to keep him for himself. And this time, not in some fancy cell, no, just in his own home. The “supplies” must be either to hurt him, or to keep him there. Well, Villain wouldn’t leave anyway. If he did, he’d just be recaptured, or worse, found by Hero. He had nowhere to go.

He was pulled from his desolate thoughts when Vigilante continued.

“You know, I probably should warn you: Henchman will be there as well.”

Villain’s breath hitched, and he felt tears come to his eyes. He pressed Henchman’s mask to his heart.

“I... Can I see him?”

“Yes, of course you can.”

“How much of him?” blurted Villain, and he clutched Henchman’s burned mask until his fingers hurt. “How much do you have? Like, belongings, or.. Or ash? Or.. Is there enough to bury?”

Villain felt the car serve a little, and winced. Vigilante’s voice was loud, and a higher pitch than usual.

“Jesus Christ, no! No, he’s not- You thought I had his body? Jesus, Villain, no!”

“Sorry,” murmured Villain, and braced himself for what would happen when they stopped.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t think, I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t even sure what he had done wrong, but it was clear from Vigilante’s horrified tone that he must have. The car drove in a straight line again as the two men tried to collect themselves.

“Listen,” said Vigilante, a bit calmer, “Henchman is alive. He is okay and well, besides a little sleep-deprived. I’m not.. I’m not Hero, okay? I’m not gonna torture you or whatever, I’m just rescuing you. That’s it.”

Vigilante wasn’t as good at manipulation as Hero was. He always made sure his taunts were half-truths, and he never said outright untrue things. If Vigilante wanted to dangle false hope in Villain’s face, he wasn’t falling for it.

“Why would you?” he asked dully. “You hate me.”

“I don’t..” Vigilante objected, but wasn’t able to finish the sentence. “.. Hate is a strong word,” he said instead. “I disagreed on your methods, just like I disagree with Hero. But you don’t deserve this, no one does.”

Villain was quiet for a moment.

“What do I deserve, then?”

“...I don’t know,” confessed Vigilante. “But you should at least get to see Henchman again.”

Villain smiled, and rubbed the charred mask with his thumb. The last of the adrenaline left his body, and his eyes fluttered closed.

“Yeah.. I’d like that.” And as he felt exhaustion and the rumbling of the car overwhelm him, he slept soundly. Because he got to see the sun once more. And when he went to meet Henchman again, at least it wouldn’t be by Hero’s hand.

Taglist: @pumpkin-spice-whump @octopus-reactivated @fanastyfinder @whumpy-arts-and-crafts @arsonfrogger@burtlederp @harri-00

CWs: implied starvation, clumsy caretaking, panic, begging, misunderstandings, thoughts about dying/death

[sideblogformindtrash]

Baby Haru

[whumpering-heights]

Can... Can Sidekick give Villain a hug from me..?

(A/N: So.. this one kind of got out of hand, lol. Don’t worry anon, your hug is in there, it’s just near the end.  This is part of my ‘hero and villain’ series, I’ll make a masterlist tomorrow.) CWs: blood, head wound, beating mention (not featured), nerve damage, implied starvation, drugs, yelling, (in an very accusatory way), implied abuse, slight dehumanization, begging. If I missed any, please let me know. 

Villain and Sidekick (3)

