Drowning 6 pretttttry please. Your writing is amazing, honest to god. Wish I had your talent. Keep writing!!!!
Thank you for the ask and lovely message ❤
This one is a tad different that the other parts, some segments are in from Supervillain's POV which are very vague because they are meant have an altered state feel to them. You also learn a lot about Villain and Hero's past in this one.
@shydragonrider @asrasmysoulmate
Warnings: unreality, wheelchair, schizophrenia, elecric shocking, hallucinations, hate towards another, possessiveness, restraints, drugged whumpee, sick whumpee
Supervillain emerged from whatever fluid contraption held him in place. His body went numb, pins and needles filling every limb, every muscle like wildfire.
But, nearly as quick as he broke the surface, he fell back in...
His body seized up, a ringing in his ears... then he hit solid ground, his body going slack. Nearly immediately, he felt conscious of the tubes and moniters embellishing him like ornaments and garland on a Christmas tree.
His lead-filled mouth yanked open on its own free will, trying to force a scream out, but his tongue only managed a hoarse whimper.
He jerked his head about, finding it laid nearly on a pillow, but another trap locked his head in. He clenched his hands, but his body was already falling back into the sea- all feeling washed away by the waves.
Sand. He felt sand in his body, dehydrating and numbing, as consciousness was snatched away from him once again. The tubes faded, as did the traps- leaving Supervillain with an empty void.
He had a sense, but couldn't remember what happened in brief moments of waking like this. He hardly recognized the difference between unconsciousness and consciousness and if he did, it wouldn't matter. He never could escape. Never could escape the agonizing water in and around his body.
All he could do was fall.
Fall back into the water.
"Mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them," a voice spoke. Hero had given up on trying to tell apart the various differences between the countless heroes and doctors that spoke to her on a daily basis. Trying to just intoxicated her mind with a weird feeling of displeasure and annoyance that couldn't be placed. It was right in between her eyebrows, where she would have a unibrow if she didn't wax it all the time in highschool.
"Do you know who wrote that quote, Hero? Hmm?"
Hero didn't respond. Why would she? It gave her no clearance, no escape, no epic prison break that one may expect from such a person of stengths and wits. She just sat there, limbs tied to the ground by unrelenting steel, her head angled to watch the suffering man on the bed slowly fade away with persistent illness and everyday drugs.
"Bruce Lee," the speaker answered the question after quickly realizing that Hero wasn't going to.
Hero tuned out of the conversation, leaving it as background noise as she studied the scene in front of her. Supervillain was hooked up so many moniters, it was as if he was in a coma. Hero twitched her jaw. Maybe he was. The ventilation and feeding tube stuck all the way down his nose and mouth, opening it forcibly, definitely made that thought come alive.
Hero did this a lot, zoning out whenever someone tried to talk to her. Her once vibrant personality and optimism was dampered, replaced by a dull depression. Even Villain, who watched Hero daily, was getting nervous of this rapid decline in attitude- not that Hero knew of her betrayer's thoughts and emotions. To her, in this foggy hole of misery, Villain was an outcasted shadow, adding depth to the painting, but never a main topic. Heck, if she didn't concentrate, she didn't even see the light shade on the white surface.
There was only Supervillain.
But even that has changed, and not just in the extra moniters and tubes, but her whole aspect of him. He was the cause of her pain, he was the cause of the insufferable cloud that ascended over her.
There was no fondness in the way she viewed him anymore, just resentment. The deepest kind of resentment that could also be described as despising.
But even that was an understatement.
One day, a movement drew Hero out of her hate-filled thoughts and back into reality. It was Villain, playing with something by her wrist.
"Back off," she snarled, her voice sounding unnaturally deep and cracky.
"And so she speaks." The glint in his eyes revealed the sarcasm that his monotonous voice hid. "How are you Hero?"
Hero snarled, raising her lips in an animalistic manner, but didn't reply. Once her wrist was let go, the unused muscles allowed it to flop aimlessly against her equally thining thigh. She was fed yes, a vile piece of bland, moist garbage that gave her body its much needed vitamins, minerals, and nutrients, but lack of use degraded the once hefty muscle.
Villain worked on each of the restraints. Each arm fell limp as her legs splayed out, thankful for the break from the locked position they were kept in. When her head was let free, it flopped, her neck unable to keep it up.
Villain steadied her, putting his hand unceremoniously against the base of her neck. Hero squirmed, aware of her vulnerability.
"The door with the exit sign is unlocked," he whispered, so close to her ear that Hero cringed.
At first, her brain using its old habit, began to block out his words, but suddenly stopped and rewinded, shoving them back to the front of her mind.
Villain helped her into a nearby wheelchair and was about to wheel her away when a strand of her empathetic nature fought against the newfound distant demeanor.
"What 'bout Supervillain?" She asked, her voice a weak whisper.
"This is for you," Villain replied casually grinning down at Hero, happy that she was back to somewhat normal.
Hero sunk into the plushy cushioning of the seat and looked at Supervillain's still figure and snarled. Ha, he didn't get to leave. She did. She got to escape the inhumane confines that kept her bound up like a trapped goat.
He didn't. He could now pay for his crimes.
