It's May, everyone!! Due to personal and technical difficulties, we're getting the list to you DAY ONE. WOW!
So sorry for the delay, but we have every confidence that despite this short notice, you'll all be able to put out some amazing work this year!
Without further ado, welcome to The Merry Whump of May!
Text ID:
Merry Whump of May
Spring 2023
A month-long whump writing event by @wormwriting and @painsandconfusion.
Extemporaneous style this year-!!
Write, draw, or otherwise create content based on the daily prompts! Participants and completionists will receive badges of honor for their work at the end of the month.
Create original content or fanfiction, all is welcome!
Rules
Tag each day's post with #themerrywhumpofmay, any necessary content warning (eg: #knife), and the day in the following format: #mwmday1)
Adult topics are allowed, but must be well tagged. Send a message to @themerrywhumpofmay if you'd like a second opinion.
Be kind, have fun!
Prompts:
Day One - “No pain, no gain.”
Compass
Haphephobia
Kitchen
Day Two - “Need a ride?
Wrench
Paranoia
Club
Day Three - “You're not looking so hot.”
Lightbulb
Tension
Alleyway
Day Four - “Two birds, one bullet.”
Chess Pieces
Stubborn
Tower
Day Five - “Do unto others as you would bla bla bla...”
Bow and Arrow
Stalking
Cavern
Day Six - “It's a long story.”
Knife Handle
Gagged
Under the table
Day Seven - “Write what you know.”
Box
Magic
Cell
Day Eight - “Did you read the fine print?”
Circle
Blinded
Field
Day Nine - “We'll burn that bridge when we get there.”
Collar
Lost
Roof
Day Ten - “Hit the hay.”
Key
Forgetting
Warehouse
Day Eleven - “Ready set go!”
Plastic bag
Overheating
Restaurant
Day Twelve - “Tabled for Later.”
Thumbtack
Panic attack
Ballroom
Day Thirteen - “You've made your bed, now bleed in it.”
Sander
Found
Safe Place
Day Fourteen - “Well, well, well...”
Barbed Wire
Starvation
Drain
Day Fifteen - “The power of god and anime”
Hammer
Over-Exhaustion
Hammer
Day Sixteen - “Take a break.”
Branding Iron
Moonlight
Cemetery
Day Seventeen - “Going down in flames.”
Pole
Regret
Fireplace
Day Eighteen - “No use crying over spilled blood.”
Cage
Claustrophobia
Ship
Day Nineteen - “Apples and oranges.”
Chainsaw
Surprise
Home Base
Day Twenty - “A taste of your own medicine.”
Zip ties
Bleeding out
Office
Day Twenty-one - “Devil's advocate.”
Tome
Desperation
Hiking trail.
Day Twenty-two - “You can lead a bitch to water, but you can't make them drink.”
Origami
Amnesia
Attic
Day Twenty-three - “Good things come to those who wait.”
Nine-inch-nails
Isolation
Creepy basement
Day Twenty-four - “Bent out of shape.”
Tent Spike
Dragged
Wrong place, wrong time
Day Twenty-five - “It takes two to tango.”
Hot coffee
Doubt
In line
Day Twenty-six - “Hammer time.”
Pocket watch
Itchy
Waiting room
Day Twenty-seven - “Second mouse get the cheese.”
Knife
Rug burn
Skyscraper
Day Twenty-eight - “A picture's worth a thousand words.”
Chair
Paranoia
Backseat
Day Twenty-nine - “Lost and Found
Blowtortch
Frostbite
Lake
Day Thirty - “Rain check.”
High heels
Strained
The backroom
Day Thirty-one - “Thin ice.”
Lighter
Chronic pain
Dead end
Alternative Prompt List
Titles
“Questions? Comments? Concerns? Complaints?”
“Time dies when you're having fun.”
“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”
“Can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.”
Hero reeled back as a fist smashed into the side of their face, sparks of white crackling across their vision. Heat radiated from their jaw, nose, cheeks, blood dripping from shallow scrapes as bruises welted deep under their skin.
A sob, raw and painful clawed from their throat, tears mingling with the blood and dirt that painted their face, but their cries were muffled by the duct tape, wound tightly over their mouth and around the back of their head. Pulled tight enough that it would undoubtedly leave an indent even after it was removed.