Sidekick heard Hero return from the basement before he saw him. He was whistling. Sidekick, who was standing in the kitchen, called over:   “How’s it going?”   “Oh, it’s going very well.” responded Hero. He stepped through the door, and Sidekick turned to ask some more. His voice stopped when he saw the blood splatters on Hero’s knuckles. The man walked over to the sink, still whistling, and started washing his hands.   “Oh, uhm. Did he act up today?” asked Sidekick. Hero looked puzzled for a second, before he laughed.   “Oh, because of the blood? No, he’s actually very well behaved now. I even let him out of the chair. He should be almost ready for the show.” Right away, there were numerous questions buzzing through Sidekick’s mind. What show? If he was well behaved, why did you hit him? Just what are we doing to him? Before he could decide which one to ask first, Hero interrupted his thinking.   “Actually, could you go and clean him up for me? Use the hose in the garage.” Sidekick’s stomach churned. He hadn’t gone back to the cell since his secret trip. If he was honest, he didn’t want to see how Villain was doing. He didn’t want to know.   "Uhm, can I do it later? Or maybe-”   “Sidekick.” A chill ran down Sidekick’s spine at Hero’s tone. He wasn’t smiling anymore. His voice was low, calm. Dangerous.   “Don’t make me ask twice.” Sidekick almost let the chair fall to the ground in his haste to get up.   “Right! Okay, yes, uh, right away, Hero.”  