Yet, as stubborn as this thoughts of retribution sounded, they weren't. That sympathizing portion of her protested against the new arrangement. And, being the stronger of the two opposites, it left her tongue in forms of coherent words.
"I won't leave him," she said, her heart bursting. Whether the internal explosion was due to anticipation or exaltation, it don't matter. It felt natural, like herself.
"You really don't have a choice."
"Why do you want me free?" Hero asked.
"This place is the definition of boring."
Hero was silent and contemplated Villain's statement. He really didn't care about her levels of bore and joy, never did. Any interaction or any relationship that the two once cherished was borne of platonic care of the other's well-being. Nothing too deep, and barely held any real intent. Are you alive? Are you dead? Were the only two questions that brought along any vowels of conversing.
It was weird, abnormal. Hero might've even went as far as to say suspicious.
But it was also promising. Very, very promising. It held the possibility of freedom that the chair did not.
But he was Villain. He did not have one ounce of good will or honesty in his cold veins. He was a liar, a cheat, and as much as she would've loved to call them friends, it was close to impossible. They couldn't build a relationship off of trickery as much as the two once wanted to.
This was a scheme, a lie, to get to Hero and make her mess up. Mess up and then she gets hurt.
Or worse, Supervillain does.
That thought stood out from the rush of others in her brain for it held an interesting style to it. As close as she was to the old Hero and away from the shadow that "choosing who gets hurt" made her into, she wasn't it yet.
"Boring, but I am alive," Hero retorted, rolling her eyes as well as the stiff rectus muscles in her eyes allowed.
"That is otherwise obvious." Villain placed a hand on the barred door that only purpose served as an aesthetic.
"Yeah, in a way I suppose, but Supervillain isn't."
"He sleeps all day and when he does manage to wake, he passes out almost immediately. I need to stay with him!"
"You do nothing but glare daggers at him. You are released dear."
"No, you are not helping me escape from this damn place!"
Villain was silent, paused in the motion of pushing the door open.
"Amidst your utter hate for him, you still have the decency to protect him; Hero there is nothing to protect. With one simple flick of a switch, he is dead," Villain pointed out, turning to Hero with tears in his icy blue eyes that Hero once found gloriously gorgeous. Ones that she used to gaze into as they fought, unable to tear herself away. She lost many fights that way by being too distracted to actually land a punch.
But the innocence of that gaze was really just hiding the fact that Villain was a scandalous bastard- only giving half-truths and fake emotions about everything.
"Then why do you give him the serum. You guys know that I won't hurt those civilians," Hero pointed out with a shrug.
Villaim remained silent and wheeled Hero out of the room.
Supervillain seemed to always arouse when the nurses swarmed him to administer the vile liquid that plagued his veins with nauseating adrenaline. He felt the hot- not warm, but scorching hot- drug enter his veins.
But it wasn't the beginning, the actual pain of the procedure, that caused Supervillain his horrifying misery. It was afterwards and he wasn't thinking of the dizzying fatigue that usually pushed him into another deep sleep, but the memories it brought.
Some were nostalgic, others taut with grief. Others held regret while some even had remnants of agonizing torture he once endured.
But they were never happy, nor comforting to any degree.
So, when a reverie of kind touch swarmed Supervillain's sensations, his lethargic heart started to pump in rocket speed, motorizing the boat to accelerate...
Hero's voice. One that brought him so much comfort. Hands scratched at his scalp and he felt his heavy eyelids drop.
"I'll be hear when you wake up," Hero lulled, humming softly as the sweet scent of vanilla hit Supervillain's scent receptors. He smiled, the tiniest of grins and nuzzled his nose into her warm, fleece sweater.
But, even delirous as he was, in the back of his head, Supervillain knew this was a vision. A hallucination. The model of schizophrenia that the drug brought upon his mind.
So he gave in, purposely allowing himself to be washed away by the unreality of the dream.
Because he loved it. He loved the touch as if it was actually real.
A warm figure slid next to his body wrapping its- her- arms around his shivering body. Phony yes, it gave stability as the fatigue pushed itself to its maximum.
As consciousness dripped away, Supervillain hummed slightly, happy with the feeling.
Hero's hand buzzed over the door, considering the possibilities of opening it, but in the end, she blatantly refused.
"No," she said, her old self returning. "I am not going to leave Supervillain."
Villain's eyes widened, chin shaking.
"You care for him?" He asked, voice slightly elevated like a flute's pitch. Such a change from the droning audibles that usually slugged off his tongue. "Like actually."
Hero's brows crunched together as she read Villain's new face expressions. Blond hair draped down to his pointed eyebrows where it slightly curled. Tears seemed to well in his azure eyes.
"Are you crying?" Hero asked, scoffing, but in reality, she cared.
"It's just," Villain stepped forward, leaning down and resting his hand on Hero's shoulder. His other hand balanced delicately against the holster of whatever weapon he carried.
Suddenly, without warning, his hand shot up and an bolt of electricity flashed through her body. Hero fell forward, screaming and withering on the floor.
Villain leaned forward, breath warm against her sweaty cheek. "You are mine Hero. I won't ever let you hold, or care for Supervillain again," he growled, bringing thr taser back to Hero's neck. "Goodnight, my love."
The electric shock came again, and the world descended into blackness.