“Come on, Hero, smile,” the Villain taunted, shoving their phone camera close to Hero’s face, grabbing their hair when the other tried to cower away. “Show everyone how fucking pathetic you are.”
The alley was dark and deserted, lit only with the faint glow of streetlights towards the mouth, but Villain had their flashlight on, focusing its directly on them. The light sent daggers shooting back through Hero’s skull, and they squeezed their eyes shut.
Villain let out a cruel laugh, their free hand drawing back before punching Hero hard in the stomach, practically giggling as they doubled over, gagging.
Bile stung their throat, but Hero was forced to swallow it back, lest they wish to choke on their own sick. They doubted Villain would save them if they did. They’d fucking stand there and video, laughing to the livestream as Hero suffocated.
With their hands bound behind them to the rungs of a fire escape, duct tape wound dozens of times around their wrists and forearms, their legs secured at the ankles and knees, there was nothing Hero could do except tuck their chin and try to curl away to protect their face.
“And you call yourself a hero. You’re fucking pathetic, you little bitch, you hear me?” Villain stood straight, the camera swaying as they brought up their leg before stomping down hard on the hero’s bound ankle. The scream was guttural, but it was lost to the gag as Hero heaved, fighting to breathe through their nose while the air refused to enter their lungs.
They were going to suffocate. They were going to die choking on their own blood tainted saliva, while this fucking bastard streamed it for the world to see.
They were a sick, fucked up asshole, Villain. A snake. They hadn’t won shit of a victory. Hero had spent the entire day chasing and fighting OtherVillain, by the time Villain had cornered them, they were already limping and too exhausted to flee in time. It had been a fucking cheap move, lower than a villain. At least people like OtherVillain earned their own fucking success, not steal someone else’s.
“You see, guys, this is what your fucking Hero is. Nothing but a crying coward,” Villain chuckled, their hand dropping to their belt, slipping into the small sheath that laid attached to it.
They weren’t even a fucking Villain. Barely. They hadn’t done crap—Hero had ended every single poorly planned scheme of theirs before it even started. This was just a matter of luck—or the fucking opposite—how they ended up in the same alley as the injured Hero.
Villain squatted down, the blade of their knife dragging down Hero’s chest, scraping the skin. Their uniform lay in less than tatters, the shredded, torn fabric barely hanging off their shoulders, the dark bruises that mottled Hero’s abdomen standing out starkly against the camera’s light.
“I say we leave them with a reminder, how ‘bout that. So they never forget this fucking moment,”
Hero sobbed, breath coming in short gasps through their nose that didn’t seem to draw in any oxygen. They turned their face away, digging their temple against the rungs of the ladder, the cold metal doing nothing to soothe their burning skin.
Villain brought their knife to Hero’s chest, setting the camera down for a second so they could saw away the last few threads of their shirt, leaving them bare and trembling. The night was cold, even colder with their sweating, flushed skin, and Hero let out a weak cry of protest as the knife touched just below their collarbone.
“Fucking watch me, Hero,” Villain demanded, twisting the camera to focus on Hero’s face. “Watch.”
Hero had been tortured before. Whipped and starved, left to hang and bend in the worst stress positions for hours. They’d been beaten and burned, denied water for days on end. They were no stranger to pain, but this, the humiliation adding a certain acid to the edge of the blade, was worse than anything. Blood poured down their chest, a waterfall of crimson opening down their front as Villain dragged the knife down, cutting deep into their skin. Hero couldn’t even scream as they continued, slowly and crudely carving away at their chest.
Fucking letters, Hero realized, the sickening truth dawning on them. Their vision was blurred with tears, distorted enough so they couldn’t even see Villain’s face, barely a foot from theirs. Villain split two jagged curves connecting to the first line, uneven with an intentional negligence behind their movements. They quickly split a second line next to the first, dragging it down nearly to Hero’s sternum.
Everything was spinning now, sensation lost to the terrible vertigo and nausea, world clouded with agony. Villain split two lines next, one vertical and the other horizontal, crossing against each other in the center of Hero’s chest.