     He dragged the coiled-up hose, all-purpose cleaner and some cleaning rags down the stairs. He’d also grabbed the first aid kit, but Hero made him put it back. Said it wouldn’t be necessary. As he walked up to the cell door, he thought of all the things he wished he could say to Hero. I don’t want to clean him up, he thought. He’s going to be all sad and hurt, and it should make me happy, I know, but it doesn’t. Just hand him over to prison again, and don’t make me clean up your bloody, uhm, your damn mess.   But of course, he would never say that to Hero. So instead, he stood in front of the cell door, gathering courage. He took a deep breath and opened the door in the same way one would rip off a band aid.   The room was a mess. It smelled of sweat and the air was dank. Sidekick scrunched his nose. The tiled floor and the walls had small splatters of blood on them. Not a lot, like someone had been stabbed, more like a very severe beating. Some of the blood looked old. Like Hero had said, Villain was not in the chair, although it still stood in the middle of the room.   Sure enough, there he was: a sad little pile of a man huddled in the furthest corner. Sidekick couldn’t really see much of Villain while he was so curled up. All he saw, was a tangled mess of dark hair and thin, boney arms and legs. The man flinched when he opened the door and curled up even smaller.   “Hey.” called Sidekick. “Don’t worry, it’s me. I’ve come to clean you up.” The man unfurled a bit at that. Sidekick could see his face a bit, now. His hollow, wide eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. One eye was had swollen purple bruising around it, and there were dried tracks of blood from his nose. His pupils were blown wide with whatever was still in his system, despite him not being hooked up to the IV. He didn’t say anything; he just stared.   “Right.” said Sidekick. “Let’s get this started.” He tested the hose, aiming it at the floor, and almost dropped it from the kickback. Oh, right, it was high-pressure. He looked back and forth between the nozzle and Villain. Using it on him wouldn’t injure him, probably. But it would hurt, especially if Hero beat him up. Sidekick worried his lip. Experimenting, he held up the hose so the water came out vertically. It went up in an arc before falling to the floor in heavy droplets. That’d have to do.   “Hey Villain,” he asked, “can you wash yourself?” There was no response, Sidekick looked over to see Villain staring off, his wide eyes vacant.   “Hello? Did you hear me?” Sidekick stepped a bit closer, which did elicit a response. The man jumped and raised his arms over his head.   “Nh-sorry, please, don’t-don’t put me-please-”   “I’m not putting you back, relax.” Villain stopped talking but didn’t lower his arms. Sidekick sighed.   “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? Now, can you wash yourself or not?" Villain peeked out from under his arms.   “Uhm, I don’t... Can I wash myself? May, I mean, may I, I’m-” He apparently lost his train of thought, staring ahead again for a second.   ‘I’m.. Uh, what-what was the question?”   Sidekick groaned.   “Jesus Christ. Look,” he held up the hose again and demonstrated the improvised shower.   “Now. Can. You. Wash. Your. Self?” he punctuated every word with a gesture. Finally, it seemed to register, and Villain nodded.   “Great. Here’s some stuff, do your thing.” Sidekick handed him the soap and cleaning rag, took a step back and turned on the hose again. The water clattered down just in front of Villain. Sidekick turned around to give him some privacy, and also because he didn’t want to see it anyway. A few seconds after he did, he realised he probably shouldn’t turn his back to someone like Villain. But, well. He didn’t seem like much of a threat anymore. Sidekick had taken him on in hand-to-hand back when he was healthy, he could handle him now. He heard Villain shift and move into the stream. A startled gasp sounded from behind him. The water was probably cold. Well, there wasn’t much Sidekick could do about that. The water splashed as Villain started scrubbing, and then Sidekick heard a wet thud.   “You okay back there?” He called back. He heard a soft groan, but Villain responded: “Y-yes, I-I I can try, sorry.” Some more scrubbing, and another thud, a louder one this time.   “Need a hand?”   “No! No, I'm okay, I c-can wa-whash, hm.” Villain didn’t finish his sentence, trailing off. The scrubbing resumed. Sidekick didn’t say anything. He decided, if he was going to fall one more time, he would help. He understood why Villain didn’t admit he fell, it probably felt really embarrassing. But he didn’t want to him to get hurt too badly. He barely finished that thought, when he heard something slip and fall again.   “Okay, that does it,” he called. “Are you decent? I’m turning around and helping.”   “No! No, please!” He heard the water on the floor splash as Villain moved, probably moving backwards.   “I don’t care about your ego, Villain, you’re going to break your neck like this. Do us both a favor, and cover yourself, yeah?” Sidekick turned around. Villain was still clothed, so that was a plus. A trickle of blood, thinned out by the water, ran over his forehead. He sat back in the corner Sidekick’d found him in, raising his hands again.   “No, sir, I’ll try harder, don’t, don’t put me back, please-!” Sidekick crouched down.   “Hey, nutcase, look at me. I’m not Hero, and am not putting you back. Shut up, look at me.” Villain stopped blabbering and looked at him. His eyes were teary and his breath was strained, like he was close to crying. Sidekick pinched the bridge of his nose.   “I am not putting you back. Okay? No chair. Zero chair today, so stop freaking out.” The words seemed to reach Villain through whatever high he was on, and he calmed down a little.   “Ah, thank you. Th-thank you.” Sidekick shrugged. He grabbed the soaked towel and moved to get started on cleaning him. At his approach, Villain flinched and curled inward again.   “Nh-no, please-” The begging spilled out almost on instinct, it seemed. Sidekick felt a twinge in his gut. Frustrated, he threw the towel on the ground and snarled:   “Will you stop acting so pathetic? It’s- it’s sad! It’s freakin’ weird!” He got up and paced back and forth.   “I mean, are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying to make me feel sorry for you? Huh?” He looked back at Villain, who was trembling and had covered his head with his hands.   “Nh-Please, I'm-”   “Stop that!” yelled Sidekick. “It won’t work, okay? Like, your acting isn’t even convincing, so knock it off!” The shaking didn’t stop. Sidekick could hear small, hitchy breaths.   “’M sorry,” Villain whimpered.“’m sorry, sir, I’ll try better, I’ll-”   “No, that’s exactly what I’m talking about! Stop being so-” Sidekick gestured with his hands vaguely, trying to find the right word.   “so.. Not-you! Just-” He crouched back down, purposefully getting in Villain’s personal space. He pushed back into his corner like he’d phase through if he just pushed hard enough. Sidekick leaned in close.   “Come on, say something. Tell me to piss off, give me one of your smartass comments. I know you’re still in there.” The man didn’t respond.   “If you don’t admit you’re lying, I’m using the hose.” warned Sidekick. He couldn’t see Villain’s face, but he saw the shudder run through his body.   “Hmm, no, please... You’re right, I’m lying, sir. I’ll- I’ll try harder.” Sidekick groaned and rubbed his face.   “That's not what I’m.. Fine. If you want to keep playing your game, go ahead. Just know it won’t work on me.” He studied Villain’s form. He kept hoping that he would unfurl and admit it was all a ruse. He would give one of his comebacks, probably pull a gadget from god knows where, and make a daring escape. But the shuddering mess of limbs before him didn’t look like he was pretending. If he was, he’d missed his calling as actor. But if he really was as pathetic as he looked...   The terrible ache in his gut got worse. Sidekick rose to his feet and walked over to the concrete wall of the cell, and punched it with a grunt. Despite the pain, it made him feel a bit better, so he continued. He briefly wondered if he should release his feelings on Villain. After all, they were his fault. But that thought made the twinge intensify, so he kept punching the wall. When he was done, his knuckles were red and scraped. He had trouble closing his hand fully to a fist. Despite that, he was relieved. He leaned his forehead on the wall and took a deep breath.   “Okay, let’s get this over with.” He turned around. Villain moved even further from him, which Sidekick hadn’t thought possible. He sighed.   “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to help you wash up, okay?” Sidekick’s voice wasn’t laced with anger anymore. He felt calmer, almost detached. He knelt down and pried Villains arms away from his face. He had his eyes scrunched shut and turned his face away, but didn’t fight back. Sidekick pushed down the anger that welled up again, and set about cleaning him.

