Is it realistic? No. Is it medically accurate? ...Also no. Am I obsessed with this trope anyway? Absolutely.
Because you can pry this trope from my cold, dead hands, I present—
It's just so... delightfully dramatic >:)
These can also double as kidnapping/capture whump prompts.
Villain genuinely likes Hero—that's the whole problem—which is why they choose the cloth over the knife they're supposed to use tonight. "Consider this a professional courtesy," they murmur, lowering Hero to the ground far more carefully than the job requires.
Hero reaches the edge of the building with nowhere left to run. Villain stops several steps away instead of rushing them. "Jump if you want," they say evenly. "Either way, you're coming with me."
Villain doesn't have time for a fight tonight—the reactor's already counting down—so they don't even bother monologuing before the cloth goes over Hero's face. "Nothing personal," they mutter, dragging Hero's dead weight behind a support beam. "I just need the city empty for six more minutes."
Villain lets Hero get one hand on their mask before the cloth does its work, and the mask stays half-peeled, revealing just enough to make Hero's last conscious thought a furious, useless I knew it.
Instead of mocking Hero, Villain catches them before they hit the ground. "I'd love to monologue," they sigh, "but we're already behind schedule."
Hero hears Civilian’s scream from the next room just as the cloth slams over their face. They spend every last ounce of strength trying to get back to it. "You're very good at your job," Villain admits. "That's why I had to remove you first."
Hero watches their team getting closer on the tracker clipped to Villain's belt. Villain notices where they're looking and grins. "They're only... forty-seven seconds too late."
Reinforcements appear at the end of the corridor just as Villain starts backing away with Hero. Villain casually waves with their free hand. "We'll return your hero eventually."
"Alive," Whumper reminds themself under their breath as Whumpee lands another elbow to their ribs. "The poster said alive."
Whumper has to switch arms halfway through because Whumpee is putting up far more of a fight than expected. "Seriously?" they mutter, readjusting their grip. "Do you ever make anything easy?"
"You're worth a ridiculous amount of money," Whumper says, tightening their grip when Whumpee starts struggling again. "I'd appreciate it if you stopped trying to lower my hourly rate."
Whumpee slams a boot down onto Whumper's foot. Whumper winces, adjusts their grip, and deadpans, "Adding 'steel-toed boots' to next year's budget."
"I'd apologise," Whumper says as they wrestle Whumpee's wrists behind their back, "but this is literally my dream job."
Whumpee finally goes limp. Whumper waits another few seconds anyway, then sighs. "You faked it better than the last guy."
Whumper glances between the increasingly tattered wanted poster and the now-unconscious Whumpee. "...They forgot to mention what a pain in the ass you are."
Whumper waits until Whumpee has finished checking the room for bugs, hidden cameras, and exits before stepping out from behind the curtains. "Done?"
Whumpee recognises the hold immediately. They taught recruits how to break out of it. It doesn't work nearly as well from the other side.
Every escape technique Whumpee knows requires leverage. Pinned against a wall with someone stronger than them, they're useless.
Whumpee catches Whumper's wrist with both hands and forces it inch by inch away from their face. Every muscle shakes with effort. Then one hand slips.
They reach for the hidden knife sewn into their sleeve—or the concealed pistol at their hip—but their arm suddenly feels too heavy to lift. By the time their numb fingers finally brush the weapon, they refuse to close around it.
"Go on," Whumper murmurs. "Profile me." They keep the cloth firmly in place while Whumpee's increasingly unfocused eyes desperately search their face for anything useful to remember.
Whumpee manages to tear the cloth away for one glorious second before Whumper simply catches their jaw and puts it right back. "That was your chance."
Whumper pats them down after they've gone limp, pausing when they find three hidden weapons. "See? This is why I brought the cloth."
The detective recognises the smell instantly. Their own notes said victims usually lost consciousness within minutes. Minutes. They've never hated being right more.
"You know," Whumper muses, tightening their grip just enough to stop another desperate attempt to pull away, "it's refreshing not having to explain what's happening." The detective's horrified expression says they already know.
The detective has spent years chasing a criminal who always seemed to know what the police knew. As Whumper casually quotes entire paragraphs from the detective's private notes, the horrifying answer finally clicks into place.
Whumper raises an eyebrow as the detective abruptly stops struggling and instead starts trying to hold their breath. "Ah," they smile. "So you have read the toxicology reports."
The detective slams Whumper backwards into a filing cabinet. Drawers burst open, papers exploding across the room. They wrench the wrist holding the cloth away for one glorious second—just long enough for a desperate gasp before Whumper drives them into the desk and the cloth is there again.
"Come on," Whumper taunts between strained breaths. "You were putting up a much better fight thirty seconds ago."
Whumpee's crown crashes to the marble floor between them. It rolls away, forgotten in the struggle.
Whumpee tears at Whumper's wrist with both hands, twisting until the grip falters. The cloth slips away for half a second. They suck in one desperate breath before Whumper yanks them back against their chest.
"Careful," Whumper laughs as Whumpee nearly headbutts them. "I need you conscious long enough to fetch a ransom."
The orchestra never stops playing. Guests laugh, dance, and twirl beneath glittering chandeliers while Whumpee struggles behind a velvet curtain, hidden only a few metres away, desperately trying to turn their face away from the sickly sweetness of the cloth pressed over it. "Listen," Whumper whispers, breath tickling Whumpee's ear. The music swells. "They don't even know you're gone."
"Do you know how many kingdoms would go to war over you?" Whumper murmurs, tightening their grip. "Let's see how much they really love their heir."
The meeting room is empty except for their teammate. Whumpee stops in the doorway, their stomach dropping as they meet their gaze. The smile they get in return is all the confirmation they need. Before they can shout, their teammate crosses the distance and clamps a hand over their mouth.
"You figured it out," Whumper murmurs, tightening their grip. "Unfortunately... so did I."
The last thing Whumpee sees before everything blurs is Whumper calmly straightening their uniform and walking back toward the others... alone.
General taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed! <3): @stars-hide-our-fires @neon-kazoo @chaotic-orphan @galactic-worm @castell-da-near @daggers-and-dangers @atomicduckthefirst @dreamingofviolence