The next letter was curved, Hero could feel as the blade slit their skin, and they knew exactly what it was being written in blood, the recording camera carving every humiliating, dehumanizing cut.
Villain didn’t have a chance to finish the fourth letter.
Their phone clattered to the ground, smacking loudly against the asphalt as they were yanked back by the collar of their shirt, thrown against the opposite wall with enough force to crack a skull.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” A low voice seethed. Hero blinked blearily, but they couldn’t get their vision to focus enough to make out more than two clouded figures in front of them.
“Wait- wait,” Villain gasped, every bit of arrogance fled their tone. “No- no stop, I didn’t mean- no-”
A sharp thud echoed around the alley accompanied by a mangled scream, closely followed by another thud, and then another.
A body dropped to the ground, and it was all quiet, except for Hero’s choking breaths.
“Oh, Hero,” The new arrival turned towards them, but Hero could make out nothing more than an outline as they stepped forwards and quickly knelt next to them, gloved hands raising to rip the tape away from their mouth. Strands of hair were wrenched along with it, skin stinging but Hero barely noticed as they gasped, straining for the first full breath, feeling the air rush through their lungs as if for the first time.
Something churned in their stomach, and they hunched to the side, and vomited.
They felt a hand against their back, pressing softly between their shoulder blades as another grabbed Villain’s discarded knife. Hero panicked for a second as they felt the metal, hot and slick with blood pressure to their wrists, but all the stranger did was slice away their bonds in one clean, sharp flick of their wrist, not even grazing skin.
“You’re alright, it’s alright, love,” the voice soothed softly, hand moving from their back to their face, cold fingers cupping their bruised cheek. Deep and calm, it was familiar, but Hero couldn’t make out their face yet. “Breathe, Hero. Deep breaths, you’ll be alright.”
Hero wasn’t comprehending the words, but between the gentle tone and the light touch, their heaving sobs settled back into gasps, then to shaking breaths. They blinked hard, vision clearing just enough so they could recognize the stranger.
When they did, their heart nearly stopped cold in their chest.
“That’s it, that’s right, Hero, you’re alright.” Supervillain murmured, their thumb brushing over Hero’s bruised cheekbone.
They weren’t. They weren’t alright. But their voice was so soothing, so compelling.
Once they had quieted, eyes barely managing to stay open, something thick and warm was draped over them. They barely had time to register what it was—a cape, made of fine, rich material—before they were picked up, an arm hooking beneath their knees and around their back, lifting them like nothing. Before they straightened fully, Supervillain grabbed something with their hand. They turned the phone’s camera, pointing it straight at the body crumpled across the alley, zooming in and pressing the screen to focus.
Villain was dead. Clearly dead. The back of their skull smashed in and split open, blood leaking from their nose and lips, eyes bulging slightly from their sockets. Dead.
“They’re not going to hurt you again,” Supervillain whispered to Hero, before letting the phone drop from their hands, crushing the screen beneath their boot. “No one is ever going to hurt you again.”
Big huge thanks to my always amazing whumperful crew: @whumpcereal @quietly-by-myself @sparrowsage and to @oddsconvert who put in a lovely beta job for this little prequel.
Warnings for this story: bad intentions by the main character, whumper perspective, derogatory internal dialogue, intent to engage in noncon (talked about, not actually written), drunkenness, smoking.
A King of the Road Prequel (Find the original King of the Road (Whumptober 2022) post here.)
Six Months Ago…
The Trucker dropped his cigarette to the asphalt and ground it out with the toe of his boot. He surveyed the parking lot of another club in another town in Somewheresville, America. Fresh hunting ground.
He watched the drunk college freshmen, who by all means shouldn’t even be here, idiotically looking for the friends he’d come with. He’d been stumbling around the parking lot for nearly twenty minutes now. The cars have been steadily streaming out or their owner’s steadily being bundled into taxi cabs and Ubers.
When the young man passed by his idling truck for the third time the trucker smiled at him.
“You lost darlin’?”
The young man swayed a bit as he stopped and took in the sight of the big, red, oversized trucking cab. The Trucker could see the wheels turning in the young man’s head, trying to process the question.
“‘M not lossss...”