He started by grabbing the discarded hose and starting the vertical spray again. It was a little hard to aim, so a bunch of water drenched him, as well. The majority ended in Villain’s hair, though. He shuddered, at the cold or from fear, Sidekick couldn’t tell. When his hair was drenched, Sidekick grabbed the soap and started working it into the hair. The soap stung his knuckles something awful, and he winced. As he worked the soap through the disgusting mess, he remembered Villain had hit his head earlier. Sure enough, just above his temple, he could feel the dried-up blood. Villain winced and made a small noise in the back of his throat when the soap touched it.   “Yeah, well,” said Sidekick. “That one’s kind of on you.”   He continued trying to detangle and clean his hair, which proved an impossible task. Some parts had become so matted, it resembled felt. Sidekick gave up on trying to achieve flowing locks and focused on getting most of the junk out. Another indirect spray with the hose, and most of the now dingy coloured soap duds were washed down the drain in the middle of the room. Awful convenient, that drain was. Sidekick tried not to think on why it was installed.   He paused a moment. It would be best if Villain undressed for this, right? And they were both guys, that made it a bit better, he supposed. He had to change him into the new clothes anyway. He still hesitated.   “Hey, Villain, uhm. I kind of need your clothes off for this part. Is that, uhm. Are you cool with that?”   Villain blinked his eyes open.   “I'm, hm. My clothes off?”   “Yeah, sorry, I have to. Do you wanna do it yourself, or...?” Sidekick didn’t know why he asked. Maybe if he tried to without asking, Villain would get too freaked out to cooperate. It wasn’t like he actually cared what Villain wanted, of course. It was just convenient this way. Villain nodded.   “I, uh, I can. I can try.” Still shaking, he grabbed the hem of his shirt. He didn’t use his right hand, letting it awkwardly hang somewhere up to his chest. After some fumbling, he managed to pull the shirt that once used to be white over his head. When he’d gotten it off, he reminded Sidekick of a newborn kitten: all watery eyes and wobbling limbs.   “Righto.” He said. “I’ll, uh. I’ll get to it, then.” He grabbed to cloth again and carefully helped wash off the worst of the grime.   Villain’s torso was covered in bruises, some almost healed, others looked fresh. He was so thin. Sidekick could have counted his ribs from across the room, and could have told you which ones were broken as well. He avoided brushing over the healing bones and was thankful he didn’t set the hose directly on him as he’d planned. As he set to wash his twig-like arms, he felt that ache in his stomach return. He looked so frail, so... broken. His wrists were rubbed raw from the leather straps holding him down. Sidekick didn’t look at Villain face. Just pretend you’re scrubbing the floor, he told himself. A very fragile, shivering mess of a floor. As he finished, he didn’t look up.   “Right, uhm. Your pants are next.”   He did let him keep his underwear on; he was not touching that. He let him clean that part himself while he stayed turned around. He heard him slip and lose his balance a few times, but at least he didn’t fall. Afterwards, he helped him wash his legs.   He worked down his right leg. The shin was a little raised and just slightly crooked where the break had been. He braced himself when he had to scrub over the spot, but Villain didn’t react. Seemed like it was fully healed, then. He moved further down, to where the manacle was still clamped over Villain’s ankle. Seemed like overkill to him, but what did he know. As he moved it aside to inspect the skin underneath, he saw that it was rubbed raw, like one big inflamed scrape wound. He grimaced in sympathy for the next part.   “Sorry, I have to clean that, too. I’ll be quick.” He got some foam going on the cloth and pressed it down. Villaindidn’t react, not even a twitch in the leg. Sidekick, who sat with his back to Villain, guessed he must be tougher than he thought. He started dabbing.   “You’re doing great,” he assured. “This must hurt, but I’m almost done.”   “Wh-what are you, hm, d-doing? What-what hurts?” He glanced over his shoulder to Villain.   “Your ankle. Doesn’t the soap sting?” The man shook his head.   “N-no. Can't feel anything.” Sidekick blinked.   “Wait, so-” he pinched Villain’s foot. “do you feel that?” He shook again. Sidekick took a breath between his teeth.   “Oh, yikes, that’s uhm. I’m pretty sure that’s bad. How long’s it been like that?” Villain frowned, looking pensive.   “I’m..that's, how-how long’ve I been here? That, minus, uhm, I don’t know, a-a week?” So a couple of months. Sidekick remembered with horror when he set the leg and kicked it. Twice.   Was this his fault? Or had the damage already been done before that? Did it matter? He swallowed. Suddenly his throat felt tight.   “Okay, that-that sucks. If I did that, I didn’t mean to. Uh, I’ll talk to Hero, I’m sure he’ll get you a doctor or something.” Even as he said that, Sidekick wasn’t sure he would. He shook those thoughts off and finished cleaning the leg and foot.   The whole ordeal didn’t take very long, but he was thankful when it was over. Villain didn’t look better, per se, but he did look a bit cleaner. Maybe that was worse, because now his bruises stood out even more against his pallid skin. Sidekick gave him a final rinse with the hose.   “Okay, that’s it. All done.” Villain looked glad it was over, as well. His shaking had gotten worse, and his lips were turning purple. Sidekick glanced over at the dish towels he took to dry him off, but they suddenly seemed insufficient.   “Give me one sec,” he said. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He snuck back upstairs, sneaking to the master bathroom. From it, he grabbed the fluffiest, biggest towel Hero owned. He probably wouldn’t approve of him using it, but then again, he didn’t tell him not to. Still, Sidekick was glad he made it back downstairs undetected. As he walked up to the cell door, he realised with a shock he’d left it slightly open. He ran the last bit and stormed into the room.   Villain was in the same spot he left him. Looked like he hadn’t even moved. Of course, where would he go? Especially with the manacle still on him. Sidekick relaxed.   “Okay, I got you a towel. No telling Hero, okay?” He crouched down and draped the towel, which looked more like a blanket, over the man’s shoulders. Villain’s eyes widened, and his long fingers grabbed ahold of the fabric. Sidekick moved a bit closer, rubbing Villain’s hair dry. As the towel came away, he saw the white fabric had become stained with grime. The Villain didn’t move to dry himself off; he just wrapped it tightly around himself. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t look scared for once. Instead, he just looked exhausted. Sidekick saw him rubbing his cheek against the soft material. He leaned forward slightly, before jolting straight again.   “Alright, I’ll help you with this bit, too. We’re almost done.” He held Villain’s shoulder to stabilise him and started rubbing and dabbing with the fabric that wasn’t taut from Villain grip. The man’s eyes stayed closed, and he started leaning more and more into Sidekick’s grip. Sidekick shifted so he was sitting instead of crouching, and moved Villain so he rested against his chest. The man didn’t resist and melted into him. Sidekick briefly worried about Hero coming in and seeing the two of them so close, but he didn’t have the heart to push Villain away. He kept rubbing him dry, but stopped when he heard Villain’s breath hitching. His face was pushed against Sidekick’s chest, but he heard his soft hiccups.   “Are you crying?” he asked. Villain nodded.   That tug in his gut was back again, in full force. Sidekick considered pushing Villain off, considering his chore done and leaving. But that made the feeling worse. Instead, he put his free hand on Villain’s back.   “What’re you crying for? Does something hurt?” Villain nearly burrowed himself in his chest, no longer clutching the towel but digging his fingers into the fabric of Sidekick’s shirt.   “N-no, I’m, I mean, yes, but that’s not why... I’m, I cry, be-because I’m happy, and I’m tired, and confused, and-” He choked on a sob. “and I’m scared.” Crying openly now, he dug his face into Sidekick’s shirt. Sidekick rubbed his back, shifting slightly so he could hold up the weeping man better. He’d never seen an adult cry like that before, and he felt at a loss for words.   “Hey, uhm. Hey, there’s no need for that. Crying never solved nothing.” Before he fully realised what he was doing, he’d started gently rocking side to side. “You’re going to be fine,” he assured. “Hero said you were almost done. Just a bit more, and then you’ll probably go to prison. Then you will be the same terrible, infuriating person you were, okay? I’ll hate you again, and all will be fine.” Villain sniffed.   “He-he said, I was done? I'll go to prison?”   “I mean, he mentioned something about a show. I don’t what he meant, but I do think this is the final stretch for you.” Villain’s crying died down a little to just a few hitched breaths. Sidekick kept rocking and rubbing his back. It helped him feel a bit better too, for some reason.   “P’lease,” mumbled Villain, “Please, can-can I, may, could you s-stay? This is... this is nice.” Sidekick stopped rocking, which caused Villain to tense. It only lasted a second, though, and he resumed.   “I mean, sure,” he shrugged.“I got nothing better to do, anyway.” The man was leaning his entire body weight on him, now. It wasn’t a lot.   “Thank you,” he got a bit more comfortable.“thank-thank you, Sidekick. Thank you.”   “Don’t mention it.” responded Sidekick. After a second, he added: “But seriously, don’t mention it. I think Hero would be upset at both of us.” At the mention of Hero, Villain flinched in Sidekick’s hold. “’M scared,” he murmured.   “I know.” said Sidekick.   “”M ti-tired. I’m so tired..” Villain’s voice already started trailing off.   “It’s okay. I got nowhere to be, we can just sit.”   Sidekick stayed by his side, until Villain had fallen into a deep sleep. He felt drained, as well. Still, he quickly got Villain dressed and laid him on his cot. He wanted to leave the towel with him, but he couldn’t afford Hero finding out. When he pulled the fabric away from the sleeping man, his fingers kept clutching it. As he gently pried them off, he saw Villain’s brow twitch in his sleep. He sighed and tucked him in with his own ratty excuse for a blanket. He sprayed the cell until it was at least a bit more clean, and shut the door behind him. He couldn’t tell if he felt better after, or much, much worse.

[liliability]

Thinking about a malnourished, clearly abused Whumpee taken to a pet-free hotel. With their dead eyes and the way they trail behind whumper like a lost puppy, whumpee is mistaken for a pet and belittled by the staff, who gets all over whumper's business for the supposed mistreatment of their pet.

But once the misunderstanding is cleared up, they leave whumpee to their own luck. There's nothing to look here, right? Just a decent fellow and their bruised, anxious partner/child/friend.

The staff is sure the soundproof room Whumper requested must be nothing but a coincidence.

[liliability]

What if I did a reboot of my Auden series?