“But you’re not found either, are ya?” The Trucker looked the young man up and down, smiling the whole time. “What happened? Can’t find yer buddies?”
“No… I… They’re here s’m where…”
This was just too easy. And this little one was sure pretty. His pale green eyes, watery and wide, set in a cute face with cheeks flushed a bit too red, and finished off by a pair of lovely cherry red lips. The Trucker licked his own lips as he thought about shoving himself into that perfect round mouth. The boy’s cherubic face was surrounded by a mop of messy dark blue hair. He could see the boy’s warm breath huffing out in front of him in the cold night air.
“I’d be happy to give you a ride, wherever you need. My truck’s nice and warm. I bet you ain’t too far from here, right?”
“No… I… not far. I just… my friends have to be here somewhere. I just… maybe over there?”
The young man started to walk away, tripping over his own feet and barely catching himself on a parked sedan, towards the far side of the parking lot.
The Trucker reached out and wrenched the boy’s arm back a bit harder than he intended too. The kid’s phone went skittering across the pavement and under the truck. When their eyes met, the kid’s pale green eyes were wide with sudden fear and paranoia.
The Trucker laughed it off.
“Whoops, now look what happened. You’re in no state to be walking across the parking lot, son. You’re gonna get yourself kilt.” He gently guided the boy towards the door of his truck. “Why don’t you come have a lie down and I’ll get you where you need to go. Hop up there and I’ll grab your phone.”
The drunk college kid blinked rapidly, still trying to process what the trucker was saying. All the while the Trucker was guiding him towards the cab of his truck. The big red door opened quietly and he helped the boy up on the first step. The Trucker had done this a million times, and knew he had a charming, disarming personality. As the boy swayed backwards, the Trucker let his hand slip from the small of his back to the roundness of his pert, tight little college boy ass. Oh he was so going to enjoy this one.
“You got a name, pretty boy?”
“B… Bob-by.”
“That’s right nice. Little Bobby Blue. Once you get up there, grab yerself some water. It’ll help clear your head. Might keep you from a mighty powerful headache in the morning.”
“Yeahhhh, that souns gooo…”
Little Bobby Blue was going to make a great companion. The Trucker could taste it, or rather, Bobby Blue would be tasting it. The Trucker leaned down and retrieved the kid’s phone from under the edge of his truck.
Just as Little Bobby Blue was about to take the top step up into the truck, a sleek black Uber pulled up next to the truck. Several loud, clearly drunk, guys were hanging out of the windows.
“BOBBY!!!! There you are, you dumb fuck. We’ve been looking all over for you. How the hell did you get over here?”
“Yeah, what the hell you doing getting in that truck Bobby?” another one said.
“Thisss guy’s gonna give me a ride.”
“Awe thanks, mister. Awful nice. But we got us a nice Uber to take us back to the house. Come on Bobby, quit fuckin around and get your ass in the car.”
Bobby almost fell on the Trucker as climbed back down the steps and stumbled towards the car. That's the most amount of fucking action he'll get tonight, now.
“Nice to meet you, Bobby. I’ll keep an eye out for you. You be safe now,” the Trucker said, his face a mask of polite calmness while inside he was raging.
“Don’t forget your phone, Bobby,” one of the generic drunk guys said. Bobby staggered back towards the Trucker, retrieved his phone, and then nearly fell into the open doorway of the car, sending his idiotic buddies into a frenzy of laughter.
The Trucker glanced around the parking lot. FUCK! There were no other tasty, convenient little fishes to be caught. He slammed the door to his cab shut and then yanked open the driver’s door of the truck. May as well start driving. He was all hot and bothered and there would be no release tonight unless it was his own hand. Perhaps he could try the rest stops. Sometimes unsuspecting people found themselves in vulnerable situations. He ground the gears of his truck as he started out of sheer frustration. He revved the engine louder than he normally would, the rattling growl echoing across the wide open plains of the flat terrain. He’d find someone. He scraped his teeth together and reached for his cigarettes. Maybe he could smoke himself calm. He made a hard fist around the lighter as he struck it up.
He sucked in a lungful of smoke and blew it out again. He leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes for a moment, calling up the blue framed face of his escaped victim. Damn he would have liked that one. If he came back through this town any time soon, he’d be on the prowl for his Little Bobby Blue.
Little Bobby Blue had dodged a bullet that night. It’s possible he wouldn’t always be that lucky. But for tonight, Bobby Blue made it home safely.
Tagging List: @i-can-even-burn-salad @peachy-panic @deluxewhump @arwenadreamer @whumpcereal @melancholy-in-the-morning @dont-touch-my-soup @whumpsday @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert @melennui @susiequaz12 @morning-star-whump @crystalquartzwhump @whump-and-other-things @mylifeisonthebookshelf @reflected-pain @hold-him-down @quietshae @sparrowsage @quietly-by-myself @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @darlingwhump @hold-him-down @quietshae @no-terms-and-conditions-apply (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone - please let me know if I am and I’ll fix it. I’m still getting used to this)
Congratulations to everyone who participated in this event! Thank you for having fun with us even if the prompts got out late. Extra congrats to the people who did all 31 days!
These medals can be downloaded, added to your prompt list/pinned post/whatever you'd like OR simply reblogged. Whatever suits you! They're yours!
It wasn’t a startle awake, like the brutal grounding after their typical nightmares, not one that left them drenched in sweat and out of breath. It wasn’t one where they woke up screaming, sobbing from the twisted memories that plagued their sleep, no.
It was a nice, gentle wake, dawning on them slowly like a morning sun rising to cast a soft glow over their face. Their body felt surprisingly light, without a single worry weighing down on them. Nothing prompting them to get up, no sirens or screams for help or urgent assignments from the Agency. There was nothing but their own will to guide them as they lay there for many minutes longer, before finally opening their eyes.
They were in a king-sized four-poster bed, sheets as soft as cashmere pooled around them, a thick duvet pulled to their shoulders. The room they were in was large and airy, a wall of windows gaping out towards a cityscape on their left. They could see the sun, just barely peeking around the side of the window, the bed positioned in such a spot where the light could bathe over them without glaring. The room was furnished to follow a French country sort of theme, whites and beiges layering with just enough color spotted around to not make it feel washed out.
Hero was warm, the room a perfect temperature where they could be cocooned in blankets without overheating, but not cold enough to force them to stay huddled in bed.
They took their time getting up, blissfully ignoring the memories of what had happened when they were last conscious. At least, until they tried to sit up, and a tight pain tugging across their chest stole their breath.
Hero couldn’t help the gasp, a hand raising unsteadily to their chest as they fumbled to get the blankets off of them.
Their torso was bound with soft white bandages, tight enough they could feel the pressure against their sides, but not for it to be uncomfortable. Across the front of their chest, spots of blood had managed to seep through where the wounds had been deepest, but they looked like they had dried since.
They couldn’t ignore the flashes of memory any longer. Things were spotty after their encounter with Villain, but they remembered enough to know what had happened.
They remembered the gash in the back of Villain’s head, caved in and deep enough to reveal slivers of skull.
Hero forced themself to push that from their mind. They couldn’t think about that. Not with their stomach already twisted in knots, bile leaving a sour taste in their throat.
Shakily, Hero climbed out of the bed, bracing their hands against the high mattress as their legs trembled under their weight. They gave themself a moment to stable, looking around the room as they did so.
They knew exactly where they were.
Questions and fear stung their mind, but they were able to dismiss most of them. They kept their mind steady, forcing themself to remain rational as their eyes fell upon a neatly folded stack of clothes on the nightstand next to the bed.
Supervillain. They knew that. Supervillain had killed Villain and saved them. Kidnapped them? Saved? Hero’s hand rose to the clothes, unfolding the shirt from the pile. It was long sleeved, made of soft, breathable cotton. Below them, a pair of comfortable lounge pants, which Hero realized just how desperately they needed to change as they took in the sorry state of their current—remaining—attire. Their shirt was gone, pants ruined, stained with blood and dirt and things that Hero didn’t even want to think about, torn at the knees and various places where they had scraped against the pavement.
They didn’t think twice as they changed, tugging off their clothes with a bit of difficulty from their limited motion, frowning at the state of their skin below before pulling on the provided ones.
Hero knew they were going to fit before they had put them on, but still, it was unsettling how they fit perfectly. Just the way they liked, too. Not too tight around the arms, fitted shoulders but with enough give they could move naturally.
They braced a hand against one of the bedposts, turning to face out at the room. Unsure what to do, they tried to fold their dirty clothes and tuck them aside, but they slipped from their hands and Hero couldn’t bend to pick them up, so they shuffled them into a pile with their foot and hoped that was good enough.
It felt so wrong compared to the classy, clean aesthetic of the room, but what were they going to do about it?
Across the room, there was a large arching door, propped open a few inches with a doorstop.
They weren’t a captive, that much was clear by now. Or at least, if they were, it was one of the most civilized hostage situations they’d ever been a part of.
Hero liked to think that they were rational. That they thought things through, planned before acting. And most of the time, they did, but there was something, a certain weightlessness to their thoughts that dissuaded any sort of forethought. They heard faint music, the airy sounds of a piano and strings, content and cheerful that made all of their worries and fear slip away.
They were following the sounds out of the bedroom, down a large hall with a carpeted runner, and into an open kitchen before so much as thinking about what—more specifically who—they’d encounter outside.
Before last night, Hero had never seen Supervillain. At least not clearly. Blurred, grainy images from security cameras, a single glance on the news, but never enough to see them.
It was… odd, seeing them. Even from the night before, Hero’s sight had been obscured by tears and shadows, they hadn’t gotten a good look at the supposed criminal who had saved them.
They looked normal.
No, that wasn’t right at all. They were about as far from normal as possible. They were tall and built sturdily, a power radiating off them that could be felt even from across the room, and not just in terms of supernatural abilities. Supervillain sat at a counter island, sipping from a teacup while humming along to the music that played from a concealed speaker. There was a book open in front of them, and they were dressed in a simple white shirt and sweats, as unthreatening as they could ever possibly appear.
Still, it was almost dizzying, as Hero took a hesitant step into the kitchen, socks sliding soundlessly across the vinyl floor. They barely dared to breathe, but still, the criminal must have heard them, turning to look over their shoulder.
Their mouth cracked into a warm smile, but the kind effect was destroyed by the jagged scar that twisted from the corner of their mouth up towards their eyebrow, and Hero couldn’t help the sinking stone of fear that dropped into their stomach. Hero certainly hadn’t noticed that the night before.
“Oh Hero, I didn’t think you’d be up yet,” Supervillain set their cup down, and it looked almost humorous dainty in their hand. They stood up, letting their book flip closed. “Here, sit, you shouldn’t be on your feet this soon. Breakfast is almost done, it’ll be ready in just a few minutes,”
They were on the other side of the kitchen, but in just two steps, Supervillain was by their side, pressing a gentle hand against Hero’s back to guide them forwards.
A wave of disorientation crashed over them, the blissfully thoughtless feeling that had led them to the kitchen gone. Their mind was still spinning, trying to comprehend how Supervillain had moved—until they were being guided to sit in one of the island’s stools, a steaming cup of tea placed in front of them.
“You must be starving, you poor thing, I’ll get you some fruit to snack on while this finishes, alright?”
At their side one moment, gone the next, Supervillain stood in front of the fridge digging through the shelves, pulling out a package of freshly bought strawberries.
Then they were back standing next to Hero, placing a small bowl of the freshly cut berries in front of them. Feeling them startle, Supervillain rested a light hand on Hero’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, Hero, I’ll explain everything in a bit, okay? Just eat for now, we’ll talk after breakfast.”
With another smile, Supervillain had moved again, standing by the stove at a sizzling pan.
————————————
@themerrywhumpofmay
@annablogsposts
I know this is actually awful I hate it I’m sorry I’m really fucking stressed rn and I feel like crap I just really wanted to post to not fall behind
Cw: past torture, blood loss, mentioned murders, dubcon touching(?), I guess kind of kidnapping by definition
“Stay with me, just a bit longer,” Supervillain murmured, their gloved palm pressing to the side of Hero’s head, guiding them to lean against their shoulder. The cape wrapped snug around Hero’s shoulders, covering them like a blanket, growing stains of something even darker seeping across the black fabric.
Even with the warm blood dripping across their skin, Hero shivered, prompting the arms around them to pull them a little closer.
Supervillain’s pace was fast as they moved towards the mouth of the alley, their boots nearly silent despite the gravel. No wonder Hero hadn’t heard them arrive. They weren’t even nearly silent, no, they were soundless. Everything about them was quiet. Even with their mouth inches from Hero’s ear, they couldn’t hear their breaths. The soft murmurs of reassurance nothing more than sounds carried across the breeze.
It was eerie, but strangely… reassuring. Their ear to Supervillain’s chest, they could feel the rise and fall, even though they could not hear them breathe, feel their heart though they couldn’t hear it beat. Quiet, but not the kind that drew terror—soft, gentle, the kind of quiet that promised safety.
“Close your eyes, Hero,” Supervillain whispered, tucking their chin over the Hero’s head.
Everything went quiet. The entire city, fallen to oblivion, there was nothing. Not the scurry of rats behind dumpsters, the hum of the streetlights, the sounds of cars speeding through the streets, reduced to nothing. A silence so deafening it left Hero’s ears ringing, roaring with the blood that pulsed through them. Supervillain held them tight, the palm that held to Hero’s head pressing over their ear as a rush of cold surrounded them both.
It was like falling through ice, into a pitch black ocean, the world around them bursting to darkness. The cold was worse than anything they had ever felt. It wasn’t just a surface level chill, no, this one burrowed deep into their bones, stole the air from their lungs, numbed them to the core.
Just as quickly as it had come along, the darkness cracking open, small fissures quickly shattering apart, allowing a soft light to spill in. Hero’s stomach lurched, and they would have vomited again if they hadn’t already thrown up all that was in them.
“I’m sorry, Hero, that was the quickest way,” Supervillain apologized, feeling the way Hero tensed and shuddered. They wove their fingers in the other’s hair, cradling the side of their head with a gentleness much too tender to be coming from any villain, much less the supervillain.
Hero had never even seen Supervillain before. At least, not in person. Glimpses from some mediocre cameraman had managed to film as Supervillain darted through public, faster than the camera’s shutters could open. They were the city’s most notorious villain, yet few had even seen them—even fewer left alive to recount the events. Bodies, mauled beyond recognition, burned and brutalized in any way imaginable.
What were they going to do with Hero?
Supervillain had stopped walking, stopping down slightly to set Hero on something soft. With much effort, Hero blinked, willing their vision to clear enough to make out the scene around them.
They were in a living room. At least, they thought it was. A buttercream colored couch and armchair set sat positioned around a large coffee table, the couch nearly twice the size of Hero’s back at their apartment. Facing the couch was a large fireplace, stone leading up to a mantle where a flatscreen lay fixed to the wall. The room was lit softly by warm lamplight, a few plants and personal touches, such as throw pillows and blankets spread around just perfect enough to keep the neat image, while adding just a touch of personality to make it comfortable. Still, the high slanted ceilings, the chandelier hanging down, the huge floor-to-ceiling windows framing an entire wall, made it feel more like a set to some extravagant film, not a place where actual people lived.
Supervillain set Hero down on the couch, brushing their hair back from their eyes with a quick promise to be right back, before the air shattered right in front of their eyes. When the tear had mended, Supervillain was gone.
No one knew anything about their powers, not really. No one knew their limits, their specialties. To the public, Supervillain was more a concept than a beings fear not unlike a demon or devil. Blood rushed to Hero’s head, the room spinning around them as they tried to comprehend, but it wouldn’t make sense.
Supervillain reappeared not half a moment later, a white case nearly the size of Hero’s chest in their hands, already flipped open. Hero shuddered, a sudden unease prickling up their spine as Supervillain turned and set the case on the coffee table, digging out gauze squares and a transparent bottle filled with some clear liquid. With a careful touch, Supervillain pulled the cape away from Hero, revealing the wounds decorating their chest.
There was a lot of blood. More blood than any normal person could afford to lose. Supervillain’s jaw tightened, and they twisted off the cap.
“This is going to sting a bit, darling, alright?” Supervillain tried to warn gently, but it was as if Hero’s eyes were looking clear through them.
The villain held back a sigh, setting the bottle aside for a moment as they noticed the goosebumps along Hero’s arms. They held up their hand, and gave a quick snap, and the hearth roared to life behind them, crackling flames devouring the logs.
“Close your eyes, Hero. I’ll take care of you. Go to sleep.”
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@bees-andbees (thought you’d like to be tagged :D )
Leader stood with their arms braced against the wood of the table, knuckles white as they held to the edge. Their forehead was creased with concentration, focus on the papers strewn out before them in a disorganized but comprehensible way dragging a line between their eyebrows.
They were alone in the office, meeting adjourned and vacated by their team. The buzz of the radiator, the soft clinking of the inner workings dragging to protect against the cold front only separated by a pane of thick glass. It was dark outside, the window fogged from the snow that fell, quickly and heavily, piling against the ground. The quilt of clouds draped across the sky was thick and unrelenting, sealing off the faint glow of moonlight across the atmosphere, leaving only a weighted darkness to settle over the trees.
It may have been a calm night. Leader could imagine how it would be, curled under a blanket on a soft couch in front of a warm hearth. A mug of either tea or hot chocolate perched between two calm hands, warming both fingers and chest with small sips. Curtains parted around a window, allowing for a view of the world outside, silent and peaceful as the night crept forwards.
With a feeling of helplessness so strong it felt like they were going to drown in it, Leader slammed their hands flat on the table, sweeping them to the side and sending all of the papers scattering across the room.
“Fuck,” Leader cursed, curled fists hitting the table with enough force to send little sparks jolting up their forearms. It felt like the walls were closing in on them, wrapping around their wrists and ankles, snaring their chest and dragging across their throat. They had to fucking figure it out, they had to or their entire team would be fucking dead. Hundreds of innocent people, citizens would lose their fucking lives, because Leader was too stupid to figure this out.
Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless.
Villain had laid out the perfect trail, dropped hints and snippets of information slyly, playing it off as a slip of the tongue or a mistake.
Villain didn’t make fucking mistakes. There had to be something here, something to go off of, but every piece fit perfectly into the puzzle, and that’s how they fucking knew. Villain wasn’t a puzzle, with clean cut edges and designated formations. They were a window, smashed open with a crowbar, exploding to thousands of pieces with no distinguishable traces. Couldn’t put them back together if they tried.
Leader couldn’t fucking try. They had to. Every moment they wasted falling for each of Villain’s meticulous details, was a moment longer for Villain to perfect their act. It was only a game to them, every day they waited, drawing out their plans just to watch Leader’s team scramble to find the end of the string.
“Leader,” a voice spoke softly, and Leader whipped around, knocking back against the table in their haste, a scrambled plan quickly calculating in their disoriented mind, ready to fend off an attack before they realized who their company was. Their heartbeat didn’t settle, throbbing hard enough they could feel it against their ribs, hear it in their ears.
“Leader, what happened? Are you alright?” Teammate stepped forwards from the doorframe. So lost in their thoughts, Leader hadn’t heard it open.
It took Leader a moment to compose themself enough to speak. When they did, their tone came out an aggressive snap.
“I’m working,” was all they said, sentence clipped short. When Teammate took another step towards them, Leader turned around and stepped to the side, gathering the discarded papers in their arms with no regard to how the paper crinkled and folded.
“No, Leader, this isn’t work. You’re still injured, you should be in bed, do you have any idea what time it is?”
From the way Teammate spoke, it was obvious that they themself had just woken up, dressed in sweats and a long sleeve that served as their nightclothes. Leader wore the uniform they had worn the day before, they didn’t have time to deal with something as trivial as changing. They couldn’t step away from this, or any sliver of progress they made would be lost.
“I don’t care. Go away, I need to focus.” Leader was aware how they sounded. They’re words as sharp as the knife they had met only a few days earlier. They didn’t even notice the ache in their side anymore, so buried under the stress that pain became a second nature. They dumped the papers back on the table and shuffled to get them organized once again in the haphazard order they had previously been in, but that was long lost.
They weren’t sure, looking back, if they should be glad or pissed that Teammate didn’t listen to them.
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Idk if I should make a taglist for this so ima leave it up to y’all. Lmk if you’d be interested in being tagged in this as I go through May lmao
